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illyrian-dreamer · 10 months

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Our girl – Part 2

Azriel x Cassian x Reader angst

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Reader unwell/not eating, depression and lots of angst.

Keep reading ⬇️

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You slept through any offerings of daylight the next day.

The bustle of the infirmary was a hum to your ears, your exhaustion keeping the world a distance away. Even the healers couldn't stir you when the frequented your room, changing your dressings and checking your pulse.

You woke for a meal of simple broth in the evening, and were glad to have kept it down. You still fought feverish sweats and chills, and the ache in your stomach and chest was persistent. Madja would oversee your care as she had the evening before. She had given one instruction – the more rest, the better.

Night set on the ward again, and you were glad to be enveloped by dim lighting and quieter activity.

Unsure of when sleep had found you, you awoke in an open field. It was bright, the high-pointed sun drenching the landscape in gold, the lake in the distance sparkling and inviting. Familiarity warmed you more than the sun, yet the scene around you remained hazy.

Ears pricking at a ripple of laughter ahead of you, your heart fluttered with excitement. It was instinct to chase that voice, your bare feet pushing from the warmed grass beneath them as you broke into a run. Your skirts kicked beneath you before you hiked them above your knees, both your speed and smile growing.

Ahead was the source of the laughter, a child who also ran, her long locks bouncing with a distinct curl. Meryl. She was no more than 10 years of age, her childish laugh echoing in your ears as your heart pulled at the sight of her.

“Meryl!” you called, continuing the chase, your heels pounding to the ground as you tried to speed up. “Slow down!” You heard your own voice then, also of a child.

The setting around you flooded with detail as a lost memory found you. Your visit to your parent’s good friend in Spring Court, an Uncle of sorts, his charming lake-side cottage where you and your sister would spend hours swimming and playing – and chasing! Of course! Each day you raced to see who would reach the lake first, and Meryl had always been that little bit faster.

Meryl responded with another laugh, so innocent and carefree, as a child should be. You reached a hand out, your heart pounding as you struggled to catch up. You ached for one more chance to speak with her or to hold her, or even to see her face. But she bounded onwards without ever turning her head.

A harsh breeze blew from behind, and the golden glow of the once-memory quickly turned grey and harsh as a storm threatened the sky. The water of the lake was now violent, thrashing with unforgiving waves. You halted your run, yet Meryl bound forward, her laughter drowned by the roar of the wind.

“Meryl!” you called again, your voice now of your adult self, urgent and panicked. As you tried to resume running, you almost toppled over, your hands catching you before you could fall. Something had anchored your bare feet to the ground.

With a yell of frustration, you tried to pry your legs free. Up ahead, your sister’s figure grew smaller, her direction set for the dangerous waters.

“Please! Meryl stop!” Tears began to well in your eyes as you fought to free yourself. You saw them then, the swirls of shadows that kept your legs pinned and unmoving.

“Wha-? Get off me!” You frantically clawed at them, but instead they climbed your arms too, forcing you to the ground.

Hands were on you then, tugging at your clothes and pulling at your limbs. Shadows mixed with siphons blue and red, and swirls of night clouded your vision, between it peeks of Meryl slipping further and further away. You clutched at the roots of the grass, desperate to pull yourself free.

“Stop! I have to save her!” you begged, your voice breaking with despair. But those hands were unrelenting, so strong in their grip as you tried to summon your power. That too rendered useless, cracking to a quick fizzle without so much as a sting.

Before you could call one final plea to your sister, shadows and hands and magic smothered your mouth, drowning your cry in their hold. All you could do was watch in horror as Meryl dived beneath the thrashing waves before your vision was overcome with smoke and night, and finally black.

————

Azriel and Cassian watched as you writhed in your cot, the feverish sweat on your brow glowing in the soft fae light of the infirmary wing.

“What’s wrong with her?” Cassian whispered, his face etched with concern as he stepped closer to you. He gingerly bought a callused hand to your cheek, running one gentle stroke down the length of it.

Azriel’s frown deepened as he heard your sister’s name muttered on your lips, followed by a whimper and ragged breaths. “It’s a fever dream.” he answered, his arms folded as he kept to the edge of your cot.

Cassian looked down at you, noting the tears that stained your cheeks.“We shouldn't have come here,” he said, his jaw tight from guilt. “She’s still unwell, we should let her rest.”

He and Azriel had easily snuck into the ward, winnowing straight past the few healers on night shift, and even slipping past Madja who was buried in paperwork at the desk near the entrance of the infirmary. But now Cassian eyed the door, just as eager to leave.

Azriel was only half listening to his brother as he commanded his shadows. They climbed at the base of your cot, swirling inwards as they found their way to your face and limbs, cooling you as you continued to stir, now a little more gently. Azriel did not show his satisfaction as he watched you sigh, finding some comfort in their touch.

The sound of a curtain being harshly drawn caused the males to jump, revealing an incredibly unimpressed Madja. Azriel cursed himself silently, having used all of his shadows to soothe you without setting guard to the room.

“I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses,” she said coldly to the males, pushing past them and setting a pale next to your bed. She shooed Azriel’s shadows as if they were a mutt on the street, and they quickly scattered back to their master.

“How is she doing?” Cassian asked, eyes pleading.

“I will not disclose that to you,” the healer answered tightly. Wringing the towel within the pale, Madja wiped the sweat from your brow. Your stirring had stopped at least, and you seemed to have found a deeper slumber than before. Madja sighed now, before casting a half look to the boys. “She’s improving, but is still quite weak.”

The males nodded, your sickly skin, limp body and slick hair as evident as the healer’s prognosis.

“Do I need to have words with the High Lord and Lady of their emissaries overstepping my regulations?” Madja asked without looking their way, wringing the cloth yet again before pressing it to your neck and bust. “Not to mention violating patient privacy,” she added.

Cassian hung his head low. “I’m sorry. I don't know what we were thinking.” Azriel refused to look at the healer, his eyes never leaving you.

Madja continued to care for you in silence, allowing Cassian and Azriel to grovel for a few more moments. Picking up the pale, she made to leave your bedside before answering the males. “I have worked with enough Illyrian’s to know of your possessive nature. But I won't be so forgiving if she wakes to find you here. Already your scents have caused more harm than good. She must not know you came, it will only upset her and might unravel her progress.”

“She’s that upset with us?” Azriel asked, his gaze beyond the healer before him, still fixed on you.

“Yes,” she answered plainly. Neither of the males knew what to say. “Now leave, before I regret showing any patience for boyish brutish idiocy.”

Azriel took the risk of another tongue lashing to send a final shadow to caress your cheek, before clasping his brother’s arm and winnowing back to the House of Wind.

————

You were kept at the infirmary for another four nights without any further disturbance from your family. They asked to visit, of course, practically begging through letters and pleas to Madja. But each of their requests were left unanswered, and you too buried your need to have them by your side while you healed.

It gave you time to think of a plan – you could not stay at the infirmary forever. When you had first moved the Velaris, while training as a spy, you lived in a small apartment in the cliffs that faced the Sidra. You hadn't visited there in almost a decade, but your once-home was written to your name, and vacant.

Madja insisted on settling you in, helping you climb the stairs to your room as fatigue still lingered.

Prying the stiff wooden door open, you almost smiled at the sight of your old home. A mattress lay on the floor in the corner of the room just as you had left it – you had never been able to afford a frame on training wages. A small chest of drawers was pushed up against the wall, and the kitchenette was lined with those charming blue tiles just as you remembered.

You were thankful Madja had sent a maid ahead of time, and while the musk of an unused apartment lingered, you were glad to not have to dust in your current state. The small fireplace contained fresh logs of wood which meant there was no urgent trip to the markets either.

“This is it,” you spoke more to yourself as you ran a hand along the kitchenette before making your way over to the chest, prying a stiff drawer open.

Madja was less than impressed. “Child, perhaps you would consider more comfortable accommodation? One where the bed is not on the floor?”

“I’ll be fine here,” you answered, distracted as you searched through your old drawers, finding them empty.

“The High Lord and Lady have offered to accommodate you elsewhere–”

“I don't want their help,” you snapped, shoving the drawer back into the chest with notable anger.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “You don't need to suffer at the cost of their mistakes, Y/N.”

You sighed then, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I won't accept their fortune any longer. This home is mine, I worked hard for it. I will be perfectly fine here while I figure out a plan.”

Madja nodded, scanning the room once over. “Do not forget to take your medicine,” she lectured before turning to the door, knowing better than to linger. There was no remedy for how quiet the apartment fell when she left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Mustering the little energy you had, you set your kettle to boil, waiting patiently for the steam to whistle from the tin, the only sound to fill the apartment beyond the distant hum of the town below.

After a few sips of tea, exhaustion found you again. Setting the mug of tea aside on the cold wooden floor, you crawled into bed, pulling the too-thin covers over your head and leaving your drink unfinished. With your back to the world that beckoned outside, you faced the wall instead, tracing a crack that ran across its length.

How motivated you had felt when you first moved here. At the time, you were grieving Meryl of course, but you had a plan – a one way ticket to ensure a balance in the world, to fight for some sense of justice. Never had you thought it could fail so miserably.

So you traced that crack with a weak finger, remembering your sister, mourning her with a fresh wave of pain.

Grief continued to weigh heavy on your chest the following few days. You had intentions on visiting the market, buying some food and sustaining yourself while you made a new plan. But instead you felt anchored to your mattress, the idea of cooking and bathing and facing the outside world completely overwhelming. Instead, cups of tea brewed only to be left untouched, yours eyes heavy as you watched the steam rising from the mug swirl and dance, and by the time it finally cooled you were already asleep.

And the cycle continued. In the moments you had the strength, you wept. And in the moments you didn’t, you slept.

It was after five days that Madja visited to replenish your medicine. The healer opened the door to your apartment when her knocks went unanswered, casting the first bit of natural light in the room in days. With your back facing outwards, you didn’t stir as she walked over and immediately collecting the assortment of mugs on the floor.

“Have you left this room at all?”

You offered a small shake of your head, unable to lift it from your pillow, your eyes red and stiff with dried tears.

“Have you eaten?”

Your stillness was her answer. Madja sighed. “Well we simply can't have that. I understand a loss for appetite, so I will bring some additional brews to keep you sustained.”

“I don't want them.” It took all your strength to turn over your shoulder and look at the healer, your voice hoarse having gone days without speaking.

She simply shook her head as she looked down at you. You do not have a choice, her expression read.

“Might you try to get some fresh air? Or bathe? I can assist with both if you–“

But you were already turning your shoulder to the wall, immediately exhausted at the thought of leaving your bed. “I’ll do it tomorrow Madja,” you sighed. “I’m too tired in this moment.” You didn't have the energy to wonder if she bought your lie or not.

The healer said nothing as she closed the door quietly behind her.

————

“I’m concerned for her wellbeing.” Madja sat opposite the High Lord and Lady in their study, a large willow desk between them. Rhys sat with his hands laced together tightly, a deep frown etched on his face. Feyre beside him held a sleeping Nyx, doing her best to not stir the babe while she exchanged looks of deep concern.

“She isn't eating. She barely drinks a thing, and has failed to take much of her medicine. If she continues at this rate, she will fall much more ill.”

“What can we do?” Feyre asked gently, stroking Nyx’s hair while he snoozed at her chest.

“I don’t suggests interfering at this stage. I am only here to warn you of my concerns.”

“And what happens if she worsens?” Rhys asked, his violet eyes holding the stare of the healer in front of him.

“I will call for you then. I hate to suggest the use of your daemati abilities, but if it comes down to life or death…” Madja trailed off, her hands clamping even tighter in her lap.

“We understand,” Rhys responded with a single nod, casting a knowing look to his mate. “Thank you for coming here, Madja.”

The healer stood to leave. “Do not thank me. Again, I am clear to not involve myself in what has occurred between you and Y/N. I am here purely as her healer.”

The High Lord and Lady stood too, seeing her to the door.

“Please keep us informed, and if there is anything that we can provide,” Feyre added quickly, almost desperate to convey her care.

Madja responded with a tight nod, turning to leave. And had she left only moments earlier, she would have found two Illyrians by the door, overhearing the entire conversation. But they were already on their way.

————

Lost again in deep sleep, you didn't stir as the Shadowsinger and General entered your apartment, Azriel’s shadow’s having easily pried the lock open.

The sight of your trembling figure curled up on the mattress pulled at both their hearts, your hands fisted at the covers with deep yet disturbed sleep.

Azriel stealthily made his way across to the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the room. With no dining table or chair in sight, Cassian set the meal they had bought in the small kitchen before quietly approaching you. He knelt down on two strong knees, brushing the backs of his fingers against your cheek before gently shaking you.

“Y/N, wake up doll, it’s us,” he spoke with a hushed voice.

Stirring slightly, you were slow to wake, blinking through the darkness as you were sure you were still dreaming. But as your eyes cleared, the large figure in front of you revealed itself – wings tucked in, hair pulled back in a signature bun, leather strapped up to his knuckles. Cassian was the definition of strength met with comfort, and it took you a few moments to come to your senses.

Your body froze before you sat up quickly, shoving his hands off of you. “Wh-wh?” you stuttered, your eyes dancing between his.

Cassian raised his palms in surrender. “It’s alright, don't panic. We’re just here to help you with a few things.”

Your found your voice then, deep from within your chest, hoarse and broken from days of crying. “Get out,” you spat.

Azriel appeared from the bathroom, watching from the doorway. You flashed your eyes to his, rage quickly filling your veins. How dare they intrude.

“We just want to make sure you’re all right sweetheart, and then we’ll go,” Cassian reasoned. He stood now, offering you his hand.

Days without eating meant the hurry you stood in caused your head to spin, black dots now dancing in your vision. But you held your ground, your voice even icier than before. “I said get out.”

“C’mon doll, let us help you for five minutes.”

“You’re idea of help undid everything I ever worked for.” You shoved at his chest, and he let you push him a few steps back, your hands trembling as you pulled them back.

“Y/N when was the last time you ate?” Azriel’s voice was gentle too, your vision reeling as you whipped your head to glare in his direction. Shaking your head, you curled your hands to fists. It was none of their business.

“Please, sweetheart,” Cassian reached for you then, which earned another shove from you.

“No Cassian! No! Do you understand you have done? Did you even consider what would happen when you decided I wasn't good enough?”

“It wasn’t like that Y/N. We had to keep you safe.” Azriel stayed by the bathroom door, his arms now crossed as shadows slowly seeped on the wooden floor towards you.

Days of isolation and exhaustion had tears pricking at your eyes already. “You are cowards. And I want nothing to do with either of you.”

“Please Y/N–,” Cassian tried one more time.

“Get out of my life.” You had never uttered words so cold. You shoved the General again, but this time he stayed put. Your gritted your teeth, seething at him. “You broke me!”

Cassian looked down at you, his brow pulling in sorrow.

“You shattered my world.” Another unsuccessful push, and you were crying. “Now I have nothing, I am nothing.”

Both of them watched you as your face crumpled, your anger rising as you punched at Cassian’s chest, too weak to cause any harm. “I hate you!”

Cassian’s eyes welled as he stood still, taking the beating without so much as a flinch. “We’re so sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head, ignoring his apology as you began pounding against him with weak fists. “I hate you both!”

Tears now rolled down the General’s cheek as he let you continue your assault. “We’re so so sorry Y/N.”

You kept shaking your head as Cassian caught both of your wrists, holding them as he took to one knee in front of you.

“We love you,” Cassian cried, prying your fist open and kissing your palm, kissing up your arm, his thumb stroking your hand in the way he knew soothed you. “Please forgive us.”

You broke at his plea. He was a good male, they both were. But they had turned your heart to stone, turned you to someone so damaged, so unrelenting and unforgiving, someone you never wanted to be. You were a monster of their own making, and there was no undoing it. Sobs racked through your body, and it took everything you had not to crumble to the ground.

Azriel was behind you then, his shadows curling around your exposed skin, soothing you where they could. You did not fight him, not as he took your hands from Cassian, not as he too kissed your tears away while murmuring his own apologies, not even when he lifted you from under your knees, carrying you to the bathroom. You hated him, your mind screaming at you to yell and hiss and spit, to swear him from your home and from your life. But in this moment, where exhaustion and isolation loomed, you had no more fight to give.

Azriel didn’t speak as he undressed you before placing you in the tub. You were still crying as he washed you, scarred hands so attentive to your body, the sound of water sloshing and pouring over your head mixing with your laboured breaths. You kept your knees to your chest, your head turned away, but you let him scrub you clean.

He gently pulled you from the tub into a fresh towel, wrapping you in the soft cotton before lifting you again. Your apartment had come to life with a small fire Cassian had lit, low flames flickering with warmth.

Azriel moved to sit on the bed, keeping you bundled in his lap. Cassian was crouched in front of you, his hands holding a vial of stew, the steaming contents bought to your mouth on a spoon.

“Eat this,” Cassian said gently. You wanted to be stubborn, to fight them more than the pathetic amount you already had. But your stomach cramped with hunger at the scent of the stew, and you were to weak to refuse it. So you let Cassian feed you, your body growing more and more slack the fuller your stomach became. A vial of medicine was quickly tipped against your lips too, and you swallowed its contents with a small whimper.

In your exhausted haze, your hardly noticed Azriel dress you in fresh clothes, even braiding your hair before he lay you down, pulling the covers over your.

Cassian and Azriel were watching you as you fought your sleep, heavy eyes lifting to find them.

“I meant what I said.” Your voice was a mere whisper

They exchanged a look, before Cassian crouched to pull the covers closer to your chin. “We know.”

There was a beat of silence. “I want you to leave me be.”

“Not until you start taking care of yourself,” Azriel spoke, his voice soft yet strict. You didn't have any energy to fight back, to tell him he could blame himself for the spiral you had entered.

“Go,” your rasped before turning your back to them, enticed by the comfort of sleep with a full belly, clean clothes and warm apartment.

“Rest up Y/N.” Cassian’s words were a lullaby you couldn’t fight.

“We love you,” Azriel added, and the last thing you felt was the caress of cool shadows at your neck before you drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

————

Waking to sunlight, you felt notably stronger than you had in days. You knew it was because of the care Azriel and Cassian had provided, which frustrated you to your core.

Azriel’s words rung clear in your mind. They would not leave you be until you started to take care of yourself, so you would leverage the strength you had to come up with a plan.

It only took a few days for your Uncle to reply. Yes, he still had his home by the lake. Yes, you could stay with him as long as you needed. There was work to be done in Spring Court, rehabilitation and building after Hybern had depleted almost every resource from the lands, Tamlin not yet strong enough to recoup his court after the war. You could find sanction there, help others and distract yourself with work. And most importantly, distance yourself from the people you once loved.

With your next steps laid clear, you sent a letter to the River House, asking for one final favour.

————

Rhysand was waiting at the River House terrace alone as promised. Cloaked in signature black, he watched the stars dance in the night sky with a gentle grip on the railing, his back to you as you approached.

This was the same terrace that had hosted many evening drinks, jokes and conversations shared with your family, and even offered the much needed escape away from the buzz of various balls and celebrations. A twinge of pain stabbed at your heart at those memories. Today, it was just a terrace, a mere meeting point before you stepped towards your new life.

It was unsurprising Rhys had heeded your instruction to meet you alone, you knew he would do it. You wondered if he lied about his whereabouts, or if he instead warded your presence from the others. He had likely hidden your scent from Cassian and Azriel, but what about his mate?

Saying goodbye to Feyre and Rhys at the same time had felt far too painful, impossible even. While they were equals, High Lord and Lady as well as mates, they were still very different beings. Feyre was too forgiving, too caring and loving to have reached this point on her own. It needed to be Rhys, you needed to direct this at someone who could take it, someone who deserved it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, turning now, hands sliding to his pockets. You ignored his question, stopping a few paces away. Tension hung heavy between you.

“Thank you for meeting me,” you said tightly. Rhysand didn't speak, but offered an arm to the seating behind you. You sat down silently, your last act of obedience.

“I can no longer serve the Night Court,” you said plainly.

Rhysand didn’t flinch, wise enough to have known this was coming. “That does not mean you don't have a home here,” he answered calmly, as if that logic was reason enough to stay.

You shook your head stubbornly. “Please accept my resignation.”

Rhysand sighed then, leaning forward on his elbows to level a look at you. “I’m aware, Y/N, and I accept. This formality isn’t necessary.”

You knew that, it wasn't why you were here. Rhysand waited patiently for you to continue.

“I need a favour.”

“Anything,” he responded almost instantly.

“I need you to let me leave.”

Rhysand sat back now, a small frown pulling at his brow. “The choice has always been yours.”

Shaking your head, you looked up at the High Lord. “I don't trust that wherever I go, I won't be followed.”

Rhysand raised his brows.

“After recent events, I know Azriel and Cassian won't allow me that freedom.”

Rhysand let out a quick breath before nodding once, violet eyes finding the nights horizon. “I’ll ask them to adhere to your wishes.”

“As if that is enough,” you bit back, ice laced in your tone. “Pull rank, use your power, lie or cheat or trick, I don't really care. Just make it happen, it’s the least I deserve.”

Rhysand breathed quietly as he studied you. “Consider it done,” he said finally.

Gratefulness was an instinct, but you stubbornly bit down your thanks. Instead, a moment of silence fell between you.

“Where are you going?” Rhys pried.

“Do not ask me that.”

“I care for your safety.”

“I don’t want your care.”

Rhysand audibly sighed then, one hand reaching at the distance between you, finding place on the chase. “Tell me, Y/N. Say it out loud.”

You flashed your eyes to him. He looked back at you, his expression worried, concerned, pitying. Gods you hated that look.

“There is no point,” you said coldly, struggling to hide the grit of your teeth.

“I can take it,” he said softly.

Rage coursed through you at an uncontrollable speed. “You think I'm sparing you?” You let out a cold laugh, moments away from that savage, lethal switch, your power now stinging at your fingertips.

“I think you’re far from having faced the truth.”

A snarled escaped you, and you could feel your power surge, igniting your irises with a brilliant yellow. Had you not been so blind with anger, you might have realised this was exactly what Rhysand intended.

“It’s the truth you seek then?” you began. “How about the fact that you have plagued my heart with more hate than I ever believed possible. Shall I tell you of the shame that haunts me day and night that I let myself trust you for all these years? Or that I was naive enough to think I could find another family after Meryl’s death? But it would seem the only family I have is dead, and it has in fact always been that way. You broke me Rhys, you all broke me. I was a fool to have loved you so dearly, and ignorant to believe you ever loved me in the same way.”

Hot, angry tears streamed down your face, washing away the current that glowed in your eyes. Pressing a hand against your heart, you tried to smother the ache that throbbed at your confession. “You preach of a better court, one of choice and freedom and honour. But you snatched that away the moment it was mine for the taking.”

Rhys had kept his eyes on you, his face breaking with a little more sorrow at each sentence you spoke. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right.” He waited a moment before placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Mother above cannot convey how sorry I am Y/N.”

You shook your head, tears welling and blurring your vision. It wasn't enough, you knew that, and Rhys knew it too.

His voice was even more gentle as he leaned forward. “I love you Y/N. Well all love you.”

Your voice was small now. “Not in the way I loved you. Not in the way family should love one another.”

“I disagree,” he countered. “You have to understand, as your High Lord, I would never send you to your death knowingly.”

“I wouldn't have died in vain,” you quietly, breaking his gaze with a flicker of shame. “All I ever wanted was a chance to make things right.”

You shocked yourself with the weight of your words, the extent of your willingness to avenge Meryl was something you hadn't even admitted to yourself. You would have died with content knowing you had at least tried to kill Alvar. But Rhys had seen that in you, well before you understood it for yourself. And together your family decided instead to keep you safe.

“I was hoping your motivation no longer overthrew your will to live,” Rhys admitted. With a deep sigh he cupped your chin in a parent-like way. “Look at me.” Whether you liked it or not, your eyes found his.

“Imagine I had taken the time to let you kill Alvar and instead he escaped, and innocent Velarians were hurt because of it – would you forgive me for putting your needs above their safety?”

Your eyes welled. “How could you ask me that Rhys?”

“I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just trying to show you the weight of the decision I had to make.” He offered you a broken smile, reaching to swipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. To your own surprise, you let him.

“That is not the only issue here.” Your voice was thick, your throat strained as you contained the sob that jerked within. “You’ve asked me to see it from your perspective, now please consider mine. You collectively decided that the mission would be kept a secret. You banded together to act dishonestly, knowing it would ruin me. How can I ever trust you again? How am I supposed to see you as my family?”

Rhys closed his eyes as his brows gave a painful tug, a deep breath pushing out through his nose. A large hand rested gently on your knee, his thumb swiping in a sympathetic way.

“I’ll admit Y/N – I knew that this would hurt you, but I never thought we’d lose you entirely.”

You sniffed. “Then you underestimated me.”

Rhys’s violet eyes found yours, sincerity and admiration shining in the stars that beheld them. “I did. I absolutely did.” He took another deep breath before speaking. “I’m a fool to have underestimated your loyalty, your dedication and your bravery. Over 500 years in existence, and I should have known that was never mine to control.”

You stared back at him, and while the ache in your heart was far from cured, a small sense of calm washed over you. It was relief you desperately needed – to finally be understood. “Thank you for saying that,” you croaked.

Rhys watched you with a pained smile. “I only want good things for you Y/N, wherever you choose to be. You will always have a home here if you want it, if you can ever forgive us for what we did.”

And in those words, a new well opened in your heart, one that you had not seen coming.

Hearing Rhys acknowledge your decision to leave the Night Court was devastating, so much so that your hand instinctively pressed agains your heart again. There would be no more fighting or pleading, no more fists thrown or cries of rage and confessions of love. He would let you go, because you had asked it. It was the least you deserved, yet it hurt in an entirely new way.

Ahead of you, the path of solitude lay clear. You had fought for it without any idea how painful it would be to take that first step. You couldn't help the sob that escaped you as you dropped your head to your hands.

“I never wanted to leave,” you admitted through ragged breaths.

Rhys bought a gentle hand to your back. “Then stay.”

“I can’t! I can’t stay here. I am so angry with you, all of you! And I don't think I’ll ever be strong enough to forgive this, not fully.” Your cries were uncontrollable as you tried to quiet them with your hands.

Rhys was stroking your hair as he said ever so softly. “I know.”

You sniffed, blinking up at your High Lord. “There’s nothing left for me here.” There was a cold bite to your words, even as you let him comfort you.

“I know,” he repeated with that same softness and understanding.

You watched him for a moment longer. Here he was, everything you needed in a High Lord – a leader and a friend, saying all the right things in all the right ways. But he was flawed, like anyone, and that flaw had been your downfall.

“I will be leaving Velaris tonight. Please, don't ask for my whereabouts. I need… I need a clean break.”

Rhys brow twitched before he nodded tightly. “You have my word.”

Gathering yourself, you stood to smooth your skirts before looking up at your High Lord for the final time. “I will miss Nyx dearly.”

Pain sliced across Rhysand’s face in a way you had never seen, tears immediately pricking at his violet eyes. He swallowed, containing himself still. “I wish it could have been any other way Y/N, truly.”

“As do I.”

And that was all that could be said. You turned from him, pacing towards the exit while casting your eyes to the magnificent array of stars, searing the Velarian night sky to memory as you admired its beauty for the final time.

“You must know!” Rhys spoke out, a hint of urgency in his tone. “It was fear Y/N. It was fear of losing you, not ever a lack of love.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you nodded once, a broken smile on your lips. “I know,” you spoke, biting back the quiver in your lip. “I know that now.”

And you let those words be your last at the Court of Night.

--------

Part 3>>>>

AN: Thank you so much for your patience with this, I hope you guys like it! ❤️

YES there will be a Part 3. Update: Part 3 is out. I’m super keen to explore how things go for the Reader in Spring Court, and maybe even weave in a little bit of redemption for a certain blondey?? Besides, there are still some things that have gone unsaid between the Reader and the boys... and she needs to figure out these powers! Watch this space 👀

Comment to my tag list (either general or for Our girl) 😊

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bellaxisworld · 2 months

Text

february 25 @jegulus-microfic prompt: invincible. word count: 713

The wind whips around Regulus with a vengeance, tugging him one way and another and pushing, and pulling, but he’s so close to catching the Snitch, close to winning this match against Gryffindor… just a few… more… moments—

“Regulus!” Sirius’ shriek forces Regulus to look up and find a Bludger hurtling towards him at an alarming rate. He turns his broom quickly, racing away—but the sound of a thud and crunch behind him steals his attention.

Fear grips him and unfurls in his chest, ugly and painful, as he sees James Potter fall off his broom alongside the stray Bludger.

The crowd gasps in unison, and Regulus thinks he blacks out for the rest of the match. James is gently carried away to the infirmary, and Regulus doesn't see or react to anything until he’s racing through the corridors, desperate to find James. He’s running through the corridors when he hears them; the whispers, the gossip, the news—

“James Potter took a Bludger to the back for Regulus Black, did you hear?”

“For Black? In the Quidditch match?”

“I heard the rogue Bludger knocked him off his broom.”

“Do you think Black planned it? Revenge on Gryffindor? Revenge on Potter?”

Regulus is seething by the time he stalks into the infirmary. He feels rage and something dangerous boil beneath his skin.

Did James put himself in front of a Bludger for Regulus? Does James have a fucking death wish?

He pushes his way past the nurse’s helpers, past the headmaster, past the gaggle of onlookers—to find James, sitting up in bed and looking grassy and battered and bruised, and Regulus’ heart constricts at the sight of him.

“James,” he gasps, breath punched out of him.

James smiles weakly at him, and Regulus feels like he can breathe again, but his chest is painfully tight, and—

“What the hell were you thinking, James?” he practically hisses, biting and clawing and begging James to tell him no, I would never jump in front of a Bludger for you. I am not that stupid. But Regulus knows James Potter is, in fact, that stupid.

“Did you purposely fly in front of the Bludger?” he can feel the anger simmering off him in palpable waves, and the audience is slowly trickling away in fear. The nurses give them privacy, and then it's just James who bears witness to the great power that is Regulus Black’s rage.

James does not look fearful. His jaw is clenched and he looks steeled. “Yes, and I would do it again.”

Surprise slams through Regulus like a tidal wave. The audacity of James Potter.

“You could have died! Do you think you’re invincible?” Regulus yells, eyes wide as terror shakes its way through his chest, his bones. James has a deathwish, surely.

James stares at him, brown eyes wide with concern. “I did it because I love you, Regulus,” admission slipping out of his mouth like a whispered secret.

The world has stilled, his rage has been tempered, and his heart is being tugged. Regulus gapes, and then he's surging forward, collapsing onto the bed and hugging James fiercely. “Do you?” he says eagerly. “Do you really?”

James wraps his arms right around Regulus. “Yes, really, love.”

Warmth rushes through Regulus like it always does when he hears James call him love. James has a habit of calling Regulus sweet names, and he melts everytime. He uses it like a weapon—when they're playfully arguing, when James wants something in particular, when Regulus is being stubborn and James knows how to wield it—he calls Regulus something sweet and he bends to James’ will in a heartbeat. Regulus loves the names just as much as he loves the stolen kisses, the whispered confessions, the hidden moments away from prying eyes. Regulus loves James in his entirety—and his heart aches and expands with the reality that James loves him, too. He presses kisses all over James’ face and James’ laugh is so bright he feels it melt away any leftover anxiety. “I love you,” Regulus says between kisses, “I love you,” more kisses, “I love you, James,” kisses and kisses and kisses. “But really,” kiss, “you idiot,” kiss, “do not fly in front of a deadly Bludger for me again.”

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coralinnii · 2 years

Text

Rook Hunt (slit mouthed woman!Reader x ghost hunter!Rook)

genre: minor horror

note: borderline obsessive/possessive behavior, (less) inaccurate French

summary: You missed the days where your immortal life was easier, when most people run at the sight of you. But, this creepy hunter keeps chasing you!

series index

“Ahh, ma belle tristesse! I found you~”

You felt a shiver down your spine. You dreaded that this may happen but you were so sure he would leave you after months without an attack. You cursed at this man’s persistence.

“Hunt”

“Oh, I’m honored that the renowned beauty of horror remembers me~”

You let out a sigh as you looked to see an empty alleyway. Your target must have ran off while you were distracted by the strange ghost hunter. It has been so long since the edge of your scissors met the flesh of some foolish human, to slice through their cheek to their ear with sadistic delight as the victim pitifully tried to claw at your grip.

Oh, those were the days

“How did you know I was here?” You asked him, wary of his next move. “I thought you would be bored after months of silence”

Rook came to your hunting ground half a year ago after hearing about a string of attacks that left some scarred and/or dead and left many citizens of the town frightened for their lives. He was not the first ghost hunter to come in search of you (although he is the longest to have survived), but he was certainly the strangest.

“How sneaky of you, ma trickster!” He smiled with a flourish of his hands towards you “After months of what seems to be a peaceful ceasing of attacks in the town, the folks have seemed to believe you have either moved on or perished at my hands. They almost have me to believe you have moved on peacefully.”

“However…”

You felt the nerves in your body stand in alert but it was too late. In a flash, you were trapped within the hunter’s arms, one arm around your waist while the other carefully but firmly held your chin, forcing your eyes to stare into your captor. Be it some powerful spell or his unnaturally strong disposition, his strength leaves you as helpless as those wretched humans.

If anyone were to see you in such a position, they would think of two lovers in a loving embrace, seemingly lost in each other’s presence.

“My dear, I know you too well.” Rook calmly spoke to you, unbothered by your attempts to escape his hold. “After centuries of haunting the living through sheer will and rage, there was not a possibility that all of those feelings would just disappear.”

You felt the rage and indignation in your soul flare as you desperately tried to claw and scratch your way out from this unbelievable man. Who is he to act as if he knew anything about you? You glared at the blond man with murder in your eyes, fully intent on making this man’s last days in his fleeting life as painful as possible.

But Rook was reveling in your struggle. His eyes glimmer with excitement to be the object of your wrath.

“Ah, c'est merveilleux~ Such a thing of rare beauty to see the vibrant flame of emotion in such cold lifeless eyes, an intense rage and resentment for the world that remains so dangerously dazzling even after centuries of wandering. You are truly a wondrous demon fatale, my dear!”

With his gloved fingers, Rook gently traced the scar from your lips to the top of your cheek before resting his hand down to your neck. Despite your fury, you couldn’t help the shiver that crawled throughout your spine. No one but Rook was brave or mad enough to touch you, let alone your infamous scars. But he does so without fear or disgust as he pulled you unbelievably close to him, leaving you flustered as this was the first time in a long time since you have felt the warmth of a living body, especially one as well built as Rook from what you could feel (and you feel a lot right now).

Rook took the chance during your stunned condition to lean to your ear, close enough that your body become aware of the heat from his breath before he spoke.

“How can I leave before I get the chance to see you at your most vulnerable? I will not relinquish you until I see all of your emotions and actions that no ghoul has the capacity of feeling anymore, no ghoul but you. I crave to see that never before seen side of your beauty. I crave it so much!”

I crave you

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #rook hunt #rook x reader #twisted halloween series

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chromes-corner · 2 years

Note

Could you please do a fic where red velvet is walking chiffon in the woods near the edge of the kingdom and runs into the reader who recognizes him as a cookie of darkness and convinces him to come back with them to visit the kingdom? Maybe from rv’s third person pov because it would be interesting to hear his inner conflict about the whole thing, but also because I am a simp and want to hear rv’s thoughts call me cute :)

me?? writing???? its more likely than you think. i had this one sitting in my drafts for weeks, and suddenly today i had the motivation to power through the rest of it. sometimes my mind lets me have a little creativity as a treat for not succumbing to the void

as always, hope ya enjoy :)

---

Intertwined

Red Velvet/Reader

Notes: fluff

Content Warnings: none

A/N: there's a bit of a tonal shift halfway through but if you notice that no you don't <3

Red Velvet creeps forward with light footsteps towards a rustling thicket. His ears strain toward the sound, sensitive to every scuffle of the leaves. His cake hand, stiff and sharp, is poised and ready to strike, fingers flexed outward and prepped to protect himself. Chiffon weaves through his legs, belly low to the ground and strawberry ears drawn back, locked on to the same target as its master. If danger waits in hiding, it’s in for a nasty, clawed surprise.

It was a howl that had alerted him to where he is now, much deeper in the forest than his usual walks take him, and much too close to civilization than his comfort prefers. Red Velvet hastened to where the alarm was sounded, as a cry so piercing could only mean one thing — intruder. Why his pack hadn’t taken care of it themselves narrowed it down to the type of intruder it was — another Cookie. He’d seen the so-called group of “heroes” cut down his pack’s population with his own two eyes, so Red Velvet had instructed his soldiers to call for his help when they spotted one of his own kind.

The departure from his second daily walk with his personal four-legged companion was entirely unwanted, as the stubborn young Chiffon does not yet understand his commands. Telling the Cake Hound to retreat to safety only fell on oblivious ears. There was no choice but to keep the pup close and protect it himself from whatever lies before them. Perhaps having Chiffon near would give Red Velvet an edge in the fast-approaching spar. He’d fight that much harder to protect his dear pet. The very thought sets Red Velvet’s blood on fire. He will make this intruder pay for putting his beloved Chiffon in danger.

Is it that blindingly radiant buffoon who couldn’t swing a sword if his life depended on it? Red Velvet thinks, anticipation settling into his nerves as his fingers begin to twitch at the mere thought of his opponent’s possible identity. Or is it that irritating lawwoman with the twin barrels? Maybe it’s the girl with the crossbow, come to seek revenge…

The bush rustles again, and Red Velvet stills. His heart slows in his chest as he bends his knees, preparing to lunge forward at the first provocation. Chiffon freezes and the woodland birds stop singing. The world around him holds its breath.

A figure jumps up from the bush, and Red Velvet strikes swiftly. In one quick swipe, he disarms the would-be assailant, knocking the weapon from their hand. It clatters to the grass below, far from their reach. His opponent falls backward, fully defenseless and exposed to the razor-sharp tips of his malignant claws. Red Velvet raises his cake arm to deliver a quick final blow.

The blur of adrenaline leaves his body as he gets a good look at you, however, and he falters, lowering his primed claws in bewilderment. You’re no soldier or knight. You’re dressed in civilian clothes, without a single piece of protective gear in sight. You look up at him with eyes the size of dinner plates, filled with surprise as you lean back on your elbows and cower.

Red Velvet snarls and raises his arm again, clawtips glaring at the Cookie below him. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“I-I’m sorry!” you exclaim, still shielding your face with your forearm. “I didn’t know anyone lived here! I was only getting materials for my work!”

“Your work…?”

Red Velvet affords a glance to his side. There is a woven basket lying in wreck on the ground in three destroyed pieces. The edges where his claws ripped through the cane are jagged and messy. Scattered around the scrap are pine cones of all different sizes, as well as a few carefully uprooted wildflowers and delicately cut sprigs trimmed from evergreens with precise shears.

“Hey!”

A yelp followed by an airy laugh pulls Red Velvet’s attention back to the Cookie before him. Chiffon has tottered out from behind him and has begun to bump its curious nose against your waist. The puppy sniffs and paws at your hip with a sound that’s halfway between a whine and a yap. You gently shove Chiffon away and dig into your pocket, producing a palmful of slightly crumpled jellies. Frosting dribbles from Chiffon’s snout as it fixedly watches the treats with eyes twice their normal size. Its tail wags so fervently, that the pup’s entire back end wriggles and its hind paws tap on the ground in elation.

You tilt your hand toward the puppy and it leaps forward, ignoring the sound of protest from its master. Its bright red tongue scoops the jellies from your hand, leaving behind nothing but a bit of frothy drool that smells faintly of buttercream.

“Chiffon,” Red Velvet chides with a cross look in his companion’s direction, “what is it we say about taking treats from strangers?”

The puppy, preoccupied with the sweet jellies that are sticking to the roof of its mouth, does not answer.

Try as he may, Red Velvet can’t suppress his smile as Chiffon blindly stumbles around, tongue flicking out and biting at the air in an attempt to swallow the sticky remnants of jellies stuck to its gums. He kneels and stills his friend, stroking its frosting and giving it a hearty scratch behind the ears. His heart swells when Chiffon nuzzles further into his hand. Any disappointment he had at his pup’s disobedience melts away like frosting in an oven.

“You’re pretty soft for a follower of hers, aren’t you?”

Red Velvet chokes on the air in his lungs. He’d forgotten that you were even there for a moment. “Pardon?” he manages to cough out.

You’re sitting cross-legged in the grass, arms resting on your knees and face leaning into your hands like your life wasn’t being threatened just minutes ago.

“I’ve seen you before. Your face is pinned to every single bounty board in town.” You stare at Red Velvet intensely, eyes flitting over every inch of his body. It makes him feel very hot in his own dough. “Whoever drew your wanted poster gave you super sharp teeth and the meanest scowl I’ve ever seen. I think you look better when you’re smiling.”

Balking at your last comment, Red Velvet’s dough turns a shade darker. He turns his head away and brings his cake arm up to rub at his cheek, as though he can wipe away the heat that’s crashed over his face. He grits his teeth, brow twitching in irritation at his own diffidence. Tch! Such weakness at mere words! I really am going soft…

“These woods aren’t safe,” he says behind his massive palm, which has created a rather ineffective barrier between the two of you. He’s uncomfortably aware that you can probably see the embarrassment leaking from his face between his fingers. “You need to leave before someone less forgiving finds you here.”

“About that…” you cast a sidelong glance — which Red Velvet follows — to the scraps that were once your basket. You rise to your feet and survey the scattered scavenge. “I’m not leaving without all the stuff I collected. I don’t have time to find any more today, and I have orders to fulfill.”

Red Velvet finds himself rising as well, bashfulness taking a backseat at the change in subject. He brushes himself off, wishing to leave as quickly as he can before you can humiliate him further with your simple saccharine. “Best of luck. Come on, Chiffon.”

Red Velvet takes a few steps in the opposite direction, ready to go home and wipe his memory of you and the way the simplest of sentiments brought him to his metaphorical knees (Red Velvet kneels before nobody), but an acute bark stops him in his tracks. When he turns, he’s met with you, beginning to gather your forage in already-overflowing arms, and Chiffon, standing resolute at your side. The puppy’s ears are flattened, and it glares at Red Velvet with all the defiance of a rebellious teen resisting its parent.

“Chiffon! Come!” Red Velvet jabs a finger toward the ground at his feet.

Chiffon doesn’t flinch. Instead, the hound swivels around and scoops up a single pine cone into its jaws. The tiny pup can hardly carry the near-comically oversized seed, but it manages while still shooting a dirty look at its master.

Is your loyalty really worth a single treat? Traitor.

“Who’s on the leash and who holds it?” Red Velvet mutters to himself. He leaves his dignity behind a tree and stalks over to where Chiffon has taken a stand.

You’re still struggling with collecting your components. When you squat to pick up one pine cone, a few spill from your exasperated arms. Even tucking the sharp seeds beneath your chin isn’t enough to stabilize the mountain you hold. One load-bearing pine cone falls from your grasp, and the whole pile tumbles back to the ground. As you bend down with a groan of frustration to start all over again, you’re stopped by a grumble.

Red Velvet scoops most of your bounty into one monstrous hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

You grin and gather the rest from the ground. “You are soft.”

“I’m not,” he snaps, turning around completely before the red can take over his cheeks again. “If helping you gets you out of here quicker, then it’s a price I’m willing to pay. Now, let’s go before I change my mind and leave you as a snack for my hounds.”

---

“This is as far as I’ll go.”

“It’s just a little further, come on.”

Red Velvet should have put his foot down. He should’ve dropped everything where he stood and left. He should’ve grabbed Chiffon by the scruff and dragged his pup back to safety. But of course, he didn’t. He couldn’t. You had tugged on his shoulder and urged him to follow just a bit longer, but you may as well have leashed him up and dangled a bone in front of his face, the way he practically heeled and obeyed. A single touch and he was putty in your hands. He’s growing softer by the minute.

He keeps his head down for the rest of the walk, feeling naked without the cover of trees to obscure his identity. The flat, open lands of the Kingdom's edge are not suited for someone like him. Especially not if your talk of wanted posters rang true — he couldn’t afford anyone recognizing him. Thankfully, he reconciles as he watches Chiffon carry its pine cone with a proud toddle, you were swift with the rest of the walk to your home.

It’s a quaint little house, with a trimmed green lawn and two boxes of flowers lining the exterior of the building. You pass the brightly painted mailbox, and Red Velvet thinks you’re heading to the front door, but you turn and lead him around the house, where the grass is longer and untamed, and wildflowers grow wherever they please. You lead him further back, to a small wooden shed drowning between thick bushes and beneath low-hanging branches.

You open the door and the rusted hinges creak with age. Though the outside had appeared ramshackle and nearly abandoned, the inside is anything but. The warm smell of sap is the first thing that Red Velvet notices. The scent, along with the twinkle of light through the tinted windows, warms him to his very core, and he is irked at how heavy it makes his eyelids feel. Chiffon must have had the same idea, as the pup drops its baggage and promptly collapses in a pool of sunlight with a sigh.

“You can leave those there.” You point toward an empty bucket beneath a neatly organized tool rack. “And bring me the paring knife, please? It’s the small one.”

Red Velvet deposits the pine cones in the bucket and retrieves the knife without a second thought. His duty is fulfilled. He can leave now, never to see you again, but his curiosity — a feeling he doesn’t often humor — has taken the wheel.

“I think you owe me an explanation as to what exactly your “work” is,” he says, stepping over a sleeping Chiffon and passing the small knife to you.

You pick up a thin strip of wood from a pile and set it on the workbench. A haze of sheepishness has befallen your features as you turn the little knife over in your hand. Red Velvet wants to shake you and yell, you’re getting shy now?!

“…I make things.”

“You make things?”

“Yeah, like, well… look.”

You point to the wall behind Red Velvet, and he turns around. The entire back wall is covered in rustic, handmade wares. There are all sorts of custom birdhouses and hanging plant holders adorning the wall, each with its own quirks and flares. On the shelf against the wall are rows and rows of smaller trinkets, ranging from smooth, painted stones to tiny carved animal figures, as well as various accessories carved from wood and woven with reeds and grasses.

“It’s my living,” you say as Red Velvet delicately turns over a rather pretty pink seashell charm in his Cookie hand. A sunset over still water is painted on its concave side. “It started as a hobby, and then my friends started asking if I could make them things if they paid me. They showed their friends, word got out, and now it’s my full-time job.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise to Red Velvet — he knows there are many jobs besides “knight” or “soldier” that Kingdom citizens may pursue, but he’s never had a high opinion of the arts. Creative pursuits are impractical things. They won’t defend you in the face of danger. They won’t feed you, nor will they shelter you. Art is for the ostentatious and rich; the ones who don’t need to defend themselves, as they have others to do that for them.

As he notices the idiosyncrasies spread across your work — an ill-aligned blot of paint here, a chip in the wood there — it dawns on him that perhaps a skilled stroke of a knife over wood is just as valuable as a swing of a sword. Art is humble and imperfect. It’s a reflection of its maker. And your work is more Cookie than some of the actual Cookies he knows.

“It’s probably pretty tacky to someone like you,” you shrug, beginning to strip the wood of its bark with your knife.

“I think it’s… nice.” Red Velvet cringes the moment it leaves his mouth. “Unique.” Nope, even worse. “It— it suits you.” Yikes. Please don’t think I’m insulting you. “What I mean is—”

“I get what you mean,” you say with a lighthearted lilt in your voice.

Thank the Witches. “What are you doing now?”

With one branch stripped bare, you take another one and begin the process again. “I’m making a wreath. It’s a little complicated, but they’re my most expensive product. This is my least favorite part. I like decorating them the most, but this step is the most important.”

Though your knife moves smoothly and slices the bark from the wood with ease, it’s still a slow process. Red Velvet watches your nimble fingers dance around the wood. The tips of your fingers flick over the branch, rolling it between your fingers as you find your rhythm. For a brief moment, he imagines how your fingers would feel against his face, but he slams the brakes on that thought before it can physically affect him. The thoughts pick up again, however, when he notices how when your tongue flicks out to wet your lips, you bite your bottom lip and sigh, and he wonders—

He desperately needs a distraction. Red Velvet grabs a branch from your stack and copies your movements, using the tip of one of his claws instead of a knife. The wood is soft, and the bark is stripped right off in one swift movement. It’s as natural as cutting up ingredients to make Cake Hounds. By the time you finish another branch, he’s already gotten a pile going.

“Wow,” you say, “where have you been all my life?”

Red Velvet accidentally snaps his current branch in half.

---

The rest of the branches have been stripped, with your pile looking a little pathetic next to Red’s.

“Then what do you do?” he asks, feeling invigorated. He’s never used his claws like this, to make rather than destroy (or, in the case of his army, making to destroy). He never knew he could be useful as anything other than a war general, a machine built and programmed to kill. It feels… freeing. Like a hundred new doors just opened up to him.

“Now I weave the branches together,” you demonstrate, seamlessly braiding together strips of wood into the start of an arc. “And then I decorate it with leaves, flowers, and pine cones. Then I can ship it!”

Red Velvet clumsily tries to follow along and help, but he finds the more precise parts of your project aren’t suited for his build. The way you work is enchanting, and it leaves Red Velvet leaning in closer and closer to watch the pattern in which your fingers move. He only notices it when his arm brushes up against yours. You’re so entranced by your own work, however, that you don’t seem to take note of the contact.

Red Velvet wonders how close he could get. He finds his Cookie hand inching ever closer to yours, imagining taking it and letting it rest in his palm, intertwining his fingers with yours like the strips you weave together in perfect, harmonious unity. He imagines your fingers working through his hair, and how you might put little braids into it like you’re doing with the wreath. He wants to fall asleep in your grasp, smelling the sap and the dusty sunlight with nothing but the background buzz of the bare lightbulb that illuminates the shed and he wants to wake up to the scrape of your knife on wood inviting him to help because he can be useful here without causing destruction—

Chiffon is awake and is scratching at the door. When Red Velvet tears himself from your side to open it, he realizes that the daylight has begun to dwindle. How long has he been with you?

“It’s getting late,” he says, holding the door open, but not quite stepping out of the frame. If he could only remain for just a bit longer, to memorize the scent and the sound…

You set down the wreath that’s finally beginning to take shape. “That’s too bad, I really liked having help. If you want part of the cut for your time—”

“No need,” Red Velvet interrupts with a dismissive flick of his hand. “I’m happy with just being useful.”

“Okay, but I seriously owe you one.”

---

Red Velvet does not see you again.

Every day, he takes the same route that he did when he found you. Every day, you do not show up. Every day, he hopes that will change.

As he comes home from another fruitless search, he finds that a few of his hounds have gathered around something. Red Velvet calls them off, and they scatter back to their posts. They were surrounding a plain white box, he discovers, only it’s not just a box — it’s a package, with his name written on the lid. He doesn’t even take it inside before opening it.

Within the box are a note and a wreath, exactly like the one you had been working on. The note is written on the back of a wanted poster. You were right when you said they exaggerated his features.

Red Velvet,

Consider us even now.

Half of the wreath is made up of birch, its near-white shade curled into a crescent that arcs over the top. The end of the arc of birch splits into four branches, each curved and sharply tipped. Wrapped around the white wood is a red ribbon, creating a red-and-white pattern to the arc, much like that of a candy cane.

The bottom half is a darker shade of brown, with several tiny blue flowers woven into the branches. The lowest crest is adorned with a pack of sideways acorns, each with tiny eyes and little mouths and red tongues painted on them.

In the middle of the wreath is a slat of wood, framed with various sprigs and more blue flowers. Painted on the board is “KEEP OUT!” in bold, italic black letters.

It’s his arm. And his pups. Immortalized in a piece of art that he helped make. A frivolous venture he might’ve once looked down upon, but now, it’s something indescribable that swells in his chest.

Red Velvet hangs the wreath on the kitchen door.

---

A/N: i dont usually do this here but ummmm uhhh there was a tiny "epilogue" part i scrapped from the final draft because it didn't fit in but i still thought it was cute so here it is unedited and janky

A few days after you left your gift to Red Velvet to his hounds, a parcel arrives at your doorstep. It’s the same box you had sent, but with his name scribbled out and yours scrawled in its place. Inside is what you can only describe as a lump of sticks in the vague shape of a bowl with a handle, but upon further inspection, there’s a note in the box as well, and the realization hits you like a train after you read it.

Sorry about your basket. I hope this makes up for it.

Red Velvet

Next to his name, there's a crudely drawn self-portrait of Red Velvet. He's smiling.

#cookie run x reader #red velvet cookie x reader #red velvet cookie

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thesightstoshowyou · 1 year

Text

The Favorite

A Sights Original

Alien OC x GN human reader

Warnings: Violence, blood, gore, torture, mild suggestive language, foul language, minor character death, firearm use

Fat raindrops from the recent storm drip from the open rear ambulance doors, pattering onto the bumper. A few find your head, wetting your hair and slipping down the back of your neck. They’re warm, as always. This is the muggiest damn planet you’ve ever visited.

Your hands are busy closing up supply bags and rearranging medications. Two, four, six—you count wraps, bandages, dressings. Up in the cab, Senaly—your partner for today’s shift—rests his long, curling limbs for the remainder of his break. Overhead, purple clouds roll and thunder rumbles, threatening more rain.

You’re about to close the doors when a sharp clack sounds to your left. Startled, you gasp and jump back, turning in time to see long, silver claws wrapping around the edge of the hatch. Shortly after, a shark-toothed, grinning face peers around the door at you.

Clutching your chest in relief, your breath leaves you in a hiss, “Fuck, Kaze, you scared the shit out of me.” Kaze merely chuckles in that dry, rasping hack you’ve come to understand as laughter.

“It’s alright Senaly,” you say, holding up your hand when your coworker unfurls from his seat, alarmed by your gasp. “I know him.” Senaly gives a trill of annoyance and falls back into his seat.

The rest of Kaze’s lanky form slinks from behind the door, all 6’5 of him. You guess he’d be nearly seven feet tall if he stood up straight. His gray skin is wet from the rain, taking on a sheen in the low, lavender light. As always, your eyes are automatically drawn to the thick, pale scar running from the crown of his head to just above his right eye. At his sides, long, lean arms and spindly fingers equipped with threatening three inch claws noisily click together as Kaze pops his knuckles.

When you finally meet his gaze, black eyes glinting with mirth, his face splits into a wider grin to reveal pointed black teeth. “My favorite human!” he exclaims, voice deep and impossibly gravelly as he slouches onto the bumper next to you. The dark spines curving along his back jut out further when he slumps. You count four with the tips broken off.

“How is it you always manage to find me when I’m working?” You cross your arms as you speak, leaning back against the opposite door.

“Just lucky,” he lies, flashing you a crooked smirk. The chunk missing from his top lip is more obvious at this angle. You respond with an unimpressed hum as your eyes rove over his form. You search for the wound. Kaze usually only finds you at work when he’s injured—

“Holy hell,” you murmur, finally noticing the blood pooling on the ground; black, like ichor. Kaze’s blood.

You rush forward, hands hovering as you hastily scan…. There, under his collarbone. His shirt is torn, the color of the fabric initially hiding his dark blood.

Gloves squeak as you pull them on before fiddling with the ties of his top. Kaze heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Fuckers ruined my shirt. Don’t they know I have to get these special ordered?” You shoot him an exasperated look but say nothing, focusing instead on your task.

You don’t know what Kaze does. You’re not sure you want to know. You guess it’s illegal as he never allows you to take him to the hospital.

Once, when he’d shown up drenched in blood that wasn’t his own, you’d considered notifying the authorities. Transmitter in hand, your trembling finger hovered over the button, brain screaming at you to push, he’s dangerous, he’s killed….

Yet, the urge had passed and you’d hung up the radio. Against your better judgement, you’d fixed him up as usual.

Kaze was from a Death World, like you. Class Six Planets—the Federation’s highest classification for hazardous worlds—are largely considered inhospitable, perilous, fit for only the most barbaric of beings. You think that’s why he’d approached you in the first place, and the same reason that stayed your hand. You understand each other on a level most beings cannot.

You peel away the torn half of Kaze’s top. The wide puncture wound in his chest bleeds freely, inky blood now starkly contrasted by the gray of his skin. You press a wad of dressings to the injury, holding pressure as you prepare the sterilizing solution.

Kaze quietly watches you work, pitch black eyes following every shift of expression. You pretend not to notice the way his lips twitch as he intently studies you. You tell yourself it’s not hunger in his gaze.

Ignorance is bliss, ignorance is bliss….

You don’t bother warning him when you dab the wound with antiseptic. He knows the drill well enough by now he doesn’t even flinch. Next come the sutures; you keep a kit or two hidden in the vehicle specifically for Kaze. His flesh requires a stronger thread than most beings you treat.

He breathes harshly though nostril slits when you push the needle through his skin. No anesthetic—he’d made that clear the first time you’d sewn him up. Apparently you also know the drill.

“Anywhere else?” you ask, snipping off the excess thread, gaze assessing his scarred skin. Kaze gives you a thoughtful hum and you raise your head to fix him with a questioning stare.

“I can think of a few places,” he murmurs, black tongue swiping across the sharp points of his teeth. Your eyes widen a fraction, throat suddenly too dry. Acute awareness of how close you are—your hips wedged between his thighs, the deep rumble of his voice felt in your own chest—hits you hard and your stomach drops, heart stuttering in your chest.

“Um—

It’s all you manage to push from your mouth before the echoing POP, POP, POP, POP interrupts you. Glass shatters, windows collapse around you in a flurry of shards and you’re rolling, tumbling sideways, bowled over by the protective cage of Kaze’s arms. He jerks you to the side, both of you crashing into the supply cabinets, and then he’s gone, leaping up off your stunned frame and disappearing around the battered ambulance door.

You move to sit up, but pain explodes along your side. With a cry, you fall back, gloved hands clutching your gut. They come away red as more nauseating agony stabs above your hip.

Bullet. It’s a bullet. You’ve been shot.

You tip your head back, searching for Senaly, the word ‘help’ on your lips. Your voice dies in your throat when you spot the damaged limbs of your partner lying eerily still. It’s a stillness reserved only for death, one you know well.

“Shit, shit—

You’re interrupted once more, this time by a rasping tune, crooned in time with slow footfalls and the harsh slide of fabric on hardened ground.

There’s a weird gurgle and a pathetic cry and Kaze appears once more, green gore splattered across his face. Behind him, he drags someone, and your eyes widen in horror when you realize Kaze’s massive claws pierce the being’s wide jaw, their hands scrabbling for purchase along Kaze’s wrist to ease the pressure.

Kaze spots you clutching your side, anguish twisting your features, and sighs irritably. “Look what you did,” he says to the being in his clutches, motioning to you. The victim emits another gurgle, the sound morphing into a wet scream when Kaze lifts, raising them clean off the ground until their limbs flail.

A shocked shriek tears from your throat when Kaze draws his free arm back and plunges his claws deep in the belly of the one you now understand to be the shooter. The muscles of Kaze’s arm pull taught and shift under his skin as he twists his wrist, the creature in his grip only able to drip and twitch.

“You messed up my favorite human,” Kaze explains calmly before ripping his hand free. Innards, green and slimy, follow quickly in its wake, slapping against the ground in a disgusting heap. You can’t look away, eyes wide, unblinking, stomach churning, heart hammering.

Dead…. They’re dead. Kaze just killed them right there in front of you like it was nothing.

A sharp crack and snap break the stunned silence as the being’s jaw rips away from their face, the weight of their body too great. They fall to the ground—squelch, thud—and you’re left staring at the exposed jawbone still impaled on dripping claws.

Face wrinkling in disgust, Kaze flicks the offending flesh away before stepping over the mangled corpse to approach. Hastily, you attempt to scoot away, but must freeze in place when stabbing pain wracks your body.

Kaze grins at the little hurt sound you emit. He reaches over top of you, digging around in a cabinet before producing a fresh bottle of antiseptic. Unceremoniously, he pops the top and dumps the liquid over his gory claws, leisurely cleaning each finger like he has all the time in the world.

“This the first time you’ve been shot?” he questions nonchalantly, surgical rag scrubbing his skin clean. Incredulously, you stare.

“Yes!” you spit, wincing with the effort. A raspy chortle is his only reply. Kaze examines his claws, twisting and turning them this way and that so they catch the light and gleam. Your lip curls, anger momentarily taking the place of fear.

“Are you going—agh—going to take me to a hospital or what?” you demand. He owes you this, at least, after everything you’ve done for him. You can feel your bloodied shirt sticking to your skin, the crimson puddle beneath you growing with every passing second.

“Lemme see,” he orders, smacking your hands aside to assess your wound. You try to push him away, but Kaze easily captures your wrists in one hand, effortlessly holding you in place as he lifts your shirt.

“Kaze, stop—

“Hmm, I don’t think it’s very deep. Must have ricocheted.” Is he talking to you or himself?

“T-That’s great. Can you please—

Kaze interrupts you yet again, lifting one, menacing claw to silence you. Black eyes flick to yours, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sly smirk when he meets your panicked gaze.

Once again, you realize how close he is; his legs are nestled between yours this time as he hovers over you. There’s fear in your chest, terror he’s going to sink that talon into your insides like he just did to that poor creature heaped on the ground. There are butterflies there too, awkward and warm despite your dire situation. That moment is fleeting, however, shy tension replaced by white hot agony when Kaze digs his claw into your wound.

Your scream rattles the interior of the ambulance. Desperately, you try to jerk your arms out of his iron grip, but it’s fruitless; he doesn’t even budge. His gaze is focused on your bleeding side, finger lazily rooting around in your gut as he searches for the slug.

“KAZE, KAZE STOP, PLEASE, STOP!” you wail, another wave of nausea and wretched anguish overtaking your senses. He says nothing, or nothing you can hear over your tortured cries.

Suddenly, your voice cuts out, vision blurring at the edges, thrashing legs dropping and stilling against the bumper. At the same moment, bloodied metal comes into your shrinking view, pinched between two claws.

“Found it—oh we’ve lost ‘em.” Kaze announces in feigned remorse as your head falls back onto the floor with a quiet thunk. Carefully, he pockets the bullet, then slips his arms under your unconscious form. Easily lifting you from the vehicle, Kaze steps over the shredded body once more before sauntering off down the street, humming a tune.

Overhead, thunder rumbles.

#alien oc #original character #original horror #horror scifi #thesightstoshowyou #kaze #exophilia #ok to reblog #alien x reader #reader insert

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twistedtavern · 1 year

Note

This selfaware Jamil you wrote... It is just pure perfection, I enjoyed so much. Maybe I might want the rest of the story? 🥺

Can you write more about it when you feel or have enough time?

I am. SO sorry it took so long. Here's the final segment and a link to the other part just posted today

Part 1! Part 2!

CW: holy SHIT violence, murder, intense self harm, Jamil-typical manipulation, yandere

Jamil hesitantly opened the door, the softness in his chest hardening like a shell over the both of you. He put his arm in front of you as he moved to take the first step inside, but stopped cold when you heard the sound of a door slamming shut from inside your apartment.

You felt your heart jump up your throat, clinging to Jamil, who tightly gripped your hand as he looked for the direction the sound had come from. Your voice was in a hurried whisper, " Jamil... What do we do?"

" Stay close," his tone remained steady, strong, " It could be any one of them."

Kalim tried to steady his breathing, his free hand clasped over his mouth in an attempt to muffle his erratic breaths. He had spent many adrenaline-filled moments just like this, hidden while people were searching for him. His other hand gripped the handle of the knife, shaking from how hard he was trying to constrict himself, every part of him wound up like a spring-loaded toy. This time, he was the one to be afraid of, and there would be no ransoms.

" Show yourself!" he heard Jamil's voice demand from the main doorway. Kalim's red eyes widened as he suppressed some guttural sound that nearly escaped him, the giddy grin on his face twisting into a half-snarl. Jamil was HISfriend, and they stole him away! He would DIE without him!

They were trying to kill him!

Kalim's stomach clawed at itself from the inside, having hardly ever missed a meal in his life. His heartbeat was rapid in his chest, drumming in mismatched tandem with the two other occupants of the apartment. The main door closed, and he could faintly hear footsteps muffled by the distance and the closed bedroom door.

" Stay behind me, okay?" Jamil urged, still clasping your hand and he reached for his magic pen. He was both grateful and terrified that magic still worked in this world.

Nobody was in the living room, and the kitchen was equally as empty, the only sign of disturbance being a slightly ajar drawer. Jamil led the way down to your bedroom, taking in a deep breath as he grabbed the door handle. Slowly opening the door, he took a tentative step into the room, brandishing the dark red magestone of his former dorm. He remembered times like this, where protection was his sole responsibility, but there were no guards frantically running around, no tripped alarms, no long corridors or secret passages. Everything was pressing into him, silent and claustrophobic and so utterly alien, yet horribly familiar.

The room appeared to be empty, and the pair trepidly passed through the doorway. Jamil looked around for any sign of a disturbance, tensing up when he caught sight of your phone, the dark, reflective screen reminding him of the guilt buried deep under the fear, reminding him that it was his fault that you were in danger right now. His gaze caught on your closet, and he steeled himself as he let go of your hand.

Jamil approached the closet, the adrenaline blurring and sharpening the world around him all at once. He threw open the closet door, blindly aiming his pen into the darkness before seeing that it was empty. A breath he didn't know he was holding left him, and he closed the closet. He went silent, listening for any sound around him as his gaze got caught on yours. The distance between the two of you felt dangerous, and he couldn't focus. You saw his arms open up for you, and you darted into Jamil's embrace, deeming it safe to do so, feeling much safer as he wrapped his arms around you. The second you were in his arms, he could only focus on you, his hand instinctively feeling around for some sort of injury that couldn't have happened yet. It eased some part of him that was not yet supposed to be eased, and he gave one last glance around.

" This room is clear, I'm going to search the rest of the apartment. Whatever you do, don't delete the game yet. Stay here." he whispered. You nodded against the crook of his neck, and he held on for just a few more seconds before letting go.

You backed away towards the bedroom window, clutching the sill. Jamil looked at you, and you at him, neither wanting to leave the other. He remembered being a child, shaking and clinging to Kalim as the lights in his bedroom flashed red and the sounds of heavy footsteps pounded outside the door. He remembered the large hands that mercilessly tore them apart and dragged Kalim away, each child's wailing sobs ignored. The last thing he wanted was to leave you alone, but he had to. Jamil turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

You looked around the room for a place to hide, your eyes locking on the closet. You reached for the handle to open it, unaware that someone else was reaching for you.

Jamil closed the bathroom door, having confirmed it to be clear, his brow furrowing as he wondered where the intruder may be hiding. He looked back towards the bedroom, uncertainty compressing his chest. Checking up on you again was his first compulsion, taking his first few steps towards the door.

The rapid clawing of nails against the floor by your feet made your head swivel to the source of the sound. Two blurs of gold and black shot put from under the bed at a heart-stopping pace, latching onto your legs with a vicious grip. One hand quickly moved up to hook on the back of your knee, followed by the other, as Kalim emerged from his hiding place.

And as you locked eyes with him, a bloodcurdling shriek like you had never heard before ripped from your throat.

The cold shock of the sound froze Jamil in place for the barest second before the adrenaline shoved him forward, desperately fumbling for the door. He threw it open, magical pen drawn, and locked eyes with your assailant. Kalim was now standing directly behind you, one arm locked around your throat as he prepared to sink a knife into your stomach.

" KALIM!" a flash of white-hot rage laced with pure horror compelled Jamil to speak. Kalim's smile faltered as he flinched, tearing his focus from his target. You struggled against the arm around your neck, the back of your head pinned to his chest. Your throat constricted from the feeling of the fabric and the pressure against your throat. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?"

Kalim took a step back, arm tightening around you like a starved python. He was so close, so, so close. A giggle, high and faltering, escaped him, " Don't get any closer! I'LL KILL THEM!"

" Kalim, put the knife down," Jamil demanded, trying to hide the fear in his voice. Panic was evident in the way his eyes fixated on the knife, " You're trying to take them back alive, aren't you?!?"

And all it took was a split second, the same bare moment it took for the bright adrenaline in Kalim's eyes to fade into something dark and terrible and unhinged, causing the shiver running down his spine to sink deep into Jamil's stomach as Kalim flatly said " No."

" W-What? Kalim- I... I thought everyone was going to be after me, not them! I thought you hated me!" Jamil stalled, focus rapidly switching between the knife and his desperate search for anything he could use.

Kalim's expression softened, but his eyes did not, " The only thing I hate is what they did to you, Jamil. What they did to EVERYONE!" you could feel the tip of the knife through the fabric of your shirt as his grip only got tighter with every breath. You halted your struggling, fearful that Kalim would slice you open if you pressed against the edge.

Jamil took a shaky breath in, hands up in surrender, " Kalim, listen..." his voice came out steady and placating. He took a step forward.

And he used that step to push forward.

In one rapid motion, Jamil closed the necessary distance between him and your assailant, raised his other leg, and gave a fluid kick to Kalim's wrist. With a cry of shock, he dropped the knife, disarmed in what was hardly even five seconds.

Jamil's hands roughly latched onto Kalim's other arm, yanking it back and setting you free from the death grip. He left an open gap between the two of them for you to escape through, and you darted to the other side of the room, spluttering from your newfound access to air as you instinctively shielded your neck with your hand.

Jamil brought his knee up hard into Kalim's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over, the grin wiped clean off his face, only to have the world tilt severely on its axis as his legs were swept out from under him. He landed on his side with a thud and a grunt, curling up on the floor.

You felt a tentative relief at seeing just how fast Jamil had been able to save you, the desperate tension of the room dissipating ever so slightly. Jamil walked over to the discarded knife, stooping down to pick it up without fear.

Kalim shakily got to his feet, his breathing beginning to steady as it fully began to set in just how cold everything became. His eyes locked with yours, and in that moment, he looked like he were about to shoot across the room and tear you apart with nothing but his teeth. The realization that Jamil was now armed and irate completely escaping him as he growled, " This isn't over, you w- AGH!"

Jamil's palm slammed against the side of Kalim's face, pinning him to the wall by the head as he cried out. Kalim looked his attacker in the eyes, and an immediate terror seized him.

Jamil's arm, knife in hand, reeled back, the curve like that of a viper poised to sink his fangs into the unfortunate intruder that had so rudely barged into his den. In the eyes of his retainer was a white-hot rage like he had never seen, like he were about to crush his skull against the wall.

The knife began its rapid, lethal descent, and it was then that three things happened.

A freezing, agonizing cold spread through Jamil's core like a bullet shot point blank. The knife stopped dead in its path. Your horrified plea rang out, frantic and almost shrill.

" JAMIL! STOP IT!"

Both looked at you, alarmed by the sheer sound of your voice. Jamil slid the knife into the pocket of his hoodie, straightening his posture as he seemed to have been snapped out of his volatile state. There was nothing you could have done to stop it but to voice your panic, but now that everything had come to a grinding halt, you had no idea what to do. Your gaze flipped between the two of them, and it did nothing to calm your nerves.

Jamil immediately couldn't help but want to reach out to you, to wrap you up in his arms and calm you down, even if only to stop the heart-wrenching sight of you cowering at the sight of your attacker. He kept his grip firm on Kalim, but his gaze was focused solely on you. The cold eased slightly, and he understood immediately what was necessary. Kalim gave a sudden thrash, letting out a feral, strangled cry, but it was a fruitless attempt.

" Open the game, all we have to do is put him back in and close the connection," Jamil instructed before turning his attention back to Kalim. The firmness of his voice brought you back from your state of panic and put movement back into your legs, making you rush for your phone that laid on the windowsill by your bed. You switched it on, the device still hot from its previous use. It began to vibrate wildly just like it had the night before, and you dropped it onto the floor.

A swirling white portal formed over the screen, and you turned just in time to see Jamil pull back his fist and sink it violently into Kalim's stomach, the merciless impact once again depriving him of all air in his lungs. You recoiled at the sight, and Jamil flinched at the cold. Kalim weakly clawed at Jamil's wrists, trying his best to get free. You watched Jamil drag Kalim to the portal, casting you one last look before jumping in.

The current was strong, separating the two with its pull, and Jamil reached into his pocket to grab the knife, lashing out with its edge as the other side of the portal rapidly came closer. The slashes of silver curved around Kalim's body, so dangerously close, but deliberately avoiding the killing blow. At least, until the portal yanked both of them upward without warning, sending the tip grating across his ribcage.

The portal spat them back out into the mirror room, Kalim landing on the wooden floor before Jamil, having time to scurry backward before the latter jumped forward, plunging the knife right where his throat had once been.

Jamil growled lowly as he stood up, striding towards Kalim. The dorm leader clutched his bleeding chest with one shaking arm, desperately trying to widen the distance between them.

Jamil's voice was as hollow as his eyes as he hissed, " I wouldn't be doing this if you had just stayed put."

" I-I just..." he whimpered, " I JUST WANTED YOU BACK!"

Jamil's black eyes narrowed into glinting slits, " All you proved is that I can't have anything for myself without you trying to snatch it away from me."

Tears began to gather in Kalim's eyes, " I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I'll die without you..."

Something in Jamil's eyes shifted, " And without you, I'll finally get to live."

The fear that had sunk its claws deep into Kalim's mind triggered his hatred once more, " THEY'RE EVIL! THEY TOOK YOU FROM ME!" he screamed, " THEY DID THIS TO YOU!"

The retainer then let out a strange sound. A jagged breath in, let out as a trembling whimper of a laugh. His flat, emotionless face slowly broke out into a cheshire grin, and something in his eyes seemed to glint and swirl. The small sound from before rose into a bout of raucous cackling as he turned the knife in his hands so that the edge faced him. He gripped the handle with both hands, closed his eyes, took in a big breath...

And drove the knife into his side.

He had avoided his organs with the stab, eyes open wide from the pain, but he did not stop there.

" JAMIL?!?"

Jamil tightened his grip on the handle, vision clouding as he dragged the knife up through his own flesh, lengthening the wound until it reached his ribcage as he looked down at the damage.

" H... Hah.... Kalim.... Look at what you did to me," Jamil chided, panting. Kalim ran over to him as he pulled it out, only to be shoved away with all the force Jamil could muster, " How could you? You're really sick, doing this to your poor childhood friend."

Seeing the pure horror in Kalim's eyes, he turned to his arm next, slicing from the back of his palm to the hem of his rolled up sleeve. Blood spurted from his wounds, the bleeding only worsened by his erratic heartbeat, as he looked at the weapon with a pondering, all too calm expression.

" ...Would I need more?" Jamil wondered aloud, before simply pressing the knife tip through his cheek and cutting down past his jawline like it was nothing, twisting it ever so slightly to widen the incision, only to where it would leave a noticeable scar. He turned the blade back over, smiling to himself like he was pleased with his work. His grin returned, though somewhat lopsided as it was, " What? Weren't youthe one about to gut somebody alive?" he stalked closer, " They were screaming, crying for you to let them go. You were torturing them, and you liked it. You liked watching them struggle. You would have made them beg for their life if it weren't for me."

" s-stop it..." Kalim hiccuped, tears pouring full force down his face, " STOP IT!"

" Are you denying it?" Jamil laughed, " You're nothing but a parasite. If you can't kill from the inside out, you do it from the outside in."

" I JUST WANTED ALL OF THIS TO BE OVER!"

" Oh, so that was all you wanted?" Jamil cooed, as if he were talking to a child, " That's okay. I can end it all right now."

His expression softened drastically in the blink of an eye, starkly contrasting his oozing injuries. Kalim couldn't find the strength to pry his gaze from Jamil's eyes as he walked closer, unfeeling twin voids staring into his very soul. He sobbed, backing away.

There was a sudden glint in Jamil's eyes, just moments before he sprang. An arc of bloodstained silver cut a gash halfway across Kalim's stomach just as he turned to dodge, and Jamil eagerly took advantage of his back being exposed. He slipped the knife between his ribs, giving a lurching twist before shoving him off the blade.

Kalim stumbled, the edges of his vision blurry and dark as he turned around, desperately trying to make a grab for the knife and save himself. Jamil took a step back, dangling it over his head like a confiscated toy, laughing at him. He grabbed his gold-covered wrist and moved his arm aside, clearing the way for him to plunge the knife deep into Kalim's chest and knock him to the floor.

Kalim landed hard on his back, dizzy from the adrenaline and the impact. When he was able to fully focus on Jamil again, his vision went white from a burst of pain and he coughed up a spurt of blood.

Jamil loomed over him, having lifted the sole of his shoe and stomped down with the full force of his weight on the handle of the knife, making half of it disappear into the flesh of his victim. The blade had been wedged into the floorboards, trapping Kalim on his back as more blood began to fill his throat.

The laughter died down, Jamil's chest heaving from effort and blood loss. He got off the knife, smiling down at Kalim as he turned heel and left, clutching his side.

And as the world began to darken, Kalim could hear Jamil hum softly to himself.

Alone in your room, all you could do was worry as the vibrations slowly died down, pacing back and forth as you tried to recover from the shock of everything that had happened. Most of all, you worried about Jamil, unsure of the kind of danger he was putting himself in to protect you.

But, just as you cast your gaze back to the portal for the hundredth time, the vibration picked up speed, and soon, Jamil managed to pull himself out of the portal.

" The connection! Close it now!"

The urgency of Jamil's demand spun your brain back into overdrive, and you reached for the home button on your screen, causing the portal to vanish completely upon pressing it. You didn't have time to think about how attached you had gotten to the game and its characters, you just didn't want more of them coming through to do this again.

With a swipe and a tap, it was gone.

Jamil gave a grunt of effort as stood up. He locked eyes with you before his eyelids drooped and he fell forward. Jamil clung to you with his free arm and whimpered like a kicked puppy, and immediately your arms were wrapped around him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as you felt a lukewarm stickiness on his hands, and your heartbeat spiked as you realized that Jamil was severely injured.

" Oh my god- Jamil, what happened to you?!?" you panicked as you sat him down on the bed, checking him over for any more cuts or gashes. The feeling in his chest, this squirming warmth that felt like a swarm of butterflies were about to burst out from his wounds, it calmed him. Your presence, the genuine care in your eyes meant only for him, the knowledge that you were finally completely safe, everything felt alright.

" Kalim just kept screaming about wanting you dead..." Jamil started, " He was telling me everything he was going to do to you... it was awful."

You cradled his bloodied arm in your hands, " And he did this to you...?"

He looked at you with a soft, glassy eyed expression, " You know I couldn't let him do those terrible things to you."

Tears began to cloud your vision as the pad of your finger traced along the edge of the wound. All of this... He must have fought like hell to protect you.

You jumped up, knowing you had to help him. Jamil turned to look at the black screen of your phone, but when he saw you moving to look for something, he completely focused on you. He had finally gotten the last laugh for once, now it was his time to enjoy his spoils.

You let out a breath, setting down your phone, " Your bag. Did you bring any kind of magic... anything that can help you?"

" There's healing potions, the orange liquid in the round bottle." Jamil tried to steady his breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. He had begun to feel lightheaded, but, in truth, he didn't care. It was worth it, to watch you fumbling to care for him, to know that your trust in him had deepened now that you knew he would endure this for your sake. You came up to him again, uncorking the bottle. Jamil let you give him the potion, taking out his magic pen when it was finished, " That should take care of the deeper stuff, but this will heal the surface," and he cast his magic over the wounds, closing the gaps in his skin and stopping the bleeding as the magestone passed over them.

Noticing that he was still practically covered in blood, you gave his uninjured hand a quick squeeze before going to get him a cloth, already feeling far calmer now that you knew Jamil would be alright, his dilemma completely overshadowing your previous ordeal in your mind.

You soon came back with some washcloths and ice water, soaking one before you started on his arm, " Jamil... I'm so sorry this happened... It's all my fault."

He reached out to you with his other hand, cupping your cheek with a gentleness you had never thought possible to receive, " None of this is your fault. You had no way of knowing."

And you also had no way of knowing he had just killed someone with that hand.

It was easy to tell by how the tension in his chest eased that his words had an effect. For him, this whole ordeal was over and done with, but he knew you would need comfort. Comfort he was more than willing to provide.

" I did all of this because I love you." Jamil said softly, " I will never let anything hurt you ever again."

Jamil saw how your eyes widened and you moved to hide your face ever so slightly with his palm, and his world suddenly revolved completely around you. It didn't feel like he was put in shackles, but more like he would use those shackles on you if that was what it took. He wouldn't hesitate for a moment, even if he had to strangle anyone who got in the way with the chains.

It didn't take long for you to get Jamil all cleaned up. You had taken out some bandages, wrapping up the thin creases where his injuries had begun healing. He was a very cooperative patient, mostly content to just quietly watch you work. When you finished, you still held onto his bandaged hand.

" Jamil," you started, " I... I guess I owe you my life now. I don't think I would have been any closer to dying unless he'd actually got me."

There was a deep dread in you as you admitted that, letting it sink in just how close Kalim had dragged you to death's doorstep. To Jamil, it seemed to lace the air with a sour taste.

He pulled you close, " You don't have to worry, and you don't owe me anything. My life is in your hands as much as yours was in mine."

" But... how? You saved me."

" Let's make this a bit more clear. Yoube my guide to this world and give me the warmth I need, and I make sure you are never in danger again. Deal?" saying this, he offered his hand to you, and you took it with no hesitation.

It was official now, you were his.

A feeling of safety flooded you, knowing that he had only been in reality for a day, and yet he would still go to such great lengths to save you. With a light heart, you joked " And I'll take care of the bugs, too."

" That's a given. Either that or I burn the whole building down."

You let out a mirth-laden sigh, leaning forward to wrap Jamil in a hug. It just felt like the thing he needed. At first, he froze up, surprised after the sudden affection, but then he quickly caved and hugged you back. And, after quite a while of safe, peaceful silence, the two of you had finally decided that it would be best if you just called it a night from there.

You found yourself lying down beside Jamil in bed, wrapped up in his arms. He looked happy like this, with you safe and secure against his chest, all his.

Now, there was nothing standing in his way of keeping you by his side.

Forever.

~JAMIL VIPER: LOVERS END [COMPLETE!]~

#self aware jamil #self aware au

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evolutionsvoid · 1 year

Photo

It is kind of funny how many gauge the deadliness of an animal by things like teeth and claw. Have someone describe their idea of dangerous beast, and most descriptions will have vicious predators with maws full of fangs and shredding talons. While indeed these animals are designed to kill, as that is how they eat, the real image of a common killer is often a "lazy" and "peaceful" herbivore. No fangs or claws in sight, but they can take a person down in seconds if they feel the slightest bit threatened. At other times, the deadly critters of the world are ones you can't see, or at least ones you don't pay attention to. A little bug with a sting that can stop a heart, a floating bag of membranes that can leave a person in agony for days, or the hiding slug whose spines can scramble your brain. Or in this case, the floating piece of "cloth" that tends to leave corpses in its wake. You would never think much of it if you ever saw it, as tends to happen to outsiders who visit this region. They don't fully know the flora and fauna of the area, so they don't know what to look for. In most cases, they observe a "piece of cloth" or a "scroll of paper" passing by in the breeze. The brain usually interprets this as trash being blown about by the wind, or someone's laundry being pulled loose from its drying lines. A mere glimpse of something long and pale, then forgotten once it is gone from sight. Those new to these lands never really think it an animal, and that is their first mistake. It is no cloth, but a creature known as an Ittan-momen. They are a gastropod, but one that is extremely flat. Their whole body has been stretched and thinned out until they seem to be the thickness of a piece of fabric. Thankfully there are no bones to worry about, but it still has organs. These vital pieces of been flattened and stretched too, arranged in such a way that they still work despite being mere noodles. Some have been replaced, their roles taken over by its wet sticky skin. Breathing, smelling and tasting can be done by its sensitive hide, which is coated with a sticky mucus. It can even absorb nutrients through its skin, but we will get more into that later. The other thing to note is that it is extremely light and can manipulate gas flow through its body to allow it to float. With this it can hover in the air, but its flight is quite slow. The reason you see them fluttering in the breeze is because they rely on these air currents to get them moving at a decent speed. They will happily ride the gust and gales, as it means less work for them. While its lightweight body makes it easy to be carried by the wind, the Ittan-momen is not helpless against its power. It can move and undulate its form to better catch the breeze and direct its flight the way it wants. Various flat tendrils at the front and back also help with steering, as well as for latching onto branches and posts as an anchor if things get too blustery. If the weather is too strong, or the flat slug is feeling tired, they will wrap themselves around tree limbs so that they can rest. At the head are some extra tendrils for tasting and smelling the air, as well as two eye stalks. These organs can extend or retract depending on its needs, and they also have a faint glow to them. This can be seen at night, as the Ittan-momen tends to be a nocturnal creature. As for the reason for the glow, we aren't really sure at the moment. Some suggest it is to scare away predators, giving the impression of big glowing eyes in the dark. Others say it is to signal to others of its kind, as a way of finding a mate. Another theory is that this light in the blackness attracts bugs and other small morsels that the Ittan-momen feeds on. Though this animal does eat, you would be hard pressed to find any real mouth. When you are flat as paper, working jaws or mandibles can be a bit tricky. Instead, the Ittan-momen relies on numerous pores that run down its underbelly, which secrete this sticky mucus. This thin film on its body is not just to keep itself moisturized, but it helps it eat. In truth, this stuff is a digestive fluid, which slowly breaks down whatever it touches. Before you start panicking, it isn't that strong. It is only a threat to things like flies, spores, pollen and other small organic stuff that is carried by the wind. The acid doesn't eat through flesh or rind, as it is only meant to digest small morsels. If you were to get a bunch of stuff slathered on you, the worst that would happen is something similar to a light sunburn. Redness, itchy and it stings when you touch it. That's it. For the unfortunate insects fluttering about, it is a death sentence. The Ittan-momen flies about, using its undulating body to collide with airborne critters and trap them in its sticky layer. Over time, they will be digested and the porous skin will absorb the nutrients. They may even go after food that isn't in flight, slapping their body down on clusters of insect eggs or bugs resting on branches and reeds. Some Ittan-momen have been seen visiting carrion, landing briefly on the corpse to get some of the juices then flying off before a scavenger takes a bite out of them.

So a sticky flying piece of cloth that only eats bugs, seems harmless enough. At first I bet you folks thought that it would be coated in a burning acid or deadly poison that would kill you on contact, eh? That it would coil around you and melt you down to the bone! I know it is a bit disappointing, but no. Ittan-momen do not have any toxins that kill you instantly. So how does such a flat, billowing piece of flesh defend itself? How does it keep other animals from slurping it up like kishimen? Well the sticky mucus has a bitter taste to it, so the creature isn't really a delicious thing to snack on. It is also surprisingly tough and flexible, making it hard to bite through. Those who attack an Ittan-momen will find it growing in length, as it tends to compress some of its body when trying to navigate harsh wings. It can be pulled and yanked without any real damage, and the creature has a powerful regenerative ability that lets it survive with missing chunks. So it survives predation by being annoying? Since it is bitter tasting and tough to chew, then no one messes with them because it is a waste time, right? Partly right, as the other reason is that these things are actually incredibly aggressive when threatened. This noodle doesn't taste good and it also won't hesitate in turning you into a corpse. The Ittan-momen spends most of its life in flight, so when it comes down to dealing with a predator, all they can do is switch to "fight." When threatened, the Ittan-momen pretty much launches itself at its attacker, usually startling the hunter. You don't expect prey like this to throw down so eagerly. They slap their bodies onto their foe and unwind their length, using powerful muscles and sticky mucus to keep hold. They move like serpents, seeking to tangle limbs and coil around whatever they can grab. Most of all, though, is the fact that they start aiming for the face. Their sensitive tendrils can detect one's breath, and they know such a thing is pretty important for most animals. When tangled with their attacker, the Ittan-momen will look to wrap its body around the mouth and face, as it wants to stop that breath. Foes will go from angered lashing to panicked thrashing when they notice the slug coiling around their heads, making it harder to breath with each constriction. Clawing and biting at it won't do much, as the flesh is rubbery and difficult to pierce. Its muscles tighten and the body spreads where it needs to properly cover up breathing holes. If the predator is unlucky, the Ittan-momen will literally suffocate them with its body, sometimes even strangle them if its gets around the neck. However, it does not always follow through with these efforts. The creature responds to threats and violence, continuing to fight back if it feels attacked. If the foe ceases its struggles, then the slug starts losing its hostility. What usually happens is that the animal starts to run blindly in a panic, and the Ittan-momen uses this moment to let go and be thrown free into the breeze. If they don't stop clawing and thrashing, then the slug may keep tightening its hold until these movements cease for good. Hopefully by now you see the danger. An angry piece of sticky paper that responds to threats by suffocation. Add in the fact that it only lets go if the creature caught within stops panicking, and you have the recipe for a deadly encounter. Like I said, Ittan-momen eat bugs, they have no use for a whole corpse. They don't look to kill people or animals, they just have really good defenses and a heavy dose of paranoia. I won't mince words: these things can kill humans. They have killed humans. They can strangle dryads too, though some of us have breathable rinds that can help avoid this fate. These slugs fly about at night, with only a faint light to give them away. Those blundering about in the dark may accidentally collide with one, and the creature will instantly go into defense mode. Human heads are conveniently sized for an Ittan-momen to completely coil around and smother, all while the victim pulls and tears uselessly at its body. The advice is to quit your struggling and relax, so that the slug calms down and releases its grip. This advice is also pretty difficult to follow when you suddenly find your face filled with sticky strands of writhing flesh. Most deaths occur by accident, when someone goes out at night alone and runs into one. Sometimes they can occur in your own home, if you leave the windows open and the Ittan-momen sees a tasty cloud of bugs gathered around your lamps. Victims get too close, either by accident or trying to shoo it away, and the slug retaliates with lethal force. My advice is to travel with a buddy and keep a blade close at hand. Your best chance is to remain calm, but when that obviously fails, your friend will have to cut the thing off your face. Or at least carve yourself a breathing hole. Some locals wear masks when walking at night, to help keep the coiling slug away from their mouth if it tries to latch on. This is a pretty good tactic, but also a good way to scare other people when they see a masked figure lurking in the darkness. You try to avoid becoming the victim in a scary story, but then wind up being the star of another person's tale of horror. And since I have made the noodle comparison and people can't help to ask: no, you can't eat them. They taste awful and their body is like a thin sheet of rubber. And even if they were edible, I wouldn't tell you because that would only encourage people to seek out the flying strangle slug. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian

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

“Ittan-momen”

How about another yokai? Felt in the mood for it.

#Ittan-momen #ittan momen #yokai #monster #creature #slug #art #drawing

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cam-ryt · 1 year

Note

Loving this drabble emoji game (and sending plenty of patience regarding ao3's waiting list)! 💪🏽 and/or 🩸 ? :)

Oh I love this one 👀

💪🏼 + 🩸 : Bridal carry + patching up a wound

______________________

- M'gnus... Put me down...

Alec grumbles and wiggles weakly in the warlock's strong arms. He's alternating between states of unconsciousness and lucidity and Magnus has to pull a little bit more of his magic to keep him on the surface, while lowering his pain and trying to open a portal to carry him to a safer place.

That's a bit much all at the same time, even for him, especially when he has to stay calm and not freak out at the sight of Alec's clothes soaked in blood.

- Please stay awake for me, love. He whispers urgently, arms getting tired of carrying 90kg of muscles for so long.

His magic is running low at an alarming rate and he can feel the exhaustion starting to seep under his skin, shortening his breath and wetting his temples with sweat.

That was not supposed to happen.

They're on their honeymoon, two days after leaving New-York. Only two days of calm and rest before they're caught up again in the reality of their world.

Magnus was the one supposed to be dying right now, but Alec being the self-sacrificial little shit he was, he was the one who took the hit for him. Sharp Indonesian demon's claws ripping his abdomen apart.

- Baby...

Magnus is pulled out of his thoughts when Alec's bloody fingers brush his face, leaving red wet traces on his skin. His hand his so pale and cold, the warlock does his best not to freak out.

They're on the beach now, only a few meters away from the first sets of houses. Those demons hate water, at least they should be safe here.

- You're gonna be okay, Alexander. I'm going to take care of you. He says, his voice as steady as he can.

If he's being honest, it doesn't look good. But Alec doesn't have to know that.

When he's almost certain that they've put enough distance between the demon and them, he stops and kneels to lay Alec on the ground.

The sand is warmer than his husband's skin and Magnus eyes fill with tears at the realization.

- You're gonna be okay. He repeats, more for himself than anything else, while ripping off Alec's white shirt with trembling fingers.

It takes all he has to keep a straight face when he sees the wounds.

- That's... Bad. Alec mutters, his eyes trying so hard to focus on Magnus' beloved face but he can't. Everything's blurry, he's so tired and his body's so heavy.

- No. No no no, I'm going to heal you, darling. Magnus breathes around the lump in his throat. I got this.

He can't loose him only two days after their wedding. He can't loose him at all.

- Magnus...

The warlock tries to ignore him to focus on the little magic left in him, ready to be invocated. He knows he will probably pass out after this but if he manages to stay conscious until Alec is out of danger, it's worth the effort.

He starts to lift his hands to summon the magical energy into his palms when Alec grips his wrist.

- Magnus, listen to me...

Magnus clearly doesn't have the time to listen to him, but something in his husband's tone makes him take it anyway.

- Yes, love ?

- If I die...

- You're not gonna die ! Magnus retorts, but the single tear rolling down his cheek feels like despair.

- If I die, Alec repeats anyway, clearing his bloody throat as much as possible, I want you to know that none of this... None of this is your fault.

- Alec... Magnus' vision is blurry now and he hardly holds back a sob.

- I'm the happiest man, Magnus. Alec smiles weakly, there's blood on his lips but his eyes are bright with love. I just... I wanted to have kids with you. I'm sorry.

Magnus heart clenches painfully, and he grabs Alec's hands in his, crying silently.

- We're gonna have children, my love. I promise you. Now I need you to stay with me a little bit longer, okay ? Just a little bit more...

Alec hums almost happily and closes his eyes, his pale skin glowing under the moonlight. There's a pool of blood under his body, infiltrating the sand.

And Magnus draws on every last drop of his reserves to save the man he loves, keeping Alec's last words in mind to have something to hold on to.

Then, everything is black.

#i sorry that got completely out of hand #if I don't write angst once a week I die #thanks for the ask!#i hope you'll like it #malec #shadowhunters tv #magnus bane #shadowhunters #alexander lightwood #malec fanfic

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kalevalakryze · 7 months

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Back In The Warzone

Fandom: Star Wars – All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV) Pairing: Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Minor Bo-Katan Kryze/Ursa Wren Warnings: Injury, Blood, Violence, Ahsoka Episode 4, PTSD, Trauma, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort Notes: For @whumptober 2023 Day 1. It’s short, and I couldn’t not add fluff, because they deserve it Prompt: Swooning | "How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?" Word Count: 1,550 AO3 Link: Here!

There was a loud, insufferable ringing in her ears, were comms being jammed? Thermal charges rumbled the ground around her, only further disorienting her as she tried to regain her bearings. Where am I? She staggered, knees hitting the dirt below, hands flying out to catch herself as she tried to peer through the dust coating her visor.

An armored shin swung back, knocking into her helmeted head. The world spun on its axis as she collapsed into the dirt. Where was Ursa? Did Ursa get out? The sound of metal smashing into plastoid and cracking bone under its weight was lost on the woman as she stared at the dirt beside her head.

There was blood coating the small pebbles, moistening the soil with ichor. It was beautiful, in a way. Would the ground reclaim her too? Part of her hoped so, the stinging ache in her body wished for release, and wished to sink into the ground at the feet of soldiers as they fell. If I died here, would my ancestors still be proud of me?

“Lady Kryze!” A smooth timber called through the ringing. There were hands on her arms, trying to pull the beskar plated woman from the ground, though she clawed at the dirt that was dented in the impression of her body, the earth trying to swallow her up.

Her feet touched the ground, muscles remembering how to work just enough to keep her standing, and barely enough to keep her from going back down. She swayed dangerously again, though the golden helmeted savior reached to hold onto her. “Gotal’ad?”

The Armorer cursed, far too quiet for Bo-Katan to hear over the echoes of blasterfire and explosions. “goran’alor,”

The Armorer was grabbing onto Bo-Katan’s arm and pulling her somewhere; part of her wanted to panic, to break the hold the goran had on her arm and run. Where was Ursa? Was Tristan okay? Was Alrich safe?

“Clan Wren,” She stammered as she was pulled behind cover at last. There were less bodies here, dead ones, at least. The colors of their armor blurred and all she could make out were splotches of blue; part of her also realized that she must have been knocked around too hard, although the rest of her was more focused on throwing her body into panic mode without the sight of gold and grey armor. “Where’s Ursa?”

The Armorer looked between Bo-Katan, still swaying on the spot, and the hand she’d sent to her hip, where the darksaber may have been. “Koska, send a call to Lady Wren. If she cannot get here, have her call,” She instructed, attention pulling back to Bo-Katan.

They should have known better than to use explosives to blow away the crystal on the surface, they should have known better than to follow it with with heavy laser cutters that sparked, and they should have known better to secure the falling debris to avoid this mess.

The paint on top of Bo-Katan’s helmet was scratched from the first crystal that hit her, the back of her helmet was scratched from the second, and her abdominal plate was scratched from the third that caught her along the side and sent her to the ground. There was no fighting, and the danger passed once the Mandalorians were pulled away from their positions.

Their cover had been one of the newer constructed buildings, the insides were empty, save for Koska and Axe drafting the Armory.

“Lady Kryze, how many fingers am I holding up?” The Armorer questioned, raising seven fingers between both hands, just in front of the Mand’alor’s face.

Bo-Katan had flinched back at the blurred shape in her face, she couldn’t see the separations of The Armorer’s fingers in the glove and took her hands as a threat.

Before her blaster could be pulled from the holster, The Armorer was advancing; Her arms wrapped around Bo-Katan, letting the blue painted warrior twist simply so she could pin her front against her back, sending a silent thanks to the makers that the woman had forwent the jetpack.

The Armorer was careful as she pressed Bo-Katan’s front into the wood and stone of the wall, pinning her in place to give her the room she needed to take both blasters as the redhead tried to free herself. “Lady Kryze, the Countess of Clan Wren will need you to be calm,” She tried to reason while trying to avoid the variety of close quarters weaponry at the woman’s disposal.

Thankfully, they managed to find Clan Wren on world, since their hospitals reopened and her physical therapist had taken the job on planet to help with the plethora of Mandalorians who needed help.

Ursa’s cane tapped along the dirt as Tristan and Koska hurried behind her. “Bo,” Ursa called, bringing the woman to stop trying to stab The Armorer, her helmet scraped across the wall, leaving a streak of blue paint as she turned her attention over.

Ursa limped over to Bo-Katan, offering a nod to The Armorer for her to back off. “Bo-Katan, I’m going to remove your helmet,” She warned, reaching to grab the lip of the metal, waiting for the shorter woman to nod her acceptance.

There was blood streaking down the side of her face from the inside of her helmet catching against skin, following the same path as the scar she received long ago, if not a few inches off. Yellow-green eyes were cloudy and unfocused, red-rimmed and brimming with tears, Bo-Katan managed to find a basic point to focus on, the kar’ta against Ursa’s chest, though her eyes did flicker with each blurred sway Ursa’s body made.

The helmet was handed off to The Armorer, who peeked at the inside to check the damage and how much blood was staining the inside of the visor.

Ursa placed her hands on each side of Bo-Katan’s face, frowning as she turned the Mand’alor’s head side to side. “She’ll need a medic for sure, though that won’t be wise if she’s reliving...” The night of a thousand tears plagued many of their people who had been alive for it. In the forms of nightmares or obsessive habits born from the fighting, or in some, in visual and auditory hallucinations that would put them back in the fight… And if Bo-Katan started to ask for Korkie, she wasn’t sure if she could make her relive that pain again.

Bo’s hand reached to grab Ursa’s wrist. “Your family?”

“We’re all okay, Lady Kryze, but you need a medic,” She moved to pull away, but Bo wouldn’t drop her hand. “Bo, the battle is won, we’re all safe,”

Tristan moved next, his hand settling against Bo-Katan’s shining pauldron. “You made sure we were all right, now let us make sure you are, too,”

She couldn’t use Ursa for stability, not with the older woman’s blown knee, so when Bo looked away and nodded his agreement, the young man moved to wrap an arm around the Mand’alor.

The little entourage must have looked ridiculous, with the planets leader still bleary eyed and trying to process the city around her, blood dried painting her face, two members of Clan Wren closed in on either side of her, with The Armorer and Koska trailing behind. Still, no one gave them a second glance. “Sabine?”

“She’s alright, she got your call, I’m sure she can make the visit soon, or she will call you,” Ursa promised idly, hoping that her daughter wasn’t too busy with the Jetti training to make an extra call.

▬▬ι═══════>

She wasn’t sure how or when she made it home and in bed, but it was comfortable. The bed creaked beside her, prompting her eyes to open.

A candle was lit on the opposite side of the room, and she could hear the soft sound of a heavy book being placed on the metal nightstand. “Bo?” Her voice without the filter was always a pleasant surprise.

“Hmm?” Bo shifted to roll over, eyes squeezing shut in immediate regret. Her hand raised to press against the center of pain between her eyes as she pushed her head under the pillows.

The bed creaked again as The Armorer moved. “Open,” The tips of her bare fingers brushed Bo-Katan’s lips until they parted to allow the pain relief tablets to drop onto her tongue. With some help sitting up (and some very angry joints that popped their distaste of movement), The Armorer held the glass of water to the Mand”alor’s lips until she drank enough to swallow the tablets.

“How are you feeling?”

“I lost a lot of time on this one,” Bo-Katan admitted, defeated as she closed the small space between them to rest her head on The Armorer’s shoulder.

“I know… We’ll get through each one though,”

“What are you reading?” Bo switched the topic as The Armorer grabbed her book again.

“Documented Armor Practices Across The Outer Rim,” Bo-Katan reached across The Armorer for her reading glasses, perching them onto her nose before settling in.

“Okay, I’m ready,”

The Armorer chuckled warmly before her arm wrapped around her Riduur to pull her closer, turning the page as they read in silence together only when Bo noted that she had finished the pages.

Translations: “Gotal’ad?” - "Maker?" “goran’alor,” - blacksmith commander/leader kar’ta - beskar heart

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #swooning #safety net #star wars #fic #fanfic #nitearmor #ptsd tw #blood tw #hallucinations tw #panicking tw #panic tw #bo katan kryze #the armorer #the mandalorian #ursa wren #tristan wren #hurt/comfort

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much-obliged-timothy · 1 year

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Whumpcember #10

Devil May Cry - #10 - “I won’t leave you”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

At first, it had gone smoothly. They entered the portal to the demon world to battle back the demons there and rescue the humans they’d dragged through. Dante waited by the portal to evacuate the rescued humans while Vergil and Nero cut down the demons and retrieved them.

The plan had been to get the humans out, beat back the demons, and escape through the portal, sealing it on the other side. There was a horde of demons rushing their way, putting them on a tight schedule before it became a huge threat. If they got through, so many would die.

They’d nearly rescued all the humans when things went south.

Nero had just rescued a young woman and helped her limp over to Dante when he heard a noise that took him a long moment to process because he’d never heard it before; Vergil’s pained yell.

“Vergil!” Dante said, reaching for his sword.

“I’ll get him! Get the rest out!” Nero said, grabbing his own sword and running for where Vergil was pinned to the ground by a massive demon. It had managed to sink sharp claws into Vergil. As he tried to rise, Nero realized some of the claws were so long that they’d completely pierced through Vergil’s back and exploded out through his stomach and chest.

The sight of it was all Nero needed to transform and fly at the creature, slamming into it. The demon howled in pain and swatted with its free hand at Nero. Nero swerved away and severed the demon’s hand. Vergil fell back to the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain but no longer in danger of being lifted and shaken by the damn thing.

Nero put himself between Vergil and the demon, feeling anger coursing through him as he pictured Credo’s impaled body. No one else would ever die in front of him like that. He was here, which meant Vergil was safe.

The demon tried to grab him with its claws, and Nero immediately saw how it had caught Vergil by surprise. The claws, menacing as they were already, grew even longer so quickly that one stabbed through Nero’s arm even as he lurched back.

The demon dragged him close, opening a mouth lined with sharp teeth. No, Nero refused to be a fucking snack. He could hear the last few of the civilians screaming for help. He could see Vergil, pinned and bleeding below him.

Nero grabbed the claw and pried himself off it, ignoring the sharp burst of agony in his arm. He flew forward, stabbing his sword into the demon’s eye. As it reared back screaming, he yanked his sword free and slit the beast’s throat.

It fell back with enough force to shake the ground around them. Nero dropped back to the ground, resuming his human form. Blood poured down his arm, but he ignored it as he ran for the demons still holding human prisoners. He slashed his way through them, directing the civilians to Dante. Once he’d freed the last of them and sent them limping away, he hurried back to Vergil.

It took effort to get the claw off the ground enough for Vergil to pull himself free of it. Even then, he laid on the ground, alarmingly pale and taking raspy, shuddering breaths.

Nero leaned over him, biting his lip hard. He couldn’t move Vergil in this condition. Vergil would heal from this, but it would take time.

Nero sat back. Vergil had taken his arm, nearly killed him in his own garage. Vergil had done horrific things for years.

“Dante,” he called over his shoulder. The horde was too close now. They didn’t have time for Vergil to heal enough to safely be moved. “Tell Kyrie I’ll be back.”

Dante’s expression was pained, but he knew the risks were too high. “That’s a promise, or I find my way back here to beat both your asses. Keep him safe.”

He helped the last civilian through and exited the portal. It could only be sealed from the outside; one of them had to make it out.

“Go,” Vergil rasped. “Don’t be a fool.”

“I won’t leave you,” Nero said firmly, gripping his sword in one hand and Vergil’s shoulder in the other. “Rest up. Soon as you’re healed, you’re tapping in so I can catch a breather. Don’t think I’m letting you slack off, old man.”

“Nero,” Vergil managed. All he could see was Dante’s hand reaching out to him as time ran short all those years ago. “Go!”

“Yea,” Nero said, getting up slowly. “Guess I better stop them before they get too close. You just take a nap or something while I do all the hard work.” He smiled down at Vergil, despite everything he was sacrificing as the portal closed behind them. “Well, we do have a lot of catching up to do anyway, father.”

And then he was off, slashing away at demons to protect Vergil as Vergil stared at the spot where the portal had been. He knew he did not have to watch his own back; Nero would do it. He trusted that as deeply as he mourned for Nero’s sacrifice.

#whumpcember2022 #whumpcember2022 day10 #devil may cry #Nero Sparda #Dante Sparda #Vergil Sparda #dmc nero #dmc dante #dmc vergil #jtdoeswhumpcember

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cyarskaren52 · 9 months

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Along Texas' floating border barrier, migrant children left bloody by razor wire

Updated 7:25 pm EDT Jul. 21, 2023

EAGLE PASS, Texas – By the time Omar Tortua and his family waded into the warm river water at Piedras Negras, they had already survived a treacherous journey through the jungle of the Darién Gap, across six countries and past cartel kidnappers.

But it was only at the end that Tortua saw the danger claw into his own child, when a coil of concertina wire – placed at the American shoreline, by Texas officials – ensnared the leg of his 5-year-old son.

He scooped up the bleeding child, with officers watching from the riverbank above.

All along this river bank, scraps of clothing bear witness to the many migrants who have been snared by razor wire in recent weeks. And as federal and state officials clash over Texas' latest border security initiative, the migrants who reach the United States display its toll, in bruises and broken ankles and glinting rows of surgical staples that hold closed slice wounds. An internal e-mail from a Texas state trooper, revealed this week, raised the alarm that the state's efforts had become "inhumane." On Friday, USA TODAY observed how that razor wire has slashed not just adults but young children.

Tortua, 27, from Venezuela, had waded into the Rio Grande early Wednesday. With him were his wife, Yamilet Castillo, 31, and their sons, Jesús and Elias. The boys are twins, the kind of kids who giggle together at each new sight, wide-eyed and curious at the world.

The family had already been trekking for weeks. Turning back now was not an option.

They shuffled, waist-deep, along the river’s edge, maneuvering around coils of lacerating wire in the water and stepping carefully over more that stuck out along the banks.

From the Texas bank of the river, men in vehicles trailed them slowly. Whether the agents were state troopers, National Guard or Border Patrol, the family didn't know. They were simply policías, and they were calling out instructions: Tortua and his family would have to keep going, downriver to a staging area – or return to Mexico.

As he climbed around one rock in the river, Jesús slipped and stumbled onto a wire coil that jutted out. It slashed into his left calf, leaving a two-inch gash. Blood spilled into the water. Jesús let out a shrieking cry.

The authorities called out, from the other side of the wire, saying they could help. Tortua reached over the coils and handed them his son.

The authorities wrapped the boy’s cut. But they made the rest of the family continue farther downstream, before allowing them up on the banks, Tortua said.

Somewhere along the way, a medic treated the boy’s leg. His family was turned over to U.S. Border Patrol, where they were processed and released until their court date.

“It was horrible,” Tortua said Friday from inside the Mission: Border Hope migrant shelter just outside Eagle Pass. He pulled up Jesús’ pant leg to show the four medical staples it took to seal the gash.

“I don’t understand: If they were just going to arrest us and let us go, why do they have to put all that up?” he said. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“All that” is the miles of razor wire Texas has erected on the banks of the Rio Grande to deter unauthorized crossings.

Attention to them has amplified this week along with controversy over Texas’ other attempt at a border barrier: a 1,000-foot string of floating orange buoys the state deployed at midstream. Purchased from a government security contractor, the “floating wall” is designed to trap swimmers, in a river that often runs knee-deep and warm in the summer sun, but where the tranquil surface hides dark pockets of head-high water.

In the past week, migrants, including many children, have arrived at the Eagle Pass shelter with an array of injuries: lacerations, welts, open wounds. Pregnant women have high blood pressure from stress, said Valeria Wheeler, the shelter’s executive director, and migrants have gashes in heads and faces. The shelter has also been accepting an usually high number of migrants recently released from hospitals, she said.

“This is the worst I’ve ever seen it,” Wheeler said. “They’re putting lives at risk.”

Revelations of those injuries have drawn widespread condemnation from immigrant advocates, Democratic leaders and other agencies. By the end of the week, the Justice Department warned Texas that it planned to file suit over the floating barrier.

“The State of Texas’s actions violate federal law, raise humanitarian concerns, present serious risks to public safety and the environment, and may interfere with the federal government’s ability to carry out its official duties,” the department wrote in a letter to Gov. Greg Abbott, which was obtained by USA TODAY.

The letter gives Texas until Monday to commit to removing the barrier and warns that, if there is no response, the administration will proceed with a lawsuit.

The coils of wire also restrict U.S. Border Patrol agents from accessing the river and helping migrants in distress.

“We can enforce the law and, at the same time, ensure that we prioritize the wellbeing of those we encounter,” a Border Patrol spokesperson said in a statement. “We are very concerned by reports of actions that not only make it harder for Border Patrol agents to enforce our nation’s immigration laws, but also put lives in danger.”

Texas Gov. Greg Abbott’s border actions brought condemnation from the White House.

"The governor’s actions are cruel and putting both migrants and border agents in danger," White House spokesman Abdullah Hasan told USA TODAY Friday. "The Department of Justice made clear that it is prepared to take the governor to court if he doesn’t immediately remove the unlawful structures in the Rio Grande."

A floating border wall in Texas, and a whistleblower's warning

The Texas Department of Public Safety and Texas state guard have been uncoiling miles of concertina wire along the banks of the Rio Grande since 2021 as part of Operation Lone Star, Abbott’s multi-billion initiative to use state resources to curtail unauthorized border crossings. More than 90 miles of the sharp-edged wire has been unfurled throughout South Texas, according to DPS.

The dangers of the razor wire entered the spotlight, though, when a recent email by a Texas DPS trooper to his superiors was made public. The July 3 email by trooper and paramedic Nicholas Wingate, first reported by the Houston Chronicle, describes how he and fellow troopers came across large groups of men, women and children along the banks of the Rio Grande and were ordered by commanders to “push the people back into the water” toward Mexico.

The email, which DPS provided to USA TODAY, also described encountering a male migrant with a “significant laceration” on his left leg while extricating his child from the razor wire and a 19-year-old pregnant woman having a miscarriage while stuck in the wiring. He also alleged troopers were directed not to give water or medical attention to migrants.

“I believe we have stepped over a line into the in humane [sic],” Wingate wrote.

Two weeks later, on July 15, DPS director Steve McCraw dispatched an email to regional directors with the subject line “Incidents Involving Concertina Wire – DPS,” in which he reminded DPS leaders that crossing through “the concertina wire without protective gear is no doubt likely to result in an injury. This is self evident, but we need to ensure that migrants are reminded of this by signage and continued verbal warnings …”

Internal memos show DPS was circulating photos of border-crossers wounded by the wire. One shows a migrant with a long gash along the torso that had been medically stapled shut. Others show a bloodied finger and leg injuries. A memo lists seven incidents, between July 4 and July 13, where migrants had been caught in the concertina wire, including a mother and child who had been transported to the hospital with cuts and another migrant who was transported to San Antonio for “treatment with several lacerations that required staples.”

McCraw’s directive says agents would continue to save lives, and notes that a soldier died during a water rescue – an apparent reference to an incident last year.

But the directive also echoes the orders Tortua heard as his children approached the razor wire.

“We will be able to prevent migrants from risking their lives by denying them access between the Ports of Entry,” McCraw wrote, “and encourage them to use one of the 29 Texas international bridges where they can safely cross.”

DPS’ Office of Inspector General is investigating the allegations made in Wingate’s email, agency spokesman Travis Considine said. “If our personnel are doing anything that violates policy, they will be held accountable,” he said in an email. “There are no orders from the top that prohibit Troopers from giving water to women and children or attending to migrants who need medical attention.”

In a joint statement from Abbott’s office, McCraw, Texas Border Czar Mike Banks and the Texas National Guard, state officials said they were taking steps to monitor the safety of migrants and provide medical attention to those in distress. They blamed President Joe Biden’s border policies for the need to ramp up enforcement.

“With migrants from over 150 countries encouraged by open border policies to risk their lives and make this dangerous trek to enter our country illegally, Texas is deploying every tool and strategy to deter and repel illegal crossings between ports of entry,” it said. “The absence of these tools and strategies—including concertina wire that snags clothing—encourages migrants to make potentially life-threatening and illegal crossings.”

But Texas may be overstepping its authority by deploying the buoys, experts said. Placing the buoys without consulting the U.S. section of the International Boundary and Water Commission violates the 1944 water treaty and 1970 treaty between the U.S. and Mexico, said Stephen Mumme, a Colorado State University political scientist and author of “Border Water: The Politics of U.S.-Mexico Transboundary Water Management, 1945-2015.”

Last week, high-ranking Mexican officials filed a complaint over the buoys. Considine, the DPS spokesman, would not comment on Mexico’s complaints. Neither would the U.S. State Department.

Mexico did not previously complain when border walls and fences went up on the U.S. side of the Rio Grande without consulting the commission, also a potential violation of the treaties, Mumme said. The fact that they are now raising complaints points to how serious Mexican officials consider the matter, he said.

“The state of Texas has no authority whatsoever to be doing what it’s doing,” Mumme said.

A border grove fenced like a prison

Just behind Heavenly Farms, a 300-acre pecan grove on the banks of the Rio Grande in Eagle Pass, coils of concertina wire are stacked one atop of the other, stretching for miles in either direction.

Sweaters, swim trunks and shards of T-shirts hang from the wires’ pointed barbs, left behind by migrants snagged by the wire. Humvees and trucks ferrying National Guard troops from Ohio and Missouri, U.S. Border Patrol trucks and DPS cruisers steadily rumble over dirt roads, kicking up clouds of dust.

Migrants are often caught in wire nearly submerged near two islands in the river or climbing over the coils to reach U.S. soil, said Magali Urbina, the farm’s owner. Urbina called the concertina wire “sickening” and she and her husband, Hugo Urbina, have repeatedly asked Texas authorities to remove the wire from their property, but they’ve refused, she said.

“It’s horrible,” Magali Urbina said. “I can’t imagine how many people have gotten caught in it.”

The Urbinas bought the land in 2021 as an idyllic retirement location, where they could gaze out at the churning waters of the Rio Grande and occasionally go fishing. Instead, it now more closely resembles a prison camp. Though streams of asylum-seekers stalked through her property last year, those numbers were already dwindling earlier this year before Texas put up the wire, she said.

Magali Urbina questioned if the wire will truly deter migrants.

“If they came from Venezuela, through the Darién Gap, this is not going to stop them,” she said, looking out at coils of stacked concertina wire at the edge of her property.

DPS officials said troopers should not be jeopardizing the wellbeing of migrants and have shared pictures on social media of troopers assisting migrants. But asylum-seekers at the Mission: Border Hope shelter, some with small children, described scenes of crossing the river only to be told by authorities on the U.S. side to return across the Rio Grande to Mexico or trek for miles downriver.

Reyna Gloria Domínguez, 42, from Honduras, crossed the river two weeks ago with her husband, Edemecio, and four children, ages 5 to 22. She was nursing a broken ankle she said she had suffered in Monterrey fleeing gunmen on her trip to the border. As the family arrived on the U.S. side and faced coils of concertina wire, authorities told her they would take her since she was injured but her family had to return to Mexico, she said.

Domínguez said she stood on the banks, dripping wet, and cried as she watched her family recross the Rio Grande and return to Mexico.

“I said, ‘God, please, where are you?’” she said through tears at the shelter on Friday, as she hugged a battered Bible. “I didn’t know if my children made it back to Mexico or were here or even alive.”

She added: “I never imagined that the United States would be so painful, so heartless.”

Diego Molina, 34, fled Honduras with his family earlier this year to flee criminal gangs who he said had shut down his business and extorted money from him. He needed to reach the U.S., he said, to save money and get a heart-valve operation done for his son, Diego, 10, to fix a heart condition.

As he crossed the Rio Grande earlier this week with Diego, his wife, Heidy Orellano, 33, and their 1-year-old daughter, Camila, he was met with rows of concertina wire. They crossed with a pregnant woman and her husband and a mother with two small children. As they puzzled how to get past the wire, U.S. authorities yelled at them to go further downriver and blared a siren at them, he said.

With water at times coming up to his neck, Molina led his family downriver. The men on the banks told them to keep going but his son was struggling to breathe. With sirens blaring and children crying, he stepped on razor wire protruding from the water and had his family amble on shore. The wire tore at his pants, but everyone made it to land. The authorities immediately called an ambulance for the pregnant woman and for his son.

“We didn’t think it would be like this,” Molina said from the shelter on Friday. “But once you cross from Mexico, you can’t go back.”

Michael Collins and Bart Jansen of USA TODAY contributed.

50 states. Countless viewpoints.

USA TODAY brings you the nation's perspectives for greater understanding of today's world.

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Originally Published 7:10 pm EDT Jul. 21, 2023

**Updated 7:25 pm EDT Jul. 21, 2023**

Hell’s finna be hot for people like Greg abbott. And I don’t care if the governor tells you to do it, when someone orders you to mistreat migrants in the same country that wouldn’t be where it is today without immigrants you better say NO.

#Greg abbott #conservatives #american politics #uspol #texas politics #gop #greg abbott #fuck greg abbott #european union #migration #immigrants #refugee crisis #refugees

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wayward-wilds · 1 year

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Ranking and Naming System

(in order, from highest to lowest)

Firsts - leaders. Selected by the previous leader, and given a new suffix upon their selection, but they use their previous name until their leader dies. There are seven different leader suffixes (see end of post).

Seconds - the deputies, the seconds-in-command. They are selected by the leader once that leader is formally a First, and given their leader name in secret by the First.

Watchers - those who watch for signs from their gods. Like a warriors medicine cat, in how they are seen as very spiritual, and Watcher trainees have to be "accepted by the gods", or at least by the colony's god. Common Watcher suffixes are Sight, Whisper, Seeker, and Gaze.

Elders - the old cats of the colony. Usually 12+ years old. Respected for their experience and wisdom.

Hunters - the cats who hunt for the colony. Not much else to say.

Fighters - the cats who defend the colony, both from other colonies and other animals. At least one usually accompanies a hunting patrol, in case they run into something dangerous, and these cats are the ones who check the borders. Common Fighter suffixes are Strike, Fang(s), Claw(s), etc.

Healers - cats who use herbs, physical therapy, and any other natural remedies to heal their colony. They can wander freely, as well as gather herbs on other colonies' terrority, or ask them for herbs. (for instance, a Sandcat might ask a Junglecat for herbs that need a lot of moisture to grow.) Common Healer suffixes are to do with plants (Blossom, Mint, Sage, etc).

Nursery Queens - adult cats who cannot hunt, fight, or heal their colony, OR, pregnant queens who feel safer in camp than the rest of their territory.

Trainees - young-ish cats in training for a job. They don't have their job ranks. They're anywhere between three months to one year old, and only have the first half of their name, chosen by themself upon declaring their job (Bird, Maple, Wind, etc).

Kittens - lil baby kittens. Between from zero months to three months. They're confined to camp, and named after something about their appearance (Spots, Brown, Patch, etc).

Name Examples:

Oak Sky, Coyote Claws, Dusty Mint, Canyon Feather, Sorrel Storm.

Leader Suffixes (and their meanings):

Pool - a First who is peaceful, or who the previous First wishes to have a peaceful reign. Often given by Blaze or Storm leaders.

Heart - a compassionate or kind First, or one who puts their colony first an exceptional amount/even before they were a First or Second.

Ice - a First who is cold or ruthless, or who can do what needs to be done without emotions getting in the way. There's a bit of stigma about Ice leaders, because they tend to historically have contained some fucked up cats in their ranks.

Call - a First who has a spiritual aspect to their leadership, such as an Islandcat who almost drowned, or a First whos predecessor was given a sign by their god of who to pick for Second.

Blaze - a First who is a changemaker, who burns bright and quick. From the phrase "go out in a blaze of glory".

Storm - similar to Blaze, but not the same. A first who is a changemaker, who has a great impact on their colony or the colonies as a whole. From the phrase "to take the world by storm".

Song - a First who is good with words, or is charismatic. Often a good diplomat or mediator, and often improves the relationship with their own colony and the others.

#ww lore structure #rankings #naming system

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xxmoonpuppyxx · 2 years

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An old Discovery

I was running through the forest, as i would every night. Feeling the earth under my paws, while the fresh Wind blows through my brown fur.

It feels like just the first time...

Since i became a werewolf, I found the forest and the Night really calming and I felt pure joy being All myself in this beautiful moments.

I got to a huge tree, where i normaly Rest after running for what felt like hours.

I got closer and wanted to sit down to enjoy the Peace and silence of the night. But then something catched my attention.

A strange, bright amber glowing came from behind the tree. As i got closer, cardfully sniffing and hearing for any possible danger, i Heard a whisper. A really strange one. It was like it came straight... out of my Head?

I laid my head to the side, trying to figure out the source of this whispering. I got closer to the glowing and the whispering got louder.

Finally i saw what caused the glowing and probably the whispering, too. A stone with a strange Rune carved in it.

My Feeling told me to leave it there, but my curiosity got the better of me and i picked it up.

'Huh, strange. I thou-', i couldn't even finish my sentence as i got what feels like the worst headache a werewolf could get. I cringed and held my head in pain, Not noticing that the moon changed to a full blood moon, increasing massivly in size.

I screamed in pain and Terror, as i got Visions of a creature descending from a blood moon. Their eyes, i counted six, seemed to be burning their way right through my soul.

I opend my eyes for a short time, to See the forest bathed in Red light.

Again i cringed as another wave of pure pain struck my entire being.

Everytime i transform into my werewolf form i also would experience pain from my body talking on an other Form, but this was a thousand times worse.

First i felt my limbs extended even more then they already had. My claw got longer and were now more like swords attached to my paws. Then my tail felt like it would be torn apart. At the end i had now three tails or more like tendrills, due to the splitting, wild flailing around. The worst Part came now for it felt like something wanted to escape my chest. Due to my increasing size i already could See my ribs underneath my skin, but now it seems like they could be bursting right through any Second. And so they did. I cried and screamed from this agony. I felt like my whole World was made out of pure pain. As for my ribs, they continued to crack and bend backwards. It was like i got ripped apart then and there. They only ended their extremly painful journey when they bend in a way that they looked like wings only to be made out of my very own bones.

My inner Organs weren't dangling down, though. In fact there was... nothing. Nothing but a Black void. In a brief moment i swore i saw... the cosmos.

But i Was still changing and i soon felt my skull growing, leading my attention back to my rather agonizing Transformation. My teeth increased in size and from the looks it seems like the skin on my muzzle decreasd so much that it was like my skull only with a thin layer of skin and fur on it, leaving the roots of my fangs open.

After that something pierced through the back of my had it seems, as big antlers working their way out of my skull down my head.

The weirdest Part, though, was as my Vision got extremly blurred. Above and below my eyes it seems like something emerged from the bone. After a while i opend my eyes. At first my sight seems to be normal but then i noticed that i apparently got now three fields of view instead of one.

All of a sudden i let out a deafening roar that seemed to bend the nearby trees.

Now you are a great one.

I chose you to be my will in this World.

Something or someone spoke again in my mind to me.

I could Not Tell what it Was but... It seems like something very old and eldritch wanted me to be their herald in this World.

(Wow first Story here on tumblr^^

I wanted to write a little origing Story for my kintype that is an eldritch werewolf.

I really hope you will like it :3)

#werewolf #werewolfkin #eldritch #bloodborne

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kurtsabando · 5 months

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blackbird

The wind was gentle past its pinion as a lowly black bird flew above a treacherous forest. The trees towered over the earth where several wild animals hid. Some to pounce at their prey, while some hid to stay alive. The bird knew of these things, so it took the liberty of flying above it all where it was clear of any danger. The sun was not as harsh that day, and the clouds were clear without a hint of rain. This was a flight that the bird was hesitant to take, so he welcomed calm skies with a twinkle in his tired eyes. The odds never really had sympathy for this black bird, which was why he never hoped for much. Today, it was good. It was good that the bird took the risk of flight.

Injury after injury had come its way in the form of stones unjustly thrown by malicious bystanders, violent torrents from countless storms, or cruel assaults from other creatures inhabiting the forests he had chosen to rest upon. A black bird with a small, scrawny body and pathetic, battered wings. This bird was too familiar with hurt. Almost as if it were a part of him. Almost as if he deserved it. It was a miracle that he was still alive after all of the abuse he had withstood. It was a greater miracle that nothing had changed his resolve.

A flight he started was a flight he would finish. No amount of pain inflicted nor calamities confronted would force him to crash. A black bird with eyes of pale yellow, keen enough to see across a murky sky. A black bird with a razor-sharp beak yet no intention to use it for harm nor revenge. A black bird who remains calm in the middle of a hurricane. A black bird aware of the infinite perils of a storm and aware of the possibility of crossing it, regardless.

His tailwind was mighty as feathers were plucked by a soft breeze and left to drift along his path. There is kindness in the skies today. His flight dragged on, but as he soared, blackbird caught sight of a tall tree. A red oak as high as his ambition. A red oak that looked sturdy enough to hold its ground while blackbird rested.

So he perched atop one of its branches, hoping the weather could remain calm, and for a while it did. Blackbird nestled in the warmth of a roost he had created for himself on the red oak. With twigs, twine, and crisp leaves that the tree had shed, blackbird built a nest, and there, he gathered strength before taking off. Where he was headed? Neither did he know, but for now it was safe. For now, he could breathe.

Soon, a squall started to brew and break blackbird’s peace. As a drizzle loomed, he dug his claws deep into the oak’s thick branch, ready to launch himself into another crusade. To wage war against nature for a victory he yearned so desperately for. And in the melody of the rain’s trickling, Blackbird heard the tree call out.

“Please do not leave. You may rest here for as long as you would like.”

“I cannot stay here,” the black bird replied.

“You do not have to fly away this time. My roots travel deep into the earth. I think I am strong enough to support you through any storm,” the tree pleaded. “I may be your home.”

“To build a home requires more than that,” the Blackbird said without hesitation. “I yearn for something more than that.”

“But you have kept me company in this lonely forest. To have you here gives me purpose,” the tree said as its leaves continued to fall. “Please do not leave.”

Blackbird was aware that his time was short. The rain was building itself into a possible catastrophe. He could not risk staying in the middle of a storm. Once his wings were soaked, he would have lost his ability to fly. And the uncertainty of the length of this storm would keep him from reaching his destination. The storm may never even stop.

“I have rested. You have given me time to collect myself after the world has run me down,” said Blackbird. “I thank you for that, but I must go now.”

And as a familiar scent arose from the earth that was kissed by rain, Blackbird dove head first from the oak with astonishing speed. While he flew down along the oak’s trunk, the bird looked back with fondness at the branch that the tree had offered. And in one fell swoop, he jolted up into the sky, away from the heavy rain, away from the tree, and toward the setting sun.

#26

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cjupsher · 2 years

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ROTBTFD Star Wars: Wrath of Darkness chp 8

The Mandalore

On a terrestrial world a group of rebels sped through a forest on speeder bikes as they fled their pursuers. The group were part of the Rebel Alliance, and had been sent as a scouting party to survey the planet for possible location for a ground base for their forces. Everything had been going fine, and the planet seemed promising. They’d been out again, surveying the surrounding area for the perfect, whilst taking samples of the local flora and observing the fauna to make sure nothing on the planet was too dangerous when they’d been ambushed.

Their attackers, Mandalorians, had literally descended on them without warning. Their scouting party of six had lost two members almost immediately before they’d managed to get their wits about themselves and get to the speeder bikes. Now they were in a chase.

The four were now on three bikes and heading back to their base of operations. Three humans drove the bikes while one Ardennian clung onto the back of one of them, occasionally turning and firing blasters from two of his four arms in an attempt to slow down their pursuers.

The tree cover gave them some protection as the Mandalorians' ability to fly was impeded by the forest. They flew over it, occasionally firing from gaps in the tree line as they chased them down. But the Mandalorians in the sky were the least of their worries.

The Mandalorians had some kind of...beast with them. Something they’d never seen the likes of before. They actually weren’t even sure it was an animal. They could hear the metallic grinding and screeching of metal one might hear from a droid and it fired blasters bolts from laser cannons mounted on its shoulder.

A metallic shriek from behind sent a wave of terror through them. They could hear it in pursuit as it plowed through trees and ripped through the undergrowth with the huge claws that had ended the life of one of their comrades as it pounced on him. Their screams as it ripped him open would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

However long those lives might be.

“Missiles incoming!!!” the Ardennian shouted in alarm as he looked behind them.

His friends glanced back to see them coming. They swerved to dodge and the missiles hit their surroundings, blowing apart the tree trunks and sending bark everywhere. Missiles exploded a few feet away from another's path, kicking up dirt and debris that he swerved to avoid.

But one missile found its mark and with a scream their comrade and his bike were reduced to a smoldering pile as the wreckage went careening away into the forest. They looked on woefully but didn’t stop as they neared their base.

The Ardennian tried to contact his comrades back at their base to tell them to ready the ship to leave. But all he got was static. He assumed that could only mean the Mandalorians were jamming his signal. He just hoped they could get back to their friends and get out of this in one piece.

Finally their base was within sight. They came up on a Munificent-class star frigate from the Clone Wars. From what they’d gathered it’d crashed on the planet’s surface at the end of the war, and had remained since. They’d stumbled upon it, and decided it would make an adequate base camp as they surveyed the world.

A metallic shriek got louder and nearer and they pulled on the throttle as much as they could. Only when they were meters away did they slow before pulling back for a jarring halt. They leapt from the bikes, abandoning them as they sprinted through a hole cut away in the frigate's side they used for an entrance.

They entered the ship, hearing a loud crash as the beast slammed into the entrance and began to tear and claw at it. They navigated through the corridors on the way to the ship’s hanger bay to their own vessel. But as they were running the wall to their side exploded.

Their comrade trailing behind was thrown against the wall by the explosion. He let out a cry, having injured his shoulder and leg. His comrades stopped and ran to him before helping him up. His fellow human placed his shoulder under his to hold him up before they retreated.

But from the hole made by the explosion several figures entered. Walking through the dissipating smoke were four Mandalorians, armed to the teeth and looking to kill their hapless prey. Behind them their leader followed.

Emerging from the smoke was a taller, bulkier, and more imposing Mandalorian in black armor. His face was hidden behind a red visor that bore a crack in its left corner. Unlike his subordinates he wore an ancient armor set. A set that was worn by the Mandalorians of old, the Neo Crusaders.

He followed behind as one of his followers activated his helmet’s scanners. His scanners picked up a blood trail and he pointed after it to pursue.

Shambling away the rebels were doing their best to flee while helping along their wounded comrade. The Ardennian followed behind, four blasters in hand as he glanced back often, ready to cover them.

Suddenly one of the Mandalorians rounded a corner. With a battle cry he opened fire, discharging all his blasters at once.

“SUCK PLASMA MANDO!!!” he shouted in fury. The corridor was filled with blaster bolts as he covered their retreat.

The Mandalorians kept behind the corner while trying to peak out, occasionally returning fire. He gave them no leeway to advance. But not people to be easily deterred one spun out into the hall while activating a shield on their vambrace. They lowered their center of gravity while putting as much of their body behind the shield as they could.

Creating an opening as all fire focused on him another Mandalorian coped him. Then another. Soon a wall of them was advancing with raised shields. Anything that got by the shield struck their beskar armor, leaving them unharmed as they drew nearer.

The rebels further ahead of their Aredennian friend reached a set of blast doors. The uninjured one shuffled to the side while supporting his injured comrade to open it when it did so by itself. He was startled before relaxing, smiling in relief as his two comrades were waiting on the other side.

The Ardennian’s blasters had run out of charges when he heard the telltale clicking as he squeezed the trigger. He made to reload, fumbling at his pockets for more gas canisters as he watched the Mandalorians grab for their weapons to fire on him.

As one raised their weapon and took aim to fire a loud boom filled the corridor and a green blaster bolt flew over the Arennian’s head to strike the Mandalorian. Even with a raised shield the bolt knocked him back, he let out a cry of pain as hit the ground, his arm nearly shattered.

The Ardennian looked back to see his comrade, a Wookie, with his long-gun raised. He let out a roar for his comrade to fall back as he opened fire. His weapon carried so much power in each shot that it felled the Mandalorians who tried to defend against it. In fact, in the hands of almost any being besides a Wookie such a weapon was nearly impossible to use to do its recoil. Most that tried would be knocked off their feet

They fell back as the Ardennian ran up to his friend.

“Hey fuball, what took ya’?” he quipped.

The Wookie looked down at him and growled back a witty response, before jerking his head to motion him to get behind him. The Wookie laid down cover, each shot from his powerful weapon more than the Mandalorian’s could defend against. They backed up a few steps before the Ardennian slammed a fist down on the blast door control panel, closing them and cutting them off from their attckers before locking it down from their side.

The Mandalorians picked themselves up before advancing and reaching the door. They hit the control only to find they’d been shut out from the other side. They began talking about blowing the door open with explosives or trying another route when the Mandalore stalked up to them.

“Move,” he rumbled lowly. They did as commanded as he stepped up to the door and reached for his belt.

On the other side the rebels took a moment to recoup. Alongside the Wookie, a Halaisi female, their doctor and scientist was with them, examining their wounded friend.

“We came when he heard the explosion,” the yellow skinned humanoid said as she injected a mild sedative into her comrade to numb some of his pain. The Wookie growled in confirmation.

The other human pressed an ear against the blast door to see if he could hear their enemies. He could only hear a faint sound from the other side. He looked to friends.

“Guess we got them stumped,” he said with a light chuckle. “Let's get to the ship and get out of here,” he said as he turned his back on the blast doors.

His comrades nodded in agreement but before he could step away he felt something hot pierce through his chest. His comrades froze and pales in shock as their friend looked down at his chest to see something black protruding from it.

It pulled back and he fell to the ground dead. The Wookie bellowed in grief and the others watched in horror as the black thing began cutting through the door.

“Is that a lightsa-” the Ardennian began to ask in stunned shock.

“No time. Run,” the Halaisi shouted as she placed a shoulder underneath her human friend before helping him along.

The Ardennian snapped from his stupor as he followed behind with their Wookie friend bringing up the rear. Meanwhile, the black plasma was slowly cutting an opening for their Mandalorian pursuers to follow.

As they continued on they came to a fork in the corridor. One which would take them to their ship in the hair and another that could be followed up to the command deck of the ship.

The Halaisi looked back and shouted for her friends to hurry. “Come on. We’re almost there,” she said with urgency.

The Ardennian followed, rounding the corner to head to the hangar when he stopped. He couldn’t hear the heavy footsteps from moments ago any longer. He turned around to see his Wookie comrade standing in the center of the fork, staring back in the direction where the Mandalorians were.

“Come on Rook,” the Ardennian said as he ran up to him. He grabbed his hand and gave a tug to urge him to follow. “We gotta go.”

The Wookie let out a groan in response whilst shaking his head. “What? You’ll stall them?” the Ardennian asked incredulously. “Don’t be an idiot you big ball of fuzz! There’s too many! We gotta and we gotta go now!”

The Wookie growled defiantly, pounding a fist against his chest and pointing in the direction of the Mandalorians. He was determined to stay and buy time for his allies to get away.

The Ardennian growled in frustration as he glanced back and forth between his friend and the empty hall. “Come on Rook, don’t do this. We can get out of this. We just need to get to the ship,” he pleaded.

His friend turned to him before kneeling down and placing a hand on his shoulder. He gave a light squeeze as he held his gaze, showing his determination and willingness to sacrifice himself if it meant the others could get away.

Then he expressed his gratitude at having made such good friends, the Ardennian chief among them.

“Ah!” the Ardennian yelled out loud he could hear footsteps in the distance. Defeated, he surged forward and gave Rook a quick hug before pulling back. “I’ll miss you, ya idiot,” he said in goodbye.

Then he turned and ran in the direction of the ship. Rook smiled after him before standing up and raising his weapon. He kept it pointed down the corridor, his eyes narrowed in focus. As soon as he glimpsed something rounding the corner he fired.

His aim was true, striking a Mandalorian and downing him with a yell.

Rook bellowed a challenge as another rounded a corner and looked dead at him. They raised their weapons and fired and Rook ran in the direction of the command deck and out of sight.

“They went left,” the Mandalorian called out as he and his comrades pursued.

*******************************************************************************************

In the Munificent-class’ hangar sat a Barloz-class medium freighter. The Halaisi helped her human friend up the boarding ramp before taking him to the medical bay for treatment. Moments later the Ardennian ran in and up to the cockpit. He jumped into the pilot’s chair and his four arms began moving in multiple directions at once as he began preparing the ship for take off.

“Where’s Rook his Halaisi comrade called up from the medical bay.

“He’s staying to hold off the Mandos,” the Ardennian called back.

“What!?” she shouted in angry concern.

“I told him it was a bad idea,” he answered helplessly.

The engines of the ship rumbled to life as he did a quick systems’ check.

“Hold on…” the Halaisi began. She suddenly realized yet another member of their party was missing. “Where’s my droid?” she yelled.

The Ardennian blinked, hands pausing over the controls. He slapped a hand on his forehead. “I don’t know-there were explosions and there was so much happening-we just ran for it,” he replied quickly. “I’m sorry.”

She entered the cockpit to give him an angry look in concern for her droid. But given the circumstances she knew there was no time for it.

“We have to go,” she said to him.

“We’re waiting for Rook,” the Ardennian said back.

“Rook can take care of himself, and if we die it won’t matter,” she argued.

“We’re waiting for him!”

*******************************************************************************************

Meanwhile, Rook was in the command deck and waiting. He growled in anticipation as he heard the Mandalorians coming. They were many and he was one, but he wasn’t scared. He’d give them a hell of a fight, and if he died then at least he’d take a few of them with him.

He waited by the viewport with broken transparisteel windows. The door to the lift opened with Mandalorians at the ready. With a roar he raised his stalker pistol to fire a few shots. They dove out of the lift and ducked behind cover. With them hiding Rook jumped out the viewport, grabbing a trolley of a zipline he and his friends had set up to quickly get from the command deck to the forest.

He held on with one hand as he traversed it. In his other he held a device with a button. He pressed the button.

In the command deck the Mandalorians got up and headed to the viewport to see the Wookie escaping to the forest. They were about to pursue with their jetpacks, but they suddenly heard a loud whine followed by a series of beeps. They glanced back to see numerous thermal detonators attached to the walls and command deck computer they hadn’t noticed before.

With yells of panic the explosives detonated, filling the space with fire. Rook hit the forest floor before looking back to the command deck. He saw it engulfed in smoke and bits of flame. As it began to clear he spied a figure step through it to look down at him.

The Mandalore stared down from the viewport, ignoring the smoke and fire around him as spied the Wookie. He watched as the Wookie threw his arms to the side before bellowing out a loud call and then running into the forest. The Mandalore gave an amused hum.

Well, he certainly knew a challenge when saw it. He pressed a button of his vambraces and raised it up to speak into it. “Find the Wookie. He’s fled into the forest,” he ordered to all his subordinates.

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In the forest surrounding the crashed Separatist ship the Mandalorians searched. Many of them had their helmets scanning in the infrared to aid their endeavor. But the Wookie had yet to be found. They had several different search groups combing the area.

One such group was diligently searching, not having found anything when one raised a hand, stopping the group. He pointed with two fingers at his 11 o'clock, silently signaling he’d spotted something. Whatever it was tall and appeared to be humanoid, but was too far to say for sure whether that was the case. They weren’t well informed of the variety of lifeforms on this planet.

They began to advance on it quietly as they drew their weapons. They kept it in their sight as they crept through the underbrush. One was moving along without issue when he felt his foot snag on something.

He looked down to see he’d stepped into a tripwire. He heard something snap and from his periphery saw something coming toward him. He looked and screamed in shock and terror as a huge cut log suspended by vines swung toward him. Before he could react it collided with them and sent him flying with a yell before hitting another tree and blacking out.

As his comrades ran to check on him one was snatched up by a net. After overcoming his shock began trying to cut himself free, only to find the net was a metal mesh. A moment later an electrical charge began to course through it electrocuting its captor.

More traps were triggered. Log traps, pit falls, snares, and a barrage of raining wooden stakes. The Mandalorian that triggered the stake trap hit the ground and curled himself up into a ball to defend his vital areas. The stakes hit and bounced off his armor. Once the barrage ended he carefully stood up, almost expecting something else to happen.

As he looked up he heard a cry and he looked over to see another Mandalorian being gunned down by the Wookie.

“I’ve got eyes on the Wookie! Home in on my position!” he said on their shared channel. As he was calling for help the Wookie swung his long-gun around to aim at him.

With a growl Rook fired on another Mandalorian. His shot sent him to the ground with a yell. And with that he was out of charges for his main weapon. He heard the roar of thrusters and looked up to see more Mandalorians descending on him.

With another growl he drew his stalker pistol and began opening fire. He struck a few of them with weaker armor, dropping them to the ground while the others managed to dodge or shrug off an attack before landing. They drew their weapons and began to fire on him.

Rook fled, occasionally turning to fire back at his pursuers. He ducked behind a tree for cover and crouched as he ran out of charges for his pistol. He was running out of means to fight back. But still, he refused to give up.

He searched his person for anything he might have missed and happened upon one last item. He held a small metal orb. Not an explosive, but a smoke grenade. To be used as a final means of escape. He squeezed it as he prepared for his final stand.

With a roar he stepped from his cover and threw the grenade. It landed before the Mandalorians who stopped, preparing to leap away. But instead of the explosion they expected a cloud of black smoke filled the small radius around them.

They were blinded by their surroundings as they waited for it to dissipate. As one waited for the smoke to clear, looking for any sign of the Wookie something stepped through the smoke and at him. Before he could react Rook charged into the smokescreen with a thunderous roar. He had the barrel of long-gun in hand as he cocked it back for a swing.

With all his strength he swung it, striking the Mandalorian in the helmet. His attack was so powerful the Mandalorian was knocked off his feet and flipped before harshly hitting the ground.

He tossed aside his rifle and drew his ryyk blade at his waist. He rushed the others and swung his blade as he cut them down. Their armor could only do so much against the Wookie’s strength as even a guarded strike could break bone and dislocate joints.

As he finished off the others more Mandalorians began to gather to bring him down. With a bellow in challenge he met them with all his might. He cut them down with his blade before it was blasted out of his hand.

He grabbed a Mandalorian and used him as a shield to block another’s shot. He rushed his attacker before hurling his fellow Mandalorian at him. Then two grapple lines ensnared his arms. Two Mandalorian activated their jetpacks and tried to pull him off his feet.

With a growl Rook grit his teeth and dug his feet into the ground. Using the strength legendary to his people he pulled on the line. He pulled his enemies and with one mighty tug dragged them to the ground. He leapt on them and began to throttle and stomp them.

More Mandalorian arrived with the Mandalore in time to watch the sight of the Wookie beating their comrades. They watched in awe and respect of the Wookie’s spirit and strength. Even when outnumbered and disarmed he refused to surrender.

As Rook paused after defeating his next set of enemies and to look for his weapon a part of a tree behind him exploded into splinters off wood. He groaned in surprise before looking to see a smoldering hole blasted in the trunk above his head. He looked in the direction of the blast to see three Mandalorians. One was significantly larger, and he assumed to be the leader.

The Mandalore had his RSK-44 heavy blaster pistol in hand, having fired to get the Wookie’s attention. The two Mandalorians beside their leader began to draw their weapons when the Mandalore spoke, “Stay your weapons,” he ordered lowly.

Then he began to advance. “I’ll fight the beast myself,” he said. He held the Wookie’s gaze and dropped his blaster on his way toward him.

Rook glared at the large Mandalorian advancing toward him. He stood tall and turned to face him, on alert for whatever trick this new opponent might use. Then the Mandalorian stopped a few feet away. He spread his arms out, showing he had no weapons on him. Rook groaned in question, unsure if he’d be understood.

“Come beast. Let’s see who is stronger,” he said in challenge.

Rook narrowed his eyes and let out a roar before charging him. The Mandalore made no move as more of his people gathered to watch his battle. As Rook drew nearer he snatched up a large branch on the forest floor. Bigger than a human could carry and thick enough to serve as a makeshift bludgeon.

When he finally reached his opponent he cocked back his arms with the branch in hand and swung. He hit the Mandalore on his right, above the shoulder. The branch broke from the impact and the Mandalore stumbled to the side. Rook followed up with another attack with the remnants of the branch. He aimed at his left, this time at the torso. Once again he swung so hard the branch broke when it collided with the body of the Mandalore.

Mandalore barely staggered a few steps in the opposite direction. Then he stood up, showing no signs of pain or discomfort from Rook’s attack. Rook charged him. He plowed into him, tackling him back against a tree. He struck him with heavy blows across his face. As he attacked Rook began growing confused. He was landing powerful attacks and yet his opponent wasn’t showing any signs of pain.

Even the largest of beings, such as Trandoshans, would be rocked by his attacks. There was no way a human, even if larger than most, should be able to withstand his strikes. After a few more blows and the Mandalorian expressing no indication of injury Rook threw his arms around him and squeezed, intent on crushing him.

He squeezed as hard as he could. Knowing full well most beings would be snapped in half, spines broken from the strength of his bear hug. But after a few moments of intent pressure the Mandalore showed no sign he was feeling anything.

The Mandalorian threw an open handed blow to the Wookie’s right ear. Rook cried out and staggered away, dazed and ear ringing and throbbing from the attack. After shaking his head to clear it he turned his attention back to the Mandalore, who waited calmly with arms hanging at his sides.

With a bestial cry Rook stepped up to him and grabbed him by his upper arms before pulling them out to the sides. He was intending to do what his people were infamous for. Something that made people wary of crossing a Wookie in any way, even if it was simply beating one in a game of cards. Ripping limbs out of their sockets.

With a growl of effort he pulled, stretching the Mandalore’s arms out as far as he could. Yet he heard no tell tale pop of joints being dislocated. Or cries of pain from the Mandalore who stayed silent the entire time. His arms also seemed to stretch an impossible length possible for a human.

Rook stared in shock, not comprehending how this human’s arms weren’t being ripped out.

“Are you finished beast?” the Mandalore said. Rook snapped to attention and looked the Mandalore in the face when he threw his head forward. Rook staggered back with a pained cry after dropping the Mandalorian.

The Mandalore rotated his shoulder as they assumed their normal length before stalking toward the Wookie. As Rook recovered, Mandalore clapped both his hands on either side of Rook’s head, hitting him in the ears.

Rook was deafened, ears ringing as he threw a wild punch. The Mandalore blocked before returning a blow to the Wookie’s torso, landing a hard punch to the liver. Rook doubled over, clutching as his side as she struggled to stay on his feet.

The Mandalore’s blows kept coming as he beat the Wookie bare handed. His subordinates watched on in quiet shock and admiration as the Mandalore appeared to possess a strength that matched, or perhaps surpassed, the renowned strength of the Wookie people.

The Mandalore continued to throttle Rook. He grabbed him by the back of the head before driving a knee into his gut. Rook choked for air as it was driven from his lungs. Then the Mandalore threw a strike to his throat and then followed up with a solid punch to the face. Rook was spun by the blow, still struggling to breath. As he was trying to shake off the cobwebs, Mandalore kicked him in the back of the knee, causing Rook to fall to the ground.

Rook was doubled over, gasping for air to clear his head. Meanwhile the Mandalore closed in behind him, ready to end their battle. He wrapped his arms around Rook’s neck in a rear choke. He squeezed and began to cut off the Wookie’s airway.

Rook reached back, grabbing at the Mandalorian face to try and gouge his eyes to make him let go. But the Mandalore’s face was shielded by his helmet and visor. As the hold on his neck tightened he grabbed at the Mandalore’s arms in a last ditch effort to free himself. But his vision was starting to tunnel as his airway became fully constricted and his struggling began to cease.

“A well fought battle Wookie. You too were strong,” the Mandalore complimented his foe, who’s struggling grew weaker and weaker. “But only the strongest are fit to survive in my new order.”

The Mandalore’s arms began to bulge and swell, rippling as if there were something moving beneath them as he squeezed harder, applying an inhuman amount of force.

With a grunt and a snap Rook was no more, finally bested by the Mandalore. The Mandalore released the Wookie, letting his body fall forward limply onto the forest floor as he stood over his vanquished foe in conquest.

His subordinates were silent in awe at their leader’s prowess in strength. Besting a Wookie without weapons was no easy feat. They weren’t sure any of them could have done it.

But the Mandalore could.

“All hail Mandalore!!!” one of them cried. The others joined in a chorus of worship and adulation as he stood before them like a god in the flesh.

*******************************************************************************************

Back inside the Munificent’s hangar the other rebels were waiting and arguing. The Ardennian was adamant they should wait for Rook to return while the Halaisi said they should flee and return with help from the Alliance.

“We have to go!” she argued again.

“I can’t just…”

“He’s a Wookie, in a forest. There’s no place he could be safer,” she shouted.

“I know but-”

“If we don’t go now we’re all going to die,” she pushed. “We need to leave and get the Alliance.”

“But-” he began. He looked out the viewport, hoping to see Rook running in at any moment to join them. “AHHH!” he said in frustrated defeat.

“Alright, strap in,” he said as he took the controls. His comrade dropped into a seat and strapped herself in. He activated the repuslorlifts and got the ship off the ground.

It rose and rose, going up to the ceiling where the exit was. The freighter hit the ceiling, or more accurately the tarp they’d placed to cover the large hole in the ceiling and hide them from a bird’s eye view.

Once they were out of the ship he directed the ship to begin climbing into orbit. They cleared the cloud and the upper atmosphere and were in space.

“Oh Kri-” his comrade whispered as she spotted the huge battleship in the distance above the planet. He saw it too and swallowed thickly. He wasn’t familiar with that ship’s class.

But if it belonged to the Mandalorians it was sure to be packed with weapons and capable of blowing their ship out of the sky several times over.

“We’re out of here,” he said as he prepared to jump to lightspeed. He directed them away from the battleship as he set the coordinates. With the coordinates set he placed a hand on the lever in preparation to jump.

But suddenly the ship was rocked by a collision at the rear. They were both jarred around in their seats at the impact as alarms went off.

“Were we hit by a torpedo?” the Halaisi asked in dread.

“I don’t think so,” the Aredennian responded as he was trying to make sense of what was going on.

Suddenly they could hear the grind and screeching of metal coming from he rear of the ship. The control panels and alarms were alerting them to extensive damage to the engines and thrusters. They could hear more screeching outside the ship and drawing nearer when it finally clicked for the Ardennian.

“Oh Sithspit! It’s that thing from the forest!” he shouted in realization.

“What thing?” his comrade asked in confusion.

“It was some kind of animal or droid-I don’t know!” he shouted in a frantic reply. “But it's on the hull of the ship and it’s damaged our engine. We can’t make the jump.”

They stared at each other; eyes wide in panic. They frantically tried to think of an idea.

“Escape pods!” the Halaisi suddenly realized.

“Wha?”

“The escape pods have hyperdrives! We can use them to get out of here,” she explained quickly.

Immediately they leapt from their chairs and grabbed their comrades before going to the escape pods. She got to one and was helping him in when the ship suddenly rocked violently. The Ardennian was thrown back while she and their wounded friend were thrown inside.

The Ardennian was on the ground, rubbing his head with one of his fours arms before looking up at the sound of a bang. He looked up, hearing a repeated banging on the ship's outer hull as if something were hitting it repeatedly.

Suddenly a dent appeared. He paled and pushed himself up as the dent grew bigger and more appeared. He ran to the other escape pod, standing at the doorway inside as his friend looked out to see where he was.

“Come on!” she shouted as they stared at each other from across the ship in opposite pods.

“Just go!” the Ardennian shouted. He pointed up to the dent in the ceiling as an explanation as to why.

She saw it and immediately closed the hatch to the escape pod. Despite the urgency they both stayed there a moment as they looked at the ceiling slowly giving to whatever outside force was trying to tear or claw its way in.

There was a bright flash and a hole was suddenly blown in the ceiling. They both watched as everything not bolted down was sucked out into space. Then a pair of massive claws grabbed at the edge of the hole and ripped it wider. From outside a black monster began to force its way in as it tore away the hull of the ship to make room for itself.

The rebels stared in shock as they tried to comprehend the thing ripping their ship apart. It was black and moved like a beast with six legs, with two bearing massive claws and four smaller ones. They could see laser cannons mounted onto its form, alongside what looked like missile launchers. Its face or mouth was a series of rods with energy crackling between them.

They snapped from their stupor as the thing turned its attention to the Halaisi’s pod. She turned and rushed to the controls before ejecting the pod. The Ardennian did the same and both pods shot away from the ship. They piloted the pods away and began prepping the hyperdrives to jump.

The Ardennian set the coordinates and was about to initiate the jump to lightspeed when he looked out to see the beast tear its way out of the ship. A set of thrusters propelled it through the vacuum of space as it made a beeline for his comrades' pod.

“No!” he screamed in horror, helpless as he watched the thing grab onto it. He watched as energy crackled from the rods on its face as it sank its claws into the side of the pod for a firm hold.

Then with a flash of light the exterior of the pod was blown apart. He looked away, not bearing to see the bodies of his comrades being flung into space. He needed to escape. He directed the pod into the void and began accelerating away from the planet as the lightpseed jump was finally ready.

The beast turned its attention to his pod and surged toward it. Be it could jump to lightspeed it fired from its mounted laser cannons managing to land a hit at the last second before it disappeared with a crash into hyperspace.

*******************************************************************************************

Some time later the escape pod exited hyperspace. It’d been damaged before the jump, not reaching its destination. It’s life support systems were also damaged. The oxygen was leaking and the systems regulating temperature were failing.

The Ardennian was wearing an oxygen mask from a small reserve tank and shivering violently in his seat as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He had a beacon going on an Alliance frequency and was hoping he was close enough to any of their forces to intercept it and send a rescue.

Despite the bleakness of his situation he held onto hope. It was all he really had in this situation.

His eyes drooped as his vision began to tunnel and everything began fading to black. But before his consciousness faded he saw a flash of light illuminate the cockpit of his pod.

He smiled and gave a weak chuckle as he felt the pod rumble as it docked with another ship.

Looks like hope had won out that day.

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end

#star wars au #merricup #jelsa #rotbtfd #tangled fanfic

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