#look at her pointy teeth and sharper edges

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Ghosts of Our Pasts: 6

DP x DC crossover

Damian Wayne and Danny Fenton Siblings AU

Masterpost Next

WARNING: Light gore at the beginning of this chapter!! (I didn't get verydescriptive, but it includes blood and broken glass. If that’s not for you, skip the first 2 paragraphs.)

Trempling fingers tore at the vial, desperately trying to break the seal, but the glass was slick with crimson and he found no purchase. Each attempt was shakier than the last. Even prying the lid with his teeth made little difference when his hands couldn't grip the thing. He doesn't know if he made a decision or if he dropped it, but half the vials contents mix on the ground with broken glass and blood. The vibrant glowing green makes the blood look black in comparison, sharp little stars glitter in the morbid nebula.

Half the vial is still in his hand. It's edges are jagged teeth cutting into his hand, healing then cutting, then healing, and repeating. It should probably hurt more.

Danyal's thoughts are sluggish. It takes another minute to realize the new problem, that the wound is on his back under several protective layers. Even if he could reach it, he wouldn't be able to pour the Lazarus water accurately, he couldn't even see the wound. If he set down the vial to get a better feel for it, would he remember to pick it back up?

It only hurts the living, it is good for the dead and dying. He didn't remember who'd explained that, but it was all he could recall about the waters, and he didn’t exactly have many options.

He tipped the vial to his lips and drank. This he did feel.

---

Danny gasped awake gripping his hands over his chest where his core hid. The shard of ice felt sharper than normal, pointed and aimed at his heart. Danny felt cold.

When he'd first come to the Fenton's, he'd been convinced that Damian's blade had broken under his skin. He'd been sure that the blades tip remained lodged in the back of his chest, just under his heart. He remembered saying it felt cold. His theory had been disproven after an X-ray after falling off the roof. (he'd jumped from it to the Assult Vehicle. He'd been fine, but the other parents had seen him roll and insisted on the hospital.) Jazz had called it trauma, and well, it was. So he'd taken her advice on it.

Danny couldn’t tell whether it had always been there or if this was the usual mind over matter ghost nonsense, but now his core was being pointy, so that was great! Definitely not like the last time his core had felt weird and he'd almost frozed alive!(dead?).

He needed some air. He threw on some clothes and didn't bother with doors.

The thing was he wasn't actually sure if he died the first time. It didn't really matter, it was still trauma, but if his core had come from that, and the portal had just... what? Supercharged him? Both events had fundamentally changed him, but he'd gone so long believing he hadn’t died at Damian's hand. He'd survived everything with the League just to die to his own stupidity.

The sun had already set, but smoggy clouds and light pollution blocked the stars. He wasn’t surprised, but it would've been nice to fill a bit of obsession after the nightmare... actually...

He sat on the ledge and focused on chaneling his excess energy to Gotham. It was something he did often for Amity, the smaller city would take that energy and stitch back together any damage from a fight. But there was a lot of ectoplasm in Amity Park. Danny didn’t know how malleable the physical aspects were for her.

The energy was pulled away as she accepted, pulling a thread of his consciousness with it. She showed him a plant on a windowsill, stubbornly blooming despite the lack of sun. She showed him a tiny crack in a support beam mended, a touch of poison in the water flowed away from the supply of drinking water, and more tiny things that would mean all the difference for a few people. But she kept showing him things, too much all at once and he had to rip his mind back because he was in human form and could not handle that much like this.

She withdrew sheepishly, and he got it. Most older spirits did not know how much a human brain could handle.

Something else drew his attention and he turned sharply.

"Oh... Hi,"

"Are you alright?" Batman asked, still a careful distance away.

"Yeah...?"

"Your eyes are glowing."

"Oh..." Danny closed his eyes for a second, opening them again when he was sure they'd look human. He wasn’t really surprised. "That uh... happens, sometimes..."

"You have good control over it,"

"Uh, I guess? I can't always tell when I'm doing it..."

"It's not pit rage then?"

"Not... usually," Danny wasn’t entirely sure what pit rage was. Not that anyone else in the League knew any better, but he didn’t know if something he had a name for might be called pit rage by someone who didn’t know.

"Hm,"

"It's a weird conglomerate of side effects." Danny half explained, looking out over the other buildings and and a parking garage. The Bat crouched on the ledge a few feet away from him and Danny couldn’t help but laugh. "This is ridiculous,"

"Oh?"

"That my first time meeting you is on a rooftop and you're in a bat costume."

"You could have come to the manor," It wasn’t a reprimand, it was an offer, it was a question.

"Yeah, I think the fact that I'm not back to being dead is pretty good evidence your not with the Assassins."

"No. I haven't been for a long time."

Danny took a deep breath. He wasn't going to dwell on other versions of this story. "Cool."

There was a few moments of silence, a bit awkward, but nothing compared to the awkward silence in the alley a few hours prior.

"How's your trip going?" Batman asked.

"Already looked me up, huh?" Danny joked.

"We needed to be sure—"

"I know, I know, my sudden appearance was super sus."

Batman sighed the sigh of someone who has heard far too many Among Us jokes in his life.

Danny grinned, "Pretty good so far, nobody attacked the museum, and we've almost worn down Lancer about the whole 'we must stay in one group' thing."

"Staying in one group is wise."

"We're Amity Parkers," Danny countered.

"You're from a town with a communication blackout."

"A 'magical' communication blackout." Danny finger quoted the word 'magical'. "I don't actually know what you can access. Only someone who's been to Amity can find it."

"Hm,"

"Unless, you go through Elmerton." Danny advised. He was taking a chance on this, he decided. Even if he was wrong about trusting this part of his family, Amity's judgement wouldn't be biased and she wouldn't let them see anything they shouldn't. And of course, in Amity, Phantom could get involved if need be.

"Elmerton."

"Yep, the town a few miles to the east. Our only tether back to this plain of existence." Danny said dramaticly, it wasn’t that bad. He could almost hear him thinking, so he didn't expect the next question.

"Do you like it there?"

"I- yeah, I do." It was his haunt, most of its weirdness was subconsciously his fault. "Ever been to a liminal space?"

"I've been to a few other dimensions,"

Danny snorted, "Mood,"

That got him a weird look, it was his own fault really.

"I'm not talking about anything related to my death." Danny warned. "Sorry."

"That's a reasonable boundary," Bio-dad in a bat suit nodded, but also sounded like he was physically restraining himself from asking. It also sounded like something a therapist was attempting to drill into him, Danny could relate, if it were true.

"Liminal spaces are kinda hard to explain if you haven't been in one. Amity has a lot of ghosts... I mean that literally. Our neighbor died of old age, but she still reads the newspaper on her porch every morning."

"That's..." Danny could actually taste the suprise. It was kinda tangy? Danny really hoped the emotions having a taste thing was just because of low ambient ectoplasm; he really did not want this as a new power.

"The most normal thing about Amity," Danny finished the sentence for him. "Don't go into it trying to makes sense of it or you might melt your brain or something."

"Please tell me that's a joke."

Danny shrugged, then decided it was his turn for questions. He pulled Damian's list out of his pocket. "So, can I get you to explain who all of these people are?"

-

Bruce returned to the cave feeling significantly better than when he'd left it. Danny had been open, for the most part, but clear on things he wasn't willing to discuss. Despite his children's earlier interaction, he'd seemed willing, even eager to interact with the rest of the family.

Damian was pacing in the same way he'd been when Bruce had left. He'd said something along the lines of 'I do not wish him to feel pressured by my presence' when Bruce had asked if he'd come with him. He immediately noticed when Bruce stepped into the room and made a beeline for him.

"We're going to show him around the rooftops tomorrow night. I asked, you're invited." Bruce told him.

-

-

-

Next up! A brief break from the heavy stuff, let’s drop in for some Amity Parker’s vacationing in Gotham! (If you have prompts, I beg you!!!)

-

Notes:

If you're wondering: why did he come has Batman? That's because it would be very weird for Bruce Wayne to talk alone with a single seemingly random kid on their senior trip.

Batman talking with a kid sitting on the edge of a multi-story drop? Good! We were feeling worried about that kid!

Also B was just dropping by to check, and lo and behold! His son is chillin on the roof like any self-respecting bird does.

Any future Bruce POV's are gonna be just as short as this one, because I tried writing the interaction from his pov and it caused me pain! Shout out to everyone who does that regularly.

Tag list: Only 50 mentions will link on one tumblr post. I will add the others in under a reply

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#dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #grey writes

[tamelee]

Is it just me or most Naruto girls look like man?

I mean if you cover Suigetsu's teeth, Sakura looks similar to him. Same with Kushina and Naruto. Most of them are either plain or ugly or both.

Well.... yeah, nah, hmm.. whether you think it's ugly or not it's subjective. Considering HOW MANY characters Kishimoto had to make, I think he was able to distinguish them all really well and the colors in the Anime help do that even more of course. Some of the designs are brutal! Very nice 👌. I would say that I don't think Kishimoto has been very creative in the sense of eye-shapes for girls especially. Take teen Tsunade and cut off her ponytail and she also resembles Sakura.

And yet, there are very clever differences, yes? NS fans claim Kishimoto hinted at Sakura ending up with Naruto because Sakura's eye-shape also resembles Kushina's... but needless to say, that argument doesn't hold water in the least. Itachi (though more slender/sharper in rest), Rin, as well as multiple other characters have this shape. (Suigetsu doesn't..)

And tbh...... color Minato's eyes and hair black and uh... he sorta resembles Sasuke a bit also in panels where Kishimoto draws his eyes especially during times where stamina runs low. And doesn't this also resemble Gaara's? Just imagine the iris not colored and a lack of eyebrow, and he doesn't always draw them with the pointy edges for Gaara either. It's not about shapes only though because this is mostly a style and a choice to draw in a way where it becomes possible to draw these characters over and over again without making it too complicated. The real trick lies in the small details which requires so much skill! It's the eyelid like the rounded ones for Kakashi that makes his eyes very unique. Which suits his personality so well as it often gives off a chill or "I'm so done"-vibe, and yet the shape of the eye itself is very similar to others. Sasuke having very prominent eyelids, but Naruto only during certain expressions and often shorter! Or a single line at the edges of an eye that's barely even noticeable unless you look for it. The slightly sharper jaw that Sasuke has in contrast to the more rounded one of Naruto. The width differences of the eyelashes or eyebrows that all belong to a character... I applaud Mangaka who are able to do this. I don't think they're ugly at all. Some are more plain and boring than others for sure, but even that can tell a lot about a character's personality iykwim :') That too is deliberate. (At least, as I expect from Kishimoto.)

#asktamelee #naruto talk #kishimoto

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Still Subject to Change Chapter 1 (NEW)

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Hello everyone! i decided to repost arc 1 of SSTC

(the chapters were way too long and had a bunch of typos but hopefully this will make reading easier)

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

if there are still any grammatical errors i'm sorry.

——————————————————————————

Hiding in an alley between two buildings I could look over the Market pretty well, and considering the clear spring weather it was possible to see all the way up to the Castle.

Fuck that place, I hoped it would burn to the ground and take the Racist King down with it!

Ohh how I hated being a hybrid of a human and one of the Fae beings that were definitely NOT human as was clearly seen in my way too blue eyes, very pointy ears, sharper teeth and the fact that some of my organs were doubled even if I didn’t need them.

Like, who even needed four kidneys? or two hearts? The second one wasn’t even beating

At least the second stomach was useful for holding my coins as for whatever reason it did not work like my normal one, probably also the result of my Bastard Status.

Back to the situation at hand, I needed food as I could not find anyone who would take in a bastard like me or even give me a job as per the King’s orders all Fae and even Woodfolk were to be banished.

I didn’t know how to survive in the woods since I was raised as the Human Donovan Verney and not as some wild magic creature like most Fae were so my only option to survive in this place was to steal.

I was not proud of it but I never took more than I needed and if possible left some of the coins that I had painstakingly collected from the ground as people lost them quite frequently.

Looking around I saw that one of the stands selling Pastries was currently not being tended to and decided to try and get some bread to at least last this week.

Dashing out between the buildings I aimed to just run past and grab whatever I could reach first and just book it out of here. 

but as I got close enough to grab a still steaming fresh Bun a Lady stood up from under the table the Pastries laid.

well too late to change course now, she’d be able to excuse one bread i was sure, running by i grabbed the Bun and Darted through the crowd just as the lady began screaming.

“THIEF!!! THIEF!!! SOMEONE GET HIM! ARREST HIM! THERE’S A STEALING FAE HERE I SAW HIS EARS!!!! SOMEONE HELP”

Man, this lady could scream loud! She acted like I had stolen her entire heritage instead of one measly bun, and even worse was that she had noticed my bastard status…

So it wouldn’t be long until the guards showed up.

As a matter of fact i could hear the telltale rattling of armor clanking against itself as the owners ran after me seemingly coming out of nowhere, fuck! 

They must have been patrolling nearby, today really wasn’t my lucky day.

Hearing them get closer I decided to Run towards the Silvervale forest as nobody in their right mind would go in there of their own free will seeing as it was infested with various Monsters.

Sprinting between some houses I arrived at a small field that led to the woods and decided to just run straight across it, hoping that as soon as I got to the edge of the woods they would stop following me.

Nobody in their right mind would follow me into there as the place was known to be teeming with monsters. 

Just last week a man that wandered too close got snatched and mauled by a Manticore and was never seen again.

I knew it was also dangerous for myself because I could very well be killed by one of the forest inhabitants as well.

But so far I’ve gotten lucky as my pursuers usually turned tail as soon as they saw that I went into the woods deeming them too dangerous and everyone that entered it immediately dead.

Reaching the Treeline and starting to run a bit slower i looked back and saw that the Guards that were after me weren’t even full guards, Just some apprentices wearing the standard kingdom issued training armor Consisting of a belly free breastplate and some Chainmail over Leather as well as sturdy boots and a standard shortsword.

That in itself would not have been so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that neither of them slowed down and instead just continued sprinting after me into the woods causing me to bolt away from them even faster to make up for the distance i had already lost while looking back.

I tried to get them off my trail by weaving between trees hoping they would lose sight of me but the Blonde one, who I assumed was the leader of the two as he was sort of dragging the rusthead behind him sometimes, was on my track like a Bloodhound.

I started to wonder if maybe they had a death wish following me in here seeing as I didn’t even know where I was anymore and I doubted they knew either, but this was a race for Survival MY Survival and I was not about to lose it.

I dared to look behind me one more time and saw that I had gained a bit of distance between us and I hoped that would only grow from here on out.

But as it turns out, looking behind yourself while running is not a good idea as I learned the hard way after a misstep led to me falling into a sinkhole that I didn’t see and tumbling down only served to scrape my knees and elbows.

The disorienting slide came to a stop at the bottom of a small cave where I face planted into the ground landing on some branches and dirt.

As I tried to stand up I noticed that my ragged shirt had caught onto something, and looking down I saw a Skeleton! 

Biting back a scream at this sudden development I tried to get off of it in a panic only to realize that the skeleton’s arm was sticking to my own as it appeared that a bracelet it had worn slipped over my own wrist as I fell on top of it.

Yanking the bones away and intending to just throw the Trinket next to it as it suddenly shrunk around my arm fitting perfectly like a second skin with inlaid gems I had never seen before, and now impossible to take off.

oh great some magic shit on top of this already bad day i mused in grimm irony as i tried to strip the thing off with no results.

Deciding to deal with this later and focus on escaping my entourage for now i climbed some roots that led me out of the hole i had initially fallen in.

Looking around for a second I saw that the men hunting me like Wildshot were way closer than before, so turning around I just booked it into the opposite direction towards a clearing I could see in the distance.

While stumbling exhaustedly over branches and stones I did not notice that I had started to grow until I stumbled once again and fell down.

getting up and looking back to the two that had followed me suddenly noticed that i was about five times their size now and they both stared at me, the Rusthead in unabashed Horror and the blonde in a sort of grimm shock.

I was stunned by this development. 

How did I grow? 

Then my mind and eyes snapped back to the Bracelet with the inlaid gems and I figured that the thing had to be actually cursed to do this to me.

Looking at the two guards in training, the blonde one who was ready to just stab me with his shortsword, now a mere toy to me, simply kept staring for a moment frozen in place.

I acted without thinking and grabbed the Rusthead next to him in a fist and plucked his weapon away from him as he squirmed in my grip.

“HEY!! LET HIM GO YOU BEAST!” 

commanded the blonde as he yelled at me.

“or what?” 

I growled at him in the deepest voice I could muster which, considering my newfound size was a lot deeper than I anticipated and ended up shaking the rusthead in my grip to the core as he tried to wiggle free from my grasp or at least get one of his arms free.

“I- i don’t know but please don’t hurt him! he’s only here because i told him to” 

the Blonde seemed a lot more jittery all of a sudden without his sword as he stared at my hand that had trapped his friend? brother? 

Whatever the Rusthead might be to him it was apparently rather important for him that he stayed alive and unhurt.

I realized I could use this to my advantage and began thinking up a plan on the spot.

“i’ll make you a deal”

I offered him.

“I know you’ll get as many guards as soon as possible the moment i let the little guy go so i will take him with me”

As he began to protest I cut him off saying.

“not forever of course, just for a week and then i send him on his way to skitter back to you”.

The guy in question apparently didn’t like that as he began shouting at me but I ignored it and instead put one of my fingers over his mouth to silence him.

The Blonde looked distrustingly at me and seemed to consider the pros and cons of this. 

He was probably fully aware that at this size I could very easily kill him and the Rusthead.

his eyes kept darting between my face and my hand which still held the other boy in an inescapable grip and finally sighed regretfully.

“if you PROMISE that you wont hurt him then i’ll agree to this just please don’t hurt him it’s my fault that he’s here”

He pleaded and started to take of his bag that he previously carried on his back

“I know that you’ll be far away by the time you’ll let him go. 

Can you take this with you? 

it contains some supplies so he can find his way back home”

I used my unoccupied hand to inspect the bag and saw that it contained a rope, a waterskin, a knife and some other useful tools.

While I inspected the bag the Blonde and the rusthead kept looking at each other desperately trying to figure a way out of this.

Stashing the bag in the front pocket of my pants I took my finger off of the Rustheads mouth so he could talk again which he immediately did.

“ARTHUR!” He wailed and tried once again to fruitlessly squirm free.

oh so the Blonde guy was named Arthur? 

“well say bye, you’ll see each other again in about a week” 

I held the wiggling Rusthead closer to the guy that apparently was named Arthur and let them say a few words to each other before standing up for the first time since I’ve grown into a giant and immediately getting a bit dizzy from the height I was looking down at Arthur.

Calculating a bit and using the Rusthead in my fist as a reference point I concluded that I was at least thirty feet tall now, if not bigger.

That was a lot larger than anything else I’ve ever seen and I was surprised that I didn’t just straight up put dents in the ground where I was standing.

Collecting myself and Holding the Rusthead, who at this point had given up trying to get free, closer to my chest i began walking in a random direction, now that i was a giant i could absolutely not go back to a city ever again i realized dejectedly, as i would immediately be killed on sight.

Fuck the King and his stupid policies that no Nonhuman is allowed within the Kingdom walls.

Deciding to shove my bitterness towards a man who I had never met away from me for some other time and trying to be at least a little friendly, I decided to try and reassure the little guy in my hand…

Oh Fuck i was holding an entire Person in my hand, that was insane!

Why did my brain only catch up with the fact that I was a giant now?

Making decisions on a whim when your life is in danger was apparently not my strong suit as I was now stuck with a person barely a fifth of my size for a week.

Shifting my grip on the guard in my hand I ripped his armor plate off and put it in my pocket to the rest of the stuff so I could hold him better.

He still had the chainmail and leather on him, And I had currently no Intention in taking that from him, as I promised that he wouldn’t be hurt, I deemed it best to leave him a majority of his armor.

Besides without a weapon there was no feasible way that he could hurt me.

But it still was extremely weird that I could fit an entire Person in my hand.

The guard in my Hands was still visibly shaken from the whole ordeal and fidgeting nervously with his Arms.

“Calm down Rusthead you’re fine i’m not going to hurt you" 

I tried to reassure him.

He however just mumbled

"don’t call me Rusthead”

and was honestly pouting about it.

“What do you want me to call you then?”

I asked him which seemed to catch him off guard a little as he looked at me surprised.

“ Oh uh…i… well my Name is Robin so call me that?" 

He jumbled out awkwardly.

"Alright I’ll do that, just cause we’re Stuck together for a week doesn’t mean we have to be mean to each other”

I replied while ducking under some branches making him flinch from the sudden shift in gravity and cling to my Fingers.

"So uh what’s your Name?”

Robin tried awkwardly to make smalltalk.

“Im Donovan and, well i’m not usually this tall”

I told him while trying to find another clearing.

“Yeah i can believe that you seemed just as surprised and confused as we did” 

he confessed.

“Also, can I ask where we are going?” 

he added meekly.

“Well frankly i have no idea so i think i’m going to go towards the Wyrmhurst Mountain and See if i can climb it"  

A Look of Horror crossed Robin’s Face at the mention of the highest peak in the direct vicinity of Kamerasca.

“Are you insane??? That’s like the most dangerous place here!! why would you even WANT to go there?!?”

“well im Giant now so i don’t know what would want to mess with me, besides i only want to go up there because i think i could see really far away”

Looking around I saw that the sun stood way lower than before and decided to start seeking for a shelter before the night fell.

“Besides i can just let you run back to Tunstead when i’m at the base of the mountain i’m not going to Climb that thing with you in my hands”

“So I don’t have to go up there? at least that’s a positive for now”

I nodded at him and continued striding through the forest even if my legs needed a rest soon. 

I had been up and about since yesterday morning after all.

Coming into a small clearing and deciding to just use the spot as a temporary camp for tonight, I asked the guy that currently just hung limply in my hand.

“Hey, are you tired? i think this place will do okay as a campsite for tonight”

“im fine with anything really” 

he conceded.

“as long as you don’t snore i guess” 

he added a lot more quiet.

“i’m pretty sure i don’t snore otherwise the actual guards in Tunstead would have found me sleeping in the alleys”

I reached my hand out and grabbed at the leaves of a nearby tree to try and to make it into a nest for Robin to sleep in.

the leaves felt flakey and almost fake in my now giant hands.

I realized halfway through my foraging that if I left Robin to sleep by himself without something to keep him from running away he would do exactly that.

Remembering the bag the other one gave me, I fished it out of my pocket and took the rope out that it contained.

“What are you…? uh what are you gonna do with that?”

the smaller asked nervously, staring at the rope in my hand.

“Well I know if i go to sleep you will just run away so i have to tie you up so you don’t escape”

I explained to him trying to figure out the best way to do this.

“WAIT wait can we talk about this? I’m not keen on sleeping on the ground while tied up like a wild horse!” 

He had started squirming again to get free, but like the last time it did not do anything other than tire himself out even more.

“You’ll be fine, it’s just rope not the end of the world” 

I rolled my eyes at him and started binding his legs together.

“ah what about ummm rope burn?! I don’t want rope burns that’s nasty and could get infected?”

He had started rambling at me to get me to reconsider tying him up, but he did have a point with the rope burns so, reaching into the bag once again, I took out what appeared to be a spare undershirt and started wrapping it around his bare arms.

“There, that should solve the rope burn problem” 

I told him as I tied his arms to his front.

“But what if one of the monsters of this forest shows up? or worse!”

He tried once more to get out of this by talking.

“if something does show up just scream and i’ll kick it as far as i can”

I told him while setting him onto the leaves I had prepared earlier and lying down next to it myself, sticking close in case he decided to somehow rob away while bound.

“At least i get a bed” 

he grumbled and fell over onto his side facing away from me.

“Whatever Goodnight, And if somethings wrong just yell for me” 

I said in his general direction, the entire day of walking had made me tired and now that the sun was gone I could barely keep my eyes open.

shuffling around a bit to get comfortable I closed my eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

I was awoken later by someone saying my name, which in itself was unusual, as I rarely had any reason to tell it to anyone.

It took me a few seconds to recognize who was talking to me and at first I tried just going back to sleep before my name was said again.

Opening my eyes to look at Robin I saw that it was still night judging by the darkness around us.

“What’s the Problem?” I asked him sleepily and wished that it was nothing so I could go back to bed. 

I felt heavier than ever before and really just wanted to keep sleeping.

“It’s very cold. Can you make a fire?” he asked with chattering teeth.

Opening my eyes completely I saw my breath come out in little clouds and looking over to Robin I could just about make out frost on the leaf bed I had made and him lying pitifully shaking inside of it.

It was weird that the cold did not seem to bother me at all but i shoved that away for the next morning

“It’s too dark to make a fire and I don’t have firewood” 

I Informed him.

“Do you have any other ideas to warm me up?” 

His teeth chattering worse with each word he said.

Not knowing what else to do I rolled completely on my side, facing him and taking him into my hands once again, while also fishing out a handkerchief that I had in my other pocket intending to let the tiny Guard use it as a Blanket. 

I was glad that I had washed it before this madness happened.

Curling around Robin and laying the cloth over him like a blanket. 

I hoped that this was enough so I could go back to sleep already.

“thank you” 

I heard the softly spoken words that just barely reached my ears shortly before I fell back asleep.

The next time I awoke it was thankfully morning and i was not tired anymore, opening my eyes and looking around without moving beyond that as i remembered what had transpired last night and not wanting to roll over the small Guard i simply continued lying there.

glancing down to see if he was also awake I found him staring intently at a dandelion where a Bee currently tried to get nectar, not caring at all that it was stared at.

Shifting around a bit, I decided to at least wish him a good morning after he had to sleep in the cold for a few hours.

“Good morning” 

I politely greeted him.

He however, Flinched like a Wyvern had snuck up on him and whipped his head around to stare at me with wide pupils, Brown eyes wide before blinking and going back to normal.

“Hey you good?” 

I inquired about his weird reaction.

“ah i’m sorry i just had my mind somewhere else” 

He explained and then added sheepishly.

“i’m afraid it happens a lot that i just zone out”

“So I noticed” 

I replied dryly and started to get intending to stretch my muscles.

“So uh Donovan right?” 

I heard him ask from the Ground where he looked up at me.

“Yeah what is it?” 

I responded and bent down again to scoop his still rope bound form up from the ground while also pocketing my Handkerchief again.

“Can you unbind me now? Night is over and i want to be able to move again”

He seemed nervous asking me for anything at all which, considering the happenings of the past twenty four hours, I could not blame him.

Still I had not eaten since yesterday Morning as I was rudely interrupted by the entire madness that led to my current Situation and would have to get something today.

And having a small Person in my Hands while trying to find something would not be helpful.

“Not yet, i need to find something to eat first and dragging you around with me is not gonna do me any favors in that regard”

“Wait, you’re not gonna leave me tied up on the ground are you???”

He blurted out worriedly.

He HAD a fair point in that actually, i could not leave him in case one of the less friendly residents of this Forest showed up.

Having him sit on the floor would only be dangerous so thinking about it for a second I got another idea.

“I’m not gonna leave you on the floor don’t worry i’ll just put you in a tree most things can’t climb anyways so you should be safe” 

I explained to him and started looking for some suitable Greenery.

“That’s not any better?!?” 

He exclaimed bewildered and tried to chew on the part of the rope that went over his shoulder but couldn’t quite reach it.

“it’ll be fine i’ll just hunt some wildgame or something and i’ll share so you get something too”

I tried to placate him but he still looked grumpy about it as I put him in a tree somewhere above my head and left him dangling from a piece of rope.

“I’ll be right back with something to eat, okay? you’ll be fine in the meantime”

he did not respond and instead just pouted at me as I slowly went to look for anything edible.

Trying to navigate through the underbrush quietly proved to be difficult with my new size, as I kept stepping on branches and twigs and even entire logs as well as hitting my head on the overgrowth, sometimes alerting a few Birds.

After a few minutes however I got the hang of it and started to silently creep along between the trees until I spotted a Deer that was eating some lichen off a tree.

#sstc #lizards writing #vore story #giant/tiny #g/t story #extreme cuddling #Barmea #still subject to change

[magiefish]

Starring fuckhands mcmike and (soon to be gaslight, gatekeep) girlboss

Felt like making a cover for Mag 47 because it was a funky episode.

[Image ID: Framed slightly off centre is a doorway tilted to the right from behind which emits a yellow light. The door itself is a dark yellow with a black handle and opens out to the right, the yellow light cast on the left side of it. The background of the piece consists of rectangular hues of purple going into darker and darker shades as they move towards the edge of the piece. Coming off of the door is a path covered in green carpet that curves to the left before curving back to the centre with the implication that it continues past the edge of the piece. A stark yellow light is cast out from the doorway across the path.

Standing in the doorway is a white woman with short brown hair in a purple suit jacket, short skirt, sheer socks, and high heels. She stands defensively with her legs far apart, one arm at her side and her other hand touching the doorframe. None of her facial features are visible. Behind her is a man much taller than her who also has minimal facial features visible other than his wide smile with sharp pointy teeth. He is also white, but is paler than the woman. He has long curly blond hair that reaches past his shoulders and wears a long dark green coat that reaches down to his ankles, a purple scarf, wide dark grey trousers, and a red jumper. His hands are at his sides and are very bony, his fingers incredibly sharp and longer than normal ones. Both of them are cast partly in heavy shadow due to the light coming out from the door. They both cast shadows across the path, however whereas the woman’s shadow is normal the man’s shadow is distorted, with a longer thinner neck, a thinner torso and even thinner waist resembling the silhouette of a skeleton. His hands are even larger in comparison to stick thin arms, and his fingers are longer and sharper and jut off from the hands in odd places.

Running along the left side of the piece above the pathway and to the left of the doorframe are the words ‘Mag 47: A New Door’ coloured in purplish blues and warped to look as if they are curving along a wall, tilted at the same right angle as the door. End Image ID]

#the magnus archives #micheal distortion #helen richardson #mag 47 #original art #magieart #I haven’t drawn anything in like 6 months #and then as soon as my exams ended I was possessed by an artistic frenzy blacked out and drew this #the spiral

[illuminatedcomics]

Zelia’s Design

A dissection on my thought process for the design of Zelia Ziesmer, the main character for Toxic Park.

Toxic Park is what I can only describe as “slapstick cyberpunk”, a comic I wrote and drew at the tail end of 2021 after a period of a year and a half of hiatus, primarily as a way to get my art moving again. I’m completing a sequel as we speak, and I hope to release it by November 2022.

Zelia conceptually was my personal take on the “crazy girl” archetype, of characters like Harley Quinn or Jinx from League of Legends. The primary idea was “why would a person act like this at all times, how does she keep the energy going” and one of the answers I came up with was, “she’s on a constant chemical sugar high”. So Zelia is all high energy ALL the time, and this is exemplified by the way I draw her, and the reason why I called this “slapstick cyberpunk”: more so than many of my characters, she twists and deforms like a cartoon, and she’s often willingly off model and weird. She’s “disorganized, low-attention span, careless, hopelessly ambitious, all that shows in how she moves around, the poses and lines of dialogue and their delivery. Stretches and flails limbs around trying to "claim" space”, as a friend of mine put it. I like writing characters that are unpleasant and/or difficult. Zelia is not a person I’d like to have around, but she’s fun to draw.

The name Zelia itself comes from a genus of Fly, and I picked it specifically because the idea is that she’s a buzzing, uncontrollable insect flying around the mound of feces that is the comic’s polluted, industrial setting. Meanwhile, Ziesmer is a German surname, and I picked it primarily because I like the alliterative quality of it.

For the Toxic Park sequel I heavily redesigned Zelia, but kept the core attributes. Style wise, in clothing, I was looking to imitate the work of Sam McKenzie, a Brisbane artist. Leather jacket, short shorts, high heel boots, fit a person that wants to look BOLD and aggressive, that simultaneously wants to be looked at, but doesn’t care about what people think. A recurring motif is the EYE: I covered her with fake eyes, which I envision as constantly jingling and skittering, like flat googly eyes. It’s to give a sense of manic movement, short attention span, inability to focus on a single thing at once.

The eye theme is repeated in her physical traits, with hers being mismatched. The right one is normal, while the left one is partly “dead”, and my idea is that she lacks vision in it. Incidentally, the right one is also often partly covered by her falling sidecut, so that we add a layer of impairment to the good eye too, a move that indicates, once again, a lack of forethought within the character.

Zelia isn’t supposed to be attractive or have a standard face. Besides her easily twisting and going off model, I try to give her sharper edges than other characters, and her nose is visibly hunched and with a pointy tip. Another essential piece is the visible gap in her front teeths. Initially I was debating whether it was a case of her teeth being heavily misaligned or an outright chipped tooth, and in the end I settled for the latter. It indicates she’s a fighter or at least, prone to getting hurt and injured. Finally, when I want to draw characters with a shaved head, I tend to simply give a skin tone, or a base color indicating a buzz cut, but with her, I put emphasis on the single strand specifically to give the idea that they grow erratically and are poorly maintained. Yet, despite all this, makeup and painted nails remains an important factor: Zelia cares about how she looks a little bit, and just like in her choice of clothes, she wants to be noticed.

The final side of her character is the tattoo work. For the sequel, I heavily streamlined it in an effort to make life easier for myself. Originally, she was supposed to be covered with an intricate mosaic of, once again, completely mismatched tattoos, the core theme being a lack of theme, just like her. A recurring image were her name and initials, an arrogant form of self-marketing she shared with other characters in the story, an attempt at worldbuilding. Eyes too, were, once again, a core concept.

In the end only a couple are left, the big ones. She has the word Elbow in japanese tattooed on her Thigh. This little fact has a multitude of layers to it. She then has a big spider on her head, because her mind is a convoluted web.

READ THE FIRST TOXIC PARK

Sam McKenzie

#character design #character art #oc art #original character #comics #cyberpunk #toxic park #my comics

[smile-files]

some night terror people!! i think dewey is too important to the story to not be part of the main characters. also, groups of 4 in stories are so satisfying :D

i really like how far all of their designs have come, especially since late 2019 when i started this whole thing. 

i mean for god’s sake look at noah’s old design! ew. stinky. garbage >:[ (this is an old stinky drawing from an animation meme on scratch)

i mean, of course, the story was also completely different then, but the drawing still sucks B)

#night terror #lexi's design is one of my favorites #look at her pointy teeth and sharper edges #man she's hot #i like the contrast between noah and dewey's rounder shapes and damien and lexi's pointiness #it's cool #ocs #my ocs #melon's musings #!!

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.    

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

[isabilightwood]

THE PROBLEM WITH AUTHORITY - CHAPTER 9

Or, Sacrifice Summon! Jiang Yanli is here to make things right, be the ultimate big sister (step 1: bring back her dead brother), and maybe steal the Peacock throne in the process

[AO3][1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8]

The trees shivered under an unnatural fog. Yet the sky above was clear, save for the eerie crimson light of the stars. Every gust of wind against the leaves was a howling moan, every rustle of the undergrowth a giant spider yao gathering itself to lunge. Jin Tianyu wanted to go home. He was going to be an accountant under the Chief Cultivator and help him change the world. Important things. Not like stupid night hunting.

He didn’t need night hunting experience to do math.

But his instructors disagreed. Even Madam Jin had shaken her head when he asked for an exemption, and explained that he needed to be able to defend himself. He’d already delayed too much by avoiding night hunting until he was eighteen, two years away from his coming of age. But what could he ever need to defend himself from in Koi Tower, save the cheek-pinching fingers of elderly relatives?

And if he had to go night hunting, why did it have to be with Fan Caining? If only their regular blademaster or even Madam Jin herself ran these things. Then he would feel safe and protected, and not like his class’ ostensible teacher, appointed to ensure the group made it back in one piece, would turn tail and flee should they run into anything more dangerous than a single ghost.

Which they would. Besides their target, a guai formed from a carpenter’s worktable that had become animated, killed its owner, and run off into the woods, there had been reports of multiple yao formed from clouded leopards in these woods.

Not to mention the giant spiders. Jin Tianyu had had one on the ceiling of his room last night, and his roommate had refused to take care of it for him, right before rolling over and going right to sleep! He’d been forced to suffer through chasing it away with a broom by himself, whimpering all the while. And that was without the massive growth spurt resentful energy gave them.

Fan Caining suddenly swept his sword through the undergrowth, clearing out an ordinary pack of rodents. As he did so, something growled in the woods up ahead.

“That should draw something out.” He informed the group, though they’d been taught in class that the best way to draw out a dangerous guai or yao was to choose a battleground by scouting during the day, and using a lure flag with a limited distance to reduce the risk of attracting anything else.

How a bunch of rodents would draw out a murderous worktable, Jin Tianyu did not know. But it might bring out those leopards!

The senior disciple had a build that seemed to be made of squares, which also described his personality. Flat and boring, with a few pointy spots that made him dangerous to cross. Jin Tianyu had learned that the hard way when he suggested they might, possibly want to scout beforehand, and Fan Caining hit him hard across the back with the flat of his sword. The bruise had yet to fade.

Sure enough, a leopard yao with glowing red eyes pounced on his slightly older cousin as they entered the next clearing. She shrieked and whacked at it with her sheathed sword while Jin Tianyu and everyone else gaped. Even Fan Caining.

As his tangjie managed to get her sword between herself and the leopard, Jin Tianyu shook off his shock and drew his sword. He held it in front of himself like a spear and charged, yelling. Sword pierced flesh with sickening squelch.

He’d screwed his eyes shut to avoid looking, he realized, and opened them. The leopard was dead alright, and his tangjie alive if covered in the leopard’s blood. But it seemed Fan Caining had recovered at the same time he did. Either Jin Tianyu stabbing its gut or it’s beheading could have done it in.

“Thanks.” Tangjie said, as she used his limp arm to pull herself up. “I was starting to think no one would step in.”

The dozen other junior disciples looked sheepish.

“Of course,” Fan Caining drew himself up prouder than any peacock in the Koi Tower gardens, though she hadn’t addressed him.

The groaning noise sounded again, this time cut off with a wail.

Fan Caining waved him and the other junior disciples ahead as though nothing was wrong.  Jin Tianyu cursed his luck for the thousandth time.

It was one of the outer disciples who first stepped in a trap. They tried to take another step, and found themselves immobilized at the edge of the clearing. Tangjie took a step forward and found herself shot up into the branches of the tree above. “I can’t — my hands are stuck to the branch!” She called down, in a panic.

Several other disciples moved to help, but found themselves in the same situation. Jin Tianyu’s limbs felt heavy, and he stood there dumb and immobile.

The groaning noise came again, but cut off in a laugh that could only come from a person.

Lilting laughter that sounded like his worst nightmare echoed through the clearing. Looking around, Jin Tianyu spotted a man dressed in black and silver reclining casually on a tree branch. Beautiful, in the way of jagged glass, only sharper. Like he would not only cut anything that got too close, but shred it into thin, unidentifiable slivers.

If I was better at verse, I could be a poet, and leave cultivation behind forever. Jin Tianyu thought absently.

The man looked familiar somehow, like he might have crossed paths with Jin Tianyu in passing. Except that Jin Tianyu had never left Lanling City before.

Fog rolled into the clearing, but only below the tree line, leaving the man clear and untouched above.

Jin Tianyu coughed. No, not fog. Powder.

Fan Caining stood in the center of the clearing, his sword shaking as he pointed it up towards the man. “Xue Yang? But you’re supposed to be —”

“Dead?” Xue Yang’s teeth shone white, bared in a threat, not a smile. “Yes, you did try very hard to make that happen. Too bad for you, I’m too crazy to die. Lucky for me, none of your friends are here this time to save you. Only a few tasty little children.”

To his surprise, Fan Caining did not try to run. Instead, he jumped up into the trees. “I can take you on my own, you weak little maniac.”

Xue Yang only laughed as he attacked.

Xue Yang. Jin Tianyu knew why he recognized him now. That was the former disciple brought in by the former sect leader, cast out by the current Chief Cultivator. The murderer of the Chang Clan.

He’d called them tasty.

Screw Fan Caining. They needed to get out of there.

Jin Tianyu tried to give himself leverage to get to his cousin by pushing against a tree, and found himself entirely turned around, no longer in the clearing.

He turned, and the trees seemed to spin around him. They continued to spin no matter how long he tried to stand still, stumbling, until finally he hit something solid and rough. A tree. He slid down it. Seated, his vision felt a little clearer.

He soon wished it wasn’t.

Something dropped from the tree to dangle in above Jin Tianyu. He dared to peak, and immediately regretted it.

The slack, inverted features of Fan Caining stared back, his eyes bulging from his head, tongue swollen and hanging from blue-tinged lips.

Jin Tianyu screamed.

He woke to Tangjie slapping his cheeks. “Tianyu! Tianyu, wake up!”

“What… what happened?” Jin Tianyu said groggily, as his memory began to return. He sat up straight. “Xue Yang!”

“He left, but I think there was something in that fog. You inhale the most of it, but all of us breathed in a little.” She explained. “We need to hurry back to the inn. The rest of the group has Cai-qianbei’s body. Come on, we need to go.���

She slung his arm around her neck, but as he stood, the vertigo returned in full force.

Somehow, they made it back to the inn, but he didn’t remember it.

A young man rose from a table, then he was doubled and tripled and on again. He wore gray, with a boar on his shoulder. That meant Nie. Jin Tianyu remembered that.

“Did the lot of you run all the way back here like that?”

“What?” Jin Tianyu asked, and the next thing he knew, the Nie disciple was keeping him upright by the elbow, taking his weight from Tangjie so she could collapse in a chair.

Jin Tianyu stared up into the Nie disciple’s face, at the angles of his defined cheekbones and jaw, with just the right amount of softness. Very symmetrical. He could do math with that face.

Pretty. He thought.

“Thank you.” The Nie disciple flashed him a smile that made him want to faint all over again. “You’ve got corpse poisoning. Let’s get some congee in you, now.”

He was seated and a bowl of congee appeared in front of him out of nowhere, as though it had already been prepared. Even though it was evening, and he didn’t think enough time had passed to make it.

Jin Tianyu couldn’t be sure, though. He was too busy floating, the only thing anchoring him to his body the burning pain on his tongue.

That faded as he forced down more of the bowl, and he realized it was chili. He could see the flakes reddening his bowl. Tangjie, who loved chili, had scarfed it down with no problem. Jin Tianyu tried to put down the bowl.

“No, no, you have to eat the whole thing for it to work.” The Nie disciple —who was even prettier now that his head was clearer — shoved the bowl back into his hands. “That was corpse powder you were poisoned with. You’ll die.”

Jin Tianyu shoveled the rest into his mouth.

The Nie disciple was tall. Very tall, as was the case for every Nie he’d seen with the sole exception of their current sect leader, but surprisingly thin, like he didn’t spend all his spare time building up the muscles the Nie were well known for. The hair braided up into his guan was lopsided, like he’d done it up without looking in a mirror. But even under the influence of the corpse powder, Jin Tianyu had been correct. His face was perfectly symmetrical, without a single blemish or pore to be found. It would have looked unnatural, were his perfect face not so expressive. His brows arched and lips pursed  sternly, but giving the impression that he was laughing.

“Now, would you mind telling me what happened?” His beautiful savior asked.

Speaking over each other, Jin Tianyu and the other disciples hurried to do so. But by the next morning, when they gathered to leave for Koi Tower, their savior was gone.

In Nie robes and a face that did not belong to him, Wei Wuxian did not receive a second glance until he first set foot in the Unclean realm. Once there, he constantly felt eyes boring into his back, but when he glanced over, he’d find disciples hard at work on their forms or their noses buried deep in texts. Which only went to prove their curiosity.

Even with Nie Huaisang for a sect leader, it wasn’t every day that a stranger was brought into the sect and handed a high-ranking position. But the Nie Sect had few elders, and those they had were aged and gray because with saber cultivation, it was the weak who survived the longest. It seemed the Nie elders were retired in truth, pursuing hobbies like needlework and whittling and nagging their grandchildren to eat more.

By the time Wei Wuxian arrived in the Unclean Realm, Nie Mingjue’s body had been hidden away, though not yet buried, for reasons known only to Nie Huaisang. No one said anything about that, either.

“And since I’m the weakest of the lot, I’ll live to be a hundred,” Nie Huaisang completed explaining his free reign to lead his sect however he chose, unparalleled by any other sect even a single generation past its founding as they approached the gates to the Unclean Realm.

Right before dropping a bomb on his head in the form of unwarranted and unwanted respectability. “My closest sect siblings know my motives if not my plans, so no one will oppose appointing you to the vacant position of fourth disciple.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian sputtered, tempted to check if Nie Huaisang was running a fever. “What happened to the last fourth disciple?”

Nie Huaisang snapped his fan closed, and opened it again, staring off into the distance.

Touchy subject. Understood. “Forget I asked.”

“Let’s just say Jin Guangyao owes the Nie Clan more than one life.” Nie Huaisang said, before dragging him through the gates and launching into a series of dramatic introductions that left his head spinning.

Apparently he was going by Nie Wang, courtesy Xiaomeng now.

Wei Wuxian had not been consulted on this. Walking around with everyone thinking his name was hope felt precisely in line with Nie Huaisang’s sense of humor.

True to form, Nie Huaisang did not deign to explain until he wanted something. Despite copious amounts of pleading, Wei Wuxian was forced to wait through a restless night of nightmares and a morning while his apparent new sect leader caught up on work to get his answers.

Finally, Nie Huaisang summoned him around lunch time. He was set up in a pavilion in the garden, with a mountain of paperwork. The garden had been designed by someone with an eye for showcasing Qinghe’s foliage. A lotus pond surrounded the pavilion, and though its cultivated beauty was no match for the wildness of Yunmeng’s lakes, the carefully selected flowers staggered through the surrounding paths were like hidden gems, each intended to stand on its own.

There were birds as well, goldfinches and many others kept there not by cages, but by the feeders full of seeds spread throughout.

“So,” Wei Wuxian said as he sprawled on a bench across the table from Nie Huaisang, who did not look up from his work to greet him. “I thought I was going to be a rogue cultivator. But apparently you had other ideas.”

“If you’re going to pull this off, the easiest way to wander around without notice is as one of my disciples. As a rogue cultivator, you might gather some recognition, get invited along to visit sects and so on. As one of mine, well, there are Nie disciples everywhere.” It was deeply disconcerting to watch Nie Huaisang take something seriously. And he was serious about that paperwork, not even looking up to speak. “They get bored of me, and travel.”

“They’re spies, aren’t they?”

He lifted his brush from a page with a flourish, and pinned it off to the side under a weight to dry, immediately moving onto the next one. “Are you saying I’m not irritating enough to make people need a break? I must have an ulterior motive? I’ll have to try harder.”

“Oh, you’re very irritating. They’re just extremely loyal.”

“After the Sunshot campaign and the losses we had during Dage’s decline, both to desertion and other causes. And then the prospect of me. Well, anyone who’s left is basically family.”

He gestured at Nie Xiaodan, at that moment crossing the bridge towards the pavilion.

Nie Xiaodan patted him on the head as she passed by. “Don’t forget to order lunch, Zongzhu.” She said, and returned to discussing a night hunt with her companion. It seemed she had come for that reminder only.

Nie Huaisang beamed.

“Fine, I’ll pretend to be your disciple.” Wei Wuxian wanted to pretend he’d been given a choice.

“Excellent! We can get you a saber easily enough.”

Uh. He had told him what Wen Qing said about his core, right? Wei Wuxian was often terrible at remembering tasks, but he distinctly recalled completing that one. “I’m banned from resentful energy, doctor’s orders.”

“Our smiths can make sabers without binding an animal spirit, you know. They do make other things.”

Wei Wuxian was summarily introduced to the blacksmiths, a married couple who looked him up and down intently and promptly got into an argument over the saber’s design. When he looked around for Nie Huaisang, the sneaky little spymaster was missing, because of course he was.

Attempts at interrupting failed to distract the couple from their debate over the pattern to be inscribed on the hilt, so Wei Wuxian settled against the wall to wait, and inadvertently took a nap.

He was prodded awake with the end of a (thankfully) unheated poker. “Infuse this with your energy,” The smith holding the poker growled, pointing towards a red-hot block of iron. Wei Wuxian did as requested, feeling only a slight protest from Xue Yang’s — his core.

Then, all he had to do was wait.

During the week it took for his new saber to be prepared, Wei Wuxian was not idle.

If he was going to imitate Xue Yang with no demonic cultivation and an extremely temperamental sword, Wei Wuxian needed tricks. Wen Qing had told him to invent something. But, Wei Wuxian thought, how better to create the illusion of evil tricks than to use something that actually existed.

He had drawn one idea from the stage. Why not the methods for a few more?

Within a day of verbalizing his plan, Wei Wuxian drowned under a sea of texts pulled from the shelves of the Nie library and from the private records of Qinghe’s theater and dance troops. Thanks to Nie Huaisang’s generous patronage, Wei Wuxian had been able to request manuals on the techniques in common between troops, rather than their family secrets. The tricks to raising and lowering a curtain on an improvised stage and to building a smoke bomb in a desired hue for a start.

The combination of practical optical illusions and talismans seemed particularly promising.

The smoke bombs were the easiest, simply a matter of mixing powders together in a casing and setting them on fire. Fun for him, but since he managed to irritate someone no matter where he set them off, Wei Wuxian moved on.

Combining his binding talisman and a sticking talisman, he stuck a disciple to the roof of the library.

(A volunteer, since it wasn’t as though Jiang Cheng was there. Or speaking to him.)

The force holding him in place was a standard talisman, nothing Wei Wuxian had invented, but the disciple struggled against it like he’d never learned how to counter it. Which he probably hadn’t, given how little thought most cultivators gave them beyond wards and the ubiquitous ones for keeping tea warm or sending brief messages.

Which was precisely why Wei Wuxian might just pull this off.

He thought about pulleys and spirit nets, and the next day, he inscribed the talismans within a pressure-triggered array, and sent himself flying upwards. Followed by a plethora of curious volunteers.

What had he expected, though? The Nie were a sect full of adrenaline junkies. Even the first disciple came around for a turn. After that, Wei Wuxian found himself with company and conversation at every meal.

Even so, he never forgot he was wearing a mask. Every night after a long day of study, the mask weighed heavy on his face, leaving him with a headache. He found it easier to ward his door, than keep it on while he slept. Then, and only then, was it safe to be himself.

Many of the most useful tricks required more practice, such as projecting sounds so they seemed to come from a different source. Wei Wuxian practiced each, over and over again, until he felt he had it. And then put on a demonstration.

When he could pull off a trick successfully in front of the little Nie Disciples, he knew he had managed it. If he still couldn’t fool Nie Huaisang, well, Huaisang was Huaisang.

He couldn’t be held to mortal standards.

That left one more problem, perhaps the most challenging.

Along with the skin mask, Xue Yang’s bag had contained: two changes of clothes, a small pouch of silver, a large coil of rope, and several heavy bags full of corpse powder.

Obviously, Wei Wuxian wasn’t actually going to use corpse powder on anyone. That could get messy fast, if anyone else was around, with no guarantee he’d be able to serve the antidote in time. Yet it seemed like corpse powder was a common part of Xue Yang’s modus operandi.

If he didn’t use it, would Jin Guangyao suspect something was off? There was no way of telling.

The problem niggled at the back of his mind all week long, whether he was becoming one with the library or getting caught in his own rope trap. But he got no closer to finding a solution.

Until finally, during breakfast on the day Wei Wuxian was to receive his saber, he sat staring into his congee, stirring it absently.

And had a brilliant idea.

Somehow, having a potential solution took the edge off his nerves, and he was able to hold Yuanzheng for the first time while only making a bit of a fool of himself. To his relief, it didn’t feel like Suibian, though the long, thin saber was also designed for agility rather than power.

Yuanzheng

did feel like a weapon he could use, not the dead, draining weight Suibian had become or the repulsion of Jiangzai. Like it might become an extension of his arm in time, with Suibian and Chenqing out of reach. Wei Wuxian teared up a little, as he went through a series of exercises for the first time in years, and did not pass out.

For the first time, his resurrection really felt like a second chance. The beginning of the long journey he’d named his saber for, with a slim chance that light in the distance was the end of the tunnel. With family and zhiji waiting on the other end.

He had better make it count.

From the privacy of his own room that night, he pulled out his Distance Speaking Stone, and called up Wen Qing. “Hey, disorienting powder can be cleared from the system with congee like corpse powder, right?”

With construction on watchtowers set to begin in several sects, there was little for Jiang Yanli to do on the project but wait. Yet she couldn’t remain idle with only her sect responsibilities and A-Ling to occupy her time. Not if she intended to make herself — or rather, Qin Su — a credible power in her own right, someone who had a chance of being believed when it came time to reveal Jin Guangyao’s crimes.

She needed a new project. Something Jin Guangyao had yet to present a plan for, something Qin Su would get all the credit for.

Word arrived that a Jin disciple had been murdered by Xue Yang, the juniors he had been escorting barely escaping with their lives. The pair of Jin cousins with the rare tea feud (under a temporary ceasefire in favor of vengeance against the Chief Cultivator for the allowance cut, so far consisting of attempts to convince the servants to put laxatives in his tea, which the servants would not do, out of a desire to remain among the living) fainted dead away at the news.

Jiang Yanli, already aware of this through her brother, attempted to look appropriately horrified.

Jin Guangyao paled, and for a moment, lost his composure. Ice in his eyes and steel in the set of his jaw, there and gone again in a blink. Mask back into place but still off balance, he cut off the junior disciples’ explanation of their rescue from corpse powder mid sentence. He immediately sent off three teams of disciples to track down Xue Yang and bring back his body.

“I thought Xiandu always heard all explanations to the end.” A messenger from Fengyang Hua whispered to a group consisting of the wards from Lieshan Du, Zhai Xia, and Mo Xuanyu’s ever-present suitors.

Not always, rumor would now say. Even Xiandu is afraid of something.

Even with fear in the air over the return of Xue Yang — for everyone had a horror story to tell of his time in Koi Tower, mostly to do with dismembered animals in places that were decidedly not the kitchen — Jiang Yanli found she had finally settled into her role.

One day, the paperwork ran out, and Jiang Yanli found herself with an afternoon free. A novel experience, since her return. It was a perfect opportunity to brainstorm her next step.

If only she could dredge up the barest hint of an idea. But her mind felt like a dried-up creek in a drought.

“I was thinking of going to the tailor in the city, Xiao-Heng is growing like a demon and needs more new clothes. Would you like to come with me?”

I bet we’re not thinking of anything because we’re trying too hard. Qin Su said.

As much as Jiang Yanli hated to admit it, she had a point. A-Xian always said that he had his best ideas the moment he stopped trying to force a solution. The difficulty lay in not thinking about it.

I have a solution for that. My beloved nephew is quite the attention hog.

“A-Ling’s robes have been looking rather short.” She said aloud.

Qi Juan beamed, and began tucking her son in his sling. He was soon to outgrow it, and had just reached the troublesome learning to crawl stage.

Kidnapping her son from his lessons was a thrill, though it was the work of a moment. The sour-faced calligraphy instructor dismissed A-Ling with visible relief, and the reminder that A-Ling was still expected to produce ten copies of poems at the next class. Without blotches of ink covering half the page, or brush strokes of uneven width.

A-Ling stuck out his tongue behind the instructor’s back, and ran to grab her hand, already chattering about how he wanted to bring back sticks of tanghulu for the entire class.

“My sweet, grumpy boy,” She ruffled his hair, and he scowled, attempting to push it back into place, but only displacing his top knot further. Just like his jiujiu.

The main streets of Lanling were cleaner than she remembered from six years ago. The shops lining the main street had all recently been given a fresh coat of paint, proprietors and customers alike looking healthier and more prosperous.  Jin Guangyao had reformed the city’s taxes, on the basis that letting the common people keep more of their earnings now would bring the sect more profit in the long term. More than one person recognized her as Madam Jin, and called out a respectful greeting with a smile. At least on a surface level, his plan had begun to work.

There were fewer brothels now as well, reduced by half. The madams who had refused to start allowing their workers to pay off their contracts had been driven out of business or died in mysterious fires. (In some cases, but not all, the workers mysteriously escaped unscathed.) As A-Ling towed her along to a hawker with a tower of tanghulu, she passed an empty lot with the blackened foundations still visible. The buildings next to it were under repair, one of which seemed to have sustained considerable damage to the living quarters on the second floor.

As she looked around more closely, she saw an emaciated old man begging from the entrance of an alley, a woman in what had once been a set of fine performance robes soliciting passerby, and scruffy children lurking in dark corners.

Despite Jin Guangyao’s claims of working towards progress, there were still street children in Lanling.

Making a home for the orphans of Lanling had been a project dear to A-Xuan’s heart, in the last months of his life. Impending fatherhood had made him more perceptive in many ways, more so even than the changes he underwent during the Sunshot campaign. But when she was preganant, her husband had taken her by the arms and informed her with great distress that there are children in the streets, Yanli! Children!

Jiang Yanli had thought better late than never and helped him come up with a plan. She had her own reasons to take an interest in the care of orphans and poor children, after all.

Jin Guangshan had probably signed the funding out of the budget on an advisor’s word, not having been informed how his son and daughter-in-law were spending the clan’s funds in the first place.

Jin Guangyao would not have gotten rid of such a program, she thought, as she fished a coin so her son could get as sticky with sugar as his little heart desired.

Qin Su did not quite agree. No, he would have replaced it with something similar, that he could claim the credit for.

True. But he hadn’t — which meant there was room for Jiang Yanli to fill the gap.

After a moment of thought, she purchased a second stick, and handed it to Qi Juan.

“You looked like you could use it.” She told her.

Qi Juan bit down delicately on the candy-coated hawthorn, but couldn’t avoid the satisfying crunch. And laughed, as parts of the coating cracked, and fell from her lips. “All right. I haven’t had something like this since… before the Sunshot Campaign, probably. Certainly not since my family came up in the world and married me off. You look like you could use one too.”

“Do I?” Jiang Yanli had often thought that helping others feel better was its own reward.

It would make me feel better to taste something sweet. Qin Su said in a blatant attempt to get Jiang Yanli to treat herself. Sweet-sweet though, not hawthorn berries.

I think that stall might be selling lotus mooncakes.” Though the mid-autumn festival had already past, there was never a wrong time for a mooncake.

It was a mistake to mention heaven’s favorite root in front of Jin Ling. “Lotus!” He shouted. “Pleasepleaseplease mooncake mooncake!” And would not let up until she bought him one, in addition to three for herself.

“That’s more than enough sugar for one day, young man.” She informed him as she took a bite of her own mooncake, wrapping the others in a cloth for later.

A-Ling grinned toothily up at her, mooncake leaking lotus paste in one hand, half eaten tanghulu in the other, and the glint of sugar all over his cheeks.

Perhaps she should have insisted he wait until after their errand for his treats, but Jiang Yanli did not possess the earned resistance to his adorable whims of a mother who had gotten to see her child grow. Who could blame her, if she spoiled him a little? “Do you think the tailor will still let us in the shop?”

“It’s not so bad,” Qi Juan said, just as A-Ling smushed the rest of the mooncake in his hand, and shoved it in his face. She grimaced. “I’m certain Tailor Ke has seen worse.”

Indeed, Tailor Ke, a woman who knew her way around hanfu, if the way the one she was wearing flattered her extensive curves meant anything, did not blink an eye. “If you could wipe off the young master’s hands, please, Jin-furen?”

Jiang Yanli took the offered wet handkerchief, and wiped the stickiness off of a protesting A-Ling. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to damage any of your lovely merchandise.”

Sadly, the more vibrant fabrics could not be chosen for A-Ling, who would be consigned to golden peacocks and peonies on off-white for as long as he lived. As a married-in spouse, however, Jiang Yanli had more leeway with under robes. The pale pink of Laoling Qin tempered the gold, making it almost palatable.

Qi Juan freely admired a swatch of vivid green fabric, in precisely the right shade for her natal sect. A daring choice, if it was for her son. Perhaps a sign that Qi Juan would be receptive to opposing her husband.

Tailor Ke bustled around, assembling the appropriate silks in Jin colors for Jiang Yanli’s inspection herself.

“Have you been short handed lately?” She asked as ideas for how, exactly, she would go about outdoing Jin Guangyao in reform measures began to coalesce in her mind.

“Have I ever! There’s all this new demand for clothing and not enough suitable apprentices to go around! Everyone’s looking, not just me.” She dropped a stack of fabrics on the table with a grunt. “Jin-gongzi’s order will take priority, of course.”

She shook her head. Naturally an order from the sect leader’s wife would be prioritized, but there was no need. “Please put Bei-gongzi’s order ahead of mine. A-Ling can get a bit more use out of his robes, but Bei-gongzi won’t fit into his if he grows anymore. And only the peony for embroidery. If it’s any more elaborate, A-Ling will inevitably ruin the robes the first time he wears them.”

“Yes, Jin-furen.” Tailor Ke agreed. “It won’t take more than a week, all told. Kid’s clothes work up fast.”

“And wear out faster.” She sighed as A-Ling chose that moment to snag his sleeve on a nail. “What are you looking for, in an apprentice?”

Many craftspeople would have been hesitant to answer, but Tailor Ke was happy to babble on as she began to drape fabrics over A-Ling’s shoulders, critiquing and sorting them to find the least aesthetically terrible combinations. “Oh, someone who’s quick with their hands, with some basic sewing and embroidery skills. I don’t have time to teach basics, but the rest can come along in time. Someone to do the books for me would also be a dream. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, though fortunately I can still stitch a straight seam without looking.”

That seemed like simple enough requirements, easily fulfilled with a little education. Though orphans were pulled of the street from time to time, it was usually for menial positions they would lose the moment something went wrong. Or if they were very lucky, to take care of an old, childless widow. Re-instituting A-Xuan’s program and improving upon it — that could be a very real way to distinguish Qin Su in the eyes of not only the Jin Sect, but the cultivation world.

The children could not only learn skills to help find employment, but be tested for cultivation potential.

The sects were always complaining about how difficult it was to recruit new talent. Executed properly, Jiang Yanli could make Qin Su look not only kind-hearted, but clever, reputable, and forward thinking, with the best interests of the sect she had married into at heart.

Even if the actual Qin Su fantasized about burning down Koi Tower on a regular basis.

Hey.

What? It was true.

Qin Su huffed. A semi-regular basis, maybe. And I would never actually. I wouldn’t actually ruin the whole of Lanling’s economy or put the servants and juniors out of house and home.

My apologies then. She suppressed a laugh.

Would there really be enough apprenticeships to go around, though? Qin Su sent numbers bouncing around her mind as she attempted the mental math, but got lost without paper.

Perhaps not. But larger farms could use workers, manors could use servants, and affordable bookkeepers were always in short supply. It could, at least, give them a better start.

“Shenshen look! I’m all twirly!” A-Ling giggled as he spun, the silk draped over him spinning out and threatening to knock over the tailor’s basket of supplies. Jiang Yanli tried not to smile, knowing she would need to scold him later, and prepared to pay for the entire bolt.

“We should discuss the problem with your sword.” Wen Qing said one night through the softly glowing Distance Speaking Stone. A-Xian had popped in earlier, briefly, but he was busy following the second of the Jin disciples on Xue Yang’s list, learning the habits of the group they were part of before he could lead them into a trap.

Jiang Yanli stared into her evening tea. “Must we?”

“Wei Wuxian isn’t having trouble with his new saber. The problem must be that Chunsheng doesn’t fully recognize you as Qin Su.”

“I can’t just get rid of her sword.” That wasn’t done.

<We are not getting rid of Chunsheng.> Qin Su said from inside her paperman. She’d been bent over a copy of some of A-Xian’s notes, researching something she had yet to explain.

“You’re basically unprotected. What if something —” Wen Qing cut herself off, surprisingly panicked.

Replacing a sword would garner more attention than A-Xian had in refusing to carry Suibian around. Whether they would somehow determine the truth or spread rumors about a disastrous fallout with the Qin clan, everyone would know something was off.

Still, it was sweet of her to worry. “Any sword is more protection than I had in my last life, Wen Qing.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She sounded so forlorn that Jiang Yanli ached with the desire to fall into her arms and rub circles into her back until she slept, and even after. “But I worry.”

So did she, far too often. There was no end to worrying, it seemed. Not even after death. “Does A-Xian have any ideas about the talisman keeping you trapped?”

Wen Qing hesitated. “I haven’t let him look at it yet.”

“A-Qing!” A slip of the tongue, in her shock.

Wen Qing’s breath caught. “I’m not letting him put my life before his again. When we’re closer —”

“Last time you put his life before yours, he died anyways.” Jiang Yanli snapped. And sighed. “I’m sorry, that was unfair. It’s just — if you’re allowed to worry for me, I get to worry for you.”

“A little longer. Then I’ll speak to him.”

She could tell that was the best she was going to get. “If you don’t, I’ll tell him myself.”

Jiang Yanli was tired of watching the people she cared about tear themselves apart. She wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

Wen Qing let out a shaky, hiccupping laugh. “That seems fair.”

#the untamed #cq #wangxian #yanqing #qin su #the sacrifice summon! JYL fic #where the summoner (qin su) sticks around #this time featuring wwx traumatizing some teenagers #being subject to the whims of nhs #and jyl spending an afternoon with jin ling

[writingamongtheroses-archive]

My friends and I used to do this ask doc so I could do some worldbuilding for The Devil’s Waiters. Here are some highlights! @andiwriteunderthemoon.

Audrey: So does Luke ever question whether he should help Lacie or not when she gets into trouble?

The twins shared a look. Lacie looked away first, Luke looking awkward. “Okay, there have been a few moments where I have questioned it. Mostly because any trouble that she gets into is one she has made herself. But the one moment I acted on it? That was the day Lacie gambled our souls.”

-_-

“NOW GET GOING!”

The Devil's voice echoed when he threw the two thirteen year olds out. The twins let out dual cries as they hit the ground. Sitting up, they shared a look. Then they promptly started screaming. Then running.

“WHAT!”

“Oh Lord why did I do that I'm not ready to go to Hell Luke what are we gonna do-!”

“WERE!”

Lacie let out another scream when Luke started chasing her. She tripped and the two went rolling.

“YOU!”

They stopped rolling, him having a firm grip on her collar.

“THINKING! WHAT ON EARTH MADE YOU THINK THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA!?”

She looked around for some kind of answer before sheepishly shrugging. “Money?”

“MONEY?!” 

Luke let out a disgusted noise, releasing her to stand. Lacie scrambled after him, reaching for his shoulder. “I'm sorry, okay-”

He smacked her hand away. “No, no, no! You always do this Luca!” Her mouth closed at the use of her actual name. “You get us into trouble and just say sorry. Sorry isn't going to help the fact that we are going to die because of your greed!” He wiped the grass off his shorts. She reached for him again, wincing when he glared down at her. “I hope you're proud of yourself.”

-_-

“We joke about it now, but... Yeah, I felt bad.” Lacie said, rubbing her arm. “Didn't think he ever forgive me. In fact, I managed to convince him I could fix this myself.”

“She got the first three by herself.”

“Yeah. But…when I needed him...”

-_-

Lacie was cornered. Cut up and bruised, she panted for air. She closed her eyes, ready for the debtor to kill her. But it never came.

She opened her eyes.

Luke stood between them.

-_-

“He came.”

Audrey: What is the craziest situation Luke has gotten Lacie out of?

“It was when we first moved here. Lacie got arrested for being a public nuisance-”

“I was only jumping over some buildings.”

“You were being a public nuisance-”

“Not really-”

“You were crying-”

“No I wasn't. Anyway, you hijacked the police car and drove me to freedom!” She hugged him. “Such a good big brother!”

He rolled his eyes before continuing. “Anyway, the radio came on requesting for back up, another cop talking about a robbery that was going on.”

“So like the responsible public nuisance and carjacker we were, we crashed the car and interrupted the robbery!”

Luke rolled his eyes again. “The police had too much on their hands so they let Lacie go with a warning.”

“I think it was a nice redemption arc.”

“Lacie, it was hardly a redemption arc.”

“With that, it's lucky you two haven't been arrested yet.” Bones said.

“Yeah, he’s right. We were lucky that they couldn't catch our faces at the bank.” Luke said.

“Says the getaway driver.”

“I didn't even want to be a part of that, you and Chip tricked me into helping!”

“Although if we did…”

Luke shuddered. “I don’t think I could survive jail.”

“Hey!” Lacie said, snapping her fingers. “The Devil has plenty of money. He could bail us out. Right boss?”

The Devil looked up from the game of cards he and Heart were playing. “You think I would spend one cent on you?”

She paled. “Please?”

“The day you go to jail is the day we all celebrate!” Ignoring Luke's “Wait, does that go to me too?” He continued. “Heck, we'll even make it a public holiday!”

Charlie: So if objects come to life and animals and plants are humanoid, what are you guys and Heart?

The three shared looks.

“We...have absolutely no idea.” Heart said finally. “We do have bodies and organs like humans.”

“But our ears are pointy.” Lacie said, pushing back the hair over her whole ear. Her ear was pointed. She opened her mouth to reveal sharp canines. “And our teeth are a bit sharper.”

“So people like us just shrug and go along with it.” Luke said.

Audrey: How long has it been since the twins last played the mirror game? And how did that game first start?

Luke thought for a minute. “I think the last time we played was a few weeks before the whole soul collecting thing.” He frowned, looking at his missing finger. “After that, we had to deal with the blood loss and the whole trauma. We kinda just stopped doing it. Although we still borrow each other's clothes.”

“It started because Old Man Pabbie kept dressing us in matching outfits when we were little.” Lacie said. “One day we wondered if anyone would notice if we pretended to be each other.”

“And the mirror game was created.”

Charlie: What do you guys do?

“We’re mainly waiters and help in the kitchen.” Luke said. “I had a brief stint as a singer. A bar fight broke out during my second show so it was decided that would end.” Lacie choked on her drink.

Audrey: What do the twins do after work?

Lacie was suspiciously quiet, so Luke spoke. "Sometimes we hang around after closing. We run errands on our way home. Prepare for the next day, relax some. We also work on researching the Cup of Souls." He glanced at his sister, who was glaring at her glass. "Are you okay?"

Audrey: Lacie seems suspiciously quiet, hmmmmmm. Anywho, what was the twins first job?

Luke glanced at his sister. She was gripping her glass with white knuckles. "You do have a point…" He tapped his sister's shoulder. "You okay?"

"PERFECT!" She shrieked, making him jolt back. "I AM ABSOLUTELY PERFECT! W-Why wouldn't I be?"

He raised a brow. "Okay... anyway, we got jobs as waiters at this little cafe. Small but cute and...boring. We ended up getting fired. Our second job was me being a bank teller and Lacie being a florist's cashier. We got fired from those too."

Charlie: Lacie, are you okay?

"Oi Luke!" A voice yelled from the kitchen. "We need you in here!"

"Coming Scotch!"

When she was sure her brother was out of earshot, Lacie sighed. "So...I might be at fault for stopping his stage job."

Audrey: Whoa, whoa, what does Lacie mean she might be at fault? What did she do?

"I...kinda threw my shoe at the Devil?"

-_-

"Sheesh, look at him!" Scotch said as Lacie picked up another tray. She smiled at the praise.

"Yeah, Luke's got a good voice."

"No, I'm talking about the boss!"

Lacie frowned, poking her head out of the kitchen. The Devil had his own private table in a corner, perfectly positioned to look for souls. He sat at it now, smoking a cigar. He was looking at Luke like he was ready to…

Lacie paled.

After a quick glance around, she pulled her shoe off and threw it. Her aim was off, hitting a patron in the head. He whirled around and punched someone else in the face.

Soon, the casino had descended into an all out brawl. Lacie decided to edge back into the kitchen.

-_-

"So that's how that happened!"

#the devil's waiters #wip

[mnemememory]

here stand giants

Beau is the perfect fucking picture of mental health.

Fuck you.

(or, the life and times of beauregard in three and a half conversations)

It doesn’t come to much, in the end: just a man, standing in a broken room.

Beau can’t hear him. She’s knocked out on the ground, hair splayed, skin black and bruises. She’s breathing, but it’s a close thing.

There are people next to her – two kneeling at her side, and another two in the edges, waiting. They’re silent in a way that makes the man’s skin crawl, cobalt blue clothing a stark contrast to the austere brown furnishings. His wife is upstairs. She hadn’t wanted to see this.

“We’ll be taking her, then,” a woman says, brisk and professional.

The man doesn’t say anything as they drag away his daughter’s unconscious body, as they pack her into the prepared cart and start the long, lonely journey away from town. His purse is lighter, but his shoulders certainly aren’t.

“You need to sit down.”

Yasha glances up from where she’s wrapping fresh bandages around her forearm, back held up by the trunk of a large tree. They’re camping in the middle of a forest, with a canopy a good twelve stories above their heads and the sun a distant memory. Light filters down in green-grey streaks, illuminating the hollow gaps between the enormous trees that space out at even intervals. The roots are thick and ropey as they dig into the ground, easily reappropriated into functional – if slightly uncomfortable – seats.

“I’m fine,” she says, not sounding particularly bothered by Beau’s aggressive tone.

“No,” Beau says, shouldering her way over to Yasha. “You’re not – you need to sit down, you’re shaking –”

“I’m not shaking,” Yasha says patiently, knotting the bandage and letting her arm fall to her side.

“Yasha,” Beau says.

Yasha gives her a dubious glance, but after a few minutes she lets herself be manhandled into sitting down on one of the roots, long legs just barely brushing the dirt ground. Beau hops up onto an opposite root, so they’re facing each other.

“Oh, look. How cute,” Nott says, coming over to stare up at both of them. “They match.”

“I’m about to throw something at you,” beau says. “Something very pointy, and very sharp.”

“There’s no need to be rude about it,” Nott says, crossing her arms over her chest. “In any case, I just wanted to come and let you know that we’re heading off in about ten minutes. Caleb doesn’t want to stay here too long.”

In the distance, something howls.

“I don’t want to stay here too long,” Beau says.

Yasha says nothing.

Nott waits around for a few seconds, probably expecting more of a response, before huffing and leaving. Caleb is with Jester and Fjord, both of whom look bruised around the edges but otherwise alive. Beau has to keep reminding herself: they’re alive, they’re alive, they’re alive. That’s going to balance out any sleeplessness concerning Jester’s new habit of waking up in the middle of the night to squeeze Beau’s arm bloodless.

Beau turns her attention back to Yasha.

She had been…very calm, upon hearing about Molly’s. About Molly. She hadn’t done anything, just blinked and stared and nodded, like yes, of course, that was only to be expected. My best friend is dead. It was only a matter of time – look at him.

Dead man walking.

“Lorenzo is dead,” Beau says, and she’s trying so hard to be tactful, but Fjord hasn’t had much of a chance to pick up where their lessons left off.

Yasha’s face remains slack and expressionless. She reaches up to pull at the new bandage. “Yes,” she says, and that’s it.

Beau blows out a frustrated breath, fingers itching to do something, anything. Sitting still and trying to talk out trauma isn’t on her bucket list (she has a bucket list now, apparently). But it’s niggling at her, the way Yasha’s eyes won’t focus, the way the larger woman’s presence seems cut in half.

Molly had said, I left every town a better place than I found it, and Beau wonders how much of that included his best friend. He had certainly left a mark on Beau, and they’d only know each other for the last few weeks.

Eight months, Yasha had said, a world away. That’s how long she’s been out of Xhorhast, into the Empire. How many of those months had included Molly?

More than ten minutes passes, but Nott doesn’t come back to grab them. Jester looks like she’s fallen asleep, head nestled into the crook of Fjord’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind, so much, though Beau is going to have a talk with him, if he intends to kidnap her roommate.

“I’m leaving,” Yasha says, soft as a dreamless sleep.

It’s like something’s cut all of Beau’s strings – her shoulder slump to the ground, and she struggles to keep breathing past the sheer relief that sings in her chest. Now that it’s been said – now that it’s out in the open – there’s a kind of intenseness that bleeds out of the air. The elephant in the room has been killed. Thank god. Beau was tired of cutting out her tongue, anyway.

“I thought so,” Beau says, and she leans back and tries to smile past the knowledge of it. She can’t look into Yasha’s mismatched eyes, so she stares at the spot just above her head. “I’m surprised you stuck around for so long, this time.”

Yasha shrugs, picking at a small scab on her right thumb.

Beau breathes in, and in, and in. “Are you coming back?”

Yasha’s eyes jerk up to meet Beau’s, and the air liquifies around them. Beau’s lungs protest as she’s buried under the weight of – of something, something dark and lonely and clawing. The nothingness echoes in her head, the lack of noise deafening.

They both look away at the same time, and the connection severs. Beau tries to keep her breathing even and not focus on the dead thing between them.

“I hope so,” Yasha says, and she sounds so horribly small.

Beau rolls her shoulders back to stiffness, stretching out her arms and staring at the darkened silhouette of a sky. “Okay, then,” she says. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

Beau comes to the Cobalt Soul with manacles weighing down her wrists.

“If you cooperate, things will go much easier for you,” a woman with sharp teeth and sharper eyes says, tinted blue hair falling in a fringe around her chin. “You have such potential, Beauregard.”

Beau spits at her.

Her skin is raw, and blood occasionally trickles down her arm every time she re-opens a welt with her struggling. One of her kidnappers looks distinctly uncomfortable at the sight of it, and she makes sure to struggle around him the most.

Damaged goods, she thinks deep into the night, looking down at herself and laughing.

Three days out from the decent-sized city, Fjord pulls the metaphorical short straw when it comes to watch.

Beau flashes a grin at him as Jester pouts at having both of her person-shaped-pillows out of reach. Still, she curls up around Nott happily enough when it comes time to get some sleep. Nott puts up some token grumbling, but they’re all bundled in one spot, so Caleb is trapped by the flailing blue arms as much as she is. If anything, Beau would say the little goblin girl looks satisfied.

Fjord settles himself next to Beau, eyes trained on the enveloping darkness. Beau snaps on her goggles for the first hour or so, but has to take them off when her eyes start to ache from the strain.

“So,” Fjord says, accent thicker off his tongue than before. He clears his throat and glances at her, dividing his attention. Not too much, though – Beau’s noticed that he can’t quite keep still, these days. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Me?” Beau says.

Fjord gives her a look of tolerant amusement. “Yes, you. You almost bit Jester when she tried to volunteer with me.”

Beau crosses her arms and pulls a tired smile over her teeth. “Well, maybe I don’t want you two on the same watch.”

Fjord sighs heavily. “Beau.”

“The last time you were alone together, you were kidnapped!”

“We had Yasha with us.”

“Well, let me tell you, you three aren’t ever allowed to take watch together ever again,” Beau says. “There’s only so much bad luck this group can take.”

Fjord doesn’t look terribly amused – though he hasn’t shut her down, which is saying something. A gentle word would get Beau to drop the whole thing, because she has realised over the course of this horribly cursed trip that she is attached to these people. Almost inadvertently, they had managed to burrow under her skin and wrap around her ribs, pulling her in all different directions. Yasha’s string is taunt and uncomfortable, thin enough to snap. Fjord, though – Fjord is made out of wire, enough to enough to slice through bone.

“I think this group has had plenty of bad luck as is,” he finally says. “I don’t expect we’ll get a reprieve just because of who we put on watch.”

“There’s such a thing as tempting fate,” Beau says. “Not that I believe in fate, but if I did, I wouldn’t want to piss it off.”

Fjord swipes a hand through his hair. His tusks are poking out from his lips, just a little bit. They haven’t had much time over the course of the week to be still, and before that Fjord hadn’t been – well, he hadn’t been present enough to bother with his appearance. Beau wants to reassure him, but no matter what she says, it never comes out right. Someday, she’s going to just stop trying, before she sends someone off a cliff.

They settle into silence, letting it draw out towards dawn. Beau thinks about the last watch she had with Molly, and thinks about all the things that she’ll never get to say to him.

“I missed you.”

It comes out in a panicked rush, and the moment she says the words, she wants to take them back. They feel clumsy, open, far too personal for Beau’s state of mind. Fjord side-eyes her, not saying a word.

Beau takes in a shaky breath, trying to focus. She very deliberately doesn’t look at him.

“I’m really – glad” – that was the right word, wasn’t it? – “That we got you, uh, out of there. We were all really worried” – wait, no, was she supposed to keep this group-related or personal? Gods, she should have taken a page out of Keg’s book and written this down – “I mean, I was really worried. We were all worried! Including me. And Caleb and Nott, of course –”

Ah, what a mess!

Fjord is smiling at her, though, soft and sad and real. Beau breaks off and stares at her clenched fists. Why was this so hard? Why did she always have to make things like this so hard?

“I knew you three were going to find us,” Fjord says. “Jester and Yasha knew, too.”

Beau clenches her jaw and doesn’t say anything else.

“You know, I don’t think any of us have said ‘thank you’ yet,” Fjord muses.

“We were a bit busy,” Beau says. And then – and then Yasha had asked after Molly –

“In any case,” Fjord says, ducking low so he can look Beau straight in the eyes. “Thank you for saving us.”

“You must learn discipline,” Xenoth says, eye twitching. “Or you will become nothing.”

“I’m already nothing, asshole,” Beau says, knees cracking the floor, staff sealed to her hand with sweat. She’s breathing heavily, but that’s nothing new. “You’re going to have to find me some better motivation.”

Xenoth looks down at her, frustration warring his face. After a few seconds, he shakes his head and moves onto the next person, correcting their form with his staff. Beau stares after him for a few seconds, fury winding through her veins, and then collapses down to catch her breath.

“She will be coming back,” Jester says, with a child’s faith.

Beau doesn’t know how she can do it. She honestly doesn’t know how Jester can stare at her with bruised eyes and a missing tooth and scars (there are so many scars) along her arms and says, She will be coming back, and mean it. Beau doesn’t have that much faith in anything, let alone Yasha.

Beau just shakes her head. “You take the bed.”

Even with Fjord bunking with Caleb and Nott, the two rooms they’d managed to snag at the head of a particularly nasty-looking snowstorm hadn’t been equipped with separate beds. Because the other half of their group was larger (and because Nott had called dibs, much to Beau’s annoyance), Beau and Jester were stuck with a single, while the others shared a double.

“No, no,” Jester says, though she does sag onto the bed with something akin to relief. She rubs at her ankles as she pulls her legs onto the bed to sit cross-legged, while Beau knocks her back against the wall and slides down to the floor. “We are going to have this conversation, Beau.”

“Please don’t,” Beau says. “I’m tired. You’re tired. I think we can put this off till morning.”

Jester rolls her eyes, pulling her sketchbook out of the bag and flipping it open to a random page. Grabbing a pencil, she begins to draw something in broad strokes, all the while keeping her body aligned towards Beau.

“You are being very silly,” she says. “I am fine. Fjord and I are both fine.”

That’s a lie.

Beau clenches her jaw and says nothing.

“Beau,” Jester says, scrunching up her mouth as she tries to find the right words to say what she means. “You are worrying over nothing.”

Beau presses her lips together tighter.

Jester makes a big show of putting her sketchbook flat on the bed, and then rolls so that she’s splayed out on top of the covers, arm flinging out to smack Beau in the face.

“What the fuck!” Beau says, ducking away.

“I think you want a hug,” Jester says.

Beau’s eyes widen in horror. “What? No!”

“Yes, I think you need a hug,” Jester says, scooching further over to the side of the bed. She’s got both her arms out, now, and her grin is as wide as Mollymauk’s. “You’ve been grouching around for the past week, and I think a hug will make you feel better.”

“Jester, don’t you dare,” Beau says. She starts to get up, but Jester is too fast for her, grabbing onto Beau’s shoulders and pulling her against the side of the bed. Beau flails ineffectually as Jester squeezes her tight, and then it’s too late, she’s trapped.

Grudgingly, with something like relief, Beau surrenders to the hug.

“You’re good.”

Beau’s head jerks up to stare at her instructor, shock electrifying her body still.

“You’re good,” she continues, oblivious to Beau’s surprise. “But you lack the proper form. Keep practicing, though. You could become better if you put your mind to it.”

(Beau wakes up, snow whiting out the windows.

Yasha is leaning against the far wall, skin pale stone, hair covered with frost, eyes closed.

Huffing out a small laugh, Beau rolls her eyes and gets to her feet).

#critical role #critical role campaign 2 #beauregard #yasha #fjorm #jester #the mighty nein #caleb and nott make brief appearences #canon divergence au #posting now cause I can't watch live #much to my dismay #WHERE ARE YOU TALIESON AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? #ah well i'll find out next week rip #but also yeah angst #oh shit #swearing #lots of swearing #well actually not that much #but still #this is beau we're talking about #my writing #fanfiction

[reyavie]

prompt: the old gods, crossover.

fandom: game of thrones/a song of ice and fire/norse mythology.

Arya remembers this lady from Winterfell.

Oddly, not her name.

The majority of their group shed their heavier clothes as soon as the sun comes up. The black-haired woman does not bother. Pelts upon pelts, leather and comfortable fur, a myriad of grey in the midst of more gentle colors. It is the reason why Arya first notices her. She is lack of color, a point of nature; from her leather armor, to her wooden bow, to the dagger that is carved bone and stone, always on the lady’s hand when it is time to eat.

She has black hair. Like Jon. Like father.

Arya stands by the older woman (older than her, at least, older than his father, maybe, than her mother, than all of their group, the girl suspects, even though she does not look like it) whenever possible. Her heart is still heavy with the loss of Nymeria and Mycah and, while the presence of the woman does not help, it does keep her steady. One foot after the other in the direction of the unknown, the whisper of grass slowly replacing the gentle crunch of fallen snow.

Until there is no more snow.

And the Lady is no longer by her side.

The black-haired woman has stopped right at the edge of the white brand upon the floor. Her fingers crisped into a fist by her side, sharp teeth gnashing, she gazes at the frozen water fading beneath her feet. As if it has personally offended her somehow.

Grey eyes are like hers, angry and disappointed.

(Grey eyes are just like hers, a mirror of silver on silver).

Before she can speak, the woman is upon her. “You have no claws yet,” the lady states, tugging her shirt impatiently here and there like her mother would have done. Despairingly as she touches the thin arms which have little strength or grace. “You have no furs, no weapons and your father has exchanged the savagery of wolves for the loyalty of dogs. How can allow you to bypass this border? How can I let you be dragged to where I can’t follow?”

Close as she is, Arya still cannot memorize the traces of her face. She thinks the woman has an angular shin, a pointy nose, small on her long face, a wide forehead. She smells sweat, the forest and wild flowers. There is dust upon her skin and mud staining her worn clothing. Arya sees all and reminds herself to remember only to have the knowledge ripped from her as soon as the thought passes.

No one else seems to notice them.

“It happened before, girl, with one just as you,” the words continue sad, smooth, a melody without song. “I told him not to send any of them away. The eagles do not like wolves. I could keep them close, protected, mine, you’re all mine. And now, you’re walking far as well. I do not like this.”

The woman rests her hands on Arya’s shoulders. It is a heavy weight. Like a shackle, it tightens enough for her blood to race against it.

“I should steal you.”

Arya shakes her head without knowing why. The grey eyes are comforting, are Jon’s, are father’s, but there is something sharper in the Lady that had never existed in her loved ones; something that Nymeria could have had in time. A sharpness that is almost cruelty. It is the same feeling she had when listening to old Nan’s stories, once upon a time on a dark corner of the kitchen while her brothers’ arms protected her from all evil. It is the same feeling that accompanied long nights when the snow fell and the winds shattered glass and stone alike.

“But I won’t,” the Lady continues (exhaling deep, exhaling the savagery away, tugging herself out of whatever she is and into a simile of a human face). Her hold relaxes lowly. Becomes a touch comforting before all contact is ceased. Immediately. No weakness, no comfort, nothing had taken place.

The edge of the snow melts underneath her feet.

“Take this and throw it onto the sea,” she instructs lowly, taking her hand in his (it is cold, icy cold, even in the sunny day) and smuggling something between her fingers. “Where you can hear the seagulls. Tell it you’re mine. Tell it of your sister and your brothers and that I…”

The woman says nothing else and her eyes (hers, his, his) are intense.

“Go. Keep to your father.”

True to her word, she stays behind and Arya keeps looking back, feeling like she is abandoning her home yet again.

Her wolf yet again.

Her family yet again.

Arya remembers the woman’s words once she arrives at King’s Landing. Everything is different then, even her father (especially her father), even her sister. The warmth chokes her, the clothes do not protect her, there are no claws, there is no Nymeria. There are no Gods. Arya feels herself wither and die on suffocating heat.

The bone in her hand is small. Sharp. Like the point of a spear.

“I belong to the north,” she murmurs.The waves are not something she is fond of but they were the first thing she searched for once within the city walls. Seagulls scream above her head. “I want to go home. I belong to the snow and mountains not here.” Her finger tugs on the sharp point. It is sharp enough to break skin. Almost. The skin stains red when she presses further. “I am a wolf.” That’s not enough, that’s not enough, she belonged to her, the woman with no name who could not walk beyond the snow, the woman with black hair and silver eyes covered in fur, leather and strength made corporeal form.

Her lips open.

“I belong to Skadi.”

The skin breaks beneath the woman’s gift, touches flesh, stains red. In the surprise, Arya releases the small bone with its unasked offering onto the salty waves.

“I know. You look like her.”

A man stands on a boat in front of her. A small boat. It is almost impossibly frail against the movement of the water on the rocky slope. Grey is its paint, grey decorating planks and the sole seat, grey the small marine creature drawn carefully across the hull. The man standing inside it is tall, far taller than her, wide shoulders under bronze immaculate skin. His clothes are fine, beautiful works of art peppered with salt and water. If she stares hard enough, there seems to be a thin band of silver (of light) upon his head, so thin, almost invisible.

He smiles up at her. Thin and dry, it softens his ageless face and reminds her so much of her father, Arya almost runs back, runs to the Tower to make sure he is still there among liars and thieves.

The boat moves underneath his feet, rocking gently with the waves as if it, too, does not wish to disturb him.

“You are ours.”

The man does not touch her. He does not hug her or come near or stands by her side, tall and unimaginably strong in a way she cannot define. He says nothing else. Inexplicably, Arya does not need him to. When she blinks, he is not even there anymore, fading into the sea foam as if nothing more than an illusion.

But she is theirs.

Eddard finds her later that night, covered in salt and sand, sleeping deeply for the first time since their arrival.

He does not see the figure standing guard by her bed, bloodied arrowhead between salt-covered fingers.

author’s note:  the lady is Skadi, in this piece, the actual personification of winter. The Lord is Njord, her husband, God of the sea.

I guess I could not ignore the parallels between the old Gods present in Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire and the Norse mythology. Or I could not help but draw parallels. Basically, @archistratego was lovely enough to brainstorm with me over how the old gods could work in this universe and this snowballed into something that I am aware is odd. Quite frankly, my writer’s block is so bad right now, the mere action of writing something, confusing or not, made me happier. So, all this to say, I hope someone likes the idea because I think I’ll have to keep going.

#game of thrones #fanfiction #my writing #mythology #norse mythology

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “A Line in the Sand” (Rated PG13)

Just because Sebastian is Kurt's boyfriend now doesn't mean that, sometimes, he's not a huge jerk. (1269 words)

Part 32 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

“So you enter the rotation here …” Kurt says, demonstrating the entry to the jump one step at a time “… then you take off on your toe pick here …” He turns, ending with his foot behind him, the rake of his blade stuck into the ice “… and push off …” He hops in a circle - a bare-bones hint of the jump he’s attempting to teach. He hears a slow clap from off in the distance, but with the crowd of people surrounding him, he can’t tell where it’s coming from. He pivots to look at his student, Mindy, who’s definitely not clapping. She’s too confused, standing behind him with her arms crossed over her puffy, hot pink vest. Her bright red curls, gathered in a high ponytail, bounce back and forth as she shakes her head.

“I’m sorry, Coach Hummel,” she says. “You make it look so easy, but I’m still having trouble following along.”

“No problem, no problem.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black Sharpie. Every coach on the ice carries one for just such an occasion. “Let me outline it for you.” He bends at the waist, retracing his steps with the point of his pen. With dashes and curves, he draws the steps to perform the jump on the surface of the ice. “Here. Does that make it a little easier to picture?” he asks, returning to her side.

“A bit,” she admits, approaching the markings. “I’ll give it a shot.” Mindy goes to the beginning of the dashed line and gets into position with arms out. She follows the lines carefully, tracing them with her own blades – first glide, then three-turn, then pivot. But when she arrives at the ‘x’ where she is supposed to plant her toe pick, she loses momentum and stumbles to a stop. “Sorry, coach! Sorry!” she says, swiveling back into start position. “I don’t know why that part always sneaks up on me!”

“It’s because you’re anticipating it,” Kurt says, looking at the carves and divots Mindy’s blade made in the ice beside his marks, and isolating where her skate started to stutter. “Let’s take it to the glass.” With a wave, Kurt leads Mindy away from their spot on the center ice, separated from public skate by a ring of neon green cones, to the sidelines. He peeks up past a throng of recreational skaters, zeroing in on the panel of windows where he plans to map out Mindy’s jump. But as Kurt gets closer, he notices something already written on it … which is odd because the windows had been cleaned before session not thirteen minutes ago, and as far as Kurt knew no one else had been giving lessons there.

But there it was – a crudely drawn face with jagged teeth, pointy elf ears, a tongue sticking out, and the words, “Ask me about my sit spin!” along with a fake phone number written in a bubble by its side.

Mindy sees it and bursts out laughing. “Oh my God!” She snorts. “Coach Hummel! I think that’s supposed to be you!”

“What the …?” Kurt mumbles, taking a second look. At first glance, it’s just a face, but after a closer look – from the swooped bangs to the upturned nose and his sharper than average chin – it very well could be a drawing of him. “Mature,” he groans, scratching out the picture with his Sharpie. It’s drawn on the opposite side of the glass, so he can’t erase it, but at least he can keep people on the ice from seeing it. “Real mature.”

Kurt should have known something was amiss. He’d heard an odd clattering, a chortle, and the stampeding of blades running in the vicinity of the wall as they approached, but he couldn’t see anything, so he’d paid it no mind. It’s Friday, after school, and the rink is busy, fuller than safe on one end with beginner skaters, mostly young men playing the fool and falling on their asses for laughs. He knows he pissed off a few of them at the start of session by telling them to grow up and stay in their lane when they tried to snatch his green cones, but he didn’t anticipate being targeted by anyone.

“Who do you think did it?” Mindy asks, regaining her composure out of respect for her coach.

“I’m not sure,” Kurt says, throwing a look over his shoulder at the men on the other end of the rink. “But let’s forget about it and continue.” Kurt puts five drawings up on the glass, illustrating everything he’d said before: “You enter the rotation here … then you launch from here … and land roughly around here. Does that make sense?”

Mindy looks at Kurt’s drawings, shadowing the movements in place. “Yeah … yeah, I think so!”

“Great! Let’s go back to the center and give it another …” The second Kurt turns, he sees them. How in the world did he not notice someone doing this? It may be busy, and he may be purposefully ignoring the majority of the skaters there, but a person coming up to him and kneeling at his feet – that he should have felt. But apparently he didn’t, which is why there is a trail of black dashes, like the ones he had drawn for Mindy, traveling from his own blade all the way back to the center ice.

“Who do you think is doing this?” Mindy asks, intrigued (but also way too amused) by their mysterious graffiti artist.

“I don’t know …” Kurt peeks through his lashes at the current of skaters in front of them “… but I can take a guess.” Kurt knows very few people who carry a black Sharpie with them, but even so, there’s only one type of Sharpie that writes as well on ice as the one he uses – and every coach has one.

He can’t see center ice with the massive amount of people suddenly crowding in front of them, taking their sweet time as they pass, pointing and laughing at the ground. Kurt can only imagine what is there now in place of the markings he left.

As it turns out, everything he imagined was wrong.

He figured it would be another face, this one more childish than the first – him with massive acne, or vomiting, or farting, or something along those lines.

But the person leaving the pictures hit a bit below the belt this time.

They left a drawing of a penis, complete with grotesque hairy balls, and the words Kurt Hummel was here.

“What the---? No! No, no, no, no!” Kurt scratches out the picture, scraping his blade across the ice (to the detriment of his right inside edge), but it’s too late. The entire rink had a chance to see.

And after Kurt’s little freak-out, he realizes they now all know who Kurt Hummel is.

Kurt scans the rink for a familiar red coach’s coat and its owner. He finds him by the rink door, doubled over with his hands wrapped around his waist, unable to contain his laughter.

“Smythe!” Kurt yells, barreling across the ice as fast as his blades can carry him. Sebastian spots him, his lips pursing into an ‘o’ of surprise when he sees exactly how fast his boyfriend is traveling, and goes running. “Sebastian Smythe! Get your butt back here! Your Sharpie privileges have just been revoked! And I’m canceling your five o’clock!”

“Worth it!” Sebastian calls before he ducks into the safety of the other rink. “Totally worth it!”

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes

[light-the-stars]

The Lesson (”The Visit” Pt. 2)

“The Visit” (Pt. 1)  / “The Quest” (Pt. 3) / “The Confrontation” (Pt. 4)

Ao3 Link 

Author’s Note: Here is the second installment to my previous fanfic, “The Visit”. I hope you like it. I’ll be posting the third one soon. 

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was out in a beautiful meadow, the wind in her hair, and her father and Rowan arguing behind her.

“You can NOT threaten to bite her because she does not have the ability to shift on command. She is only a child,” her father yelled.

“I can damn well do as I please,” Rowan yelled back.

“Have you ever trained a child? Has that ever occurred in your long existence?” Rhoe asked.

Aelin huffed from the rock she was perched on. She looked at the two men, the father that she loved dearly and the fae warrior she didn’t know anything about. The confession that she overheard Gavriel say last night made a lot of sense in the light of the day, but she still didn’t know how to get through to him. She was only seven and a little girl, he was centuries old and quite a bit intimidating for her to handle.

“Aelin,” Rhoe called. Her head snapped up from her daydreaming state. She looked at the both of them. From their expressions, they had been trying to get her attention for a while.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly and unfurled from the rock and strode toward them.

Her father looked concerned, but Rowan was again stone faced.

“Let’s get back to it,” he said and stalked to the middle of the field.

Aelin let out a long breath and followed after him and left her father at the outer rim of the meadow.

“Let’s try a different way since threatening isn’t the way to go.” He said the last bit sarcastically. Aelin snorted in agreement.

Rowan looked at her as if to say, watch the tone, Princess.

Aelin only rolled her eyes. I’ll watch mine if you watch yours.

“Alright, Princess,” he said. “What scares you the most?” He crouched in front of her so they were on the same eye level.

She thought for a minute. “Not being in control of my magic, and hurting the people I love with it,” she said. He looked shock at the omission, not expecting that answer.

He gave her a small smile, “Maybe try something a little more tangible.”

“Drowning, not being able to breathe.” She looked up at him from lowered brows, and something on his face told her that what was to happen next was not going to be pleasant. The next thing she knew, the air had been knocked out of her lungs and she was on her knees, clawing at her throat for air. Tears began to stream down her face. She heard a muffled cry coming from the other side of the meadow and a thunder of footsteps.

Her father tackled Rowan to the ground, letting the air back into Aelin’s lungs and two of them were fighting again. Only this time they were using fists and feet and not words. Aelin was gasping for air, her lungs and throat burning from the inside, only to feel a sharp pain in her mouth and from her ears. She lifted her hands to touch her ears. They were pointy, and her sense of smell was sharper, her hearing too.

Rowan and her father stopped fighting when the hears a crunch of dry leaves from under her boots. She stood up to look around the field, nostrils flaring to smell the air around them. Despite the tang of blood in the air, this kingdom smelled wonderful, sweet and salty.

Rowan stalked up next to her, “How do you feel, princess?”

She looked up at him. “It’s a bit painful. But, everything is so much clearer.”

“Remember this feeling. Remember the pain and keen sharpness. Hone it and keep it. Practice it and you will be able to do it at will. You will no longer need to feel scared or angry and the power won’t be forced upon you, you’ll be able to call on it.”

“She’s done,” Rhoe interjected. “She is not to train with you any longer. We’re leaving this god’s damned kingdom first thing tomorrow morning.” Rhoe hauled Aelin into his arms and began carrying her back to the palace.

“Aren’t you over-reacting a bit? You’re here to have her train, to have her learn all she can about magic. Why not take advantage of it?” Rowan walked, more like prowled, alongside Rhoe.

“Because,” Rhoe snapped, “because I don’t want her to hurt or feel pain when she’s training. There’s already too much of it in the world, she doesn’t need to know it just yet.” Rowan stared at her father. Aelin stared at him too, not quite understanding what was going on.

~~~~

Rowan couldn’t get the image of Aelin in her fae form out of his head. Or when she said that her greatest fear was for her not being in control of her magic. She was a child, yes, but she seemed wise beyond her years. He has seen many princes or princesses over the years, spoiled and only caring about themselves. But this little princess, this fireheart, not only feared for her wellbeing but for others as well.

Rowan was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t see the figure in the alcove until a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. He was slammed up against the wall, Gavriel snarling in his face.

“What the rutting hell is wrong with you? You nearly killed the poor girl today.”

“She was fine,” Rowan said. “Was only trying a new tactic, that all.”

“Really, that’s all? You snuff the air out of her lungs in hopes that she is terrified enough to shift? That really took some nerve on your part, Rowan.”

“It worked though, didn’t it? And, don’t pretend that you care, Gavriel. The only reason you’re invested in that little family at all is because Aelin’s mother looks identical to your dead lover.”

Shock was strewn all over Gavriel’s face. “I care,” he said through clenched teeth, “because she is a little girl, a princess, who will one day be queen and she doesn’t need this kind of shit from you.” Gavriel pushed off the wall and stalked down the hall until he was out of sight. Rowan slid down the wall and sat in the alcove, feeling guilty as hell.

~~~~

Aelin was sitting in bed, reading one of her favorite books when there was a tentative knock on her bedroom door and then a golden head poked her head in the room.

“Aelin, you have a visitor,” her mother said, coming into her room with Rowan following close behind. Aelin sat up straighter in the bed. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it then.” Evalin walked back out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Rowan looked uncomfortable in the room. He stuffed he hands into his pockets and walked around the room until he got to the side of her bed. “What do you have there?” he asked.

“A book,” she said hesitantly. Why was he here? He never came around unless it was to take her to training. “It’s one of my favorites.” He nodded.

He was silent for a couple minutes. She couldn’t stand the silence any longer so she finally said, “I know why you’re here.” His eyes shot to hers. “I know you’re here to apologize but you don’t do it often so you’re trying to find the words to do so.” He came closer and sat on the edge of her bed. She shrugged. “I forgave you when you asked me how I was.”

“How can you forgive that easily?”

“Like you told my father, I’m here to train and will do what needs to be done,” she said. She looked at him. His eyes seem softer than they had the other day in the throne room. They were pale green, they reminded her of the rolling hills outside the palace in Orynth.

Rowan gave a small laugh. “You are something else, Princess.” Aelin giggled.

They were silent once more, but it was a comfortable silence. She climbed out from underneath the covers and sat next to him. She put her small arms around his waist, trying the be comforting. At first he stiffened, but then relaxed and out an arm around her. She felt strangely at peace sitting next to him like this.

~~~~

They didn’t leave the next day like her father threatened. They stayed for another two weeks and they worked on her shifting. They didn’t touch her fire, and her shifting was still spotty. But, he father got used to the Rowan and they didn’t argue as much when training only because he wasn’t as cruel and his training wasn’t as demanding. But when they did leave, Rowan was at the docks to say his farewell.

“Will you write to me?” She asked the warrior.

“Possibly,” he said. She glowered at him and poked him in the chest. He laughed quietly. “You have been a thorn in my side, Princess. But, yes, I will write when it is possible.”

She beamed at him and threw her arms around him. He looked over the little princess’s shoulder to her parents a few feet away. Rhoe met his eyes and nodded to him. They had worked out a tentative truce. He might not trust Maeve, but he was beginning to trust him, at least where Aelin come in.

Aelin surprised Rowan and gave him a small peck on the cheek and ran to her parents. When she turned around, she had a smirk on her face and her eyes held mischief. They bounded up the steps to the ship. Her small form waving at him from the deck. He waved back.

As the ship departed, he shifted into his hawk and flew overhead. Aelin reached out a hand and the tip of his wing touched the tip of her finger.

“Bye Rowan. I’ll miss you!” she called out to him. She was on her way home.

~~~~

Over the next year and a half, Rowan and Aelin sent each other letters. She would tell him about the books she was reading and the training she was getting. In one letter she said, “the trainers here a lot nicer in their teachings, but it’s not as much fun.” His letters are quite a bit shorter since he can’t tell her about the campaigns he goes on for Maeve. She’s too young to understand what goes on there. Plus, it’s not something a young girl will want to hear about.

After coming back from a campaign from a far away kingdom, one of Aelin’s letters was laying on his desk. She wrote, “Dear Rowan, My fire is scaring me. I almost hurt the King of Ardalan with it while he was visiting. Mother and Father are taking me to our house out in the country for some peace. I hope with the quiet, my fire will calm down. Please write soon, I miss my friend. Aelin.”

She had been worried about her fire hurting someone, and now it almost did. His thoughts were interrupted by Gavriel and Fenrys barging into his room.

Rowan looked into the male’s eyes and knew something was horribly wrong. “What is it?”

“It’s the Galathynius family. They’re all dead - murdered,” Gavriel breathed.

Fenrys added, “Orlon was found in his bed in Orynth, Evalin and Rhoe in their country home on the River Florine.”

He looked at his two companions, horror in their eyes. He had a feeling the look was mirrored on his own. “And Aelin?” Fenrys open his mouth then closed it. Gavriel looked away. “Somebody had better gods damn tell!” Rowan screamed.

“Aelin,” Fenrys began, trying to find the words. “Aelin’s body was never found, but there are claims that she drowned in the river.”

Rowan didn’t have any words for what he was feeling. First Lyria and now Aelin. She was just a little girl, a princess never to be queen. The day, early on, she had said that she feared drowning and not being able to breathe.

Rowan, still holding the letter from Aelin, crumbled it into a ball and threw it into the fire. Without looking at his companions, his friends, stalked out of his room, out of the palace. He shift pence he got past the gates. He was going to find the little Princess of Terrasen. Rowan Whitethorn took to the skies and didn't look back.

#rowaelin #aelin ashryver galathynious #rowan whitethorn #fenrys #gavriel #rhoe galathynious #throne of glass #tog #fanfic #fanfiction #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #my writing #the visit #my fanfiction #my fanfic

[licncourt-replies]

Ch 1

First chapter of my new fic on ao3!  You can find it here

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Summary: Tony Stark is a mess, but no one seems to realize it. After Steve tips him over the edge into a breakdown, they begin to see the error of their ways, but it will take a lot of time to help him unlearn the things they helped to teach, and even longer for Steve to realize that Tony isn’t who he thought he was, and maybe that’s a good thing.

“Iron Man, stand down!” Steve snarled as he pulled himself up from the crumbled pavement outside what might have probably at some point been a Pizza Hut just in time see his teammate swoop upwards to face off with the Enchantress. On another day, he might have made an attempt to avoid confrontation, but the battle had been raging nonstop for nearly twelve hours, and the exhaustion and dehydration had gotten past even the serum and got the better of him. It may have enhanced the good in him, but it he had to admit that it had given his temper a push for the worse as well. Despite their mutual apologies after the Battle of New York, tensions were still high between himself and Tony, and after several failed attempts at reconciliation, his patience had finally run out.

“Stark! I said stand down!” He orders fell on deaf ears as his teammate’s mocking voice as he took jabs at Amora filtered through the tinny headset, the one that the genius should have upgraded by now, Steve lamented. After the fighting ended, if it ever did, Steve was going to give Stark a piece of his mind. Before he had a chance to properly reprimand Stark to the best of his ability while in his current predicament on the field, his side exploded in pain as a chunk of building that had been flung aside by a wave of glittering, green light shredded the muscles in his torso. By the time his skull hit the cement, all he could register was the slick, hot puddle on the ground by his waist, and the faraway echo of a man’s panicked voice before his vision tunneled into nothing.

Before he even opened his eyes, Steve registered the acrid scent of antiseptic and murmur of voices beside his bed. The beeping of machines, a heart rate monitor he recognized, grated on his enhanced ears, leaving no doubt in his mind as to his location. Hoping for a few more moments of peace before the onslaught of doctors and chaos wrought by his teammates’ worry, he steadied his breathing and kept his eyes firmly closed. Only moments into his mental preparation, a pointy fingertip jabbed the center of his sternum and dug uncomfortably into the bone. He winced.

“Come on, Cap, nap’s over. I know you’re faking,” Clint whined, because of course it was Clint attached to the annoying finger. Reluctantly, Steve cracked one eye open and then the other, groaning at the steadily increasing throb in his side. He made no effort to open them further. The serum healed him much more quickly than any of the others, barring Thor, but the increased tolerance to drugs made sure that he would get the full experience in the form of pain in the meantime, especially if the cringe-worthy headache he woke up with was any indication.

“Jesus, Clint, inside voice.” He winced at the cracking sounds of his dry throat and gratefully accepted a deep drink from the cup of water that was held to his lips by a dainty hand that could only belong Natasha. She confirmed herself as the hand’s owner when the cup suddenly disappeared from his mouth and moments later a pained grunt from Clint resounded in the room. He opened his eyes the rest of the way, feeling up to braving the glaring fluorescent lights of the hospital after the water. Both of his friends were still battle grimy and disheveled, but in civilian their attire, so Steve assumed someone had been by the tower already to gather the essentials. Natasha offered him a sympathetic smile and squeezed his limp hand.

“Clint, go get Bruce and Dr. Navarre and tell them Steve’s awake.” Clint gave her a playful salute and sauntered out the door and down the hall. She turned back to face him. “How’re you feeling, Rogers? Ready to get back out there?” Her expression was soft, but took on a teasing edge. He cracked a smile in return.

“I could do this all day, Romanoff. What’s our status?”

“The Enchantress is in SHIELD custody. NYPD is tying up loose ends, and Pepper’s with the legal team and PR reps. They’re working on damage control. Barnes, Wilson, and Thor are helping the cleanup crew, and Banner is talking with your doctor outside. Stark’s God knows where. I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.” Annoyance clouded her expression. Steve waved it off.

“Good. Everyone got out clean?” Natasha nodded in affirmation.

“Yes, you were the only casualty on the team. You took a nasty hit, люблю.”

“What’s the damage?” She glanced down at the note on the bedside table. Probably from Bruce.

“Aside from the obvious minor injuries, you sustained major soft tissue damage in your side, significant loss of blood, and a number of broken ribs. Your spleen was lacerated by a piece of bone, and your internal bruising is extensive, to say the least. Your left kidney is heavily damaged, you’re moderately concussed, and you collapsed a lung, but you’ll be fine, but in quite a bit of pain. You have a rough couple weeks ahead of you. Consider yourself lucky though. Without the serum, you’d have been dead. Even with it, Tony barely got to you in time. He might be an ass, but he saved yours today.”

Steve blew a sigh from between his teeth and sunk farther into the mounds of pillows. He was awake enough to feel the beginnings of hostility curling in his belly for Stark’s recklessness on the field.

“You really don’t know where he is then? I want to talk to him. The kind of behavior he showed today is unacceptable. Riling up our enemies like he does endangers the whole team, as well as civilians.” From the stormy look in her eyes, Steve could tell Natasha felt the same way.

“You don’t have to tell me twice, Cap. You know how I feel about Stark. I stand by what I wrote in my report.”

“You were right in saying it. At this point, I’m not sure why Stark’s still on the team. He was supposed to be a consultant if I’m not mistaken. It was only because of Loki that he was ever on active duty with the Avengers. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, actually.” She quirked an eyebrow at him and pulled a stool up to his bedside.

“Well, I guess now’s as good a time as any. We have a few minutes to ourselves. Knowing Clint, he’ll probably get distracted by a vending machine or hot nurse on his way down.” Steve laughed briefly, before gasping in pain and trying to dull the stab of pain in his side. Just as his vision grayed around the edges, he felt a soft, cool hand touch his forehead and press him back down into the pillows he hadn’t even realized he sprung up from. She murmured soothing noises until his breathing evened out and he could speak again. She sat back down. “Tell me what’s on your mind, капитан.”

“It’s about Stark.”

“Isn’t everything?” She grinned at him. Steve chuckled as well, with more caution this time.

“I think I should talk to Fury about removing him from the team, and I hoped you’d back me up. I don’t feel comfortable working with someone who isn’t invested in the safety of his teammates and insists on acting like a child on and off the field.”

“Steve, are you sure that’s a good decision? I don’t like Stark any more than you do, but as immature and egotistical as he can be, we need him. Iron Man packs a punch, one I’m not sure we can afford to lose. Even with Sam as aerial support, he can’t make up for the firepower that Stark brings to the table. Just the repulsors alone…” She trailed off, brow furrowed.

“I know, I understand what you’re saying, and I agree. That’s why I wanted to talk to Colonel Rhodes. He’s Stark’s friend, but he’s a reasonable man. I’m sure we could get him to come around to our way of thinking, and then we could see if he’d be willing to join the Avengers full time. He could be just as valuable an asset as Iron Man if we play our cards right. With War Machine on our side-”

“What’s that about my Platypus?” Both their heads snapped to the doorway as a grease-stained, wild-eyed Tony Stark blustered into the hospital room in all his manic glory. Steve blinked in surprise at the rudeness of the intrusion, although he shouldn’t have expected anything less from Stark. The man glanced to each of them with a Cheshire cat grin. “Captain. Widow.” Natasha glared at him, and then returned her gaze to Steve, giving him a questioning look. He took a deep breath to control his temper and offered his teammate a curt greeting.

“Stark. It was nothing, don’t worry about it.” The man’s smile faltered a bit at his tone, but he quickly recovered. “Where have you been? I’m sure the others would appreciate help with the cleanup.” He’d meant to say it in as neutral a way as possible, but he wasn’t surprised by the bitterness that had slipped into his words. Stark shifted slightly; if it had been anyone else, the captain might have pegged it as discomfort, but Steve knew better. This was Stark after all.

“Oh, sorry, Cap. Wish I could’ve helped, but unlike you slackers, I had more important things to do.” Stark’s smile and taken on a sharper edge, the one Steve had seen before as he dealt with especially rude reporters, and it rubbed Steve the wrong way. Not that he’d ever thought about Stark rubbing him. That would have been unprofessional.

“Enlighten me, Stark. What exactly was so important that you felt the need to abandon your teammates to do the grunt work? Fucking some groupie in our living room? You’re not interested once there’s no glory to be had, are you?” Something odd glimmered behind the man’s eyes, but before Steve had time to process what it might have been, Stark was responding.

“Actually, I went to my lab because-” Steve felt something snap loose in his composure, and he gave in to the weight of the animosity that he’d been harboring since the day he moved into the Stark Tower.

“You know what, Stark? I don’t give a flying fuck what you were doing in there. It certainly wasn’t anything helpful. If you’re going to be down there instead of being a productive member of this team, the least you could do is make something to help us instead of tinkering with your stupid fucking toys all the time. You’re an overgrown child, Stark. I don’t know why I let you on this team. You want to know why I was talking to Natasha about Rhodes? I want him to replace you, Stark. I know you think you’re special, that you’re hot shit, but you’re replaceable. Don’t think for a damn minute that you aren’t. I hope you really love that lab of yours a much as you seem to, because if I get my way, you’ll be spending an awful lot more time there.” Steve lurched to a halt in his rant, chest heaving from his outburst. He stared at Stark, waiting for the man to return the favor, but nothing happened. The man held his eyes, the intensity of Stark’s gaze making him want to look away. His expression was unreadable, unnervingly so. He was motionless aside from a slight twitch to his mouth. Finally, he inhaled, his intent to speak obvious. Before he could get a word out edgewise, Clint made his raucous reentry.

“The docs are on their way, Nat. Tony, bro, you’re back! Everything okay, man?” In the beat it took Stark to regain his composure, Clint had already bulldozed over him, talking a mile a minute. “Oh my God, Cap. You should’ve seen it! Stark totally saved your life back there. I mean, it was kind of his fault. Amora flung that chunk at him because he pissed her off, but she missed. You screamed so loud, dude. We all thought you were dead or something but Stark didn’t even hesitate, he flew right to you and picked you in one arm and gave Amora her final blow with the other. It was seriously badass.” Clint laughed and punched Stark in the shoulder, with a little too much zeal from the looks of it. Rationally, Steve knew he should be grateful, that the man had saved his life, and if it were anyone else, he would have thanked them graciously with a light reprimand and moved on from their mistake, but it wasn’t anyone else. It was Stark, and he’d disobeyed yet another order, endangering them all.

“Is that true, Stark?” He nodded silently. “It figures, You’d even disregard orders at the expense of your teammates. You were supposed to have Widow’s back, what if something had happened to her? And it’s not just on the field, it’s every fucking day, Stark! You ignore your responsibilities, hide in your workshop all day, and make everyone’s life harder. I’ve tried, my God, I’ve tried to be civil with you but I’m done. I’m done, Stark. And I think everyone else is too. We’re sick of having to treat you like a child. Can’t be handed things, won’t talk to us, your stupid habits. You won’t listen to anyone. You’re a drama queen, rich boy. You’re a danger to yourself and others, and honestly, Stark? I hope once I get you kicked off this team, I never have to speak to you again. You don’t belong here with us, and you never will.” If he thought Stark had been stock still before, it was nothing compared to now. The man finally nodded, and a strange smile took over his features as he started to laugh. Shaking his head, he gave Steve a lopsided grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Fuck you, Rogers.” Always the one to have the last word, Stark turned on a heel and stalked quickly out of the room, brushing past the startled nurses on their way in to check on Steve. Clint and Natasha were silent. Steve watched Stark disappear down the hallway, too focused on his hatred drilling holes into the man’s back to notice the way his hands shook as he pressed the elevator button.

#marvel #mcu #tony stark x steve rogers #stony #fanfic #pro tony stark #tony stark defense squad #my writing

[blackened-star]

OOC: I had a dream about the Heroes the other night

I tend to remember most of my dreams in high detail, so I like to write down the really cool ones. Well a few nights ago I had a dream about the Heroes, and I thought it’d be fun to share here :)

WARNING: This is wayyy longer than I thought it would be. Like, it’s super long. Hope you don’t mind. lol

This dream took place in a virtual-reality version of Maplestory, kind of like Sword Art Online where everything is as real as it can get. The events happened in first-person, mostly from Luminous’s POV. However, I was still aware of my own personal thoughts, which were separate from Luminous’s thoughts and dialogue. The scenarios also required me to recall my hotkeys, so that also indicates that there was a player-character relationship in this POV. So even though the dream developed in first person, I’ll write it in third person, with my own thoughts in parentheses.

The setting is a little different from canon MS. Instead of the worlds being connected by portals, they all seem to converge at one central point. This detail is important because it meant that Eunwol could cross worlds without his curse erasing his existence. Neat.

At the convergence point, there was a stadium erected. It looked like the worlds were coming together for some kind of Olympic games. Since the games were very organized and very civil, it was clear that they were a well-established tradition, and the convergence point had been standing for quite a long time. Today, the game was chariot races. Racers from Pantheon, Perion, Orbis, Ludibrum, Aquarium, Edelstein, and the Pointy Fox Ear Village were setting up at the starting line. Pantheon’s racer was favored to win, but Edelstein’s chariot never went down quietly.

Luminous sat with the other Heroes in the crowd, expecting nothing but an exciting race. But the race only lasted two laps before a band of huge, humanoid shadows climbed over the stands and leapt onto the track. Luminous stiffened, immediately recognizing the energy they gave off. Their power came from the Black Mage.

One glance at his friends was all it took to convey this realization, and at once the Heroes were ready for battle. They jumped down from the stands and onto the track, followed by numerous members from the Maple Alliance, who were also spectating the race.

(In battle, I found that if I could shout the hotkey of a spell in my mind, then Luminous would perform that spell. Now, I haven’t actually played MS since last summer, so I had a lot of trouble trying to remember my hotkeys. I stuck to dark magic for the first portion of the battle because I could think of those keys easily, thanks to all the time I spent dicking around as Eclipse lmao. But eventually Aran called out urgently, stating that light magic would be much more effective, and Eunwol supported her, saying that some of our allies needed to be healed. With some effort and some trial-and-error, I managed to cast some light spells. The battle ended pretty quickly after I figured out Reflection and Ray of Redemption.

Honestly this was a pretty sick way to fight battles. It was as simple as pressing a hotkey, but the 3D space made more combos and movement possible. It was a lot of fun.)

The Maple Alliance was able to overpower the shadowy figures, and once the tide turned against them, the figures turned and fled from the stadium. But the Heroes weren’t ready to claim victory just yet. Luminous was able to track their dark energy, so he led the Heroes after them, until they ended up at the foot of a world which none of them had seen before.

“Is this… a new world?” Mercedes asked, staring ahead in disbelief.

“Luminous, are you sure this is where they went? How could the Black Mage have power in another world?” asked Eunwol with a shiver.

“Those creatures retreated here. I’m sure of it,” said Luminous solemnly. “So if the Black Mage has his clutches on another world… That can’t be a good thing. We have to see what’s going on here.”

No one could disagree with his statement, so together they went on into the new world.

It wasn’t long before they came to a coastal city. Extravagant, multistory houses lined the waterfront. The houses were huge, and not just because of the number of rooms they had. These houses were built for giants. The windows, the door frames, the balconies—everything towered high over the Heroes’ heads.

They were close to the shadowy figures. Luminous picked up his pace, and the rest stayed close behind as they climbed swiftly down the coast. Finally, the humanoid shadows came into view on a rooftop below. They were prying at the broken shingles of the rooftop, trying to carve an entrance into the building. The Heroes engaged them without hesitation. The shadows were already weakened by the battle at the convergence point, so they disintegrated with very little resistance.

Luminous looked at the hole they were digging. It was too small for the shadowy figures to fit through, but a mapler like himself could fit through easily. He wondered what those creatures could have been trying to reach in this house. He wasn’t the only one wondering, for Evan gave voice to the question on his mind.

“What were they doing? Trying to steal something, maybe?” asked Evan, looking from the hole to Phantom.

“Tsk tsk. Their technique is laughable. What amateurs,” snorted Phantom.

Luminous rolled his eyes. “If there’s something here that the Black Mage wants, then we should find it and take it first,” he said, stepping closer to the hole.

“Wait,” said Mercedes. “Some of us should stay here and keep watch, just in case more of those shadow creatures appear to finish their mission.”

“Luminous, I’ll come with you into the building,” offered Eunwol.

“Shouldn’t that job be left to me?” cut in Phantom. “After all, it’s my specialty.”

“I refuse to be weighed down by you,” snapped Luminous.

Phantom opened his mouth, but Mercedes spoke over him. “Eunwol, go with Luminous to investigate. The rest of us will keep watch. It’s a large area to cover, so we’ll need more of us up here.”

They all agreed, except for Phantom, who simply whined about how Stuffy Pants was unqualified for the job. Meanwhile, Luminous and Eunwol stepped down into the house.

They found themselves in a massive attic cluttered with large junk. There were no windows, so the only light came from the small hole in the roof, and from Luminous’s shining rod. Carefully they made their way across the attic and to the access door on the floor, which was hanging open. The room below also lacked lighting, as Luminous saw when he peered down from the access door. The windows were all boarded up, only allowing thin slivers of light to cut through the darkness. It streamed through the room, dimly illuminating the features of a very, very massive man, at least three times his size. And as Luminous looked on, the man tilted his head up, and looked back.

“Turn back, turn back!” gasped Luminous, hastily backing away from the access door. He wanted to avoid fighting the giant if they could. He doubted their attacks would even have an effect on someone so huge.

“What?” asked Eunwol, who hadn’t peeked over the edge. Instead of answering, Luminous took his arm and pulled him away from the door to a cluttered corner, out of view. A moment later, the man’s giant head appeared in the access door. His gaze swept across the attic, as if he were checking for vermin. Luminous and Eunwol held their breaths.

Slowly the man climbed into the attic. His footsteps shook the floor beneath their feet as he circled the room, checking every piece of junk. He would discover them if they stayed in one spot, Luminous thought, feeling sick with dread. He dared not speak a word, but met Eunwol’s eye, and knew that Eunwol had come to the same realization. Silently they crept along the wall to find a safer hiding spot.

Suddenly, inexplicably, the floor below Eunwol’s feet gave way. He fell through. Quickly Luminous stuck his shining rod out for Eunwol to grab hold, and Eunwol managed to grab it as he fell. But Luminous’s grip wasn’t tight enough, for the rod slipped from his hands, taking Eunwol with it.

(Wow… Just. Wow, I thought. That.. I don’t even have words to describe how bad that failure was… Just… Wow…

Was I supposed to do something here? Press a button, pick a hotkey maybe? How was that so lame?)

Luminous found himself alone, unarmed, and exposed. The sound of the wood snapping had alerted the giant to their location. He was heading over to investigate. The hole from which they entered disappeared behind the giant’s head, leaving only one way to go.

Luminous jumped into the crack after Eunwol.

The scene faded to black, then reopened outside with Phantom, Mercedes, Aran, Evan, and Mir. They seemed to have given up on keeping watch and were simply standing at the edge of a wide balcony on the side of the house, looking down at the channel water below. A few strange, larger-than-life sea creatures swam in the seawater. They were shaped like sharks, with pointed teeth, broad jaws, and vertical tail fins, but they had the markings of an orca, and they stayed unusually still, especially since sharks had to be moving to stay alive. They must have been some kind of shark-orca whale hybrid. (Sharcas?)

Their sightseeing was interrupted when a monstrous creature burst through the roof, landing on the balcony behind them. It resembled a balrog, but it was much larger, just like everything else in the foreign world. Its teeth were larger, its claws were sharper, and its muscles were bigger than any balrog in Maple World. The Heroes didn’t need Luminous to tell them it was puppeteered by dark magic. Darkness dripped from its fangs and leaked from its glowing eyes.

The four Heroes separated, leaving only Aran in its path. She wasted no time swinging her polearm and striking the beast across its muzzle. Then, with a command from Evan, Mir unleashed a torrent of flames on the monster’s flank, tearing its attention away from Aran. A moment later, Phantom’s cards cut through its leathery wings, and Mercedes’s arrow lodged deep in its ankle. They continued to rotate their attacks, distracting the balrog from each other, until Mercedes was able to deliver a finishing blow, sending an arrow through the monster’s spinal cord at the base of its skull. She landed on its shoulders as it collapsed.

Mercedes raised her head to the enlarged hole in the roof, and the other Heroes followed her gaze. “It came from in there,” she muttered grimly.

“Do you think… that Luminous and Eunwol are okay in there…?” asked Evan, shuddering nervously.

“We’d better go check,” said Aran, swinging her polearm over her shoulder. “Maybe splitting up wasn’t the best idea. Obviously we don’t know what’s going on here.”

“Then let’s go find out,” said Phantom. “That stuffy light mage will hate me even more if he gets rescued by me,” he added with a playful grin. Then they jumped down into the attic.

The crack that Eunwol and Luminous fell through did not lead into the room below, but rather into the walls of the house. Luminous landed on a diagonal wooden board, but he did not find Eunwol anywhere nearby. He began to descend the board, calling out for his companion.

Eventually he reached the bottom of the wall. There was still no sign of Eunwol. Where could he have gone?

Luminous found a crumbled portion of the wall which led back into the house. He passed through and found himself on a counter in the giant’s oversized kitchen. The windows here were boarded up as well, blanketing the house in darkness. Slowly Luminous crept across the counter and hid behind a roll of paper towels, and then looked into the doorway across the room, where the thundering of footsteps was growing louder and louder. Soon the giant himself passed across the doorway, but then hesitated, and finally turned and entered the kitchen. The giant now blocked the path back to the crumbling in the wall, but Luminous noticed a row of shelves on the wall by the edge of the counter. He jumped down to the lowest shelf and ducked behind the elaborate sets of china on display, trying to put as much distance between himself and the giant as possible. He needed to find Eunwol before that giant found him.

Too late.

The giant’s fist slammed down on the edge of the shelf, knocking it off the wall. The whole panel tipped sideways, spilling all of the china and Luminous onto the floor. He tumbled down the rest of the way to the tiled floor, but somehow landed without getting crushed by the falling china. However, before he could stand, the giant’s foot came crashing down over his legs. Luminous heard his own bones snapping under the giant’s weight. The pain that shot up his legs nearly drowned out the sound of his agonized cry.

The giant knelt down, keeping Luminous firmly trapped under his foot. “Hmm? What’s this?” his voice reverberated around the kitchen as he leaned down to inspect what he had captured.

The giant’s breath blew over Luminous like a hot gust of wind. His gigantic face filled the light mage’s vision. He was much too close.

The giant leaned back in surprise as the light mage teleported out from under the giant’s foot. Luminous let out a pained groan as the pressure over his legs disappeared. But before he could teleport again, the giant’s hands closed around him and lifted him into the air as the giant stood up.

“Weird,” rumbled the giant, holding Luminous at eye-level. The light mage squirmed in his grip and managed to free his arms from the giant’s fingers. But then the giant closed his eyes and took a long sniff, his nosehairs trembling right next to Luminous’s face.

“Smells good,” said the giant. His face stretched into a wide, toothy grin. “Smells delicious.”

He pressed Luminous tight against his nose and sniffed again, licking his lips. Luminous felt like he was suffocating. The giant was smothering him against his slimy, rancid skin. His tongue slid over Luminous’s collarbone as he licked his lips, leaving behind hot, sticky saliva.

(This was absolutely terrifying. Everything else that happened didn’t really scare me, because part of me knew that it was all VR. But this was too real. I felt the stifling heat, the stench, the lack of air, all of it, and I was scared for my life. My brain kept coming back to this image, hours after I’d already woken up from this dream.)

Luminous did all he could to fight back. He yelled and pushed and punched at the giant, but he had no effect. (I also tried the teleport command, but it didn’t work. There was nowhere to teleport to.) He could do nothing to get the giant off of him. He was helpless, or so he thought.

The commotion he made had drawn Eunwol to his location. The pirate hero appeared in the doorway, brandishing his knuckle and Luminous’s shining rod. Eunwol swung his clawed knuckle at the giant’s calf, leaving a scratch which was smaller than he expected. It looked like the giant’s skin was much tougher than human skin. Still, it was enough to get the giant’s attention. He jumped at the unexpected pain and looked down at the hero by his feet.

“Put my friend down!” shouted Eunwol.

“Why? I found it, so it’s mine now!” declared the giant, holding Luminous protectively against his chest. It was unpleasant, but much more bearable than being halfway up the giant’s nasty nose.

“Finders keepers, losers weepers,” the giant recited. “I’m hungry and I’m going to eat it. If you want to wait, then I’ll eat you next.”

“Nobody is eating anyone,” stated Aran. She, too, appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Mercedes, Evan, and Mir. “Now put him down, or you’ll regret making us ask twice.”

“Fine!” growled the giant. He dropped Luminous onto the top shelf by the counter, and then slammed a glass cup over him. “I put it down.”

“Down here!” demanded Aran, tapping her polearm on the tile floor. “Give him back to us!”

“It’s not yours! It’s mine!”

Luminous took a deep breath and tried to stand, but he could hardly move his legs without waves of pain flooding his senses. He stared wistfully at the shining rod in Eunwol’s hands. If he had that, he could easily heal himself…

He looked around while his friends argued with the giant, trying to find a path down to the floor. With the bottom shelf gone, it would be impossible to safely teleport to the ground. The distance was too far. Maybe there was another route he could take, especially if they kept the giant distracted.

As he scanned for an alternate route, he noticed a flash of movement on the nearby countertop. A white cape disappeared behind the paper towels, and a blonde head peeked out at him. Phantom’s glance shifted from Luminous to the giant, and once he was sure the enemy was distracted, Phantom climbed onto the paper towel roll and leapt onto the shelf.

He made his way to the glass and tried to lift it up, but it was too heavy. He then took a step back and instead gestured for Luminous to come out on his own. Luminous teleported out of the glass and reached out to take Phantom’s open hand. But the flash of light was all too obvious in the dark room, and the giant discovered them. He picked up his cup and set it down over Luminous once again, forcing the light mage and the thief to withdraw their hands, lest their fingers get crushed underneath the glass.

“That’s mine!” shouted the giant indignantly, snatching Phantom up in his fingers. “You can’t have it because I’m going to eat it! So there!” The giant stuck his tongue out and blew spit in the thief’s face, spraying him with huge globs of saliva.

Luminous laughed.

(Dang, I thought. He just tried to save you and you laughed at him. That’s so savage.)

Then the giant dropped Phantom, but he was agile enough to land on his feet. His features twisted in disgust, and he wiped the sticky saliva off as best he could.

“Why do you want to eat him anyway? He’s all bitter inside. He’ll taste terrible,” Phantom huffed.

“Hmm?” questioned the giant, glancing at the light mage in the glass. Luminous quickly nodded in agreement.

“What should I eat instead? You?” asked the giant, leaning down to inspect the thief. Phantom took a hasty step backward. He’d had enough of the giant’s saliva.

“Um,” Evan spoke up. “What about a trade? If we give you something good to eat, will you give us our friend back?”

“A trade?” echoed the giant. “Sounds tasty… But you said it has to be something good! So if it’s not good, then no trade!”

“That’s fair… right?” said Evan, glancing at the rest of the heroes. Mercedes and Aran looked irritated by his suggestion. They would have preferred to fight.

But this option could be beneficial, thought Luminous. If they could make peace with this giant, they might be able to find out why the Black Mage’s forces were trying to enter his house. And if he had something the Black Mage wanted, perhaps he would leave it in their care.

Luminous knocked on his glass to get his friends’ attention, and then gave them a nod to go with it. Still, this deal made him uneasy. Out of all the Heroes, Luminous was the one who knew most about cooking, thanks to his time with Lania. Eunwol and Evan also knew how to cook, but Luminous wondered if even the three of them could conjure a meal pleasant enough for a giant. But Luminous wasn’t sure that he could help from up here, and Phantom, Mercedes, and Aran probably wouldn’t be very useful. Evan and Eunwol would have to create it on their own.

“That’s fair,” agreed Eunwol. “We’ll make you a dish you’ll never forget.”

“Make it quick!” said the giant. “I’m hungry now!”

“How are we supposed to feed someone that big?” hissed Mercedes, looking incredulously at her companions.

“We could… maybe… cook the balrog we left outside?” suggested Phantom, earning a round of disbelieving stares.

I’m doomed, thought Luminous.

And that’s where I woke up. I wish I had more time to let this dream play out haha. I also wish I was this creative when I was conscious, too :’)

Sorry if the personal notes are a little distracting? I thought about cutting them out, but I like to keep my dream recordings as honest as possible, so I try not to change any details.

Anyway thanks for reading all of that!

#maplestory #fanfic #i guess this is a fanfic? #;;☽συтσfɗαякηєѕѕ☾ #long post #tldr; everything was going smoothly but then i hecked up and lumi got rekt #;;☼ тнє вєαcση ☼