#they bolted to each other on that bridge and made out and more after and thats all i need to think rly. truly.

[ozlices]

we've finished killing eve just now (and by finished i mean only watched to the end of s3 bc everyone said it's the good ending and i cant be burned by another media esp when it comes to harming the gays)

singlehandedly made me understand enemies to lovers appeal after never rly getting it all this time iconic beautiful gay rights & wrongs be gay do crime

[fili-urzudel]

Hello!! Could you do 14, 15 and 31 with Fili? Romantic or platonic, up to you. Thank you 💜

13. Sitting together

14. Handholding

15. Sharing a blanket (potentially violent)

31. Stargazing

This combination is classic and oh-so-fluffy, and with my favorite Dwarf to boot! I went ahead and added another prompt as well.

Everyone lives AU, because there is no other ending in my mind.

BTW I'm sick :( but I'm going to try to get at least one other prompt request out this week

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

Moonrise - Fíli Durin x Reader

The Durin's Day festival was always fun, but it was all the more spectacular in the newly reclaimed Erebor.

"The first autumn equinox since the mountain was reclaimed, can you believe it?" Fíli said with a bright smile, looking with pride at the crisscrossing bridges and vaulted ceilings of the entrance to the mountain. There was still plenty of work to be done, to be sure, but its improvement was impressive regardless.

"And in a couple days, the anniversary of when it was reclaimed," you nodded in agreement. "A few months after that, the anniversary of the first time you walked around by yourself."

"Hush, I'm trying to enjoy this," Fíli gave you a fake scowl, unconsciously probing the scar hidden beneath his tunic.

You changed directions. "Of course, my Prince," you teased. "You look very nice today."

You meant it. His hair was freshly washed, the slightly damp strands frizzing out in the cool morning air. Each bead was carefully placed, a few decorative gold ones added in place of a crown. His tunic was a smooth yet understated silk underneath his leather vest and wool coat. Every detail was precisely placed, the burnt oranges and browns blending seamlessly. He had clearly been seen to with the utmost care. He looked like royalty, even without the royal garb. Most importantly, he was healthy.

His smile softened, his cheeks turning a bit pink under his mustache. "Thank you," he glanced to the ground before looking back up at you. "And you're beautiful as ever."

You blushed deeper than him, unused to compliments. You plucked at the placket of your own wool coat, dyed a deep woad blue. It was your favorite. "Thank you," you said, choosing for once to believe him. "What duties do you have today?"

"None, surprisingly," Fíli breathed. "Thorin's let me have a break, so I can enjoy the first festival in our new home right alongside you." Something about that little word, our, set your heart ablaze. "You want to stick with me?"

"If you'll have me," he smiled again. That smile was impossible to resist.

"Of course I will."

Erebor had been steadily growing over the past year, but that day, it seemed more alive than ever. The market squares were full, overflowing into the wide side streets. Jewelry, blades, shields, ceramics, sculptures--anything made out of earth or in forges were certainly found somewhere in the expansive space. The Ereborian dwarves' tentative friendship with the Men of Dale caused new, less traditional stands to pop up as well: flower stalls, street food vendors featuring fish dishes, and clothing and homeware shops full of bolts of linen. The mountain had only dwarves—and Bilbo—in its halls, a presently rare occurrence, and so you were all free to speak Khuzdul, the sharp sounds ringing pleasantly in your ears.

The two of you strolled as quickly as possible through all the markets had to offer, determined not to miss the afternoon's performances. You exercised exemplary self-restraint, only stopping at one of every five stalls that caught your eye.

"No," became a very popular word as well, what with resisting Fíli's unceasing offers to purchase anything you liked.

"Well, if you will not spend any of your share of the treasure, I must spend some of mine and relieve what must be the terrible, stifling boredom of your living quarters, my friend," he teased, mustache beads swinging from side to side.

"I will have no prince wasting his money on me."

"Oh, it's never a waste if it's you," Fíli told you surely.

There he went again, saying things that made your palms sweat and your cheeks flush. "You're too kind."

Fíli smirked at the way you diverted your gaze. "Well, if I cannot buy you a rug, at least allow me to buy you lunch," he gestured to a permanent restaurant on the corner that was swarmed with dwarrow.

You couldn't help a smile at that. "Hot stew?" You asked, referring to the almost overpoweringly spicy meat-and-potato stew that was a dwarven classic. Benron's was your favorite.

"As hot as you like, of course," He agreed, guiding you forward with a gentle hand on your back.

The stew made your eyes stream in the best way, and you pulled Fíli out of the restaurant scarcely once he was finished eating. "We have to find good seats!" You reasoned as he raised an eyebrow, still wiping his mouth.

"You do realize that Thorin has the best seats, and by extension, we do as well?"

"Right," you said. You had forgotten. Somehow, none of the Durins were royalty in your mind. They were still your traveling companions, dirt poor and looked at as crazy.

"Still, it is sort of nice to take a seat before everyone starts filtering in and it gets too loud," Fíli reassured you. "After you."

The grand presentation began with a song to the mountain. In the ancient tradition, singing was a way to ask the mountain to reveal its secrets, a careful gathering of tones that would uncover its nature.

This song, however, was made more to please the ears of the listener. It was a song of thanks, of hardly believing that this mountain was once again the shelter for her people. You tried your best to control the tears that rose to your eyes.

Fíli leaned over, bumping your shoulder with his. You gave a small smile that he returned, and you could see in his eyes that he was thinking of all that it took to get there.

"We did it," you whispered.

"Yeah, we did."

The opening songs were followed by traditional dances, a speed-forging competition, and a few spars. You cheered on the brothers as they fought each other, with a healthy dose of brotherly teasing. Fíli let his little brother win, or so he told you. The look on Kíli's face was more than worth it. You congratulated him and let them both clean up as you headed to the gates.

The gates were still open, cool air pouring into the mountain as the sun dropped in the sky.

Dale was dimmer than usual—the city was empty. The men were lining the edge of the water with candles. This equinox now also marked the anniversary of the fall of Laketown and many of their loved ones. The dwarves tried their best to be respectful of their vigil.

You leaned against the wall and watched. You hoped they found peace and remembered to enjoy their new lives. Bard, standing at the back of the group, turned around. He caught your eye and nodded.

"Come with me, I think we should see something," Fíli's low whisper startled you from your reverie, and his hand wrapping around yours even more so.

"Where are we going?" You asked, not that it mattered. With his hand in yours, you'd probably follow him anywhere.

He led you on a trek around the front of the mountain, the setting sun turning everything orange and making his hair appear as flames as you went.

Caught in the daze of bliss, it took you a while to notice what was draped over his other arm. "Wait, is that—I told you not to buy that!"

It was the woven blanket you had noticed earlier, the tapestry depicting sunrays falling through a thick forest of firs. "And what if I bought this for myself? I have uses for it."

"Then it's alright, I suppose."

"You can keep it once I'm done with it, though."

"Sly fox."

"Coin pincher."

"Seriously, though, where are we going?" You asked.

Fíli smiled at you. "A certain very large staircase."

You gasped. "Leading to a secret doorway?"

"The very same. I figured, since we were both trying to help Kili, erm, not die, we missed the excitement, and now we can see it for ourselves."

"That's extraordinarily thoughtful of you."

"Eh, I'd say averagely thoughtful at best," Fíli shrugged.

"Perfectly suitable for me," you told him.

"Good."

The achingly long trip up the staircase was rewarded with a very nice sight: another, less decorative blanket spread across the stone, a couple flat pillows, and three lanterns, already lit and ready to face the darkness.

"When did you find time to do this?" You asked Fíli, grinning from ear to ear.

"I have my ways," he said mysteriously. "And help."

"That's where Bofur, Bilbo, and Dori disappeared to," you observed. "I see. Well, it's very sweet of all of you."

"I'm glad you think so," Fíli said, still holding your hand as he guided you to sit on the blanket with him.

The stairs had taken longer than anticipated, so the sun was already almost gone. You quieted as you realized how close the time was. The two of you watched in quiet admiration as the moon rose, bright and perfect, into the sky, before you turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of the door.

You gasped. "There it is!" The moonrise revealed the shape of a perfectly hidden keyhole. "That is very neat, indeed."

"Mmhm," Fíli agreed. "Beautiful." The keyhole was not what he thought was beautiful. He wasn't actually looking at the door at all, but rather you, and the way the moonlight reflected off every spectacular detail of your face.

He had never known quite when he started to feel this way, only that he didn't in the Blue Mountains, when he barely knew you, and he did now.

You turned your gaze from the keyhole once the wonder had made a comfortable space in your heart, and looked to the stars, all too aware of how close Fíli was.

You read out the constellations to yourself in the comfortable silence, assuming the prince was doing the same. You then heard him shift.

"Lay with me," Fíli offered, and you turned around in record time, cheeks blazing and eyes wide.

"What?"

He was already lying down with his head on one of the pillows. "To watch the stars more comfortably."

"Alright," you said, voice quiet. You scooted down until you could lay your head on the other pillow, before changing your mind. You decided to take a risk and settle your head on his chest instead.

"Is this alright?" You asked immediately. The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable in this situation.

"Of course it is," he said softly, his arm raising to hold your waist. "I enjoy being close to you."

It wasn't quite a grand confession, but it was good enough for your heart to begin hammering in your chest. "I enjoy being close to you, too."

[hugmekenobi]

S3: The Bad Batch (2)

Chapter Two: Paths Unknown

Gif by @leemarkies

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: Following a lead, the three of you make some headway in your search for Omega and come across something unexpected

Masterlist for S1 and S2

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, brief mentions of spice/drug use, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, more of my lil additions and interpretations of headspaces, very light PDA

Word Count: 5.6K

Author's notes: Well, this morning without an episode felt very strange but here's the second chapter! Still sticking very closely to how the episode goes but hope people still enjoy! And stay tuned for Chapter 3 since I'll be posting it after this one!

Oba Diah

“Halt-”

A quick wave of your hand sent them screaming over the sides of the bridge.

“Gotta say, it’s been handy having you be able to use your Jedi powers like this now.” Wrecker commented.

“You won’t be saying that if bounty hunters start interrupting us again.” You replied back as he and Hunter fired on the next set of guards. But you had to agree that not hiding had definitely made certain things easier.

The three of you steadily advanced towards the building. Even in this planet’s gloomy light of day, one would only need to look at the three of you to tell you’d been moving non-stop.

The once bright and vibrant colours that decorated each of you had grown dull and faded.

Hunter’s scarf was long gone, and he was missing his right shoulder pauldron.

It wasn’t just his though, each of you had a story written all over your armour. All of your armour, including what little you personally had, was scratched, worn, and cracked with extreme use.

“Ready?” Hunter asked through his helmet when the three of you reached the main doors.

You unclipped your lightsaber and Wrecker prepared the smoke grenades in response.

--

The head Pyke lounged back in his chair, smoking some of the good quality spice he kept for himself as he listened to his associates break down this rotation’s numbers and so far, everything was sounding good.

As a natural silence descended for the transition into the next phase of the meeting, a sudden darkness swarmed the room and a cloud of smoke spread as the door to the meeting room crashed open.

At first all the head Pyke could hear was an ignition followed by a low thrumming and he made out the faint outline holding a hilt that sparked from it a blue blade of light being flanked by two more outlines. Then he squinted as he saw the dark figures split off. His people did what they could, but their blaster fire was useless, and he heard the thumps of bodies falling around him but before he had the chance to act for his own protection, he registered the blue stun bolt being fired in his direction and his sight went black.

--

“Who stands before me next?” Isa Durand asked her son from her throne in her court room.

Roland nodded to the door.

As the door opened, Hunter shoved the Pyke through the entryway and when he stopped at the threshold, he pushed him forward again.

You and Wrecker followed close behind and the group of you made your way onto the holoplatform that rested over a bottomless pit. You followed the helmeted example of the others and kept your hood and mask on.  

“The mercenaries we discussed.” Roland informed his mother.

“Such courage to demand an audience with me. You’d be dead if my son hadn’t convinced me to consider your offer.” Isa said frostily.

Hunter pulled the broken horn out. “And we’re here to deliver.” He threw it to Roland. “You asked for the Pyke who disgraced your family.”

“He’s all yours.” Wrecker added.

“It won’t be traced back to you. We made sure of it.” Hunter said with a cool disposition.

“Take him below.” Isa ordered her guards.

“No. No!” The Pyke struggled against his captors as he was dragged out the room, but it was no use. “This isn’t over, Durand!”

His cries were shut out as the door closed.

“Impressive.” Isa stated simply before she looked between the three people standing before her. “Your willingness to cross the Pykes and to associate yourselves with such a valuable but dangerous commodity…” She fixed her stare on you. “Well, it shows how desperate you are.”

You felt Hunter and Wrecker glance your way, but you were determined to give her no reaction.

Impressed by your steadfastness, Isa continued her questioning but directed it towards you, “Tell me, Jedi. Why is the intel you’ve requested of such value to you?”

You took half a step forward between Hunter and Wrecker, so you were slightly in front of them. You kept your voice steady and firm. “Dr. Hemlock stole someone from us. We heard your syndicate had the connections needed to find the Imperial’s base. And since we’ve upheld out end of the bargain, now it’s your turn.”

The three of you watched as Isa and Roland shared a look before she pressed a button on the arm of her chair. It was then you heard a faint electrical humming and the sound of gears clanking and were relieved to see that she was extending the platform out for Roland to make his way to you.

“Hemlock’s whereabouts have been well guarded by the Empire, but one of our sources came across these coordinates linked to his laboratory.” He held the puck out to the clone in charge.

“And they’ve been verified?” Hunter asked.

“Take what you came for and go, before my generosity runs out and I report your Jedi companion.” Isa interrupted.

That caused both you and Hunter to tense up, but Wrecker placed a gentle hand on your shoulders in appeasement.

“I hope you find who you’re looking for.” Roland said by way of farewell with a knowing look behind his eyes.

The three of you left the courtroom and headed to the Marauder.

--

“Come on, Echo, you really can’t-”

“I wish I could, (Y/N), but we’re spread pretty thin right now. This is the best I can offer you.” Echo replied back with a grimace.

You sighed in frustrated acceptance. “No, we get it. I’m sorry.” You turned away from the holographic image to stare down the hallway towards Hunter who was busy tapping various buttons on the navicomputer with his pointer fingers and alternating his gaze between that screen and the datapad. He looked so uncomfortable and out of his element that it cut you deeply to see him like that. You saw his eyes lift and stare and both Tech’s broken goggles and Lula in Omega’s room before they instantly went back to the screens, and you could sense the anxiety around him. You nudged Wrecker to signal that you needed to go.

“We’ll let Hunter know. Stay safe, Echo.” Wrecker said.

“You too.” With that, he signed off.

“He’s not gonna take this well.” Wrecker muttered to you.

“Can’t really blame him though.” You replied gloomily before the two of you walked down the corridor to where he was sitting.

Hunter swivelled his chair to face the two of you.

You came to stand behind his chair and braced your hands on his shoulders as a means of support before Wrecker spoke.

“Echo said he and Rex need two rotations before they can meet us at the coordinates.” Wrecker informed him.

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation. “That’s not good enough.” He pulled away from you and got to his feet. “We’re going now.”

You and Wrecker shared a concerned look and Wrecker grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Hunter, the last time we stormed an Imperial base without backup, not all of us made it out.”

“Just take a second to think about this, Hunter. Please.” You suggested delicately.

Hunter took a calming breath, but his mind was made up. He walked past you both and slid into the pilot’s seat and got the ship ready to leave hyperspace. “Omega’s been waiting for us a long time. I’m not making her wait another day.”

--

On the surface, the scenic jungle planet should’ve been a pleasant enough place to land in, but as soon as the three of you stepped outside, your eyes watered as your nostrils were hit with a horrid stench of rot and decay.

“It smells like rancid Jotaz out here.”  Wrecker groaned.

“There’s nothing on the scanners.” Hunter said, pushing his own disgust at the smell away.

“The Empire could be jamming our sensors.” You offered as you and Wrecker followed behind him. You still weren’t used to seeing him with Tech’s datapad and you were sure he still wasn’t either.

--

All that sounded through the canopy was the rhythmic sound of the datapad and your footsteps but as you came across out outcrop, and saw what waste was ahead, your heart sank.

Hunter brought out his binoculars and his own anxiety spiked as he saw the utterly decimated lab. “Oh no.”

“That’s Hemlock’s lab?” Wrecker asked in horrified awe.

Hunter put the binoculars away. “They destroyed it. Another orbital bombardment.”

“But Omega. I- if she was here-”

“We don’t know if she was.” Hunter interrupted sharply. “The Durands’ intel could be wrong.” He almost hoped it was. “Let’s get down there and check it out.”

You watched Hunter jog away but before you followed, you slapped Wrecker’s arm. That is a thought you keep to yourself.

“I don’t want it to be true, but someone had to say it.” Wrecker protested.

You conceded the point with a dip of your head. How about just wait until we have confirmation of the situation first, okay? Dwelling on a potential outcome won’t help any of us.

Wrecker nodded in agreement and the two of you left to catch up with Hunter.

--

The sound of branches rustling and snapping caused you all to stop and draw your weapons.

“Freeze!”

The three of you were surrounded by two young boys holding spear-like weapons in your direction but something about them felt very familiar.

“Blaster bears stick, kid.” Wrecker said with a confident laugh.

Hunter relaxed his stance as it clicked with him who they were. “They’re regs.”

“And who are you?” The one on the left asked.

Hunter and Wrecker took off their helmets. “We’re clones. Same as you.” Hunter said calmly.

“You don’t look like clones. And she’s definitely not one.” The same one said suspiciously with a pointed look in your direction.

“They must be 99s.” The other clone guessed. “Defectives.”

“Defective and effective.” Wrecker said proudly.

The same clone that figured out who they were peered past them to look at you and his eyes widened as he caught the weapon you were attaching back to your belt. “And you’re… woah… you’re a Jedi.”

You lowered your mask and offered a half smile. “I used to be.”

“What are you two doing out here?” Hunter asked.

“What’s it look like? Surviving.” The one that had first spoken answered frostily. “Or trying to. No thanks to the Empire.”

Your attentions turned to the other boy as he asked, “They send you to finish us off?”

“Do we look like we’re with the Empire?” You countered. “You said it yourself, I’m a Jedi and believe me, there’s no love shared for my kind anymore. And, well, just look at these two.” You pointed to Hunter and Wrecker. “They look like Imperial troops to you?”

He considered that for a moment before inquiring, “What do you want?”

“We’re looking for a young girl. She’s a clone. We think she was sent to the lab here.” Hunter explained.

“Never saw anyone like that, but Mox might know about her.”

“He won’t talk to them.”

The three of you watched the exchange between the two cadets and then watched as Hunter approached the clone closest to him.

“Please, we have to find her. She’s… part of our squad.”

His hesitation before he found the words and the way his voice shook as he was trying to hold back his desperation had you fighting the urge to reach out to him. You noticed too that Wrecker’s downcast expression was a mirror of your own.

The young clone glanced between the three of you before he made his decision. “Stick to the trail. Follow our steps. And don’t touch the vines.”

You three put your coverings back on and trailed behind the two cadets.

--

“When the Empire transferred us off Kamino, we thought we were getting more training. Instead, they made us prisoners.” The lead cadet said as you all walked through the terrain. “Took samples of our blood.”

“Why? What was the Empire doing here?” You asked.

“Whatever they wanted.”

“At least we escaped before they destroyed the facility.” The other cadet said.

“And you survived alone out here ever since?” Hunter asked.

“We’re soldiers. Or we were supposed to be.”

The group of you walked in silence for a while before the cadet who’d noticed your weapon addressed you, “I always thought I’d end up fighting beside a Jedi one day. The name’s Deke, by the way.”

You glanced down at him with sympathetic eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Deke. I’m sure any Jedi would’ve been lucky and grateful to serve alongside you. I always was.”

“What was it like? Being a Jedi during the war?”

You huffed out a short breath. “Challenging. It wasn’t just the battles we had to deal with, and I left because of that.”

“You left?” The cadet repeated in confusion.

“Uh huh.”

“But you came back? How else did you wind up with the 99s?”

“I didn’t, I just got very fortunate to find them. I got my very own squad and I never really looked back.”

“Is that how you survived? Being with them I mean. We were around Kamino long enough to find out about the Jedi.”

“Yeah… they’re…” You took a deep breath. “They’re all gone.”

“We heard rumours in Kamino that the Jedi betrayed the Chancellor and that was why they’re not around anymore.”

Hunter stole a glance over his shoulder at you as he heard the cadet say that.

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you hear.” You replied, a slight edge to your tone.

Before he could say anything else, he heard his brother call out, “Stop.” The three of you dashed around to see one of the vines coiling behind Wrecker.

“What?” Wrecker asked as he saw the concerned looks.

“Wrecker, behind you.” Hunter warned.

Wrecker turned to see a black vine curling up the tree like it was alive and getting ready to strike.

You grabbed your lightsaber whilst the others prepared their blasters, but the two cadets retreated behind a large tree root.

The vine stabbed down towards you three, but the blaster fire was having little impact, if anything it seemed to aggravate the vine more and the cadets’ shout confirmed your observations.

“Don’t fire! It gets hostile when you shoot.”

“You mean it’s not already hostile?” Wrecker commented as more vines slithered and weaved towards you all.

Diving over one of the vines that tried to snatch you, you took the advice of the younger clones on board. You ignited your lightsaber and not a moment too soon since one of them had managed to wrap itself around Wrecker and was beginning to drag him up a tree. You called on the Force and jumped and with an easy swing of your blue blade, the vine was halved, and Wrecker fell to the floor.

Your actions seemed to do enough to get the vines to fall back and with that, the five of you sprinted away and deeper into the jungle.

--

Once you all were far enough away from the threat, you stopped to get your breath back.

“What was that stuff?” Wrecker asked through heavy pants.

“Slither vines. The Empire made it. It’s some kind of experimental weapon, until they lost control of it.”

“Probably why they ordered a Base Delta Zero on their own facility.” The other cadet added.

“We’ll be safe on the crag. The slither vines haven’t spread there.” Deke informed you all.

“Yet.” The other clone added drily before turning to look at the clone who had started it all in the first place. “And this time, don’t touch anything.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wrecker said dismissively.

You patted his shoulder affectionately before the three of you followed the young clones on the upward climb.  

--

Night had fallen by the time you reached the crag and you walked into the cave to see another young cadet sitting by a lamp and tending to a dying fire.

“Mox.”

Mox looked up to see his two brothers enter with three strangers trailing behind them and immediately his guard was up. “Who are they?” He asked his fellow cadets.

“Clones and they have a Jedi with them. We found them by the overlook.”

The three of you revealed your faces.

“It’s quite a place you got here.” Wrecker commented.

“What do you want?” Mox asked warily.

“We’re looking for a young girl. She was taken by an Imperial named Hemlock.” Hunter explained to Mox. “Her name’s Omega.”

“Never saw a girl around the lab. But I know Hemlock. He was in charge until things changed. One day, the Imperials started packing up and shipped out. So we made our move and escaped.”

“We were the only ones who made it out before the orbital bombardment.” Deke added.

“Even clone troopers left us to die. Said they were following orders.”

You glanced between the three boys with a newfound sense of understanding. “We get it.” You said softly.

“We’ve lost people too.” Wrecker said quietly.

“We can take you someplace safe, but we need to find out if Omega was here or where Hemlock took her.” Hunter offered. “There has to be some intel in that base.”

You could see the internal debate happening between the three of them before Deke spoke up.

“One of the control room panels was still intact during our last scout. I tried to use it to send a signal, but there was no power.”

“Can you take us there?” You asked, your voice rising with hope, but the other cadet interrupted any potential reply.

“No way. That are is covered in slither vines. It’s toxic.”

Mox got to his feet. “Stak’s right. Going near those ruins is a suicide mission. You’re on your own.”

Deke grabbed his comm. “They need help, Mox. I’ll go with them.”

The three of you got ready to follow him out but Stak’s voice made you pause.

“You know the risks of going down there.”

It didn’t matter though, not to the three of you anyway, and you carried out following him out the crag.

--

“I can get you inside the ruins, but you won’t be able to get anything from the console without a power source.”

“We got that covered.” Wrecker informed the cadet as you all made your way through the dark jungle. “Just need to grab something from your ship.”

“This clone you’re looking for…”

“Omega.” Hunter reminded him.

“How long has she been gone for?”

“Too long.” Hunter said through a frustrated breath. “But we’re not giving up.”

“I wish the other clones felt that way about us. You may be defectives and a Jedi on the run, but at least you’re loyal.”

You caught the way Hunter reacted to that comment and you had an idea of what and who came to mind, but it wasn’t something you could help with right now.

--

You stepped inside the ship first to grab you and the kid a breathing mask and Wrecker followed close behind you to strap Gonky to his back.

“Woah! Your ship has seen some action.” Deke commented in awe as his torch scanned the ship’s hull.

“Mostly during the war… and some after.” Hunter replied dully.

“I thought, one day, I’d be flying one of these on a mission. A lot’s changed.” He said disappointedly before he turned to the sound of a droid honking.

“Well, I’ve got the gear and the power.” Wrecker announced.

“Lead the way, kid.” You said as you chucked him a mask before attaching your own.

--

The facility looked far more menacing in the dark of night, not even the shine of your blue blade provided you with much comfort. You saw the curious looks the others gave you as the stared between that and their flashlights.

“Multifunctional weapon.” You said with a shrug.

The four of you started the cautious walk towards the entrance and it was clear the cadets had not been exaggerating when talking about how the vines had spread here. You weren’t even inside yet, and you were already having to be very mindful about where you stepped.

You all walked into the base in silence, the only sounds that echoed around you were the noises of creaking metal.

“How much further to the console?” Wrecker asked nervously.

“Hard to tell.” Deke replied. “More vines have spread down here. We had to stop scavenging the site because of it.”

“What other experiments were going on in this place?” You asked.

“Nothing good. They didn’t exactly tell us what was going on.”

You all rounded another corner but stopped as you heard that now familiar warbling and slithering sound.

A scream got your attention and you all turned to see Deke being dragged down the hallway, a vine curled around his ankle.

Wrecker reached him before he got pulled too high and whilst he held onto his arms, you used your lightsaber to slice away at it and Hunter and Wrecker kicked the cut down pieces away from you all.

The moment of relief was only temporary for no sooner had the kid got back to his feet, more vines started to appear only these ones seemed to have vines that acted as legs and teeth growing out of the middle of their bodies.

Hunter managed to shoot the one that made the first attack and it collapsed to the ground which gave you all the opening you needed to run away from the rest of them and get closer to the console.

--

The path to the console was treacherous. The entire area towards it was made up of pieces of scrap metal that were floating atop of a viscous pool of black gunk.

“I didn’t think it could smell any worse, but I was wrong.” Wrecker said with a disgusted groan as the pool of black and toxic liquid bubbled beneath the platform.

“We’re in agreement on that.” Hunter said drily. Ignoring the impact this smell was having on him was a lot harder than doing it back in the jungle.

You allowed yourself a moment to squeeze his hand in comfort and were please to feel him return the gesture. If it was this bad for you, you couldn’t imagine what it would be like for a clone with enhanced senses.

“There’s the console. Come on.”

You jumped down after Deke and leapt between the gaps between the different metal platforms as you all made your way across.

You all reached the console and with a casual wave of your hand, the piece of metal that covered it became one with the black ooze below.

Hunter helped Wrecker get Gonky down and he hooked him up to it and the answering beep gave him the hope that they could get something out of this.

“Alright. Do your thing, little guy.” Wrecker encouraged the droid as Hunter finished off the process.

The sound of metal straining in the distance caught both yours and Hunter’s attention.

“Something’s coming.” Hunter said warily with you nodding in agreement beside him. “We need to make this quick.”

“Is it more of those things?” Wrecker asked nervously.

“No. Something else.”

“I’m familiar with the system. Give me some time. I’ll see what data I can pull up.”

Hunter handed the datapad to the kid whilst the three of you remained on guard and scanned the area ahead.

As the three of you creeped towards the edge of the platform, a much louder rumbling sounded throughout the decrepit room and suddenly a huge, thick vine burst from beneath the pool and slammed down towards you all.

Hunter and Wrecker’s blaster fire seemed to force it back down but then more vines surged to the surface and began their assault once more.

--

“You really think you can fly this thing?” Mox asked as he and Stak broke into the ship you’d arrived on.

“I was top of my class in flight training back on Kamino.” Stak said in reply before investigating the rest of the ship.

Mox meandered his way down and it was then he saw the stuffed doll in the gun turret, a sight that got him thinking more about the intentions the three of you had had and it brought the guilt back. He wasn’t sure about leaving you all behind as well as his brother, Deke. He was brought out of his thoughts by the chirp of his comm and he heard Deke’s voice come through in a panic.

“Mox! Stak! The vines! They’re everywhere!”

Blaster fire rang out in the background.

“Help! We need help! Mox! Come in, Mox!”

 Mox looked back at Stak who gave a firm nod of his head.

--

“Time’s up. Get the datapad!” You instructed as you sidestepped a swipe from one of the vines and stabbed through it.

Deke unplugged it and started the climb up the degrading metal to reach the surface.

You assisted in getting Gonky back on Wrecker’s back and then you all began the climb yourselves. A trying task already but made even more so by the massive vines that kept following you and taking the remaining supports down.

You watched in horror as the piece of metal Deke had been using was ripped away and he started to plummet towards the ground. Acting quickly, you called on the Force to hold him whilst Hunter clambered down and grabbed a hold of him to pull him back up.

With you all successfully making it to the top, you sprinted down the corridor only to find to your dismay that the way out was flooded with the toxic liquid and the vines were still advancing and your weapons were doing very little to stop it.

Hunter glanced behind him and saw a large piece of scrap metal floating your way and he signalled to the rest of you to jump to it.

Having made the jump, the issue of the vines still remained, and you weren’t sure how much longer you would be able to fend them off. It was then though; you saw the bright lights above and the Marauder came into view, and it had never looked so good.

“Keep it steady!” Mox called back to Stak as he lowered the cables down to where you all were. “Grab the cables!” He yelled over the baster fire.

Deke jumped on one first and Wrecker held on to the other one.

You could feel the platform being tugged under the pool, but you and Hunter were the only two left. The cable Wrecker was on wouldn’t support his and Gonky’s added weight as well as you and there was still Hunter who needed to grab onto Deke’s cable but amidst the chaos of the two of you dealing with the vines, you could feel him hesitating. But you knew you could make the jump to the ship itself. “Hunter, go!”

Not having much time to debate, Hunter leapt from the platform to the second cable, and he saw you land at the top of the stairs next to Mox.

The vines kept coming though and they started to strangle the wings of the Marauder and haul it down.

With Deke managing to make his way up, you grabbed your retired blaster and passed two more to Deke and Mox.

You all fired down at the horrifying creature that emerged from the depths. It was like one of the vines you’d encountered earlier that had the teeth only this abomination was huge and disgusting and could easily swallow you all and the ship.

“Shoot for the mouth!” You shouted to them, but your actions had little impact.

“We need more firepower!” Hunter called up.

Wrecker dropped a grenade into the mouth of the creature, but it only deterred it for a second.

“That’s not enough!” Hunter yelled.

“Grab the case of explosives!” Wrecker instructed you.

Doing as he said, you made your way into the ship and stumbled towards the case. You picked it up and brought it back to the stairs where Deke grabbed one grenade from it and Mox helped you push it over the edge.

Once they’d all been swallowed up by the creature, Deke activated and dropped the grenade and watched with relief as the resulting explosion forced the creature to release the Marauder and retreat to the depths.

As soon as Hunter and Wrecker were safely on board and the Marauder was out of harm’s way and put into hyperspace, they took their helmets off.

You chucked your breathing mask to the side and swiftly wrapped your arms around Hunter.

Hunter warmly returned your embrace and allowed himself that moment with you as his head rested in the crook of your neck.

You parted from Hunter but still kept your arm around his waist and looked at Deke who was still looking a little shell-shocked after the whole affair, “So, how’d you like being in a squad and fighting alongside a Jedi?”

“Umm… I think I could use some more training first.” Deke replied with a slight laugh.

“Hey, would all older clones get that treatment or…”

You and Hunter turned to the voice that belonged Stak and managed to share a look of fond amusement.

--

Hunter examined the information on the datapad but he managed to restrain himself and not read through it endlessly this time. He glanced up and looked fondly down the cockpit to see you and Wrecker enthusiastically listening to the cadet’s retelling of the events that had just transpired.

“I’ve been going over the data. Looks like Hemlock transferred his entire base of operations to another location.” Hunter revealed as he stepped inside. “His experiments too.”

You came to stand beside him and placed a hand on his upper arm. “Did the intel say where he went?”

“There was a mention of a sector but nothing more. It’s a lead, but we’ve got a lot of space to cover.”

“Well, if that’s where Omega is, then that’s where we’re going.” Wrecker said determinedly.

You affectionately squeezed Hunter’s shoulder to signal your agreement.

Hunter nodded his thanks to both of you before looking to the cadets. “We’ll drop you three of someplace safe.”

“Where?” Mox asked eagerly.

“An island. There are good people there. They’ll take care of you.”

“We’re cadets without an army. I don’t know where we fit anymore.” Mox said, the reality of their situation now hitting him harder than it had before.

“You have time to figure it out.” Hunter reassured him. “Make your own path. Be something other than a soldier.”

“What about you?”

Hunter glanced between you and Wrecker. “Our mission is not over yet.”

Wrecker laid a supportive hand on his brother’s back.

You watched with a warm heart as Mox reached his hand out and Hunter clasped it in return and in that moment, you felt it.

It was an emotion that had long been overshadowed by fear and despair but now you sensed its presence again.

You felt the hope that had been missing for some time.

--

“We’ve never had a sector before. That’s pretty good.” You whispered as the two of you lay in the quietness of the ship as it headed towards Pabu. The exertions of the past mission had claimed the others already.

“Yeah, it’s a better start than what we’ve had before.” Hunter agreed, drawing light patterns on your bare arm.

“How are you holding up?” You asked delicately as you rested your head on his chest and traced the small Jedi symbol of his necklace.

Hunter sighed heavily. “Better knowing we have something to go off of, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. There’s more I could be doing; I just know it.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, but you’d get to that last part in a minute. “You do seem a bit more like yourself.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, your adoptive paternal instincts kicked in again. These cadets bring the count up to five.” You said, a teasing lilt to your voice.

“My what?” He paused his ministrations on your arm.

“You heard me.”

“If you mean finding abandoned kids and taking them somewhere safe, that’s something anyone would do. I don’t-”

“No, not anyone, if that were the case with the cadets for example, they would’ve been off that nightmare of a planet long before we showed up. It’s a very you thing to do and it’s one of the many things I love about you.” You propped yourself up on your elbow to look at him. “You always do more than enough, Hunter. You are enough, don’t ever doubt that.”

Hunter looked at you lovingly. “I don’t know how I got through those months without you.”

“Well, if how you’ve been since I’ve been back, I’d guess by throwing yourself into the search, not taking care of your wellbeing and worrying Wrecker every day?” You theorised with a light-hearted tone. “Those are the habits we’re trying to break.”

Hunter turned his sight to the ceiling of the ship. “That sounds about right.” He admitted guiltily.

You angled his face to look back at you and your voice had no joking overtones now, it was full of sincerity. “I’m not going anywhere, remember. I’ll follow you to whatever end and so will Wrecker.”

Hunter pressed a chaste but tender kiss to your lips. “Thank you.” He breathed against your mouth.

You laid your head back down on his chest. “You know, it wouldn’t shock me if she found a way to get to us.”

Hunter kissed the crown of your head. “Yeah, that wouldn’t surprise me either.”

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @andreaaxy, @dominoeffectsworld, @nightmonkeysstuff, @arctrooper69, @starwarsnerd111, @fuckoffthanos, @graciexmarvel, @tpwkcalli, @brujaporfavor, @flyingkangaroo, @ladytano420, @keep-calm-and-drink-caf, @yyourmotherr, @sunkisseclones, @xxeiraxx, @dragonrider9905, @skellymom, @lokigirlszendaya

[catreginae]

Thou Shalt Not Fall: Warriors vs Animals

It's Twilight's turn to show everybody his home. It goes great for everybody except for Warriors, who has to contend with the fact that he's in a village full of animals who don't like him. This is for @gattodelblack who suggested that Warriors should have a possum friend. This is also for anybody who wants Warriors to have another animal friend.

Twilight couldn't contain his excitement when he saw the bridge connected Ordon to the world beyond it. He always wanted to show the others where he grew up after he caught a glimpse of where everybody else grew up. He wanted his brothers to meet all the important people in his life, just as he got to meet some of the people who made his brothers... them.

He first took them to the treehouse he lived in to get some rest and drop off their bags. He didn't have a lot of room in it but there was enough on the main level for them to all sleep on the floor. He had extra blankets to make it more comfortable and he was sure he could borrow some extras from the rest of the villagers if need be. He made sure to show Warriors his very dark basement in case he preferred to sleep where the sun couldn’t reach him. It was a bit cold and cramped but Warriors set up his bedroll down there and thanked him. Twilight tossed one of the extra blankets his way to make it a bit cozier.

If he was being honest with himself, Twilight didn't expect to really see Warriors out and about in Ordon too much and not just because Warriors was a city boy. As much as they teased each other about where they came from, he knew Warriors wasn’t the type to get all haughty and act like Ordon was beneath him. If anything, he figured Warriors was probably just going to catch up on sleep and maybe stay inside to avoid the extra attention from the animals. Twilight already decided that he was going to use the same excuse Time used to explain why Warriors wasn't around – his mysterious sleep disorder.

And when morning came, that's what Warriors did. He slept in the basement, the darkest place in his house, and he making a kettle of tea by the time they all returned in the afternoon.

On the second day, he was standing outside his treehouse with Colin as the younger boy swung a wooden sword at the target Twilight ended up keeping around. He was a little surprised that Colin sought him out and he was surprised that Warriors was even awake but regardless, the two seemed to having fun together so Twilight didn’t question how they met out loud.

The third day though, Twilight spotted him in the village proper and he suddenly had the gut feeling that maybe he should stick around Warriors today.

× × × × × × ×

It didn’t take long for it to go downhill. Warriors was watching and commenting on the fish in the lake when Sera’s cat – Link, much the amusement of the other Links – came around the corner of the shop. Warriors spotted their new visitor immediately, careful to keep some distance between himself and the cat. Twilight noticed how still he was but his knees were slightly bent, ready to bolt when he needed to.

“Aww, what a cute kitty – oh fu-” Warriors cut himself off as Link suddenly bolted towards leapt at him with an angry yowl. The captain caught him but not before Twilight spotted a claw dig into Warriors’ arm. He held Link away from him, which kept most of the claws away from him but Link’s back feet still managed a lucky swipe here and there until Twilight collected him from behind. Link calmed in Twilight's arms, though he still hissed at Warriors.

“I'll just take him home...” Twilight mumbled, turning towards the store. He was sure Sera would understand if he told her to keep her inside for the rest of the day.

× × × × × × ×

After Link the cat came the bees. The hive that the bees just kept making over and over instead of moving to a new spot fell from its spot in the tree like the Golden Three themselves felt like ruining Warriors’ day.

“Why are there so many bees?” Warriors cried out as he jumped into the lake. Twilight watched for a second to see if the bees would come after him, but they dispersed after half a minute or so of Warriors being underwater. They blamed Warriors for the destruction of their hive and only Warriors apparently and he was no where near it. He knew better than to question their behaviour out loud. He didn’t want to give any other deities or spirits any ideas.

When Warriors broke the surface, they both let out a sigh of relief. At least this time, he came out unscathed. A little bit of water wouldn’t kill him.

× × × × × × ×

Warriors was stubborn, just like all of them. He retreated into the tree house and came out not too long after wearing his spares, donning the purple tunic that Twilight rarely got to see. Apparently, he was still determined to explore the village even after being attacked by a cat and far too many bees.

They next incident came when Twilight was introducing Warriors to Rusl and Uli with Colin around to tell them all how much he enjoyed their training session yesterday. Much to his relief, they got along well. He was pretty sure they would – any friend of Twilight and Colin was a friend of Rusl and Uli – but he was still a little nervous. Warriors dressed and carried him like the knight he was and Twilight knew from experience that if the knights in his Hyrule did their jobs right, there probably wouldn’t be a resistance for Rusl to join.

Suddenly, there was a shout from up the hill.

“GOAT INCOMING!”

Sure enough, there was a goat charging down the hill, heading directly towards Warriors. The captain was usually quick to react but, at that moment, he was just watching the goat close the gap between them.

Twilight pushed Warriors out of the way and braced himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground with his knees slightly bent and his hands held out in front of them. When the goat was close enough, he grabbed the goat’s horns and pushed back, stopping the loose goat in its tracks. He entire body tensed and he could feel the strain in his arms and legs but his feet remained firmly planted on the ground.

He turned his strength onto the goat, using his grip on the horns to push the goat over onto the ground. He dropped to his knees, following it down. Thankfully, at this point, it was significantly calmer, but Twilight kept his hands on the horns, prepared just in case the goat made another go at Warriors. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. Fado was running down the hill with some rope to help guide the goat back up the hill to the ranch.

“Wow, Link, you did again,” Colin muttered. “How are you so strong?”

“Sorry, I forgot to close the gate...” Fado said with a frown as he started to head back up with the goat in tow. Colin and Rusl shook their heads. Twilight got up and dusted himself off. It felt kind of good to know that he was still capable of wrestling a goat. Fado got a lot better with keeping the goat closed but he couldn’t fault somebody for forgetting every now and again.

“Heh, just some exercise! Nothing special!”

“It was a good thing you happened to be so close. You’re the one only who can overpower ‘em like that,” Rusl muttered. He turned to Warriors. “Are you alright?”

Twilight turned to look at Warriors, and he was pretty sure he never saw the captain's eyes so wide or his face so pale, especially for somebody who didn't have a lot of colour in his face in the begin with. He was holding a hand to his chest.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled as he let a breath of his air he must have been holding but Twilight knew just by his tone that he was not actually fine.

“Let’s head back. I think you’ve had a long enough day.”

Warriors nodded and followed him back to the tree house.

“That goat wanted to kill me,” he mumbled quietly once he was out of earshot of the rest of the village. His vampirism must have made the goat feel threatened but Twilight doubted that the goat would try to kill him or that Warriors could be killed by a goat of all things. It was far from pleasant to get hit, Twilight knew that all too well, but he wouldn’t die and the goat would probably leave if it chased him off. That wasn’t what the captain wanted to hear though, so for the what felt like the hundredth time since he got Ordon, he kept his mouth shut. “If you weren’t there, it would have killed me.”

“How about I make that tea that you liked?”

“Tea sounds good.” Quiet, but he did look a little calmer. That was the small sort of victory they both needed at the moment.

× × × × × × ×

Twilight sighed. While everybody else was running around the village, talking to the people he grew up with or finding some way to entertain themselves, Warriors retreated to the safety of Twilight's treehouse. Twilight couldn't blame him. He was in a village full of animals and all the animals hated him, except for his surprisingly docile cuccos that Warriors might not have even noticed.

He wasn't even sure how he was going to explain to the villagers that the animals hated him. Maybe he'll just tell them he's sick if they asked why he wasn’t around – surely nobody noticed that all the animals hated him.

Twilight tried to not think about it too much as he set up the kettle with the tea from earlier for Warriors and headed back out to try to regroup with the others. When they returned, he found the captain on the floor with a book in hand. He stayed there when the rest of them tucked themselves and Twilight retreated up to his loft for his own bed. He wasn’t giving up his loft no matter how much he loved his brothers.

He woke up in the middle of the night. Twilight wasn’t sure what woke him up but once he was awake, he sat up and glanced out the window, hoping to see that the moon was still pretty high in the sky. He blinked. He shifted closer to the window, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes.

What was Warriors doing outside?

The captain was an adult who could mostly look after himself – at least if he did get in trouble, he could come back in a few pieces and probably still be fine – but Twilight nonetheless slowly made his way outside to meet him. He was sitting under the shade of some the trees that stretched into his yard.

“You know, I thought you would just stay inside after all that happened today,” Twilight mumbled as he sat down beside the captain. For somebody who spent most of the day getting chased by animals that were irritated by his existence, he seemed pretty relaxed. He was sitting with his legs crossed on the ground, using his right hand to support himself as he leaned back a little. His left hand was just above his lap, stroking something that was moving. “What do you have?”

“I don't know, I've never seen one of these guys before,” Warriors said, lifting his hand for Twilight to inspect. “He seems nice though. Very polite.”

Twilight squinted. He could see a dark body, a bright pink, naked tail that curled around Warriors' leg, and bright white face with round ears. The creature looked up at him with beady little eyes.

“Oh, that's a possum,” Twilight said with a smile. He hovered a couple of fingers over the possum to see how it react, but seeing as it was curled up in Warriors' lap, he wasn't too concerned about getting bit. When it didn't react, he started to pet it, slowly running his fingers down its head. “I've seen them around Castletown at night but I haven't seen them around Ordon before. They didn't let me get this close in Castletown either.”

“I have no idea why it climbed up into my lap like that but it's nice to know that the only two animals that don't hate me seem to be horses and these little... possum guys.”

“At least. I’m sorry you had a bad day in the village though.”

“Twilight, no need to apologize. I think I underestimated the animals but I knew leaving your yard would be a risk. None of it was unexpected. Besides, I got to meet your family and I’ll be here if anyone else wants to say hi,” Warriors said with a smile as he continued to pet the possum.

“So no more adventures in the village.”

“Sorry but... fuck no. If you’re weren’t there to handle that goat, it would have killed me! I know it would have! I know what it looks like when people or animals want to kill me. The goats would find a way to stake my heart or decapitate me. I will not underestimate them again.”

“I think you’re overestimating them now.”

“I’m giving them the respect that they crave.”

Twilight could only role his eyes. The goats weren’t that bad.

[noforkingclue]

By Any Means Chapter 18 (Malcolm Bright x reader)

By Any Means tag list: @shadowluna25

Prodigal Son tag list: @queenoffandom08, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @stilestotherescue

Malcolm Bridge tag list: @v0id-sp1rit, @fansformentalydistroyedmen

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You paused when you exited your apartment building as there was clearly someone waiting for you. She turned to look at you and raised her eyebrows at you.

“So you’re Malcolm’s…” she trailed off as she looked for the right word

“I’m not Malcolm’s anything,” you said as you approached, “and you seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

“Malcolm hasn’t mentioned me?”

“If I don’t know your name how can I know if he’s mentioned you or not?”

“Ainsley, I’m his sister.”

“Ah. He might’ve mentioned you once or twice.”

You stuck your hands in your pockets as you walked towards her.

“So what do I owe this honour?”

“Malcolm hasn’t been himself lately. What happened.”

“Well you don’t beat around the bush do you?”

“I don’t see the point.”

You sighed and ran a hand over your face.

“Come on,” you jerked your head to the side, “there’s a good coffee shop nearby. You can’t buy me an overpriced coffee and pastry.”

“Why should I buy?”

“Because you want answers. Nothing in this world is free.”

Once the two of you were safely tucked into a quiet corner of the shop, and you took a sip of you peppermint tea, you knew you couldn’t escape Ainsley’s questions.

“Malcolm asked me out,” you said, “I refused.”

Ainsley seemed surprised by your answer and you smiled at her shocked expression.

“Not what you were expecting?” you asked

“From what mother was saying I had expected that you two were already together.”

“Jessica talks about me?”

“Not all the time. You’re on first name terms with my mother?”

“We’ve run into each other once or twice.”

“I thought I might find you two here.”

You stiffened at the familiar sound of Malcolm’s voice. He was standing by your table and Ainsley looked amused at your equal discomfort. Malcolm glanced at the empty seat by you side and after a moment’s hesitation sat down next to his sister. An uncomfortable silence settled over you and you looked out of the window. Ainsley took a sip of her drink and looked between the two of you.

“I’m not interrupting anything,” Malcolm said, “It’s just-“

“I should get going anyway,” you said quickly, “I have a lecture.”

“Wait,” Malcolm said quickly, “what I said-“

“Bye Ainsley, it was nice to meet you. Maybe we can meet up again sometime soon.”

You didn’t have time to hear her reply as you practically bolted out of the café. Ainsley turned to her brother and smirked and said,

“You really fucked up.”

*

“What’s wrong?”

You glanced over as Richard sat down next to you. He raised his eyebrows at you and you turned your attention back to the lecturer.

“Nothing.” You said

“Bullshit. You used to sit up here when you had something on your mind.”

“Maybe I just fancied a change.”

“I know you too well,” muttered Richard, “you can tell me what’s wrong. I’m your… I was your friend.”

You turned to look at him, what Malcolm said coming to the surface again. Could he really be the murderer? Someone that you used to trust so dearly?

“Malcolm asked me out.”

“I thought you two were dating already.”

“Ha ha.”

“And what did you say?”

“No.”

“No?”

“We’re too different,” you whispered as you made a few more notes in your book, “it wouldn’t have worked.”

“And here I thought you were getting gout of this life.”

“I am. I want to.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“It’s just-“

“You’re afraid?”

“Yeah.”

“Unusual.”

“This isn’t exactly usual circumstances.”

“When is it with us? You seemed happy with him.”

“I do like him but we’re too different. In the long run it just wouldn’t work.”

“Do you genuinely believe that or are you just telling yourself that? Look, after all the shit we’ve been through we deserve something good.”

“Is this you telling me that I fucked up?”

“Yeah?”

“Dick?”

“What?”

“If you were in trouble, you’d tell me right? Even after everything we’ve been through.”

“Where has this come from?”

“Or if you’ve fucked up. You’d tell me so I could tell you.”

“What do you think?”

“Yeah, thought you wouldn’t.”

[wallspikes]

Chapter 4

almost as the clock strikes 12 here is chapter FOUR. one whole year later. sorry. i cant expect myself to meet deadlines i make for myself. i think its like 3.5k words o7

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Gio, no doubt sitting in the ruins of a sand dune beyond the lengths of repair, and more than likely covered in a plethora of various bug bites, felt that he was building more bridges than he had burned in the past day. The little man hadn’t run for cover the minute he’d sat down to make himself comfortable, though they still looked ready to jump away at the first sign of danger. Gio guessed he could count that as a success.

The time on his phone was a little after twelve-thirty— Gio finished off the last of the granola bar and tucked the wrapper into his pocket. He peered down at the stranger, who warily glanced up at him. The expression on their face was uncertain, their eyebrows upturned in worried arches, their cheeks a blotchy red; Gio remembered they were crying while he tried to free them from the net. He suddenly felt bad for making them stand there. “You can leave if you want,” he offered, “I’m not trying to keep you here. B-But, that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate this, of course!” 

“I didn’t know if you were real or not, coming out here,” he started, scratching the back of his neck. “My sister saw the bite you gave me and told me it looked like some animal, and I was sorta starting to believe her..?” Gio shrugged the feeling of doubt away and grinned, “So, thanks for talking to me— or, uh, standing with me. It's nice to not feel crazy.”

The little man shifted in their spot, awkwardly kicking sand to cover their feet only to shake it off again. Despite the dismissal, they still stood rooted to their spot, with no intention of leaving, it seemed. They moved to hold the peanut beneath an arm and instead focused on the sticky knots that matted their beard from the honey of the granola bar.

Gio watched them tug at their beard, wincing each time their neck jerked from a particularly stubborn clump until the secondhand pain became too much to bear. “Here,” he offered, leaning over to pull a water bottle from his backpack, “Have some water. It might help get the honey out before you rip off your beard.”

The stranger's hand pulled from their beard, their grooming interrupted as Gio reached for his backpack. They clutched the peanut with white knuckles and curled their toes in the sand, charged to bolt if Gio decided to make any more sudden movements. Gio offered a placating hand, his water bottle gripped in the other fist. “Sorry—!” He mumbled, embarrassed at his lack of foresight, “I'll move slower, promise.”

Gio could feel the little man's eyes intently on him as he carefully poured a capful of water, as though every little move he made was under the most intense scrutiny. He placed it a few steps away from his calf and quickly withdrew his hands, waiting for the stranger to make their decision. They considered the offering, then turned to the nearby underbrush; Gio could watch the wheels turn in their head as they weighed the benefits of freshwater against the safety of the bramble. Mindlessly, a hand reached up to fiddle with their beard, but recoiled at the feeling of matted knots. They turned to the capful of water again with a hesitant expression.

”You don't need to worry,“ Gio assured them, “It's just water. It’s a little warm. But I promise it’s clean, I’ve been drinking it all day. Uh, unless you're worried about germs, or something— I can't promise you it's that clean.“

The stranger stared up at him for a few moments, that same worried expression still on their face, and Gio waited with bated breath. He could feel the little man searching for a lie in his expression, and Gio hoped he wasn't falsely showing one. He offered a smile, friendly and hopeful as he tried to hide his nervousness. Thankfully, though, the stranger's scrutiny didn't last much longer— they seemed to come to the conclusion that they could tolerate his presence for a little longer if it benefited them, whatever Gio's motives were.

Gio watched curiously as the little man pulled the cap of water further from his calf and started to drink, cupping handfuls of water to their mouth with rapid fervor; they must've been thirstier than they let on. Once their beard was thoroughly soaked, they worked on tugging out the knots again, this time with ease. Gio grinned, satisfied that the man appeared a little better, but he still wished he could get a closer look at them.

His little guest still entertained themself with the cap of water, dipping their face in the pool, their peanut temporarily discarded at their side. Gio waited until their face was submerged to begin to move, slowly crossing his legs until he could lean his elbows into the sand and stare down at the man as if studying a particularly interesting insect.

When they lifted their head and wiped the water from their eyes, the stranger caught sight of Gio looming over them and leapt away, the capful of water spilling in their haste. They stood, charged to run. Gio watched their every little movement with quiet fascination. He absorbed every detail— from the messy stitches in their clothes to the pinkish sunburn that colored their skin. Their expression was tight with worry and their hair bristled on end as Gio’s eyes passed closely over them. Out from the sides of their thick, full hair stuck two large, round ears that twitched at every little sound. Gio exhaled — still awed by the existence of the little man — and accidentally rustled the hair of the stranger. “Sorry,” he leaned back, suddenly beginning to worry all this studying might kill them, “You’re just really cool.”

There was no response. Gio watched the man’s puffed-up fur gradually start to settle. They patted down any patches that persisted in a bristle. Gio sat back on his heels, reached to check for the time, and felt the weight of his eyelids double the second the number ticked on screen. 

Gio yawned, exhaustion beginning to catch up with him as the night continued in its standing lull. He turned his head up to the sky, past the tall bushes and the bamboo to stare at the stars, and sighed. “I should probably go home.” More of a statement than a suggestion, he reached behind himself for his backpack. “Are you headed home soon?”

The redhead straightened up a bit at being addressed, and responded with a quick nod. They took a few steps towards the bushes. 

“Cool.” Gio craned his neck over the bushes, then through their lower brambles. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for — a small, dollhouse-like structure beneath the leaves, or a glimmer of light? — but he saw nothing. He tugged on his backpack. “Do you want me to walk you back?” He tried.

They looked uncomfortable with the suggestion, slightly curling in on themself while they bared a set of awkwardly grimacing yellowing teeth. They shook their head for good measure, though Gio had already gotten the message. Disappointed, he nodded. “Well, what if we meet up again sometime?” Gio held out hope for another shot.

No harsh reaction immediately followed the inquiry, which Gio took for a good sign, though the long pauses of blank stares were equally just as unnerving. He held his breath while he waited for an answer, watching the little man thoughtfully square their jaw as their eyes quickly snapped to meet his, like they were searching for the source of an ulterior motive there. For some reason, Gio felt himself getting nervous — was he hiding something? He didn’t think so. Regardless, he did his best not to show it. 

When the little man found nothing in his eyes, they subtly let their jaw relax and rumbled an exhausted growl of relief. Their expression betrayed the sound, their brow still pulled tightly to their nose, upturned with worry — Gio had half a mind to ask if they always looked like that, though he was beginning to become more unsure if the question would be answered with a ‘no.’ But, even so, as they hesitantly shrugged — a response that could realistically be a polite decline, had the little man meant it that way — Gio was ecstatic. “That’s great!” He exclaimed, the nervousness that had seized him just moments before making way for a giddy feeling of enthusiasm. “What’s best for you? Should I come here, or do you want to start coming to me…?”

Shellshocked, but too reserved to correct Gio if their intention had been to deny, they slowly pointed at him. The man seemed fairly settled in his decision, though Gio was still a bit unsure of the agreement. “You want to come to me?” The little man nodded. “Okay, yeah! That works fine.”

He knelt on the boardwalk and leaned over the lip until he spotted the little red-headed man slightly tucked away into the foliage. “I live on Atlantic, if that means anything,” he grinned, pointing through the trees and bushes, “It’s two walks over, just skip the first one; the gray house is mine. It has our name on it— well, it says ‘Clark,’ which is my last name. I’m there pretty often, if you need anything. Or if you just want to say hi.”

The little man glanced in the direction he was pointing, as if to politely consider the offer before giving their answer — then nodded. Gio, hovering upside down over the edge of the boardwalk, gave an excited thumbs up, “Great! My family’s fine, so if you see them, don’t get too concerned. But, uh, I’ll try to find time out there at night for myself, so you can talk to just me, if you want.”

The man didn’t respond this time, their expression only tightening a bit — an expression Gio couldn’t quite get the read on that he would have liked. He left the conversation at that. “I hope you… feel better. Sorry, again, about everything.” A pause. “Yeah,” he added, “I’ll see you later… Have a good night, man.”

Gio stood, dusted off his knees and knocked the sand from his shoes, gave the tattered net a grim once-over, and had half a mind to break the thing over his knee — but, ultimately, decided against it after remembering the last time he was whacked from the recoil of a fishing pole. 

As he walked home, suddenly more aware of each footfall with the knowledge of the man who lived beneath the boardwalk, Gio let his mind wander to his family — how would they react to seeing a man a fraction of their size? Living, breathing, thinking? Would they take it well?

Should he even tell them…?

Gio let the thought ruminate. There was no guarantee they’d even see the little guy if he never told them about them. If the stranger showed up at their doorstep looking for a conversation, Gio was certain they’d hide from unknown family members, whether they knew about them or not — though, they’d probably appreciate it if his family wasn’t chasing after them, like he had. Gio shrugged to himself. He wouldn’t tell his family, to save everyone the hassle.

Plus, he wasn’t sure he had taken the news so well himself.

Sure, stumbling across the little guy in the gully left him fascinated and even more curious by the bizarre discovery, but he thought back to the feeling of the man in his palm… they couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces — not even a pound — and when they stood before him for their mimed conversation, Gio couldn’t help but notice how pale and thin their body was. 

Gio slowed his pace as he thought. Was the stranger hungry? Sick? He wished they had taken more food, if that was the case. He could spare it easily— though, with the way the little guy struggled to carry their cargo after the hopefully- generous-enough offering, the issue seemed not to come in the offering, but in receiving. There was no way they could have comfortably brought more food home. Maybe he could bring some more interesting things next time he planned to look for the stranger again. Or, he could wrap a few provisions in some napkins and leave them on the little man’s doorstep, once he knew where it was. He just hoped the man was eating comfortably.

The idea that they might not be bothered him. He’d never seen a person like that before, but the fact that there was one meant that there had to be more — were they all so thin? Hanging so closely to the threat of starvation that their skin paled and pulled tight to the bone? He hoped not. He hoped his little stranger was just an outlier. 

Gio realized, as he found himself a few paces from his doorstep, that he hadn’t been watching his feet while he was lost in thought about the nutrition of the little man. In a heart-wrenching panic, he glanced back at the boardwalk, dreading to find any unfortunate soul who’d wandered into his path, but thankfully found nothing in the dim reflection of moonlight off the wooden slats. He sighed, and resigned himself to his screen-paneled front door — where he made sure not to let it slam behind him, or let the hinges squeak too loudly.

As his phone’s clock turned past one-thirty in the morning, he turned its flashlight to the floor, kicked off his sneakers, and softly found his way up the stairs, around the bend of the hallway and—

“Hey.”

Gio jumped, nearly dropping his phone, but catching it before it could make a parent-waking clatter. Shining his flashlight down the hallway, Nicolette poked her head from her open bedroom door. “Nico!” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at her through the darkness, “What?! Why are you even awake?!”

“It’s not that late. Plus, I heard you sneak out at eleven-thirty and wanted to know where you headed off to without inviting me.” Nicolette leaned against her doorway, “Were you hanging out with Monty again?”

Gio shrugged — it seemed as good a coverup as any, “Yeah. They wanted to sit over by the bay.”

“Why’d you have a net?”

Gio’s flashlight slightly faltered. He could feel this conversation twist itself into an interrogation as the moments passed and the questions became more detailed. It was rare that a Clark sibling conversation could last more than a few minutes without turning into some kind of debate, and it seemed Gio couldn’t save this one’s meager life. “How did you know I had a net?”

Nicolette gestured into her room with a shrug of her shoulders, “You’re not the only one with a window.”

He grit his teeth, “We were catching crabs.”

“What’re you?” Nicolette scoffed, “Seven?”

Gio turned back down the hallway to his own bedroom door and slid his bag inside before he whispered again, his voice exasperated, “Whatever! If you wanna keep talking, come over here. We’re gonna wake up mom and dad.”

His sister huffed, but pushed herself off her doorway nonetheless. She made herself comfortable on the foot of her brother’s bed and leaned her back against the neighboring wall as Gio closed the door behind them — making sure to give the hallway a quick, cursory glance, just in case.

Gio flicked on a lamp and shook some of the long-clinging sand from the legs of his pants — Nicolette fixed him with a studious gaze. He paused. “What?”

She narrowed her eyes, “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing’s going on with me,” Gio lied.

Nicolette ignored him. She pointed to the band-aid on his hand, “First, you come home with your hand mauled. Then, you wander off at night with a net, and won’t tell me where you went. What are you really trying to catch?”

“I told you already,” Gio shrugged, turning to rummage through his dresser for a set of pajamas, “it was a fly. And I was catching crabs with Monty.”

“Yeah, you know that’s not true,” Nicolette called his bluff, a triumphant smirk in her voice, “Plus, I can see your face getting red from here.”

She was right. Gio could feel his face getting warm, too. That always happened when he lied or started to get nervous. Usually, he’d find the chance to hide the pinkness of his cheeks before it got too obvious — his most common solution was to run away — but with his sister sitting so firmly on his only hope for safe haven, he’d have to resign himself to embarrassment. “Fine,” he rolled his eyes, “That’s not true.”

Nicolette perked up. “Okay… then tell me what is!”

Gio crossed his arms. He loved his sister, but he wasn’t going to let her strongarm him into giving up all his secrets so easily this time. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her. “Well, y’know, maybe I don’t want to tell you,” he echoed his own thoughts, “Why do you always need to know everything?”

She thunked her head against the wall, “It can’t be that serious.”

He shrugged, doing his best to keep his cheeks from turning red. He was lying in every way — not only verbally, to his sister, but to himself. It was that serious. “I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

“Ugh! Gio!” she exclaimed, her voice still a whisper, “Just tell me!”

He wanted to tell her badly. Gio took a deep breath, and he held it for a moment, trying to keep himself from spilling the entire story of the stranger right then and there — but, as he opened his mouth to exhale, the dam broke. “It’s a… little man?!” Gio could have shouted with all the pent-up bewilderment of the nights before, if not for his parents’ room just a few doors down, “Like, really little. I saw them and they bit me and then I just couldn’t… stop thinking about it! I think they live under the boardwalk.”

The room was silent. Nicolette fixed him with an incredulous stare, her eyes tinged with a softness of worry after her brother’s seemingly nonsensical story. “A little man…?”

He was pathetic. His decision to not to tell his family had been compromised at the slightest bit of pressure from his sister. But, there was no going back now. “A little man.” He implored. 

“Okay…” she started slowly, then cocked her head, “You're sure you’re not sick?”

Gio wiped a hand down his face with a tired groan as his cheeks turned even redder for a different, embarrassed reason. “Whatever,” he mumbled, and strictly pointed at the door, “Get out so I can go to sleep. If you want to actually listen, find me in the morning.”

Nicolette rolled onto her feet, resigning to let whatever tall-tale Gio was telling settle for the night. “Fine, fine.” She shrugged and pulled the door open, stepping into the hallway — but not without turning in a sharp about-face to leave her brother with a final threat, “Expect to hear from me tomorrow.”

He closed the door behind her, an unamused expression atop his still-rosy cheeks. With the quiet click of the door handle closing, he flopped heavily onto his mattress. For a moment, he stared blankly at the ceiling, an image of the little man forming in his memory to play back the motions of the night. He wanted to laugh. Sharing a granola bar with a stranger past midnight is a novelty story to begin with, but for that stranger to be a fraction of Gio’s own height was taking the story to an even further, funnier degree. 

He could feel his smile crack. It was funny. Gio quietly laughed to himself as he changed into his pajamas and began his nightly routine — silently down the hall, so as to not alert his parents, or possibly his sister again, who uncharacteristically kept her door open a crack as if to listen for any suspicious, brotherly noises. He thought of the little man in their home, wherever that may be, following a routine just the same as Gio’s as they prepared for bed. He hoped they enjoyed the peanut. And he hoped the chunk of granola bar would hold them over for a while, since it looked like a Thanksgiving turkey in their arms. 

He kicked up his bedsheets and slid beneath them, finally placing his glasses on the bedside table for the night with an exhausted sigh. Tomorrow, he’d have to find time in the night when he could convince his family to give him some space as he sat on the deck.

That was, if the little stranger even came to visit.

[mrs-luigi-vargas]

Tiny Adventure

Chapter 2 (of 2)

Fic Summary:“Either that spell I’d cast was more powerful than I’d realized,” Kamek slowly said, “Or I somehow managed to shrink myself, instead.” “…” “I’d shrunken myself, didn't I.” Fic Tags: Humor, Shrunken Character, Nonverbal Mario

Word Count: 2,975 words

[AO3 Link] [Link to beginning]

~~~

Kamek woke up just after sunrise.

He sat up, wincing at the noises his back made in protest, blinking blearily at what was left of the campfire. Still not a dream. Damn. And the pain of being one of the greatest wizards of the modern age is that none of the spells you cast tended to wear off on a whim, including this one.

Mario was snoring away, a sound amplified due to his size though still not as loud as the worst of Lord Bowser’s snoring. Kamek quietly left his makeshift bed, wandering away to stretch and privately bemoan the lack of coffee in his vicinity. In the absence of caffeine, Kamek stared vacantly at some beads of dew on a leaf until a loud noise from behind surprised him into spinning around to face it. It was the same bird from yesterday, pecking at the ground as if it hadn't been the one to terrorize him back then.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kamek muttered. The words caught the bird’s attention, of course. The two stared at each other for a long moment.

“So...” Kamek took a step back. “I’ll...be going now, if you don’t mind —”

The bird squawked, flapping its wings to charge. With a shout, Kamek bolted, scrambling to get out of the way of its dive. He clambered up a still-sleeping Mario’s leg — almost getting flung off when Mario sprang awake and kicked it in confusion — and Mario scooped him up the rest of the way. Kamek resisted the urge to stick his tongue out as the bird drew up short and flew away.

“Put me down,” Kamek commanded Mario, heedless of the drowsy glare aimed at him. With a huff, Mario did just that. He then stood, tidying up their campsite. “Leaving so soon?” Kamek called.

Mario raised an eyebrow. He had an evil plan to stop, after all. Still, he extended a hand for Kamek to use to get back into his pocket, and while Kamek didn't really want to take it on account of the humiliation inherent in doing so, it was better if he could make Mario do all the walking for him, instead.

Their trek started off quiet, the both of them busy with some berries Mario had foraged for them to eat. In a few hours they were out of the forest, following the winding curves of the river up to its source. Kamek had spent most of that time napping, due to the lack of caffeine and the desire to try and recover a bit more of his magic. But now he had some extra energy, with which to complain about things such as Mario’s general presence, the loss of his wand and how it prevented Kamek from doing anything about said presence, how being small did almost nothing to alleviate his allergies, somehow, the abysmal texture of Mario’s overalls, the excessive jostling to Mario’s stride —

Mario opened the pocket to glare at Kamek.

Kamek smiled innocently. “I’ll shut up if you go home.”

Mario scoffed.

Kamek’s smirk widened. He stood and peered out at their surroundings; currently they were crossing a small bridge, what was left of the river flowing beneath them. So Kamek made sure not to pull himself out too far, lest he fell and had a terrible time navigating the currents at his size.

On the other side of the bridge, Kamek and Mario heard voices. Mario’s eyes narrowed. He reached for Kamek.

“Wha — Hey!” Kamek kicked at Mario’s hand. “What are you doing?”

Mario ignored Kamek’s protests, dropping moreso than placing him in a nearby bush. Pushing aside the leaves revealed a group of scouts from the base that were approaching Mario. And instead of leaving to warn the others about Mario’s location like they were trained to do, they got it in their heads to try and take him down themselves to gain favor with Lord Bowser. Ughhhhhh. Kamek smacked his forehead. These recruits...!

Obviously, Mario dispatched them quickly. And upon being beaten, those idiot scouts finally decided to do their damn jobs like they were meant to in the first place. Kamek scowled after their retreating forms, and as if they knew he was there and angry with them they ran even faster.

By contrast, Mario was completely unaffected by said scowl when it shifted to him, grinning brightly; unfortunately, he was too used to Kamek’s ire in other contexts to treat it with the seriousness it deserved.

They continued on. The scouts' warning had evidently been passed along, by the way they were next accosted by a group of Koopa guards. Mario stowed Kamek away in another bush without a word and rushed into battle. In this fight, though, the Koopas’ shells getting knocked around made the sphere of collateral damage much larger. So much so that by the time Mario finally defeated his foes, the bush Kamek had been in had been flattened.

Kamek, meanwhile, crawled out from under the rock he relocated to when he’d realized he’d needed a better hiding spot to find Mario frantically searching the area around his first hiding spot. He could leave now, Kamek realized. Slip away, make his way back to the base, grab his spare wand, unshrink himself, fix his broom, and come back to defeat Mario for good. The initial traveling would be a bit difficult, but he didn't get this far in life without being resourceful. But the edge of distress he could see creeping onto Mario’s face from here felt a bit much to leave Mario with, even for him. Especially after...

Before Kamek could make a final decision, Mario turned and spotted him. The open relief on his face had Kamek’s eyes rolling. “I can take care of myself, you know,” he said as Mario ran up to him. Mario smiled weakly.

The farther upriver they traveled, the more soldiers appeared to block their path. Mario had long since stopped bothering to find shelter for Kamek every time and had decided to just try and be careful about what hit him in the chest. It helped that Kamek had managed to scrounge up enough magic and focus for a wandless shield spell — “Of course I can cast spells without a wand, what am I, your average wizard?” — though it took more strain than he was willing to let on.

Unfortunately, none of the groups of minions sent to stop Mario hardly even managed to slow him down. Soon enough, he was staring up at a giant wall spanning from riverbank to riverbank; behind it on one side stretched a convoluted mess of pipes and dials and the occasional small building, and above it loomed the very tip of a waterwheel. On the opposite side of the pipes stretched a wide chute, water rushing out of it over the cliffside.

Mario looked down at Kamek. Kamek looked back up at Mario, because he had no intention of explaining any of this to him.

Around them, minions gasped. “It’s Mario!” they muttered amongst themselves. “What do we do?” If he’d gotten this far, they reasoned, then he’d wipe the floor with all of them for sure; but if they didn't fight back, then Lord Kamek would tear them all a new one for certain!

“What are you all standing around for?” Kamek shouted at them, actively tearing them a new one. “Stop him!”

The minions hesitated. But they could practically hear Kamek yelling at them right now, so it was probably a good idea to try and do something before he actually came to do so.

Kamek ground his teeth, because of course they didn't hear him, and thus didn't know he was here. He geared up to get their attention, and spin his predicament into something that didn't undermine his authority over them, but —

“Ho, there!”

Above them standing on the dam was a figure, a hulking humanoid mass of metal pipes and blocks of concrete. It bent its legs and jumped, hitting the ground hard enough to create a small crater in the grass and for Mario to almost lose his balance and fall over. “So you’re the enemy that Lord Kamek had taken care to warn me about!” it said, staring straight at Mario. It rose from its crouch, standing at its full height of almost thrice the size of said enemy. “Hardly the formidable foe he built you up to be, aren't you?” it remarked, looking Mario up and down.

Still in Mario’s pocket, Kamek scowled. “Hey!” he snapped. “I didn't create you to guard the base against Mario just so you can write him off when you see him —!”

“No matter!” The main guard of the base shifted its weight. “It simply makes it easier to dispose of you posthaste, so that what's being gathered here can be used for its glorious purpose! A purpose you won't live to see!”

“Oh, just give away our all plans, why don't you,” Kamek grumbled, and then the guard surged forward with a punch. Mario threw himself to the side to dodge it, and the fight was on. Kamek wished he could appreciate it, but as it stood he was too busy trying to keep his shield bubble up so he wouldn't be crushed by any of their attacks. What he could gather, though, left him quite impressed. By himself, that is. He really did a solid enchanting job on this particular magical construct, for it to keep up with Mario this well.

Case in point, it got a good right hook in on Mario. Mario went flying in one direction, and Kamek in his shield bubble was knocked away in the other. It was seemingly eons of rolling and bouncing before the bubble finally burst from the strain, sending Kamek tumbling the rest of the way inside a nearby building.

Luckily, the building was empty, so there was no one to witness Kamek groaning and clutching his back in pain as he got to his feet. He shuffled further into the room, the sounds of fighting echoing from outside. Near the back wall was a large computer console, connected to screens with readings and graphs that he couldn't read from his place on the ground. But he needed to read them, because this was the console linked to the main generator and thus could give him information about how much energy this operation had gathered up until now. Kamek sighed. He approached the console and started climbing.

At the top, he needed more than a few moments to catch his breath. A part of him thought that maybe it was time to admit he was too old for all this. The rest of him thought that he would be in this business until the day he died anyway, so what did it matter how old he was? Regardless, now that he was up here he could properly judge the progress made in his absence. And to his surprise, the meters showed that they had gathered just enough energy and resources for the next phase of Lord Bowser’s plan to work. So maybe the minions weren’t so incompetent after all.

Speaking of surprisingly competent, Kamek looked through the window and saw Mario and his construct-guard still locked in battle. Mario was very handily losing; it was almost as if it was toying with him at this point. The sight would normally fill Kamek with glee, but for some reason those feelings weren’t manifesting themselves. On one hand, Mario losing was ideal, because at best they could stamp him out for good and at worst they could delay him for long enough to get some extra power from this river before they were forced to abandon it. But on the other hand...

Kamek looked back out the window, towards the fight. He thought about his journey to get here, back to the base. He sighed. He jumped behind the console, and with a flick of his wrist he floated down to the ground.

Though its helmet was misshapen and its stone armor chipped, exposing its metallic skeleton, Kamek’s magical construct-guard still loomed over a collapsed Mario, assured in its victory. With gritted teeth, Mario searched for an opening he could take advantage of, before he was finished off for good. But his opponent wasn't presenting an opening like Mario needed it to, even as it raised a hand for a final blow.

So the universe deigned to give him one itself, by way of loud cracking of stone from farther away. Over the guard’s shoulder, the dam keeping most of the river at bay bloomed with cracks and fissures, water seeping out and growing them larger to the tune of increasingly loud rumbling.

Mario’s eyes widened in alarm. He hurried to his feet to run. The construct-guard lunged after him, intent on seeing this fight to its end. It swung its arm up and clipped Mario’s shoulder blade, knocking him to the ground at practically the same time the dam crumpled and gave way.

The other minions’d had enough sense, speed, and distance to avoid the bulk of the water flow, but Mario and the construct-guard lacked most of those things. So down the river they were swept, the torrents of water sending them tumbling all the way back to that little bridge, where Mario managed to pull himself onto dry land. He crawled far enough from the shore that the water couldn't drag him back into its grasp, and then he sat there and coughed for a while. As he regained his breath, he wondered what happened to —

The construct-guard burst forth from the river in a shower of droplets that Mario scrambled back to avoid. If it could gasp for breath it probably would be doing so, hunched over as it was; it raised its head to glare at Mario, its glowing eye pinning him in the middle of resuming a fighting stance.

“You...!” it growled. Its voice sounded waterlogged. “I have to admit, that was a clever trick you pulled! But you will not” — it stood up straight, creaking the whole way — “get the best of me that easily...!”

The construct-guard raised its hand for another blow. Mario braced himself for the hit. But as its hand came down, its arm stuttered, catching on something unseen. And with a metallic groan, its arm stopped.

“Wha —?” It turned its head in confusion. Its neck got stuck halfway. It lifted its other arm to fix it, and the shoulder twitched and jerked with a shrieking screech that had Mario wincing. “What is — h-happening —?”

Mario didn't give it any time to sort itself out; as it was still trying to stop from seizing up completely, he rushed forward, pulling his hammer out of his pocket. He reared back and swung, knocking the still-malfunctioning construct-guard back into the rapidly rushing river behind it. Its voice warbled on a scream as it was carried away; the sound of it cut off long before it became too far away to hear. With any luck, the townspeople at the end of the river will have the sense to fish the metal out of the river before it rusted over.

Inhale, exhale. Mario put his hammer away. Now that the fight was over, Mario could go and find Kamek, who’d fallen out of his pocket during the fight and bounced off somewhere. And...had probably gotten caught up in the dam’s collapse. And with him being so small...!

Mario’s first harried sweep of the immediate area came up fruitless. As did the next, and the next. Should he go back to the start of the river, and retrace steps from there? Or should he start from the end of the river and try to work backwards? Mario wasted precious seconds trying to decide which to do and then realized he probably didn't have that time to waste.

He was considering diving back into the river to see if Kamek was trapped somewhere beneath the surface when he heard coughing and hacking and sputtering from the other side of the bridge. Mario ran towards the sound and it was Kamek, soaking wet and somehow fully-sized!

Mario’s sigh of relief was audible, and it caught Kamek’s attention. With one last cough, Kamek straightened up in a partially-successful attempt to look less like a drowned rat. Kamek frowned upon seeing Mario, and that frown deepened to a scowl as he looked past Mario upriver; though the damage the dam bursting had caused was barely visible from here, it was still easy to imagine all the wreckage it left behind.

“But I hope you don't think this little victory matters,” Kamek said, head held high. “We’ve already gotten all we needed from this backwater place. Something you’ll come to regret when the rest of Lord Bowser’s plan gets off the ground!”

Mario looked less sufficiently-wary than usual at Kamek’s proclamation, the little pleased smile still sitting on his face messing with the usual dynamic. Kamek’s stance faltered at the deviation from the norm.

“I-in any case.” Kamek took out his broom. The wood was soaked dark. “I’d say see you later, but I’d rather you save us both the trouble. But I suppose I’ll have to make you, next time.” He mock-sighed. “It should be fun crushing you into paste, at least!”

At this, Mario finally frowned. Cackling, Kamek got on his broom and flew away; his flight path was unsteady, and he stuttered and jolted his way to being a tiny speck in the blue sky. Mario watched him until he disappeared behind a passing cloud, and then he jumped off to go check on the town at the end of the river and see if he could help solve any problems the recent flash flooding had probably caused.

[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 27

Every wind that blew through the forest carried a phantom with it. Every shadow, Nesta swore was Cassian creeping closer out of the corner of her eye. A paranoia festered within her in the days that followed the Winter Solstice.

With her gifts, Orla had done something to the bond. Nesta no longer consciously felt it. If she sought out that strange bridge leading her to Cassian, she could still touch it like a numb limb lacking feeling. She never delved further down it. She never wanted to find Cassian at the opposite end.

Another wind curled through the undergrowth, raising fragments of dried leaves into the air with it. Nesta stopped in her tracks, sure she heard the beat of wings. She’d thought that a dozen times already that morning.

Treading carefully over the carpet of leaves that was dappled by the morning sunlight, Eris stopped in front of her. ‘Did I wake you up too early, my love?’

He touched her cheek, warm fingers making her skin tingle.

‘I just keep thinking-’

His fingers touched her lips. ‘It’s not. I’ve warded the area. The dogs would detect his scent. You are safe.’

‘For now.’

To give her hands something to do, Nesta brushed them down her grey skirt. Her palms were clammy but cold. They were always cold when her magic was used.

Eris took hold of them, engulfing them in heat. A flame spiralled around his hands to heat them quicker. ‘Nothing will happen tomorrow. You will be safe.’

A letter had arrived in Rhysand’s elegant script with his sigil sealing the envelope. They requested a meeting in the Hewn City. Not about the bond, she was relieved to read, but to meet Orla. For a while, Nesta had worried over Eris’ loyalties if chaos erupted. He and Orla had spent five centuries as friends. He’d pull her out to safety first. Eris tutted those silly ideas away. Niamh would be in attendance as Orla’s wild protector, if needed – the sisterly bond more powerful than the Archeron’s. Eris would guard Nesta. Ashur and a number of the smoke hounds, with their keen senses, would come as an extra layer.

The thought of going there made her magic rise up in her chest like when a stone is thrown into a bucket of water. It sloshed up the sides, ready to spill out.

‘Focus,’ said Eris in a soft voice, noticing the sudden shift in her magic.

He sent a long ribbon of red fire into the air. It moved slowly, undulating in its path as it flew, before turning gold. Nesta eased out a thicker bolt of silver flame that raced to keep pace with his. Often her magic sputtered out, unused to moving at a slower pace or maintaining it. They had been practising her manipulation of it.

Once, she had teased Eris about his plans, claiming he probably had it all documented. He did. His cheeks had turned pink when he had shown her his copious notes on their training, detailing every little success she had made. He was wonderful.

His magic came to coil around hers so the twin flames flowed together against the backdrop of the forest. She loved to watch their magic dance together. They complimented each other beautifully, one silver flame, one like spun gold. One day, Nesta would become a master of flame like Eris, but for now, she was content to lean against his chest as her flame fizzled out. His continued on, gathering speed until it split into a shower of sparks that rained down on them, never harming. Her husband had another ribbon of flame wrap around them that grew in size until it took flight in the form of a great burning phoenix. Its fiery wings pulsed as it soared higher into the sky then it swooped low over the smoke hounds, purposefully, to set them racing after it.

Eris shucked out a laugh, watching them barrel after his phoenix.

‘Did they ever exist?’

‘Once. A long time ago,’ he replied, wrapping his arms around her chest and resting his chin on her shoulder. ‘Mortals hunted them. All of your stories once were truth.’

‘Even the ones about faeries stealing us away?’

Nesta let out a little shriek as Eris hauled her into his arms. ‘Especially that one.’

He covered her neck with sloppy kisses, making her chortle with unrestrained laughter. The sound tugged the dogs from their pursuit of the phoenix so they leapt at Eris and he lifted her even higher so their muddy paws didn’t touch her dress.

For a while, her husband continued carrying her and Nesta was content to remain curled up in his arms. She couldn’t help but imagine Eris as a father, no longer having to bury the kind parts of him, playing with his children and creating little creatures from flame for them to marvel at. The Mother knew that even Nesta was captivated at night on the balcony when he conjured butterflies of flames or swooping birds. Her eyes slid to his beautiful face. Nesta’s mind had wandered down a path that she couldn’t stop treading as she thought of her own children. They would be with Eris, of course. She couldn’t imagine a life without him.

‘You remind me of a phoenix. Always rising from the ashes. Rising through it all,’ he said softly, before setting her back on her feet.  

If Nesta had been worried that the bond might drive a wedge between her and Eris, she was woefully wrong. It had brought them closer, so they acted like two limpets. In the days that had followed the Solstice, Nesta had rarely any time away from Eris. She’d accompanied him for an army inspection, to a dinner with one of his father’s lesser lords, and in every free moment. The only time they’d been forced to separate was in a council meeting which Eris knew not to argue with Beron over.

Instead, Nesta had spent the time practising her needlework with her mother-in-law in silence – or it appeared that way to the guards. Eliška had pressed into her mind so they spoke freely across a mental bridge while dutifully embroidering cushions under the watchful eyes of her guards. Nesta pleaded with her mother-in-law to forgive Eris for what he had done to Phelan, explaining what had happened to turn his mood so sour. At one point, her fingers had twitched as if they were about to reach for Nesta’s then knew they couldn’t with so many eyes on them. If Beron got wind that there was a relationship developing, he’d put a stop to it. For now, Eliška and her daughter-in-law appeared like two cold acquaintances, barely exchanging more than a polite greeting as they were forced to occupy a room, engrossed in their sewing.

Back in their rooms, Eris lay on the rug tossing an apple between his nimble hands while Nesta read. Maceo had set her the task of writing an essay comparing the classification of lesser faeries across the seven courts of Prythian and it was proving a challenge. Eris was her source for the Autumn Court, but for the others, she had to delve into his vast library of histories.

‘I’m sure I wrote that exact essay five hundred years ago.’

Nesta raised a brow. ‘It is surely dust by now.’

He touched two fingers over his heart. ‘You wound me. I am a spry, young fox still.’

‘How will it be when I am your age. Will you be any more than bones?’

‘I give you permission to kill me when I grow too old and ugly for you, my darling wife.’   

She flicked a page over to a section about the lineage of the Dawn Court’s high lords. ‘Maybe I’ll find myself a new model.’

Eris crawled to her to raise the hem of her dress. His lips pressed against her calf. ‘You will be hard pushed to find a male as beautiful as me.’ Another kiss against the curve of her muscle then he was sliding her skirts all the way up her thighs.

‘We are expected at dinner soon.’

Warm fingers kneaded the flesh of her thighs to tease. His head was buried beneath her skirts so Nesta knew there was no chance of talking sense into her husband.

‘I’ll have the first course now.’

Another kiss was pressed against the thin material of her underwear which made her breath hitch.

‘I need to write my essay.’

‘I’ll dictate. You write.’

‘That’s cheating,’ she breathed as his fingers slipped into the waistband and pulled them down.

His tongue swept against her core so all arguments dissolved. Any thoughts that Nesta had been clinging to slipped between her fingers.

This male had enchanted her, body and soul.

***

Like a thread pulled too tight, Eris was ready to snap. For his wife, he gave a reassuring smile and extended an arm for her to take before winnowing to the Court of Nightmares. Her hand was cold, as cold as the grave, against his skin. Although Nesta had got better at keeping her defence up, her eyes gave away the unease that rattled in her bones. Those beautiful, storm cloud eyes swirled like a maelstrom. The only one of their group who did seem at ease was Niamh because she was too insane to care for danger, it only ever excited her. She had been positively frothing at the mouth in the build-up to visiting the Hewn City. Where other females would crumble in the place, Niamh would surely flourish.

A different room was selected for their purpose that day rather than the usual one in the Hewn City. They’d been led down quiet tunnels, away from any prying eyes with such a large contingent from the Autumn Court. Did the high lord not trust his subjects to hold their tongues?

Eris kept Nesta close to try and calm both of their unsteady hearts. Orla remained at Ashur’s side with two smoke hounds flanking them. Niamh made up the rear, swaggering along without a hint of fear. She’d love a fight.  

The whole rotten group was assembled, even Amren. At their entry, Eris noticed that Cassian’s wings tucked in tight to his spine, but he made a conscious effort not to look at Nesta – and she did the same. That was the best outcome any of them could hope for. Elain had certainly been doing the same to Lucien for the last couple of years.

‘Hello,’ she said in a clear, but quiet voice.

Eris swept her slightly behind him, shielding her out of habit as he took the lead. ‘Night Court. Allow me to present your salvation, Orla.’ 

The healer swept her head low in greeting then pushed her thick braid over one shoulder.  

‘Hello stranger,’ came Lucien’s voice.

Orla, always welcoming, always gentle, gave a warm smile to Lucien then he moved first until they were face to face in the high-ceilinged room. Her arms went around him then his tightened around her. Orla tucked her face against his, savouring his touch.

He had once been as much her younger brother as Eris’. He remembered bringing little Lucien along with him when he met with Saban, and Orla would lead Lucien out into shallow streams to catch frogs or have him stood on a chair teaching him to bake. There were times when he’d fall asleep in her lap with a story book propped up on her knee or she’d put him on a pony and lead him around the garden even if he couldn’t reach the stirrups.

When they peeled apart, she held his face, examining all of the changes that had occurred since she had last seen Lucien. Her thumb traced along his brutal scar, lips pressing together. If Orla had been in the vicinity, Eris knew she’d have been able to do more – maybe not save the eye, but at least prevent most of the scarring.

‘Lovely Lucien,’ she breathed.

‘Move over. It’s my turn.’

Before either could react, Niamh barged her hip against Orla’s then threw herself against him. He was polite enough to embrace her.

‘I had such an infatuation with Lucien,’ Niamh announced, oblivious to the tension in the room - or his attempts at escape. ‘Oh, you had me writing poetry to try and get you into bed.’

Lucien made a choking noise then tried to prise his arm out of her grip, but a smile curled Niamh’s lips and she held on tightly – a lot like a cat bearing down on a mouse.

‘There was once a male of good stock, Who charmed the females at the dock. In his blood, there was fire, and all females desire, Lucien’s massive c-’

At the same time, Orla, Eris, and Nesta all barked Niamh’s name to try and reel her back into order. It was little wonder that Ashur’s teeth hadn’t cracked from gritting them in his attempts to not laugh.

Poor Lucien had turned the colour of a tomato – his pretty, little mate in corner had too. Niamh might have done Lucien a favour with her poem though.

Rhys blinked at the sight of Niamh in her too long skirt, mismatched and scuffed shoes, and the hair that could do with a good brushing. ‘What have you brought to my court?’

‘Name’s Niamh. Autumn Court. Orla’s little sister. Bit of a menace but she’s never locked me in a house to try and cure me, thank the Mother.’

Nesta’s eyes went wide.

Across the room, Mor scoffed, ‘Maybe she should have.’

Niamh wasn’t one to back down. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring her, Eris thought with a sudden plummeting feeling dropping through him. She was like a terrier that would never come to heel.

‘You piss your pants each time your failed engagement is mentioned so I’d suggest keeping your mouth shut before I say something that really ruins your life.’

‘That is enough,’ murmured Eris, catching Niamh’s eye.

He didn’t need that betrothal brought out like dirty laundry. A tongue licked against Niamh’s lips. Her smile was difficult to quell. Niamh had never cared who she spoke against, her spine was strong enough to stand any words – plus she was a quick runner if she needed to flee.

Mor had gone pale, but she did open her mouth to speak then stopped. Across the table, Eris noticed Rhys lay a hand against her own – and at the other end, Orla had given Niamh a hard pinch on her thigh to stop her from talking.

Somebody pushed out a breath in the otherwise silent cavern. The throb of Eris’ own pulse echoed in his ear. He kept glancing to Nesta, ensuring she was still beside him, despite the feel of her thigh pressing against his.

‘I can heal that for you.’

Orla spoke gently in a soothing tone meant for an injured animal or an infant. Eris had heard her use it many times on the dying.

Beside him, Nesta had tensed. Her eyes were fixed upon the shadow singer. Exposed on his bare wrist was a strange, charred burn where he hadn’t fully fulfilled his portion of their magical deal. It served him right, Eris thought, for not bringing Nesta straight home on that cold December morning.

Torn between wanting to shield his mauled hands and wanting to prove that Orla was safe to be near Feyre Archeron, Azriel remained rooted to the spot. Nesta opened her mouth to speak at the same moment that Rhysand sat forwards in his seat, lips moving to break the silence.

But Orla had already laid her warm hands on the shadow singer’s skin to roll his sleeve back.

Where their ink had been, Azriel’s remained like smoke, etched into his forearms as retribution.

Unperturbed, Orla sent her magic to curl around his wrist in a display of soft-golden light.

‘It’s magic. It cannot be removed by simple-’

Amren’s words stopped abruptly as the tattoo began to lift off of Azriel’s skin, curling into the light and dissolving. A crease had formed between Orla’s brows as she continued working in the silent room.

Then the mark was gone.

‘How?’ Rhys managed.

Orla released her hands so Azriel could veil himself within the comfort of his shadows once more. ‘I am a healer.’

An utterly extraordinary one, Eris thought. His heart swelled at the sight of her, so level-headed and brilliant. A steadfast friend and sunshine of a person. There were many lives in the Autumn Court that owed Orla their thanks for keeping them in the realm of the living.

‘This healer could make the Mother envious.’

A blush stole across her cheeks at Eris’ compliment.

Mor tipped back in her chair, eyes narrowing at Orla. ‘I wouldn’t think Beron would allow females to train their magic. They might get ideas like not being stamped beneath the boots’ of males.’

‘My high lord is not foolish enough to deny healing magic in any gender, so rare it is,’ replied Orla, with just a little bite.

That little bite made her sister sit rigidly in her chair, brown eyes flickering between the two females like a bare flame, desperate to catch.

‘Does your high lord know his favoured healer commits treason by being here and assisting an enemy?’

Niamh slapped her palms against the stone table. ‘Treason? If you want us to depart then your high lady dies. Think very carefully before you toss that word out. I wonder, if your high lady dies because you scorned the one healer who might be able to help her, is that treason on your part, Morrigan? Do you want your lovely family back on the throne instead?’

‘That is enough,’ snapped Orla, in a tone that Eris had only ever heard from her a handful of times. He’d never seen her so livid before. ‘I will not have you speak of such things. I am a healer regardless of my allegiance. If my enemy was bleeding at my feet, I would heal them because the Mother gave me this gift to do good. I will not remain here listening to you both causing more stress to a mother who should be enjoying these months. If either of you cannot hold your tongues then get out.’

When neither female moved, Orla blew out a long breath then turned her attention to Feyre, face softening, ‘I believe you had questions for me.’

For the next hour or so, Orla departed to a connecting, private room with Nesta at her side and only the high lord and lady in attendance. Eris’s stomach was in knots the entire time. He could handle the tension in the room – that was nothing out of the ordinary. After all, it was only his exiled brother, his brother’s estranged mate who doubled as Eris’ sister-in-law, his wife’s mate, his once-betrothed, and a creature that had lived for millennia. Nothing out of the ordinary. For their part, the Night Court did not speak. Cassian had not shifted from his spot, had not even made one comment about Nesta, though his mouth was set in a hard line – which may have been due to Orla tinkering with the bond. No, the real problem was trying to stop Niamh from being so Niamh-like. The female had slunk out of her chair to languish on the hard ground with the smoke hounds, oblivious to the grandeur of the place. She fired questions at Ashur about going drinking that evening then dared to ask Amren how she decorated her cell in the Prison.

Before Eris could throw her from a window, Lucien decided to intervene like the good emissary he was. ‘Do you still make it your personal mission to cause chaos wherever you go, Niamh?’

Niamh thrust her hand in the air, brandishing her missing digit to all gathered. ‘After my high lord chopped my damn finger off?’

Mor blanched and even Elain’s face was stark with horror.

‘I have nine more fingers to lose,’ she grinned. ‘Last year, I got thrown out of the summer solstice celebrations by your father himself. Scruff of my neck like I was one of his smoke hounds.’

Lucien’s lips twitched at the visual. ‘You’re lucky it wasn’t your neck on the executioner’s block.’

‘Your father likes me too much,’ she said, winking.

It was true in a sense. Niamh was a jackal the majority of the time, even managing to once make Beron snort his wine out of his nose during a dinner. Even Eris didn’t know how he hadn’t murdered her yet. She was untameable. Unpredictable. But, Eris knew that Niamh had spied for the high lord many times. Under the Mountain, she had been a valuable asset. She loved her court, but above all, Niamh was loyal to only one – her sister. Wherever Orla’s allegiance pointed, Niamh would follow.  

At long last, the four exited the room. Thankfully, there were smiles on their faces. Not true smiles of joy, but smiles of relief that suggested hope might be reachable. Hope was not a far-flung dream now that Orla had entered their lives.

When Eris began to rise, Nesta shook her head slightly then slipped back into her seat. Her face had shifted, becoming the poised courtier Eris knew she could be.

‘The weapons then.’

Amren tutted. ‘You still negotiate over your sister’s life.’

‘It’s not a negotiation,’ replied Nesta swiftly. ‘I am requesting my possession be returned.’

That steely glare could cut the skin. Nobody else would challenge Nesta. They didn’t know how powerful she was becoming. Her magic was flourishing to the point where she’d surpass Eris soon. He was glad in a way that the Night Court had never sought to weaponize her, but the fact they had never encouraged her to train her magic infuriated him. She’d have been ruled by it.

With a sweep of the high lord’s hand through the air, three weapons appeared, wrapped in velvet, on the table. Eris could feel the thrum of magic from them. Magic that was so unmistakably Nesta. But also not. There was a wildness to it, more feral and borne of the earth than Nesta’s magic. Interesting.

Eris parried the move, sweeping his own hand towards himself so that the swords vanished from sight.

‘Like looking in a mirror,’ Niamh said with a whistle.

‘Good. And the Prison?’ Nesta enquired, tilting her head slightly.

Mor knew better than to speak now, but her sour face told the story enough. Still, Cassian beside her, remained like a stone behemoth, unspeaking and unmoving.

‘Next week,’ replied Feyre. ‘Rhys will winnow you from here and allow your access. Two hours only.’

‘Two hours will be more than enough time,’ said Eris.

‘Cassian escorts you,’ added Rhys.

Finally, a reaction from the Illyrian. His brow pressed downwards, hands curling into fists at this new information.

‘Why?’ demanded Nesta. ‘Why not Azriel?’

‘Because Cassian has imprisoned the bulk of prisoners in there. If there’s any you need information on, he is better tasked for it.’

Eris was prepared to wage war on his wife’s behalf, if she wished it, but Nesta just gave a roll of her eyes and snapped out a fine as if Cassian was too insignificant to warrant more of a reaction. Then she stood, sweeping her hands down her skirts.

‘Must you leave so soon?’ Feyre asked, a hand cradling her stomach.

‘Yes. I have a ball to attend with my husband tonight – and he’s promised to write my essay for my tutor.’

‘A tutor?’

Eris lay a hand against the small of his wife’s back, unable to stop himself from doing such a thing before the eyes of the Night Court. Her body leaned into his out of habit. ‘My wife will rule at my side,’ Eris replied. ‘Better that she’s well educated on Prythian rather than leading a court with no knowledge of our lands.’

Niamh was unable to stop her smirk at Eris’ backhanded words. ‘And she is brilliant. We have to thank the Night Court for letting her slip out of their grasp. Your loss was our gain.’

Before Niamh could spark a war – and she was definitely itching to do that – Eris summoned the smoke hounds to his side and Orla slipped her hand around Ashur’s arm.

‘One week,’ Eris said.

Only Lucien and Elain offered a weak smile at their departure, the remaining cold faces were blank – no doubt Rhysand was already rumbling through their minds. Niamh said farewell with a deep bow and a flourish of her arms in the air.

@owllover123 @rarephloxes @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @kitkat-writes-stuff @this-is-rochelle @sv0430 @embersofwildfire

[sillygooberdoober]

watch as i dump my little thing i made

WOF spoilers, not finished

_____________________________________________________________

Fleeting Flames

______________________________________________________________

PROLOGUE

______________________________________________________________

Mark was panting as he'd bolt from side to side against the scorching hive walls, his senses scrambled and alert with his eyes wide as hed grasp onto a silky rope, climbing it as his wings flailed around like a panicked wasp on its own, his lat muscles sore.

He'd climb to the top, as a cloud of gray smoke was rushing across the hive, turning his head around to be met with the equally terrified and distressed roars and movements from dragons below.

He'd begin coughing excessively from the smoke particles before shifting his focus and darting towards a outer platform, clenching his talons against the railings as he'd pushed his hind legs up onto the rails, gazing downwards to see the dry savanna wildfire roaring below, as his wings settled and opened wide, attempting to take a deep breath before being cut off by the smoke, coughing loudly.

He'd begin trembling, his vision becoming blurred before he lept off the balcony in a gawky manner as his translucent, white wasp-like wings caught onto a quick gale, beating his wings as he regained composure and properly caught onto the wind current and glided. He saw hivewings near the blazed hive spiral like distressed bees, the connective bridges to the pair of hives beside it being ignited in the inferno. He'd close his eyes, calming down as he soon flapped and glided himself across dragonfly bay, not so sure what was ahead but was far better than Pantala's current state.

______________________________________________________________

PART ONE: Coastal Confrontation.

______________________________________________________________

He'd pant heavily, his wings trembling alongside his other limbs as he landed onto the cold shore near the ice kingdom. He could see his breath a bit, not all that much as he was one step away from collapsing onto the silky grains of the shoreline.

He'd sit down, his tail swaying before he heard something, as his ears perked.

He'd glare at a certain direction for a moment, freezing as a chill went down his spine whilst trembling as he sat down.

He shivered, glancing around as he felt a near by presence, his tail swaying back and forth rapidly, letting out a katydid-like hiss, his tongue clicking against his teeth.

He wasnt alone.

Something, or someone was watching him.

He'd slowly got up and regained his stance as he would gaze around the area, surveying nearly every movement.

Quickly, and seemly out of thin air, a sparkly, towering and bulky gray dragon appeared infront of him, he'd screech in terror as he'd jump back and darted his stinger towards the odd dragon, as it slithered inbetween one of the sparkly, sharp scales near its shoulder blade as it froze quickly, its pupils becoming sharp. He would examine the strange spikey dragon. Sparkly, Tall, muscular and sharp with a necklace with a sliver ring in the middle, held by a wiry black rope-like string placed along his neck, the ring on his chest-And a pair of slightly larger, dark gray clear circular glasses. Odd, he'd think.

Not soon after, the spikey, towering dragon would regain control in his muscles, letting out puff of cold air as he trembled and dipped his head whilst glaring at him, its eyes fixated on his own.

What. Just. Happened.

His thoughts were racing as he couldnt properly think of what to do next, his muscles tingling while staring at it.

Two pairs of transparent wings on each side. Forehead horn. Antennae. Stinger.

It looks mutated, as the tingling subsided before raising his body up, shifting his glittery light grey wings against his body in a formal fashion, making him appear more elegant and menacing at the same time, snorting out cold air from his nostrils as he'd stare down at the dragon.

He thought for a moment, raising his right front limb and putting his talons against his temple, thinking that was awfully a rude thing to describe a unique dragon.

He'd put his talons back onto the warm sand, shifting them as he'd click his other talons, awaiting for it to make some sort of reaction. It looked frozen out of sheer fear.

It then backed away, its black tongue hitting against his teeth with its wings vibrated violently before snorting abruptly.

Wallter let out a grumble and a low hiss of his own, planting his talons into the sand.

It let out a slight hiss in response to his own, sounding alike to a disturbed tenlined june beetle, its tail flinching so slightly as it scrunched his snout, baring its teeth so slightly whilst focusing his gaze on him.

After a short staring contest, it raised a eyebrow at this dragon. It seemed a bit confuzzled about his appearance, equally as he was of its own.

What was this.. Creature? He'd think. His thought process was fast and darting, giving him a headache as he was face to face with an.. Peculiar dragon.

This was strange.

Freezing. Bitter. Nothing of the sorts.

He'd stare at this dragon for a prolonged period of time, before blinking and swaying his tail, shifting it to the side as sand sprinkled onto his pale brown scales with minor wavy patterns resembling that of oak wood.

The dragon then finally spoke, his talons clicking a bit in nervousness, with a southern accent. So, erm.. Whaddya' doin' here, strange lookin'… He'd pause for a moment, his talons digging into the sand before resuming. Dragon..? I can't exactly tell wha' yer are.

Wallter raised a eyebrow, surprised this.. ''Thing'' Actually spoke. Hed notice his talons digging into the sand as he spoke with a light british accent. That's not the nicest thing to say to a new dragon, don't you think, my.. He'd glance around a bit, scratching the back of his neck. Buzzing acquaintance? ' '

He'd let out a loud chuckle, before speaking again. Well.. Arent yer' quite a comedian, Glitterin' dragon, Speakin' of that, what is yer' name? I go by Mark, Mark th' hivewing. He'd move closer, opening up his palm awaiting for a shake.

Aha! Arent you just a exquisite dragon, aren't you? I go by Wallter, Wallter the icewing. He'd shake Mark's talons, cracking a sweet smile.

Mark felt something particular for that sophisticated Icewing. He could nearly put his talon on it, but it clearly was more than a mere companionship.

[starfall-spirit]

Renaissance Masterlist

AN: This chapter is so awkward. I didn't know how to write it well, for all I tried.

Word Count: 1386

Chapter IX: Behind the Façade

It turned out that there was only one flight with seats into New York that day, thanks to the summer’s heavy vacationing. They were lucky that it was just that afternoon. Regardless, by the time they got to the hospital, Rhys parent’s would be out of surgery. Whether they were in recovery or not was another question altogether. 

Feyre was tense, to say the least. Not only was she concerned about the accident, but she wasn’t sure if Rhys uncouth proposal was honest or just an impulse following morning sex. It was obvious now he cared for her in more than the physical sense, but they weren’t in love. They’d known each other for a few months. 

They had something that could grow of course, but, love? The grounds of a marriage? Hardly. And if he did expect an answer on the flight or after they saw his parents, she wasn’t sure how exactly to approach it. So here she was on pins and needles, waiting for him to ask her again.

But the time ticked by, Rhys barely speaking a word, watching his phone like a hawk the second they were permitted to turn them back on. About two hours into the flight the first message came in from Mor.

In recovery. Both should be fine. No brain damage as far as they can tell.

Rhys let out a heavy breath. Good. Avy? He texted back.

Just fell asleep on Cassian. It’s 9 am here, but she was up all night.

Thanks for staying. 

He set his phone down, leaning back in his seat. She reached over to lace her fingers through his and he smiled, kissing her knuckles. “Thank you Feyre. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I haven’t done much,” she mumbled, blushing softly. 

“You’ve done more than you know.”

Knowing his parents were going to live brought him out of his brooding, somewhat, and from there she was able to distract him with small talk, as much as she liked to avoid it herself. Small talk turned to childhood stories, skirting around a few sensitive subjects. And then it was time to land. 

Azriel was waiting for them at the airport, dark bruises under his eyes. “Feyre.”

“Should one of us drive, Az?”

“I’m fine. Not tired enough to be a road risk, I promise.”

She hummed, but said no more, letting him take her bag to put in the trunk before sliding into the back seat so Rhys could have the passenger seat to discuss the details of the accident.

“Like Avy told you, they were on the bridge back to their house. Someone coming from the other direction swerved and hit them hard. Drunk and on a late night joyride. Things look good, all things considered, but they haven’t woken up yet. The other guy got off pretty lucky.”

Rhys nodded, jaw clenched tight. He was right to be angry at that.

The rest of the drive was almost silent, and Feyre was grateful the hospital and airport weren’t far from one another. The second she was out of the car she took his hand, hopeful he would think she was just trying to give him a bit of support. But then, hadn’t she learned he could see right though her?

“Is it difficult,” he murmured when they had to pause at the front desk, “after seeing your parents in the hospital? Coming back?”

“Yes. It’s been a few years, but… apparently it hasn’t faded.” Her mother had died in her early childhood. She didn’t remember the sickness as well as her sisters did. But her father… that had been harder. She shook her head. “This isn’t about me.”

He looked ready to say something else, but Feyre quickly stepped away when she saw Avyanna bolt to her feet. Even as Rhys caught his sister in a hug, Feyre felt his eyes on her. Why he was so worried about her right now didn’t make any sense, considering the situation. It made his unanswered question feel all that more pressing. And yet, the answer was still no.

“It’s alright,” Feyre heard him murmur as she settled beside Mor. “They’ll be alright, Avy. You want somebody to take you home? You can get some real sleep.”

“Can I stay with you? Here I mean.”

It was easy enough to imagine the last place she wanted to be right now is in a car driving that bridge. “Alright, kid. Go sit down. I’m gonna go see them and come back out, okay?” 

She nodded and he left without another word, heading towards the rooms his parents had been given. An awkward silence filled with worry seemed to cloud the room, Mor’s grip on her hand was tight and Avy… for whatever reason Rhys’ sister refused to even look at her at the moment. Knowing so little about her, Feyre didn’t know how to help that yet. She warmed to Azriel when he sat beside her, so at least she wasn’t spiraling in solitude.

“Is Cass sitting with them too?” Feyre murmured, desperate for anything to break through the tension.

“Yes. Their rooms are side by side. We’ve been rotating,” Mor confirmed. And silence fell again. “I’m sorry. I know you hate—”

“I’m fine,” she said again, her voice a bit too sharp. She pulled her hand from Mor’s, rubbing at the gooseflesh pebbling down her arms. Considering it was summer, she’d forgotten to pack a jacket for the plane and the hospital wasn’t much warmer. 

A few moments later a familiar hand was between her shoulder blades, pushing her up. Realizing Rhys was back with his coat as an offering she shook her head. “Honestly, Feyre.”

She sat up, letting him drape it over her shoulders and sweep her hair out of the collar, his fingers gliding over her skin. “The doctor was there. Neither one of them should need more than a few days here after they wake up.” He sat beside her, looking worse than when they came in. She didn’t think it had anything to do with the fact they should be asleep on another continent at the moment. Rhys laced their fingers together and Avy scoffed, drawing both their attention.

“What?” Rhys asked.

“With all this going on, you’re worried about holding up your little ruse?” Feyre blushed, starting to tug her hand away. Rhys grip only tightened, his jaw clenched to match it. “You knew he would dig. You know this little plan would backfire, so why try?”

“I didn’t think he would care to dig, honestly. Not with me cut out of the will.”

“How stupid are you, Rhys?” He raised a brow. “Mom threatened to leave him. If he so much as altered either of our inheritance, she was going to leave him. He started pulling strings, looking into you two as soon as you left the country.”

“What does this have to do with their will?” Feyre asked cautiously.

Rhys sighed, running his free hand through his hair. “The last fight my father and I had before I moved out was over when I would marry, who I would marry, and how to get a prenup in place. I told him he could go to hell and cut me from the will if the family assets were his biggest concern with my marriage. I thought he had.” There was a sudden panic in his eyes. “None of this reflects on you, Feyre. This was before we even met.”

“I’m not your wife, Rhys. It doesn’t matter much, does it?”

“I have every intention of rectifying that.” Mor squeaked beside me. Rhys ignored her. “You never answered my question.”

“Rhys, honestly.”

“You’re still wearing the ring. I have every right to wonder, don’t I?”

“I’m not marrying you. I barely know you.”

A dangerously smug expression met her then. “I’d say you know me quite well by now, darling.”

His poor sister gagged at that. Feyre frowned. “I’m starting to understand the need to talk about you putting something in place.”

“Feyre!”

“We haven’t known each other for half a year and you’re proposing. I’d say that’s a bit impulsive.” He frowned. “Ask me again in six months. That might change my answer.”

He smiled, kissing her brow. “That I can work with.”

~~~~~

AN: The last chapter was prewritten and will be out tomorrow.

Taglist: Reach out to be added or removed.

@goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron // @elentiya-whitethorn // @gwynkyrie // @acotar-fanns

[aintashes]

better out here. better with you. feat @painmon.

in the months following rick's fall from the bridge, he and peter have taken to traveling the length of the river searching for any signs of his fate. although there's a somberness in the reasoning and though daryl has been in need of peter's compassion and support, it keeps them reliably on the move and away from the grabbing hands of the cult. even when they veer off to one of the coalition's communities for a pit stop, they're out of the gates again before nightfall. with the cult's uptick in pressure, dark figures slinking through the trees around them with higher and higher frequency, they haven't been able to allow for any kind of downtime.

it's not all bad, though. being pushed into this position has actually strengthened their teamwork and has made them a deadly and formidable force:

there's a kind of stoic vigor to the way daryl fights— a seriousness that shows in the way he firmly, dutifully ends things whenever their enemies dare to cross their path. it's him who grasps at the lifeforce of each member of the cult of paimon, snuffing them out without hesitation. his bolts and his knives cut through bodies while peter bolsters their efforts at his side; his magic grows in skill and power every day, and while he doesn't perform any killing blows, he leads every cloaked silhouette right to their doom at daryl's hands.

feeding the earth with the bodies of the cult of paimon is an act of kindness. at least then, they're good for something. daryl doesn't even let them turn: he always takes the time to kill their brains no matter what happens to their bodies, intent to allow the decomposers beneath the soil to rise up to claim them.

he could have them turn instead. he could force their bodies to reanimate and leave them as a reminder— a brutal calling card that shows the rest of the cult exactly what's in store for them. but daryl is not cruel. he's not negan, killing and stringing up his enemies in a homicidal display of intimidation. it makes him sick to his stomach to even consider such an act after having seen it. lived it.

taking them down is cleansing, in a way, for peter and for everyone. one by one, the worms and insects and the fungi rid the world of their fleshy rot while their souls are, daryl is sure, whisked away to whatever horrific fate paimon himself deems suitable for his failed followers. he doesn't understand how it all works, and he's not confident he ever will. but one thing he does know is that the cult is not like a hydra: more heads do not sprout from those that fall. their numbers may be large, but the limbs that daryl and peter manage to cut off do not grow back easily.

it doesn't stop the cult from trying to overwhelm them, though. with a clenched jaw and a grunt of effort, daryl throws one of his dual blades expertly into the head of an unlucky assailant before turning and raking his other knife across another's throat. his feet shuffle him to the side quickly to dodge a hatchet as it's slashed in his direction, taking the opening to grab a fistful of a cult puppet's shirt and using it as leverage to plunge his weapon up into their sternum. with peter's aid, he whips around to face two more and grabs the hatchet from the ground to dispatch them with ease.

although peter doesn't physically fight, he's an incredible help on the battlefield and daryl has found it easier and easier to trust him with both of their lives. this scuffle is no exception. he takes in their surroundings in the quiet aftermath, and only once they've determined that they're alone again does he go and retrieve the weapon he threw. using it to kill the brains of their attackers, he then wipes blood from his blades onto the cloak of one of the dead.

‘ — you good? ’  ��  daryl nods in peter's direction as he asks, shifting on his feet as he catches his breath. he knows he doesn't have to ask, doesn't have to trail his eyes over his companion's form to assess for injuries— something protective and mindful inside of him simply compels him to do so.

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 6: Yes, to Err is Human, So Don't Be One (1)

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: It’s like she’s in a haunted house, seeing his face, his eyes. She eventually runs outside, and it only gets worse.

Author's Note: This song was MADE for Zetsu. ...Ok yes it's a character song for a podcast that has vampire imagery but STILL! Hopefully I'm not stretching the verses out too much. Like with Hidan's chapter, Misanthrapolagist, I plan on more with this title for Zetsu. The song is Yes, to Err is Human, So Don't Be One by Will Wood. Also I have SO many song associations and playlists for these characters, I will hyperfixate you to death if you ask (lovingly)

CW for talk of cannibalism. Because of Zetsu. Existing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I could drink your blood if you let me, baby

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The hisses of wind only grow sharper as the gusts blunder past the cracks of the brick house. Was weather here always prone to this?! It didn’t so much as drizzle in the months she’s been around! The caged bird believes no omen, but hell if the anxieties don’t multiply one another.

She grips her shoulders through the thin blue sweater; it’s nearly useless to this kind of storm. In her gritting teeth she can feel a racing heartbeat, her stomach tipping upside-down like a trashcan in a tornado. It’s been five-something fucking hours since her comrades left at the break of twilight, five-something fucking hours in what’s become practically a haunted house. Fearing the roof cave in after one more groan of the ceiling, the woman finally tears herself from the glue trap of fright and figures there must be a better way to take shelter, just in case.

Her lip is bit till it turns stark white. If her Kakuzu and Hidan were here, they wouldn’t leave her like this, right? She’d be protected again. No fear of kidnappers, handsy patrons, nor a maelstrom such as this. They never spoke nice but they always were nice, somehow, when it mattered.

How desperate is she to think they really had such sentiment, she scolds herself. No, regardless of this deal with a god she’s been left alone again. Her eyes feel like they’re being squeezed in their sockets, since they’ve no more tears to give tonight.

“I’m so scared…” she murmurs, holding herself. Her eyes pinch shut but with a crack of lightning, they burst open and she can only scream. A stoic face with candlelight-yellow eyes stares at her from the wall, lifeless, and it disappears in the dark once the bolt’s glow decays. Feet scramble underneath each other till she trips out the door and into the hall.

The hallway itself feels like a rickety bridge overtop ten stories of mountain air, dizzying altitude making it hard to stand up straight or breathe. Like a newborn deer she staggers up, limping through vertigo-induced twists and turns. Just as she regains some sense of control, approaching the first stair down, lightning strikes again and the specter returns in a picture frame. Another cry and she pushes forward, panic yanking her down the staircase so she runs with any body part but her legs, pounding, pounding, poundingtill the last thud is more mute. Shaky arms raise herself up yet again, and the ache in her bones causes the woman to forget the course of her ship.

A growl in the throat of the storm brings another vision of him massive green, jagged teeth around a split face in the corner of her eye, and the only thing she knows how to do is run.

Is she any good at it?

Grazing the sides of dusty furniture scrape her skin, knickknacks shoved from their shelves in a pop, pop, pop like grenades, shattering porcelain. The head of a doll rolls until it catches on the lapse of two floorboards, one eyeball caved in and rosy lips pursed in emotionless death. The woman’s arms fling open the door of the cage, and it feels like a mile in the few seconds it takes for her to turn and look back.

The wind plays with the back porch gate as a restless child would, square edges stark in shape against the sea of thick, foggy gray in the sky. The leaves cling to the branches around for dear life, and the space in the doorway where the creature should be is empty. The woman inches a few steps backward, unsure, disoriented, as she finds herself outside.

And nature takes her, as while the leaves don’t fly away in early summer, the branches still can.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hang from your rafters, patchwork & paisley

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The wind coos like an owl, deep and songful. It plays with her hair, cold weaving up the strands till it hits her scalp. Then slowly, but surely, his fingers do too, cupping the side of her head as she lays on his lap- in his arms. Zetsu, of course, can only ponder this: her eyes are shut, refusing to see him. The sight of him made her flee. And yet she grips now, to his familiar cloak, with her life depending on it.

Humans are such silly things.

Yellow irises take in the amputated limb ahead, the branch that almost fell on her. Its bark is healthy, its inside green at the edges where bisected. Quite the gust to rip that off, half of him muses. It’s time to take shelter, the other minds. They’re in agreement as the phantom plucks her from the earth and returns her to the haunted house.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I could suck you dry on the rocks with a twist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s funny. The woman always thought the iconography of ghosts to be enamoring, you know? From little round sheets with holes for eyes, to wisps of foxfire and gossamer, to visceral mutilations of what a person used to be-- they’re all fascinating, representing different aspects of longing and lingering and leaving this plane. It makes sense, a woman nearly obsessed with death and perspectives of afterlife to find attachment to their personifications. As she is placed gently as a feather atop a bed unused for years and years, does she see her ghost, ahead in the vanity mirror? And as that face returns, is that what he is?

Weariness of a long night must overcast prior instincts, as now she merely flutters her eyes in surprise. “Oh,” she speaks too simply, “It’s you…!” The woman recognizes him now, once she stops burying her face in red clouds. The scent of pollen fades off of him like a perfume as distance increases. The man is a mirror of himself, plain as can be, and even as she stares, she can’t figure out how his face works. The complete eye of Zetsu’s becomes hooded now she's properly rescued and subdued; she becomes flushed.

“A-apologies.” A formal tone is necessary, not only after being so erratic but as she doesn’t know him at all. But the expression of his isn’t short like she first thought; he begins to smile.

“You almost killed yourself.”

Never mind, he’s probably mad.

“Sorry.” Her head bows. “The wind, the thunder—”

One eye blinks. “...It scared you?”

She can’t even nod to that; the woman knows how childish it is. “...A tree fell into my room. When I was little.” It’s so hard trying to relax her shoulders after being tense so long. “I get anxious when it’s windy like this.”

Zetsu’s sweeter voice exhales an “oh,” calculations running in his head. “...It makes sense. Forces of nature like this kill all the time. It’s only a matter of time until you—”

A sharp pang rings through his skull, one communicating the other to for the love of god shut up. Great. As White Zetsu refocuses, he sees that she’s fixated on the storm again, a still intact glass arch in the wall framing a branch that swings up and down like a kid carrying a teddy bear by the paw.

Why do you care if she’s upset?

Pain-sama’s intentions are clear.

But being attentive doesn’t mean babying.

Look at her.

And he does. The woman is withered, drained and meek to the imagination of forces smashing her down like a bug. She’s small. In this big, big world, she is still so very small. Zetsu sighs.

“There's no threat,” he assures, truthfully. For his soft voice, it’s so confident. “This building has stood for years. It won’t fall tonight,” the other voice adds. The fear-paled lady in her white dress now finally nods in agreement, eager for some logic to stand onto.

“You’re right...You’re right.”

The gaze falls from the window to the broken mirror some meters away, seeing herself in it- propped up against the headboard with hands folded on her lap- and the creature looming on the bedside. Forces of nature, huh...?

“...Are you like them?” she inquires. The black cloth can only bring such questions. “Do you kill, too?” Though the exact nature of the Akatsuki- the execution of Pain's peace- eludes her, the bounties and (to an extent) the rituals of her entourage did not.

The monster of a man doesn’t shake his head, nor says a proper no. “I’m not a fighter,” he explains. “I’m not suited for such work.” A tiny bit of relief enters her heart, but it still holds worries.

“...May I ask what you do?”

A curious one. Best she be careful.

“...Watch. Learn. Listen," he provides. "The roots take me where I need, pass information that needs to be known.” He’s the reason the other Akatsuki know she exists, why she’s here now, sitting next to him in wait for the next pair.

“It sounds...more peaceful,” she admits, admiration creeping in her weary tone. She envisions herself as he must be, weaving in and out of oak and birch as smooth as watercolor brushes on paper. Her head sticking out on the very tippy top of the woodlands, the smell of magnolia or plum blossom surrounding as an aura. She’s above the world, anything that could crush her--

“Oh yes. It can be meditative,” he agrees pleasantly, “...Especially the meals.”

She blinks again. “Meals?”

“The bodies,” Zetsu says. “Consumption of them renews my chakra. I presume it’s much like how you must enjoy sleep or a bath.”

“...Bodies? Of…?!” The woman regrets it as soon as she asks.

“Corpses,” he elaborates. “My most vital duty is to dispose of our dead.”

It is suddenly so very nauseating imagining herself so high up.

“Mm?” The man cocks his head, though the woman isn’t even using the mirror to look at him anymore; indeed, her eyes aren’t seeing anything that’s actually in front of her. He chides once again.

Damn...so sensitive…how annoying...

Then don’t make it worse! Fix it!

“...You needn’t think about that. I only eat you if you die.”

That is NOT AT ALL what she was thinking about, thank you very much!!!

Predictable as a jack in the box, fear encapsulates her again, shivers making her bolt straight up in bed. A hand searches blindly desperately across the blanket till it palms a pillow to shove into her face. A brow curls in confusion as he watches her muted scream, and then just as quickly, she stops, setting it back where it was. That helps a little. Unified, he and her exhale in release of stress, lest the remaining time get even longer than it already will be.

“You'll just be brought back again if you leave, you know…”

“I do, I do…Just.” She swallows, forcing herself to take in his visage in the mirror once more. The way his coat wraps around the plant structure causes the collar to taper off, sort of like a vampire's cape. “Never heard that one before.” ...No, she hasn’t heard that one before. Eating the dead... And she’s so morbidly curious--

--No. No, she’s not going to ask what they taste like!!! She needs the sky to stop spinning before that box can be unwrapped. God. Oh god...! She mouths a quick "bleh!" and vigorously shakes her brain free of the idea. Zetsu allows himself to smirk again, questions of her filling his own fascinated mind. A woman that may be of another world, perhaps across time and space...she's a weird one, indeed, but not in the way one would expect. Before he caught a whiff of it, the traveler had already put herself in the good graces of the Akatsuki's arguably most unstable members-- a talent of some sort, surely, amount of magic (or jutsu) involved still unknown. As much as one can ask how many of her fairy tales are real, how much of her self is one?

“Must be quite a few things you’ll experience for the first time.”

You strange thing, he ponders, what secrets do you keep...?

The infinite is in the wind, across the fluttering leaves and in the waves of grass. Ghosts and ghouls and Frankenstein’s monsters. The two aliens share this space as the other carries a whole other universe- way of existing- upon their back, both grotesque and incomprehensible. Another flash of lightning, and electricity fills the air with possibilities grand and grave. As she rests upon the bed, though eyelids beg to close, the exhausted woman finds herself staring at his split reflection in wonder. The flytrap tilts its torso forward till he can see his own face in the cracked glass, and he tries to see what she sees.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But just like a vampire, I don't exist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[chicgeekgirl89]

Chapter 3: Yachtie with a Body

Read on AO3

“So?” Nancy plops down next to T.K. on the deck, a bowl of something in one hand, a fork in the other. “What’s the deal with the new chef?”

T.K. groans. “What are you talking about?”

He’d come up to the bow of the boat to hide for a few minutes. They’re three days into this charter and the guests are being chaperoned on a shore excursion by Marjan and Paul, which means the rest of them are finally getting a little bit of a break. There are more bathrooms to be cleaned and the laundry has never looked worse, but T.K. had been enjoying a few minutes of peace and quiet before his boss found him.

“I mean what’s he like? He seems super nice. Like amazingly nice. He made me this.” She holds out the bowl of mango for T.K. to see. “Like I just walked through the galley and he asked me if I wanted mango and when I said yes he cut some up for me. There’s homemade coconut cream on here dude. Pearce would have murdered you with his eyes if you’d even thought about wanting mango in his presence.”

T.K. rolls his eyes because he doesn’t have any fond memories of their time together. He’d spent more of it with Pearce than most because they’d been cabin mates and if he never hears another rant about the importance of wiping down the shower after each and every use, it will be too soon.

“I think he’s nice,” T.K. tells her, leaning over and stealing a piece of fruit from her bowl. “At least, he seems to be. He hasn’t yelled at me about using the bathroom in the middle of the night like Pearce did.”

Nancy shakes her head. “That man. Only Pearce could believe it was possible to hear nature’s call and tell it to wait until a more sensible six am. Do you think he even has a soul? Or is it just like, a shriveled up little prune kind of thing?”

“He probably returned it to sender because it wasn’t up to code,” T.K. tells her, stealing another bite. The coconut cream is amazing. 

“So definitely a step up in both the roommate and chef departments,” Nancy says. “Good pick Iris.”

It’s the truth. Carlos is a major step up. T.K. has noticed the little ways in which Carlos goes out of his way to keep morale high for the crew. There have been homemade chocolate chip cookies, still warm from the oven, tortillas and guac, brownies, he’d even made arroz con pollo the other day when Mateo mentioned missing his abuela’s cooking. He’s going above and beyond not just for the guests, but for the crew too. It’s incredibly sweet.

“Do you—“ T.K.’s question is interrupted by the sound of a loud splash that catches both of their attention. “Are the guests back?” T.K. asks, an icy bolt of panic going down his spine as he check to makes sure his radio is turned up and that he hasn’t missed anything.

“No they’re not supposed to be back for like another two hours,” Nancy says, standing up and looking over port the side. “The tender is still gone.”

T.K. pushes to his feet and  jogs the few feet over to starboard. There’s nothing in the water on that side either. “Judd or Mateo doing something with the water toys?” T.K. asks.

“Mateo’s in his bunk and Judd was up on the bridge with Tommy when I came out here,” Nancy says.

They’re both walking now, eyes on either side of the boat as they move from the bow toward the stern. When they finally reach the back of the boat they stop dead in their tracks.

New chef Carlos Reyes is hoisting himself out of the cerulean waters of the Caribbean and onto the Nautibuoy platforms that extend off the boat’s stern. Time feels like it’s slowing and T.K.’s eyes go wide as he watches Carlos stand up, water cascading down over toned biceps and abs, his perfectly crafted thighs clad in only a dark pair of swim trunks that cling to him and leave very little to the imagination. 

“Holy shit,” Nancy whispers next to him, her tone appropriately reverential for what they’re witnessing. “New chef is a yachtie with a body.”

T.K. can’t speak and wouldn’t know what to say if he could. Carlos pushes his sopping wet curls back out of his face and then he looks up and spots them, giving them a friendly wave as he reaches for a towel that’s hanging over the railing.

They both manage to wave back despite their surprise. “Okay,” Nancy says, her voice low, a smile plastered on her face as her hand continues to wave back and forth. “Somebody’s gotta hit that. And it should probably be you.”

“Me?!” T.K. stops waving and turns to her in shock. “Why me?”

“Are you saying you’re not interested?”

“No I—“ Oh god, he’s going to embarrass himself. “Why would you immediately jump to me? He’s Iris’ ex.”

“Which is exactly why it has to be you,” Nancy says pragmatically. “Judd’s got Grace back home, Captain’s got her preacher man on shore, Marjan needs somebody within her faith and culture, Paul is seeing Asha, Iris doesn’t want him anymore, so that leaves you.”

“Or you, or Mateo,” T.K. points out.

“Mateo and I have a thing,” she says.

Wow she is really full of surprises today. “You. And Mateo. Have a thing,” T.K. repeats.

She waves a hand. “It’s casual.”

He tries to wrap his mind around that and decides he’d rather not. “He dated Iris. Which makes him straight.”

Nancy looks at him, offended. “Bisexual people exist.”

“Fine. Okay, yes, they do, but I would never date someone Iris dated. It wouldn’t be cool.”

“Did you ask her if it would be cool?”

“Why would I ask her that?!”

Nancy shrugs. “Because he’s hot. And you clearly like him. You’re basically drooling dude.”

T.K. instinctively wipes at his mouth with his hand and glares at her when he doesn’t find anything. “He’s my roommate. And Iris’ ex. And probably straight. Any one of those things is enough of a reason for me to leave him alone.”

She makes a face. “What is the point of yachting if not to make stupid sexual decisions? I’m making some. And it’s a lot of fun.”

“I really don’t want to hear anymore thank you,” T.K. says. He’s pretty open about sex, but he doesn’t want to know what his boss and Mateo are doing with each other below deck. 

“Just saying, it wouldn’t hurt either one of you to have a little fun. And if the Iris thing bothers you, then just ask her. You know she’ll tell it to you straight.” She pats him on the shoulder. “Also, did I mention you’re on carpet spot duty this afternoon?”

“Noooooo,” T.K. moans. 

“The guests were drinking a lot of red wine last night. Make sure you get them all out!” Nancy sing songs as she heads back inside. 

T.K. hangs his head and then slowly follows her. He makes a quick stop by his cabin to grab his phone and his earbuds (at least he can have Harry Styles for company as he scrubs) and nearly runs into Carlos. “Oh sorry,” he says.

“No problem,” Carlos says back.

He’s thrown a button-up on, thank god, so T.K. isn’t face to face with his incredible pecs, but he can still smell the saltwater on his skin, in his hair. “How was your swim?” T.K. asks.

“Great,” Carlos says. “I just needed to cool off for a few minutes and Captain said it was all right.”

“Yeah Tommy’s good like that,” T.K. says. 

“Right, Tommy,” Carlos says sheepishly. “I forget you guys are kind of informal.”

“We’re a family,” T.K. says. “That’s why she was such a good fit when she came on as captain. It might not work on all boats, but it does on ours.”

Carlos snorts. “It definitely wouldn’t have worked on my last boat.”

There’s something bitter in his words even though he says them lightly and T.K. feels a flash of anger at whoever made him feel bad enough to put that tone in his voice. “Your last boat was tough?” he asks.

“You could say that.” 

“Is that why you came here?” T.K. asks. 

“I came because Iris called,” Carlos says and the mention of her name, of their relationship, sends a stab of pain through T.K. “But yes, also to get away.”

“Do you…want to talk about it?” T.K. offers.

Carlos shrugs. “I’m fine. I survived. We’ve all been on bad boats before.”

“Well we’re all glad you’re here,” T.K. tells him.

“I heard Pearce was…quite a guy to work with,” Carlos says, flashing him a grin that says the crew has definitely been telling tales of some of Pearce’s more infamous moments. 

“Yeah you’re definitely an upgrade,” T.K. says, then winces at the blatant horniness of that statement. 

“An upgrade huh?” Carlos’ smile changes, drops into something lazy and sensual. The way he leans on one arm against the top bunk feels flirty.

T.K. loves flirting. He loves flirting so. freaking. much. So it takes a lot of effort for him to wrench himself out of charm mode and back into boat colleague mode. “Honestly anyone would have been an upgrade from Pearce,” he says. “Did I tell you he used to time me in the bathroom? If I took more than five minutes in the morning he’d start to bang on the door and tell me to get out.”

“Yikes,” Carlos says, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off and, oh god, the abs are back and T.K. feels like he needs to avert his gaze, like he’s a gentleman from a Jane Austen novel trying to protect someone’s modesty. Which is ridiculous. Because he’s seen hundreds of naked chests before in all different contexts. But this chest, these abs…something about them calls to him. 

“Sorry, he sounds like a nightmare,” Carlos says as he pulls on a white undershirt, effectively bringing T.K.’s lustful thoughts to an end.

“Nightmare is definitely the word,” T.K. agrees. “Ask Nancy about the pineapple disaster of week three. She still has the scars.”

He chuckles and T.K. feels a thrill at being able to affect him like that. “I will definitely ask,” Carlos says.

“Hey, T.K.!” Iris comes bopping down the hallway, slightly breathless. “Oh, hey Carlos,” she says when she spots him through the open door. She looks back and forth between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

They both speak a little too quickly, as if there’s something to hide, even though there’s not. They’re standing here with the door open, not sneaking around.

So why does T.K. feel guilty anyway?

Her eyes narrow suspiciously, but she doesn’t press it. “I can’t find those little disco balls we used a couple weeks ago. The rainbow colored ones.”

“I put them in the cabinet in the dining room,” T.K. says.

“You did not.”

He sighs. “Yes I did!”

It takes some searching but they find the missing disco balls (it turns out he did put them in the dining room cabinet, but Mateo took them back out again for some game they were playing with the guests). Then it’s onto red wine stain purgatory, armed only with a spray bottle of club soda, a white rag, and determination. By the time he’s done the carpet looks like it’s never seen a drop of wine in its life, and T.K.’s back and arms are sore.

He hauls himself to his feet and trudges to the galley to return the salt he’d borrowed in case the club soda wasn’t enough. Carlos is chopping up veggies for the crew dinner, several filets of salmon set to the side. He looks up when T.K. comes in and frowns. “You look like you just fell off a bucking bronco.”

“I’m banning red wine from the boat,” T.K. tells him, setting the salt shaker down onto the prep counter. “White wine only. No sangria. No merlot. Clear liquids and nothing else.”

“Good luck with that,” Carlos says, going back to his chopping.

“Thanks for the sympathy,” T.K. says sarcastically. “You have no idea the agony of scrubbing out carpet stains. Over and over and over. It never ends. It’s like some kind of polyester Groundhog Day nightmare. And definitely not my preferred way to get rug burn.”

Carlos bites his lip in amusement. “I didn’t know there was a good way to get rug burn.”

T.K. scoffs. “Then you’ve clearly never had sex with me.” 

The words are out before he can stop them, a flirty reflex that he can’t contain. It often gets him what he wants, but right now he’d like to melt through the floor.

Carlos sets his knife down again, something shifting in his eyes. “Is that something you’re offering?”

It’s light, but there’s an undertone. Something more serious, something that makes T.K. want to go over there and show him exactly how much he’d like to offer sex.

“Carlos, Carlos, Nancy,” the radio squawks, breaking the moment.

Carlos picks it up. “This is Carlos.”

“The guests are heading back. If you could get their snicky snack ready that would be fabulous darling.”

“No problem.”

T.K. flees. It’s cowardly, it’s stupid, it’s extremely not cool, but he runs back to their shared cabin and locks the door behind him. He leans against it and exhales. Who the fuck does he think he is? It is not appropriate to proposition your cabin-mate-who-has-dated-your-co-worker for sex. It’s just not. 

He lets his head thunk back against the door. What is he going to do?

[syngrafaes09]

Next Door Neighbour | Bucky Barnes x Y/N

Logline: It was a simple arrangement, he thought - two people with nightmares agreeing to sleep next each other. But little did he know her secrets were darker than night itself.

Masterlist

Part - 2

He once again readjusted the sleeve of his T-shirt and gloves before knocking at her door. Seconds later the door clicked open. He had finally made the call after two nights.

“You came,” she exclaimed, opening it wide for him to enter. He was supposed to be here two hours earlier. She had almost given up hope ten minutes ago when the clock struck eleven.

“Yeah. I was having cold feet.” he nervously scratched the back of his neck. She smiled, shook her head, and bolted the door. “Considering and reconsidering.”

“I’m glad you came.”

She led him through the narrow hallway. He could hear the soft noise of the TV from the first room on their right. 

The living room was similar to his. Except the couch looked more comfortable than his, two bookshelves flanked the window opening to the side yard and a few pictures hung on the right wall. The TV was playing the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon.

“You’ve got a beautiful place,” he commented, settling on the armchair across from her.

“Thank you.” She turned down the volume. “What do you usually do before going to bed?”

“Sometimes I watch TV, other times maybe read a book.”

Y/n nodded, fiddling with the hem of her white dress. This was much more awkward than she had imagined. “Would you like some wine? Or beer?”

“Uh, thank you. Anything would be nice. I’ll have what you have.”

She nodded once again. And disappeared into the hall. 

Bucky exhaled and looked around the lightly lit room. He focused on the pictures hanging in front of him - the first one was of a man standing on a bridge, the second one of Y/N from her graduation ceremony, the third one of a toddler and the last one again of the man and Y/n together standing beside a creek in the forest. 

Y/n returned with two beer bottles.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked before taking his first sip.

“About 6 years. I came here three months before the blip.”

“Is that your husband?”

She glanced at the photos. He couldn’t exactly say her emotions but they were similar on the line of longing and regret. The longing was similar to the one he had seen in Steve’s eyes. “Ex-husband,” she replied, taking another sip. “We separated ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry. But you don’t strike me that old.”

“No, I guess I’m not,” she chucked. “I turned thirty-two last summer. I had been with Adam since I was fourteen. He was sort of my guardian after my parents died. I loved him, we got married and three years later he wanted to leave.” She gave him a sad smile. “Enough about me, tell me about you.”

He blinked. He didn’t know what to say about him. He could certainly not tell her that he was over a hundred years old. Had assassinated over two dozen people. Was a brainwashed super soldier. No, none of that could be revealed to her. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Anything,” she said. “Where did you grow up? What’s your job like? Your life partners, if any? And so on.”

“I grew up in Brooklyn.” He took a sip as his mind went haywire trying to intricate truth with lies. “I joined the army. Was in Russia and Germany between the missions-”

“Mommy,” a half-sleepy voice interrupted him. He let out a breath of relief at the God-sent angel. Both of them looked towards the boy standing near the door of the living room.

“Oh, baby,” Y/n whispered and rushed to him. “You had a bad dream again?” She crouched in front of him, running her fingers through his messy hair.

He shook his head, “Just got up,” and looked over her shoulder. “Is that daddy?” he asked, looking at the strange figure.

“No, love. That’s Uncle James from next door.” The boy examined him once again. “Shall we get you back to bed?” He nodded.

Picking him up in her arms, Y/n turned back, “Would you like to come up?”

“Sure,” he replied, following them.

Tags : @vicmc624 @just-another-fanfiction-writer

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Jonah - a Magnus Archives fic

An AU Somewhere Else - part of the Magnus Monsterverse series.

Spoilers for the whole podcast.

He’d spent decades floating, chanting the terrors of the terrorized in iambic meter, a repeated buh-DAH pulsing like a literal beating heart, and somehow I knew that the Eye didn’t do that on purpose, but that was Jonah’s wish.

Because he was a dramatic, overclocked asshole who had to make everything a show.

The desire to just… fall upon this floating, ruined, filthy man and tear him to pieces, to bite into him and rip into him and leave him in bloodied screaming shreds, scared me very badly.

AO3

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

The Alps was about as vague a location as it was possible to get.

The mountains stretched over eight countries and nearly 1,200 kilometers. A massive orobiome covering 200 habitats, nearly 5,000 combined species of plants, birds, flowers, and animals, it had rivers and valleys, glaciers and peaks, and the only reason I knew we were in Austria was because I… knew.

We were deep in the mountains themselves, hidden in stone, gently swathed in bedrock. She’d made the place somehow… cozy? No plants or anything, but there were beanbag chairs and colorful throws. I caught scents of baked cookies, and vintage jazz piped from somewhere down the hall.

She walked at speed, having opened the portal right at the start of this bizarre, white structure in the middle of a mountain, and I guessed she might want to show it off.

I had to jog to follow her.

“Sorry to rush you,” Manuela said, waving her hand vaguely in the direction of a fifty-year-old poster with an animated, misshapen horse and human girl galloping along a rainbow. “But these things swing into position rarely enough as it is.”

“I’d love a little more explanation.”

She sighed, taking a right—and suddenly we were away from any pretense of cozy. Here were the blinding whites, the sterile smells, various doors with stenciled numbers on them and tiny windows, all manner of little keypads with glowing buttons. “So… think of it like a… a baby’s cot mobile? Sort of?”

“Worlds dangling on strings to entertain the still-developing?” I drawled.

“Right, lousy example,” she said, and took a left.

At last, we encountered security. She used a palm print, an eye-scan, and a keycard for each successive door, and I couldn’t help but notice that she tapped something on a keypad after each one, as well (telling the system I was friendly, at least for this individual trip, the Eye informed me).

This hall felt… weird. Hot? Not hot. Radiation? I knew. “Why are we being bombarded with actual galactic cosmic rays?”

“We’re both immune to them,” says Manuela.

“Are you sure?” I say, my voice cracking.

“Completely. And it’s happening because… well, come and see.”

The weight of the mountain atop us was beginning to frighten me. I could feel it, approximately 21,4285,714.2857 stone above and around us, and—

Approximately? Very funny, Eye. “Do… do you bring everyone through here?” I said.

“No, most of them couldn’t handle the radiation very well,” she said. “But it’s nice to be able to show someone.”

“I will need to do something with my clothes before returning to Martin,” I said firmly.

“Oh, he’d be fine.”

“He… he would?” Why didn’t I know that?

“He’s immune to this, too, so yes.”

“How?”

“Later, all right? We’re in a rush.” She turned one last time, led me through one last door, and we were basically on the bridge of the Enterprise. (I was proud of myself for making that connection.)

Three levels, sort of stadium style. Chairs, bolted to the floor, each before a currently unoccupied control panel, lights blinking. The front wall was one enormous metal panel, which I knew slid down to reveal… “What is that?” I whispered.

Manuela smiled. “Welcome to reality.” And with all due grandeur, the metal panel moved.

The air sucked out of the room. I didn’t need to breathe; and right now, neither did she—she’d manifested some kind of other atmosphere around herself and around me in a bubble, a weird cut-out glimpse of blue sky and butterflies and green grass, and I stared at her before gawking at the reality she dared to show me.

It was like an orrery, but this was no model. No wires. No strings. Only worlds.

Worlds within worlds, overlapping each other. Doubled, tripled, sometimes halved, smoothly sweeping by in an orbit so huge I struggled to comprehend it, if “orbit” was even the word. Each world was not alone; each one mimicked itself, mirrored, twisting that reflection into variations until it was impossible to tell which was original and which was not.

(The Eye knew. The Eye could delineate them for me, and I suddenly saw which worlds were ended, which worlds were not, which worlds had been ruined by one of the Fears, which worlds had—)

“There’s your Martin’s,” said Maneula, and I looked.

Indeed. A quiet, mist-wreathed world, gray; supernaturally so, because even as it was, it should have reflected blue. It was empty. Looking at it made my stomach ache, as if I hadn’t eaten in days. Then it swept past and was gone.

“How many are there?” I blurted.

“Hundreds,” said Manuela. “But more to the point, they’re either not all ready for rescue, or the avatar in question died, or their cycle—as I call it—doesn’t come into range of my abilities very often.”

“And… this Jonah…” My stomach ached for another reason.

“He’s ready.”

I shook. I couldn’t seem to stop shaking. “I’m… not sure I…”

Manuela sighed. “Look. I’ll be square with you, okay? We have ninety seconds until his world swings into my reach, and yes, I’m going to grab him.”

My teeth chattered. I didn’t give them permission to do that. (How the hell do eyeballs chatter, anyway?)

“This was originally Leitner’s idea,” she said, which was not surprising. “He wants us all to get along, and from what Martin told us of your particular tale, this one… is a hurdle.”

“You don’t say.” I couldn’t help how I sounded, so dry, so dismissive, so mean.

She didn’t take it personally. “This isn’t your Jonah. This Jonah is practically a child. He was twenty-three years old when he became a full avatar of the Eye, and twenty-nine when he ended the world.”

Younger than I’d been.

I can’t… process that. “How did it happen? How did all of these happen? They’re supposed to be able to bring in all the Fears, have all the marks. So how did it happen?”

She looked so surprised. “What?”

“What do you mean, what? You heard me! How, statistically, could all of them have the same—”

“Here he comes,” she interrupted. “I need you, Jon. We have to do this together.”

I did not have words for how little I wanted this. “Manuela!”

A world swung into view. So much closer than the others, filling the screen and filling my—

Everything

The whole world, WATCHED

Oh… oh, the Eye liked this one, yes It did (though not as much as me), and was so disappointed it had ended so soon.

It fed on him there. Fed through him, forcing him to know all the terrible things that ever were and to re-live them for Its happiness, because It loved his screams and his tears and his torment and

I…

This was not what had happened to me.

“Steady,” said Manuela. “Steady.”

I didn’t want to see.

I had to see.

She opened.

Herself, her entire being like a mouth, split down the middle.

Inside her were stars, eternal and unending.

I gasped, saw to the end of everything, knew what she contained inside herself even though she did not, and she

reached

Through.

The man who floated from his dead world was and was not the one I had known, and the eagerness of the Eye for us to get along almost hurt my heart, or whatever giant eyeball stood in for it.

He was… in rags, in clothes that barely looked like anything now, but I caught a memory of what it had been—a high waist and puffed chest, an almost feminine silhouette by modern standards, fluttery fullness at the sleeve caps that guaranteed eye-catching movement with every gesticulation. The tailcoat, waistcoat, and long trousers had cut him a fine figure, classy and contemporary for his time.

And then he’d ended the world, and clothes ceased to matter.

He’d spent decades floating, chanting the terrors of the terrorized in iambic meter, a repeated buh-DAH pulsing like a literal beating heart, and somehow I knew that the Eye didn’t do that on purpose, but that was Jonah’s wish.

Because he was a dramatic, overclocked asshole who had to make everything a show.

The desire to just… fall upon this floating, ruined, filthy man and tear him to pieces, to bite into him and rip into him and leave him in bloodied screaming shreds, scared me very badly.

I hated him. I hated him. I would have killed him in my world if we’d made it to the Panopticon together. I would have done what I did in Martin’s timeline. I would have stabbed him until he died.

(And that was… frightening, because now it made me question how many other versions of me really were me, just with different opportunities given.)

“Easy,” said Manuela, her voice coming from far away and right here at the same time.

Before of all the control panels (and whom were those for, what did they do, why were they here, if necessary why unstaffed, why—) was a simple rectangle I now realize was a table. I saw no restraints.

It turned out she needed no restraints.

She lay him down without touching him, exhaled heavily as though she’d been carrying a great burden (with which we can all agree), and then came back together into one, seamless Manuela, whole and panting.

The world we’d taken him from slid away and was gone. Empty, now; it was empty. Anything of the Fears left there would starve.

(Or find Hill Top Road and go elsewhere, I presumed, but I had no time to analyze that now.)

Jonah Magnus lay on the table, looking nothing at all like Elias Bouchard.

Elias had been a pleasant-looking, well-kept middle-aged man. Dignified; he’d looked like someone who’d come from money, whose family had bred for it, who’d lived his whole damn life with spa days, or whatever the hell the rich did with themselves.

This man was pretty, and I wanted to tear off his face for it.

Of course, he wasn’t pretty now. If this was anything like the way I’d looked when I’d been rescued, I could see why Martin had not known who I was for certain.

He was encrusted. Tangles of hair like rope hung heavily from his head. His nails had curlicued, his beard had matted, his clothes had disintegrated; every inch of exposed skin was blackened, covered in muck, and half of what remained of his outfit was covered in mold.

But I knew what he had been.

Pale. Like someone who spent all his time indoors, reading. Surprisingly blond hair (I could not picture Elias as anything but authoritarian salt-and-pepper), all of which was kept just long enough to curl playfully. A tease. A mouth that smiled easily, clever blue eyes that focused, made one feel heard, properly listened to, and now stared wide without comprehension. Pink lips. Why did he have pink lips?

He had not looked dangerous. That was the key, wasn’t it, to all of this? He’d even dressed to ensure he had not; no one could guess he was secretly shitty, reading their minds, spying on their most private thoughts, leveraging their hidden shame and hidden terror to drive them to madness or violence or death.

Wickedness could only hide for so long under a false flesh elegance, and I could see it all.

He was gasping now, gaze darting everywhere.

“Jonah,” said Manuela. “Jonah, do you hear me?”

Behind us, the door opened, and Sasha came in at a jog. “Sorry I’m late! Oh, you’ve already got him, good! Hi, Jon.”

I swallowed, staring at Jonah. Resisting. If I popped off now, I knew I’d endanger my own life here. My time with Martin. I couldn’t do that.

“You sure this was a good idea?” Manuela muttered to Sasha.

“Yes. He’s going to be just fine. It’s important for them both, anyway.”

“Both?”

“That one never knew Jonathan Sims, but… well. From what you said, he thinks he’s the bee’s knees, right?”

Manuela snorted. “From what I can tell, he thinks he’s the Ceaseless Watcher’s best beloved.”

Well. I could definitely fix that.

(Was I really going to leverage my unwanted favored status with a god made of fear to hurt this horrible man’s feelings? Yes. Yes, I was.)

Sasha and Manuela both leaned over him now. “Jonah? Do you hear me, Jonah?” said Sasha.

His rolling eyes, mad-cow-wide, fixed on her.

Then he started screaming.

This didn’t seem to be unexpected. Whatever Manuela had in place here kept him down, and he couldn’t flail, get up, run, anything; the odor of him had reached me by now—the sour, rotten smell of a body unwashed in decades—and I knew that he smelled himself, too, and didn’t know what it was any more than he knew where he was, and that lack of knowledge frightened.

Good. I wanted him frightened.

But the Eye wasn’t done, and I’d let too much of It in to get all the information I had today, and so I knew  the Eye liked him (Why? I whined at It), and I knew, too, his ruined regret.

Knew that after he’d found a way to tear the Veil (the what?) and create the world he thought would be so grand, that after the people he so loved to watch all began to die, that after it all went as wrong as he fully deserved it to, he finally experienced through brute force a thing he’d never known all his life: agony belonging to other people.

He had no empathy. Had never known it. Like Mike Crew, simply did not have the ability to feel what others went through, and so it only made sense to look out for himself and nobody else, and so that’s what he’d done—studying, reading, worshiping (for whatever value of that word), giving his fear and other people’s to the Eye he’d chosen to follow, and when he’d torn the Veil (there was that word again) and made a new world, he thought he’d finally be happy forever.

He wasn’t.

His world survived for twenty-two years before everyone died.

The first fifteen years alone, being eaten, he couldn’t understand why. He’d done it all right; why did he have to feel badly? As though, unlike him, the people he’d sacrificed had somehow deserved it—which he’d thought because they were less smart than he, less talented than he, just less.

The next five years alone, being eaten, he knew he’d fucked up. Miscalculated. Hadn’t considered what could happen if everyone finally died and only he remained.

The next thirty-eight years were spent in a cycle of terror, completely absorbed by the lives It pushed through him, forcing him into a conduit he was never meant to be, utterly overwhelming himself.

He’d suffered.

He didn’t fully understand why he’d suffered—he blamed miscalculation, not his own horrible decisions.

I hated him. I wanted him hurting. I…

Damn. Stop it, I said, because I did not want to feel this. Don’t… SHOW me this! I said, because seeing him sob and writhe for year after year wasn’t pleasing, not to me, because I bloody well did have empathy, and it was horrible to watch.

I wanted him punished, yes, but this was not that. This was torture. It wasn’t the same.

He’d screamed himself out, straining so hard that he’d sweated through some of the grime on his skin (and how the hell he still even had moisture in his body was wild to consider—I could clearly see he wasn’t made of eyes), and he was weeping now, like a stupid little boy.

“We’ve got you. You’re safe,” Sasha kept saying.

“Calm down. You’re all right,” said Manuela.

And he wept (good), and he shuddered (better), and he did not understand which was his biggest fear of all (best), and then he glanced beyond them and laid eyes on me.

He froze with a gasp.

My teeth chattered. I clenched my jaw to stop it. There were no emotions for this. For all of this. None. Satisfaction, guilt over that, hatred, a sadism I disliked to find in myself, a tiny bit of horror because I know this kindness had been done for me and I deserved it no more than he did, confusion that Martin would love me when this monster and I were so much the same, terrified anticipation as to what would happen next—

“God?” he said to me, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out, drooling.

Oh, for the love of hell.

“Finally,” said Sasha. “That first nap took a while.”

“The first one always does. Jon was what, a week plus?”

“Yes, but we expected weirdness with him,” said Sasha. “A thousand years? Pfft.”

“Ahem,” I said. “I am right here.”

“Did you  just say, ‘ahem?’”

Men made of eyes could redden, and I did. “Shut up.”

“Sorry,” said Sasha, who was not.

“So what do you think?” said Manuela to me.

Sasha gave her a dry look.

“Think,” I repeated.

“Salvageable?” said Manuela cheerfully, because she was a little bit of a sociopath herself, wasn’t she, because this was all really great fun to make work right, wasn’t it, and she did not share my horror.

Sasha at least had a look of understanding and pity. “You don’t have to pronounce anything right now, of course.”

“Why are you asking me?” I said, evenly, my tone so hard it hurt my throat.

“Because next to you, he’s been in it the longest, and… well, you have a history,” said Manuela. “We want this to work. We need you to work together, at least by choice. He’ll be important as we fight the hunters, as we figure out how to prevent the Fears from taking this world.”

“Stopping rituals, all of that?” I said too casually.

“Not exactly,” said Sasha. “We—”

“What’s the Veil?” I said.

They stared at me. Looked at each other.

Sasha laughed. “Oh, Jon, I missed you.”

“How… who did you…” Manuela started.

“He’s Eye.”

“That doesn’t matter. He can’t know that. An eye can’t see itself.”

“What?” I said.

“Later,” said Manuela.

“Look,” I said. “I’m getting such a huge pile of things to talk about later that it’s threatening to tumble forward off the folding table and all over the gods-damned floor.”

They stared at me again, and then both of them laughed.

I wish I knew why. I wish I could see this as unserious as they seemed to. I wish I could share the freedom to laugh in the middle of this horror, their confidence it would all be all right.

Sasha came to me while Manuela fussed over Jonah, using some kind of tool to begin removing his clothes. “Hey,” said Sasha. “I’m sorry. You know so much, and you’re so familiar to me, it… well. It’s hard to keep track sometimes what you don’t already know.”

“Or what I’m not supposed to know?” I snapped.

“How about, ‘What we don’t want to overwhelm you with?’ Nobody’s hiding it all, Jon. You could just know everything, anyway.”

“Not without a cost,” I murmured.

“Right. But that’s part of the reason why you’re running around a free man. We know you won’t do that. Won’t sacrifice the world again.”

“No,” I agreed. “I will not.”

“So, trust me. We’re going at a pace that’s been proven workable through countless people in your exact circumstance. If we just poured it all onto you, you’d miss things, or be unable to properly grapple with them, or jump to the wrong conclusions, or just… shut down.”

“You’ve seen all those, have you?”

“Me.” She shrugged. “I was the first they rescued. They dumped it all on me. Jon, you don’t want that. I lost my mind for a full year.”

I stared at her. “What?”

“They… they still took care of me. Even though I was shrieking and… look. You’ll get it all, I promise. We just… your body may be really weird, but you are still you—your mind is very much human. Your emotions. Your heart. We’re trying not to hurt you.”

I dearly wanted to believe her.

I almost did. It seemed to me the reasons to believe and disbelieve were… somewhat balanced.

Emotionally, I wanted to just go off, demand information, learn it all. But that particular choice had never worked out very well for me, had it? People died because of that choice. People were sacrificed, blown up, eaten.

Maybe I had to exercise some patience to avoid doing that again.

“I don’t like this,” I said.

“I know. Right, well. Are you willing to be there when he wakes up?”

I snorted. “He thinks I’m God, or something. No.”

“I really think it’ll help his adjustment if you’re around.”

Martin hadn’t given up on me, and I had not deserved that grace.

Damn it. I sighed. “When he’s awake and in his right mind, we’ll talk. I can’t… I won’t be there the way Martin was for me when I was out of my mind. I can’t, Sasha. I can’t. I’ll throttle him, or something.”

She snorted. “‘Throttle?’ Really?”

“What?”

“All right, Mister Nineteen-Forty-Two,” she said. “Go on home. Steel yourself. This is just being part of a community, Jon—people aren’t perfect, but they still need help.”

“Some people are monsters who should be put down,” slipped out.

She just looked at me.

I looked away. “I know I’m being a hypocrite. Just let me have this right now.”

“I trust you. You’ll work through it.” She patted my shoulder and returned to Manuela. “Let’s get him transported.”

“Right,” said Manuela, who’d put his sliced-off clothing in small, floating containers and shipped them off somewhere. (Why? The mold? To study some kind of spore we didn’t have here? Was that safe?)

“Behind you,” said Manuela.

I turned. Lo, there was a portal for me, and through it, I could see Martin’s front door.

I leaped through without a word, unable to avoid the rudeness. I needed to be with Martin, press my face against him, maybe pull him on top of me like a quilt, and hide from everything for a while.

[spider-self]

@tczier liked this for a starter

In the early years when Derry was little more than an idea of a few weary settlers. IT had mapped out the area IT wished to inhabit, weaving threads of silk across the land until IT’s territory was firmly established. Every few cycles IT refreshed the lines, spinning and working until there wasn’t a single place in Derry IT didn’t have some form of access to. In the quiet of IT’s inner sanctum, IT laid IT’s many legs on each strand and listened to the town, picking IT’s prey from the whispers IT heard. Poor Eddie Corcoran, poor Betty Ripsom, poor poor Veronica Grogan. When the brats forced IT into early slumber, it was the twitching of the threads that woke IT up. Each of them thrumming with a note of violence and pain too tantalising to ignore.

Poor Adrian Mellon, beaten to a pulp and thrown over the side of the bridge for the audacious act of having a boyfriend in public. Such a crime could not exist in a town such as Derry, small minded and stupid, it was almost a matter of civic pride how much the other was abhorred. It was an attitude IT cultivated as IT did the steady outbursts of viciousness and cruelty that popped up within the boundaries. If they hurt and killed each other, half of IT’s work was already done. All IT had to do was sup on the meat, and Adrian Mellon had been a hearty meal. So rich and full of terror, pain and regret salted him well and with each bite, IT learnt more and more. How he’d never thought this would happen here. Not in the town he loved so much, not in this place where everything was going so well. What about Don? Was he okay? Was he still alive? What about the book he was writing? Who would finish it now?

The scent of those fears came to IT now as IT slowly trailed Richie through the town. Fear, shame, a kind of uneasy excitement. Interesting… In the time between IT’s summons and their arrival, IT had made an effort to learn what the losers’ club had been up to for all those years. Each was successful in their own right, rich and famous. None more so than Richie who seemed to have made a career out of what IT found so dreadfully irritating. His voice. For someone who had lived in such a big city and traveled all over, IT would have assumed he would have gotten over such a fear. The rest of the world was not Derry. Surely there would be somewhere he would feel comfortable to simply be?

Evidently not, being back here had only reignited those fears. IT had toyed with him briefly, claiming to know the secret that was only all too obvious to anything with a nose. Human scents were so primitively obvious it was a wonder they could hide anything from each other. Considering Richie’s disposition, IT wasn’t surprised when he slipped into a bar. Perhaps he thought such a place would repel IT. A good guess if not a foolish one. After all, what childhood monsters could stand up to the assured adulthood of a stiff drink?

But IT was a nightmare unlimited in IT’s scope. Children were easier but adults were just as tasty. For the longest time all IT had wanted was a good meal and IT’s long rest. The losers had introduced IT to a new concept entirely, a want for revenge. Perhaps IT would thank them after they were dead. It was a learning experience worth having.

IT followed him.

The bar was full, raucous laughter filled the air along with the stink of stale sweat and low level aggression. IT found within Itself a certain admiration for Richie in choosing such a place to bolt to. Among its many vices, Derry was a drinking town. Depressed by nature and deprived in others, there was little else for many to do but piss away their pay check and seethe at their misfortune. If only they could leave, if only things would change. They never would of course and it was that anger that fuelled the many acts that kept IT’s belly full. IT loved them as only IT could, like pigs IT had carefully and tenderly raised for slaughter. As IT picked IT’s way through the crowd, those who had enough sense to know IT in some small way shivered as IT passed, a hush settling in little pockets between the noise.

As for Richie, he seemed several drinks in. An almost empty glass set in front of him, his posture low so he was almost hunched over the bar. It was nothing for IT to force the bartender away with a simple command, the flexible mind snapping under the force of it. Now IT was directly in front of him and IT took the time to shift IT’s features, mimicking the human it had sent away.

“Don’t you think you should slow down a little, buddy?”