#i think he could start a menagery of all the animals who are after him

[flufallo]

Edwin, looking at the bracelet: what the bloody hell is that?

Cat king: it's an enchanted bracelet. It only comes off once you do something for me. Take a guess at that it is

Edwin: you know what? Fuck you

Cat king: correct

Edwin: wait what

#am i ok? no #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #cat king #dead boy detectives quotes #but tbf edwin would probaly say stuff not fuck #because hes too polite #cat kimg: but since im a fair and continental cat king ill give you a offer #have sex with me or count all of my subjects. #what a hard one #ngl edwin madw the right choice #becasue hes a minor? #(despite being 123 but still) #like hes never kissed anyone so yeh #iwkejfjfjd #i think he could start a menagery of all the animals who are after him #it would be quite petty but its the thiught that counts right 🤷‍♀️ #i dont really like xatwin but i made this anyways 🤷‍♀️

[spinchip]

NEVER THE DARK

Chapter 15

Read on Ao3

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

warnings: Character death

I LOVE WHAT I DO NOT HAVE. YOU ARE SO FAR. // MY LOATHING WRESTLES WITH THE SLOW TWILIGHTS.

“She’s already seen you face, why does it matter if she knows your name?” Kai asis from where he’s still sprawled across the front of Miss Emma.

Birdy sits down heavily, his back to the group, “it does not matter." He says simply, but there’s a slump to his shoulders that telegraphs defeat. Hopelessness. Nya knows that this is bad. "All that matters is getting you to the Mountain of Madness.” 

Miss Emma floats on. Jay has stopped shocking her, collapsed on top of her bell tiredly as Kai keeps them moving. No one says anything. Over time, Miss Emma begins to droop again. When Jay gives her another shock, she just seems to lower herself quicker to the ground.

“She wants us off.” Nya realizes as the jelly's tentacles pool along the ground under them.

“We are a heavy burden for her to carry.” Birdy agrees.

They are passing over a forest- this one is a menagerie of blues, reds, and purples. The grass is a dark teal and white flowers and tall tubes protrude from the earth. Miss Emma drops low enough in a clearing that they can jump off without getting hurt and stops completely, waiting.

“Thank you.” Birdy says quietly to the animal. Kai pets her bell as a gesture of appreciation, and they all slide off her and onto the forest floor. The moment there are no more hitch-hikers on her bell, Miss Emma slowly drifts away, flying high enough to disappear into the clouds.

There's a long, tense moment as no one knows what to do next.

“We should keep moving.” Birdy says softly.

“She was telling us the truth, wasn’t she?” Kai asks bluntly.

Lloyd steps forward, “Kai-” He starts but Birdy cuts him off.

“What did she tell you?”

Kai locks eyes with Birdy and the air grows thick with tension.

It’s Jay who speaks next, “Barath told me you murdered Farley. He said that you were a warlord in your past life, and that you had committed crimes among the worst of all the people banished here.”

“Genocide.” Kai clarifies, “Destruction of land, culture, food. Untold numbers of death and destruction. Samira told me about how you’ve kept trophies of those you killed. Your mask, your knife… all belonging to the dead.”

Nya can’t help her own need to know the truth and she speaks up next, “Wox told me you were dangerous. That the respect these people have for you is based in fear and hatred.”

Cole hesitates, “And Ila said you walked into Oasis the day after you killed Farley covered in his blood.”

“All true.” Birdy doesn’t hesitate to confirm it. “You were right in the throne room, Kai. I am a monster.”

“Birdy-!” Lloyd whips around to face him, appalled, “No!”

Birdy squares his shoulders, “No, Lloyd. I must take accountability. I cannot run from this.'' He doesn’t break eye contact with Kai, “This is who I am, yes, but I have no ill will towards you all. Samira was right that I know how important you are to Ninjago too, and I will not allow my home realm to go unprotected and vulnerable without you. I belong here, in this place, but you do not. I will get you home, I swear it.'' His voice takes on an edge of desperate honesty.

They were still so far from the Mountain of Madness. If they left Birdy here and tried to find it on their own, it could be ages before they got out of here.

Lloyd looks from Birdy to the others, waiting. It hits Nya that Lloyd is waiting on them to weigh in- he wants to hear what they all have to say. It’s not like Lloyd never asks what they think on large decisions of this nature, but ever since they lost Zane Lloyd had taken the full weight of leadership and had refused to share it with the rest of the team. He was the one who made decisions. He was the one who was always alone in that choice. Maybe he was tired of being alone.

Nya doesn’t know what to think.

Cole steps forward first and Nya knows his opinion well enough that she can tune him out, “I still trust him.” But when he speaks, she looks at Cole and really listens, taking in everything he says, “He wasn’t working with Samira. He wasn’t in cahoots with Maurice. Everything he’s done has been solely for us, at the detriment of himself.” He locks eyes with Birdy, “Maybe he did some bad things… some really bad things… but he’s trying to help us. It’s all he’s been trying to do. I don’t think he’s going to lead us astray. I still want him to guide us.”

There’s a pause after Cole finishes, “Cole is right.” Nya says aloud, finding the truth in her words. Everything Cole said made sense. Birdy had been on their side from day one- “He stopped Maurice before he even knew we were the elemental masters. He had no reason to do that, but he did.”

“You can’t be serious!” Jay gapes, “Didn’t you hear him? Confirmed murderer! Evil bad guy here!! How can you just take his side?”

“I’m not on anybody's side but ours,” Nya fires back immediately, “I may not be thrilled about putting my faith in a- former- dicator, but I want what’s best for us, and getting back to Ninjago as quickly as possible is exactly that.”

Jay looks down at that, thinking.

“I can’t follow him.” Kai says sourly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lloyd finally speaks up, “What Birdy did in the past-” He looks back at Birdy and pauses, face twisting as he hesitates on what to say next, “It wasn’t as black and white as it seems.” He settles on finally, “I trust him.”

There’s a heavy, tense silence. Lloyd meets Kai eyes, his expression imploring him to see sense.

“I don’t trust him.” Kai reiterates firmly. He closes his eyes with a grimace, “...But I do trust you. If you think this is the right call… then I do too.” he bites out begrudgingly.

“Fine.” Jay echoes, crossing his arms, “Let's go then.”

Birdy takes a moment to look around and get his bearings before he starts to walk, the others falling in line behind him. It's... awkward. He doesn’t speak much, only opening his mouth to warn them of obstacles, “Avoid the flowers,” He says, pointing to one of the numerous white flowers dotting the ground, “They tunnel into the ground. It is like stepping in a hole.”

Jay immediately steps in one and face plants, but he’s fine.

Nya start to notice that the plants they’re trekking through for this leg of the journey are strange, even for the Realm of Madness. Everything is coated in a thick waxy film and all of it is shaped like funnels or cups. Tall purple speckled plants with tube protrusions, green vase-like plants that grow as tall as her waist, huge pink and purple trees with tops like a sea anemone- and the plants she noticed that aren’t cup shaped have a sponge-like texture. Everything here is geared towards catching rain.

She looks inside one of the purple plant tubes and sees a small puddle at the very bottom, feeding into the stem. Raising her hand, she shoves at the liquid- but it doesn’t move.

“Birdy, what’s up with the water here?” She asks, pulling her hand away.

“It’s not water.” He answers stiffly, but she doesn’t think the discomfort is because of her. She’d noticed how still he’d seemed as they traveled deeper into the forest. There was something about this place that rattled him, “It’s acid.”

“ACID?” Jay squawks.

“It rains acid here,” Birdy says apologetically, “But we should be safe. It is the dry season.”

“I thought you said nothing was guaranteed in this place?”

“We need to move quickly.” He says bluntly.

As they hurry through the forest, Nya keeps an eye out for any potential dangers. That snake spider in the white forest had snuck up on them. She wasn’t keen on being surprised again. Because she’s looking towards the trees, she doesn’t notice everyone’s come to a stop until she runs into Cole.

“Oof-” She stumbles back, “Sorry- what happened? Why are we stopping?”

“I apologize.” Birdy says, emotionally flat where he’s standing in front of a large purple tree, “I was simply making sure we were on the right track.” When he starts moving again, he takes a wide step over something. As the others begin to move, Nya sees that the thing Birdy had stopped at and stepped over was a oblong dark spot on the grass. She’d seen a few of them before, scattered around the forest. She steps over it too but doesn’t ask about it. Birdy's voice had taken on that tone that comes when he’s not feeling like himself.

She blinks, surprised at herself for knowing that.

“If you don’t know where you’re going, then we should stop and take a break.” Kai says, pausing in the middle of that clearing underneath the tree's arching canopy, “We can keep going once you’ve got your head on straight.” he crosses his arms, planting himself firmly.

Birdy shakes his head, “I remember the way now. We should cover as much ground as possible today.” he says, voice toneless and disconnected. His body language is empty too, his shoulder slumped and his hands loose around his staff.

“I mean… we haven't had lunch.” Cole points out with a wry smile, “A quick snack break couldn’t hurt.”

“Do we have food? Or will we need to forage.” Nya asks.

“We have food. Cole hooked us up.” Jay says, slinging his backpack off and opening the top.

“I got Ila to make us some stuff for the road after… our talk.” He frowns, rubbing his chin, “I’m kinda surprised she did, actually… considering how they were plotting against us.”

“The food is safe. Ila is different from Samira.” He reassures them. There’s a thick pause. He hasn’t moved from the edge of the clearing, “We shouldn’t stop here.”

“Why? It’s the dry season, isn’t it?” Kai responds dryly, waving away a sandwich Jay offers him.

There’s a pause before Birdy stiffly sits down. “Alright.” He says blankly before he crosses his legs and gets into a classic meditation pose.

“You like to meditate?” Lloyd tilts his head.

“Sometimes.” Birdy doesn’t offer any additional information, and the group goes quiet as they eat and rest.

“So what’s the game plan when we get home? I mean, we don’t know anything about... Anything.” Nya turns to Lloyd.

He pauses mid-bite and frowns, “Well… we need to meet with Pix first and foremost. There’s no way she hasn’t been gathering intel in the time we’ve been gone. Mom might know something about that gauntlet and who might have gone after it, so we could go to the dig she’s on and ask her.”

“If we do that we gotta stop at home so I can get my gameboy.” Jay says immediately, “Do you know how long it’s been since I haven't played video games? I’m going through serious withdrawal here!”

Kai shoots him a withering stare that Jay is completely oblivious to.

“Well, as long as you don’t go pretending a piece of wood is a gameboy, then I’m not too worried about you.” Cole comments wryly.

“Oh, don’t tempt me. I have a whimsical imagination.”

“You like to play video games?” Birdy asks quietly.

“Yeah! There’s this game called Prime Empire, that’s the one I’m really into right now.”

“We were all really into it when it first came out.” Lloyd snickers, alluding to an inside joke Birdy’s not a part of.

“We were sucked into the game.” Cole explains even though Birdy hadn’t mentioned his confusion, “Jay saved us. It was a whole thing.”

“...You have had a lot of adventures.” there’s a pause as Birdy tries to think of what to say, “I would like to hear more about them.”

Lloyd hums, “Well, other than a few small fight here and there, and the current situation we’re in, the last big ordeal we had to take care of was The Mechanic and Fugi-doves team up.”

“The Mechanic cyborg-ed him.”

“Badly.” Nya adds darkly, “I could have done so much better.”

"Don't get any ideas." Cole ribs, nudging her playfully with his elbow.

Jay nods, “Yeah, he botched it up pretty bad. Fugi used to be a nothing villain, like, petty things. Now that he’s all…” Jay waves his hands in the approximation of gears turning, “Scary looking, he’s got actual minions.”

“I turned into the ocean.” Nya informs him, “But I got better.”

“Before that was Shintaro. We were invited by the princess for her birthday.” Lloyd continues.

“Queen Vania now. She’s cool, I think you’d like her.” Cole smiles.

“Her dad, the king, ended up being this evil warlock. His best friend was a floating skull.”

“Interesting…”

“I think you’d like him more than Vania,” Kai mutters, “Birds of a feather flock together.”

Lloyd graciously doesn’t acknowledge Kai, “Prime empire was before that, and then there was…” He stops. The air grows thick. “Let’s not talk about that one.” He murmurs.

“...What kind of game is it?”

Jay perks up, “Let me just tell you the story!” He launches immediately into an animated recap. The others interject every now and again to add their perspective and to correct Jays embellishments. “-And that’s how I lost my eye!” He says, pointing at the patch. Cole takes over after that, talking about princess Vania and the caves beneath Shintaro. The conversation devolves into one long timeline of their most recent life-or-death situations that Birdy listens to intently. He stops them with the occasional question, but otherwise is quiet while they recount it all.

So it’s a surprise when he interrupts Nya’s explanation of the Mechanics plot by leaping to his feet and taking a confrontational step towards Kai, “What are you doing with that?” He demands.

Kai jumps, surprised. He’d been leaning against the tree mindlessly checking his pockets for something to fiddle with- he looks down and realizes he’d fished out the painkiller Samira had given him and was rolling it between his fingers absently. “I’m playing with it.” He says with a raised eyebrow.

“That is not a toy.” Birdy bites out. Maybe he wouldn’t be so aggressive in any other environment, but this place put him on edge in the worst kind of way.

“I know that.” Kai shoots back sharply, standing to his full height, “What’s your problem?”

“Give it to me.” Birdy orders, holding his hand out, “I am not going to watch anyone else die here.”

“It’s not poison!” He clenches the pill in his fist, “It’s a painkiller for FSM’s sake.”

“It is engineered to be horribly addictive.” Birdy stresses, stepping up to Kai, “The withdrawals for that could kill you-”

“I've been managing my alcohol withdrawal just fine, thanks, I'm sure this wouldn't be any worse.” He snaps, shoving the pill back in his pocket.

Birdy jerks as if struck, “You are so dependent on alcohol you would die from it?”

“Stop talking to me.” Kai turns his back on him bitterly.

The air is fraught with tension, the energy pulled so taut it was only a matter of time before something snapped.

Birdy opens his mouth, “Do you think your friend sacrificed his life so you could ruin yours?”

CRACK-!

It all happens so fast Nya can barely keep up. Kai’s fist connects with Birdy's mask so hard he goes sprawling in the dirt. He stumbles back, slamming into a tree and slumping down at the base of it. He’s got one hand holding his mask in place reflexively, looking up at Kai in shock.

“You-” He snarls, body a pillar of fire as he towers over Birdy, “You do not get to speak about him! You are not even a fraction of the man he was! He may have been a robot, but he was more human than you will ever be!”

Cole gets in front of Kai and pushes him back. He keeps his hands on Kai’s chest to stop him from advancing on Birdy again, “Kai, stop!”

From his place on the ground, Birdy reaches a hand under his mask to wipe at his face. His fingers come back stained dark with blood, nearly black in the strange lighting of the realm. He looks up at Kai and his hand tightens around his staff dangerously.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to hurt me?” Kai spits, leaning to glare at him over Cole's frame, “Just like you hurt Farley? Fine then, go ahead! I can take you!”

Birdy looks down at his hand like it’s not attached to him. He throws the staff on the ground as if it’s burned him and shakes his head hard to clear his vision. He hasn’t said a word, mute in shock. He stumbles to his feet but he has to use a tree to catch himself, leaning on it to keep his feet under himself.

“I’m the master of fire! You don’t scare me!”

Birdy is shaking all over, hand trembling where he has it pressed against the strange tree. His chest is rising and falling rapidly and he has all his focus on Kai.

He turns and vanishes into the woods.

“Birdy!” Lloyd takes a step after him but aborts the mission, whipping around to Kai, “You two stay here with Kai and maybe knock some sense into him.” He points at Cole and Jay before turning to Nya, “Nya, come with me.” She has to scramble to keep up as Lloyd darts after Birdy, but it’s not long before Lloyd stutters to a stop.

He lets out a low growl in frustration, “I don’t know where he went.” He scrubs at his face roughly.

She places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, “Just take a deep breath, Lloyd.”

“Everything fell apart so quickly.”

“I know.” She swallows roughly and looks away. She doesn’t have the words to make this okay. If they can’t find Birdy, if they can’t convince him to come back… they’ll be lost in the middle of nowhere in a realm that wants so so badly to kill them. Her eyes flick over the ground right to a footprint is half hidden by the leaves of a bright red shrub.

“Look!” She points to it, hoping a solid lead will cheer Lloyd up, “He went this way!”

They cautiously start to track Birdy, being extra careful not to miss any indicators where he ran off to. Finally, they come upon another small clearing. Another large, alien looking tree stretches up above them, the trunk of the tree is a deep blue and there are several bulbs along it where the wood splits to reveal huge chunks of a pale blue spongey growth. On the other side of the tree, Birdy’s foot sticks out from where he’s sitting in the dirt under the shade.

“Birdy!”

And right next to his foot is his mask.

Lloyd stops in his tracks the moment he sees it. “Are you okay?” He asks, staying out of sight of Birdy's face.

A gloves hand reaches out and takes the mask, slipping it on with his body still mostly hidden, “I am alright.” He stands up then and comes around the tree to face them, face once again firmly hidden. He’s holding a water bottle in one hand, using it to rinse the stain off his gloves. Well, he’s trying to.

“Here,” Nya says, stepping forward, “Let me.”

She swirls water around his hands and uses it to sweep the dark blood off the fabric. While she works, Birdy speaks, “I apologize if I worried you. I was always intending to return, I just needed a moment to… attend to my injuries.” He finishes awkwardly. “I was not going to leave you stranded.”

“Birdy, I didn’t come after you because you’re our guide.” Lloyd says, “I came because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Speak for yourself, Nya thinks. Well, that’s not entirely fair- she did think that Birdy wasn’t the villain he made himself out to be, and she trusted him to a degree. She wouldn't call them friends, but she didn't want to see him hurt either. Maybe her decision to follow Lloyd was almost entirely based on selfish reasons, but she had also been alarmed by Kai’s punch, worried about the brutality of how the hit had landed. Kai could knock out an opponent's teeth with a weak swing- there was a lot of damage to be done with a sucker punch like that.

“He isn’t like that, really.” She finds herself saying quietly as she draws out the last of the blood in Birdy's gloves, “He didn’t used to be, at least. He was more levelheaded than me before… Before we lost Zane.”

Birdy stays quiet.

Nya keeps going, “He took it the hardest out of us all, I think. He feels a lot of guilt. He lost his elemental abilities right before it happened, y’know? So I think he blames himself.” she moves water over his gloves absently. The blood is gone, but she can’t look up to meet his eyes, “And yeah, Zane was special to all of us, but he did something else for Kai. Kept him balanced, maybe. He got lost after Zane died. He trained until he collapsed, he spent hours patrolling the city, he kept busy because then he could dull the pain. And when he had to stop moving, he drank.”

“Grief does funny things to us all.” Lloyd says softly.

“You’re right. Zane wouldn’t have wanted this for him, and Kai knows that, but you were wrong to speak on his behalf. He’s gone, and none of us want to hear a stranger put words in his mouth.” She lets the water drop, splashing to the ground.

A long moment passes quietly, “I apologize. It was not my intention to disrespect your friend.” It’s his turn to drop his gaze to the ground.

“C’mon,” Lloyd says softly, “I think the others will want to hear that too.”

When they get back to the others, the air is tense. Kai is leaning against a tree attempting to wrap a bandage around his bloody knuckles. Jay is hovering at his elbow and Cole is standing off to the side, not looking at either of them.

Kai notices them first, but cuts his eyes away and pointedly ignores the trio rejoining their group.

“It was wrong of me to bring up your friend.” Birdy says before stepping any closer, “I reacted so strongly because I was afraid for you, Kai. Those pills are designed for control. Samira supplies the people of this realm and then twists their addiction against them.”

“I don’t need your worry.” Kai says, but it’s lost some of the bite it had before.

Hesitantly, Birdy approaches Kai. Slowly, with enough time for Kai to draw away, and with more than a bit of caution to stay out of easy access of another swing, Birdy cups Kai’s injured palm. He takes the bandages next, moving to wrap his hand, “There is not a switch I can flip to turn it off.” Birdy says wryly, carefully winding the gauze around Kai’s hand, “I am sorry for what I said.”

Kai just stares at him.

“...You may not trust me, but I trust you.” He continues, finishing up dressing his knuckles, “I believe you would have made the correct choice.”

Something shifts in Kai. his features soften and he pulls his hand away gently- his guard is still up, but there’s a change in his heart, “Y’know, you’ve got a hell of an iron jaw.” he tries for a joke, but it falls flat. Then, “Why are you doing all this? After everything you’ve done, why have a change of heart now?” He asks, search for an understanding. He didn't get Birdy. Maybe that was part of his aggression- he didn't understand how a warlord like him could just... suddenly decide to be a good person. There had to be a catch.

Birdy looks away, ruminating over his thoughts and looking for the best way to put it all into words, “I am trying to make up for the pain I have caused. I regret the things I have done. I wish I had never stepped foot in that throne room- I have been stuck in the dark ever since, plagued by the mistakes of my past... but I have a choice, now. Even in the darkness, I can choose to reflect the light.”

Kai freezes, looking at Birdy with wide eyes. He opens his mouth, but there’s a crash through the underbrush that interrupts him.

A massive two-legged beast blasts into the clearing with a series of loud clicks, hissing at the group gathered there. On top of the animal, on a makeshift saddle with a pair of leather reins in her hand- is Morrigan.

“I found you~!” She sing-songs.

Her steed shakes its head hard, obviously agitated by the bit shoved in its beak. It’s a massive thing with a set of wings to match, and it’s body was a patchwork of soft brown feathers and iridescent scales. Large slits flutter around the base of its throat as it breathes in, scenting the air. It’s feet are distinctly bird-like, with claws like a raptor and rough textured skin. It isn't happy about its predicament as a faithful show pony, flicking it’s head and flapping its wings in rage.

“You disrespected me, lover! I told you- either you gave me those flowers or something very bad was going to happen.” She flips her brown hair over her shoulder with a flourish, grinning down at the group with shark teeth, “I’ve come to collect, darling.”

“We don’t have the flowers any more!” Lloyd argues.

“Oh, I know that, little boy.” She giggles, “I’m here to do something very bad!”

With that, she shoves her finger out towards them and commands the vulture-bat beneath her, “Sick ‘em, boy!”

With that, the beast roars- and its small beak splits in half, its face opening up in four pieces to reveal a garbage disposal of razor sharp, serrated teeth stained with old blood. Its dark purple tongue flicks out before it crashes forward with the intent to kill. Despite its massive size, the thing is fast. It is upon them before they can think, and it’s only the speed of a ninja that saves their bones from snapping in those jaws.

“What is that?” Jay squawks in unison with the bird, who charges at him.

“A vulture-bat!” Birdy says as he leaps for his staff, fear bleeding into his voice, “Keep your eyes on it! It is quicker than you think!”

“Ew.” Nya says with a nervous laugh, mostly to herself. The bird is horrifying in it’s awkwardness- it’s bones seem too big for it’s body, the tautness of it’s skin revealing the spaces between feathers and scales. Little peeks of pink flesh that’s stretched so thin the blood vessels underneath are clearly visible. It moves unnaturally too, it’s body too long for it’s legs. Every other step it’s chest slams to the ground and bounces back up like he’s compensating for a missing limb. When it roars, foul smelling spittle flies everywhere.

Then she sees it. A long, thin appendage coming out from it’s tail feathers.

It whips it’s body around and her only warning is the high pitched whistle that comes from a deadly strike. She ducks, and the tree behind her explodes.

It’s like razor-wire, thin enough to decapitate any animal that comes it’s way, yet sturdy enough to nearly halve the trunk without even the hint of structural weakness.

Morrigan pulls on its reins so she can look at her targets, “Y’know why I haven’t killed anyone, Birdy? Because everyone does as they are told and gives me what I want.” There’s a manic shine in her eye, “Now you’ll see what happens when you disobey.”

She pulls out a knife and stabs the vulture-bat in it’s haunches. It roars in rage and shakes itself hard, trying to dislodge her, and when that doesn’t work it dives forward with the intent on killing anything around it. It’s pain needed to go somewhere.

Cole brings up a wall of earth high enough to trip the beast and it crashes to the ground, it’s claws scrabble for a moment and it’s back on it’s feet in almost no time. Kai throws a ball of fire in an attempt to scare it, but the singed feathers only seem to enrage it further. It’s mostly a game of cat and mouse with the ninja just barely dodging teeth and claws and a razor tail.

Nya knows they can’t dodge forever.

Birdy dives under the razor-wire that nearly takes his head before he pops up at the beasts underbelly. He’s almost trampled before he managed to grab hold of a patch of feathers and haul himself up onto the animals back. He’d only done all of that to get out of harms way, but now that he was nearly face to face with Morrigan, he had no idea what to do. He brandishes his staff anyway, trying to find his footing on the rampaging beast.

Morrigan stands up, hands still wound up in the reins to keep her balance and she brandishes her sword, “You think you're the only one with a thirst for blood, don't you? You think you're the only one with the guts to slaughter someone!” She snarls with a sadistic smile, “You have no idea what I'm capable of when I don't get my way.” She yanks the reins to one side and the animal veers sharply, whole body tipping and turning. Birdy crashes sideways off his feet and is nearly flung from the beasts back before he can catch it’s tail feathers in one hand.

Nya flicks her wrist and calls a ball of water to her. She throws it as hard as she can, watching it soar through the air and slap into Morrigan. What’s most important is how the water drowns the leather and the scales on the monsters back.

The beast turns toward Nya sharply at the attack, and Morrigan can’t keep her footing on the slick saddle.

One foot slips from under her and she can't catch herself. She tumbles down the beasts shoulder, but before she can hit the ground her body yanks to a painful stop. The reins are still wrapped around her wrist, leaving her dangling at the monsters chest. The bird slams sideways into a tree because of how hard Morrigan yanks on the reins in her fall, narrowly avoiding bashing her to paste. There’s genuine panic on her face as she swings her sword up, trying to slice through the reins so she can survive this encounter.

Birdy crawls up the bird to it’s neck. He nearly throws himself off it when he lunges for Morrigan, holding his hand out for her to take, “Let me help you!” He shouts, voice nearly lost among the vulture-bats cries.

She would have to drop her sword. She looks at him for a long moment before her face twists in hatred. With a mighty heave, she swings the sword at Birdy, aiming for a killing blow. He yanks his hand back and she misses, the sword cutting into the vulture-bat’s shoulder.

It rears back in pain and Birdy goes flying off, rolling to a stop in the dirt.

Morrigan is thrown backward and shaken around as the vulture-bat reacts to the sharp sting. It spots her as she’s thrown to the side, it’s large black eye focusing on her. It understands immediately. With a sharp turn, It whips its head around so she goes flying in a wide arc- right in front of its mouth.

It’s face splits in four. It lunges forward.

The crunch of shattering bones makes Nya feel sick. Blood splatters across the clearing as the bird shakes its head like a dog with a toy, other… debris raining down from its jowls. She didn’t even have time to scream. That must have been a mercy.

The blood pooling on the ground seems to be eagerly absorbed by the ground, leaving swathes of darker spots on the grass.

Nya can see its throat spasm as it swallows what's left of her.

Everything is quiet. The beast’s gills flutter again.

Birdy grabs her arm, snapping out of her trance. “Go!” He orders urgently and quietly.

She turns and runs. She can see Jay ahead of her, and she focuses on not losing him and nothing else. She doesn’t flinch when the vulture-bat roars behind her, and she doesn’t stumble when the earth shakes as it chases after them.

“It’s gaming on us!” Lloyd shouts from somewhere behind her.

“We have to fight!” Cole confirms.

They break out of the forest into muddy earth, the thickness of it sucking at Nya's feet as she tries to run. There are no trees out here in the wastelands- well, no trees big enough to hide behind. The spindly little black plants will do nothing for them now.

She turns around right as the bird explodes from the forest, a looming monster taking up all her vision. Her heart leaps up to her throat. It doesn’t hesitate, covering the land in three long strides before it’s upon them again.

Cole tries to use earth, but the mud is too soft to even slow the beast down. Jay flings lightning but the bird is fast, dodging that and Kai’s fireballs alike. Lloyd hits it heavily on the side with a ball of green energy, and the beast roars in rage as it turns on him. There’s more fighting- fighting is too generous for what they’re doing. Surviving, maybe. Just barely. It’s so angry that any real damage to it just pisses it off even more, too much adrenaline in it’s system to feel any of it.

It bites dangerously close to Cole, whipping it’s long tail back with deadly intent-

SNAP

The tail slams into Birdy's side- hard. It’s enough force to throw him back until he’s tumbling in the mud, coming to a stop on his back.

Black blood streaks across the wet earth.

His whole left side is torn open.

Nya is moving before she can think, “Keep it distracted!” She orders, flying across the mud. She slams down on her knees at Birdy's side, trying to assess the damage- did they pack enough bandages? How bad is it that he most definitely got realm of madness mud all inside his wound?

He has a hand pressed against his side. His glove is soaked through with blood. He makes no attempt to move, “Nya.” he says quietly.

“You’re gonna be fine.” She reassures him immediately, “Just lay still.” She tries to pry his hand away from his side, but he won’t move it.

“Nya, it is too late.” His voice is resigned. She feels like his voice is always resigned, always ready to die, “I need you to listen to me. Please.”

She shakes her head, “Just move your hand. I have medical training, I can help you.”

He acts as if he didn’t even hear her, “You have to go north-east from here. Towards where the sun rises- if you see a tree split in half by a lightning strike, you are going in the right direction.”

“Birdy, move your hand! You’re going to bleed out if you don’t let me stop the flow!”

“Keep walking past that split tree. You’ll see four big mountains in front of you-”

“What are you talking about?” She snaps, stressed and desperate.

“I’m telling you how to get to the mountain of madness.” He says soberly.

She looks at him in disbelief, “Take us there yourself!” She snaps. She pulls on his hand and he lets her, too weak to fight her anymore.

Underneath his torn blue tunic, past the dingy white robes underneath, is glimmering silver skin and a tangled mess of torn wires and gutted tubing. Nya’s brain stalls.

“Nya.” She jerks as if she’s been struck. Everything else vanishes to background noise. That’s not Birdy's voice. It’s softer, higher-pitched. It’s the sound of snowfall and red tailed hawks and fresh baked cookies. It’s the sound of home.

She slowly looks up at him, at that stupid stupid mask. Her eyes are blurry with tears.

“Zane?”

“Watch out!” Jay screams, the sound of the fight behind them blaring reality back into her ears.

She turns around and the beast is upon them. She’s too rattled to think straight-

Zane bursts forward spilling oil and transmission fluid all over the mud. He shoves Nya back, behind himself as he pushes his hand forward in a desperate attempt to change the way this fight ends. A giant pillar of ice shoots out of the mud in front of him and brutally slams into the Vulture-bats chest. Ice spreads at the point of contact, frost swirling up its skin in painful cracks. The beast squawks in startled pain, jerking away from the two before it finally decides the fight isn’t worth it. It flaps it’s massive wings in a panic, scrambling away from the ice and taking flight. It flys like a bat out of hell, it’s ground speed nothing compared to how quickly it takes off towards the horizon.

Zane's knees buckle, and he crashes into the mud and doesn’t move again.

#ninjago #zane julien #nya ninjago #kai ninjago #cole ninjago #jay walker #lloyd garmadon #ninjago never the dark #spinchip fic #ninjago au #someone dies brutally this chapter. sayonara... #blood #gore #broken bones

[eisforeidolon]

First of all thank you so much for always providing such detailed panel summary and description. You do such amazing job and your dedication is so lovely.

Now I wanna mention I am a huge huge fan of both Sam as a character, and Jared. He has been growing on me ever since i learned more about his mental struggles and watched his con videos. He is so choatic and funny and comes off as both genuine and smart. But I do notice he sometimes makes some insensitive comments.

How do you feel about the cat joke in minncon? It has been ruining my mood really and I don't even know who to tell because I don't wanna come across any Jared hate :( yet the comment was quite... distaseful. He did start with how he does love cats so I really try to see it as him just being very young, and probably very inexperienced and thanks to Jensen he was quick to fix it, but I really wished to know your insight too. Do you think it was just a bad joke? I love Jared but I am also very sensitive over such things....

I kinda think what happens is that the guys sometimes take what they say about being one big SPN family a little too literally and forget for a moment that they are actually in a big room full of mostly strangers. So they tell jokes or funny stories that would go over just fine with people they know well who know them well, but are about sensitive subjects where it's very likely to strike a wrong chord with at least a few people in a wider, less personally-familiar audience. Even without certain people in the audience eagerly waiting for something they can actively inject bad faith into.

While a lot of Jared's jokes are dad jokes, he more generally just tells a lot of groaners, and I 100% think that's all this was. Dude lives in what's practically a full-on menagerie and frequently talks about his and his kids' love of animals and did immediately preface the whole story with how he does love cats (and dogs). I suspect he was trying to make his story funnier to match the irreverent tone Jensen's story about his kids' drawings being terrible had set - but in quickly pulling a joke off the top of his head, managed to hit on something some people will never take as a joke. He immediately clarified he wasn't serious and Jensen added another joke about pissing off all the cat people to help lighten the mood. I wasn't at all upset by it because it was so clearly a joke, but I did definitely go "ohhhh Jared nooooo" in my head because I could easily see how it might be legitimately upsetting to some fans.

It kinda reminds me of one of the cons a while back where there was a Jensen and Misha panel and the fan got up and asked an earnest mental health question and Misha blew it off and Jensen made a joke about "never keep fighting". IIRC, they moved on and seriously answered after that, but it struck a very sour note for some fans for them to joke about mental health and a campaign of Jared's very close to a lot of fans' hearts, which I think was totally understandable in a similar way.

As much as fandom loves to put these guys on pedestals, they're just guys who are doing their best to entertain a crowd in what is, after all, a very impromptu fashion. I know I couldn't get on stage and engage entire rooms full of people for an hour con after con unscripted without sometimes hitting an awkward note.

#askboxery #anonymous #con drama

[howlingday]

Who would be the Clayton Bigsby?

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Vanguard

Lisa: For the last fifteen years, a man by the name of Fox Alistair has been the leading voice of the Faunus supremacist movement in Vacuo. Though they are not sold in any well known stores, his books, "Humies," "Human Scum," "I Hear Humans," and "Human Book," have gripped the kingdom with over 600,000 copies sold combined. And yet, despite his popularity, almost no one has ever seen this man's face. But to bring his message to a wider audience, Mr. Alistair has agreed to an interview, his first public ever, with Vanguard. But this tale of travel is frought with danger around every corner as we face anti-Human conspirators, perilous traps in the sands, and vicious Faunus supremacists.

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Lisa: Excuse me, we're looking for the author, Fox Alistair.

Fox: I am he.

Lisa: ...You're Fox Alistair?

Fox: Just because I'm blind, it doesn't mean I'm illiterate.

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Lisa: How... could this be? A human Faunus supremacist! Our search for answers led us here to Rumpole's Thick Skin Sensitivity Academy for the Differently Abled, where Mr. Alistair spent the first seventeen years of his life. Xanthe Rumpole is the academy's headmistress.

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

Rumpole: Well, he was the only human we ever had around here, so when he was asked what animal his traits were, we simply told him, "It's a fox, you stupid, little shit. Now sit down and do your fucking school work."

Lisa: And he never questioned it?

Rumpole: Why would he?

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Lisa: You've written four books, correct?

Fox: Six. They published four.

Lisa: And what would you say is the overall message of these books?

Fox: Ma'am, my message is simple. Humans, Schnees, Atlesians, Mantellians, Solitans, Valians, and all kinds of human Mistrali are FUCKING LOUD! And I hate them!

Lisa: Yes, and in regards to your hatred of these humans, what harm have they done to you?

Fox: How much time do you have? Where would I even start? Well, to start, they're good-for-nothing liars and cheats. They're a bunch of dust harvesting, land raping cowards. Fat ass having, long nose breathing all the free Faunus air.

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Fox: ...They eat all of the chicken nuggets! They think they can do everything better than Faunus, and THEY'RE LOUD! ...Did I mention that one?

Lisa: Um, y-yes, I believe you did. Um, Mr. Alistair, what would you say if I told you that you were a human.

Fox: I'd tell you to get your eyes checked, ma'am, because I'm as human as the true King of Vacuo is! I am in no way, shape, or form involved in any humanity! Understand?!

Lisa: Y-Yes, but-

Fox: BUT NOTHING! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book signing in Menagerie, and I need my rest. Why don't you bring your cameras over there to see some real truth?! (Looks over) VELVET?! VELVET, HAVE SUN LOAD UP OUR BAGS!

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Lisa: Sir, you're a friend of Mr. Alistair, why not just tell him he's human?

Sun: It's not that simple. He's too deep into the cause. If I told him, he'd kill himself just so there's one less human in the world. That's how committed he is.

Lisa: The irony is not lost on me. It's a bit overwhelming, to be honest.

Sun: (Hears smashing) Oh no. (Runs outside)

Ilia: Where do you think you're going human?

Fennec: There's a price to pay...

Corsac: For those who stray.

Fox: YEAH! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, HUMAN! YOU'RE TOO FUCKING LOUD!

Sun: Fox! Fox, man, we gotta go!

Fox: THAT FUCKING HUMAN SMASHED MY MUG! (Shakes his fist as Sun drives away with him) FEAR THE FANG!

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Fox: Alright, boys. Time to show them why to Fear the Fang.

Sun: Dude, you should, uh, wear your mask. That way nobody can track you after this.

Fox: Good thinking. We can't let those humans have the upper hand. (Puts on his mask)

Adam: And here is a brother destined to become the next High Leader of the White Fang! A man who epitomizes the words, Fear the Fang! Fox Alistair! (Crowd cheers)

Fox: (Guided on stage) FEAR THE FANG! Brothers of the White Fang, we are fighting a war on two fronts! The never-ending war against the Grimm still continues, but the more endable war against Ghira Belladonna and his human sympathies is very real!

Lisa: Specific humans were a target as well.

Fox: Jacques Schnee keeps stomping on us, as well as his lap-human General James Ironwood, who got his medals from sucking human DICK! Fear the Fang. (Crowd cheers)

Lisa: And the criminal justice system was a focus as well.

Fox: The humans have resorted to using vigilantes as a method of putting down good, hard-working Faunus by hiring some human fucker in tights, screaming out and calling himself The Huntsman! And he's TOO FUCKING LOUD! Fear the Fang! (Crowd cheers) Open up your heart and let that hate out!

Adam: (Sobs, Clapping)

Blake: Show us your features! We want to know what features you have!

Sun: Nonono! There's no need to-

Fox: I got this Sun. You want to see my features? I'll show you I am all fox, and no human! (Takes off his mask, Gets naked) FEAR THE FANG!

Lisa: (Crowd screams) By the brothers...

Adam: (Head explodes)

Fox: Now, as I understand, there are cookies and punch in the back, and once Brother Adam closes this meeting, we can join up and talk about Faunus superiority. Thank you all for coming. Fear the Fang!

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

Lisa: Fortunately, Mr. Alistair was not harmed, as the members were too in shock to make any hostile movements. Unfortunately, however, his reputation has suffered irreparable damage, and has been banned from all further Faunus supremacist group meetings. Since then, he has come to terms with his humanity, and three days ago, he filed for divorce against his wife. Why, we asked. Why would a man divorce his wife after twenty years of marital bliss? And he simply answered, "Because she's a Human fucker." This is Lisa Lavender, Vanguard.

#rwby #chappelle's show #lisa lavender #fox alistair #xanthe rumpole #professor rumple #sun wukong #ilia amitola #corsac albain #fennec albain #adam taurus #blake belladonna

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you���re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough  Am I giving enough  Have I paid my debts  Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker -  and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

#king of cups #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female oc #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x female oc #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #star wars #din djarin #din djarin smut #mando smut #star wars fanfic #slow burn #slow build #fic rec #writing #gun kink #angst #mutual pining #soft!din #pedro pascal #the mandalorian x female oc #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #no y/n

[jinx-jade]

A little bird and his prey Chapter 2

“What do you mean Menagerie turned into a cloud?” Tim asks dumbly as Damian tells them about what happened in the warehouse.

Tim clearly hasn't had enough caffeine or sleep to be functioning. It was a miracle that Alfred hasn't sent him to bed yet.

Damian still gave him an annoyed look. Not caring how tired he was. If Tim was going to make him repeat the information then he gets to be a bit petty and say it in short 'can you understand me?' talk.

“Menagerie was trapped. She had plugged something into the computer. It beeped. Menagerie turned into a cloud. Grabbed the beeping thing. Flew outside the windows. Locked them all. Then flew away.” Damian repeated, clearly talking down to Tim, which earned Damian a glare from the offended vigilante.

“She just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” Tim claimed, rolling his eyes at Damian’s antics before taking another sip of his coffee.

“Ok… So her costume looked like some kind of dragon this time… And she could turn into a cloud… Anything else?” Barbara said as she typed in the information into Menagerie’s growing file.

“Menagerie used blades this time instead of her boomerang weapon from our last encounter,” Damian informs her, Barbara quickly adding the new weapon to Menagerie’s arsenal.

“Huh. Why’d we give the meta or magic-using, always changing, weapon master villain to Demon Spawn?” Jason questioned as he read over Menagerie’s file of the information they had been able to gather in the last five years.

Jason's question as to why Damian was the one in charge of Menagerie’s case was left unanswered in favor of reviewing the file for what must have been the millionth time.

“She’s been a mouse with a whip, a horse with a boomerang weapon, a black cat with a staff, a bee with poison darts, a dog with batons, peacock with war fans, and now a dragon with a blade. How many more animal-themed costumes do you think she has?” Stephanie asked no one in particular.

"How many more weapons does she know how to use?" Jason counters, earning him a thought full look from Stephanie, as if to say 'fair point'.

The room was silent in thought. If Menagerie hasn't shown them all the weapons she knows how to use and she's been in Gotham for five years, that was a bit worrying.

The silence was broken, surprisingly, by Cass.

“Matching,” Cass says, pointing to the blurry picture of the dog costume.

The other bats looked at the dog costume trying to see what Cass sees but weren't having any luck.

“What's matching?” Bruce asked his daughter.

Cass pointed to Menagerie in her dog costume again. “Dog.” She then pointed to the batons, “Stick".

Selina was the first to catch onto Cass’s observation. “Bird and feather, bees and stinger.”

Cass nodded her head to Selina’s words.

“Match,” Cass said again.

“Menagerie matches her weapon to her costume theme," Barbara says as she typed that information into her file.

"When she uses a costume and its weapon Menagerie never has any of her other weapons with her. Why?" Tim asked a bit more awake after chugging his caffeinated beverage.

"More importantly, does she have different meta or magic abilities based on each animal?” Dick questions, Barbara making a note with his questions.

“Next time you run into one of our magic users, ask them about Menagerie. She’s a magic-user after all, so they're bound to have heard something.” Barbara says before calling it a night. Waving everyone upstairs.

All of the bat family present moved from the cave to the kitchen, Alfred handing them snacks and beverages.

“What’s the real reason so many of you are home?” Damian finally asked, knowing that while the bored excuse could have worked for Dick, it didn’t excuse the rest of his siblings randomly coming home all at once.

The Waynes shared a few glances at each other.

“You do realize Halloween is coming up soon, right, Demon spawn?” Jason questioned with an amused tone.

Damian blinked a few times, realizing his stupidity.

“Nope. I forgot.” Damian claimed, before letting out an annoyed huff, having just remembered something else. “That means Menagerie’s off the grid till after January.”

“I, for one, am glad she disappears before Halloween. We don’t need another rouge running the streets causing more work for us.” Stephanie claimed, swinging her legs back and forth from her place on the kitchen island.

“Do you think Menagerie goes home for the holidays and that’s why she disappears?” Dick questions before taking another bite of his cookie.

“It’s possible? Menagerie isn’t insane like some of the other rouges, so the probability of her taking time off to hang out with friends and family for the holidays is relatively high.” Barbara claims not looking up from her computer.

The Waynes continue to talk about Menagerie for a bit before switching to Halloween plans and tactics. They talked about who’s patrolling what area, who’s teaming up with who, and what heroes or vigilantes are coming to help.

The planning only lasted so long and soon the Waynes were joking around and poking fun at each other.

At some point, Cass went stiff, looking out the windows as if looking for something.

“Something wrong Cassandra?” Bruce asked looking out the window to try and find what was causing his daughter’s stress.

“Being…Watched?” Cass signed a bit confused.

Shortly after Cass signed that everyone seemed to whip their head in the same direction to look at the moving shadow figure.

They let out a collective sigh when they saw that it was just a fox.

It was weird to see a fox this close to the manor, but they let it be since it is only looking at them. It was almost as if they were entertainment to the little fox.

The fox has bright blue eyes with a black coat. The coat seemed to shine blue when the kitchen lights hit its fur.

This started a new round of joking and teasing about how even the foxes at Wayne manor have the 'Wayne features'.

Alfred came back into the kitchen and shooed the Waynes off to bed.

He stopped to look at the fox.

Alfred let out an exasperated sigh.

He grabbed a few cookies placing them in a bag.

Alfred offered the bag to the fox, having remembered the fox miracle likes sweet treats.

The fox took the cookies after giving Alfred a small bow.

tag list: @henie04 @only-trust-fictional-characters @lolieg @Moon5608 @animegirlweeb @asrainterstellar @toodaloo-kangaroo @mystery-5-5 @dontbenddontbreak @jayjayspixiepop

#maribat

[u-no-poo]

The Phoenix Ymbryne ||  Millard Nullings

Pairing: Millard Nullings x Fem!Reader

Devil’s Acre Era (includes events in TDODA)

Word Count: 2.3k words

Summary: You are a peculiar who can take the form of a Phoenix. Wights were a constant threat until an invisible boy takes you to your new home. Getting to know him made you realize your purpose and the worth of all you’ve been through.

A/n: this fic includes South-East Asian references and i wrote it in a way you’ll learn easily. so whatever your race is, step inside Y/n’s boots and enjoy this adventure fluff. 

︵‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・༺❀༻・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ︵‿︵‿︵

1900, Manila

The gust of wind rustling the forest almost silenced your pounding heart, but not quite. You transformed into a blazing bird and shoot through the bright sky, searching the brown earthen hues below. Your bird form made you an easy target, knowing that the wights after you have hunting guns; but your bird form also allowed you to scan the forest with your peculiar intuition. You could detect souls and sense their objectives. As you fly towards the outskirts of the woods, you located the two wights running away.

Suddenly, you felt another soul wandering through the thickets. A lone, pure heart, a good aura that you wouldn’t expect right after getting chased by blank-eyed monsters. Driven by curiosity, you roamed above the trees where you felt the presence. It was a floating map. You perched on a branch and watched the huge map turn, as if being held by a person. You looked from another angle at it revealed a floating suit and trousers. Carefully eyeing the subject and its pavement shoes leaving a calculated trail, there was only one word you can fathom: peculiar.

It had been over half a century since you’ve seen another peculiar, and it fascinated you how you couldn’t actually see this one. You continued watching the invisible who seem to be looking for something; a landmark? a person? a girl who can turn into a two-feet-tall fiery bird? If it was the latter, you knew you couldn’t easily trust someone, even if your intuition screamed this person’s good intentions.

You flew towards your house by the river, and judging by the angle of the floating clothes below, you knew you’ve been spotted. The moment you reached your home, you transformed back to your sixteen year-old body and slipped in a floor length skirt, a white sleeved shirt made from pineapple fabrics, and a scarf around your neck. You prepared hot chocolate in case that invisible peculiar pays a visit.

It only took a few minutes until you heard a knock on your door. Reluctantly, you opened it to reveal the same floating clothes that seemed to belong to the western world.

"Who are you?"

"Millard Nullings, at your service." A voice of a teenage boy spoke up. You moved aside to allow him enter your home, saying your name as you lead him to the drawing room. At first, you thought it was going to be painfully awkward, but it immediately changed into a pleasant, curious atmosphere when his body headed straight towards the ancient maps on your walls, as if being pulled by a magnet.

"Thank you, this place is incredibly interesting. For the longest time I thought these maps were never to be found again," Millard said as he took the hot chocolate from your hand while staring at the walls.

"These are from my old ymbryne. She was a real treasure," you said, standing beside him. "It shows hundreds of ancient loops across Asia. I wouldn't have found my current home without these maps. Oh, and Millard... may I ask how did you get here?"

"The wights after you were caught a while ago. This loop is marked empty in A Map of Days, so catching two of Caul's followers in here is intriguing. It wasn't long until I found the entrance after leapfrogging through a parallel loop nearby."

Brushing off more questions in your head, you offered him a seat and took sips of hot chocolate.

"Perplexus wasn't wrong when he marked this loop empty," you said. Millard's head most likely whipped up at the mention of the famous cartographer.

You smiled at this and continued. "When my old loop was raided, my ymbryne suggested this small loop. It was an empty peculiar menagerie. I suspect a dozen peculiar animals used to live here with all the traces I've found. But for over fifty years, I haven't seen any peculiarity in this area." You turn your head towards the window. "Past those Cacao trees is the membrane of the loop. A small provincial village with normal people, normal chickens, and a normal carabao. So seeing you here feels more surreal than it sounds," you admitted.

"What about your bird?" he asked, "that tall phoenix flying around the woods?"

A twinge of realization came over you and you sigh, reluctant to admit your peculiarity.

"That was me," you say finally.

"What! You can turn into a phoenix? You're an ymbryne?" Millard's voice was a mix of astonishment and confusion.

"How else did you think I manage to revive this loop?" You smiled.

"I just thought ymbrynes' bird forms are supposed to be inconspicuous. But you were...incredibly remarkable."

Your cheeks heated up at the comment and you divert your gaze with a soft chuckle.

"That baffled me as well, that's why I only transform in important situations. Locals believed me to be a magical bird, thus driving many hunters' attention. My bird form is known as Adarna. Similar to a phoenix, but distinct in certain features."

"Adarna? I've never heard of that kind of bird before."

"It is a famous folklore bird in the Philippines. There are stories about it, even in the Tales of the Peculiar." You stood and picked up an old children's book on the bookshelf across the room. You handed it to Millard, which you assume, made him smile.

"This is an ancient version indeed. I annotate many of the Tales but I've never seen this before. Would you mind letting me borrow this?" You couldn't bring yourself to say no to him, so you insisted he could keep it. Stating that you didn't need a copy, having memorized it for the longest time.

After minutes of discussion, you noticed how he got so excited in the topic of maps, history and his friends. It felt like you were listening to a teacher who loved his work, and you weren't complaining as you found this adorable. You were both having good laughs with Millard's stories, until he finally said, "I trust you expect a reassurance that the wights wouldn't trouble you anymore, but we can't be certain."

Your eyebrows furrowed at this, "what are you planning?"

"To take you to Devil's Acre."

You were surprised and slightly taken aback. He must've seen the faraway look on your face so he continues, "Y/n, you don't have to go now. I can just leave you a detailed map to help you reach the panloopticon anytime."

You paced around the drawing room. "So you're letting me go there alone?"

“If that's what you like, yes. I don't want to rush you into leaving your home, but I’ll feel much better if you let me take you there myself." His British drawl made your throat dry, you could only nod.

"I'll take my time to think about it, but as soon as the wights come near this area, I'll head to your loop for safety." You decided it's only smart to stay home until real danger emerge, despite how much you'd like to go with Millard. "Why don't you stay here for a while?"

"That can be a problem. You see, my ymbryne left me with strict rules..."

"You weren't supposed to be here, aren't you?"

You both just laughed at this.

A while later, a loud commotion started in the other side of the loop membrane. Villagers were screaming and animals were flocking away.

"Was that a regular noise within your loop?"

"For fifty years of living this exact same day over and over again, I can assure you that was most unnatural." You got up and pocketed an old but sharp dagger as Millard packed the maps and the book you gave him.

"Those are certainly Wights looking for their other comrades. We ought to flee this place now," he said.

You both slipped through the backdoor towards the river, careful not to trip into the mud. When you reach the bamboo raft, he held your hand and made sure you wouldn't lose balance. This gesture, however, made you lose your composure instead.

"You seem nervous, is it the raft? Should I let you cross the river first?"

"No, no, it's safe," you said as you both stood on the either side of the raft, trying not to slip as you crossed the river holding tall pieces of bamboo to keep yourselves steady. "I guess I just feel sad that I'm leaving home for good," you say. It was true, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit that he made you flustered.

"I understand that this loop may close permanently as you leave," he said, "but in the Devil's Acre, you may train with other ymbrynes ang get the chance to create new loops, have wards of your own—"

"Train with other ymbrynes?" You exclaimed as the raft reached the other side of the river.

"Yes, they're rather lovely. Miss Avocet and all the other ymbrynes would love to guide you. I also believe my friends will celebrate your company. Horace will cook feast, Olive and Claire will surely entertain you, oh," he said, clearly excited, "the celebration will never be enough!"

"Are you kidding me?" You laughed soundlessly as you headed towards the forest. "Your presence alone is more than enough."

He did not reply anything for a moment and you bit your lip. Millard lead the way to another loop that was connected to the panloopticon. It was a silent but surprisingly comfortable walk. He told you to watch your steps in some parts of the forest and you give every useful information you had about your homeland.

"There it is, come here, y/n." He spotted the portal door propped amongst the old trenches of the place that was once bloodstained by war.

Shivers crawled down your spine as you paced forward. Millard noticed your uneasy expression and ran circles on your knuckles. "You can tell me if you don't want to come," he whispered gently, "we'll figure out another way if you're ever uncomfortable."

"Thank you, but I really want to go with you. I want to meet your family and read your books." A smile painted its way on your face just thinking about it.

Without another question, he lead you through the door while gripping your hand. You held your breath and let him guide your steps. His fingers traced your forehead and you opened your eyes.

═ ∘◦ ❉ ◦∘ ═

1886, London

"Where are we?" You stare at the plain, unfamiliar bedroom infront of you.

"The third floor of panloopticon," Millard said with a relieved sigh. "We just crossed half the world in a matter of seconds, I trust the kitchen will have something to ease our loop-lag."

Without even thinking about it, you pulled him in a hug. He caught his breath and wrapped his arms around you as you feel tears streaming down your face. You missed your country but don't regret being with this boy at all. "Thank you," you managed to whisper.

It had been less than a week since you first arrived. Millard's friends were the kindest people you have ever met. The first time you saw Miss Peregrine, she was furious at Millard for running off without permission, but her mood changed when she met you and realized you were an ymbryne too. You were immediately recruited in Miss Avocet's academy and made friends with many other people in the Acre. You get along very well with Miss Wren who was interested in your peculiarity and the fact that you lived in a menagerie loop in Asia.

Desolations came and you stayed in the Ditch House with Millard reading books for you. While it was raining blood, bones and ashes outside, you were having the time of your life with your new family.

You stayed in the Academy while the rest of Miss Peregrine's wards take on their adventure to France, giving all your best wishes for Millard.

You fought in the battle of the Devil's Acre and tended to the injured with the other ymbrynes-in-training. When you heard the news that Caul was defeated, you were elated and incredibly happy.

You were one of the ninety-five peculiars who broke loop-bound in Jacob's house. You could finally go anywhere you like without the fear of aging forward rapidly, and Millard promised many trips with you, you could only shut him up with a peck on the cheek.

═ ∘◦ ❉ ◦∘ ═

1940, Cairnholm

So many good things happened to you that week, but nothing could beat the joy you felt when you found out that the ymbrynes-in-training are to live with Miss Cuckoo, and Miss Peregrine and her wards in Cairnholm.

You stare at the dog roses in Fiona's garden, you were filled with mixed emotions and wanted a quiet time. All of them are celebrating inside the house; all except Millard, who was wearing a velvet smoking jacket for the occasion.

"It's beautiful here," you said while watching his clothes head your way, "you must be happy that you're home."

"You are my home," he said sincerely, now standing in front of you.

You couldn't grab any witty reply, in fact, you couldn't find any words at all. You knew you were blushing ferociously by now.    

"Mind if I talk to you about something that's been bothering me for a while?" He broke the silence and you nod at him.

"With everything we went through these past weeks, I found myself hoping to stay alive."

You stifled a laugh. "Isn't that a good thing? Wishing you'd survive?"

"That's the point, I wanted to stay alive, not just because we ought to take surviving as a priority, but because I can't get you out of my mind."

Your face went blank. "What do you mean, Millard?"

"I wish it was a choice, but it wasn't. I fell in love with you, Y/n. I'd love you for as long as time."

"And we have time," you reassured him, "I love you too," and with that, he kissed you.

Both smiling into the kiss, you leaned against each other, swaying in the breeze of the garden and basking in each other's presence forevermore.

#miss peregrines home for peculiar children #MPHFPC fanfic #millard nullings #millard nullings x reader #horace somnusson #miss peregrine #the desolations of devils acre #ransom riggs what did you do to me #ymbrynes #filipino #ibong adarna #fiona frauenfeld

[yangscutebutt]

I have the BIGGEST HEAD CANNON FOR VOL 9.

It all started with reading this…if you haven’t taken a look at this vol. 9 prediction by reddit user u/iamthatguy54 please do

And while im not on reddit i had some opinions about this which lead me down… a rabbit hole. Id love to hear all your comments and thoughts about this!

Alice in Wonderland is a perfect allusion to what happened to the squad at the end of vol. 8. And Yang is Alice, making the other people who also fell into Wonderland characters as well. I have chills writing this you guys!!! Ive taken some screenshots for proof and it is UNDENIABLE.

Lets looks at Alice’s entrance to Wonderland. This is a photo of her decent down the hole which she crawled into

Heres yangs fall! Both long blondes falling in the exact same position. Coincidence, I think NOT.

Then I went to see what the original animations fall scene and i noticed this… do you guys see that!!!!

That is an allusion to Blake! Alice and the cat literally part ways. And Alice starts the decent aloof and confused. Alice then falls. But gently falls down and shes able to inspect the world that is this tunnel/ hole, picking up books, even sitting in a rocking chair momentarily.

Then i saw this gif. While shes falling past all these artifacts we she her breifly pass this…

If you haven’t heard theres a tale called the girl who fell through the earth like OP mentions. I know the diagram Alice passes isnt very clear but to me it looks as though its a diagram explaining her fall, as a fall through the earth. Further aliding to the fairy tale from Rwby.

As you can see at the end Alice falls on her head. And for me I can predict vol 9 to start like this:

Yang will be falling unconsciously. She will regain consciousness during her fall and start to notice she is falling but doesnt know where. She may see things while falling down to e island but have enough time to regain atleast some if not all of her aura back. Even though she’ll be totally aware for her landing she might be distracted and will clumsily land on her head. After falling on her head shell see something in the brush that catches her attention which she follows deep into the forest trying to catch. Only driving her away from the shore and closer to the TREE.

Because of these predictions too, i don’t think they will fall very far apart from one another in respect to time, they will all get there the same day. Unfortunately they will all fall very far away from each other except for Blake and Ruby and maybe Jaune and Weiss.

Okay I hope youre still here because. I wanted to check my theory out a little more. If alice was falling through the earth its safe to say our crew is as well. So i sought out to find if falling from “around atlas” where exactly would straight through go? Now i know that this was inside a pocket dimension so theres no way to say, however. I found these globes of Remnant rendered by another reddit user u/shazarakk.

The first thing to note is that THE WATER IS THE LAND AND THE LAND IS THE WATER!

I hope my labeling is helpful and please know i tried to the best of my ability to be as accurate as possible. I looks for certain geographic locations and if you want to know how i get a certain location id be happy to answer.

I noticed in the map its seems like i couldn’t see Menagerie very well because on the map its Remnants south ish pole?! Making atlas is north pole! At least to me anyway.

Therefore if they fell straight through the earth like depicted by the pole animation in Alice in Wonder, its very possible that they went to the Shallow sea as also speculated in OPs HC. The shallow sea could be menagerie but it could be a pocket dimension near menagerie. And if this is all true there could be the god of animals that we are still yet to meet and maybe our heroines have some knowledge to seek from him and maybe he lives in THE TREE.

So to conclude, because Yang is so heavily alluded to alice in wonderland i think each member who fell will aquire a “new character “ so to say. I havent thought well into who is who but here are some roles to fill

Ruby, weiss, blake, jaune, and neo.

Mad Hatter (neo)

Caterpiller (maybe the god of animals)

Cheshire cat ( i couldn’t guess who this could possibly be. )

White rabbit (i think is on the island when yang gets there and not typical cast member)

The queen of hearts (weiss especially if she fell around the same time jaune and they have to work together)

Tweedle dee

Tweedle dum (jaune is one forsure)

#rwby #yang xiao long #rwby headcanon #rwby hc #rwby predictions #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #rwby vol 9 #rwby vol 9 prediction #I believe this so much! #juane arc #neo politan #bumbleby #bumbleby rwby #bmblb #rwby the girl who fell through the earth #rwby shallow sea #rwby fairy tales

[katieraven]

sleep is so tough

Summary: your attempt at dealing with losing Bucky is unsuccessful and results in a sleepless night - for several reasons.

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/female reader

Warnings: angst!!, happy ending (because I can't write sad endings for the life of me), a lot of metaphors, thoughts about death, loss and grieving, a tiny description of a panic attack

Word count: 3227

Notes: @babycap you wonderful human! 600 followers is huge and i am very happy about this fic. the prompt was: "I wanna be in your touch / Sleep is so tough" - James Bay, Chew On My Heart and I wrote a lil something that i'm kinda happy with. do enjoy!

love,

katie

It’s the same nightmare. You recognise it from the last three weeks, you’ve been here before. Doesn’t make it easier to shake out of it. You watch him convulse, face torn and twisted somewhere between pain and the desperate attempt to keep his free will. The fight against the venomous words the HYDRA agent hurls at him. They’re like daggers, needles stuck into his brain, rewiring him. And all you can do is watch. You are frozen in place in the torture your subconsciousness puts you through. Again. And again. And again.

You can’t will your eyes to tear away from him. He snarls like a cornered animal at the agents around him. Then the final words. “грузовой вагон“. Freight car. You don’t know Russian, but those ten phrases have been burned into your brain. You could recite them in your sleep.

Bucky stills. He slowly stands up from his crouched position, cold stare fixed onto the speaking agent. “Я готов отвечить“.

You startle awake, the nightmare finally loosening its grasp on your consciousness. Immediately, your hands fly to the other side of the bed. It is cold and empty and your stomach drops when realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

This is not a nightmare. At least not entirely, no. It is a memory. Because you saw the footage. You saw Bucky convulse and bend and snap and straighten. And you saw Steve, heard his scream as Sam pulled him away, forcing him to leave his best friend in the hands of his torturers. Steve knows it was the right thing to do. You do, too. The thought of Bucky being all alone behind enemy lines still makes your breath hitch in your throat, though.

They didn’t want you to see the footage, it wasn’t supposed to be something you get confronted with. But you slipped into the room, originally meaning to talk to Natasha about some software to try out in the next mission. They didn’t notice you entering, eyes trained on a screen, FRIDAY running facial recognition in the background. They kept playing the footage over, and over, and over, and again, looking for any kind of clue as to where they could find him, until your knees gave out under you and you fell with a whimper leaving your throat. Natasha was the first to understand the situation. Steve let out a string of colourful curses you would have never stopped teasing him about, hadn’t you been trying to wrap your mind around what you just saw.

If you had known they were back already, you would have noticed him missing and asked. But you didn’t even know they were back. And then he was gone.

You finally open your eyes. The New York night tints the white ceiling a blueish sort of grey and you feel like someone painted the inside of your heart onto the concrete. A perfect replica. Grey inside. Empty. Broken and alone, left to try and fail to put yourself back together.

Your fingers curl into a fist around the cold and empty bedsheets. They have been empty for three weeks now, and your body has no tears left to give. So you lie there, silent sobs violently breaking free from the void that is your chest. Sometimes you don’t know if your heart is beating, still, and your hands can’t find it in them to check. It wouldn’t be so bad to die, you think. There’s not much keeping you here.

Steve visits every few days. He carries the same hollow look in his eyes, like someone snuffed out the light behind them and carelessly forgot to turn it back on. With the sole difference that he is better at hiding it. It is only when he thinks nobody is watching that the sticky navy blue ink that is grief seeps into his face and turns his eyes empty and his face pale. You don’t mention it.

You know it’s supposed to help, sharing grief. Which is why you open the door when he visits, and don’t turn him away. He needs it, too, you suppose. So you sit on your sofa in front of the tv and watch something stupid and mindless that none of you pay attention to and both of you pretend to find acutely intriguing whenever the other is looking.

It’s all a giant game of pretend. SHIELD is feigning confidence in finding him. Everyone else oozes positivity whenever they talk about the mission. But it’s false, and hollow, and the truth of it sneers at you through translucent optimism.

You turn your head to look at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 4:36 a.m. That means you slept an astonishing three hours. That’s two more than yesterday. You’re not afraid of the nightmares anymore. You know they will come. The terror shaking you night after night has become a companion, just as the grief following closely in everything you do. It looms over you at night, hides in the shadows behind the furniture in your living room, joined by Steve’s whenever he’s there.

You were afraid to fall asleep, yes. Pulled two all-nighters in the first days after. By now you have learned to read the signs your body so openly presents you with and you know you will not fall asleep again tonight. So you lie there, hand splayed over the empty right side of the bed, eyes staring through the ceiling.

Fuck, you miss him. It rolls over you unexpectedly and your body seizes, curling up into a fetal position as your obviously alive and beating heart pumps sharp agony through your veins. He is gone. You know, of course, you understood before and this feeling is familiar, but for the first time, it truly settles inside you. Bucky is gone.

The man you imagined a future with, who handed you his broken and bruised heart and trusted you to fix it, is gone. The charming wooden home near the sea you always talked about when his nightmares were too much and too real slowly turns to dust between your grasping fingers. You feel it slip. The bell-like high pitched laughter of a young child evaporating in your mind.

You feel your heart break. There has been a dull ache in your chest for weeks. You’ve gotten used to it, embraced it into your menagerie of demons and ghosts, grief and loss. But it betrays you, right now, as you feel your heart pound against the cage of your ribs, and it burns. You still lie curled into yourself, blanket tangled between your legs. You will explode. You feel it with a new certainty, this will kill you. You breathe in and out, you know you do, but none of the air arrives in your lungs. It leaves you desperately gasping for oxygen.

Until you realise none of it is real. Because your heart is not here in your room with you, your heart lies in the mismatched hands of a broken soldier somewhere between here and the sea. It can’t kill you here, because there is an organ-sized hole in your chest and the coldness of the world tears at your exposed ribcage with icy shrapnel-sharp claws. Does it bleed? If so, you can’t feel the warmth. Blood is warm, right? Bucky always said it is.

You exhale slowly. Will your seizing muscles to relax, to let you go. To your surprise they do, and you inhale again, cold night air. It doesn’t yet escape through the wound in your chest. The hole hasn’t reached your lungs yet. But you know it will consume you, leave no part of you untouched, unbroken, will rip you apart for all your demons to finally feast on what is left of you.

Maybe he will find you first, you muse. Maybe HYDRA will find the last bit of mercy in them and send him after you, to cut his strings. You know you will not fight when he does. It would be a sweet oblivion with his eyes the last thing you see. Grey irises like molten silver when the sunlight hits just right.

Your arms fold against your chest. The skin is whole, not a scratch, no bleeding wound. You know it can’t be true. It is simply your minds way of processing this pain. Your imagination fixed the hole but you know it’s still there, still gaping. You can feel the edges burning where the hole ends and the marred skin starts. But you live. Still this broken body carries you on, one day after another.

You sit up in your sheets, hair plastered against your forehead by the thin film of sweat covering your body. As your back straightens, the metallic clinking of dog tags root you into this reality and you pull them out from under one of Bucky’s black shirts you’re wearing.

“Keep these,” he murmurs and presses something hard into your open palm. You look down and see the two thin pieces of metal piled on top of each other, embossed letters spelling his name, his full name. Your stunned eyes flicker back up into his and you open your mouth to protest, but he shushes you with a finger.

“It’s not like I need them. If I die, this thing” – he gestures to his arm – “will tell everyone who I am. But I want you to have these.”

Your thumb smoothes over the plates, shoving them against each other. “I mean … I won’t complain, but why do you …?”

He shrugs, embarrassment tinting his cheeks. “I don’t know, I guess it feels like a part of me stays with you, y’know? A physical part. So that you have something real to hold onto until I’m back.”

It hits you, then, that he’s leaving. He picks the tags up and puts them around your neck and you reach for his hands, fingers closing around his forearms. “Don’t leave me, Bucky. Please, I can’t lose you –“

He puts his hands on either side of your face and kisses your nose, before looking directly at you. “You won’t lose me, you hear? I’ll always be with you. Always.”

But now he’s gone, and you close your fist around the metal tags until they push into your palms, and harder until they cut the delicate skin. You want to be angry at him but you can’t. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault he couldn’t keep his promise.

You steady your breathing. Eyes wander to the red numbers on your alarm. 5:23. No use trying to sleep anymore, you decide, and sit up. Might as well make coffee. Maybe you can get something done today. Clean the laundry up at least, so Steve doesn’t have this awfully concerned look on his face next time he visits.

It takes you a couple of minutes to actually, physically, move. In your mind you’re already in the kitchen, filling the coffee maker with water and watching the coffee slowly dribble into the pot below. It has something therapeutic, one drop at a time. Almost meditative.

But, well, you do have to walk over into the kitchen to reach this point of short-lived meditative oblivion. So you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, and your eyes fall onto the covered mirror in the corner. It’s floor-length, and you used to love being able to admire your whole outfit in there without having to stand on your tiptoes.

Like that one time before one of Tony’s extravagant galas, when you tried to get a good look at yourself and the glamourous dress that, as Natasha had pointed out, would look amazing on your figure. She had been right – naturally. But the tiny mirror in your bathroom hadn’t shown the whole thing and so you were leaning over the sink to try and look. Which was exactly the moment Bucky chose to walk into the room, only to promptly wear an affectionately amused smirk on his face, assuring you of your otherworldly beauty (“Oh come on, Buck, don’t mock me – “ “I’m not, you are otherworldly, doll, dazzling even!”) and pointing out that you were in desperate need of a floor-length mirror.

In the first few days of Bucky’s absence, you hung a bedsheet over it because you couldn’t bear the memory. In fact, you can’t recall the last time you actually looked at yourself. With utmost certainty, though, you can say that your skin must be grey and sunken and the darkened circles under your eyes a deeper shade of purple than when you were knee-deep in college finals. God, that time seems ages away. If you hadn’t gone to college then maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation – you would have certainly never ended up at SHIELD. For a second you wish you hadn’t. This pain would not be part of your reality, then.

But then again, you wouldn’t have met him at all. And as much as this, right now, hurts, you wouldn’t trade it with any reality in the universe if it meant not knowing him. Not loving him. Not knowing his deepest, darkest secrets that he only opened up about after one particularly bad nightmare, with his head in your lap, not daring to meet your eyes.

No, if this pain is the price for his love then you will take it. You will let it eat at you until there is nothing left except your hollowed shell of a body because it will have been worth it.

You walk past the covered mirror and open the door, bare feet against the cold kitchen floor. You go to reach for the coffee maker when something registers with you. Something out of place, a slight inconsistency in your regulated, never-changing surroundings. You barely see it in your periphery.

Your movements still and your head slowly turns toward what is undoubtedly someone sitting in your living room. The moonlight glints on his left shoulder and you realise, within the smallest fractions of a second, who it is.

The hollow excuse for a heart that sits in your chest sputters and stills, before springing back into action twice as fast. He came back.

A steady stillness settles over you as you understand the situation. They sent him. Loose ends and all. Yet you’re not afraid, this death will be quick and quiet. It gives you an odd sensation of peace, to know that his will be the last face you see – even if it is the Winter Soldier’s face. But they’re still Bucky’s eyes.

“It’s okay”, you whisper.

His intent gaze never leaves you as you slowly, deliberately walk towards him, step by step. You know that Bucky is in there, too, and you need him to understand that you accept this. That it is not his fault. That you are ready to die if it is at his hands.

There is an unusual uncertainty in the Soldier’s eyes. You have seen footage of him, cold expression, a sort of stone-hearted efficiency about his movements, never a step too much. He has not moved yet. You feel every bit of skin on your feet connecting to the wooden floor as you move towards him, slowly, but steadily. If this is how you are meant to go, then you will.

You’re only three feet away from him as you stop. His eyes followed you all the way there. Now they start to flicker over your face, your body, confusion slowly but definitely showing in the crinkles on his forehead. He opens his mouth and you hold your breath.

“I –“, it comes out croaky, like he hasn’t used his voice in forever, so he clears his throat and starts again.

“I know you.”

Your lungs deflate, shakily. He hasn’t killed you yet. If he hasn’t killed you yet, why is he here? The Winter Soldier doesn’t hesitate. The uncertainty in his face sparks something deep, deep inside of you that you thought dead by now. Hope.

His eyes find their way back to your face and he is searching it now, not the stoic, cold mask of the Winter Soldier. You don’t dare speak. The fingers of his left hand flex with an electric whirr.

“I know you, but …” he trails off.

His right fist opens, fingers seemingly involuntarily reaching out. You step closer and lower yourself down, bare knees on the wood flooring, eyes not leaving his.

“I remember you.”

His voice is steadier now, more confident that he does, in fact, know you. That there is something inside his brain, something more than just the Soldier. More than just the missions. Just the trigger.

His hand, the real one, reaches towards your face and you close your eyes upon contact, a shaky breath leaving your lips. His index and middle finger trail across your cheekbone. Follow the curve of your lips. Trace your eyebrows. Your eyes flicker open and your breath gets caught in your throat because there he is, there he is, his eyes his own.

“Bucky –“

His name leaves your lips, a choked sob partially escaping. He blinks. Still, his eyes are his own. His lips part and then he whispers your name and you are certain this is a dream. A change of pace from the violent nightmares of late, but still a dream, because this can’t be true. How could it be.

But the hardwood floor is rough against your knees and his hand is warm against your cheek and he is there. He slides off the chair onto the ground before you and you feel hot tears spill from your open, disbelieving eyes. His other hand reaches for your face and then he’s holding you there, so unbelievably gentle, his eyes tortured and lined in purple but undeniably his own.

“You came back”, is the first real thing you say to him.

His thumb smoothes over the dark bruise under your eye, proof of sleepless nights and tired days.

“I’m so sorry”, is the first thing he says to you in his own voice.

You close your eyes, lids pushing tears over the edge and you let them drip down onto your bare thighs as you shake your head, a soft smile on your lips.

“There is nothing you need to be sorry about. None of this was your fault.”

“I – you’re hurt”, he states, matter-of-factly, and your eyes open again.

You try and put everything into your eyes, everything you feel, the hope, the relief, the love. Most of all the love.

“But you’re back. That’s all that matters. Do you hear me?”

His grey irises swim with regret and pain and fear and yet you see love in them. You gently touch your forehead to his and he sighs, eyelids fluttering closed.

“I love you, and you’re back, and that’s all that matters.”

The cold seeps into your body from the floor, your knees scraping against the hardwood. Neither of you dares to move, the calm of the situation too delicate, neither sure if this is real or just a particularly cruel dream. But it is too beautiful to disturb and so both of you remain where you are, hands gently touching the other. Thankful for this moment of peace.

**

Forgot my taglist consisting of one wonderful person: @mannien

[secretkeeper13]

Flirt

I decided to try my hand at an outside perspective Hinny OC.  Just a bit of fluff, some humor (hopefully), and a bit of cringe. I hope you enjoy poor, sweet Craig!  Also on Ao3.  

The sun shone through the windows of the Three Broomsticks, casting rays of light across the dark wooden booths and tables. The pub was crowded- it was a Saturday, after all, and from the looks of it, plenty of Magpies fans had decided to apparate directly from the match, their black and white jerseys giving the room the appearance of a wonky chessboard. It was still late afternoon, so families with small children were mixed in among the regulars, contributing to the noisy din.

The table his mates chose was near the entrance, and he sat facing the door as he talked and laughed with them. It was strange, being here, all together, the six of them, now that they were out of school. They were still close- it was hard to live with people for seven years and not become friends. Though, he’d heard stories from others who couldn’t stand the people in their dormitories, so they were lucky in that regard, he supposed.

They’d been at the pub for less than an hour, after walking down from Dan’s flat on High Street once the match ended. He’d missed being around his mates every day, and they’d quickly made up for lost time, talking, joking, and laughing as if they were back in the dorm at Hogwarts and no time had passed since they’d all been together last.

“Let’s hear it Craig, got yourself any birds recently?”

Dan’s teasing tone jolted him out of his thoughts. His cheeks colored a bit at being called out.

“Nah, mate, Craigey-boy’s still hung up on Cressida,” Will chimed in, and Craig shot an annoyed look at his flat mate.

“I’m not hung up on her. And I have been out with other girls, you’ve been there. Stop taking the mick.”

Will grinned at him and raised his eyebrow. “Haven’t brought any home though, have you?”

Craig sighed. When he and Cressida split up this summer after seventh year, it hadn’t been on bad terms. She was off to Egypt to be a curse breaker for Gringotts, and he had no desire to leave England, so they’d gone their separate ways. He’d been happy living as a bachelor in London with Will, but he did miss her. Well, he missed the companionship of having a girlfriend, he supposed, trying not to think about her piercing blue eyes, the casual way she would ruffle his hair, or the way she kissed. He’d supposed that being with someone for so long- nearly two years- made it harder to move on. He couldn’t really picture being with anyone other than her.

“It isn’t like I haven’t been trying. You saw me get off with that girl outside the Leaky last month. Wouldn’t shut up about it for days, in fact.”  

Will laughed. “Didn’t bring her home though.”

He hadn’t brought her home. She was good looking, but not as pretty as Cressida. And to be honest, she hadn’t been a very good snog either, so really, what was the point?

“Mate, you need to get a leg over. It’s been what, six months now?” Ben asked.

Craig glared at him. They all knew full well how long it had been since he and Cressida split. Ben grinned back at him.

“Well, maybe today’ll be the day,” he shot back.

“To Craigey getting laid!” Will called, and they all raised their glasses to toast him in jest as he flipped them off with two fingers.

Not a quarter hour later, he happened to look up just as a gorgeous girl walked in the door of the pub. She was petite, and wearing a tight turtleneck sweater in dark green, with red hair cascading past her shoulders down to her tits, which were full for her small frame. She glanced around, as if looking for someone, then headed over to the bar. Craig’s stomach fluttered in anticipation. This could be exactly what he’d been waiting for.

“Next rounds on me,” he said to the table, gesturing over to the bar, where the girl stood. Her position at the bar meant that her back was to their table, so they couldn’t see her face, only her long, shiny red hair. She was wearing tight, tan trousers tucked into brown boots that came up to below her knees, and she had a fantastic arse, he noted.

Will made a low whistle and nodded in appreciation.

“Go get her Clarke,” Dan said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Craig stood up and walked over to the bar. He ran a hand through his sandy brown hair.  He was nervous, and a bit tipsy, as they’d cracked open the firewhisky as soon as they’d arrived at Dan’s place. He took a breath to steady himself, then he sidled up next to her at the bar.

“Packed today, isn’t it?” he said, trying to sound casual, as if he chatted up fit girls all the time.

“Yes, by the looks of it we’re in for a bit of a wait,” she said, looking at the lone barmaid and the patrons stacked two deep up and down the long bar.

“Well, in that case... I’m Craig. Craig Clarke,” he said, extending his hand and giving her a boyish grin.

She looked surprised for a second, but then she took his hand and shook it, her hand small and warm in his.

“Pleasure to meet you, Craig,” she said, smiling. She exuded confidence. Her eyes were a lovely shade of warm brown and seemed to shine in the afternoon light.  

He was so captivated by her that it was only later that he realized she’d never told him her name.

“Do you come here often?” he asked, and as soon as he said it, he inwardly cringed at the obvious line.

Her lips turned up into a small smile, almost like a smirk, he thought.

“Not since I was in school.”

“Oh, I went to Hogwarts as well. Just finished last year. Hufflepuff. What house were you in?”

“I was a Gryffindor,” she replied, and her smile got broader and more impish, making his heart beat faster.  

She wasn’t in his year, or he obviously would’ve known her. There was something oddly familiar about her, though- like he knew her, but couldn’t place her. She must’ve been a year or two ahead of him. Maybe he’d seen her in the corridors. He wouldn’t have forgotten a face like hers if he’d met her properly, of that he was certain.

“I didn’t know many Gryffindors outside of my year. Dated a Ravenclaw though. Spent far too much time in their common room, unfortunately.”  He was rambling like an idiot, he thought, but unable to stop himself. And, why, why was he mentioning his ex? Her smile was dazzling and it was too much, almost like looking directly into the sun.

“You and me both.”  

“Swotty lot aren’t they?”

She laughed, a silvery tinkling sound, and her nose crinkled up a bit, which was adorable. He was smitten.

“I don’t normally come up to Hogsmeade either anymore, but one of my mates in my year works for Dervish and Banges, and we all came to his today to listen to the Montrose game.”

“Over quick, wasn’t it? Their new seeker had quite the debut.”

“You follow Quidditch?” he asked, delighted, though it was clear she did. She really was perfect, this girl.

“In a manner of speaking,” she said, almost coyly, and that smirk had returned.

“Which team do you support? I’m a Puddlemere man myself. Muggle born, so I got into it late. Brilliant sport though.”

“Harpies, through and through.” She bit her bottom lip, as if to keep from smiling wider. Her coy looks were driving him mad.

He wanted to keep the conversation going. Hopefully, he could work up the courage to ask her out.

“I live in London now. I work for the Magical Menagerie, caring for all the animals there. What do you do?” he asked. Perhaps she lived in London too. Maybe they’d know some of the same people, and he could invite her out with a group of his friends.

“Well, I’ve just had a bit of a career change. I’m a correspondent for the Prophet now.”

“Do you like it?”

“I just started, but yes, so far I do.”

“Well good luck with the change. My mate Will,” he gestured over to the booth where his friends sat, “just went through the whole career change bit. He took a job at the Ministry in the Department of Transportation right out of Hogwarts. His Deputy Head was a real stickler- impossible to work for, everything had to be just so- you know the type. He only lasted four months before he managed to get a transfer over to International Magical Cooperation. He likes it much better there, thankfully.”

“Yes, I definitely know the type,” she said, and her right hand covered her mouth as she seemed to suppress a giggle. He wasn’t sure what was funny about his comment, but he didn’t much care so long as he was making her laugh.

“Oi, Clarke, what’s taking so long? You getting our round or what!” his friends heckled him from the table.

“Come off it, it’s packed,” he called back, but they were all clearly engrossed in some drinking game they were playing and just ribbing him.

He turned back to her. “Sorry about my mates. Bunch of blokes together, you know how it is.”  

“I’m very familiar, trust me.” There was that smile again, so coy.

“What’ll it be love?” the haggard barmaid asked as she finally reached them.

He turned to her and smiled. “What would you like? It’s on me.”

“Oh,” she said, looking apologetic, “I couldn’t possibly, it’s really alright.”

“No, I insist, you’ve been such good company, let me buy you a drink.”

“No really, I-“

“Oh come on love, let him buy you the drink. I don’t have all day. Bars two deep right now,” said the barmaid, looking extremely exasperated.

“Just a butterbeer for me please,” she said to the barmaid, and then he placed the order for their round.

“Craig,” she said as the barmaid walked away. God, he loved the way his name sounded when she said it. “Listen, you’re very kind, but...”

“Mum-Mum! Mum-Mum!”

A baby, maybe a year old, babbling nonsense, appeared on her other side in the arms of a tall man wearing a baseball cap. The baby grasped her long hair, the smooth copper strands peeking through his tiny fist. He had thick, dark hair that stuck up in the back, and big brown eyes. Eyes that were exactly the same shade as hers, Craig noticed.

“Oh, Jim-Jams,” she cooed, taking the baby from the arms of the tall man holding him.

He was confused. Surely, she didn’t have a baby? She was probably only a year or two older than he was. Maybe a nephew, he thought.

The man who handed the baby to her was holding a knapsack over his shoulder and looked a bit frazzled. “I’m sorry we’re late to meet you, Gin. Didn’t expect the game to end so quickly. And then, on the way out, I turned my back for a half-second to grab more floo powder to refill the tin on the mantle, and he crawled into the loo, pulled himself up, and was splashing his hand around in the toilet. Had to give him a bath, didn’t want to chance a charm with that.”

She winced, then chuckled. “I told you he’s getting fast! And it’s alright, don’t worry. Neville’s not here yet either. He sent me a patronus that he’d got tied up with something. He should be on his way down now.”

Craig’s confusion grew. Who was this Neville? He hoped it wasn’t a boyfriend she was meeting.

“Mum-Mum!” the baby said again, as he settled on her hip, breaking into a wide, four-toothed smile.

She beamed down at the baby. “Hello, James. Mummy missed you, cheeky little monkey.” She reached her left hand up to stroke his cheek, and he noticed, for the first time, her wedding ring.

At this, the wheels, which had been turning far too slowly in his head, finally clicked into place.

He felt his face flush with complete embarrassment. He’d just been trying to chat up a married woman- the mother of a baby, for fuck’s sake. Well done, Craig . She probably thought he was a complete cad.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said to her, his words rushed and incredibly apologetic. “I didn’t realize, I had no idea...”

She held up her hand and smiled at him. “It’s alright, you were very kind, really.”

“Gin, I think I see Neville on his way,” the man said. The man (her husband, Craig corrected himself, groaning inwardly at his absolute stupidity in failing to realize this sooner) was looking out the front window, onto High Street. Craig hoped he’d missed their exchange.

The man turned back to face their direction, his round glasses catching the light. He looked at Craig with a bemused expression. Dark stubble lined the man’s jaw, and black hair was visible under the cap. He looked a bit like Harry Potter, Craig thought, thinking of the Witch Weekly poster Cressida had of him for ages. Quite a lot, actually.

Then, realization, followed immediately by absolute horror, washed over him as he looked back at the red-haired woman.

Ginny Potter. He’d been trying to chat up Ginny Potter. The star chaser for the Harpies, whose poster had hung above Ben’s bed in the dormitory since fourth year, for fuck’s sake. How had he not realized it? Ginny Potter, who’d been on the cover of every newspaper for months when she’d decided to retire because she was having a baby. Harry Potter’s baby. He’d been hitting on Harry Potter’s bloody wife for the last five minutes.

His jaw was agape as he stared at her and tried to form words. He probably looked like a giant goldfish, he thought.

“You’re...” he gulped, still looking at her, his cheeks on fire. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you. I’m a bit drunk, you see. And I thought you were maybe a year or two older than me, not...” he trailed off, feeling like a complete idiot and wanting nothing more than to disappear.

She laughed, but it was genuine and not unkind. “Don’t apologize, it was refreshing, actually. Gives me hope for an anonymous future,” she said, and she winked at him. He felt his face flush even more.

He turned to the man, to Harry Potter, he corrected himself. “Mr. Potter, sir, thank you. I’m Muggleborn and started at Hogwarts a year after the battle. Wouldn’t have been able to go without all you did.”

God, he was babbling like an idiot. The baby was more coherent.

Harry Potter shifted a bit and looked uncomfortable at his praise. “That’s very kind of you to say. But I had loads of help, it wasn’t just me.”

“Daaaa,” gurgled the baby, who now had his hand on Ginny Potter’s breast, patting it happily. Craig immediately tried to look anywhere else. His face was even redder, he was certain. He stared at the bar top as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

Just when he thought his humiliation was complete, he heard a familiar voice.

“Hullo Harry, Ginny. And James! Merlin, he’s grown! Getting to be a big boy now, aren’t you?”

Craig looked up into the round, smiling face of his favorite professor, who was pretending to shake the baby’s hand as the baby gurgled and laughed. Oh, how he wished the day would end.

“Hello, Professor Longbottom.”

“Clarke! How’s the Menagerie going? I’ve missed your N.E.W.T. class this year more than I can say.”

“It’s going well, sir. I’m actually in charge of preparing all the food for the creatures- we’ve got a small greenhouse off the back, so I’ve been doing some growing myself.”

Professor Longbottom looked pleased, but then he asked the question Craig was dreading. “Craig, have you met Harry and Ginny Potter?”

“Oh, erm, yes actually...” he stammered, unable to think of how to politely phrase that he’d just tried to chat up Mrs. Potter because he thought she was fit and didn’t recognize her.

“Craig was kind enough to keep me company while I waited for Harry to arrive,” Mrs. Potter interjected. He shot her a grateful look.

“Drinks, loves.” The barmaid returned with a butterbeer and six glasses of firewhiskey.

Craig paid her and turned to Mrs. Potter to hand her the butterbeer.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him, as Harry Potter put his arm around her waist.

“Rosmerta’s saved us the back corner booth,” Professor Longbottom said, glancing to the empty booth tucked away in the far corner, away from the bar and the tables, “We’d best be off before these two are recognized by anyone else.”

“Goodbye, Professor, Mr. and Mrs. Potter,” he said, nodding to them. “Enjoy the afternoon.”

“Goodbye Craig,” Mrs. Potter said, smiling at him, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “And if you wouldn’t mind not mentioning it to  anyone else that Harry is here, we’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding, just wanting the whole thing to be over.

“Bye-bye,” said the baby, waving unprompted at him. Great, even the baby was having a go at him, Craig thought. Mrs. Potter laughed delightedly, and Mr. Potter exclaimed, “Clever boy, James!” They turned and walked off towards the back corner booth.

When they were gone, he finally exhaled, and slumped against the bar. He motioned over Will to help him carry the drinks back to the table.

As soon as he sat down, he began to gulp his firewhisky in earnest, wanting to forget that the horribly embarrassing incident had ever occurred.

“So what happened, mate?” Dan asked.

“Oh, erm, turned out she was married. Talked to her for a few minutes before I saw the ring.”

“Tough luck,” said Will. “Didn’t get a good look at her face, but she was fit.”

Craig nodded, still drinking. “What are you playing?” he asked, eager to change the subject, and then he threw himself into their game of 21, wishing for all the world that he and Cressida had never broken up. Not just because he missed her, which he did (he finally admitted to himself)- but because if they hadn’t, this never would have happened.

An hour and a half and more firewhisky later, Craig was feeling pleasantly numb. Some of the mortification had subsided, at least. And  then suddenly, he looked up, and she was there, alone, standing next to his chair.

“Craig, we’re heading out, but thank you for being so kind earlier. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered.”

“Oh, erm, it was nothing, really,” he said, feeling himself blush and wishing he could sink into the stone floor and disappear.

“Rosmerta will be over in a mo’. The next rounds on me, boys, enjoy yourselves,” she said to the table, before giving Craig a wink and a wave. Then, she turned, walked out the door, and disappeared with a pop before the door swung shut. His friends immediately turned to him.

“Was that?!”

“She’s bloody fit she is. Even better than in photos.”

“Damn, Harry Potter is a lucky sod.”

“Wait, you tried to chat up Ginny Potter?!”

“I didn’t recognize her!” he moaned, putting his head in his hands as his mates erupted into laughter. God, he would never, ever hear the end of this.

As his friends began to tease him in earnest (and really, he couldn’t blame them), Craig swore to himself that he would never try to flirt with some random girl at a bar again. He’d be single forever over ever reliving the humiliation of what happened today. Or maybe, he would write to Cressida tonight. Yes, he would write to her as soon as he got home.

#hinny fanfic #fluff #cringe #sweet himbo #poor craig #ginny weasley is hot

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 68-69 (nice)

This is the “Castlevania” arc.   It’s only two parts, but I want to slow down and take my time with this one.

Okay, so in the last chapter, Alucard was fighting Alexander Anderson, who used one of the nails from the True Cross to pierce his own heart, which transformed Anderson into some sort of miraculous creature made of thorny tendrils.   Then he struck a heavy blow on Alucard’s head, and just sort of kept on going down his neck and chest.  

And as far as we call tell, this is the most danger Alucard’s been in since the story began.  Anderson lopped off his head in their first encounter, and even that didn’t stop him.   Now, in this “holy monster” form, Anderson can grow back body parts just as easily as Alucard, and he seems to be able to hurt Alucard a lot more than ever before.  The irony is that Alucard might have been honored to lose to Anderson, but only when he was a human foe.  Now that Anderson has used the Nail of Helena to become something inhuman, Alucard feels that it diminishes their fight.   

Regardless, Alucard is in serious danger, or so it seems.   Even his horde of familiars are bursting into flames all around him, which I assume is a side-effect of Anderson’s attack.   As this happens, Alucard appears to lose consciousness, and flashes back to his childhood. 

This whole flashback seemed like a nonsequitur to me when I watched the Hellsing Ultimate OVA, but I think it makes a bit more sense this time around.  As a boy in the 1440′s, Vlad Tepes was something of a religious fantatic, much like Father Anderson in 1999.   He pledged to never ask God for anything, which I don’t think is theologically sound, but let’s run with it.  The point here seems to be that Vlad felt it was more pious to endure hardship while keeping his faith in God.

For example, in this scene, we see Vlad being dragged away to be raped, and he grabs the cross he wears around his neck for solace.   He doesn’t beg God for mercy or deliverance, but simply clings to his faith to see him through.   

I’m assuming the man in shadow is Sultan Murad II of the Ottoman Empire.  In 1442, Murad summoned Vlad’s father to Gallipoli, and he went there with Vlad and his brother Ruda.  The Sultane then imprisoned all three of them, and eventually released Vlad’s father, but kep the boys as hostages to ensure the fahter’s loyalty.   There was a period when Vlad’s father sided against the Ottomans, and he presumed his sons had been killed, but in fact they survived and eventually returned to Wallachia.   So maybe Kouta Hirano is taking some creative license here, and suggesting that Murad II took out his anger on Vlad in other ways. 

Eventually, Vlad became the Voivoide of Wallachia, and in this flashback we find that he considers fighting to be a form of prayer.   Not for mercy, because Vlad refuses to ask for that.   Instead, he seems to believe that if you just keep fighting hard enough, God will descend from the heavens.   None of this made sense to me the first time around, but once you start interpreting this in the context of Vlad as a religious extremist, it starts to add up.   Anderson’s fellows in the Iscariot Organization were literally blowing themselves up to help Anderson defeat Alucard, and they were happy to do it, because they saw it as a holy mission.    Anderson himself was eager to use the Nail to make himself into a monster, because he craved to be a single-minded instrument of God’s will.   A righteous bludgeon to smite the wicked.    Vlad Tepes’ “bloodlust” seems to have been inspired by a similar zealotry, at least as Hirano sees it.

But in the end, did God descend to respond to Vlad’s “prayers”?   The image of the modern Alucard is all the answer we need.    Of course that didn’t happen.  

I’m just cribbing from the Vlad the Impaler page on Wikipedia, but from what I gather about Vlad’s final years, he was fighting for the office of Voivoide of Wallachia against Basarab Laiotă , who had support from the Ottoman Empire.   Vlad fought and lost, probably dying in battle in December 1476/Janury 1477.   The story goes that his corpse was cut into pieces, and his head sent to Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II.

So Kouta Hirano depicts Vlad’s final moments with him being captured and executed.  This is certainly plausible, and it gives Vlad a chance to reflect on his failure before he meets his fate.    He fought and killed so many people, daring to resist the Ottomans even as he ruled a state that was basically controlled by the Ottomans, and I guess he must have known how impossible that would be, which is why he counted on God to deliver him, so long as he fought hard enough.

But in that final moment, just as the axe comes down on his neck, he still has his cross... but instead of taking solace in that, he reaches out instead for the puddle of blood in front of him.    The axe comes down and shatters the cross, just as Vlad Tepes forsakes his humanity.  

So maybe all of this is a way of Alucard accepting defeat.   Defeated and humbled, no longer a servant of God or a leader of men, no longer even a man, he renounced his faith and became the vampire Dracula, and eventually Alucard.    But now Anderson seems to have the upper hand, so maybe, after 523 years, Vlad Tepes is back where he started, facing an inevitable death.  

And you know, maybe Anderson’s monster form represents the divine intervention he was waiting for back in the 15th Century.   After all these centuries of battle, you might say that God finally did descend from heaven to respond to Alucard.   So maybe this is a fitting swan song for the guy.  He wanted to die at the hands of a human adversary, but maybe this works too, right?  

But then he hears someone calling out to him, and...

Hey, it’s Seras!

So yeah, we’re back to the real world, and Anderson’s well on his way to chopping Alucard in half and burning him with holy fire or something...

And Alucard’s still out of it...

And then Seras jumps in to save his ass!   Cool!

The only problem is that this was killing Alucard, and Seras is less powerful than Alucard, so she’s probably not going to be able to do a lot of good here.    For that matter, this might just get both of them killed.  

And this is why I think this moment is cool.   When Team Four Star did their Abridged parody of Hellsing, they sort of skipped this whole “Seras jumps in” part of the fight.   Instead, they did a whole thing where Alucard has a near-death experience and talks to God.   Then he rejects God’s offer of forgiveness and goes on to defeat Anderson by himself.   I don’t care much for that, because Seras is my favorite character, and I find the whole routine of “Well maybe I don’t need your forgiveness, God!” kind of stale and limp.    Can something be stale and limp at the same time?  

Like, I think I get that a lot of atheists are sore at the whole “organized religion” thing, but it seems kind of silly to write a whole bit where the premise is that God is real, but only so we can all tell him to get lost.  Like, I’m a Christian, so I can’t really relate, but if I thought God didn’t exist, I wouldn’t spend all day writing angry text messages to God to remind him of how fake he is.  

But mostly, I just really like Seras, and this is a cool Seras scene, and I think that deserves attention, so here we are.

The Alucard-Seras relationship is complex by design.    With Integra and Alucard, there’s not much to it.   She literally addresses him as “slave” at one point, and he repeatedly talks about himself like a weapon that she has to point at her target.   There’s something kind of like that with Al and Seras.   In one of their first missions together, he sends her to take out a bunch of ghouls just so he won’t be bothered, and it’s almost like he’s weilding her as a weapon.  But he also never leans on that too hard.  For one thing, there’s not a whole lot of thngs Seras can do for him that he can’t do more easily himself.   

It feels a lot more like a Master/Apprentice relationship, which may not strictly be a vampire thing, because he’s teaching her how to hunt vampires and how to be a vampire at the same time.  I think Seras has the same sort of devotion to her master as he does for Integra, but that’s mostly overshadowed by a more down-to-earth respect and admiration.   She sees him like a superior officer and a mentor, but she also knows that he has this strange charm over her that she can’t explain or resist.  

One of the things I can’t stand about he Gonzoverse Hellsing Anime is how after a while they just started having Seras say “Master...!” over and over.    I get it, there’s some power in the way she says it.   It means a lot of things to her.   I wouldn’t be shocked to find out that “Castlevania part 2″ inspired some of that, but I don’t know what chapter of the manga was published when the anime wrapped up.   But it annoyed me that they just used “Master...!” over and over again as a shorthand for Seras’s feelings.   You have to do something with it.  Demonstrate it, like we’re seeing here with Seras trying to remove a blessed bayonet from Alucard’s torso.    She has to help him, even if it means risking her own neck, because he means so much to her, and she wouldn’t be here without him.   And yeah, she’s his vampire servant, so this seems like something a loyal servant should be doing.   Stickin’ together is what good waffles do.

Let me pause here to note that this marks the destruction of whatever remained of Dandyman and Rip van Winkle, the only “name” characters featured in Alucard’s menagerie of absorbed souls.    Whatever Anderson is doing to Alucard, it’s destroying them, irrevocably.  

So it occurred to me one day, what if Seras has to save Alucard, not out of slavish devotion or plucky heroism, or even righteous loyalty?   Way back in Chapter 1, Integra explained vampires to the local authorities, and said that when you kill a vampire, you also destroy all the ghouls and servant vampires that were created by that first vampire.   In other words, if Alucard were to be destroyed, Seras ought to die with him.    So maybe her efforts here could be nothing more than self-preservation.    I’m not wild about that idea.   Maybe, after drinking Pip’s blood, Seras “graduated” from that lowly status, and she no longer depends upon Alucard in this way.  

But I think the point remains either way.   They’re in this together.   Alucard called the two of them a family, and it wasn’t just creepy vampire talk.   There’s a bond between them, and it matters to both of them.   And that’s why Seras’ intervention here is what brings Alucard back from the brink.   By rushing in to help him, Seras has placed herself in danger, and now they have to rescue each other.

I like this part where he puts his hand on hers as they pull out the bayonet together.    It’s like the moment when Seras reached out to Alucard in Cheddar and he took her hand then.   Well, that was only in the OVA, but still.  

Alucard tells Anderson that he might have welcomed a death like this, maybe back when he was about to get beheaded in 1476, but now, he refuses to be defeated.    523 years ago, he was at his lowest ebb.   He had nothing.   Today, he has Seras.  

And... yeah, he has Integra too.   I don’t want to dismiss the importance of that relationship.   But Integra could find a way to get by without him if she needed to.   He has a responsibility to Seras, though, and Seras’s loyalty trumps whatever death-fantasies he might have on his mind.

Then Al turns into this form, which I guess is the same outfit he was wearing back in 1989, when Integra found him in the basement.  Not sure if that’s supposed to mean anything, though.  

Oh, and I guess there’s still a few familiars that didn’t burn up from before?   This is the last time we see them though, so maybe this final attack finishes them off.

As Alucard strikes the final blow on Anderson, Integra flashes back to her father, who taught her about the vampires’ inner psyche.    Arthur Hellsing suggested that vampires don’t have a whole lot to show for their immortality.   They crave conflict, not for its own sake, but becuse they long for death.   Not just any ol’ death, but a kind of death that they could take some solace in.   We’ve already seen this in Alucard, as he seems to relish the idea of being killed by a human like Anderson, or van Helsing.    If all he wanted was death, he could have let that Ottoman headsman finish the job 523 years ago.   Instead, he lost everything, and he’s spent centuries with nothing to take comfort in.   And that probably explains why Alucard is so happy with his service to Integra.   At least she gives him a purpose, a duty, a cause to fight for.  

And finally, Alucard rips out Anderson’s heart, with the Holy Nail still in it. 

And he crushes it, which I guess it enough to neutralize the Nail’s effect?   Well, cool enough then.

But Al takes no pleasure in this victory.   He sees in Anderson a reflection of himself, back when he was a human.   The fanaticism, the failure, the rejection of humanity to become a monster, and then failure again.   

And then Anderson, or whats’ left of him, consoles Alucard before he dies.

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #alucard #seras victoria #alexander anderson #sir integra hellsing #arthur hellsing #walter c dornez #murad ii

[razorblade180]

Shackles 10: Beasts

[part 9]

“You know I’m really getting tired of walking through hot rocky deserts.”

“Yang, you’re the last person I want to hear complain about the heat.” Ilia grunted. “Just be thankful we aren’t in Menagerie.”

“We marched through it yesterday for a couple days.”

“Oh….well then stop complaining! Dawn has barely broke and Vacou is marginally less hot. These two know what I’m talking about.”

Blake and Jacquelyn remained silent. Both were lost in thought, mentally preparing for what was ahead. Ilia clicked her tongue. She looked at the spot marked on her map to make sure she hadn’t messed up the directions.

Blake could hear her teammate’s heartbeats as they walked. Jacquelyn might’ve been quiet but her heartbeat was faster than a hummingbird. Yang’s beat like a steady drum while Ilia’s, well, it was actually calm. Not a beat of worry. Blake was envious.

“What I wouldn’t give to be calm like you.”

Ilia looked back at her briefly before looking onward. “There’s nothing you have to give. Last time I checked we were taught to be calm by the same person. Though I guess…it was more of a quiet rage. He had that in common with my parents.”

“Has.” Jacquelyn corrected. “And I wouldn’t say his rage was quiet. Sometimes it felt like he could only scream into the wind.”

Yang raised her brow. “Wasn't that annoying? Concerning even?”

“Rage doesn’t do well bottled up. Should I have been concerned and annoyed when you yelled at me?”

“I…that is…” Yang sighed, giving up on a response.

“Rage like this can’t be solved immediately with wimpy meditation practices or a stress ball. Better to shout in a nameless desert than to go around breaking things. Anyways, that hasn’t happened in awhile. Adam has been lost in thought lately more than anything. Now that’s concerning. Being alone with your thoughts is risky business. I’m sure we all agree on that.”

Ilia stopped walking as she made it over a dune. “I don’t know. Thoughts are probably the best thing in a place like that.” She points down towards a lone rock plateau with a tattered wooden mineshaft entrance.that’s blocked by debris. “We made it.” Blake and Jacquelyn said nothing as they began walking ahead of her. Small talk was over.

Yang took a deep breath. She was never one to be nervous about situations like these. Being a huntress meant you saw some disturbing things by nature, but that didn’t stop the air itself from feeling dead. Blake described the scent as a slaughter house earlier. Somehow, Yang could tell she was right. “We ready for this? Who knows what is waiting for us inside.”

“Ready as we’ll ever be. Ilia will stand guard outside. We don’t want them knowing our numbers fully or any backup arriving. You and Jacquelyn back me up while I take the lead.”

“Works for me. But…” Yang approached the entrance and pressed up against a support beam, widening the entrance as debris crumbled out of the way. “That’s better. I’d rather have a quick escape instead of a squeeze through when things get loud, because it’s definitely going to.”

Blake smiled. “Quiet was never your thing anyways, but remember, this is a dust mine. Dried up or not, let’s not shoot anything immediately.” Blake walked in with her swords ready. Jacquelyn followed second with Wilted Rose on her hip.

Yang gave Ilia a wink before following the other two. The shaft didn’t take long before it started sloping down into darkness. A problem for anyone not hanging out with a faunus with great eyesight, or a girl whose hair glows like a torch on command. Normally that would be a benefit, but it made things all the more uneasy for Yang.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too dark in here? I mean…I don’t think the guards themselves could see; unless…” she trailed off. Breaking their focus was the last thing she wanted, but Yang was certain they already knew. Step by step the cave expanded. Water dripped down to the pools below. Faint clinging metal grew louder while Yang’s light revealed rusted cell bars, chains, and mining tools. A thick, potent odor hung in the air so intensely that it made swallowing difficult.

“Don’t look inside, not yet.” Jacquelyn uttered, holding back her gagging.

Blake marched forward. “Smell getting to you?”

“It’s not the stench that makes me want to hurl.”

At last they reached the end of the holding area to reach another passageway. Light curved through it and Blake’s pace slowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hear people. Dozens of them. Workers and…the rest.”

Jacquelyn’s eyes glowed. “Then what are we waiting f-”

“They aren’t moving. Everyone’s just…” Blake approached cautiously, crouched and weary. A knot festered deep inside her. Tears she restrained kept fighting to the surface the closer she got to turning the corner until Blake finally came around. In front of her was the main area. Faunus of every kind stuffed into this giant chasm. Men, women, and children bound in shackles all over the place while guards over watched them; yet nobody was working. They all were watching a man on a platform make another example of the very person that brought them here. Without thinking, Blake spoke.

“A-Adam…?” She said barely above a whisper, yet all heard her in the deathly quiet chamber.

Guards and prisoners alike turned to her in surprise. Jacquelyn and Yang came in soon after with their own look of shock at what they were witnessing. Tired, dread, shock, pain, terror, rage, lifelessness; so many expressions stared at the three from the prisoners who cowarded and guards that pulled weapons.

“Halt. Let’s not be too hasty.” Sobek said, turning around to view his arrival. They couldn’t help but notice his white lab coat stained in red that matches the curved knife he currently wiped on his sleeve. “My goodness. Well isn’t this quite the surprise. I should’ve known catching a big fish and the fact some of my men hadn't returned in a while meant someone was gonna come knocking on my door, but my wildest dreams didn’t think it would be you. Ms. Blake Belladonna, welcome to Purgatory. I’d shake your hand but…” he grabbed Adam by the hair to lift his battered face, but that was tame compared to the gashes and massive bruises that riddled his body in red and purple. “I’ve been pretty busy.” He lit Adam’s head droop limply again.

Overwhelmed, neither Blake or Jacquelyn could speak. The two had yet to shake the shock of it all. As for Yang, she chose to break formation and get in front of both of them. “Why?” That’s all she could ask. That’s all there was to ask. Yang was so caught up by the horrific sight before her that she failed to realize her eyes had long abandoned their lilac color.

Sobek smiled at her. “What’s this, a human? Well I suppose wonders never cease. Caring humans do exist but to find one here is both shocking and unfortunate. You see these monsters before you aren’t worth your compassion. Every last one of them are affiliated and conspired with the very group that poisons the world you and I cherish.”

“That does not answer the question! Why the hell are you hunting people?”

“Animals! How many times do I-” He took a breath, composing himself. “These animals do nothing but spread misery, breed hate. They teach it to their vermin and drag the good faunus through the mud! Just like they did with my daughters! The White Fang aren’t faunus. They’re animals that need to be tamed; and the ones that can’t get put down! The High Leader understands.”

Blake tensed up. All eyes shifted to her and her alone.

“It was faunus like you that showed the rotten parts. The posers and liars that threatened good names. You yourself waged war against the splinter cell this filth-”

“Let him go.” Blake finally spoke. Her voice trembled. The taste of iron hit her mouth as her teeth clenched and pupils constricted. “Let them all go, right now!” She yelled.

The charisma the man held faded. “Excuse me? S…Surely you’re not defending them?”

“And why wouldn’t I!? This…it’s sick. In what right mind does any of this make sense? All you’re doing is hurting people.”

“They get what they deserve.”

“AND WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE!?” Blake could feel her blood boil. Her nail pierced skin and she could feel her heart pound. “I don’t give a damn what your reasons are. I don’t care if anyone in here took lives. This is not how things work. You don’t get to decide others' lives, especially after this!”

“You stand here before me and defend the likes of Adam Taurus, terrorist?”

“I defend life.” Blake pointed her sword towards the man. “I defend change, no matter how bleak!”

“……I see. So you're a beast after all. Then mourn for them.” Sobek withdrew his hospitality, and then snapped his fingers. The guards took their weapons, then went for the prisoners to immediately beat, stab, and shoot whoever.

Yang wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Before she could even act, Blake had let out a scream of pure anger, leaping through the air to Sobek while a trail of tears were left behind. The scientist had made a mad dash towards a metal down with Blake in pursuit.

“Blake!? Don’t go alo-shit!” Yang dove back into the passage they came from to avoid gunfire. “Damn it all!” Yang readied her for a shoot out when the sound of lightning rattled her ears, followed by the sound of several yells before silence returned. Yang looked out and found gunmen on the floor, Jacquelyn walking by them.

The maiden said nothing. Her goal was a simple one and if she was honest with herself, everything else was white noise at the moment. Wind lifted her up to Adam’s platform. Jacquelyn gripped the shackles that strung him up, freezing them until they shattered like glass. His body fell onto hers and she fell to her knees. The world gave Jacquelyn her fair share of tragedy, but this was too cruel to comprehend. His face was so swollen the skin was purple, his good eye swelled shut. Blood leaked and clotted all over his torso and back from stabs, gashes, shocks, and the broken bones.

“Adam?” She uttered, but no response was given. She leaned down to hear the faintest sign of breathing and a weak beating heart. What should’ve sparked hope only made her cry. They had kept him conscious through so much and now his body…

Guards begin to circle around them aim their guns. “Don’t move! Step-” the guard couldn’t even finish his demands before letting out a strained cough as the rock wall behind him shot out like a spear through him.

“I’ll kill you.” Jacquelyn lifted her head, making all the guards shake in fear of her glowing tear filled eyes. The wind picked up around her and the air began to freeze. “I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU!”

“FIRE!” The guards shot into blistering winds that cut and carved the area around their target, firing back ice and imposing the pressure of her storm to the point the entire cavern shook.

“Give me a break. So much for dust safety.” Yang ran through the area, punching and shooting unsuspecting enemies caught up in the whirlwind of dust as she made her way to prisoners; tearing apart chains and yanking them out of walls. “If you can walk then help those who can’t!” She shot falling debris from afar that nearly blocked the exit. “Hey! You’re going to bury us!” Yang’s words didn’t reach the emotional woman holding her partner. Yang looked around frantically. Guards still poured in, some tried escaping, and others ran to where Blake left. All while prisoners either ran for safety or layed dying; beyond the limit of what they could take. “C’mon, act Xiao Long. Act!”

Her feet moved without thinking. Yang didn’t know how this was going to end but if she wanted the best then she’d have to reach for it with her own hands. If that meant rushing head first into a snow storm then so be it. Her hair ignited into pure flames and her clothes kindled like dying embers. Yang lunged right into the dome of wind to grab Jacquelyn.

“Jackie, get a grip! People need us right now. We’ll all die here if this keeps up.” She put her hands on the sides of Jackie's face. “Hey hey hey, look at me.”

Jacquelyn looked Yang in the eye. “He…He’s dying.” Her hands pressed against open wounds. Fire and ice sealed and cauterized wounds but what good it did was unclear.

“Adam’s a stubborn bastard. He cheated death before and he’ll do it again.”

“But-”

“I will take care of Adam! I promise.” Yang put her hands on Jacquelyn’s. “You take care of the guards following their boss and back up Blake. I hate to say it but I don’t like my odds going through that door, so I’ll get these people out. Okay?”

“E…Even if I barrel through them all I don’t know if I can handle-”

“They’re… weak.” Adam mumbled, gaining their attention. He could barely see or move but managed to move his hands enough to grab Jackie’s. “All mutilated, barely trained; but insane. Sobek, he… Atlas.” He coughed blood.

“Adam!”

“Just…grab Blake.” His consciousness faded in and out. However, Adam managed to squeeze Jackie’s hand for reassurance before going silent.

“Well you heard the guy. Though if you do see a chance to grab the bastard…”

“Oh you don’t have to tell me twice.” Jacquelyn was hesitant but gave Adam to Yang. She finally stood up, gripping the hilt of the crimson blade on her. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” With one fluid motion she drew the blade while channeling her magic. A fierce and single slash cut through the wind; pushing it out with force that pushed everyone while the attack cut the metal door down. Jacquelyn didn’t delay any further in doing what she was asked. Yang put Adam on her back best she could. Thankfully he was able to wrap his arms over her shoulders.

“Do me a favor and don’t fall off.”

“Do me a favor and don’t get me shot.”

Yang groaned. Of all the people she had to save. Right on que, bullets flew their way. Time to head out. Yang did her best to run with the extra baggage. Adam honestly wasn’t too heavy but that wasn’t a good thing realistically. Chances are he hasn’t eaten much in days. If it wasn’t for the swelling then the man’s features would’ve been sunken in and pale. Yang can’t say she has compassion for him but she’d be hard pressed to believe she could idly watch if it happened right in front of her. Ruby would say that’s what makes her a hero. It was more frustrating in Yang’s opinion.

“For your sake I hope you’re worth all this trouble.” Yang kicked downed guards trying to get up from the wind blast to give others more time. “Well at the very least all these people are so I guess I should shut up about it.”

Adam did his best to look at the chaos. His vision couldn’t register faces but he saw how many people pushed and rushed over one another. Though one of them, he couldn’t help but think about Sobek’s words and thought process. It was twisted, outright demented, yet one part of it held true to an extent. Adam felt his ego take a hit. He led them here.

“…I got what I deserve.”

“Tsk, if you ask me you’ve only gotten a piece of it. How you get rest isn’t for me to decide, thank goodness. If I were you I’d start thinking on how-”

“Cells.” He interrupted. “Don’t leave without opening the cells.”

“Huh? Most looked empty or wore silent. No one even came up to bars.”

“A girl, Jasmine, she should be there. Brother too.”

“Dude you can’t afford many detours. I’ll try but no promise we’ll find anything. I’m telling you it was quiet. Dead quiet.” Yang felt ill saying that last part. “What kind of person does this to kids? Can’t imagine a childhood like this.”

Adam’s grip tightened. “I can.”

After a few more minutes of letting stragglers go first and looking out for danger, Yang left the cavern. Defending everyone was a Dream already killed before it could start and she promised to look after Adam so taking her time wasn’t an option. “Do you know what cell?”

“I was strung up on a platform.”

“A no would’ve been fine.” Yang started checking one at a time, punching in doors just in case. It was far too dark to see completely in them otherwise. “Uhh Jasmine? Hello?” She kept looking again and again but no one answered. Yang was about to cut her losses until she heard hissing when a prisoner bumped into a set of bars. “Jasmine?”

No one answered. Yang grabbed the bars and hissing turned to growling. There was definitely someone in there. She busted open the door and stepped in, lighting a section of the area. A gasp escaped her lips at the sight of blood soaked dirt. Pale eyes glowed in the corner. Yang stepped closer carefully until the girl could no longer hide in the dark. A maple skinned girl covered in dirt, sweat, and blood crouched low with eyes as scary as Blake’s; her teeth gritted while the volume of her growl grew louder with her soiled white ears folded back. Yang was easily in no real danger, yet the glare on her was startling. This little girl clearly was ready to kill if need be.

Yang got low. “H-Heeey. Sssshh It’s okay. I’m gonna- ah!” Yang winced. Jacquelyn lunged forward and sunk her teeth into Yang’s good hand. Yang didn’t lose composure. She reached out with her other hand, rubbing the child’s face. “Feel better? Hehe, let’s get you outta here.”

Jasmine tried biting deeper but was caught off guard by a third hand resting on her head. Her eyes widened once she realized Adam was one the woman’s back. Her jaw loosened up and the rage turned into grief.

“Jasmine, where’s-”

“Adam…?” Yang said, staring to the right. Her light didn’t reach the other side of the cell but it was enough to make a trail of blood and limp arm visible. The two went silent again. Adam pulled Jasmine closer until she climbed up on him, clinging for life as she began to whimper against his back. Yang let her hair fade out and then left, walking through the dark. She didn’t want to see another second in this place.

xxxx

Jacquelyn wasn’t much of a better time. Unlike the rest of Purgatory, everything past the medal door reminded her of Atlesian research labs. Including the defenses. Around every corner was an annoyance. Two armed guards tried getting the jump on her but were quickly outmatched. Jacquelyn froze the first with ice breath while the second tried taking a swing at her. Catching the fist, Jacquelyn twisted the guard's arm and pinned her against the wall; draining what aura she could in the process before pressing on. Jacquelyn was thankful Yang calmed her down when she did. Expending more energy like that would've been bad in her condition. Jacquelyn felt like she was running on fumes.

“I can see why my mom never gave me siblings. Gotta make this quick before I’m the one who’ll need saving.” More enemies marched from behind, forcing her to run through the sterile hallways. On the way a trail of several guards were already taken out that led to a bigger group of struggling men. Jacquelyn could make out a pissed off Blake in the middle of it all.

“LET ME GO!” Blake headbutted the one restraining her right arm and swung at the ones in front of her. A burst of strength rushed through her. She gripped the guard on her left arm, flinging them across the room. Blake swiveled around to aim at the ones behind her but Jacquelyn was quicker on the draw. Adam’s signature gun already riddled two with wounds while the blade cut down three more.

“Where’s Sobek?”

“He keeps heading deeper in.” Blake pointed at the scientist’s fallen scales and light trail of blood. “I tried taking a shot but I kept getting swarmed.” Blake noticed the pack behind Jacquelyn and tried running but was immediately grabbed by the wrist. “Jacquelyn!?”

“It’s a trap. We both know that.”

“We’ve known that from the jump. If we corner him then-” Blake and Jacquelyn shot past each other at the same time before standing back to back. Jacquelyn slammed her hand on the ground and conjured ice walls to by time. “Damnit! There’s no end!”

“Yeah…let’s retreat.”

“What!? But you’re the one-”

“I know! Believe me, I know. Honestly I want to tell you I came here to back you up but Yang offered to take Adam to safety in exchange for yours.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Yang…offered?”

“Truth be told, I think it was more self preservation than kindness. Listen I don’t want to get blown up again but Sobek seems like the type to let it all burn when things fall apart. I told you that you’d find your answer when we arrive. Don’t tell me it was to get angry and die?”

“……” Blake shut her eyes and took a breath. It didn’t help. If anything her heart felt like it was beating faster. Pent up frustration gnawed away at her so much she couldn’t stop shaking. Her grip was so tight around Gamble Shroud her hands threatened to bleed. “What did you say earlier outside, about screaming when you’re enraged?”

Jacquelyn chuckled. “We’re well past that point. Don’t tell Adam but I think we should break some shit. Lucky for us we have volunteers. Care for a violent escape?”

Blake turned away from the path deeper into the lab and faced Jacquelyn’s direction, listening to reason. “Back me up. I’d feel guilty if your baby got hurt.”

Now that was an offer Jacquelyn couldn’t refuse. Blake’s kindness managing to shine even while in this situation was something Jacquelyn could only respect. She got behind her. “I’m in your hands. Now let’s get busy.”

Jacquelyn spit the wall in front of them to funnel the lackeys in for Blake to cut loose on with her blades, performing a double cross slash into snap kick that launched one backwards into the group. Keeping on the offensive, Blake followed up with a rising knee to push them further back. A strong gust of wind from Jacquelyn helped increase the force and distance Blake went while suppressing the rest. A guard tried restraining her but only grasped the afterimage while the real one unleashed an aura slash that went through the crowd. Deep cuts engraved the wall and glass shattered. Blake tossed her blades up and went through the halls quickly guiding Jacquelyn safely to the other side.

Pressure filled the air. A dense building of force rose steadily until Jacquelyn couldn’t ignore it. “Blake? What did you do-” the cuts in the wall doubled in size. An almost unseen second flash went through the hall, the blades traveling with it until stopping on a dime in front of Blake for her to grab from the hands of a clone Jacquelyn never saw materialize. It faded as quickly as it was noticed. One by one the guards adamant on killing were dropping like flies.

“A double moon slice? Heh, I guess you really are his disciple at heart.”

“In more ways than one.” Blake flung the blood off her blade while she sharpened them on one another.

“And why would you say that?” Blake looked back at her. The vacant and dim stare she gave expressed a bleak hollowing pain Jacquelyn couldn’t mistake. “Oh…well that’s okay. It just makes you one of us.”

#rwby #adam taurus #sobek #blake belladonna #ilia amitola #jacquelyn frost #yang xiao long #rwby shackles #rwby au

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

Qrowin Week 2021: 6/21-Childhood Friends AU

Two little snowbirds sitting in a row

 They met in the garden at one of her father’s lavish parties. She’d gone outside because little girls didn’t like being told to sit still and not talk nor do anything fun, so she decided she didn’t care if the dress daddy bought her got messy, she’d go outside and spend time in the hedge maze.

They’d gotten it installed, in the shape of the Schnee family crest no less, because the Marigolds had one in the shape of their family crest and daddy could be silly about when people had things he didn’t.

The white roses that grew from the foliage walls, fragrant and delicate, were always calming to her, especially on a cool and cloudless night like this when the moonlight was at its brightest.

For Winter, to get lost in its lush corridors and marble statuary, it’s hidden gardens and fountains would be enough to get the annoyance of her father’s party out of her mind.

Most of that went out of her head when she found a grungy boy in a cape stuffing his face with what looked like a rabbit.

He stared at her, like an animal in a vehicle’s headlights, bits of his meal hanging from his mouth.

He couldn’t be older than her, gaunt with gunsmoke-colored hair stuck up at odd angles and eyes like carbuncles.

The clothes he wore were grubby and layered and obviously used long before he’d begun wearing them, especially that tattered cape.

For a moment, neither spoke, merely staring at one another in the moonlight.

Finally, Winter broke the silence.

“That’s disgusting.”

The boy dropped the rabbit from his mouth.

“Sorry if I’m not fancy enough for you, Miss Uppity.”

Winter felt her cheeks heat with indignation.

“How dare you!”

The boy threw back his head and laughed, a sound that reminded Winter of a pair of birds she’d once heard fighting in the yard.

“Is that all it takes to get under that pale skin!” he laughed, a sound which soon died in his throat when his stomach made a loud groan.

Winter huffed as he reached for the dead rabbit.

“Wait here and don’t touch that,” she said, turning on her heel.

She returned with two plates piled high with hors d'oeuvres.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” she said, handing him one, “so I got you one of everything.”

The boy said nothing, just shoveling food into his mouth in a way that probably promoted choking.

“You’re welcome,” Winter said, sitting down and spearing a piece of salmon on a toothpick to eat.

The boy coughed, pounding his chest.

“You shouldn’t eat so fast,” Winter said, “you’ll get sick.”

“Well, some of us don’t know when our next meal is gonna be,” he said.

His words brought back to Winter the memory of her father sending her to bed with no supper when he found she’d invited a faunus over to play, with threats of no breakfast if she didn’t break it off with the girl tomorrow.

“You might be surprised,” Winter said.

The boy said something through a mouthful of hummace.

“What was that?” Winter asked.

The boy swallowed.

“I’m Qrow,” he said.

Winter smiled.

“I’m Winter.”

One named Winter

She saw him on days when it wasn’t raining or snowing after that. The family he lived with (his “Tribe” as he called them) were camped out in the woods behind their house, the ones nobody would let daddy cut down.

At night, he told her, they danced and played instruments and drank until the early hours of the morning.

Winter never really cared for people who drank (her mother’s growing dependence on liquor was a factor in this) but Qrow never really showed up smelling like wine, so she supposed associating with him was no trouble.

It was also refreshing that he never stood on ceremony.

He never rolled his eyes at her when she spoke of wanting to learn fencing or told her how things were supposed to be when she complained about how someone (usually daddy) was being unfair.

He also taught her new games that were much more fun than anything that the boys and girls daddy introduced her knew.

Kick the can, stickball, and he played hide and seek and tag with her. And he’d tell her all about the places he’d been. Mistral, Vacuo, Menagerie, his tribe had traveled all over Remnant.

And while he could be crass, she still remembered seeing the way he rescued a baby bird from a stray cat and returning it to its nest with the tenderest care.

Or how when she complained of how her father was so bossy and so dumb, that he listened. Didn’t judge, didn’t criticize, just listen.

And sometimes, it was enough to know that they’d meet once a week, at night, in the hedge maze.

One named Qrow

She wasn’t what he expected.

Sure, she told him annoying things like “don’t slouch, eat slower, no burping, don’t pull up the flowers—no! I don’t need them, put them back!”

But she never called him weak. She never said he should practice more like his sister did.

Winter gave him food, and listened to his stories and ideas, and never asked if he wanted to fight. Sometimes, they would even just sit together.

She even taught him how to read; starting with big letters scratched in the dirt with a stick, before lending him books that they could read together.

Mr. Bruin is a Shoe-in was the first he read all by himself. And he was so happy when she let him keep it afterwards.

And she never told him to stop being so dumb, like his sister did.

And sometimes, it was enough to know that they’d meet once a week, at night, in the hedge maze.

Fly away, Winter!

Their shouts bring the servants running. All they saw was Winter on her knees, face in her hands as she wept piteously.

If only they’d come a few minutes earlier, then they could have seen the argument in all it’s glory. Voices rough from the volume and occasionally cracking, tears streaming down their faces, they weren’t that little boy and girl anymore.

He’d grown lanky and lean, she taller and with longer hair.

But they didn’t care right then.

She’d told him she was joining the military.

He said his tribe would be moving and asked if she wanted to join them instead of some stupid army.

She said it was a noble profession.

He said only for assholes.

She defended her position.

He reiterated his opinion.

She shouted at him, asking why couldn’t he be happy for her.

He shouted at her what would be wrong with going with him.

She said something about duty.

He told her to shut up, that he didn’t want to hear duty again in his whole life.

She told him that if he was going to act like a filthy little boy, then he could go off and sulk like one.

He said he wished he’d never met her and hoped she enjoyed killing people.

Arguments like that, they learned, ended with no winners.

Fly away, Qrow!

 That was the end of the time Qrow considered himself happy. Life seemed to plan for him a long drawn out death, bracketed with disappointments and tragedy’s.

Transformation

The death of friends.

The death of family.

The horrors of war.

Secrets and betrayal.

Abandonment.

And the drink

So, so much to drink.

It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t make him feel more human. But it kept the nightmares at bay. It kept him as a predictable disappointment rather than an out-of-the-blue-never-seen-that-kind-of-train-wreck-before disappointment.

But the worst part of the drink, thought, was that no matter how many shots he took, no matter how many chasers. Black liquor, brown liquor, red wine, white wine, it didn’t matter. Melancholy brought back visions of that girl from that time he had been happy.

Come back, Winter!

First impressions had never come easy to Qrow. So really, it should be no surprise that impression number 15 the horrible sequel nobody wanted or needed.

But really, denying common sense by chucking an empty whisky bottle at James Ironwood’s head was not only pointless, it was utterly puerile. He was drunk. He was upset that his latest search for intel on Salem had turned up next to nothing, he was itching for a fight and if that pompous wannabe hero wanted to take it up with him, that was fine.

Except he hadn’t expected the woman by his side to turn out to be someone familiar. Someone he hadn’t seen since he was a dumb, romantic, fifteen-year-old kid.

Someone whose reappearance upset his stomach enough that he emptied it onto the general’s uniform and shoes. With enough force to make his eyes water.

The woman in the Atlesian uniform said she would take care of him and asked another girl, another white haired girl, where their room was.

As they walked towards Beacon, he thought he heard her say “Qrow Branwen, what has the world done to you?”

Come back, Qrow!

Qrow awoke to a cold rag on his forehead.

“Lie still,” she said, “I think you got a hold of some rockgut.”

“More like rockgut got a hold of me.”

Qrow’s attempt at humor was met with a scowl.

“Gee, you got frosty.”

“And you became an alcoholic,” she said, wringing out the cloth into a nearby basin.

Qrow looked away from her and to the wall, as if a better retort than her’s existed there.

“It eases the pain,” he said.

“No it doesn’t,” Winter said. She threw the rag into the basin, causing the water to splash.

“Qrow, my mother is an alcoholic. It doesn’t fix anything! It just makes you want more of what’s essentially fermented grass!”

“You don’t think I know that!” Qrow snapped. Tears pricked at his eyes and his heart sank when he saw the hurt in her eyes from his tone, something he hadn’t seen there since their last meeting.

“There are nights when no matter how much I drink, I still can’t forget the loss of all the people around me and how--”

He paused and swallowed.

“How everyone is just one day going to leave me!”

Tears were starting to fall as all the regrets he’d kept at bay with drink and fighting and everythng else he could find came rushing back into him and coiling around his lungs.

“I’m bad luck, Winter,” he said, “I lost my sister, my tribe, I lost the people I care about, and every day, it’s missions, missions, and missions to find an enemy I don’t even know exists.”

His shoulders were shaking and he remembered his sister, back when they were little, telling him how ‘boys don’t cry.’

God, Winter must think he’s so pathetic.

Instead, she took him by the shoulders and gently brought him into her embrace.

“It’s alright,” she said, “just let it out. Get it all out.”

Not knowing what else to do, Qrow gripped the back of her uniform and sobbed into her shoulder, years’ worth of pain and loneliness deep inside him rising to the surface and finally escaping. And the pressure went with it.

At some point, they ended up lying together on the bed (wait, were they in a bunk bed?), still in each other’s arms.

“We all have regrets,” Winter said, “things we said. Things we wish we could take back.”

Her hand tightens on his shirt and his hand closes around it.

“But, if you really want to know, if I could do it over...”

Please say it, he wanted to think, but every time he had thoughts like that, life saw fit to swat him down again.

“I would go with you. Even if after the first day, I went back home, I think I would go with you.”

Qrow felt his heart swell and suddenly, he didn’t feel so sick anymore.

“And... if you wanted to start over... I would like that too.”

“I still have Mr. Bruin,” Qrow said.

He didn’t know why he said that. She never asked about the book, never said “Qrow, what kind of literature do you normally read?”

Whatever the reason, Winter looked up at him, shocked.

“Still? I thought you would’ve thrown that away.”

Qrow looked down at her, eyes glassy.

“I tried a few times. But I just couldn’t get rid of something that reminded me of you. It’s missing the page where Mr. Bruin loses his boot, but I tried to keep it safe.”

Winter’s hand rises to his cheek and Qrow leans into it, the human contact easing the hole in his soul he’s tried to fill with booze.

“I’m sorry I didn’t turn out as someone you could be proud of.”

“The fact that you kept that book tells me everything I need to know.”

Later that night, Winter’s sister and Qrow’s niece would get the shock of their lives when they enetered their room and saw the two of them sleeping on Weiss’s bed together.

#My Writing #RWBY #qrowin week 2021 #qrowinfest #qrowin #qrowinweek #Childhood friend AU #AU #Qrow Branwen #Winter Schnee

[aurumacadicus]

Fair warning I will need to leave in a little bit and won’t be able to post it all at once. So Dolittle AU part 1!

--

When Tony is eight, his parents go on another trip without him, leaving him alone with just the Jarvises for company. But there’s an estate to run, and they are both very busy, so he spends most of his time alone.

Peggy, Howard’s macaw, often follows him around the mansion as he tries to find something to fill his time. The little boy has been alone so long, she thinks, curling her toes around the chandelier she’s resting on. Even when Howard and Maria weren’t on trips, they still weren’t as available as a human boy needed. There was no one his age around the mansion, and he wasn’t allowed out ever since he’d nearly been kidnapped as a toddler. It isn’t right for a child to be alone like this. He is a clever child, she thinks, watching him tinker with the record player until the music stops skipping. And clever children like to learn.

So Peggy talks to him, and is pleased when Tony catches on quickly, realizes within days that she’s not ‘copying someone else’ or ‘was lucky she used the right phrase for the conversation.’ She calls him ‘clever boy’ and watches him glow with pride.

“Do you think I could learn to speak in your language?” Tony asks one night, quiet, as if afraid even voicing it too loud will earn him an immediate ‘no.’

Peggy can’t help the way her feathers fluff in pride at his bravery in asking anyway. “Of course, clever boy,” she assures him, and feels her heart swell when the boy hides a pleased, shy smile in his pillow.

Tony is a fast learner. He masters all dialects of Parrot in only eight months—and it only takes him that long because Peggy’s memory for a few of them aren’t up to snuff, and they are both perfectionists. By the time he’s finished with Parrot, Peggy has already lined up a few other animals to practice with, little ones that wouldn’t cause uproar in the mansion were Tony seen speaking to one—field mice, and finches, and the old lurcher dog who limps when it gets ready to rain. Tony picks up every language as easily as breathing, and he blooms under the animals’ praise, so much that when Howard finally deigns to notice him, his meanness doesn’t make Tony’s shoulders fall at all.

Tony’s parents die when he’s still young. He mourns his mother. Respectfully makes the rounds for his father. Maintains the estate for the requisite years of mourning.

Then he packs his bags and starts traveling to learn more languages. He comes home regularly, of course—he’d made friends in the intervening years, locals who didn’t judge him when they saw him happier in the company of a barnyard than a gala of people, like James Rhodes, and Virginia Potts, and Harold Hogan. They stay in his house for a variety of reasons; to avoid an unwelcome suitor, or to have a safe place to rest after a wild night out, or simply because they miss his company.

“Do you always have to bring home a menagerie?” James complains when he sees Tony has a wounded bird under each arm, or a limping horse, or an orphaned bear cub, but always welcomes the animals into their new homes anyway.

#dolittle au

[immabethehero]

Chase’s Bday Present Pt 1

Runs in holding a latte *wheeze...* I’m here! And I have three presents for Chase because I’m indecisive as hell! So! Here is the first birthday present, a sweet little ditty I wrote!

CW: talk of food, slight body horror and stitches mention (Robbie), and Soft Anti

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Septic house was in disarray. Jameson Jackson frantically polished the stairway and furniture until it sparkled, Marvin the Magnificent washed the dishes while Jackieboy Man dried them, and Antisepticeye cleaned up the living room seats. All the while, Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein, MD, PhD, MVP, FFS, loomed over all of them, barking orders while cleaning the floors. Robbie the zombie was the only one not under Schneep’s scrutiny, having wisely taken shelter in the laundry room, folding clothes and ironing while waiting to put the next load in. Sirius and Sam, Marvin’s cat and Henrik’s dog respectively, had taken to hiding upstairs.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Anti said as he vacuumed up the couch and cushioned seats. “It’s just Chase. He’s seen this house before, why bother cleaning it?”

“Chase hasn’t been here in awhile! I want him to receive a warm welcome back!” Henrik explained. “I do hope he enjoyed the cottage with Stacy and the kids though.”

“It’s only been two weeks! Not much has changed since!” Anti groaned.

“Jameson turned you into a turtle,” Marvin pointed out. Jameson snickered at the memory.

“Henrik tried his first bit of magic!” Jackie added. “Managed to turn Jameson into a duck!”

“See? Loads happened while he was gone,” Henrik finished. Anti rolled his eyes and went out to beat the rugs.

“Jameson, can you tune the piano? One of us might want to play something upon his arrival, and we can’t have the piano broken when we do so,” Henrik asked. Jameson nodded and happily left his cloth on the staircase, hands aching to touch the piano.

Henrik put the vacuum away and turned to the flower vase on the living room table. Daffodils. They didn’t seem quite as bright as they did earlier.

“Do you think we should change the flowers in the vase?” Henrik wondered out loud.

“Daffodils are Chase’s favourite flowers!” Anti yelled from outside. “I think we’re okay!”

“They look so dull, though,” Henrik remarked.

“I have an idea!” Marvin cried out. He dried his hands and ran over. “Stargazer lilies are also Chase’s favourite flower! Jameson and I have been growing them in our garden while he was gone. I can pluck a few and replace them!”

“Aren’t they poisonous to cats?” Jackie asked, nervously looking over at Sirius, who had descended to lie on the steps.

“Sirius hates flowers, the smell bothers her. She won’t go near them. But just in case-” Marvin picked up the vase and put them on the dining room table, then summoned a forcefield to keep Sirius away. Just for good measure, he also created two plastic cucumbers and placed them around the plant. Henrik and Jackie snickered. Marvin could hear Sirius scowling at him.

“I’ll get some lilies!” Marvin said, picking the daffodils up and running out. He almost collided with Anti, who was holding at least six rugs. Anti threw the rugs down one by one, then flopped onto the couch, yawning.

“Anti, don’t tell me you’re tired already!” Henrik said, sighing exasperatedly. “There’s still so much to do!”

“Like what?” mumbled Anti, eyes threatening to close.

“Like a treat! I was thinking of making a sweet dessert for Chase!” Henrik announced.

“But we just cleaned the kitchen!” complained Jackie.

“Relax, I’ll clean everything when I’m done,” Henrik reassured. “You go rest, I’ll be hogging the kitchen for a while!”

Jackie nodded and gratefully stumbled over to the couch, hoping to catch some winks before Chase’s return.

“Can I help?” Robbie asked, finally emerging from the laundry room.

{I can help as well!} offered Jameson bouncing back from the piano.

“Thanks guys,” Henrik said. “This is a new recipe we’ll be making: Cheddar Biscuits.”

Robbie and Jameson froze and stared at Henrik quizzically. “What?”

“Cheddar biscuits. Stacy emailed me the recipe,” Henrik explained. “They’re apparently really good.”

“Even the name sounds like a treat!” Jameson sighed. “Let’s make them!”

Henrik, Jameson and Robbie spent the next hour or so in the kitchen. Jameson and Henrik did the bulk of the work, Jameson mixing dry ingredients while Henrik did liquid, while Robbie shredded cheese and melted butter with pieces of garlic in them.

Finally, they clumped the mixture together and spread butter on them, then popped them in the oven and washed up the dishes.

When they were done, at least 24 golden brown scones had been made. The six egos marvelled over the glorious little treats. Even Sam and Sirius couldn’t resist coming over and squeezing through to sniff the food. Anti reached a hand out, only to have it smacked away by Henrik.

“Wait until Chase is home, you greedy monster!” he scolded. Anti grunted in frustration.

The biscuits were placed in a little basket with two napkins on top to keep them fresh, then hidden in the bottom cupboard next to the oven, where Henrik kept his coffee beans. No one with a braincell dared to go near Henrik’s coffee supply, and only few ever survived getting in.

*

“Everything is finished! We can rest now!” Marvin cried in delight.

“Can’t wait for Chase to see!” Jackie said happily. “How long before he returns?”

Henrik checked his watch. “Not until 6 o’clock at the latest!”

The egos collectively groaned in frustration. Only 1:30 pm and now they had to wait!

 “You woke us all up at 6:30 in the fucking morning for this?! We could have slept a little longer you know!” Jackie snapped.

“Yeah, especially after you kept us all up with you Facetiming Chase until midnight last night!” Marvin added.

“If Chase notices the bags under my eyes, it’s because of you!” Jameson griped.

“At least everything is ready now!” Henrik reasoned. “Now all we have to do is wait! And not mess up the house in those few hours! If you want to do something, make sure it involves little movement or anything that could shake the house up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking a nap!” He flounced upstairs, leaving the egos to find any activity to pass the time.

*

Two hours passed. Jameson taught Robbie how to play cribbage. Jackie and Anti attempted to teach Marvin how to play, or rather, cheat at Mario Kart. Henrik switched between pacing the front hallway and playing Solitaire and Bio Inc Redemption on his laptop.

“Henrik, do sit down and relax!” Jameson finally said after Henrik got up for the thirteen time.

“I can’t help it! I miss Chase! I want to talk to him again!” Henrik moaned.

“You spent three hours with him on Facetime last night!” Anti exclaimed.

“There is a very big difference between Facetiming someone and seeing them in person!” Henrik retorted. “Do you know how hard it is to talk to him and not smell his vanilla scent or feel his warm embrace? I miss seeing him at the table with his messy hair and stupid puns. I miss hearing his laugh in person. I miss him so badly.”

“Are we jokes to you?!” Marvin demanded. “We miss him too, Henrik, but we have each other. You literally said you enjoyed sitting next to me on movie nights!”

“I know… maybe I’m just being too clingy,” Henrik sighed, sitting down beside Marvin.

Anti snapped his fingers and Mario Kart showed up on Henrik’s computer screen. “Here. Try playing a few games with us and he’ll come sooner.”

Another hour passed. Jameson read. Henrik screamed in fury as he lost another round of Mario Kart. Anti laughed at him. Marvin gave up and started playing Animal Crossing. Jackie grabbed a snack and watched Youtube. Robbie and Sam were fast asleep on the floor. Jameson laughed softly and conjured a blanket to put over them, then went back to his reading.

Henrik was raging so loudly they almost didn’t hear the doorbell. Jameson was the first to hear it. He whistled to get the others’ attention. Robbie woke up and groggily rubbed his eyes.

“Do you hear that?” Jameson asked, putting his ear up to listen. Another ring. Then a voice cried out, “Hello? Are you going to let me in? Did you already forget me? Have I been kicked out?”

Henrik gasped in delight and almost threw his laptop onto the floor, but Anti was quick to save it as the doctor jumped out his seat and dashed over the front door, swinging it open.

Chase Brody stood in the doorway, still playing with the doorbell. He jumped when he noticed the door open.

“CHASE!!!!” Henrik squealed, throwing himself on the vlogger. “I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!” Chase giggled as Henrik showered him with kisses and squeezed him tightly. Sam danced around them, barking happily.

“Hello, Henrik. Long time, no see.” Chase waved to the others. “Hey guys!”

“Chase! Welcome home!” Marvin said, running over to hug him. “We missed you too, but probably not as much as Henrik.”

“Yeah… Henrik? Could you let me go, please?” Chase wheezed. Henrik was starting to suffocate him. “I… can’t… breathe…”

“Come inside! We made treats!” Robbie cried, dragging Chase in by the hand.

“Did you now?” Chase sniffed the air. “Ooh, I can smell it!”

“We also ordered some chocolate snacks from Shawn Flynn’s Sweet Menagerie, just to celebrate your return!” Jackie added.

“Sounds awesome!” Chase exclaimed.

{Come, make yourself at home!} Jameson said. Chase was led to the couch, where his feet were propped up and a blanket was thrown over him. Sam jumped up beside him and curled up next to him, lying her head on his lap.

Henrik and Jackie set the table while Jameson and Anti got the food out. Chase would have happily gotten up to join them, but he was too tired to move, and Sam wouldn’t budge.

Marvin chuckled when he saw the sight. “Why don’t we eat in the living room tonight? Turn on Netflix and have a little movie fest?” The egos were quick to agree, and Henrik served Chase’s plate to him ona tray, choosing to sit next to him. Sam moved to the other side of the couch, letting Henrik in.

“Here you go! Dinosaur nuggets with mashed potatoes!” Henrik announced, setting the plate down. “Jameson convinced me to mix garlic butter into the potatoes this time, like you used to do!”

“It smells delicious!” Chase exclaimed in ecstasy. He dipped a nugget in the mashed potatoes and ate it, humming happily.

“So what movie are we watching?” Robbie asked, grabbing the remote.

“You’ve probably seen quite a few new movies at Stacy’s cottage,” Jackie told Chase. “Why don’t you decide?”

Chase shrugged. “Just a few. None of us could ever agree, so it was rare for us to watch a new movie. But we all agreed on this sweet little film.” Chase flipped through Amazon Prime until he found a title called This Beautiful Fantastic.

“It’s about a girl who wants to become a writer and slowly learns how to become a gardener.” Chase pressed play and they watched the film. Chase, Henrik and Sam on the couch, Marvin on the purple reclining chair, Anti on the teal green armchair, and Jameson, Jackie and Robbie on the ground.

Halfway through the movie, Jackie remarked, “That father reminds me a lot of you, Chase. I can see why you liked it.”

“Vern?” Chase asked. “He’s just a dad trying to raise his kids. What makes you think I’m like him?”

“You’re both sweet, and a total dork,” Marvin said. Chase playfully threw a pillow at him. Marvin snickered and exaggeratedly hugged the pillow. “I’m keeping this.”

“You both love cooking,” Jameson added.

“And you’re a devoted family man!” Henrik interjected.

“You are all so kind to me,” Chase said with a sigh. “I don’t deserve you guys.”

“Shut up, of course you do!” Marvin said.

“No I don’t!” Chase playfully retorted.

“Shhh, lies!” Jackie hissed, smiling.

“Stop!” Chase cried, blushing. “Seriously though, I didn’t think I would be getting the royal treatment after only two weeks away. I really didn’t do anything.”

“Funny, that’s what we said whenever we returned from vacations and travels,” Jackie remarked. “That didn’t stop you from throwing us a welcome back party.”

“It didn’t stop you from giving me a cake after my 100th successful surgery,” Henrik said.

“Or taking me to a fancy restaurant on my first full day without popping a stitch or losing a limb,” Robbie added.

“You bought me a handsome vest when I got that role I so desperately wanted,” Jameson reminisced.

“You’re a wonderful test subject for all my new spells,” Marvin said.

“You always celebrate us and our successes,” Jackie said. “After all you’ve done for us, I think it’s safe to say you deserve the best from us.”

Chase felt his eyes water up. Face red, he looked down, feeling embarrassed. He rubbed his eyes, smiling. “Thank you. You guys are always so sweet.”

Henrik gently kissed his forehead. “Welcome back, Chase.”

Chase finished wiping his eyes and looked up. “So. What happened when I was gone?”

Henrik grinned. “So, remember when I told you about getting magic lessons from Marvin? Funny story...”

~~~~~

@milo-kno, here’s your punishment >:3 Part one!

@graysun, @florenceisfalling, @miishae, @lonelyseiren, @goldenoceanaart, @egopocalypse, @oasisofgalaxies, @fleecal, @kofi-kiing, @myspatialspace, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @huffletrax, @gemstone6, @dumbasticart, @lunaarmada,@meteorshowersfillthesky, @uhhbeans,  @the-pastel-kitsune, @bupine,  @climbing-starrs, @the-spawn-of-loki, @jadehowlettthewolf, @obsidiancreates, @rammypaige, @hollenka99, @cest-mellow, @randowaffle, @green-protects, @dezi-popp, @badlypostedeverything, @crystalninjaphoenix, @milo-kno, @pixelpixie-pix, @why-killed-markiplier

#apparently i can write #immabethehero #jacksepticeye #chase brody #writersofjack #writers of jack

[hungarianbee]

Way of the Witcher: bits of lore

Disclaimer:  Post contains spoilers to the Witcher games These things may be canon-typical, but the following trigger warnings apply if you want to check out the cards: gore, monster dismemberment, needles, body horror, insects and spiders

“In a world plagued by horrors and monstrosities humanity desperately needed a new type of weapon to turn back the tide. Created by ingenious Alzur, witchers — professional monster slayers of exceptional strength, speed, and agility were tasked to end the threat once and for all. Organized into different schools they honed their craft and passed their knowledge onto novices in training. Some of them were destined to become the legendary heroes and protectors of humanity. Others — the very thing they were supposed to fight…”

Since the gwent expansion was anounced I followed it with rapt attention; every bit of lore is a gem in my eyes. I decided to write down my thoughts of the cards and lore pieces revealed in a post. Share that knowledge around, amirite?

The post references Gwent cards which were leaked (2020 november-december). The theme is mutation and everything that comes with it; namely sweet-sweet lore of the lesser known witcher schools: the Bears, Cats, Vipers and Griffins.

Tucker in, under the cut there is 4.5k analysis of each card that came out.

We’re starting with a theme, then work our way throught the 4 schools (each contain the following:  a leader, a mentor, an adept, a general witcher, a specific job, an item, a school relevant monster, 2  known witchers and a location), then go through a Witcher 1 throwback, Salamandra, and round it with a few new monsters and neutral cards. 

While I describe most of the cards concisely and all the known witchers and locations are on my blog, you might want to look the cards in their (small) glory: [DO IT HERE]

Sounds good? Here we go!

Edit: [this source is better]

The theme is mutation - be it monsters created by transmutation, witchers or salamadra

If that is true, there are monster cards that seemingly stand out: the Succubus and the Phooca

If we are to believe that they do connect to the mutation theme, then

(1) we can conclude that Phoocas (a rare, and more dangerous form of Nekkers; they can pull your head off by sheer force, watch out) are a natural mutation of the original species,

(2) but we’re still left with the Succubi (an inherently demonic creature). They might have chosen it because of its appearance: succubi have horns and goat-like legs. (Note: in the graphic novel “House of Glass” the succubus character has wings, but lacks hooves. In that sense, she could be mutated.)

Breaking it down into factions/schools (some of the cards can be paired up; these cards are interpreted together):

School of the Viper: starting with the vipers, because they are my favourite

Viper Witcher Mentor & Viper Witcher Adept: the flavour text says that the Viper mentors are exceptionally cold and ruthless, and that’s underlined by the story the art tells: the mentor busies himself with sharpening a blade, and in the background we can see the adept attempting to kill his best friend goat, as was ordered. The mentor watches this from the corner of his eye. Young Vipers are to kill their pets (which they nurtured for years) before becoming a fully-fledged witcher. The latter could mean that the boy depicted on the card hasn’t even gone through the Trial of Grasses.

Viper Witcher: On the card we see an unknown Viper crouching over a royalty he killed. I feel like this type of card is meant to represent what we think a general Witcher of said school would be like. Apparently Vipers just like to slay the nobility *shrug*. The flavour text informs us, that Vipers call their two swords “fangs”, and that their style consists of fast and furious attack aimed to overwhelm the enemy.

Viper Witcher Alchemist: Every school has a specialty; Vipers are proficient in potion or poison making. The right side of the alchemist’s face seems to have healed burn marks; a blown up concoction might have caused it.

Ivar Evil-Eye: So far there’s little to know about Ivar. He was either the Master of the Viper Keep, or the founder himself (gwent suggests the latter). He’s described as heavily scarred (facial scars suggests burns and slash marks too), and each of them has a terrible story to tell.

Warritt the All-Seeing: Warritt is a (newly introduced) Viper with heavy disfiguration to the upper part of his face: his eyes are sealed shut (possibly by burn marks, though his hair remains intact). The art shows Warritt drawing a modified version of the Supirre sign in the air to help with his loss of sight. As the wiki says: “Supirre is a Sign used for eavesdropping. Drawn on a solid surface, it allows the people near this surface to listen nearby conversations which would be normally inaudible due to the distance or background noise.” It was only used in Sapkowsky’s second volume of the Hussite trilogy (not yet translated to English), which is entirely separate from the Witcher novels.

Kolgrim: Fate laughed at this Viper. As a kid he was swapped by a weeper, saved by a witcher, than rejected by his own mother who believed that the fake child was the real one. Later, as a grown witcher Ivar instructed him to find a lost weapon diagram. On his journey he was accused - ironically - in White Orchard of kidnapping a child. Invoking a Temerian law, Kolgrim was told to cleanse their crypt (as seen on the card) then he can go. The truth is revealed in Witcher 3 - Kolgrim was beheaded by the villagers before he could even step into the crypt. To add insult to injury: the child was eaten by a drowner. The gwent card therefore shows the optimistic outcome: that Kolgrim reached the crypt and passed in battle. And what’s up with a crypt full of wraiths anyway? White Orchard is shady, guys. (Lil’ trivia: Kolgrim’s eyes are yellow-green.)

Vypper: Basically an overgrown snake that likes damp marshes (they even fight the local kikimores for territory). They only relate to the mutation theme by their nature - they resemble the “school’s animal”.

Gorthur Gvaed: The Bloodgate Keep is located in the chasms of the Tir Tochair mountains. It’s built so high were you to look down from the bridge leading into the keep, you would only see fog (one could wonder how the vipers trained in these conditions). The bridge is made so that you’d have to cross the lookout tower - it might have served as a check in spot. The post itself is circled by the stone coils of a snake; the top is open and has a huge lit bonfire in the middle for warmth-keeping and possibly signaling. Unluckily, it didn’t stop the Usurper’s army from destroying the keep.

Coated Weapons: They leaned heavily into the alchemy and assassin side of the school. Vipers coat their blades with an acidic liquid, so they can kill a man with a nick of it.

School of the Cat:

Cat Witcher Mentor & Cat Witcher Adept: On the adept card we can see a young Cat walking the tightrope blindfolded (they start with close to the ground and slowly increase the distance with time); the mentor is looking up at him. Like the Vipers, Cat mentors are nonchalant about risking the kids as seen from the flavour text: “If you fall, it’s over. Your nine lives are up, kid.” Furthermore, the background of the Cat Witcher Adept card shows the not yet destroyed Stygga Citadel. The Cat Witcher Mentor is in the same scene and we can see lots of potatoes and cabbages; cats definitely eat their veggies.

Cat Witcher: The card shows a Cat in the heat of battle mid-jump; his hood is up, blood is flying everywhere. The flavour text emphasizes that cats are known for their mad bloodlust, not stopping killing even after the enemy capitulated.

Cat Witcher Saboteur: A Cat perches next to the window, a smoking bomb in hand, eavesdropping on nobles. A rope is hung from somewhere out of the pic, possibly for a quick exit. Vesemir comments that these are many-a deeds the cats did that taint the reputation of witchers.

Gezras of Leyda: Gezras is a not yet known redheaded Cat witcher. Following the pattern he seems to be the founder of the Cat School. His flavour text shows that even back then (when the mutagens made Cats emotionless) they were inclined to dislike humans: “Take a contract from Aen Seidhe over a dh’oine any day, as you’re far less likely to receive a knife between the ribs in place of coin.”

Brehen: Now this cat embodies the Cat madness. He’s known as the Cat of Iello because he massacred everyone there. He was consequently shunned by all the schools, and he was even convinced that Vesemir put a kill order on his head. He met Geralt later in the 1240s on his way to claim the bounty for the princess. Thinking that Geralt was there to rob him of his chance of the bounty, Brehen took a priestess as hostage (this is what we see on the gwent card). Geralt managed to convince him to put away the blade, and they parted without crossing blades. When meeting with the striga he scoffed into her face that “she won’t be his first royal”. But his luck ran out. The Temerians buried him and fabricated the story of a cowardly witcher stealing their coin. I’m halfway convinced we see Brehen in the netflix series.

Gaetan: This boy broke into the fandom like a bulldozer. After the folks in Honorton cheated him of his pay and tried to kill him, Gaetan flew into rage and killed everyone there except Millie, a girl who reminded him of his sister. That’s the scene we see on the card. And then Geralt robs/kills him.

Saber-Tooth Tiger (Stealth): Another huge animal/monster related to the school. It’s story is this: “The prized possession of royal menagerie, until a commando of Scoia’tael assaulted the exhibition, released the beast, and set it upon its cruel masters. Since that day, it has acquired a selective taste for human flesh.” Another cat turning against humans.

Stygga Castle: An outside view of what we already saw on the Cat Witcher Adept card. It’s located on a cliff, and the sun shines into it just right (so that the Cats can bask in the light). The walls form a circle where they shelter the inner grounds, and a bigger tower emerges in the middle. The Castle could be reached by the thin bridge connecting it to the mainland, or by the cliffs (if one is brave enough).

Making a Bomb: Cats seem to have a specialty in bombs. Guess where Lambert got his interest from *winkwink*

School of the Griffin: lots of pairs in this one

Griffin Witcher Mentor & Griffin Witcher Adept: Compared to the other schools, this pairing is tame - the adept is climbing a tree to retrieve a crossbow bolt. We can see the mentor in the background. On the mentor card the adept waves down with the retrieved crossbow bolt in hand. It shows a kind of comradeship that’s not present in the other 3 schools. The flavour text emphasizes the importance of knowledge. Students are afforded to choose their final Trial: recite the entire Liber Tenebrum (Book of Shadows; one of Keldar’s favourite books) or steal a griffin’s egg. Noone’s chosen the former.

Griffin Witcher: The witcher is shown shooting down a griffin. According to the flavour text they prefer hunting with silver-tipped arrowheads instead of swords.

Archgriffin & Griffin Witcher Ranger: On the Griffin Ranger card we see the witcher crouching over track marks. On the archgriffin card he found the albino (or very old) monster, who’s already killed someone (probably a lumberjack, judging by the axe). According to the flavour text, Griffin Witchers are trained to be professional trackers; nothing can stop them to reach their prey. Even though archgriffins are considered the embodiment of courage, loyalty and fighting spirit, the gwent card corrects the notion that the Griffin Witcher were named after the monster. In truth, they got the name in honour of their founder’s mentor, a knight named Gryphon.

Erland of Larvik: Continuing the trend, Erland is the founder of the Griffin School (one of the two that are confirmed 100%). He’s from the first generation of witcher, mutated by Alzur himself. After the Order began fracturing he had a confrontation with Arnaghan (who’ll be the founder of the bear school). Arnaghad almost killed one of his brothers, slashed Erland across the face then parted ways with the Order and left Morgraig Castle with his own group. Seeing that the the remaining witchers couldn’t go on like that, he grabbed his 13 best friend and left to Kaer Seren, where (after purging it from spectres) he founded the Griffin School which focused on magic, preparedness and flexibility. His teaching emphasized knightly values (mimicking his long-dead mentor, a knight named Gryphon) in hopes that it would make future witchers’ life easier. It didn’t.

Coen & Keldar: The cards are mainly connected by background. Coen is finished killing what appears to be an albino arachas (but it’s definitely an insectoid), while Keldar’s taking notes. We can rightly assume that he’s updating their bestiary, since he’s one of the teachers/mentors who focus on gathering and sharing knowledge. Coen’s flexibility shows in the flavour text: “There is no such thing as a fair fight. Every advantage and every opportunity that arises is used in combat.” Not very knightly, is it?

Kaer Seren: The “Star Keep” Erland and his friends fled to. It was used by the Order’s mages to mutate witchers (that’s why it was haunted by spectres). It’s located at the edge of the Dragon mountains by the sea between Poviss and Kovir. It’s said to possess the great library, which later mages tried to get for themselves. They messed up: by bringing down an avalanche on the Keep, that knowledge was destroyed. The keep was badly damaged and many witchers died.

Target Practice: The Griffin School’s specialty is their precise aim - they “can split an apple in two from a hundred paces”.

School of the Bear:

Bear Witcher Mentor & Bear Witcher Adept: The adept card shows that young witcher are taught to catch fish by hand (just like their school relevant animal). On the mentor card the elder witcher leads a group of younglings in the mountains; possibly out to teach tracking. The cards are connected by flavour text. The young Bear witcher-would-be’s need to complete the Trial of the Mountain, which consists of them climbing Mount Gorgon (also known as the Devil Mountain; it is the highest peak of the Amell range) to retrieve a runestone. The Trial often ends with the kids frozen to death. The Bear Mentor card’s flavour confirms it: “If you’re unsure of the way, just keep a lookout for markers - the frozen corpses of would-be witchers.” This sounds ominous - don’t they collect their fallen?

Bear Witcher: Bears are solitary hunters as seen in the flavour text: “life alone can be tough”. The witcher in the pic just dismembered what looks like a ghoul (with a tail?).

Bear Witcher Quartermaster: This one I like. The Quartermaster is an amputee (missing one of his arms, which was taken by a bear; must have won that fight one-handed), yet they still found a job for him where he can be useful. His flavour text suggest he likes Mahakam mead.

Arnaghad: The founder of the Bear School, he never felt kinship with his fellow witchers. After attacking a witcher named Rhys over a contract, wounding him deeply from shoulder to waist, he returned to Morgraig, attacked Erland then left with his possé to found the Bear School - Haern Caduch - in the Amell Mountains. Later he almost died in a betrayal, which resulted in another schism and the foundation of the Viper School.

Gerd: Gerd’s a legendary witcher who fled to Skellige after allying with a Usurper instead of his daughter, who later issued a warrant for his arrest. He has a busy time in Skellige: first slaying a dragon, befriending the Jarl Torgeir, killing a bunch of sirens, losing so many weapon diagrams you wouldn’t believe, losing half his pay and silver sword on gwent, escaping Nilfgaard and managing to slay a striga, killing some of his pursuers, only to be caught up in the siege of Torgeir’s castle, where he died in the ruins. On the card he’s showing Bear-typical strength: he’s tearing apart a siren with his bear hands.

Junod of Belhaven: Junod had a dubious background, but was thought to be the child of a brave dwarf and a giantess. He’s a huge man, with a big bushy beard and bald head. His sobriquet is false; he took it after Ivo, because he liked the ring of it. He was known as a strict haggler and a bit of a gambler. In 1243 he took a contract in hopes of cash (he wanted to forge the Grandmaster Ursine Armour). The subterranean monster was said to live in the caverns. Junod drew bear signs and wrote a warning on the wall (this is the scene we see on the card). He was however ill-prepared; the beast turned out to be a shaelmaar (a type of relic Gaetan slew once) that killed him in that very cavern.

Dire Bear: Once again related to the school in question, the Dire Bear is stuck with so much weaponry that it looks like a walking armory. Lots of witchers must have tried to slay it, yet it still kicks - just like Bear Witchers, it’s resilient till the very end.

Haern Caduch: Built into the side of the Amell Mountains, it’s the coldest environment of all the schools. As with the other schools, the Bears were forced out of it due to folk riots. It was left in disrepair to be buried under snow and ice (as seen on the card). It’s name could be translated as “Piercing Whiskers”.

Armor Up: As Bear’s are more likely to stand in the way of attack than dodge, they need to wear a heavy armour at all times.

Salamandra:

Roland Bleinheim & Gellert Bleinheim: Witcher 1 characters. They are thought to be brothers, leading the Salamandra organization. As drug lords one heads the fisstech operation in Vizima’s sewers (Roland), the other in the swamps (Gellert). The flavour text pretty much matches: both of them wondering what the other one is doing.

Salamandra Mage: The art itself was already leaked in China around 2 years back, and there were a few theories. One of them was that the man depicted is Zerrikanian, and I think that’s correct. Both the facial tattoo, darker skin, thinly braided hair and fire magic points in that direction. Azar Javed (a known Salamandra fire mage) happens to be a Zerrikanian escapee too.

Salamandra Lackey: A girl with the Salamandra-stapled mask runs from a city guard. The flavour text says the following: “Lackeys are expected to perform their first five jobs for no pay, demonstrating their passion for the gig.” The organization monitors from the beginning that only those remain who are extremely loyal to their cause.

Fallen Rayla: A little background for those who are unfamiliar with her: Rayla of Lyria was a veteran of the Nilgaardian Wars. She harbours anti-nonhuman sentiments after she was captured by Scoia’taels and severely maimed. The Rayla we see on the card is a mutant - in Witcher 1 she was supposedly shot down by Scoia’tael, and Salamandra found her close to death, subjected her to mutation. She was killed by Geralt.

Salamander: The card shows a bright blue spotted salamander. It has two tails and heads (possibly grown together?). The Salamander is a symbol of the organization. Metaphorically speaking it could mean, that Salamandra thought of itself as something untouchable: “best to avoid petting them, as the salamander, when threatened, secretes a deadly toxin”.

Failed Experiment: The card - ironically - thrives when it’s poisoned. The “experiment” only resembles a human in shape. It’s clutching the table ends, as if trying to escape still.  It’s fair to assume that they later dissected it: “even failed experiments can serve a purpose”.

Salamandra Abomination: A step further from the failed experiment - we see the results of pushing science’s boundaries. Only the skull is left intact, everything else of the body is covered with insectoid-like growths.

Stolen Mutagens: Gruesome organ harvesting. The witcher heart (?) glows, which is either an artistic decision (probable) or the mages sent magic into the body, and the mutagens light up (like angiographia). Three types of mutagens can be harvested: red (strength), blue (magic) or green (resilience). I headcanon that the amount they inject of the three types can vary - that’s how you get strength inclined witchers like the wolves (red), or big ass mothers like the bears (green).

Salamandra Hideout: There are multiple hideouts in Witcher 1 (outskirt of Visima, crypt in sewers and one in the trade quarters). The one depicted here is the fisstech lab in the sewers. It shows a dimly lit, cobwebbed room. There’s an elevation where a body lays on the table. The elevation’s floor is gridded, so the blood and other fluids can freely flow down into the sewer water, where many bodies are already discarded recklessly.

Neutral:

Alzur & Viy & Koshchey: Alzur was a charismatic mage and spell inventor, who created many horrible monsters, like the koshchey (with the spell: Alzur’s Double Cross) and the Viy (a huge centipede-like insectoid). He was also the one who did the lion’s share of work with the witcher’s mutation.

Cosimo Malaspina: Cosimo was the teacher of Alzur. He was known for his knowledge in hybridization and genetic modification. Him and Alzur were the true creators of the witchers sect. On the gwent card, three man are shown prodding at a mutated body. Cosimo (the old dude) is in the middle, Alzur might be the one on the left and that leaves Idarran on the right. His flavour text paints him as cold and clinical, someone without empathy: “Children keep asking him for gifts. He doesn’t know why, but it really helps with finding subjects for his experiments.”

Idarran of Ulivo & Idr & Wererat: Idarran was one of the contributers of the witcher experiments. He’s an expert in hybridization and genetic modification, whose teacher was Alzur. He was a pale kid who lived in the canals of Vizima and experimented on rats at the age of 5. He found beauty in gruesome creations, like the Wererat (a human-sized rat on roids) and the Idr (a big centipede-like insectoid). He’s disdained by Geralt for his many monsters.

Triangle within a Triangle: It’s a magic spell used to introduce a series of mutations and to greatly increase the mass of a given body. That way they can create huge monstrosities, like the koshchey. Adepts often confuse it with a pentagram which can lead to infernal disasters.

Selective mutation: The card shows a close up of a young man’s eyes - one mutated (catlike) one human. His skin shows his high toxicity level, ashen with prominent veins. He’s held down as alchemists prepare to inject a yellow concoction into the human eye. It’s possible that after the success of witchers the mages tried to recreate the changes in smaller scale, then unmake it in turn, unsuccessfully.

Witcher Student: This is not really a card, but I included it anyway. The card’s ability is - ironically - doomed, and to add insult to injury, its flavour text is the following well-known fact: “Four out of ten boys survive… at most.” It’s also a point for black humour that the gwent commentators added: the Trial of Grasses card boosts this unit significantly.

Berengar: He’s a Wolf School Witcher who blamed his school for denying him a normal life and consequently abandoned them. In Witcher 1 Geralt can decide to kill or spare him. In a letter he admits that he was a coward because he betrayed Kaer Morhen and worked with Salamadra in hope that they can undo his mutation. His card references a questline in Witcher 1, where he tried to reason with the vodyanoi (~lovecraftian fish people) to spare the village’s prize-winning cow, named Strawberry. This is non-canon; in the game Geralt takes over the quest to do this instead.

Leo: Another Witcher 1 character. He was an orphan taken in by Vesemir. He was a kind-hearted but hot-headed man, who had all the training but not the mutations and the experience - he never killed a man. The flavour text of his gwent card kind of mocks his death: “He would have caught the arrow if he only had some heads-up.” He’s burned on a pyre and his cenotaph can be found south of Kaer Morhen.

Geralt: Quen: The last classical sign that wasn’t yet a card. In the art, Geralt is wearing the Manticore armour

Snowdrop: She’s a not yet seen character; impish looking female bard with light blond hair (flowers braided on the side) who plays a medieval version of the fiddle to a rooster. There’s a horseshoe hanging from the hem of his pants. She’s also seen in the gwent: journey #3 launch trailer. She’s narrating that she was saved by Alzur. Alzur told her about his plans of creating witchers to fight the beasts of the Continent, and she admired him so much she spread his story (”let me tell you about the greatest sorceress to ever lived”). Their story will unveil in the next week, I’ll probably update accordingly. It’s also interesting that Alzur says in the gwent intro (regarding witchers): “Bards will toil to do justice to their feats.” As if his own successes and experiences will be mirrored in his creations. Projecting much?

Monsters:

Viy & Idr: both of them are centipede-like insectoids conjured by infamous mages (see: Alzur and Idarran)

Wererat: same can be said about this one. Idarran experimented on Vizima’s sewer rats since the age of 5. This human sized abomination was the end result.

Succubus: We already discussed how the “Succubus” doesn’t fit the theme. Other interesting thing is the surrounding of her - in the background we can see a skull full of some kinda of dark liquid; she’s also holding a goblet. I’m not saying she’s drinking blood, but if she does, it would shed some questions as succubi don’t need to drink blood at all.

Phooca: As nekkers’ rare big brother, phoocas are ogroids that have the strength to rip a man’s head off with their bear hands. According to the wiki, in Celtic folklore they are regarded as shapeshifting fairies.

Koshchey: A witcher 1 boss, koshcheys are spider-like abominations summoned by mages. The woman standing her ground in the picture is Visenna (Geralt’s druid mom). In the story she’s the one to kill the first koshchey ever created.

Spontaneous Evolution: Under the Red Moon the wolf mutated into an amalgamation of eyes and teeth. Malaspina possibly added something to the mix that proved unstable. The card’s name is kind of ironic - this change is not spontaneous (it was induced) but could be related to evolution (it would imply that this form is somehow advantageous to the current environment and helps adaptation). (Note: in my opinion spontaneous generation would be a better term: it’s the thought that living creatures could arise from nonliving matter.)

Hybrid: the card shows a two-headed wolf or dog. Pretty straight-forward.

Chimera: A creature created my Cosimo Malaspina. He combines the genes of a fiend and griffin, then added a trace of insectoid and wyvern. It kind of looks like a furred wyvern with antlers. Interestingly the frightener (an insectoid; a rare result of magical experiment) is also called a chimera.

Dol Dhu Lokke: a new monster lair location. The depending on how you translate “lokke” the Elder can be read as “black valley place” or “alluring black valley”. It’s so dangerous - housing many-a horrors - that even a witcher thinks twice before going near it.

Interesting tidbits

Coen has hair, which is weird because so far he was described in all sources as bald.

There used to be a card  that was also called Viper Witcher, which is now referred to as “Kingslayer”

The Bear Witcher’s face was drawn after one of CDPR’s employee.

The Koshchey’s card title has a typo: “Koschchey”.

Easter eggs (mainly in flavour text)

The Spontaneous Evolution card references The Powerpuff Girls intro: “Professor Malaspina accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction - compound X.”

The Bear Witcher card might reference a song of Baloo from the Jungle Book (The Bare Necessities): “Life alone on the road can be tough - be sure to bring all the bare necessities.”

#my shit #the witcher #gwent #witcher meta #witcher lore #i worked really hard on this #i hope it shows lol #if y'all have any thoughts i'd be happy to hear about them #cross my heart i don't bite