#possibly commander thorn as well

[tiyoin]

morality

‘malleus x reader’

malleus, who every time you fall asleep surrounds you in bristling thorns.

malleus, who does everything in his power to extend your life. he believes that stopping time- even a few hours would give him that much more time with you in the future.

malleus, who cares so deeply for your health and well being, but can’t help but make you sleep more often than you usually would in hopes of extending your life

malleus, who sacrifices the present for the future. it doesn’t matter if you’re awake when he’s off completing royal duties.

malleus thinks that’s time wasted that could be saved for the future. he’ll sometimes keep you under his spell for a few days, but it’s okay. you aren’t missing much anyways as you’d always voice how sad, cold, and lonely the palace feels without him.

malleus feels no guilt in commanding you to sleep. he thinks it’s a fair trade for the dreams he gives you. where you always receive a happy ending. with him, of course. with the hopes that those dreams will have you longing for the days to come.

malleus’ favorite dream to bestow up you was the one where you and him are in a cabin in the woods. especially the scene of two purple and onyx eggs cuddled up nicely in your arms. your back laid against his chest, your body almost sinking into his, almost like you were trying to steal the little warmth his reptilian blood possessed. or maybe, it was him whose arms were wrapped tightly around your body that was trying to keep you as close as possible.

malleus would think the roaring fire that sat not even a meter away would be enough to keep you both warm. not even the blankets in your shared bedroom seemed to quell the ice in your veins…

malleus would either read to the three of you, a new book each time- or, the two of you would discus baby names. brainstorming ideas to and new endings so you could continue the legacy of his ancestral names. he could never get tired of the way you referred to your little miracles; m&m. it was a candy from your home, you’d always explain, never failing to make his lips curl up in amusement.

malleus, who was warned that this marriage, this love was doomed from the very beginning. but he didn’t care, hadn’t fully considered your morality as there had to be a way to extend it… yet even lilia wasn’t able to escape death’s cynical clutches.

malleus who must always listen to your dreams, your hopes and excitement of the future, deep down knowing that it’ll never happen. that they’re never occur and never take fruition. and it frustrates him.

malleus who would send you into a deep slumber when he wrecked the castle, screams and wails of anguish echoing throughout the soulless walls of briar palace. was this how his grandmother felt? completely and utterly alone? her lover and daughter long gone as she was condemned to more pointless years of empty solitude. with not enough love for even him? her grandson.

is that how he’ll turn out? cold and alone?

insane?

not even sebek would last long. silver was on the same clock as you, both condemned to sleeping to stop the ticking hands of time that seemed to tick tick away.

malleus wanted a family, you knew that. biology be damned he’ll have his happily ever after with you. with every dream he can see the want growing inside you too.

malleus wants his, your children to at least know who the woman in the portrait is. he wants you to tuck them into bed, watch their first steps, and console them when the weight of your morality gets placed on their young shoulders.

malleus wants to scold them for breaking objects while you give him those big pleading eyes to ‘give them a break! they’re just learning how to walk in their human forms,’ malleus wants to catch the three of you baking cookies in the royal palace, he wants his children to sneak into meetings just to see him- only for you to be seen (and heard) trying to get them out without entering yourself. he would sometimes chuckle, imagining them hanging off of sebek like a ‘jungle gym’ (whatever that was) as the knight would do everything in his power to not move.

he wants you there to witness their changing from dragon to human, he wants to go through dragon teething with you as he knows it was a struggle for lilia alone. he wants them to draw on the old suffocating walls- only to be interrupted by your horrified gasp. scolding them for doing such a thing to the royal palace, only for him to be revealed as an accomplice. doodling away with them while critiquing and adding onto their drawings.

malleus wants to stress sebek out as he searches high and low for the king, who was miles away in a ruine with his family playing hooky. of course, not without a secret picnic basket and blankets.

he wants you on his back while he’s in his dragon form, his children struggling to fly at his speed as you take a family glide through the starry night just because.

he wants them to tell him that he was doing the right thing by timing out your death clock, saving a few minutes for tomorrow.

he wants you there when him and his future children go on diplomatic missions to other nations. he wants to enjoy the cuisine with you, the sights and views with you like that one college trip to the scalding sand. he already knows the words he’d tell that he failed to tell during that trip. that nothing will ever compare to the twinkle in your eyes or the beauty of your smile. he wants to hear his children’s groans and remarks of disgust as he spews poetry at you. kisses you. like it’s the last time he ever will…

there’s all these wants that he’ll never have.

he… hopes, his children will get their magic early- especially their unique magic in hopes that one of them can save you from your fate.

he wants a family portrait, with all four- or more, of you- this fully depending on how your body will deal with the trauma of the birth of your first born.

malleus curses the fates everyday for making his soulmate- his mate, mortal. receiving a human soul instead of a fae’s… it’s a cruel joke, he chalks up on night, when his temper was especially bad. when his thoughts were more pessimistic than usual. all because he spotted your first grey hair as you arrive in your early thirties.

malleus, who stands placid in the library, staring at the locked glass doors of the forbidden section. his fist clenches, then unclenches repeatedly- a war going on in his mind as he remembers his grandmother’s warnings of entering that room… of reading and using the contents of those books.

malleus scoffs, arrogance radiating from the young prince-king. his grandmother’s image flashes through his vision when his touches the door, sternly warning him of the cardinal sin that would be committed if he ever used the dark magic their ancestors created, used, and evidently locked away. she warned him, begged him to never feed into the whispers of their DNA, to never entertain the delusions that came with puberty and age. to learn about the world so he knows the natural order of things- the circle of life and death that he too, would one day be apart of…

…

malleus will have his happily ever after. he’s suffered so much already, doesn’t he deserve it?

the answer is yes. yet fate keeps continuing to deny him his right.

malleus deserves the happiness he never got to experience, family that he was robbed of all those years ago. and if he is to be condemned to tartarus for his misdeeds… then he will drag you down with him, forever together.

so sleep. dream your days away as malleus searches and scans the entire royal archives for spells or potion recipes that can fix this problem.

he promises the days will no longer bleed together, he promises you and silver- even sebek, will be able to stay awake for as long as him. he would give his soul to make sure the three of you stayed.

malleus will be there when you receive the news of your friend’s deaths. dropping like flies one by one as the years continue to pass. you will have each other when you stop reviving funeral invitations. he will be there for you when you look in the mirror, age not matching your appearance as you compare your hands to that of your friend’s corpses. you will truly have only him, and he hopes you will want to stay with him for as long as possible, just as he wishes.

he will take care of everything, so don’t fight it, okay? he will allow you to live different lives throughout each dream. illusion of free will at play since he will always be there, condemning you to the same love, same life, and same routine no matter where he places you.

he loves you… so very much.

[frostbitebakery]

There’s a room where the Light won’t find you

Surrender AU

There are certain misconceptions when it comes to the… the them of them, Cody has to admit.

“I would like to have proof of life of my General,” he says instead of answering the same question the Commander has asked him twice now. The statement sits uncomfortable under his breastbone. He lost count how often he’s had to say it in his life.

“Are you that codependent,” the replica of his mouth snarks back. Curious, usually he and his counterparts have more patience than this.

The answer to that is a definite yes. Obi-Wan and he, they’re woven together. Only Obi-Wan’s lightsaber could cut them apart. He wonders where it is after they’ve taken it from its resting place above his heart.

“You’ll protect it,” Obi-Wan had asked, voice cracking and begging, closing Cody’s palms around the weapon’s hilt. It had been after Ghost had rescued them from that hellhole, after Obi-Wan’s hands had become too weak to wield his lightsaber despite the trials of reconstructive surgeries and physical therapy.

“Like your life,” Cody had sworn, lips finally not sore anymore from the ripped out stitches, the punishments from their captors that were so much more effective when delivered on Cody than Obi-Wan himself.

“I would like to have proof of life of my General,” he says again.

The Commander pushes out a sigh. “He’s… okay.”

Debatable. Cody isn’t there and no one knows - can know - how Obi-Wan’s hands spasm after a while, how his knee is acting up. How his grip on himself has been slipping, recently. The tight control even in the chaos had held steady for so long. Because even changed like this, Obi-Wan has been a master of his own self. Until they found these counterparts at least.

They’re so Light, hammers into Cody’s head.

“General Kenobi is asking him some questions himself,” the Commander states like he’s dangling bait.

Cody sincerely wishes him good luck with that. Getting an answer to “What do you want for breakfast” is a discovery of heretofore unknown wells of patience and the higher ground most days. Honey toast, by the way. “I would like to have proof of life of my General.”

Cody, they’re so Light. Obi-Wan is alone with a beacon to the Light he’s been desperately searching for in dozens of universes. He will do something well-thought-through and stupidly risky.

The Commander watches him for a few long moments, and Cody watches right back. He doesn’t smirk in triumph when the Commander activates the comm on his vambrace.

“General, could you put—,” Cody’s mouth twitches at the Commander’s faltering, the steeling for the reality of them, “the Sith on the comm?”

A moment later Obi-Wan is in the holo. Bound but whole, because the good guys don’t believe in torture. “Are you alright?” he asks, sickly golden eyes roving over what the holo displays of Cody.

Cody smiles, softening further once Obi-Wan echoes him with his own. “Yes. You?”

There’s misconceptions about them. Other people’s delusions of knowing them seem to think Obi-Wan and he can only be brutal, be cruel and harsh. Towards everyone else, and towards each other. Trapped in a bloody dance or something rivaling that kind of stupid. Those people don’t, thankfully, know the gentleness flowing through their touches. They kiss the other in reverence, soft and precious monster. What is between them, a connection forged in blood and pain, is anything but. It’s the one thing where they’re truly selfish. Holding each other close, burrowed into each other.

When Obi-Wan had asked him what he wants, the answer had been simple and sprouting thorns.

“You,” Cody had answered, sure and steadfast.

Obi-Wan had almost flinched, cane scraping over the floor. “Even as I am now?”

Always. At every second their lives had existed in orbit to each other. Every possible face Obi-Wan had worn, Cody had wanted him. But— “I think,” he had replied, stroking the paper-thin grey skin under a yellow eye, “this is the only version I’m allowed to have.”

“I miss you,” Obi-Wan says on the holo, and Cody goes cold.

“Obi-Wan, don’t—“

The connection winks out and he knows that it was Obi-Wan, that the Force suppression cuffs must have some fault he detected and exploited.

He whips his head up, urgency clocking in inside his chest and ticking. “Stun him,” he grits out, just to not yell, and startles the Commander. “Make him unconscious any way necessary.” He swallows. “But please don’t kill him.” I need him.

[strangerdangerwrites]

the art of lies | t.s. (fantastic beasts) - chapter one

Summary: all your life you had been handling the dirty truth, and here he comes presenting you with his sweet lies. 

Pairings: Theseus Scamander x Fem!Reader

genre: romance, mature audience intended

warnings: mature themes, implied sexual content, sexworker protagonist, pleasure house (brothel), smoking

the art of lies masterlist

IN THE ABSENCE OF DAYLIGHT, Paris comes alive, after all, it is known as the City of Love.

Love in the form of freshly picked flowers from the florist.

The sweetest chocolate that tickled your taste buds.

Hand-written poems that rivaled world-renowned poets.

A love so sweet and tender that it caresses you gently in the night

But that certainly wasn’t the truth, it never was. Love wasn’t like that. 

Love was the thorns that hid beneath the roses.

Love was the bitter taste that lingered in your mouth after your first dark chocolate.

Love was the letter from lovers that had written goodbyes instead of ‘I’ll stay’.

Love was the harsh tug of your hair, the rough hands that hold your wrists, saying the words ‘You are so beautiful’ only when you are in the middle of the bed, spread willingly to the desires of man. 

Here, in Paris, is nothing but filled with nights of debauchery where all senses are thrown out the window. The sickening smell of expensive perfume and wine drowning you in the world of sins. And Paris was notable for it, here you are free! Or so they say.

Truth be told, you could never be free, always staying in hiding from the Non-Magiques. And here you were indebted to your handler, Madame Blanche, the owner of the renowned luxurious Maison close ‘Amour Délicat’. 

Like her name, the whites in her hair and the sharp look in her eyes tell her story. She was a former courtesan before and when the first war of the non-magiques happened there she learned something that would give birth to her only child, the Amour Délicat. When she shared the truth of what was happening in the world of the non-magiques to the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France (Ministry of Magical Affairs of France), Madame Blanche was greatly compensated, and there from the ground up, she built her history. 

Madame Blanche is far from the harsh and ruthless handlers in the non-magiques world of prostitution; she is commanding and ruthless. When she saw the reality of the world, it opened her mind to do whatever it takes to protect herself, and that is by being well-known that you create a sense of security in being seen. Here she opened her doors to those willing to work for her, at first, many were wary as to join and take employment, the look of disdain and gossip were indeed not for the faint of heart. 

And you who had nothing to lose, took the first bite and jumped straight into death potion. 

You, who only had your name and the clothes you wore on your back crawled straight inside Pandora’s box. 

Madame Blanche had saved you, she had given you a roof, food, clothes, and the protection that you needed. The life you formerly had was long gone; it was all in the past, thrown into the sea to be forgotten.

And here you learn to be a great witch. She first-hand, had taught you how to be a legilimens, as her first courtesan, she has taught you how to traverse the mind easily, to learn secrets, and how to use them to your advantage.

“The most powerful of witches and wizards can all be defeated by the secrets they hide.”

While the other courtesans were only taught surface-level legilimency, you were a natural. Not only can you do it nonverbally and wandlessly, but you can also communicate with others telepathically. Madame Blanche had opened you to all possibilities, and with that, she entrusted you with the highest position of being her right hand.

And your skill at legilimens always comes at night when you bed another clientele. And in the middle of pure ecstasy, they reveal the truth unwillingly. Here in the dimmed candlelight, you walked through the halls of their mind unlocking every door with a skeleton key of your abilities. No matter how many layers, or how many locks they keep, trust you could open it with ease. Secrets like marital affairs, financial debt, graft and corruption, illegitimate children, crimes, enemies, first love, their favorite color, the last thing they ate, their thoughts at that very moment… you can see and feel. An out-of-body experience, stripping you naked from yourself, from what you are and who you were. Here you forgot you were even breathing.

You didn’t realize you had been lying on the bed still for the last few minutes, the house elf, Bernadette, had been looking at you worriedly, and in her hand was your dressing robe, colors almost like the blinding light.

“Was the man harsh on you today, Miss?” She asked, placing the mulberry silk robe on your hand. You gave her a small smile and shook your head. The faint marks of rope were the clear sign of your lies, yet you were accustomed to it.

“It is alright. Run my bath for me?” With a wave of her hand, the bed took itself towards the laundry room and came in a small golden tub that fit your frame. Muttering a spell it filled the tub with bubbles and water, you stood before it before hitting it with a wave of your wand. The gramophone in the room suddenly erupted into soulful jazz music. With a scrub and a bar of soap ready at hand, Bernadette tried to assist you but you declined. Stepping foot into the warm bubbly bath.

“I would like a moment alone.” You waved your hand as soon as the words left your mouth, the house elf knew to leave you to your own devices. You were a grown woman, a woman who has been doing these for the last decade. And whenever you tried to look into your future, all you could see were the grand walls that painted your very eyes, the moving wallpaper depicting fields of various white flowers, you were stuck in Amour Délicat for the last moments of your life. This was the only thing you will ever know. You were indebted and grateful to Madame Blanche, and that led to your loyalty. She protects you and everyone in the Maison close. Outside these walls was uncertainty.

In the hot water, you submerged yourself trying to wake yourself up to the fact that this is your life. Yet when the warm glow of the city, fireworks erupted the skyline, muffled by the water you sat straight to peer at the noise. Without even looking, you knew families were in their own homes, enclosed with the scent of pastries and the warmth of their own fireplace. It was just a few minutes before New Year's Eve, and here you were working. Alone, staring into the distance, craving the sense of a warm home. 

Holding your knees close to your chest, you stared at the skyline as Muggles and Magical people alike celebrated the night with a bright display of fireworks. 

Unbeknown to you, Clarice, the receptionist had been preventing the members of the British Ministry of Magic from stepping foot towards the quarters an hour before the new year would start.

“You cannot go inside; this is a private and respectable property,” Clarice spoke, her accent rushing the words as panic littered her veins. Her arm at ready with her own wand. The lounge was filled with thick air as the British aurors pointed their wand at the girl, not understanding a word she shouted. 

Click-clack! Click-clack!

With every slow step, Madame Blanche descended the stairs. 

“And what do you English want? Here to close Amour Délicat? You don’t have the right.” Madame Blanche boasts, looking at the men below with her chin pointed upwards. Looking at them one by one, the Madame could not read their minds, the British aurors have been trained in occlumency. Remaining calm, she stood on the balcony, overlooking the whole crowd below.

“We were looking for one of your workers. I believe they have the answers to the disappearance of one of the assistant delegates of the British Department of the International Confederation of Wizards.” Torquil Travers claimed, holding a photograph of a man in his middle 30s-40s. 

Summoning the paper in the grasp of the Madame, she looked at the photograph intently, racking up all the lists of their clients. Without even showing hints of recognition, Madame had thrown the paper back into the hands of the aurors.

“I believe you must have a permit before we further your inquiries. If not, then leave.” Turning around, she waved a hand to open the large doors.

“We have it, signed and approved by your own Minister.” Stopping in her tracks, the auror walked up to the steps and held it right in front of the Madame’s face. Now a hint of annoyance was painted on her pointed brows.

“Come to my office, only I can accommodate two of you. Choose wisely.” Madame Blanche said in a cold tone, not even bothering to wait for aurors as she walked straight to the lift.

“Scamander! Come with me.” Travers could upon the young man, the older auror respected the young man’s abilities and thinking, after all, he was a respectable war hero.  

Stepping into the lift, the walls were decorated with moving painted white flowers, the madame touched the button to the highest floor, and the black lining of the lift showed its elegance. As the Aurors stood behind her, eyes darted across each other in nervousness. The Brits showed no sign of anxiety, even if that was far from the truth, the Madame held an air of regalness suffocating them with the scent of floral perfume. As soon as the doors of the lift parted for her, the room was quite the luxury and beauty with its eclectic interior, engulfed with knick-knacks from travels, moving statues, paintings from famous muggles, and the large glass pane showing the night sky. 

In the middle of the room was a velvet green chair, a large glass table, and a lone flower sitting in the golden vase.

“Sit.” She pointed toward the chair in front of her, while she remained standing encircling the room looking at the Englishman that disturbed her home. 

“Our clients value discreteness, we simply could not disclose it easily… yet since you presented me with a hand-written note by our minister I must oblige to your request. Then talk, what is it that you want?”

“We are looking for Charles Moore. He has been in charge of communications with the French Ministry as a part of assistant delegate for our Ministry, he asked to be assigned here after the Muggle World War. The day he was posted to return, he didn’t. And we believe that in his letters to his sister, he claimed to be…”

Madame Blanche raised her eyebrow at Torquil Travers waiting for him to spit it out.

“In love.” Theseus replied. “He claims that he has found the love of life here in Paris and was planning to buy off her indenture. Or so we believe.” 

Madame Blanche scoffed.

“There are many dames in Paris, and he chose to settle with a courtesan?” Madame Blanche laughed, making Travers find it humorous as well. In the keen eyes of Madame Blanche, he saw Theseus's brows turn into a frown before shifting back to biting his cheeks.

“Are you certain that it was in Amour Délicat?”

Theseus answered with a nod. 

There were three letters in total from Charles Moore to his sister. And for the past few days, Theseus had been assigned to look for the exact description of the building. He alone took the time of the day, looking at details of every establishment and brothel in Paris, from the world of the muggles to hidden alcoves of the French Wizarding World. After 2 days, he had seen the exact description of the magnificent-looking walls lined with silver and the sweet nauseating scent of flowers, that’s when he knew this was it.

First Letter:

Dearest Ange,

I believe I have found the love of my life! No one is ever as beautiful as her. No amount of theatrics on the show could ever take my eyes off of her. She sat there like a flower, waiting for me.

As soon as the play was over, I tried to approach her. Tell her to take my hand and run away with me. Oh, Ange! I never felt something like this. This must be what love is. Yet, my heart turned to pieces when I saw her taking the arm of another man, walking together side-by-side as they left the theater. I trailed behind them, and saw the most luxurious of buildings, sparkled with silver linings and flowers decorating its walls. Then I stopped and stared, and the man left her there. That’s when I realized what it was… I know this might sound ridiculous, but she is working in the red-light district and with that, no amount of apprehension could hinder me. I know you would flip the whole house upside down, but Ange this is love. I am certain of it. No amount of your denial could keep me away from this.

                                                                                                             From your darling brother, Charlie.

Second Letter: 

Dear Angelique, 

With the amount of your reply, I take that your silence was your approval. 

Today, I took liquid courage to go ahead and talk to her. But the only way was that I had to pay a fortune. I walked to the receptionist with high hopes, and with her assistance, she immediately gave me a room. With flowers in hand, I waited for her only to get my hopes up when another girl walked into the room. I was filled with disappointment. I asked the lady of the night for the description of my love, and she claimed that she was part of the ‘bouquet de blanc’. First-time patrons' pocket money is not enough to gain an audience. And me being an assistant could only lead me to certain places, yet I will persevere. 

 Give me a few more days and I’ll be able to, no matter the cost.

                                                                                                             From your brother, Charles.

Last Letter:

To my Darling Sister,

I hope this letter finds you well, I could not disclose to the ministry the cost of my expenses… but I found another way. Worry no more. Today, I will finally be able to talk to her.

The day that I return home is when she is with me.

                                                                                                             From your loving brother.

Placing the letters right in front of the Madame of the house, with a lifted finger her smile faded into a scowl. Someone from the inside was spreading information about her courtesans; Bouquet de Blanc was valued in secrecy. This was a catalog of their courtesans that had regular high-paying patrons, and this was not open for viewing so easily. Patrons that were deemed valuable to her and her Maison close were accommodated, the pure-blooded noble families, higher ranking officials, royalty even. And someone from the lower ranks of her courtesans had their tongue quite willingly.

Waving her wand, she summoned a large logbook. There inside was information such as names, professions, ages, nationalities, and ranks of their patrons, of course, the courtesan they were assigned to. Whispering the name Charles Moore, it skimmed through the pages with ease, and there in bold letters was the name of the auror the Brits were looking for. Travers tried to peer at the other listed names, his curiosity taking the best of him.

“Curiosity is the lust of the mind, Mr. Travers. Why don’t you sit still, and I’ll call upon her.”

Closing the book harshly, Madame called upon Bernadette. Apparating next to her mistress, Madame Blanche whispered to call the girl. Nodding the house elf disappeared within a blink of an eye. Behind them, the elevator dinged, while the Madame tapped on the book with carefully manicured nails. 

“It is New Year’s Eve; would you like to avail of our services? It can easily be arranged. I know it’s a long journey and your work for your ministry is greatly appreciated, it wouldn’t hurt to take the night off— to indulge yourself in your sensual desires.” 

The older man shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Suddenly they were interrupted when the elevator doors dinged, signaling the arrival of the courtesan. Turning around a slender figure stepped foot in the room, She wore a long flowing green nightgown.

“Come in here and greet the Brits, Maeve. They would like to talk to you about Charles Moore.” Madame Blanche pointed to the aurors in front of her, the back of the courtesan’s neck grew in a cold sweat.

“I–I do not understand Madame Blanche. I didn’t do anything wrong! The man asked– and I swore that was the last of it, I told him what he wanted to hear.” The girl's pleading cries fell on deaf ears as the aurors could not understand what she was crying about. Theseus' eyes darted between Madame Blanche and the girl’s tear-stricken face. While Torquil Travers stood to show his authority, ready to apprehend the girl.

Within just a few seconds, Madame Blanche had already seen the inner linings of the girl’s mind. The fear registered in her thoughts while she traversed doors upon doors to look for the memories of the missing delegate, and right there she found what she was seeking.

In just a few quick strides, Madame Blanche towered over the girl with a look of disdain painted on her red lips. The old mistress, jaw held tightly as she wiped the tears of the girl. Only to hold the young girl’s face tightly, her long nails pierced through the delicate skin while she stared straight down into the young woman’s eyes with an intense look, unblinking. 

“You may leave, pack your bags, and look for work elsewhere. I do not take it kindly to those willing to open their mouths willingly to my secrets. Bernadette, escort her out of here. I have found what I’m looking for.” 

The girl refused as the house elf dragged the wailing girl back to the elevator, screams of ‘no’ echoed through the walls. 

Travers, who was far too confused, shouted for the house elf to stop as the girl was a key witness. Even pointed his wand threateningly at the old mistress, ready to cast a stunning spell within the tips of his lips. The madame disarms him with a flick of her wand, his wand went flying right off his grasp and cluttered on the hardwood floor. Madame shook her head no when the auror Travers tried to pick it up. 

“You’re a legilimens.” Theseus muttered; Madame Blanche turned around to face the man giving them a tight-lipped smile and nodded. 

“Would you like to view the girl’s memory and be done with it? I need to run my business after all.” Offering to perform legilimency to project the memories to the aurors, they declined. They knew not to, after all, they too have secrets that protect their ministry. 

“We decline. We, Aurors value our minds and do not open them so willingly.” Travers stated, still apprehensive of Madame Blanche. “But the girl needs to be questioned, we have to have her testimonials as to Moore’s disappearance.”

“Then you must trust my word because I too have my secrets to keep. That girl didn’t kill or cause his disappearance. He came in here one night, to question about the catalog of my courtesans and that was it–”

Cutting off the handler of the brothel, Theseus insisted; “Charles Moore stated in his letters about a ‘bouquet de blanc’. I hope that might ring a bell, after browsing through your catalog in the lobby earlier. I couldn’t find traces of this list, is this a secret that you are hiding from the ministry?” 

Madame Blanche’s eyes narrowed at the young auror; her piercing ice-blue eyes almost looked like they could kill.

“No, of course not. My bouquet de blanc is the Amour Délicat trade secrets. I could not easily say it out loud for fear of our competitors copying what I built from the ground up. If you would like to browse that catalog, then let me— although I must say, we do not easily offer our services freely.” Walking towards a dark oak cabinet grabbing a large book with golden linings. Placing right back at the table, Madame Blanche flipped through the pages with images of different courtesans, and right on its last page was a picture of you. 

“I believe she is the one he is asking for.” She pointed with a manicured finger, right before your name was a title given to you. 

Queen of the Night; Night-blooming Cereus

You were smiling, looking right at the onlooker like it was destined. While others bashfully hid their eyes, sultry looking to get admirers, you didn’t need to do that. You had your charm, something that allures the onlookers to choose you. Madame Blanche tried to flip the page to show them another photograph of you leaving nothing to the imagination to the spectator, but Theseus stopped her.

“I think that is enough, could you summon her to talk to us.” Theseus declared with a cough, standing up to close the book and stepping right in front of Travers' line of sight. “Please.”

Madame Blanche smiled, this time it was far different. “I believe your permit only limited you to talk to one of the key witnesses… And since Mr. Moore was not a benefactor of bouquet de blanc, I know because I am the only bookkeeper of that catalog… you must pay a hefty price.”

Now, the Aurors were stuck in the beginning, only pieces of blocked paths. If Charles Moore was not on the list of high-ranking patrons, then they could only comply with the demands of the authority and right now it wasn’t them who was holding the winning cards. When Travers' authority gets threatened, he scoffs, ready to drag Theseus out of the old woman. Madame Blanche truly was a businesswoman, she played them a fool. Whether they get out of the establishment empty-handed, or with empty wallets was their choice. They could simply not arrest the old woman, this was out of their jurisdiction, they were out of their element and far from their own country, and they simply couldn’t do whatever they wanted. 

“Either you pay full price, or you will tell me why such a simple assistant is being hunted down by the best Aurors of the British Ministry. Pick your price.” She sat arms folded right in front of her face, holding her chin while she grinned at the standing men.

Within a minute of no one budging, Travers' patience wavered. With a deep sigh, he faltered. With one last glance at Theseus, he held his head low. 

“Charles Moore stole 4,000 galleons. We believe that he tried to buy her indenture and convince her to come to London with him.” Travers confessed. That was the half-truth, Theseus’ senior took out the part that it was from the subsidy for international affairs. And the way he stole it was undetected like he had some insiders to help him, they were now battling an unseen threat. They only noticed it was missing after 3 months, when Theseus looked at the accounts and noticed that something was awry.

Madame Blanche started laughing, “He believes he can buy off her indenture for 4,000 galleons. Oh, what a joke! That’ll only cost him half an hour at most”

When Madame Blanche stopped laughing, she pointed back to the lift doors. “Head to the floor below. I’ll tell her I sent you.” The aurors nodded and headed to leave only to be held when the Madame halted them to stop.

“You endanger my investment; I’d rather you stay here than be near one of my priceless courtesans.” She stated, pointing at the older auror. Theseus can see his senior jaw tightened, and the veins on his neck grew red in anger. Not only was the older auror disarmed, but he was also being held under surveillance in fear that he might endanger you, now his patience and authority wavered on thin ice, and his eyes clouded with anger.

“I’ll talk to her and I’ll find what we need.” Theseus whispered as soon as he stepped foot in the lift. The doors closed slowly; he saw Madame Blanche’s eyes watching the other auror like a hawk. 

When the doors for the lift opened, what greeted him was a vast hall painted like the night sky. With a slight shift of his eyes, he can see the tiny freckles of stars that decorated a lone white door. Unlike the outside of the establishment, this seemed out of place with the flower motifs of Amour Délicat. Here he can feel the cold breeze of the winter night. Knocking on the white door, he called out to the name he had seen written on the catalog. 

You who had been preoccupied with your thoughts; wishing to know the feeling of stepping out of your body, floating, freely, like the ghosts that linger down the dark alleys. Right outside the window, the streets erupted in cheers as they all greeted each other another happy new year. Drinking down the champagne that was given to you by a patron, noting a taste of toast and coffee and a subtle spice drowning out all your other senses. When the fireworks ended, you lay there looking at the skylight as the only glow of the light left was the moonlight.

A subtle knock started you as you let Bernadette waltz her way in. Her company and the cup of tea are greatly appreciated when your water has now gone cold. But instead of the house elf, what replaced her was someone far taller than her; there he stood only the silhouette of his slender frame seen. 

Theseus didn’t expect what he saw, a lone woman basking in the golden tub, a melancholy look written in her eyes.

Sad. You looked sad. 

The only sound that could be heard was the faint hum of the gramophone across the room and the muffled cheers that erupted right behind the glass windows. With the faint sparkle of light, you saw a slight frown on his face. Realizing your predicament, you went back to wearing the mask when you were at work.

“Would you like me to keep you company?” You asked, turning around delicately, careful not to show another ounce of skin. Tilting your head to one side and smiling at him, the same one he has seen in the photograph earlier.

When Theseus realized what you were implying, he held his hand and shook his head, showing you a metal badge indicating the words ‘auror’. You had a fair share of French aurors that came to you for a night, often playing the role of the captive and captor. What a lack of imagination, if this is the role he wants to play then so be it.

“You would like to play that role? I, the convict, and you the detainer. Would you like that darling?” You asked, ready to approach him when he realized what was happening, he turned around not to face your naked form. The tips of his ears went red in embarrassment. 

“I didn’t come here for your service; I was sent here by Madame Blanche to question you. My name is Theseus Scamander, I was sent by the British Ministry of Magic.” He announced. 

Ahh… A British Auror. You hummed and stood to grab the white robe and placed it on your body. Hearing the sound of faint footsteps, Theseus waited until you gave him a signal. 

“I see… talk I don’t have all night to entertain you.” This time you put your weight and one foot, crossing your arms across your chest. Your hand laid steady on your wand.

Turning around, you pointed toward the chair that sat across from you, and he agreed to your request. As soon as he did, you went and grabbed the champagne you had been drinking earlier and procured another glass to pour him one. Placing it next to him, you stood in front of him and drank yours, waiting as he did too. Theseus eyed it suspiciously, but you continued to drink it on your own accord.

“A gift… something lighter than the fire whiskey.” You replied as you down the glass in one gulp. He nodded and carefully took a sip of his. You sat in front of him and grabbed the bottle to pour more down into your glass.

When he exhaled in satisfaction, you knew it tasted amazing. Theseus knew what you were doing, trying to lower his guard, not sitting to show you were in control, and intoxicating him to vulnerability. Yet, he remained calm, showing no signs of threat to you. If Madame Blanche was a legilimens, there was a high chance you were too, all he needed to do was throw you off his scent.

And just like he had predicted, right at the moment you tried to pry his mind. A knot on your brow formed when you stared intently at him.

‘You looked sad.’ Those were the thoughts that circled his mind, like a mantra. You can feel it. Feel him. It made you nauseous, the bile in your throat rose as his thoughts engraved into yours. No one had looked at you and thought you were sad; it was always beautiful. Sadness and you were never to be put in a sentence, and when his thoughts did it terrified you. 

To be seen broken makes you fear. To be seen feeling sadness made the feeling of being stripped naked for the whole world to see. All your life, you had built these walls that made you stand on your own two feet. The ache in your mind becomes unbearable, you weren’t beautiful… underneath all the expensive clothes, and pearls that glittered your skin— you are crooked, battered with bruises, wrecked by time, your skin filthy with sin, you were a tragedy… a rotten work.

“Stop.” With gritted teeth, you fail to look at his eyes and his mind. A slip of the tongue made you realize what you had said out loud, that was all Theseus needed to know that you too are a legilimens. “State your purposes.”

Right in the pockets of his coat was the photograph of Charles Moore, he carefully placed it on the table in front of him waiting for you to pick it up.

“Do you recognize him?” He placed the picture within your line of sight. Pausing he tried to scope for your reaction. “It’s Charles Moore, an assistant delegate of the British Department of the International Confederation of Wizards.”

“He has been missing for months and the last contact we had from him was a letter to his sister, trying to have an audience with you.” 

Your eyes examined Moore’s photograph. And minutes passed your silence almost became too heavy to Theseus's dislike, but he needed to thread your waters carefully, you were already agitated for unknown reasons.

“I believe I do not know who this person is.” You smiled and stared at Theseus, the first time you met his eyes after your outburst earlier.

He pointed out another slip of your strong facade right at its mark. “Yet you do not deny that you do recognize him.” 

“Maybe I do… Maybe I don’t. It is possible he is one of my long lists of admirers, doesn’t erase the fact that I do not know him at all.” 

“I highly doubt that. You’re a legilimens, and I am not; that is true. I need to know if you have met with him once, and if you are proven to be telling the truth then I would leave this room. But I can tell you’re lying. Skilled legilimens can procure memories into another person, and all I needed was the time and date, any people that were trailing him. Your truth is all I need.” He proposes.

“Or would you rather we do this the hard way? The choice is yours.” He leaned forward as his head rested on his knuckles.

“You give me the illusion of free choice when all you want is to pry my mind. Is there something you are not saying, Mister Scamander? Tell me the truth, what is in it for you? What would you get to look into the inner workings of my mind? You expect me to believe that you honestly want nothing else? Just my memory? I hardly doubt that.” Challenging his proposition, you leaned forward as your palms hit the glass table harshly with a loud slap, not before rebutting his claims. “Surely it could not be just you are looking for a testament, you wouldn’t work hard on that, all you needed is a vial of the strongest veritaserum and it would be done. Then why are you pushing hard to look into my mind?”

“You play a cruel game of trust.” He sighed, making you scoff. “Mr. Moore had said in his letters about how he will get the currency to meet you, his means to getting it is unsaid. And that was a clear sign that he needed someone to work with him to get that from a subsidiary of international affairs, you are simply a madman to be able to work alone. And all I need is— you. All I need is you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I need you to work with me. You knew better than just mere rumors, you knew everyone and could see their thoughts.”

Working with the British Ministry, consider it treason. Yet, you never were loyal to this land. Your loyalty lies elsewhere, it stays to those who have given you a sense of protection. Your loyalty is within Madame Blanche’s hands. Hands that remained choking you to stay. 

Still, you let Mr. Scamander entertain you with his words.

“It would have to take you a valuable price, Mr. Scamander. I am an expensive woman, yet, I am considerate. Give me leverage and I will give you what you want.” That’s when he stopped and stared at the photo, avoiding any eye contact. “What could you possibly offer Mr. Scamander, tell me.”

You grinned as you took a sip at the champagne, just like a war, both of you had been disarming and hurting each other for the kill. Breaking down every barrier with a small slip-up of each other, both of you were professionals at your trades. He is an Auror, he knows how to spot lies and negotiate, give you the feeling of support to make you break down your armor. Meanwhile, you pride yourself on being a great liar, you know what to say to appear compliant, and you know how to adapt and play the games to your tide. Every word and sentence uttered until one of you would lose the battle of wits, one slip and the fallen would crash and burn.

Leaning back you gave him a smile, your wand procuring a cigarette that lay on the table. Placing it gently on your lips, the tip of your wand lit up a flame. With a deep inhale, you knew you were already winning the battle. You didn’t need to look into his mind, to know that he was fighting a losing war. His occlumency was far useless when the knot on his forehead and the jaunt of his chin told you he was conflicted.

“I have been offered riches that could fill De Nile, clothes that were woven from the rarest of silks, jewels that shone brighter than the sun, houses that housed thousands of rooms, paintings of the most beautiful landscapes, songs and sonnets about my beauty, the most exotics of creatures that lay hidden within the government’s grasp… Pray tell, what could a simple auror like you have that can overthrow all those proposals?”

He was silent, expression never changing. And no matter how hard you try to pry to look into his mind, it remains still like he is right in front of you. 

“Safety.” Your smile faltered. “I offer you safety.” 

You blinked and blinked. Trying hard not to show that your jaw was slack in silence; the timeliness of the gramophone hitting its ending notes was fitting. His words lay heavy on your mind.

Amour Délicat had always offered you protection, but never safety. Safety was a word often associated with emotional aspects that were never visible in your job, safety offered you the sense of never needing to keep your secrets in this line of work or needing not to utter a word that would be your downfall in these walls. Protection kept you free and sheltered from physical aspects and threats, like the two guards that trailed you whenever you needed to do outside work, or the walls that shielded you from the rain. Safety is a foreign word, way too foreign that it burns you with curiosity. A thrill you never experience on a silver platter. It gives you hope— and hope gives you greed. A greet that surpasses all material things known to man. You want to take it all, consume your being until all is left is the safety that you wanted, the safety of being able to walk free, to run away, the security of not needing to know that this is the place where you would meet your demise. 

You knew how Madame Blanche worked, she took pride in knowing secrets and that is her leverage. And right now Madama Blanche would be none the wiser when you will take his deal. And there is one thing in the world that the Madame hated, and it is to not know anything at all. 

“Give me your hand.”

“What?” 

You held your hand to him and stood up, apprehensive he stood up as well taking your hand in his. Looking up into his eyes, you called upon the house elf. Bernadette immediately appeared right beside you.

“Don’t promise me empty words.”

“I won’t.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if we made an unbreakable vow.”

Your hold on his palm tightens, only to travel into his wrist. Without breaking eye contact you give him a minute to decide what his choice would be. Does he trust you enough to do it at the expense of his life, or would he rather fear being the one to dictate his actions?

His palm pressed tightly into your wrists, not like the rough hands that occupied your wrists hours ago, his hold was gentle, not imposing. Nodding at Bernadette, a thin tongue of flame issued at the tips of the house elf's fingertips and wound its way around both your and Theseus’ hands. It felt like a burning wire, keeping your skin aflame.

“Will you, Theseus Scamander, promise to provide my safety, as he and I work together?”

“I will.”

“Will you, abide by our oath, to only tell the truth to me?”

“I will.”

a/n: dialogue that is formatted like this “dialogue” is in French. i tried hard to make it one-shot i really did, buT I SIMPLY CANT SO HERE I GIVE YOU WORLD BUILDING AND MORE LORE UPON LORE ON THIS FIC.

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 2: New world same problems /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N meets their leader and get some answers.

Word Count: 3,2K

Warnings: Just some angst and swearing.

Notes: I hate how tumblr posts drafts when you edit them, so we had another leak with this one. Great just great. Also, if you're not getting notified even if you're in the taglist, please let me know!!

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

Green liquid dripped from the beast's exposed teeth, as well as the thorns adorned the tail he had placed in front of her as a barrier. They had no way of getting closer to her, the option was either get eaten or get poisoned, if the flowers dying where the liquid touched was any indication of it. 

Cassian knew that too, and he motioned for Azriel to leave his shadows by his side so he wouldn’t scare the female. If he dared turn away from her, he would see that his shadows were already pooled by his feet, calmly resting like they did when no threat lingered around. 

“You’re in Prythian.” Cassian started, hands projecting away from his body in an attempt to appear friendly, voice loud and calm, she had to trust them. His eyes were slightly wide with panic, the monster she called a pet making his bone chill.

“We’re not in Erilea?” The female spoke in clear shock, her eyes squinted as she analysed her surroundings. The city in the back, a bit far away from where she stood now. They wouldn’t be able to call for help quick enough if she and Meraxes decided to attack. The wyvern’s head went forward in motion with her clutching her sword harder and sliding a foot forward, to give her stability to jump on them.

Azriel could almost hear the engines turning around in her head. She had maybe thought this was Wendlyn or some of the other fae territories she hadn't visited yet. And then his ears caught the lack of whispers, not a single word left his shadows, and he dared looking down. They rested peacefully, some strands looking like they were running after others, in a playful game of hide and seek. 

He didn’t know what this could possibly mean. He tried to command them to go after her, some of them darted towards the female, spinning around her calves. She looked down, confusing lacing both of their features. She bared her teeth, sword going down with a low whistle, cutting the shadows connecting them both.

“Keep them away from me.” She barked, and the dragon growled in unison. Now Cassian was 100 percent sure that the monster would do anything to protect its rider, which really complicated things a bit more. 

“We don’t know what this place is, but you’re in the Night Court, in Prythian.” Cassian elaborated, bringing back the attention to him, her eyes scanned his face for any signs that could indicate that he was lying but found none. Rhysand scrapped their mental shields, telling them that Morrigan was going there. 

Y/N watched as a female appeared from the shadows, right in between the two males, eyes of a dark brown and a long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. Mor watched the scene, looking at the female and her companion, eyes sparkling with admiration at the huge thing. 

“Who are you?” She inquired, blue eyes glued to Morrigan’s. Her body was so tense, feeling so rigid, like a band ready to snap. Her eyes glued to the trio in front of her, she wanted to look up, to where that gap had been, spitting her into this unknown land. She clutched her free hand in a fist as a thought took over her head. 

How the hell would she go back home? 

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, forcing the wild waves of emotions that threatened to flood her chest and drown her to calm the fuck down. Never show others that you’re weak, never let them see your emotions, you were born for war, born to be a weapon, act like one. That disgusting voice of the Martron filled her mind and she took a deep breath.

“I’m Morrigan, and I'm here to help.” The two flanked the female and she thought that maybe she was their queen. Steadying her breath, focusing on keeping her wobbly knees from giving out, she spoke. 

“Finally.” She groaned, hand still gripping the sword, but she clicked her jaw, her iron teeth going back inside her gum. “I’m assuming you’re their queen, exactly who I would like to speak to.” She started, but the male covered in red stones laughed, his laughter sounding like thunder. She looked at him with her eyebrows rising to her hairline. 

“Please, never say something like that again or else she will become an even bigger asshole.” Even the quiet male with the shadows smiled at that, a beautiful smile, that once again felt so familiar that her heart ached. Morrigan rolled her eyes.

“They wish I was their queen, but do you wish to speak with our leader?” Y/N nodded. “We can take you to him.” She offered. 

“How do i know that the second i let my guard down your two bats won’t kill me and my wyvern?” Azriel watched the beast, finally putting a name to it. His gaze turned back to her, she had a very fair point.

“Because my power is the truth.” The female replied and before she could ask what the fuck that even meant, she continued. “I cannot lie, if I tried I would be in immense pain right now, and I know when others are lying.” She concluded. 

Just like a human King once could, she had heard about the power of the truth, Dorian possessed it even if he thought it was related to his sword. Asterin told her about it, she could almost hear her voice as they reunited around a fire, when she deserted from the Ferian Gap and ran away with the Thirteen to find the Crochans. 

And if she closed her eyes, she could see Asterin smiling at her, telling her to open her heart more, and that she should follow the female. She took another deep breath to steady her heart, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, with a shuddering voice, she spoke.

“Lead the way.”

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆ 

Meraxes’ wings carried her over the city, towards a mountain. She looked down, buildings adorned the streets, people stopped in their tracks, watching with curiosity the winged shadow that crossed just above their heads. A river glistened in the sun, following in the middle of the city until it disappeared between the mountains. Shops everywhere, people buying things, kids laughing and running. She thought of her home, and how hard they were working so they could have something like this to call their own. 

She dreamed of leaving the palace, having a small cabin for her, a garden with a large tree so she could rest by the end of the day, sitting in its shadows and reading her books. A tiny library to store them and a kitchen to perfect her baking skills, she wanted to learn about so much, and have a place to belong. 

She also wanted to learn about gardening, harvesting her own vegetables and fruits to bake fresh goodies, but mostly because she wanted a big flower field, with so many flowers that Meraxes would never get tired of getting to know every single one.

She shook her head, letting those thoughts be carried away with the winds that whipped her hair against her cold face. And as she looked forward again she spotted a residence carved into the mountain, the two winged males flew in front of her, guiding the way. She knew this was probably not the smartest idea, but if she wanted answers, who’s better than the owner of the place?

The males landed on a balcony, and Meraxes did the same, its claws digging into the stone of the mountain, waiting for her to get off the saddle and slide down his leg. Its huge head turned towards something in the distance and she groaned in annoyance.

The males watched her, and they had to hold back a smile as she adjusted her clothes, getting ready to walk forward, just to be brutally shoved by the wyvern’s nose, she almost fell. She turned to him with a death glare, in a staring match like they were having a conversation. 

“Fine!” She gave in. “If they kill me, at least have the decency to take some of your precious flowers to my fucking grave.” The wyvern roared and the whole mountain shook when it flew away. 

“Where is he going?” Azriel asked, eyeing the beautiful creature, its powerful muscles contracting as the wings moved in the sky. Cassian on the other hand was looking at it with worry. Would they really let that dangerous animal fly around as it pleased? 

“There’s no need to worry.” She stopped in front of him. “Meraxes is rather fond of flowers, the only thing he’ll destroy are the poor fields.” She pointed to where he flew in the distance, completely ignoring the city and aiming for the open fields away from the houses. The male with the red stones seemed to relax a bit hearing it. 

“Welcome to the House of Wind then.” Cassian gestured to the open door and she entered, the two following her close. She looked around, dark stone walls, fancy furniture adorning the space that looked like a living room. Hallways leading to hidden rooms and a big fireplace was lit. She noticed that in that room the only door was blocked by the two males, but there were plenty of windows she could jump out if things went south. 

Power lingered around the room, darkness sweeping in the corners of her mind. From the corner of a room a male appeared, he had violet eyes and dark hair, pointy ears peeking from his hair and a very tired expression. He looked just like her. 

Y/N hissed, her claws and teeth ready to attack, she backed away, her back hitting the hard chest of the Shadowsinger. The feeling of her tensed back pressed against his front, and the fact that she didn’t even realise what she had bumped into sent a wave of electricity zipping through his body. Her smell hit his nose, he had never smelled something like her before, but it somehow felt so familiar that he almost lost himself in it. She smelled like a rainy day with a tint of red wine, completely addicting. 

She felt the wall behind her back, not daring to take her eyes away from him, feeling her chest move with rapid breaths, she was trapped there with that demon. By the amount of power she could feel, and the slight scrape in her mental shields, she knew what he was before he even opened his mouth.

“Let me out, Valg scum.” She spat, anger lacing her tone. She didn’t have fire magic, but removing his head would be efficient too, even if she had to use her teeth to rip through the skin. The male looked at her confused. 

“This is our High Lord, Rhysand.” Azriel spoke from behind her, she turned her head to see him standing there, golden eyes fixed on hers, his figure towering hers, and as much as the idea of killing him made her feel weird and made her chest heavy, she would have to start with him if she wanted to kill the valg standing in front of her. 

“I don’t care about his name, I know what you are.” Not again, the horrors the Valg had done to her people, she had seen the witches being used to breed their babies. She stepped forward, to create some room between her and the male behind her. But now she was trapped with the three circling her, she cursed under her breath. 

“I won’t harm you.” Rhysand approached, she was clearly distressed, he could smell her nervousness, the anger boiling in her veins. Her eyebrows were furrowed, a defensive stance. She reached for her sword, prompting Azriel to reach for his dagger and Cassian for his sword too. “I don’t know what a Valg is, but I can assure you, I'm half fae and half illyrian.”

“Funny, Maeve also claimed she was a fae, but she was a fucking Valg Queen. Do not get closer to me if you don’t want to get impaled by my sword.” Nothing she said made sense.

“I’m not Valg or anything.” He started, hands lowering in the air to tell the illyrians to lower their weapons, this would only make her more nervous. 

“Prove it.” She challenged him.

“How?” He inquired, rubbing his temple in a tired motion, he had dealt with so much today, all he wanted to do was to be by his mate and son’s side. 

“Just a small cut, Valgs bleed black, like the putrid beings they are.” The two males behind her shared a look, he wouldn’t do it, would him? 

“Then do it, to prove that I'm speaking the truth.” He extended his arm to her, Y/N grabbed his wrist harshly with one hand, with the other, she dragged her iron claws along his skin, he winced, but red blood started to leak from the cut. “See? Not black.”

She immediately relaxed, letting him go. It didn’t make any sense, he looked so much like her, their powers almost the same. Her shoulders slumped and she let out a shaken breath, those emotions threatening to spill once more. She sheathed her sword back into place and closed her hands in fists to ground her, iron claws digging through the flesh, the pain helped her to stay in reality and keep her emotions controlled. 

Azriel smelled the faint metallic scent of blood, his eyes immediately drawn to her clenched fists, a tiny trail of blue blood slided down her hands and he had to hold himself from grabbing her hands and make her stop, the feeling in his chest of seeing her in such distressed state was strange, he couldn’t tell what he was feeling and this made him confused, he hated not knowing what to feel or say. 

“Please, have a seat, we have a lot to talk about.” Rhys gestured towards the comfortable couch in front of her and she sat, before her knees failed and she fell to the ground.

“I suppose we do.” It was only then that he noticed that despite speaking their language, she had a thick accent to it, one he had never heard before but  he liked it very much, and the Shadowsinger found himself wanting to hear more of it. 

“Let’s begin with simple questions. I’m Rhysand, these are Cassian..” He gestured to the male with red stones and longer hair, he nodded his head towards her. “And this is Azriel.” Azriel, she repeated inaudibly, wanting to test the words in her mouth, the name lighting something within her. 

“I’m Y/N. Y/N Blackbeak.” She introduced herself. “And that was Meraxes, my wyvern.” If she wanted them to help her, she would have to give them information, those kinds of things only worked with trust as Sorrel once told her. The male nodded.

“Where are you from?” She clearly wasn’t from Prythian or any land they knew, and Rhysand had a vague memory crossing his mind, the shooting star, the different smell and his power hitting it, slowing it down. 

“The Witch Kingdom in Erilea. I’m an Ironteeth witch.” It all made sense then, the claws and the teeth she had. Interesting. 

“We have never heard of such a place, how did you get here?” Rhysand asked, saying he was confused was a nice way to put it, he was completely lost. 

“I was having a beer with Fenrys..” She stopped, in a swift motion she was standing, like she could go back to him, she knew he would be looking for her soon, he had lost so much, she didn’t want to add more to his suffering. “Oh Mother, poor Fenrys.” She spoke to herself, slumping back in her seat.

 Azriel watched the scene, the male’s name making him puff his chest and take a deep breath. Cassian looked over at his brother and if he didn’t know any better, he could swear that Azriel was jealous. 

“They said I was being called to deal with the gap, so I flew there with my alliance. I got there and this slit was there, it felt like it was calling me, sunlight peeked through it. I got too close and when I opened my eyes again I was in that field and the gap was gone.” Rhysand didn’t know what this meant, a gap that made you travel to another world?

“So you didn’t come here because you wanted to?” She scoffed.

“Well, i was dealing with a lot of shit, but i don’t think  jumping to another fucking world would solve any of them, so no, i didn’t came here because i wanted.” Sarcasm laced her tone and she crossed her arms over her full chest. “I just want to go home, they need me there.” She said, and she wasn’t sure if it was to convince them or herself, she shoved the thought in the darkest corner of her mind, not wanting to think about it right now. 

“I’m sorry this happened to you, we have no idea how to send you back, but you can stay here while we figure it out.” Rhys offered and she nodded, she didn’t have anywhere else to go anyway. 

“Thank you for your kindness.” She felt her head throb and the scar itchy, she looked around and caught Azriel staring at her, his eyes glued to the scar on her face, she cringed in her seat, trying to resist the urge to hide whenever someone stared for too long. 

“You’re welcome.” He turned to the males. “Az, can you show her a room?” His tired eyes made Azriel accept. He started to walk and he heard her getting up to follow him when Cassian cleared his throat.

“HEY.” They all turned back to him. “Aren’t we discussing the most important matter?” Azriel watched as she tilted her head to the side, in a really cute way.

“What matters, Cassian?” Rhys sounded tired, he just wanted to go home.

“What does that thing eat?” Y/N looked at him, what if they didn’t have sheep for him? His favourite food. 

“Firstly, he’s not a thing, do not talk about Meraxes that way.” She warned, those strangers wouldn’t treat her baby that way. “Secondly, he loves sheep, as long as you guys have it, he will be fine.” Cassian cracked a smile.

“I wasn’t expecting sheep to be his favourite meal, I was guessing on innocent screaming people.” She rolled her eyes trying hard not to smile. 

“Nah, they make him throw up.” And with that, leaving an astonished Cassian behind, she followed the Shadowsinger. 

They walked in silence, she felt her chest heavy and all the events of the day weighing on her, she had her control slipping through her fingers, and when Azriel opened a door to a bedroom, she ran inside, knuckles turning white as she held the wooden door.

“If you need anything, my room is on the other side of the hallway, " he pointed to the door in front of her.

“Thank you, Azriel.” His name on her tongue sounded divine. She closed the door with a loud thud, leaving him standing on the other side, his shadows wanting to reach out for her from under the door, but he held them close to him.

She felt the room spinning, her breath getting stuck in her dry throat, and when everything finally sunk in, the dam broke.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

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@willowpains

[varpusvaras]

Fox and the Guard first learn about sugar once they start to do rounds in the Senate. They have these nifty little caf machines in the halls there, with these little cubes you're supposed to mix in to your liking. Thorn steals few of them once and puts one in Fox's morning caf. Sugar becomes the most trafficked substance in the Guard.

Some time later, after one really, really long day, that had included dredging in the lower levels, running up and down more stairs that was humanely possible, and being hosed down in cold water multiple times (why was all the water always cold on Coruscant?), Commander Fox goes to report to Senator Organa. He's one of the nice Senators (the nice Senator, if you ask Fox), and the man gives him one look and makes Fox sit down, and hands him a cup of something warm.

"I'm not really a chef", Senator Organa says, "and my office doesn't really have cooking equipment, so this is all I have at hand, but you really look like you need some warm food inside you, Commander."

It's against at least seven different protocols and regulations to accept anything from the Senators, let alone food, but Fox is tired and cold and the last time he has had something warm to eat that wasn't caf was...honestly he's not sure anymore.

The liquid in the cup looks to be some sort of soup, and Fox takes a sip from it. He stops and stares at it.

Senator Organa tilts his head.

"Is everything alright, Commander?" He asks.

"Yes, Sir", Fox answers quickly. "I just wasn't expecting the taste."

Senator Organa looks a bit puzzled, even if he is doing his best to to hide it.

"Well, it is rather easy to make, if you like it", he says then. "The ingredients are really basic, so I could bring some down to the Guard. It's just some roots and salt-"

"Salt?" Fox interrupts before his own thoughts have even finished. "Like, from the ocean?"

Senator Organa looks both really puzzled, and kind of like he wants to laugh. What Fox wants to do, is to die immediately.

"Well, some places do get their salt from the ocean", Senator Organa says, and then pauses. "...am I correct in my assumption that salt isn't widely in use on Kamino? Senator Burtoni complains every time her food has even touched it."

"It appears so", Fox says, trying not to sound like his next step is jumping out from the office's window.

"I see", Senator Organa nods. He then looks at the cup in Fox's hands and smiles. "Do you want some more, Commander?"

Fox also looks at the cup in his hands. It's empty. Fox doesn't remember finishing it.

Senator Organa already has more soup out, and Fox feels like it would be more impolite to say no.

"Yes, Sir", he says.

He finishes three more cups before he has to go, and Senator Organa looks vaguely like he has been robbed of a great joy in life as he cannot continue feeding Fox more soup. Fox also vaguely feels like he's been robbed.

(The rest of the Guard also seems to feel like that, judging from the looks on their faces when salt appears in their base's mess one morning, and their food starts to...have a taste.)

("Do you think it's too soon, if I introduce spices to them?" Bail asks the hologram of his wife on his desk.

"Start slow", Breha answers. "And no chilis without warnings.")

[sleepingelvhen]

The Bat Boys 🦇

A Court of Thorns and Roses NSFW Headcanons [Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian] Minors DO NOT Interact Masterlist

RHYSAND

As the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand has been feared as long as he can remember. Lord of nightmares, Amarantha’s whore, Death Incarnate…he’s heard it all and he’s learned just as well to ignore the daggers the words stabbed into him. His inner circle are the only people he trusts, finding it easier to mask himself with the cold cruelty the world expects. But what if someone sees through that mask? When you look into his hardened gaze and see the kindness beneath – it’s enough to break even him.

SFW

His lips will press into your neck, arms wrapped around your body to keep you held against his chest. It’s impossible to step away, not when he desperately needs to touch you in some way, to keep reminding you that he loves you because he will not dare risk you forgetting. Try to pull away and you’ll find him giggling into your neck, leaving trails upon trails of soft kisses along your neck, your cheek, and into your hair until he tells you no and holds you tighter.

When I tell you this man loves physical affection, I mean you're being cuddled tightly in his sleep, your arm is always hooked into his own, you’re sitting on his lap when he has business to attend to, and every time he sees you, he leaves you with many kisses.

You’re always lavish with gifts. Jewelry placed upon your bed in the morning, chocolates and other snacks always appearing in the kitchen wrapped with ribbons for you. He likes to feed you these snacks, hold you on his lap and press one of the little chocolate truffles into your mouth. He looks so innocent, smiling as he does so. He just wants you to like his gifts, that’s all.

It’s scary to see his face turn cold when the two of you are in public, far away from Velaris. Rhys will keep his arm around your shoulder, body radiating danger to any who approach. One would see a possessive and violent male, keeping his mate so close they could never get away if they tried. But you know it's all an act. Indeed, he’d rather die than let you feel trapped or hurt. It was simply something he had to pull off, keep those within his court afraid and obedient. They respected his strength and coldness, and as such they respected you.

Sometimes it gets a bit too scary. Even you can get caught off guard at the command in his voice, especially when it turns on you. Your playfulness is not fully tolerated, especially when it pushes his cold mask. And with a stern voice telling you to stop, you can’t help but feel a little hurt. He will make it up to you as soon as he can, flying as fast as possible to Velaris, whispering so many apologies and kissing every part of your face so you can forgive him. He promises he’ll make it up to you. He promises.

NSFW

Rhysand loves seeing your face as he rolls his hips, rutting himself inside of you. You can see his face wrought in pleasure, as he stares into your eyes, moving slowly at first, letting you get used to his size. He wanted so much more but he was far from cruel. He coos softly, murmuring gentle praises about how gorgeous you look beneath him, how good you’re doing, taking him so well. But he wants to hear your voice, he wants you to moan and whimper, the sweet honey of your voice would hypnotize him.

He is the dominant one here, loving to be on top, loving to take control. He adores seeing you mewl beneath him, loves how he can grab you and move you around to his heart’s content. He will tease you through the whole way, touching you without reaching the parts you need to be pressed into, licking and kissing you but never letting you have what you want. It brings a cruel smile to his face, as you become putty in his hand.

Make him go completely weak and feral by wearing clothes that barely cover you. Teasing him with how he can nearly see everything, but not enough, the one spot he wants to see is covered with cloth, so tight against your skin. He’s drooling at the sight, and desperate to get you in bed as soon as possible.

Be careful when turning him on. He is unafraid to take you whenever and wherever. In fact, he gets off when people are watching as he’s stroking and rubbing and licking you. Your embarrassment would fuel him even more, loving the pink fluster upon your face, the way your lips tremble as you try not to let your body twitch and shake as he works you into the next orgasm.

And, of course, he will take you in the sky. Focused on flying but seeing you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist. You're irresistible, so much so that he can’t help but lose control and take you right there. Who cares who sees? Who cares who hears how loud he’s going to make you? All that matters is getting his cock sheathed in you and allowing the canted movement of his wings to carry the two of you through the air as he desperately breeds you.

He’s unafraid to please you, he wants to please you. It doesn’t matter if he gets off or not, he wants his face between your legs, sucking at every sensitive bit, his tongue reaching places that make you scream. Fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, keeping you spread as he slurps up everything he can get. It’s like a fine wine to him, and he can’t get enough.

AZRIEL

Decorated in blue siphon and cloaked in shadow; Azriel is one of the most feared Illyrians in the land. Hidden and quiet within the dark, all the information his to know and no one’s to discover. It’s an understatement to say he’s intimidating, brooding in the corner of almost any room, listening to any gossip he can hear, and gaining even more information from the whispering shadows that coil around his feet, licking at his calves. And yet, as intimidating as he is, you can see the kindness behind his eyes. The desperation for someone to understand who he really was.

SFW

His eyes are always on you, watching over you as often as possible. Protective is an understatement, but he wouldn’t provoke…no, a cold gaze was often enough to ward away anyone who approached you with ill intent. But having him brooding in the corner wouldn’t do. You’d bring out the playfulness in him, grabbing his hands and dragging him into the party. People were uncomfortable but you…he could focus on you. A shadow of a smile was all you needed to know he was okay.

Azriel would be nervous of physical affection at first, worried he’d make you feel uncomfortable, afraid to push you away by moving too fast or coming off as too needy. Even after you’ve shown you’re okay with it, the most you get in public is him standing close in your space, his hand on your shoulder when guiding you or talking to you, or his hand planted on the small of your back, thumb rubbing circles in comfort.

He likes giving you little gifts as well. Almost like a crow, he’ll come up to you with a pretty little gem or stone he found or bought, looking to the side as you accept it. Maybe he’d buy some jewelry for you but he enjoys making you things, little crafting projects that make him think of you. It would be adorable if you taught him how to make cheesy friendship bracelets, the colorful cheap braided creations something he would find joy in making for you.

Do you have a lot to do today? He will offer his help immediately. If he’s not busy, he’s helping you with chores, or even silently doing something he knew you were gonna ‘get to later’. How did he know? Well…he’s a spymaster for a reason and the shadows aren’t just for show.

He loves just spending time with you. You don’t have to do anything together, but being in the same room as you, reading or cuddling, he doesn’t mind. As long as you’re there and you’re together, he’s happy.

Speaking of his little shadows – they adore you. They don’t just act as his little spies, they also show a bit of his own emotions and where he is a little on the edge about showing affection, they are swirling around your ankles, poking your face or curling around your wrist. Like little animals, swaying side to side once they see you, singing a melody only the two of you can hear.

NSFW

When I say this man is the kinkiest fucker. He’s needy and desperate and can’t keep his hands off of you. Squeezing your sides, pulling you roughly beneath him as he straddles you. Breathing in your scent and moaning into your ear, hands groping and stroking any part of you he can find. The way he will lick your inner thigh before searching for more with his mouth, ready to make you moan and writhe beneath him, desiring more than anything to hear your sweet sounds. He’s going in with one goal: to make you forget how to think.

Here’s hoping you are into the same things he’s into. He wants to tie you up, gag you, choke you, pull your hair, leave bite marks all over you, and spank you. And that’s not even all of it. Azriel is taking you in multiple positions, moaning obscenities into your ear, praising you for being such a ‘good slut’, because you take him so fucking well. One large hand wrapped around your throat while the other digs into your hips, crescent shaped marks left in your skin.

Lingerie really fucks with his man. Wearing any lacey, silky, article of clothing makes his mind instantly fog up and there will be no escaping him as he grabs your hand and pulls you towards the bed. He’ll make you keep it on while he pulls it to the side to slot himself in, growling as he fits so perfectly into you, his wings shuddering in pleasure. Grab his wings if the opportunity presents itself, rub them and scratch them, and you’ll hear the loudest moan you’ve ever heard from him.

As quiet as this man is, he has the dirtiest mouth imaginable. He’s insulting you, praising you, telling you what he’s gonna do to you to make you scream, and if it isn’t the hottest thing in the world. Go ahead and struggle, he loves it when you struggle against him, fighting futilely as he drives himself in deeper, holding you down with a grin. 

He knows he’s done well when you start crying from overstimulation or pain. Azriel is licking up your tears, mocking you as he goes harder and faster, laughing darkly into your neck while sucking on the bruises he already made there. 

You know his shadows are playing too. Wrapped around your wrists and ankles, pushing into you like separate appendages. Wherever he isn’t touching, they’re making up for it, and it’s so strange but amazing how they rub against you and push between your lips. Blanketing both of you in the heat of the moment in a cascade of shadows.

Azriel calms down a bit after multiple rounds of this, holding you close and whispering in your ear praises and apologies, worried he hurt you or that you hate him. Run your fingers through his hair and hold him close. You both will need a long bath afterwards, one you will end up sharing, cleaning one another.

CASSIAN

One of the most playful of the bat boys, Cassian is all cocky grins and flirtatious phrases. It’s a mask of sorts, hiding the negativity within him as best as he can. Many are intimidated by him and his strength, being the commander of The Night Court’s armies. Where others may cower from his shining gaze, you don’t see his strength as a trait to hide from. You can see the genuine kindness in his eyes, and the pain he hides below. And as someone he feels he can trust, he is unafraid to be vulnerable.

SFW

With a wide, cocky smile, Cassian will take you everywhere with him. It doesn’t even have to be work-related, and most often has nothing to do with it. You said you want to go see the stars? He’s flying you to the best vantage point, strong arms holding you close to his chest. You wonder what the other courts look like? Guess you’re going on a vacation. And he’s by your side every step of the way.

He loves holding your hand. As mundane as it seems, he loves seeing your small hand captured in his. He’ll be comparing your hand sizes, making fun of you for how small you are compared to him, and kissing your forehead while he keeps your hand entwined with his.

Joking around is his favorite way to show how comfortable the two of you are. He makes fun of you, and you make fun of him. He avoids any topics that would make you uncomfortable, and teases you in only the ways you find funny. He likes to poke your sides, sneak up on you and pick you up, and throw food at you. 

If Cassian’s jokes do go too far, you just have to say so, and you’ll be met with apologies upon apologies. He’ll be sure to avoid whatever hurts your feelings in the future. Jokes and playfulness are meant to be all in good fun, and if you are feeling hurt then he knows he did something wrong.

Now, he may not be overly possessive, but if someone is flirting with you or making you uncomfortable, he is striding up, his arm wrapping around your shoulders while he glares daggers at whoever is even trying. The smile stays on, teeth glinting in a threatening kindness. You can complain and poke fun at him all you want, but he’s not letting anyone think they have a chance with you, not while he’s alive.

Expect long mornings laying in bed, his arm trapping you to his chest as he snores, his nose nuzzling your neck. He likes sleeping in as much as he enjoys training with his brothers. And his love of sleep only increases when you’re involved. “Five more minutes,” he's huffing into your ear, one of his hands covering your eyes. “Go back to sleep.” Any chance of leaving this situation disappears when he drapes his wings over your body like a second blanket, his arms wrapping around your stomach, and he throws his leg over your own.

NSFW

Sleepy morning sex. You’re just waking up, still hazy, and you’re finding yourself trapped in a tight cuddle. And as you struggle to get up for the day, he’s groaning and kissing your neck, slowly waking up. But he starts to press his hardened cock against your ass, his husky voice greeting you with a lust-filled, “good morning,” and you don’t know why you thought you’d be leaving the bed.

Cassian likes to move a bit slowly at first, hands caressing you, his hips rubbing against your body – teasing you in every spot you want him. Maybe he’s being lazy, or maybe he wants to hear you actually beg for it. Because, oh, when you beg for him, he’s smirking and shoving his hand into your bottoms, thick fingers rubbing you in all the right places, hooking inside of you to feel every inch.

And when you moan, he’s chuckling in that deep voice, praising you for your sounds. “Such a pretty noise,” he groans out. “Do that again.” And the more noises you make, the more impatient he gets. Soon enough, he’s pressing you into the mattress, your clothes half pulled off as he’s rolling his hips into you, moaning out in delight as your body wraps around him.

Cassian loves the little noises you make as he fucks you, and they get even more delectable when he pulls your hair. He can’t help how his hips stutter, his body shivering in delight as you gasp out, his hands tugging at the strands of your hair. He swears you tightened around him just then, and he plans to test out if that’s true.

Cassian certainly has a high sex drive, and one that can flare up at any time, often at inopportune times as well. You’re cooking in the kitchen? He’s wondering how you’d look bent over the counter. You’re talking with his brothers? His mind is going wild wondering how you’d feel if he just started touching you in front of them. And don’t think he wouldn’t do it, him and the bat boys have done some things around each other, and he’d be lying if he said the thought of being watched didn’t turn him on.

You want him to go crazy? To lose his mind? Ask him to breed you. Tell him you want to have his babies, and the next surface is where you're being pressed into for the next hour or so. Legs over his shoulders, arms wrapped around your waist, all while he’s rutting himself into you with reckless abandon. He just wants to fill you up and the thought of seeing you pregnant…well, now he needs another round.

Don’t worry about being exhausted afterwards, he’s immediately carrying you to a bath to clean you up. You need warmth for your muscles, and he needs to watch you covered in soap and tease you about what just happened. After your lovely little bath session, your back to cuddling, and falling asleep with him never once letting you go.

[galaxyshine24-7]

The Silver Bullet🥂

 Chapter 7 White Wine

Tw: Blood, Violence, Child abuse

Thunder cracks overhead as the wind kicks up around them. Riddle’s bangs hide his eyes as a red spot appears on his cheek it with a wave of his specter he sends Ace flying back into rose bushes. 

“Ace!” Deuce and Yuu yell as a gust of wind causes them to fall back. 

“Riddle!” Trey yells his final plea to get everyone to stop. 

“I am, I am absolutely possibility right!” Black tears stream down his face as a pool of ink surrounds him. 

Is this… an overblot? Yuu have only heard about it in stories, seen pictures yes, but never the real thing. The rose bushes around them blackenn as thorns burst out creating large thorny vines. A sharp pain shots through Yuu’s ankle as a vine wraps around their leg. Yuu acts fast taking out the dagger they have concealed on their thigh. The stab at the vines just enough until they can release themselves. Yuu takes a look around to see many other Heartslaybul members getting pinned by the vines dragging them into the foliage of the bushes. 

“None shall dare defy me!” Riddle’s form gets covered in dark ink as his skin and outfit change in front of everyone’s eyes. 

“Riddle stop this now!” Trey holds out his wand. 

“I am the King and all should bow down to me!” Riddle raises his hand as they all watch in horror as a giant creature forms behind him. The creature follows Riddle’s command slamming the ground beneath it and cracking the earth towards the group. 

Trey doesn’t waste any time using his magic to block the attack. 

“I thought you’re unique magic was only for food!?” Ace yells. 

“I can use it to override whatever I want,” Trey explains. 

“What? How can you?” Riddle steps back, but soon grows redder by the second. “Are you saying that this whole time you’ve been hiding your power from me?! You can not be stronger them me Trey, nobody can!” Riddle releases another attack to quick for Trey to counter as it sends them flying back. Yuu expects a heavy fall but is wrapped in the arms of Cater, and so is everyone else. “Thanks for the save Caters.” Cater let’s out a smirk as his clones give him a thumbs up. 

“Quick we need to knock Riddle out before his magic completely runs dry!” Trey yells as any available Heartslaybul members rally to his cry. Ace and Deuce compose themselves once again.  

“Oh, I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” Ace grins. 

“Me too.” Deuce cracks his knuckles. 

Yuu gets into a fighting stance, might as well give it all they got. 

“Ace, Deuce he’s about to attack watch out!” Yuu yells just in time for the two to dodge out of the way. 

“Good call Yuu!” Deuce pants.

“Keep doing that!” Ace launches some wind magic at Riddle managing to stun him. 

Yuu’s eyes dart around searching for any dangers for the others to watch out for. 

“Trey watch from above!” Yuu shouts as rose bushes fall from the sky. 

Trey manages to dodge the attacks as Riddle readies himself for a more powerful strike. This can’t go on for long, Riddle is on a time limit they need to get closer and knock him out. Yuu ventures forward as Cater’s double watches in surprise. 

“We need to get closer!” Yuu yells pushing through the harsh wind that kicks up. 

“Yuu stay back!” Deuce yells. 

Riddle’s eyes turn to Yuu as they advance closer a wicked grin adorens his face. 

“Riddle! You need to calm down! You’ll die if you keep this up!” Yuu pleads. 

“So what?! If all that I’ve suffered meant nothing then what’s the point?” He lets out a laugh black tears streaming down his face. “If I’m not right then what good am I!” He unleashes a large blast of energy causing Yuu to fall to their knees. Hopefully, the others can find an opening with Yuu distracting him. 

“You can't live like that Riddle!” Yuu yells over the thunder and wind. Rain starts to fall as everything gets drenched around them. 

“I have to be! I have to be…” Riddle’s voice dies down as he sways his body going to give out. 

Yuu doesn’t waste a second to catch him as the creature lets out a bellowing roar. 

“Now!” Yuu yells as the boys gather up their magic to cast one final blow. 

Yuu closes their eyes as a white light blinds them and their world goes black. 

“Mama…” 

Yuu’s eyes flutter awake as they look up at a grey sky. The sound of a child crying causes them to turn their head. The child is in a field with everything black, white, and grey. The only color is the child's bright red hair in the center crying into his hands.

“Mama why isn’t it working.” The boy wipes his tears.   

Yuu slowly rises from their spot approaching the child with caution. 

“Hello there.” Yuu gets down on one knee raising their hands to not startle them. “What’s wrong?” 

The child just cries louder making Yuu get closer. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Yuu slowly brings the child into a hug. 

“I don’t know what to do, I did everything Mom said.” The child cries into Yuu’s shoulder.

“I followed all the rules and I studied hard, but the pain isn’t going away!” Small fist bang on Yuu’s chest. “I did everything, and I’m still not right!” Big eyes full of tears look up at Yuu as they can finally see the little ones face. Striking red hair and big eyes all point to this being Riddle. Memories of the battle flash through Yuu’s mind. Is this Riddles mind? Maybe the root of the overblot? Yuu looks back at Riddle taking a deep breath. 

“You must have went through so much trying to follow every rule.” Yuu brushes a a tear with their thumb. “But it’s clear those rules did more harm then good, you shouldn’t live your life by someone else’s rules.” Yuu explains, as little Riddle goes silent. 

“I’m scared, what if I make a mistake.” He sniffles. 

“Well it’s apart of life, but you can always learn and do better.” Yuu ruffles his hair. 

“Riddle!” The voice of Trey echoes throughout the field.

“Wake up dude.” Cater’s voice comes in next.  

“Who’s that?” Riddle tilts his head.

“Your friends.” Yuu smiles. 

“Mommy didn’t let me have friends.” Riddles looks down at the ground. 

“And how did that make you feel?”

“S-sad, and angry they always played with me and even brought me an amazing strawberry tart. Something I wanted more than anything in the world. I wanted to spend more time with them, but Mommy got mad and I never saw them again.”  Riddle rests on Yuu’s shoulder. Yuu rubs his back bringing him into another hug. 

“You still can they are waiting for you to wake up. You can always make things right.” Riddle gives Yuu a nod as he takes a deep breath. As the world around them glows a bright white. 

Yuu feels a rain drop on their cheek as they open their eyes to a cloudy sky. Ace and Deuce hover over them, their bodies full of scratches and bruises. Yuu looks over to the side to see Trey holding Riddle in his arms, the housewarden stirs awake with tears streaming down his face. Yuu takes a deep breath glade its over. Their body aches as they sit up with the help of Deuce and Ace. 

“I’m sorry!” Riddle’s cries break through the atmosphere as the fearsome leader is reduced to a crying child. 

Ace rolls his eyes getting up from Yuu’s side and flicking Riddle in the forehead. Which only makes the leader cry more. 

“Stop your crying, your crocodile tears won’t sway me. It’s going to take a lot more to make up for the bullshit you pulled.” Ace puts his hands on his hips. 

“W-what do I need to do?” Riddle sniffles. 

Ace begins to list off all the things Riddle needs to make up for as his voice starts to drown out in the background. 

“Are you okay Yuu.” Deuce still holds them his voice full of concern. 

Now that Yuu thought about it they did feel tired resting their head on Deuce’s shoulder.

“A-ah Yuu!” He stutters. 

Yuu takes in the smell of roses and rain closing their eyes for a deserved sleep. 

[knightprincess]

Chaotic Mischief (A Star Wars Oneshot)

Warning: Fluff, Clone Humor, little bit of flirting (tiny bit of Wolffe x Jedi Reader)  Words: 4.7k 

The Build Up!

Mischief wasn't uncommon among clones, especially the Shinnies and the troopers whom had been freely allowed to become individuals. 79's during the downtime was where the ideas of mischief were thrown around. Sometimes they were as simple as pulling pranks on some poor unsuspecting soul. Other times it was far more risky, such as daring a Shinny to obtain the helmet of a superior. Something that was far harder to do than the troopers believed. Chaos was always sure to happen when the 501st were back on Coruscant, Fives and Echo were normally the ones behind it, although Jesse, Kix and Tup had also helped on occasions, Hardcase too when he wasn't too busy flirting with one of the many beautiful patrons. 

:readmore:

On the odd occasion when Rex was reunited with Cody, Thorn, Gregor, Wolffe and Howzer, things could really get interesting. The last time the six were together, a game of truth or dare happened. To say there were more dares than truths being told, was the understatement. Cody had told so many stories about Obi-Wan, the others joked about him being the inaugural member of the Obi-Wan Fan club. Thorn had been tasked with getting a kiss from the most beautiful person at the bar, of course Thorn had fun with it, why just settle for one, when all of them were beautiful in there own way. 

Gregor had stood up on the bar, doing a mini dance while stripping from his plastoid armor. All while Wolffe had generally questioned his own sanity and that of his brother. Gregor of course paid little mind to those he shared a booth with, instead reveling in the attention he got from those who enjoyed the show. Howzer on the other hand, decided to challenge almost all his clone brothers to an arm wrestling match. Even when he knew the odds weren't in his favor. Echo and Fives, making a wager. If Howzer lost against both of them. All six in the booth would have to go through with a particular dare, they had in mind to commit. Although neither gave details on what they had in mind. Without a second thought, the drunk Commanders and Captains had hastily agreed. Only to regret their decision mere seconds later when Howzer was swiftly defeated by both Arc Troopers. Although neither gave any indication on what they had in mind or when it would be put in to play. 

They did however taunt Rex about it, over their rotations on the battlefield. Never failing to remind him of the wager and dropping subtle hints of what was to come. The moment they returned to Coruscant, and found out the remaining Commanders and Captains were also back for down time, was when Fives' famous wicked grin appeared upon his lips. Echo merely shaking his head, both with dread for the reactions and to control his overactive imagination. Even more so when he remembered the discussion to involve several Jedi in the fun and games as well. 

"Put us out of misery" commented Cody, as he looked to the two Arc Troopers collectively referred to as the Domino Twins. A neon blue drink in hand as he prepared for the worst case scenario, knowing when it come to the pair, anything was possible. Even the impossible. Fives and Echo could only share an expression of pure mischief. Something that only brought more dread to the six before them. 

"You've heard of helmet switch-a-roo, right?" asked Fives, knowing the question was daft. Especially since Rex dealt with that on the battlefield let alone during down times. The last game of switch-a-roo had also included an unwilling Dogma, whom had somehow ended up with Tup's helmet. Tup himself had Jesse's, whom in turn had Fives helmet. Five's had Echo's helmet, who had Kix's one. Even Hardcase had gotten involved and worn Dogma's helmet. Although Rex had caught on, it had taken General Skywalker a little longer to realize. 

"We're daring you to the big brother. Armor Switch-A-Roo" laughed Echo, watching with amusement as the golden eyes of his brothers become flooded with concern, dread even on what they were going to be doing while wearing the armor of another. "And you'll be spending the day in each others off duty roles" quickly added the Arc Troopers, stifling a laugh when Wolffe's head hit the table, a loud groan escaping him. Of course it would be something like that. Yet the groan was in response to realizing some of them would be around the Jedi Temple and Senate, as well as the military base. 

"If we die I'm haunting the two of you" commented Gregor, a spark of amusement flashing through his golden eyes. Even more so when he realized, whomever got his armor, would have the duty of protecting a certain favored Jedi. His iconic laugh soon escaped him, especially when he knew the odds of fooling Jedi were against them. They're own General's knew them well and would surely recognize something was off. Just as the many senators roaming the senate building would notice when something was off with Thorn. 

"Do we at least get to choose who we switch with?" questioned Howzer, his head smacking against the sticky table mere moments later when both Fives and Echo had both shook their head. Denying them what would have made the game of Switch-A-Roo easier. Only now did Cody and Rex share a look of dread. Gregor once again laughed, this time nervously. Where as Thorn grabbed his bright blue drink and downed it, in an attempt to drown the horror threatening to bubble up. 

"Care to deliver the blow and tell us" slurred Thorn, watching as the duo took the helmets from the back of the booth. Choose to switch the helmets instead of using words. Although the pair, planned to tell them again in the morning, when they were nursing a hangover, if only to remind them it wasn't a nightmare but the reality they had agreed to when making the wager. 

Echo handled the helmets with care, looking closely at the individual markings. How each were different, and made them easily identifiable. Carefully he handed Wolffe, Gregor helmet, the obvious choice, as Gregor was the only one Wolffe could realistically pass as. Gregor on the other hand was given Thorn's helmet, confusion soon washed over his tired features. He'd wrongly assumed he'd receive's Wolffe's helmet in response, so was surprise to get the one belonging the Coruscant Guard. 

Rex had been the one to be receive Wolffe's helmet. A chuckle had instantly ripped from his throat, even more so when it would be obvious he wasn't the tough battle worn Commander. Cody had been given Rex's helmet, to which an instant wicked grin appeared on his lips, it being clear he knew what chaos he'd cause while dressed as his old friend and brother. Something that only brought gripping dread to Rex. Thorn on the other hand received Howzer's helmet, swearing under his breath, as it would mean he'd be in close proximity to many Jedi General's, a thought that brought both dread and of course amusement, would they take notice of the little things. Howzer on the other hand, quickly determined the only helmet left was Cody's, to which he cheered, clearly his silent prayers to the maker had been answered. 

"Remember whatever chaos you cause while wearing the others armor, has to be explained by said owner" casually spoke Fives, confirming the Jedi would be none the wiser of the mischievous antics, and would thrust ask about the odd inconsistencies should they be noticed. "Wolffe we wish you luck. Gregor is on protection duty for (Y/N) tomorrow" laughed the Arc Trooper, his laughter only growing upon hearing the growled yet muffled response. Of course they'd thrown him head first at (Y/N), he be an idiot if he thought they'd let the opportunity pass them by. After all his affection for the Jedi Knight was only known by those sharing the booth and a few others. It was a closely guarded secret Wolffe had unintentionally let slip during the last game of Truth or Dare. 

The Morning Of! 

When morning come, each of those apart of the mischief groaned. Wolffe in particular found himself with confusion. Why did he have Gregor's Commando armor? Where was his own?. He soon noticed the little light in the top corner of his datapad blinking, sighing as he carefully placed Gregor's helmet to the side and grabbing the small device. Instantly regretting the decision upon seeing a video message from Fives there. 

"So that wasn't a nightmare" commented Wolffe, throwing the pad on his bunk before once again reaching for Gregor's helmet. Carefully studying it, the many markings scattered all over it, even a few scorch marks, the fading yellow paint around the visor, even the bright blue light to appear, when held in a certain way. The battle worn commander, taking notice of how heavy the helmet felt compared to his own, even the roughness beneath his fingers. 

"How the kriff does Thorn see in this thing" voiced Gregor, walking into the nearby desk, as he flicked at the black painted shade over the top of the visor. The commando's words pulling a rare chuckle from Wolffe. The commander amused by Gregor holding his arms out in an effort to gain stability while wearing the foreign helmet, and making his way over to the spare bunk without tripping or bumping into anything else. "I saw Rex, poor bugger, looks ridiculous wearing your armor" joked the Commando, taking off Thorn's helmet just in time to witness Wolffe display his signature eye roll. "It kind of looks like Rex shrunk in the dryer" laughed Gregor, receiving another chuckle from Wolffe, clearly the battle worn commander could imagine it. 

"Makes you wonder what the others are going to be like?" questioned Wolffe, suspecting the others would probably have a better fit, especially Cody, whom had Rex's armor. Howzer too could probably get by without much trouble with Cody's armor. "I'm expecting Thorn to complain about not having a kama" added the commander of the wolf pack, recalling Thorn asking the night before how Cody, Howzer and Gregor could operate without one. Even pointing out both Arc Troopers to issue the daring mischief were in ownership of one. 

"Oh he's already started. Stated he felt naked without one" laughed Gregor. As if on cue, Thorn walked passed, stating he already missed not wearing the belted cape, even how lost he was without it. His next words were asking Gregor to take care of his precious kama while impersonating him for the day. 

Cody, Rex and Howzer soon appeared behind Thorn, all but scaring him into the small room completely. Gregor's laughter ringing out as Wolffe also offered a chuckle, but that was more to see Rex practically drowning in his armor. Gone was the dark blue markings, instead he donned the familiar grey wolf insignia. It was odd for Wolffe to see his armor on another, although he soon reminded himself it was only for a few hours, then all would be back to normal again. 

"I feel like a kid wearing their parent's clothes" admitted Rex, once again re-adjusting one of the shoulder plates, carefully placing Wolffe's helmet on the desk. 

"You look like a kid wearing their parents clothes" commented Wolffe, amusement flashing in both his golden eye and dull cybernetic one. Thorn chuckling breaking the silence quickly, as Cody mentioned he wanted to take a picture to remember this. 

"Don't forget we have to think of something to say if we're caught" reminded Howzer, shuddering to think that was a possibility. At the same time he knew the risks were high, some of them were around observant senators, others around the Jedi, whom could likely sense when something was amiss. "And to explain everything tomorrow" 

"Already got mine" announced Thorn, chuckling although not elaborating any further. Wolffe piped up mere seconds later confirming he too had something in mind for explaining everything the following day, although even he'd admit explaining why his armor didn't have its normal snug fit was going to be a little more difficult. Cody also hinted he had something in mind, as did Rex whom could already predict what Cody was going to get up to. 

"Have fun flirting with (Y/N), Wolffe" remarked Cody, only receiving a huffed growl from the commander in question. It being clear he regretted revealing that secret, even more so when his brothers so often teased him about it. Even General Plo did although he did so in an encouraging way, almost as if he knew something others didn't. "Why does (Y/N) need protecting anyways, she's a bad-ass Jedi Knight" asked the commander of the 212th, finding it odd a Jedi with (Y/N)'s reputation would need protection. 

"Targeted by Dooku and some separatist leaders. Her cover was blown the last time she went on an assignment to protect Senator Amidala" explained Gregor, revealing the truth few knew of. "(Y/N) and Senator Amidala could pass as sisters, hence why (Y/N) had posed as her during a previous assignment. Sadly it had gone wrong, resulting in a bounty being placed on the Jedi Knight, hence her designated temple and senate duty" added the Commando, recalling (Y/N) being frustrated the last time he'd been on protection duty, she wanted to do more to help the Republic but was restricted on what she could do. 

"Alright boys, lets get this show on the road" voiced Fives from the door way. Echo leaning against the opposite side. Rex immediately noticing they'd swapped helmets again. Both Arc Troopers breaking down in laughter upon looking around the group. Thorn's grumpiness about not having a kama, Gregor practically being squished into Thorn's armor. Rex's almost drowning in Wolffe's, Cody attempting to straighten Rex's kama, while Wolffe shifted uncomfortably in Gregor's armor. Howzer on the other hand, seemed content on messing with the visor shade on Cody's helmet, almost as if he was trying to re-adjust it a little. 

The Mischief!

"Anakin, I think there might be something wrong with Rex" spoke Obi-Wan upon reaching his former padawan, concern ringing in his voice. At first the Jedi Knight looked confused, Rex wasn't anywhere in sight. Just as Anakin was about to voice the obvious, Rex appeared, running along and practically hugging Obi-Wan as if he was the alternative to gravity. Ahsoka chuckled slightly, quickly whipping her hands up to stifle her amusement. 

"Seems normal to me, maybe a little more caf than usual" announced Anakin, chuckling as Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in suspicion. The Jedi master untangling himself from Rex, recalling the time he'd had to do the same with Cody weeks before hand. The moment Obi-Wan walked away, Rex got his datapad out and chased after Obi-Wan, asking him for an autograph. Leaving behind a slightly confused Anakin and Ahsoka in a fit of laughter. Plo Koon chuckling to see it, although he didn't voice he had long since worked out what was going on, instead choosing to allow the mischief to continue. 

"Master Plo" called Ahsoka, upon controlling her fit of giggles and regaining some composure. "Are any other clones acting oddly?" asked the Padawan, recalling seeing Commander Wolffe wrangling the 501st boys earlier, she'd never seen them behave so quickly, although Fives, Echo, Jesse, Tup and Kix seemed to be the exception, giggling like school children in the corner of the mess hall. 

"Howzer seemed to be fond of causing confusion and chaos in the debriefing earlier" commented Plo, recalling the Captain had been hyperactive, almost skipping around the room. WIndu had practically grabbed his shoulders and all but forced him to stand still, not that it worked, within seconds Howzer was moving around again, twirling on the spot and practically bouncing off the walls. He'd started singing at one point. 

"Rex, Howzer. Who's next?" questioned Anakin, almost dreading the response he'd get. "Maybe they switched the caf brand again. Rex always did say the last one tasted like droid oil" commented the Jedi Knight in hopes of explaining everything. Although if there was more than the two it would be harder to explain it. 

"What's your reasoning for Wolffe deflating?" asked Ahsoka, seeing the confusion to pass over Anakin's features. Plo on the other hand chuckling slightly, refusing to give it away he'd worked out what was going on, instead he'd found himself with curiosity whom else was involved and the explanations each come up with. Particularly Howzer whom had to explain the debriefing. 

"Looks like Thorn's having a good day" commented Padme, upon joining the group of Jedi down on the many halls. She'd come at the request of master Yoda, although it appeared to be a troublesome time. She'd passed many padawan's and younglings seemingly lost and confused about where they were going. Just as she'd bared witness to Howzer running away from Windu after tapping him on the shoulder and shouting "Tag your it".  

Within seconds of the words leaving Padme's lips, Commander Thorn come waltzing down the hall, signing loudly and occasionally twerking. He'd thrown his hands up several times, the contents of the mug with Fox's name penned on long since gone everywhere. A few padawan's had been pulled into a dance, as a few masters had too. Each seemingly taken by surprise. "He was like that at the senate building as well. Flirted with senator Chuchi" laughed the Senator of Naboo. A smile on her lips to see the battle worn troopers seemingly having fun, a rare but welcome sight. 

"Let me love you" called Rex, as Obi-Wan ran back down the long hall. The captain hot on his heels. Ahsoka once again bursting in to fit of giggles, as a few other younglings did too. Some of the masters looked confused as to what was going on, most shaking their heads with a little amusement before continuing. Even (Y/N) couldn't help the laughter to escape her, she'd always had a love for mischief. 

"Your not going to do anything out of the ordinary are you, Gregor?" asked Obi-Wan when he stopped to catch his breath, hiding near one of the large windows overlooking the courtyard below. "I don't think I can take any more oddities today. First Cody's memory loss, now Rex" added the Jedi Master, still trying to wrap his head around Cody's apparent memory loss. Maybe it was the hit to the head during the prior battle, or the alcohol from the night before. Either way it was unsettling, although his loyal commander seemed to have some whereabouts. Keeping the boys of the 212th in line. 

"No sir" responded Gregor, his response coming a little too quickly. "Just doing my duty protecting the Princess Jedi here" added Gregor attempting to act normally, although he knew some of his actions could be explained away by lasting damage from previous head injuries. Obi-Wan soon poked his head around the corner again, quickly dodging back when Rex passed by asking those around if they'd seen the negotiator. Dread filled Obi-Wan when another Jedi Master pointed right at him, causing him to dart from his position and around the nearest corner. 

Howzer coming around the same corner moments later, shortly followed by a confused Mace Windu. Padme shaking her head slightly, as she regained some of her lost composure. Never had she seen the temple in such disarray, although she would admit it was nice seeing a less professional side of the peacekeepers. Howzer's voice soon rang out through the hall as another comment escaped him. "Gonna catch me?" His comment more of a question towards the Jedi Master behind him. 

"Thorn, where's my mug" yelled Fox, storming down the hall towards the other commander. Thorn had since stopped singing and dancing, instead acting scared as he held up the ordinary white coffee mug. Although Fox's name had since been crossed out, being replaced with Thorn's own name. Thorn soon skipped off down the hall, giggling like a school girl as he all but taunted Fox with the ordinary white mug. Ignoring Fox yelling at him to come back and all but swearing about losing the mug again. 

"And that's my cue" commented Gregor before throwing (Y/N) over his shoulder and walking off. Plo chuckling by the shock squeal to escape the Jedi Knight. Where as Padme and Ahsoka resorting to looking to each other for confirmation, at least to ensure they'd both seen Gregor pick up and all but run off with (Y/N). Anakin on the other hand blinked a few times, beginning to question his own sanity and that of the troopers around him. Slowly he was becoming suspicious, who else was going to act like they'd been hypnotized to act like kids, were his Jedi brethren going to start acting like it too? 

"Pretty good view of chaos from up here" commented (Y/N), as she attempted to get comfortable over Gregor's shoulder. Well over Wolffe's shoulder. Although she hadn't voiced it, she was well aware Wolffe was in Gregor's armor, her senses not failing her. The arm securing her legs in place, only tightening as she attempted to wiggle around to gain comfort. 

"Not a bad view from this end either" commented Gregor, finding himself glad for the thick armor, as he was sure he would have felt (Y/N)'s foot, thud against his thigh had he not be clad in plastoid. 

"If I didn't know any better Captain. I would have thought you were flirting" spoke (Y/N) 

"If I didn't know any better I would say you were enjoying it" responded Gregor, placing her back on her feet upon reaching the destination of the courtyard. The rare occasion where it was quiet and as normal tranquil. 

"Should I ask why you brought me here?" asked (Y/N), moving to tidying her messed up hair, and straighten out her robes. Gregor on the other hand moved to sit on the steps, in front of the tree, ignoring the benches close by. 

"Meditate" retorted Gregor, not bothering to turn around to face her. Although he suspected there would be a response shortly. 

"Is that an order?" commented (Y/N), moving to sit at his side. 

"Yup" 

"I'm known to bend orders" laughed (Y/N), knowing there was truth behind her words. Although her former Jedi Master Plo Koon, always said she had a talent for still getting the job demanded from her done. She still got the needed results even if she did go about it a little differently.

"This will be the first you'll obey" replied Gregor, a playful tone to his voice. 

"What makes you think that?" whispered (Y/N) when she was close enough, there was no doubt he'd hear her. 

"Cause I asked nicely Princess" breathed Gregor. Almost surprised when the almost famous Jedi Knight seemed to concede and do as she was told, the words Roger Roger escaping her in a sarcastic tone. "Care to accompany me to 79's tonight?" 

"Maybe" cheekily responded (Y/N). "Would be nice to see you in your own armor and without said helmet" commented the Jedi Knight, a grin appearing across her lips as she peered over. Seeing as Wolffe stiffened inside Gregor's armor. "Not to worry Commander, my lips are sealed" 

"Have to work on that later" flirted Wolffe, as he settled back into the act of being Gregor, imitating his brother's famous laugh mere seconds later. Once again (Y/N) peered over to him, suppressing a chuckle as she attempted to regain her focus. Although it seemed to be a lost course at this point. 

The Aftermath

When it come to explain the events of the day before. Some found it far easier than others. Thorn had simply explained it away as having too much caf that morning. He been hyperactive and in the mood to continue his running war with Fox for the prize coffee mug. He explained the flirting with Senator Riyo Chuchi as finding her particularly beautiful the day before. 

Wolffe had simply said he'd lost a wager to Rex and had thrust agreed to keep the boys of the 501st in check. As for his armor not fitting properly, he mentioned something about Wrecker playing a prank on him, payback for something to have taken place at 79's before the last deployment. 

Cody too had a simple explanation. He'd mentioned he'd visited the medbay upon returning to Coruscant after the last rotation on the battlefield. The headache combined with the hangover of all hangovers. He'd managed to keep the boys in check but his memory was spotty. Thankfully Obi-wan had brought the excuse and let it go after a few days of ensuring he had no after effects from the injury. 

Rex on the other hand, almost chocked on his morning caf to learn what Cody had gotten up to in his armor. Although he'd been thankful for his explanation fitting with what had taken place. He'd simply said he'd joined the Obi-Wan fan club, after hearing Cody endless go on and on about how great the Jedi Master was. Cody had attempted to hide behind his datapad, covering his heated cheeks of embarrassment. Of course Rex would say that. 

Gregor on the other hand struggled to come up with something when faced with explaining Wolffe's actions to (Y/N). He tripped over his words multiple times before the Jedi Knight had put him out of his misery. Revealing her knowledge of the mischievous dare each had taken part in and thrust knew Wolffe had been her protect the day prior. (Y/N) had spent time reassure Gregor following it, even helping him to come up with something should another Jedi question him. 

Howzer almost had a heart attack upon finding out what Thorn had done the day before. He'd almost throttled the Commander to have impersonated him. No flimsy excuse was going to get passed Windu on this one. Nor the other Jedi to have been apart of the briefing. Eventually Howzer settled for being influenced by Rex, Thorn and Gregor, as well as having too much caf that morning. Sending the younglings in the wrong direction had been put down to a light hearted joke, after all everyone knew Howzer had a soft spot for kids. 

Echo and Fives on the other hand managed to get hold of the records from the Senate building, Jedi Temple and Military base. Laughing to no end, especially seeing how Gregor had also played silly sods with the civvi medics and admirals while impersonating Thorn. No one had been safe from the chaos Gregor had caused. The recordings of Thorn impersonating Howzer throughout the Jedi Temple were just as funny, especially when Kix pointed out some of the younglings and padawan's had also played along with the game of tag. 

Jesse's favorite recording had been of Cody impersonating Rex yelling "Let me love you" while chasing Obi-Wan down the hall. Seeing an array of emotions pass over Anakin's features had brought him to tears with laughter. The blank look, turning to confusion, questioning his own sanity, slight amusement, back to questioning his own sanity then finally settling on enjoying the chaos.

Kix had been the one to point out, both Plo Koon and (Y/N) had likely figured it out but had opted to keep the truth a well guarded. Something Wolffe later confirmed at 79's, (Y/N) also verifying it in her own words, just as she revealed Aalya Secura and Ahsoka had also worked out something was up, but not said anything. Instead both women happy to watch as chaos unfolded. (Y/N) also corroborating to both Echo and Fives, neither Obi-Wan or Anakin were none the wiser about the mischief to test them, just as the unsuspecting victim of Mace Windu had yet to truly put the pieces to together. Even Master Yoda seemed to be content on keeping the truth a guarded secret for now. 

Tup had asked for the security recordings, intending on making a few videos of the chaos and sending them to the six to have taken part. He'd also congratulated Fives and Echo on masterminding the whole thing. The duo known as the Domino Twins cementing themselves as the most mischievous pair, thrust finally achieving their goal of overtaking Waxer and Boil. Although both knew the pair from the 212th Legion would eventually fire back in an effort to regain their lost titles. 

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Smeared Hearts

Credit to @rosellemoon for this oddly, insanely compelling idea about the fluffy, rainbow Storian. I couldn't help myself, so I took her ideas and ran with them.

Here is the link to the original post.

@heyo-428 @cetastars @harmonyverendez Read this, if you’re still interested in the fluffy pen story!

Note:

I did toy around with the order of Rise’s series of events a little, and included elements of Fall. So, be warned: the continuity is by no means perfect, the tone is intended to be more comedic (and sometimes more modern?) than usual, and I wrote this more for the concept than the plot at first. You could consider it a loose chronological series of vignettes, if that’s easier to understand because it isn’t quite a full story. It cuts from scene to scene. Or, rather, it is a story with a lot of scene breaks. Also, this was kind of an impulse fic, so I didn't start with a plan until a little later, but I did edit.

⸻

When Rafal agreed to be named a School Master of the renowned School for Good and Evil, he hadn't expected to become a pet owner, or something of that ilk.

When he initially saw it... it was fluffy and rainbow. Oh, the indignity of it all, of his life. What had he agreed to?

He groaned. The Storian wouldn’t have been his first choice of godlike pens, but he supposed a magical, fluffy pen was better than no magical pen at all.

The Storian drew a heart on Rafal's hand. It was about the size of a coin.

He grimaced.

Why couldn't the pen have chosen a more tasteful mark? A crown, or an ace of spades perhaps. Even an abstract scribble would have been fine, preferable even.

When the Storian drew his brother's heart, Rhian had laughed at its tickle, and the Storian had taken his response as a sign that it was welcome to snuggle up with Rhian every night, beside him in bed like a beloved pet.

Rafal slept alone.

⸻

Rafal had lost all faith in the Storian.

The irritating pen knocked things from tables. It beat Rafal's dish-breaking record within a week. And, it mussed up his hair, and shed all over his robes, slacks, and jackets. If any comparison could be drawn, it was most like a recalcitrant cat, an everlasting thorn in his side.

He couldn't face his students covered in feathery scraps of rainbow fur! The Nevers would ridicule him.

Invest in a lint brush, he noted to himself. That would settle it.

And shave that pen to boot. Not that he could. The little devil was fast, and would punish him for high treason.

Rhian wouldn't mind, he told himself. But, his brother loved that worthless thing. Of course he would mind. The Storian was practically Rhian's child. Rhian's baby talk drove Rafal up the wall. He was so mawkish and cuddly with it, as if it weren't already a combination dust magnet and feather duster that aggravated allergies.

No way would anyone ever see him petting the thing. It was an object, not even a living object, just unusually sentient. It was a patently false imitation of a real animal.

Rafal’s Stymphs were far superior to the pen, and they obeyed him and his commands as any good pets ought to do. Though, he considered the Stymphs more akin to his faithful soldiers, pledged to serve his eternal cause of Evil than well… pets, or whatever the pen was to Rhian.

⸻

Lately, Rhian was becoming obsessed with the Storian, and it worried Rafal.

At least he wouldn't have to worry about Rhian getting attached, only to catch it belly-up, and be forced to fly to the nearest pet store and cosmetic apothecary to replace it with a magic-surgery-modified duplicate before Rhian saw. Getting the last fish to look identical had been one hell of a sleepless night he’d spent in a race to preserve Rhian’s feelings. He’d stayed up to ensure the new pet was in place, and had to bury the old one at the crack of dawn while Rhian was still asleep.

But, with a pen, that couldn't happen. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, he knew the worst had happened far too many times. Rhian tended to kill things with too much love. It was absolutely sickening. He'd overfed goldfish in the past, almost the Wish Fish too, if Rafal hadn't put an immediate stop to it, and he had overwatered various hydrophilic plants from humid, tropical climates.

Rhian didn't have the best track record when it came to pets. Or self-preservation for that matter. He’d struck up conversations with strangers left and right.

A pen could be good for him. It had no expiration date. It didn't even have a mortal life, so no matter how incompetent Rhian was, he couldn't kill it. No responsibility aside from keeping it entertained, no risk of accidentally killing it, something to distract him from Rafal's own wrongdoings. The pen could prove useful in that regard. Yes, he could live with it, he decided.

Then again, maybe the right question to ask was whether it had feelings. Could he insult the pen? And what would happen if he did? He was sure Rhian would be none too pleased. But what about the Storian itself?

⸻

Rafal eyed the heart on the back of his hand. It was glaringly obvious and far too… sentimental. He had to do something about it. Scrubbing vigorously hadn't worked. He'd only succeeded in scrubbing the skin of his hand red, raw, and dry.

Rhian had haughtily told him he needed moisturizer.

Rafal snapped back that he knew. “Go bother someone else with your fussiness, Rhian!”

In the end, he'd bought black, supple, leather gloves, fitting of his look. They molded to his skin perfectly, and they didn't clash with his typical mode of dress.

Rhian accused him of being needlessly "edgy." Well, there was just no satisfying him, was there?

But, Rhian was a squeamish fussbudget, and his opinion held no weight here. So, Rafal wore the gloves. And soon, the years turned to decades, decades turned into a century, and the Woods kept living.

⸻

Rafal wore his gloves every day without fail—until he needed the additional dexterity that could only be afforded by flesh and bone fingers while drowning in the sea amid Night Crawlers.

He tore off the gloves, and in his haste, flashed the rainbow-inked heart at James, James who began to snicker at the thing like it was the most contemptible mark in the world.

"Thought you were Evil. Eh, Master?" James taunted.

"Shut up. It's-it's Rhian’s,” Rafal lied, stuttering through his embarrassment. No need to explain a fluffy pen of all things to James. He'd only think Rafal a dolt.

The heart was so cloyingly sweet, but it still made him feel vulnerable when it was seen, out in the open.

Astonishingly, James’ previously murderous expression softened and its matching intent evaporated. "Guess you wear your heart on your sleeve then. Like the Good do, or as close to Good as you can get, huh? Wouldn't mind saving me then, wouldja?"

Rafal gave the heart a sidelong glance. “Fine,” he muttered unaffected with marked disdain.

In the end, neither of them made it to the underwater prison of Monrovia, which contained the infamous Saders, but no matter. They were both out alive, albeit drenched.

⸻

Suspended aloft, ever an eye, the pen bore witness to a stalemate between the School Master brothers and the Pirate Captain.

The Pirate Captain loped forward. “So, you've got a pen that draws maudlin hearts?” he drawled.

"Yes,” Rafal said through gritted teeth. The leather of his gloves was cracked and split by this point, and creaked when he held a staunch grip. He’d formed fists, but he held himself back. The man didn't deserve a blow to the jaw, yet.

Off to the side, James winced, and drew a great step back to distance himself from his sorcerer friend.

Ferret-boy lolloped into the fray. “Yer magical pen does what?” he piped up, as if he'd been deaf to the Pirate Captain's question.

Him on the other hand—he had it coming for him. Rafal bristled, clenching and unclenching his fist instinctually. His dispassionate gaze morphed into a glare.

“It be drawing that craven, girlish thing on ya hand? Gotta be stark raving mad fer that to ’appen,” Ferret-boy quipped again.

Rhian stiffened, face heating.

Rafal defended, “It's not stupid, fussy, or effeminate. Even if it is, it's my only tie to Rhian at the moment, and I, for one, would prefer to keep it, along with my immortality, if you'll excuse me, pests.” He nodded at James, and turned to leave.

The Pirate Captain lunged for the pen without warning.

The Storian darted away, answering with a sugary jingle. Then, it coiled like a spring, launched, and jabbed the Pirate Captain viciously in the chest.

"Oof," the bested Pirate Captain breathed, clutching his torso.

A true pity that it hadn’t drawn blood, Rafal carped internally.

Self-satisfied, the pen twirled in the air, and flew back to the brothers. It curled up in Rhian's waiting hands like an overgrown, weaselly, color-dyed rodent, its noodly form like a piece of rope gone limp.

Rhian headed back to the School, safely cradling the pen.

Rafal stayed back on the dock to deal with the pirates, and give James a proper send-off.

⸻

Rhian had never taken an interest in women’s undergarments until now, but he was desperate.

He had already sifted through the Beautification classroom’s storage, and had come up with nothing. So, now, he was knee-deep in Dean Mayberry’s dresser drawers that he’d pulled out entirely, and he found himself rifling through her delicates at an alarming rate.

He soon chanced upon what he was searching for, and fished out a pair of airy, white gloves trimmed in lace that she’d worn to a recent soirée. He pressed his lips together grimly. They would have to do. Hopefully, Rafal would be distracted anyway. His new attire could divert Rafal’s attention.

He reasoned to himself that a smudge meant nothing, and hummed to himself nervously. It couldn’t be covering up duplicity. That would be Evil.

He wasn’t Evil.

He buttoned the gauzy, eggshell white gloves up high with their glossy, pearl buttons. Then, he went on his usual rounds over the School grounds, pretending nothing was wrong.

Rhian should have known his brother would first set his eyes on his hands. His glove-covered hands.

⸻

As Rafal flew overhead, approaching the School's clearing, he roughly tugged on his gloves again. Then, he saw something had gone wrong as he glanced down at Rhian from afar.

Rhian clearly had a new, downy, swan-feather outfit, a cloak of pure, shining spun-gold, and something else. Something new. He was wearing dainty, white gloves.

Rafal caught sight of another, unsubtle change through the tower window. He was horrified to find that Rhian had apparently commissioned a golden cage for the Storian while he was gone.

Seemingly, Rhian now tended to it even more regularly, as if he were sure it would grant him a favor, like a genie or a magical creature of that sort would, once caught and released for a wish in exchange for its freedom.

How childish could his brother get?

The moment Rafal's boots hit the windowsill, he peeled off his leather gloves, and noticed that for once, from just minimal friction, the interference of the glove’s coarse fibers, the seawater and his sweat, his heart had smeared.

His heart looked more scrawled than deftly inked. It was a messy blur of rainbow splotches on his pale skin. It didn’t look right, smeared like a stain, an iridescent oil spill, formless and hazy, like liquified beetle wings and mercury.

It was supposed to be as permanent a mark as one from a branding iron. It was a fixed tattoo! It couldn't just be wiped clean away!

Rafal blinked, rubbing at his eyes, trying to clear his tainted vision.

The smudge stubbornly remained.

Something had gone wrong while he was gone. Something sinister.

Rafal stepped into the tower chamber, legging it over the windowsill. He did not observe the cloaked, vampiric man fleeing the scene, memento mori etched on his skin.

Rafal reasoned these circumstances out to himself slowly: Rhian had probably figured that because Rafal never took off his gloves, except in the dark, at night, to sleep, that he'd never notice anything was amiss. But something was. Something grave enough to compel Rhian to cover it up, to erase his mistake.

Their bond had been besmirched by something. By someone. A stranger Rhian had opened his heart to. But was their bond broken?

The implications sank in. If it was broken, he could now be killed.

Rhian flung open the door, and greeted Rafal with cheer, yet he seemed wary.

Uncharacteristically, Rafal reached out to Rhian for a hug, and used the rare moment of closeness to yank Rhian's glove off.

The seams burst with the amount of force he applied and the pearl buttons popped off, catapulted in all directions, clattering to the floor, bouncing and rolling between the stone tiles into every last crack and crevice.

Rhian gasped and tried to shove his hand into a pocket.

Rafal trapped him by the wrist.

Beheld, as sure as day, was a bloodred V slashed in ink, like a scar of rouge in Rhian’s disfigured, melted, rainbow heart stamped around it.

Rhian's hand turned gelid, clammy, and slick in Rafal’s grip.

Someone had replaced him, Rafal concluded, without a word.

Rhian did not even try to offer excuses. It would be too humiliating to explain how he’d let Vulcan violate him during one of their dinners. He blushed at the candlelit memory.

Rafal dropped Rhian’s wrist. “Woe are we,” he sniped bitterly.

Rhian’s eyes welled with tears, but Rafal wouldn’t look at him.

Rafal couldn’t look at Rhian.

In fact, both brothers had fallen silent as the pen scratched away, swishing back and forth like a pendulum.

Rafal glared at the fluffy pen that shivered and flounced and puffed itself up like a fox's tail in the breeze. From across the room he could sense the pen's swift movements as it whisked through the air.

Wisps of shed fluff floated in the sunlight filtering through the silver curtains in spotlit shafts.

He felt the swoosh of the pen's fluff.

It twitched like it was winking at him, and slunk towards his legs like a cat. The pen twined itself around his legs in greeting. For several rounds, it wound itself around him.

He stood uncomprehendingly until his rage got the best of him. He extricated himself from the pen, and couldn’t bring himself to care about brushing the fluff from his slacks.

Rafal jumped out the window, to fly off, and figure things out for himself. The crisp air stroked his bare hands for once, and the sharp wind ripped away the excess fluff, battering his clothes and rippling cloak.

Now, he had to keep his heart in sight at all times, until he reversed this curse. No matter if anyone thought anything while his heart was exposed. They could all go to Hell for all he cared. He was doing this for Rhian.

And to save his own lost heart as well.

⸻

He flew away at full throttle, landed, and set off at a brisk pace, slamming into a boy with golden curls, grey eyes, and a cherub-like face. The exact sort of fellow Rhian would crush on!

“Who are you? Are you the V?” Rafal demanded.

The boy looked confused, and narrowed his eyes, fuming. “Name's Midas," he gruffed, putting up a front. “Who're you?” He stabbed a finger at Rafal's chest.

“Your worst fears,” threatened Rafal placidly.

Midas’ eyes widened.

Rafal shot back up the silver tower, and hurtled through the window, Midas in tow, grasped in his iron grip over the starchy fabric of the boy’s shirt. Coolly, he tossed aside a squirming Midas, who scudded across the room, aided by his sorcery, and left the boy for a moment, vowing to deal with him later.

He turned to Rhian, who stood agape, next.

⸻

Rafal marched deeper into the stone chamber, snatched Rhian's wrist, and dangled his limp hand in front of their faces. “What's this?” he said quietly, menacingly, pressing down on Rhian’s pulse.

He dragged Rhian up to the Storian, and released him.

Rhian stumbled forward, only managing to stay upright with Rafal’s firm hold on his shoulder.

“WHAT'S THIS?” Rafal shouted at the trembling pen, now thrusting his own outstretched, ink-stained hand at the pen.

The Storian, previously backed up against a bookcase, leapt into its cage, and rattled around. It cowered at the back of the cage, against the golden bars.

“This can't be what I think it is. I love him,” Rafal assured the pen feverishly. He sank to his knees in desperation, casting his gaze up at the pen.

Rhian dropped to the floor with him, and looked pleadingly at his pet.

Long and sinuous, the pen performed a twist in midair with a light jingle, as if considering the chastened School Masters before it, contemplating their tale. It moved with broad brushstrokes, white streaks of erasure, fine, gossamer threads spinning through the air, weaving around the brothers’ forearms.

The hearts vanished off their hands.

Rafal flinched, and shielded Rhian.

Rhian quivered, his heart throbbing against Rafal's own pounding rib cage. He gripped Rafal's upper arms, bracing himself behind his brother for the worst, for his precious pet to turn on him.

Yet the pen forgave.

It hovered over their hands, and drew new hearts, the same as it had done a century before.

⸻

Note:

I'd love to know your reactions and thoughts, or if anyone laughed. What specific parts got a rise out of anyone? Did I manage to shock anyone, with anything? I’d love to know what. Feel free to comment anything and ask any questions if there’s confusion.

I hope everything’s up to par. Did anything (specific or not) feel out of character? I didn’t check the books, and I sort of forgot what Hook’s, the Pirate Captain’s, and Midas’ dialogue sound like. If anyone catches any inaccuracies, feel free to let me know. Also, if there's anything else wrong grammatically, or in terms of clarity, please tell me.

[clonemando]

@blackat-t7t Here is your Fox/Thorn H/C with a cuddle pile at the end. Enjoy.

There was a ringing snap as the old rusted barrier along the walkway gave out under the weight of a fully armored trooper crashing into it and Thorn watched as Fox’s gaze met his own wide with fear before he was falling backward over the edge. Thorn dove for him with a scream but his fingers barely brushed over Fox’s chestplate before his partner was gone swallowed up by the dark depths of Coruscant’s seemingly endless levels the same way many cadets ended up swallowed by Kamino’s waves.

For a moment he just stared feeling a void echoing the one he was staring at being torn open in his chest. Then Rex’s voice broke him from his daze.

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t- Thorn I- Fox-” He struggled to get anything out, horror replacing the rage that had been on his expression just minutes earlier as he corned them on their patrol to yell at Fox for avoiding him.

“You didn’t mean to kill him? Like he meant to kill Fives you mean? Well, you did. Guess you’re the brother killer now, Rex. Congratulations on your revenge.” Thorn said, voice level and empty as he watched Rex flinch and step back.

“What- What do we do now? Do we call-” Rex started eyes flickering around as if looking for some sort of help.

“Call who Rex? The Guard? I am the Guard and there’s nothing I can do now. He’s gone. He’s not a person, there won’t be an investigation. He’s not the first we lost over an edge and he won’t be the last and there’s never anything to do. You just… finish your patrol. Report the lost republic property to the Chancellor and put a few troopers on double shifts until we can get a replacement from Kamino.” He said starting to walk again. He had to finish his patrol. He was already late now and Fox would be upset if Thorn got himself punished for being late.

“You can’t just… just keep working! Shouldn’t you call Thire or something? There’s bereavement leave. The Kaminoans even approved it to keep their products at their most effective. The Jedi-” Rex started as he followed Thorn and finally he snapped.

“If you have forgotten, the Guard doesn’t have a Jedi. We had Fox. That’s it! We had Fox and he could only get us so much because he’s not considered a person either! Now we don’t even have him and we will all need to take triple shifts to cover all the stuff he has been shouldering on our behalf! I don’t have anyone available to cover this patrol. That’s why Fox and I were doing it. We just lost three shinies to senators and a full team was wiped out in a gang raid the week before. We don’t get things like leave or whatever the kriff bereavement is. The Guard belongs to the Senate, the Jedi abandoned us, just like you GAR bucketheads. So kriff off and go cry to your jedi for your extra days off and let me take care of my family. You’ve done enough Rex.” He spat darkly before turning on his heel and continuing his patrol. Rex didn’t follow him this time.

He raised his wrist to access his coms after another ten minutes.

“This is Commander Thorn reporting a 9-12 slash D. Commander Fox was lost to faulty railing in Sector 12-A. We will discuss promotions and schedule changes at the dawn shift change. As his second the Marshal position falls to me now. Carry on with your duties.” He murmured numbly before letting his arm fall and continuing to move on autopilot almost hoping the Separatists would chose to attack now so he’d have an excuse to shoot something. But the rest of the patrol was quiet.

Fox was exhausted. He had spent the last two days slogging through filth and fighting off the weird pollution corrupted creatures that prowled the lowest levels just to make his way to the closest working lift. Then he had to sit on the floor listening to the worst possible sort of music as he slowly ascended out of the dark toward his family and home. His arm was definitely broken and Shark was going to shoot him up with every hypo they had with complaints about the bite wounds he had getting infected but Fox was pretty sure he had gotten off easy.

~

He couldn’t explain how he was alive. The concussion made it hard to think straight but even with that he knew he had to have fallen at least 100 levels if not more. But at the last minute something had caught him and slowed his fall enough the injuries were survivable. He didn’t really take stock in the Jedi’s fancy force shit but maybe there was something out there looking out for him.

Once he was above the com-cut line where they lost signal to their coms he immediately reached out. “This is Commander Fox. I am injured and will need a medic and pick up from the lift in Sector 12-D, could someone also bring me some caff? I’m kriffing tired.” He grumbled into the line and smiled when it immediately started blowing up, resting his head against the side of the lift and letting his family’s furies and delighted voices wash over him like a warm blanket.

“Cut the chatter! Fox, Shark and I will be waiting for you once you reach the top. I… It’s good to hear from you but you have a lot of explaining on how you’re alive.” Thorn’s voice finally cut in and Fox’s smile grew.

“You’re going to be waiting until the Senate turns for that answer my rose, I have no kriffing clue. Woke up at the bottom with a concussion, broken arm and some jostled ribs but I was able to drag myself up and start walking to the lift not too long after the fall.” He sighed not even realizing he had used his pet name for Thorn until the line filled with cooing from the rest of the guard.

Fox passed out not long after that and only woke up again when Thorn was lifting him out of the elevator and onto a hover-cot and Shark started cursing him out. He squeezed Thorn’s hand then passed out again.

He flickered in and out of consciousness a few more times before finally waking up feeling better than he had felt in years. Blinking open his arms he was unsurprised to find Thorn plastered to his side and Hound using his stomach as a pillow. Shark must have allowed them to take him to the barracks at some point because he was laid out in the middle of the three mattresses they had shoved together at the beginning of the war so they could all sleep together and he was buried under his Guard.

“I thought… I thought you were gone for good. I thought I lost you.” Thorn’s voice was soft with fear and sleep and Fox ran his fingers through the long blond curls.

“Told you I was too stubborn to die. Can’t get rid of me that easily. I still have to scare the Senate into giving us rights so I can marry you one day.” He said with a small smile and Thorn sighed.

“While you were gone I shot the Chancellor. We’ve been dressing up in his robes and pretending he’s got the cornellian flu until we figure out what else to do but now you’re back it’s your problem. I’m taking a thing Rex told me was called bereavement.” Thorn said and Fox’s eyes opened fully from where he had started drifting off again.

“YOU DID WHAT?! THORN! I was gone two days!” He shrieked.

“He implied you were better off dead and I was in mourning. There’s scientific data proving making people work through grief lowers productivity. It’s not my fault!” Thorn whined and nuzzled his face in Fox’s neck while Fox tried to wiggle free but he couldn’t move from how he was buried under so many siblings.

“I’m going to kill you once I’m free. I’m going to kill all of you!” He growled but they all ignored him in favor of continuing their nap.

[foxyanon]

Zahkriisos

Summary: No summary, just notes. So for those who don’t know anything about Skyrim, I’m going to give a simple overview of a few things. The Dragonborn is essentially (in its most basic form) a hero of legend. Hermaeus Mora is a Daedric Prince (kind of like a demon) and his realm of Oblivion (kind of like hell) is Apocraphya (he’s know for being a hoarder of knowledge, hence the book named world). The title of the story gets its name from a dragon priest mask, which means Bloody Sword or Sword-Blood.

Pairing: Cultist!Masema x Dragonborn!Reader

Word Count: 2772

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

TW: Implied smut, blood, mentions of death, Dragonborn is a Breton but no other descriptors used, religious references

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Wheel of Time or The Elder Scrolls nor do I own any of the images used.

Dividers by @arcielee

Masema had been found on the shores of Solstheim by the Skaal, having washed ashore after a bad storm ravaged the island a couple years ago. He had foggy memories of his life before, but he did know he was a warrior and not from here. He was taken in by the Skaal shaman, Storn Crag-Strider, and nursed back to health, so he felt he owed it to the old man to stay and help out as needed. Even though he never felt connected to the All-Maker the way everyone else in the village did, he was still respectful of the religion and the culture. Even though he wasn’t born of the people, they still treated him like one of their own which is why the shaman decided he should help protect the pilgrims during their pilgrimage to the All-Makers stones. It was to be a long journey, one that would take months as the stones were scattered across Solstheim’s landscape.

It was at the Beast Stone, just beyond the borders of Thirsk Mead Hall, where he felt his lord’s presence for the first time. They had traveled to all the other stones and this was the last one before they would return to the village, something Masema was grateful for as he was tired of living on the road. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy spending time in nature, but the northern part of the island was all snow and ice which meant it was really fucking cold all the time. He was standing guard over the camp when he heard Lord Miraak’s voice call out from the stone before he was enthralled, the entire party starting to chant about the return of the Dragonborn and erecting shrines to their new overlord. Masema followed the orders of Miraak, first through entrapment and then of his own free will as it was the closest he had felt to any divine being in his entire existence.

As the Cult of Miraak grew, he moved through the ranks and eventually was the one giving orders to the new recruits from the Temple of Miraak. When rumors of another Dragonborn reached his ears, Miraak had given the command for Masema to send people to eliminate the ‘false Dragonborn’ in Skyrim and upon proof of their death, he would be rewarded. At first he sent out some recruits who were eager to prove their loyalty, but when they didn’t return, he started to get suspicious. There were reports of what this mysterious person was capable of, claiming they could slay dragons single-handed and were currently one of the more well known adventurers of the land. After the third attempt at killing this person, Masema started sending the more skilled men and women. After eight months of failure and many dead worshippers, Masema was well and truly pissed. If he wasn’t needed at the Temple, he’d go out and handle business himself but that just wasn’t possible right now. Preparations for the return of Miraak to the island took priority, so he resigned himself to sending another small group in the hopes this thorn in his side would finally be dealt with.

It was another cold day in the temple when Masema heard the most wonderful news. The other Dragonborn had sailed from Skyrim and was currently at Raven Rock, thanks to none other than Gjaland Salt-Sage, the same ship captain he “persuaded” to send the cultists to Skyrim originally. He even learned that the secretive person was a Breton, but no name was ever revealed to him. He thought things were finally looking up and that he’d be able to deliver the body of the false one to his lord, but how seldom does the fantasy match the reality.

As it turns out, this mysterious creature was working with the Skaal to remove Lord Miraak’s influence from the island. Somehow, on one of his trips away to check on a few things at the Earth Stone, this infuriating Breton got into the temple, killed all the cultists there and stole the Black Book from its pedestal. The nerve of that foreigner to desecrate sacred ground really solidified his resentment for them. Masema decided to take matters into his own hands and search out the defiler on his own, swearing to his lord he would handle matters before he set off in search of his target. Naturally, of course, this would be a monumental task as he would have to be careful to avoid the people he once called friends and his elusive prey seemed to be a master of hiding in plain sight. The only identifying thing about them other than the full set of ebony armor was the mask they wore, the ebony metal hiding them from the world. He recognized it as Zahkriisos, the mask of the dragon priest that was buried in Blodskal Barrow, an old Nordic ruin north of Raven Rock.

He tracked his query across all the island, but they were always one step ahead of him. With the help of Frea, Storn’s daughter, they slowly but surely cleansed the stones and cut off Miraak from speaking with any of his worshippers. After the second to last stone was cleansed and the false one had obtained all of the Black Books, Masema knew he needed to return to the temple and try to defend the last stone. It was here that he heard his lord’s voice for what would be the last time, telling him that all was as it should be and that his destiny was to battle the Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. Lord Miraak claimed that the fate that had been chosen for him would come to pass and that he was pleased with the loyalty and devotion Masema had shown him.

It was here that Masema was waiting for them, standing in front of the Tree Stone in his robes and mask, the last member of a once strong cult. He saw the Dragonborn glide down the hall, their cloak flowing behind them and the mask covering their face as well. He tried to determine the identity of the Dragonborn, but their armor covered them from head to toe, the ebony metal muted in appearance and fitted in the most generic of ways. The soft clanking of their boots on the stone echoed down the hall and into the chamber he occupied, steadily getting louder the closer they got. When they finally stopped several feet away, the tension was palpable as they sized the other up.

For a moment, they both stood there and stared at each other in silence, the weight of their respective destinies entwining with one another in the space between them. He noticed they traveled alone, the Black Book in their hands as they prepared for the final battle against Miraak. There was an energy that clung to them and their armor, the kind that only the favored of the gods could possess and that gave him pause. He found he had no desire to fight them, the futility of their situation coming into focus for him. He could not prevent their destiny from playing out, but he could choose whether he be another body for them or to stand aside and live another day. He chose the latter.

”I will not interfere with what fate has decreed. I shall watch over your spirit as you do what you must,” Masema stepped off to the side, head bowed slightly as he addressed the Dragonborn. The only response he received was a simple nod before the masked warrior opened the book, the tentacles of Hermaeus Mora bursting from the enchanted pages, wrapping around their form and pulling them into Oblivion with a sickeningly green flash of light. All that remained of the mysterious Breton was a spectral image, one that offered no insight to the identity of the physical person.

After what felt like an eternity of pacing back and forth in front of the stone, the book came alive and unceremoniously spit the body of the Dragonborn back out. Masema was startled at the sudden appearance, until he saw the blood dripping from a wound on their side and off their blade onto the stone ground beneath them. There was a new crack in the mask, their shoulders heaving as they pant in an attempt to catch a breath. No words needed to be said, Miraak was dead and the victor returned to the land of the living.

Wordlessly, Masema helped them up, careful not to agitate the wound as the two staggered down the dank halls of the crumbling temple. The walk to the old medical room passed in silence, the sounds of footsteps and heavy breathing bouncing off the stone walls with a soft echo. He helped the Dragonborn onto a wooden cot draped with furs before wandering towards the shelves in search of healing herbs or potions. He hears the telltale signs of the wounded Breton removing their armor, the sounds of metal and leather hitting the ground while his back is turned. When he turns around after having found a single healing potion amidst the disorganized shelf, he nearly drops the glass vial when he sees the Dragonborn for the first time.

He’s surprised to see a woman sitting on the cot, a thin wound bleeding from her hairline and the once pristine linen tunic sticking to her torso, the gash on her side bloodying the fabric. He was frozen in place, her eyes capturing his and the smirk gracing her lips indicating she is used to such behaviors. She holds her hand out, waiting for Masema to hand her the potion he holds. Even though her injuries look serious, she doesn’t push or taunt him, simply being patient as he collects his thoughts. With a shaky breath, Masema closes the distance and hands her the vial, watching as she downs it in one. He’s so caught up in being in front of such beauty that when she speaks, it startles him.

”What is your name?” She asks simply, her voice soft as she lifts her tunic and gets a look at her injury. She lifts her hand, a warm light emitting from her fingers and wrapping itself around her like an aura as she casts a healing spell that closes the wound better than any stitching. Masema watches a little starstruck as the woman literally glows for a moment, forgetting she had asked a question. When she raises a brow at him, he blushes furiously and swallows hard, having been caught gawking at her.

He clears his throat and looks at the ground, grateful for his mask hiding his face from her. “My name is Masema, Dragonborn,” he spoke quietly, fidgeting with his gloves and taking a few steadying breaths.

”A pleasure to meet you, Masema,” she gave him her name and he tasted it on his tongue, finding that the name suited her beautifully. “Would you mind if I asked your story? You are the only cultist who hasn’t attacked me outright and I’m curious as to why.”

He nodded in agreement and they proceeded to talk for hours, the candles burning low by the time they finished. She listened to his story, no judgment or anger in her eyes when he told her the truth of his involvement with Miraak. About halfway through, Masema felt comfortable enough to remove his mask and the act of trust made her smile, something so minor but it made his heart beat a little faster.

After she decided needed to leave the ruins to find food and clean up, Masema found himself unwilling to leave her side. He followed behind her after she got dressed again, letting her lead the way through the labyrinth of halls. Once outside, they both breathed in the cold fresh air, a far cry more refreshing than the stale air inside the temple. He hesitated as she started off in the direction of Thirsk, wanting to stay with her but unsure if she would want that. He looked around at the landscape, trying to gather the words to ask, but she beat him to the punch.

She was stopped several feet away, Zahkriisos held loosely in her hands at her side as the sun shone brightly behind her. ”Masema, how would you like to adventure with me?” Her question offered him the choice to walk away, but when she was looking at him like that, he couldn’t resist accepting her offer. He’d follow her to the end, to the very halls of Sovngarde and beyond if she’d let him.

She smiled and nodded, looking out over the horizon before turning and continuing on her journey. Masema breathed a sigh of relief, a smile on his face as he looked at the yellow mask in his hands. It was a symbol, a reminder of a life he was no longer living. With a sigh, he left his mask on the stone steps of the now deserted place he once called home, leaving behind one life and eagerly walking towards the next.

Masema had been traveling with the Dragonborn for several months now and he learned a lot about this woman in that time, like the reasons his assassination attempts never worked. For starters, she was the leader of half the guilds in the damned kingdom. He also learned that she only used her respective titles when outright doing business for them and wore different masks when dealing with the general population, only a select handful of her closest allies knowing her name. He practically swooned upon learning she had trusted him enough to know her identity, even more when he discovered through a friend of hers that she rarely kept traveling companions for more than a few weeks. Apparently this was to help maintain her secrecy, but since he had proven himself to be trustworthy and loyal to her, she kept him by her side.

His life finally had purpose again, serving and protecting her on their travels having made him realize that Miraak was a fraud, using his divinely given powers to assert dominion over the people he was meant to protect. Whenever he felt shame for his past actions, she was right there to tell him that his future doesn’t need to be weighed down by the consequences of the past. She did, however, prevent him from falling down the same path of reverence he once showed Miraak, claiming that she had no desire to be worshiped by the masses and that history wasn’t kind to those who sought such power. Even if she wouldn't have a following like her predecessor, Masema had no qualms being wholly devoted to her. He found her desire to aid everyone, even the poor and displaced, inspiring. It’s no surprise her kindness towards him and everyone else had him falling in love with her.

It was during one of their adventures, camped somewhere in Whiterun Hold under the stars and two moons of Nirn, when he finally confessed his feelings to her. He had felt nervous, his palms sweaty and avoiding her gaze as he stared into the small campfire. When he heard her get up and walk over to him, he finally dared to look up at her and was shocked to see her hand outstretched towards him, a silent request to take it as she stood there in the low light of the fire. He placed his hand in hers, standing up and following her towards their shared tent, his breathing uneven as she pulled him along behind her.

No words were said, their lips finding the others in the darkness of the tent and hands pulling at laces and straps of their garments. Masema laid her back on her bedroll, taking his time to learn her body even if he couldn’t see it. His fingers traced over old scars, his lips following close behind. He licked, kissed and bit her skin, leaving physical marks on her the same way she had done to his soul. He doesn’t know how long they stayed wrapped in each other, just know that it wasn’t nearly long enough. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, the sounds of her soft breathing as she rested her head on his chest the most wonderful thing he thought he’d ever experienced. Masema sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Creator and the Divines for giving him a chance to find redemption, feeling a sense of certainty spread through his veins at the idea of aiding the true chosen of Akatosh.

Taglist: @valeskafics @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @gemini-mama @alexagirlie @thenameswinter99 @mrsarnasdelicious @synintheraven

[ghostofskywalker]

Can I make a request for Fox where he’s finally gotten a break and goes to get some caff and reader in a rush for a meeting accidentally runs into him and then later brings him just the largest thing of caff possible as an apology?

I’m pretty sure that man runs purely off of caff and spite and I love him for it. Also I hope your days are going well. -Curious Curios

i'm doing okay, just trying to enjoy my last moments of freedom before the semester starts monday :) i loved this idea (and fox is my blorbo), so thank you for the request @curious-curios!

words: 2,021

summary: kindred spirits can be found in many different situations, both good and bad, but it was just your luck to find yours in the one situation where it was embarrassing.

or alternatively: why you should probably pay attention to your surroundings when you're walking the hallways of the coruscant guard with an open container of caf.

clone troopers masterlist

Fox's No-Good, Very Bad Morning

Fox looked at the chronometer that sat on the wall of his too-cramped office, and shook his head when he saw the time. He had been sitting in his chair for far too long at this point, and the morning light was only just starting to come through the gaps in the blinds of his tiny window. He had never returned to the barracks last night, and it certainly wasn’t his choice to do so, but he had simply couldn’t. There was still a stack of forms sitting on his desk that needed his attention, and countless more that were on his datapad. He was never one to favor front line combat over what the Guard did, but at this moment he almost felt jealousy to his batchmates that were serving out in space, because they would never have to deal with all this.

He had just started to go through one of the piles of flimsi on desk when the door opened to reveal Thorn. “You’re here early,” he said as he stepped in.

“When you don’t leave from the night before, I think a better designation would be ‘late,’” Fox said. “What do you need?”

“You know what? Nothing that important,” his fellow commander responded. “You need to get out of this room, I think it’s driving you crazy.”

“We’re well past that at this point.”

“Okay, then it’s settled. You need to take a break, and I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

“I’m the marshal commander of the Coruscant Guard, I can’t just go on break whenever I want,” he said, glaring at his brother.

“You can’t, but I can cover for you for a little while,” Thorn said, removing his bucket and placing it on one of the piles on the desk. “Just go get a cup of caf or something, because you look terrible.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” Fox deadpanned.

“Hey, I’m just saying. I can’t get you enough time away to force you to take a nap, but I can deal with some of this while you get some food and caf. And this evening, I can make sure you go back to the barracks, because this is not healthy.”

Fox sighed. He knew Thorn was right, he just sometimes forgot to set time aside for himself. It didn’t help that half the time the reports he did were for the Senate and he didn’t want to keep them waiting (sometimes they joked that an angry Senator was more dangerous than an angry Separatist). “Alright, but I’ll have my comm the entire time, so if something happens you need to let me know.”

“I know, I know, you’re a control freak. Now go get some caf, you’re making me tired just looking at you.”

Fox didn’t bother to grab his bucket as he left his office, taking in the bright lights as he walked through the halls and towards where the caf machine was kept. It was technically the break room, but the furniture in it was old and lumpy, so most of the time there wasn’t anyone inside. Even the chiller and caf machine looked to be older than he was, but he was at least glad that those they were both functioning.

The Coruscant Guard had been something of an afterthought when it came to organizing battalions for the war, and it certainly showed when it came to their rations. The one thing that they did have that was better than what the GAR gave them was caf. Hound, Thire, and Thorn were all excellent sabacc players, so occasionally they took turns ducking out of shifts and winning some extra credits on the side. Usually Fox would be more wary of what his men were doing, but they kept the break room well stocked with caf that didn’t actually taste like dirt, so he let things slide and looked the other way whenever he could.

Turning the machine on, it grumbled a little as it heated up the water, and Fox placed his favorite mug under the spout and placed the grounds into the correct receptacle.

He almost fell asleep as the machine did its job, but soon the delightful smell of freshly brewed caf filled his nostrils. He breathed in the scent that was one of the most simple of pleasures for normal citizens, but that was somehow the highlight of his life. While his mug was filling, he headed over to the chiller.

He usually drank his caf black, but there was usually some kind of cream that they kept stocked for Thorn and Stone, and he figured maybe he could treat himself to something a little more indulgent just this once. He looked around the room as if to check whether or not he was alone before he took the bottle and carried it over to where his mug sat (even though he knew no one would really mind if he put a splash or two in his caf), slowly getting more and more excited about taking a few moments to himself and enjoying this cup of caf.

He was feeling dangerous, so he tossed in a pinch of Hound’s sweetener. It smelled delightful, and he almost took a drink of the stuff right there, but he stopped himself. If he raised that mug to his lips at this point he would down half the cup in one sitting, and he wanted to savor this mug for once.

And everything seemed like it was going well for once, until he got about twenty steps to his office and someone came barreling down the hall, accidentally slamming into him as he turned a corner. Fox could only watch in horror as the mug of caf was jolted from his grip, and it was like the world suddenly ran in slow motion as he stared at it in midair. The caf splashed out the first moment you two had collided, so the liquid was not only dripping off his armor, but he had gotten some of it in his face. The mug hit the ground in less than a second, the ceramic shattering on impact and sending pieces all over the floor with a crash.

There was a kind of resigned mourning in Fox’s expression when he looked up, and saw you standing there with wide eyes. “I’m so, so sorry commander,” you said, looking absolutely mortified. “I was in a rush and I didn’t see you, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. You had obviously not done this on purpose, there was no point in getting angry. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I was just-” you said, and then you completely cut off, eyes widening. “I’m sorry, I’m late for a meeting and I really need to go.”

You had disappeared down the hallway before he could even open his mouth, footsteps echoing away as he just stared. He knew who you were of course, you worked as a medic for the GAR medical facility that was housed in the same building as the Guard, and he found that you were a nice person to talk to, when both of your busy schedules allowed for some free time. He found you very attractive as well, but always kept that particular detail to himself. The look on your face was one of stress and worry, so he didn’t want to make anything worse by making you feel guilty for what was clearly an accident.

He continued to walk to his office, and Thorn looked at him with a confused expression on his face when he saw the caf splashes on his brother’s amor. “What happened to you?”

Fox sighed, sitting down at his desk and sighing. “Don’t ask.”

But apparently Thorn didn’t feel like heeding the warning. "Did you at least get to drink some of that caf before you spilled it on yourself?"

“Didn’t I just say not to ask?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll let it go,” Thorn responded before leaving the office, and Fox could hear his brother laughing to himself as he walked away.

But of course, he was only truly alone for a few more moments, because his communicator rang, and he had to get back to work.

***

It wasn’t for a few hours that Fox finally got the chance to take a step back from all the things he had to do, and the fact that he lost out on the cup of caf before was really starting to show. Fighting back a yawn, he just about to get up when he heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said, wondering who was on the other side (because Thorn had stopped knocking at this point).

You were the one who stepped through the door, a large mug in your hands and an apologetic look on your face. “I feel terrible about this morning,” you said, holding out the mug to him. “So I got you a replacement.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said as he got up and took the beverage from you. This mug was huge, he noted, and it was full to the very top. He wondered where you could have found such a large cup, because all the mugs in the break room were of a standard size, but he was not going to question it.

“I noticed the color of your caf today, and I put a little cream in this cup,” you said as he raised it to his lips and took a sip. “I hope that was okay.”

He didn’t know what set it aside from every other cup of caf he’d had before, but someone this was better than anything he’s ever drank. “This is so good,” he said, offering you a sincere smile.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Then I think you might be a little sleep deprived, because it’s just from the break room.”

“I’m definitely a little sleep deprived,” he said. “But this should help.”

“You’re going to crash eventually,” you said, worry obvious in your voice. “When was the last time you slept?” He went silent, not wanting to answer that question, but his silence spoke volumes. “I’m starting to regret giving you one of my giant mugs then, because you clearly need sleep more than you need caf.”

“I still have half a shift left,” he said in response, taking another sip of the caf. “I can’t just leave now.”

“When was the last time you ate something?” Once again, his silence gave him away. “Fox!”

“I’ve just been busy.”

“Still, you need to eat!” you said, rifling around in your pockets. Once you pulled out a small ration bar, you threw it onto his desk. “Eat that now, and then when you get off your shift today I’m coming back here to make sure you eat and sleep. What time does your shift end?”

“1900.”

You nodded. “Alright, I’ll be back here then, and then we’ll go get some real food.”

Maybe it was the caf that was making him a little crazy (the caffeine in the drink reacting to the lack of food in his stomach), but he smiled. “Is this your way of asking me out on a date?”

You tried to look annoyed at his little quip, but it clearly wasn’t working. “Will it get you to sleep if I say yes?”

He laughed, for the first time in who knows how long. “I don’t know, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but there was still a smile on your face. “Well I only date people who are not sleep deprived, so you’ll have to fix that if we go out again.”

“So you’re already planning a second date?”

“Shut up Fox.” He went to say something in response, but was interrupted by your comm going off. “I’m needed, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nodded and took another sip of his caf as you stepped out of the room. If it meant he got to go out with you, he could find some ways to rearrange his schedule to find more time to himself.

- the end - 

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[varpusvaras]

Sometimes, during the darkest hours, Obi-Wan had the habit of saying that he was 'made for sadness'.

Quinlan was starting to think that he was made for it, too.

It was now that he understood more clearly than ever why the Order taught them to forego attachments. He understood it as he stared at the darkness ahead of him and found himself preparing to jump into it, if the word reached him.

He had thought he had gotten away from it as he had refused to visit the Guard medbay, to look at the glow of bacta against a body that by all accounts was out of reach of any healing in the Galaxy. But then again, he was still here, wasn't he? On Coruscant, roaming the lower levels, searching for something to do, telling himself that someone needed to do the dirty work, even though there were so many places that needed him more at the moment.

He wasn't sure how long it had been at this point, either. If soon someone would come and fetch him and tell him that he had been running from his obligations for long enough and that it was not how a Jedi should act, to tether himself to one person like this. It must've been days, if not longer than that. The darkness in his eyes had grown larger, at least, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the lack of sunlight this far down, or if it was because of something else entirely.

Someone did come down to look for him, but not a Jedi. Quinlan watched as the red of the armor pierced the darkness in front of him as the man made his way towards him.

"Get up", he said. Quinlan tilted his head.

"Isn't it a little dangerous for a clone to be alone this far down?" He asked.

"I'm with you", the man said. "And I said get up. I need you in the base, not rotting down here."

Quinlan laughed. Or at least he thought that he did.

"And what could you possibly need me for, Commander?" He asked.

He could feel his glare through the helmet.

"I need you to be on his kriffing bedside, after he almost died", he hissed, and then grabbed Quinlan's arm and yanked, hard. "Get up."

Quinlan blinked. The darkness took a step back, but didn't leave.

He could live with it.

He got on his feet and followed the Commander up.

---

The medbay was quiet, for once. It was almost eery, and felt more like he was stepping into a morgue.

Thorn still looked more dead than alive. His skin still had a sick pallor to it, and his hair looked more fried at the ends than just dyed lighter.

But he was breathing. Dead people didn't tend to breathe, so Quinlan had to believe it.

Dead people didn't open their dark eyes and look up at him, either, so he really had to believe it.

Thorn looked at him, a slightly far away look in his eyes for a moment, before he seemed to focus more on him. Then he smiled, just a little, like the expression was taking a lot out of him.

"Hey", he said. His voice was raspy, but the familiar warm tone was still there, just subdued for now. "Looking alive."

Quinlan tried to crack a smile. He tried to joke back. Yeah, you too. That would've been the perfect answer. It would've gotten the laugh out of both of them and made the medbay not so quiet anymore, and-

-he cried.

He lowered his head and cried, first silently and then out loud. There was a hand on his arm, fingers weakly wrapping around his wrist, and Quinlan all but collapsed on top of the bed, his forehead pressing against Thorn's chest. It kept rising at the rythm of his breathing. There was a beating heart under the skin and muscle and bones, still going on and on and on.

His tears did end pretty quickly. Maybe because all the time he had spent dredging along, the darkness closing in on him, finally caught up on him.

"C'mere." There was another hand on the back of his neck, trying to tug him closer, and Quinland definitely didn't have to be asked twice to crawl in the bed as well. He stayed there for a while, his face pressed against Thorn's shoulder, as he waited for his face to dry.

Finally, he got a strong enough grip of himself to lift his head.

Thorn was still looking at him, his eyes showing mostly exhaustion, but he kept them open neverthless. Quinlan felt rather stupid then. What had he been on about, thinking about belonging to sadness and darkness and all that, when all the while Thorn hadn't even been dead yet?

"I'm pathetic", he mumbled, more to himself. Thorn raised his brows a bit, and then smiled at bit more.

"Good for you", he said. "I happen to have a soft spot for men like you. Who look like they haven't slept in a week."

Quinlan looked at him, and he laughed. It was an actual laugh, this time, even if it was still breathless and coarse from how long he had not talked to anyone, but it didn't matter. Thorn was there, not caring a single bit about how pitiful Quinlan was, which was still, arguably, the funniest thing in the entire Galaxy.

He only stopped when Thorn shivered, it making his whole body rattle.

"Sorry", Thorn murmured. "It's just the acclimation to being out of bacta after so long. I'm fine."

"You want another blanket?" Quinlan asked.

"I already have three."

"You could use another three." Quinlan wasn't a healer, but he had been in bacta himself a few times by now. Healing from even minor injuries while being forced under gave everyone shivers and made it more difficult to keep warm, even only after a few hours of submergion. Thorn had been in for...Quinlan still wasn't sure exactly how long, but definitely longer than that.

"Mm-mmh", Thorn sighed, and closed his eyes. He moved a little closer, and tucked his head down, his nose pressing on Quinlan's throat. "I'm comfortable right now, though."

Quinlan understood the message. Don't you dare to move.

"Fine, fine", he said, and wrapped his arms around Thorn and his three blankets instead. Thorn made a rather content sounding soft noise, and then fell silent. Quinlan felt around with the Force carefully. Asleep, already.

He did need the sleep, and so did Quinlan, if he was being pefectly honest. He also most likely needed a shower and something to eat, but those could probably wait for a little longer.

There were careful, slow steps then coming towards them, and Quinlan turned around just enough to look at their source.

Fox was standing at the end of the bed, and his eyes met Quinlan's. He looked exhausted as well, with dark circles under his eyes showing clearly even on the tanned skin. He had probably been scrubbing his armor after pushing Quinlan into the medbay, as most of the grime was gone now.

Quinlan shot him a grin.

"All good here, Commander", he whispered. "Go to bed."

Fox rolled his eyes, though the usual hint of annoyance that the expression normally carried was missing this time. He stepped around the bed and combed his fingers through Thorn's hair once, and then, after a moment of hesitation, he patted Quinlan on the arm.

"You better stay there until he says otherwise", he said lowly, giving Quinlan a pointed look.

Quinlan couldn't help but let out another laugh under his breath.

"Don't worry", he said. "Never been better anywhere else than right here."

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

Another Jon Snow's trait that I like is that he's not passive, simply reacting to the stuff happening around him. He's proactive, creating new paths with his acts.

Like for example when he went in the middle of the night to Maester Aemon to ask him to include Sam to the new recruits who would be promoted to black brothers. If he hadn't highlighted his friend's good traits that night , it's possible that Sam would never became Maester Aemon's steward and the story on the Wall would be much different.

Another example is when they found the corpses of the Jafer and Othor in the woods. Sam wanted to speak - and he had a very good point to make- but he was silenced by a higher ranking black brother. However, Jon interferes and makes it possible for Sam to share his valuable thoughts:

"I did not ask for your views, boy" Rykker said coldy.

"Let him speak, ser" Jon blurted.

Commander Mormont understands that Jon's interference was crucial to let Sam share his views so he doesn't only thank Sam for his valuable thoughts but Jon as well.

"You a're fat but you're not stupid,boy", the Old Bear said gruffly. " You did well back there. And you, Snow".

An even more crucial example would be the night he was order to go to his cell because he had attacked Ser Alliser Thorne. His orders where to remain in his room, but once Jon realised something was wrong he decided to investigate and he ended up saving Mormont's life and being gifted his sword Longclaw for his service.

A good leader should be able to make quick decisions during critical times and Jon has proved that he has been proactive since day 1.

[pixyys]

belladonna among thorns

context. mori ougai x wife! reader (request)

it's about time the rest of the mafioso meet the mystery lady that is the wife of the boss herself.

warnings. possible slight spoilers and grammatical errors.

the boss of the port mafia is like a pandora box. sure, the government knows him; the armed detective agency knows him; his subordinates know him. but that's it. he is a dangerous individual one wouldn't want to run into. know or see too much, and you might see what's inside that pandora box yourself. so no one really bothered (nor dared) to look more into neither his life nor the mysterious lady both the boss and elise sometimes bring up.

mori is a peculiar man. the same can be said for you, the very spouse of the fearsome boss of the port mafia. you are an interesting enigma of composed maturity and gleeful adolescence. you can be responsible and controlled. but being young as you are, between you, your husband and elise, a childlike petulance and exuberance sometimes peek out like a loose lint.

elise sees you like a mother. your somewhat similar childish side makes mori thinks that you really are destined to be her mother. (you both bond over by regularly bullying mori. but let's not tell him that).

it just so happens that it's this side of you that the rest of the mafia get to witness first. mori doesn't exactly keep secrets about his little crime organization, since you essentially work for him and a mafioso yourself. you've read the profiles of some of his subordinates, and they look quite.. severe. so naturally, as the spouse of their boss, you have to wear your "cool mask" if you get to meet them someday, right?

that was the plan. but your husband wasn't exactly helping. you weren't informed about any ongoing meeting. so you just skipped your way and barged into the room like some shoujo protagonist, excited to greet mori and elise.

a stifling silence meets you. various eyes suddenly flit to your form, peeking from the dim lightings of the meeting room. if not for a little dose of uncertainty on the mafia members' part, either gin's steel blade, akutagawa's rashomon, or the katana of kouyou's golden demon might end up pressed against your neck; threatening you for your identity.

"oh, my wonderful wife! how nice of you to visit us here!" mori's voice reaches out from the back of the long table, cutting the tension like scissors against a taut string. no sound came out from the others. but you can tell some bodies shift in their seat and some blades are sheathed to its place.

if anyone dares to drop a comment, it will be the regal wielder of the golden demon. "you must be the boss' spouse?" kouyou raises her voice among the silence. "you are indeed beautiful, like how he likes to brag around," she titters, her sleeved hand closing against her laugh.

as the wife of their boss, you command respect, and with respect did they serve you. much more so after you decide to join the unusual meeting, cutting in during precise moments and offering effective, almost scarily cunning and shrewd inputs.

exactly because of this, most members like hirotsu, gin, and the others regard you highly. the mafia is in good hands. while mori is a splendid leader—despite a few loose screws—and you are more than capable of covering any existing loopholes.

tachihara might want to keep a more watchful eye on you. you're a dangerous individual, that much he can tell—you'll know what i mean once you catch up with the hunting dogs arc :)

kouyou gets along well with you! it's been a while since she got the company of a fellow refined woman. she's heard stories of someone described as "wonderful" and "beautiful" as the boss' spouse. but once she gets to know you, she finds your occasional childlike side refreshing and endearing. (mori, at some point, might sulk at how often you hang out with with kouyou ever since).

chuuya is relieved by your presence. as stated before, mori has a bit of loose screws. so his decisions can bring out the best for the organization, yet sometimes be a little bit extreme. despite your intermittent laid-back side, chuuya trusts that with your presence in the mafia, he can be rest assured to continue pledging his loyalty. (if you're close enough, he might start calling you "ane-san" like how he does to kouyou).

higuchi looks up to you! especially by how quick you shift to your professional mode at the meeting. since you're young, you shouldn't be that far off in age. 'what if higuchi is as reliable and admirable as you?' she would think—not that she isn't reliable and admirable herself. but akutagawa might notice her by then, and maybe they can make an amazing couple like you and mori.

akutagawa's current concern is to prove himself, especially to his former senior. so it's likely that he wouldn't think much about you except that you're the boss' mysterious spouse. regardless, akutagawa needs help; he's a splendid member of the mafia, but he is still a raw, unpolished diamond. you can choose to mentor him like how mori mentored dazai and kouyou mentored chuuya. but be careful of doting him or expressing worry for him because he might get offended and thinks he's weak, then becomes more unstable.

notes. i'm honestly stumped thinking about a proper title, so have some slightly content-representative and vague idiom instead haha

some plot points and characterizations might be inaccurate. i'm open for all feedbacks and criticisms! thank you very much for reading!