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ot7always · 4 years

Text

Ignorantly, Yours

Word Count: 10.6k

Pairing: Alpha!Jimin x Omega!Reader

Genre: Wolf!AU, Best Friends to Lovers!AU; fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: dom!Jimin, sub!reader, A/B/O dynamics, heat sex, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk (including a bit of possessiveness), marking, creampie, hair pulling, degradation, praise, rough sex, multiple orgasms

Rating: 18+

Summary: You never could have expected your best friend to show up at your apartment right as you were about to go into heat, but when he did, something in you just wouldn’t let him go.

A/N: Truly, this was never supposed to be more than drabble. Which truly became a nuisance once it grew a lot and I had to go back and change a lot of things during editing. This is my first fic with some sort of supernatural element to it, and I had a lot of fun! I hope you guys enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

Reposted without the header gif and without any links or taglist. Sorry for any inconvenience if you were already looking at the first post. I will reblog with the taglist shortly.

Maybe it should have been embarrassing.

Maybe it was, 5 years ago when the habit first started.

5 years ago, when you’d had your first pre-heat. When the world had quickly become too overwhelming, your nose unused to the myriad of scents that assaulted you in your sensitivity. Your skin feeling so raw that even the clothes on your back felt uncomfortable.

It was then, in your childhood bedroom, amidst everything else, you recognized a scent that accompanied you through your life for as long as you could remember. A scent that felt like home, felt like warm days under the sun and shared laughter under blankets at midnight.

Your nose had led you to the bottom drawer of your dresser, your hands digging through the mess of fabric there until you pulled out an orange hoodie. You didn’t remember ever having it, and it looked small enough to have been from years ago – maybe even from before he presented.

But as you pulled it out of that drawer, the scent that might have been faint to you any other day filled your nostrils. A blueberry and pine scent that left you feeling calmer instantly, safer. Whether that had to do more with your friendship or his alpha status wasn’t a thought that crossed your mind. All you knew at the time was that it made everything better – he made everything better, even when he wasn’t there.

That marked the first time you laid in your bed, curling yourself around that small piece of comfort, your face shoved into the soft fabric. The peace that washed over you then was addicting, and any thought of giving up that feeling was unfathomable.

And if Jimin noticed how you were covered in his own scent when he saw you after every heat since that day, he didn’t say a thing.

You missed him a lot.

It wasn’t as though his university was that far away, and you should have grown used to it after several years of living apart for most of the year. Weekend visits were hardly enough when you’d spent more time together than apart growing up.

It definitely didn’t feel like enough when you were lying in bed, surrounded by the products of your skillful swiping over the years during Jimin’s visits. Hoodies, t-shirts – you had at least a dozen by now. All of which were tossed across your bed alongside you, your upper body already clad in one of his oversized hoodies.

When your pre-heat started affecting you yesterday, you’d already emailed your professors to tell them you wouldn’t be able to make it to class for the week. They, of course, understood – every university accommodated for their students to get a week off about every 3 months for this exact reason.

You were already overcome by exhaustion, Jimin’s scent wafting around the room lulling you into a sleepy daze.

It was common for an omega to nest amongst an alpha’s scent before their heat, though said alpha would typically be their partner.

It wasn’t something you liked to think on very often. Something like this couldn’t be that uncommon, right? After all, he was your first friend, and that went beyond being an alpha or omega. Besides, if it bothered him, wouldn’t he have already called you out for it by now? Wouldn’t he have said something when he realized that even when you’d started spending every heat with an alpha, his scent was still somewhere in there?

You tried not to worry too much about it. It didn’t matter, anyway.

Based on how you were feeling, you knew your heat would probably be here within 2 or 3 days. Which meant you should probably call someone soon to ask them to help you through it. It was normal practice to ask a friend to help you with your heat, but it was a line you’d never crossed with Jimin. Rejection was never something you dealt with well, and you were too afraid to put him, of all people, in that position. Knowing him, he would agree even if he didn’t want to.

Who, then? Namjoon? Hoseok? Both have agreed before, though the notion of crossing your room to pick up the phone you’d so foolishly left on the dresser was severely unappealing.

Instead, you let your eyes flutter shut, your face nuzzling into a blue and red scarf Jimin had forgotten at your apartment last winter. As the tranquility washed over you, your mind drifted closer and closer to sleep, warm and cozy and surrounded by Jimin’s scent.

Until the doorbell rang through your apartment.

At first you elected to ignore it, hoping whoever it was would get the hint and go away. But when it sounded out 2 more times after you hadn’t moved in several minutes, you groaned.

Wasn’t it bad etiquette to do this to someone? Surely that had to be written in a handbook somewhere.

With heavy limbs, you dragged yourself out of bed, flipping the hood up on your (well, Jimin’s) hoodie. As much as it may have been a bad idea to answer the door by yourself in pre-heat, your scent enveloped by an alpha’s would be enough to ward off unwanted advances. Though there were definitely bad people in the world, it took a truly insane person to go after an omega scented by an alpha.

When you made it to the door, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself to ream out whoever was on the other side. While you could sense someone’s presence there, every apartment was insulated, scent-wise, for protection. You didn’t know what to expect.

But of every possibility, when you opened the door, you didn’t expect to get assaulted by the very scent you’d been basking in only minutes ago. You didn’t notice how his eyes widened or how his pupils dilated when your scent hit him, too preoccupied by your body’s visceral reaction.

The full force of his scent almost had your knees buckling, your eyelids growing heavier as every single part of you instinctively yearned to curl up into him. Maybe your heat was closer than you thought.

When you were finally able to focus your eyes on him, his teeth were biting into his bottom lip, the hand holding an overnight bag clenched so hard his knuckles were white.

You didn’t give him the chance to say anything before you were stumbling forward, colliding messily with him, only focused on getting as close to him as possible.

You barely heard a mumbled ‘shit,’ not registering that he backed you into your apartment until you heard the door slam, his bag hitting the floor.

“Jimin,” you mumbled, your hands grasping at his shirt, eyes closed as you shoved your face into his neck, sighing happily when you were finally as close to the source of your happiness as possible.

But much to your discontent, he pushed you from him, keeping you an arms’ length away. The whimper you let out in response sounded pathetic even to your own ears, but every cell in your body was screaming to get as close to him as possible.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, the unusual hardness in his tone snapping you out of your daze slightly, wide eyes fixing onto his face. He audibly gulped at the glazed look in your eyes, before continuing. “You’re in heat.”

“I’m not,” you whined, trying to push against his hands, but he was stronger than you were.

“You will be,” he responded, letting out an incredulous sigh. “Fuck. I meant to surprise you but I forgot what the date was, I’m so sorry.”

“But I’m not yet,” you complained, changing tactics and instead aiming to shove your nose into the wrists near your shoulders. When your hair swished with your movement, sending a whiff of shampoo and your scent Jimin’s way, he groaned loudly.

“God, I can’t be here, I should go,” he said through gritted teeth. But when he started leaning down to pick his bag back up, you panicked.

“NO!” you yelled, launching yourself at him with your whole weight, not at all concerned about how he stumbled back in surprise. Your hands gripping onto his waist, you looked at him with wide eyes, your irises barely visible around the black of your dilated pupils. “Please don’t leave.”

His composure visibly cracked at the desperation on your face, but the sensation of your hands trembling in their grip on him brought him back to reality. “I can’t stay, I know that you know that-”

“Why?” you cried, your bottom lip trembling. The logical part of you deep inside knew you were being unreasonable, but even that part of you was a slave to instinct. All you knew was that Jimin got you through every pre-heat, and here Jimin was in front of you now. He’d never seen you like this, not ever in the last 5 years. And now that he has, nothing has ever been more unappealing than the thought of him walking out your front door.

He was very clearly taking shallow breaths, eventually bringing his own wrist to his nose to try to drown out everything else. Based on the low grunt he let out, it didn’t seem to be working very well.

“You smell like you’re going to go into heat at any moment, fuck, I can’t,” he panted, every part of him resisting the urge to grab you and scent you until there was absolutely no question whether you were his.

Except you weren’t his.

“I-I...” he stuttered, the scent of you not only clinging to him, but everywhere throughout the apartment occupying every part of his brain. “I need to go, I’ll call someone for you, Hoseok or-”

But that was definitely the wrong thing to say, because you sprung back from him as though you’ve been burned. When you looked at him as though he’d betrayed you, he knew he’d messed up.

“Why? You’re already here,” you spat out. “Don’t go,” you finished in a much weaker voice, pleading gaze fixing onto his.

A flash of pain went through him when he saw you hug yourself around the middle, as though to appear smaller. As though to protect yourself. From him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking of you!” you wailed, the space between you feeling wider than it’s ever been.

“I can’t,” he repeated, a tinge of desperation making its way into his tone. Why was this so hard? From what he knew about omega heats and pre-heats, without a partner or relationship you shouldn’t have cared this much about which alpha stayed with you.

“Aren’t we friends? Can’t you just stay?” you begged, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Something about him trying to leave felt like a hole was being ripped through your chest, even if you’d understand why any other day.

“Of course we’re friends,” he said incredulously, a conflicted expression on his face. He knew exactly what you meant, exactly what was implied within that statement. When something like desire crossed his gaze, you felt a dash of hope bloom within you. “But...”

And it was crushed just like that. “Why don’t you want me when I want you? What’s wrong with me?” you sobbed, the tears finally spilling from your eyes as you dropped to your knees.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The smell of an omega in distress was always something that set off an alpha’s protective instinct.

But the knowledge that he was the one who caused it brought forth an ugly wrenching in his gut.

For all the required readings Jimin had done in the course of his life, nothing had ever taught him what to do when the girl you’re secretly in love with was on the floor crying because you refused to fuck her through her heat.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. God, did he want to.

But you weren’t there begging for his heart or his love or his devotion – you were begging for his body. Which wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t that he was offended. The problem was that he wanted more than this, and that right now was most definitely not the time to have that conversation.

And it’s not that he didn’t think you knew what you wanted. He knew you knew that you were asking for sex, but he also knew that was all you were asking for. Pre-heat was about preparing for sex, not romance.

As much as a heat could completely fog an omega’s brain, in pre-heat they could still make coherent decisions. It was typically a time spent preparing for heat, a time to call an alpha or to prepare for the much more painful option of suffering alone. They were typically in a perpetual state of exhaustion, bodies crying out for sleep to save up energy for their heat.

But more importantly, it was a time where omegas were at their most emotionally vulnerable, where they gave in to instinct. A time where they surrounded themselves in the things that made them feel safest, most at home.

He knew – he knew you used his scent to get through your pre-heat, but he never thought it meant that much. You were his oldest friend, and the fact that you found comfort in his scent was never something he questioned. He was an alpha, and you scented each other often – it made sense from a biology standpoint.

And – oh.

It hit him then that this was more than an alpha’s refusal to help their friend through their heat. This was more than a refusal for sex.

This was your biggest security blanket pushing you away at your most vulnerable, the person you trusted most to keep you safe leaving you when you were begging him to stay.

He really, really fucked up by coming here.

He should have checked the dates properly in the first place, and now he’d have to deal with the consequences. There was an unbelievably high chance that if he walked out that door, you’d have a breakdown, and he couldn’t just break your heart by leaving now.

Even if it ended up breaking his own. Even if you ended up thinking nothing of it, and he would never be able to erase the memory from his brain.

Because you were begging him to stay out of instinct, out of need. Not out of love. Not that he knew of, not the kind he wanted, at least.

But there was no reason to go there or question you about it, because he knew you’d say anything to make him stay, even if it wasn’t true. Not because you were a liar, but because that’s what your body would push you to do right now.

Knowing that the smell of his own panic would just set you off more, he took a couple deep breaths before falling to his knees in front of you. He had to force down the rising upset in his chest at the scent of your tears, every part of him screaming at himself for upsetting you this deeply.

“Hey,” he called out softly, his hands reaching out to gently pull your hands away from where they were hiding your face. At the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, his heart tugged. “Look at me.” He slipped a hand forward to cradle your head, brushing against the hair at the nape of your neck. He hoped so badly that he could be a comfort to you, even when he was the one who hurt you in the first place.

He waited almost a minute for you to look up, doing his best to calm you in that time. When you finally raised your eyes to look at him, the fear in your expression was something he’d only ever seen a few times in his life. You were an expert at putting on a brave face for the world, and seeing the uncensored pain displayed there punched him in the gut.

“Baby,” he cooed, pulling you into his arms. He carefully maneuvered your face into the crook of his neck, smiling as you melted into his hold, a content sigh leaving you. He wrapped his arms around you, face rubbing into your hair as he stopped resisting the urge to scent you. He ignored the shiver that ran down his spine at your scent that only seemed to be growing stronger.

The two of you stayed like that for several minutes, your body so limp in his grasp that he had to keep both of you upright himself. He couldn’t tell whether you were awake, goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin as your nose brushed against one of the most sensitive parts of his body.

But when he stood up, wanting to get you somewhere more comfortable than the floor, he felt every muscle in your body tense, a low whine leaving your throat. Your hands grasped onto his shirt. “Jimin-”

“Shh,” he soothed, continuing to nuzzle into you as he stood you both up. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not?” you repeated, muffled into his shoulder.

“I’m not.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He scratched lightly at your scalp as the other hand stroked up and down the length of your back, humming when you finally relaxed again, your arms wrapping around to tug him as close as possible. “Good girl.”

Something in him awakened when he heard the hitch of your breath at his words, but he shoved it down. He had to keep a hold of himself while he still had the chance – because once you were in heat, there would be no rest for either of you. Not when it was taking his entire focus to hold himself back right now and it was only your pre-heat.

“I’m gonna take you to your room, okay?” he asked quietly. When you nodded, he scooped you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, head lolling sleepily against his shoulder.

You were very clearly exhausted, and guilt gnawed away at him for it. The emotional ups and downs of the past half hour must have taken even more out of you – while you tended to be quiet, you were never this quiet, not with him. You seemed to be asleep, steady exhales hitting the skin of his neck.

When he entered your room, his heart skipped in his chest at the sight of his belongings strewn across your mattress, a you-sized gap in the middle where you must have been laying. He couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest, the possessive part of him thrilled at the notion of you burying yourself in his scent.

He supposed he should be happy you were asleep. Omegas tended to be self-conscious about their nest, which was why he was surprised you agreed to let him take you here so easily. The idea that you felt comfortable enough to let him in here without a fight brought forth a feeling in his gut that felt suspiciously like butterflies.

Easing off the shoes he’d never had the chance to remove at the front door, he brought you both down into the bed, careful not to jostle your form. He laid you down together, your body atop his, heart melting at your tiny noise of content.

He had to bite back a moan when you nuzzled further into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin.

Get it together, Jimin.

He didn’t know if he would ever be relaxed enough to sleep when you were on top of him already smelling like every sinful desire he’s ever had. His cock shouldn’t have been stirring when you looked so innocent, your hands curled up ever-so-slightly under his shirt. And despite everything in his mind telling him that he would regret this, his entire body was screaming in anticipation for this entire weekend.

This wouldn’t be the first time he’s helped an omega through their heat, but everything was different because this was you. Someone he cared about, someone he loved, and he knew you loved him too, whether it was in the way he wanted or not. Heat flared in him at the thought of you wet and desperate only for him, begging to be filled. He knew you’d be out of your mind with lust, and even before seeing it he knew it would be the most beautiful sight he’s ever set eyes upon.

Get a hold of yourself, Jimin.

It was absolutely no use to contemplate these things now, especially not when the scent of his arousal might wake you up and set you off prematurely. You both needed rest – he’d be damned if he didn’t make this the best heat you’d ever had just because he was tired.

And so he wrapped his arms around your middle, willing arousal from his brain and replacing it with thoughts of sleep. Luckily, his body must have been able to sense his need for rest before the upcoming days, and sleep found him easier than anticipated.

You awoke to your back hitting your mattress, the first thing you noticed being that your body felt like it was being burned alive. But when you inhaled, the scent of pure alpha overtook all thought, brain incapable of anything other than unadulterated need, arousal shooting to your core almost instantaneously.

When your eyes shot open, fire lit within you when they immediately locked onto Jimin’s dark gaze, his body hovering over yours like he was about to pounce. When he took in the neediness in your eyes, his lip upturned in a salacious smirk, stare burning holes into you.

“Rise and shine, little wolf,” he drawled, hands locking onto your ankles and dragging you down the bed until your face was right below his.

You shivered despite yourself at the predatory expression on his face, holding back the whine that threatened to escape. You felt incapable of speaking, every intake of breath only fogging your mind further, the fire in you becoming so potent it was painful.

You couldn’t help the keening whimper that escaped when he roughly fisted a hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, yanking until your entire neck was on display. You gasped and arched into his body with want as he leaned in to inhale deeply right above your collarbone. The feral growl he let out at your scent had you shuddering, trembling hands trying desperately to pull him closer, but he didn’t relent.

“Please,” you begged, shoving your body upwards as much as possible, desperate to feel his body against your own. At the feeling of his canines brushing against the skin of your neck gently, you felt new wetness rush from you. Your desperation was only growing exponentially with every passing moment, and it felt like if you didn’t get touched soon, you would surely die.

“You smell so fucking good,” he snarled, voice raspier than you’d ever heard it before. He sounded almost pained, and it only set you off further. Everything in you ached for his touch, your cunt clenching around nothing despite Jimin not even having touched you yet. You needed it – needed to be touched, you needed him to quell the ache.

“Hurts,” you gasped out, still trying and failing to grind against his body above you.

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry,” he cooed, pressing his free palm down onto your clothed centre. His breath hitched as you started forcefully grinding against it immediately, a choked whine slipping from your lips at the sudden pressure right where you needed it most.

“Alpha...” you moaned, rutting shamelessly against his hand as you pushed further against the hand in your hair, baring more of the soft expanse of your neck. Your eyes shut as pleasure rocked your system, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more, his cock in your drenched cunt, his nails raking down your body as he utterly ravished you. You whined loudly at the thought, arousal slipping from you. It was clear he noticed when he hissed.

“Fuck, look at you. You’re dripping, so fucking desperate,” he panted, somehow sounding almost as ruined as you. “I’m gonna fuck this cunt senseless, fill you up so good you’ll never ask for anyone else again. Do you want that, little omega? Want me to make you mine?”

Any other time you might have questioned his possessive words, but any rational part of your brain was long gone. No, all that existed was you, Jimin, and your excruciating need to be filled.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried, whimpering at the imagery he put in your head. You wanted nothing more than to be his bitch, to take his cock and his seed and his knot. “Fuck me, please.”

“You beg so nicely,” he breathed, and you keened at the praise. You gasped as he sat back and quite literally ripped the shirt from your body, following suit with the rest of your clothes. You didn’t have it in you to complain, not when he was yanking your legs apart, gaze laser-focused onto your centre. “Don't worry, baby, your alpha is gonna take care of you, okay?”

You only nodded furiously, hips bucking upward suddenly as Jimin wasted no more time, two fingers smearing through your heat before thrusting abruptly into you. You finally felt some sort of relief at being filled, but it wasn’t enough. The stretch wasn’t satisfying enough, and your desire for more only amplified. But it seemed he knew this, adding another finger wordlessly.

“God, this cunt is so fucking hungry for me,” he growled, pistoning his fingers in and out roughly before grinding the heel of his hand into your clit.

You cried out as pleasure reared on you embarrassingly quickly, but no part of you wanted to cum without his cock inside you, dragging against your sensitive walls.

“Jimin...” you moaned, arching your back as you sought to push yourself closer to the source of your pleasure. He almost groaned at the sound of his name coming so wantonly from your lips. “Want you, please.”

“Yeah? You want to get stuffed?”

The garbled response you gave was nowhere near coherent, but it didn’t take a genius to see what you wanted. When he gave a low chuckle and pulled himself from his sweatpants, you started salivating immediately. He was girthy, vein visibly spanning the underside beneath his hand as he palmed himself. The head looked almost purple, the tip leaking. You needed it inside you.

Before you even realized it yourself, you were turning over onto your front. By the time you’d planted your face down, ass up, Jimin was already growling, roughly digging his fingers into your asscheeks. As several more seconds went by without his cock in you, you arched your back further, whining as he only dug his fingertips in harder.

“Such a good little wolf,” he crooned, hissing when your arousal dripped from your pussy to the bed. “Getting yourself so nice and ready for me. You need cock that badly? Can’t wait for it?”

You could have cried when you finally felt the tip of his cock at your entrance, but you didn’t have time to do or say anything before he shoved all the way in to the hilt without warning.

You must have screamed then, but you hardly noticed anything apart from the way he set a quick pace, hardly noticed when the tears left your eyes, body swimming in relief and euphoria. Every snap of his hips brought forth a moan from your lips, fingers digging helplessly into the sheets by your head.

“Tell me how it feels,” he snarled, moving to hold your hips up when the overwhelming pleasure left you unable to do it yourself.

It was all you could do to whimper, body feeling as though it was in the clouds as your walls clamped down on Jimin’s cock. He was stretching you so well, the slight burn nothing compared to the waves of pleasure he was sending through your entire being. You took a breath to respond to him once you registered what he said, but when his cock brushed against that spot inside you, it only left you as a choked moan.

“This needy cunt just sucks me right in, huh?” he groaned when your walls clenched down on him again, as though to trap him inside you. But it made no difference to him, his thrusts only continuing, fast and precise as your walls fluttered around him, whines falling from your lips. Recalling how responsive you’d been to praise earlier, he kept talking. “Doing such a good job for me, baby,” he hummed, smirking when he felt the shuddering of your body beneath his hands. “So fucking perfect for me, taking this cock so well.”

His words shot through you like fire, and combined with the drag of him inside you, you were propelled toward your end.

“Alpha...” you whimpered, pushing back onto his cock, a particularly rough thrust pulling a shout from your lips. You were so close to slipping over the edge, the squeezing of your walls around him more and more insistent as you approached your end. “Please.” It was as though no other words existed in your vocabulary, but Jimin could read you perfectly well, as though he was made for you.

“What’s that, hm? Baby’s gonna cum?” he taunted before reaching around to rub at your clit. “Let go then, milk my cock. I want to hear you.”

The added stimulation was more than enough to propel you into your orgasm, your mouth agape as your walls clamped down on his cock. You distantly registered Jimin’s moans from above you as he held you up and fucked you through your it, the sparks of pleasure never-ending.

But while his thrusts became less harsh, they did not lower in their intensity whatsoever. And as the fog in your head receded some from your orgasm, you only felt that much more sensation as you regained your bearings.

Rather than a mindless slave to pleasure and want, with your brain partly yours again you could truly feel. Feel the cotton of the sheets where they were clenched between your fists, feel the slight strain in your knees as they dug into the mattress, feel Jimin’s fingers anchored onto your hips, as though you would float away if he let go.

You could truly feel every drag of his cock against you, every grind, and when he perfectly maneuvered to hit against your g-spot, you were left breathless once again.

But with your increased coherence, your body craved more than just cock – you wanted closeness, wanted Jimin’s body against your own, his groans in your ear, his chest against your back.

“Jimin,” you called out, voice needy but noticeably more present.

His thrusts slowed but didn’t stop. “Hm?”

Rather than attempt to formulate an answer, you blindly reached a hand in his direction and made a grabbing motion. It was accompanied by your best impression of some sort of demanding noise, but you sounded like a spoiled brat even to your own ears.

He clearly didn’t mind though, huffing a laugh at your antics before coming down to your level, pressing some of his weight into your back as he nuzzled your neck.

“This what you want, baby?” he asked, wrapping his arms snugly around your middle. It would almost be cute, if not for the snap of his hips he opted to punctuate his question with.

You could only shiver and take it as he set a slow but intense pace, his cock slowly dragging out of you before he thrusted forward quickly in one single motion. But even in its intensity it was intimate, his lips tracing nonsensical patterns into the skin of your shoulder, his moans increasing in volume as you whined your pleasure.

His pace slowly but surely built you back up toward a second release, Jimin’s thrusts growing faster as he approached his own end. It wasn’t long before your moans were increasing in volume again, hips squirming beneath Jimin’s as that pressure in your abdomen only built and built.

“Gonna cum for me again, little wolf?” he growled directly into your ear, digging his fingers in close to your scalp and pulling your face up out of the sheets. No longer muffled, your moans were loud and unabashed, your pleasure surrendered entirely to him.

“I’m gonna fill this cunt up, gonna stretch you wide, is that what you want?”

As much as you were more coherent than last time, the effect his voice had on you was visceral, eyelids fluttering shut and goosebumps raising on your skin. When you only nodded with what little movement you could make within his grasp, he growled.

“Answer me!”

“Yes, yes!” you pleaded, eager to please. “Want you to fill me up, Jimin, please.”

“Such a good girl,” he moaned in response, moving to suck bruises into your neck. The thought of being marked by him for all to see only lit a new fire within you.

But when you felt the press of his canines brushing against the sensitive part of your neck, it was as though something in you snapped. You almost squealed as the orgasm rained down on you unexpectedly, something resembling ‘Jimin’ spilling from your lips, though you paid it no mind.

You were so lost in your pleasure you hardly noticed Jimin’s gruff yell from above you as he came, only registering it as his knot started to stretch you.

He shushed you gently as you whined, warmth still spilling into you as it finished inflating. Panting breathlessly against your back, he softly cupped your face as you caught your breath.

The stretch was more overwhelming than painful, every tiny movement seeming to shift his knot inside you enough to make you gasp. You should have grown used to the feeling by this point in your life, but it managed to catch you off guard every single time. You never felt ready for the immense stretch or the soreness that lingered between waves of your heat.

After several minutes of silence, breaths finally quieting, he spoke up.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hands reaching to keep you from squirming too much under him, knowing you’d only make the discomfort worse. “Relax for me.”

You nodded in response, letting yourself release the tension from your limbs as he continued to gently nose at your neck. His scent washed over you, but in this brief limbo between waves of your heat it spurred only calmness rather than arousal.

For you, at least, the first wave was always the worst in terms of self-control and mindedness. That was why it was essential for omegas to share their heat only with someone they could trust – if not a partner, then a friend. While omegas were at their most emotionally vulnerable during pre-heat, they were at their most physically vulnerable during the heat itself. In theory, Jimin could have done whatever he wanted, and you would have begged for it.

He hummed in approval when you went still beneath him, rolling the two of you onto your side so that you were no longer supporting his weight.

“Sleepy?” he inquired softly as he watched you stifle a yawn.

You only nodded again, reaching for Jimin’s hand to make him wrap it around you more snugly, pressing yourself as close to him as possible. You shivered as his knot shifted with your movement, though it didn’t ache as much as it did initially. You felt so full, his cock still half-hard within you, release still painting your walls with nowhere to go.

You let your eyes shut, soreness and exhaustion taking up residence temporarily before the next wave. As much as a heat could feel so intense it hurt, you found that the time between each wave was truly the most difficult. It was the time where every ounce of muscle pain and sleep deprivation hit you, but it was also the time where, to put it simply, if you didn’t recharge you were fucked.

Heats were strenuous on the body, and it unfortunately wasn’t abnormal for omegas to be brought to the emergency room from dehydration and malnutrition from their heat. That was why the medical professionals tended to encourage of-age omegas to spend their heats with a trusted partner – it was just safer altogether. It was difficult to push past the fog of exhaustion to take care of yourself when you were on your own, though not impossible.

A tiny whine was the only acknowledgment you gave when you felt his knot go down enough to slip from you. You made a noise of complaint as Jimin pulled from your side, but he quickly returned to you, wiping away the mess that was now between your thighs.

“If I help you, can you sit up?”

After hearing your noise of affirmation, he pulled you up so that your back rested against the headboard, careful not to move you too quickly. But despite that, you couldn’t help the lightheaded feeling that came with the motion, reaching out to steady yourself on Jimin’s arm.

When he took in your rapid blinking and unfocused eyes, his concern grew exponentially. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Tired,” you mumbled, leaning into his touch when he moved to stroke your face.

“Let’s eat something and then we can nap, okay?”

“Mm.”

He moved away from you quickly to grab things from under your bed. One of the first things they taught omegas after presenting was that it was essential to keep a food and drink store in your room during your heat. One of the most important parts of pre-heat was not only securing a heat partner if desired, but also packing enough nutrient-rich food and drinks to last through your heat if you’re unable to leave the room.

You hadn’t realized you’d dozed off until Jimin’s hand on your shoulder startled you awake. He took your hand in his own only to wrap your fingers around an energy bar he’d opened for you.

“Eat,” he commanded, though the soft, caring tone characteristic of Jimin never left his voice.

The thought of putting in effort to do anything was unappealing, but once you started, you realized how famished you were. When you finished your first bar within moments, he handed you a second, eating some for himself at the same time.

He didn’t waste any time with handing you a Gatorade bottle once you were finished eating, ensuring you could hold it yourself before getting his own.

As much as he seemed to be in a rush, this was a better safe than sorry type of situation. While sometimes you could squeeze in some sleep between waves of your heat, it sometimes felt like one huge gamble in terms of time. You’ve had downtimes of as little as 10 minutes in the past, so you were grateful that he was hurrying you along.

When he noticed you stopped drinking, he grabbed it from you to place it on the nightstand a safe distance away from the bed.

“Do you want anything else?” he asked, shoving all of the garbage into a bag to deal with another time.

“You.”

He turned around quickly, thinking you were going into your next wave, but froze at the sight of you simply blinking up at him sleepily.

He bit down on his lip to suppress a fond smile when you reached for his hand, severely hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

He let you tug him forward, settling beside you in bed before pulling you securely into his side.

As much as you might have loved to talk or quietly cuddle, you were out like a light as soon as you laid your head down on his shoulder, face tucked securely into his neck.

The next two days went by in a blur. You never tended to remember very many specific moments from your heats besides that you felt good, and were definitely sore after. The combination of physical and mental exhaustion along with the mind-numbing desire didn’t seem to be conducive to proper brain function.

Fuck. Eat. Fuck. Eat. Nap. Rinse. Repeat.

“Kiss me,” you demanded, pulling Jimin down toward you by his shoulders.

From what you could tell, it was the last day of your heat, also making for the most coherent day. The consequences of not sating your heat on the last day were more uncomfortable than painful, and the sex almost resembled what it would any other day.

He obliged you easily, mouth meeting yours as he snapped his hips, filling you up and stretching you all in one stroke. He nipped at your lower lip as you moaned freely, arching your back to feel as much of his skin as possible.

You couldn’t help the increase in volume when he settled with his length in you, grinding his pubic bone into your clit. It seemed that Jimin was feeling similarly, both of you simply panting by each other's mouths rather than doing any sort of kissing like you’d intended.

It was only minutes before you felt the familiar tightening in your abdomen, Jimin groaning above you when he felt you clench around him. You whimpered as he sucked new bruises into the skin of your neck, a shiver making its way down your spine as he reached the soft skin below your ear.

But every part of you was screaming out for more.

“Mark me.”

Jimin froze instantly at your words, but it seemed that you weren’t properly considering the weight of your words, only urging him to continue his motions in search of your high.

A mark wasn’t permanent, but it was no small thing. More than a mark of “possession,” it was a mark of an alpha's care and loyalty, a mark of an omega’s trust. It was only something ever shared in serious relationships, and it would sometimes take partners years to reach that point.

“Jimin,” you whined when he ignored what you said. Every instinctive part of you wanted it so badly, your head subconsciously tipping back to give him easier access.

“No.”

“Jimin...”

“Don’t you know what you’re saying?”

“Please-”

“I said no,” he snarled, speeding up the snap of his hips enough that you were shifting up the bed. “Tomorrow, when this is all over,” he panted above you, teeth bared, “Then we’ll talk.”

He didn’t let you get a word in edgewise, continuously pulling himself from you fully before abruptly sheathing himself to the hilt once again.

You were left gasping for breath, swimming in sensation as your abdomen tightened, all else forgotten for the time being.

When he shifted to one side, a hand dropping to rub circles into your clit, you saw white. Your nails sharply dug into the skin of Jimin’s back where they were held, waves of pleasure battering you nonstop as he continued his thrusts.

But it was only moments later that he seated himself into you fully, warmth spilling into you as his knot inflated for the nth time since your heat began. It didn’t leave you gasping the same way as the first time, but a groan still wrenched itself from your throat at the sensation.

As soon as his body collapsed onto yours, you knew that your heat was finally over. The feeling was inexplicable, almost as though a weight had been lifted from the back of your mind.

You might have addressed the words uttered from your mouth only moments before if not for the debilitating fatigue that filled every limb and every square inch of your brain.

So, against your best judgment on any other day, you knocked right out.

When you next awoke, it wasn’t because desire ripped you from slumber, nor was it because your scent set off Jimin enough to wake you.

In fact, you were alone in your bed, immediately cringing at the sight of all the questionable stains dotting the sheets.

Good thing you had a mattress pad.

You sat up, wincing as every muscle screamed in protest. From your neck all the way to your fingertips, everything hurt. You’d probably be feeling this for days. It definitely didn’t help that the stench of sex was so strong you could feel a headache coming on.

You didn’t have time to ponder on Jimin’s whereabouts before he was coming back in through the doorway, half-dressed with water in hand.

He sent you a smile when you met eyes, but it was lost on you because as soon as he was here, every interaction over the past few days flooded your mind at once. And this time, there were no hormones to mask proper thought.

You asked – no, begged – him to stay. Even when he told you no.

You’d practically thrown a tantrum, what was wrong with you? Since when did your pre-heat make you throw respect out the window?

He wasn’t here because he wanted to stay, he was here because you forced him to. He was here because you were pathetic enough to get on the floor and beg him to stay, and Jimin, for the life of him, didn’t know how to say no to people. How could he look at you right now?

“Y/N?” he called, sounding puzzled. He must be able to smell your rising distress coming off you in waves, but you paid him no mind as you continued to recall the past few days, hating yourself more and more with every passing second.

You’d basically forced him to stay with you and fuck you for nearly four days without ever talking about it before.

It was more difficult to put together the pieces of what happened in your heat, memories mostly a blur of pleasure and then sleep.

But-

Fuck.

“Mark me.”

Your blood ran cold instantly.

Were you fucking insane? You dug your fingernails into your palms harshly to check if you were dreaming. Unluckily for you, you weren’t.

Was there any coming back from this? You couldn’t blame him if he could never look at you the same, if he never spoke to you again. Who would tell their heat partner – the first time they spent a heat together – to mark them?

It didn’t matter that you’d known each other since before you were even forming proper memories. It didn’t matter, because that wasn’t how this worked. You didn’t just ask your friends to mark you, no matter how much you loved each other.

A mark was something you shared with someone you intended to be lifelong partners with. Someone you’d dedicate your life to, someone you might want to have kids with someday.

God, what was wrong with you?

You didn’t notice his approach until a hand met your shoulder, too engrossed in staring at the floor as thoughts whirred in your head.

“What is it?” he asked, concern quickly turning into panic at finding you in this state with no explanation.

But it was as though with one touch, the floodgates broke, and angry tears started spilling from your eyes. Tears that had nothing to do with Jimin and everything to do with yourself.

He jumped back slightly in surprise, and you didn’t give him the chance to touch you again before you were furiously wiping the wetness from your face.

“God, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he questioned frantically, hands returning to your shoulders as he angled his face to try to meet yours, but you only kept turning your head to avoid him. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself, whether to join you on the bed or continue hovering awkwardly from the bedside. “Talk to me, please-”

“Do you hate me?” you choked out, eyes fixed on a random, insignificant spot on the sheets.

That seemed to quiet him instantly. “Huh?”

“I forced you here,” you whispered, though it seemed that the words didn’t want to stop once they started, volume only rising as you carried on. “You came here to be nice and then you tried to leave and I didn’t let you. You said no so many times and I begged you to stay until you couldn’t say no anymore! I don’t even know what I was thinking, I guess I wasn’t thinking at all-”

“Hey-”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how you must think of me right now but I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I was disgusting, I think I’m disgusting, god-”

“Hey, look at me,” he urged, prodding lightly at your chin until you raised your head enough to meet his gaze. When he saw your red eyes and miserable expression, it was as though a piece of himself broke. “I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You didn't, I remember you told me no, you ‘wanted to’ because I made you.”

“It’s not like that,” he replied, expression almost pained.

“Don’t lie to me to make me feel better,” you snarled, though it came off more broken than aggressive. “Stop trying to protect me, tell me when you’re mad at me!”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Jimin-”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

The sudden question was enough to give you pause. “You know I do.”

He took a moment to settle onto the bed beside you, stretching out an arm to invite you in to lay with him. After only a moment of hesitation, you did.

“Then trust me when I say I wanted to stay,” he said firmly, stroking calming circles into your side. “You know I don’t like lying to you.”

It was true, he didn’t. Which summoned the question – if he wanted to stay, why did he refuse so many times? Were you sure he wasn’t lying now?

No – that wasn’t Jimin. Plus, you knew him so well that you doubted he would lie to you about something this serious, not when he was such an open book. But you didn’t have long to think about it before he piped up again.

“You asked me something yesterday,” he started, and you could hear in his tone that he was treading carefully.

You tensed up immediately when you processed his words, breath quickening as you anticipated what he was about to say. Was this the part where he told you he’s not mad he stayed, but he never wanted to speak to you again? You’d relaxed enough in the past few minutes that you’d almost forgotten about what you’d said yesterday. Almost.

“Why?” he asked simply.

Why. An obscenely loaded question contained within one 3-letter word. And yet, an answer wasn’t so easy.

“I don’t know,” you stalled.

“Don’t do that,” he scolded. “Really think. I know you, and I know you’d never be that nonchalant about a mark, ever. What changed?”

“Nothing changed!”

He only turned to give you a disapproving look before leaning his head back against the headboard and shutting his eyes. It was clear that he wasn’t going to make any more conversation until you properly pondered his question and gave him a real answer.

Why?

Did you even know why?

You wished you could say it just slipped out, that there was no other reason.

Maybe any other time you’ve said something questionable or downright stupid that would fly, but not for something like this.

Even at their drunkest, people didn’t ask their friends to marry them with the full intent of following through and starting life as an actual married couple.

Just the same, an omega doesn’t just ask a friend to mark them, mate them, not even in heat. Omega heats made it a fairly common occurrence to fuck your friends (at least, a select few) while unmarked, and it wasn’t as though the desire to be marked stemmed from a heat. If it were, platonic marking would be a thing already. And sure, marking made sex feel better, but heats were sexual, and marks were... more.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no easy excuse, no escaping this.

One might say an omega was a slave to instinct in their heat, but instinct didn’t come from nowhere.

The instinct to nest came from the pursuit of safety in a vulnerable time. The instinct to ‘hibernate’ came from the need to save up energy for a heat. The instinct to scent came from the desire for intimacy and comfort. The instinct to fuck came from hormonal cycles and the body’s inherent goal to breed.

The instinct to be marked as an omega? To ask for it?

The need for emotional security, to know that your feelings were returned – attraction, desire, love.

Love?

If your love for Jimin was supposed to be a secret, it wasn’t a very well-kept one. You talked every day since you were kids, knew each other's mannerisms so well you didn’t need words to communicate, gravitated toward each other in every group setting, cried together when you separated for university...

You loved him, without a doubt. It was obvious. But was it more than that? Was your body trying to tell you something that you didn’t even consider?

“I...” you started but immediately trailed off, limbs so tense you almost seemed ready to run away. This wasn’t a conversation you ever imagined could take place.

“Don’t be scared. You can tell me anything.” Were you imagining things, or did his tone sound almost... hopeful?

“I’ve never asked someone to mark me before this.”

He only hummed lowly in response. You knew that he knew this already, but it seemed that this time, he wouldn’t call you out for circling around the question.

“I’ve never met someone who I felt more for than you. Safe, comfortable, happy, loved.” You paused, taking a deep breath. “I love you a lot, you know?”

His breath hitched despite himself, even though he knew you didn’t mean what he wanted you to mean. “I know,” he replied, sounding almost disappointed.

“But...”

“But?” he responded, allowing that tiny thread of hope to wind around his heart one more time.

“But I don’t know what I’m feeling,” you finished, panic increasing exponentially by the end of your sentence, your body almost feeling as though it was trembling.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he rushed, bringing you closer to rub his cheek into your hair. Was it cruel of him to feel some sort of joy at your words when you were clearly scared and confused?

His scent washing over you helped calm you some, but even still, you couldn’t stop thinking. What were you feeling? Did you want something more than friendship, or was this entire situation just putting thoughts in your head? Sure, you were undeniably compatible sexually, and sure, you found him attractive, but did you want a relationship? A romantic one? But even then, how much would that really change? What did you want? Would Jimin be disgusted with you? Let you down easily? It would have to be the latter, right?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-”

“No,” you cut him off.

“Huh?”

“You should’ve. I can’t be stupid forever.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I am stupid, what kind of person doesn’t know whether they...” Even despite knowing he could tell exactly what you were trying to say, the words wouldn’t come from your lips. Were you in denial? Embarrassed? Something else?

“Emotions don’t have to be straightforward.”

“I wish they were.”

He breathed a laugh at that. “Believe me, I know.”

“Jimin, be honest with me.”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, you have this friend. You’re very good friends – best friends even. You see each other as much as possible, all that. And she tells you one day she wants to talk.”

“Oh? What’s her name?”

“Uhhhhh...” you paused, pulling out the first name that came to mind. “Susan.”

He choked back a laugh, though you could still feel his chest bouncing beneath your head. “My friend Susan. Okay, go on.”

“And she tells you that something happened, and it spurred this huge train of thought that had never occurred to her before. Something that made her think about your entire relationship as friends, and made her think about herself.”

“Uh huh...”

“And she had to wonder, how much of her heart was invested in this relationship? That answer was easy – all of it. But what really had her confused was what parts of her heart were in it.”

You fidgeted nervously, but instead of saying something, Jimin only reached for one of your hands, intertwining your fingers together.

“But what really scared her the most was – how would you react? What happens when your best friend tells you that maybe your love for them extends beyond friendship?”

You took several deep breaths, trying to muster up the courage to finish the ‘story’ you’ve started. There was no backing out of this now. Your hand squeezed his hard enough that it must have hurt him, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“If she told you she thought she loved you as more than a friend, how would you respond?” you asked, trying to inject as much nonchalance into your voice as possible and failing miserably. You could feel your palms getting sweatier, and you thought your teeth might chew straight through your bottom lip. You held your breath once you heard Jimin take one of his own, preparing mentally for whatever was about to leave his lips.

“I would tell her I love her back.”

It was as though time stopped. “You... you what?”

Unwilling to let you hide your face anymore, he pulled you over so that you were straddling him, your heart filling when your eyes met his, full of honesty and understanding and... love.

“I would tell her I love her back. That if she wanted me, I was hers.”

Your eyes searched his face desperately for several seconds longer, waiting for the moment this bliss would break, the moment he took his words back, left you heartbroken before you’d even properly processed that it was his to break. But that moment never came.

“Really?” you whispered, eyes wide and screaming with vulnerability, but also wonder. The petty part of him wished he could fault you for being so oblivious, but it wasn’t your fault that you two had simply never outgrown the innocent intimacy from childhood, even after presenting.

“Really.”

“I do want it. You. I want to try. If you can be patient with me.”

“Okay. Give me a chance and I’ll make you fall in love with me for sure.”

“Oh.” As hard as you tried to purse your lips, the smile still broke its way through, eyes crinkling happily as every insecurity felt like it left at once. Was it this easy? Could happiness come so quickly in a moment, just like that?

“Oh,” he replied simply, beam splitting his face at your barely-contained joy, your expression so innocent even after all that happened the past few days.

“Oh,” you repeated, though this time the word undoubtedly seemed to harbour more weight, brows furrowing.

“Hm?”

“That’s why you said no, isn’t it? The reason you wanted to stay but tried to leave?”

The sad smile that spread across his face at that was all the answer you needed, the briefly-forgotten guilt coming back instantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he assured, pulling you close enough that your bodies were plastered together. “It all worked out anyway, right?”

You nodded, relaxing in his arms. If your brain wasn’t going a mile a minute right now, you were so comfortable you could’ve slept like this.

You allowed yourself several minutes to simply lay in his arms, that familiar blueberry-pine scent making you heart feel lighter and lighter.

“So,” you mumbled.

“So.”

“What changes now?”

“What do you want to change?” he replied.

“I asked first.”

He chuckled lightly. “Fine. Well...” You leaned back in confusion when he started pushing you up and off of him. “I think being able to do this is a good change.”

He leaned his face into yours, giving you a moment to back away before gently pressing his plush lips to yours.

You’d kissed already in your heat – you remembered that much. But this wasn’t a kiss that demanded your surrender, nor was it fast, or rough. It was just soft, intimate – because sometimes, emotions were easier said through actions rather than words.

You slid your hands into his hair, dragging your nails against his scalp as you deepened the kiss. His hands traced nonsensical patterns into the skin of your back, holding you close as though you’d ever want to leave. It was so easy to get lost in him, in the way he held you, touched you, kissed you, as though you were something to be cherished.

It wasn’t long before the kiss started to get more heated, though, and you couldn’t help yourself from nipping at his bottom lip. He made a low noise in response, a hand moving to grip your ass as the other winded its way into your hair.

It was when his hand made contact with your bare ass that you remembered that you were naked throughout this entire ordeal. And just as you processed that, his hand started inching its way slowly but surely between your legs.

“I think the fuck not, Park Jimin,” you gasped, breaking the kiss and throwing his hand from your body.

He burst into bright laughter at your words, eyes forming crescents that would make any person’s day better. His happiness was contagious, and you couldn’t hold back the giggles at the sound of him.

“How sore are you?” he questioned, tiny giggles still escaping him. You thought you detected a hint of concern somewhere in there, but you couldn’t blame him for being in an obscenely good mood.

“Ugh. Are you not sore at all?”

“Not really? Mostly hungry, I guess.”

“I hate you. It feels like all of my limbs want to detach from their sockets, and don’t even get me started on what it feels like between my legs. You and your dick can go die.”

Your words only set off another round of laughter from him, his grin wide as he took in your fake pout.

“Are you sure you want that? You seemed to enjoy it from where I was standing. You’re sending me mixed signals here,” he teased.

You let out a childish noise of complaint. God, was this what you were getting yourself into? You were already used to his antics by now, but now you had to deal with them while he flirted too? Someone send help.

“Pity me a bit,” you whined, giving him the best wide-eyed pout you could muster. Though, it only seemed to raise his mood even more.

“I’m sorry I broke you,” he said.

You smacked him a bit harder than you would normally. “Jiminnnnnnnnn,” you said, stringing out the word for as long as a breath would allow.

“If I made you food, would you forgive me?”

“...I’m listening.”

“What if I said I already made you food?”

“What?!” you perked up, any grudge you might have held disappearing in an instant. “What did you make?”

“Lay down and find out in 5 minutes, I’m tired,” he responded, laying down comfortably and encouraging you to do the same. You didn’t require much convincing, cuddling back into his side. This position wasn’t anything abnormal for you two, but it felt different now. Newer, more intimate.

Needless to say, 5 minutes turned into 2 hours after you’d both fell asleep.

But when Jimin placed a bowl of re-heated stir-fry in front of you 2 hours later, you would say he secured his place as fully, unequivocally yours.

#btsgoldnet #btsguild #ficswithluv #cypherwritersnet #heartsforbts #magicshopnet #mikrogalaxynet #jimin x reader #bts x reader #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin angst #bts angst #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fic

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whumpshaped · 2 years

Text

Murder

trigger warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, graphic murder, gore, death, blood, forced to kill, conditioning, dehumanization, denial, guilt, knives, stabbing, crying, begging

There hadn’t been a single boring day since Craven had asked to be broken. He was dragged around the facility on a leash all day, only left alone to rest at night. It was especially hard for the first few days when his new pair of glasses hadn’t arrived yet. He had been tripping over everything, almost strangling himself a couple of times by falling over and pulling the leash taut.

But the actual tasks he’d been given were way worse.

Master had realized quite early on that they didn’t have much of a job teaching Craven to follow orders inside his own little cell when he was alone. The real training began in others’ cells, with people that shared his own unfortunate fate. Like the poor boy he’d whipped.

“Each and every single one of you are nothing but property.” Master was pulling him along the corridor by his leash, explaining it for the hundredth time, Craven quietly repeating it after them. “What happens to property?”

“Whatever Master wants.”

“What if it’s unfair?”

“Things don’t have a sense of justice.”

“What if it’s unreasonable and unnecessarily damaging?”

“All things here are Master’s to use or abuse.”

Master abruptly stopped in front of one of the cells, and Craven almost bumped into them. “What happens to broken things? Things beyond repair?”

Craven swallowed before reciting the answer, “They get disposed of.”

Master pushed open the door and walked inside before unclipping the leash from Craven’s collar. As twisted as it was, Craven liked the leash. It meant that Master was just walking around with him, showing him how things worked, where they were… Being without the leash meant work. Tasks. Torture.

It wasn’t torture. It was training. It was molding things into marketable products for Master to sell. Supply and demand.

When Craven’s gaze first landed on the broken figure in the middle of the cell, he became nauseous. There were several infected wounds on the boy’s body, all of them just… oozing. He had to turn away for a second and cover his mouth, afraid that he was about to throw up. That wasn’t the only disturbing thing about the captive in this cell. Some of his limbs didn’t look right. They were bending the wrong damn way. It was unsettling, and Craven instinctively grabbed his own arm, as if to make sure his was still intact.

“I don’t need this one anymore.” Master’s monotone voice was grounding, something Craven could latch onto to keep his thoughts from wandering. This wasn’t a human. This was an object. Property. Something broken that didn’t have any use or value anymore.

“Wh- what i-is my job, e-exactly?” He was pretty sure he already knew the answer. This was one of the most straight forward tasks he’d been given here.

“To dispose of him, of course.” Master handed him a knife and nodded towards the seemingly unconscious boy, confirming Craven’s fears. He was just about to become a murderer.

No. This wasn’t murder. This wasn’t murder. This wasn’t a human, this was an object, this was broken property, this- this couldn’t… this couldn’t be murder. He couldn’t murder someone.

Before he’d even realized, he was kneeling beside the boy, with no recollection of walking over there. He was gripping the knife like his life depended on it, but didn’t exactly know what to do. He couldn’t slit his throat, he definitely couldn’t do that, he couldn’t watch him bleed out. But then what? Stab him in the heart?

The boy’s eyes fluttered open, and Craven jumped. Oh god. He was awake. He wasn’t even unconscious, he was awake and looking up at him, and he probably saw the collar around his neck and knew he was a fucking traitor.

No, those were bad thoughts, he couldn’t think those thoughts, he was never going to become useful to Master with a thought process like that.

“P-Please… help…” The boy’s voice was hoarse, he probably hadn’t been given water in a while. “Hurts…” Craven’s heart sank. How was he supposed to look at this poor, helpless boy and think of him as an object rather than a victim? How was he supposed to ignore those pleading puppy eyes?

“Craven, what happens to property?” Master asked calmly, and Craven didn’t even think before answering.

“Whatever Master wants.”

“So why isn’t he dead already, when I made it perfectly clear that I wanted him dead?”

The boy gasped, and Craven knew he’d just realized what his task was. He had no idea how, but this half-dead looking boy actually managed to push himself away from him and try to crawl away. How much adrenaline was in his system for him to crawl on those broken limbs?

“If he reaches the wall, I’ll let him live and dispose of you instead.”

Craven looked back at his master with a terrified expression, and then right back at the boy, to see how close he actually was to the wall. He was pretty goddamn close already, but upon hearing what Master had just said he tried even harder to reach it, which made Craven’s survival instincts finally kick in. He grabbed the boy’s probably broken ankle and yanked on it, wincing when he heard his cry and felt some… bits under the skin. Were those displaced bone fragments? That split second of shock gave the boy enough time to turn around onto his back and try to kick Craven, but not enough to avoid him plunging the knife into his stomach, forgetting all about anatomy and the most efficient ways to kill someone. He just kept stabbing him, over and over again, but the boy just kept screaming and struggling and why was he still alive, he should’ve been long dead, why wasn’t he just making this easy, why wasn’t he-

Craven’s arm stopped mid-air as he realized how glassy the boy’s eyes were. They were fixed on the ceiling, unblinking, forever capturing the terror of his last moments. There was blood everywhere - on the knife, on the boy’s clothes, on Craven’s own clothes, the ground… Everything was covered in blood.

He dropped the knife, and in his confused and desperate state of mind, put his hands on the boy’s shoulders, gently shaking him. The guilt hadn’t yet set in, no, this was only denial. But it was powerful nonetheless. “N-No… n-no, wake u-up, please, w-wait- no, no, I- no, I d-didn’t- I- please-” He suddenly felt someone grab his collar and he flinched, still clinging onto the other captive’s clothes even as Master dragged him away. “No, no, I didn’t kill him, I didn’t, he- he has to be alive, I-”

“Quiet.” They pulled him up and shoved him against the wall before going back for their knife. Craven’s eyes were still fixed on the body in the middle of the cell, and when Master walked back to him, they had to slap him to finally get his attention. “You wanted this training, didn’t you?”

Craven just looked at them, wide eyed, too panicked to form an answer. He was just gasping for air, letting out little noises of distress, sobbing from the overwhelming reality of the whole situation. Master slapped him once again, and then a third time before he finally seemed to snap out of it.

“You wanted this training.”

“Y-Yes, Master,” he choked out.

“Good. This was a crucial step in that training. Once you’ve done this, you can just do it again. And get used to it.” They lifted the knife, and while Craven wanted nothing more than to turn away and never look at it again, he knew he had no choice. “You did a good job for a beginner. I’m quite satisfied with your work thus far. You don’t want to lose that progress now, do you?”

It was sickening. The way he immediately soaked up the praise for the murder he’d just committed, it was absolutely sickening, and he was disgusted with himself. But Master was right. He’d asked to be trained, he’d asked for all this, and he didn’t want to lose his progress. What did it matter by now? He’d just committed murder. He’d taken someone’s life. Turning back now would’ve made no sense. “No, Master.”

“Next time I expect you to do it with way less hesitation.” They clipped the leash back onto Craven’s collar, just as they’d always done before bringing him out to the corridor. “But that should be obvious.”

Craven swallowed and nodded, glancing over to the body one last time. “Yes, Master.”

#the bad chronicles #accountability #craven #master

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barbiebraganca · 2 years

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BARBIE’S 33RD BIRTHDAY.

barbara isabel catarina di savoia e bragança, born in the 25th day of april in 1989. barbara probably was into astrology at one point in her teenage years, maybe early twenties but completely forgot all about it at some point and never came back to it. if you ask, she’ll tell you she’s a perfect taurus and why but that’s about it.

CHINESE ZODIAC.

1989, year of the earth snake. according to dear internet, eath snakes are “smart, diligent, responsive, compassionate and love animals very much. however, their greatest shortcoming is that they are too sensitive, they are also very vindictive; they do not want to be controlled by others, but at the same time they have strong possessiveness.” and these were the traits of earth snakes that do describe barbara well. but she also probably doesn’t know any of this because chinese zodiac isn’t something she’d go around looking to read on.

SUN: TAURUS. your sun sign describes the centre of your personality, what motivates and drives you, and who you are learning to become.

she’s an earth element and fixed in quality sun with venus as a ruler. barbara is the spitting image of a taurus sun, be it in the positive or negative traits of the description. steadfast, loyal, calm, affectionate, practical, productive, stubborn, unreasonable, overindulgent, stingy, rigid, dull, materialistic. she really has no way to deny any of these traits when thrown at her and she doesn’t try to either.

RISING: GEMINI. your rising sign shows the way you project yourself, how others see you, and the kind of experiences needed to make your life meaningful.

it’s insane how picking at random can make a lot of sense with these characters. people with gemini as their ascending sign “are people who love to ask questions, to move around freely, and to mingle. definitely restless and often quick in physical expression, natives of the gemini ascendant exude an air of impatience even if they don’t mean it. in fact, there is a cleverness to gemini ascendants that can intimidate some, especially sensitive folk. their facility with words can be a wonderful asset, although sometimes gemini rising individuals identify too much with their mental agility and forget, in their personal interactions and communications, to nurture the people around them.” again, accurate.

MOON: SAGITTARIUS. your moon sign describes your instinctive and emotional nature, it describes who you already are as opposed to your sun.

this is where it gets freakishly interesting because, i kid you not, this is just what doing her online birth charts gave me: “people with sagittarian moon signs can think so highly of themselves that they engage in reckless behavior, especially if their sun sign is also known for impulsive/questionable decisions (HELLO). the biggest fear of a aagittarius moon sign is loss of control. sagittarians highly value their independence, and anything that seems like it will rob them of the freedom to make their own decisions is enough to make them panicky.” yup yup yup, that’s barbie.

VENUS: TAURUS. your venus sign describes several key aspects of your personality. on the one hand, it represents your sense of aesthetics and experience of pleasure. on the other it describes your relationship style.

venus in taurus: one of the most physical and sensual signs. people with this placement are romantics to their core. they desire security, stability and comfort in relationships and often take a very slow pace in getting to know someone. courtship can be especially important in order to take time opening up to one another. Affection, as well as giving and receiving gifts(!!!!!!!!!!!!!), spoiling others and being lavishly spoiled are a part of their love language. that is one of the luckiest placements for someone to have venus, as she is the natural ruler of taurus, and thus can share her greatest blessings most easily.

MERCURY: TAURUS

MARS: GEMINI

JUPITER: GEMINI

SATURN: CAPRICORN

URANUS: CAPRICORN

NEPTUNE: CAPRICORN

PLUTO: SCORPIO

LILITH: LIBRA

THE REST: nobody cares about.

#hshqtask049 #yes i changed her bday what about it #she's much more of an april taurus i found out today #did i try very hard w this?#no #but it's the effort that counts #* ⠀ ⠀ 🐝 ⠀ ⠀ / ⠀ ⠀ viii.⠀ ⠀ 、 ⠀ task ⠀ ❫

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toh-writings · 3 years

Text

Fortunes of Love Pt 4 (Eda x OC)

Summary:

Everyone tries to figure out how exactly to handle Owl Beast Eda. Or, at the very least, get her to not kill them.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4

The house was dark, all the curtains drawn, and not even hooty made a sound. The door opened with only the slightest of creaks, but it was drowned out by Eda’s loud snoring. Two heads peaked through the door, taking in the form of the sleeping beast.

“So… That’s Eda?” Niliana asked. King nodded. “Alright then.” They closed the door gently and Niliana began pacing, trying to think up a plan. She didn’t really know anything about… well, any of this! She didn’t know anything about curses, beasts, how she was supposed to act around something like Eda in her owl form, how she was supposed to handle any of this. But she promised to help and she couldn’t let anyone get hurt. She sighed.

“Alright, first thing first, we DON’T wake her up. No one is going to react well being startled awake like that. Can you handle that?”

“Of course! That I can do! I just won’t go inside. Ever.”

Niliana just looked at him for a moment.

“That… seems unreasonable, but okay. I’m going to sit inside with Eda. When Luz gets back, make sure you warn her and tell her to be quiet.”

“Can do!” King gave a mock salute before running off. He sat underneath one of the nearby trees. Once he was settled he gave Nily a little wave. She sighed through her nose, turning away so he wouldn’t see the look of exasperation on her face. Once again, she opened the door, closing it behind her softly.

She took in the room for a moment, taking note of anything that looked important and fragile. She didn’t want anything of Eda’s to break. Thankfully, nothing of the sort was in sight. She decided it was best to take her boots off at the door, putting them to the side neatly. She left her staff by the door as well, leaning against the wall. Her footsteps were padded by the dense carpet as she made her way to the couch, having to scoot around the giant feathery being that took up quite a bit of the room. She sat with a sigh, propping her elbow on her leg and resting her chin in her hand. For a moment she just watched Eda sleep, thinking.

She didn’t know a lot about Edalyn Clawthorne. Sure, they went to school together and were in the same track, but their interactions were minimal. At the time she was definitely one of the quiet kids. She largely kept to herself and was honestly afraid of being noticed, especially by her fellow students. To her, Eda was the most confusing person. Who would ever want to cause that much trouble on purpose? Who would want to have so many eyes on her, constantly watching and judging? She acted like it was nothing! Like it didn’t even matter what others thought of her. All she cared about was having fun and enjoying herself.

When she was younger, Niliana almost hated her for it. She went through her days doing everything within her power to avoid the other girl, actively taking routes through the halls that she was least likely to be in, walking away whenever she spotted the familiar splash of orange hair, all of that. She cringes now just thinking about it. She regretted so much of her childhood and one of her greatest regrets was not realizing just how much she actually admired Eda until she had already left. She regretted not reaching out and at least trying to be her friend.

Well, her Mama always said it’s better late than never.

She froze when the beast let out an odd sound, a soft chirping of some sort. She shifted in her spot, curling up a little more, before going still once more. It was a few more minutes before Niliana let herself relax. She realized it may be some time before Eda actually woke up. Owls were nocturnal creatures, after all, and she looked rather comfortable.

She waved her hand, forming a teal circle in the air. From the circle materialized a wooden box, settling in her lap. She opened it, rummaging through till she found what she was searching for, a large piece of fabric, one of the ones. Eda had gotten for her from the human realm. She found the needle she had also stashed away and got to work.

Sure, she could have made her stuffed animals with magic. She knew how well enough. But there was something about making something with her hands that relaxed her, the repeated motion of the needle moving through the fabric, watching something form from nothing but pieces of cloth. It made her swell to see the final product come out well, and she loved it even more to see others enjoy her cute little animals. It was the thought that something she so enjoyed making could bring joy to others as well.

It was a couple of hours later when she heard the front door open again. Luz poked her head through cautiously, looking uncertain. King was close behind her, looking just as uncertain. Nily sighed, putting her work away. She’d have to come back to it later. She got to her feet and made her way to the door, ushering the two away so she could actually get through the door.

“Is Eda really stuck like that for FIVE DAYS?!” Luz said almost immediately, clinging onto the witch’s arm. She looked like she was on the verge of tears, just staring up at Nily with her big brown eyes. The witch smiled kindly at her, giving the girl a hug. She clung to her shoulders, body shaking.

“Yes, she is,” Nily admitted. “But it’s not forever. Only a few days and she’ll be back. Until then, I know we can figure it out.” Luz nodded, stepping back and wiping at her eyes. “Hey.” The girl looked up to her again. “It’s going to be okay.” The girl smiled, reassured. Nily smiled back, ruffling her hair.

“Alright, you two.” Nily said, standing up a bit straighter with her hands on her hips. “Eda is still sleeping and probably will be till night. It’s probably best if we don’t wake her, so you can either stay outside or come inside and be very quiet. Once she does wake up, we’ll need to be very careful until we’re sure she’s not going to be attacking anybody. If she does try something, then I’ll … I’ll just have to trap her with my magic until we find a way to calm her down. Sound good?”

They both nodded, looking determined. She nodded back.

“Alright. I’m going back inside for now. I’ll probably be starting dinner soon, too, so don’t go too far.”

She headed back to the house, two pairs of footsteps following her a moment later. They all entered the house quietly. Nily sat back on the couch, taking out her wooden box once more. While she did that, King and Luz quietly watched the sleeping form of Eda’s owl form. A was a bit before they seemed to gain the courage to walk past her and head for the hallway past the far end of the couch.

“I’m going to do some homework.” Luz whispered. Nily nodded and watched the girl vanish into the hall. King looked like he was about to follow but stopped, glancing back to Eda, then to Nily, then back to the hall. In the end, he climbed onto the couch, curling up next to the witch for a good nap. She smiled softly at that, petting his back before taking out her project.

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

Eda stirred, giving a big yawn and stretching, her wings brushing against the sealing and claws digging into the carpet. She shook out her feathers, letting out a humming sound, and looked around, sniffing the air.

Home.

But there was a sound, odd and unfamiliar. There was an odd smell in the air, meaty and hot, and underneath the smell of another creature. She started growling.

Not safe! Intruder! Protect my home! Leave!

She followed the smell through the dark house, her fangs bared and a snarl in her throat. It was nearby, so close, but the room was shrouded in light, far too bright for her to see properly. She screeched at the bright light, shutting her eyes and shaking her head, but she refused to back up. She may not be able to see, but she could still smell the intruder easy enough and hear them move. They were backing up from her and she could almost taste the fear.

She snarled at them, taking a step forward. There wasn’t enough room in her current spot to attack properly. She could feel the walls against her wings even when they pressed close to her body. The intruder made a sound, soft and non-threatening, but Eda didn’t care. She just wanted them out!

She squeezed her way out of her tiny spot, into the open room where she could move better. It still wasn’t ideal, she couldn’t stretch her wings out properly, but she was in a much better position. She could easily pounce or swipe at them and that was enough.

For a moment she stayed frozen, body tense as she listened intently. She tried opening her eyes, just enough to squint at her surroundings. It was difficult, but she could just make out a dark shape that moved slightly. She lunged, hands coming down on the empty floor. She whipped around, searching. She could hear the stumbling footsteps to her side and swiped at the sound, snarling and screeching at it. She heard them stumble back with a yelp. They were moving farther away, towards the darker room.

She kept pushing them back. If she could get them in the dark, she could see her target better. It was almost too easy, but she was finally able to open her eyes without them burning. The room she had woken up in was covered in cool darkness and she could see the invader clearly. They were one of those two-legged creatures, the ones that seemed incapable of just leaving her alone.

Her ears twitched. She could hear more footsteps nearby, stomping and loud. She screeched, whipping around to face the new intruders, another slightly smaller two-legged creature and a tiny demon. It only took her a quick look over for her to decide they weren’t as much of a threat as the first intruder. So she turned back to them, body tensing to pounce.

There was a flash of light, a circle in the air and instinct told her that wasn’t good, that the circle spelled her doom. So she tried to pounce, to stop them, only to abruptly run into a wall. She growled and huffed, shaking her head, ready to attack again.

But she couldn’t.

Around her was an orb of light, tinting the world a shade of teal. She was trapped.

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

Niliana let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Well, that was certainly something.

“Nily!”

Luz and King ran to her, wrapping their arms around her. Well, King did his best but ended up hugging her leg instead. She hugged them back.

“It’s okay guys, I’m fine.” She reassured them. “Eda’s fine, too.”

On cue, they heard the owl beast screech and turned to see her trying to fight against her bubble prison. She stopped struggling after a few moments, glaring at them with her big black eyes.

“I think I’ll just leave her in there for a little bit. We can see if she’s calmed down after dinner.”

“We can try feeding her!” Luz offered, eyes shining.

“Mmmm, maybe. We’ll see if she’s calmed down first.”

“Is something burning?” King interrupted them. Nily sighed.

“Probably. I left dinner on the stove.”

She left to finish that, leaving the other two to do whatever they chose to do. They ended up staying in the living room for only a few moments before following her into the kitchen. The owl beast in a bubble was definitely an odd sight, one King was more than happy to poke fun at, but ultimately they decided her best chance at calming down would be leaving her alone for now.

Dinner that night was probably the best they had in quite a while. As much as they loved Eda, she was not much of a cook. King was shoveling the food, some sort of meat and vegetable concoction, straight into his mouth, the fork lying forgotten on the table. Luz wasn’t much better, but at least she used utensils. The girl went on and on about her day at school, excitedly recounting an incident where an abomination went rogue. Her arms flung about as she retold the story, almost hitting King in her excitement several times. Each time he made a noise of annoyance.

Nily did her best to listen, but truthfully her mind was elsewhere. She could still hear Eda in the other room, huffing and chittering to herself, probably still attempting to escape her confinement. She had absolutely no idea how she was supposed to get through to her. She had thought she would have at least the vaguest of ideas when she saw how exactly Eda acted in this form, but nope. In this moment she really wished she had bothered at least a little bit of beast keeping. Maybe she should visit the library tomorrow and check out a few books. Of course, that didn’t help with tonight.

King finished first, but he was determined not to go into the living room alone, so he waited until Luz was done. And Luz didn’t want to go until Niliana was done and could go with them. So, they all went in together. The lights turned on as they entered the room.

Eda laid still in her bubble, looking rather downtrodden. It appeared that she had given up on the whole escape thing. Her eyes were on them the moment they left the kitchen, her fangs bared at them. Niliana sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. She really hadn’t expected her day to turn out like this. She stared at the creature who stared right back. She seemed to dislike her the most, which was at least a little comforting. It meant that she wouldn’t go after Luz or King first.

“She’s not calm enough yet.” Nily decided.

“So, what do we do? Eda can’t just stay in a bubble for five days!” Luz looked up to her for answers. So, she thought. They needed Eda to at least withstand their presence.

“Maybe we should try … just spending some time around her.” Niliana said. “Maybe if she just got use to us being around then she can just ignore us.”

“I had some glyphs I wanted to practice! Hold on!” She rushed off, stumbling up the stairs, no doubt to collect her work. Thankfully, Niliana had her own stuff to work on as well. She sat on the couch and got her box back out. King jumped onto the couch by her side, watching her get all her supplies out.

“Soooo…” He piped up. “Whatcha making? A minion of evil?!”

“It’s going to be an owl.”

King scoffed.

“That doesn’t look anything like an owl! Where's its wings? Or its feet?”

“I’m not yet. This is just the head. I just need to finish attaching the beak then I can sew on the eyes.”

“Wait, that’s just the head!” King said, astonished. The bundle of fabric she had was almost as big as King’s own head! Nily just nodded.

“I haven’t made something this big in a while.” She admitted.

It was around then that they could hear Luz stomping back down the stairs, running into the living room with a bright smile and her arms full of papers. She dropped them on the floor, plopping herself next to the couch.

“Watch this!” She said, grabbing a piece of paper and drawing a glyph on it. She gave it a tap and the paper crumbled into itself, morphing into a ball of light. Nily gave an impressed “huh”. She didn’t even know humans could do magic. Though, it made sense. Eda wouldn’t have taken her on as an apprentice if she didn’t think it was possible.

King tugged on Nily’s shirt.

“Hey, hey, look at Eda!” he said, giggling to himself.

Eda was staring intently at the ball of light, enraptured by the shiny orb. She gave a curious little chirp, squishing her face into her bubble to try and get closer. Luz laughed at the sight and Nily couldn’t help but let out her own little chuckle.

“Do owls like shiny things?” She pondered. King just shrugged.

“I don’t know, but Eda does!”

She thought that over as Luz made a few more balls of lights, looking delighted as Eda chirped and followed each orb with her black eyes, their light reflected in the inky depths. Finally, she nodded to herself.

“I think I’m gonna let her go now.” She warned the others as she drew a circle in the air. They didn’t really have time to respond before the bubble silently popped, dropping the owl beast to the floor with a soft thump. For a moment, they all tensed up, waiting to see what Eda would do.

She let out a coo, ruffling her feathers and shaking her head. She turned those inky black eyes to the three of them, head tilted to the side. It looked like she was thinking, face scrunching up. She got to her feet, taking a step towards them and sniffing the air. For a moment she just stared, eyes roaming from one to the next. Finally, what seemed like hours later but was probably just seconds, she turned away from them, her attention drawn back to the balls of light. She batted at one of them, letting out a little coo.

Everyone relaxed, the tension in the air dissolving. Luz smiled up at Niliana, eyes shimmering with the threat of tears. She didn’t say anything but the witch understood, smiling back.

Everything was going to be okay.

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raeloganthesonic06fangirl · 3 years

Note

your gosalyn-quackerjack headcanon is such a big brained idea .....

Aw, thank you~

QuackerJack having such an ambiguous backstory that the series proper doesn't ever intend on elaborating on just means it's free real estate on my part there. And I tend to overthink things a bit. :P

Since the show doesn't exactly need to explain anything about QuackerJack's identity before the series (on account of we, the viewers, are just bystanders looking in, since St. Canard clearly has access to his identity on account who else could possibly be the owner of the QuackerJack Toys company that decided to dress up in costume as an unhealthy coping mechanism?), the series just doesn't go into his backstory beyond a few lines and clues that get tossed around that narrow down what generation he's from (I've figured that he'd be a Boomer, given his preferred toy style seems very heavily influenced by 1950s toys), and that he may or may not refer to his mother as either "Mama" or "Mummy", based on two distinctive utterances of panic/shock when realizing that he doesn't quite have the upper hand as he may have thought.

He also tends to carry Mr. Banana Brain in a particular way, something that carries over into Nega-QuackerJack as well:

I point this out because it reminds me of something my Mom has told me plenty before: "You can tell someone has either carried a baby before, or has younger siblings, by the way they hold a doll or thier favorite toy."

Specifically: Both hands/arms in use of handling the doll, head may instinctively be supported regardless of whether the doll is cloth or vinyl, and doll is usually never carried by leg/foot or handled in a manner that may usually cause harm if doll was actually an infant or small child. Doll may also be held to chest, with head near where the individual's heart is.

This is usually applied to when simply handling the doll, not when actually playing with said doll, I should clarify.

Of course, this is just a visual choice for an animated segment, but it's interesting QuackerJack is clearly animated to handle his toys in a particular manner most of the time.

Given that QuackerJack would roughly be about 40-ish by the time the series takes place, it's really not out of the realm of possibility to assume that he may have had a life before the company went under, and maybe he did actually have his own family before things got complicated, or maybe he and his hypothetical wife already had issues with the relationship but had agreed to co-parent, or more tragically, perhaps hypothetical "Mrs. QuackerJack" had misfortune befall her not long after thier daughter hatched and left Jack a widower.

There's a lot of possibilities, and they could have been one of the many pieces that chipped away at his sanity until that day that he snapped and took on the identity of his company mascot.

Now, here's another thing I want to add to the overall narrative: In "Days of Blunder" and "Stressed to Kill", it's pretty much confirmed that QuackerJack has an odd skill with creating mind altering devices to either numb the minds of the subjects it's used on, or to at least trap them in thier subconscious for some time when he can rob them blind.

In "Days of Blunder" specifically, he seems outright terrified when the device is turned on him, specifically saying to Darkwing: "No, no, you can't do that!"

What exactly was QuackerJack afraid of seeing when he should know how the device works, and why was he fighting against the effects so hard when the prior demonstration of it implies the process is somewhat lulling?

Is there a possibility that he might have tested the hypnodisc on himself before when developing the device?

What if there's something in his memories that he's repressed, and he doesn't want that to come back until he's ready to confront it?

What if something happened because he got careless with one of his product designs in his rush to stay relevant in a rapidly evolving entertainment market, and he's never been able to accept that it was an honest mistake the first time, a freak accident, perhaps? 👀

Of course, that's all just a theory, but given the types of backstories everyone else has, it's not that unreasonable. 😅

#darkwing duck #quackerjack

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shalebridge-cradle · 4 years

Text

When You Smile and it Tears Your Face (It’s Time for the Inhuman Race)

Warnings: Blood. Implied Violence.

“Anna?”

Anna von Kleve, former minor noble of the Holy Roman Empire, pries open her eyes. It’s well into the night – the heavy curtains are drawn, as usual, the grandfather clock is ticking away, and the electric light flickers ominously above her.

She herself is sprawled on the sofa, with her date’s head in her lap. Ah, yes. A night on the town, a few drinks (well, more than a few on her part)… she hopes he’d had a good time.

“In the drawing room,” she calls, lazily.

“Have you seen my book?”

Anna has seen lots of her housemate’s beloved books. So very many volumes she’s collected over the years – in her day, the emperor himself would be hard-pressed to afford such a selection. Still, she’s proud it was a German who invented the printing press and started the whole thing off.

“Which one?”

“Pride and Prejudice, volume three. It’s got a red-brown cover.”

von Kleve frowns, looks around herself, lifts up her date to check under him.

She grimaces.

If the book didn’t have a red cover to begin with, it certainly did now. She never intends for the whole biting-people-and-drinking-their-blood business to be messy, but it always ends up that way. Strange how that happens.

She quickly drops the man’s unconscious body back on top of the book, just as her housemate materialises in the doorway.

Catherine Parr sighs. “Seriously? What have I told you about putting down plastic when you bring your food home?”

“I know, but we get kind of… into it, you know? You know me, I live in the moment – well, not live, but… you get what I’m saying.”

“That’s the problem, hence, the need for plastic.”

A pause.

Anna knows what she’s about to say, and preempts her. “No, not your type. Not terrible, but he couldn’t talk about anything that wasn’t his football team.”

“Oh. A pity.” Another pause. “Have you seen my book, though?”

“No books here. Did you leave it at Seymour’s?”

Parr hums. “Possibly. I’ll visit later. It’s your job to get rid of the poor soul, though.”

“Yes, yes, personal responsibility and all that.”

Before Anna leaves, she tucks the first edition under the sofa cushions, and hopes her housemate doesn’t look that hard for her precious book.

~~~

The shovel plunges deep into the black, wet soil, and out again. In, out, in, out, methodical and practiced. The hole needs to be deep enough, and wide enough. She’s underestimated the size before, and that simply causes problems. There are bits that need to stay underground.

Once she is satisfied, and with great care, Jane Seymour places the rose bush into its new home.

Gardening might be considered an odd hobby for someone like her to have. Even if she rarely gets to see the fruits of her labour (which is most certainly a metaphor for something), it keeps her busy and helps her feel productive. It’s terribly easy to fall into a rut if you don’t have something to do, and caring for plants gives her plenty of that.

Just so long as they survive everything.

There is a loud bang from inside the house. Jane turns briefly, listening for something further, before she goes back to patting down the soil.

Another bang, followed by a crash.

Jane squeezes her eyes shut, and growls under her breath. That had better not be anything important.

Really, she should go in and stop them from doing any more damage, but they’d probably just ignore her like they usually do. Maybe you shouldn’t have your thrice-bedamned battle in the house, where there are things that you both like and are easily breakable all over the place. Is that such an unreasonable concept?

A third bang.

“For heaven’s sake,” she grumbles, and makes to get up, turning to her gardening tools. Initially, she shies away from some of them out of instinct, but… then again… this may the only way they’ll listen…

The fearsome duel is still going on when Jane reaches the hall.

One combatant has a name she knows well, mostly because she insists on using the whole thing whenever she is introduced. Catalina Trastámara de Aragón, former Spanish infanta. The other has gone by many different but similar names – Anna de Boullan, Anna Bolina, Nan Bullen, but she generally responds to ‘Anne’, so that’s what they go with.

Catalina has her hand around Anne’s neck, hoisting her up in the air, whilst Anne has a hold on Catalina’s arm, hissing up a storm. Another bang – Catalina slamming Anne against the wall – sends a cloud of dust trickling down on top of them.

Jane enters, in her gardening smock, boots too big for her, a straw hat (you must always wear a hat while gardening, though Jane isn’t sure why), and with a wooden gardening stake in each hand.

“Down! Both of you!”

Anne turns her head slightly, and her eyes widen when she sees what Jane’s holding. “Shit.”

This gets Catalina’s attention, too, but she manages to keep the quiet part quiet. She releases her grip, and Anne sinks to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Catalina recovers her regal demeanour, or at least part of it. “Have you gone quite mad?”

“Have you? Look at what you’re doing! What on earth is noble and queenly about repeatedly smacking your housemate into a wall?!” Jane stops to compose herself. “What is it this time? Territorial dispute? Long-standing grudge you refuse to talk about? Monopoly?”

“Anne? How many glasses would you say are in the sink?”

...No.

Anne rubs her neck. “Well, maybe less if you weren’t such a toff and drank like the rest of us.”

That can’t be right. Was that it?

“Unlike you, I like to keep some of my dignity about me.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking talk to me about dignity -”

Jane is between them in a blink. “Anne, do the bloody dishes.” Anne groans, probably at the unintended pun, but is interrupted. “We have the chore wheel for a reason. We have standards.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I know. Dishes now, fight later.”

Anne huffs, and stomps into the kitchen. Jane’s attention turns to Catalina, who is trying very hard to suppress the smug smile on her face.

“How many languages to you know, Catalina?” She already knows the answer to this question, but Catalina will happily tell her anyway.

“Five. Spanish, Latin, French, Greek, English.”

“Five languages, and you still don’t know how to use your words?”

Catalina simply stares at her.

“You would have been very upset if you knocked any of your paintings down, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but we couldn’t take it outside. You would have been upset if we crushed your plants.”

“Well, that simply reinforces my point. Violence is very rarely the answer when it comes to who you live with.”

“You’re threatening me with a lethal weapon right now.”

Oh, right, she forgot about them. Jane looks down at the stakes, flinches again, and throws them unceremoniously to one side. “Fine. We all need to work on discussing things, and remember we all have our part to play. Anne’s doing the dishes now -” There’s a clatter from the kitchen – “I’ve been taking out the rubbish; can you tell me your royal responsibility, or do I have to check?”

Catalina’s eyes are everywhere but on Jane. She brushes a bit of powder off of her sleeve, and mumbles “Dusting.”

~~~

“Look what I found.”

Parr looks up. It is a whole entire person Anna has come to show off, which usually isn’t something Catherine needs to see – it does not pay to get attached. This girl has her long hair tied up, dyed an almost neon pink at the ends, and is clad in one of Anna’s oversized fur coats. She seems to be faltering under Parr’s gaze, trying to make herself look as small and insignificant as possible.

“I see no plastic in the drawing room,” Catherine says to von Kleve, as a warning.

“What? No! No, no, no. Not that. Big smile, Katie.”

The girl’s lips curl into a rictus grin, revealing a set of fangs not unlike Parr’s own.

“Oh!” Immediately, Catherine’s attitude shifts, and speaks with a soft, comforting voice (she hopes), “Okay, hello. I’m Catherine Parr, of the Westmorland Parrs, and this is Anna von Jülich-Kleve-Berg of the Holy Roman Empire. Neither of us are going to hurt you. Please, take a seat.”

She gestures to a nearby chair. The girl walks over to it, unsteady on her feet, and sits down.

“It’s been a bad week,” she mumbles.

“Tell us about it.”

“Well, it started with a night I couldn’t remember, which always freaks me out, and then I was really sick, and then I’m pretty sure I died – no, I did die… I died…” She goes quiet once more, aghast at the revelation.

“Found her ripping some dude’s throat out behind a nightclub,” Anna explains, then shrugs. “It happens.”

The girl shuts her eyes tightly, as if she is trying to block out the memory. Parr takes her hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Katie, is it?”

“Or Kate. Or Kat, or Katherine – but, that’s you as well. I’m rambling.”

“That’s alright. The transition can be stressful. May I call you Kat?”

Kat nods.

“Good. Now, from what you’ve told us, it sounds like nobody explained to you how this works. What is it that you think is going on?”

“’M a vampire. Right?” Parr hums an affirmation, and Kat laughs, without humour. “And, because I’m a vampire, and I was going insane with how thirsty I was and because he wouldn’t stop talking and he kept touching me after I told him not to…” She looks to Anna. “That man. He was my boyfriend. I killed my boyfriend.”

It’s usually cold in the house, but it seems to get even colder after that statement.

While Catherine intimately knows the feeling of wanting to murder your former significant others (Thomas – Foul rake! Blackguard! She shall curse his name after death and beyond!), she is aware that this may not be the case for Kat. Most couples these days actually quite like each other – one need not rely on a husband to vote for them anymore, after all. She’s been looking out for someone like that, but she hasn’t found them yet. Maybe someday.

There have been so very many days…

Thankfully, Anna is there with a kind word, so she need not answer nor dwell on her failure to find love. It is just one word, however, and it is not spoken with great compassion.

“Condolences?”

Kat waves a hand, shakes her head. “The only good thing about dating Francis is – was – that he gave me a place to stay. Everything else… I don’t think anyone will be that upset he’s dead, put it that way.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It was so easy. Too easy.”

Well, it’s good to know that nothing of value was lost, at least.

“Subtlety and control are the results of practice,” Catherine tells the girl, “and that will come, in time. Until then, since the one who turned you is not around to help, I humbly request that you allow us to assist you.”

“We have a spare room. Um. Not that you have to take it, or anything, but the option’s there -”

Kat cuts Anna off. Nobody’s had the gall to do that for centuries.

“Why are you doing this? Any of this?! You want something from me, don’t you? Otherwise, I’d still be out there, dealing with my boyfriend’s corpse! Be honest with me, please. What is it you want me to do?!”

She is looking into both of their eyes, searching for an ulterior motive like she knows it’s there – Parr gets that, unfortunately, and she’s disgusted that something has happened to the poor girl to prompt such suspicion and mistrust.

Catherine does not raise her voice, speaks calmly and carefully, just like she was taught. “We are not doing this in the hopes of a favour, or any material gain. We – or, at least, I – am behaving in this way because I want to see you turn out well. Perhaps there is a vain hope of a new friendship out of this, but that is the loftiest of my wishes, and you should not feel obligated to fulfil it if you don’t want to.”

“You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in at least a decade,” says Anna.

“But you’re vampires. Why are you helping a competitor?”

“Why not? Just because we’re bloodsucking monsters doesn’t mean we can’t be nice about it. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Okay. Okay. In that case… might I ‘humbly request’… a hug, please?”

~~~

“How do you feel about it?”

Catalina does not turn away from her painting; yet another Spanish vista. She has been told that the Inquisition is over, that she can return for a holiday, but there is no doubt in her mind that what is there now must be wildly different from what she remembers. The latter is what she puts to canvas, to show off what she knows, what mortal eyes can no longer see.

“You shall have to be more specific,” she says to Anne, her voice clipped.

“You know.” She refuses to give Anne the satisfaction of looking at her, but she can feel the fluttering eyelashes, the lazy grin, just from her cadence. “Us. What we have.”

“What on earth are you implying?”

“That thing we do. The one where I press all your buttons, and you beat the shit out of me. Great way to work out that tension, yeah? But then there’s Jane – Plain Insane Jane – putting stakes in our faces and telling us to end it.”

“Would you have listened to her if she hadn’t?”

“Nah.” No hesitation whatsoever. No hint of shame. “But it’s fun. Don’t you think so?”

…Frankly, Catalina does not know. She knows it is not a healthy way of relieving stress. She knows Jane is justified in her motivations to stop it, if not her methods (though both of them make it difficult for her to use a softer touch).

But, if she is truly honest with herself, she likes to feel powerful sometimes. Yes, she is powerful when compared to a regular human – but that was true when she was alive, too. Now, she is no longer in the line of succession, she is no longer a princess. She is ‘just’ a vampire, and that fact irks her more than it should.

But she doesn’t tell Anne any of that. She puts her brush down, and turns to the source of her self-reflection. She’s hanging in the air, as if she were watching Catalina from an invisible sofa.

“You’ve been out drinking, haven’t you?”

Their kind can, in fact, get drunk. It’s more of a roundabout process than it is for mortals – one must find someone that’s absolutely cup-shotten, take them somewhere quiet, and… share their blood alcohol content. Catalina knows this because Anne is a master of the process.

“Of course I have!” Anne replies, with a funny sort of smile. “That’s why you go out, why Jane goes out. To have a drink!”

Oh, she definitely has been. She’s wearing the silly spectacles again, the ones where you can’t see her eyes properly.

“I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re out of your wits,” Catalina carefully enunciates.

“I always have my wits. Do you even listen to my jokes, princess?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And? You don’t talk when I’m sober, you won’t talk when I’m toxed – what is it that you need me to be for you to be honest?”

There is a knock at the door, and Jane’s voice comes through loud and clear. “Catalina? We have a guest.”

That’s interesting. They don’t often have guests – well, not ones that aren’t ‘invited for dinner’, and Jane likes to keep that private, if it’s her. It can’t be Parr or von Kleve; Jane would have said as much.

Perhaps it is someone important, she thinks, and immediately her mood sours.

“Who do you think it is?” Anne asks.

“I don’t know. All I ask is that you don’t make a complete fool of yourself.”

“And what if I do?”

“Then I take no responsibility for your actions.”

“She’s very new, apparently,” Jane tells them, and she is doing only a slightly better job than Anne at holding in her excitement. “She doesn’t remember who turned her. Cathy thinks it’s Thomas, but you know how she is.”

Yes, Catalina does. Thomas may be responsible for a lot of things, but if he showed his face in this part of town, he’d probably find himself dismembered by his very angry ex-wife.

They reach the top of the staircase. Below them, on the ground level, Cathy is speaking quietly to – good Lord! That woman’s hair is pink! How is it that vibrant a shade?!

Anne gasps in delight. “A baby! You’ve found a little baby, Cathy!”

“I’m not a baby. I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly. Two-digit age. Baby.”

“I apologise for her conduct,” Catalina sighs. “Someone had a bit too much to drink, and she had too much of them. I am Catalina Trastámara de Aragón.”

“And I’m Anne. Sometimes.”

The girl blinks. Probably thrown off by that introduction. “Oh-kay. Uh, well, I’m Kat Howard. Katherine, actually, but you see how that will cause problems. I’m moving in with Cathy and Anna, and Anna thought it might be good to introduce myself.”

There is an image of vampires being solitary creatures, living in ruined castles and moping about in their every waking hour. It’s not untrue, but Catalina hated it when she had a go. Eternity? With no-one around her? What torture!

No. Ever since she found Jane sobbing in front of her own grave, since Anne had her chance encounter with a Spanish princess, she’s resolved never to be alone again. She shall, of course, extend that invitation to this new girl.

It’s practically her duty.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Kat.”

~~~

Vampires own nightclubs.

That makes sense, right? They only operate at night, they attract a crowd, many people there aren’t expecting to remember what happened there, only that they had a good time and feel terrible in the morning, if they make it that far.

Well, Anna doesn’t own a nightclub. She owns a chain of 24-hour off-licences. But, she can hypnotise the bouncer into letting them in, so that’s alright.

The music thrums in place of Kat’s heart as she watches the mass of bodies swaying and jumping with absolutely no sense of rhythm. Coloured lights flash, the DJ plies his trade, glasses clink and sweat permeates the air.

Anna is watching only her.

“See anyone?”

Kat scans the crowds, a grim expression on her face. “No-one looks particularly appetising.”

“Well, of course they don’t. We’re not looking for the cream of the crop here, we’re looking for someone who deserves it.”

Kat leans her head on her hand. Anna told her she could come to her for anything – so, Kat had, when she started to feel hungry again, and so Anna planned this little night out.

“There are two choices,” she’d said. “Either you pick someone out yourself, or you go mad with hunger and some other poor sod ends up like your boyfriend.”

“You’re sure of that?” Kat questioned.

“Oh, yeah. I speak from experience – I’ve always regretted what happened to the Duke of Lorraine…”

Anna had refused to say anything more about that.

Kat has… mixed feelings about what happened with Dereham. Okay, she’s horrified that she murdered him, but she doesn’t feel bad that she wiped that arrogant look from his eyes for a few seconds (before he, you know, died). He didn’t care that she was sick, didn’t answer her texts when she told him her reflection had vanished, or that she was bleeding from her eyes – and as soon as he got back from his work trip, he dragged her to a nightclub to ‘show her off’ and pretended nothing was wrong…!

…Okay, she’s getting a bit heated. The man’s funeral was three days ago. No point in holding a grudge, now.

“What about that one?”

Kat follows Anna’s gaze. A man is swaggering over to the bar with a confidence that nothing about him implies he’s earned. She gets the feeling this man used to be handsome, or liked, and no-one has told him otherwise just yet.

“Dunno. Maybe.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Kat automatically bites her lip, before remembering that’s probably a bad idea now. She doesn’t want to be alone, exactly, but at the same time…

“Is it alright if you hang out slightly further away?” She asks. “If I need your help, I’ll laugh really loudly.”

Anna smiles in acknowledgement, nods, and wanders off. Kat might be wrong, but she seems almost gleeful.

Thankfully (or not), the once-handsome man notices her staring, and saunters over. Kat’s skin crawls.

“Hey.”

Kat gives a small, brief smile in return.

“You here alone?”

She risks a quick glance over to Anna – she still has an eye on her. Kat isn’t alone. “Yeah. Just… needed to get out, you know?”

“I do.” He smirks, points to himself. “Henry. You know Tudor Real Estate?” She does, and the man grins at the recognition she must be showing. “I’m the co-owner.”

Kat doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, but this guy has only a passing resemblance to the man on the ‘for sale’ signs.

“Must be an important job,” she tries.

“Very. My brother relies on me for a lot.” Oh, okay, he’s the brother. Wait, the brother she’d read articles about? The one who got acquitted last year? “Sometimes I just need to blow off some steam, you know? Have some fun. Speaking of, can I buy you a drink or two?”

Wow. That look in his eyes. He clearly hasn’t changed as much as the judge thought he had.

“I don’t drink… alcohol.”

He scoffs. “Listen. You heard how important I am, right? Nothing will happen to you without my say-so. We can have fun if you just let me help you.”

This man is made of red flags, isn’t he? A blind woman could see the warning signs. He’s a creep with overly-inflated self-esteem, seems to have spent his whole life getting everything he’s ever wanted…

And that means he’s perfect.

“I guess you’re right,” she says, quietly. She doesn’t have to fear his kind any more. “I am here for a good time. If you’re offering…”

Henry grins. “Anything you want, babe! Name it, and it’s yours!”

“Anything?” Money and connections won’t protect you from me.

“Anything at all, princess.”

“Hmm…” Kat makes a show of looking him up and down. Yes, this is the one. “Maybe we can take this somewhere private?”

Henry is clearly thrilled at the prospect. He grabs her hand, roughly (though Kat is sure she could break his arm if the need arose), and leans in close.

“I know just the place.”

He leads her away, to a location where there are no witnesses, no-one to save him. From across the club, Anna gives her a thumbs up.

Kat returns the gesture.

She comes in the front door with her phone in her hand. Henry has a Wikipedia page. Not very long, pretty much goes on about his brief stint in custody and that he’s Arthur Tudor’s brother.

Or, was. They might have to change the tense, soon.

Cath is on the sofa, chatting quietly with… Kat wants to say… Jane…? Yeah, Jane sounds right. She’s friendly enough, but always seems like she’s on her second-last nerve.

“How did it go?” Cath asks.

Anna grins. She’s been like this all night, and Kat feels conflicted about all the praise she’s received.“Oh, fantastic! Kat was a natural; that idiot fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Turns out I have a vendetta against people who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Kat adds.

Parr’s smile grows sharp, but her eyes still sparkle. “Well, there won’t be any shortage of those. Come, sit with us.”

So, Kat does. The things they speak of are so normal, Kat is initially confused. Jane’s gardening is a topic of discussion, as is Cath’s ever-expanding collection of stuff she finds interesting. When Jane asks about Kat’s “little slate-thing”, they both listen with rapt attention at her explanation of modern technology.

Kat had forgotten what it’s like to have people listen. It’s a shame she had to die to experience it.

~~~

“Yes, I’ve received a notice recently about outstanding bills owed – no, no, don’t shut off the – listen to me. The account has been paid in full. Enter that into the system. Okay, great. Thanks for that – no, no, everyone makes mistakes. Alright, bye.”

Anne hangs up. Great, power bills are sorted.

Contrary to popular opinion, she actually does do her share of work around the house. Yeah, the dishes are her least favourite task. Vampires shouldn’t have to do the dishes. But, that doesn’t stop her from helping in other ways.

She’s just about to start dialling the telephone company, when there is a knock at the door. Few are brave enough to do that at this place. As she stalks over, she wonders if it might a debt collector – if it is, that means she can have a snack, too.

The heavy oaken door swings open with an agonising creak, and the eyes of the figure on the other side glow in the evening gloom.

Oh, it’s that pink-haired girl. Katie, maybe? Anne can’t actually remember her name, and at this point she’s too afraid to ask.

“Hi.” The girl waves slightly. “Can I come in?”

Do you really want to? Anne thinks, but she says, “Uh, sure.”

With a sigh of relief, Kiara steps over the threshold.

“Apparently I called you a baby last time you were here,” Anne says. “Sorry about that. That’s not fair to you, and you don’t scare the shit out of me like an actual vampire infant would. But, I’m guessing you’re not here for an apology.”

Kitty smiles awkwardly. “Uh, no. I’m here to try and fix your computer. Um, the little television-box-thing you never use?”

“Oh! That! Yeah, I never knew how to get that thing working.”

“Yeah, no promises,” Kelly says, “but Jane thought it might help you… connect.”

That really gets Anne’s attention. She’s not surprised it was Jane who told her, because of the way Kim described the computer, but that part about connecting.

Anne wants honesty, for once. If Kat (that sounds right) is offering, she will take it.

To Anne’s surprise (and shame), Kat is able to get la machine infernale up and running in just a few minutes. She explains the mouse, the monitor, and the programs built into the operating system. The computer is not to get wet, nor is it to be fed. Do not sacrifice anything to it in an attempt to make it work properly.

Why Kat felt the need to include that instruction is a mystery, but it was probably necessary.

“Now, I had this whole speech with my step-grandma – back when I talked with my family – and I’ll give the same to you. Don’t believe everything you read on the internet. A lot of it’s lies, or personal opinion. On that note, not everyone you talk to is who they say they are. Don’t do things like send money or give out personal details if someone asks, and don’t meet with someone without people around.”

“Okay, I’m absolutely going to do that last one – but for the rest of them? Sure!”

Kat genuinely smiles. Wow, when was the last time Anne did that, and didn’t eat the person afterwards? Must have been ages, because it feels like she’s come across an oasis after months in a desert.

“So,” she goes on, “what exactly is the internet? I know I pay the bill for it -” ‘pay’ is a strong word - “but I don’t actually know what it entails.”

“Okay, well, you know… books?”

“Yes.”

“You know the television?”

“Yeeesss.”

“You know those coffee shops where people yelled at each other about philosophy, in the eighteenth century?”

“Yep, yep, yep.” Even though she was never invited, the sexist pricks.

“The internet is all of those things together,” Kat explains, “but worse.”

Anne gasps. “I love it already.”

The room is dark. No lights, curtains shut. The only source of light is the faint white glow of the monitor.

The internet is, as Kat had warned, a shitshow. Anne thinks it’s just the best thing. University professors and the lowest common denominator share the same spaces, and send vile, scathing messages to one another over fictional characters. Maybe she should do some research, just so she can play along. It’d be just like her days at court, getting one person at another’s throat, playing them off each other… ah, she misses that, if nothing else. It’s just not the same, now.

Oh, but then there are the videos. Little mortal Anne would never have thought it possible. What an idea! What awful and wonderful things humans create when they’re not being killed!

Anne’s exploration is interrupted when the light from the hallway fills the room.

“Ah. So you haven’t left.”

Catalina? Come to check on her? Anne turns – yes, it is her, likely wondering why her evening hasn’t been ruined yet. Or, maybe not. Anne has a terrible habit of putting words in other people’s mouths.

“You haven’t been downstairs this evening,” Her housemate continues. “Jane was worried about you.”

Anne doubts that’s true. Not that Jane doesn’t worry, she worries about almost everything (who cares if her teeth show when she smiles?), but she would be thrilled to know Anne is being quiet.

“Just looking at things,” Anne mumbles.

“Hm. Ominous. What ‘things’?”

Well, the best way to explain would be to show, right?

Anne plays the video. Normal night sky, a deep navy. Then, violet, then orange, and the fiery sun rises over the horizon, accented by the crimson heavens.

There’s a thump from behind her. Catalina has flattened herself against the opposite wall, eyes wide, fangs bared.

“I will not die so easily, Boleyn!” she snarls. “I’ve survived assassination attempts before, and I’ll do it again!”

“I’m not trying to kill you, girl! It’s a video! Do you almost die every time you put the sun in one of your paintings? Because that would be a much bigger problem than me showing you this.”

She presses the button to make the video play once more, and makes a show of standing in front of the screen, conspicuously not combusting.

Catalina stares at her. Then, at the monitor. She approaches, slowly.

“Can you make it go again?”

Anne does. The sun is reflected in Catalina’s eyes for the first time in over five hundred years.

“…I miss it, sometimes.”

Oh God, it’s happening, Anne thinks. Out loud, she says, “Miss what?”

“The sunrise.” From the sound of her voice, calm and quiet, Anne gets the impression Catalina’s not really here. “My home. My family. It doesn’t matter how far away I am, in years or in miles. They’re gone, and the name Trastámara means nothing.”

Oh, that’s it. Of course it is.

Anne did not what it was like to be a princess in the early 1400s, partially because she wasn’t born yet. She knows from her own experiences with Whatever the Fuck the Sun King Was Playing At that the nobility was constantly having to be perfect at all times; not even a twitch of emotion could play upon your face, even as you drain all your resources to support the near-impossible standards of fashion, or it could easily be all for naught.

She’s just been thinking, maybe, something like that might be why Catalina has the sort of aversion to talking about her emotions that would normally be reserved for holy symbols.

“Catalina. You’re not a princess anymore.”

Catalina sneers, all traces of vulnerability gone. “Yes, you have taunted me about that many times before.”

“Not a taunt.” Sometimes. “A reminder you no longer have to try and be perfect. I’m not gonna tell any peers of the realm if you feel sad sometimes.”

“So you feel the need to drive me to madness in the hopes I accept your view?”

Okay, so maybe Anne’s been a little coarse. In fairness, she tried passive-aggressive behaviour and it didn’t work. There’s a reason she goes after Catalina, and it’s not just because it’s easy.

Anne points to herself. “Unstoppable force.” To Catalina. “Immovable object. You move, I stop.”

“…Right. Okay.” A pause. “I know, logically, that you are right – about that particular thing. But, it makes me feel like I’m ignoring part of myself.”

“Just have the good without the bad. If the King of Spain has anything to say about it, kill him and rule the country as their immortal god-queen.”

“I would never be so rash,” Catalina huffs. “I’ll try. Just… don’t mock me for it. If I’m keeping at least one good thing about my life, it will be threatening anyone who insults me with imprisonment.”

“Yessssss…”

Both Anne and Catalina jump at the voice from outside the room. Anne acts first – she opens the door a crack, and sees Jane’s eye on the other side.

“You’ve been at it for two hundred years,” Jane says. “Two. Hundred. Years. I don’t care if you don’t get along straight away, let me have this.”

And, fearing her ire, they do.

~~~

Anna’s on the roof again.

There are two main reasons for this. One, her room is in the attic and it’s the easiest way out of the house. Two, it’s a good place to sit, look up at the stars (at least the ones you can still see, anyway) and think about things.

Kat is on her right, arms around her knees, looking up at the moon. Anna does not think she’s paying much attention to it, however.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Kat doesn’t answer straight away. “Just how things are better.”

“…They are?”

“I’m living… uh, residing in a house with people I actually like. This is the first time that’s happened since I was about eight, I think.”

Wow. Anna hadn’t had a terribly good time when she was alive – no rights, no fun allowed, go marry some dude you’ve never even met, and no you can’t have fun then either – but Kat’s life might beat out Cathy’s hopeless search for love, in terms of tragedy.

“I cannot truly speak for you, but I have found this…” Anna waves her hands, trying to find the right way to put it, “whole thing to be very affirming. There is no-one to hold you down. No-one to stop you from doing what you like. Well, except priests, but they can be ignored, mostly.”

“You don’t brood about it too much?”

“Why would I? It’s the only reason I’ve been able to see the things I’ve seen. To be here, now, talking to you.” All because she told the wrong (or right) person about how bored she was. Of course she would accept the offer to have fun, even if the whole process wasn’t. “Do you?”

Kat stops to think again, so that’s a ‘yes’. “I’m still getting used to it. But, I don’t mind it. I’m not scared of the things I used to be afraid of. That’s good, right?”

“Sounds good to me. But, if you falter, that’s okay, too. We have supported Cathy, who was the youngest before you, we can do the same here – so long as you support us in turn.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s got that thing about finding the one.” How does Kat manage to fit so much bitterness in only two words? “Don’t get it. She’s got people who love her already. You, and those three around the corner. She doesn’t need them.”

“That’s a very good way of putting it, actually.” Anna’s argument against serious dating has been that three of the people Parr’s courted have tried to murder her, and her ex-husband technically succeeded. It hasn’t worked, but maybe a more positive viewpoint might win out against two centuries of stubbornness.

“Anna von Kleve.”

von Kleve looks down. Ah, speak of the devil. She’s on the balcony below them.

“Cathy! Kat has had some good thoughts about love!”

“Oh? How wonderful.”

She doesn’t seem like she thinks it is, though. She almost looks angry, with the hard eyes and pursed lips and the red-brown mottled book in her hand -

Oh no.

“I think, Anna,” Cathy intones, her voice sharper than any stake, “that we should talk about personal responsibility first.”

#the cradle will write #six the musical #not the historical figures #but that won't stop me making references to them

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togglesbloggle · 4 years

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So, @argumate is up to some more prosocial atheistic trolling. As is usual with such things, the conversation isn’t particularly elevated, but it does make me nostalgic for the old bbc days. So I thought I’d be the Discourse I’d like to see in the world. This is the post that kicked things off; correctly noting Platonism as a philosophical foundation underpinning most versions of Abrahamic faiths. And it’s probably the most useful place for me to target also, since hardly anybody just identifies as a Platonist but most westerners are one. So, without further ado, a halfhearted and full-length defense of Platonism:

Well, strike that. A little bit of ado.

I’m not a Platonist myself, so this is a devil’s advocate type of thing. Or maybe you could call it an intellectual Turing test? As I discuss here, my philosophical commitments are mostly to skepticism, and for instrumental reasons, to reductionist materialism. That combo leaves me some wiggle room, and I find it fairly easy to provisionally occupy a religious mindset, so I can generally read and enjoy religious polemics. I also have a fairly deep roster of what are often called ‘spiritual experiences’; I’m probably in the set of people that are by nature predisposed to religion. I am not religious, and I approve of Argumate saying things like ‘God is not real’ a lot. This is in no way a retread of the arguments in The Republic or Plato’s other writings; you can go read those if you want, but I’m going to play around with stuff that I think is better suited to this audience.

Attention conservation notice: yikes. This got pretty long.

Anyway, on to the argument. Argumate’s main point is pretty clear, I think: ‘forms’ in the Greek sense are a function and product of the perceiving mind. Birds don’t conform to bird-ness; instead brains naturally produce a sort of bird-ness category to make processing the world easier, and to turn a series of wiggly and continuous phenomena into a discrete number of well-modeled objects. Basically, we impose ‘thing-ness’ on the wavefunction of reality. And there are some good reasons to think that it might be true! Our understanding of categories gets a lot sharper when reality conveniently segregates itself, and whenever that boundary gets a little blurry, our ability to use categories tends to break down. If the recognition of animal-ness came from contact with a higher plane of reality, you wouldn’t necessarily expect people to get confused about sponges.

But. While there’s certainly plenty of support for Argumate’s position, it doesn’t strike me as anything near self-evident, or necessarily true. So what I’ll argue is that Platonism isn’t obviously false, and that if we ever converge on a true answer to the question of our reality, then that truth could plausibly be recognizably Platonist. My opening salvo here is, predictably enough, mathematics.

‘Mathematical Platonism’ is a whole other thing, only distantly related to Classical Platonism, and I only really mean to talk about the latter. But nonetheless, mathematics really actually does appear to be a situation where we can simply sit in a chair, think deeply, and then more or less directly perceive truths. Basic arithmetic can be independently discovered, and usefully applied, by almost anybody; ‘quantity’ comes naturally to most humans, and the inviolable laws of quantity are exploited just as often. It’s also very hard to argue that these are ‘mere’ linguistic conventions, since fundamental natural behaviors like the conservation of mass depend on a kind of consistent logical framework. In most chemical reactions, the number of atomic nuclei does not change, and the atoms added to a new molecule are perfectly mirrored by the loss of atoms in some reactant; this remains true in times and places where no thinking mind exists to count them.

There are a lot of debates about what math is, fundamentally. But inevitably when we study math, we’re studying the set of things that must be true, given some premise: we’re asking whether some proposition is a necessary consequence of our axioms. The so-called ‘unreasonable effectiveness of mathematics’ suggests that the phenomena that Argumate mentions- hotdogs and birds and whatnot- are observed only within the auspices of a sort of super-phenomenon. Loosely speaking, we can call this super-phenomenon self-consistency.

We treat phenomena as having a natural cause. Platonism, at its crunchy intellectually rewarding center, represents a willingness to bite the bullet and say that self-consistency also has a cause. Plato himself actually provided what might be the most elegant possible answer! Basically, posit the simplest thing that meets the criterion of being A) autocausal and B) omnicausal, and then allow the self-consistency of the cosmos to follow from its dependence on (in Platonist terms, its emanation from) that single, unitary cause. The universe is self-consistent for the very straightforward reason that there’s only one thing. Any plurality, to the extent that plurality is even a thing, happens because ‘the only real thing’ is only partially expressed in a particular phenomenon. To skip ahead to Lewis’ Christian interpretation of all this, you’d say that humans and moons and hotdogs are distinguished from God not by what they have, but by what they lack.

And for present purposes, I do want to take a step back and point out that this does feel like a reasonable answer to a very important question. Materialism fundamentally has no answer to the question of self-consistency and/or the presence of logic and order, and that is (for me) one of its least satisfying limits. We’ve got things like ‘the origin of the universe’, sure. But we probe the Big Bang with mathematical models! That’s a hell of an assumption- namely, that even at the origin of our universe, self-consistency applies. It’s not like materialism has a bad explanation. It just remains silent, treats the problem as outside the domain. If we’re adopting the thing for utilitarian reasons, that’s fine. But if we’re treating materialism as a more comprehensive philosophy, a possible approach to the bigger questions, then it’s a painful absence. In that domain, far from being self-evidently true (in comparison to Platonism), materialism doesn’t even toss its hat in the ring!

Which, uh, gets us to the stuff about Forms and shadows in Plato’s Cave and all that- the intermediate form of existence between the omnisimple core of Platonism and the often chaotic and very plural experience of day-to-day life. And frankly, we’re not especially bound to say that the forms are exactly as Plato described them, any more than atomism is restricted to Democritus. Whether there is some ‘bird-ness’ that is supra- to all extant birds might be contestable; however, it’s easier to wonder whether ‘binary tree’ is supra- to speciation and the real pattern of differences between organisms that we map using Linnaean taxonomy.

But, this is an attempted defense of Platonism and not Toggle’s Version of Platonism that He Invented Because it’s Easier, so I’ll give it a try. Fair warning to the reader, what follows is not fully endorsed (even in the context of a devil’s advocate-type essay), except the broader claim that it’s not self-evidently false. And on the givens we came up with a couple paragraphs ago, this is a reasonable way to tackle what necessarily follows. So let me see how far I can defend a very strong claim: in a self-consistent (or: mathematical) cosmos, beauty cannot be arbitrary.

Remember that Plato never argued that his Forms were arbitrary, or even fully discrete as such; their apparent plurality, like our own, emanates from the unitary Thing What Exists. And so, bird-ness is treated as a contingent thing, not an absolute. It’s just not contingent on human experience. And so for us to believe in ‘bird-ness’ is to believe that there exists some specific and necessary pattern- a Form- which any given material bird must express.

Let’s take an obvious example: any flying bird will, for fairly simple aerodynamic reasons, tend to be symmetrical. Usually, this means two wings. In theory, you could… have one in the middle? Maybe? Even that seems rather goofy to try to imagine, but you could probably get away with it if you were extremely creative biologically. And if we see a bird with only one wing (without a prosthetic or other form of accommodation), then we will tend quite naturally to recognize that something awful is in the process of happening.

A fully materialist explanation of our reaction here would say: we think of the one-winged bird as problematic because A) we have been socialized to recognize and appreciate two-winged birds, and spurn deviations from that socialization, or maybe B) because natural selection has given us a set of instincts that recognize when a body plan has failed in the past, so things like ‘being crippled’ or ‘being sick’ are recognizable.

Platonism, I think, would offer a third option, that C) we recognize (as emanations of The Real Thing) that a one-winged bird body is insufficiently reflective of The Real Thing, and that accordingly it lacks the ability to keep existing. Plato had some… basically magical ideas, about how Forms are recognized, but here I’ll point out that ‘deduction’ is a completely serviceable kind of magic for our purposes. It is, after all, our direct experience of the self-consistency of the cosmos, which follows from the fact that we are ourselves an expression of that same self-consistency; it meets the criteria.

Materialists, obviously, would agree that deductive reasoning could allow a person to recognize the problems inherent in a one-winged bird, but as I said a few paragraphs up, their(/our) explanation of this process is rootless. “Yes, logic and a few high-confidence assumptions let you assume that a bird with only one wing is in trouble,” they might say. And we might ask- “what makes you so sure?” And then the materialist must respond, “Well, let me be more clear. It always worked in the past, and my Bayesian priors are strongly in the direction of the method continuing to bear fruit.” True enough, but it’s not an explanation and doesn’t pretend to be. The universe just does this weird thing for some reason; it works ‘by magic’. So why not call it that? Theurgy for all!

So, consider. We recognize (deductively, let’s say for the sake of argument) that a one-winged bird is on the road to becoming nonexistent, absent some change in circumstances. It may keep going for a little while, but it’s not in homeostasis. And if we reasonably admit this very basic duality to our thinking- things which can persist, and things which cannot- then we start to recognize a sort of analogy between physical phenomena and mathematical propositions. A lemma can be right or wrong, albeit sometimes unprovably so. Basically, it can follow- or not- from the axioms we’re working with. And in a softer but very real sense, that one-winged body plan is wrong analogously to the lemma’s wrongness. Not ‘wrong’ as in ‘counter to cultural norms’, but ‘wrong’ as in ‘unstable given the premises, given the Thing That Exists Most’. Look up research on fitness landscapes, if you’re so inclined- actual biological research isn’t totally unacquainted with the notion. There exists a surprisingly discrete ideal or set of ideals, both for flying birds as a whole and subordinately for any given flying bird species. And we have discovered this using magic.

Insofar as beauty is something to be admired, or pursued, or is otherwise desirable, then our sense of beauty must necessarily correlate with those abstract, and dare I say supra-real, qualities which allow things to persist, and which can therefore be understood deductively. And that set of qualities does, effectively, meet the Platonic criterion of a ‘form’.

The immediate materialist objection is: hey, wait a minute. The supposed ‘objective’ criterion of a bird is contingent, not absolute! It follows from the strength of gravity, the thickness of the atmosphere, the availability of food sources, and on and on. This is one of the most important reasons why genetic drift and speciation happens in the first place, because the ‘ideal’ bird depends on an environment that’s in constant flux.

True enough. But! How do you think the atmosphere got there? It’s an old trick in religious discourse, but in this case I think a valid one. The rightness of the bird depends on the atmosphere, the rightness of the atmosphere depends on the planet, the rightness of the planet depends on the solar system, and ultimately it all depends on that necessary self-consistency which (we proclaim) implies our unitary Most Real Thing. This does mean that we can’t really think of Platonic forms as wholly discrete objects, unconnected to one another and without internal relation among themselves- unfortunately, that’s part of the original Plato that I don’t see as defensible, even with maximum charity. But there’s such a thing as a ‘ring species’, and if we admit Platonic Forms of that type, a kind of dense network of paths being traced through higher-dimensional spaces that correspond to the shadow of That Than Which There Is No Whicher, then it’s more than salvageable. It’s both satisfying to imagine and, I think, quite consistent with the spirit of the original philosophy.

One thing this doesn’t mean. Even if we were to accept all of this, we aren’t obliged to resign ourselves to the lot of that one-winged bird. Indeed, if anything this gives us a rich language by which to justify a prosthetic wing or other form of accommodation: we can talk about ‘making the bird whole’, and can see how our compassion for that bird might lead us to create the conditions of homeostasis once again. But it does mean that if we take a position on the merits of existence- if we’re in favor- then we don’t treat a one- and two-winged bird as coequal scenarios.

Anyway, this has gone on hideously long already for what’s basically an intellectual exercise, so I won’t dive into immortal souls or any of the other ancillaries. I mostly want to reiterate that, far from being obviously false, I do think that (some forms of) Platonism are quite defensible, and can provide coherent answers to questions that I A) care about very deeply and B) can’t resolve to my own satisfaction. Of course, it is not obviously nor trivially true, either. But one can be Platonist without being willfully wrong.

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thestraggletag · 4 years

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Creature Instincts

A/N: Surprise, @nerdrumple! It is I, your Super Secret Santa that somehow managed to REMAIN super secret! I’m always stoked when that happens. It’s been loads of fun being your Santa, and it was super nice to write fic for someone who was written some of my favourite Rumbelle fics. Hope you like it!

Prompt: Locked-out, torrential downpour, hold.

Summary: Mr Gold cannot be accused of being a knight in shining armour, but when Belle French becomes a damsel in distress he cannot help to try and play the role, in spite of how ill-suited his nature makes him.

Rating: R for sure. There be sexy sex here, kids.

It was a relief to finally be home, after what felt like the longest day in the month. Rent day usually was, as it kept him out and about town all day, both collecting from those who reluctantly but diligently paid on time and those who thought they could evade him and thus get a reprieve. Very few chose alternative means of payment, and he was sure it was in part because most people enjoyed the notion of making him work for their rent money.

He looked up just before he closed his front door, noticing the grey, fat clouds that he had been running from most of the day. The air already smelled like rain, which for him meant hell on his ankle. That, coupled with the freezing temperature, had him more than happy for the comforts of his home.

His housekeeper had left the house warm and dry, as per his usual instructions, and for a moment or two he paused on the entryway, dropping his keys onto the bowl by the side table and simply enjoying the warmth as it seeped into his skin. Though he was used to the cold- and, to a certain extent, he enjoyed it- he could not deny he was a creature better suited for heat.

Methodically, the motions so familiar that they were almost automatic, he shed his outer layers. First his thick wool coat, a shade of charcoal grey so dark most people thought it was black, and his red cashmere scarf. Then off came the gloves, suit jacket and vest. He took off his tie next, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt before removing his vest and reaching for his banyan, the damask silk showing a pattern of thistles in bloom. He limped upstairs to exchange his suit trousers and Oxfords for woollen lounge pants and thicker knit socks and loafers.

It felt heavenly to be out of his customary suit and into more comfortable clothing, warm and dry in his home as the first drops of rain began to splash against the windows. He flexed his fingers, his elongated nails still a bit uncomfortable from having to wear gloves all day. As he filled the kettle with water for his tea he felt the scales on his neck ripple and begin to unfurl. It was the most unpleasant part of rent day, how he had to hide all day. It made him itchy and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t a duty his nature would allow for him to delegate on others.

As he waited for the water to boil he switched on the tablet he had left on the island, having read the paper on it in the morning. In spite of his claws it was easy for him to navigate around the display and hit the green facetime button, locating and clicking on the desired contact immediately.

“Hey, pop!”

Baden’s gruffy face appeared on the screen, hair a bit wild and beard looking like it could use a trim. ‘Fashionably scruffy’, he called it. Since he had accepted a video call he deduced Emma was not home yet. He had remembered correctly about her extra shift, then.

“Hi, son. How’s life in the big city?”

He moved around the kitchen as Bae filled him in on any news, mainly talking about Henry’s latest antics and his newest clients. He was a bit of a hot-shot graphic designer, much sought after.

“And how’s life in Storybrooke, dad? Still keeping that cavernous Queen Anne, I see. That’s too much house for yourself, pop.”

“It’s not just for me. It’s also for you, Henry and Emma. For when you visit.”

Bae rolled his eyes.

“We only stay over a few weeks every year. What about the rest of the time, pop? Don’t you get lonely?”

It was an old worry of Bae’s, one he tried hard to scoff away every time he brought it up. His son seemed to give up rather easily, asking instead after his hoard.

“Which one do you mean?”

He had several, of course. It was, after all, part of his nature.

“All of them. It’s been a while since I’ve received a full report.”

“Well, the property portfolio is looking good. Market’s been appreciating, as expected given the development of the town. I attended three very productive state sales, so the antiques are looking good. Might even be able to part with one or two of my previously not-for-sale vases. I’ve also managed to find a treasure-trove of jewellery. Owner inherited them from his mother, thought they were costume pieces. I could smell right away he was wrong.”

He smiled, feeling the scales around his neck flash in and out of sight, a golden glint in his eyes, a sure sign he was pleased. The pieces would be a joy to restore and clean, and the thought of how they would shine brought a smile to his face.

“God, you’re such a stereotype sometimes.” Bae shook his head. “Aaaand… how’s the library? Any progress on that front?”

The younger man tried not to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, going for a light-hearted tone as he monitored his father’s reaction. There was no mistaking the way his scales flared up around his neck, as if fluffing up, turning a darker shade of gold than what was usual. It was a minute reaction, there one moment and gone the next, but it was a very telling one, especially for someone as experienced in things as Bae was.

“N-no, not really. Regina, she’s being… unreasonable. Stubborn. It’s a bad year to acquire real estate, in any case, what with the-”

“And how’s the librarian, pop?”

There was a bigger ripple then, crossing the entirety of his face, scales turning so dark they almost looked black. The younger man snickered, trying to be subtle about it.

“Be- Miss French is fine. And none of your concern, boy.”

“Did she recover from that nasty fall the other day?”

Bae tried to valiantly pretend he didn’t notice her father flex his claws unconsciously, and he studiously kept his mouth shut about the glazed look in his eyes too. He had been thrilled when his father first started to mention the woman, over a year ago. A new addition to Storybrooke, at the time, and a sore spot for his father, who had fought to acquire the library only to have Regina insist on reopening it instead, just to spite him. Miss French was, at first, an unwitting pawn of the mayor, but later grew to be a nuisance in her own right. Always fighting with his pop over city funds, organising “noisy library events” that disturbed him while he restored some antique or the other at his shop and absolutely refusing to cower before him like everyone else in town.

At some point he had begun to catch on to the fact that his father was constantly mentioning the librarian, and it wasn’t always to deliver the scathing insults he likely thought he was dishing out. He called her “obnoxiously sweet” and rambled on and on about how she thought she could get anything by batting her long lashes and speaking in her lilting Australian drawl. He had had to endure entire conversations where he talked at length about a five minute exchange between them, to the point that even little Henry had cottoned on to the fact that his grandpa had a crush.

He denied it, of course. Dismissed every single one of Bae’s attempts at discussing the matter and even made a conscious effort to try and stop mentioning Belle French. Didn’t exactly work out all that much, though. Specially after a close encounter, like last week, when his father managed to barge into the library, intending on getting some very urgent books and getting out with as minimal human interaction as possible, only to unwittingly catch the librarian as one of her too-high heels slipped from the step she was perched on and she tumbled off the ladder. His father had called him that night with a dazed look on his face, the pupils of his eyes blown wide as he recounted the event, his scales rippling out completely. Bae knew that look, though he had only seen his father direct it at objects before. A covetous look, possessive.

He understood then why his father was reluctant to even admit to a crush, much less something more serious. It was easy, and dangerous, for his natural tendency towards greed to permeate his relationships with humans, which meant he made a conscious effort to keep people at bay, not only because he could not trust people with his secret but also because he could not trust himself to form attachments that were acceptable to humans, that would not lead to them feeling suffocated and imprisoned.

It had been a point of contention between him and his pop, he could not deny it, back when the issue of college had come up. It had led to heated debates and pleas from his father that he was trying, he was doing his best to let go, but it was hard in a way Bae would never understand. He cringed every time he remembered what he had said in anger.

“Right, because I’m not like you. I’m not your son.”

It had been, until then, an unspoken truth they both knew. That Bae was not biologically his. A hard thing to ignore, taking into account their different nature. It had taken time and effort for him to believe his pop when he said he was his son in any way that mattered. Which, of course, had eventually led to the growing pains of their eventual separation, and his father learning to deal with parting with something he held dear. As much as it had been a chore it had truly helped alleviate some of Bae’s still-latent fears about his father’s affection.

“Miss French is fine, your suspicious concern over her is misplaced.”

Bae, blessedly, let the matter drop, and the conversation was turned instead to Henry’s latest passion, now that his dinosaur phase was fully behind him. By the time they hung up he was already elbow-deep into dinner preparations- heating up a beef stew he had prepared last night. Most of his neck and face were showing scales, as were his arms and hands. Once upon a time, when he’d been young, he had not been able to keep his true form hidden for more than a couple of hours, and it required all of his concentration. It had meant living in the gutter while out on the streets and keeping to shadowy corners and dark alleyways. After his aunties had taken him in it had meant being homeschooled, and dedicating a great portion of his waking hours practising keeping pink, soft skin and dull, brown eyes. Now he could hardly recall ever having such little control, but he still found it uncomfortable and painful to keep up the facade for long periods of time, particularly when his emotions were running high. And though that was not usually the case rent day did like to try his patience. That’s usually why after rent day he prepared himself something full of meat and drank a bottle of a nice red of his choice while enjoying a book or a movie. He had a documentary set up for later that night, a riveting two-hour exploration of traditional kimono-making in Japan. He’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

Just as he was about to heat up dinner there was a knock on the door. His eyes flashed in displeasure before he shook himself in an effort to try to dispel the scales, hide them under whatever bit of skin he could conjure up. He was tired, hungry and not in the mood for anything other than the barest form of human interaction. With that in mind he put on his fiercest scold, shuffled to the door and opened it wide, ready to make whoever was on the other side regret being born.

“Oh, Mr Gold, you’re home!”

The Australian drawl was unmistakable, and it stopped him from actually verbalizing the genteel-yet-direct death threat he’d conjured up in his head a second earlier. Belle French was, indeed, on his front porch, shivering in her drenched peacoat, tights and boots, hair plastered to her face and eyes wide, wary. It was a look he often saw in most of the townspeople when they looked at him, but he’d never seen it before in Miss French. Afraid of nothing, she’d seemed to be, even an old dragon such as himself.

“Miss French, what on Earth are you doing out at this hour and in this weather?”

It didn’t even cross his mind to demand to know why she had knocked on his front door at all.

“Well, I was out in the woods, helping Dr Hopper get a hold of Pongo- you know how he likes to chase rabbits sometimes- and on my way home I realised I had forgotten my keys. I was about to call Ruby, who has the spare set, but I remembered she was out of town on a date. She would totally come if I call her but she’s been so looking forward to her first date with Dorothy that it would be a shame to interrupt her. I was gonna walk over to Granny’s when it started raining and I saw the light on at your house and thought perhaps I could come in and wait it out a little?”

She spoke in a rushed voice, teeth chattering and trying to look as if she wasn’t freezing to death. Her lips were tinged with blue, and her skin looked pale, almost translucent, in the dim light of his porch. He was about to awkwardly invite her in- perhaps to offer her a cup of tea and a ride home- when a bolt of lightning split the sky, followed a second later by a crack of thunder. In the blink of an eye she was in his arms, trembling like a leaf and holding onto the lapels of his banyan. He struggled to contain his reaction, to keep his human mask in check even as he registered how soft she was, and how she smelt like burnt caramel and vanilla, something he had only once managed to scent before, when she had fallen in the library.

“Miss French?”

He counted himself lucky that his voice, though hoarse and thick, still sounded distinctively human, and that he could talk without breathing out too much smoke. It was all about the small victories.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Gold, it’s just that… Well, I have this thing about thunder…”

By the time she detached herself from him, mouth curved in a tremulous smile, he was fully in control of himself, and also completely aware that he would not be able to keep his cool when Bae mentioned the librarian during their next call.

“Completely understandable, Miss French. I detest the rain myself. Do come in, you’re drenched.”

He ushered her in, letting her linger in the foyer, removing her coat and shoes while he looked for a towel in the linen closet next to the laundry. She wrapped it around herself, following him into the kitchen, self-conscious about dripping water on his hardwood floors.

“Let me fix you a cup of tea. You need some warmth in you.”

The process of preparing a cup of tea was familiar and comforting enough to help quell the last bit of nerves at the idea of Belle French in his home, his lair, where all his hoarded treasure was. His finest antiques, lovingly restored to perfection, his favourite pieces of art, his most prized objects. The house itself was part of his hoard, the antique Queen Anne outfitted with beautiful crown moldings and other unique details.

The moment he started to crave something he imagined how it would fit in his home, where he would place the object, and whether it would look right amidst his already established hoard. So he had pointedly and purposefully avoided even the briefest daydream of Belle French inside his home. Hadn’t allowed himself to entertain the idea at all, knowing that way lay madness. He had been right, of course, and it was patently obvious as he snuck glances at Belle, perched atop one of the stools surrounding his kitchen isle. The familiar itch, to take and keep, travelled down his spine, making his fingers twitch and almost causing him to spill scalding water all over himself. Wouldn’t have done any actual damage, but he would’ve had to pretend to be hurt, and he could not trust himself to do a good job of it at the moment.

She took the cup from him with a grateful smile and he watched her as she poured a teaspoon of honey into it, leaving the milk and sugar untouched. He secreted the information away, as useless to him as it was precious. It spoke of a certain domestic intimacy that he found himself covetting deeply. To be expected, given his nature. He remembered doing the same with Bae, tucking away the bits and pieces of useless trivia that most people would not find valuable or interesting, but that few people would ever get to know about Bae, like how he liked to take hour-long showers and disliked chunky peanut butter.

“This orange blossom honey is lovely. Can’t say I’ve seen it at the local store.”

He got it from New York, from a specialised tea store Bae had taken him to a few years back.

“It pairs well with Earl Grey.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to promise her a case full of the stuff, but he pushed to sudden urge down, unhappy with that line of thought. It was common for him to shower those he had an interest in with things they might take a fancy too. It was in his nature, but he had learnt to curve the impulse, to a certain extent- Bae’s epic comic book collection being his last big failure. It did help that he tended to care about very few people, partly as a sort of defence mechanism. Clearly it wasn’t working as well, given that Belle French had managed to capture him so.

“I’m so grateful for your hospitality, but I see I’ve caught you in the middle of dinner preparations. I don’t wish to bother Ruby on her date, but I’m sure Granny would let me wait for her at the diner. I’ll call Leroy, he’ll give me a ride there.”

His relief at the perspective of being left alone, free to finally shift into a more comfortable form in peace, battled with the surprising cold wash of disappointment at the idea that she’d be gone in a matter of minutes. He was about to offer to drive her himself- Leroy’s truck, after all, was hardly a reliable method of transportation, when the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.

“Oh, bugger.”

He counted to ten before he heard the generator kick in, the lights coming back on. He looked out the kitchen window, realising there were no streetlights. Everything was pitch black outside, obscured further by the heavy rain. Certainly not the ideal conditions for driving.

“Is it that bad?”

He startled, having not realised Miss French had made her way to the window as well, close enough to be uncomfortably thrilling. He saw her biting her lip, obviously realising that calling anyone for a ride was out of the question but unwilling to impose herself on him any further.

“Certainly no weather to be driving in. I must insist you stay until the lights come back on or the rain lets up enough.”

The sheer dread at the idea of having to maintain his human appearance mixed with the heady excitement of having Belle French in his home for an extended period of time. It made him both nauseated and exhilarated, a rather unsettling combination.

The sheer relief in her face settled his mood somewhat. While he ushered her into the downstairs bathroom and went to look for clothes that could fit her- there was no question of her staying in her wet things- he gave himself a pep talk, attempting to bolster his confidence. He was an old creature, he had certainly endured high-stress situations where he had managed to hold on to his control for longer. He could certainly make it through an evening with Belle French without giving himself away.

By the time he had dinner ready he was fully convinced of the success of the evening. He focused on filling two bowls, trying not to linger on the fact that he had chosen to use his Royal Warwick dinnerware set, the stew looking a bit plain surrounded by the fanciful rose designs of traditional Scottish landscapes.

“Oh, that smells heavenly.”

He turned around, sheer instinct keeping him from dropping the plates in his hands at the sight of Belle fucking French wearing one of his shirts- why had he picked his favourite deep blue one?- and a pair of tights, his already oversized cashmere cardigan practically drowning her, making her look small and frail. He should have known, should have tried to contemplate the reaction he might have to someone he craved dressed in things he owned, things full of his scent.

“Oh, let me help with that.”

She took the plates out of his hands, being nice enough not to comment on the absolutely idiotic look on his face. He gestured for her to skip his rather ornate dining room table, ushering her instead to the living room. There was a couch and a divan facing a coffee table, as well as a large carved armoire that hid a flat screen TV. To the side there was a fireplace, which he had been quick to light while Belle had been in the bathroom, unwilling to have to pretend to make fire the human way.

“It costs too much to heat the house, so it’s best to resort to more traditional methods and save the generator for the rest. There isn’t a fireplace in the dining room, so I thought we’d be more comfortable here.”

He settled on one side of the couch, leaving the one closest to the fire for her. She still looked somewhat chilled, even though her lips had lost their blue tint and her cheeks were looking decidedly rosier. He gathered a throw from the nearby divan and wordlessly left it near her, trying not to preen in scaly satisfaction when he saw her unfurl the fabric over her feet, generously leaving half of it for his use. He wouldn’t presume to take her up on her offer, but it was a kind gesture nonetheless. Wordlessly he went to pick a nice bottle of Malbec and a couple of glasses, feeling that as risky as the alcohol was for his self-control it would help his nerves and help him warm up till the fire could properly heat the room. Belle accepted her glass with a charming smile, making a pleased hum with the first sip that had him slapping a hand against the raised scales on the side of his neck.

They ate in companionable silence, broken by small comments from Belle about the stew- Guinness and beef, a personal favourite of his, with a smokey touch of bacon for added flavour- and questions about the many antiques he had sprinkled around. There was little rhyme or reason to his collection, aside from the price tag assigned to each piece, but just because something was considered expensive did not mean it caught his fancy enough to wish to keep it.

“It’s like me and shoes. I adore them, but not every gorgeous pair of Louboutins I see catch my fancy.”

He had noticed her extensive shoe collection. At first because they were obviously expensive and he could smell it but later because they became a central quirk of Belle he wanted to learn more of. It had always bothered him, on the back of his mind, like an itch, the thought of how she paid for them. Her clothing was fine but either second-handed or from outlet stores, and everything else about her spoke of frugality. Her shoes, on the other hand, were decadent, and not just because of how they made her legs look. Her stockings too, always silk and never nylon. Very expensive, all around. Too expensive for a librarian.

“You’re right.” He flushed, realising he had said the last part out loud. “My other passion is books. I have… so many books. They quietly take over every living space I’ve ever had. I was raised by my dad, who was a florist, so there was never a lot of money for books. I became used to buying books in thrift stores and second-hand bookstores. And I discovered from a young age that I have a nose for rare books. Books that may not look valuable but are. So I’ve been able to turn my hobby into a profitable source of income. I keep a few rare editions that I like, but I am fonder of turning one book into ten than hoarding just the one book. So I sell them and buy books, shoes and occasionally some nice lingerie.”

He choked on what had been a nice sip of Catena Zapata, the alcohol burning his nostrils in an altogether different sensation to the usual one. He blessed the low light for hiding the way his fingers turned distinctively claw-like, unable to hold the illusion of soft pink fingers. He covered his shaky right hand with his left, which looked a wee bit better.

Thankfully Miss French was not looking at him, having apparently also realised what she had said. Both her hands were over her mouth, her eyes wide as she looked at her own glass of wine- the third one, if he was remembering correctly- in a faintly-accusatory manner.

“In my defence that’s the yummiest wine I’ve ever tasted.”

He shouldn’t have found the word “yummy” erotic, but there was something about Belle French’s accent wrapping around the word and the images it conjured that… distracted him.

“Yeah, well… Argies don’t fuck around with Malbec.”

He thought for a second he might have come off as pretentious, but Belle laughed, the tension from her shopping confession fading away as she turned her attention back to the stew.

“These are beautiful plates, by the way. Lovely pattern, and they have a weight to them that’s very pleasant.”

He cradled his own empty bowl protectively.

“Yes, well, they aren’t exactly the finest china. My aunties had part of the set, my Auntie Isla bought it for my Auntie Wyn for their tenth anniversary. After they died I spent many years completing the set, something they had always talked about doing.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Belle smile.

“My mom loved Victoria Holt books. It was one of the few things my father ever told me about her. Gave me her small collection and I set out to find the ones that were missing. I’m still missing a few she wrote under different aliases, but I got a few leads I’m hoping pan out. I get the impulse.”

The comment gave him pause, a spark of something flickering on the edges of his brain. But he pushed it aside, busying himself with picking up the plates and taking them to the kitchen, if only to give his overworked control a bit of a break. He was practically itching all over, skin buzzing in a way that was partly due to exhaustion and partly excitement. The creature in him was dying to claw its way out, desirous to wrap itself snug around Belle French and keep her there. The dragon had always taken an interest in her, before the man, even. Had scented her even before he’d ever laid eyes on her. But he hadn’t much noticed the fixation till he himself had begun to notice Miss French. The creature had rumbled in approval, practically gleeful, and since then he’d had to fight his own growing attraction to the librarian and whatever other baser instincts his nature brought about. Now, in the safety of its lair, with the object of its fixation surrounded by the carefully chosen objects of its hoard, the creature roared to be let out, and he was afraid to even consider what for. Nothing wholesome, certainly.

Debating on whether more wine would damper his instincts or his remaining common sense he picked up another bottle of Malbec- Achával Ferrer this time- and a box of chocolate truffles he had been saving for rent day specifically. No reason why he couldn’t share a few, it was the hospitable thing to do.

He tried not to preen when he heard Belle’s pleased hum at the sight of the chocolate and the wine, turning his head just so to hide the darkening of his scales around his ears, a blush-like response.

“I checked outside and things seem to be much the same, so I texted Emma, who’s been in touch with the electric company as the town sheriff. Power’s supposed to be sorted out in a couple of hours, though she didn’t sound like she fully believed it.”

Well, fuck. Two fucking hours? He wouldn’t make it. He already felt like he was about to spontaneously combust, his grasp of his human self paper thin at best. On the other hand sending Miss French out into the darkness of the night, while it rained, was out of the question. And the evening, so far, was so… pleasant. Intimate and soft and everything he had been denying himself but had secretly desired for the longest time. There was a kinship building. Miss French made him feel nervous, yes, and tightly-wound, but also, at the same time, at ease. Safe.

“Would you be interested in watching a documentary about kimono making?”

He could not imagine posing such a question to anyone else with an honest expectation of interest. Even Bae, whom he loved and who loved him in return, would at best politely decline.

“Sounds amazing. Count me in.”

The documentary was riveting for its careful and thorough exploration of Japanese craftsmanship, with an emphasis on the dying and printing of the kimonos as well as the differences in kimono styles depending on age, marital status and time of the year. Not that Gold was paying attention to any of it, as much as it all seemed right up his alley. Somehow, during the first ten minutes of the documentary- the only ones he would later be able to recall- they had drifted closer in the couch, with Belle eventually resting her head against his shoulder, cuddling close for warmth and comfort.

The warmth he could agree with, the comfort was more of a relative thing. As good as the weight and feel of Belle was against his side- human contact was a luxury for him- it made the itch all the more unbearable, and halfway through a fascinating scene about the process of stamping patterns into kimono fabrics he felt the scales around his neck and hands unfurl completely, resisting any and all attempt to retract. He had to console himself with the fact that the only light in the room was coming from the now dwindling fire, and that the high collar of his banyan and the cashmere throw around their laps was covering most of him. Surely as long as he did not call attention to the changes they would not be all that visible.

He almost had a heart attack when he felt the tip of Belle’s nose brush against the side of his neck. She had to feel it, the decidedly non-human texture, the slight roughness of the scales, but she made no comment, which left him free to pause his relentless anxiety about her discovering his nature and give free reign to his relentless anxiety at her close proximity. She smelled… divinely, and the feel of her made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach in a way that felt too good. It was nerve-wracking in a toe-curling sort of well he seldom experienced and he was shocked at how good it felt, considering how much he liked always being in control of any given situation. Growing up the way he had had forced him to toughen up, learn to be the predator instead of the prey. He had spent years growing into his nature, so to speak, learning to both control and embrace the creature that he was to the point that there was little that could perturb him. Not Mayor Mills, with all her power over the town, not some of the bigger, stronger people who rented from him and thought at first that they could push around their smaller, older landlord and not the ruthless business sharks he made deals with day in and day out. And yet one small, unassuming woman could bring him to his knees. It was irrational. It was worrisome. It was-

Arousing.

Next to him Belle moved, standing up and stretching languidly. He looked at the television, noticing the screen was back to the USB menu.

“That was a lovely documentary, made me feel like I was right there in Japan, soaking in the culture and the air. It’s why I love documentaries, they allow me to travel on a budget, so to speak.”

She moved around the room slowly, tentatively reaching out to touch a figurine or explore a paperweight.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go to your shop, for the same reason. You seem to have so many fascinating things. But your hours are the same as the library’s, so I haven’t had any luck.”

He told himself he was imagining the flirty tone in her voice, surely her accent was just so pretty everything sounded that way.

“I didn’t know you brought your work home so much, Mr Gold.” Rowan, he thought, call me Rowan. “Where’s this figurine from?”

She lightly touched the top of a Lladro figurine depicting a ballerina stretching before practice. Haltingly, he told her the story behind it, how he had found it at a yard sale for five bucks, sold by the greedy sons of a once-wealthy widow that had died a couple of days before. The whelps hadn’t waited till the funeral to try and get their money’s worth out of their inheritance. The figurine was worth just shy of five hundred dollars, in today’s market.

“What a thrill it must have been, to snatch up such a price.”

Yes, the creature inside him whispered, seemingly thinking less about the little ballerina and more about the flesh-and-blood woman in front of them. He closed his eyes, but it only made the scent of her more prominent in his mind. This was utter madness.

“What about this one?”

They spent what felt like hours in such a way, Belle pointing at several objects that caught her fancy and God struggling to somehow relate their story while attempting to ignore how she practically fondled his hoard. The creature did not take its eyes off her, utterly entranced. The fierce dragon captured by the fair maiden, a modern twist to the story. Every now and then she’d find something she particularly enjoyed and she would hum or make low approving noises, which was slowly but surely making him go mad.

He stood up on shaky legs, going over to the fireplace supposedly to add a log and stoke the fire. In reality he was trying to stop staring at her, in the vague hope that it would bring him some semblance of control.

“You have a beautiful home, Mr Gold. So big, and so full of things.” She sounded closer than he expected. “But so empty of people. It feels a bit… lonely.”

He could see her in his peripheral vision, but kept his head low and eyes on the fire, which allowed his hair to hide his face. Otherwise she would surely notice the deep gold-green scales around his eyes, and the unnatural glow of his irises.

“Yes, well… I’m a difficult man to love.”

He hoped she would attribute the strange hoarseness of his voice to his thickened accent. He thought about Milah, and Cora, and the other handful of women he’d ever been with, thought about how careful he had had to be to avoid hurting them, how unsatisfied they had been by what they considered his complete lack of passion. That, more than protecting his secret, had made him swear off human contact and affection. It never paid off in the end, and he wasn’t willing to put himself out there for little to no reward.

“Doesn’t feel that way to me.”

He turned his head slightly to find her looking at him from beneath her lashes. The scent of her seemed stronger and sweeter and that, along with the soothing warmth of the fire, was making it hard to think. The creature inside him was urging him to take. Just one kiss, one fleeting brush of the lips, one small taste. And, surely, he had followed that impulse before. If it gave it something to treasure, however little, it might quiet down. There was no harm in just a kiss.

He moved quickly, swallowing the sound of surprise Belle made as his lips slanted across hers with more pressure than he intended. Relief and arousal raced down his spine, urging him to pull her closer, to bury himself completely in her. Idly, as he cupped the back of her head and tilted her head just so, he wondered how he had been able to resist for so long, and why. It seemed both impossible and pointless now, with Belle’s fingers sinking into his hair, pulling at the strands in a way that he did not know until then he found arousing.

Belle was surprisingly strong, and delightfully feisty. She seemed determined to get boss him around with tugs on his hair and his arms, her hands shoving at his shoulders until he was sitting down on the couch- how had they moved there?- and he had a lapful of librarian. The creature was playfully competitive, encouraging him to roughhouse, to nip and bite and wrestle for control. It was nothing like any of his previous sexual encounters, there was some sort of animalistic, playfully violent aspect to it that was foreign to him but felt familiar somehow, instinctual. He tried, between toe-curling brushes of Belle’s tongue against his, to remember how soft and fragile she was. Human and therefore delicate. He needed to be careful, needed to get a hold of himself and go slow, and soft and-

‘Fuck, did she just bite me?’

He growled in warning when she tried to rip his banyan open, wrestling to trap her arms against her sides and tumbling out of the couch and into the shaggy rug in front of the fire. Beneath him Belle chuckled, a low, deep sound that went straight to his cock. Fuck, but she was perfect, writhing beneath him, fighting to regain the upper hand even as she attacked his neck with her mouth, niping at whatever exposed bit of skin she could get to. Needing to touch her in return he blindly reached inside the shirt and cardigan he wore, tracing the ridges of his spine, feeling her skin hot and slick beneath his fingertips. It was then that she found a particularly-sensitive point between his neck and shoulder, sinking her teeth into it with such force that he practically roared, raking his nails down her back. She gasped, arching up against him before a shred of common sense filtered back into his addled brain, freezing him in place.

Fuck. He had hurt her. He had been so fucking careless he had forgotten his sharp claws and how easily they could cut through human skin. He didn’t fight her when she flipped them over, pinning him down like the fucking beast he was. They were close enough to the fire that he now realised she had to be able to see it all, the eyes, the scales, the sharpened teeth. The utter inhumanity of it, out in all its ugly glory. He fumbled for an apology, hating himself for still feeling extremely aroused after hurting her. She was probably scared to death, he needed to fucking think and try and say something to reassure her, to make her see he wasn’t going to hurt-

“Hey.”

Belle’s voice sounded low, no hint of trepidation in it. One of her hands combed the hair away from his face, turning his head so he would look up at her. It was then that he noticed her eyes… they were glowing. Bright blue, an almost electric colour, with the barest touch of silver. He looked beyond, into the pale skin of her face and arms, bared by his frenzied undressing. The skin had a strange shine to it, and when he focused he could see the small, sleek scales, so pale they were easily overlooked, except that their opalescent nature made them reflect the light from the fire in a myriad of different shades, like an opal. Everything felt, at once, familiar and wholly strange, so similar and yet so different from his own appearance.

‘Like us. Told you.’ The creature purred from inside him, smug and pleased. ‘Smells right. Like mate.’

He inhaled, noticing her burnt caramel smell was more pronounced and sweeter, not to mention coming mostly from within her soft thighs. Fuck, how had he not seen it before? He had never met another like him, not up close and personal. He had heard rumours of others, had read stories, but his had been a solitary life. For all he knew he was the only one like him in Maine, or even the United States. Fuck, the whole world. And it turned out he wasn’t even the only one like him in Storybrooke. And the creature had known by scent and instinct alone.

A new sort of desperation grew in him. He wanted to see, he needed to see. Fully unsheathing his claws, now that he wasn’t afraid to be discovered or to hurt her, he shredded what was left of his shirt on her, uncovering more of her glorious torso to his greedy eyes. His eyes took in her delicate scaled waist and the opalescent reflections the light made on her breasts, where the scales seemed to be softer, almost feathery. He watched in enraptured fascination as a pale lavender blush spread down her torso and across the high points of her cheeks.

Fuck, she was perfect. Delicate and beautiful and a match for him in every way. There was no need to pretend, or hide, or go slow and soft. The creature inside him agreed in a gleeful hiss. He buried his head on the crook of her shoulder, his tongue darting out to taste her scales, marvelling at the feel of them. Not rough at all, but rather pleasantly slippery and hot. He rubbed his head against her neck and shoulder, purring at the feel of it.

“Gold, please.”

She fidgeted above him, aroused and bothered by his seemingly-stupified state.

“Rowan.” He growled his name against her skin, voice thick and barely understandable, pitched too low to be human. “Call me Rowan.”

When she whispered his name in a keen, needy wail it was as if something snapped inside him. He pounced, tackling her to the grown and taking advantage of her surprised gasp to kiss her open mouth, letting his tongue trace the sharp points of her teeth and feel her raspy tongue. His claws made short work of her lovely leggings, and he would have felt a small stab of guilt at destroying them if Belle hadn’t proceeded to practically shred his own pants. He lost the rest of his clothing in the tousle that followed. It wasn’t the way he had ever understood sex to be like but it felt right, instinctual, to wrestle on the hardwood floor, nipping and scratching and biting as they took turns pinning each other down.

Slowly, naturally, a rhythm built between them, everything getting slower and more intense. Claws dragged deeper against skin, teeth dug harder against flesh and the air grew hot between them, smelling pleasantly of burnt caramel and woodsmoke. He mouthed at every bit of skin he could reach, taking special care to map as much of her breasts as she would allow, taking care to notice when she made needy little whimpers or when her scent spiked, indicating her pleasure.

“Enough.” Belle sunk her nails deep into the scales of his shoulder, hurting in the best possible way. “Fuck me, Rowan.”

He didn’t know if it was the words or the commanding tone that made him lose his mind but in the blink of an eye he was pinning her to the ground, hands holding her wrists above her head. He took a quick moment to try to commit the moment to memory before instinct completely took over and he thrust deep into her. She arched, tight as a bowstring, cunt tightening around his cock in a vice grip that had him almost spilling himself then and there. No human woman had ever felt this hot and good, and had he known it could feel like that he would have never been able to orgasm with a human partner.

When he finally had himself under some semblance of control he began to thrust, with little finesse but all the pent-up passion he had. It was brutal but she took it all, reciprocating his movements and begging him to go faster, harder. Pleasure built up to an almost painful degree, his muscles coiling, tension building until it was difficult to say what hurt and what didn’t. Instinctively he bent over, scraping his teeth against the underside of one of her breasts. Belle thrashed beneath him, letting out a hoarse cry as she tightened around him once more, inner muscles fluttering against his cock as she came. She followed her seconds later, the relief leaving him almost giddy with delight.

He found himself desperately in need of pressing himself against her, the orgasm leaving him uncharacteristically cuddly. Belle felt clearly the same, twining her limbs around him. He marvelled at the colour contrast, deep gold against pale opalescent pink, and at the similar way in which their scales were raised, overly-sensitive after their coupling. He pressed his ear against the side of her torso, feeling rather than hearing her purr.

“Hmm, that was even better than I imagined. Didn’t know it could be so good with someone like me.”

It felt ridiculously good to know that he was her first as she was his, in a sense. He wondered if she had always known what he was, if she had been able to recognise him as kin from the beginning, and how. Wondered about where she came from, and how her upbringing had been compared to his. He wanted to see her hoard, her books and her shoes and see if he could detect what it was that appealed to her.

There would be time for all of that later, he decided, propping himself up just enough to reach the cashmere throw forgotten on the sofa, spreading it over them as their bodies cooled.

There would be time for everything.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #rumbelle christmas in july #nerdrumple

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devnicolee · 4 years

Text

The Chosen Ones (3)

Warnings: Slow Burn, angst

Word Count: 10,181

A/N: We are stuck inside with nothing to do... figured I would pass the time with writing. Enjoy!

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

“That was a productive meeting, yes?" She asked the stoic man next to her as she gathered the mess of documents in front of her.

Her eyes closed briefly as exhaustion from a day's worth of meetings settled in her bones. She desired nothing more than to fall into bed and take a nap before her call with her brother to recap the day.

She loathed admitting when her brother was right but even she couldn't deny that he was right about this. She had a certain knack for this... politics and compromise. He forced her out of her comfort zone, out of the space she knew but she was happy he did. She actually enjoyed the work and it didn't hurt that her first assignment came with certain... perks.

"I think it is beginning to look like something we could work with. The King will be amenable to our requests, yes?"

"I am speaking with him tonight and will raise your concerns then. None of which are unreasonable, even if they are a bit prickly," she teased. "We can discuss his feedback and do any fine-tuning tomorrow."

He nodded. "Um Asha, do you have plans prior to dinner?"

"Just a nap, I think," she chuckled. "But I could be persuaded to do something different if my host has other ideas."

"Well, I was hoping we could go for a walk, perhaps through the market. So you can be among the people for a bit."

"That sounds lovely."

The journey down the mountain was swift, a quick carriage ride. The Lodge looked larger than life from the valley, a true lesson in how perspective changes everything. She looked up to see bridges criss-crossing their way between the mountains and structures, giving the Jabari faster and easier access to every inhabited part of the mountains. She marveled at the engineering. She was not as smart as Shuri when it came to technology but she could hold her own in the lab and spent a great deal of time there at night with her sister to avoid the other scientists. She understood the skill it took to create and erect those types of structures. It reminded her how little she truly understood about the Jabari, grateful for the opportunity to really learn about their daily lives. Her eyes lowered to the small shops surrounding her on the ground.

Asha drew a few stares as she walked alongside M’Baku. Every booth they passed earned M’Baku a discreet bow, head nod and smile while she got a curious and long stare. She did stand out like red in a sea of white, too small to be a Jabari and clearly dressed in the clothes of a low lander. Her two-piece dress would not have turned heads in the Golden City, but here? It screamed of an outsider who didn't know how to dress for the weather.

However, her companion certainly was not complaining. M'Baku almost lost his breath when she walked into his office that morning, the smooth skin of her waist showing, her shapely body on display in the form-fitting skirt. There were several moments throughout the day that he got lost in the desire to know what laid beneath that outfit, moments like right now.

She wondered if this is what it was like for T’Challa or Shuri when they roamed the markets in Wakanda without a care in the world. She was always jealous of them, envied them for it. All the people they got to meet, things they got to see... she knew it brought them closer to their roots. After all, the true beauty of Wakanda is her people. If you do not know them, how can you truly love the country? Truly be a part of it? Yet another thing that made her heart ache, long for a different reality... she was an outsider in her own country, and would never be able to feel the warmth of Wakanda as she should have. They always told her there was nothing to envy, describing it as mundane, commonplace, sometimes even boring. She always thought they were lying for her benefit, and now she knew that to be true. What she was experiencing now was quite the opposite of mundane, commonplace or boring. It was lively and vibrant... she imagined if she were to walk through at the same time tomorrow, she would see something totally unique. The sights, sounds and smells overloaded her senses as she walked, all competing for her attention and pulling her in 100 different directions.

"What are you thinking about?" His deep baritone startled her out of her inner musings.

"Oh umm..I was just thinking about how different this is. You know, I can't even remember the last time I was in a crowd this big, truthfully. Probably not since I was 10 or so?" She nervously fidgeted with her hands as anxiety replaced her awe while she looked at the unsuspecting Jabari around her.

"That is when the chosen begin to reveal their powers. I imagine it is the same down the mountains?"

She nodded and sighed, "Yes."

A loud crack drew her attention to two small children playing with knobkerries behind one of the booths as they walked, reminding her of her and her brother at that age.

"One minute T'Challa and I were training together and the next minute, the training mat was in flames. I will never forget his face... He thought it was the coolest thing ever. My parents... did not. And of course, now I just think of all the ways I could have accidentally hurt him. Like I could do to almost ev-every person here." That last part was softer, M'Baku realizing that she didn't really mean to say it out loud.

"If I truly thought you were a danger to anyone here, I would not have brought you. Do not sell yourself or your control over yourself short Asha. Come, I think this may help."

She appreciated the lifeline, his ability to pull her back from the edge of the cliff before she catapulted down into a sea of anxiety and fear. Of course, she did not truly recognize that everytime he pulled her from that cliff, he was pushing her toward a different, equally dangerous one. She was just grateful for the distraction, the assurance as he pulled her toward an empty booth to his right. Unlike the other booths that were filled with products, this booth was completely bare with only a frail-looking old woman sitting alone behind it.

"Miss Olabisi, looking as beautiful as ever," M'Baku boasted to the old woman sitting behind the booth.

She leaned into her carved wooden walking stick to help her stand as she limped her way from her seat to the counter.

"My lord. I pray Hanuman is blessing you today," she offered with a smile.

Her petite, wrinkled hands grasped his large ones as she spoke. Asha watched from a bit behind him as they interacted.

"Just as he does every day. I brought a friend with me today. I was hoping to show her your flowers."

Asha shared a confused look with Alexis behind him. There were no flowers at her booth or any visible merchandise or a sign to explain what the woman sold there.

"Ah a special friend? She is beautiful but not a Jabari. Must be a lowlander. Come close, my child. I don't bite," she reached out a hand for Asha to approach.

Asha walked up to stand by M'Baku, the old woman immediately taking her hand in hers. Instinctively, Asha yanked her hand away and Alexis banged her spear into the ground, ready to use her weapon. Asha quickly raised her hand, signaling for her guard to stand down.

"Do not fret, child. I mean you no harm. I am sure you have encountered more dangerous beings than I," she held her fragile hands back out.

After a reassuring smile and nod from M'Baku, Asha placed her hand back in hers. Her fingertips gently gazed over her palm, seemingly unbothered by the smoke slowly rising from her palm.

"I sense great magic in you child. Perhaps one of the most powerful chosen I have seen all my days. A Fire One? The most rare among us... Perhaps a rare flower for a rare beauty, yes?"

Unnerved by the woman's other-worldly ability to read her powers, Asha's responses were limited to simple head nods. Asha watched as she pulled a pot of soil from under her counter. With a few waves of her hands, Asha watched a flower buds slowly peek out of the soil. She watched them grow and grow until the pot was full of Wakandan Roses: blood red with orange tips.

"A flower fit for one chosen by fire, I think."

Awe and wonder settled on Asha's face like a child. "Wow... wow, these are beautiful. Thank you."

"Anything for our chief's special friend," she answered. She waved her hands over a second pot, causing a white orchid to emerge. "And your favorite, my lord. Now go on, child. The day is as young and beautiful as the two of you. Don't waste it chatting with me. It was a pleasure to meet you Princess Asha, I expect we will see far more of you here."

"Thank you, Olabisi" M'Baku saluted her before motioning for his guard to pick up the potted flowers, pay, and continue back toward the carriage. "She is a chlorokinetic and the oldest Chosen in the tribe. She tends to the tribe's greenhouses and sells flowers, she can make a variation of any flower in the world based on a person's energy. Hence the hand thing, which sorry. I should have warned you. It is a bit jarring the first time," she nodded, the pair sharing a laugh. "She can also sense powers in other people. She is the epitome of what the chosen are meant to be for us."

"I can see. She is very special."

"The surprises are not over for today. I wanted you to see one more thing. A little mind-reading bird told me you love sunsets. I thought you ought to see the best one in all of Wakanda."

Asha scoffed, "I do but every Wakandan knows that the best view of the sunset is on the Great Mound, you can see Bast bring nightfall over all of Wakanda."

The horse pulling his carriage sped off, toward the mountain across from the Lodge. The winding, snow-covered roads took them higher and higher up the mountain.

"Oh yea? Well," he paused to climb out of the carriage and help her down. The carriage stopped at a small clearing that led to a cliff, not unlike the one the Talon dropped her off on the day prior. "The Jabari would like to offer up a contender for that spot."

She walked to the middle of the clearing and her breath was almost taken away. You could see everything: the border mountains of Jabariland, the waterfalls that flowed down into the valley of those border mountains, the Great Mound in the distance.

"T-this is... wow. I mean..." Words failed her.

There were no words to describe the majesty of her home. Wakanda is not perfect, she knew this, but of all the books she read, movies she had seen, she was confident in saying that no country on Earth held a torch to this beauty.

The pair stood, with their human shadows not far behind, fairly close to the edge of the peak. The whole world fell away as they stood, both staring off into the sunset. The sun made its descent slowly, giving them time to admire the changing colors in the sky. Tonight, it seemed Bast and Hanuman, she supposed given the setting, wanted to welcome her to this new place. With the setting sun came a sky of fire, rich hues of red faded into brilliant oranges as day gave way to dusk.

"You win. T-this is beautiful... it is everything M'Baku."

"It seems Hanuman wanted to thank us for bringing a rare beauty into his home. A sky fit for a woman of fire."

She turned away, face flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the flames beneath the surface. They continued to watch as the sky settled firmly into dusk before it would quickly give way to the inky blackness of nightfall. Asha didn't realize how close the two were standing until her shoulder brushed against his arm, causing those mysterious sparks like those that rise from embers on a fire to slowly rise from her hands.

He held her hand, instinctively noticing her preparing to snatch them out of the atmosphere, desperate to stop her. They watched each other, her small hand still in his as the sparks grew. Soon, they were surrounded by them, circling them, pulling them into a world of their own.

Before M'Baku could stop himself, his free hand cupped her face, holding her gaze to his. He felt it... the heat flush beneath her skin. He imagined a boiling inferno of power that no one else could see, that no one else was worthy of. She stared up at him with a soft smile that made him want to gather the whole world and lay it at her feet. It took all of one day... 24 hours for him to forget her engagement, forget how undeserving he was of her, forget his iron-clad rules and self-control and whatever bullshit he fed himself to limit his feelings toward her. He didn't want to be limited... normalcy, being ordinary was limiting enough. He wanted her and that moment did not afford him the time to really examine what that would mean, the consequences of that next step. His thumb gently rubbed circles in her cheek, her eyes fell closed at his touch and he knew he had her.

Looking at each other, both decided that the consequences were inconsequential. Those would just have to be the troubles of the future M'Baku and Asha to work out because right here... right now was all that mattered. His hand slid down to her neck as he pulled her body flush against his.

Bated breaths passed between the two, they shared silent pleads and determination to see this choice through as M'Baku lowered his lips toward hers only to be stopped by the shrill sound of her beads ringing through the air. Like an explosion, the two jumped away from each other immediately.

"Oh no! M-my meeting with T'Challa. I-I am late. W-we sh-should return to the Lodge."

She stammered as she waved her hand around her face and closed it into a fist causing all the floating sparks to return to their owner.

"Y-yes. Yes. Of course. Let us hurry."

They climbed back into the carriage, taking off back down the mountain and up the sharp curves of another. Asha was thankful Alexis and Amari were in another carriage behind them so she did not have to see the look of disappointment on her guard's face. The ride back was only marked with silence... very awkward silence as she and M'Baku looked everywhere but at each other.

She felt foolish, coming onto him like a desperate fool.

Why on Earth would he want you?

She wanted to smack herself in the head. Never mind the fact that she was someone else's, why on Earth was she desperate for the intimate attention of someone who was not him?

Because we all know Hasani is incapable and unwilling to give you those things.

Well maybe that is because I am undeserving of them, she fought with herself internally.

Across the very short distance of the back seat in the carriage, M'Baku was having a similar fight with himself, kicking himself for ignoring everything he put in place to stop this exact scenario. She would hate him after this, he just knew it. Never want to see him again, demand to be taken back down the mountains immediately. And then he would face the wrath of the Black Panther for making her uncomfortable.

Why do you insist on making things harder for yourself?

They jumped out of the carriage quickly and M'Baku escorted her back to her chambers.

"This is your stop," he joked as they stood outside her door.

They both could tell the other was trying to figure out a way to address the gorilla in the room, what just took place. But she could not find the words and apparently neither could he.

"Yes, thank you. Um... are we still on for our walk tomorrow morning?" She asked timidly, her way of ensuring she was still in his good graces... that she did not ruin their budding friendship.

"Of course," he exclaimed, his face lighting up. They both let out a sigh of relief, he was also looking for a way to ensure he had not ruined everything. "Same time and place."

"Great! I am looking forward to it. I s-should go though. Shouldn't keep the king waiting right?"

"Right, good night Asha." She watched him walk away, a doey-eyed look of longing plastered on her face before Alexis caught her attention.

"We will need to speak about this after you finish with T'Challa," she whispered.

Asha rolled her eyes, refusing to acknowledge her guard's love for drama and gossip. Asha and Alexis settled into her room, putting her flowers on the nightstand before pulling out her tablet to call T'Challa.

"T'Challa! I am so sorry, I was with M'Baku and lost track of time," she apologized as she sat down on the couch next to Alexis.

"M'Baku? So you two are on a first name basis?"

"They are on more than that," Alexis whispered under her breath to which Asha responded with daggers of her own.

"What was that?" T'Challa inquired, amused at the interaction as realization hit that there was more to this bout of tardiness than his little sister was willing to let on.

"Nothing, nothing. Apologies again, my king."

"Well, I can excuse skipping one meeting, just don't make a habit of it like your younger sister, understand?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good, let's get to work."

***

"This is delicious... I didn’t realize you all were actually vegetarians. I thought you were just bothering the colonizer."

Asha smiled across the table at her host as they enjoyed dinner. It was bittersweet... she was ecstatic that he invited her to a private dinner in his residence but it was to commemorate her last night in the mountains and a successful final day of talks. She was going home with a signed treaty welcoming the Jabari back into the fold officially. But she didn't want to leave. The last two days were magical... perfect. And then in the morning, she would have to go down the mountains, put her rings back on and return to secrecy. She didn't want to do it but she knew she had no choice.

M’Baku let out a loud chuckle in his signature bark and shook his head.

"I was really proud of that joke."

"Oh we could all tell," Asha assured him as she finished her vegetable soup.

Her mind drifting back to her first time meeting this gentle giant, he seemed like anything other than that at the time. Even when he was doubled over guffawing at his own joke. But after two days, she saw it: the softness behind his tough exterior. She could tell he did not show the whole tribe that side often. People did not seem scared of him. No, he was not a ruler who required fear and intimidation to rule. He had the love and respect of his people, which was evident, while striking a balance between toughness and compassion.

"Are you excited to return home? I can imagine it is tough being away for so long."

"To see Shuri and T'Challa? Yes. But I could live without the rest of it. Being here is nice. Left all my burdens at the bottom of your mountains. Can't say I am excited to pick them up again."

"It must have been hard... everything you have been through in the last month. Your father died, your brother died and came back, your cousin attacked your family, you were forced into exile, you got engaged, first job. Not a lot of time to recover before a new wave drags you beneath the surface. How are you coping?"

She looked up from her plate and noticed that the original playfulness in his eyes was gone, replaced with a certain seriousness she was unprepared for. She played with the ends of her braids, "Well when you list it like that, it does sound pretty tragic," she laughed slightly before a more solemn look fell on her face. "I don't know. Nobody has asked me that and I j- I just try to avoid thinking about some of it, like Baba. It is too," she stared into space as she sought to find the proper word, "Too complicated."

"Why?" He quickly bowed his head with guilt, "I-I am sorry. That is none of my business. I shouldn't be asking you to bear your soul over dinner."

"No need to apologize," she responded with a reassuring smile.

And she truly wasn't offended. He was the first person to inquire about her grief, the first person who she knew would not judge her for the very, very gray area it still resided in. If she was going to bare her soul to anyone, he seemed like the best option.

"You know, my mother and Shuri loved to go to the spa? It is their tradition when Baba and T'Challa are out of the country. They leave their beads and they enjoy a day with each other - no tech, no distractions. My mother always pretended like they were going to do official business or something in an effort to not make me feel bad. But I always knew. But what she didn't know was that I loved it. Particularly this day, Bast I could not wait for them to leave," she laughed, causing M'Baku's lips to turn into a slight smile at her airy laugh, one that resembled a small child.

"T'Challa has been working for weeks to build me this fire-resistant training room and it was finally ready. So that was going to be the day, I was going to go and finally, safely, test the potential of these mysterious powers I had. He would say, 'If you are going to be cursed, as you call it, you might as well learn to use it to your advantage.' And so, my wardens were gone... my siblings were gone so I couldn’t hurt them. I finally had some freedom. I put it off all day, hemmed and hawed about it. I finally made it down there, was about to step in when..."

"What stopped you?"

"My beads rang and I ignored them initially. But they rang again and again. When I answered them, it was T'Challa and he could b-barely say it. But he didn't have to. I could see it. I had seen my brother upset... angry but never this. Never heartbroken, never shattered. And I knew he couldn't do it... so I went back upstairs and waited for my mother and Shuri to return. Telling them was like... was like watching someone's world end. And as I sat there holding Shuri as she sobbed or spent hours on the phone trying to talk my homicidal brother off a ledge, I just felt like an outsider in their grief. Like a phony who was not as sad as her family."

"How so?"

"Don't get me wrong. I loved my father and I was sad, in my own way. But it was so confusing. He was loved by everyone. And when someone dies, especially in a tragedy, we ignore the bad parts and immortalize the good. My mother lost a dedicated and devoted husband. My brother lost his hero and role model. Shuri lost a doting father and her strongest advocate."

"And you?"

"I lost a prison guard, my biggest critic. My father hated everything about who I was. Everything that made me who I am and he raised me to hate it too. He made me a prisoner in my own home. When his soul left this earth, I felt freedom for the first time in a long time. Felt like I could finally be myself."

M'Baku nodded, "That makes sense. I can only imagine how difficult that is. But you can be free now, under your brother's reign."

"Can I though? It only took a few days for me to realize that the prison he created was more than the walls of a palace he didn’t allow me to leave. He built them around my heart, around my soul, blocking out every good and beautiful thing I could have in this world. And then.. I don't know, I just became more angry with him than sad."

She looked up from her lap as silence overtook the table, taking his lack of words for judgment. "I know, I am a horrible person and daughter."

"No, no. I don't think that. Life is complicated, feelings are complicated. You are doing the best you can. I was actually thinking of ways to help you exercise this freedom. You didn't wear those rings for two days and no catastrophes. I think you should reward yourself."

She eyed him suspiciously before sitting back in her seat and deciding to humor him.

"Reward myself for not accidentally burning your house down? How should we do that?"

"Well, what is one aspect of your powers you want to explore but haven't yet?"

She looked off into the distance, thinking deeply, eyes widening as she thought of the one thing she wanted to try.

"I can fly, I think. Or at least, I can hover off the ground. I haven't had the chance to really try it. There would be no place to safely do it." She shook her head, acknowledging the absurdity of it.

M'Baku's eyes bugged out of his head for a second before he recovered. Now this was more for him than her, he quickly realized. Because there is nothing he wanted more in the world than to see her soaring across the sky. He stood up and reached out for her hand to help her out of her chair.

"Well, there is no better time to try than the present. Come with me."

"What? Wait M'Baku, I don't think I am dressed properly to attempt flying and it could be dangerous," she tried to reason as he walked her outside. They walked for a bit until they reached the Jabari's outside training grounds.

There, Kide waited for them. "You called for me, my lord?"

"Yes. The Princess would like to test out her powers a bit, specifically the art of flying. I figured that you, our resident expert, could give her some pointers."

"Wait, you can fly?" she asked in disbelief.

He and M'Baku shared a knowing look and slight chuckle before Kide closed his eyes, his body gently hovering above the ground before he gently glided over to her. "Not long distances but I can get around Jabariland pretty well. Let's see what you can do."

"Oh, I don't know if I can turn it on like that. The first time... eh... the first time I was out of control."

"What were you thinking about then?"

"Escaping danger, I wanted to get as far away as fast as I could."

He seemed to look through her as he thought about her statement.

"Fear is a good motivator but you don't want to have to be terrified to access parts of your powers. So think about channeling your fire, which is the fuel for your flying I assume, into your extremities and using that to push yourself off the ground. And then just think about a destination and focus all your energy through your body to get there. Give it a try."

She quickly stripped herself of her shoes, knowing Shuri would not forgive her for destroying them. She felt the flames beneath the surface rush to her feet to warm them up as she stood in the snow, melting the frozen precipitation around her. She closed her eyes, feeling foolish but she tried to do what he said. She thought about almost gathering all the fire inside in a ball at her core before pushing it down into her hands and feet. She felt the unmistakable heat of fire in the air, letting her know that that part worked at least. Determination set in her face as she pushed and pushed, straining to lift her body off the ground. Soon, she felt it, the familiar lightness of floating. Her eyes snapped open to see M'Baku and Kide below her. She was only a few feet off the ground but it was something.

She looked down at her hands and feet, looking at the flames working hard to keep her in the air. She laughed into the air, shock filling her as she realized she was really doing it. However, the momentary loss of concentration caused her to tumble back into the snow.

"Not a bad first try, Princess. You can't lose concentration though," Kide laughed as he walked over to her to help her up. She wiped the water droplets from the melted snow off her dress as she looked at him.

"That was amazing. Wow. Do you think I could actually fly or just hover like that?" She asked enthusiastically.

Next to her, M'Baku's smile was brighter than all the stars in the Jabari sky, This was the Asha he was yearning to see since she stepped foot into the mountains. The one who was excited about her powers, the one that was determined to explore her endless possibilities. He did not believe she could get more perfect than he thought she was. But she continued to surprise him. Simply watching her float above him, her eyes filled with fire, like a goddess was beyond breathtaking. If Hanuman decided to call him home to the Ancestral Cliffs at this moment, he would go happily. He had seen it all, nothing would top that moment.

While he was trapped in a cycle of adoration and admiration for her, he missed her rising in the air again, this time with a bit more grace and confidence.

Asha kept her concentration as she tilted forward and tried to fly in a circle above the men's heads. She pushed the fire behind her to push upward and then out to propel herself forward. Cold air whipped against her exposed skins and entered her lungs but she didn't care. She never wanted this feeling to end. She did a couple of laps around their heads, still a bit wobbly, losing height here or there as she tried to adjust to this new skill. She touched her exposed feet back down on the ground, causing the fire on her feet to immediately die out. Her hands took a moment but soon the flames retreated back into her body as well, allowing Kide and M'Baku to approach again.

"Well done, princess," M'Baku said, clapping for her.

She smiled, praise sounding far more appealing when it tumbled from his lips. "Thank you. Thank you both for this. It was exhilarating and life-changing and ju- just thank you."

"Well, we are here anytime you want to escape the lowlanders and practice Princess," M'Baku offered. "Let's go inside yes? You have an early day journey home tomorrow."

Asha nodded, but hesitated when M'Baku took her hand to lead her back into the Lodge.

"What's wrong?"

"This will sound foolish. But I j-just don't want this to end. I know what I have to go back to and here, well this is easy. Here with you, it is freedom. Guess I am not ready to go back and have that end? Is that crazy?" She asked, wanting confirmation that her inner thoughts did not make her insane.

"Not crazy at all. How about we go back to my quarters for a drink? We can talk and relax? Then the night won't end for another hour or so."

"That would be great, thank you."

"But you have to promise me something?" He stopped walking to turn and look at her.

"And what would that be?"

"When you go back to the city, take some of the freedom you had here back? Don't go back and retreat into isolation again?"

"Deal." That sounded easy enough, right? After the last couple of days, Asha had no desire to return to the woman she was back at home. She wanted it to be like this all the time, even if it couldn't be with him.

They walked back to his private quarters where he pulled out a bottle of Jabari rum and the pair settled on his couch. Over that bottle, they talked about everything under the sun. Asha learned everything there was to know about M'Baku's life in the mountains. They talked about their families, embarrassing stories, and battle wounds. They tested, much to Asha's chagrin, how her powers stood up against Jabari wood. They went over it all, getting drunk off of rum and each other.

Soon, more than an hour had passed and it was 3 a.m. and M'Baku looked over to find Asha asleep next to him. She was too peaceful, too beautiful bathed in the moonlight from his window to disturb. He picked her up and settled her into his bed, which held the warmest furs and would be most comfortable. He watched the soft rise and fall of her chest, listened to her quiet breaths as she got lost in the unconscious world. He simply thanked Hanuman for the opportunity to know her. Tomorrow, they would return to reality, it would leave them out in the cold alone. He didn't want to think about how tomorrow, she would go back to being someone else's. He was just happy they had tonight. He pulled an extra blanket out of the closet before settling back on the couch to rest. The lesser parts of him wanted to join her in his bed but that was not his way. He watched over her for a bit longer before sleep claimed him.

***

"Asha!!"

Asha's foot barely left the ramp of the Royal Talon before Shuri's small body rammed into hers. She grunted playfully before instinctively wrapping her little sister in a tight hug. "Bast I missed you."

"Don't leave me with T'Challa again," Shuri complained. "He is no fun."

Asha laughed loudly as they walked up to her brother, Nakia and her mother who waited at the entrance of the palace.

"I promise. He is no fun," she agreed with her sister.

"Brother, Nakia," she greeted as the two pulled her into tight hugs.

You would have thought she was gone for weeks. It had only been two days. But she supposed it was a different feeling for everyone. Usually, she was the one that was left behind, waiting for others to return, not the other way around.

"Welcome back, your absence, even for a short while, was certainly felt. I hope the trip was productive?"

"Duh, come on brother, do you really believe I would return empty handed?" she pretended to be insulted by his insinuation before turning to her mother.

"Mama."

She went in to hug her before her mother raised her hand to stop her.

"Where are your rings?? Foolish girl, you could have burned me or burned the house down. Why would you take them off?" Her mother chastised her.

Asha's heart sank a bit, she had been on a high since leaving Jabariland, opting to not put those rings back on. She wanted to see how she fared without them at home. She did not really think about her mother's reaction, she just focused on how supportive she knew T'Challa and Shuri would be. Already, reality was hitting the young princess, hitting her fast.

"I-I am sorry mama. I forgot. Alexis," she motioned for her Dora to bring her the small pouch that contained the rings.

Quickly, she put them on all her fingers to be allowed to hug her own mother. The effects were swift and slightly painful after being without them for days. The panther fought it but soon she was back in her cage where she belonged.

"A lapse in judgment this family cannot afford. Your father and I raised you better than this Asha."

The hug her mother bestowed was quick before she turned and walked back into the palace. Asha stared at her back, a hurt expression on her face that her siblings and friend quickly noticed.

You brought this on yourself. Why on Earth would you think you could come back here and it be any different?

Asha knew things wouldn't magically change over night but she had hoped she could do as M'Baku asked and bring some of the mountains home with her. Perhaps she had gotten too comfortable in the safety and progressiveness of the Jabari, and had forgotten how things worked here. She had changed but her world had not.

"Let us go, Asha. We need to start getting ready for tonight's state dinner. Tell us all about your trip." Nakia smiled brightly at her before tugging her toward the door.

"Oh, it was nice. Jabariland is beautiful, the people are amazing. It was great," she answered without much detail. She didn't really want to talk about the trip now. And she knew she couldn't say a great deal in front of T'Challa.

Leaving today had been bittersweet to say the least. That morning she woke up in M'Baku's bed, which was a genuine shock. A good one though. What better way to wake up than wrapped in the scent of a man like that? She looked over and saw him sleeping on the couch, his bare chest exposed. She wanted him in so many ways, all of which were ways she could not realistically have him. But her wants were still the same. Saying goodbye to him was the hardest part. She tried to prolong their time together and convince him to come on the Royal Talon to the Capitol early since he had to be there that evening for the state dinner and the next day for the council meeting. But he refused, citing work that needed to be finished before he could escape for a party.

She now understood what that goodbye really meant though. Their time together was over, whatever their complicated and slightly inappropriate relationship was, it could not exist here as it did in the mountains. And now she wasn't sure if the woman he helped shape could last either.

***

Asha never minded being unable to attend official events, they seemed like more of a hassle than fun. But here she was, standing in the receiving line next to her sister and brother, playing the true part of a princess - something she had never really done before.

Her painted smile never faltered as she saluted and greeted every guest before they reached her brother. There was only one guest she actually cared about seeing but she pretended to care about the rest. But that painted smile lit up when he came into view, a change in demeanor that was not lost on her siblings. Her posture grew, her internal light shined brighter with every step he took toward her.

"Lord M'Baku, long time no see," she greeted him with a salute and a laugh.

"Princess, it has been too long," he joked back. "I hope your journey home was pe-" his words faltered momentarily as his eyes fell on her hands in her salute.

She watched as they rolled over each ring on her fingers, she could see it clear as day swimming in the sea of his brown orbs: his disappointment. She wanted to say something, but couldn't as the ushers herded him forward before he could finish his thought. She stared longingly at his back, willing the thoughts in her mind to jump into his brain as he walked away, willing him to understand. But the opportunity passed as quickly as it came.

She tried to speak with him throughout the night but every time, they would get interrupted or he would quickly dodge her. She understood he was likely disappointed but what else could she have done?

"Are you alright?"

Asha turned to find Nakia sitting next to her, looking at her with an expression of concern.

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"Because I have known you your whole life. This is not the face of a woman who is ok. You have been different since returning from your trip."

Asha laughed, "I have not even been back a day, Nakia."

"It doesn't matter. We saw it the moment you stepped off that plane. You are more confident and assured. It radiates off of you. I will bet I can guess who in the mountains helped bring that about?"

Asha scanned the crowd to avoid Nakia's knowing and sly looks. "Yes, well. He helped me tap into parts of myself that I didn't know existed. I-It was nice there. It was nice to be se-" Her voice fell as her eyes fell, not on the only man she actually cared about seeing, but on her intended.

She watched as Hasani chatted with one of the guests, their attraction for each other was obvious to anyone who could see them. His hand on the small of her back, hers on his bicep, the way they leaned in far too closely to whisper in each other's ears, the laughter that seemed to reach above the crowd to Asha's ears just to taunt her. She saw it all.

"Will you excuse me Nakia?"

"Yes, my princess."

Asha descended from the high table and walked toward him. She debated what to say or do, there was really nothing she could say or do without causing a scene. But she had to end this before too many people noticed.

"Hasani," she called politely as she approached. He quickly dropped his hand from her back and put a small amount of distance between the two.

"Yes, my princess?"

"May I speak to you please?"

She ignored the eye roll and grunt that was supposed to serve as a yes and led him into the now empty entrance hall.

"Can you not do that?" She asked once they were alone in a small hallway off from the main hall.

"Do what?"

Asha rubbed her forehead, she almost wished she had just ignored it. She could hear it in his words, he had been drinking, which meant this would likely be an unproductive conversation.

"I do not care how many women you sleep with throughout this engagement or our marriage. But in public, I do ask that you, at least, appear to be loyal and dedicated to me. It is embarrassing as the King's sister and his top advisor to have my intended openly flirt-"

"I am embarrassing you?" he angrily called out loudly. Asha's head whipped around, ensuring that everyone was still inside enjoying the party and not paying them any attention.

"N-n-no, that is not w-what I meant. I ju-" She stammered as she tried to adjust, shocked at his outburst.

"Your entire existence is an embarrassment to your tribe and this country but you want to lecture me? Let us not forget who is in charge here. One word and I expose you to this entire country... Let's see how long you and your beloved Panthers are in charge when the people realize what you are. Would you prefer that?"

"N-no, no. Of course not Hasani. I am sorry, I didn't mean to-" Asha tried to calm herself down, as frustration and fear spread inside her.

Her panther banged at its cages, always on guard when fear made its appearance.

"It is bad enough I am forced to marry you, forced to have children with you. But now you want to lecture me as if I am the issue in this engagement? Like I am the problem. The problem is you and your affliction. The problem is that the only thing that makes you worthy to marry me or any poor soul in this country is your title. What would you be without that crown? Nothing, just an abomination that no one could ever love or care about."

Some say liquor causes people to say and do things they do not mean. While others believe it gives them the courage to say what was always on their mind. Asha had no clue which was true for Hasani as he lashed at her, but she guessed it was the latter. Either way, the knowledge that he was not fully in control of his words did not lessen their sting. Each felt like a stab wound through the small amount of self-esteem and confidence she had built over the last few days. Before this party, she still had some of the residual of her trip to the mountains, still holding tight to the belief that she was as worthy and special as M'Baku had made her. And now, it was like none of that had happened at all.

She sniffled and blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

"You disgust me. Now, I am returning to this party and I do not ever wish to have this conversation with you again. Do you understand?"

Asha nodded softly, whispering, "Yes. I understand."

He spared her one last look filled with so much disgust that it forced Asha to turn away from him before he strode back into the party unbothered. Asha leaned against the wall for a moment, still trying to hold back her tears. She realized that there was no way she was getting her emotions back under control enough to return to the party so she took off down the hall, heading toward her office.

The moment her door closed, she let out a strangled sob, leaning on her desk to stay upright. She quickly realized why Hasani got to her as he did... because he reminded her of him.

Asha walked quietly through the palace to dinner.When she arrived, her family was already seated. She sat in her seat in between her brother and Shuri.

"Good evening Asha," her father nodded from the head of the table.

"Baba, mama," she responded greeting her parents.

"T'Challa and Shuri, do not forget you need to pack tonight for our trip to the U.N. for the summit. We leave in a few days."

Asha looked up from her food, face wrinkling up with confusion, "T'Challa and Shuri are going? I thought we were not allowed to go?"

"No. You are not allowed to go. T’Challa is to be king one day and Shuri will be going so your mother can look after her. You will stay here and the Dora and staff will look after you while we are gone."

Her head turned toward her older brother, his eyes were filled with sympathy. She was sure if she turned and looked at her five-year-old sister, her face would be similar. It was clear to her and T’Challa that their middle sibling was treated poorly compared to them who were doted on for their respective roles as heir and youngest.

Asha’s heart fell slightly, she was not sure why she continued to be disappointed, this had been her reality since that dreaded day five years ago.

"You should be used to it by now," a small voice whispered to her.

She sighed, "Baba, I want to go, please? I promise not to use them, I can even stay in the hotel," she pleaded.

"Enough Asha. You do this every time we go somewhere. You cannot go, you understand why you cannot go. You have proven that you cannot control it, you could hurt someone again." Her head bowed as the memories flooded back and her guilt with it. "I cannot have you come and reveal your abomination to the country or world."

"You are too hard on the child. She tries her best," her mother said quietly down the table to her father.

"No! She does this all the time. I am tired of explaining myself to her. What happens when she reveals that she is cursed by Bast to everyone? We lose everything, they uproot this family and we lose control of the Golden Tribe and the mantle. Is that what she wants? How can I justify having one in the family after advocating for eradicating such a disease from our borders? Absolutely not."

She could not stop her body’s natural reaction to the verbal lashings her father threw at her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared down into her plate of food, her appetite diminishing by the second.

"And see? Look, it is useless. She does not try. She cannot control it. She is a disgrace."

She looked down and saw wisps of smoke rising from her hands which were twisting in her lap. She closed her hands into fists, feeling the power growing too large to bear around so many people she loved. Her chair screeched across the floor as she got up and ran from the table, dinner forgotten. She didn't bother to acknowledge T'Challa who called after her as she left.

Tears blurred her vision as she ran back to her room. It, like her existence, was isolated away from the other bedrooms of the Royal Family. She slammed her door shut and her small form immediately crumbled down to the ground sobbing. The harder she sobbed, the larger and wilder the flames grew, causing the sobs to grow even stronger.

She banged her hands on the ground, trying to force the fire to die out in her palms. It did no such thing, only leaving evidence of her attempts with burn marks in the shape of hand prints on her carpet. "Why won't you stop?!" she practically screamed at her own hands as she prayed and willed it all to end. Her eyes fell on the small statue of Bast in the corner of her room.

"Why would you do this to me? What did I do?" She angrily asked the black jaguar figure, looking it in its crystal eyes.

She didn't understand. What could a 15 year old have done to deserve such a punishment? What could she have changed, done better as a baby, a toddler, a child for Bast to have shown her mercy? The day she realized she had powers at 10, she remembered it as clearly as if it was yesterday. That was the last day she felt the true love of her parents, the last day of her normal life. Her hand lifted and a ball of flames encompassed the small statue. It didn't burn, she knew it wouldn't, it was usually her outlet of pain when it all became too much and it still stood, unburnt.

Through her sobs, she lobbed balls of fire at the statue, the flames encompassing it for a split second before dying out. Soon, she calmed down, her body's energy stores depleted. The tears stopped flowing, her chest stopped heaving and her anger dissipated. All that remained was her own exhaustion. She climbed into bed, her father's harsh words oscillating in her youthful mind.

"Your father is right," a small voice told her. If her own family saw her as a monster, why would the country see her as anything different. She was not chosen, she did not deserve these powers. She wondered how many other children laid in bed hiding in shadows like she did, praying to a god that had forsaken them. She wondered if they prayed the same daily prayer that she did, the same mantra and pleads she uttered every single day for the last five years... a prayer to be normal.

"Asha."

Her body whipped around at the sound of the voice she longed for, that baritone that made her feel loved and deserving. She came face to face with the owner of that voice. Her hands quickly and shakily wiped the tears from her face.

"W-w-what are you doing up here? Not enjoying the entertainment of the lowlanders?" she joked weakly.

"These things are not really how I choose to spend my time. I only came out of respect for King T'Challa and..." his words died off as if he realized he shouldn't say the second reason out loud. "Doesn't seem like you are enjoying the party either."

"No," she chuckled lightly, "They are not really how I choose to spend my time either. I am ok, really," she added at the look of concern still etched into his face.

Her words did nothing to diminish it though.

"The tears streaming down your face tell a different story. Forgive me for overstepping as I am about to but I heard him... heard what he said to you. You know those things are not true yes? You are deserving of all the greatness in this world."

She rounded her desk, hunching over with her hands balled in fists, head shaking as his words clashed with the thoughts in her head. "Do I know that? Because that is what my father used to tell me too... what every person downstairs would tell me if they knew what I truly was before they burned my family at the figurative stake. These powers... they are a curse."

"Wait what? All the things you said and did in the mountains, how can you still think that?" M'Baku was shocked, genuinely confused. This was not the woman who flew off in that plane mere hours ago, all that progress vanishing before his eyes.

"It is certainly not a gift!" She lashed out at him, voice rising as she emotionally unloaded on one of the few people that supported her. "I was not chosen, M'Baku! My brother... my father... his father... they won in combat, they went to the ancestral plains, possibly spoke with Bast herself before the herb gave them the powers to protect us. They were chosen! It isn't right any other way. It doesn't WORK any other way!" Her fists banged on the desk to accentuate her point as she ranted. "The only thing I know is that Bast doesn't care... if she did, she would have taken these powers away years ago. A life like this, it isn't worth it."

"Do you know how many nights I prayed to be like you? Begged to be anything else, begged to not be ordinary, to be chosen to better the lives of my people. Only to be denied every single time."

She could hear the begging and pleading in his voice, the desperation for her to understand why none of this made sense.

"And you stand there, with all the power in the world at your fingertips. And you would have Bast take that away from you? You would throw it all away to satisfy hate?"

"Without question."

"Wow..." he paused, reigning in his emotions. That outburst was not planned, was not what he wanted but he just didn't understand. He would never understand.

"I thought you were becoming proud of your powers, proud of who you were. You promised to come back and do something different."

"I t-thought it would be easy. I thought I could but it doesn't work like that. I was a fool to believe it would. We are not the Jabari M'Baku."

"I guess we were both wrong. I don't know why I bothered," he responded, avoiding her eyes.

This disappointment in his voice made Asha's heart shatter into millions of pieces. She didn't want to hear it, not directed at her. Somehow, it hurt worse than the insults Hasani hurdled at her earlier, cut deeper than anything he or her father had ever said. The look in his eyes made her want to crumble.

M'Baku shook his head, feeling rather foolish. He really had thought they had made a breakthrough in the mountains, a real connection. He thought he was getting to witness a rare and great power blossom. He had been so excited to see her take that new-found confidence and assurance down the mountains and utilize it in her everyday life. He saw clearly that it was a mistake, that he wanted too much from her. His judgment clouded by his infatuation with her. There had been a small piece of him that hoped she would see that the grass was truly greener and choose a better life, choose him. But now he knew how wrong he was, how stupid yearning for things he couldn't realistically have made him.

He turned away from her to head back out the door when a small hand wrapped around his thick bicep and pulled him back. Her hands held him in front of her, forcing him to look down into her eyes.

"Those two days with you... t-t-they were the best of my life M'Baku. And I doubt I will see days like them again. B-b-but stolen moments in the mountains do not erase my life. A few days of standing in the sun does not outshine decades in the shadows. They just don't. I wish it were enough, I w-wish those beautiful moments on the training ground and on that cliff were enough to undo how I feel about mutants and my powers. You want me to be who I was in those mountains, and I understand that. I do. But she isn't real," her voice broke as she pleaded with him, begged him to understand why she had to give in, why she couldn’t be what he wanted. "S-she exists because of those stolen moments I will never see again. She can't exist outside of them. This is who I am... The only version I am allowed to be when those moments end and reality sets in again."

This was it... those consequences their past selves ignored and left for future versions of themselves. This was the crossroads they now stood at, yearning for moments they knew from the start could not last and a fantasy that could not be a reality.

His hand cupped her face, wiping away the tears that fell for him.

"I don't believe that. I see glimpses of her in you... when you came to my home to uproot the usurper, those days in the mountains, tonight. She is in there, begging and fighting for release. Let her out Asha. There has to be more to your life than this," he gestured around the room. "A life marked with self loathing and secrets. You deserve more than this. She can exist here with work... just try, please."

His voice lowered, his hands wrapped themselves around her waist to pull her closer.

As their faces inched closer together, the inevitable outcome falling on her, she let out a breathy plea, "M'Baku."

Whether it was intended to beg him to stop or beg him to continue, he did not know and neither did she. But soon, their lips met and all that talk about who she could and could not be was out the window. He had successfully pulled her from one cliff and took her diving with him off another. She was falling, falling hard and fast into the sea of M'Baku and she never wanted the fall to end.

As their mouths explored each other, she felt him pour adoration, care and love into every second of that kiss. Every moment counted for the pair as they stayed caught up in the rapture of each other.

"Asha!"

The two broke away quickly to find a peanut gallery standing outside her office door staring at them. While Okoye, Shuri and Nakia all sported similar looks of shock and excitement, the same could not be said for her brother.

Fuck.

"It is late. I should retire for the evening. I will see you all at tomorrow's council meeting," M'Baku muttered hastily before disappearing from her office as fast as his legs would allow.

He gave her a last longing look before disappearing from view completely.

Asha leaned against her desk, eyes trained on the floor as she tried to think of how to explain what just happened to her captive audience. There was no time to really process what just took place, another stolen moment to add to their growing list. All she did know was that all these stolen moments were marked with consequences, and she wasn't sure any version of herself was prepared to deal with them.

****

Tag list: @destinio1 @muse-of-mbaku @missmohnique @jellybean531 @afrolatinpami @leahnicole1219 @archivistofwakanda

#m'baku x oc #m'baku x reader #m'baku imagine #Black Writers #black panther fanfiction #black panther fics

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skvaderarts · 4 years

Text

Apocrypha Chapter Thirty Seven: Opposition

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Opposition

Notes: And here I sit, having to go to work in 10 hours, and I’m just starting this chapter. Not the best decision, but I’ll find a way to make it work. And then tomorrow I’m gonna relax and try to knock out both chapters for next week early. I can only imagine that Black Friday (which I’m firmly refusing to work this year!) is gonna keep me busy all week.

(-~-)

Sunday, August 25th, 2:00 am

A cursory look at how the situation was unfolding immediately lent to the idea that any and all police would probably be converging on the vicinity of the attack shortly. Despite the fact that there was very little that the local police (or the military, for that matter) could do against hordes of demons, they were obligated to try, even if only a little. If the Redgrave City attack was anything to go by, the region was woefully underprepared for another demonic attack, but the youngest Son of Sparda was admittedly hopeful that some sort of initiative would be taken by the local government to see to it that the next time something like that happened, they would be able to do more than throw useless grunts at the problem and blow up bridges to keep the demons at bay.

Why did there always have to be a next time?

Despite the fact that it would bring a swift and permanent end to Dante’s demon-hunting career, he couldn’t help but wish for a day where the population of the underworld lost the ability to travel two and from worlds. Their father had spent a considerable amount of time seeing to that, and had made untenable strides in that regard, but here they were, over two thousand years later and still fighting the same foe. It seemed that there would always be a need for their family’s experience in devil hunting; a fact that troubled the devil hunter in red slightly. Was this it, then? Was their entire bloodline cursed to do battle against their father’s kin for the remainder of their existence until the day came when they no longer could? Were none of them allowed to pursue their own wants and goals outside of this admittedly limited field? It was all a bit fatalistic and heavy for his tastes, but he found his mind wandering to the topic on occasion these days when he considered his family and everything they had sacrificed as a whole to protect the general public. It was all very heroic, but was there to be nothing more to their lives than endless self-sacrifice and then a glorious and inevitable death in battle?

In truth, Dante couldn’t say that he really minded going out that way, but every time he saw Nero with his family and V trying his best to acclimate to a new and unfamiliar world, he couldn’t help but feel… something that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. If asked, he’d probably say that it was remorse for the lives that they could have had if not for the fact that they had been born into this mess, but he wasn’t sure that was what he really thought. There was no denying that he was glad they were a part of his family, but there were days, especially after Nero had been nearly killed when his twin brother had attacked him that day, that he wished they could have both lived in blissful ignorance, unaware of the danger that their seemingly cursed bloodline carried with it.

The idea of never having met them pained him greatly, but if it meant that they would not have to deal with the trials and tribulations ahead of them and the weight their lineage carried, then he would have slept better at night knowing that they were not doomed to the same fate that he and his older twin were. He wondered how they felt now, and how knowing what he felt would affect them. Dante would never say any of what he was thinking out loud to either of them, but he’d think it nonetheless. And every time that he saw them, it would be a reminder.

Perhaps the two of them together could achieve some semblance of normality for the rest of their little family. Was that such an unreasonable fantasy? It was not impossible to believe that there might be a day where they no longer needed to participate in this endless battle. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Still, the devil hunter in red needed something to strive for. He wasn’t getting any younger, and the idea of doing battle against their foes was still just as exhilarating to him as it had always been, especially now that his own identical twin was no longer one of those foes. But still, there was much work to be done.

“So whatda think the odds are of this being that cult again?” Dante said as the twins headed towards the building in question. The onslaught of demons had stopped for the time being, signaling that something more might be going on here than they originally thought.”

Vergil stayed quiet for a moment, shifting Yamato to his non dominate hand in an effort to prepare for another attack. There was no way that the eldest Son of Sparda was going to simply waltz into a dark, decrepit building that he’d never been inside of before and just assume that everything was going to be fine. The Darkslayer hadn’t lived as long as he had by being an absolute tool, and he expected that Dante wasn’t that foolish, either. After all, his brother was many things, but a complete idiot was not one of them. While the younger of the two was prone to do foolish things, that didn’t mean that he had a psychotic death wish. And if he did, he wasn’t going to act on it in any way, shape, or form tonight. There were matters to attend to, and he intended to see things through to the end.

“I would imagine the odds of that being the case are about on par with the possibility of this being an obvious trap staged by our opponent.” Vergil lowered his voice as the pair entered the building, making an effort not to give themselves away too prematurely. From what he could tell, they seemed to have the element of surprise, at least for the time being. There was no need to squander that.” But then again, if this is a product of one of Belial’s schemes, then it could very well be an obvious trap meant to throw us off so that we fall victim to another less obvious trap. He likes to indulge in those kinds of games from time to time.’

Dante shot Vergil a curious look as they continued forward. So this Belial demon truly wasn’t playing around, then? Good. He enjoyed a good fight from time to time. He just hoped that no one else got dragged into the conflict. And then there was the mater of V and his connection to this cult. While they had a reasonable hunch as to why this powerful demon prince might want to capture V and what the cult planned to do, there was still no certainty as to what and why this was happening. How had he even known that V was alive in the first place? Dante had spent nearly the entirety of both of his nephews’ lives ignorant to their existence, only for them to go and yank a misplaced soul out of the netherworld and for a demon of this caliber to send someone after him? What were the odds of that?

He needed more in-depth details as to what was going on here…

“So if you think it’s a trap, what are we doing here?” Dante said, not so much expecting an answer from his twin as he was from himself. As if by instinct, they’d both just walked into the building, knowing full well that this wasn’t a logical idea. And yet, here they were. Maybe they were both just insane. “Or maybe there just aren’t a whole lot of things that can stop both of us if we’re working together. And we are, for once.” Dante considered internally for a moment. Yes, maybe that was it. But getting too cocky couldn’t end well in the long run. They had to keep their option open, lest they fall victim to their own naivete.

The youngest of the two brothers couldn’t help but imagine that V would have something to say about this kind of thing; some wise homily to spin about the dangers of hubris and such. Who could say? He wasn’t here, after all. And what a lucky turn of events that had turned out to be.

Dante didn’t really mind V’s presence in the slightest, but keeping him as far as they could from any possible cult activity was probably a good policy. He could only imagine that his oldest nephew had made a swift recovery by now, but that could all change in an instant if they ran up against a super-powerful demon or a powerful summoner. While V was formidable in a battle (at least from what Dante had seen) there was a certain level of risk that he knowingly undertook anytime he entered battle that none of the rest of them took. Despite his obvious skill, V had the least training out of the lot of them, and the youngest Son of Sparda couldn’t help but imagine what he might be capable of if they showed him how a devil arm worked or he gained further proficiency over his abilities. It had taken Nero a while to get where he was now, but the difference showed in every conceivable way.

Once they returned to the office, the next step would be to return the Arcana to Vie de Marli where it belonged, they would have to see to it that V received some sort of mentorship. But first, they had to make him put down his books long enough to show him anything. Dante couldn’t help but think that V would do better as a librarian or working in some sort of museum than he would in a vicious battle to the death against demons. And yet, somehow he held his own just fine for the most part. The devil hunter in red had to give his nephew credit for one thing: he was an extraordinarily fast learner.

“Because that is where we will more than likely locate our assailant. I have some questions for them.” Vergil said under his breath as they neared what appeared to be a large, open room. He wasn’t so much irritated with Dante as he was the lack of knowledge in this situation, at least for the time being. He refused to tolerate this severe lack of insight any longer than he had to.

The instant that they rounded the corner and walked into the central chamber of the old factory, the two of them were faced with a literal wall of demonic energy. The entire building suddenly reeked of it, confirming their suspicion that this was the place that they had been looking for. And much to their surprise, there was a man standing at the far end of the room with their back turned to them, seemingly unaware of the fact that they had arrived. The twins halted, deciding in silent unison to take the opportunity to see what was going on since a large, glowing portal stood before the unknown man. He shook his head, nodding along to something they couldn’t hear before a loud, otherworldly voice echoed throughout the chamber they currently occupied. Vergil closed his eyes for a moment, a wave of obvious displeasure taking over his features. It was rare that the eldest Son of Sparda wished that he was wrong about something, but this certainly counted as one of those occasions. Dante glanced over at him, searching for silent confirmation of what he’d already surmised from Vergil’s shift in tone. This was the Belial he’d heard so much about, then? Well, they certainly sounded the part. The deep, bellowing tone he spoke in was accited by a certain level of cold, calculating intelligence that Dante was accustomed to associating with the demons he’d spent so long doing battle against, putting the likes of Balrog and Burial to shame despite their obvious sentience. Not, this devil was conniving, and he clearly knew what he was talking about, even if neither of them did.

“From what I can tell, things are going to plan. Well, I assume, that is. I don’t have a way of checking.”

“You see, that is where you and I differ most, servant. I do not assume. I know.”

The man shivered slightly, clearly shaken by the words of the powerful being that he served. To say that he was in way over his head would be an understatement, but then again, so we’re practically all humans that dared do business with a Prince of Darkness.

“Do you desire anything else from me, master?”

“Oh, I can assure you, I do not require the services of you or any other wayward stragglers any longer. My little cult has proven to be an entertaining diversion for some time now, but it seems that Vergil has once again inadvertently served my best interests by eliminating the vast majority of you. Now I need not do the tidying up on this joyous occasion myself. Truly splendid indeed.”

If they could have seen the face of the being who he spoke to, Dante got the impression that he had just smirked in self-satisfaction, readjusting himself on his metaphorical throne. There was no way of knowing for sure, but they were willing to bet that the man standing before them had no idea how truly dead he was, and their assumption was proven correct meer moment later when the man suddenly began choking and screaming, violently thrashing about before falling onto the floor. He went into some sort of fit before going totally still, clearly dead to anyone unlucky enough to discover him. Blood ran down his face from his nose and mouth as he gave his last breath, clearly quite distressed as he perished at the hands of his former master.

For a moment, everything went quiet. Dante and Vergil watched, unmoving as the portal continued to glow brightly, knowing that it needed to be closed but unsure as to how it had managed to be opened in the first place. There was a part of Vergil that was furious that he’d missed the opportunity to question the man himself, but he got the impression that Belial wasn’t stupid enough to leave witnesses walking around who his detractors could interrogate. But just as Vergil considered suggesting that they vacate the premises, a low, genuinely pleased laugh bellowed forward from the rift that stood before them.

“You know, I should thank you, Son of Sparda. Truly, It’s not every day that I get to indulge in such activities. It’s nothing personal, really. I don’t do personal. But I’m not sorry to say that I won’t be showing you any form of gratitude. You shall see in due time.” He paused for a moment, seemingly waiting for Vergil to speak or respond in some way, but he didn’t. He simply stayed there, unmoving and internally cursing himself for coming here. How had he forgotten about that little facet of his foe’s abilities?” I trust that you remember what happened the last time our paths crossed. I can’t imagine that you’ve forgotten already. After all, our meeting was so… memorable. I kid, of course. You remember very little of that encounter, as was my will. But do take your time to concoct your own clever schemes as you always do. Some day soon I shall remind you why my will is absolute.”

With no further fanfare, the portal went dark but remained open. Vergil waited a moment before allowing a long, almost tormented sigh to escape his lungs and exit his mouth. Yes, of course, Belial had known he was there. Didn’t he always. He stood up from the crouched position they’d taken behind the broken and abandoned factory equipment and walked over to the portal, unsheathing Yamato and using it to close the gateway. A criss-cross of delayed swipes closed the gate the instant Vergil returned his devil arm to its sheath, the Darkslayer shaking his head slightly as he rested his hand on his forehead and pinched the top of the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

“... Should I ask why you and the nightmare demon are on a first-name basis? And how did he know you were here?” Dante approached Vergil slowly, unsure as to where he should even begin, considering everything he’d just heard.” What’s all this about you forgetting? Did he wipe your memory or somethin’?”

Vergil sighed and dropped his hand from his face, swiftly walking away from the place where the gate had once stood and towards the exit. He suddenly felt an immense and overwhelming desire to leave this place and never return. Dante followed closely behind him, somewhat relieved that the attack was at least over for the time being and that massive amounts of damage were not dealt this time around. It had only been about a city block or so, and casualties, if there were any, had been scarce. After the dumpster fire that the Redgrave City incident had turned into, Dante was eager and willing to take any victories he would take part in, even if those victories were short-lived and slightly situational. This was over because the devil that had willed it into existence had grown bored of it, and that was a fact that Dante wasn’t blind to. And he was not keen on it.

Once they reached the exit and stepped back out onto the street, Vergil crossed his arms for a moment and sighed, unable to find even temporary pleasure in the cool night air. This situation had just taken a rather unorthodox turn for the worst out of nowhere, and he didn’t like that one bit.

”To answer your ceaseless questions, brother, we met some time before I returned to the human world. He demanded that I serve him after the demon thrown was left… unattended. Most were unwilling to contest his rise to power at that time, but I refused and usurped him.” Vergil glanced away for a moment, noting the distant lights that accompanied the fire trucks that had just pulled up about two blocks down the road from where they currently stood.” As for how he knew I was there, I can only assume he can still sense my presence from the underworld so long as I am within a certain proximity to a portal. We might as be standing in the same room as far as his abilities are concerned. He does not forget something once he’s experienced it.”

Dante nodded, not at all pleased by any of what his brother had just said. He didn’t need to know how that worked to know that it wasn’t good.” I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that’s how he killed that guy?”

Vergil nodded.” Yes, in much the same way he attempted to kill me when last we met. Belial has access to a primordial source of power somewhat akin to Nightmare’s that allows him to… suggest an experience for you relive, especially when that memory was never yours, to begin with. That and the pressure he exudes when near someone is enough to send most beings spiraling into an early death, or a coma at the very least. It’s rare to be able to resist pure terror. That’s how he managed to fragment my memory of our full encounter, and he clearly revels in that fact. I suppose you could say that his true power is trauma itself.”

This time it was Dante’s turn to cross his arms and look unamused.” So he can, what, literally scare someone to death? Tranutize you so badly that you forget entire events or think something else happened?”

“In essence, yes. And so long as he has physically been in the presence of the individual he wishes to exert his will over, he is basically unavoidable. Thankfully his range is limited, but the extent of his cruelty and the range his machinations are willing to extend to is not. He cares little for petty sentiments such as honor or decency.” Vergil looked distant for a moment as though he were considering something unfathomable, something that he was truly unable to make himself consider.” He would absolutely destroy the minds of anyone necessary to harm his actual larget and leave them a husk of their former selves, decimated beyond repair. I’ve seen him do it. And all that purely to see his opponent break. He is a plague in that sense. And now you understand why I have so little tolerance for anyone who willingly serves him, hence the reason I cut down his cult where they stood. This cannot be allowed to continue.”

For a moment, Dante just stared at Vergil, unsure of what to even say about the mental image that his twin had just painted for him. It was a bit difficult to defeat an enemy that could destroy you from the inside out. How were they supposed to stop him? And although neither of them said it, they were admittedly concerned to some degree when it came to what this demon might want with V and these plans that he was working on. Everything about this situation seemed dire, and the youngest Son of Sparda was starting to grasp the severity of what this could mean for them.

This was now a war.

“Yea… none of that is good, Vergil. None of it.” Dante sighed and shook his head, the weight of the situation they were now in truly affecting them. They needed to act fast and smart, something they didn’t tend to do.” Can’t believe I’m saying this, but we should probably head back to the office and start coming up with a plan or something. Oh, and put that knife back where it belongs.”

Vergil nodded wordlessly, his mind a thousand miles away. He was still combing over the situation at hand. There was a part of him that couldn’t’ shake the feeling that this was all a misdirection of some sort, meant to leave them open to a larger threat. That was generally how Belial operated. While he believed every word of their enemy’s threat, it just wasn’t like the demon prince to be so… direct.

Just a moment later, the two of them glanced up the street, noting that there was a person in a safety vest standing on top of a vehicle. The man addressed the growing crowd of people gathering around them, all of the locals seeming terrified out of their minds. “Please vacate the area! We are investigating the cause of this event. We have also received news of a mild earthquake due west of here. It caused some kind of underground cave-in deep in the woods near the waterfront which we will be investigating as well. If you reside in that area, do take care when returning home. Thank you for your time!”

Both Dante and Vergil shared a knowing look, relatively positive that they knew where this cave-in had occurred. It seemed that they were not returning to the office just yet. They had a conduit to double-check.

(-~-)

And just like that, it’s 5:55 am! I have to work today from noon to 7 pm. Looks like it’s going to be a long, energy drink filled day. But that’s okay. It was worth it to finish this chapter! No lie, I might carry this over into a book three as I did with Soliloquy a while back just to keep the pacing in this fic consistent. I’ll think about that when I’m more awake though. Anyway, I look forward to reading what you thought about this chapter! I’m using a new document editor, so I hope it did the trick! I think I’ll post this fic a few hours early, too. See you next week!

#Apocrypha #Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry 5 #Dante #Vergil #DMC5 #DMCV #A03 Fic #Ao3 Fanfic #Devil May Cry V #Post Devil May Cry 5 #Post DMC5

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