#the one on his face if i drew it more clearly is supposed to vaguely look like the scorpion tail

[skunkes]

who is / whats the story with mateo? he looks wicked cool

not much, he was meant to be a sort of antag to one of my main 4 ocs I had in high school, but those ocs also didn't have much of a plot. he was the demon counterpart to my angel oc

he was sort of a proto talon in that i really wanted to make Guy Who Sucks oc after already failing once (with al) and then i failed again because, well, its very easy to want to make a guy who sucks not suck anymore.

demon, meant to interfere with angel's angelness. has worm tongue/worm inside his body. can stretch his neck out (body horror warning i suppose) for more worm antics. uses the worm to drain you of your essence via stomach. can speak thru the worm. maybe he IS the worm. scorpion tail. enjoys humans ! has a "human" form, eventually chooses to just hide out on earth forever as a very strange human

[ap41cu5]

ONE OF US ONE OF US ONE OF US (lars pinfield fan!!!!) if you’re still taking requests, could you possibly do one where lucky teases lars on his obvious crush on the reader/character? and reader/character picks up on his nervousness and awkwardness?? sorry if it’s a bit vague. remember to take care of urself and thank you in advance <3 :)

Stifled

Lars Pinfield x Fem! Reader Rating: Slight NSFW - Suggestive Themes Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2464

A/N: thanks so much for your request anon! i really hope this is what you were looking for. ive noticed im struggling to write him completely in character, but i did my best! i hope you enjoy <3

“Oh, please. You totally do! There’s no point in denying it anymore!” You heard Lucky exclaim from the other room before she was hastily hushed.

“Would you keep your voice down!?” Lars seethed as he attempted to hush Lucky. 

You were quite literally just one step away from the door, but clearly you were about to walk in on a conversation you weren’t supposed to be hearing.

At first the plan was to come back later, but the next thing you heard immediately motivated you to stay. While you normally weren’t the type to eavesdrop, maybe just today you’d listen for just a few seconds longer.

“Well, it’s not like it matters anyway! You always get so nervous and uptight around her. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you hated her,” Lucky commented.

Who are they talking about? 

Shooting her a glare, he refused to answer and only turned back toward his desk.

“Don’t you have work to be doing?” He irritatedly asked, his tone making it clear that he wanted her to leave.

Lucky hopped onto one of the tables, “why? You want me to go so that you’ll both get some precious alone time once she gets back?” Lucky teased him, a smug grin plastering across her face.

Lars has a crush. The realization struck you right in the gut, one of your hands clutching the side of your uniform. 

You couldn’t help the fact that you liked him. There was something about his high intelligence, his attentiveness to detail, and occasional sass that drew you to him, despite him always acting standoffish whenever you were around. 

The possibility of him catching feelings for someone else broke your heart. You couldn’t stand the thought of him being with someone who wasn’t you.

“Alright, fine, I’ll go. But I can already smell the look on your face once she gets back!” Lucky giggled on her way out the door.

You immediately began to panic. You could hear her footsteps rapidly growing closer, and there was nowhere to hide in the sector of the lab you were in. So you took the only choice you had and tried to walk through the door as casually as you could muster.

Taking a quick deep breath in and walking in through the door, you were immediately met with Lucky’s face just inches away from yours.

An awkward split second passed where you both just stared at each other before she finally said, “(First Name)! Funny seeing you here!” She raised her voice, making sure Lars could hear her.

“I work here,” you chuckled, “I just got back from my lunch break.” You held up a paper bag containing your leftovers.

She animatedly nodded, “I see, I see. Well, I’ll catch you later, (First Name)!” She slipped past you, “have fun, Lars!”

She gave Lars a knowing look as she walked off, shooting you a quick wink as well.

Lucky was always energetic and cheerful, but she carried a much more playful attitude than usual. Your interest piqued, especially given the previous conversation they had. 

You placed your lunch bag down onto your desk as you turned your head to look at Lars. The moment you looked over, you saw his head shift back down to his desk, as though he was already looking at you. Part of you immediately pondered what that look could have possibly meant, but you tried not to overthink it. He probably wanted to see who was approaching, as if Lucky somehow hadn’t made it obvious enough. But you tried not to overthink it. Last thing you’d want would be to get your hopes up only to get shattered once you found out who it was that Lars truly had feelings for.

Despite all of your jumbled thoughts and feelings, you felt a bit bored. You finished the majority of your experiments earlier. You had astute problem solving abilities, but Lars was the one case you just couldn’t crack. 

You just couldn’t understand why he hated being around you so much. You were almost always nice, polite, and sweet. And every morning for the past couple of months, you’d arrive at work with a fresh cup of coffee sitting atop of your desk. He had taken the time to memorize how you liked your coffee, and that had to mean something, didn’t it? He couldn’t hate you that much, could he?

Approaching his desk, wandering eyes took a curious peek at what he was working on.

“How’s your experiment coming along?” You asked from over his shoulder.

He immediately seemed to be startled by your presence. The contraption he had been so carefully inspecting clattered to the ground as he flinched, hastily spinning around to face you.

You couldn’t tell if you were imagining it, or if his eyes seemed to soften just for the ephemeral moment they met yours. His expression quickly went from surprised to a mix of embarrassment and fear. A notably unfamiliar expression from him.

“What do you want?” He awkwardly cleared his throat before quickly turning back around.

Just for a second could you see a soft hint of blush tinting his cheeks as he made a clear effort not to look at you. But what did it mean? Why was he so nervous all of the sudden?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you meekly apologized. “You seem a bit uptight. Is everything okay?”

He huffed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sure,” you replied, sarcasm evident in your voice.

“Maybe you’re just more annoying than usual,” he spat, giving you the cold shoulder.

You sighed at his unsurprisingly cold response.

“Have I done something?” You asked, feeling a bit remorseful.

He seemed to tense up all over again at the question as he fumbled with whatever tool he had in his hand at the moment.

“No, everything’s fine. There’s something I must tend to,” he paused for a half second, presumably to come up with a place. “In the bathroom.”

A few seconds passed where you couldn’t find the words to respond. He’d been acting so awkward lately, more awkward than usual.

“...In the bathroom?” You reiterated, unsure if you really heard him correctly.

“Yes– yes, in the bathroom. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he hastily set down the tool, the other gadget he was holding fumbling out of his grip and clattering onto the surface of his desk.

His boots squeaked against the tile flooring of the lab as he made a beeline down the hallway to the restroom. 

You couldn’t help but feel a bit heartbroken. The way he acted so disgusted with you to the point where he couldn’t even stand being in the same room as you made you sick.

“Gee, what’s his deal, am I right?” You heard a voice emerge from behind you.

“Oh, hey Gary,” you greeted him, unable to hide the pain in your voice.

“Agh, don’t sound so disappointed!” He gave your arm a light pat as he crunched on an apple, “seems like he’s like that with everyone. If you ask me, though, I get the feeling he likes you too.”

You scoffed, almost laughing at his response.

“I highly doubt that, Gary. You saw how he acted around me. It’s like he hates me, or something!” You groaned into the palms of your hands like a petulant teenager.

He leaned closer to your ear, “let’s keep this between us, but for him to get all awkward and riled up like that? That’s gotta mean something. Take it from me, he likes you.”

You sighed. While he did sound convincing, you really didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“Yeah, I guess so. I hope you’re right,” you replied, until it finally dawned on you.

“Wait, how did you know I liked him?” You asked, brows furrowing.

He wheezed in response, nearly choking on a bit of his apple.

“Well, shit, is everyone in this lab oblivious, or what?” He chuckled, “trust me, though! I’m a guy. I know how guys act. I mean, he brings you coffee every morning, for Pete’s sake.”

“That’s exactly what makes him so confusing! He took the time out of his day to memorize how I like my coffee, and yet every time I try to talk to him he acts like– he acts like I’m some sort of pest!” You couldn’t tell if you were angry or sad, probably both.

“That’s what I’m telling you! He just doesn’t know how to act around you.” He took another bite of his apple, “I’ve gotta go help Trevor with something back at the firehouse. I’ll catch you later, (First Name),” Gary took his leave, making his way down the hall.

You sat back down at your desk, sinking into your chair as his words replayed in your head. Was it really true? Could it be possible that the person Lucky was teasing Lars about just before your arrival– was it you?

After what seemed to be a few more minutes, Lars finally returned to the bathroom and began working on his usual projects. You decided to leave him alone, sinking into your own work, or at least trying to. But you couldn’t help the fact that Lars was living rent free in the back of your mind, hindering your focus at every opportunity.

Looking back down at your paper, you finally came to terms with the fact that no matter how hard you tried, you wouldn’t be able to get any work done until you found out the truth. No matter how painful that truth may be.

“Lars?” You called out, turning in your chair.

“What is it this time?”

You huffed, part of you wondering if you should have just taken that response as an answer in itself.

“Why do you hate me so much?” The question came out sounding far more vulnerable than you intended.

He sighed, one of his hands messily making its way through his hair.

“I don’t,” there was a painfully long pause, “hate you.”

That response in itself was enough to surprise you. But you wanted more.

“I don’t understand.” you replied. “You avoid me at almost every chance you get, and you’re always mean to me. You bring me coffee every morning and yet every time I try to get closer to you, you push me away.”

You heard him groan, his head in his hands as he exasperatedly threw his head back. 

“You’re intolerable,” he said. “I hate the way that you bite the tip of your pen, I hate how you twirl your hair around your fingers, I hate your stupid sense of humor, I hate–” 

You were about to open your mouth and you weren’t sure if you were about to tell him to go fuck himself or that you hated him just as equally. Neither of which you would’ve actually meant, but you could feel yourself grow hurt, angry, and confused all at the same time with every word he said.

He seemed to contemplate whether or not to continue, “I hate how beautiful you are without even trying! Do you know how hard it is to focus whenever you’re near me?”

Oh.

It all made sense now. You felt your fists unclench and timed seem to slow down as your brain needed time to process what he just said.

Your legs seemed to move on their own as you approached Lars’ tense form. His hands clutched either side of his desk as his head hung low.

“Lars–” your voice was low and gentle.

“Please don’t say anything,” he pleaded. “I know you must be repulsed by me and that’s no one’s fault but my own–”

You’re not sure what came over you, but you quickly tilted his head towards you, standing on your tippy toes as you pressed your lips against his. His breath seemed to get caught in the pit of his throat as he stood completely frozen.

You quickly pulled away the moment you didn’t feel him kiss back, “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked–”

Your apology was quickly interrupted by the feeling of his hands tenderly gripping the sides of your face as he pulled you back in for another kiss. One of his arms wrapped around your waist and gently pressed your body up against his, a low grumble escaping his chest.

Your tongue gently grazed his bottom lip, requesting an entrance as you felt him exhale against you. He melted into you as he pressed your back against the front of his desk, one of his legs finding their way in between your thighs. Your hands made their way into his soft blonde curls, gently tugging on them as he let out another groan. Your bodies felt like they were melting into one other, like you belonged with each other. 

“Do you have any idea how painfully irresistible you are?” He grumbled into your skin, his lips pressing against the lower part of your jaw.

You sharply inhaled through your teeth. The feeling of him kissing down your neck sending a shiver down your spine.

“I hadn’t realized you were so pent up,” you replied, nails digging into the back of his uniform.

“Spent so many late nights where you were all I could think about. You have no idea how frustrating that was, do you?” his leg pressed against you, making you squirm.

“Why d’you think I kept trying to get closer to you? I love looking at your stupidly handsome face,” you murmured, licking your lips and going in to kiss him again.

“That right?” his head was tilted as his teeth sunk down on your lower lip.

“It is,” you felt yourself growing needy.

“Ahem!”

The sound of someone loudly clearing their throat could be heard throughout the lab as you both quickly pulled away from each other. Eyes darting to the source of the nose, you were both met by sight of Winston standing in the doorway.

“I was about to congratulate the both of you on your latest findings, but it seems like the two of you are.. busy right now.” He bore an awkward expression, “look, I’ll come back another time. But please not in the lab. That’s disgusting.”

You awkwardly chuckled, “yeah, no. Of course. That’s– we’re at work that would be so unsanitary. And gross. We would never–” Lars had to interrupt your awkward rambling by giving you a quick nudge.

Winston gave the both of you an awkward nod as he quickly walked off.

“Would you want to get takeout on the way home? I can drive you,” Lars meekly suggested.

You couldn’t fight the smile that pricked at the sides of your mouth, “that sounds lovely, Lars.”

[cacoetheswriting]

pearl: march 1984

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 3.2k chapter summary: eddie realises he might like you as more than just his best friend.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, emotional hurt / comfort, self-doubt / insecurities, recreational drug use, mentions of alcohol - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely, if at all, in the story.

pearl masterlist

Detention. 

Frankly, a terrible concept and quite possibly one of the worst ways to punish misbehaviour ‘cause who did it really benefit, really? Definitely not the students since it just made them resent everyone involved in the situation even more, and not the teachers either as they do not want to be stuck minding careless brats after their already exhaustingly long day at work. 

Detention was dumb. And you weren't just thinking that because of the half-crumpled slip in your hand.

Exhaling, you slowly open the classroom door and enter. There’s a hesitant sway in your strut as you approach the desk, handing the mangled piece of paper to the teacher that drew the short straw today — Mrs. Click. 

Judging by the look on her face, she was just as happy to be doing this as you were, only reaffirming your already strong belief that detention was in fact dumb.

“Take a seat,” Mrs. Click grumbles before burying her nose back in the book she was reading.

You don’t bother responding, she clearly wouldn’t care anyway. Turning instead on your heel, you scan the room of delinquents until your eyes land on the one specific culprit that landed you in this mess in the first place.

Not surprisingly, Eddie’s eyes are already on you. He’s got a stupid, shit-eating grin plastered across his face and you can’t help but to roll your eyes at him — what a dingus.

“I can’t believe you’re actually pleased with yourself,” you huff while sitting down in the free spot next to him.

The metalhead chuckles silently before sliding his chair closer towards you. 

“And I can’t believe you’re actually annoyed with me,” he teases in response, “It’s just as much your fault as it is mine.”

Your brows string together. “Are you shitting me, Eds?”

He shrugs, still smirking. “I’m just saying, princess—”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“—, if it wasn’t for your inability to control yourself around me, we wouldn’t be here,” Eddie teases, nonchalantly throwing one arm around the back of your chair. 

“Eddie, and I say this with love, you’re delusional.”

“Quiet,” Mrs. Click calls out without lifting her head.

Letting out a faint breath, you lean in your best friend's direction. The curly-haired teen mirrors your movement and the two of you are now mere inches apart — a proximity that in recent months has become all too familiar. But not in a weird way. Eddie was still just your friend, nothing different. Not really. Simply, ever since it became apparent you would be graduating without him this year, being as close to one another as platonically possible, brought some comfort.

“As I was saying,” you begin in a whisper, “I was simply trying to get you to stop annoying me with your childish behaviour. I didn’t think you would land us in detention.”

He gasps inaudibly, placing a hand to his cheek as his mouth pops into an ‘o’ shape. Again, you roll your eyes at his dramatics then gently flick his forehead in an attempt to get him to quit it. The metalhead’s smile is wide as he lets his arm fall back down onto the desk.

“Well, I just hope you didn’t have any plans tonight,” Eddie teases, the shit-eating grin plastered across his face growing wider by the second.

“As a matter of fact, I did have plans. Thanks to you, Eds, I had to cancel on a friend of mine. We were supposed to go to the movies. I should be drowning in popcorn and overpriced soda, instead I’m stuck here with you,” your response is honest and there’s a hint of annoyance detectable in the sound of your voice.

Eddie’s eyes widen slightly and for a split-second you think you said something that hurt his feelings, but then he opens his mouth, confirming your suspicion about not feeling an inch of remorse for landing you in this hell. 

“Princess, you’re hurting my feelings. I didn’t realise you had other friends.”

“I told you not to call me that,” it comes out in a half-hiss, half-giggle.

“Quiet,” Mrs. Click repeats and you glance in her direction. Her tone was slightly more stern yet she still doesn’t lift her head from the book in front of her, although you are mighty aware the third warning wouldn’t be as congenial. 

Since you seriously did not want to have to do this again tomorrow, ignoring Eddie’s quiet babbling, you reach inside you backpack to retrieve a cassette player. Proceeding to make eye contact with the curly-haired boy, you place the headphones around your ears, silently showcasing you were done with the conversation and just wanted to be left alone for the remainder of your mutual time in this teen prison.

Thankfully, Eddie seems to get the hint. He drags his fingers across his lips in a zip-like motion before shooting you a wink and leaning backwards in his chair.

As the metalhead was no stranger to passing time when forced to stay longer after school, he spent the next hour or so taking what he believed to be a much deserved nap. You on the other hand spent the entire hour staring at the clock on the wall with intensity. 

Time dragged. The cassette ended long ago and you felt no effort to rewind it, instead sitting in silence with the headphones still covering your ears.

Eventually, Mrs. Click clears her throat and you immediately turn your attention to her.

“Alright,” she begins and glances at the watch strapped to her wrist before looking up at the group, “I hope you all learned your lesson and we won’t have to see the majority of you here again.” 

Her eyes flicker to Eddie and she sighs, “Mr. Munson, please be cautious not to drag your friends into your messes in the future, understood?”

“Noted, ma’am.” Eddie offers a charming smile and you can’t help but snicker next to him, a reaction that causes the denim clad teen to nudge your side with his elbow.

“Good,” the teacher nods at his response, “You’re all free to go then.”

Scrambling from your seat, you slide a bag strap up your arm, resting it on your shoulder, before walking towards the door. Eddie is close behind, as always. He says a sweet goodbye to Mrs. Click and he hurries after you out of the school building.

“I don’t know about you,” Eddie quips, unlocking his van, “But this was a lot of fun. We should definitely do it again sometime.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes once again while settling into the passenger seat. 

“Eddie, please be serious. This isn’t funny, this was detention.”

He chuckles lightheartedly. “So? I get detention like every other day, you know that. These teachers, they have it out against me,” he says in his usual theatrical tone.

“They don’t have it out against you, Eds. Everyone wants to see you succeed.”

But he ignores you. 

“Can I have that tape you were listening to earlier?”

He’s swift to change the subject because he knows where this conversation is heading — you graduating, him staying behind — and you're painfully aware he doesn’t want to talk about it right now, (or ever, if he could have things his way). 

Eddie has only once admitted that he can’t bear the thought of you leaving and he wasn’t entirely sober when he said it, leading you to believe he didn’t even remember talking about it.

Considering avoidance of the topic also worked in your favour, you obey and hand Eddie the tape. He rewinds it with ease and places it inside the cassette player of his van. The first couple of tough yet vulnerable notes from Janis Joplin’s Pearl album blare through the shitty speakers. 

Eddie starts the van, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and a smile tugs at your lips as you watch him begin mouthing the lyrics. His eyes are on the road ahead, his curly brown locks are blowing with the light breeze coming in through the parted window. 

“Hey, Eds, since you ruined my plans for the afternoon, wanna drive down to Lover’s Lake and share some of your stash with me?”

Eddie smirks at the question. 

“Lover’s Lake, huh? Is this your sneaky way of getting me to make out with you, princess? ‘Cause you know you don’t have to convince me too much.”

“No, shut up,” you scoff and playfully smack his bicep, “this is your way of apologising for landing me in detention. Also, in your dreams, hot shot.”

“Ugh,” the metalhead groans, “can we please just agree the fault lies with us both? I can’t have you making me feel guilty until the end of time,” he whines and glances in your direction, “And, side note, aren’t you always the one telling me to chase my dreams?” 

Eddie’s insinuation isn’t lost on you, but this kind of flirting blurred the line between platonic and something more which was dangerous so close to your departure.

“You’re an idiot.”

He laughs, looking back at the road as the song ends and the next begins. Eddie starts to hum along with the melody and you watch him, slowly bobbing your head to the beat. The soft sounds he’s producing are so angelic, it causes your heart to soar then crack all at once. 

Playing cat and mouse with the subject of graduation worked for you too because you weren't entirely sure you could handle the real world without Eddie. He’s been a permanent fixture in your life for years now. The only person who truly knew every single thing about you. The only person that’s ever cared.

“Okay,” he says eventually, breaking you away from your thoughts, “Lovers Lake it is, princess.”

You gently smack his bicep once again. “Seriously, Eds, don’t call me that.”

“Sorry,” but he’s not. You're certain he’s not. Just like you know he’ll do it again, and again you will tell him not too.

The drive to the new destination is relatively quick. Eddie finds a space to park and cuts the engine causing the music to end mid tune. He tilts his head to look at you, wiggling his dark brows, and you can’t help but giggle at his ridiculousness while unfastening your seatbelt.

You proceed to squeeze in between the seats, into the back of his beat up van. Eddie follows suit, although one of his many metal chains gets caught somewhere in the process and he gets stuck. 

“Ehm,” he clears his throat, “A little help please.”

You laugh then skoot towards his trapped frame, scanning for the culprit. 

There’s a sudden shift in dynamic. It’s a little strange. Proximity usually isn’t an issue, but you can feel his eyes on you, scanning the side of your face, as you tug at the chain, fingers grazing against him. The air feels unnaturally heavy and you're fighting with yourself not to meet his wandering gaze.

“You know this thing has doors, right?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Eddie bites back playfully.

“Don’t lie,” you begin, fingers mangled around the chain causing this current situation, “You like to stare at my—” But you catch yourself by biting on the inside of your cheek before the rest of the sentence slips from your lips.

There is a semi-awkward moment of silence. 

Still avoiding his gaze, you eventually untangle Eddie’s metal chain, freeing him from his shackles, and push back further into the van. The curly haired boy sits across from you and in the spirit of continuous avoidance of yet another topic, he’s quick to whip out a pre-rolled joint from the inside pocket of his denim jacket then lights it.

“Go ahead, princess,” he offers, the joint between his fingers, ready for you.

“No, no,” you protest, “Dealer first.”

He lets out a lighthearted chuckle but shakes his head. “Take it,” he pouts, “it’s heavy, my arm is starting to hurt.”

“Did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you can be?” you joke but give in, taking the joint and placing it carefully between your lips. 

It’s moments like these that are your favourite. It is moments like these that make you think how lucky you are to have Eddie in you life.

But it’s also moments like these that make you realise how fucking hard it’s going to be to say goodbye.

And Eddie feels exactly the same way.

Landing the two of you in detention wasn’t the plan. It just sorta happened and honestly, rather selfishly, he was glad that it did. God only knew how many afternoons he had left with his best friend, so he had to make every single one of them count.

This one was turning out to be quite perfect. Just you two, sitting in the back of his beat-up van, about to share a joint.

Eddie observes as you closes your eyes, inhaling the smoke. A warm feeling settles in his core. Honestly, he found himself experiencing this certain tingle more and more lately, although he couldn’t quite decipher whether it was because you were leaving soon and this was serendipity towards everything the two of you share, or whether there was a different underlying reason, one he was undoubtedly afraid to act on.

— Most likely the latter.

Simply put, you had waltzed into his life and flipped it completely. Eddie had spent years putting up emotional barriers, guarding and shielding his heart from further suffering, yet after the very first conversation he held with you, the walls started to crumble. 

The metalhead adored your openness, honesty, and effortless ability to be unapologetically yourself. No bullshit. You brought out this sweetness in him, a side he didn’t even know he had. It was as if you took a metaphorical sledgehammer and banged against his emotional barriers until there was almost nothing left.

Almost.

“So,” Eddie begins as you take another puff, “tell me, what’s your favourite song on the record? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

“On Pearl?”

He nods as you pass him the joint.

“Probably A Woman Left Lonely, the lyrics are just next level. I mean all of her songs have these hidden meanings and a level of emotional maturity I can only hope to reach one day, but A Woman Left Lonely in particular…”

“Well, the fevers of the night, they burn an unloved woman,” Eddie quotes melodically before taking a puff and your eyes widen in surprise. A reaction that causes a chuckle to escape his lips. 

“What? Didn’t peg me for a Joplin fan? I am a musician, after all.” Eddie quips as you reach for the joint, which he gives up without question. “Or did you think I forgot Pearl is your favourite album?”

“No, I—” you hesitate and Eddie can tell you're not sure what to say. “What’s your favourite song then?” you asks instead and he smacks his lips together, pondering the question for a moment. 

You pass back the joint and he takes it from between your fingers to light it again before inhaling, then exhaling a heap of smoke.

“Me and Bobby McGee,” Eddie answers eventually, “I know it’s not a Joplin original but her voice, damn, she does things with that song that literally make me feel weak.”

A smile circles your lips. “Sing some of it for me.”

The request catches Eddie off guard and you can sense his hesitation because you're quick to add a witty remark, “You are a musician, after all.”

The slight jab at his earlier point makes Eddie smirk. “Touché, princess. Touché.” 

And you shrugs as if it’s nothing, but the mischievous glimmer in your eyes devices you. Eddie knows you know that he can’t refuse you. He knows you know there is nothing in this world he wouldn’t do for you. He knows you knows that when it comes to him, you hold all the power.

“Okay,” the metalhead clears his throat and reaches for an acoustic guitar hidden under a blanket. With the joint still between his fingers, he begins to strum the intro chords from memory: G - C/G   G - C/G   G. 

Your gaze is fixated on his frame. He can feel your attentive eyes on him as you tap the palms of your hands against your knees in rhythm. 

This isn’t the first time the two of you have done this. Thinking about it now, he actually tends to play the guitar for you a lot, although it’s usually more heavy metal than blues rock, and he hardly ever sings just for you, so he's wondering, why did you ask him to sing? And why was he suddenly feeling nervous?

“Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waitin’ for a train. When I’s feelin’ near as faded as my jeans,” Eddie warbles melodically, now playing D7, “Bobby’s thumbed a diesel down, just before it rained. And rode us all the way into New Orleans.” C/G    G

“I pulled my harpoon out of my dirty red bandana. I’s playin’ soft while Bobby sang the blues,” he effortlessly switches to C and muster up enough courage to look up at you — which could have been a big mistake because the smile gracing your near perfect features nearly causes him to fumble up the next part of the lyrics.

“Windshield wipers slappin’ time, I’s holdin’ Bobby’s hand in mine. We sang every song that driver knew.” 

D7    C

“Freedom is just another word for nothin' left to lose. Nothin', don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no-no.”  Eddie continues, strumming G, and to his pleasant surprise, you join in for the next part of the chorus, harmonising without flaw. 

“And feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. You know feelin' good was good enough for me. Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.” G    A    A

He holds the last chord for a second longer, not breaking eye contact. His heart is battering inside his rib cage and if he didn’t know any better, he would say it was about to explode. 

After ultimately coming to a full stop, Eddie rests his arm on the neck of the instrument. Neither of you speaks for a moment. You're beaming at him and he can’t help but return the happy expression, before putting the bud of what was left of the joint between his lips.

“I guess you are a musician,” you quip and Eddie smirks.

“You doubted me?”

“Maybe.”

You're teasing. Eddie doesn't care though. All he really wants to know is if you liked his mini rendition of the song. Although, wanting to spare himself the humiliation just in case you didn’t, he doesn't dare ask for you opinion.

But it seems you can read his mind ‘cause as he manoeuvres to open the sliding door and discard the reminisce of the joint, you tells him exactly what’s on your mind. 

“In all seriousness, that was like really really good, Eds. From now on, I’m definitely going to ask you to sing for me more often. Perhaps A Woman Left Lonely next? Or not just Janis,” you ramble excitedly, once again unknowingly causing his worries to dissipate. 

Proceeding to sit beside you, Eddie once again reaches for the guitar. You let your head fall on his shoulder as his fingers strum random chords. 

“You know that Irish band U2? I think your voice would really suit Sunday Bloody Sunday. Or, actually, any of their songs really.”

And as you continue listing different artists, an unfamiliar feeling settles in Eddie's core.

Well, shit.

pearl masterlist | main masterlist

[petertingle-yipyip]

MAD AT GOD - MATT MURDOCK

season 2b - happening again

tags: @ironprincessstranger @dusstory @americaarse @johnmurphys-sass @astrobees @mayasaurus--rex // two // four // masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 6,187

Summary: Coming face to face with the past isn’t easy. But when that past is supposed to be dead, vengeance seems inevitable.

The admission of your names seemed to settle most of the uncertainty among your group. Though maybe it would’ve been easier just to clear it away yourself. Matt was the only reason you didn’t, given he would’ve recognized it immediately.

You sat at the table beside Matt, next to the man you learned to be spoiled rich kid Danny Rand. The man with unbreakable skin was Luke Cage. And of course, Jessica.

You peaked down the hallway, wondering if Stick was still out there. You knew if things were going wrong outside, the cranky old man wouldn’t hesitate to get you or Matt to help so that gave you some odd sense of comfort.

Danny was pestering Matt about his abilities while you leaned back in your chair, calling on that old wave of sadness to create a ball of blue sparks in your hand. And as you drew from it, it seemed to get stronger and stronger. Almost as if it was getting closer.

“I don’t.” Danny said suddenly, making you raise your eyebrows and lift your head. “You’re blind.”

“Yeah, well, sight is overrated.” Matt answered and you snorted a laugh.

“Okay, but what about her?” He gestured to you and you smirked slightly, seeing the blue sparks shine brighter out the corner of your eye. “What’s her deal? Are you two together?”

“Yeah.” You grinned at the opportunity. “And you’re just heartbroken over that, I bet.” You flicked your fingers and watched the sparks flutter and land across Danny’s eyes.

He sniffled slightly as his eyes began to water, his face dropping and lip quivering as he cried gently.

“Now you’re angry.” You waved a hand and saw a red streak trail behind your fingers and land against his chest.

His expression quickly matched the emotion you sent as the tears faded and a snarl crossed his lips that almost made you laugh. You felt an elbow in your ribs and you turned to see Matt giving you a stern expression.

You flicked your wrist again to clear any influence you had and crossed both arms over your chest.

“I’m a really strong empath, pretty much.” You shrugged. “Plus highly trained and blah blah blah.”

“What did you do to him?” Luke asked quickly.

“Told you I’m resourceful. Unbreakable skin won’t help you against me.”

You reached across the table for one of the dumplings before Matt smacked your hand away. He moved your hand to the other plate and mouthed ‘Those were shrimp’. You nodded slightly in realization and picked one up from the new plate.

“Woah.” Danny said with wide eyes after having wiped any stray tears away. “I thought you had to be touching someone for that to work!”

“Clearly, I don’t.” You made a vague gesture. “Can we move on now?”

“But how did you get your powers?” Danny urged. “Did you earn them? Or was it some freak accident?”

“Я собираюсь ударить его по лицу, если он задаст еще один вопрос.” You mumbled to yourself which made Matt chuckle, even though he probably didn’t know all of what you said. “Neither. Moving on.” You said instead. (I’m going to kick him in the face if he asks one more question.)

“She’s right. We need to come up with some kind of plan here.” Luke agreed and you offered a thankful look.

“The only plan is how do we get these people off our backs?” Jessica added. “Ideally in a way that doesn’t incriminate us.”

“What do you mean, incriminate us?” Danny cut in.

“None of us are on police payroll. What we did back there was trespassing, aggravated assault, and vigilante bullshit.”

“No, I can get us off the hook for that if anything happens.” You offered. “If that gets brought up, Danny Rand hired the security company I work for. I was asked to bring in some freelancers. Rich Boy writes a check and my boss signs some papers. We’re all covered.”

“You really wanna get your job involved?” Matt’s brows furrowed.

“Russo won’t ask too many questions. I know he has a past too so leverage would be easy to find if I need it.”

“There is a cop I think we trust. I say we bring her in.” Luke offered.

“You’d only be putting her in danger.” Matt countered.

“Look, you saw what happened when we tried it the legal way.” Danny tried. “I even put on a tie!”

“I promise you cannot fight these people, no matter what your hand can do.”

“It’s chi.”

“What I’m saying is going at them head on, that’ll get you killed.”

You reached under the table and found Matt’s hand when you were hit with that memory of Elektra.

“Only if we do it alone.” Danny insisted.

“We weren’t alone when we went against them the first time.” You said, suddenly finding the tablecloth very interesting to look at. “It was me, Matt, and another really good fighter… We didn’t all make it out and I guarantee the three of us were better than this group. What makes you guys any different?”

“These people took everything from me. I’m gonna take them down, one way or another.”

“Oh, you think that wanting revenge will carry you through this?” You scoffed. “That’s amateur. It’s going to get you killed.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Yes it will!” You laughed and leaned forward, feeling Matt grab your upper arm. “It will overwhelm you and you won’t be able to think straight because you’re gonna want to ‘take them down’ but they will tear right through your pathetic little ass.”

You cleared your throat and sat back, having realized your accent was slipping in. You glanced around and noticed no one seemed to have caught it seeing that the group began arguing about whether or not they should do it. Other than Matt of course. The hand that was on your arm slid back down to your hand and gave a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Matt sighed. “Did you know he was here?”

“Who?”

“Did he follow you here?”

“You think I wouldn’t know if I was being tailed?” You rolled your eyes. “Who’s here?”

The back door opening answered your question. You all jumped up quickly, you zipping up your top quickly and letting your hand hover at the cuff of the sleeve hiding your knife. You were relieved that it was only Stick and there was no urgency in his appearance.

“Stick.” Matt announced in annoyance.

“Matty.” He nodded. “Y/N.”

“Is something wrong?” You tried.

“Other than this shitty excuse of a hideout, no. Not yet.”

“What do you mean, yet?”

“How’d you find us?” Matt asked loudly, clearly unimpressed by his old mentor’s company.

Stick pulled Danny’s phone from his jacket and smashed it before starting a small rant about personal ties being used as leverage. After a quick and tense argument between Matt and Stick, Jessica stormed out and Luke followed. Stick took some jabs at Matt and you had to nip that in the bud before one of them took it too far.

“Stop it.” You said firmly and watched the words float through the air as a white haze that wanted to clear the brewing anger between the two. “Matt’s life is his life and he can live it how he wants.”

Luke came back in and you all sat around the table, minus Jessica, and listened as Stick gave you a history lesson in the Hand. You didn’t really care about the history of the organization, how long it had been around, what it had its hands in, or any of it. All you needed were names.

Trading lives wouldn’t bring Elektra back, you understood that, but putting a bullet in whoever pulled Nobu’s strings would sure let you sleep a whole lot better. Maybe even dull that strange feeling you couldn’t seem to escape.

You caught the name Alexandra, Stick saying she’s ran the Hand as long as they’ve existed. She would serve as your main target, the top of the Hand’s five fingers.

Madame Gao, and given your last run in with her, that didn’t surprise you. You were surprised to know she was back in town and had been under your radar for so long. But then again, your radar had either been distracted or inactive so you supposed it made sense.

Sowande, an African warlord that Luke had already encountered. Interesting, but not a priority.

Bakuto, but Danny confirmed he was already dead.

Murakami, the man who really pulled Nobu’s strings. He would be your second target. Or maybe it’d be more fun to go after him first.

“I want him.” You said simply, looking across the table at Stick. You ignored the looks from Luke and Danny, along with the slight accusation in Matt’s head turn. “Murakami. I want the first shot at him.”

“If he comes out of his little foxhole, you can have first and last as far as I care.”

“Wait. What did he do to you?” Danny cut in.

“It was Nobu, technically.” You answered carefully, watching your voice for your accent as your anger spiked and every inch of your skin warmed. “He killed someone I really cared about… She jumped in front of a blow that was intended for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke said honestly.

“I killed Nobu that night but… Now I want him. An eye for an eye.”

“You did what? And we’re supposed to trust you?”

“We can’t get hung up on that now.” Matt said, waving a hand to try and dismiss the topic. You were surprised to hear no opposition from him but you didn’t say anything about it. “Why are you even here, Stick? What are you expecting us to do about it?”

“Hang on. He’s given me more information in just a few minutes than anyone ever did at K’un-Lun.” Danny defended.

“That’s because he wants something. And because what he wants will put everyone we care about at risk.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that.”

“And I’ll keep saying it!”

“I’ve lost plenty in this war. Don’t talk to me like I’m some kid!”

“Then stop acting like one!” You cut in firmly, raising your brows as he stood suddenly.

“What did you just say?” He asked angrily.

“Calm down, Danny.” Luke sighed.

“You calm down, Luke!”

“Sit down or I will sit you down.” You said calmly, feeling the heat tingle up your spine and down your arms to your fingers.

“Go ahead and try it.”

You smiled excitedly and began to stand before Matt’s hands landed on both of your arms and pulled you to stand on his other side. You groaned and shook out your hands, feeling the heat leave your skin in small waves. You locked your fingers and hung them over the back of your neck.

“Yeah, alright.” You muttered. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Matt asked softly, putting a hand around your waist and standing close. You rested your hand on his shoulder in return.

“Mhmm… But I will probably punch him in the face before this is over.” You smiled slightly and he gave you a small chuckle. “You don’t get second chances with these people, Danny.”

“If you’re not careful, next thing you know, you’re dead. Or worse, you’re holding the people you care about and you get the…” You rubbed his shoulder slightly and you felt a brief cold sensation crawl up from your palm and dissipate across your shoulders. “You get the privilege of watching them die.”

“I know this fight is important. I know the city is at stake.” You offered genuinely. “But before you keep trying to rally up a team, think about something. Would you be able to live with yourself knowing that your involvement only made it worse?”

The air around everyone became stagnant with the heavy indecision. You ran your free hand over your face and took Matt away from the group. You could feel a tension rising in him, a mix of grief and annoyance and anger and something close to fear. As discreetly as you could, you called most of those emotions to yourself and felt it tighten your chest. You cleared your throat to cover the groan as the sensation grew to be uncomfortable.

“If you want to, we can walk away… We can go home.. Wait and see if this fight even comes to us.” You offered genuinely. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this just because I’m willing to.”

“I don’t know what to do.” He answered gently, turning to you with a truly heartbroken expression. “At Midland Circle… Y/N, I swear…”

“What happened, Matty?”

“It was her.. The woman in Cambodia. The one who killed Jessica’s client.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m glad you two aren’t alone anymore.” Stick offered from behind you. “Your little back and forth games were exhausting, even for me.”

“Don’t act like this is normal.” Matt answered tightly.

“Don’t act like I don’t know what’s really going on with you… You crossed paths with her, too?”

“Will one of you please tell me what’s going on?” You groaned.

“Elektra.” Stick said simply and you felt your entire body run cold.

“Bullshit.” You scoffed and turned to Matt, who only offered an apologetic expression. “Really?”

“Yeah… She’s alive, Y/N.”

“It makes sense…” You spoke slowly, piecing together your own realization. “What I felt a few weeks ago, it was like it was meant for me to feel. I didn’t realize then but it was.. calling to me, almost. That must’ve been when they resurrected her.”

“She’s not alive. Not the way we knew her.” Stick countered. “She’s something else.”

“Something empty?” You asked as you remembered that small feeling you had earlier when you arrived.

“I couldn’t hear her heartbeat.” Matt confessed.

“Just like the other Hands soldiers… It all makes sense. It didn’t feel anything like her before and even now… I can feel something coming but it’s not the girl we knew.”

“That’s cause that girl ain’t there anymore.” Stick shook his head and you could’ve sworn there was some yearning his voice, the slightest wish for the girl he raised.

“Maybe we can help her.” Matt tried, bordering desperately.

“No, we can’t. When they brought her back, they made her forget.”

“No.. She- She hesitated. She had the chance but she didn’t kill me.”

“If I can find that recognition, some ghost of a feeling, I can change it. I can exploit it.” You offered and it was more for Matt than yourself. “I- I- I can bring out feelings connected to memories and maybe that will-“

“Don’t try to make sense of this.” Stick cut in firmly. “With or without either of you, when the time comes, whatever is living in the body of Elektra Natchios is gonna have to die.”

“You told me that you wanted me to fight so people didn’t have to die. If I can get to her-“

“What happened to the woman that he couldn’t stand because she killed the people she needed to? What happened to the woman that brought her enemies to their knees and made them beg for mercy?”

“Exodus.” You nodded slightly. “They’ll be expecting her.”

“Maybe not.” He gave a shrug.

“Someone’s outside.” Matt said quietly.

“Great.” You muttered “Я мог бы использовать кого-нибудь, чтобы ударить.” (I could use someone to hit.)

You snapped your fingers as you moved back to Luke and Danny. You had Danny get the rest of the staff out the back while Luke went to the window. You slid your mask up and tapped it on, taking only a second to appreciate the familiar blue tint of the high tech lenses as they started up.

You were hit from behind with a shock of strong confidence laced with a vague fear before you could get any visuals. You pushed your mask up and turned quickly, flicking your wrist so the knife slid to your palm.

“This wouldn’t be my first choice but I am a sucker for fortune cookies.” The woman said calmly. “Yknow, I thought it would be a good idea if we all just talked this over like adults.”

“What do you want?” Stick asked simply.

“You surprised me, Stick. You’ve become so resourceful in your old age.” She glanced over your group but her eyes landed on you. “You’re not the girl from before.”

“Нет, это не так. Но поверьте мне, вы бы предпочли иметь дело с ней, чем со мной. Удивительно, но она намного приятнее.” You answered as you gripped your blade tighter. (No, I’m not. But trust me, you’d rather deal with her than me. Surprisingly, she’s much nicer.)

“Я могу сказать, что ты сильный... Вы бы поверили мне, если бы я сказал вам, что у вас будет больше потенциала с нами?” (I can tell you’re powerful… Would you believe me if I told you that you would have more potential with us?)

“Все, что вам нужно, это еще одно оружие на случай, если ваше Черное небо выйдет из строя. Единственный способ привлечь меня на свою сторону - это если я умру..” (All you want is another weapon in case your Black Sky fails. The only way you get me on your side is if I’m dead.)

“She’s got spirit. I like her.” She pointed to you before turning back to the group. “Mr. Rand, I’m sorry your exit from our meeting was so abrupt.”

“You tried to kill us.” Danny answered angrily.

“Them, maybe, but certainly not you….”

The woman kept talking to Danny but you lost interest. You watched the van outside, keeping a grip on Matt’s sleeve. You knew this ‘civil conversation’ with who you could only assume was Alexandra wouldn’t last long. You knew you had a chance to kill her. You could pull your gun fast enough, a quick bullet to the head, maybe even burn the body so she couldn’t be resurrected, but you saw the figure coming before you could move against her.

You cursed mentally and yanked Matt away as she kicked the door in.

You felt your heart drop when you saw it really was Elektra. Your friend had been resurrected and now standing before you with the clear intent to kill you. You opened yourself completely for a quick moment, only to Elektra and found nothing was coming in return.

Her usual spark was gone, as if it was never there. There was no fear, no loneliness or anger or confusion. She was absolutely empty, a hollow shell of the woman you once knew. And it nearly broke your heart to discover that.

But maybe… Just maybe you could find some sort of emotion to latch onto. You just had to figure out what to say if you wanted to get your friend back.

But would getting your friend mean she would try to take Matt away from you again?

Before anyone could move, Matt pulled you a few steps back as a black SUV came crashing through the front of the building and knocking down Elektra. Following behind the SUV was Jessica and you were actually relieved she came back.

“Who missed me?” She asked with a cocky shrug and you rolled your eyes in amusement. “Nice goggles.”

“Said the one with a tacky scarf.” You answered as you saw Elektra get to her feet.

The fight broke out almost instantly. Luke and Jessica took on Elektra for the most part. It was easy enough for her to knock Danny around but before you could jump in, a man you could only assume was Murakami came crashing through the skylight.

Your hand grew hot around your blade and you charged at him. Your attack clearly took him by surprise because all he could do was lean away from your swinging blade. You dropped to your knee and slammed your knife down towards his foot, though he narrowly avoided it and kicked out at your chest instead.

You rolled through it and lifted your Bite, aiming a shot for his chest. It landed square in the center as Matt came to help you to your feet. Together, you two ran at him.

You used a fallen Danny Rand as a stepped off point and hooked your legs around his head. Throwing your body, you sent him right into a strong kick from Matt that laid him out. You yanked your blade out the ground and swiped it as he rolled away, resulting in you cutting open a long gash across his back before he ran off.

You considered chasing him but before you could make a move, Matt tackled you to the ground and shielded your body with his. He kept your head tucked down until the gunshots stopped. You did a quick assessment of you both, more relieved he was unscathed than yourself. Your small team circled up as the various soldiers drew closer.

“We work together, we get out of this alive.” Stick said calmly.

“And they won’t.” You replied quietly before flipping your blade over the back of your hand and driving it into the neck of the closest soldier.

Matt made a beeline for Elektra but before you could follow him, Stick grabbed your arm and turned you back to the fight. With a loud groan, you stayed put.

Stick kicked a sword into your hand without a word and you spun it once before acting.

You worked in long strokes, swipes and slashes rather than jabs. You sidestepped your temporary teammates and spun, rolling over them when they ducked or spinning around them.

“Where’s Matt?” Danny yelled.

“I’m on it! Gimme a second!” You answered as you were slammed to the ground. Looking up, you saw Murakami headed down the hall that Matt disappeared down.

You took the sword and drove it through the chest of the man pinning you down before shoving him off and hurrying after him. You ran and jammed your knee into his shoulders, making him slam his face against the door.

He spun on you quickly and scoffed when he saw it was you. You watched his expression falter as your anger rose and you knew it shone in your eyes by the way it began to tint your vision. You sparked the heat at your hands and moved in quickly, landing quick and hot purposeful combinations that kept him off balance.

You pinned him against the wall and grabbed at his face, your hot fingers digging into his skin as your thumbs threatened to gouge his eyes. He reared back and slammed his head against yours, making you stagger back slightly. You shook it off and landed a hard roundhouse kick to the side of his head that made him collapse.

It wouldn’t kill him but it’d buy you time. Making him suffer before you killed him would make his death a bit more gratifying, so that was the route you would take.

When you got outside, you found Matt and Elektra standing in silence.

“El.” You breathed and hurried across the distance as you yanked your mask down.

You felt just the smallest spark of recognition, of fear and loneliness. You hated to use that but you capitalized on it and made it stronger, hoping it would bring some sort of memories with it.

“I know you’re in there, please.” You said quietly but she only stared at you in silence. “You have to remember me.. You… You gave your life for me.”

“It was your fault I died?” She asked quietly, brows furrowing as something seemed to connect.

“What? I.. No, it wasn’t…” You shook your head, feeling a deep cold swelling in your chest and threatening to suffocate you.

Before you knew it, she was gone and Stick was leading your group into the sewers. You followed mindlessly as your head spun violently. You felt every inch of your body growing cold the more you thought about it to a point where you thought you would turn to ice.

It was your fault.

Elektra died, your friend died, because of you.

The sudden guilt made your whole body tingle and your hands shook. Matt noticed quickly and came to your side after a quick spat with Jessica, abandoning the previous conversation without hesitation. He stood close to put a hand in your hair and the other on your hip.

“Hey.. It wasn’t your fault.” He said softly before a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“She’s right… It was.” You answered in the same hushed tone, knowing if you spoke any louder your voice would break and you wouldn’t be able to get the words out. “I got her killed.”

“No. You didn’t, alright? You didn’t.”

“I did… I hesitated and it got her killed.”

“Oh, Y/N..” He sighed and pulled you in for a tight embrace. “I swear to you, it wasn’t your fault.”

You made a small squeak of protest and buried your face in the crook of his neck. You wrapped your arms around him and your fingers tightened around the material of his jacket. You closed your eyes tightly to keep back the tears and you felt your stomach twist with the newfound guilt. You felt it across your skin, like a slime creeping and crawling under your clothes but you had to swallow the thick lump in your throat.

You quietly followed your group to the van that Luke brought back, showing off Sowande tied up in the back. You felt that sadistic tendency creeping through your brain as you all headed to some building Danny suggested. You couldn’t manage to lift your eyes from the floor through the whole trip, feeling the weight of Elektra’s simple sentence in your head. Your hands shifted in and out of tight fists as you felt something ripple through your muscles. Something you didn’t like but could use.

Luke tied the captive to a chair, keeping him blindfolded and your group circled around him. They went back and forth as to how to get him to talk, if one of you could break him.

“This will drown you.” He spoke simply, as if he was in complete control.

“Do you know what that feels like?” You asked, moving to kneel in front of him as Matt stood behind him. “To drown?”

You were met with silence as his head tilted down to you.

“Drown in fear.” You mocked in your trademark accent as the yellow haze swirled between your fingers. “Drown in sorrow.” Blue danced between the fingers of your other hand.

He cleared his throat as you pushed both forward, watching the colors twist and swirl their way up his nose. He gasped and jerked in the chair as a sick smile crept across your face. You urged the sensations further, seeing a faint glow of blue and yellow settling at the base of his throat.

“What do you want with our city?” Matt asked.

“Maybe she should stop.” Luke tried and reached for your shoulder.

Stick stepped forward and stuck out his sword, stopping Luke from coming any closer.

“This place belongs to the Hand.” Sowande answered through strangled breaths. “It- It always- always has.”

“Always?” You tilted your head in interest.

“I traced it back to 1820 but it probably goes further.” Jessica answered.

“And Danny Rand? How does he fit?” You asked, withdrawing your pressure enough for him to take in a deep breath.

“Nothing you do can make me serve you. You understand?” Danny tried and you shook your head in annoyance.

“You’re the dumbest Iron Fist yet.”

You almost laughed as Danny leaned in closer. You cleared your influence and wiped your hands against your pants as you took a step around to be near Matt. The two continued a heated exchange before the prisoners started taking jabs at everyone.

“The same way the unbreakable one let that boy die in a jail cell, afraid and alone. The same way the woman couldn’t save the architect.” He paused with a proud smile as Jessica took a few steps away. “Have I gotten in your head the same way he did?”

She came charging back but Luke caught her.

“And her.” He jerked a head towards you. “She could not save anyone. Death follows her like a shadow. Tell me. What will become of your loved ones once you are gone?”

You bit back the instinct to say you had no loved ones. Instead, you pulled your knife and ran your hand over it, letting a deep heat settle across the blade. You leaned forward and yanked it across the side of his neck.

“If we’re lucky, that shadow will swallow you too.”

You tucked it away as he let out a sharp hiss before laughing.

“How many mice must drown with you? The nurse.. The woman on the radio.. The journalist.”

Your hand tightened into a fist until Matt’s hand found yours and you both knew he meant Karen.

You woke your Bite but Jessica beat you to it by knocking him unconscious. You were quick to pull Matt aside and you tried to relieve some of his stress.

“I can go get Karen if you get Foggy.” You offered. “I know he didn’t mention Foggy-“

“But that doesn’t mean they don’t know. Yeah, you’re right.” Matt nodded quickly. “Where would we take them? The Hand probably has eyes on our apartment.“

“Take them to the precinct in Harlem.” Luke called out, drawing your attention. “If you get there before we do, ask for Misty. Tell her you’re a friend.”

“You sure about this?”

“They’ll be safe there.”

You recognized you didn’t have many options so you nodded once before unzipping your top. You pulled your mask over your head and shoved it in your pocket before taking off your Bites and tucking them inside your sleeves. Once your alter ego was as civilian as it could look without leaving you totally defenseless, you hurried off to the Bulletin.

“Hey.” You said as you caught your breath, leaning in the doorway of her office.

“Uh.. Hi? It’s after midnight. What are you doing here?” She asked carefully.

“I.. Yeah, I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t important.”

“Is that blood? Oh my god.” She gestured to your face and as you reached up, you felt the drying liquid splattered across your cheek. You cursed to yourself and rubbed your sleeve across your face in a hurry. “Is that the shirt I think it is? Y/N, what happened?”

“The Hand.” You said honestly as you came closer, wiping your hand on your top. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I didn’t have any intention of getting involved but-“

“Is Matt involved?”

“Yeah… He is.”

“Jesus.” She sighed before she stood and came around from behind her desk. “I don’t believe this.. I thought you two were done with all of that.”

“Okay… I deserve that.”

“This is how you tell me that you’re doing it again? And Matt. Matt couldn’t be here with you to tell me? Cause that’s what you’re saying. That you two are going out as them.”

“I told Matt to get Foggy because I never told him.” You defended quickly. “Karen, I’m sorry! But it’s not like that! Exodus and Daredevil, they’re not back.” That was something you didn’t even believe fully. “They’re not going to be permanent pieces in our lives. It’s just-“

“Just this time? Hmm? Is that what you’re gonna say?” She mocked and you sighed.

“We don’t have time for this!” You said quickly.

“C’mon, Y/N. Just… Just talk to me. Please.”

“Fine. We are doing it again. Because if we don’t, people will die. Whatever the Hand is up to this time around, they’re going to decimate New York to get it done… I’m sorry but we have to.”

She nodded before crossing her arm.

“I don’t.. Whatever you and Matt, or Exodus and Daredevil are doing, I’m not a part of it anymore. I don’t need your protection.”

“Really?” You laughed slightly as your patience was running out. “You don’t have Frank to save you this time around. He’s gone and you’ll be in danger if you don’t come with me. It doesn’t matter if you’re part of that or not because they’re probably coming after Y/N and Matt’s world, too.”

“I’m sorry. Does that mean they know who you two are?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted. “But they know too much already.”

“That isn’t your call!” She insisted and it was clear she was close to tears.

“Karen, please, just come with me.” You begged. “I can’t have another friend die because of the Hand. Because I messed up. It’d just be a couple days, lay low. Please.”

She sighed heavily and gathered her things. You thanked her but she assured you it wasn’t for you. Regardless, you felt a huge relief that she agreed to go with you. As you were getting her to the precinct, Claire came up with Danny and his girlfriend.

You practically ran once you saw Karen enter the police building with Claire. You hurried to the apartment and rushed to the closet, nearly tripping trying to get out of your jeans to change into your suit. It wasn’t long after until Matt came in with the same idea. You fit the rest of your outfit together, ensured your belt was fully stocked, and clipped your pack across your chest. Once you were both dressed, he grabbed your hand and led you across town.

He led you to a building that you didn’t recognize, but it turned out to be where Jessica was picking up her friend with the radio show. Tapping your mask, you were able

to see Murakami going after her. Matt led you to the same floor and was able to throw his baton to knock the knife out of his hand.

You came from the other side, flipping over Trish Walker and slamming your feet into Murakami’s side. The action threw him off Jessica and allowed Matt to move in. You helped Jessica to her feet and she nodded that she was okay, allowing you both to reenter the fight.

You drew your own staff and slid between the open space as he aimed a high kick at Matt’s head. You hooked your staff behind his leg and pulled as you rolled to your knees, just able to see him slam his back against the floor. You flicked the blade out and moved forward, slashing it with quick precision that avoided your partners. You tossed your staff up to switch hands, catching it easily and swinging it at his head.

When the weapon felt odd in your hand, you looked down to see you had caught Matt’s instead and he had yours, even retracted the blade. You chuckled slightly as you two tossed them again to reclaim your rightful equipment as Jessica threw him over a railing.

“Scarf looked better.” Jessica teased and you grinned. “Nice ears.”

“They’re horns.” Matt answered and a small chuckle escaped you. “Are you laughing?” He turned to you.

“A little, yeah.” You admitted with a smile as you slid your staff back into its pack. “Don’t worry. You’re still very intimidating.”

Matt scoffed with a small smile before nodding for you to follow. You moved to Jessica and her friend, who was staring at you and Matt in awe.

“Holy shit.” She breathed as it finally seemed to sink in. At least she wasn’t hurt. “Jessica, you’re friends with the two most badass vigilantes in New York!”

“Who? Goggles and Devil Boy?” She gestured to you and you frowned, flipping her off once she looked. “They’re not.. the worst people I’ve ever met.”

“Wow. Was that something not mean?” You teased as you all headed out.

Matt chuckled but nudged you slightly.

“I’m serious! I’m shocked! I didn’t know Jessica was able to do that!”

“I’m going to punch you in the mouth.” She warned, though you could tell there was amusement there.

“Shut up, you know you like me.” You grinned as she glanced over her shoulder, giving you a half smile and a scoff in response.

You all made sure Trish got into the precinct before heading back to where you all left Stick and Sowande.

“Hey.. You made sure Foggy got there, right?” You asked Matt.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He nodded. “And you got Karen?”

“Mhmm.. Did you tell him anything?”

“Not much, no. You tell Karen?”

“Just the basics.” You shrugged. “She’s definitely not happy.”

“Yeah, kinda glad you went instead of me.” He admitted. “Figured you’d be able to smooth it over with her better than me.”

“Cause you can’t talk to people.” You joked and shook your head as you all got back inside the building.

“No, cause she’s more likely to forgive you than me.”

“So dramatic.” You sighed. “She still loves you, y’know. And she was pretty pissed at me anyway. ”

[sendpseuds]

WIP Wednesday - Camp Kalevala

I am so excited about this fic.

Snippets from the 11 summers Obi-Wan and Satine spend at Camp Kalevala, the fade of their friendship when adult responsibilities make carefree summers a distant memory, and the one thing that could bring them back together - an invitation back to camp.

This is the very beginning of their stories, their first year at Camp Kalevala.

Summer After 5th Grade

Obi-Wan couldn’t stop smiling.

The sun reflected off the lake’s rippling surface in a sparking display of everything summer had in store. Bird song rang in his ears and the air smelled vaguely of pine and soil and gentle morning breeze. 

And Obi-Wan couldn’t stop smiling.

He’d been looking forward to this for so long he could hardly believe he was actually here. Camp Kalevala. A summer in the woods. A summer with new people and new experiences and Obi-Wan couldn’t wait to try everything.

Standing on the front porch of the small wooden cabin, Obi-Wan waited for his councilor and the two or three other cabin mates who had decided to take part in the daily polar plunge. It was their first real day and though he’d never jumped into a freezing cold lake first thing in the morning, when the counselors had told them there was a certificate at the end of camp for anyone who went every single day, he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping in. 

The walk to the waterfront was short but it was more than long enough for Obi-Wan’s mind to go fuzzy with all the promise of the coming weeks, a stupid smile on his face even as he shivered in the morning fog. This was going to be a summer he would never forget.

“Hey!” A high voice called out just as Obi-Wan collided with the line of people he hadn’t realized had stopped walking, “Watch where you’re going!”

Shaking his head, it took a moment for his eyes to focus on the girl in front of him, golden hair and icy blue eyes. Her voice was sharp and startling in the quiet morning, and Obi-Wan’s heart gave a few insistent thuds in his chest. 

“Terribly sorry,” he replied with an apologetic smile, taking a small step back when he realized they were standing quite close, “I suppose I’m not quite awake yet.”

Her pink lips drew into an unimpressed frown and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but notice she was quite pretty.

“Yes, that is the whole point of this exercise,” she spat back, adding, “it’s hardly an excuse for walking into someone,” before rolling her eyes dramatically and turning her back to him.

Pretty and rude.

*

“Mine is clearly closer to the center than his is,” Satine argued, gesturing at her target as the councilors tallied up everyone’s achievements for the day.

“That doesn’t change the fact that they’re both bullseyes.”

Satine groaned at the sound of his voice.

It was so annoying.

He was so annoying.

The thorn in her side. The cloud in her sky. The bane of her entire existence. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi was the absolute worst.

Ever since that first morning when he’d walked directly into her, he’d been a constant nuisance. Their cabins seemed to be scheduled together for everything and wherever Obi-Wan went, a headache was sure to follow. 

He was brash, arrogant, and aggressively competitive, somehow made worse by the fact that he was smart and interesting and everyone genuinely seemed to like him despite the fact that he was unquestionably, unambiguously, unequivocally the worst.

Especially the little spot on his cheek and the way he always reminded everyone to reapply their sunscreen. 

Satine hated him so much.

[priafey]

!! wip whenever !!

i've been tagged by many folks these past few days, among them @inkoherentwriting, @stellarsightz and @v1ctory-or-sovngarde. as always, thank you for sharing your lovely wips with me!! i love being tagged. if i don't post a wip soon after i am, it's likely because i don't have one to share just yet. but today i do yippeeeee

(no-pressure) tagging @omkdear, @inkoherentwriting (since it's been a while), @bethrnoora, and @da3drat

here's a random text post i was writing that ended up turning into a ficlet. in it, gwilin recalls a weird friend he may or may not have had as a child. [on ao3]

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–

There's a story Gwilin tells few, of a best friend he had when he was little. His name, he remembers, was Mals. Gwilin decided a long time ago that that must've been short for 'Malstar'.

Mals came sometime after the snow had thawed, when deathbell sprouts were breaking all through the ground and fungi tinted the air with the smell of fertile soil. They met at the end of a cloudy day, at dusk, as Gwilin paraded his boredom around the village stables.

"What's your name?"

"Gwilin!" Gwilin cried. He wasn't wary of strangers quite yet, nor did he find it odd that he'd been cooed at.

"No. The horse," replied the boy, and he pointed accordingly. Gwilin was a serial eavesdropper, and so was very well-versed in those matters reserved only for the most serious conversations amongst adults. Such as politics. He leapt at the chance to demonstrate.

"Ulfric Stormclock."

The boy's face had its doubts. "That's a long name," he replied, after a moment. He didn't know it was supposed to be 'cloak', either.

"All the best horses have long names."

"I'd make a bad horse, then," concluded the boy, as he rounded the beast. "Mals," he said simply, and the sliver of sleek, black hair moving into the fading rays of daylight drew Gwilin's eye, first. Then it was the boy's open arms.

A hug? thought Gwilin. Well, alright, he supposed. He looks clean enough.

They'd meet at the stables in the afternoons. Mals was never late. The few times Gwilin made it there before he did, he'd see him come out of the brush and catch how haphazardly he went about straightening his hair and wiping off his boots. He wondered how far he traveled each time he came. Asking him outright was never much help; Mals talked an awful lot like the priests at the temple did. 'Just down the road a ways', 'Close enough', 'Could be farther'...

A few weeks passed before Gwilin realized his friend never mentioned his family, even in passing. Or his other friends, if he had any. Such ties seemed foreign to him. When Mals spoke–and he often didn't–it was of far more unusual things. Where death came from, what fame is good for, what would happen when one kind of time gave way to another. And he spoke of these things as himself, in simple terms–in words Gwilin felt were meant for him to understand.

Sometimes he'd bring strange foods to share. Most were dainty, sweet things unlike any Gwilin had ever tasted. He remembered a crisp, mauve-colored wafer shell full of tangy, bright yellow paste had been a favorite of his. The day he tried to return the favor with some venison sandwiches, though, Mals turned him down. Meat made his stomach turn, he said. This saddened Gwilin.

He really liked meat. And he really liked Mals.

On a day, as he dug into a bowl of spiced nuts layered over dense, sugary cream and Mals counted the rings of a tree, there came a question. From Gwilin, as usual.

"Where are you from?"

"Why do you ask?" said Mals, after he finished counting. Gwilin put down the spoonful he'd brought to his lips. Mals had never responded to that question with anything other than a vague remark.

"You're my friend. I'd like to know," he shrugged. More clearly than anything else then, he remembers the sound of Mals running his hand over the bark of the log he'd been examining. A smile tugged at his lips, which the olive skin at his cheeks slowly gave way to.

"Do you know Craglorn?"

"You're Breton!" he blurted out. Gwilin had been pretty sure of it. Those ears were a dead giveaway.

"Yes. I am. But do you know Craglorn?"

"Yeah. Out by the Dragontails."

"Mhm. Everything moves slow out there. People, especially," Mals grunted out, as he lay down on the log. His head hung back off the edge of it. "This mage lived there once, you know. She was slower than anyone else. Even breathed slow. She liked writing and doing research in her room, all day and night."

"Was she a good mage?"

Mals took a moment to respond. "Paper is cheap in Craglorn. Easy to get, easy to use. And she had the woods close by if she needed souls for enchanting, so she could experiment all she liked. It doesn't really matter whether she was good or not."

"Oh. Sorry. I don't know a lot about magic..." was all Gwilin remembers saying. Mals laughed short and sweet, like a little bell, at that.

"Neither did she. But time did its work. It got to the point people would head to the inn she was staying at just to see her. Study her unconventional ways," he clarified, as he placed both arms below his head. "Thing is," he began, with pressed lips, "There wasn't anything that unconventional about what she knew. People didn't flock to the inn because she'd discovered something the mages from the city hadn't–they flocked to the inn because they didn't want to hear it from them. They wanted to hear it from an outsider."

Mals stopped then. Gwilin can only pretend to remember where those upside-down eyes looked to in that moment.

"No one wants to drink from the fountain," Mals whispered, almost to himself. "They'd rather find their own springs. Water tastes sweeter, that way."

"Which would you drink from?" asked Gwilin, thinking himself clever.

"Oh, the fountain. If enough people seek out a spring, it becomes one, anyway. Speaking of..." Mals pushed off the log and meandered over to Gwilin, gesturing for him to take his hand. He did, and he left the bowl containing his new favorite food behind so they could head to the river. That was usually how Mals signaled that he needed to head off soon. Though he never urged Gwilin to drink with him when they got there, he often did, if for no other reason than he felt weird standing on the riverbank waiting for his friend to have his fill.

This time, however, as he went to bring his cupped hand up to his mouth, Gwilin heard a splash. His head darted to the side, where he caught the sight of Mals floating weightlessly downstream. He recalls the panic that overtook him then, and the desperate leaps of his feet as they slid over and above the stones along the river bank, sweeping him ever-closer toward aiding his friend. But then he saw a slender arm calmly reach up to the sky. It waved. Panic was smothered by peace, and Gwilin stood still.

And he never saw Mals again.

[critter-in-skyrim]

The Bodyguard (Chapter 1)

Belrand was used to being approached by all sorts of folk for jobs - the rich and powerful wanting a bodyguard; a warrior needing backup; a less than savory organization requiring some extra hired muscle. One thing that all his customers had in common though, was that usually they were pretty well off and of moderate importance. That's why the small Redguard wearing fraying robes standing before him was such a surprise.

The Redguard stood nervously fiddling with his scarred hands a few feet away from Belrand, seemingly unwilling to be the first one to speak. Belrand raised an eyebrow. “Speak, Redguard,” he said, before downing the rest of his mead to give the small man time to sum up his courage.

Sure enough, the man finally spoke. “I…I need a bodyguard.”

“Kinda figured that,” Belrand responded. “Do you have the coin?”

“I…I do…” the man said hesitantly. He patted the satchel that hung at his side, protectively.

“Well then, hand it over.” Belrand leaned back in his chair, gesturing vaguely at the table he sat at.

The man swallowed hard, before approaching Belrand. Stepping a bit more into the light, Belrand could see the man’s face a bit more clearly. He seemed young, though clearly old enough to sport a beard, as well as a rather nasty set of scars on the side of his face. The man’s brown eyes were big and round, with an innocence to them much like a puppy’s. Dark brown curls kissed the man’s shoulders, though most of his hair was tucked away under a blue scarf.

Thin scarred hands reached into the satchel, pulling out a sizable coin purse, which was then set before Belrand on the table. When Belrand made no move to go for the bag, the Redguard spoke hesitantly, “It’s all there, I promise.”

“We’ll see about that,” Belrand said, before slowly leaning forward. He snatched up the purse, first feeling the weight of it, before jostling it around slightly. Setting it back on the table he drew his sword, which caused the Redguard to flinch. Belrand rolled his eyes, before slicing open the purse, allowing its contents to spill onto the table. Gold coins spilled out onto the table, some even clinking onto the wooden floor.

Belrand hummed, before focusing on the Redguard. “What is it you do for work?”

“I’m a blacksmith,” he responded, sounding almost shy about it. Belrand raised an eyebrow at that.

“A blacksmith? You’re tiny,” he said bluntly.

“I…I’m not that small,” the Redguard responded, but then he hesitated, like he was going to say something else. “Technically I’m a jewelry maker.”

“Ahah!” Belrand said, pointing a finger at the other man.

“”Ahah” what?” the Redguard asked, baffled.

“I knew you couldn’t be a blacksmith,” Belrand responded simply. He began gathering his payment into his own coin purse, counting under his breath. Sure enough, it seemed like the man had paid him enough.

“Back in Hammerfell, I was a blacksmith,” the man said suddenly. “Not for jewelry either, but for weapons. I was good at it too.”

“I’m sure you were,” Belrand said, his tone rather condescending. “Anyway, what’s your name, Redguard?”

The man hesitated a moment, before shuffling forward with his hand held out. “Ezra, sir.”

Belrand eyed the Redguard Ezra’s outstretched hand, debating whether to take it or not. He supposed the man did pay him, so he should treat him with a modicum of respect at least. He took the man’s smaller brown hand in his calloused pale hand.

“Belrand,” he said in response, shaking Ezra’s hand.

[rhosmeinir]

Fictober 2023 #23

Prompt #23: “No, you won't understand, ever.”

Fanfiction: Good Omens

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Pairing: Ineffable Husbands/Aziracrow

Other Notes: In which Crawly and Aziraphale make small talk, and it goes wrong, then right. 868 words!

Angel and demon perched together on the wall over the Eastern Gate, some time after Adam and Eve had left the Garden. No one had told either of them to do anything else, and they’d decided that this was as good a place as any to pass the time. It was night, cool and quiet, blanketed in a quiet broken only by occasional amphibian humming or the muted song of a tardy twilight bird. After watching the sunset, they had turned back to the East where the sky was blackest to talk of everything and nothing in the gathering night. Crawly was slumped in his typical posture, leaning with crossed arms on top of the wall, and Aziraphale sat neatly atop it, ankles crossed, airing out his wings.

“Do you miss being.. well, downstairs?” the angel asked awkwardly during a lull in the conversation, “I mean, not a lot of company up here, that is. Could get boring rather quickly.”

“Hell, you mean?” Crawly drawled, glancing over at Aziraphale, “Nah. Everything’s a bit of a mess down there. And it’s not exactly meant to be fun, you know.”

“Do you… do you miss Heaven?” This question was far more tentative than the first, and was clearly what Aziraphale had really wanted to ask. His clasped fingers fidgeted. Crawly straightened, and considered Aziraphale for a long, silent moment. The fidgeting intensified. Then,

“Nah,” Crawly repeated flatly, and turned his face eastward again, “Things are a bit of a mess up there too. I prefer it here. It’s not complicated, y’know? Just me and the animals and a couple of people out there somewhere. Well, and you, of course.” He shrugged. “Company’s not so bad.”

“I just— well,” Aziraphale struggled to find the words to express what he was trying to say. Crawly had been his only experience of a demon so far, and he couldn’t quite understand what was supposed to be so evil about him, though he was sure he must be. Then there was the matter of their previous acquaintance, and how he couldn’t shake the image of the angel he had known. “I know it’s not the same, but I haven’t been up to Heaven in quite a while either, and until you appeared I was finding it a bit lonely. So I supposed I just wanted to say that I can sort of understand, how” —he cast about for the right words— “How it can feel to.. to look up at the stars and think of what you’ve left behind.”

“No!” Crawly snapped; the angel’s words had triggered something inside him, and he turned sharply, ragged black wings flaring into manifestation of their own accord. In the pale light of the moon his face was contorted with rage, and his voice crackled with venom as he hissed, pounding his fist into the stone of the wall, “No you don’t! No, you won’t ever understand, not ever.” Aziraphale jumped back in astonishment, and found his hand reaching for the hip where he had used to carry the flaming sword. With a massive effort, Crawly drew in a shuddering breath, and turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as the other waved vaguely at Aziraphale.

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just,” Crowley dropped his hand, and with both splayed on top of the wall, turned his face upwards, opening his golden eyes to gaze into the nightblack sky. “I can’t see the stars,” he said quietly, and Aziraphale could see the strain at the corner of Crawly’s eyes as he tried to bring them into focus, “They took that from me in the Fall. She took that from me.” He glanced to the side and pointed at his face with one long finger and the hint of a rueful smile. “Snake eyes, you see? And there’s nothing I can do to change them,” he looked up again, brows pinching together, “I’ve tried.”

Aziraphale looked at Crawly aghast, both at the confession and of the cruelty inflicted upon him behind it. He had been there with Crawly when the then-angel had created the stars, when he’d wound up the Universe itself and spoken it into being. He’d seen the nebulae, planets, moons, suns, and all other celestial bodies come into that universe, and his companion’s joy and wonder at their being. And now, not to even be able to see the faint echoes of them? He could not imagine the pain. Nor could he imagine why God would have done such a thing.

“Oh, Crawly,” Aziraphale said at last, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Carefully he reached out and, placing his hand on top of Crawly’s, squeezed gently. Crawly looked down at it, then withdrew his hand, placed it on top of Aziraphale’s, and squeezed back before clasping both his hands in front of himself.

“Why should you? Anyway, nothing you can do about it either.”

“Would you… would you like me to describe them to you?” 

It was Crawly’s turn to look astonished this time, and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he managed to reply,

“That would be nice, Angel. Thank you.”

[jasleh]

FFxivWrite2023 Prompt 5: Barbarous

character: Rrahna (indirectly) time period: post-6.4/Pandaemonium

...

Claudien managed to spend some days blissfully unaware of the rumors swirling around him and Rrahna. Absorbed as he was in his work, he had no time for such things, and the relative isolation of Apora helped as well. Eventually they came to roost, however, in the form of an unwelcome visitor.

He was studying some schematics and working his way through an astonishingly dense paper when the interruption came. Rrahna had dug them up somehow and pressed them upon him rather forcefully, as they were regarding a device designed to block the effects of auracite. The device itself was also in his possession. For all that she was quick to declare her lack of learning, Rrahna had picked up a remarkable number of things in her adventurers. She was also less than thrilled at his decision to study the Heart of Sabik.

"Claudien, my good man! What have you been up to?"

Claudien blinked, trying with limited success to pull his head from the nest of jargon he had been immersed in. Looking up, he saw a vaguely familiar elezen man, with his research assistants gesturing apologetically behind him. It took a few moments to place him. Someone he'd gone to school with? Yes, that was it. Not someone he'd ever been especially close to, or in much contact with since then - and just now school felt longer ago than the Sundering itself.

"Hello, ah… Fir….?"

"Firmien. Took me a while to track you down, but I simply had to stop by, you would not believe what people are saying!"

Claudien did not at all think about the fact that he had been seen twice now having dinner with the Warrior of Light at the Last Stand, but instead immediately thought that the Pandaemonium reports must have somehow circulated far more widely than he had expected. Ascians, after all, were far more common knowledge in Sharlayan than elsewhere on the star.

"… I might."

"So it's true then? I mean, even seeing you with my own eyes last evening I didn't fully believe it. Of course, before then I didn't even realize it was you people were speaking of."

Last evening? Claudien felt lost for a moment as his framework for the conversation began to shift. Last evening he had been…

"Honestly, man. The Scion's so-called 'champion?' What were you thinking? She's some… some barbarian who has never met a problem she didn't solve with violence. Those war-like types are all the same."

As the man prattled on, not allowing a word in edgewise, Claudien's brows drew down and his hands began to curl into fists, but he managed to keep a tight hold on his temper.

"And those scars! How can you even look at her? Honestly, if you ask me she barely even counts as a person."

And just like that, his tether snapped. Or Erichthonios's did, if such a line could even be drawn. A sputtering glow sprang up around his fists, a spell so well-practiced as to be reflex, but that he didn't begin to have the aether to cast.

"Not to devalue her contribution, of course. I suppose even mindless violence must sometimes have-"

The fool's words cut off abruptly as Claudien's fist met his face with a crunch of breaking nose. It was remarkably cathartic seeing him get knocked on his ass.

"Get out."

"How dare you?!" The words were distorted by the broken nose and the hand Firmein held to it, but understandable. "She's clearly rubbed off on you! You're as barbarous as her now."

"Get. Out."

Ruissenaud hoisted the man to his feet and began urging him towards the door. Claudien glared at him until he was out of sight, ignoring the sputtered threats of censure. Only after Firmein was gone did he begin to relax and notice the glow flickering around his hands. Not near formed enough to have shape, but he knew the channels the aether was trying to follow. Not a spell of this age. Or one that would have been particularly useful, really.

"Professor?" Nemjiji spoke up hesitantly. "That may not have been a good idea."

"And if he drags me before the Forum," Claudien asked, "Who do you think the majority would side with if I repeated what he just said?" Attitudes in Sharlayan could be slow to change, but the Forum had gotten a closer view than most of Rrahna's efforts to stop the Final Days, and had backed the Scions' efforts.

Nemjiji thought about it for a moment, cocking her head. "You may have a point."

"It was worth it regardless. If any other gawkers or gossips come by, I'm not here. I have work to do."

[starry-white-owl]

Hatred.

This was what she knew. It swam in her oily core, it crawled over her plastic skin, it glistened over her glassy eyes. Endless, boundless hatred. 

But for who? 

She found herself pacing in her barren cell as she pondered this question. Odd, how she came to adapt such a human habit when she was so clearly not one. She tapped one ceramic fingertip to the concrete wall, watched it leave a slender silvery line when she drew her finger over the blank surface. Much of her cell bore similar marks, yet her fingertips did not grow dull. She was built to last. She would not crumble before her time came. Before her purpose was fulfilled to their satisfaction. 

Was it her purpose she hated, or was it them? 

She tried, as she often did, to peer inside herself for answers. Was that not what one was supposed to do? She remembered, vaguely, that this was what people did. Contemplation, introspection. Soul searching. Did she not once do this herself? A wooden bench with soft woolen blankets she herself knitted. The twitting of songbirds amidst the oaks. The warm sun on her tanned face. The wind in her honey colored hair. A man she loved at her side. She could almost remember...

No. 

No, this was not her she remembered. It was the other. The original. That woman, the woman who now forever rested in the cold embrace of the Silent Halls, was the one with all of those. With a soul. She had her memories, but when she looked inside herself for a soul, all she found was swirling, pungent oil. Hair of plastic and skin of plastic and cold concrete beneath her and above her and around her. And the man... well. This was what she was. She could not forget. 

Was it herself she hated then? Or him?   

It did not truly matter. She was bound to purpose that was not her own, and so was her hatred. When the time came and he came to her, she would harness this hate and use it to kill the world. But until then, she would wait. This too was her purpose. So willed the Brothers. So she will do.

A knock on the steel door, then the sounds of unlocking. She frowned as the door opened and a wiry man in a thick wool sweater entered the room, followed closely by a uniformed guard. The man was in his early sixties, weathered of features, and sported a thick grey mustache. He looked at her amicably, if a tad tiredly. The guard was much younger and she saw he was avoiding looking at her at all. He spoke a few hushed phrases to the older man, glanced at her briefly, then left the room and locked the door behind him. 

The older man sighed then began to set up a foldable chair he was carrying under one thin arm. After wrestling with it for a few moments he was finally able to assemble it to his liking and sat down. He looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to come closer. She did not. 

"Why are you here?" she asked. 

"And hello to you too..." he said, trailing off on purpose.  

"032. It is always 032" 

"Must we used that designation? It's so inhuman." 

"I am inhuman." 

"Yes, so you keep reminding me. So be it. Good afternoon, 032." 

"Oh. It is afternoon. For some reason I thought it was morning." She did not know why she was surprised this wasn't the case, or why it saddened her. 

"You know, 032, I could provide you with a clock for your room. It would really be no trouble. I might even be able to move you to a room with a window. All you need to do is ask." 

"That is fine. I do not need those things. I do not need anything."

The man frowned and shook his head. "Would you at least come closer so we can talk like human beings?" 

She did not. "I have told you time and again, Dr. Kovac. I am not a human being. You gain nothing by treating me as such." 

Dr. Kovac grunted, then rose from his chair. Muttering softly, he once more engaged in battle with the foldable chair, this time struggling to fold it back up. Having succeeded in doing so, the ageing man approached her himself and again began to re-fold the chair into place. She watched him doing all this impassively. Something within her told her that the person she once was might have found something funny about the situation. She pushed that voice aside.

Chair set, Dr. Kovac eased himself back into sitting position, all the while rubbing at his knees. "Mercy me, these chairs will be the death of me. I really wished you'd ask for the room to be furnished, 032. My knees will be ever grateful to you."

She frowned, and felt the rubbery plastic of her face creek. "You could have it furnished yourself. You do not need my permission." 

Dr. Kovac did not reply. Instead, he began patting the pockets of his corduroy slacks, looking for something. After much fumbling and twisting about he produced a small brown plastic comb from a back pocket. He used this to comb his bushy mustache, a blissful expression dawning on his weathered face. This was a familiar routine for the man, and it always infuriated her.    

"Do not ignore me." 

"Beg pardon?" 

"I said, you do not need my permission. I know what you are attempting to do here, doctor." 

"Oh? And what I am doing?" Through this, Kovac never stopped combing his mustache.

"You are trying to get me to show initiative. Trying to disprove what I told you time and again." 

"My, aren't we direct." 

"And now you are trying to irritate me. It won't work. It never did." 

"If you say so." 

Despite what she said, he was annoying her.  

______________________________________

 What I posted is an old, unpublished, unfinished tale written by dmatix (the original creator of SCP 1440, 032, Brothers Death, Saturn Deer, etc.) called, ”Hatred.” The tale itself focuses on SCP 032. This tale draft was originally on Dmatix’s SCP sandbox page, before for whatever reason, he deleted it. 

You’re not gonna be able to find this tale on the SCP wiki, since it was never posted there in the first place, nor will you see it on any of Dmatix’s sandbox pages for the same stated in bold text. I merely preserved this story, and I’m glad I did, so I can share it with people who also know about SCP 032.

WOW, that's great

[via-the-ghoul]

Hatred.

This was what she knew. It swam in her oily core, it crawled over her plastic skin, it glistened over her glassy eyes. Endless, boundless hatred. 

But for who? 

She found herself pacing in her barren cell as she pondered this question. Odd, how she came to adapt such a human habit when she was so clearly not one. She tapped one ceramic fingertip to the concrete wall, watched it leave a slender silvery line when she drew her finger over the blank surface. Much of her cell bore similar marks, yet her fingertips did not grow dull. She was built to last. She would not crumble before her time came. Before her purpose was fulfilled to their satisfaction. 

Was it her purpose she hated, or was it them? 

She tried, as she often did, to peer inside herself for answers. Was that not what one was supposed to do? She remembered, vaguely, that this was what people did. Contemplation, introspection. Soul searching. Did she not once do this herself? A wooden bench with soft woolen blankets she herself knitted. The twitting of songbirds amidst the oaks. The warm sun on her tanned face. The wind in her honeyed hair. A man she loved at her side. She could almost remember...

No. 

No, this was not her she remembered. It was the other. The original. That woman, the woman who now forever rested in the cold embrace of the Silent Halls, was the one with all of those. With a soul. She had her memories, but when she looked inside herself for a soul, all she found was swirling, pungent oil. Hair of plastic and skin of plastic and cold concrete beneath her and above her and around her. And the man... well. This was what she was. She could not forget. 

Was it herself she hated then? Or him?   

It did not truly matter. She was bound to purpose that was not her own, and so was her hatred. When the time came and he came to her, she would harness this hate and use it to kill the world. But until then, she would wait. This too was her purpose. So willed the Brothers. So she will do.

A knock on the steel door, then the sounds of unlocking. She frowned as the door opened and a wiry man in a thick wool sweater entered the room, followed closely by a uniformed guard. The man was in his early sixties, weathered of features, and sported a thick grey mustache. He looked at her amicably, if a tad tiredly. The guard was much younger and she saw he was avoiding looking at her at all. He spoke a few hushed phrases to the older man, glanced at her briefly, then left the room and locked the door behind him. 

The older man sighed then began to set up a foldable chair he was carrying under one thin arm. After wrestling with it for a few moments he was finally able to assemble it to his liking and sat down. He looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to come closer. She did not. 

"Why are you here?" she asked. 

"And hello to you too..." he said, trailing off on purpose.  

"032. It is always 032" 

"Must we used that designation? It's so inhuman." 

"I am inhuman." 

"Yes, so you keep reminding me. So be it. Good afternoon, 032." 

"Oh. It is afternoon. For some reason I thought it was morning." She did not know why she was surprised this wasn't the case, or why it saddened her. 

"You know, 032, I could provide you with a clock for your room. It would really be no trouble. I might even be able to move you to a room with a window. All you need to do is ask." 

"That is fine. I do not need those things. I do not need anything."

The man frowned and shook his head. "Would you at least come closer so we can talk like human beings?" 

She did not. "I have told you time and again, Dr. Kovac. I am not a human being. You gain nothing by treating me as such." 

Dr. Kovac grunted, then rose from his chair. Muttering softly, he once more engaged in battle with the foldable chair, this time struggling to fold it back up. Having succeeded in doing so, the ageing man approached her himself and again began to re-fold the chair into place. She watched him doing all this impassively. Something within her told her that the person she once was might have found something funny about the situation. She pushed that voice aside.

Chair set, Dr. Kovac eased himself back into sitting position, all the while rubbing at his knees. "Mercy me, these chairs will be the death of me. I really wished you'd ask for the room to be furnished, 032. My knees will be ever grateful to you."

She frowned, and felt the rubbery plastic of her face creek. "You could have it furnished yourself. You do not need my permission." 

Dr. Kovac did not reply. Instead, he began patting the pockets of his corduroy slacks, looking for something. After much fumbling and twisting about he produced a small brown plastic comb from a back pocket. He used this to comb his bushy mustache, a blissful expression dawning on his weathered face. This was a familiar routine for the man, and it always infuriated her.    

"Do not ignore me." 

"Beg pardon?" 

"I said, you do not need my permission. I know what you are attempting to do here, doctor." 

"Oh? And what I am doing?" Through this, Kovac never stopped combing his mustache.

"You are trying to get me to show initiative. Trying to disprove what I told you time and again." 

"My, aren't we direct." 

"And now you are trying to irritate me. It won't work. It never did." 

"If you say so." 

Despite what she said, he was annoying her.   ________________________________________

What I posted is an old, unpublished, unfinished tale written by dmatix (the original creator of 1440, 032, Brothers Death, Saturn Deer, etc.) called, ”Hatred.” The tale itself focuses on SCP 032. This tale draft was originally on Dmatix’s SCP sandbox page, before whatever reason, he chose to delete it. So you’re not gonna be able to find this story on the SCP wiki, since it was never published there in the first place, nor will you see it on any of his sandbox pages for the same stated in bold text. I merely managed to preserve this story, and I’m glad I did, so I can share it with people who also know about SCP 032.

032 lore! 032 lore!

I love her so much she’s suck a uniquely tragic character, walking existential crisis who refuses to share that with anyone

[yanderes-galore]

yandere Alice angel with a fem reader going into the now abandon Joey drew studios due to a dare?

I assume you mean the twisted one? I'll try! Susie's backstory was genuinely upsetting. Originally was supposed to be a short but I decided learning her character would be better.

Yandere! Twisted Alice Angel Concept

Darling was dared to enter the studio

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Vague Yandere behavior, Implied kidnapping, Injury, Forced relationship, Manipulation, Slight sadism.

- What you expected in an abandoned studio was something along the lines of old writing desks and equipment.

- Not ink stained walls and damaged floors.

- Not several underground levels that are a maze to get through.

- And especially not ink creatures and lunatics!

- Yet it appears this is what you found all due to a dare.

- What was meant to be spending the night in a studio for some amount of hours quickly became a trap.

- You had fallen through the floors of the studio, cutting and bruising yourself up.

- Then you had to run from a large ink monster, soon coming across someone delusional enough to worship it.

- By the time you found a 'safe house' you were tired and injured.

- You had a limp, ink covering your body in splotches.

- You could kill for a shower right now but that would have to wait.

- For now, you needed to ensure your survival.

- Before you continued forward you decided sleep was more important.

- As sleep took you over on an ink stained mattress, you didn't notice a presence.

- Someone knew you were here now.

- A newcomer in her territory....

- A pretty one at that.

- Susie, now Alice, rarely had guests in her territory.

- No one came to the studio ever since it closed, leaving all inside to rot.

- Yet now that you were here... she had a feeling she could use a pretty thing like you.

- What a poor soul, falling into a faux angel's grasp.

- "My oh my... look what the demon dragged in~"

- That's how your story begins.

- Once you exit that safe room your life becomes even more of a hell than it already was.

- Ironically, by the angel herself!

- Twisted Alice starts out so friendly towards you when you meet her.

- You're put off by her appearance but she just acts so nice.

- The angel comments on your injuries and limp, asking if you're okay.

- You answer the best you can but you clearly want to get out of here.

- Then she starts with the compliments.

- "Look at how beautiful you are... I'm envious, really. How could someone have this much beauty!"

- Then her gaze darkens and a grin comes across her face.

- "I think I'll keep you. You'll be useful to me. Plus, I can't have that demon get his claws on someone like you, can I?"

- It's not like you can say no, either.

- Alice is sadistic, demanding, threatening.

- Not only that but you're in her element, which already makes it easier to manipulate you to her will.

- Her obsession will most likely start with her ordering you around, playing her little errand runner.

- Then she'll decide to keep you in her domain at all times.

- That demon could taint you.

- Then she won't be able to gaze at such beauty ever again.

- She can't have something so foul corrupt you.

- That's why you're staying here.

- Right in the angel's arms, where you belong.

- She'll be sure to cherish a beautiful soul like you in her domain. You may even hold the key to her perfection!

- "Out of those doors is the disgusting ink demon. Just look at what he did to you! You're all bruised and limping.... It'll be much better to stay with me, right? You won't... abandon me in the disgusting black ink of this place, won't you dear?"

[oops-all-knuxadow]

I've only seen the first season of Sonic Boom, and Shadow only appeared in the very last episode of that season, with some vague and limited knowledge in between, so if he's ooc I'm sorry!

This is my part of a trade with @louie-loses-it which was super fun!! I hope we can collab again! Please consider visiting his blog and checking out some of their absolutely fantastic art!

Shadow strolled quietly along the beach, ever-present scowl traded in for something softer, for once. He had no plans, no schemes running, and no carefully crafted manipulation fed to him through Eggman to go and carry out at the moment, so his afternoon was free.

His shoes made indentations in the sand as he walked along. He briefly considered taking them off so he could enjoy it barefoot, but dismissed it out of concern that the idiot doctor could come by and annoy him again. He seemed to hatch a new plan against the village once a week. It was nearly episodic at this point, so the hedgehog begrudgingly remained on guard for the sound of machinery on the horizon. For now, he could relax, his ears catching only the sounds of the ocean lapping against the shore and two pairs of footsteps.

Shadow stopped walking. One pair of footsteps.

Fists clenched, the striped hedgehog whirled around and bared his teeth, coming face to chest with a tall, red echidna.

He squinted, then lifted his gaze upward until it landed on a pair of excited, violet eyes.

"Heya, Shadow!" Knuckles beamed. "I'm glad I found you! I -"

"Where are your friends?" Shadow demanded. "Waiting out of sight to ambush me? You all should know by now that I'm much too fast for you to gang up on so easily."

"Huh? No, I'm all alone!" Knuckles replied. "Or - no, I'm not. You're here, so I'm actually not alone!"

"Quit fooling around!"

"How dare you!? I only fool around when I have my jester hat on! And it's in the wash right now!"

Shadow grit his teeth. There was no way he was sent out here to be any sort of distraction, or to do reconnaissance; this buffoon was all muscle and no brain.

"Then tell me," he bit out, rapidly losing patience, "why you're here. Before I beat it out of you."

Although, admittedly, that would be hard to do. He'd seen the kind of force Knuckles put behind a punch, and if he wasn't careful, being on a receiving end of something like that would put him out of commission for a few days. Shadow could not afford to be downed like that. He needed to play it smart if this turned into a fight.

The echidna lifted his arms in a pacifying gesture, frowning. "Don't do that. I just ate a Meh Burger, and it's already hard enough keeping those things down without getting hit in the stomach a bunch."

Shadow drew his arm back in warning.

"Okay! Alright! Geez, you're not a small talk kind of guy, I get it! I just wanted to return this to you."

The echidna patted himself, searching for pockets he clearly didn't have, then muttered an ah-ha! and thrust his hands in his dreads. Shadow watched him do this for a comically long time and eventually lowered his arm again, choosing instead to cross them over his chest.

While waiting, he tried to recall what it is he could've possibly lost that warranted returning. During his most recent battle with Sonic, he supposed he did lose some spare change after being tossed through a building, but would Knuckles have really gone through the trouble of picking up loose coins just to hand them back? And how did he know they belonged to Shadow?

"Found it!!"

Knuckles retrieved the item with a proud grin, holding it out to the shorter male. Shadow's eyes went wide as he recognized what he was holding.

"...you have my gauntlet?" That thing had broken off his arm more than a month ago. He'd been thrown to the ground in an older battle with his rival, and the gauntlet had flown off along with his inhibitor ring. In the aftermath, he'd only managed to find the ring, and gave up the search entirely after another few days of searching the area.

It hadn't occurred to him to think that someone had picked it up for him. It had taken Shadow weeks to get used to the feeling of his bare arms being exposed, having given up on wearing the second one by itself. As he didn't have the skills to create a replacement, losing it had been a bit of a sore spot.

Knuckles must have thought he didn't want it for fear of the thing being broken, so he started babbling. "When I found it, the buckle had completely snapped off, so I asked Tails to make a new one. It shouldn't fall apart like that again!"

His self-satisfied grin shrank into a smaller, more awkward smile as Shadow continued gawking at it. The echidna shifted his weight.

"Um...I would have fixed it myself, but my hands are too big to do that kind of delicate work. Also, I don't know how."

Another few seconds of silence. Knuckles stopped smiling completely.

"Do you...not want it?"

The hedgehog scowled, red eyes lifting from the gauntlet to the echidna.

"What's the catch?" He demanded. "I accept this and become indebted to you? Are you trying to get some sort of favor from me?"

The red mobian tilted his head. "Huh?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

"I told you, my jester hat -"

Shadow snatched the gauntlet from his hand with a snarl. "Enough! Whatever you're trying to get from me in return, I won't grant it! This was a wasted endeavor on your part, fool. I'm leaving."

He turned, about to teleport away, and just barely caught Knuckles' confused, but polite "you're welcome, buddy!"

The hedgehog was gone the next second, nothing but his shoe-prints in the sand to show that he'd ever been there to begin with. He reappeared in his cave, feeling...

Well, not as angry as he usually was after a social interaction. He was also not as tired, or physically damaged, or anything, really. He had exchanged (mostly) peaceful conversation with the tall echidna, and nobody limped away with broken bones. In fact, he'd gained something from it, made evident by the weight of the gauntlet in his hand.

He looked down at it, unlatching the thing to search for any secret tracking chips implanted in the material. Satisfied, he buckled it over his arm, then went and retrieved his other one. His mood lifted, feeling complete. It sank again when he realized he had essentially accepted a gift.

From the enemy.

"Feh," he spat, "whatever. He simply returned what was already mine. I owe the hulking idiot a small favor, and nothing more."

--

Knuckles thrust his fist into the ground, sending out a shockwave that made the nearby robots swarming him collapse into pieces. It bought him a few seconds to breathe before the next wave began to close in.

Eggman was really going all out this week. He'd swapped out his Obliterator Bot for something twice the size and causing double the damage. To stop Sonic and his friends from deactivating it right away, the doctor was throwing all of his littler robots into the fray to stall for time. It seemed as though the Mega Obliterator 2000 was charging up to make a gigantic explosion, leveling the village and leaving a blank slate for Eggman's theme park. Naturally, the heroes jumped in to thwart this plan, but they'd been consistently fighting through the hoard of metal and wires for almost an hour, now, and they were starting to tire.

Tails was the first to tap out. His plane had been downed, and a particularly hard blow to one of his namesakes had prevented him from flying anymore. Amy smashed a quick path for the fox to use to escape, and he'd rushed off to his lab to try and quickly build something to help them. Sticks was down soon after, dogpiled by a bunch of bots and then locked in a cage too far away to get to at the moment.

It was down to Sonic, Amy, and Knuckles, and for once it didn't look good. Eggman was cackling overhead in his floating pod and monologuing about his inevitable victory, Amy was clutching her hammer with trembling arms and an exhausted frame, and Sonic was limping. The echidna was the only one among them still in peak fighting form, but he couldn't pound the ground to destroy enemies forever, lest he risk causing an earthquake.

"Now would be a great time for somebody to do something! I hate when the episode ends on a cliffhanger!!" Knuckles cried, stepping away until the three of them were back to back. A circle of robots loomed closer and closer, defeat on the horizon.

"I need a minute to think!" Sonic snapped, temper flaring a lot more now that his primary mode of transportation was compromised. Every step looked painful; it was a wonder he was still standing. He looked around in a panic, quills frayed haphazardly. "We just need to...to..."

Amy whimpered, dropping her hammer and clutching onto the blue speedster as she accepted their demise. "I can't believe it...we're done for!"

Knuckles' defiant confidence wavered, glancing at them over his shoulder, then back at the wave before him. There were too many to destroy by himself. Was it really over?

"Hmph. Looks like it's time to use that favor."

The echidna was momentarily blinded by a flash of light. He felt a surprisingly small hand grab his own, and in another flash, he and his friends were standing several yards away from the circle of bots.

He looked down, catching sight of brilliant stripes of red against obsidian fur. Shadow stared up at him and released his hand, as well as Amy's arm, who was still clinging desperately to Sonic.

"Shadow!" Knuckles exclaimed, grinning. "You're wearing the gauntlets again!"

The hedgehog looked away, appearing damn-near flustered. He chose not to acknowledge the taller mobian's remark, or Sonic's own cry of surprise at his appearance, and glared instead at the rapidly derailing situation.

"Once the biggest bot is taken care of, the rest of the doctor's stupid plan will fall apart," the brooding figure declared. "Are you still in this fight?"

Sonic looked warily at Shadow, then down to Amy's trembling figure in his arms, and shook his head.

"Pathetic, but that's nothing new from the likes of you." Shadow turned to Knuckles instead, brows furrowed in determination. "And you?"

"I'm still going strong!" Knuckles promised, punching his fists against one another. "Got a plan? I was thinking we could punch and kick all the bots."

Shadow gave him a dry look. "And has that worked out for you, so far?"

"..."

"Nevermind. How well can you throw me?"

The echidna paused. "Uh, if you can curl up in a spiky little ball like Sonic can, then I can chuck you clear across the island!"

"Perfect." Shadow smirked, kneeling, and pointed at the Mega Obliterator. "I need you to send me at that thing's head, as hard as you can."

"Got it."

"Hey! Don't you know it's rude to disappear in the middle of a guy's evil victory speech!?" Eggman cried, after needing a few moments to relocate them after teleporting. "I rehearsed that for weeks with my improv group!! ROBOTS, ATTAAAAACK!!"

Shadow rolled into a ball and flattened his quills, allowing Knuckles to pick him up. The echidna swung his arm back and took aim, sticking his tongue out to improve his focus.

"Boy," he couldn't help saying, "you sure are lightweight! Guess that's because you're so short."

"I will leave you all to perish, favor be damned," Shadow hissed from his palm. Knuckles eeked, and chucked him at the Mega Obliterator.

All in all, the end result proved to be a little anticlimactic. Shadow landed on the head of the machine and swiftly punched at it, sending shattered glass and busted wires flying everywhere, which was cool, but then the thing just kind of made a little computer shut-down noise and stopped moving.

Eggman cried out in shock and horror, lamenting over yet another failed scheme, and started flying away as expected.

"This isn't over, the lot of you!! And Shadow, I must say, I'm very disappointed! Just goes to show you that you can't even count on family to have your back when you're trying to destroy a blue hedgehog and all his friends! I'm gonna go cry about this and eat my feelings. Oh, my caloric intake is going to be so shot!"

The rest of his babbling became indiscernible as he disappeared into the distance, the rest of his surviving robots tailing mindlessly after him. Sonic and his team all whooped and hollered in victory, high-fiving each other and basking in the relief of surviving another battle.

Knuckles rushed over to Shadow as he jumped down from the broken obliterator bot, brushing some dirt and glass shards off of his person.

"Hey, you were great out there! Thanks for helping us!"

"Hmph. Don't get used to it, fool; this was a simple repayment for returning my gauntlet."

The taller mobian frowned. "Aw, I already told you it was no biggie, but thanks for the rescue anyway. I'm sure if you wanted to, we could let goodbyes be goodbyes and make you the newest, heroic member of Team Knuckles and friends!"

Shadow scowled up at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "The proper phrase is to let bygones be bygones, first of all."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Secondly, I have no interest in joining your paltry, little team. The five of you were useless against this latest scheme against the doctor, which means none of you are any use to me."

Shadow turned away and began to stalk off.

"Besides," he called over his shoulder, "I am not a hero. You would do well to learn that, Knuckles."

Knuckles watched him walk away, dejected, then gasped loudly and began to shout after him.

"Shadow!!! Shadow WAIT!!"

"What!" He snapped back.

Knuckles dug through his dreads and pulled out a jester hat, tugging it on.

"It's fresh out the wash!"

The black hedgehog stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded, and exhaled sharply through his noise. He was so taken aback, his mouth ticked up in a startled smile, quirked a little higher on one side.

Shadow looked cute when he smiled, Knuckles realized. His own eyes widened in turn, cheeks burning the same color as his pelt. Gosh, was it hot in here? He could hear birds singing...and who was playing that harp so romantically!?

"Sorry," said the Mayor, walking across the field with his harp and a bag of birdseed, "I needed somewhere to practice my new hobby - harp playing and bird watching - but all this robo junk is killing the mood! Someone outta clean this up."

"Oh!" Said Knuckles, "uh, we'll get right on that, Sir...have a good night." By the time he looked up to find Shadow, he was gone.

Sonic approached him slowly, mindful of his injuries, and gently patted his arm to get his attention.

"We should get going, too, Knux. I dunno what you did to get Shadow to save our butts back there, but I'm really thankful. Wanna get some celebratory Meh Burger? My treat."

The echidna cracked a smile. "Yeah, okay. I want extra fries!"

"Sure thing, buddy..." He guided Knuckles towards the location of the mediocre eatery, but his gaze was unfocused and his mind was swimming with thoughts.

Shadow hated them, but he'd undoubtedly saved their lives, today. What had Knuckles done to warrant earning such a hefty favor from a guy like that?

Better yet, he thought, what did Eggman mean by "you can't even count on family" as he was retreating? Was there something big going on between the doctor and that moody hedgehog?

--

"...no, don't mind me," Sticks muttered to no one as she sat against the bars of her cage, hours after the conclusion of the battle. "Don't mind the helpless badger everybody forgot to let out. It's fine."

[slashbitch2]

Lying To Her Love

i noticed there were no fics for lorraine and felt i had to remedy that

also no hate to ed he's a dilf

Lorraine wasn't really sure what prompted her to stray from the group. Conjecture would be the only way to describe it: a sudden desire to distance herself from Ed, to explore the house alone. A new feeling had also arisen deep inside, in her chest if she had to place it, similar to a compass. Like there was an internal needle pointing in the direction she was supposed to go, and she chose to trust this instinct. Though thus far her inference skills had brought about nothing but terrifying situations.

And unfortunately, it seemed this time would be no different...

The needle slowly spun round to point out a set of stairs leading down toward the basement. A layer of dust had settled upon each step, indicating that no one had ventured down so far, which only served to intrigue her further. How, in a paranormal investigation, had no one thought to check the basement? As she drew closer, Lorraine realised there was a very faint set of footsteps. They were too imperceptible to have been made recently, yet the house had supposedly been uninhabited since the disturbances began over a week ago.

Had it not been for the very insistent compass directing her down, the footsteps would've been convincing enough. Careful not to unsettle the evidence, she began to descend down the staircase, one hand tracing along the brick wall as if to ground herself in reality. With each step she could feel a weight bearing down on her chest, a dizzy wave rushing over her. At one point the sensation grew so overwhelming that she had to pause and close her eyes. Whilst stood still, the strange pressure that had been building up in her ears reached its peak. Without opening her eyes, Lorraine knew she'd crossed over to one of her prescience visions.

However, when she eventually did open them, it was to find everything exactly as she'd left it. There were no indications that anything had changed, except for the familiar feeling that she was watching through someone else's eyes. Or rather, watching what someone else wanted her to. She'd been brought here for a reason, and by god she was going to get to the bottom of this. Reinvigorated by a new determination, she practically skipped past the last few steps and onto the cold basement floor.

Here Lorraine found the first confirmation that she was no longer in reality: natural light flooding in from no visible source. It was a welcomed change from the gloom of late evening she'd left behind, but only made her more weary of whatever she was about to encounter since it was clearly trying to lure her into a false sense of security. Nonetheless, she cautiously ambled further into the open space. In fact, it was eerie how empty the room was. Usually she'd be climbing over piles of abandoned objects, trying to give equal attention to each one which often invoked fabrications of the mind. However, here there was nothing for her brain to work with, save for the occasional movement out the corner of her eye that she knew was nothing more than fiction to fill the void and warrant her apprehension.

By the time she'd reached the opposite end of the room, nothing yet had occurred to explain why she'd been dragged into this particular vision. And then, an abrupt, horrifying possibility dawned on her. What if she was stuck here?  It had never happened before, but then again, in most cases 'the cause' would've revealed itself by now.

Although, with this realisation came another equally strange one. Lorraine could feel no fear, no panic, no negative emotions. All she was aware of was complete relaxation. Even her most horrific memories and upsetting images couldn't create any response. They were nothing but distant stories told by a different version of her. The positive aura filling the room started to shift into something else, into an almost crippling pleasure. It was both intense and insufficient. She found herself clutching at her stomach, as if she'd suddenly been made aware of an incapacitating emptiness. She longed for company, yet the idea of returning to reality appeared an incredibly unappealing one. Instead, Lorraine wanted to fall further into this dreamlike pleasure.

But that was what it wanted.

With great difficulty, and an exclamation of discomfort, Lorraine turned on her heels to begin her escape. Though she halted upon catching sight of a figure stood before her. She compelled herself to push past the profound ache lingering in her gut, standing up straight to face this mysterious being. Here she came across the second confirmation that this wasn't reality, not that she needed it anymore. You were indescribably beautiful, radiating a sort of divine light like an alluring beacon of possibility.

Most spectres or demons Lorraine met were the opposite. They enveloped the light around them, constructed a dark gap in which there was nothing but pain and regret. They represented everything that couldn't be. A screaming phantom that reminded her to appreciate life.

But you-

You represented all that could've been without any guilt or anguish. You emanated both warm nostalgia and burning desire, the effects of which were palpable for anyone who could tune into the energy, and Lorraine was being strongly subjected to it. Though first and foremost, she had a job to do.

She swallowed, refocused her attention to the task at hand. "Why-" Another wave of dizzying desire washed over her. She tried again. "Why are you-" The world around her was spinning. She blinked rapidly to try stave off vertigo, but stumbled anyway.

A cool reprieve from the searing pleasure caught hold of her. Using the embrace for support she stabilized herself only to come face to face with you.

Despite your overpowering influence on her, you appeared surprisingly human up close. Normal enough to blend in with reality, but sufficiently attractive to be memorable. Still there was something irresistible to your appearance that encouraged Lorraine to sink further into your hold, to move her hands to wrap around the back of your neck. She hadn't felt so loved since early on in her relationship with Ed...

Ed.

She shouldn't be doing this. Her marriage commitment ought to have her fighting against you- but that was practically inconceivable. Besides, how could something morally wrong feel so right? No, this wasn't infidelity. She wasn't exactly sure what it was, but not that. She would never cheat on Ed.

The temptation was intoxicating. Lorraine's hands started to trace patterns along any available skin, savouring the unfamiliar yet exhilarating sensation. You weren't a living breathing person so there was something different about the way you felt that she was eager to investigate. In response to her caress, you brought one hand up to cup her cheek, maintaining intimidating yet intimate eye contact. The touch emitted pure pleasure and Lorraine gasped as she leant into the contact. Time seemed to slow as neither moved, opting to stare at the other in silence instead.

She was vaguely aware that time moved differently in her visions. That the longer she spent in one, the more time had passed upon return. Though currently it was the least of her worries. All she could focus on right now was you and the close proximity that appeared to be narrowing still. Your gaze had dropped to the lower half of her face. Lorraine did the same, her eyes fixating on your lips. However, before you closed the gap she raised a hand, motivated by a new desire. She was shaking slightly, but ignored it to gently brush a finger along your lips. She wanted a taste of the upcoming kiss, and was pleasantly unsurprised. As expected, the touch only reasserted her conviction.

She'd never wanted anything- anyone- as much as she did now.

Suddenly your mouth was upon hers, bringing cooling bliss with it. Lorraine moaned. She felt again a rush of possibilities, the surging tide of everything that could be. The muted uncertainty at the back of her mind blurred into nothingness as she clung onto you. Your mouth was the only solid thing in a swaying world, and she planned on indulging herself in the addictiveness of it. She parted her lips, provoking insatiable tremors along her nerves and another rush of giddiness. She felt young, as if she were experiencing intimacy for the first time again.

Your hands were everywhere, carrying an influx pleasure. She'd never felt anything quite like it. Time became irrelevant, everything except you was meaningless. She was lost to an eternity of bliss, in a realm of endless fulfilment. It was incomprehensible, otherworldly.

And then it was over.

She hadn't noticed she was lightly crying, or trembling so much. Or that she was on the ground. You'd simply disappeared and she'd collapsed. But someone was holding her now, someone else.

"Lorraine!" Ed was crouching before her, gently shaking her out of the dreamlike state and back to consciousness. She'd never loathed him so much for saving her.

"What happened?" He asked, lowering to meet her eyes. "Are you okay?"

She scoffed, her mind trying to comprehend all that'd just happened. She was left reeling from the sudden weight of Ed's touch and separated from him. "I'm fine." Her voice barely breached a whisper.

"Did you see anything?"

Lorraine finally met his eyes, but she couldn't tell him.

"No." She answered. "There's nothing here." She lied.

[skiitter]

A prompt, my dear. Hermione and Draco + “who hurt you?”

Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, the majority of which were less than desirable to any sensible person, but one thing he was not was late. His punctuality was a point of pride, in a sea of arrogance no doubt, but Hermione had come to appreciate it over the course of their working relationship. It was something she could rely on, something immovable in an otherwise dangerously murky situation. He may needle her ceaselessly and leave her to do the lions share of the paperwork, but he was always there when he was expected, an effortless air of smugness clinging to him like bad cologne.

This Sunday, however; this unremarkable, overcast Sunday in late September he was late. It was the day after her 24th birthday as well as their final meeting. The report had been ostensibly completed, the field work essentially finished, and the conclusion inevitably drawn. After the better part of a year dedicating 1/3rd of every weekend to spending most of the day with Malfoy, Hermione's Sundays were about to become her own once more; a prospect she was not all that excited about.

Everytime the chirp of the bell above the door announced a new arrival, she would glance over, expecting to see a shock of platinum hair above a signature sneer and everytime, she was disappointed.

"Another tea, miss?" The waitress asked, her expression a perfect blend of professionalism and pity.

"No, no thank you." Hermione spared another look out the window, searching for him among the crowd. "Actually, I think I'm done here. Could I get the check?"

Bundled up against the autumn chill, Hermione paid and left the Cafe' and it's memories behind. It wasn't quite noon yet, and the streets were slowly filling with the townspeople emerging to go about their days. She smiled at a few passersby but was otherwise lost in her own thoughts as she made her way to the Apparition point.

Maybe Malfoy had just decided their final meeting wasn't all that important. To be fair it was more of a formality than anything else. His decision to not show would have no negative consequence on anything other than her feelings. Feelings, of course, that she was deliberately not thinking about.

As she rounded the corner, absorbed in her denial, she didn't see him until it was too late. With an audible "oof" she ran straight into Malfoy, colliding chest to chest. She immediately bounced off but he caught her arm before she could hit the sidewalk.

"What--Malfoy?"

"Graceful as always, Granger." He let her go and she stared, wide eyed and confused, at the state of his face.

"Merlin! Your face it's--"

"Your manners leave so very much to be desired." He looked cross but it was hard to tell beneath the bruising. An ugly, mottled patch of purple marred the left side of his face, stark and violent against his pale skin. It was fresh, the edges red with the recent impact, and it appeared to have just narrowly missed his eye.

"Malfoy," she reached her hand out, ghosting her fingertips over the bruise. "What happened?"

He sneered at her and jerked away. "Keep your obligatory Gryffindor concern to yourself, Granger."

"It's not an obligation!"

"Says the war hero."

"Will you--ugh!" She huffed and dragged him back around the corner, off of the sidewalk and into an alley. "What happened?" She repeated.

"Nothing."

"Malfoy."

He looked around, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with her. "I made a wrong turn at Diagon Alley, is all."

"A wrong turn?" The incredulity in her voice was palpable. "To where? A boxing ring?"

"Just drop it, Granger."

"I will not just drop it. Look--look at your face!" She closed the space between them. "Malfoy, please. What happened?"

He sighed and the rigidity of his shoulders softened. "I forgot, okay? I went to Flourish and Blotts to get you your bloody birthday gift and when I left, I ran into some adoring fans."

"What--"

"Our former school chums don't take kindly to my presence in Diagon Alley and, after our last little spat, I'd forgotten the warning they'd left me with." Malfoy's jaw tensed and he squinted up into the clouded sunlight. "They took it upon themselves to remind me."

Hermione balled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter, Granger."

"Who?" She took a steadying breath. "Who hurt you?"

"I don't know. I vaguely recognized them from Hogwarts. It's fine."

It wasn't fine. It was categorically not fine. Malfoy was hardly the first of their class that had been on the wrong side of the war to be attacked. Harry had spent a significant amount of time trying to dispel such violent grudges and, to the best of her knowledge, it had been handled. Clearly, she was mistaken.

"We need to report this to the Ministry. Harry needs--"

"Absolutely fucking not." Malfoy gave her an indignant look. "The last person that needs to hear about this is Saint Potter."

"Malfoy, Harry's job is dealing with--"

"No, Granger. I said no."

"So what? Those nasty little insects just get to get away with it? No. I refuse. We didn't go to bloody war--"

"I was on the wrong side of that war, remember? So, yeah, we did go to war for this exact scenario to exist." He could see the lack of effect his words were having written across her face. "Granger. Please. I don't want this to become another of your crusades."

She reeled as if she'd been slapped. "Crusades?! Malfoy, it's about the injustice of it! You don't deserve to be attacked in the streets for something you did nearly ten years ago!"

"The court of public opinion begs to differ."

"Oh they'll beg alright," she snapped. At her genuine anger, his features softened and Malfoy gave her an unreadable look before looking away.

"You're such a fucking Gryffindor." He said it with an air of affection, though, and it helped to ground her back in the now.

"Thank you." Once more she placed her hand upon his bruised cheek and, to her surprise, he leaned into the touch. Her breathe caught in her lungs and she swallowed. "We--we should take care of that."

"It's just a simple spell. I'll handle it."

"No," she insisted and stepped away from him. "I will. It's the least I can do."

"This is hardly your fault."

"You went to Diagon Alley for me, remember?" She looked him up and down. "Speaking of..."

"I've been attacked and you're worrying over your stupid gift?" His tone was lighter than it had been since she'd ran into him.

"Of course I am. It's not everyday the evil Draco Malfoy buys you a gift." Hermione nodded to the Apparition point behind them. "Let's go."

"What about the Cafe? You can't honestly expect me to deny our Waitress her weekly opportunity to oogle at me." He gestured to his outfit: an expensive and perfectly tailored muggle suit that Hermione had forced him to buy after he showed up to their first meeting in robes.

"I've already been. It'd been weird to go back now. Besides, I think the bruise will overshadow your fancy slacks."

"Women like a man with scars."

She snorted. "It's hardly a battle scar, you git." when he gave her a pleading look, she rolled her eyes and looked around, to make sure they were alone. Satisfied with the lack of muggles, Hermione drew her wand and tapped it gently to his cheek. The static heat of magic bloomed between them and the ugly purple faded away, leaving his pale cheek unblemished once more. "There."

In the process of her healing, Malfoy had stepped completely into her personal space and the look he was giving her was heavy, deliberate.

"This isn't over, Malfoy. I'll find out who did this, with or without your help. They don't get to just attack you and get away with it."

"I'm hardly a weakling, Granger. I fought back."

"Good. It'll make them easier to identify."

"You're not going to let this go." It was not a question.

"No. I'm not."

"Why?"

"Because." She gave him a defiant look and he tipped her chin up with his hand. "You're my--"

"What? I'm your what?"

"Friend?"

"Is that all?" He was dangerous, but in a completely different way to the bully he'd been in their youth.

"That depends."

"On?"

"On what you got me for my birthday." She grinned and he laughed, pressing his forehead to hers a moment before pulling away and offering her his arm. She looped hers around it and let him steer them back in the direction of the Cafe.

After a lunch of finger sandwiches and tea, Malfoy finally handed her a perfectly wrapped gift that she immediately tore into. It was the latest book in a series on beasts that Rolf Scamander had been releasing, and it wasn't supposed to be out for another week.

"How did you get this?"

Malfoy shrugged, as if it was the least important thing in the world. "Money is an exceptionally good incentive."

"I love it. Thank you." She beamed at him and he cleared his throat as if it would distract her from the flush creeping up his neck.

"It's no big deal, Granger."

"To you maybe. It is to me. You know how I feel about birthday gifts." They both thought back to the spectacle she'd made of his back in June.

"I did fight for my life while I was out getting it." He grinned but the smile faded at the sharp look she gave him. "I'm joking, of course. Just a little fisticuffs, nothing serious."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really am. You didn't have to go all the way to Diagon Alley for this."

"Sure I did."

"Just submitting your half of the report would be gift enough."

"Lucky for you I've done both. Besides, I'm sick of using that bloody report as an excuse to be around you." Hermione blinked, unable to process the weight of what he'd said. At the shock on her face, he shrugged again. "Come on, Granger. You can't possibly think I care about work this much."

"I--you--what?"

He leaned forward and captured her chin in his hand. "My fierce, naive little lion. You're horribly dense." Malfoy gave her a soft kiss on the forehead and pulled away. "Let's go before the Waitress gets jealous."

"But. What."

"I've rendered the great Hermione Granger speechless. I am truly magnificent." His laugh brought her to her senses and she launched herself across the table to kiss him.

"Sod the waitress."

She did, in the end, figure out who hurt him and in true Hermione Granger fashion, made them rue the day they laid hands upon someone she loves.

[minor-solemnity]

Invention and Intrigue pt.4

Tag List: @jinxqsu​ @naps-and-lemons​ @riddles-wifey​ @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

You look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive. 

You still spend a lot of your evenings with Tom. The only difference being that he touches you more often seems to reach for you without conscious thought or effort. You’ll be sit side by side and his fingers will tap rhythmically on your upturned palm. He’ll kiss your cheek after he’s walked you back to your common room and when he leaves, he’ll pause before letting your hand drop from his, as though he has to consciously remind himself to let you go. For someone who so rarely displays joy in physical proximity in public, he is surprisingly demanding behind closed doors. You’re charmed. 

In public, you both keep your distance. You smile at him politely in the halls and he nods in acknowledgement in return. You like it this way. It makes the moments when his guards drop that much more satisfying, and honestly, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand Melanie’s excited gushing if she were to find out that you were dating. 

There’s also the matter of his Slytherin cohort. 

If you were a more idealistic person, you would probably be annoyed by the fact that he keeps his distance. You would probably question what you are to him. If he viewed you as something fun to pass the time with, but not good enough to be seen in public with. You’re not an idiot, no matter how much you might act like it sometimes; you know that your blood plays a large role in why he is so keen to keep your budding relationship a secret. 

But you aren’t a more idealistic person and therefore you understand perfectly that his friends (though really, you’re not sure if you can call the boys he spends time with his friends) would likely abandon him if they knew about you. You’re honestly not sure how Tom even managed to build such a loyal following in the first place. You’ve not spoken about it, but you’re aware that Riddle isn’t a pureblood surname.

And so you spend two glorious months sheltering your relationship from the world, wrapped safely in your shared love of magic and the possibilities it holds and, more often than not, the green blanket that Tom had gifted you. 

It’s on one of these nights in early summer, when the sun has only just started to set, and you’re making the most of the warmer weather that it all goes horribly wrong. 

Tom leaves you in the entrance hall because he is Head Boy and apparently that means he has responsibilities that don’t include walking you back to your common room. You’re halfway up the steps to the first floor when the stunning jinx hits you. Distantly you hear footsteps and then there is a shadow looming over you and a familiar loud cackle ringing in your ears before everything fades to darkness.

You come to in a classroom you vaguely recognise as the one that Tom had taken you to when you’d kissed for the first time. You spare a moment to appreciate with grim irony that you weren’t wrong in your prediction that going into the dungeons would lead to (a probably very painful) death. Lestrange stands in front of you and your heart starts hammering when you see he’s holding your wand loosely in one hand whilst his own is pointed directly at your chest. You glance at the door behind him, wondering briefly if you try and make a run for it, but Lestrange is bigger, stronger and faster than you and without your wand, you are more or less helpless against him. “People like you contaminate everything,” He spits. You know exactly what he’s talking about. He must have seen you with Tom, must have realised what you were to him. By the looks of it, he isn’t best pleased. In fact, his aristocratic features practically distort themselves under the weight of his disgust.

Lestrange raises his wand and you are preparing yourself to welcome death with open arms when the door slams open. Tom is a rigid pillar of anger. There’s absolutely nothing behind his eyes and whilst he isn’t the most expressive person under normal circumstances, it’s nothing compared to the blank, cold rage that you see in him now. In front of you, Lestrange stills, something flashes in his eyes that you think might be fear before it fades. “Stay out of this, Riddle, if you know what’s good for you,” He says, and he’s angry, yes, disdainful and haughty, but you don’t miss the slight hesitation in his voice.

Tom doesn’t either because the mirror that is his expression cracks and a slow, cruel smile twists his upper lip. He looks terrifying and you’ve never been more grateful to see him. “Put your wand down,” He says, and it’s soft, cajoling, completely at odds with the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Put your wand down and look at me.” 

And the thing is, Lestrange does. If you were unconvinced of the sway that Tom holds over his peers before, you aren’t any longer. You think that they would walk through fiendfyre if he ordered them to. Tom doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move a muscle. He isn’t even holding his wand and a thought begins to form in your mind that he might just tell Lestrange to leave. You hope he doesn’t. You don’t care if it’s cruel of you, but you want him to suffer. 

Lestrange makes a strange choking noise, and it takes you a moment to realise that he’s trying to suppress a sob. For a moment, you wonder how Tom is managing it without his wand but then you remember the book he’d been reading months ago and your wonder morphs into shock and then awe. Legilimency. 

With his back turned to you, you can’t see what’s playing across his features, but his hands are shaking and your wand clatters to the ground. Seeing the opportunity for what it is, you dart forward and scoop it up, immediately feeling safer and less afraid. Tom motions for you to join him, and for the first time since he appeared something resembling human emotion flashes across his face. As soon you’re close, he wraps an arm around you and presses his mouth against the top of your head in a vague approximation of a kiss. From where you’re now standing, you can see Lestrange’s expression all too clearly. His features are no longer distorted in disgust but rather in anguish. Eyes wide and unseeing, he shakes in front of you, any sense of superiority reduced to ash.

“Leave.” A single word. An order, a command and Lestrange is scrambling out of the room. It’s only when you can no longer hear his footsteps that your breath hitches and you begin to shake. You’re not sure how long you stand there, face buried in the folds of Tom’s robes, his hands rubbing gentle, comforting circles against your back, but finally, you begin to calm down enough to disentangle yourself from him. He leads you back out of the dungeons and towards safety.

When you get to the entrance hall, Tom turns and offers you his hand. “Walk with me.” His eyes are still hard, as though he still hasn’t shaken the cold contempt he’d exhibited earlier. 

He must see the trepidation play out across your face because his expression softens marginally, dark eyes searching yours almost imploringly. Slowly, tentatively, you reach out and curl your much smaller hand in his. The dry warmth of his skin seeps through you, calming you in a way that you’re not sure is entirely advisable. 

Six months ago, you had thought of Tom Riddle as an enigmatic, child prodigy. The finest wizard to step through the gates at Hogwarts since Albus Dumbledore himself. A portrait of politeness and charm. Now you look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive. 

It’s an intimidating thought, to say the least. To feel safe and assured in his presence is probably akin to self-destruction, but here you are: walking, hand in hand, through the rose garden. 

“You know, I thought I had a good idea of what my future would look like,” He murmurs, running his thumb across the back of your hand. You hum noncommittally because your suspicion that his interest in the darker aspects of magic isn’t entirely academic is now confirmed. He has plans for his future, and now, you suppose, he has plans for yours too. “I think that the future might look very different from now on.”

“How so?” 

“I’ve decided to take Slughorn’s advice and go into politics.” The words themselves don’t surprise you. Tom’s ambition, his intelligence, his ruthlessness all spell the beginnings of a lucrative career in politics. What surprises you is the fact that this wasn’t his original plan. But then you think about how you even came to know him and what drew you to each other in the first place and you begin to understand that Tom’s plans likely never constituted anything you could call legal. “When I first came to Hogwarts, I knew immediately that if I wanted to get anywhere in this world, I would have to ingratiate myself with the old families. They’re the ones who hold the real political power in this society. They’re the ones who have the final say on what legislature passes and what fails before it even reaches the Wizengamot. I’ve worked hard to… cultivate a loyal following, purebloods who will carry out my will without complaint.”

That still leaves you though. You’re not so modest that you’re unaware that you are, at least, a factor in Tom’s change of heart but that still doesn’t erase the unspoken issue that Lestrange’s actions had dragged into the light. “They might complain if you were to be seen with me, Tom. They will complain.” You sigh and regret for a future that has not yet come pass fills you. You can see it now, Tom, as Minister for Magic (because you cannot imagine that he would settle for less) with a beautiful pureblood wife to give him credibility in the eyes of a traditionalist society. “As you said, they’re the ones with the real power.”

“You misunderstand me.” He says and he leads you to a bench where you both sit. He turns his body towards you, sitting so close that your knees knock against his. He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead, he interlaces your fingers, holds it against his chest. You don’t want to hope that maybe this isn’t the end like it surely must be, but you find yourself hoping nonetheless. “They’re weak,” He says plainly. “They’re weak and they’re frightened. Lestrange attacked you from behind and stole your wand because he is afraid of you. I would burn their entire world to the ground for you.” He pauses and then smiles, slightly sinister, slightly cruel, entirely lovely. “As it stands, I merely intend to irrevocably change it. They will follow if they know what’s good for them.” 

Melanie says that you’re dramatic, but you don’t think you hold a candle to Tom. Conviction and sincerity blaze across his face and you can’t look away. You pull the hand which is still wrapped tightly around yours to you and kiss his knuckles. “I'll be with you every step of the way.”

END

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

A/N: Tom becomes minister for magic - his political enemies always seem to mysteriously disappear or otherwise change their minds. Reader makes sure that no one can prove anything tho. The Statute of Secrecy is dismantled and integration is in baybee.