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saintshigaraki · 3 years

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THESE ARE HARD TIMES FOR DREAMERS

title from bones by ms mr

pairing: yandere nanami kento x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

excerpt: You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always.

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.

a/n: nanami if ur reading this i’m free thursday night.

tags: yandere, angst, reader is once again full of rage, nanami love what have you done, overuse of the word hate

warnings: yandere tendencies, obsessive and possessive behavior, slight infantilization, noncon/dubcon, gaslighting (?), kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, mention of past suicide attempt

MDNI!

You can’t exactly pinpoint where it all went south. There’s not a specific date that stands out to you when you actively noticed things taking a turn for the worst. It’s like that fable. About the frog slowly being boiled alive. Except, in this case, the frog is you and the boiling water is Nanami. And in this case, this is not some story your mom used to read to you about the dangers of gradual escalation, it’s your life. If you can even call this monotonous hell you’re living a life.

You’ve got to hand it to him, you really didn’t see it coming. Nanami’s always been smart like that. Even now, after everything, or maybe even especially now, after everything, you can’t deny that.

You don’t bother moving from where you lay, sprawled out on the floor, when you hear the first click of many locks signaling that your sweet and doting lover has returned.

You used to try to rush him, or get the jump on him with the heaviest thing you could find. Once you started to get really desperate, you just screamed over his shoulder before he had time to clamp a large hand over your mouth.

None of it ever worked, of course.

It was months ago that you decided hopeless escape attempts simply weren’t worth Nanami’s wrath. He’s faster than you, stronger than you, and far bigger. And he always will be.

When your relationship with Nanami was still somewhat normal (though looking back you can’t help but notice all the things that weren’t normal, you suppose hindsight really can be quite the bitch in that regard) you never really thought too hard about how much stronger he was compared to you. In some ways, it might’ve even been comforting, instead of just horribly depressing. No one could touch you when your hand was tucked in his.

It hurts more than you’d like to admit that something you once found such solace in, is now what stands between you and any semblance of normalcy and shred of happiness.

(And fresh air. God, you miss fresh air so much it hurts, a dull never-ceasing ache deep in your chest. You miss the stars too. Sometimes, when you’re laying on the floor like you are now or in the dead of night when it’s all you can do to swallow down your screams, you try to map out constellations on the ceiling. You’re not very good at it though, and the few constellations you actually remember are starting to slip from your memory like water through fingers, no matter how desperately you try to hold onto them.

You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always.

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.)

It takes Nanami’s slightly disapproving hum to snap you out of your celestial spiraling.

You tilt your head back, just enough to find he’s towering over you. His mouth set in a grim line. His glasses, jacket, and tie have already been discarded, his shirt rolled up to his forearms. The sight of him like this use to make your cheeks burn. Now, it’s hard to rein in the urge to spit at his feet and hiss out every seething thought you have about him burning below the surface.

But the lecture you’d receive after a ‘tantrum’ like that wouldn’t be worth it. He always manages to twist your words, your own feelings, sometimes even your very sense of self, until you can hardly tell what’s up and what’s down. Until you can hardly distinguish your reality from his. Until all you can hear is Nanami’s voice in your ear, reminding you of everything you’ll never be. Of just how helpless you are.

(It’s like his hands are around your throat, choking and choking and choking.)

And once you’re nothing but a sobbing heap on the floor, he’ll pull you into his lap, tuck your face against the curve of his shoulder, and rub soothing circles into your back while saying something along the lines of ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll always be here take care of you’ until your sobs have quieted to the occasional hiccup.

You hate it, how he manages to make you feel so dependent on him. He’s so, so good at knowing just what string to pull so that you’ll unravel completely, just so he can put you back together again with his painstakingly gentle hands.

Nanami’s smart like that.

So, you’ve learned to bite your tongue.

“You’re insistence on laying on the dirty floor when we have a perfectly good couch and bed truly astounds me,” he says, monotone.

You don’t justify his sarcasm with a response, partly to stall what inevitably will come after this and partly to annoy him. Nanami doesn’t like it when you ignore him. It’s one of the few things you have the power to do that manages to get under his skin.

It’s these little rebellions, you’ve found, that make all the difference.

You eye the couch warily, it’s plush and huge. The perfect place for an afternoon nap. Nanami had traded out the smaller one he’d had before, for this one, a few months after you’d started dating. He’d wanted one big enough that you two could comfortably lay together as you slept and he read. You spent countless hours there, tucked into his side, with the setting sun warming your skin.

It’s also where you had told him that you wanted to end things. That he’d gotten too overbearing, too controlling. That you felt suffocated. That you still loved him dearly, but that you couldn’t do this anymore. It’s where you left him as you walked out with only a single bag in hand.

That night you went to sleep in some shady motel room and woke up back in Nanami’s bed with a padded handcuff chaining you to the frame.

These memories from before have a way of coming back to haunt you, they pass through the walls, whispering poison in your ears, caressing your skin one moment just to dig their claws in deep the next.

They mock you as you sit and rot and dream of stars you’ll never see again.

“You’re stalling.” He always manages to sound so distinctly unimpressed with you whenever you don’t follow one of his unwritten rules (and God even if you were actively trying to follow them, there are so many that keeping track of them is nothing short of an impossible feat).

You finally get to your feet, wringing your hands in a way that you know makes you look weak and pathetic. Just the way Nanami likes you so that he can swoop in and take such good care of his little darling love.

“Kento, I-”

“Save it,” he says, already walking towards the bedroom.

You could put up a fight, but all that’d do is make him angry, and then you’d have to do what he wanted anyway and deal with being tethered back to the bed for a few days while Nanami fusses over you like some sort of deranged mother hen.

You make your way over to the bedroom, already starting to strip, ready to get this over with as soon as possible.

You’re half-naked by the time you enter his room.

Even after months and months of this, the humiliation of standing nearly naked in front of him while he stays fully dressed never dulls, it’s still just as sharp and awful as the first time he made you do it.

(It’s like you’re peeling back your own skin, defenseless as he rubs salt in the wound.)

You suppose you should feel lucky that he lets you keep on your bra and underwear. Not that the undergarments he bought you really cover all that much, but in these four walls, beggars can’t exactly be choosers.

He takes off his watch, setting it carefully onto his dresser before walking over to you and starting his nightly inspection for any cuts or bruises you may have received (or given yourself) throughout the day while he was off at work. Off in the world you’ll never see again. Just the thought is enough to make you want to scream.

You used to be able to wiggle your way out of this, before the incident, as Nanami has dubbed it, but now it’d be a cold day in hell before he doesn’t painstakingly go over (almost) every inch of your skin with a careful eye and calloused hands.

His thumb always brushes terribly gently over the scar a few centimeters to the right of one of your jugular veins, where you had attempted to slit your throat after you realized that you would probably never escape this place. Never escape him.

You’d never seen Nanami as scared as when he walked in on you holding a knife to your throat. And you’d never seen him as angry as after he’d wrenched it from your hand using a type of speed that shouldn’t even be humanly possible.

He took a full month off work after that which coincidently also happened to be the worst fucking month of your life.

He cups your face in his large hand and presses a kiss to your temple. A sign that he’s deemed you just as pristine as when he left you and that he’s very pleased by it.

You want to bite his hand. You want to rip his flesh from the bone. You want to hold his heart in your hand and crush it.

(You want to go home. You want to feel the earth beneath your bare feet. You want to sit on a roof in your childhood neighborhood and watch the sun dip below the horizon and drown the world in golden light. You want to step out on an autumn day with winter just around the corner and smell the crispness in the air, feel it claw its way into your lungs.

You want to remember what it’s like to be human.)

Nanami’s lips are on yours before you can think, soft and enticing. You could push him away or just say no. He’d listen. Not even he can apparently justifying forcing you.

(We all have our limits, don’t we?)

But you don’t. You haven’t in a long while. And you hate yourself for it more than you could ever hate him.

He loses his shirt rather quickly and you manage to discard your bra before he lifts you up and tosses you on the bed. You don’t get a second to breathe before he’s over you, monstrous and awful and so terribly beautiful.

He takes a moment to caress your face, his knuckles brushing over your cheek so tenderly that it nearly makes you sick. You’re thankful when he finally says, “Open up.”

You do as he says and in the next second two of his fingers are stuffed into your waiting mouth.

“Suck.”

And you do, without hesitation, because you know what’s coming next. You know that for the next hour or so, there’ll be no denying the fact that you’re alive, that you’re not some ghost haunting these halls. It’ll prove that it’s blood that flows through your veins instead of stone, that you have not yet started to rot in your own skin.

He he pulls his fingers from your mouth without a word and leaves a trail of burning kisses down your sternum and stomach. He wastes no time pulling your underwear off and attaching his calloused thumb to your clit, rubbing tight little circles in a way that has you keening almost immediately.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time you’re wet enough for him to comfortably slip a finger in. Just one of them reaches spots you never quite manage to hit on your own, and you hate how much you love it. It has you moaning, nearly loud enough to drown out the lewd squelching by the time he adds a second finger.

“You’re so, so good for me,” he murmurs, voice rough. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate that the praise has you clenching his fingers in a near vice grip. You hate that he still affects you in any way after what he’s done to you. After what he’s reduced you to.

You don’t have time to stew in your self-loathing before his fingers find that spongy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars.

(And this is the reason you don’t push him away.

You’ll never step foot under the night sky again. But here, with his fingers hitting all the right spots in your cunt, you’ll make your own galaxy and pretend that it holds a candle to the real thing.)

With the pace he sets, his constant low grunts of just how lovely you are creaming around his fingers, and the way his thumb never lets up on your puffy clit, you’re coming within minutes, you spasm around his digits so hard that the stars you so love burst behind your tightly shut eyelids.

He eases his fingers out of you and licks them clean, his dark eyes half-lidded and nearly glowing in the dimly lit bedroom, burning straight through you.

You’re the one to look away first. You always are. Shame settling heavily in your gut. Shame that you enjoyed it, shame that you didn’t push him, shame that you’ll do this all over again tomorrow.

When he finally sinks into you, he does it slowly. Sometimes you wish he wouldn’t, sometimes you wish he’d make it hurt. It’d be easier to hate him instead of yourself if he did.

When Kento fucks you like this, chest to chest, there’s not a single part of you not swallowed whole by him.

You hate it.

You hate yourself more for moaning when he changes the angle and starts fucking you so hard and fast that your hands can’t help but scramble for anything to hang on to, they tear down his back, drawing blood which seems to only spur him on to go harder.

“Kento I-- I’m-,” but you can’t finish the sentence, not when you can feel your orgasm teetering on the edge, so, so close that it’s painful, you just need-

“You want to come?” He asks, his voice annoyingly steady.

It’s unfair of him to expect you to be able to answer when he has you nearly folded in half. You can hardly even think.

(But when has Kento ever really been fair?)

“Use your words, darling.” His lips are right against your ear, his tone unbearably condescending, and maybe a bit mocking.

You hate him for asking you to beg.

You hate yourself more for giving in.

“Kento, please,” you whine.

He laughs, low and mean, you feel it in your own chest and for a moment it really is as though you are nothing but an extension of him, a limb left useless without Nanami guiding you. You hate it. You hate it.

Eventually, he relents and brings his thumb back down to your clit, resuming those tight, firm circles, and that’s all you needed to finally push you over the edge.

This time, when you come, there are no stars to comfort you. Just Kento’s eyes, bright and burning.

Your cunt clamping down on his cock is all it takes for him to let out a low groan and still completely inside you, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt is awful in it’s familiarity.

His eyes finally close as he drops his forehead against yours, breathing your air and forcing you to breathe his.

He closes the gap between your lips, gently, sweetly. You can almost pretend for a moment that this is the Kento you knew years ago. Who held you so sweetly and smiled when you smiled.

You don’t realize you’re crying until he kisses your temple tenderly and wipes away your tears. He’s not worried, you cry more often than not after he fucks you. You don’t really want to think about why.

You let your mind wander as he carries you bridal style to the bathroom, where in a minute he’ll run a warm bath for you two to share, then afterwards he’ll dry you off with the utmost tenderness, then dress you himself before carrying you to the kitchen where he’ll set you on the counter as he makes dinner (you won’t be allowed to help, of course) then he’ll force every last bite down your throat if you refuse to eat (he hasn’t had to do that in a long while though), then he’ll have you curl up on his lap, head tucked into his shoulder, as he reads. After about an hour he’ll bring you back to the bathroom where he’ll brush your teeth for you because you never do it right, and then he’ll drag you into bed no later than 10:30 PM so that you can do it all over again tomorrow.

“Do you want the lavender or rose soap today?” Nanami asks you.

You ignore him in favor of trying to remember the details of your galaxy, but it’s already faded away to nothing by the time you close your eyes.

a/n pt 2: i feel like it was painfully obvious that this was my first attempt ever at smut. i’m so sorry yall. i really did try.

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oitommothetease · 3 years

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Invisible String (3/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Word Count: 1.5k

After an exhausting day, Bucky just wanted to go home, have a drink and pass out in his bed. But of course, he had to forget his keys and phone in his office. He debated going back to the club because he knew you were going to be there.

It wasn't like he was avoiding you, he just prevented going to places where he knew you'd be present. He stayed in his office or was just absent from the club during your shifts. Well, maybe he was avoiding you.

He was an ass to you, which he usually didn't care about because he was an ass to everyone. But for some unexplained reasons, he felt bad after being mean to you. When you walked in with your kind of a shitty story with a lot of plot holes about how you wanted to change scenery, he assumed you were sent by his enemy, Rumlow.

All it took was one background check for him to figure out you weren't lying. What he couldn't figure out was why you'd leave a perfect job in a big city and move to a smaller one and work in a club.

He didn't need anything when he walked into that store. James Buchanan Barnes is one of the richest people in the town, of course, he had people to do mundane chores for him. He came to that store for you. He needed to apologize to you. Not only that, but he felt something weird in his stomach like he had bad hot dogs, but this was worse. It was his guilt eating him up and stealing his sleep.

But Bucky Barnes did not feel guilty, not for some girl that threw her perfect life away for a bartender job. So he offered the job to you, simply because you wanted it so much. Maybe his approach was not ideal, but he was trying. He also didn't exactly offer it to you, but he did give it to you and left, hoping that you'd come to his club and take the job, which you did.

He would drop extra tips on your counter every now and then. He would make sure that you do not have to serve their rough customers. Likewise, he was sure Wanda and Pietro could handle anything thrown in their way like drunk touchy customers, drunk flirty customers, drunk angry customers. Furthermore, he made sure you got the busy business customers that are there for work.

It's not like he didn't think you couldn't protect yourself, but again, he barely knew you. Honestly, there wasn't much to dig about you either. You didn't lie about your college and work, and that was enough for him to believe you weren't some double agent sent to spy on him and his business.

Still, he didn't like you. He didn't like how you were always sweet and polite to customers. He didn't like how you joked with Peter and how your eyes lit up when you laughed at something that Wanda said. Not only that, but he didn't like that his family and friends trusted you enough to hang out with you. You weren't a spy, but you could still be some sort of hypnotizing witch by the way everyone liked you in an instant. Mostly, he didn't like how he felt after getting a glimpse of you. He didn't like that he was so intrigued by you and how he wanted to know you. He didn't like how his eyes would linger on you during daily CCTV camera inspection a little longer than necessary.

Bucky just wanted to get his stuff and go back to his place as soon as possible. He didn't expect anything when he walked through the door, he specifically didn't expect his nemesis assaulting his employee.

After shoving Rumlow out of his club and away from you, the mob boss instantly made his way towards you. Bucky didn't know how to approach or console you. He couldn't touch you, he was aware that you wouldn't react positively to a man replacing the touch of a man who forced you.

He stretched out his open palms towards you in surrender and submission, hoping that you'd realize he wasn't going to attack you.

"Hey, y/n." He gently called for you.

You flinched, but when you recognized the voice, you reluctantly opened your eyes to find his blue ones and outstretched palms in front of you.

"Hey, it's me. I'm not going to hurt you."

Carefully, you placed your hands in his, and he held yours very lightly like he was scared that you'd break. Maybe he wasn't wrong. Softly, he started running his thumb in circles on your palm in an attempt to soothe you.

"I'm sorry," you blurted out, closing your eyes in regret.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have worn this," you could feel the tears streaming down your face, but you didn't want to face him. "It's all my fault "

In your head, you were convinced it was your fault and Mr. Barnes, your boss, is going to yell at you and fire you. You were preparing yourself for another blow that never came.

"Hey, y/n. Please look at me."

Unwillingly, you did.

"You listen to me very carefully. It wasn't your fault. The only person at fault here was that fucking asshole."

Bucky knew it was your trauma talking. He never forgot the resilient girl that kept dropping random movie references in a conversation with a mob boss. He thought maybe you didn't know, but both of you knew you were not naïve. He couldn't let your susceptible brain convince that strong girl that it was her fault, he desperately needed you to know it wasn't.

"No, I shouldn't have-"

"It's not your fault," he told you carefully, still maintaining eye contact. He knew you were in a vulnerable state, and he should not push you, but he also knew that your mind is going to conjure up stuff to deal with trauma. He couldn't let your mind justify a heinous, vile act of a monster. "Do you understand that?"

Begrudgingly, you nodded, and Bucky finally let a breath out he knew he was holding.

"Is there someone I can contact? A partner or a family member?"

You shook your head and took your hand away from his grasp.

"Okay, so here's what we're going to do. I'm going to take you home and we are going to talk about this in the morning. We'll take further steps when you're feeling a little better," he planned. "Does this sound okay?"

Bucky understood your nod as a yes and proceeded further," Doll, you gotta let me in, please. I can't take you home if you don't talk to me."

You blinked a few times, trying to ground yourself. Finally, you took your phone out of your back pocket and handed him the device with your address on the screen. He took it from you and without saying another word he started moving towards the door and you followed.

The mob boss would never accept this to anyone, but he frequently kept looking over his shoulder until you were seated in his car. He kneeled down and put the seatbelt on you before making his way towards the driver's seat, but when you flinched at the contact of his skin with yours, it made his heart ache.

The car ride was silent, which you didn't know whether to appreciate or not. On one hand, silence can be deafening, leaving you alone with your thoughts. On the other hand, noises can be annoying. So you settled with humming a Taylor Swift song and Bucky didn't say anything. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but every 5 seconds he would glance your way.

After reaching your home, Bucky stayed in the living room while you got dressed in your bedroom. You called for him when you were finally settled in the comfort of the silk bedsheet you brought last week. Bucky tucked you in bed, making sure that you were comfortable and he was about to leave, but you broke the silence at last.

"What happens next?" you asked.

"If you feel comfortable, then we'll talk about this tomorrow," he informed you. "But I swear to God, doll, I will make him suffer for what he did to you."

You didn't know what that meant, so you just nodded.

"I'm going to lock the door behind me, doll. Sleep well."

"Please stay," you murmured, already drifting off to sleep.

You didn't know whether he heard you or not. You didn't know whether he stayed or not, even if he heard you. You were too tired to check and before you knew it you were already asleep.

TAGS: @bananapipedreams @akkinda10

#mobster bucky #mob bucky #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mobbucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky #bucky fic #bucky series #mob!bucky series #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes series

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weelittleweasley · 4 years

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It’s Complicated (c.d.)

Prompt inspired by anon request: Cedric wanted a relationship, you wanted something casual. This made for a complicated dynamic between the two of you to say the least, but Cedric was determined to make things less complicated simply and plainly.

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ sexual content (rough sex, male receiving oral, FILTHY TALK), language, but also fluff? Idk I tried to do it all with this one LMAOOO

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Bro lowkey after i wrote this I was like.....yo do i wanna fuck cedric?????

Rising from the bed quickly, you started pulling your clothes back on, preventing Cedric from pulling you back onto the bed and into his arms. You heard him groan in disappointment, “Why can’t you stay?” You laugh and shake your head, sliding your jeans on. He always wanted you to stay after one of your encounters. “For five minutes?” he tries to bargain with you.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror and wipe away the smudged eyeliner under your eyes. Without turning back to him, you speak, “As tempting as you offer is, I’m still going to go.” Cedric sighs. “Besides, I don’t think friends with benefits snuggle with each other,” you joke around as Cedric just rolls his eyes before a small smile tugs at his lips.

This friends with benefits relationship started last year between you and Cedric. The two of you had undeniably chemistry and after one night of sitting in the common room together, you had shared your first kiss which eventually developed into something more that night. The thing about this relationship was that you didn’t expect it to go on for this long. You had been sleeping with Cedric on and off for about a year which was never your intention. You thought that it would maybe last three months, but instead you found yourself knocking on his door for longer than that.

You couldn’t help it. There was something about Cedric Diggory that made you want more. He was charming, smart, and handsome. What was not to like? The only thing that stood in your way of a casual hook up with him was Cedric’s blossoming feelings for you. You made it very clear to Cedric that you didn’t want a boyfriend; you would rather be in a situation-ship rather than a relationship. In a relationship, you had the capability of being hurt. It was best for you to be on your own and sleep with whoever you wanted rather than be tied down to one person.

Cedric on the other hand was mad about you. He originally had the same intentions as you when starting this arrangement. Sex and sex only. No dates. No labels. No PDA. No nicknames. No exclusivity. Just sex. But he started having second thoughts about four months into your agreement. The thought of you flirting or sleeping with other guys made his stomach churn. The more time you spent together, Cedric realized how intelligent, kind, and passionate you were. Cedric was falling for you and he was falling quickly.

Was it still wrong to be sleeping with the boy who had feelings for you when you didn’t want a relationship? Sure. But you justified it every time. The sex was great, Cedric was a good guy, he wouldn’t be a dick and tell the school about your affairs, and at this point, it would be too late to stop. You were in the thick of it, there was no escape now.

Cedric sits up and pulls his boxers back up. “(Y/N), you know how I feel about you,” he justifies, but you hold up a finger and stop him from going any further. You didn’t need a declaration of love right now. What you needed to do was get out of his room and go to the library and meet up with Luna for your study session. Cedric doesn’t stop though, he rises from his bed and walks towards you as you lean against his desk. When he reaches you, he places his hands on your hips, pulling you close to him. “Why not give us a shot?”

“Because we agreed that this is just a casual thing,” you retort, pushing his hands off of you gently as Cedric sighs in defeat. “No labels remember?” Cedric sadly nods and you have to look away from him or else you’ll get sad too. A relationship with Cedric wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He was a great guy and you knew he would be the perfect boyfriend. But you weren’t going to get a head of yourself. You brushed the thought aside and simply kissed his cheek. “I have to run, but I’ll catch you later. Alright?”

The boy in front of you just smiles gently, knowing that he’ll just be disappointed again when you come over and leave. His yearning to be more than just sex to you grew every day. But he didn’t tell you that. He kept seeing you rather than losing you altogether. “Yeah,” he nods as you give him a smile.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, thinking of how messy this arrangement was. Cedric, hopelessly crushing on you, while you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t want a relationship. Before you register what you’re doing, you press a gentle kiss to Cedric’s lips, him immediately kissing you back with no hesitation. The kiss is gentle, sweet, and short. You don't know why you did it. You never kissed him goodbye. But today you felt like you wanted to. Almost needed to. Cedric looks like he’s about to say something, but you just speak before he can, “Alright then, bye, Cedric.”

You walk to the door, leaving quickly. “Bye,” he calls after you as you shut the door.

As you walk down the steps of the boy’s dormitories, you can’t help but mentally beat yourself up. This friends with benefits thing was going too far; it should stop. But the thought of not being with Cedric made your stomach twist. It was good for you to set a boundary, right?

You evade the thoughts from your mind as you enter the library, spotting Luna waiting for you at a circle table. “Sorry that I’m a little late,” you huff while sitting across from her. “I got caught up with something.” Luna looks at you and blushes before looking back at the book on the table. “Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?” you touch your cheeks.

She shakes her head. “Um, no, dear,” she giggles. “You, erm, you’ve got something...right here,” she points to her own neck for reference. Your face heats up with embarrassment as you slap your neck, realizing that Cedric had given you a massive hickey. “No judgement here. Do what you have to do.” You groan and close your eyes. You hated when Cedric gave you hickeys; they always lasted forever and you got teased relentlessly on them by your friends. Luna notices your frustration and takes the light blue scarf from around her neck off and hands it to you. “Here you go.”

“You’re the best,” you thank her as you wrap the scarf around your neck. “Fucking Diggory...” you huff as Luna giggles, looking at you a little concerned. You were never this disheveled after seeing Cedric. In fact, you were always in a pleasant mood after being with Cedric. You notice Luna’s gaze and speak with a sigh, “It’s complicated...alright, enough of that, what are you working on?” ----------

The next day, you sat in the grass with a few of your friends, all chatting and munching on small snacks. It was a gorgeous spring day, the sun was shining, flowers blooming, and the smell of fresh grass danced in the air. The day was seemingly perfect.

As mild chatter was exchanged between a few classmates, you scanned your surroundings. That’s when you spotted Cedric. He sat on a bench, eyes focused on the book in his hands. You smiled to yourself as you watched the way his eyes maintained a soft focus on the words, him running one hand though his hair pushing it back. He looked other worldly in the moment, like a Grecian god. Your heart fluttered, but you prevented a blush from coming onto your cheeks by taking a deep breath in.

However, you thoughts came to a screeching halt when Cedric’s gaze lifted from his book and landed on something, rather someone, else. His mouth moved to greet the person who sat on the bench next to him. Cho took a seat next to him as he draped an arm around her shoulders, her giggling. Your stomach became sick at the sight and jealously flooded your chest. What was he doing? The pair start talking as Cho laughs at something he whispers in her ear. Your blood is boiling at this point.

“You alright, (Y/N)?” one of your friends asks you.

“I’m bloody brilliant,” you speak, your eyes not moving from Cedric. “One moment.”

You ignore the calls of your friends as you rise from the grass, grabbing your bag, leaving the circle. You weren’t going to do anything to Cho Chang. She did nothing wrong. In fact, you weren’t going to do anything to Cedric either. But you were going to make sure he knew that you saw what he was doing.

Making yourself looking as unbothered as possible, you shake your head, snapping yourself out of your funk. You let yourself relax, a soft smile relaxing on your face. You walk in their general direction, not stopping to say hi to them, just passing the bench the pair was sat on. However, Cho looks up and speaks. “Oh, hi, (Y/N)!” she beams.

Matching her energy, you speak, “Hi, Cho!” You smile at her and send her a wave. Looking at Cedric, you say nothing and continue to walk, ignoring his whole presence. As you walked away, you felt his eyes on you the whole time, a smirk playing out on your lips. “Prick,” you huff under your breath.

You walk into the castle, leaving the garden area. But that’s when you hear footsteps behind you, quickly approaching. “So you’re going to ignore me now? Is that what we’re doing?” Cedric’s voice calls after you as you smirk, knowing you’ve won. “Hello?”

Sarcastically, you turn around and pretend to just notice him. “Oh, hi, Cedric. I didn’t see you there. Anyway, I need to get going now,” you tell him. “You shouldn’t leave Cho alone. It’s rude to do that.”

Cedric laughs, “You’re joking, right?” You just shrug and turn around, walking away. “Merlin, (Y/N), you should be one to talk! You leave me alone constantly after you’ve had your way!” he exclaims. His words make passerbys oooh as your face flares up with embarrassment. “What? You’re gonna play all shy now? ‘Cause last night you were anything, but shy,” he continues as people’s interests peak.

You look around at multiple pairs of eyes on you as you grab his hand and pull him into a vacant classroom. You push Cedric in first, you shortly following, locking the door behind you. “What the fuck was that?” you yell at him, pushing his chest back, completely enraged. Even though there were a handful of people who knew about you and Cedric, you weren’t keen on the whole school knowing about it.

“Well, now that I have your attention,” Cedric starts as you slap his arm. “What? You’re mad because I’m talking to another girl. Merlin, (Y/N), it’s not like I kissed her!” You roll your eyes. “So, it’s okay for you to talk to other guys and flirt with them, but when I do it, it’s wrong? You’re mental!”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. You hadn’t flirt with anyone else; maybe cheeky banter with George Weasley once, but nothing that should have had him sweating. You retort, “That’s a load of rubbish, Ced, and you know it! You wanna know what else is? You tell me how much you like me and then you go ahead and do shit that says otherwise!” Cedric pulls at his hair, unable to comprehend the situation. It’s not until a tear hits your lips that you notice that you are crying. This game was driving you crazy. “Cedric, I don’t know what we’re doing!”

“No, (Y/N)! You don’t know what you want!” Cedric yells back as you stop, shocked at his accusation. “I’ve been very clear with you this whole time. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long and it’s only you who I want. You make me happy. I want to call you mine and all mine. I don’t wanna worry about someone asking you to be theirs. I want you to be my girlfriend. But it seems like that’s something you don’t want!” he throws his hands over his head, in full surrender. Cedric is crying now too, but he angrily wipes his tears away.

Gulping, you decide to confess to him why you’ve been so persistent on not being his girlfriend. “It’s because I don’t wanna get hurt, Cedric!” you yell, throwing your hands up. His face changes from frustration and softens into concern. “I’ve been how relationships can affect people. I’ve comforted too many friends before. Heartbreak seems too painful and I don’t need anymore pain in my life. Because I know if I lost you, it would be the greatest pain of all,” you cry out.

After you spill out your feelings to Cedric, you bury your face in your hands and sob. It isn’t long before Cedric runs over to you and holds you in his arms, you burying your face in his chest, sobbing into his robes. His one hand rubs your back and the other cradles your head rest on his chest. He lets you cry into him and doesn’t say a word. Cedric lets you cry and cry and cry into his chest for as long as you need. The only words he speaks are, “I’m not going anywhere.” His strong hands comb through your hair, relaxing you as you sniffle into his robe, calming down. He places a soft kiss to the top of your head. His embrace brings you comfort and peace, his grasp feels familiar. Like home.

You pull away from his chest and look up at him and he takes your face in his hands, wiping away any leftover tears. “I’m not going anywhere. I swear on my family name that I will never hurt you. I am going to protect you with every cell in my body. I promise I am going to make you the happiest girl in the world if it’s the last thing I do. And if I fail to do that, then I’ll be damned. But I am going to be the best man for you,” he swears to you, looking deep into your eyes. His eyes swelled with honesty and compassion, something you had always admired about him. In his moment, you couldn’t admire him more.

“I want to be yours,” you tell Cedric. “All yours.”

Your words make Cedric’s lips turn upward into a childish grin and he chuckles, “You mean it?” You nod as he laughs before pressing his lips firmly onto yours as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close to you. You sighed into the kiss, relaxing your whole body. Finally. It felt so right. Standing beside Cedric, kissing him, but this time as boyfriend and girlfriend. “Say it again,” Cedric whispers against your lips before reattaching them, not wanting to stop this moment.

You smile into his kiss and mumble against his lips, “I’m all yours, Cedric Diggory.” He quietly moans into your kiss as you feel him pressing his hips into yours. “All yours,” you repeat as his hands trail down your cheeks, neck, to your chest to grab your breasts through your robes. You moan and push against his hands as you can feel him smile.

Cedric breaks your kiss and looks at the door, making sure it was locked before drawing his wand and casting the Muffliato spell. You look at him baffled that he would want to have sex in a classroom. You thought since he was a prefect that he would want to play things safely. But your mind was quickly persuaded otherwise as both of your robes hit the floor, uniforms shortly following, Cedric pushing your blouse open so he could kiss the exposed flesh on your chest. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he leaves dark purple hickeys on your breasts, marking his territory. “I wanna hear you moan my name,” he demands, roughly ripping your bra off as you gasp, the cold air hitting your nipples. Cedric takes one of your nipples in his mouth, kissing and sucking on it before making his way to the other.

You roll your head back and let his name fall from your lips with a moan. The sound of you saying his name made Cedric moan as he sucked on your breasts, sending vibrations through you, the wetness between your legs growing. “Ced, baby,” you pant as he kisses up your neck before taking your bottom lip in between his teeth with a smirk, pulling on your lip gently.

“What, baby?” he asks, voice deep, making you weak in the knees for him. Which gives you an idea.

With a small smirk, you drop to your knees and yank down his boxer as Cedric stares at you with wide eyes. You watch as his hard dick hits his stomach before you take it in your hands, slowly pumping. Cedric sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. “You want me to suck you off, baby?” you look up at him through your eyelashes before licking up his shaft from his balls to the tip.

Cedric groans, “Bloody fucking hell, yes.” With that, you take his length into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip, letting your saliva and his precum wet his erection before you take anymore of him. Cedric thrust his hips, forcing you to take all of him as once, making you gag a little. “Fuck,” he pants as you start to suck his dick, hollowing out your cheeks, bobbing your up and down him. “I love your pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock,” he breathes out as you suck on his tip, hands massaging his balls. “Fucking shit, (Y/N),” he moans out as you take his whole length in your mouth, his dick pushing your gag reflex. “Let me come inside of you. I wanna cum inside that tight little pussy,” he pulls out of you with a pop.

He pulls you up from your knees before grabbing a condom from his back pant’s pocket. “Naughty,” you laugh at him, surprised, but not that he’d carry around a condom with him during school.

Cedric rolls the condom on his hard length and then pulls you close to him. “Get over here,” he smirks. Cedric grabs your thighs as you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist. He pushes you against the wall, so he can fuck you against it. “You’re mine. You got it?” he growls which only makes your need for him grow, your pulsating vagina begging for him.

“Fuck me, Ced, please,” you dig your nails into his back, aching for him.

“Only good girls get fucked. Now say who you belong to, slut,” he demands.

His sudden change in demeanor makes your heart race. “You, Cedric, you. I belong to you. I’m all yours, baby. No one else. Just you,” you whine as he teases you, dragging his tip in between your wet folds. “Fuck me, baby. Fuck me like I’m your little slut.”

With that, Cedric pushes his whole length into you as you sigh out in pleasure. Cedric groans before starting to thrust in and out of you, not letting you adjust to his size. You wince a little bit at his size. He notices and says, “Take it like a good girl.” His words make you wetter for him as he pounds in and out of you, hips crashing down onto you. “You like that? You like the way I fuck you, baby? Who else fucks you like this?”

You dig your nails into Cedric’s back and dig your heels into his lower back, pushing him deeper inside of you. “No one else. Only you fuck me like this,” you pant with each thrust, making your breasts bounce with each thrust.

“Good girl. That’s my baby,” he praises you, grabbing your chin, forcing your gaze onto him. “Let me hear you moan my name, baby. I love hearing it coming out of you.”

You smile, lips slightly parted as you stare into Cedric’s eyes that are dark with lust. “Cedric, fuck,” you moan out. “You fuck my pussy so good. I love feeling your hard dick inside of me.”

Cedric grabs onto your thighs tightly, leaving small bruises as he groans. “Mmm, yeah,” he moans before pressing his lips on yours, sloppily snogging you, tongue massaging yours. “I want you to come all over my dick, baby. I want you to scream my name as you come.”

Obeying his demand, you roll your head back, focusing on the feeling of his dick rocking in and out of you, your walls tightening around him. You feel his thumb roll sloppy circles onto your clit and that’s what sends you over the edge. Waves of pleasure wash over you as your mouth falls open. “Shit, Cedric, I’m gonna fucking come,” you moan out, eyes screwed shut.

“Come, baby, come all over my dick. I wanna watch you come all over me. Scream my name,” he whispers in your ear.

With a few more thrusts and sloppy circles, you curl your toes and dig your nails deeper into his skin. “Fucking hell, Cedric!” you cry out with pleasure, releasing all over his hard cock as he moans shortly after you, shuddering inside of you, telling you that he had finished. He continues to thrust in and out of you, riding out both of your highs.

Beads of sweat fall down both of your faces as your chests rise and fall rapidly. You both catch your breaths as Cedric gently puts you down. You hold onto his biceps, needing a little help standing, your legs feeling like jelly. “Bloody hell,” Cedric pants with a light laugh. You join in his light laughter, both still in euphoria about how great the sex was. Maybe the best you’ve ever had.

The two of you get changed back into your uniforms and robes, cleaning yourselves up after your little quickie. As you fix your hair, Cedric grabs your hips with a large smile on his face. “So, you’re my girlfriend now?” he asks as you roll your eyes.

“I guess so. You’re stuck with me now, Diggory. Happy now?” you tease him, pecking his lips gently. Your heart fluttered at the sight of the happy boy in front of you. It may have taken you a while to come to terms with it, but this was right. Cedric was right.

Cedric squeezes your hips. “Happy is an understatement,” he confesses with a kiss to your forehead. This was so right.

#cedric diggory imagine #cedric #cedric x reader #cedric oneshot #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x you #cedric x y/n #cedric diggory smut #cedric diggory dirty imagine #HP #harry potter #cd #harry potter imagine #harry potter fandom #Harry Potter Smut

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader Rating: T for language and blood + references to violence Warning: Lil bit of kisses with dubious consent (initial surprise, then “hmm this is nice, I guess”), as well as a tiny bit of blood. Oh, and, ya know, mild referenced cannibalism. Notes: Still no beta reader, we die like innocent chickens unfortunate enough to be in Ethan Winters’ way. Also, I’m hoping this isn’t too ramble-y, I kinda. Got excited. Maybe sorta stayed up late to write this instead of sleeping, so... PS sorry for the cliffhanger, I could not resist. Next chapter will include the reader earning their PHD in Bullshittery, while also moving us into the, like, actual central plot of Serenade (or at least the part that the romance revolves around). Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne

Chapter 2: Overture

By the time you made it back to the maidens' quarters, it was nearly half an hour after your "shift" officially ended. Daniela hadn't taken up that much of your time, but her words had instilled a vigorous sense of anxiety in you, which had only drawn out your remaining tasks. You also weren't terribly looking forward to being interrogated by your coworkers. What would you even say? "Oh yeah, I accidentally played a note on the forbidden piano but instead of killing me, Lady Daniela just flirted with me and let me go! Haha smiley face emoji!"

Yeah, that would definitely go over great with the others. Maybe you could get away with pretending you hadn't been the one to play? Even though, you know, your daily duties were posted on the same wall as everyone else's, and anyone could see that you were the only person working in the music room today. Damnit, you think, everyone is always a bit tense when someone "gets off easy". Not that it happened terribly often. It simply made people nervous, considering they never knew if the Ladies of the house had been denied the "stress relief" they so desired, and whether or not they would want to take it out on someone else.

Hoping things would sail a little smoother this time, you took a deep breath and pushed the door to your quarters open. As soon as you stepped in you felt a dozen pairs of eyes turn your way. There had been muffled talking as you approached, but now it was silent, a heavy curtain of discomfort hanging over the room. Well, fuck, you thought, struggling to think of how to react. In the end you settled with a slightly-too-enthusiastic wave and a shy smile.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” One of the maidens asks, almost instantly, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed with confusion. If you remembered correctly, her name was Cynthia, and she was one of the (currently) longest running survivors. The two of you hadn’t spoken before, which made her next move all the more confusing. Without much of a warning she moved in front of you, reaching out to grab your hands, before gently holding them in front of her chest. When she speaks, it’s with a hushed voice. “How are you not dead right now?”

“I… have absolutely no idea,” you replied, doing what you could to avoid her gaze, but ending up meeting eyes with the others in the room.

“When you didn’t get back with everyone else… we assumed the worst,” Daphne, the closest thing you had to a best friend, said. She was towards the front of the small crowd of maidens, all of whom were now gathering around you out of curiosity. “You’re probably just lucky that Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t home while you played, otherwise, well, I think we can all guess what would have happened.”

“Thank the Mother for that, literally,” Cynthia chimed, dropping your hands as she did. That caught your interest for sure. Despite being part of an eccentric “extended family”, it wasn’t that often that Lady Dimitrescu actually left the castle to visit the other Lords; or their leader, for that matter. Was something big coming? Or was it simply time for a regular check up? You didn’t have time to ponder that thought, as soon Cynthia was speaking again. “Now, please, regale us with your story, dear. It must certainly be interesting… seeing as you escaped unscathed.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, putting your hands up in a “slow down” motion. Sighing, you moved over to your bed, sitting on the edge, before starting to tell the others what happened. You left out a few details, such as the severity of Daniela’s flirting, as well as the way she touched you. By the time you reached the end of your story, the other maidens had settled in a semi circle around you. A few had started to get ready for the day shift while you spoke, but their movements were deliberately slow, and their gasps let you know they were definitely listening. It was, however, difficult to tell how anyone really felt about what you were saying. Were they looking worried because they were concerned for your safety, or for their own?

Hard to say. All you knew at the end of night was that no one was looking forward to the following night.

------------------------------------------------

Every shadow in the corner of your eyes makes your heart skip a beat. All day (night, technically) you’ve been overly paranoid, expecting Daniela or one of her sisters to pop out at any moment, their sickles raised, blood-stained lips pulled up into a grin, promises of violence dripping from their mouths. So far your anxiety had proven irrational. Experience, on the other hand, was reverse-reassuring you with memories of maidens you had hardly had time to get to know. Who were you to avoid such a fate? Could playing a little song really justify your existence to these people? These mutants?

Distracting thoughts like that swirled around your mind for hours, leaving you feeling faint and dizzy, as you desperately tried to focus on your work. Ironically, it was your tunnel vision on your worries that brought them to life.

“Humph, you should really pay more attention, sweet thing,” a voice whispers, right besides your ear. Immediately you jump, a little yelp escaping you, and whirl around to see who had crept up on you. Your wide open eyes soon settled on the youngest Dimitrescu daughter. A toothy grin lit up her face as she took you in, leaning in just close enough for you to feel her breath. “Missed me?” She asks, words melting into a fit of giggles. One moment she’s face to face with you, the next she’s evaporating into a swarm of insects, moving around the room with frightening speed before settling on a nearby table. Both her legs dangle off the edge, swinging a little in a childlike manner.

“Lady Daniela, I-” you stutter, hardly able to will yourself to speak. You can’t help but glance at the table with a feeling of anxiety, knowing that you had just finished cleaning it, and wonder if your work would be for naught. But it seems that Daniela doesn’t appreciate you focusing on something other than her. Again she buzzes into a cloud, this time coming closer to you, the insects circling you, occasionally tugging at your skin. Fight or flight tries to kick in, yet all you manage to do is freeze in place.

You don’t open your eyes until the sound of hundreds of wings beating dies down. Fresh drops of blood trickle down your brow, as well a few from smaller cuts on your arms. Panic still roots you in place, even as you stare up at Daniela with a frightened expression. At first all she does is laugh. Loudly, with no softness to it at all. This was exactly the sort of thing that you had been afraid of in the first place.

“Oh, you poor little thing… Did that hurt?” Daniela asks, trailing a hand up your arm, pausing just before her fingers touch blood. Then she leans in, once more putting her lips right next to your ear, slowly pulling off one of her gloves as she does. “Good. Maybe you’ll pay more attention to me now. You really should, being in love with me and all.” She says it so casually, and with such conviction, that you almost wonder if she knew something that you didn’t. Though you try to turn to look at you, you find her gloved hand holding your head in place. The other moves so slowly that you almost don’t notice it until her thumb is sliding across your forehead. Blood smears as she does this, but she doesn’t bother trying to be neat about it.

Instead she simply brings the finger back towards herself, her other hand turning your face as she does, so that you could make eye contact as she licks her thumb clean. As soon as the blood hits her tongue her eyelids flutter and a soft moan rises in her throat. Astoundedly the sound brought a strong blush to your cheeks. It was less about attraction per se, more about the inherently intimate nature of the moment. Daniela was so close, her hand resting on the back of your head, her eyes slowly returning their focus to you. When she sees you she can’t help but don a prideful grin.

“You taste even better than I expected, sweet thing- what a fitting nickname, mhmm?” Another giggle, another rush of blood to your cheeks. In the rush of the moment you found your fear fading out, slowly, gradually being replaced by a mix of confusion and… warmth? What is wrong with me, you think, mind racing with countless half-thoughts.

Suddenly, as quick as the strongest of impulses, you found yourself being pulled closer to Daniela, her bare hand moving to rest on your waist. For once her eyes left your own. Now they drifted lower, to your lips, giving you a single moment to realize her intentions before she acts on them. Your lips collide with hers before you can even think to protest. It’s a million times softer than you would have ever imagined- not that you had imagined. But now that you had felt this… damnit, you know you shouldn’t enjoy it, yet you found yourself kissing back nonetheless. It wasn’t like it meant anything, right? Not like you’d have a chance to kiss anyone else around the castle, either.

Within a couple moments you realize two things: One, Daniela was smiling into the kiss. Two, by Jove (by Miranda?) was she seemingly inexperienced. Based on how much flirting she had done, you had naturally assumed that she was in no way, shape, or form new to this. The kiss was a bit sloppy, although passionate, and Daniela seemed quick to mimic your movements. More than that, it seemed like she was unable to catch her breath (did she even need to breathe? Or were the movements more out of habit than anything else?). By the time she pulls away she needs to gasp, and you’re left absolutely reeling, unsure how to process any of this. On the other hand, Daniela was softly grinning, gently resting her forehead against your own.

“Delectable, darling,” she murmurs. There’s a softness to her voice that you simply cannot fathom is real, at least not entirely so. Then a pause, with her gently running her fingers through your hair, before she gives you one more little peck on the lips. When she pulls away, just far enough to really look at you, you see something in her eyes that fills you with dread: Hunger. “I think I know what you want, what you need. You want to be with me, forever, a part of me, don’t you? They always do, in the end…” Her eyes shift to your neck, and suddenly her grip on you is dangerously tight.

Instantly you shift into panic mode, trying to squirm out of her grasp to no avail. This seems to irritate Daniela, who digs her nails into your waist, making you gasp. Without hesitation she seizes the opportunity to push you against the nearest wall, the hand that had caressed you so gently now pinning you down. Your thoughts are racing, desperately searching for anything that might buy you some time to get away, or even dissuade her entirely. But seconds tick by with nothing coming to light, your hope quickly fading. Gulping, you squeeze your eyes shut, ready to accept your fate.

And then… it hits you. An idea, maybe, that might just be stupid enough to work. Here goes nothing…

“Wait! Don’t you want me to show you my love?” You ask, somehow managing to mask the pure terror you were feeling. Hell, you slipped in a bit of confidence, sounding far, far more sure of yourself than you really were. Apparently it was enough to give Daniela pause. Her teeth had been mere inches from your neck, but now she was watching you closely, head tilted at a slight angle. “I can hardly do that if you kill me so soon, love. Don’t you want to see everything I have to offer? To know me truly, fully, before we become as one?” Another pause, a little hum from Daniela, then a slow, spine-chilling smile.

“Go on, then… show me.”

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #yes every chapter will be named after a musical term #what can I say I gotta put those 8+ years of piano lessons to use #not like I've released two albums or anything #that was sarcasm #anyway please enjoy

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makeste · 4 years

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BnHA Chapter 303: And What, Pray Tell, Is a “One For All”

Previously on BnHA: The Todorokis (really just Enji) looked at their children and went “how can we screw up all four of them in uniquely different ways” and proceeded to do just that. Touya was all “just because practicing how to set myself on fire better hasn’t worked to win my dad’s affections YET doesn’t mean it will NEVER work”, because child logic. Turns out setting oneself on fire real hard isn’t so effective at winning affections, but is actually incredibly effective when it comes to burning oneself to death, so there’s that. Back in the present day, the Todorokis basked in their various misplaced (again, except for Enji) feelings of guilt, and were all “anyway but get over yourself already Enji, you still have to do something to stop this kid”, and Shouto was all “I’ll help too”, and Enji was all “(╥_╥)”, and Hawks and Jeanist were all “[surreptitiously listening in from outside the door]”, and that’s basically where we left off.

Today on BnHA: Hawks and Jeanist are all “mind if we join you on this family journey?” and proceed to stroll in uninvited with their puns and their perceptive insights. Hawks is all “so to sum everything up, we’re fucked, but at least you have us here to help you out! by the way, no clue why I’m the first person to ask this in three hundred chapters, but wtf is One For All.” We then cut to Deku, who’s still all “[(－－)]z”, and All Might, who is all “I’m just going to ignore the extremely loud racket going on right outside this room.” Which, btw, is happening on account of Bakugou, who is all “(╬◣Д◢)” as Satou, Tsuyu, and Mineta cart him away. Anyway so that’s a lot of antics, and also it looks like Hawks has gotten tired of the Todorokis refusing to put the pieces together on their own about OFA and so he is fast-tracking that shit. And meanwhile Deku is chatting it up with the Vestiges exactly like we all thought. And now we have to wait another whole week for updates on all of this. This really is not fair.

omfg lol

“our bad, we were kind of accidentally listening in on purpose.” like I said last week guys, no fuss. it’s a tradition

OMG

I am absolutely fucking floored. Hawks literally said that so casually that it’s impossible for me to rewrite it so as to be even more casual. that’s literally what I would write in the “today on bnha” section. in fact I probably will write that

(ETA: just for laughs I tried it and it really worked.)

a couple more things to point out about this panel:

“TOP 3” omg yes. more like “top only” at this point, honestly. interested to see how that goes

Hawks’s phone is freaking the fuck out about something, calm down there

I know this is a standard Jeanist hair-fixing gesture that he does all the time, but I can’t help but form hypotheses about this being a stress reaction because Hawks’s hair is making him internally freak out. Hawks, if this man tries to get you alone with him and some hairspray and a comb, please for the love of god do not listen to him. get out of there and call the authorities

omg Shouto’s face

okay confession, I wasn’t really sold on the whole “Shouto has a schoolboy crush on Hawks” thing until exactly now, when I became 100% sold on it. that is adorable

and heck with it, gotta show Enji and Rei’s reactions here as well because lol

“omg my son who’s not my son, and he just overheard everything about me being a terrible shitty father and person overall, oh and plus my actual-son set him on fire and called him out on a national broadcast. I’m just gonna stare at him baffledly.” versus Rei, who is all “hmm, who are these people”

so Hawks is all “I got released from the hospital after one day for some reason so I made Jeanist drive me around places while we talked about life” but uh, heyyyyy, what’s Rei doing

okay, uh

SO FUCKING FORMAL OMFG. “SORRY MY KID TRIED TO BURN YOU TO DEATH, APPARENTLY HE DOES THAT” REI NO IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT

HAWKS IS ALL “I’M JUST GONNA LAUGH SINCE THAT’S MY DEFAULT RESPONSE TO BEING PROFOUNDLY UNCOMFORTABLE”

let me tell you a secret Hawks, it’s my default response too. ahahahahahahaha oh thank god Jeanist is helping her up -- AND MAKING A JEANS PUN, OF COURSE. IT’S BEEN ALMOST THIRTY SECONDS. MY MAN WAS DYING

“WTF IS ILLEGAL DENIM” he’s talking ‘bout them counterfeit jeans, Rei. Antoine Bugleboy knows

THANK YOU JEANIST!! OUT HERE ASKING THE RELEVANT QUESTIONS

damn straight. we’re not gonna sit around waiting another 300 chapters for this information on this man’s watch

now Hawks is telling Endeavor he used to watch videos of him all the time, and calling him his “childhood obsession” I can’t

OH MY SWEET STARS AND MOONS

1000% CANON. “SO CLOSE...” ARE YOU SERIOUS. YOU REALLY PUT THAT THOUGHT BUBBLE THERE AND EVERYTHING. “GOOD MORNING EVERYONE, SO JUST IN CASE YOU WEREN’T ALREADY AWARE, TODOROKI SHOUTO IS NOT ACTUALLY STRAIGHT.” HORIKOSHI KOUHEI I AM LITERALLY DUMBFOUNDED. THIS IS AMAZING

and meanwhile that look on Hawks’s face while he casually-but-not-really-casually-at-all asks this question. that phone app better be using his actual voice. I’m not sure I could take this scene in the anime at this point if it was like Alexa talking or something

that look in his eyes is basically saying that so far, based on the information he has absorbed up until this point, Hawks is prepared to view his former childhood obsession as a flawed but changed man. however I get the distinct feeling that depending on Endeavor’s answer now, he would be willing to drastically shift some of his opinions on him

(ETA: this is maybe my favorite panel in the entire chapter. the fact that his question isn’t addressed to anyone in particular, but his eyes are zeroing on on Endeavor. and the way his leaning-on-Shouto pose manages to be simultaneously nonchalant and yet ever-so-slightly protective. there’s so much going on in this one question and gesture and I’m mildly obsessed with it.)

however, Rei is all “that was me” and ONCE AGAIN WITH THE FACES IN THIS CHAPTER holy shit

Hawks definitely did not see that one coming sob. it’s so fun watching him frantically recalculate his ideas about this family every two seconds

DAMN IT HORIKOSHI I UNDERSTOOD THE PARALLELS ALREADY, YOU REALLY DIDN’T HAVE TO DO THIS

yes, Hawks, you get it. it’s not exactly the same, but it’s close enough. though unlike your shitty parents, Rei and Enji are at least trying

OKAY I SERIOUSLY CANNOT WITH ALL OF THIS

fljkdlaskfjlwkjl okay we’re doing the bullet-points breakdown here

first of all, the fact that poor little Shouto’s heart is still thumping away at this proximity and all he can think is “CLOSE” all intelligently as he stares at him with that face omg

and meanwhile Horikoshi has these STRATEGIC BANDAGES WRAPPED AROUND HIS CHEEKS TO HIDE ALL OF HIS SHOUJO BLUSHING omfg. SENPAI NOTICED YOU SWEETIE!!!

HAWKS YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY ZERO OBLIGATION TO WASTE ANOTHER SECOND OF YOUR LIFE WORRYING ABOUT THESE TWO ASSHOLES WHO NEVER SPARED YOU THE SLIGHTEST BIT OF REGARD OR CONCERN IN THEIR ENTIRE LIVES. THE NICEST THING YOUR MOM EVER DID FOR YOU WAS BUY YOU A $2 ENDEAVOR PLUSH FROM THE DISCOUNT BIN TO KEEP YOU QUIET, AND YOU WERE SO AWED BY THAT ONE ACT OF SORTA KINDA APPROXIMATE KINDNESS THAT YOU SHAPED YOUR ENTIRE WORLDVIEW AROUND IT. PLEASE LET ME PICK YOU UP IN A BIG HUG FOR JUST A SEC, YOU DESERVE THE WORLD AND YOU WERE ONE THOUSAND PERCENT JUSTIFIED IN LEAVING THEM IN THE DUST THE SECOND THAT YOU COULD

but all that said, he immediately recognizes that Shouto would also have had cause to do the same in his situation, and yet hasn’t. and so he has that much more admiration for him all of a sudden, which is just super sweet, and fully appropriate. Shouto does deserve props. I’m choosing to take this as an “it takes a lot of strength to be able to forgive, and people who choose to do that even though they’re not obligated to are really amazing" type of thing, as opposed to “people who don’t forgive other people who severely wronged them are bad.” and if I’m wrong and Hawks’s line here is meant to be seen as actual failing on his part, well then fuck that, but we’ll move on

SO NOW, DOWN TO BUSINESS!

I am so, so curious as to what kind of strategy Hawks has for this (if he even has any), so I’ll just be quiet now and read

so Hawks is summing up basically what we already knew -- that Tomura and his inner circle (curious that there’s no mention of AFO, because if Hawks doesn’t know about him, that implies almost no one does) are still on the lam with a few PLF stragglers and some High Ends; that a bunch of prisons have been “liberated” (I assume this means all of the inmates escaped, so if that’s the case then where’s Kurogiri??); that the HPSC is fucked; and that heroes are resigning all over the place, and so civilians are taking matters into their own hands

OH DAMN!?

does this mean we’ll actually see some international heroes?? I will LOSE MY DAMN SHIT omg

(ETA: apparently people who paid more attention to the first BnHA movie than I did recognized the silhouettes as belonging to some background characters from Two Heroes. so maybe they were just cameos and they’re not actually new characters who are soon to join us lol. oh well.)

anyway so Hawks agrees with the other Todorokis that Endeavor has no choice but to fight

awww

DON’T WORRY ENJI THEY’VE GOT YOUR BACK. WITH YOUR FLAMES, AND JEANIST’S PUNS, AND HAWKS’S BOYISHLY GOOD LOOKS, THE THREE OF YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU SET YOUR MINDS TO

so Enji is very pertinently asking why they’re standing by him in spite of the... [gestures vaguely to everything]

oh my lordy lord

Shouto you had better do something to combat this soon, or this man will sneak past you on my favorite character ranking after all. his face. his cheeky lil finger gun. the fact that he sums it up so fucking simply. “if someone is trying to do the right thing, I want to support them.” exactly. exactly

(ETA: and one last thing I love but forgot to mention, which is the fact that Hawks calls it a team-up despite the fact that he is clearly in charge.)

meanwhile Jeanist is all “as for me, at this point I just straight up don’t give a fuck”

I can’t handle how fucking cool this chapter is you guys

so Hawks is all “you good?” at Enji. and Enji...

if anyone needs me, I will be building myself a discourse-proof fort made entirely out of problematic characters. I don’t even care. I will go on living my life very happily in here

lol at Natsu being all “BUT DON’T THINK THIS MAKES US FRIENDS”

I’m living for this weird and no-doubt entirely unintended implication that Natsu and them all are gonna join in the fight with the rest of them. I mean, they do presumably all have very powerful ice quirks. and Natsu has medical training on top of that, and Fuyu is skilled at getting eight-year-olds to behave which could be a useful talent for dealing with Tomura hahaha I kid, but I’M JUST SAYING. who needs hero licenses anyway

OH SHIT FINALLY SOME DISCUSSION OF AN ACTUAL STRATEGY. even if it’s just a PR strategy

WHAKLHL

and now for some reason we’re flashing back to Natsu and Fuyu’s attempts to navigate through the media crowd outside the hospital

well I guess this is why I’m not the mangaka. if I were writing this I would have done something trite and predictable like using that “One for All” line as an excuse to cut to Deku!! as opposed to this entirely unrelated scene!!

seriously though why do we need to see this lol

no one in this crowd has ever heard of Alexander Dumas huh. or even the popular 2007 Disney Channel original movie, High School Musical 2

so now there’s an entire page of Hawks saying they need to know what One for All is, and Endeavor having one of those patented Todoroki WHOOSH realizations lmao look at this

just wait until this man figures out that one of the scrappy new interns he took on three months ago was actually the main character all along

SKDFIOHWIERLKSJGLWLK!!

NOW IS PROBABLY A GOOD TIME TO ASK MYSELF WHY I CHOSE THIS CHARACTER WHO KEEPS DISAPPEARING FOR SIX OR TWELVE OR FORTY CHAPTERS AT A TIME TO BE MY FUCKING FAVORITE. WELCOME BACK SON PLEASE DON’T SCREAM YOURSELF TO DEATH YOU STILL HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

(ETA: can we just take a moment to appreciate how Bakugou even got so close to Deku’s room in the first place though. in this giant hospital with no idea of where to even go. does he have Deku Radar or something.)

YOU SIX ARE OFFICIALLY ON MY HIT LIST!! SPARE ME YOUR GOOD INTENTIONS!! MY BAKUDEKU REUNION KEEPS GETTING POSTPONED WEEK AFTER WEEK!! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE HEROES WHERE IS YOUR CONCEPT OF MERCY

(ETA: btw just to be clear, I’m not actually angry lol; it makes total sense that they don’t want this rampaging feral toddler who was still in his own coma all of fifteen minutes ago to come and start screaming at the other coma child until he tears all his stitches out. if there’s anything we Bakugou fans should be familiar with by now, it’s being patient.)

also, Tsuyu wrapping her tongue around Bakugou’s still-healing torso wound absolutely can’t be hygienic at all. also wait is that Inko??

(ETA: pretty sure it is her. she got all of one line smdh.)

Iida is all “thank god Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight pulled through, I thought for sure he was a goner back there”

for the record this is actually really sweet to see how relieved he is. he’s one of the few people who saw the original injury close up, back when he was still at the battlefield and unconscious, so I imagine it really did freak him out quite a bit

JIROUUUUUU

“sometimes I just like to stand here and tug on my imaginary suspenders, what of it”

how come you guys get to loiter around Deku’s room but Kacchan doesn’t. god fucking dammit. AND WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN

I BET KACCHAN COULD WAKE HIM UP FROM HIS COMA WITH THE POWER OF RIVAL INTENSITY!! BUT NOOOOOOOO, [is dragged away back to my fort]

OH MY GOD!?!

"this seems to be an entirely normal and above-board situation that we have just stumbled onto”

I see Jeanist comes from the Iida Tenya school of respectfully using people’s full names

Jeanist becoming one of the main characters is the best thing to ever happen to this series

EXCUSE YOU, IIDA

BUT I’M SURE HE’D MAKE AN EXCEPTION FOR KACCHAN THOUGH!! [elbowing my way back out of the fort] HAWKS, PLEASE --

DON’T GO ALL OMINIOUSLY PUTTING THE PIECES TOGETHER ALL ON YOUR OWN GODDAMMIT

“there’s absolutely no way this angry wriggling shoulder burrito kid here could answer literally all of my questions, so I’ll just ignore him”

OH MY GOD WE’RE FINALLY CUTTING BACK TO HIM BUT THE CHAPTER IS ENDING

[jumps up, throws a folding chair at Iida and the rest of the gang, and then runs]

oh my god. actually this chapter was awesome. but I’m so fucking mad at this cliffhanger though lol

at least we got a couple of answers! and some hints and teases! poor Deku looks so worn out even though he’s asleep dlwkjl my little green baby. and is it just me or is his quirk activated?? All Might’s all “I can feel it” as if it isn’t obvious just looking at him, why are you trying to be all mysterious dude

anyway! so at least we finally have confirmation and a date for those vestige antics at long last. looking forward to meeting Mister The Fourth next week so we can finally ask him “hey dude, what the fuck”

#bnha 303 #takami keigo #hawks #todoroki shouto #todoroki enji #endeavor #best jeanist #todofam #bakugou katsuki #class 1-a #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

283 notes · View notes

togglesbloggle · 4 years

Text

How We Decided

The day after tomorrow- that is, February 18, 2021- the Perseverance rover will attempt to land on the surface of Mars. It will enter the planetary atmosphere at an acute angle, giving it as much time as possible to experience drag and slow down from orbital velocities. Because Mars’ air is so thin, and the rover is so heavy, this will fail- in the best case, Perseverance would still be going almost a thousand miles an hour when it impacts the surface. To help save itself, the craft will deploy a parachute of advanced design, seventy feet across and able to withstand supersonic velocities. This, too, will fail. Even with a parachute, there is simply not enough air between Perseverance and the Martian surface to slow it down all the way. So this is where the rockets kick in. Once air resistance slows the rover to a bit less than two hundred miles per hour, the heavy heat shield will be jettisoned, and a system of secondary rockets will fire against the direction of motion until it slows to near-hovering. In a final flourish, the rover will descend from the rocket-boosted frame on coiled springs, until it touches down in the western part of Jezero crater in the northern hemisphere of Mars.

As it happens, Perseverance’s destination was one of the very last things we decided about it- not until the craft itself was fairly thoroughly engineered and designed. Formally, the decision was made by the mission directorate. In practice, they follow the consensus of the scientific community, which in turn hashes things out at a series of open-invitation workshops. Things began with a call for white papers- an open suggestion box, basically. In 2015, the first workshop narrowed things down from thirty serious proposals to eight candidates. In 2017, the second workshop further winnowed the list down to three. And in October of 2018, after three days of presentation, debate, and discussion, the final workshop selected Jezero Crater from these final three candidates using a simple vote of all attendees, and passed on the recommendation to the mission leads.

I haven’t been in the business for very long, so the final workshop was the only one of these where I actually participated. It wasn’t a close vote as such, and I didn’t break any ties, and technically we were just making a strongly worded suggestion. Nonetheless, my vote is one of the reasons why the Rover will be going to Jezero Crater instead of Syrtis Major or Gusev, and I think I’m entitled to feel ownership of this mission choice, just a little bit.

(This is, of course, terrifying.)

Having gone through the experience, there were a few surprises worth noting. The first was how small some of the numbers are here. The conference was not very large: only thirty proposals, debated by just a few hundred attendees. I’ve seen book review contests with more entries, and that are read by a wider audience. Which is to say, this is a situation that was, and is, extremely responsive to individual effort. In that small a room, populated by people that are philosophically committed to changing their minds when they see good evidence or a good argument, one person can stand up and change the future in a very real way.

The second surprise was the attendance requirements. Or rather, the lack thereof. The project is public, paid for by American taxpayers, to whom I am profoundly grateful. And one way the process reflected that public-spiritedness is that this is not a walled garden. A small attendance fee (iirc, $40?), and you’re in. You get a vote, if you want to use it. A few non-scientists even took us up on this; there’s one retiree (a former schoolteacher, I think) that’s attended every major conference I’ve been to in the last few years, and sets up a small table in the back with his home mineral collection just for fun. In practice this open-door policy is limited by the obscurity of the event itself; if you don’t move in research circles, you have to be something of a space exploration superfan to hear about it. Still, as symbols go, you could do worse.

And now that we’re coming up on the day itself, the same kind of public-facing mindset is making me think about why I was persuaded to vote for Jezero Crater, what it means to explore there, and how I’d justify that choice to those of you that made the ongoing discovery of Mars possible in the first place.

If you want to know what Perseverance is like, and what you can reasonably do with it, start with Curiosity- the two are built, more or less, on the same chassis. That means you have a mobile science lab about the size of a Volkswagon Beetle. Add some mechanical improvements (no more wheel punctures!) and a few bells and whistles (microphone! helicopter for some reason!). Trade out some of the scientific instruments- raman spectroscopy instead of a mass spectrometer, for example. And it’s got these:

That, dear reader, is a sample return canister. Not to be returned immediately, alas, but to be returned nonetheless. One of Persevereance’s primary directives is to find interesting rocks, collect them, and leave them in place for a sample return mission in the early 30s. There’s a ton of work we can do in situ, but there’s even more we can do in a clean lab back home; things like isotopic analysis really need a much more controlled environment than you’ll get in the field. And so a major, major consideration is to optimize Perseverance’s landing site for cool rocks that we’d like to take back home.

The other thing that Perseverance is really good at is astrobiology. There’s no such thing as a life sign detector as such, but this rover represents an attempt to approach that ideal: instruments like SHERLOC and SuperCam are adept at finding organic compounds and fine-scale mineralogy and chemistry that might be influenced by microbial metabolism. This is a natural extension of what we’ve been learning so far: Spirit and Opportunity showed us that Mars formed under the influence of liquid water. Curiosity showed us that this was not just wet, but actively habitable: lakes and rivers at a neutral pH under a rich and temperate atmosphere. The next question along this line is the hardest, and the scariest: we know it was habitable, but was it inhabited?

If you’re like me, that question makes you feel weird. Collecting rocks is one thing, but a fossil? The mind rebels. We’ve spent the last two generations of space exploration tempering our expectations, reminding ourselves that the other worlds in our solar system are largely barren and dead, learning again and again how precious life is in the cosmos. It’s hard to get in the mindset of people back in the 40s and 50s who could, somewhat reasonably, imagine that Mars might not just host life but multicellular life, vegetation and robust macroscopic ecosystems. We look back at the science fiction of the era, swarthy soldiers hopping from planet to planet in silver rockets, and laugh at the naivete. A smile at the exuberance of youth, if we’re feeling generous. When we were first beginning, we may have imagined ancient canals on Mars and crystal cities on Venus, but that was when space was a blank canvas for us to paint our fantasies. We’ve learned so much since then, and if it was less fun, at least it was true. We did the hard thing and accepted reality over fantasy. We accept that extraterrestrial environments are hostile to life- cratered, silent, and still. We’re grownups now.

Unless…

Unless.

Imagine that we were born just a bit earlier. Say, three and a half billion years or so. We raise our telescopes to the sky, and we see a sister-planet. Not red, but white and blue, with an atmosphere full of clouds and multiple large bodies of water scattered across its surface, prominent ice caps and snow-capped highlands, rivers tracing their way down to the lowlands in the north. (Maybe the water is all under the ice, not open to the air at the surface; maybe the liquid pools are small and limited to craters, not feeding a large ocean.) Sober scientists might have suggested we shouldn’t get our hopes up too much- after all, the gravity is much lower, there’s no tectonic recycling, and there’s no protective magnetosphere. But is sterility really the default assumption we should be making here? Is ‘we are alone in the cosmos’ really the most sane conclusion to draw from this situation? Is it not worth, perhaps, sending a rover to go see?

We’ve adapted our sensibilities to a dead solar system because in the moment we’re looking, it kind of is. We’re hopeful for the icy moons- and the evidence keeps mounting there as well- but the terrestrial planets are a grim reminder of the fragility and contingency of our own world. The thing is, the more we learn, the more we discover that we’re a bit late to a very, very interesting party. Venus is a hellscape, but it probably didn’t start that way. Mars is a desert, but once it was an oasis. What makes Earth special among the terrestrial worlds isn’t that it developed a temperate climate, but that it kept a temperate climate for more than four billion years. Stability, not habitability, is the party trick that makes us unique in the solar system. And if we’re really committed to being grownups, to accepting what’s real instead of what’s easy, we have to learn that lesson too.

And life does not need four billion years to begin. Not even close.

That brings us to Jezero Crater. The most interesting feature here is a large river delta- based on some clever geology, we’re pretty sure that a large river emptied into the crater during Mars’ wet period. When the rapidly-flowing water hit the still water of Lake Jezero, the loose sediments being carried along the current all fell out of suspension at this place, forming a large pile of detritus at the mouth of the river that accumulated over the lifetime of the system. Even more interesting, check out this geologic map:

See those tiny teal deposits to the right side of the image? Those are also river delta deposits. Which means the thing labeled ‘delta’ on this map isn’t the original extent- it used to be much, much larger, at least twice as wide. Which also means that the outer edge of the ‘delta’ that we see here in this image is actually an erosional surface, and we get a natural cross-section of the thing with the oldest deposits at the bottom and the youngest at the top, just before Mars lost its hydrosphere. By climbing the outer edge, we can move through time across a large fraction of the habitable period.

Here’s another image I’d like you to see:

The crater I’ve been showing you is the small circle in the lower right- color is elevation, covering a span of about 5 km. The black line is the watershed of that river, the region of Mars that channeled water to the delta. In other words, the river delta collects sediments- and potentially, biosignatures- from a region hundreds of kilometers in diameter, and gathers them all in one place, neatly sorted by time.

For this reason, ancient deltas on Earth are a favorite of paleontologists. In addition to being comfortably wet and active itself- plenty of access to biologically important nutrients, fresh supplies of liquid water, and a nice dynamic environment- deltas do the legwork for us. Rather than exploring a huge fraction of the planet with a tiny rover, hoping that we stumble upon an ancient life sign, we can position ourselves at the mouth of the proverbial fire hose and let life come to us.

This does come with some tradeoffs. Most importantly, whatever we find, we won’t know the original geologic setting. If we find an unambiguous fossil of some kind- a microbial mat, perhaps- then we’ll know less than if we’d found it in its original home. And if we don’t find life, then the samples we take will be similarly uncertain. They’ll be defined in time, at least relative to one another, but not in space. In the case of life signs, this is an important caveat, but the bare fact of proving that extraterrestrial life exists is sufficiently monumental that it’s still a secondary concern. But if we’re just talking about geology, that’s a hard thing to lose; that terrifying multi-stage descent isn’t the only risk we’re taking. We’re leaning into the astrobiology mission hard with this one.

And the search for life is, in itself, fraught. That’s putting it mildly. There’s every chance that any evidence that’s even slightly marginal is going to touch off decades of debate, rather than being some kind of slam-dunk. As it should! Life is such a fuzzy concept, and such an important concept, that it should absolutely be held to the highest degree of scrutiny we can muster. This is why it matters that Perseverance includes sample return- in the highly likely case that the findings are disputed, we’ll hopefully have the chance to subject those samples to the highest degrees of scrutiny. So it feels like the right time to go hunting.

On top of that, there’s the ‘evidence of absence’ problem. Strong biosignatures update our priors very hard in the direction of life on Mars. But what is the correct amount of evidence necessary to convince us that Mars never was alive? I’m not sure, but failure to find microbial mats in Jezero probably isn’t enough. So the search for life can succeed, but if it ‘fails’ that doesn’t necessarily teach us much; the best experiments teach you something no matter what, and ideally a commitment this large would meet that standard. This is, more or less, baked into the search for extraterrestrial life, and there aren’t too many ways out from under that problem.

That said, Jezero in particular has some compensation. As I mentioned, we’re collecting a lot of good data regardless; and even without the gologic context, there’s a ton of opportunity to sample different minerals and how they formed, and get a nice broad sample of the Martian surface over time. And, even better, here’s the location of another interesting potential field site, in northeast Syrtis:

Note the proximity to Jezero crater! And Syrtis is also a fantastic candidate for a sample return mission. It has exposed mesas with layered outcrops going all the way back to the earliest days of Mars, and extending (potentially) through many of the most interesting periods. Now, these are not ideal for the search for life, although they’d give us a ton of technical data about surface chemistry and the behavior of the atmosphere during the early, wet periods; it would go a long way towards resolving arguments about the temperature of the early Martian climate, for example, or tracing the early destabilization and loss of the magnetosphere while teaching us loads about the planet’s core.

Those mesas are still pretty far away. Too far, probably, for a sensible rover lifespan to make it all the way there. But there’s a plan- called the ‘Midway’ route, as a nod to the compromise nature of it. See, halfway between Jezero and these mesas, there are a lot of banded rocks that look suspiciously like they’re sourced from the table mesas in Syrtis. And those, we can get to, maybe. If we call a specific deadline on looking for life in Jezero, then we can pivot to Midway and hopefully take a really deep look. So, in the end, we’re going hard for astrobiology research, but we’re not going all-in.

The importance of the search for life is… well, there are a lot of people out there, and we enter the world in a lot of different ways. Most of us agree that the existence of extraterrestrial life would be a Big Deal, and we tend to have a lot of different reasons for that. It’s not a bad subject for a future post or three, in fact. But there’s one thing lurking in the back of my head that’s a non-obvious reason to go looking. This wasn’t discussed at the workshop particularly, but it fed into my vote somewhat. Check the logic of this for me, see if it makes sense:

Worrying about existential risks, we sometimes talk about the ‘great filter’. That is, the mysterious phenomenon which explains the lack of extraterrestrial civilizations reaching out to us. Now, maybe we’re in a zoo or a preserve or something, and intelligences are out there watching after all; maybe the Earth really is the center of the cosmos, because of the simulation hypothesis or the various religious explanations. There’s no real way to know for sure at this point. But consider the space of very real possibilities where the universe actually is material, and actually is mostly barren. Why?

Stepping through the sequence, it might be that abiogenesis is really hard- going from a temperate world to a living one is almost (but not quite) impossible. Maybe there’s some hurdle to clear between genesis and encephalization. Maybe, given encephalization, civilization and tool-use are almost impossible. Or maybe there are many civilizations like ours, and the great filter is ahead of us- it is almost impossible for technological civilizations not to self-destruct or turn in to lotus-eaters before they reach interstellar civilization. There are a lot of possibilities for the filter, and for present purposes we’ll divide them into two categories: those which we would have already passed, and those which are in our future.

And here’s the thing: for each possibility we can exclude from the great filter, all the other possibilities increase commensurately, becoming more likely in our estimation. (Assuming the exclusion is ‘clean’ and doesn’t favor some other possibility, that is.) Given that the silence continues, if we could somehow prove that technological self-destruction isn’t a big risk, that would commensurately increase our guesses about how hard abiogenesis is.

Life on Mars, especially if we could be very sure that it evolved independently of Earth life, would be a strong argument against the difficulty of abiogenesis. One biosphere in the solar system, and nowhere else, might be down to luck. The one biosphere has to be somewhere, right? Two in the solar system, and nowhere else, is a good bit less reasonable. If we find a second genesis on Mars, then we’ve learned that life is not rare. That the hundreds of billions of stars in the Milky Way are likely host to many billions of different living (or at least once-living) worlds.

And as wonderful as that news is, as much as it makes me so happy that I literally had to take a second to cry on my bed for a bit, it also makes the great silence much, much scarier. Today, we can reassure ourselves by saying that life may be rare in the universe. But what if it isn’t? If the cosmos is full of life, but not full of thought, then…

If this is the case, we need to know. We need to know as soon as possible, and we need to know it while we’re engaged in the great project of technological development and moral progress. It’s easy to imagine that this particular mission is one that can be framed in purely positive terms- the joy of discovery, the vastness of truth, the love of how things might be. But I do also have this sense of civilizational fragility, you know? And understanding the risks that we face and the chances we’re taking- that’s not idle curiosity. That’s genuinely urgent.

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hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Ruin

Summary: im not sure how to summarize this without spoiling the story

Warning: angst, bits of fluff here and there

Word Count; 4158 words

A/N: the long-awaited part 6 of the Tarnish series! A collab with @devilinbetweenthesheet-s. My attention span is short itself so I've decided to split it up into two parts.

UNEDITED

___

Harry tried to see the brighter side of the situation because it truly was something to look forward to. Having the chance to get to know Halo was something that he should be grateful for. As Y/N said, Harry did not deserve to be a part of her life, despite the fact that he was the father. And somewhere, somehow— he understood where she was coming from.

Harry honestly wouldn’t know what he would do if the roles were reversed; if Y/N were the one to have been cheating on him. He would not have a clue if Harry would be as kind to her as she was with him. If an outsider were to assess the situation between Harry and Y/N, they would definitely choose her side to be in favour of. So far, Harry still wasn’t able to pinpoint what exactly Y/N had done wrong for him to be swayed by an illicit affair. Was there even a moment in time that he could vividly see where he made the decision to just up and betrayed her trust? Because if there was; either his memory has gone to shit or Harry was more of a jerk than he served himself.

To put things into perspective, Y/N was the perfect partner and Harry had somehow lost sight of that by cheating on her. Don’t get him wrong; Camille was good, great, even. Yet Y/N was an amazing woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Coincidentally, those were the same type of things that Harry needed, too. As much as it pained him to say it, Camille’s rejection of their own little family made him rethink his decision-making process. Harry has learned more about himself in these past few months than he did in his entire lifetime.

For starters, he cleared it up that he had absolutely no excuse for cheating on Y/N except the fact that his retention span lasted a good few years before he was in search of something fresh; something new and exciting. Maybe it scared him just how serious she was in having a family in the future that his subconscious thought that Harry needed one last hurrah to get the infidelity out. Besides, divorces are more complicated when there are children involved.

Secondly, being with Camille was an infatuation that lasted for a long, three years—beginning while Harry was in a relationship with Y/N. Feelings were still there for sure, but he just didn’t know if it was enough to make him stay, especially when Y/N and baby Halo were right there waiting for him. They actually weren’t; Harry just liked to pretend that they were so that he could justify the consequences of his actions.

Camille was trying to make things work with him; Harry could see that. However, there were only so many things that she could do to improve their relationship before she had to change the choices that she had made years prior. Camille really didn’t want to say that she had refuted the idea of not having kids for the sake of making a relationship prosper, but maybe it was what she had to do to make him stay. She wanted a happy life with someone who wanted the same things as her. Harry wasn’t the man who shared a mutual agreement and she was pushed to question her options.

Nonetheless, Camille and Harry stuck with each other because they were all they knew for the past three and a half years. It was definitely ironic for Harry to say that he couldn’t just leave a three-year relationship behind for another woman; because he had done that before. Now, he was a hypocrite too? His ego cannot take it.

____

Connor wrapped his arms around Y/N’s middle as she washed the dishes in the sink. Their water heater was broken so the stream that came from the faucet sometimes teetered from freezing cold to extremely hot. Right now, she was scrubbing the sponge on the porcelain as quickly as possible while the water was at the right temperature.

Y/N turned her head to the side, pressing a kiss on Connor’s cheek. He rested his chin on her shoulder, bobbing up and down as she moved her arms.

“Is this really a good idea, baby?” Connor asked, staring at the way her lashes fluttered in a pregnant pause, taking a deep breath.

She nodded, reaching over slightly to rest the wet dish on the drying rack. “Halo deserves to at least know her real father,”

And it was true. What kind of mother would Y/N be if she kept a secret like that from her own daughter? The past two years was a constant ping-pong battle of reaching out to Harry and sharing the news to him; then, Y/N would be hit with a shot of realization, wondering if this would ruin his current lifestyle.

“I understand. What if he leaves again? Hate to remind you but Harry left you once before, don’t think he’ll hesitate to do so again,”

She froze at Connor’s words. Y/N was aware that he only said that in good faith, to remind her of how hurt she was at the time and just how long it took for her to be able to finally breathe again.

One side of Y/N urged to still defend Harry. She wanted to turn and around, yell at him because Connor doesn’t know Harry as she does. Harry wasn’t the type to build a child’s dreams up only for him to personally manhandle the heart and crush it in his fist. There was a reason why he was a godfather to so many kids; Ruby, Arlo and Jackson—because he was capable. Harry was a nurturing father who put himself on the back burner in favour of making sure that the little ones were safe and secured. He had no problem being third if it meant that the kids were first, then Y/N, then him.

It all sounded so good in Y/N’s head; so well-rehearsed and very well thought out. The monologue that had somehow stuck in the sides of her brain like a script taped to the wall, ready for the time it needed to be recited. The shredded pieces of paper also reminded her that Y/N might’ve known Harry before, but she certainly doesn’t anymore. In fact, she knew just as much as Connor did.

Just like Y/N had grown and evolved into a new person, Harry was not the same guy he once was when they were together.

“I told him the consequences if he did,”

Connor pulled back, stepping away from her. “But wouldn’t it be better if we didn’t take that chance? Who knows what he might do. . .” He trailed off, grabbing a dry rag to wipe the water dripping from the dish.

Y/N took a leap of faith in letting Harry in. He was a wild card. He could promise one thing but would mean another. Or he could recite a vow and completely annihilate the person as he did with her. Yet somehow, Y/N couldn’t resist the opportunity to give him one chance. Maybe it was because a small part of her craved to re-create a happy family that they had always wanted.

“It’s a risk. I know that” Y/N rinsed a cup, swirling the water in circles. She felt like that whenever Harry was around.

“So why are you still doing it?” Y/N opened her mouth to answer, “And tell me the truth this time, yeah?”

Her boyfriend stared at her with an unreadable emotion in his eyes, lips drew taut in a straight line and arms were crossed over his broad chest. The pressure was immense on Y/N’s shoulders. She was torn between admitting what she had buried deep below the sand or simply glossing over it like a figure skater. Nonetheless, Y/N was on thin ice.

For years, she had flicked away the remaining feelings that stayed with her. But they were persistent in sticking by her side. It wasn’t like Y/N could completely erase Harry from her life--from who she was. She still dressed like him, evidenced by the matching pair of Gucci loafers she chose not to wear for the night in fear that he would coincidentally be sporting the same footwear.

Furthermore, they had a child together! Halo was the spitting image of him. It was hard not to be reminded by a man she once loved when their little baby was both of them mixed in one. So did Y/N still love Harry? She couldn’t deny how much her heart fluttered seeing him stutter over his words at the park. Y/N just wasn’t sure if it was from anxiety and nervousness or excitement and anticipation.

Unbeknownst to the couple, Harry had sneakily closed a sleeping Halo’s bedroom door. His trek back to the kitchen was slow, slightly afraid of the awaiting talk he and Y/N--and possibly Connor-- have yet to have. Harry wanted to be there for Halo and for Y/N every step of the way, but he knew that Y/N would not allow him around if his intentions were to cater to a relationship with her. She was already tolerating him as is.

Standing behind the thin wall that acted as a partition from the hallway to the kitchen, Harry carefully placed his hands against the barrier to steady himself. He didn’t know if his legs could take whatever answer would spill from Y/N’s mouth. If she admitted her true feelings, he would stumble and melt into a puddle. He would be confused, but Harry wouldn’t be opposed to it; he was in a relationship after all. If she denied it--which was the more likely option--, his heart would break silently in his chest.

Harry numbed himself of the guilt raking at his ankles. He was well aware that this was a private conversation but hey; it was not his fault that he had ears straining to listen to Y/N’s reply.

“Do you still love him?” Connor followed up, voice grim. Almost fearful to find out the truth. Harry was, too.

Y/N paused her thoughts as well as her actions, flinching at the sudden intrusion of Connor’s question. She flinched, yelping a little and jumping backwards when the broken water heater subdued the filtering liquid into a burning hot splatter on her skin. Connor picked his feet up in alarm, grabbing at Y/N’s wrist to see the minor injury on the back of her palm.

“Ow!” Y/N whisper-shouted, soothing the ache by situating it between her thighs before shakily showing it to Connor; the doctor.

“Let me see, baby,”

Harry peeked his head around the corner, almost losing his cover with the way his feet instantaneously wanting to move towards a hurting Y/N. Good thing he caught himself. Surely they would put two and two together and realize that Harry was eavesdropping.

That decision came with a laceration to his heart. Harry got a first-class ticket to register that the couple was everything he and Y/N were. The pet names, the domesticity of their actions. The caring glances and constant check-ups.

Deciding to come out of hiding, Harry almost had a heart attack when he turned the corner and was met face to face with Connor. His brows had dipped in worry, face determined to grab some cream to apply to the burn from their first-aid kit in the bathroom. Harry guessed that his whizzing thoughts failed to hear the quiet instruction.

The man jolted in surprise, stopping quickly in his tracks, “Oh hey! Is Halo asleep?” Connor gave him a smile despite the confusion etching in his forehead. Harry nodded dumbly, lips pursing like a fish. “Y/N’s just burned her hand, nothing too serious though,”

He looked over his shoulder to see Y/N eyeing the both of them suspiciously, still clutching the burnt skin close to her. “Oh, I see,”

Connor smacked a firm hand on his shoulder, stepping around him to grab the cream. Harry walked towards Y/N, noticing that she was soothing the painful ache with ice wrapped in layers of tissue. She was softly hissing through her teeth once in a while.

“You okay?”

She tilted her head at him, appearing to be dazed out in her thoughts. “Yeah, uh, nothing too bad,”

Harry kept his distance, leaning on the other side of the counter. He started off by saying, “Thank you for giving me this chance,”

Y/N graced him with a smile, standing up straighter when Connor appeared with a tube in his hand. Harry watched as he unscrewed the cap, placing it beside her. He squeezed a bit of the cream unto his fingertip before applying it directly on Y/N’s skin. She winced, wanting to pull her wrist away from his grip but Connor didn’t let her, “It’s gonna be fine, baby,”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, continuing to rub circles on the burn until Y/N visibly relaxed through slouched shoulders and less shaky breaths.

Harry was staring at them like a kicked puppy. He was fussy and frustrated all in one. He wanted the attention that Y/N was giving Connor. He wanted to be Connor, but both of them were too wrapped up in their little love bubble to notice Harry’s squinted eyes and pinched brows.

He was frustrated because even if he wasn’t the direct cause of her pain, Harry had somehow found a way to continue hurting her and Connor was always there to pacify his wrongful actions. Harry hated that this was how fate had planned his life.

Harry cleared his throat, raising a fist to his mouth, “Think I should go,” His thumb pointed over his shoulder, “Uh thank you again,”

Y/N snapped her head to him, gaze lowering in a timid manner as if she forgot that he was even there in the first place. Connor was the first to reply, “Alright, man. See you whenever,” He capped the tub, shoving it in his back pocket to return to its place.

She leaned on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips, muttering something in his ear that had Connor teasingly wrapping his hands on her hips. Harry looked away, taking long strides to the entryway instead.

“Harry, wait!”

He shuddered at the memory of the words that had changed his life when Gemma told him the truth. Harry’s shoe was half-way one when he turned around. “Yeah?”

Y/N was holding a folded brochure, “Halo has a recital this weekend for her dance class,” She handed it to him, “Maybe you’d want to go? You can bring Camille if you want but I think it would be better if you didn’t. She’s still new to this and I don’t want her asking too many questions until she can unders--,”

“I’ll go,” Harry cut her off, unfolding the folded paper. The venue was about twenty minutes away from his place. It was only an hour-long considering the skill set of two-year-olds but it was a fun way for parents to cheer on their little ones. Harry’s previously sour mood was now replaced with giddiness at the sight of his daughter in a pretty pink tutu, twirling on her feet. He was sure that Halo was born to become a performer like him.

She sighed in relief, puffing her cheeks out cutely, “It’s a private dance class. Pretty high end so the security should be okay,”

And there it was again. The constant reminder that Harry was otherworldly to some people. As much as he loved living his lifestyle, he sometimes wished that he was a normie. That was a lot to ask for considering his current situation with his daughter, but a man can dream.

“Got it,”

Y/N leaned over to show him the back of the leaflet, “Just show them this ticket and security should let you in. Halo wanted me to give that to you because she was too shy earlier. I know it’s short notice but I guess she was comfortable enough to ask you,”

Harry blushed at the admittance, mentally patting himself at the back for making his daughter feel at ease in a short amount of time.

“I’ll be there,” He pushed his heel to adorn his sneakers. Y/N bit her lip, she looked hesitant, “It’s okay if you don’t want to go, by the way. I can explain that you’re busy. She’ll probably understand,”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. Harry wasn’t going to ruin his progressive relationship with his daughter on ‘probably’. “Y/N, s’alright. No problem, yeah? I’ll be there,”

___

Where was he?

It was two days after the dinner and Harry’s promise of attending Halo’s recital was vanishing with each passing second. Every time the hand of the clock ticked to indicate that another minute had elapsed. Harry still wasn’t jogging through the carpeted middle of the small theatre to where Connor and Y/N were seated. Two empty seats were left at the end of the aisle to aid Harry--and possibly Camille--a smooth arrival without creating any distractions.

There were only five minutes left before the stage crew were to dim the spotlights illuminating the room. Y/N was checking her watch what felt like every second, clicking her phone on and off once in a while worried that something may have happened to Harry. Maybe security wouldn’t let him in. The gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach suggested that Harry just forgot the event tonight but Y/N would cross the bridge when they got to it. Regardless, her nerves were left unsettled as swallowing proved to be more difficult with the way a sip of her water had her gulping audibly. Connor wasn’t there to lend a soft hand on her upper back to help her breathe.

Speaking of, Connor had taken the initiative to visit Halo backstage. The ballet teacher was growing weary of the way the little dancer ran out from beside the stage to stop in front of her parents, asking, “Where’s Hawwy?”.

Halo had done it three times in hopes of receiving an answer aside from, “He’s not here yet,” Y/N tucked a fallen strand of hair from the otherwise sleek bun from beside her cheeks. Her daughter’s form slouching as her pretty eyes watered slightly, “He’s not coming? You told me he was coming, mama,”

Y/N glanced at Connor nervously, being met with an ‘I-told-you-so’ look which didn’t really help the situation. Luckily, the teacher had approached them with a clipboard on hand, searching for the ballerina. The teacher had suggested that one of them stay with her behind the curtain until the show began. Connor volunteered.

“Better hope he comes or else we’ll have to deal with the consequences. I really don’t want to see her heartbroken before of a promise he couldn’t keep,” Connor muttered, following the woman but not before thumbing circles on Y/N’s flushed cheek.

Y/N knew that he meant well. She also didn’t want to comfort a heartbroken Halo because Harry failed to show up where he promised he would be. And now, with a little less than two minutes before showtime, Connor was sent back beside her. Parents were being ushered to find their seats before the lights dimmed and it would be difficult to maneuver through knees and legs.

“Is he here?” Connor questioned, draping a hand on her shaking knee. Y/N shook her head, casting another glance at the auditorium doors. He waved at Halo who peeked her head between the silk curtains, wandering eyes looking at the empty seat beside Y/N.

“No. Hasn’t texted or answered his phone either,” Y/N was about to dial Harry’s contact once more in a desperate attempt to reach him. However, the dimming lights indicated that it was too late. Connor laced their fingers together, offering apologetic eyes and a tight-lipped smile; they would have to nurse a broken heart later tonight.

_____

Harry was in the middle of buttoning his patterned shirt, staring at his reflection in the mirror to silently judge his fashion choice for the night. Was it too much for a kids’ ballet recital? He deemed that it was, stretching his arms to remove the fabric adorning his chest, moving to grab the pink, flamingo patterned shirt instead. He took his time, granted that he had about an hour before the recital started.

He smoothed the fabric over his broad shoulders, pausing when Camille walked in. Harry locked his green eyes at her through the mirror as she walked to their shared bed, sitting at the foot of it.

“What d’ya think?”

She hummed in response, absentmindedly nodding in agreement when Harry asked if it was good. Both Camille and Harry had talked about his relationship with Halo as soon as she landed at the airport. He didn’t want to keep any secrets from her. Fortunately, Camille was very understanding of his situation, offering him support and encouragement to build a bond with his daughter.

What Camille didn’t reveal was that she was a bit antsy of Harry’s relationship with Y/N. She meant everything she had said to him, but it was no guarantee that Harry would ignite another connection with his ex-girlfriend. Not that Camille didn’t trust him. It was just a bit concerning because she believed that how a relationship starts is how it will end. Harry certainly had a history of straying away from his present partner.

Harry was currently in their walk-in closet, finding a pair of slacks that weren't too formal or casual. Camille mulled the thoughts in her head. She loved Harry dearly and would do anything for him. Well, anything except having children of their own. He had mostly accepted her decision, only wincing a little when the topic of a family was brought up by mutual friends and family once in a while.

Truth to be told, Camille was scared. She was afraid that Harry would leave for Y/N because she had Halo. They were the family that he had always wanted and although Camille wasn’t too keen on giving him the same; she was debating on it.

“How’s this, Cam?” Harry retreated with two pairs of pants. On one hand was a pair of straight-leg skinny jeans that he hadn’t worn in years. The other held brown, corduroy, striped slacks. “Or this one?”

She bit her lip, standing up slowly, walking over to him. “What do I think?”

He nodded, innocently jutting his bottom lip at her as he looked back and forth.

Camille swathed her hands on his shoulders, ghosting her mouth over his ear, “I think I like you better without them,” Her finger traced his collarbone, swirling at the dip of his throat. “Without anything,”

Harry gulped harshly. He felt Camille unbuttoning his shirt, gliding her palms downwards until she was cupping his bulge, “Camille, wait,” He flicked his watch to check the time. It took twenty minutes to get there, maybe even more with traffic and parking.

She dragged him to the bed by the ends of his opened shirt, locking her lips with his plush ones. He rested a knee on the mattress, his hands at the back of her head as Camille continued to pull him down.

Pulling away, Harry panted, “What are you doin’?” He laid his creased forehead on hers.

Camille supported herself on her hands, moving her face back until she was able to get a clear view of his perplexed expression, “I was thinking that maybe we could. . . try having a baby, H,” Her voice was soft, almost timid and she was doing her best not to break eye contact to show her sincerity.

Harry gasped in surprise, “Wha--? Really? Are you serious?” His tone gained a pitch as excitement enthralled his senses. The smile on his face was wide and reached his bright eyes. “Baby, are you sure?”

Camille nodded, grinning softly. “Yes,’

“Oh my--this is. . .,” Harry pulled at the locks of his hair, pacing around the room. “This is great! Our own family. Jesus. I can’t believe it,” Tears sprung on his corneas.

He kneeled between her legs, taking her wrist and pressing a gentle kiss on her skin, murmuring ‘I love you’ repeatedly.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” Camille asked, spreading her legs rhetorically. Harry observed her position, nodding enthusiastically.

Another glance at his watch indicated that Harry was absolutely pushing it with being late to Halo’s recital. Yet one enchanting kiss from Camille wiped his thoughts clean. He was getting what he wanted; a family of his own.

___

Let us know what you thought! The seventh part of the Tarnish series will be uploaded on Patreon on Sept 29!

___

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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There seems to be no middle ground with RWBY+, they trust you or they don’t. Some have no chance to “earn” it, but others don’t do anything to gain it. James should’ve earned it a hundred times over. He did so much but it wasn’t enough. What did Robyn do? She tried to attack Ruby and was only stopped by Penny. After that? Yang trusts the woman who almost hurt her sister over the man who gave her an arm, then blamed Ruby. Any wonder I hate these characters so much?

The frustrating thing is that I think I can see what RT was going for. Frustrating because it's the reading most of the fandom falls back on, despite the fact that the show... never actually wrote that story. In short, it's the belief that there's established good and bad in this world and we have a responsibility to uphold the former regardless of personal trust. So if a friend of mine is, say, being a racist asshole and a stranger is not, I have a moral responsibility to side with the stranger, despite the fact that I don't know them, technically can't trust them on other matters, and have little to no emotional investment in them as an individual. You need to take the side of what's right, no matter how hard that is. It's why we get so many heroes facing off against former friends and mentors. "You'd really betray me for them?" they say, pointing to the sidekick our hero only met at the start of the story, maybe a couple months ago in-world. "Yeah," they reply. "Because they're not trying to kill everyone." Basic humanity trumps long-term relationships.

That, as far as I can tell, seems to be the basic setup that RWBY was going for: Robyn may be a stranger, but she's the Good Person sticking up for Mantle, whereas Ironwood may be an ally and friend, but he's also the Bad Person hurting Mantle. Ergo, aligning with Robyn wins out, no matter that she's a stranger and Ironwood an ally. That's likewise why fans are so quick to dismiss evidence of Ironwood's good nature. Things like Yang's arm or the licenses aren't accepted as evidence for why the group should have started with more trust in him, they're reframed as excuses for why critics supposedly want to overlook his presumed, horrific nature — something that the story later made real with him shooting Oscar, killing the councilman, hacking Penny, and threatening to bomb Mantle. Viewing the good Ironwood did as some manipulative temptation the group was right to resist depends entirely on seeing Ironwood as the archetypal bad guy to Robyn's good guy.

However, this attempt failed spectacularly for numerous reasons already discussed over the past two years. Ironwood's actions were never revealed as manipulations. The group continued to work with him, thereby shouldering responsibility for his choices. Ruby actively pushed to complete Amity, despite the harm it was doing to Mantle. Robyn never did anything with the resources she stole, etc. This presumed line between Ironwood and Robyn simply doesn't exist in the text — or at least it's incredibly blurred — so when Yang and Blake run to share intel with her, it doesn't feel like the heroes turning away from the wrong path to back the real hero. We don't understand how resources to build a communications tower are hurting everyday peoples' lives. We don't understand why Weiss can't just go up and plug the hole with a bunch of ice. We don't understand why, if hurting Mantle is such an objectively awful thing, our hero Ruby keeps pushing to finish Amity anyway. We don't understand why there isn't at least an acknowledgement of good intentions here, considering that the tower is meant to save the world from Salem, helping Mantle in the long run. We don't understand why, if the group is so concerned with Ironwood's choices, they don't tell him the one piece of information that would get him to stop. And we don't understand Robyn.

Because here's the thing: it's badly written. The whole Amity debate straight through to the Fall of Atlas is a mess of ill thought out morals, shoddy worldbuilding, and outright contradictions. There's no salvaging that without rethinking Volumes 6-8, starting with the group's response to Ozpin. But all that aside, even if we kept things exactly as they are and bought into the assumption that Ironwood is as Bad and Robyn is as Good as the story wants us to believe... the group still should have at least hesitated to trust Robyn. More than a line or two of dialogue between Yang and Blake. I mean actual hesitation and a serious acknowledgement of the complications here. The concept of trust is now a focal point of RWBY and there's enough material across the entire series to make the Robyn situation way more complicated than just the group going, "We should side with her because she wants to do right by the people." Here I'm not talking about what we the audience know about RWBY's construction as a story, I mean what the characters have experienced on screen. It's a simple question at the core of the trust Robyn debate:

How do they know she's telling the truth?

Seriously, how do they know Robyn is who she says she is? That she doesn't have ulterior motives? That she's not outright lying to them and the rest of Atlas? Everything I've heard in defense of the group's fast-track trust falls short. "Well, she's presented as one of the good guys in Atlas, fighting for what's right." You mean like how Cinder, Emerald, and Mercury once posed as huntsmen and joined Ruby's school, supposedly fighting for what was right? "She's interested in politics. It's not like she's out there attacking them like Tyrian." You mean like how Salem infiltrated a kingdom via Lionheart, the White Fang has likewise tried to worm their way into positions of power, and Jacques is currently trying to steal an election? The bad guys don't limit themselves to just trying to murder people straight out. "But she stole resources back for the people!" And did... what with them? For all we actually know, she put those towards a different, nefarious plan. "But she's so passionate and she's sworn she wants to help." People lie! That was the whole thing with Ozpin! Ruby just lied at the start of the Volume. And, funnily enough, Robyn has the semblance that forces others to tell the truth, but no one can make Robyn do the same.

To be clear, I don't actually have a conspiracy theory that she's secretly a baddie. My only point is that fans were right to wonder if she was a White Fang or Salem agent and our group absolutely should have wondered the same. Take away all the personal reasons to trust Ironwood (defending Weiss, Yang's arm, friend of the inner circle, etc.) and we're still left with proof of his intentions in the form of things like Amity's plans and him continually giving the heroes more power, more resources, more connections, more ways to hurt him if they were to ever turn against him. In as much as you can prove anyone is trustworthy, Ironwood was there. But Robyn? Robyn had none of that work. More importantly, that lack interferes with our "She's doing the right thing, so we need to back her" reading. How did the group know she really wanted to do right by the people? And since that's always hard to prove, what did they do to at least attempt to reassure themselves? Absolutely nothing. Which is why the current writing makes them look stupid. They watched the bad guys infiltrate their school, organize the Fall of Beacon, stalk them, pose as allies, turn on them, lie to their faces, are telling lies themselves... and none of them came up when the question of trusting Robyn was put on the table. The idea of someone tricking them (again), or betraying them (again), or lying about Important Topics even though they're doing the same seems to have, somehow, escaped them.

It doesn't matter what Robyn's stance on Mantle is because the group never justified trusting her word and the story failed to show us (and them) that Robyn was doing good. Literally all she does pre-trust is stand for election and, again, we could say the same of Jacques. If the story wanted to make at least a miniscule improvement on this arc, we needed to see either a compelling reason to believe Robyn is all she presents herself as (for example, Penny could have known and vouched for her), or gotten an explanation for why they'd take an unjustified leap of faith when others haven't gotten one, people who have done much to earn that trust. It's a problem that grew exponentially once Oscar trusted Hazel and the group trusted Emerald, but it has existed since Ilia. As it stands, by this logic, Cinder should be able to walk up to the group and go, "I'm not bad anymore. I actually want to help now. No, I'm not lying :)" and that's that. That's what trust means to them. Taking people at their word ...unless you're a flawed ally who has made mistakes. Then trust takes months to rebuild, or is off the table completely.

Ozpin is not trustworthy. Ironwood is not trustworthy. Qrow saying "Hey" is not trustworthy. According to the fandom, Tai is not trustworthy.

Ilia is trustworthy. Robyn is trustworthy. Emerald is trustworthy. Hazel is trustworthy.

It's completely backwards and Robyn was a large part of that strange flip.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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spilledmilkfkdies · 3 years

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How would you incorporate Gregory and Previous-wizard-leader into the Black Circle’s backstory if you were to write? I’m always up for fanon character development

Since Gregory was introduced after season 4 timeline-wise, he wouldn't really be included in any backstory with the Black Circle, but their dynamic could definitely still be expanded upon even if they only knew each other for a short time. Like who did he like the most and why was it Anagan? Fight me in the parking lot. And how did the Black Circle feel about training a young wizard after who knows how long since the last one popped up? Like taking the magic from Earth made a lot of magical bloodlines go dormant, right- A lot of people on Earth began finding out they had powers only after it had returned, but while there's a reason the fairies were gone, what happened to the other wizards? Those existed, right?? Where did the rest of them go?? Did the Black Circle know they would be affected too?? Did they care?

This is kinda getting off-topic, but I hope you can see where I'm trying to go with this- They'd probably feel some type of way about Gregory's existence while he doesn't even know who they are or what they did to Earth, to him they are just some random wizards assigned to train him. Which in turn upsets the Black Circle because they’re brats who want to be respected, leading to them (mostly Ogron) repeatedly trying to assert their dominance and authority with varying levels of success (actually no success).

Maybe in a timeline where they weren't forced to work under Neruman, training Gregory could've been a choice? Maybe they even had a good time? AU where the Black Circle takes a bunch of newly awakened Earth witches and wizards under their wing when?

Moving on to Yllidith- He could actually work fine with what he was set up with, sure it lacks depth but it’s not very hard to expand upon I guess? We got some canon crumbs from the comic that could be fun to play around with; Him being feared and respected by his apprentices? Delicious, let’s focus on that fear. The way he manipulated some fairy students to escape? Love me some manipulation! Give me more. The fact he managed to traumatize Nebula to the point she banned illusion magic? Excuse me?? It's said that even followers of his wanted to overthrow him and while this can just be chalked up to evil wizards being backstabby, I have decided Yllidith was simply a very unlikable mentor and leader. Like these little things, his mastery over illusion magic; I smell toxic learning environment potential. We don't get a lot for him in terms of personality, but I'd like to view him as the type of person to convince you to do a trust fall off of a ladder just to teach you you can't trust anyone, the fact you now have a broken limb is just a funny bonus.

I'm of the firm believe Ogron was a bratty teen when he joined the fairy hunters after literally tracking them down to train under Yllidith, he was skilled for his age and not taking no for an answer, it just feels fitting. Anagan joined a few years later after having a pretty horrible experience involving the Earth fairies, bad enough to the point he had no problem leaving his normal life behind, which he was previously more than content with. He wasn't a teen like Ogron, just a regular young adult, no biggie. Gantlos wanted to be left alone, the fairy hunters wanted him. He had caused some pretty impressive destruction (accidentally) and that made him interesting. While he didn't protest, his believe in the cause had to grow over time. Duman is just related to Yllidith.

I'm trying to set up how each of them have a reason to receive more attention from Yllidith compared to the other followers. Gotta love special treatment. Not saying that was a good thing though, like I'm sure at some point they wished they'd get treated like everyone else. I want them not coming back for Yllidith when he was imprisoned to feel justified and not a random "Ogron wanted to be the leader so they just didn't", there can be actual reasoning behind it. At the end of the day they had a pretty bad time with him and they would rather not talk about him ever again.

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years

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𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝐺𝑒𝑡 𝐾𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, supporting, justifying or encouraging mafia activities or lifestyle. This is all fictional and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

✿𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

When everyone reunited back at the checkpoint at the appointed time and Hongjoong saw you weren't there, he knew something went wrong. There was always the risks of something going wrong during a mission and in this case, you were captured by the enemy and taken hostage. Hongjoong didn't even wait for a ransom note or call from the others, he went out of his way to look for you. You were an important member of his gang and he especially had a special place for you in his heart. So naturally he searched even through hell for you.

"I'm warning you right now, if you don't give me back Y/N, I will destroy you and everything you built up." Hongjoong warned the other mafia boss.

He just let out a laugh. "You'll never get your little pet back."

Hongjoong took out his gun and smirked.

"Oh I'll get them back all right."

That was a definite promise.

✿𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

"See? Your leader doesn't care about you. He never answered our message. Maybe you should rethink who you work for."

The rival's words were stuck in your head. You tried not to let them get to you, knowing you were stronger than this. You refused to believe that Seonghwa wouldn't look for you. But after days of being locked up, the solitude began to get to you. You began to believe that maybe Seonghwa really didn't care enough to rescue a member of his team. Just when you thought all hope was lost, you heard a commotion outside, followed by gunfire and screaming. The man himself then burst through the door, looking agitated.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here." He said as he began freeing you from the chains holding you down.

"And here I thought you forgot about me." You chuckled lightly.

Seonghwa stopped and looked at you.

"I could never forget about you. You're too important for me to leave behind."

✿𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

He was freaking out, but tried so hard not to. He had to keep his cool. As a leader, he could not look weak in front of the others, and he especially did not want to let it be known that he had feelings for you. That would only put you in more danger than you already were, and would complicate things. So the best he could do right now was patiently wait for Yeosang to get your coordinates to break you out.

Which he did end up doing, almost effortlessly. You remember the way he held you in his arms so tightly, as if you were a fragile vase and not the tough mafia member you were. It was Seonghwa the one who noticed how Yunho changed a little when he was around you.

"Just admit it, you have feelings for Y/N."

Yunho stiffened at his words, but kept his cool.

"I can't do that. It'll be dangerous if the wrong people find out."

Yunho swore he'd keep his feelings a secret, but soon enough stolen kisses were given at his office or in his car.

✿𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

You just kept laughing at all the threats the man in front of you was blurting out.

"You think this is a joke?" He asked as he circled around the chair you were bound to.

You honestly thought about how foolish he was, thinking about how he thought he gained the upper hand by kidnapping you, when in reality, that was the plan all along.

"What time is it?" You simply asked.

The man looked at you confused before saying. "Almost 9 pm."

You smirked at him knowing anytime now Yeosang would have cornered the entire building. Thanks to the tracker they hid in your body, it was a piece of cake to locate the enemy and end them once and for all.

"Were you scared?" Yeosang asked as he cut the ropes on your body.

"Me? Scared. Never." You answered.

"What if I hadn't come for you at all?"

You looked at him and chuckled. "We both know you'd come for me no matter what."

Yeosang couldn't help the smile that formed on the corners of his lips. He didn't even deny what he knew himself was the truth.

✿𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

"It's been 2 days! Why haven't you guys been able to find them?!"

Mingi sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"San, we're doing all we can. Yunho and Jongho are out in the field searching for clues while Hongjoong and Yeosang are busy with hacking every camera they can. We're trying our best."

"Well clearly it's not good enough!"

San was nearly chaotic at this point as he smashed one of the ornaments on his desk against the wall, shattering it, all the pieces on the floor resembling his heart right now as he contemplated what might happen if he couldn't find you.

Mingi seemed to understand his friend's despair, so he put a hand to his shoulder and assured him:

"We'll find Y/N. Don't worry about it. You'll have them back by your side."

✿𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

Mingi knew he shouldn't have let you go on the mission with them. You were still a rookie and he knew a lot of the other members wouldn't be particularly protective of you, at least not in the way he was. So when you were captured, he really blamed himself for it, beating himself mentally over not taking care of one of his members.

You on the other hand were scared about what would happen to you and you honestly didn't think you were important enough for Mingi to save. You were wrong about that. Mingi went as far as taking a bullet just to get you back.

"I'm sorry." You told him one day.

"For what?" He asked.

"For this." You gently traced the bandage around his arm. "If it weren't for me, you would have never gotten hurt..."

Mingi smiled and tilted your chin up.

"Honestly? This is nothing. I'd take another bullet anyday if it meant I'd keep you safe."

✿𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

As soon as Wooyoung saw you, he quickly ran over to you and began to check your body.

"Are you ok? Are you hurt? Is every piece of you complete?"

You were astonished to see him worry a lot about you since he usually criticized you or belittled you at times, you thought he really didn't like you.

"I'm tired, but I'm all right." You answered him.

"Ok then pipsqueak. Let's get you out of here."

It took a lot of running, gunfire and bodies to step over, but you all made it out of there alive and with no limbs missing. You and Wooyoung were panting by the time you got in the car.

"Hey.....thanks..." You finally said once things calmed down.

"You better be pipsqueak. Seriously? How dumb could you be to get yourself taken? Don't think I'll do this another time if it happens again." Wooyoung began scolding you like he usually did.

But deep down, he knew that was a lie. He'd do it over and over again.

✿𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

Jongho himself couldn't go in to get you out personally. Since he was one of the stronger members, he had to be outside and hold off the enemies, giving San and Mingi time to go inside and get you out as fast as they could. Once he caught sight of you guys coming out, he motioned for Seonghwa and Yunho to get the cars.

Even through all the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he checked to see your injuries.

"Where are you hurt?" Jongho asked.

"I'm fine." You tried saying.

"No you're not. These cuts look deep. I'll look at them myself when we get home." He said as he examined some gashes that were on your sides.

"Isn't Hongjoong the one who does the medical check ups?" You questioned.

Jongho raised an eyebrow at you. "What? Don't you trust me?"

"It's not that! I just....don't see why you'd go through the trouble." You tried explaining.

"I'm just worried about you ok? I want to make sure you're all right. So please...let me take care of you."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez mafia au #mafia!au #mafia!ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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thecagedsong · 3 years

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Forgotten Light Chapter 13: Tunnels

A/N: Hey there, long time no see. Left to hyperfixate on Doctor Who for a while, but I’m back on my Fablehaven business. This is a long chapter, it probably should be two chapters in the final version, but I really wanted to get the tunnels part out. Also, let me know if Kendra’s crafting is making sense and if the dialog for this chapter is working out. Very important chapter.

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

Chapter 13: Tunnels

When Kendra woke up the next morning, she knew Ronodin had left. The night before they had eaten dinner separately, and while Kendra focused on reading or staring at the library wall, Ronodin hadn’t come out of his room. She saw him for a moment as she went to bed, but he turned away from her.

It was confirmed by a note on the countertop.

Love,

I hate to leave while we’re fighting, but I have to go handle another errand for our host. Despite your doubts in me and what I implied, I will be back for you, and we’ll go on another little adventure. This is what we have to do until we can go on the bigger adventures together in the sunlight. At the bottom of this note is another design for an amulet you might try, and we’ll both be working to shorten your quarantine.

Ronodin

And Kendra was back to feeling bad all over again! She went back and forth all yesterday afternoon about apologizing again, promising that Mendigo wouldn’t stop him if he tried to leave, or holding to her words. It was dangerous. He was trying. She was being difficult. She had a right to be difficult.

Sketched at the bottom of the note was a triangle amulet, with crescents open to the left. Inside the triangle was a circle inside an oval with an ‘x’ through it, bisecting in the center of the circle. Because you have to carve intent into every craft, Kendra had to go look up what the symbol meant in the dictionary he gave her.

The triangle was a curse, and the eye a symbol for blindness. Putting it within a circle, she should be able to direct it only at certain people, namely enemies. Did she want to blind her enemies? On the one hand, it was the same principal as her weakness charm. No harm, unless they intended to harm her first. On the other…

As someone who can count on her hands the number of rooms she’s seen, as someone who is alienating the single relationship she has to get a glimpse of sunlight, and as someone whose most prized possession is a landscape painting of the outside, could she take away someone else’s sight?

Maybe she could limit it to cursing people not to see her. An invisibility charm was a lot less problematic than a blinding curse. Combing through the books didn’t give her any insight on how to limit the blindness. In fact, applying Ronodin’s charm as is to a circular amulet wouldn’t even limit duration. It would blind any enemy that looked at her once, permanently.

It would take good craft and magic application to create, and a single mistake would make the magic run out halfway through the first use of the amulet, leaving a person…partially blinded? Blinded in one eye? Temporarily blinded? It didn’t say, so Kendra had to put a couple of concepts together to make a guess. Magic based on gaze was actually the most magic consuming type of enchantment. That was all it said, so Kendra went looking through her little library for more of an explanation.

She managed to clobber together answers from five different books:

All magic is reactionary, a person must interact with the spell caster or the enchanted object for the magic to be applied. The safest place from magic is away from it. Simply seeing something only activates extremely rare curses and enchantments, usually crafted from Dragon parts, because it just required that much magic. Touch is the most common type of curse conduit, and came in the variations. Presence within an enchanted area or physical contact with the item or caster were the most common. Proximity casting is rare, but technically falls between touch and sight in terms of magic usage. There was also gaseous spells, which technically also operated based on touch, but the enchanted matter expanded, so that’s also deserved a special mention.

Kendra was a limitless supply of magic. If she wore a sight-based curse, well crafted to actually create an effect, it would never run out of juice. It would fully infect others every time. It also couldn’t be used against her to the same potential.

If she made that work, there was no way Ronodin could justify keeping her locked up.

But what if…what if her brother felt like he had to harm her in order to get her to go with him? She could blind him, and not even know it. Is that what old Kendra would have wanted, after giving up her memory for him? No. Temporarily feeling too weak to chase her? Fine. Permanently blinding someone with good intentions? Not fine.

Kendra left the books open and went into the hallway.

“Mendigo?” she asked, and the puppet walked in front of her. “How many hours ago did Ronodin leave?”

Mendigo held up two fingers.

“Did he say words as he left out the front door?” she checked.

Mendigo shook his head. Ha. She knew that he had made that up to keep her from stealing the key.

“You have to follow all my orders, correct?” Kendra checked. And the puppet nodded.

“Are there things I can’t tell you to do?”

Mendigo hesitated, then nodded his head.

“Are the things you won’t do if I tell you impossible because Ronodin ordered you not to do them?”

Head shaking no. She couldn’t ask him about the things he couldn’t do, Mendigo couldn’t handle questions more complicated than yes and no.

“If I gave you a paintbrush, would you be able to write out explanations to longer questions?”

Mendigo shook his head no. Drat. Complicated magic, but not an intelligence behind it.

Could she craft a puppet like Mendigo? Probably not, not unless there was some kind of wood that wanted to become a limberjack. None of her books said anything about creating a little bit of intelligence, enough to answer questions and have memory. But maybe if she got good enough. Though why she’d want another when she already had Mendigo made it a moot question. It was probably impossible anyway.

“Mendigo, the things I could ask you to do and you wouldn’t,” she asked, “is that because they would be impossible for you to do?”

He nodded, and pointed at the front doorknob. Right, she had told him to open the door, and he couldn’t.

“Would you be able to tell me if Ronodin is the one really giving you orders?” Kendra tried.

More hesitation, then slow nodding.

“Has Ronodin ever given you any orders that you followed?”

More nodding. That didn’t actually tell her much. Ronodin was her secret boyfriend, if she had ever once said ‘Mendigo, do what Ronodin says,’ then the answer to this question would be yes.

“Are you currently following any of Ronodin’s orders?” she said. Vigorous no.

“Right,” Kendra said, feeling a little better. “From now on, you are not to follow anyone’s orders but my own, under any circumstance. Will you be able to follow that order?”

Here came the longest pause. Was it because she was asking him a question about the future? Maybe the enchantment didn’t allow for questions like that.

Slowly, Mendigo nodded his head. That was good.

For the rest of the morning, she settled on making a stronger version of her first amulet, temporary weakening based on intent and proximity. Maybe if she made that good enough, she wouldn’t have to permanently blind someone just to be free.

Ronodin showed up in the late afternoon, but didn’t fully enter the apartment, instead choosing to stand in the doorway.

“I see you didn’t take my suggestion,” Ronodin said, nodding at the newly carved amulet in her hand. She had taken a break to grab a snack from the kitchen, and found him there.

“Is this your way of checking in on me without having to let me out?” Kendra asked, rolling her eyes.

“Well, I ran into a snag when arranging your fake death,” Ronodin explained, “A quick video of you telling the person to help me will fix all my problems. I need to go back out again right away —”

Kendra sighed, “You can come in Ronodin, Mendigo won’t stop you from leaving.” Because it felt like the properly dramatic thing to do, she leaned against the hallway wall and slid down until she was sitting. It took a small adjustment, but her current red dress was stretchy, and she managed to do it modestly.

Ronodin came and slid down beside her, and the door swung shut.

“I’m sorry for acting like a brat,” Kendra said. “it’s not fair, and there’s no excuse, but it’s just so frustrating being locked up like this.”

Ronodin smiled, “Believe me, I know more than you can guess at what that’s like. Think you’re ready to hear why my family hates me?”

Kendra nodded, sitting up straighter.

“Forever ago, I started to question why the Fairy Queen was the ultimate authority on what was good and what was bad in the world. There were five other thrones, and they all play important roles in keeping the world functioning, and they all had different ideas of what was good and right than the Fairy Queen. But mortal wizards sided with her, as did human adventurers, and every kind of mortal agreed: the Fairy kingdom is the brightest light, and we should all strive to their ideals.

“Never mind the naiads and great fairies who kill because mortality is funny. Never mind the imps and the abandoned nipsies. Never mind the philosophies of balance that demand that destruction is just as important as creation to the continuation of the world. Never mind the strength of not picking a side and acting according to your own will and conscious. It sickened me to be part of such an oppressive kingdom that claims the moral right in everything.”

Ronodin drifted into a memory. “What did you do?” Kendra asked, bringing him back.

“I corrupted my horns,” Ronodin said simply, “It took a bit of time and a lot of favors, but I was able to break myself from the Fairy Kingdom. The Queen doesn’t command me anymore. I owe allegiance only to myself, and that’s how I want it to be. Some of those favors contributed to people getting hurt, but I can’t regret it. When I saw you going through something similar, I knew I had to talk to you. And now, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Kendra echoed. Sitting in the depths of some underground labyrinth, fighting over prison keys and the greater good, Kendra with no memory of who she was, and Ronodin fighting the same battles he’s fought his entire life over freedom.

Kendra leaned over and touched Ronodin of her own volition. Nothing romantic, not really, just her head resting on his shoulder. A silent show of support.

She sat up after just a minute, because she liked sincere Ronodin much better than flirty or angry Ronodin. (Flabberghasted Ronodin still held top spot).

“Let’s get that video for you,” Kendra said, then paused. “Wait, no one is going to get hurt when faking my death, right?”

Ronodin shook his head and took out his cell phone, “I promise, no humans are going to be harmed in the faking of your death. I just need some help creating a believable fake body.”

Kendra gave a little smile, “Doesn’t it ruin my fake death if someone knows about it and is helping you set it up?”

“Be very vague,” he advised, “The vaguer the better, so that when we do fake your death, even they will be convinced.”

“Okay then, what should I say?” she asked. “Am I talking to someone specific?”

Ronodin pointed the phone camera at her, “No, I’ll probably need to use it on a couple of people. Just tell the viewer to help me. Don’t mention my name directly, if you can help it. The less they know about who you’re with, the safer you’ll be. Ready…three, two one.”

"Oh, um, hi,” Kendra waved at the camera sheepishly, “I’m not sure who is going to have see this, but this guy is actually helping me. If you could lend him a hand, that would be great and I could get out of here much faster. Thank you!”

Ronodin then changed the view of the camera so that they were both in the picture, and gave a little wave. “Anything for Kendra.” He placed a quick kiss on her cheek and caught the start of her blush before he stopped recording.

“There, that should be convincing enough,” he said, pocketing his phone.

“I assure you, that kiss was unnecessary,” she said, folding her arms, still red.

He grinned back, “And I assure you, my caterpillar, that it was completely necessary. Another one for the road?”

Kendra stood up rather than let him take another kiss. They had had a good moment, she wasn’t going to let him ruin it. He stood up as well.

“I’ll probably arrive back while you’re asleep,” he said. “Can I see how you’re doing with that amulet? You chose another weakening one?”

“I’m not ready to permanently blind my misguided family,” Kendra said, handing over the amulet.

Ronodin nodded, “Well, you’re progressing. A lot more magic took in this one than your first try. It’s well on the way to making fatigue hit anyone who lays a hand on you.”

Kendra frowned, “I was going for proximity, still not enough focus?”

Ronodin nodded, “The applied magic isn’t strong enough, nor is the craftsmanship. You accidentally cut all the way through one broken link, making one of your four chains whole, and you really oversanded the top. Don’t worry, we’ll work on it some more when I get back. This is a skill like any other, it’s going to take time. You’ll get better at this, I promise.”

Kendra nodded, sighing over the flaws he pointed out. “Is ‘have fun’ the wrong response for the task of faking my death?”

“Oh,” he said grinning, “After the stunts you pulled, I’ll be having lots of fun. Don’t go crazy.”

“You’ll be the first to know if I do.”

Mendigo stepped out of the shadow of the doorway as Ronodin approached, “It’s fine Mendigo. Ronodin can come and go as he pleases.” Kendra said.

Mendigo stepped back and Ronodin stepped past and closed the door without a backward glance.

Knowing she lost the fight, Kendra returned to the craft room. She took that feeling, and turned it into the desire to weaken those that would make her lose with every paint brush stroke.

The second medallion was certainly more than just wood and paint when Kendra was done with it. It felt…expectant. Waiting to fulfill its purpose. A spiked trap, waiting to fall. It was kind of exhilarating, knowing what she had created had force and abilities beyond her.

Kendra had wielded magic.

Kendra looked back over the amulet that Ronodin has suggested she make, then ran to one of the books she had referenced that morning about how to build in a command. A dual check, the person had to want to harm her, and she had to want to curse them. She could make that curse.

All it needed was a second circular border with a notch, and Kendra would have to hold it and intend to activate it before it would blind someone. The pattern was more complex than what she had attempted before, but after all her reading, she felt ready. She switched to a block of wood called stiltseia, because the description indicated that it’s flowers alternatively flashed darkness or bright light each time the flowers bloomed. It felt right for this project.

Kendra worked though lunch, snacking on the bread and cheese that populated their kitchen. This time she made sure that if her carving tool was touching wood, she had her magic gathered and turned towards blinding enemies. The emotions feeding this purpose were vengeance, ambition, and desire to lash out. She didn’t have strong vengeance on her own, but Lady Kuychia wrote the book on vengeance, and Kendra had read it. Towards the end of Lady Kuychia’s life, when her husband found out about her shadow charmer abilities, he accused her of being pure evil, stole their children, and put a ‘kill the witch’ order throughout the entire countryside surrounding them. Vicariously, Lady Kuychia’s burning vengeance took shape in the amulet, to permanently blind those that would harm her.

Lady Kuychia had never gotten vengeance herself, if the handwritten note in the back indicating that the conquistadors pillaging the area around her village had hung her, after she kept putting out the fires meant to burn her. They caught her when she had sacrificed herself in a distraction to give her children a chance to run away from the Portuguese raid. Her husband had spat at her on his way out with their children. The children were captured and killed the day after their mother had died by hanging. Those emotions fueled the carving.

Except the outer notched circle. Following instructions, she focused on her need for control. The battle to control her negative emotions took place outside her body for the first time, as she ordered the power of the amulet into the circle, and into where she said they should stay. There were two different types of magic under her hands, the negative emotions of the amulet and the unyielding neutral control being pushed through her tool. Building a wall around the fire pit.

Kendra added a coat of paint right away, it didn’t feel bound tightly enough without it. This time she selected a dark purple paint, phantom tears and harpy blood. She was going by instinct, but tears also came from the eyes, and harpies seemed like the kind of creature more than happy to take out your eye for taking their blood.

It came out a color so deep, it was almost black, but the purple seemed to highlight around the cuts of her design. She hung it on a hook over the fire, next to the one she had made that morning. Three amulets down. No way to safely test them.

Crafting two amulets was exhausting enough that she wanted to take a nap. First, she had to clean up the mess she had made in the library.

Unfortunately, she had to guess at the places she had taken the books from. She had a vague idea of the organization: magic books left of the fire, histories and biographies on the right, and close to the door were the reference books, but without being able to read all the languages, she was mostly guessing.

Kendra scooted a space a little wider to make room for where she thought a book was supposed to go, and a yellowed piece of paper fell from between the spines. Kendra put the book away and picked up the paper.

To the current occupant,

You’re probably like me, someone whose abilities can only be used voluntarily, so they are keeping you locked up here until they can convince you to do what they want. I have no hope for rescue, and I refuse to do what they ask. I expect to die here, but I have hidden notes written in Silvian, and hidden them around the library to pass the time. If there is nothing else to my life, maybe these notes will make the duration easier for the next occupant.

So far I have discovered a single secret tunnel going out of here. Twist the head of the goblin statue and the wall will become permeable. I won’t survive outside this room, but maybe a prisoner better suited for this environment could use it to their advantage.

Peace,

Maykrill of Anksonling

Not what she expected to find, but she was wide awake now. It took a little bit of digging, but the goblin statue was directly diagonal behind her favorite reading chair. What kind of prison cell has a tunnel in it?

The tunnel probably didn’t lead outside, there was no way she was that lucky, but ‘anywhere else’ still ranked pretty high on the places she wanted to be.

The statue was a little taller than her palm, and currently being used as a bookend. The goblin made an icky sound when she twisted the head, like she was killing a living thing, and the small stretch of wall between bookcases became hazy. More gas than solid, and while she had to turn sideways to fit, she made it through just fine.

Unfortunately, she could barely see in front of her face. With how good she’s gotten at hiding her light, there was practically nothing. Should she un-dim herself? It would let things know where she was when she probably didn’t want them to, but she was probably already glowing a little anyway.

Kendra reached out and touched a wall, which immediately lit torches filled with the same blue fire that haunted her own apartment. Hiding wasn’t an option. Should she go back? But what was she waiting for? Ronodin wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours yet, it was mid-afternoon. She might not get a better chance to figure out more about where she was.

If someone asked her what she was doing, she would just head back. And she’d stay out of the dragon invested grotto. A quick check showed that the wall was completely permeable from this side, meaning she wasn’t going to be locked out. Unless the twisted head operated on a timer. But she wouldn’t be able to test that theory without it being too late to do anything about it. Her best bet would be to make the most of this current foray, but if she didn’t leave for long periods of time and she didn’t get locked out, she might be able to keep this secret until they were cleared to leave this place. She grabbed her second amulet on her way towards the tunnel.

So much for Ronodin winning their battle of wills. Ha.

Kendra crept along the corridor, her bare feet quiet along the ground. It sloped downward, and she thought there was a very subtle switchback before it opened another fuzzy wall. Fuzzy on her side, hopefully solid on the opposite side. Stepping closer, she tried to get a good view of the room before she set foot.

The room seemed large, enormous even. It was dimly lit with sporadic torches, the stone darker than in her hallway. A neutral jean blue darkened into marbled navy, made to look even colder by blue flame. Kendra glanced down at her bare feet, and really hoped the ruby necklace actually warmed her up and didn’t just shut off her perception of cold.

There were large structures scattered about the room, and Kendra narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out the nearest one through the wall.

“I know your mother taught you better manners than to skulk when you know people can sense you, Ronodin. Please do leave me be, I’m not telling you anything else, and this constant taunting is rather irritating, even for you.”

Her eyes adjusted as the boy spoke. Because he was a boy, and based on his voice, couldn’t be much older than her, probably Ronodin’s age. She could catch the outline of bars, bent in around a circle, like a bird cage. Almost appropriate, given that this boy’s voice was the most melodic she had ever heard. Beautiful as Ronodin’s, but in a different way. Clearer, somehow.

“Fine, I will simply annoy you in return. I don’t think High Sylvian has ever graced these halls, join in if you remember the words:

Follow the wind,

The one that blows of honey and rose

A caress, a brush, steady and slow

Follow the wind to Asamelle

Trail the stream,

Of cerulean and lily pads green

It bubbles laughter and splashes song

Trail the stream to Asamelle

Chase the light,

It hovers and flickers at the edge of sight

Whiter than ever beheld, brighter than ever-ever lived,”

The boy’s voice cracked here, and the imperfection in the perfect song made her throat grow tight. When he started singing again, it was just a little more raw, and Kendra had to cover her mouth.

“Chase the light to Asamelle

Chase the light home.

You followed the wind, and trailed the stream,

chased the light, found the dream,

Home, to Asamelle.

Moonlight blossoms, viridian forest,

Wave to the naiad, dance to the Djini lyre

Unicorns race and run through the mire

You have come home to Asamelle

Beneath the tiger sky, follow softly,

Pass tree-grown houses, and beds of petals new

The final rise gives way to Heartsworn

The crowning jewel of Asamelle

There’s so much light, it’s too bright,

Push forward; the sun was brought to house,

The virtuous beings of Asamelle

An orchestra of birds, winds, and strings

Elf and Phoenix dance with the grace of falling leaves,

Step forward, part of the dance, the moment, the chance

Asamelle sings you home.”

A tear slid down her cheek. An honest tear, her payment for the song. It was so full of love and longing; it would have been a sin to not be affected.

“Hang on, Ronodin would never have listened to me sing that,” the boy said, “Who are you?”

Kendra fled back to the library. She banged her hip on her way through the secret passage, and curled up in her armchair.

Her heart was thumping, pounding, her face hot. What was wrong with her? She just…all she needed was a moment to calm down and collect herself. That prisoner revealed a lot, she just needed some space and time from his voice to be able to process it.

The prisoner was so sad. How could anyone keep him jailed away like that? Was Asamelle his home? Why did he ever leave? It sounded beautiful, in a way that looks fragile but is more solid than anything else. A sculpture that appears to be made of glass, but is actually of ice or diamond.

And the part she didn’t want to think about: Ronodin is his jailor. He seemed to know Ronodin quite well, well enough think he could tick Ronodin off. And considering Ronodin’s relationship with his home, that song probably would. The boy thought she was Ronodin, there to question him some more. What could Ronodin want with him? How many more of her schemes would Ronodin tolerate until Kendra was in a cage next to the boy?

If she was trapped down there, would he sing for her if she asked?

No. The goal was to get out to the sunlight, not end up another bird in a cage, one much more unpleasant than her current residence. Why was he in a cage? Ronodin was all about freedom, and making sure people had the space to make their choices. He seemed to hate that Kendra was in a cage, Ronodin wouldn’t imprison someone else without reason.

Things weren’t adding up. Should she wait to confront Ronodin about it? Should she go talk to the trapped boy? Kendra thought she could make another trip before Ronodin came back tonight. Who would be more likely to lie? The boy or Ronodin?

Kendra needed facts. Evidence. Mendigo was under her full control. She had a brother named Seth. She chose to give up her memory. Ronodin loved her. She was fairykind and could use magic to make enchanted objects and see in the dark. Everything else she knew came from Ronodin’s story.

Kendra wanted to talk to the boy. And when Ronodin came back, she didn’t know when he’d leave again. This could be her only chance.

The goblin’s head was back to normal, and she broke the neck again. Kendra also took her second amulet, to weaken those who would harm her, not the blinding one. If the boy had the intention of harming her while she was down there, her curse would strike. Possibly. Not that he could do much from inside a birdcage.

The hallway had darkened, but lit once again as she touched the wall. Surer than the first time, Kendra hurried down the secret tunnel to the half-there wall. Once again, Kendra stopped.

“I know you’re there,” the boy called, much softer this time.

Gathering her courage, Kendra passed through the wall, halfway. She spotted an identical goblin statue, this time part of the brace holding up a torch, and went through all the way.

She walked forward, and a light sprung from inside the cage, small and dim, it illuminated the boy.

He was handsome. Unbelievably handsome. Kendra couldn’t remember seeing the cover of a magazine, and only knew that they depicted pretty people. She felt like she wouldn’t ever need to see a magazine; the boy in front of her screamed that kind of impossible perfection. White hair, blue eyes, unblemished pale skin, cupid’s bow lips that had fallen open at the sight of her.

Too late she remembered that she was currently wearing the stretchy red dress, a ruby medallion, a white cursed amulet (luckily that eyesore was tucked under her neckline), and her hideous orange cardigan. Her hair had been brushed and tied back before she started crafting, and she certainly wasn’t wearing the makeup in her bathroom. She felt a thousand times grungier than she had before.

The boy’s face changed, hardening, and he turned to speak to the general space around them, “Nice try Ronodin. I’m not going to lie and say I expected you to send a fake Kendra,” she jumped when he said her name, “but she really needs some work. This one barely glows, much less radiates like the sun. I’m honestly more surprised you let through such a bad copy.”

“Oh, um, Ronodin didn’t send me, I’m kind of here without him knowing, so I’d appreciate it if we could keep this a secret,” Kendra said nervously, tugging at her cardigan, hoping to turn it into something less ridiculous. “And I can shine brighter, but it seems to bother people, so I dim it.”

The boy raised his eyebrows in disbelief, “Kendra could never be dim.”

She unclenched the mental fist halfway, removing part of the block on her light, and immediately things became easier to see. One of the nearby cages started grumbling, so she dimmed it again.

He stared at her, and Kendra blushed and shifted under his gaze.

“Um…, I came to ask you some things,” Kendra tried, eyes drawn to the floor. This was not how she expected this to go. “But mostly, I really liked your song. Is Asamelle your home?” That was not what Kendra meant to ask him about, and blushed. Hopefully he couldn’t see in the dim light the way she could.

“Asamelle was the capital city of the old Fairy Realm,” he said, with disbelief. “Kendra, look at me.”

It clicked in her head, “Oh, you know me, don’t you?” she said, doing as he asked and looking at him. “I’m sorry, but I’m having some trouble remembering you at the moment.”

“And I’m still having trouble believing you’re the real Kendra,” he said. “Not knowing who I am isn’t doing you any favors.”

Kendra shrugged, “Don’t take it personally, I don’t know who anyone is. My oldest memory is turning a key that made me lose my memory. My brother Seth was there, and Ronodin, also an angry guy that claimed to be the King of the Dragons, and a magical dwarf. We were all fighting over a stone and my brother kind of won, I think, then I faked my own kidnapping and brought myself here. I really am sorry I don’t remember you.”

He was shaking his head slowly.

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said, but I’m still having some trouble believing you’re Kendra and not some Ronodin knock off sent here to torture me,” he said, “Do you mind letting me confirm your story?”

“How?” she asked cautiously.

He held out a hand through the bars, “It’s not bad, just touch my hand, and give me permission to see if you are telling the truth. I can’t see anything you don’t want me to, and you won’t feel a thing.”

Kendra pulled back a little. “I don’t know your name, and I don’t know who or what you are. I’m sorry, I really don’t feel comfortable doing that.” Could all unicorns do what he said? She might be in a lot more trouble with Ronodin than she thought.

“I’m Bracken,” he said, retracting his hand and backing away, “We’ve done this before, if you really are Kendra. I’m a unicorn, and the Fairy Queen herself vouched for me.” His eyes softened, looking over her again, “I’m sorry, whatever is going on, I don’t mean to frighten you. I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with, though it will make trusting you a little more difficult. Please don’t be afraid of me.”

Oh, he was kind. Why would Ronodin imprison someone like him? Being a unicorn the same age as Ronodin explained the comments about Ronodin’s mother and the polite dislike. The name Bracken also sounded familiar…

“Oh no,” Kendra said, covering her mouth. It all came together. Bracken was Ronodin’s cousin, the one she was engaged to while secretly seeing Ronodin.

Bracken’s eyebrows raised, “I will admit that’s the first time my name has evoked that reaction. You remember something about me around your mysterious bout of amnesias?”

Kendra wanted to run away again. No wonder Ronodin knew it wasn’t safe for her to leave yet; people from her old life were already tracking her here. Why hadn’t Ronodin told her? Of course, he didn’t tell her, she spent so much time fighting him. Was Ronodin worried she would leave, or demand to leave until she hated him? This was all wrong and not fair, and Kendra didn’t know what to do.

“I’m so sorry for what old me did to you,” Kendra said. “I don’t know why I led you on, I’m sorry.” Kendra put her hand over his, which was suddenly gripping the bars of his cage. “I give you permission to see the truth of my words.”

Bracken closed his eyes, and his forehead creased, “It’s…blank. I can sense your memories for a time, then its just gone. You gave them up, but it is your mind,” he said with disbelief. “You are really Kendra.”

Bracken frowned, “There’s something awful here, dark, but nowhere near strong enough to block your memories. Do you remember any other curses? Or maybe you have a cursed item?”

“Oh, um, I made it today, to protect myself from people who would do me harm? It’s a little new, but it might be what you’re talking about,” Kendra said, pulling out the medallion.

“You did what? Kendra, you don’t make curses. That’s dark magic,” Bracken said, clutching the bars of his cell, “Listen to me closely, whatever you do, stay away from crafting curses. How can you even do that?” Which verified Ronodin’s words. Her crafting had been a secret, he did think she was evil, as was her art. There was just one more thing to check.

“Are you familiar with Mendigo?” Kendra asked.

“Your puppet? Kendra, I feel like you’re not listening to me. Whatever Ronodin said —”

“Does Mendigo only do what I say or not?”

“Well, yes, Mendigo, as I understand it, is keyed into the commands of you and your brother, and whoever you tell him to listen to.” Bracken said. “I don’t see why that’s important. Look, Ronodin is evil, you can’t trust anything he says —”

“What about my family?” Kendra asked, “Do they really imprison dark creatures against their will?”

Bracken’s eyebrows rose, “What? In a manner of speaking they do, because nothing else would have the chance to grow and flourish if we let them out. Demons, the unbound undead, dragons, they would destroy everyone and everything if given a single chance. You helped put so many of them away. They’ve killed your friends and family. It isn’t an unjust prison sentence if that’s what Ronodin told you. They all chose darkness and destruction, or it’s their nature and life sentences over huge tracks of land to roam seem more humane than killing everyone in an effort not to die ourselves. You and your family are the best people I know. Good people. Ronodin is twisting the truth for his own ends if he says differently. You are a good person Kendra, you don’t craft curses. You don’t chose evil, you can’t. It isn’t who you are. Don’t listen to Ronodin’s lies.”

“Ronodin said the exact same thing,” Kendra said sadly, and Bracken went quiet, “Except, he knows something you don’t, something we couldn’t share with either of our families because yours hates him and mine wouldn’t understand. I’ve been enchanting magic objects for a while now. I met up with Ronodin in secret, and fell in love with him. I ordered Mendigo to kidnap me from my home so that we could be together.”

“Wha-no, no, no. That doesn’t make sense,” Bracken said, hurt crashing through those beautiful blue eyes as he drew back. “That can’t be true…I…you let me into your mind a week ago. Please believe me. You met Ronodin for the first time this past week.”

“He’s a little rough,” she defended quietly, looking away, “We’re learning our way around each other again over my memory loss. He hates that we have to stay cooped up, but he knows who I was better than anyone else.”

“That’s a lie,” Bracken insisted, “He doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t know that falling rain makes you think of your friend Lena. He doesn’t know that your favorite way to travel through the air is being held by the Dragon Raxtus. He doesn’t know that your cousin Warren would die for you, after seeing you die once already and being unable to stop it. Ronodin knows you less than you know yourself right now. I get that you-you might not be able to believe me right now, but find Seth, find your grandparents, they’ll be scouring the earth for you. They love you so much, and you love them more than anything in return.”

Bracken’s voice was low and sincere. His voice had cracked again, like it had during his song, his tell that the emotion was just too much. So utterly certain he was right. But Kendra didn’t know a Lena or a Raxtus or a Warren. And she couldn’t ask Ronodin about them, because then he would know she went wandering.

Why couldn’t the old Kendra have fallen in love with Bracken instead?

“Why did Ronodin imprison you?” she asked. “Was it…was it because of me? He and Seth mentioned that we were…intended.”

“Oh, um…I mean…That’s not...we’re, um,” Bracken said, flustered. He wasn’t blushing, but unicorn blood was silver, could he blush? Did he sparkle more in the light when blushing? Pooling silver instead of red? “I would have come for you, I swear, but uh, Ronodin got to me first. I’ve been here a week-ish. Hard to tell the days, the guards aren’t regular on feeding us. I’m not sure what he wants to do with me. He was helping overthrow preserves and trying to set dragons on the world to massacre humans, so I was sent to stop him, but he got the jump on me.”

Ronodin would try to negotiate better circumstances for the dragons, and starting them from a place of freedom is something he would do. Keeping Bracken for no reason? That didn’t sound like something he would do. Bracken being sent off to stop his cousin? Bracken looked fit, but she would probably bet on Ronodin in a fight.

What was the truth in all of this? Where was it? Except she knew where it was, locked away with her memories. This was the first time she felt like she needed her memories. Kendra had missed them before, but if what Bracken said was true, then Ronodin was brainwashing her. If what Ronodin said was true, she had purposefully led Bracken to believe the way he did, and she had escaped from the consequences of the harm she caused someone who seemed so honest and sincere. Why couldn’t she just know. Like a normal person.

“Would I give up my memory so my brother wouldn’t have to?” Kendra asked.

His eyes were soft, awkwardness leaving, “In a heartbeat. Seth has suffered much, often by his own folly, much because he was a child in a world too dangerous for someone with his curiosity and kindness. He has trouble knowing who to trust. You supported him, gave him strength, pulled him out of his misery, helped clean up his mistakes, but you wished you could bear some of the burden for him. If given the chance to spare him pain, to keep him from messing up without his memory and creating new guilt, Kendra Sorenson wouldn’t hesitate to give up her memories.”

His hand raised, and she noticed a piece of hair falling in her face, he hesitated just short of her, and then pulled his hand back to the bars.

“Sorenson,” she said, fixing the loose hair on her own, because she’d start crying if she didn’t speak, “Is that my name?”

Bracken nodded, smiling, “Kendra Marie Sorenson. Your first name came from a book your father loved, your middle name is the same as your maternal Grandmother’s middle name.”

“I want to believe you,” Kendra admitted. “But from the things I know for certain, you’re probably a victim of my own lies.”

“You are goodness,” Bracken said simply, “Goodness and light. Ask yourself if what you’re doing feels right, feels good. If it makes you a better person who helps people and creates good things. Don’t listen to Ronodin, don’t craft curses. If you find a moment to escape, take it. Take it and don’t look back. Head to upstate Connecticut, ask for the Sorensons. You’ll find people who can help you.” Bracken tensed, “My jailor is coming, hurry away, don’t stop.”

Kendra rushed to the goblin statue, twisted the head, and hurried back up the hall.

Back in her little apartment, she took off the amulet and held it up. It had felt good crafting it. Honest. Part of who she was before that she had reclaimed. What was true and what was false?

#Forgotten Light #Bracken #Kendra Sorenson #Brackendra #I love this chapter so much you have no idea #Thanks for being patient #The hyperfixation choses you #Fablehaven #Dragonwatch

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

Note

Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?”

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair. “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

#the witcher fic #geraskel #geraskel fic #geralt x jaskier x eskel #geraskier #eskralt #sexy gwent #WHEW okay hope you enjoy!#my fic #asks

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yan-genshin · 4 years

Text

a/n: hello to the fellow twst people who came here from my twst blog welcome to my secondary brainrot

warnings: general yandere themes, non consensual drug use, some spoilers for kaeya’s backstory

♥︎ kaeya alberich

kaeya is obsessive in an almost paranoid way, which is almost surprising seeing how laid back and relaxed he seems to act most of the times. despite his seemingly sociable attitude, kaeya is similar to his brother diluc in that he doesn’t get close to others because he’s scared to lose them (or scared that being associated with him could bring them harm)

maybe that’s why it comes as a shock to the city to hear that the cavalry captain has gotten together with the mysterious honorary knight- everyone knows kaeya flirts and gets around, but nobody’s ever seen him settle down like that

it’s... almost cute, at first. he’s far from touch starved, but emotionally? kaeya seems to seek their attention and warmth almost selfishly, dragging them around on “missions” that are mostly work he’s supposed to be doing alone to eat up their time, interrupting their own tasks and missions just because he wants to see them

“aw, are you mad at me?” he’s got that playful tilt to his voice, the one he always uses when he’s trying to make things go his way or he’s trying to egg someone on. by now, the outlander isn’t sure which effect he’s trying to have on them; this is the third time kaeya swooped in and interrupted their daily commissions for the adventurer’s guild, putting them behind schedule and messing up their plans for the day. the spot in their bag where they would have put away the cecilias they had meant to gather in the evening but didn’t get the chance to just makes them more upset- but kaeya’s sudden embrace makes them drop that train of thought. “now, now, let’s not get angry... i’m really trying my best here to show you i love you- don’t you love me, too?”

kaeya seems to think the ends justify the means- the path to the best ending isn’t necessarily a pretty one, or so he says. he’s well aware of when he starts to use emotional manipulation to pressure his dear traveler into doing as he wants, he’s entirely aware of how he’s monopolizing their time

after all, the easiest way to get them to be as attached to him as he is to them is to break them down and build them back up as he sees fit. it’s cruel, it’s bad, but kaeya is the type of man who relishes in the looks of fear and doubt in other’s faces, and the type of lover who relishes in gently comforting the traveler as they cry when he’s the one who caused their tears in the first place

most of it is just to make them depend on him. oh, don’t get him wrong- kaeya’s well aware that the traveler can fend off for themselves. he’s seen how they fight, how they seem to move with battle experience that should be born from years and years of training despite their youthful appearance. but that strength is also what gives them freedom- and kaeya is not barbatos, and he doesn’t plan on giving them such thing

“can i go to springvale today...?” kaeya almost smirks. who would have thought the powerful hero of mondstadt- the outlander who swept in, who saved the city from dvalin, who once challenged boreas for training- could be reduced to such a meek creature that felt the need to ask for permission to simply wander outside the city’s walls? to outsiders, it might seem like it was just the traveler ‘settling into the relationship’, but he knew better than that. days of subtle manipulation, of using just the right words to drive them to tears, of comforting them while choosing his words oh-so-carefully were the hard work that was showing off now; a hero slowly being reduced to a docile partner

he doesn’t want to be abandoned. kaeya fears loneliness more than anything else, something he keeps hidden deep inside of him- vague memories of being abandoned on a rainy night, of his adoptive father’s passing haunt him, the ever stubborn feeling of being unwanted despite having so many swooning for him- it’s as if every little piece of the travler’s free spirited soul he chips away is a reassurance, a guarantee to him that they’re his and they’re going to stay

there’s no real limit to what he’ll do. he’s always careful enough to keep them right in his palm; even when the relationship has gone far from just a toxic relationship and fallen off into something worse, it’s as if they’re far too deep do climb out. it’s not easy to leave an abusive relationship, and kaeya is always one step ahead in making sure it’s damn near impossible, presenting himself as the only solace for the traveler

it’s almost an art how he’s the one making their life hell and also the one who comforts them and gives them a sanctuarium to “heal” and “feel loved”. whether it’s him destroying their hopes of seeing all archons, claiming it’s simply impossible, or implying that if their sibling truly were alive, word of them would have probably gotten to mondstadt already, kaeya is always careful enough so that his darling’s anger and grief doesn’t fall quite on him, so that he can be the one to gently comfort them and hold them in his arms

“shh, it’s okay darling, you couldn’t have known anything so terrible would happen.” he holds his lover’s shaking body as they cry into his shoulder, hands rubbing soothing circles into their back. despite this, the look in his face isn’t one of a man consoling his lover, but rather a smug smirk. they heave another sob: oh, they have all the rights in the world to be sad. how tragic that the particular knight who’d become their friend had to pass away so brutally- they’d simply asked him if he could gather some lampgrass for them, an innocent request, and he’d ran into a ruin guard. it’s your fault for asking him to go seemed to be the only thought that ran through their head, and kaeya, despite all his comforting, didn’t seem to downright deny it. after all, they didn’t need to know the poor knight happened to ask kaeya where he could find the lampgrass, they didn’t need to know kaeya just so happened to mark a location on his map where it just so happened he knew a ruini guard lurked nearby. kaeya may be a knight, but he’s never been to righteous- it’s not as if he directly spilled someone’s blood just because they got too close to his lover, right? suppressing a chuckle at the thought, he made sure his voice was still in a comforting tone as he spoke, “next time, just ask me for any favours. no need to go and talk to others and have this tragedy repeat, right?”

it’s almost laughable, really, how much kaeya seems to circle around and pull strings just so he can make everything work the way he wants. realistically, it’d be just so much easier to just chain down the traveler, to just downright get rid of paimon instead of constantly bribing her with food or sending her off with amber to the point where the little fae seems to almost forget about the traveler- but kaeya needs to be loved. he doesn’t need the love to be healthy or to be real, it’s ok if it’s born out of manipulation and dependence. but all he does, he needs it to work into driving the traveler into a dark enough headspace wherein he is the only light in their life

... but that said, he’d rather have the traveler be his and lose their love than lose the traveler’s love and also lose them. ideally, they won’t abandon him because they love him (because he’s broken them, because he destroyed the hero of mondstadt and made them into a docile and codependent pet, because he’s destroyed their world and shown himself as the only alternative) but if needed, he’ll make it so they won’t abandon him because they can’t

after all, kaeya loves the sight of fear in their eyes. if they’re so eager to leave him, then perhaps he’ll just continue to indulge in their tears and their begging- this time wholy embracing the fact he’s the one that caused such things. it’s as easy as sleeping potions mixed in their foods to keep them pliable and docile, as easy as a chain keeping them locked to a basement; a treatment so hellish it makes them crave for the toxic hellhole of a relationship he offered before

“aw, are you uncomfortable? it’s too cold down here, isn’t it? poor thing. should i get you a blanket? do you think you deserve a blanket? if you keep acting good, i might get you one tomorrow.” it’s torture, the way he so gently traces their cheek, the way he looks at them with so much warmth in his eyes despite him being the one who’s got them chained up to a fucking basement. their brain screams at them to jerk away, to not give him the satisfaction of accepting his touch, but they’re cold, and despite being a cryo user, kaeya’s touch is so warm that they almost unconsciously lean into it. he laughs, the noise echoing in the almost empty basement; all that’s down here is a ratty old cot, a makeshift bathroom, and the heavy metal chain attaching them to one of the thick wooden support beams on the wall. cold nights like these almost make them miss being back in kaeya’s room, huddled in with him after he’s fallen asleep- probably after offering some comfort after driving them to a breakdown some hours earlier. but that’s long gone, now replaced with kaeya’s almost sadistic glee in keeping them down here, in seeing how the already broken traveler just shatters into a shell of their former self, how even now when he’s being outwardly antagonistic they’re starting to still try to find comfort in him: truly turned into a weak, docile, dependent little thing.

#yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya alberich #yandere tw #drug ment

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akasgisrightsactivist · 4 years

Text

Bloodied Lips

[Akaashi x fem!Reader] [Hurt/comfort] [Word count: 4.3k]

What do Akaashi’s bloodied lips taste like after he fought for your honor?

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, injuries / wounds, strangulation / asphyxia

A/n: This happens somewhere between his first and second year of high school. I think everyone loses their cool at some point, and I wanted to explore that situation for Akaashi. This ended up being more autobiographical than I expected.

You found him hiding in the darkness of the club’s locker room.

As the opening door let in the light from outside, it revealed the bloodied lip, a red stain trailing down his chin. That detail was enough to make your heart rush inside your chest.

You’d heard rumors and you had run to find Akaashi. But it was the confirmation of such murmurs that made your head dizzy, unable to believe that your beloved friend had gotten in such a rough fight.

He was calm and collected. He never lost his cool, never lost sight of his goals —or so you thought, because the image of the guy in front of you sitting on the floor, knees pressed against his chest, arms hugging his legs, eyes lost in the void… that image told you a story you wished you’d never witnessed.

Akaashi averted his eyes as soon as you came into the room. After all, it was a story he also wished he’d never written with his own bloody hands.

Yet, you refused to run away. There was no way you’d abandon a friend in need, and you wanted to hear the story from his own lips —surely a different tale from the ones you’d heard around the corners of the school.

It was hard to find the proper words. What could you tell a friend who had just beaten the shit out of a guy? It had been a surprise to everyone —his volleyball teammates, classmates, teachers— how Akaashi, apparently inferior in physical strength to the guy from the soccer club, had destroyed him. One of your classmates had told you about the fire in Akaashi’s eyes as he had punched the soccer player in the face repeatedly —a frenzied expression that had terrified the witnesses.

Maybe you should be afraid too, but the Akaashi in front of you wasn’t that furious beast anymore —he was a meek and ashamed shadow of his self.

You eventually chose the diplomatic option:

“What happened, Akaashi?”

He buried his face into his knees, muffling his reply:

“You already know what happened.”

His voice was almost a sob, a plea for mercy. You entered the room, shutting the door, and you crossed the space in two long strides, finding the window under which he was sitting. You opened the blinds to let the natural light get inside, but his body remained hidden in the shadows, and you squatted by his side.

There was no angle from which you could see his face, but you could now spot the several bruises over his hands, arms, and even the neck, with bloody scratches here and there.

It had been a brutal fight.

“I want to hear it from you, Akaashi.”

You saw his head shake as a negative, his shoulders announcing a sob. Unconsciously, your hand found the space between his shoulder blades, and he winced —unworthy of your touch.

So you stood up, and crossed the room all the way back to the door. He held a sob, listening —expecting you to leave now.

But instead you opened the first-aid cabinet that hid behind the locker room door, and got out cotton, alcohol, and band aids.

As you made your way back to his side, you imagined the steps that had taken him all the way here. He had gotten in that fight until someone had called a teacher. He had then been taken to the vice principal for the corresponding scolding, followed by a punishment —knowing the gravity of the issue, you suspected that Akaashi had been suspended for a couple of weeks, completely unexpected from someone as polite and nice as him. Suspension included not participating in club activities, a big hit for the entire team and everyone’s reputation. And yet, Akaashi had hidden in this locker room… probably to avoid going back home, where his parents would be extremely displeased to learn about his behavior.

It was a huge mess he had gotten into, and you still hadn’t found out why.

You took his arm, poured alcohol on a piece of cotton, and warned him:

“This will sting.”

As you pressed the cotton against his first scratch located near the wrist, he hissed, raising his head and shooting a surprised look at you.

But he didn’t say anything, not after seeing your serious expression, your tightly pressed lips. He let you work on his wounds, no matter how uncomfortable it was for him, and he clenched his jaw to push through the pain —probably believing this to be another punishment for his actions.

The truth was that, in reviewing all the steps until he had hidden in that room, you knew that nobody had tended to his wounds. Surely someone had healed the other guy, but not Akaashi.

“So… Tell me what happened,” you insisted, emphasizing your point by pressing the alcohol-soaked cotton ball against the wound on his elbow.

He shut his eyes tightly, biting his already bruised lip to deal with the sting.

“Nakamura from the soccer club,” he muttered, as if the name itself explained everything.

“Aha. And?”

You knew Nakamura from the soccer club enough to suspect what had happened. He was a beefy guy with an inversely proportional muscle mass to brain cell ratio. You weren’t prone to classifying people by stereotypes, but this guy truly was the brainless athlete who gloated too much about his skills and insulted anyone he didn’t deem strong enough to compete against him.

You suspected he had insulted Akaashi, but your friend wasn’t the kind to fall for taunts.

It surprised you when he instead said:

“He said something very ugly about you, y/n-san.”

Your hand stopped mid-air, the cotton ball hovering a scarce inch away from his next wound.

“Did you get into this much trouble for me…? Akaashi, you didn’t have to, I don’t mind empty insults, I—”

“He called you a whore,” he added, a flame lighting up in his eyes again. “I couldn’t take it, I simply couldn’t.”

“Akaashi…”

“It wasn’t just an empty insult. It wasn’t just a word he said. He was attacking your honor and your dignity for no reason,” he explained, words rushing out of his mouth in a stream he couldn’t control. “He said you were a whore because you had become our manager just to be surrounded by guys, to get into our pants. I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t stand hearing another word, so I shut him up.”

He caught his breath as you remained silent.

Surely it was a hurtful insult, an unprompted one. You weren’t that kind of person, but you also knew how stupid Nakamura was, so paying attention to him was pointless.

Then again, it was time someone ended up punching him after offending everyone who had the bad luck to be around him. You just wished it hadn’t been Akaashi, of all people.

He could lose everything he had fought for —his reputation in front of the teachers, his good grades, his future as a college student, his spot in the volleyball club… all of it because of an insult to you.

The worst of all was the thought that Nakamura looked innocent to the eyes of the teachers, a kind of martyr.

“You’ve risked it all for me, Akaashi. You shouldn’t have…”

“I couldn’t help it.”

You pressed the cotton against a big scratch on his neck and he hissed.

“You are not like this.”

“Am I not?” He replied. “Maybe you don’t know me. Maybe—”

“Stop playing the edgy boy, it doesn’t suit you. We both know you aren’t like this, and you lost the game when you fell for his taunts. He wasn’t even targeting me when he said that, he was targeting you.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. That guy has always been jealous of your poise and your athleticism. He might have muscles, but he’s never had the skills or game intelligence that you have, Akaashi, and now you’re suspended from the volleyball club. Who’s won, huh? You never fall for those things.”

He let a deep breath out of his nose, an acknowledgment to his defeat. You circled his body to tackle the wounds on the other side.

“And he destroyed you, let me tell you,” you added, pointing at the bruises.

“He got worse.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in serious trouble.”

“It was worth it,” he replied, a childish pout on his lips.

You gave him a sad look.

“No, it wasn’t.”

Your reply made him bury his face in his knees one more time, and it made you wonder if maybe you had been too harsh at him. Yet it didn’t feel right to lie to a friend and tell him he’d done the right thing when it wasn’t the case. Nakamura had won the mental fight, he was the victim in the eyes of the world, and Akaashi could potentially lose everything he didn’t deserve to lose.

But he was probably aware of it. Facing the reality of how much he had risked in an inexcusable fit of anger, his only way to cope was to try to find a reason to justify it and make it worth it —a pure lie to himself.

You didn’t know how to comfort him, other than healing the wounds that nobody else had paid attention to. Arriving to his right hand —his weapon of choice— you inspected his purple knuckles, the prints of his vicious attacks.

“I appreciate that you fought for my honor, but I can’t stop thinking about how much you might lose as a consequence. You shouldn’t burn yourself to protect others,” you said, fingertips circling his knuckles and travelling up and down his exhausted fingers. “It isn’t fair.”

All you heard was a sigh as a reply.

“Let me check your neck.”

He reluctantly tilted his head enough to give you space to heal the wounds in his neck. There were red and purple marks that made you wonder if Nakamura had tried to strangle Akaashi, and a knot closed around your own throat.

“Do you hate me, y/n-san?” Akaashi asked in a timid whisper.

You surveyed the storm of emotions inside your mind, the conflicting feelings fighting each other, but it was hard to find anything that resembled hate.

After all, you found it impossible to hate someone like him, not even after such an unexpected but human reaction. Who wouldn’t get angry at such an unfair insult towards a friend? Had you been the one witnessing such a humiliation aimed at Akaashi, wouldn’t you have jumped for Nakamura’s throat?

“Of course not.”

And in the dim light, Akaashi tilted his face just enough for a tear in his eye to catch the light of the afternoon as it filtered through the window.

Your fingers found the space under his jaw, and you raised his chin towards you, examining his face. It was a party of bruises and scratches like the rest of his body, but what truly caught your attention was the broken lower lip, a red trail cascading down his chin.

The single tear dropped down his cheek and you caught it with your thumb.

“But I’d hate if something like this happened to you again.”

With your free hand, you pressed the cotton to the corner of his eyebrow.

“I hate to see you get hurt,” you added. “I don’t want you to lose everything you’ve fought so hard for.”

“I’d do it again for you.”

“No. It’s not worth it. It hurts to see you in this situation.”

You slid the cotton down the side of his face, all the way to his jaw.

Remembering the purple marks on his neck, knowing how brutal Nakamura could be, the image crossed your mind of Akaashi being strangled.

“I don’t want to see you hurt ever again,” you insisted, your thumb caressing his face.

“I can take it,” he argued.

You imagined Akaashi gasping for breath, failing to get air to his lungs. You imagined his life slowly slipping away from his body under Nakamura’s hands.

“If you got hurt again… if I were to lose you…”

You couldn’t find the words to describe the pain you’d feel. There was no other way to shake away the terrible images in your mind, or to describe the emotions inside your chest.

There was no other place in his face that wouldn’t hurt him, so you chose the bloodied corner of his lips to place a kiss, to land your feelings, to dissipate his pain.

You noticed the way his eyes widened as yours closed for a brief and eternal second before you softly pulled back.

In the following silence, his eyes looked into yours for answers.

It took a while to convince Akaashi to go home, and you only succeeded when you took his hand in yours and guided him out of the locker room, where his presence was banned, and promised to walk all the way to his house and speak to his parents.

You were afraid of the consequences he’d face at home, and you thought he’d already faced enough punishment. He regretted his actions, his body was full of wounds, and he got suspended two weeks from school. Aside from that, teachers had lost respect for him and the future of his grades was a big question mark floating in the air.

It was enough punishment for a mistake, you thought.

Upon arriving to his house, he stopped at the entrance, his legs paralyzed by the fear. Surely the teacher had already informed his parents, and he found no excuse around the incident. Telling the truth was the only possibility, and he dreaded the consequences.

After all, he had always been the quiet guy, the good student, the almost perfect kid. His parents weren’t used to this kind of disruption —they didn’t expect it at all from their only child. The destiny of his family relied on his shoulders, and he had betrayed the surname he had always carried with responsibility and effort. You knew all of this, and feared the consequences as much as he did.

You knocked on the door for him, aware of the terrified look in his eyes. Promising that the sooner he went through this, the sooner the pain would be gone, you stood in front of him at the doorstep, waiting for his parents to open the door.

When the wooden panel in front of you revealed the face of Akaashi’s mom, you stood firm, back straight, shoulders back, hands resting in front of your lap, a serene look in your face.

She was angry, but she politely greeted you, even if your presence disturbed her plans. Surely she had gone through the future conversation in her mind over and over, trying to organize the sermon she would throw at her son once he got home.

You were an unexpected event that disrupted the flow in their lives.

“Good evening, y/n,” she said, and her eyes flew to your friend standing behind you. “You’re very late, Keiji. There’s no excuse for you to get home this late after everything that has happened. We need to talk.”

Even if your presence only served for Akaashi’s mom to soften her angry words a bit, it was already worth the walk, but you couldn’t just stand still and let Akaashi suffer more.

He was in enough pain already.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, and I apologize for Keiji’s late arrival,” you explained. “It was my fault. I was talking to him, telling him that what he did was wrong, and tending to his wounds.”

Her angry eyes returned to you, and for a brief second you spotted a shadow of sadness in her expression before she forced herself to return to her stoic demeanor. After all, it was her job as a parent to not crumble in this situation.

“Keiji, get inside. Thank you for bringing him home, y/n.”

Akaashi walked past you, his fingers lightly brushing your wrist as he whispered “thank you, y/n-san” before he went inside and you lost sight of his shape.

In a desperate last attempt, you said to his mom:

“He made a mistake. It was a bad mistake, but he’s aware of it. He has faced the consequences. He was only defending me.”

Now that Akaashi wasn’t there, her face dropped all signs of anger, only leaving behind the pain of disappointment in her expression.

“I know, but some actions are inexcusable, y/n. Please go home, it’s late already.” She bowed at you, and you returned the gesture, bowing deeper. Before she closed the door, she whispered: “You won’t see him in a while.”

And as the door slammed closed, her words hit you deep in your gut.

In the end, there was nothing you could do to help him.

You didn’t see or communicate with Akaashi in two weeks. The despair of his absence made you take the decision of speaking to the teachers and the vice principal, not to revert Akaashi’s suspension but to put in a good word for him, explaining to them how much Akaashi regretted his actions. Some teachers were more understanding than others, and you hoped you could at least help them trust Akaashi again.

The volleyball club wasn’t the same without him, and you could feel the heavy atmosphere as a manager. The members of the team were displeased at Akaashi’s suspension, but after the first days you noticed that most of the guys were in favor of what Akaashi had done.

After all, Nakamura was a pretty unpopular character at the school, and Bokuto in particular had a hard time every time he saw the guy around the hallways.

Two weeks went by painfully slow, and then one morning Akaashi showed up at school again. He had changed, his demeanor even more stoic than usual, his eyes more serious. There was little trace of wounds on his body anymore, but you noticed a tiny scar crossing his lower lip.

Your first chance of talking to him was during lunch break. You sneaked into his classroom, finding him at his table minding his business. It was clear how careful he was in his actions now, afraid that any tiny slip-up would cause his downfall.

Finding a seat in the empty chair right in front of his desk, you shot him a smile.

“Hey, Akaashi. Nice to see you around again. How are you?”

Your stomach dropped when he didn’t return the smile. He continued eating his lunch as he said:

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay,” you replied, your happiness now gone.

“It’s hard to earn people’s forgiveness,” he explained, eyes focused on his lunch box.

“Are you angry at me?”

“Of course not.”

You sighed, resting your arms on the back of the chair, and pressing your chin against your hands.

It was hard to read Akaashi, a guy who wasn’t fond of letting his emotions seep through his face. But it was as if the punishment he had received from both the school and his family had hardened him even more.

What if he didn’t like you anymore? What if the feelings you had expressed two weeks ago in the locker room had no validity to him anymore?

“What did your family tell you?”

“They’re extremely disappointed. I know they don’t trust me anymore,” he replied with an apparent detachment that you found unusually painful to listen to.

“Keiji…”

You caught him off guard —chin raising, eyes abandoning the sigh of his food to land on your face. You had never called him by first name before.

“y/n.”

“I’ve missed you.”

He swallowed.

“Me too,” he whispered, almost as if it was forbidden to him to confess his feelings.

“The volleyball team has missed you too. They’re dying to play with you again.”

You leaned forwards, entering the space of his desk, trying to bring some semblance of normalcy and positivity back to his life. You couldn’t imagine what he had gone through in the last two weeks —he would never tell you about the words his family had scolded him with, or the phone talks he might have had with his disappointed teachers, or the empty and lonely nights thinking about how much he missed the school and his friends.

All you could do was to try to push those feelings into the past and help him move forwards.

He opened his mouth to reply when a voice disrupted your conversation. You turned your head to the source of the interruption, finding an arrogant Nakamura standing next to you.

“Well, look who’s back!”

Silence spread around the classroom, followed by the murmurs of classmates surrounding you to witness the scene.

Akaashi cast a glance at the unwelcomed visit, but before you could dread a second fight, your friend returned his attention to his food and to you.

“It was wonderful,” he told you. “I had to do homework, but nothing out of the ordinary. I skipped classes and slept until late. Then I had time to play videogames in the afternoon.”

You blinked at Akaashi. He spoke nonchalantly, picking a rice ball from his box and munching at it, talking with his mouth full. Your eyes widened as he kept explaining the wonders of his daily routine during suspension, and you couldn’t hide the shock at what was clearly a lie —yet Akaashi explained it with a spontaneity that almost sold it to you.

Nakamura tried to interrupt him, speaking louder and louder, only to get ignored consistently by Akaashi.

As if his enemy didn’t exist at all.

You were afraid that the soccer player would get so mad that he’d punch Akaashi, but surprisingly it didn’t happen. In a fit of anger, the guy kicked a desk nearby and eventually left the classroom.

A soft chuckle left Akaashi’s lips.

“He knows he can’t attack me, or he’d get suspended, and he has an important match coming.”

“You’ve changed, Keiji.”

“I have simply learned and evolved.”

He put the remaining of the rice ball into his mouth and licked his fingers. You sneakily removed a single grain from the corner of his lips.

“Did you really sleep until late and play videogames?”

“Of course not, but he doesn’t know that. So… the guys are dying to play with me again, you said?”

“Oh yes. And I am looking forward to seeing this evolved version of you play in an official match. They have a big storm coming.”

It was the first time you saw a genuine smile in Akaashi’s face after the suspension.

“I’m free on Sunday, by the way. I’m not grounded anymore, so how about we meet? My lips hurt so much lately and I need you to fix it.”

A rush of heat climbed up your chest and all the way to your face, which you buried into your hands.

Yes, Akaashi had changed. And you couldn’t believe how blunt he had become.

BONUS (end of first scene)

In the following silence, his eyes looked into yours for answers.

You had just kissed him —there was no room for doubt. Akaashi’s brain functioned at 3000 revolutions per minute, considering every possibility, discarding any that didn’t fit his hypothesis.

It was strange, the location you had chosen to land a kiss. The way your thumb caressed his chin would fit the romantic category better than the platonic one, yet every romantic movie he had ever seen had the couple kissing in the center of the lips. Unlike the traditional kiss, you had found the corner of his mouth instead, but the angle of your lips against his, the surface of your mouth that had come in contact with his… it was undeniably a kiss in the lips, not a kiss in the cheek.

Could this mean what he thought it meant? Could this be a confession of sorts? A revelation of romantic feelings on your part?

As unexpected as it was, it didn’t shock him. He couldn’t say he didn’t see it coming. He had considered this possibility in the past, the chances of this happening only increasing as your friendship with him became more intimate.

Heck, when he had punched that Nakamura guy in the mouth, he hadn’t even felt like a friend protecting another friend’s honor. He had almost spat a “don’t you dare insult my girlfriend” at Nakamura, and he was thankful he hadn’t embarrassed himself in front of everyone during the heat of the fight, for you weren’t his girlfriend —as much as he wished you were.

But if getting in so much trouble had brought about this sweet moment to him, he wouldn’t pull away from it now.

He wasn’t projecting his wishes onto your actions, no. This was a kiss in the lips, there was no doubt about it. This wasn’t a byproduct of his imagination.

Thus, there was only one possible answer.

One second later, his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, and he kissed you back —a true kiss, as it should be, right on the center of your lips.

And then he felt it, the pang of pain crossing his lips, a groan escaping from his throat as he pulled back.

“Your lip is broken, you idiot,” you chuckled, examining the wound on his lower lip as he hissed in pain. “Or why do you think I kissed you on the corner of your mouth?”

You coiled your arm gently around his shoulders, bringing him closer against your body, and you buried your face into his cheek, placing another kiss at the end of his lips.

He still felt the sting, but he smiled.

The pain was worth it.

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#akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji #keiji akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader

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