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illusioninfnty · 6 months

Text

day 28 ; dubcon

↠ jacob custos x reader

fandom: the quarry word count: 2.4k warnings: nsfw 18+, heavy emphasis on dubcon, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, creampie, light gore elements (wolf transformation)

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Your voice is hushed as you try to remain as calm as possible.

But Jacob was definitely not okay.

You should have known this whole night was going to go to shit once you and your fellow counselors decided to throw a last minute party before you would all go your separate ways.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. The teenagers always die that way!

You didn’t have time to dwell on your stupidity now, though. Jacob had been bitten–yes, bitten–by one of those werewolves just like the one that was trapped with you two in the red room.

You don’t think you would’ve believed anyone who told you that werewolves existed. Especially the bony, hairless, freaks of nature that you had witnessed attack the two of you before your very eyes.

When Ryan showed up with Laura, one of the counselors who didn’t make it for the summer, and freed you two while revealing their plans to kill Chris Hackett, you probably would’ve thought that they were insane if it wasn’t for the hideous creature that was locked into the cell right next to yours.

Now, you and Jacob were lost in the middle of the woods, you with an injured foot and him being bitten in the shoulder by one of the creatures when he pushed you out of the way of its attack. The open wound was bleeding profusely and the skin surrounding the area was starting to darken. You wince at the sight as you inspect it.

“Oh my god, Jake. I think it’s infected,” you mutter.

His eyes widen as his head swivels towards you. “What the fuck! Don’t tell me that!”

“Sorry!” You rip off a piece of your already torn pants in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. The fabric soaks up all the blood within seconds and you curse as you throw the useless scrap aside. “There’s a lot of blood here. I don’t know what to do.”

“Fuck–just, I don’t know, just think of something!” His words are sharp, in a tone you rarely ever heard from him, and you could hear the impatience and struggle in his voice.

“No need to get pissy with me; you’re not the only one injured here.” You gesture to your foot that was caught in a bear trap just moments prior. Trying to make your way back to the lodge had been proven a failure when another one of those goddamn werewolves appeared out of nowhere. It caught you off guard but was spooked off by a gunshot in the distance, which had led to your current situation.

“Sorry. It just really fucking hurts,” Jacob says, gripping his shoulder as he hunches over in pain. Exhausted, you plop down on the ground next to him and lean back against the tree.

You try to remain calm and wrap your head around what the actual fuck was happening tonight, since no one was around to explain to you what was going on now was.

“Okay, so I’m pretty sure that with all this shit—” you throw your hands in the air to motion to everywhere around you, “—there’s probably not a single person coming to look for us. I think our best bet is to just…wait this out. Whatever this is.” You put your head in your hands and sigh. “It’s also no use trying to move, with my leg and your arm all fucked up. Hopefully the thing that just attacked us won’t come back for seconds.”

Jacob awkwardly pats your shoulder. “Hey, hey, don’t worry about that now. At least we…” His eyes seem to glaze over as he stops talking in the middle of his sentence.

You pause at his sudden shift in behavior. Jacob was usually never this quiet, and you assume that would extend to when he was in pain. Even though this night turned out to be absolutely batshit insane, you weren’t expecting Jacob to act so unpredictable. You were worried he was hurt more than you initially thought. “Jacob…you all good?”

He blinks rapidly, as if that’ll give him the answer. “I…I don’t know, it’s like…” he rubs his chest with a closed fist, his other hand swiping across his forehead to wipe off some sweat before running it through his unkempt hair. “I feel so…hot.”

You let out a sigh of relief. That was a lot better than him saying he was in more pain. There had to be some water source close by that wouldn’t be too far for you to walk to on your own with your incapacitated foot. You could work with hot.

“Okay. Okay, that’s good.” You go to stand up from your place next to him. “Stay here. I’ll try my best to find some water to cool you down.”

“No!” Jacob grabs your arm with so much force that it knocks your head against the tree as he pulls you down to him again.

“What the fuck, man!” You rub your forehead where you made contact, wincing as you got to your knees once more. “That fucking hurt. Watch it.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He calls out your name, more gentler than his abrasive tone. He still hadn’t let go of your arm. “I-I guess I don’t know my own strength anymore.”

You give him a once-over. Jacob was definitely much paler than minutes before, save for the blackness that sprang from the bite wound, and his skin was glistening with a layer of sweat that was extremely concerning given the practically freezing temperature of the night.

“Look, if you don’t want me to leave, that’s cool. But I don't think it’s a good idea for you to stay like this. You need something, anything. You’re not doing too well.” Jacob appears as though he registers your words, as his grip loosens enough for you to wriggle free from it.

“Thanks,” you breathe out. You begin to leave before being interrupted again.

“Wait!” Jacob calls. You turn around, now completely fed up. You were trying to help him, but he was making it so goddamn difficult. “I—I wanted to apologize.” Jacob audibly gulps. He’s clearly starting to become delirious, slurring his words and panting profusely. But you let him finish. “I didn’t think all of this would happen. It was only meant to be one more night.”

The implication behind his words makes your heart drop. “Jake,” you start hesitantly, “what are you talking about?”

Jacob continues to ramble. His eyes are glazed over, and you’re not even sure he heard your question. “I didn’t picture any of this to happen. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew of the—the werewolves and shit. I wanted us to have one more night together. I didn’t want you to leave.” He coughs, giving you time to register his words. “Needed another night to build up the courage, you know?”

You inhale shakily, reeling in your anger. “Are you saying that…that you purposely ruined the van so we’d get stuck here?” “Just for the night!” His voice rises defensively, and he grabs onto your arm. “Don’t be mad! I didn’t know it would end up like this!”

You try to wriggle free from his grip, but it’s iron tight. “Let go of me!”

“No! Let me explain!” He pulls you down to the ground and crawls on top of you, trapping you with his body.

From your position, you’re able to get a better look at Jacob. The blackened area that was around his bite wound was clearly spreading across his body. The veins in his neck were black and bulging, and the color was starting to move up his face. He was sweating profusely, his skin slick with moisture and his face turning a deep shade of red.

Your eyes widen in concern, the anger rushing out of your body. “Oh my god, Jake, you look bad. I need to get you help. Like, right now.”

He lets out a growl, so inhuman it has you pausing in your struggle to be let free.

“Not when you're angry at me.” Jacob’s breathing gets more noticeable as the black in his veins spreads more rapidly to his face, and at this point you’re too afraid to say anything. His eyes go bloodshot as he looks down at you, panting heavily. It’s then that you feel the hardness against your stomach.

“Jake…” your voice shakes with fear, unsure of what he was going to do.

It seems as though he’s trying his hardest to restrain himself. His body trembles and his jaw clenches. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. He begins to grind himself on you, and you can feel his leaking cock through his boxers.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jacob pleads. “It feels like I’m going to die.” He continues to push his length against you, whining. “I need to—to—”

“O-okay, just,” you gulp hard. You didn’t want to hear him say it. “Just be gentle.” You shut your eyes tight, and try to hold in your tears. If this would help Jacob from whatever that werewolf bite did to him, you would accept it, and hope that it’ll be over quickly.

With your approval, Jacob wastes no time in ripping your clothes off. The shreds lay limply on the dirt next to you, and that’s when you notice that his fingernails had grown sharp, too. He pulls off his own boxers, and you turn away after getting a glimpse of his throbbing cock, leaking with precum.

Jacob forces you to turn over, positioning you onto your hands and knees. Without any warning he rams his whole length into you with so much force it knocks you over, unable to balance on your forearms. You collapse into the ground beneath you, feeling your body get caked in the loose dirt as you’re shoved back and forth. You barely register the pain you feel where Jacob just entered you.

“J-Jacob wait!”

He ignores your protests and continues with the ruthless pace. You cry out—in what was pain or terror you aren’t sure. You can feel warm liquid running out of your pussy, what was most likely blood from the intrusion.

His balls slap against your ass as he thrusts in and out of you. His tip reaches the furthest parts of you, having you moan involuntarily. Your nails dig into the dirt beneath you as you get pummeled into it, trying to find a way, any way, to stabilize yourself.

You don’t think Jacob is coherent anymore. All you can hear from behind you is low grunts and growls, and his saliva dripping onto your bare back. He takes his hand and smashes your cheek into the ground, giving himself more momentum for his thrusts. Your body gets dragged across the ground as he moves you every which way.

“Jake…” You don’t even have the strength anymore to push back. His cock feels so big, so full inside of you, and you feel as though you’re about to break from the force of his hips against your own. The pain has subsided for the most part, and some pleasure takes its place. All you can do is allow yourself to enjoy it as best you can.

You reach your hand down towards your clit, wanting some relief. If Jacob’s going to get something good out of this, you may as well, too. Your hands are caked in dirt, but at this point nothing about what is going on could be sanitary.

You rub your hand fast against yourself, trying to match the pace of Jacob but failing. He moves faster than what you ever thought was possible, and you shakily give up after mere minutes.

Jacob’s now sharp fingernails dig into your sides as his cock pulses inside you. Your walls squeeze him tight and he lets out a loud groan from above you. Your own arousal wets his cock even more, and the pap, pap, pap of his thrusts are louder than ever.

Feral is the only word you could use to describe him now. His strength seems to have increased by a tenfold and he has you completely still by the force of a single hand. His other one grips your hip, drawing blood, which only seems to egg him on. He forces his cock deep inside you over and over to the point where your vision goes completely black.

His cock throbs furiously, and you can tell he’s about to cum. Another wave of fear washes over you. You didn’t think Jacob had any plans to pull out, not with the state he’s in. “Not inside!” You try to struggle against his hold, but it’s no use.

Jacob doesn’t listen—rather, doesn’t hear you—and his hot semen floods your pussy. You let a choked sob escape you as you feel the warm liquid drip out of your thighs.

You can’t focus too much on that now when Jacob is making strange sounds above you. He grunts, and his voice changes from his normal tone to one much more deeper and animalistic. You hear him let out a low curse behind you, and with him distracted you’re able to remove yourself from his still-hard cock.

As you cover your head with your arms all you hear from behind you is a loud burst, and the sensation of hot liquid coating your back and making you flinch. You turn to look and choke out a scream and frantically scamper away in the ground as the weight of Jacob’s body leaves you.

In your friend’s place is a werewolf, almost identical to the one in the basement with gray skin and gangly limbs with a mouth full of sharp teeth. You stare in terror, covered in Jacob’s blood, just waiting to be gored to death by the terrifying beast.

But instead the creature stares back, and for just a second, you think you see recognition in its eyes. Then it scampers away, snarling as it passes between the trees and out of your sight.

As Jacob (should you even call that thing by his name?) flees, you fall apart, choking on the sobs you tried your best to hold back before.

You pray to whatever god is out there listening that the sun would rise soon to save all your friends, and to pretend that this entire night never even happened.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #jacob custos #jacob custos x reader smut #jacob custos x you #the quarry x reader smut #the quarry x reader #the quarry smut

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yaut-jaknowit · 2 years

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Gone

Pairing: Pel (Male Yautja) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Death of reader, very sad, emotional Yautja, slight gore

Word Count: 1443

Summary: The past is hard to relive. Especially when the one loved is gone. Pel's just an old Yautja trying to continue living through the days. Hunting hasn't been same for a long time. He refuses to hunt. After the incident.

Author Note: So, this one is a lot more sad then I usually write. But after Battling Dangers, I wanted to write one more angsty one. I don't feel one hundred percent confident with this one. I wanted to write more at one part but couldn't bring myself up to do it. Maybe in the future you'll learn how Pel got to those events.

Masterlist

Ao3

Pel had taught you well in his adolescent life. From the basics to intermediate, you learned everything he had to offer and more. Similar to a young Yautja, you absorb everything possible to make him proud. And the day you went out on your first hunt alone, he couldn’t be more of a nervous wreck. It wasn’t a preferable trait as a species that hunts deadly aliens. But he does not lie. He waited by that console since the moment you left and until you returned.

When you had stepped foot into his space, two skulls in hand, Pel ran up to you and embraced you. Like it had been a lifetime since the last time the two of you had seen each other. He wasn’t going to easily admit that. Especially when a couple of his hunt brothers stopped by later to congratulate you for the successful hunt. The wide smile on your face brightened the room. They were surprised about your survival let alone gaining two skulls in the process. A human being able to be like a Yautja, nearly unheard of.

That didn’t stop them from crowding around you and questioning respectfully about the hunt. You happily spoke of the harrowing dangers and proudly showed off the skulls. He, himself, felt pride swell in his heart at how clean they bones were. They shined in the low light of your shared living space.

Later that night after they had left, Pel used the bones he has in his trophy room to create a necklace. It took him a day to gather the courage to give it to you. That toothy grin told him everything before you had even jumped on him. He spun the two of you around and purred happily. You kissed his alien face to the best of your ability. That night was the best you’ve ever felt.

He huffed before taking a sip of a throat burning drink. The pain it would’ve caused couldn’t be felt as he stared mindlessly at the bar counter. Over the white noise ringing in his ears almost drowned out the voices and glass clinking together. An instinct that was drilled into his brain since he was a suckling. No matter what happened, he couldn’t fully ignore his surroundings.

When you went out on your second hunt, this time with him, he remembered it vividly. Every single moment with you burned into his mind.

The Yautja had never seen so much red blood in his existence. And it had terrified him. Was he going to loose you? This was your second hunt. You couldn’t die! He cared for you far more than he should.

His elders would be shaking their heads if they had been there. The hunt wasn’t a full failure though. One skull was gained from the whole ordeal.

To be honest, you were dying in his arms. It was a young blood mistake you had made but it had diverted the creature away from him. You had saved him and he had to return the favor. Not only was his honor on the line, but the only other person he cared about in his life. No one else came to mind easily at the thought. You had to live or he would die along side with you.

Similar to when you had gone out on your first hunt, his hands trembled trying to work on you. All the while, you would crack jokes as you choked on your own blood. At that moment, he wasn’t laughing. Now though, when he thinks back to that time, it makes his shoulders shake. Other patrons gave him weird looks.

Afterwards, you were fine, sore and beyond tired, but alright. That’s what all mattered to him. That you were okay.

The new scars that decorated your body were sight he loved to see. Every time you put on a normal shirt, he would huff and puff and complain until you took it off. His hands roamed your marred skin, praising and purring away. You made jokes about every single time, teasing him about it. But it didn’t bother him, no. He actually liked hearing you talk.

About your tenth hunt with him, he didn’t worry quiet as much. The two of you worked so well in tune with each other that it went without words on how to proceed with a hunt. Since humans, on average, were smaller than Yautjas, you could go places he could not. Sort of in a way, vice versa, he could do thing you could not.

Thirty more hunts later, most hunts went to plan without words. You would do something. He would work with it. Pel would so something. You would work with it. Two peas in a pods just going along in the universe without a care in the world.

One night, the two of you were curled up in the shared room on his ship. Pel softly petted your hair while your head was tucked up underneath his chin. One of his thick thighs was slung over you. His other arm held your body against his. Gentle purrs rumbled from his chest. You were running a finger up and down his arm.

The moment was calm and serene. Nothing like he’s ever experienced before you came into your life. Your other hand came up and grabbed a dark tress. Pel’s told you after the first time you had touched one what it had meant. His purr stuttered.

All you did though was hold onto it like a toy. Not everything you did was sexual. This moment wasn’t. The two of you just wanted to be together.

Then it all changed.

Both of you had lost count on how many hunts it had been. This one wasn’t high risk yet it had a good reward. The meat you would collect could give you a lot of credits to keep you guys happy for some time. You were excited for this. Pel could easily read it on your face and felt that same emotion. More skulls to collect.

With you.

He did it.

His fist slammed against the bar counter. Those around him paused and stared at him. The bartender less than five feet away from him tightened her grip on the cup in her hand. “Are we going to have a problem, hm?” Her words slid over him like butter on a hot pan.

A vicious arrow stuck out your chest. Fear filled your wide eyes as you stared up at Pel. One of your hands shakily reached up towards his blurring face. His skin felt on fire but the burn didn’t hurt. Nothing registered fully in your brain yet. All you knew was it beginning to become hard to breath and your head felt light.

You whispered his name, tears starting spill from the corner of your eyes. His mandibles are clicking wildly but none of the words you could understand. What was happening?

Everything started to become cold and distance. Terror filled your slowing veins. Both of your arms weakly wrapped around his neck and tried to pull him close. Yet something stopped you from doing so. Your head gazed down to find an arrow through your chest. What?

The arrow was familiar. You looked back up at Pel. “Why?” you whimpered, arms too weak.

You were gone with a quiet, last breath. All Pel could do was stare. And stare. And stare.

Pel slowly straightened his back. Dull eyes finding the bartender. She could easily see the sorrow he carries. She slightly eased up on her posture.

“Just don’t cause any trouble, hm?” Pel dipped his head then bowed it, greying tresses slightly creating a curtain. At his motion, the bartender left him to his own devices. Another burning drink before him. He decides to take it and down it just like the others.

After she had left, tears pooled in his eyes. No one could see it unless they looked close enough. His biomask hung off of his hip, hiding a smaller one. Many places don’t allow for those types of things unless its medically necessary. Not for the Yautja. This bar doesn’t allow for biomasks.

He shifted slightly in his seat. Bones rattling around his neck. One of his hands came up and wrapped around it. It took all of his will power and more to not sob in front of everyone. “I loved them more than anything in this universe and they’re dead because of me.” The confession was whispered. Only those less than a foot away could hear.

And no one wants to be close a Yautja.

#yautja #yautja x reader #predator #male predator #male yautja #predator x reader #yautja x you #yautja x human #another writing prompt #more writing prompts #Pel

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Resistance III

A Dystopian AU. Please don’t ask how much there’s gonna be. I’m not sure. But I might add more characters/readers if there’s interest.

Warnings: Violence, torture, blood, gore, dark elements, tags to be added as we progress, tags will not be exhaustive so be wary.

Summary: A part of the underground, you fall into the hands of the authority you seek to derail.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Note: I always love feedback in any form so don’t be shy. Thank you for reading and for all your support. 💗

Inspire by the LEWK.

The halls of the compound are sleek and polished. A contrast to the grimy world beyond. Or at least, your world. The nomadic life that sees you sleeping with a rifle in your arms and eating expired cans of whatever you can scrounge up. The extravagant wealth reserved only for those with bartered souls.

Bucky’s hand grips your arm, metal fingers squeezing until the flesh speckles and blood courses. The taste of blood lingers on your tongue as the scent flows through your nose. The echo of his smack aches in your jaw, a tenderness in your sternum from where the beanbag struck. It’s the least of what will come, you know that.

He stops you before a white door trimmed with silver. You stare ahead, it’s all you can do. Let your feet move one after the other, let your chest rise and fall, let instinct guide you through. It’s a strange sense of acceptance. No turning back, you must march on. It’s no different than any other day. It is only the last.

He holds his hand up and the door shifts, sliding into the wall. He shoves you ahead of him. The room is large and airy, the size of a gymnasium. The sparkling floors are barren and a platform sits along the opposite end, three chairs across is, each on similar in height but wrought in a different metal. Bronze, silver, and steel.

You recognize the room, though it lacks its usual pomp. No velvet, no golden ornaments, but it is the very same throne room captured in the propaganda for the triarch. The three figureheads of the regime would be upon the stage; Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, and the man at your side.

“Ah, they’re late,” he tuts, “don’t worry, minx, we can get ready while we wait.”

He turns and signals to the open door behind him. There’s some activity but you don’t turn to see. The clang of metal jars you from your trance and Bucky forces you into the rigid chair. He bends your arm against the narrow rest and closes the welded cuff around your wrist. You jerk your hand back, a thoughtless reaction amid the futility.

He clasp your other then kneels to secure your ankles in a similar fashion. The seat is designed for this and you have no doubt you’re not the first to sit upon it. You swallow and force your head up, suppressing a shudder.

He stands and rounds you, standing behind you. He rests his hands on your shoulders, kneading them as he hums.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, but I did promise a show,” he taunts, “so give me a few screams and it will be over soon enough.”

You scoff through your nose and grit your teeth. You don’t believe him. You know better than to trust these scum. He sees you as just the same and will treat you even worse.

“Stoic, I like it,” he praises, “Lynx,” he bends and hovers his head beside yours, “I heard a lot of stories about you. I even saw you before, do you remember? When you blew up my fucking jeep?”

You let your lips curl and give a tiny chuckle, what little humour you can muster. He grips the back of the chair and pushes himself up, the chair scraping with his violent motion.

“Yeah, real fucking funny,” he steps out from behind you and rubs his hands together as he paces.

There’s some movement, the automatic whir of another unseen door. Footsteps before two figures stride across the platform. The missing thirds of the triarch. Stark, Rogers. They stop before their chairs, silver and bronze respectively. They look at you, then their cohort.

“You don’t recognise our guest?” Bucky stops on his heel.

“Should we?” Stark sneers, “why the fuck did I come all the way here?”

“Tony,” Rogers intones, “come on.”

“Alright, let’s go through the whole routine, Tony, Steve,” Bucky turns and gestures to you, “this is the venerable, infamous, and elusive Lynx.”

Stark and Rogers look at each other then back at you. Almost in unison, they sit. The former with an elbow on the armrest, the latter with shoulders straight and hands flat on his thighs.

“Ah, now I got your attention,” Bucky snickers, “I think you’ll like what I got in store.”

He walks towards you, around you, and a metal rattling follows his steps as he rolls a tray around your left side. There’s a variety of tools and bottles arranged across it. One peek is enough to spark your adrenaline.

“Now, if you take a close look at our little mink,” Bucky stands behind you and holds your chin in his vibranium hand, “you’ll see she’s already taken a bit of… manhandling. But I saved the good stuff for you two. I’m gonna make her sing you a pretty song.”

He snickers and grabs a long tweezer like utensil from the tray. He traipses around your left side and pokes one of the long ends against your fingertip. His other hand keeps your digit straight.

“Where’s the rendezvous?” He asks.

You seal your lips tightly and focus straight ahead. You hold your breath and barely keep from yelping as he stabs the tweezer into your nail bed. You quiver but do not make a sound.

“Tell me where the rendezvous is,” he repeats.

You suck in air through flared nostrils and clench your jaw. He closes the tweezer until it clamps down completely. He rips it back, taking the nails with it. You jolt in the chair and hiss through your teeth. You shake as the pain radiates through your arm, panting out the agony.

“Tell me,” he tosses your nail onto the floor and presses the sharp tweezer into your stripped nail bed, “or I do another.”

“Fuck you!” You spit and he stabs the sharp end down, a scream ripping from your lungs. You quiet yourself and grunt, jerking wildly. You inhale once more and puff, jutting your chin out, “Fuck all of you!”

#resistance #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #mcu #marvel #avengers #dystopian au #au #captain america #winter soldier #series

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eiacez · 2 years

Text

~ violence, blood and gore, one piece setting, no spoilers

~ wc: 1.5k

~ a/n: this was an idea of @tinypizzlybear : “Sabo and the reader are on a mission and the reader just goes absolutely feral. Like they only see red, don’t even recognize anyone around them, feral🤔” thank you for this :) this has three different endings, the first two were angst so i decided to write another one that wouldn’t be angst. this is the final fic about this idea that will be posted. enjoy reading :)

masterlist

“(Y/N), stop! You gotta calm down!”

“Why calm down when I can rampage all I want, Sabo? Let loose! It’s not like you’re not reckless on a battlefield!”

“I am not!” Your partner shouts back at you, assaulting the pirate that was about to lunge a knife on his back.

“You are too! Stop pretending! Let me have my fun! These bastards deserve it!”

And then you were off, far away from Sabo, to beat down every pirate that lunges at you, deciding they thought they could beat you down.

“Come here, fucker!” You grin widely, almost devilishly, while approaching one of the pirate group’s executives. They don’t really look like it, and definitely don’t fight like it as you slap his face with your right hand and punch him with your left. That kind of attack always makes you giggle because it’s so simple yet so impactful, especially coming from you.

Adrenaline rushes through your veins and all you can feel now is the need to stretch your body more, to fight more and hurt the ones who had held this small village hostage.

These pirates should have known what their next situation would be after holding those people hostage.

You and Sabo were assigned to have a mission to save some people from a kingdom near here. It was okay at first when you knew what the mission was, but when Dragon elaborated that those nobles ruling the kingdom were enslaving people, that drove you to go as quickly as possible.

Upon arriving, there was this small village outside the borders of that kingdom. Screams of help and agony were reverberating in the surrounding green, empty fields. Hearing that, you told Sabo to run with you towards the small village first. There, you two saw a lot of pirates hurting innocent civilians and were forced to give their money or treasures.

That’s when you felt the anger erupt and next thing you know, you were running towards a random pirate that was about to strike a metal on an old man, quickly kicking his whole head back down.

Now though, something inside you feels off as you keep punching, kicking, slapping, elbow jabbing, and knifehand striking each pirate within reach. A different kind of rage rises inside and you feel the need to feel more satisfaction. It was like you were hungry for something inedible.

And then something snaps. Your head goes into a frenzy, your moves go quicker and quicker. The next and last thing you feel is a devilish grin and quiet laughter from you before your brain blacks out.

It was like your body went into an auto-pilot mode, only this mode is meant for a free-for-all. Somehow your body only hits on people with negative energies.

The vision you have is turning from black to a deep red. While that happens, what you’re doing outside of your subconsciousness is vicious.

This pirate group sure were not little, in fact they were so many, perhaps approximately three hundred. Yet each of them were beaten up by just you and Sabo.

If in the first time, you just punch, kick—and other basic offensive attacks—pirates, in this state, feral state, you stab swordsmen with their swords twice. On either of their legs then right at their chests. The ones using guns were stripped away of their weapon—shooted at their stomachs and then their guns are shoved into their mouths, the triggers being pulled twice. Blood splattering everything due to the impact.

Sabo can see you in the distance moving faster than your usual speed, and with every lunge you do, comes blood spilling on the ground and splattered across your body. He clicks his tongue at the scene and continues to attack while progressively going near you. Although it seems like even in your subconscious self, you keep on going far from Sabo.

The pirate group’s captain was like a cowering bundle of nerves. Carefully backing out and walking quickly towards their ship. But your silly little, subconscious self bumped into him.

Once you faced the captain, you gripped his hand with a deadly one. Crushing his bones that made him scream, and subconsciously you chuckle devilishly. Sabo saw this and called out your name, attacking pirates who lunged at him with ease then bolting to you.

Your partner’s presence was strong, but your feral state recognized no one at the moment. Everything you hear are some kind of distorted noises, and all you see is red with black and white flashes every time you blink subconsciously.

Once you chased down the captain, you gripped his hand with a deadly one. Crushing his bones that made him scream, and unconsciously you grin devilishly. Sabo saw this and shouted your name, attacking pirates who lunged at him with ease then bolting to you.

Sabo must have caught on to your state when you ignored him as he tried to get to you, but there are still many pirates around.

You continue with your fight, now headlocking the pirate captain. You put a space behind him and in front of you to kick him repeatedly, blood trickling down your face, arms, and hands to the ground.

“Please, spare me! I’ll do anything! Don’t kill me!”

You smirk and chortle, stopping your repeated kicks to embrace his torso and neck tight, ridding him of his breath. Your mouth is placed right at his ear.

“Too late… asshole,” you whisper. “The moment you did that to those people, that was the indication of your death. Say hi to the people in hell for me...”

All those words that came out of your mouth were whispered, your voice somehow strained. That’s when you got out of your subconscious state, though you didn’t halt any movements you were about to do.

Releasing his body to push him to the ground, you assault his body with kicks, punches, elbow jabs, and knifehand strikes. He grunts and grunts, trying so hard to utter a distinguishable word until he no longer can’t.

You do all this all while having that devilish grin, a face that looks to be with no remorse at all and just full of violence. The expressions you are showing are too far from your usual and normal ones. It was terrifying for a kid, and scary for adults.

Once finished with the job, the captain finally rests with a bruised and battered body along with some of his defeated crewmates that surrounded you and Sabo.

You wipe away the blood trickling down the side of your face while looking up from the pirate captain’s body to the remaining pirates that stopped and stared at their captains. Then they all attempted to run towards the ship, yet you weren’t going to be pleased with that.

Your speed in your feral state was somehow retained and with it, it was easy knocking all those pirates down. In just a few minutes all pirates were now down on the ground, either coughing, breathing hard, or dead.

Satisfaction is within reach until you remember this wasn’t your actual mission. Turning around to face Sabo who is walking towards you, you wipe off the blood off your face, hands, and arms. He had his brows furrowed while staring you down.

“I may have gone a little overboard here.” Smiling sheepishly at him, he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, a little. Do me a favor and never do that again.” He starts to walk outside the village, to your real destination.

“As if you actually follow orders too. You’re one to talk, Sabo.”

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

A smile creeps up on your face, thinking back to what happened and all you can feel is a little satisfaction, no remorse at all. Sabo’s lips are upturned as he fixes his gloves at hat.

Fulfilling the actual mission and freeing the enslaved people, you are now filled with satisfaction while sailing out the seas.

Sabo said not to go like that again. But you can’t help but feel that off feeling and give into it. Needless to say, you went feral while fighting all the royal guards in the castle. Although they weren’t as beaten up as the pirates, still they will have to nurse worse wounds. While all the nobles inside except that one kid princess were beaten.

“I can’t wait to tell the others what happened today.” You say to Sabo beside you. He just sighs and smiles a bit.

Oh the future will be more interesting, and maybe the more interesting it gets, the more your feral state becomes a normal one. The World Government wouldn’t get out of one hell of a ride.

– eiacez

#sabo x reader #revolutionary sabo x reader #sabo #chief of staff sabo #one piece sabo #one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece

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krankittoeleven · 1 year

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Can I do an offshoot of a tag game? inspired by the TV show tag game: Rules: 10 (non-ancient) books for people to get to know you better, or that you just really like.

I was tagged by @aeide and @brasideios

Boooks! I'm going to aim for a variety here, though a lot of these will probably lean to horror, but believe me, there is variety in horror lol. These are all the first things that came to mind in no particular order, except the first book which is...just...always...there.

This got long so I put it below a cut.

House of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski - if I ever figure out what it is about haunted or weird houses, liminal spaces, and abandoned places etc. that I enjoy so much I think I will figure out something about myself. I mean, I know it has to do with solitude and emptiness or something, but it has to be more than that. Anyway, HOL is insane in its presentation, and I think should be experienced at least once, but it takes several readings to see everything (I think this will be perfectly clear after reading it once, but I know not everyone can devote that much time to one book). My favorite fun fact that I've heard about HOL is that MZD didn't intend to write a horror story, but instead a romance, and it just happened to take place in what some people consider a spoopy book.

Last Chance to See by Douglas Adams & Mark Carwardine - I think if I were to HIGHLY RECOMMEND any book on this list for a broad audience, this would be THE ONE. The premise is that DNA and Mark go on trips around the world to seek out some of the most endangered animals on the planet and to bring to the public eye the conservation efforts etc. surrounding those animals (this was in the 90s). The book is funny, inspirational, heartwarming and heartbreaking, sometimes bleak, sometimes delightful, and always fascinating. It has inspired a lot of conservation efforts since it was published, even now, long after DNA's death, which I think would make him very happy. My favorite story is about their crew trying to buy condoms in China so they could waterproof their mics to record river dolphins. CLASSIC.

John Dies at the End by David Wong - Horror, Humor and Satire all come together to create an incredibly entertaining read. This is one of my overall favorite books, its just weird, stupid and funny. It's best if you don't take it too seriously.

The Terror by Dan Simmons - one of my favorite historical fiction books (based around the disappearance of the HMS Terror and HMS Erebus, two British Naval ships lost in the artic). It is the slowest of slow burn, slow creep suspense. If you enjoy audiobooks I highly recommend this one in audio, it is a long read at about 800 pages, but reading it is it's own experience. I really like reading about people exploring really treacherous place so this fits the bill.

When You are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris - I have always loved David Sedaris' stories, he has been a constant presence in my life for many years and I am always amazed at how open he is about his family life (much to the chagrin of his family sometimes lol). This collection in particular holds a special place for me because it helped me get through quitting smoking, which was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I had read the book previously and knew that the last story, When You are Engulfed in Flames, was about David's own experience quitting smoking. I listened to the audiobook a lot during that time, usually while crying quietly under a blanket. LOL

Glamorama by Bret Easton Elis - I'm usually pretty loathe to recommend this to anyone, lest they think I am a psychopath, but seriously this is one of the best satires of consumerism ever written if you can just get past the blood and gore. If you don't know who Bret Easton Elis is, he wrote American Psycho. If you don't know what American Psycho is then skip this book (and maybe skip it even if you do) LOL

Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami - I can see why this is one of Murakami's lesser know liked works, but I think it is one of the easiest to comprehend as well (IDK maybe Murakami purists like being confused and saying HUH? a lot). There is an exceptional amount of character growth and discovery to this story and it was not anything near what I thought it would be so that probably scored it some extra points. This isn't even my fave Murakami book, but it's what popped into my head.

The King in Yellow by Robert W Chambers - I feel like I would be doing all of my blog names a disservice if I didn't at least mention TKIY. Have you seen the yellow sign?

Help a Bear is Eating Me by Mykle Hansen - look, everything you need to know about this book is in the title. Also, it's pretty funny.

The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman - much like House of Leaves, I will never get over this story. Technically is a short story, but you can by it on its own so that makes it a book in my eyes lol Although this wasn't intended to be horror, as far as I know, it is one of the most horrifying things I've ever read. Without agency and autonomy we are nothing.

I will tag @theinkandthesea @mini-uzzy @liminalspacecowboah @troublemakingrebel @getfuckedyahoo @akashadarkblade @ainulindaelynn, @erzsebetrosztoczy and whoever else wants to.

#books #tag game

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dreamofbecoming · 2 years

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our shadows that are bold sing

It’s done! Please enjoy almost 10k words of Stregobor getting what’s coming to him!

Geraskefer

rating: M (violence, blood/gore, implied sexual content)

read on AO3

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

Jaskier had been making every effort to ignore the mage, hoping that he would eventually get bored and leave, taking his smug, malevolent energy with him. The name caught his attention, though, and the man seemed startled, if pleased, to suddenly have Jaskier’s complete focus.

“Stregobor, sweet boy. Master Stregobor, of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. I’m not surprised you’ve heard of me, I’m humbled to say that my scientific explorations have had some meager effect on the political movements of the last few centuries.” He was preening, actually preening like some kind of poorly reanimated stuffed pigeon. Jaskier was reasonably sure this ponce wouldn’t know the meaning of humility if Jaskier carved it into his best dildo and shoved it up his arse. He was, quite frankly, everything Jaskier had imagined him to be and more.

Not that he had been planning to run into him here, or at all, actually. No, this was a wildly unexpected turn of events, though perhaps not entirely unsatisfactory. Thanks to Lambert, Jaskier had on his person the exact tools he would need for his purposes, unforseen as they were. Geralt might not approve, not at first, anyway, but then, Geralt had never been good at taking what he was owed— case in point. That’s what he had Jaskier for. Besides, he wasn’t the only one Jaskier was considering doing this for, and he was quite sure Yen would be fully supportive.

Stregobor was still looking at him expectantly. Oh, right. He had been hitting on him. Jaskier made a split-second decision. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of those slimy hands on his skin and pasted on his flirtiest smile. Luckily, the mage was apparently too arrogant to consider that people might try lying to him, so he didn’t appear to have tried reading Jaskier’s mind yet. Rookie mistake. Still, no need to draw this out any longer than necessary. He was about ready to head back anyway; he’d made the rendezvous with his contact in Dijkstra’s network and handed over just enough mostly-useless information to net him a full coin purse and get them off his back for a while, and he had been about to call Yen for a portal home when Smarmy McSmugFace sidled up to him behind the tavern stables. The timing honestly couldn’t be more perfect.

“Mmm, word of your accomplishments has certainly spread, master sorcerer! I would be thrilled to hear of your victories from your own lips, though. Oh, the stories you could tell me!” Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes and angled his hips almost by rote, going through the familiar motions he hadn’t needed to deploy for years, not since he traded superficial seductions and brief affairs for the bed he shared with the two most powerful, beautiful people on the Continent.

He backed Stregobor against the stable wall, pressing close and shoving down the urge to retch when he felt just how pleased the mage was with his advances. “I imagine there’s a lot you could teach me, master Stregobor. In fact, I wouldn’t be opposed to a...lesson, right now, right here. What do you say?”

“My, you are an eager little thing, aren’t you? I would be happy to teach you, little one. I imagine you can do all kinds of wicked things with that talented mouth, but I think we can find an even more satisfying topic for today’s lesson. Why don’t you come back to my room upstairs? It’s certainly not up to the standards of my usual accommodations, but I was meeting a friend and he insisted on choosing the location. Still, deficiencies aside, I’ve oil and a bed up there, and a good teacher works with the tools provided.” He made a face that Jaskier thought was maybe supposed to look sexy, but mostly just looked like he had gas. Regardless, it was the opportunity he had been waiting for.

“Why would we need to go all the way upstairs for oil, when I have some right here in my bag?” Keeping the flirtatious grin on his face, he reached into his pack and rummaged around without breaking eye contact, until his hand closed over his prize.

Thank Melitele for Lambert’s quick-release blind switches, or he wouldn’t have been able to set off the dimeritium bomb and lob it at Stregobor in the same movement. As it was, without even a moment to adjust from anticipatory thoughts of fucking into Jaskier against the wall to registering the projectile flying at his face, the mage couldn’t get a spell off before the dust coated his skin, cutting him off from his Chaos.

Jaskier had managed to back up quickly enough that the actual explosive part of the bomb hadn’t knocked him out, although he did have a faint, shimmery coating of dimeritium on his hands and doublet, which he would need to deal with before he called Yen. That was fine, Stregobor was going to be unconscious for a while and Jaskier would make sure to cuff him before he woke, so there would be plenty of time to scrub himself down.

Digging the dimeritium cuffs out of his pack (see, Geralt! They did come in handy! It’s important to be prepared, no matter how exorbitantly expensive they were!), Jaskier glanced briefly around the alley to make sure the small explosion hadn’t drawn any unnecessary attention.

Satisfied that they would be left alone for the time being, he turned back to his quarry. When he bent to fasten the cuffs around his wrists, he was shocked to find the man’s hands had disappeared, leaving behind burnt stumps. Either the bomb had been far more powerful than Jaskier had anticipated, which was unlikely, seeing as the burn scars were clearly old, and Stregobor sported no other injuries save some minor scrapes from collapsing to the ground, or something else had caused his hands to vanish. Considering the evidence, Jaskier could only conclude that they had never been there at all, and whatever illusion magic the sorcerer had been employing to conceal that fact had been interrupted, either by the dimeritium or by being knocked unconscious by a bomb to the face. (Either was possible, Lambert was an expert in his craft. He would get a kick out of this story when Jaskier got back to the keep, that was for sure. He could hear him already, “Blew his hands clean off! Not a fingernail left! Now that’s why explosives are the superior school of weaponry!”)

Cuffing him about the wrists obviously wouldn’t work, not when he could simply slip them off over the scarred stumps, so Jaskier had to find another way to bind him. In the end, he settled for yanking the man’s arms behind his back (none too gently, as he hardly deserved consideration) and cuffing him above the elbows. Hopefully he wouldn’t be able to get enough leverage to shimmy those down his arms, and as an added bonus, the position should wrench his shoulders something terrible. Good. The bastard deserved to suffer, might as well start now.

While he waited for the mage to wake, Jaskier secured the stable as a makeshift prison after dragging his limp form into an empty stall, then got to work rinsing his hands and face in the trough inside the stables, before stripping off his doublet and doing his best to scrub all the tiny bits of dimeritium dust out of the fabric. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to scrap this one entirely, it pulled the whole outfit together and he would be loathe to lose it.

A rustling and a low groan from the corner made him look up from his task. “Ah, Master Stregobor! So good to have you back with us. I would apologize for the bindings, but as it happens I’m not actually sorry at all. Not to worry, though, we’ll be out of here shortly. Now, I know you’re like to want to scream for help, but I’ve already set up a tidy little silencing charm around this stable and informed the innkeep that I’ll be sleeping in the hayloft and would appreciate my privacy, so no one will be coming to rescue you. I hope we can avoid all that nastiness right off the bat, don’t you?”

“Who are you? Why are you doing this? I’ve done nothing to you! Let me go this instant!” Stregobor’s eyes were filled with rage that was rapidly transitioning into fear as he realized he had been stripped of his Chaos and cut off from all escape routes.

“You’re right enough about that, sorcerer. You’ve done nothing at all to me. We’ve never even met,” Jaskier intoned as he continued rinsing his doublet.

“Then why are you doing this? Why am I here? Who are you?” Stregobor’s voice inclined steadily in both volume and pitch until he was near shrieking. Jaskier winced, shaking his head to dislodge the ringing sound his screeching set off.

“You’ve done nothing to me, sir mage, but that isn’t the same as having done nothing, now is it?” He sighed, setting the doublet across a hay bale to dry and hoping Yen would be able to figure out a way to save it later. He turned back to Stregobor, drying his hands. “You know, I’ve fallen in love a hundred times, at least. More probably. That’s who I am, that’s what I’m known for, you know? I’m a lover, Stregobor.”

“What the hell does that have to do with me?”

“People think all I care about is lust, but that just isn’t true. I fall a little bit in love with everyone I lay with. I remember them all. I cared for them all. I’ve never so much as kissed someone I didn’t love a little. But you see, they were never serious. Never had roots. Just light-o-loves. Adoration on the surface, that blows away in the morning breeze like so much dandelion fluff. No less real for it, but gone all the same.” He crouched down in front of Stregobor where he was still folded in the corner. He pressed himself back into the wall away from Jaskier, staring at him like he was in the process of growing a second head.

He knew he sounded mad, but frankly after years of listening to other people give villain monologues while he waited for Geralt to rescue him from whatever scrape he’d ended up in, he was excited for the opportunity to try it himself, and he wasn’t about to waste it. It was turning out to be just as much fun as he had always imagined it would, so he threw himself into the performance, playing up even more. Never let it be said that Jaskier the bard allowed himself to be outdone in the field of dramatic speeches.

“For a long time, I thought that’s all I really was, just love, all the way down. Soft and fluffy, easily bruised or broken. But I was wrong, you see. What I needed was a love with roots. A love that couldn’t be blown away or torn out or burned down, and once I had it, well. I realized I wasn’t fluff all the way through. When I’ve got roots to water me, Stregobor, I’ve steel in my core.” He clapped a hand to the man’s shoulder, reveling in the way he startled and tried to jerk away from the contact.

“And now? These days I’ve found the strongest roots on the Continent. I’ve finally found a deeper love! A ‘burn the world’ kind of love, a ‘step in front of a sword for them’ kind of love. Even better, I’ve found two! After a lifetime of shallow love, I’ve been unfathomably blessed with not just one, but two loves of my life! Can you imagine? Two breathtaking souls for whom I would quite literally do anything. I like to think they even love me back the same way, but it doesn’t actually matter right now, because their love for me is not why I have you here. Do you know who my loves are, Stregobor? Would you like to know their names, these people for whom I would steal and cheat and kill and die?”

Stregobor didn’t answer, but he was looking a lot more unnerved that he had been a few moments ago, so Jaskier took that as a win. He leaned in close and whispered in the mage’s ear for dramatic effect.

“Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

He pulled back with a feral grin in time to watch the color drain out of Stregobor’s face as understanding dawned in his eyes.

He could hear Stregobor stammering out threats and pleas for mercy behind him as he stood and turned back to his things, but he was no longer interested. He fished out the token Yen had given him when she portaled him out of the keep for his meeting, and pressed his fingertip underneath it until he felt it draw blood. Years ago he would have complained at the injury to his fingertips, his very livelihood, but by now he knew that the first thing she did when she arrived would be to heal the tiny pinprick, so he popped his finger in his mouth to wait amiably enough.

Sure enough, a moment later the smell of lilacs and gooseberries wafted through the space, cutting through the odors of horse sweat and manure and old straw, and his dearest love stepped through a portal into the stable.

“Yennefer, my love, I’ve missed you so. I can’t wait to be home, what a trip this has been, let me tell you! Careful, dear, there’s dimeritium dust scattered all around there, you’ll want to stay on this side to be safe.”

“Jaskier, why in all the hells is there dimeritium in a tavern stable? Why are your clothes soaking wet? And why have you used the silencing charm I gave you on this place? What—“ she cut off abruptly as her 360° survey of their surroundings finally landed on the sweaty, terrified mage bound in the corner.

“What. Have you done. Jaskier.” Jaskier winced. That tone never meant good things.

“Listen, it was a spur of the moment thing, I’ll grant you, but can you blame me? I mean, first the slimy bastard was just trying to get me into bed, but once he said his name I knew I couldn’t let him leave without at least asking you what you wanted to do with him! After everything he’s done, I wasn’t about to just let him walk away, not when I had cuffs and a dimeritium bomb right there in my bag! It’s like the gods wanted me to capture him! They just dropped him right in my lap!”

“He’s a senior member of the Brotherhood, Jaskier, you can’t just knock him out and drag him into a stable! What if someone saw you?”

“They didn’t, I checked. And no one knew I was here, my contact wanted me undercover for the drop off. I don’t even have my lute!” He rolled his eyes. “Pompous git, like this was anything more than a routine handoff. He was acting like it was a damn assassination, I swear, Yen, it took every bit of training I have not to laugh in his face! You should have seen him!”

“Jaskier! Focus!” She snapped her flawlessly manicured fingers in front of his face, dragging him back to their present predicament. She looked...worried. Oh. Oh, dear. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He hadn’t planned this out very well at all, had he? He was hoping it would be a nice surprise, not cause for concern. He closed her hand gently in his larger one, drawing her close.

“Darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I promise, we’re safe. It was a bit of an impulse decision, yes, but I swear I took all the proper precautions.” He kissed her forehead softly. “He was a monster to you, dear heart. To you, and to Geralt, and to Renfri, and who knows how many others. You all deserve satisfaction. I just wanted to offer you that, that’s all. Please don’t be mad.”

At this point, he deployed the puppy eyes, which he knew she was categorically incapable of resisting (unlike Geralt, she didn’t have decades of exposure to build up a partial immunity). “Now, do you want to take him back with us, or would you rather wipe his memory and let him go?”

“You’d better let me go, mongrel. If you’re lucky, the Brotherhood will only excommunicate you for this, instead of executing you. I know which one I think you deserve,” Stregobor sneered from the corner, apparently incapable of prioritizing survival over bigotry for even a moment.

“Call her that again and I won’t bother asking what they want done with you, you sniveling little weasel. I’ll put my dagger through your eye and be done with it, fucking try me.” Yen’s hand resting gently on his arm kept him grounded for now, but he made no promises if the bastard kept talking.

“Breathe, Jaskier. It’s nothing I haven’t been called before, and leaving a bloody corpse for some poor stablehand to find is hardly productive.”

“Well then, my love, I suggest we decide whether or not he’s coming back with us quickly, because if he continues to insult you I think I shall find myself quite unable to let it go so graciously a second time.” He punctuated this last with a withering glare in Stregobor’s direction, who tried to return it but was clearly having trouble maintaining his arrogant facade in the face of his growing helplessness.

Yen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s a bastard, Jask, but I don’t know if we can just...take him. People will notice he’s gone, they’ll come looking for him.”

Admittedly, Jaskier hadn’t considered leading a search party full of sorcerers back to Kaer Morhen. That...would go poorly. For everyone involved. “Can you check him for magical trackers, or whatever he might have on him? We can slit his throat here and throw the body in the harbor if we must, dear heart, but you know it isn’t just you he’s wronged. You know as well as I do how it weighs on Geralt that Renfri died and this scum lived. I really think this could help ease his burden. Shouldn’t we at least ask?” He forwent the puppy eyes this time, wanting her to understand his genuine concern.

She sighed again, but he could tell she was coming around. She opened her mouth to speak when Stregobor, who apparently had either a death wish or the worst case of Inability To Read The Room Jaskier had ever encountered, decided to interject again.

“Renfri brought her death on herself, I had no part in it. The Butcher killed her, I can hardly be blamed for him doing his job and slaying a monster. Whatever lies he’s spun you about his tragic tale are pure fiction; everyone knows those beasts don’t have human feelings. He has no burden, certainly not any I laid on him. Let me go, and I won’t send the Brotherhood to find you and kill you all, and your pet monster too.”

Jaskier met Yen’s eyes, which were full of the same disbelief he was currently experiencing himself. It was like the man wanted to die a horrible, torturous death at their hands. It was enough, anyway, to make up Yennefer’s mind.

“That’s it. Jaskier, pack up and get ready to move. I’m going to check him and his clothes for latent magic, to make sure he can’t be tracked, and then he’s coming back with us. You stupid, slimy coxcomb, you really can’t help yourself, can you? Gods, how Tissaia put up with you all these years without lighting you on fire is beyond me. If I had been half the cunt at Aretuza as you’ve been in just the last ten minutes, she would have thrown me off the tower into the sea and left me there. Unfortunately for you, patience was the one thing she was never able to teach me, so I’m afraid I simply don’t have the same tolerance for churlishness. Don’t worry, we won’t draw it out. Much. And I’m sure Geralt will be the one to take your head, and he never has the stomach to linger. He’ll be quick, once Jaskier and I are done with you, anyway. I still owe you for that business with Istredd, you know. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I think I’m going to enjoy this, actually. It’s been a while since I got to really let loose, Sodden Hill was so long ago now. Oh, now that’s a neat little trick. Hmm, I bet you were hoping I would try and diffuse that one directly, weren’t you. Let me guess, as soon as I disable it, the signal goes straight to the rest of the Brotherhood? I bet it’s rigged to alert dear old Artorius, am I right? Let’s just…there we go. Can’t have that sending any distress signals, can we? That should do it. He’s clean, Jaskier, let’s go. If I wanted to spend all day in a stable, I would go visit that demon you and Geralt call a horse.”

Talking through the entire process kept Stregobor from running his mouth in response and getting Jaskier’s dagger buried somewhere sensitive, and truthfully he found it rather satisfying to watch the mage’s face grow steadily paler and paler with every word from her pretty lips. He was also more than a little turned on— Yennefer in Scary Witch mode never failed to get him hot under the collar. Considering the first time he saw her like that she had a knife to his balls, it might say something unflattering about his self-preservational instincts, but Jaskier didn’t care. He was a man with needs, and he would not be ashamed of those needs, no matter how much Lambert made fun of him.

Hauling Stregobor up by his bound elbow (and reveling a little in the pained grunt it earned him), he gathered up his pack, grabbing the little crystal charm he had placed at the stable doors as an afterthought. The silencing spell Yen had charmed into it was spent now, but the less evidence of their presence left behind, the better. He shoved Stregobor through the portal and stepped through after him, Yen doing one last sweep to make sure they left nothing behind and couldn’t be traced before following.

Kaer Morhen’s snow-dusted courtyard was empty, which Jaskier took for a blessing. It was probably safer to break the news to Geralt of his old enemy’s arrival at his ancestral home in private, where said enemy couldn’t hurl any ill-advised insults in the middle of Jaskier’s explanation.

That in mind, he turned to Yennefer. “Can you get him set up in one of the cells downstairs? I should probably go find Geralt before someone else stumbles on us and tells him first.”

She snorted inelegantly, making his heart flutter as it always did when she displayed enough trust to allow herself to appear human in front him. “Good luck with that. No rush, we’ll have a grand old time getting reacquainted, won’t we, old man?” She deigned to submit to Jaskier brushing a kiss across her cheek before dragging the protesting sorcerer along towards the side door that led down into the bowels of the old keep.

It didn’t take Jaskier long to find his lover. For all that he was a stalwart, stoic bulwark in the face of the chaos and unpredictability of life on the Path, during winter he settled into the groove of a well-worn routine almost immediately. Jaskier found it adorable, frankly; this mountain of a man who had, before Jaskier’s very eyes, once taken down a royal wyvern by leaping onto it’s back and stabbing it midair, got all grumpy and ruffled every damn year if you asked him to interrupt his midafternoon bath. This is where he found Geralt now, slouching languidly against the edge of one of the hotter pools, eyes closed as he listened to Eskel describing some botany experiment he and Vesemir had planned as part of Ciri’s lessons.

Eskel smiled happily at Jaskier’s entrance, offering him a cheerful wave as he nudged his brother. Geralt snorted without opening his eyes.

“I could smell him from the top of the stairs, Esk, I know he’s here. You getting in, Jask, or have you just come to say hello?”

“Hello darling. Hello Eskel, dear. Has everything been going smoothly in my absence today?”

As Eskel launched into a story about Ciri and Aiden teaming up and escalating the ongoing keep-wide prank war this morning, Jaskier rolled up the hems of his trousers but didn’t undress, settling behind his beloved with his bare feet dangling in the water on either side of Geralt’s ribs and gathering the supplies to begin washing his hair. Geralt melted beneath his hands, as he always did when Jaskier did this. A pleased rumble that could almost be called a purr echoed around the bathing chamber, making Jaskier chuckle, utterly besotted.

He loved seeing Geralt like this, totally relaxed and content. He hated that he was going to have to ruin it. As Eskel’s account of the day drew to a close and comfortable silenced settled over the three men, Jaskier took a deep breath and decided it was better just to get it over with.

“Geralt, my love? Something unexpected happened at my meeting today, and I don’t want it to upset you.”

“Well that introduction is an excellent way to make sure it’s almost definitely going to upset me,” he rumbled dryly. “What did you do, Jaskier?”

“Now, why do you assume it was me who did something? Maybe something was done to me! Maybe I witnessed something astonishing! Maybe—“

“Jaskier.”

“Yeah, ok. I did something.”

Eskel snickered. “Do you want me to leave you two alone, lark?”

“No, darling, I think this is actually something you should know as well. I just hate to bring...not bad news, per se, I think it’s actually quite a good thing, just maybe uncomfortable news? Either way, it pains me to disrupt such an idyllic afternoon but it really was a once in a lifetime coincidence and I don’t know what else I could have done, really, and Yen agreed in the end, so really I think—“

“Jaskier.”

“Right. Sorry. Ok, so after my meeting, I was all set to come home, I was about to call Yen, when this weird old man cornered me in the stable and wouldn’t stop hitting on me. And obviously I was just going to tell him to fuck off and wait until it was safe to call for a portal home, but then he told me his name, and I knew I couldn’t—well, I couldn’t just let him go. Not without talking to you first, you see? So I hit him with one of Lambert’s dimeritium bombs—“

“Jaskier! Who the hell was this guy? A mage? Why are you bombing stangers? You could have been hurt! You could have been arrested!” Eskel looked aghast. Geralt’s face was thunderous, and he was growling low in chest in agreement with Eskel’s assessment.

“Stregobor!” he burst out. Both witchers went utterly still. “It’s Stregobor, ok? And he was just as awful and slimy as I always imagined he would be, and I couldn’t bear the thought of letting him walk away free after everything he did to Yen, and to you, and Renfri, and who knows who else? He was bragging about his “experiments” when he was trying to get into my pants, you know. I would bet my lute he didn’t stop with those poor Black Sun girls. I’m sure that was just an excuse, and now that they’re gone he’s found another reason to torment innocent people. I’d bet he has people locked up somewhere right now! I couldn’t let him go, Geralt, I just couldn’t. I’d never be able to live with myself. And I knew you wouldn’t approve, but you’ve never been good at standing up for yourself, Geralt, or taking revenge even when it’s necessary, that’s what you have me for these days, and it is necessary, my love! It’s necessary! He destroyed you! The man I met in Posada was a shell of who you are now! Of who you were before Blaviken! He deserves to suffer for what he did, Geralt. He deserves to suffer, and he deserves to die, and I’d be damned to every hell before I just walked away and let him ruin any other lives when I had a chance to stop him.”

He had stood to pace somewhere in the middle of his rant, and he turned back now to face the gobsmacked men in the pool, arms crossed. “Alright, I’m done. Now you can yell at me.” Geralt opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Jaskier interrupted again, “Wait! I put him in dimeritium cuffs and Yen and I brought him back through the portal and he’s in the cells downstairs with her and yes she checked for tracking spells ok now I’m really done.”

For a long moment there was no sound except the water lapping against the stone, and Jaskier’s heaving breaths, as both men just blinked at him for a moment in shock.

“He’s...here? At Kaer Morhen?” Eskel’s voice was quiet. He sounded wary, but not outright hostile, which Jaskier would accept as a win, under the circumstances.

“Yes. He’s well and truly powerless, I swear it. Yen and I both made sure of it. I knocked him out with a dimeritium bomb, which I would imagine is still coating quite a bit of his skin, and cuffed him behind his back at the elbows. He’s not going anywhere. Incidentally, did you know he doesn’t have hands? I didn’t know that. Burned off, looks like. Creep was using illusion magic to...make fake hands, I guess? Weird. Anyway, yes, Yen has him downstairs in one of the old Grasses chambers off the lab. I know you all hate going down there, so we can move him somewhere else if you like, but it seemed like the safest place for now. Besides, if anyone deserves to get haunted, it’s that bastard.”

Eskel nodded grimly. Geralt was still staring silently at the wall, his face the blank mask he used when he was overwhelmed.

“And me? You said you wanted me to know about this, too.”

Jaskier fiddled nervously with the cuffs of his chemise. He had had the realization on his way down to the springs that Eskel likely had his own grievance with Stregobor, but bringing it up was another matter- this always a delicate subject. “I did. I thought, that is, I realized that Renfri couldn’t have been the only Black Sun girl Stregobor abused. I don’t know for sure, obviously, but I think there’s a significant possibility that he was one of the ones to torment Deirdre when she was young, which makes you just as entitled to vengeance as Yen and Geralt. If you want it, that is. Of course it’s entirely up to you what you need from this, dear.”

From the stricken look on Eskel’s face, Jaskier was quite sure the possibility had not occurred to him. Geralt seemed to snap out of his vacant stupor a little at his brother’s distress, and shifted to lay a hand on Eskel’s forearm on the edge of the pool.

Eskel glanced down at the hand on his arm, and took a deep breath through his nose. He seemed to settle a little, though he still gave off a haunted air that Jaskier cursed himself for having put there. “I think...I think I don’t. Want to see him. I don’t...whatever you decide, I trust it will be what he deserves. But I don’t think I can face him. If he really...I don’t think I want to know. I don’t think I can hear him tell me what he did. Maybe...maybe I owe it to her to know? Maybe I should have to carry that, because she did, because it’s what I left her to, but I just...I can’t. Geralt I’m sorry, I can’t, I—” Geralt gathered his brother into his arms, holding his shaking frame to his chest and cutting off his increasingly frantic words.

“It’s ok, Esk. It’s ok. You did the best you could. We’ll deal with him, alright? He’ll pay for hurting her. You’ve done all you could, you don’t have to carry this too.” Geralt’s reassuring murmurings grew too quiet for Jaskier’s human ears to pick up, as they continued to rock back and forth in the water, holding each other tightly.

While it may have been an inappropriate thought to have under the circumstances, Jaskier couldn’t help the bubble of fondness that swelled in his chest, seeing his wolves take comfort and affection in each other so shamelessly. A display such as this would be unthinkable outside these walls, but he felt immensely privileged to bear witness to the tenderness witchers could only safely display here, in this mountain stronghold made home.

He began quietly reorganizing the bathing supplies in the ledges carved into the rock wall of the chamber in order to give his witchers the illusion of privacy while Eskel pulled himself back together.

“So, little lark. I suppose you and I should go find Yen, then?” Jaskier set down the soaps he had been stacking into a little pyramid and turned back to the water at Geralt’s voice. He and Eskel had pulled apart, though Geralt’s hand still rested on his brother’s shoulder, his thumb tracing little circles into the scarred flesh.

“Only if you want to, dear heart. Yen has things under control for now, we can wait as long as you need. I had planned to ask if you wanted me to wash your hair, too, Eskel, love, before I opened my big mouth, so that offer stands of course. It always helps this lug settle down,” he said, meeting Eskel’s gaze kindly and lifting an eyebrow. Eskel was never nearly as flustered as Geralt about being caught doing anything so indecorous as having feelings in public, so he simply responded with a sheepish shrug and a grateful smile. Jaskier beamed at him and gathered up his oils once more.

“Scootch over then, my wolf, give us some room to work! Your dear brother needs some pampering and I aim to provide!” He plopped his feet back into the water with a dramatic flourish, nearly poking Geralt’s eye out with the stopper on one of his vials before his lover caught his wrist and set the delicate bit of glass safely on the chamber floor with a put-upon sigh. Eskel chuckled at their antics before settling back between Jaskier’s knees with a contented hum.

“Tell me more about what the kittens were up to this morning, I need all the details if I’m to devise a suitable rejoinder,” Jaskier demanded, neatly pivoting the conversation away from upsetting topics and restoring the mood between the three men. Geralt met his gaze, eyes twinkling with amusement and gratitude, and Jaskier grinned at him before throwing himself into caper-planning with abandon, hands never stilling as they gently massaged the stress from Eskel’s scalp.

Later, once Eskel had been roused from the puddle of contentment he had melted into under Jaskier’s skilled fingers and safely ensconced with Lambert in the kitchen in case any bad memories resurfaced, Geralt and Jaskier headed down into the bowels of the keep, after a short detour to their rooms for Geralt’s steel sword.

It wasn’t hard to track down where Yen had taken their prisoner; even Jaskier’s human hearing could pick up on the bitten off shouts and their lover’s furious snarls. Jaskier was a little surprised. He had expected Yennefer’s torturing persona to be as bored and aloof as she always was with everyone outside their little family, but she sounded livid.

“You had no right, you scum-sucking wretch. No right! I lost everything, I lost my Chaos, you have no idea what I had to do to get back to Aretuza, where I would be safe. I should have been safe! You took that from me!”

“I did what I had to do! What Tissaia was too weak to do! That bitch was always soft for you. She never had the stomach to treat you like you deserved. I had to protect the Brotherhood. You were always easily swayed, Yennefer, you were always going to be a liability. I just did what had to be done!”

“That’s a crock of shit. You didn’t care about protecting anyone. I don’t even think you believed I was a spy. I think you just wanted to hurt me. I think that’s all you ever want, to hurt people. You think power gives you the right to do whatever you please, no matter the consequences. You think nothing can touch you. You’re wrong, Stregobor. You’re not the only one with power. You’re at my mercy, now. You wanted to see how much it would hurt me, well, I always did love a good experiment. Why don’t I show you myself?”

Jaskier and Geralt rounded the corner into the room just as Stregobor’s voice started to ricochet off the stone walls, a haunting echo of the screams that once rang through these same halls as countless young boys took their last human breaths. At least, Jaskier thought, the pain being doled out in this place was finally for someone who deserved it.

The sight that greeted them was equal parts disturbing and satisfying, at least for Jaskier. Yen had chained Stregobor to the wall by the cuffs, hiking his shoulders even further up his back in what looked like a truly painful contortion. He was bleeding from a cut above his eye, which was already purple and swelling where Yennefer had apparently forgone magic and simply hauled off and decked him, and he appeared to have a broken nose as well as at least one less tooth than the last time Jaskier had seen him.

Yen’s face was twisted into a snarl, and her hands...her hands seemed to be somehow buried, all the way to her palms, in Stregobor’s temples. There was no blood, so it was obviously a spell of some kind, rather than their girl simply losing her temper and punching hard enough to leave holes in his skull, which would have been concerning, if entertaining. As it was, Yen looked as irate as Jaskier had ever seen her, and Stregobor...well, the man looked to be in the kind of agony that made Reince’s treatment look like a beach vacation, and Jaskier did not envy him his fate.

Satisfied that their love had things well in hand, Jaskier leaned himself up against a wall, watching the show and waiting for her to be done. The screaming was becoming somewhat grating, and in an effort to distract himself, Jaskier glanced at Geralt where he still stood in the doorway.

Their Wolf could have been carved from marble, for how still and expressionless he was. He stared at the spectacle before them, body motionless and face implacable, but Jaskier could sense the rage and pain rolling off him in waves, almost thick enough to touch.

He jolted a little when Jaskier reached for his hand, taking it in both of his and gently uncurling his fingers one by one where Geralt had clenched them into fists. Jaskier threaded their fingers together and dropped their joined hands back down to their sides, smoothing his thumb back and forth across the back of his love’s hand softly.

Geralt squeezed his hand once in thanks, taking a deep breath and letting out slowly. The sound apparently alerted Yennefer to their presence, and she pulled her hands from Stregobor’s head and slumped tiredly onto the stool pulled up in front of the chained man. The screams cut off abruptly and Stregobor went limp against his bindings, dribbling blood onto the floor and groaning faintly.

“He’s all yours, boys. I got what I needed. Gods, I need a drink.”

With a soft noise of concern, Jaskier crossed the room at a clip, burying his hands in her thick raven hair and rubbing firmly at her temples. Mind magic always gave her a headache, and while he hadn’t seen her do anything quite like that before, he’d be willing to bet she’d have a bitch of a migraine tomorrow. Humming gratefully, she tipped her head back to rest against his stomach and closed her eyes.

Jaskier felt Geralt’s warm bulk behind him, one muscle-corded arm snaking around his waist and the other squeezing comfortingly at Yen’s shoulder. Were it not for the incoherent moaning and slight rattling of the chains where Stregobor trembled against the wall, it would be a perfect moment of romantic domesticity, but the noises reminded Jaskier that they were here for a reason.

“Learn anything interesting, darling?” He kept his voice quiet in case her head was already starting to hurt, and didn’t stop massaging her scalp. She hummed again in response, making him chuckle. “Come now, you can’t leave me with two lovers who communicate only in grunts! Our witcher has that market cornered, my love.”

She huffed a soft laugh. “I’ll leave you with whatever I please, bard, and you’ll like it.”

“Fair enough, dear heart. I can’t argue with you there.”

“He has more “experimental subjects” locked up somewhere,” she sighed, humor gone from her voice. “Young girls, I don’t know what his excuse is this time. He tried to tell me but I wasn’t listening to his drivel. He’s been taking them off the streets and using Chaos on them, cutting into them. I’m not sure how many are still alive.”

Jaskier and Geralt shared a look of horrified dismay. He had suspected, of course, that was part of why he went ahead with the kidnapping in the first place, but to hear it confirmed...Jaskier fought down a wave of nausea.

“That’s why I had to go into his head, he wouldn’t tell me where they were, or what traps he laid to stop them getting out.” She didn’t open her eyes, but Jaskier could see the tears gathering in the corners of her lashes. Gods, what she must have seen in that monster’s mind. His poor girl.

He dropped a kiss to the crown of her head, trying to convey his gratitude to her for taking on that burden. “Did you get what you needed?” A nod. “Good work, my darling. Leave the rest to us, then. Lambert and Eskel are making honeycakes, if you go up now you should be able to nick some straight from the oven. Go and get some rest, sweet. You’ve earned it.”

Yen cracked an eye open to glare up at him, presumably for telling her what to do, but acquiesced easily enough, accepting forehead kisses from both her lovers before hauling herself off the stool and staring imperiously at their prisoner. Nodding decisively to herself, she brought her knee up hard and fast between his legs, before turning on her heel and making for the door.

“Don’t go easy on him, boys,” she called over Stregobor’s pained moans, not bothering to look back.

Jaskier turned a questioning face to Geralt. “Thoughts, my dear? Anything in particular you want done before we say goodbye to our guest?” Stregobor’s breathing picked up slightly, hisses of pain interspersed with fearful sobs.

Geralt’s brow furrowed deeper than before, his discomfort obvious to anyone who knew him well enough. He grunted a negative, shaking his head. “I just want it done. Do what you will, I’ll take his head and be done with it.”

Jaskier stroked a comforting hand down his arm. “Of course, my love. I understand. There’s just one thing I want to do, really. Truthfully, I’ve wanted to since he started coming onto me at the tavern this morning, before I even knew who he was, but knowing how many young girls he’s taken, what he’s probably done to them, it seems more fitting than ever.”

Geralt raised one eyebrow silently.

“I’m going to take off his cock.”

Stregobor’s protesting wail was piercing, and Geralt’s hand shot out instantly to silence him, knocking his face sideways into the stone wall. Jaskier gazed at him adoringly, knowing he had only done that because he had noticed Jaskier’s winces of discomfort from the noise earlier. His sweet wolf, always looking out for him. Geralt huffed, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

“Well, get on with it then, lark. You need me to hold him still?” Jaskier beamed and kissed his cheek.

“No, darling, I doubt he’ll be able to be much trouble right now. Isn’t that right, Master Stregobor, of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers?” He pitched his voice as mocking and pompous as he could manage, sneering at the ragged, bleeding old man against the wall. He really didn’t look very imposing at all like this. If Jaskier wasn’t fully aware of just how much pain and strife this one man had caused, he would laugh at the idea of finding him dangerous. As it was, he had nothing left for him but contempt.

Stregobor’s only response was a low, despairing moan.

“Right. On with it, then. Ugh, I didn’t think this through, I’m actually going to have to touch it, aren’t I?” Geralt snorted, utterly unsympathetic. Brute.

“Wait! Wait, please.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, he really hadn’t thought Stregobor had anything left in him.

“Witcher. Please. Just. Just kill me. Please. You didn’t make that Creyden bitch linger, don’t do it to me. You told me you wouldn’t choose which evil was lesser, but you killed her and not me. But if the issue is balance, surely you should take me the same way you took her? Make it quick, like her? It’s only fair, Butcher. It’s only fair!”

Jaskier couldn’t fucking believe what he was hearing. This moron couldn’t honestly believe that would work? To ask a favor and insult his jailer in the same breath...Jaskier couldn’t fathom where in all the hells he found the godsdamned balls. The sheer gall...Jaskier was almost impressed, honestly. Not more than he was repulsed and enraged, of course, but even so.

Still, there were some things Jaskier had never once let slide, in all the time he had been by Geralt’s side.

He had his hand on Stregobor’s throat and the tip of his dagger pressed to his groin in barely a blink. “Call him that one more time, I fucking dare you.” His voice dropped nearly as low as Geralt’s, menacing and furious. This was the man who had coined that awful name, who had painted a target on Geralt’s back that Jaskier was still trying to scrub free decades later. His impertinence would not be tolerated, not here. Not by Jaskier.

The sorcerer’s eyes were wide and terrified, his breath stinking and foul. Jaskier scoffed in disgust, discarding his plan of having to lay hands on this repulsive gremlin’s shriveled cock, instead driving his dagger straight up, through his trousers, spearing his balls to his body. He bared his teeth in a feral semblance of a grin at Stregobor’s horrified gasp, and yanked the dagger out as hard has he could.

Stregobor screamed. His shriek echoed off the walls of the chamber, reverberating back and back and back on itself until it felt like Jaskier’s own eyes would bleed. Geralt didn’t seem to be faring much better, his mouth twisted in distaste and his hands braced over his ears. He reached back over his shoulder for his sword, ready to put an end to the monster and the awful wailing with it.

The noise died out all at once as Stregobor choked on his own blood, leaving a startling silence in its wake, before Jaskier’s ears readjusted and he could hear the panting and agonized whimpers. Another sound drew his attention, though. He looked around the room, trying to pinpoint the source of the faint knocking, until his eyes landed on the window.

A small grey bird was perched in the slit window, tapping its beak against the stone almost as if it was trying to get their attention. A black stroke through its eyes marked its face like a mask, and its beak was hooked at the end, almost like a raptor’s. Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he gasped in shock.

“Geralt!”

Geralt’s eyes, which had been fixed on Stregobor as he hefted his steel sword into the air, preparing to strike, shot to Jaskier at his frantic tone.

“Geralt, look!” He pointed at the window, where the little bird sat calmly watching the scene within the room. “Geralt, it’s—”

“A shrike,” Geralt finished, a thread of what might have been awe in his voice. He lowered his sword, stepping cautiously closer to the window. “...Renfri?”

The butcherbird chirped once, hopping closer before flitting from the window to land on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt froze, every muscle in his body going as still as stone. Jaskier wasn’t even sure if he was breathing.

For his part, Jaskier was reeling from the sudden onslaught of emotion. Grief and anger and joy and relief and worry all swamped him together like a great ocean wave, threatening to drown him, but he took a deep breath and tried to set the mess aside to deal with later. This wasn’t his moment. She wasn’t here for him. Jaskier needed to look after Geralt first, the rest could wait.

“Geralt? My love?” He got a hum in response, Geralt not moving even a fraction where he stood, still staring blankly at the window where the bird had perched a moment ago. “I think it’s time, darling. It’s time to end it. Unless...unless she wants a turn?” He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for offering what might be a ghost in animal form or might just be a bird a turn at the torture chamber, but it seemed only fair. This was her vengeance, after all.

The shrike looked at Jaskier and tilted its—her?—head in what somehow felt like amusement, which Jaskier wasn’t sure how she managed to convey without a face that made expressions, before flitting from Geralt’s shoulder to the hilt of his sword. She fixed her predator’s gaze on Stregobor, who, while increasingly pale from blood loss, still seemed present enough to register another of his victims in the room. A hoarse cry erupted from her throat, a rough, angry shrieking that exemplified her name, and Stregobor shuddered in horror.

Geralt nodded once and lifted his sword again. The bird lifted off from the hilt, this time alighting on Jaskier’s shoulder, who only just managed not to startle and flail her away.

“Oh! Hello! Right, good thinking, he needs those shoulders for this next bit.” He forced himself to stop babbling, slightly bewildered by the absurdity of the moment. What a song this was going to make, truly.

Stregobor’s death was an ignominious thing, in the end. Geralt’s sword struck as true as it ever did, and then, just like that, the monster from so many nightmares was just...gone. A fitting end, Jaskier thought. An unimpressive death for an unimpressive man.

The shrike chirped again, leaping from Jaskier’s shoulder and landing on the mage’s corpse, where she promptly began pecking at the eyes.

“Oh, oh dear. Oh goodness that’s. Wow. Ok. Nope, predator, I get that. To each their own, I suppose, but just—ugh. Oh, that’s terrible. Geralt, I think I’m going to wait outside while you...say goodbye? Augh, no thank you. Very nice to meet you, Renfri! I’ve heard such wonderful things! Safe travels and all that,” he called over his shoulder, already headed for the door to mourn the loss of this entire outfit; the dimeritium might have been salvageable, but he was drenched head to toe in Stregobor’s crotch-blood, so every stitch of fabric currently on his body would be being burned just as soon as possible, thank you very much.

It was only a few moments before Geralt followed him into the hall, a faraway look in his eyes. They only made it a few steps before he stopped, eyes wide. He reached back over his shoulder again for his sword, causing Jaskier a moment of looking around in a panic for whatever monster Geralt had sensed, here in the underbelly of their own home, before he unhooked the gold brooch from its place on the hilt, handing the unornamented sword to Jaskier.

“Wait here,” he murmured and took off back towards the cell.

He returned after a moment, hands empty, his shoulders lighter somehow than Jaskier had ever seen them. Jaskier handed him back the sword, and they continued back towards the inhabited areas of the keep.

“Did she take it?”

Geralt didn’t have to ask what he meant. “She was gone when I got back. I left it in the window, just in case.” Jaskier nodded, wishing for once that he knew what to say in this situation.

“It’s...it’s right, anyway. Even if she’s gone now. It’s right to take it off.” Jaskier didn’t say anything, knowing his lover needed time to get his thoughts in proper order before they could be expressed. “It was a reminder. What Stregobor said, about lesser evils. That’s what I told him, back then. He asked me to kill her, and I told him I didn’t get involved in men’s quarrels. He called her death the lesser evil. I told him all evil is the same, lesser or greater. I told her the same, that I wouldn’t choose. In the end, I had to choose anyway. So I wore the brooch to remind me. Never to...let anyone. Put me in a position to have to choose. Never to get involved in human affairs.”

Jaskier’s heart ached for his beloved, for the pain and the remorse and the hatred, his own and others’, that he’d been forced to bear for so long. He reached for Geralt’s hand and held it tight, encouraging him to go on.

“But it’s different, now. Our lives are...messy. Nilfgaard and the Brotherhood and the elves and just...everything. All I am anymore is involved. And if I weren’t...if I never got involved, I wouldn’t have Ciri, or Yen, or you. I probably wouldn’t be speaking to Lambert, because I wouldn’t have given Aiden a chance, and who knows how often I would see the others. I’d be alone. It’s better, now. Everything is better, and I don’t need that brooch anymore. I kept it as a reminder, of my promise, but also of her. And now, I know she’s alright. She’s at peace. I gave her the revenge I should have from the start. The lesser evil I should have chosen. She can rest now.”

Jaskier’s eyes were swimming with tears, and he stopped walking and tugged Geralt into a firm embrace at the top of the stairs. “I love you so much,” he murmured into Geralt’s shoulder, clutching at the back of his tunic with trembling hands.

Broad, warm hands stroked tenderly across his waist. “I love you, little lark. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up before dinner.”

“Me? Don’t put this all on me, witcher! We are both covered in blood and viscera and who knows what, how dare you!”

Geralt snickered. “Well, now we are, after you just plastered yourself all over my front covered in cock blood.”

Jaskier let out an outraged squawk, before being hoisted unceremoniously over Geralt’s shoulder.

“You brute! Put me down this instant! Geralt!”

Geralt just kept chuckling as he wound down the hall towards the springs, and Jaskier couldn’t help the bubble of delighted joy in his chest, seeing his lover so light and carefree. It was like years of turmoil and weariness had lifted off his shoulders all at once, and Jaskier was so overwhelmed with love he could cry. Instead, he continued his affronted tirade just to hear Geralt laugh, occasionally taking advantage of his position to grope at his shapely ass.

In a moment, Geralt would heave him straight into the pool fully clothed, just to hear him splutter and laugh at his waterlogged glare. Yen would scold them both for interrupting her bath, but would draw them both into a cuddle pile without complaint once the worst of the blood was gone. Later, they would all go up to dinner, clean and warm and relaxed, and they would enlist the other witchers in a plan to rescue the last of Stregobor’s victims. Aiden would volunteer to dispose of the corpse downstairs, since he was the only one with no history with either Stregobor or Kaer Morhen’s Trial rooms. When he returned from his task, Jaskier would ask what he did with the brooch on the windowsill, and Aiden would reply that there was no brooch anywhere in that room. Jaskier would mention it to Geralt that night as they got ready for bed, and though neither would really know what to think, both men would hope the brooch had gone back to its rightful owner. Jaskier would fall asleep safe and warm between the two great loves of his life. In the morning, there would be training, and lessons, and music, and laughter, and food, and family, and love.

And way up in the Blue Mountains, high above a crumbling keep full of witchers and witches and one (mostly)human bard, a small grey bird, with a black strip across its eyes, would haul an ornate gold brooch into its nest, before setting off to hunt down its lunch.

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van-yangyin · 11 months

Text

15 questions for mutuals

I was tagged by @pralinesims and @stargazer-sims, thank you so much for the tag!

Are you named after anyone? No, although as a curious fact I was almost born in a van. 😆

When was the last time you cried? I don't remember, as I tend to cry over silly things rather than really serious things.

Do you have kids? No, none. And for the moment I prefer it that way because I'm not much of a babysitter, so a few less of my own.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? No, I learned to recognize some of them over time, but I don't use at all. Only with people I know and with those will understand my sense of humor.

What sports do you play/have you played? Basketball, skateboarding, football, volleyball, ping pong and tennis, now my level of each one if I'm good or bad I'm not asked, so I leave it to your opinion.

What’s the first thing you notice about other people? Their lips, I don't know why, but I do it instinctively. (When masks are used, it's a little more complicated).

Eye colour? Black. (I mean, it's very very dark brown, but you can only distinguish the pupil of the iris with sunlight or fluorescent light, with regular lights are very difficult to distinguish.)

Scary movies or happy endings? I love scary/horror movies! (But the psychological ones, I don't care about the gore ones as they usually have a very poor plot and only focus on blood and misplaced limbs), but I love the ones with happy endings too (unless they contain a lot of "cliché", because then they bore me, especially if I see too many of the same theme in "a loop").

Any special talents? I can spell words out loud if I'm told to do so. Although I suffer from aphantasia, when I hear a word, I imagine it with my open eyes in the back of my brain (it's a little complicated to explain) and I spell it quite easily (no matter if it's long or short). I hear sounds more clearly than voices, i.e. if there is water sounding very faintly I can hear it even though that too (that could be considered a talent?).

Where were you born? Almost in a van, then almost in an elevator and finally in the delivery room of a hospital.

What are your hobbies? Drawing (physical and digital art), videogames, creation of 3D models (hair, clothes, shoes, accessories, objects, etc…. Everything that interests me at the moment and I can create from scratch in general, because I love challenges), and my OCs (Original Characters) and those of others, especially Lea's, because they're the ones we create and share in our games in general, either sims or any simulator that you can make your own character (Ryuuya, Icaro, Noah, Luka, etc… We constantly create many and we always attach to all of them, every time they appear in our sims game when we play with others we recognize them and even create theories if we see interacting with other OCs from other families). If we talk about specifics, currently with SK8 the Infinity (I've been two years and a few months in a row without stopping thinking about the series since I consumed it in 2021 when it came out, drawing, theorizing, roleplaying, writing about them, etc… ) and Kingdom Hearts since I was 8 years old (ditto to what was previously said on SK8, I really care very little when people say Kingdom Hearts doesn't make sense and they haven't played the whole experience, if they consider themselves casual gamers and simply say they're the ones who don't understand the plot, I have no problem), currently they tend to be my two hobby constants to which I dedicate more time (together with my OCs), including it in drawing, videogames and 3D model creation (ie, drawing them and creating and playing with them in the sims, and that's what Lea and I do with everything we are passionate about when we start, we not only limit ourselves to the main characters, we try to recreate almost all the secondary characters if not all, when we gradually create more content for them before bringing them out into the world, also the lots [residentials, commercials and general locations], and accessories they normally use, hair variations, and original characters such as family members, friends etc.. …, you could say that we never get bored because we always find something to do, with our OCs or with one of these two series).

Do you have any pets? Yeah! Currently my "little" dog Yuka, well, "my" not, since I don't own her, she's just another member of the family. Her name is because in Japanese Yuka [床] means floor and she loves to stretch out like a blanket on it (like a blanket, literally), so we decided that would be her name. A few years ago besides Yuka we had a goldfinch named Yuki and a rescued canary we named him Zeus because we rescued him one stormy day, and he died of old age. And well in the past we had more dogs and birds that all died of old age, TriggerWarning except for one of our dogs that a neighbor poisoned her and little by little she became blind, deaf and the vet told us that we had to put her down because she was suffering and %&$%&$%$ I will never forget that, because I was still a child and I suffered a lot with that experience. In the future I would also love to have a cat, but for the moment I would like to give all the love and affection only to Yuka, I'm sure she doesn't think it's bad at all.

How tall are you? 173cm (5'8) [I wish were taller]

Fave subject in school? Art, music, Latin and Greek.

Dream job? Content creator with my OCs, to be able to make comics, books, illustrations and have people love them, identify with them, theorize with them and their struggles, with the story, etc… Or to be able to work solely as an illustrator making money from it. It's my dream job… if I had less lack of concentration, perseverance, patience and opportunity to be able to be diagnosed of what I have by "official way" and so that I can learn to know what is happening to me and how I can deal with my day to day situations, money sucks bc I can't make any of this without it. (Because I'm sure I'm not a lazy, every day I struggle to be able to work as a "normal" human being but I'm incapable of it) for sure I could achieve it, but as I'm not as far as I know and my social skills are almost null, I always stay at the beginning of the road.

I have no idea who's already done this because I spend too much time offline creating CC, writing and drawing so I'll only tag who I know has not done it, tho feel free to do it if you want.

I'll tag @lea-heartscxiv because I know you're someone who haven't done it, every day I see you so I asked and you said me no. But feel free to ignore, tho. I also tag anyone who likes Serial Experiments Lain, you can skip it but you'll be cursed and will never appear on Wired again. [joke, skip it if you don't feel comfortable doing these things]

#van do games #non sims #i'm catching up with “van do games”#more or less #thank you! it's been a lot of fun to do it

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cavalcleave · 6 months

Text

A Usual Mission Night

Warnings: Descriptions of blood and gore. | Characters: Monsterwyn, Doc (guest character belonging to @/bunquest) | Word-count: 4,559 | AN: once again Doc has a new job called babysitting. also congrats everyone i had to talk abt the weird shit going on w Wyn's clothes in this one. also also happy late birthday to Maldwyns

---

Doc watches the tv in her room, when she hears a knock on her door… it's softer than usual.

She goes to open it, finding a familiar face and sight. Monsterwyn is sleepily standing there, covered in blood.

"Oh! Hello dear." She greets, giving them a warm smile. "You’re back early. I’ll run you a bath and we can get you cleaned up in a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay…." Monsterwyn mumbles, coming inside. Most of the blood is dried and a majority of the viscera is cleaned off of them, but they still leave blood stains on the floor as they head in.

The two of them head into the bathroom, Doc drawing the curtain open for them. "Alright Wyn, you can wait here and hop into the tub while I grab your towel and the bubble soap."

"Yayyy bubble bath… and the fluffy towel…" Monsterwyn sleepily yet cheerily says.

Doc laughs at this, and heads out of the room to grab their towel. She opens her closet to grab it, it's an extra soft light purple towel, folded neatly after its last use.

When she returns, she hears the water running, and she opens a cabinet inside the bathroom and grabs their bubble soap. For now she places the towel on the toilet and the bubble soap on the rim of the tub.

"Do you want me to help or are you…" Doc pauses as she leans over to view them past the curtain, they had drawn it in back to be half closed. "Why are you still wearing your clothes in here again, I thought we talked about this."

Monsterwyn groans, "They're not even reeeeal it doesn't matter… it's a part of me now like how my bones… Are technically made out of my skin… and aren't all there. Maybe it's that my skin is made out of my bones…? I don't know." They say, letting out a yawn as they settle more into the warm water. "You can help though, I'm so sleepy… and get me my bubble bath."

"Alright, alright." Doc says, complying with their demands but not before taking her pinstriped shirt off and placing it next to their towel. Putting the bubbles in their bath and turning the water off when there's a sufficient amount. "You could at least take your boots off, tons of dirt on those I'm sure."

At her request they kick one of their boots at her. Causing her to protest. "Hey, don't throw them at me!"

"Then don't ask me to waste my time when I'm tired." Monsterwyn says, sticking their tongue out and blowing a raspberry at her. They gently toss the other boot over the rim of the tub with another kick. "Happy now?"

Doc briefly sighs, "Yeah, sure… now let's get to cleaning you up."

She helps them clean themself, which goes faster due to them sprouting tendrils to help. Even washing their hair, which makes them purr as she does.

"You were absolutely covered in the stuff, must be nice to get all nice and clean, huh?" Doc asks.

Monsterwyn hums a confirmation. "Stuck my head into a corpse like a vulture does for fun. And then Ace and Spike accidentally broke the water in the combat place again…" They explain.

"How do those too manage to do that so often… it's almost impressive." Doc says.

"No clue, it's different every time. I'm usually too busy mauling someone to notice it." Monsterwyn says, stretching out a bit in the warm water of the tub. "Plus I just focus on getting the job done so I can eat safely, fighting while sleepy is a lot harder… I'd have to resort to just choking em with tendrils, or absorbing them, but that'd make me sleep longer. Plus absorbing them alive is a pain, they don't stop squirming for hours, that hurts y'know."

"Um… yeah… I'll bet." Doc awkwardly replies.

"Yeah… it's kind of awful." Monsterwyn says, leaning their head back, purring. "I'm pretty sadistic and I love causing torturous deaths but sheesh… that takes way too long for so little payoff. I mean for it to really be torture I'd have to end up not falling asleep… I know I snore and stuff but the air flow usually gets cut off since I don't need the air to go anywhere because my lungs aren't really functional."

"Uh huh…" Doc says.

"Why are they telling me this?" Doc thinks.

"Yeah, so that's why I'm not eating people like a snake…." Monsterwyn says, yawning. "And whatever Spike and Ace are doing… I never pay attention to it… I'm just in that rush of slashing, biting, killing… blood…" Their voice slowly quiets down to a mumble as they close their eye.

In response, Doc splashes their face with water. "Hey! Don't fall asleep in my bathtub." Doc exclaims.

Monsterwyn yelps and jolts upright again. Letting out a wail, they start to complain, "But it's cozy, comfy and warm… can't you make it warm forever?"

"Maldwyn, you say this everytime you take a bath in my house. I can't just let you sleep in here, the water will just get cold. I don't know what's so appealing about the tub, don't you like the bed better for being softer?" Doc asks. "Plus I'm not going to boil you in water."

"I know they have low standards for places to sleep but this is ridiculous. They've got to be fucking with me or something." Doc thinks.

"Boil me in a teapot pleeeeease…" Monsterwyn wails dramatically. "It's silly but... it's nice to feel warm all over… y'know? It's so different from a heated blanket…"

Doc makes a mental note. "I should take Wyn to a hot tub or perhaps a sauna… they would love it."

"That's really interesting, Wyn. But you've got to get dry, you're all clean." Doc says, letting the soapy water drain out.

"But Doooooc I was cozyyyy…" Monsterwyn whines, "You're so cruel…"

As the tub empties, Monsterwyn stands up, causing Doc to grab their towel. "Remember, let me give you the towel before you--"

She doesn't get to finish her instruction before Monsterwyn shakes themself off like a dog when it's wet, getting water everywhere.

"I thought I told you to quit that until I give you the towel… there's water everywhere…" Doc says, wiping her glasses clean of a soapy water droplet.

Monsterwyn whines, "I can't help it, it's my instincts giving me that impulse."

"I know…" Doc replies, she can't really get mad at them for it. "Here, dry up." She tosses them the towel.

Monsterwyn wraps themself in the towel, purring and rubbing their face on the soft material. They then step out of the tub, an unmistakable sound of claws against the hard surface of the tub. "Thanks, Doc…" They say. they almost immediately put their boots back on but they remember what Doc said about them being dirty.

Doc laughs at this sight, "You're welcome, Wyn. Now, I'll let you dry up. Remember, don't destroy anything in herr, I need all of this. No mirror punching, okay?" She gently reminds them. Before she turns to leave she grabs her pinstriped shirt and takes it with her.

Monsterwyn stares at her until the door closes behind her. Then they continue to dry themself off, delighting at the softness of the towel. After a few moments, they're mostly dried up. They absentmindedly stretch their feet, then recoil, removing one foot from the ground and the bathroom rug on top of it.

"Ugh… that's still weird… textures on the ground are so weird." Monsterwyn thinks, slowly putting their foot back on the rug. "This rug isn't awful though, just wet. Only have to worry about not accidentally clawing it. No idea why Doc tries to make me take my boots off all the time… they're not real… Well… kind of real. But I make sure there isn't dirt or anything sticking to it when I get inside."

Monsterwyn looks down at their feet, they're similar in appearance to their hands in that they're purple and clawed. The only differences being that the purple coloration isn't spread as far and their toeclaws are shorter and stubbier. "I don't get it, it's not like these are cute. I don't have paws or anything. Plus they just make snuggling more dangerous since I can accidentally cut her. But whatever."

They quickly dry off their feet then pick up their boots to take out of the bathroom. "Still don't know what's up with these honestly… my clothes are a part of me and I can absorb stuff through them… but yet I can just take all of it off. My body is weird under all of it but… it can still be separated. I'm tangibly real but… I know my original body has been eaten away at this point, it has to have been… there's no reason why it's so weirdly… Ugh but then how are the colors right? I remember it, my body was paling right before my eyes… and then how does my good eye still look right and the scars…." Monsterwyn thinks, huffing in frustration.

"It's all confusing! I don't get it! I break down living stuff within a day yet somehow I'm supposed to believe that my body hasn't been eaten and this is reversible… ha… It's definitely way too late now. Not that it'd do much good, they're almost all gone… the rest of my kind. I could turn someone but… why would I want to make someone else suffer this fate, I hate it and I'm probably the thing best suited for it." Monsterwyn thinks. "I wish I could meet other people like me… the red king, well… he doesn't like me I think… he pities me more than he likes me. He refused to tell me where the rest of them are… if they're even still alive… and the only other way to meet more is… for them to be born cursed, right? That's an issue too, how am I gonna manage that? Hm, maybe it's best to not think about the logistics of that… I know how that works with people… but how would that work now? We're all goo and stuff…"

Monsterwyn drops their boots on a welcome mat. "Should worry about my constant hunger more, though, even if I'm full now." They think, absentmindedly rubbing their stomach as it aches from how full it is. "Maybe too full, but I guess that's what happens when a wild animal gets to indulge in too many fresh kills. Kinda refreshing to actually have the time to finish, though."

"Should probably start limiting myself, I know I only need one corpse but with that many to spare… It gets tempting." Monsterwyn thinks, yawning as they make their way to Doc's room. "Doing without the pain would be nice though. And Doc isn't gonna skimp out on breakfast… even if it doesn't affect much. Well, if I can even wake up after this…"

Doc looks up from what she's doing, was she reading? ... Whatever they don't pay it much mind. Monsterwyn's first priority was laying in bed and getting comfortable so they could sleep. "Hey Wyn, ready for bed?" She asks them.

"Mmm… pretty much, I think." Monsterwyn replies. "Unless you're planning on surprising me by feeding me more blood… Ha! You'd never give me a taste…"

"And I'd be too afraid of accidentally messing up and biting the wrong place and killing her…" Monsterwyn thinks, as they get on the bed, immediately laying on their back beside her and letting out a sigh of relief.

"C'mon you know I don't have any of your sleep rations on mission days anymore. Annie sends me your schedule ahead of time so you don't get a stomachache." Doc says.

Monsterwyn stretches out a bit, getting comfortable until their stomach groans as it begins to ache again. "Like that stopped me." They say, jokingly letting out a laugh.

Doc laughs with them, but watches out of the corner of her eye as she reads. Hearing them whine and then seeing them put their claws on their stomach and rub it gently, trying to soothe the pain. It makes her think about her temptation ever since they started getting friendly with her, to pet their tummy. Though the first time she tried it they bit her, she'd love to gain their trust to be able to do that.

"Too much to eat huh?" Doc comments, giving them a pet on the head.

"Sometimes we kill so many people… and I can't help it… There's this need inside me to eat and eat. To be fair, my meals before the ZPA were… let's say overly generous scavenging in terms of fill." Monsterwyn replies, letting out a purr. "I only ate two extra this time! It's not worse than the other time."

"I know, I remember. You were out for a few days that time. I didn't know it could go on for that long… you could probably hibernate through the winter like a bear if you had enough food." Doc says. "How do you fit all of that though? It's a ton of meat and organs… and bones? I don't remember if you eat those…"

"Oh I crushed it up inside me, the benefit of being able to do anything with my body is that I can crush my guts up to fit more stuff in there. I should probably stop doing that though… I think I'm eating way too much…" Monsterwyn says, guilt in their tone. "And I eat anything organic, it's just gotta come from a person. Doesn't matter if it's an elf or whatever, humanish stuff. I mean animal stuff digests fine, it just doesn't give me much energy. It just goes poof after at least a day."

Doc hums in thought. "Well, if it only gives you a bellyache then what's the harm? Especially when we know medicine works on you, I could probably find something that could work for you."

"It's only a little embarrassing I guess… I'm like one of those big snakes I'm helpless after I eat… And it makes me look like I've got a big weak bubble on me…" Monsterwyn says, poking a claw at their distended belly. "I guess that's not too bad though since it usually lasts only a day. And you'll be nice about it, because you're my friend, you're not gonna attack me while I'm asleep. One time that happened, sucked tor everyone involved honestly. Burst open, the meal I just ate everywhere and then I had to deal with the new problems and eat new food. Worst thing you would do is like… consider it cute maybe? Maybe play attack my belly but… I guess that wouldn't be too bad right now."

"... Would it, now?" Doc says.

"I suppose it would help with their bellyache, but would they really let me do that now?" Doc thinks.

Monsterwyn hums a confirmation, getting up to climb onto her lap and lay across it on their back. "It could be way worse, trust me. I'd take you fussing over me annoyingly and coddling me over every horrible thing that's happened to me after I ate. I'll take a little embarrassment over that stuff. Plus being with you… I could probably process the way I feel better. Being able to and stuffing my stomach full of meat all the time has been making me feel… strange, but not in a bad way." They say, purring in her lap.

"I mean, worrying about you and caring for you when you can't is just part of being a good friend, and we're best friends aren't we?" Doc asks.

"We're… you consider me your best friend?" Monsterwyn asks in return, blinking in confusion. "... I didn't really do much for you though, I didn't even leave you many gifts yet! I need to do more for you, I've gotta do um… do your work for you…? Wait, that wouldn't work uh… give you lots of gold, and guard you and take you places you need to go faster than your car and do chores for you and serve you forever!"

Doc stares at them for a moment, a little dumbfounded on how to approach… this. "I err… Wyn that's all a bit… extreme. I'm happy with how you are now and how our relationship is. You don't need to do anything for me, if you want to help, you can but… I'm not forcing you to." She says, petting them.

"But I can't just sit around doing nothing! I'm not that lazy, you deserve every shred of my service. Look, I can still do work while I'm full I'm just--" Monsterwyn cuts themself off as they lean back up as their stomach aches once more. They place a claw on it and gently rub it, growling in frustration. "C'mon work with me… look it's fine, it just hurts a little and I'm getting tired but as long as I'm awake I can be of service to you, Sweet Tooth."

"Wyn… you should really rest up. You need it after such a big meal. I know how much one person in you hurts with all the bones poking your guts, two will be just as painful, even if you crushed them up in there." Doc insists, gently pushing them back down with one hand on their chest. Surprisingly, they let her, simply blinking in confusion as she does it. Perhaps not expecting her to do that…

"But… I…" Monsterwyn starts but is forced to stifle a yawn. "I can still do stuff, I just gotta hurry now. Before I get too sleepy."

Doc hushes them, petting them a bit more. "Just rest up, Wyn. You can worry about all this later, you're too full right now. For right now focus on sleeping so you can start digesting this." Doc says, gently patting their distended belly.

"Am not… It's wasting time and it'll digest regardless. I can do something for you right now." Monsterwyn says, crossing their arms and puffing out their cheeks.

"So you don't want to stay cozy in my lap and get pets?" Doc asks, putting a hand on her chest as she feigns shock. "Unheard of! Who are you and what have you done with Maldwyn!"

"That's cheating of course I want pets and to be in your lap!" Monsterwyn whines.

Doc laughs at this response. "Well, All I'm hearing from you when you say you want to do stuff for me is that you don't want pets and to be cozy and warm in my lap."

Monsterwyn wails desperately. "No!! I want pets and coziness!" They shout, while reaching a claw out and gently hitting her cheek, like a cat pawing at something.

"That's what I thought." Doc says, giving them pets on the head. "Now if you want to stay cozy, warm and keep getting pets you're going to stay right here. You're not going to go off and try to do something for me, alright?"

"... Okay." Monsterwyn replies, a bit meekly.

Doc sighs, "I hope I'm not coming off as too harsh to them. I really want to be a good friend but… how am I supposed to deal with this?" She thinks and tries to take her hand back so she can comfortably read, but finds that action met with pleading mewls and a clawed grasp on her arm.

"Don't stop…" Monsterwyn pleads, looking up at her with a desperate look in their eyes. "It hurts…"

"It's okay… I won't." Doc reassures them with a soothing tone in her voice. "Not until it stops hurting, alright?"

Monsterwyn slowly lets go of her arm as she continues petting them. "Alright… Heal it right up…" They say, purring.

"Shh… shh… rest up, now… I'll take care of it. Relax, Wyn it's okay." Doc says reassuringly.

Once more Monsterwyn's stomach aches from being full, causing them to start gently rubbing it again while letting out a groan. "Least it's not as bad as when I ate like 6 people or however many it was… I felt like I was going to burst constantly…" They say.

Doc carefully considers her next words, if she offers to do this, would they bite her for even daring to ask? She knows they don't particularly like belly pets right now, but she isn't sure if it's a trust thing or generally just not liking it at all. She opens her mouth, hesitantly starting to ask. "Y'know it um… it might make you feel better a bit faster if I attacked at the source. It'll still be fine as is but, do you want me to give you some belly rubs?"

"Mmm… I guess it'll be nice to have a soothing feeling at the source…" Monsterwyn says, giving a hum of approval. "Go ahead, I won't bite this time, since you're just helping me sleep."

"Alright, if I'm doing something wrong and you want me to stop, tell me right away, okay?" Doc says, and with that approval gently places her hand on their belly. She decides to start slowly, gently moving her hand around in a circle. The purrs that start because of this being taken as a sign to keep it up.

Monsterwyn's purrs slowly grow louder as they lean their head back and close their eye. "That's perfect, keep it up. Shouldn't be an issue unless you start stabbing me with your nails." They say.

"Got it, don't you worry." Doc replies, slowly going a little faster. Even though she knows the contents inside them don't have too much room to get sloshed around, she's still careful due to Monsterwyn's tendency to also eat bones. Though their body not always having bones in their chest area doesn't help that worry.

"Maybe next time I'll fill myself up with blood so you can shake me around like a soda can…" Monsterwyn says, laughing at their own joke. "Can't fit as much blood without using my whole body as the storage instead though… wouldn't be satisfying like this anymore would it…"

Doc laughs along with them. "That sounds kind of strange though… is your whole body like a big stomach? " She asks.

"Pretty much! If you get stuck inside anywhere in any way I'm technically eating you. One time a long time ago I was doing this big siege on this castle as a giant beast and I was picking people up left and right and absorbing them. It was like… a big feast for me, and I mean I was killing them anyway, might as well eat them, y'know. That was part of how I learned eating live prey whole was super annoying." Monsterwyn explains enthusiastically. "There were so many that I just slept as a big beast instead of turning back and figuring out how to deal with it. There was way too much material in there and crushing it wouldn't help that much. So falling asleep on a destroyed castle as a huge monster was just the only option."

"You can do that?" Doc asks them in awe. She tried to imagine Wyn as a giant monster attacking a castle, and thought about them doing that now. "If you can do that… then why don't you do it again for your missions."

Monsterwyn shrugs, "Takes a lot of energy, It'd need to be worth it. Plus my attention would be split between tendrils to grab people and destroying whatever I need to destroy. If Annie needs that kind of power she'll need to make it damn well worth it. Plus I like being myself… and hunting my prey as an equal is satisfying. Being a giant monster is cheating basically."

"Why join the ZPA if you can just do that though? You could destroy and eat whatever you wanted." Doc asks.

"Probably wouldn't have ever worked out for me honestly." Monsterwyn says with a yawn. "This place is absurdly advanced, and electricity is everywhere, I'd stun myself into submission before destroying that much."

"You amaze me with how much you can just do on a whim, Wyn. Yet you're here getting bellyrubs because you ate one too many guys." Doc says.

Monsterwyn yawns again, "Not much of a monster if I'm not threatening… and super dangerous…" They mumble, starting to seem half asleep.

"I guess so… how do you keep making so much goo anyway?" Doc asks.

"Got a ton of reserves I think…? I don't know what happens to things when I eat them… either way… got a ton of it… makes it taste sweet." Monsterwyn says.

Although she's sworn they're talked about it before, she gets curious. "How sweet? I can't imagine it being sweet… you're very… bitter to me. That's what I think at least."

"I don't really know… I can't taste it… that's just what people tell me…" Monsterwyn says, voice growing soft as they get sleepier. "I guess you could taste it but… but that's a bad idea… It's poisonous. Annie would get mad if she found out I poisoned you…"

"Yeah… uh….. yeah." Doc agrees. "I guess Annie's gonna have fun experimenting with that."

"Not even mentioning the... mind control thing… gets complicated…" Monsterwyn mumbles.

"The huh? Wyn, stay with me, the what?" Doc says.

"I can take control of people with the goo… I don't know what to tell you… I'm tired… I'll explain it later." Monsterwyn says.

"Later is in a day." Doc says.

Monsterwyn yawns again, "Well too bad, you gotta wait. It's not that bad of a wait anyway." They say.

Doc sighs, "I guess that's true. Don't forget or I'll surprise attack you forever!" She says, suddenly giving their swollen belly a slap, causing them to yelp in surprise.

"Okay! Okay I won't! I promise, now I'm gonna head to sleep. If anything happens and you need me just wake me up, okay?" Monsterwyn says, getting more comfortable in her lap and turning on their side to curl in on themself.

Seeing no reason to keep them awake, Doc gets back to reading, keeping a hand on their belly to give them more rubs as they fall asleep.

"They have so much weird stuff going on with them… one day they'll finally tell me all of it." Doc thinks. "I guess for now I don't really have to worry about it… but I'm becoming something of an unofficial handler of them more and more lately…"

That would have to be a problem for future Doc, as she's rewarded currently with Monsterwyn starting to snore, they've finally fallen asleep. One of the most dangerous people she's met, simply curled up in her lap, having been lulled to sleep by her touch soothing a bellyache. It was oddly touching in a way, they had become friends so quickly after all.

But she shouldn't get too hung up on it, she still has a lot of time to relax until she has to go through an ordeal to get in bed in a way that won't disturb them. Again, though, a problem for future Doc. For now, all is peaceful, only the subtle sounds of a page turning and their constant snoring break the silence.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

#original writing #monsterwyn #zpa monsterwyn #guest character #doc

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cboffshore · 1 year

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Anyone who's ever discussed Ninjago with me knows that I live to overanalyze Skybound. It's part of my fandom identity, and I imagine it'll stay that way until the show ends. But - for all of my color theories and rewatches, all my essays and theoretical ramblings - there's one question I haven't quite been able to answer:

What was Nadakhan after?

No, really. What the hell did he want? For a guy so motivated - if not outright defined - by desire, it's astounding that Skybound never really addresses Nadakhan's deepest wishes head-on. That's what Yours To Keep: Rethinking Skybound Through Fashion is about. In the coming weeks, I'll upload a trio of designs meant to examine that question a little more closely.

If you'd like to know a little more about how that's going to work, read on.

So, back to my original question: what was Nadakhan really after? It doesn't seem like a question that should be hard to answer. Ultimately, it's not, but you do have to work through a lot of inconsistencies to get there. A stunning villain, but a volatile one, liable to change like the wind. His respect for his crew fluctuates wildly - whether he ever loved his crew or not is a debate I've engaged in more often than I should have. We know little of his past or heritage, whether we should even care about it, or whether he even cares. Even his loyalty to Delara is called into question more than it should be, given her influence over the plot.

But we do know a few things for sure: he has desires. Vague ones, sure, but they're frighteningly strong. He's ruthless. He's desperate. And, of course, he gets what he wants by manipulating others. That's the only starting point I felt was appropriate to use for this series.

The first design in the series, "It Will Never Be Enough," takes into account what I know about Nadakhan's desires based solely on his actions. The next two, "Sure Of It" and "All I Wanted To Hear", examine his manipulative tendencies and other two deepest wishes based on how he interacts with the season's leading couple: Jay and Nya. The last two will, to a lesser extent, examine those characters' roles and fates, but I want to emphasize that the point of this line is primarily to analyze Nadakhan more deeply than ever.

I also want to mention that my usual policy against wear-and-tear applies here (with one exception near the end - but we'll get into that when we get into it). A hallmark of Skybound fanart and fanfiction seems to be gore, mess, disaster: gouged-out eyes, blood, torn gis and scratched armor and venom burning through silk. Done well, they're incredible ways to examine the effects of Skybound on those who remember the events. But that's not what I'm after. Since I'm examining Nadakhan's unattainable wishes (and, by extension, the underlying themes of the season), I've chosen to keep things blindingly crisp.

Of all the couture lineups I've done, this will be my shortest: only three designs long. That's on purpose, although I admit it was very hard to not do more given Skybound's killer ensemble cast. Ultimately, though, I thought three was an appropriate (and doable) number. Additionally, these won't be quite as derivative as my previous works have been. All three designs are elevated versions of existing outfits and motifs in Skybound. The key word there is versions - they are, intentionally, different than their canon counterparts.

One more thing: I am beyond excited for this series. I hope you feel the same way.

#ninjago #ninjago skybound #ninjago couture #ninjago nya #ninjago jay #ninjago nadakhan #Yours To Keep: Rethinking Skybound Through Fashion #fashion design #ninjago fanart

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theaceofskulls · 1 year

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Woops read a few more Warhammer books and want to talk about them

I’ve gone through a few now but the one I really, really want to talk about is Hammers of Sigmar: First Forged by Richard Strachan.

The book follows the titular Hammers of Sigmar Stormcast Eternals (the posterchildren of the armor wearing Einhenjar paladins of the setting) who are struggling with quite a few things:

They’ve got a huge war going on across all the Mortal Realms stretching themselves thin

The stormhost has been suffering under the effects of their constant reforging

A funny demon man unleashed a cloud up in the air that has the hilarious effect of grabbing their souls up when they usually get grabbed by lightning to be reforged after death

They’ve made armor to deal with that but there’s not enough of it to go around

Oh and the Khorne worshipping warlord who was the first boss they beat when they teleported back into the Mortal Realms to free the realm of fire might be coming back. He’s been on the moon, allegedly. Look all the moons are haunted in this setting.

And to top it all off, the mercenary guild that they’re working with to try and deal with that threat is horribly corrupt

The book centers mostly around the interaction with the last two points, though the threat of the Cursed Skies has certainly changed how the previously immortal-but-at-a-price legion looks at the world. Each of the main characters of the book come from a different chamber of the stormhost, each feeling different strains and all of them clearly coming with their own baggage.

From a new recruit who is surrounded by legends who are at their lowest, clad in the older armor, to the scout who wishes to be a legend, to the warrior priest in the tattered remains of his chamber, looking after the relics of all his fallen brothers and sisters, knowing that soon his chamber is about to be retired, all the characters stand out from each other and feel distinct.

But the reason I want to talk about this story is because it’s exactly the book I thought Space Marine books would read like before I learned anything about Warhammer in general.

It’s an action adventure romp full of blood and action (and a lot of gore, I’ll come back to that in a second), with set of good guys going into a big battle against the spikey bad guys and being very tired when they’re not shouting to each other about comradery.

It’s a safe book in that regard. It has just enough stakes and believable danger for the characters in it that it stays interesting but never something that fully sticks in your mind. It’s fantastic if you’re craving Stormcast Eternals content, especially one to showcase just how recent developments in the setting have humbled but not broken them.

I can’t even fully call it a middle of the road book. The characterization is good and it handles multiple viewpoints fantastically.

Sadly, I feel like it probably comes down to the villains of the book. Khorne as bloodthirsty cannibals with a grasp on battle tactics but no real motivations outside of killing and slaughtering and seeing their rulers put on thrones (not nearly as nice of ones as the one their god is one but still better than a chair) is one of those things that always kind of bores me about that particular aspect of chaos. Problem is that this book is clearly a love letter to the start of the whole setting and Khorne and his general Khorgos Khul as the threat to the legendary Vandus Hammerhand (which are the two generals that came in the first starter box) are kind of necessary to complete the circle they’re going for here.

Meanwhile the plotline regarding the freeguild captain whose corruption has caught up to her, as the guild lumbers along to try and get the one battle she needs in order to retire to a cushy life, is a far more interesting story which crosses paths with a witchunter and a suspicious sorcerer, but it doesn’t get enough of a payoff to really pull the book up another notch.

In the end, the most interesting detail ends up surrounding Actinus, the warpriest who refuses to give any personal details about himself to others. I feel like that’s the character I’m going to remember the most as you barely manage as the reader to pry any of his secrets loose and the few you get are actually memorable.

I said I’d talk about the gore and yeah I do feel like this is worth mentioning as well, as this book really does exemplify it. There’s a feeling like the level of detail is almost out of place, which makes it rather shocking at points. Yes this is a book with the minions of the Blood God taking center stage but it’s always funny to me that Black Library books tend to be devoid of any character cursing and any expression of romance more than a quick peck or a hug, but what feels like a lighter action adventure novel will gladly describe in great detail gorn.

Like I said, it’s what I expected Space Marine books to feel like, especially when I heard the phrase “bolter porn”

In the end, this book is something I’d only recommend to people already into the Age of Sigmar setting and I’d only recommend it after you’ve read a few of the other must-reads first, unless you’re really into Stormcasts or are just wanting an easy good vs evil romp.

It’s nowhere near as disturbing as Gloomspite (which I need to talk about) but you probably want to go in with the content warning at least.

Anyways, I’ll be talking about a few more soon.

#Warhammer #age of sigmar #ace's bookclub reviews

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whispersafterdusk · 2 years

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Prompt #9: Yawn

For perhaps the twentieth time in the last hour, she yawned.

If not for these broken straps on her shield and hip sheath Gaelle would have already retired for the evening; her armor was at least cleaned (she'd not exactly polished it to a sheen but the blood and gore had been removed and the leather straps freshly oiled). It had taken far longer than she'd anticipated but as they were departing for western highlands and then from there continuing to the forelands at first light she needed to get these straps fixed before dawn.

Blasted dragon... The beast had clamped down on her shield and whipped its head about, sending her in one direction and her shield in another. She was thankful the threads and the holes had given way as the alternative would have been a badly broken arm but now, assessing the damage... It was a lot of "small" damage, but it was a lot -- she'd be at this for another two hours, easily... Would it be better to go without the shield for now? Fix it on the road? But, what if they encountered trouble before she got that chance? She could manage with just her half-spear but had become so accustomed to the shield on her arm; it felt foolhardy to even consider leaving it in this state, knowing they were headed out into the wilderness.

But she was just...so tired. She'd returned to the Fortemps manor late, had spent several hours getting her armor back in shape, and now-

"What are you doing, still awake?"

Gaelle looked up blearily at the Count where he stood framed in her doorway; for a moment she debated pointing out that he, too, was still awake (and still clothed in all but his usual overcoat - hardly dressed as one that was about to sleep) but she truly didn't have the mental energy needed to tease or chide.

"I've a few tasks left, my lord. I won't be much longer."

She stifled another yawn as Edmont cast an appraising eye over the straps, thread, needles, and scissors spread in the floor at her feet. "My days as a knight may be behind me but I have not forgotten the effort that goes into maintaining one's gear. You will be lucky to get even a few hours of sleep if you stay up any longer."

He came into the room and, to her surprise, lowered himself into the floor to pick up the thread, rubbing the free end between finger and thumb.

"Waxed - and of fine quality. Good."

"You...were a knight?"

"Yes, for a time. All those who lead must be willing to do that which they ask of their men, and with few exceptions all nobles are expected to learn the ways of combat and strategy."

As she mulled that over she was then surprised to see him pick up one of her spare needles and deftly thread it. "-please, you don't need to help me. I'll get it done quickly enough."

Despite herself she yawned again and tried to silence it by pressing her chin against her shoulder, feeling her cheeks warm as red crept over them.

Edmont gave her a knowing smile and, with her shield balanced across his knees, began to evenly stitch the elbow loop back into place. "Twice as many hands will get it done that much quicker, and I wish for you to be as rested as possible before you depart in the morning. I will worry less if I know you aren't so wholly exhausted."

Gaelle's face went a deeper red. "...thank you." It trailed off into another yawn and she lightly slapped her own cheeks with a huff of frustration. "Ugh. Would that there were more hours in the day."

"Indeed," Edmont chuckled.

With his help they were soon done; she hung the shield on the armor stand and laid the sheath with the little blade atop her traveling clothes, and said her goodnight to the Count as he departed as silently as he'd come.

Then she fell into bed and, though she had no proof, she would swear she was asleep before her head had touched the pillow.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #edmont de fortemps #wol

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inhuman-obey-me · 3 years

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Excuse me! it’s just me, this blog’s stalker because your works amazing. I kinda am in love with your demon’s nature series. I if I could request something. Could you possible do MC seeing the brothers do something that is “demonic”. Similar to what happens in the series. Thank you!!!!

Hello!! Haha, thank you -- we’re so glad you like our content! ;u;

And I’m glad that you enjoy the Demon’s Nature series! It’s been a lot of fun to write.

Sorry this took a bit! I wasn’t sure if you wanted this to be something with one of the brothers or all of them, so I ended up doing little short blurbs for each of the brothers and MC accidentally catching them doing something demonic/violent. Tried to keep them all pretty short, which was hard.

[Mod Cosmos]

MC accidentally catching the Demon Brothers being Demonic/Violent

content warning: blood/gore, body horror (especially in Beel’s), and general violence

Note: This is through the perspective of an MC that knows that the demons do their thing, but perhaps doesn't want to see it happening in front of them.

LUCIFER

You were supposed to go shopping together after meetings for the day were finished, and he had told you to just wait an additional thirty minutes so that he could finish up some business. Thirty minutes passed, but there was still no word from him, so you decide you’ll go and see what was holding that workaholic up. You soon realize that was a mistake.

You hear muffled cries, and a familiar deep voice. Cautiously, you approach the source of these sounds -- a room located off a dark corridor. You didn’t think there were any classrooms here, and your curiosity got the better of you -- so you approach the door, peeking through the crack. You recognize the intimidating silhouette and --- there’s blood. There was another figure in the room, their body limp on the ground in a puddle of red, the mighty first-born’s claws tearing through flesh. A loss of balance in your surprise results in you tumbling into the room, earning a sharp turn from Lucifer, whose crimson eyes were wide in surprise. His wings spread out to try and shield the unsavory scene from you.

“MC, you were supposed to wait for me.” His voice is stern, but there’s a gentleness to it. He sees the queasy look on your face, and decides he can put this torment to an end. With a swift motion, he fully blocks your line of sight before slitting the lesser demon’s throat. He then turns back to you, lightly embracing your body with black feathers. His voice is soft as he did not want to frighten you. “I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to see that. Let’s get you home, shall we? I’ll make you some tea.”

MAMMON

It had just been a scratch. A low-level demon had taken a swipe at you in passing, but hadn’t been able to cut too deep. Mammon insisted he was just running off to get a bandaid after you insisted he didn’t need to go after the other demon. He said that he’d be right back--”I’m just gettin’ a bandage, I swear!”-- and told you not to move an inch. But this bandage quest was taking longer than it should have, so you go after him, pressing a loose cloth against your wound. And there he was, having cornered the offending demon. He seems to be staking the demon in the arm with a sharp metal object, speaking in a tongue you couldn’t understand.

You hadn’t even realized you had dropped the Majolish bag from your hand, not until it hit the ground with a thud and Mammon whipped around to see you there. A flash of guilt appears on his features, his eyes going between you and the lowly demon. He drops them, though he can’t resist one more swift kick to their chest before running back to you.

“I told ya I’d be right back!” He’s about to cup your face in his hands, but retracts them as he realizes they’re covered in blood. “Uh, okay, let’s go get that,” he motions to your injury, “...taken care of, yeah?” He mumbles a sorry as he picks up the bag you dropped before ushering you away from the scene, promising he’d do whatever he needed to do to make up for having to witness it.

LEVIATHAN

You’re browsing games at a shop, having tagged along with Leviathan who had been raving about a new release. At one point, however, Leviathan had vanished from your side. You now realize it’s been … quite some time, actually. You wander about the store, unable to find him anywhere. Did he step outside? You decide to check, missing the anxious glance from the clerk behind the counter.

You hear some sounds from the alley by the shop. Is that … someone choking? Worried, you round the corner to make sure whoever it was is okay -- only to see the one doing the strangling was Leviathan himself. He had his tail tightly wrapped around the other demon’s throat, and … what, what was that inky substance leaking from their eyes? Leviathan caught your shadow against the alley wall, turning to you with a slightly panicked look.

“M-MC!” His tail quickly slithered off and away from the demon’s throat, leaving them to collapse to the ground. He’s suddenly at your side, hands on your shoulders as he turns you around and makes you walk out of the alley with him, murmuring something about how the venom will take care of the rest. “S-sorry about that, MC. You look a little sick … let’s get that game and go home and play, okay?”

SATAN

You had been ambling through an aisle in the grand Royal Library, wondering what random book you should pick up next to flip through idly. Satan had wanted to spend a quiet day reading and studying together, to which you readily obliged. But it was easy to forget just how large the Royal Library was -- what floor were you on again? -- and you wonder if you should head back to where the two of you had set up. Then you suddenly hear a distant crash. It seemed to be coming from one of the meeting rooms at the back, and you couldn’t help but want to take a peek to see what had happened.

“Fuck you!” You knew that voice, and you knew that anger. There was a muffled yell, and what sounded like shattering glass. Then there’s a chilling, mocking laughter, and you can feel the goosebumps starting to cover your skin. You nervously approach the slightly ajar door, and there he is, his tail impaling another demon with its sharp ridges. Oh, there is fury burning in those eyes -- ones that shift to land on you, and that glowing fury is replaced with exasperation.

“MC!” Your name comes out as a hiss, but he quickly tosses the other demon, slamming them into the wall. “You…” He’s unsure what to say, his wrath calming at the sight of you, especially with that look on your face. “I … I’m sorry, I just had to take care of something. Please, let’s go. We can talk about this later.”

ASMODEUS

The music is loud, the drinks are pouring, and you’re having an absolutely wonderful night out clubbing with Asmodeus. You were returning from the bar with two drinks in hand for the both of you, thanking one of the security guards on your way for managing the crowd of fans that had now dispersed, only to find that Asmodeus was not to be found at your table. He had left a note-- “BRB! ♡”--with lipstick on a napkin. You waited, sipping your drink as you demon watched from your seat. Some time passes, and you realize you’ve finished your drink a bit more quickly than intended. There’s still no sign of him, so you might as well go get another.

On the way to the bar, however, you pass by what you assumed was the hall to the restrooms, and you hear a desperate “I’m sorry!” cutting through the heavy bass. Should you be concerned? Well, you decide to at least be nosy, so you slip into the hall to see what was going on -- and are met with the sight of Asmodeus holding a heart he had carved out of some poor demon’s chest. In your shock, your empty glass slips through your fingers and crashes to the floor, earning your demon’s attention.

“Oh, MC!” Despite his surprise to see you, he gives you a smile -- one that gives you chills as you see blood spattered on his face. “Ah, what a mess…” He lets the lesser demon slide to the floor, debating on what to do with the organ in hand, but hides it behind his back for now, coming over to place a quick kiss on your cheek. “Sorry about that, darling. I’m just going to go clean up, so wait for me at the table, ‘kay?”

BEELZEBUB

You had agreed to go with him to Madame Scream’s after finishing up classes for the day, but he was running late. He’s not picking up any calls, either, so you decide to go to where his last class would have been -- maybe they were just running way over, and he hadn’t realized the time? The hall is quiet, and you end up reaching an empty classroom. Walking back out, you decide to try calling him again. Ring, ring. After a moment, you realize you can hear Beelzebub’s ringtone in the distance, and you follow your ears to where his D.D.D. and ultimately he himself must be.

You weren’t prepared for what you saw next. A head of bright orange hair buried in a lesser demon’s abdomen, the sound of squelching and slurping from his feasting sounding so much more insidious than usual.

“Beel!” You can’t help but cry out his name in shock, which causes him to jolt upright -- with intestines still hanging from his mouth. Oh, you were going to be sick …

“MC … sorry, Lucifer always says I need to work on my table manners … “ He gulps down what was left hanging, but his eyes widen when it registers just who caught him in the act. “Oh, uh, guess that’s not the point, huh … “ He sheepishly wipes at his mouth with some torn cloth that you can only assume came from his victim, standing up and walking around to block your view of the mangled body. “I’ll clean this up, and then … well, we can do whatever you want to do. Sorry, MC …”

BELPHEGOR

You’re looking around for where Belphegor could possibly be napping. Beelzebub had to go to Fangol practice and asked that you make sure his twin got home, as he had seemed even more tired today than usual. He’s not in the Western Courtyard, so you head to the Southern Courtyard next. You think you remember him saying that was one of his favorite spots…

You perk up as you spot the ever-familiar cow patterned pillow, but you fail to see the demon that was usually attached to it. Peering around the area, worry starts to set in -- and then you hear a scream. It certainly didn’t belong to Belphegor, but the gears in your mind start turning and you run to where the scream came from. Of course, no one else was around here -- it wasn’t the busiest area on campus in the first place. Turning a corner, you see just what you feared -- Belphegor had his claws at another demon’s throat, his barbed tail wrapped around their body and squeezing them tight. You feel weak, the scenario a bit too close for comfort as you recall what he had done to you in the past.

“MC?” Belphegor turned to see you, his eyes wide. He must have sensed your presence at some point, or maybe your heart was pounding much louder than you realized. He drops the other demon, growling something you can’t make out to them, and then slowly approaches you. He sees you tense up, causing him to stop in his tracks. He averts his gaze, not wanting to meet your eyes as he tries to figure out what to say. “I just … had to deal with something. You … you can head on home first, if you want. I understand.”

#obey-mes-treasure #obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #gn!reader #gn!mc #demons being demons #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos #ask and ye shall be answered

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nyxerebus · 3 years

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Not Him (Negan X Grimes!Reader)

A/N: I have a other Negan x Grimes reader series, but this is NOT a apart of that series, just a one shot i wrote :) You can read part 1 of that series here: I'm Her Daddy Now

TW: Gore, Make out, Blood, Angst

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Her back was pressed to the RV. The Saviours had started to force the people from Alexandria to kneel in front of it in a half circle. They hadn't noticed her yet. Would they recognize her? She had changed a lot since the last time she saw her dad and younger brother. Her hair was longer and darker, and her scarf was covering half her mouth and nose. She had started to look more and more like her father though, the famous Grimes stare would stare back at her in the mirror every morning. A cruel reminder of the family she had lost. The family she thought she had lost, until she saw them in front of her now.

Her eyes wouldn't leave her baby brother, how much he had grown! He was not the scared 11 year old she got separated from all those years ago, now he was a tough young man. And by the looks of his eye situation, it had been a long and rough journey since they last saw each other.

“Are we pissing our pants yet?” She rolled her eyes at Negans extravagant entrance. He was always like this, so much. “Boy do I have a feeling we're getting close”

She had been with The Saviours the past two years, been with Negan for one. She wasn't a wife, she was more than that. She was his girl, his right hand woman. By the look of how her father was staring at Negan, telling him about their relationship would be a tough talk. But nonetheless she looked forward to talking with him, to be able to be a family with them. She prayed they would forgive her for being on The Saviours side. Considering what was about to happen. This wasn't the first ‘punishment’ she had been a part of. She knew what was going to happen. She droned out when Negan went on with his speech about how they needed punishment, and how he owned them now. It wasn't until he was deciding who to kill that she focused on the conversation.

“eenie ... meenie ... miney ... mo '' Her blood ran cold when Lucille landed in front of her younger brother. “No!” She heard her father exclaim. “Shit, man. I’m usually not happy about child murdering, but Lucille is a thirsty woman!” He raised the bat. Her body acted before her brain could tell it no. She took long strides and placed herself protective in front of Carl, shielding his body from Lucille.

“Not him” She hissed out. Negan was taken back, usually (Y/N) wouldn't have trouble when he had to punish new communities. “The hell you saying?”

“Not. Him” She glared at him, she would rather die than let anything happen to her brother. Negan leaned down so only she could hear what he was saying. “You know him?”

“He's my brother,” she whispered. Negan took a step back and rubbed his beard. “You know I have to punish them” He gave her a stern look. “You want to kill him? You have to go through me. Take somebody else”.

“Listen folks” He was addressing his men. “Now some new information has occurred and it looks like my girl here knows this boy. Now I am a gentleman” His famous smirke etched its way to his face. “You all know I can't say no to my girl, but my other girl demands some punishment for their actions. Now I want to please both my girls at the same time. So, we spare the boy, but my girl has to choose who will take his place AND finish the job” He held out the end of Lucille to her, while the men in the back murmured in agreement and some even cheered her on.

She grabbed Lucille. “Go get em BabyGirl”. She turned around and faced Carl. He was crying now. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it didn't seem as if it helped. Her eyes danced between the group that was kneeling. Her eyes landed on the large redhead, he pushed up his chest, as if he presented himself as a sacrifice. She walked over and stood in front of him. The dark skinned girl next to him cried out when she realized what was about to happen. (Y/N) was standing in front of him and leaned in, whispering so only he could hear. “I’m sorry”

“Don't worry, if it saves the boy. I’ll gladly take it” She raised the bat. and with all her might swung it down. The sound of the cracking of a skull was a sound all too familiar to her, but she had never heard it when she was the cause. it almost made her stop. But she couldn't stop. She took swing after swing. Knowing how Negan wanted him to end up, to end up in a mess of blood and brain goo. Blood splattered everywhere, and she had to fight back her dinner making its way up when she saw his skin tear and expose his brain. The bat felt heavier and heavier after each blow down onto the man's head. Christ, she didn't even know the name of whom she was killing. Cries and cheers filled the silent night. When she heard the splattering sound of the bat hitting the brain goo, she stopped. She turned around to face Negan, avoiding her family's gaze.

“Look at my dirty girls!” He exclaimed, and pulled her towards him, her back pressing against his chest. Blood had splattered on her face and upper body, but Negan didn't care. He never cared about blood getting in the way. He grabbed Lucille from her and turned her head sideways, so he could whisper into her ear: “Good Girl”

“(Y/N), I, what-” Rick was trying to speak, the shock of the situation still not leaving him. “I have to say, seeing my girls work together like this, just warms my heart-” He squeezed her closer; “and tickles my balls” He grinned at his men, who mostly chuckled at his crude words. “You can go to him” He whispered and realised his grip on her. She was about to walk away, but was stopped when he grabbed her arm. “Wait” He pulled her back so they were chest against chest. “Give me a kiss first” She just rolled her eyes, knowing he wanted to rub it in Rick's face that his daughter was with them, with Negan. Standing on her toes, she reached up and kissed him, she was going for a simple peck. But he tightened his grip around her and deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded her mouth and she had to bite back a moan. When he pulled back a string of saliva was still connected between them God, how he loved the look on her face. Covered in blood, with a post makeout haze still in her eyes. He laughed out and realised her. And without being pulled back, she walked over to Carl and kneeled down in front of him.

“Hey” She whispered out, he stared back at her with a dirty glare. But tears of seeing his sister for the first time after thinking she was dead was pressing on. But then one of the guys in the line up jumped up and punched Negan in the face. You gasped and were about to stand up. But Negans men handled it and held him down. “No, nope. Put him back”

She knew what was going to happen, Negan was going to kill one more. She wouldn't let Carl see that, see it again. “Don't look” She pulled him closer so his face was pressed against her chest, face turned the opposite direction of the group. Carl was fighting back, but gave up after his sobs got the best of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and cried into her chest. “Shhh”. The sounds of someone else getting beaten and the all too familiar cries filled the air once again. “No!”

“Its going to be okay” She tried to comfort him, “I won't let them hurt you” His sobs got louder when he heard the stuttering of the man who was being beaten; “Maggie I will find you”. He whispered the name of the dead man into her chest. “Glenn” Negan speaking and the cries of the group became just background noise. All she cared and focused on was her brother. She rubbed his head and back, trying to lull him into a calmer state. But she was pulled from her work on comforting her brother when Negan grabbed Rick and pulled him away. “No!” Carl shouted, sitting straight up and separated from her. (Y/N) held Carl back from punching up and attacking Negan. Negan sent (Y/N) a small nod, which she returned with her own nod. They were telling each other without words:

‘I can't promise he wont die’

‘As long as Carl lives, I don't care’

“Calm down Carl!” She held her back. He started to cry again, the fear of losing her father taking its hold on him. (Y/N) wiped his tears, bur cringed when some blood from her fingers stained his cheek. “Come here” He fell into her arms again. She didn't know what to do. She hoped Negan saved her father, but her father was a grown man. Her primary mission now was to secure her brother. And she would be damned if she didn't succeed.

#negan fanfiction #here's negan #negan smith #negan x reader #negan imagine #twd negan #negan #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead negan #rick grimes #grimes reader #grimes family #reader insert #negan smut #daddy negan #carl grimes

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scorchieart · 2 years

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Midnight Snack-Attack

Midnight Snack-Attack | AO3

Characters: Yves Kloss, Luke Randolph

Rating: G

Summary: In the middle of one of his midnight snacking sessions, Yves receives a visit from the last person he wanted to talk to.

Warnings: contains minor spoilers from Yves's route, and *very* slight mentions of blood/gore (like 1 line), overeating

Word Count: 5,356

A/N: The idea came to mind as I was reading through my second playthrough of Yves's route and noticed Luke popping up a lot more than I expected him to. Another thing I wasn't expecting was this story to come out to over 5000 words, but here we are.

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A warm breeze fluttered over the palace of Rhodolite signaling the arrival of summer. Hurried footsteps and the occasional clanking of metals emerged from the kitchens, and you would think that the cooks were in the middle of preparing a feast fit for the entire court, if you ignored the fact that it was past midnight and the halls were empty.

Old cupboards hung open and their contents spilled out on the countertops. Stacks of used bowls and utensils piled high as shrubs filled the sink while discarded plates coated with mixtures of sauces and creams littered the floor. The open window above the stove brought in occasional wafts of balmy air and sleepy cricket chirps, though they weren’t enough to mask the heavy scents of baking nor the loud sounds of munching emanating from the center of the kitchen.

Yves Kloss sat on the floor amidst a towering array of pastries, phyllos and other baked delicacies. He unceremoniously devoured sweet after sweet in between bursts of incoherent mumbling and grumbling, pausing every now and then only to toss aside finished plates and reach for new ones.

“Stupid Jin… munch… stupid Clavis… crunch… stupid Nokto… munch… everything’s just… chomp… a joke to them…”

Crumbs spilled freely as he shoveled a couple of dolces into his mouth, reminiscing about his brothers’ activities. It was only Tuesday, and yet the troublesome trio had already managed to make him want to barricade himself in his room until the weekend. Between the precariously planted pranks, incessant taunting, and nonstop immaturity, Yves was sure he had aged a decade over the past two days alone.

He grunted and reached for a bowl of petit fours, aggressively popping one into his mouth for each misdemeanor of theirs he recounted. Halls lined with haphazardly littered banana peels.… Brazen displays of flirting around the palace.… Garden reduced to a minefield of pitfalls.… Irresponsible misappropriation of the rules.… Where were they finding the time for all this foolishness, and why hasn’t Sariel put a stop to them yet?

He gloomily bit into a frosted éclair, not caring as the custard filling dribbled down his hand and onto his sleeve. As much as he wanted to complain about his brothers’ recent surge of tomfoolery, he knew perfectly well why Sariel was lagging in his supervision. The man had recently been burdened as the foremost authority for maintaining order within the palace on top of his usual ministerial duties. Coupled with keeping a close eye on peculiar happenings across the kingdom, supporting the princes’ actions from the background, and the fact that Foundation Day was less than a week away, Yves was sure Sariel was even closer to his breaking point than he was.

A puff of powdered sugar wisped before Yves’s eyes as a sigh escaped his lips. It wasn’t just those three; it was as if everyone in the palace wanted to take a crack at him these days. Just that morning, Leon skipped out on their faction meeting without a word for an impromptu stroll around town, and when Yves berated him for his selfishness upon his return, Leon brushed him off saying he was worrying too much. Later during training with the soldiers, Licht pushed himself even harder than usual and ended up twisting his wrist, but when Yves told him to take it easy he coldly responded, “We’ve lost the luxury to do so anymore,” and went straight back to swinging his sword. Then at dinner, Sariel reported that Obsidianite troops were spotted assembling near the border, to which Chevalier grimly declared he would eliminate them all if they got too close despite Yves’s suggestion that they employ a wait-and-see approach.

And to top it all off, the King had to go and drop dead.

No, that’s not right… it’s not as though the King had wanted to leave them in the middle of it all.… It’s not as though he wanted Rhodolite to be in such a state of disarray upon his death…. It’s not as though he wanted to stick them with the issue of his succession on top of their other dilemmas…

It’s not as though he wanted to keep that fact that he had an eighth son secret from them for twenty years…

Another soft breeze rustled through the window, and Yves watched with growing apathy as it carried a few wayward crumbs into the air. He sat against the counter and aimlessly counted the number of mid-air loops they made before falling back to the floor.

It was only a matter of time before someone was called in to select a new king; it’s not like they could hold on for long without one, what with the nobles questioning the late King’s whereabouts more often every day and the increasing threat of their neighbors on the horizon. A new Belle would be joining the palace soon, but were they ready for her? Was he ready?

His arm automatically extended to retrieve another sweet when a loud crash broke him out of his stupor. The shock made his whole body jerk and his head collided with the edge of the countertop, making him gripe loudly in pain. Whoever caused the crash must have been startled to hear him as well, because he could hear the unmistakable sounds of boots pivoting in his direction and the clank of a sword unsheathing.

An intruder, at this time of night? Yves hitched his breath and stilled the hand that was rubbing his quickly forming bump.

Well, it would make sense that if someone wanted to sneak in they would do it under the cover of darkness, but why enter through the kitchen? What if the cooks were still making preparations for the next day, or some servants got held up with their cleaning? Not to mention the fact that the kitchen was located near some of the busiest hallways of the palace; it would be near impossible to slip around undetected.

Whoever it is must not be very bright, thought Yves. After all, with such a loud entrance they were practically begging to get caught. He reflexively reached for his belt, only to remember that he did not have his saber on him; he had left it in his bedroom while undressing before deciding to let off some steam with baking.

The intruder slowly began inching towards him. Yves quickly swiveled his head left and right in search of a knife, a whisk, a rolling pin, anything he could use to defend himself until his eyes fell on all his batter-coated baking tools lodged in the sink far on the other side of the room.

The footsteps grew closer. The pain in his head increased dramatically with his heart rate and he squinted at the stacks of uneaten muffins and danishes, desperate to conjure up some way to fight back. Maybe he could throw them and blind the intruder long enough to reach through the door — No, most of what remained was too solid and would just bounce off — Then he could try vaulting over the counter and slipping past — No, he’d be wide open and get sliced instantly — What if used a plate as a shield — Oh come on, it couldn’t even cover his face!

The footsteps stopped. The only thing left separating them was the counter Yves was perched under.

Was this it? Was he going to be done in before Belle ever had a chance to meet him? Before he could ever show her… show his brothers… show his kingdom what he could really do?

The wood of the countertop squeaked as the intruder leaned over.

Yves hid his face in his knees as his head throbbed violently, visions of his brothers flashing through his mind. He saw Leon and Chevalier glaring down at his grave, eyes full of disdain…. He saw Licht drooping in the distance, his expression darker and drearier than Yves had ever seen…. He saw Jin, Clavis, and Nokto laughing derisively as they tossed the king’s crown between themselves, devouring the last bits of dessert he left behind.

His face grew hot. It was burning so rapidly that he almost forgot the pain in his bump. The only thing he could think of was not giving those three hoodlums the satisfaction of him dying before the real battle even began.

He jolted his head, grabbed the nearest dish (which happened to be a crostata) and swung it straight upward. A deafening howl reverberated throughout the kitchen as the plate made contact and smashed, and Yves sprang up over the countertop and struck his arm out, groping several times in the dark, before his hand finally connected with a wrist and he moved to wrestle the weapon out of the intruder’s grip.

He could feel his grasp slipping occasionally through his cream-covered fingers and he inwardly cursed for allowing himself to stuff his face so messily. If he made it out of this, he vowed to never participate in another late-night-grub-gorge for as long as he lived.

At last, he could feel the intruder’s fingers loosen away from the hilt. If he could just make one last pull —

Clunk!

For the second time that night Yves felt as though his head was splitting open. His grip slackened and he tumbled backward, a familiar mop of messy red hair flashing in sight before he fell.

Yves landed on his back with a taut “Oof!” His rear and head both ached considerably, but he forced himself to sit up and peer around the counter, gasping as his suspicions were confirmed when he recognized the low groan that emerged from behind.

“Prince Luke! What are you doing lurking around the kitchens in the middle of the night?” he yelled.

“Urk! — Making sure no one was planning an attack in here!” Luke Randolph called. He had fallen backwards too, though he was unfortunate enough to have tripped onto a spread of half-eaten pies and fruit tarts along the way. Luke vigorously wiped away at the crostata on his face enough to gape at Yves. “What are you doing lurking around the kitchens in the middle of the night?”

Recovering from his shock, Yves quickly stashed the rest of the uneaten dishes out of view behind the counter while Luke struggled to sit up. Luke’s upper half was dripping with flakey crusts and berried fillings, yet the dirt that caked his boots and trousers hinted that he spent much of his day outside. Yves figured the loud crash was from him flinging himself in through the window.

He pushed the last muffin tray out of sight just as Luke straightened his back. “It’s none of your business what I do with my time. And what do you mean ‘planning an attack’?”

“I heard a bunch of angry grumbling and some names. ‘Thought someone was planning to attack a prince.”

Yves was thankful that the room was dark when he felt his ears redden. How much had the boy heard, and did he happen to see him gorging himself so indecently? “W-Well, as you can very well see I am perfectly fine and there is no one else here, so you can just go back to your room now.” Yves motioned towards the door and subtly brushed stray crumbs off his shirt.

But Luke made no motion to leave. Instead he scrunched his eyes and scanned the room before resting them on Yves’s forehead. “You sure about that? Looks like ya gotta ‘couple nasty bruises on your noggin.”

Yves pouted and pointed to his wounds. “You gave me one of these, or have you already forgotten?”

“Well, that makes us even then,” said Luke, patting his own forehead. He picked the fruits and scraps off his chest and tossed them jovially into his mouth. “For real Evie, I thought you were some kind of assassin or something!

“Don’t call me that,” Yves hissed.

Luke flinched and a raspberry slipped out of his fingers. “Oh, I heard Nokto call you that in the office. I figured you guys all had nicknames for each other.”

Yves glared at him. “Half the stuff that comes out of that silver-tongued fox’s mouth is senseless drivel, and the rest is just slanderous poppycock.”

“Oh, he seems alright.” Luke’s face fell and he began rubbing the wrist Yves seized before. “Chevie and Clavis do it too and, I dunno, I thought it might be nice — I mean, it’s easier than calling each other ‘Prince’ all the time, yeah?”

Yves’s scowl deepened and he turned away to roll up his soiled shirt sleeves. This was the first time he spoke with Luke alone and he already grew tired of the boy. It was one thing to sneak up and headbutt a prince in the dead of night, but if Luke wanted to place his loyalties with his faction members and blindly follow them, then Yves had nothing more to say to him. Maybe those three would step up and take responsibility for their new comrade and leave him to focus on his own problems in peace.

A sharp pain stung in his skull and he inadvertently found himself reaching for his head to mimic Luke’s ministrations. Just peachy, he thought, another problem to add onto his ever-growing pile of woes.

“So, uh, can I have one of those?”

Yves gave a little yelp when he turned and found Luke kneeling directly beside him, eyeing the trove of desserts longingly.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yves stammered, pretending he was too preoccupied with his wound.

“What? I’m talking about — Oh, I get it!” Luke’s green eyes sparkled with the naiveté of a child that solved a riddle. He sat on his knees, straightened his posture, cleared his throat and spoke in a loud, clear voice, “Might I please sample one of your appetizing looking delicacies, Prince Yves?”

Yves’s wound pounded more irritably. Was Luke mocking him somehow, either about his manner of speaking or his midnight snacking? He felt the temperature in his face rise again and he clenched his fists to keep from launching at the boy.

“I said I don’t know what you mean, Prince Luke,” he said through gritted teeth.

Luke’s shoulders sank and he sighed loudly. “Are you kidding me? Man, I knew all those lessons were a waste!” He flopped back onto the floor, face in his hands, and moaned exasperatingly.

And people call me overdramatic, thought Yves. He stole a glance at the door and wondered if Luke would notice if he slipped away, but a loud rumbling stopped him midway from standing.

“Don’t tell me that was your stomach,” he said. Luke gave him a weak hum and rolled on his side to stare at the sweets again.

What was with this guy? First he comes barging into the kitchen with his sword drawn pretending to be some valiant hero, then he has the audacity to beg for food like some hungry pauper? Sure, he had only been at the palace for a few days, but it’s not like they were starving him! He could have easily come to the kitchen anytime during sensible hours if he was really hungry, and mealtimes were always set up in the roundtable room.

“Why weren’t you at dinner today?” Yves asked, craning his eyebrow.

“Uh, guess I missed it. Took a nap an’ lost track of the time,” said Luke. He was now straining his arms to reach past Yves to the sweet stash.

“When did you wake up?”

“Just now. I smelled the sweets and followed ‘em here. Come on, just one —”

“Dinner was over five hours ago!”

Luke retracted his hand at Yves’s outburst and glared up at him. “What’s your point?”

Yves tightened his lips to a thin line. How could this boy possibly integrate into the royal court? It was one thing to be born with royal blood, but the studying, mannerisms, responsibilities, and experience that came with the role take a lifetime to master. And that did not even include politics and dealing with citizens. Why, if the nobles had trouble accepting Yves into their circles, they would eat Luke alive. Perhaps it would have been better to spare him the harsh realities of his lineage so he could keep living his pedestrian life in peace.

But it was too late for that now. The truth was revealed and there was no shying away from it, not for Luke nor the rest of the princes.

Yves watched Luke’s feeble attempts to hook his finger on the rim of a plate of cookies and a slight pang twitched in his chest. He sighed, picked up the plate and brought it just above Luke’s head.

“I’ll let you have some if you stop whimpering like a helpless pup,” he said, trying to avoid Luke’s eyes which grew to the size of the cookies in anticipation. “And if you answer a few of my questions.”

Luke gave an ear-splitting grin and sat up, arms outstretched as if ready to play a game.

Yves balanced the plate on one hand and rested the other on his hip in an attempt to look as princely and imposing as possible despite his sullied outerwear. “First, why were you napping for so long today?”

“Oh, that? I was just tired from all the studying that Sariel-guy’s been making me do. ‘Gave me a mountain of books one day and said —” he straightened his back again and mock adjusted a pair of imaginary glasses — “‘This amounts to a comprehensive purview of the fundamentals and expectations of the royal family of Rhodolite, both domestically and internationally, over the past seven generations. I trust you will have their contents memorized by the end of the week’. I don’t reckon I’ve ever even read that many books in my entire life!”

The hold Yves had on the plate wavered slightly. He was no stranger to Sariel’s arduous (sometimes borderline demoniac) teaching methods, but this sounded like a task even the genius Chevalier would struggle to complete.

“You must have at least made some progress,” said Yves.

“Yeah… not much. He didn’t exactly say what would happen if I didn’t do it, but he was holding that whip of his real threateningly.” Luke shuddered for a moment. “I mean, if that’s the standard, I bet you guys can probably read books in your sleep!”

Yves sneered softly at the bit of exaggeration, knowing full well it was true for some of his brothers more than others. His mind wandered to Chevalier’s personal library and its countless shelves lined with his prized collection, then to Clavis and his pronounced hatred of all things literature, and finally on Leon and his struggle to get halfway through a single page without snoozing.

“Er — so, can I have one now?”

Still chuckling at the image of Leon’s head sagging in between a book, Yves idly picked up a cookie and raised his arm, but as he did he felt the previous warmth that filled the room slip away. He turned his head and froze when he came face-to-face not with Luke’s gentle eyes, but rather those of a murderous beast glinting ravenously in the pale moonlight, a sight completely new yet hauntingly familiar. In an instant Luke lunged forward, nabbed the treat, retreated to his seat, and devoured it in one breath. Yves’s jaw dropped.

“Oh dear Lord…” he whispered.

Luke patted his stomach and smiled sweetly, his eyes back to their usual composure, and Yves became exceedingly aware of the height difference between the two of them despite the fact that they were both still sitting.

“Man, talk about the reward being sweeter the longer you wait! Next?” said Luke.

Yves picked up his jaw and swallowed hard. “If you could do that… if I was just a little slower… you could have killed me back there!”

“That’s a bit of an over exaggeration. I was just aiming for the cookie, it’s not like I was gonna rip your arm off,” said Luke, raising his eyebrow.

“Not that!” said Yves, his voice rising considerably. “Before, when you were wagging your sword. You could have sliced me open! Or… or smashed my head! Or —”

“But I didn’t —,” urged Luke, but he stopped midway as though a realization dawned on him. “Oh… no… not again…”

But Yves could no longer hear him. His body shook violently as he tilted his gaze behind the counter where Luke’s sword lay, still covered in the remains of berry fillings and cream custards. He pictured them instead as his own blood and entrails… his arms slackened… the cookie plate shattered… the room spun around him… he clutched his stomach… a sudden light-headedness washed over him… he was falling…

He awoke to an incessant nudging in his cheek and an uncomfortable squishy feeling underneath him. He held his breath and reached his hand to his back, but exhaled in relief at the realization he had only collapsed on a bowl of jelly-filled doughnuts. Luke was staring down at him, concern reflected in his eyes as he ceased his poking and retracted his finger.

“You good?” he asked timidly.

Yves slowly sat up, the thumping in his head returning as he did. He wiped his arm across his forehead both to massage it and shield his face from Luke’s anxious gaze.

“Just tired…” he grimaced.

Before he could give Luke a chance to respond, Yves grabbed a nearby napkin and stood making his way to the sink. He pulled a bucket of drinking water from beside the windowsill and dunked the napkin into it, pleased to find it was cool to the touch. He wrung the napkin before applying it to his forehead with a hiss and closed his eyes as relief started to take over.

He couldn’t believe he fainted in front of Luke. He was sure the flash in Luke’s eyes was a reflection of the beastly side harbored within each of the princes, whether or not the boy was aware of it himself, but why did it frighten him so? This was hardly the first time he’d confronted one, and Yves was just as much of a noble beast as any of them were, yet he always came up short, be it in the office or on the battlefield.

A feeling of utter defeat washed over him as he moved the napkin to cool his crown, trying to drown out the loud shuffling sounds Luke started making behind him. He let any chance to at least get Luke to take him seriously slip away splendidly. And if none of the princes respected him, there was no possibility Belle would even consider such a weakling as a candidate for king.

“OUCH!” said Yves.

He winced when he accidentally applied too much pressure to his bruise. Resolving he’d feel better if he rested in his bed, it wasn’t like there was any use staying in the kitchens, he rested the napkin on his head and turned on his heel when Luke appeared in front of the doorway with an apologetic look, arms hidden behind his back.

Luke rocked in place momentarily before extending one hand to reveal a single cookie. “It’ll make you feel better,” he muttered and flashed a sympathetic smile. Too tired to claim he didn’t want his pity, Yves wordlessly accepted the cookie and nibbled it quietly.

Luke looked pleased at this and continued rocking in place, letting his eyes wander around the kitchen. When Yves finished the cookie, he opened his mouth to tell Luke to step aside, but Luke spoke over him.

“So, er — what’s the next question?”

Feeling a little more alert with the extra sugar in his system, Yves focused his eyes on Luke and noticed him pulling out the same cookies on a new plate from behind his back. He wanted to tell Luke he wasn’t up for playing anymore and that he could help himself to whatever was left, but his words caught in his throat when he saw the childlike smile grace Luke’s face again.

“Um, are you sure you want to continue? It’s gotten quite late,” said Yves, but Luke firmly shook his head and beamed.

“Anything to keep me from those history books. Besides, it’s fun talking to you.”

A warm sensation sprouted in his cheeks and Yves averted his eyes. This had to be a joke; after the little misunderstanding with their scuffle and Yves’s fainting episode, Luke was probably just sparing his feelings. Still, Luke had yet to dismiss his opinions or outright laugh in his face, and the pain in his head was starting to subside…

Yves sighed and took a seat in a chair by a table underneath the window, gesturing for Luke to follow. When Luke lowered the plate and seated himself across from him, Yves removed the wet napkin and studied the boy more closely. He was still covered with pastry remains (globs of jam and doughy crusts wildly stuck his hair on end in particular), but to Yves’s surprise he otherwise seemed undisturbed. In fact, staring expectantly with his chin in his hands, he actually seemed to be enjoying himself.

Yves diverted his gaze from Luke’s smile again and let it land on the small stuffed bear that dangled buoyantly from his lapel.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, pointing to the bear.

Luke followed Yves’s line of sight and smiled even wider. “‘Made it myself!” he proudly proclaimed, puffing his chest so that the bear bounced merrily.

Yves observed the stitching more carefully and noticed the nostalgic homemade-feel it aroused. “It’s very nice,” he said. He smiled softly and pushed the plate towards Luke. “Have two.”

Luke conscientiously craned his arms towards the plate and rested each hand on a cookie, keeping an eye on Yves the entire time. When Yves made no sudden reaction, he grinned, picked them up and took a hearty bite from both. “Ffanks!” he said while he chewed.

Yves watched the bear continue to bob up and down as Luke devoured the cookies.

“‘Course it was only a matter of time before Rhodolite’s leading fashion expert took notice. Game recognizes game, after all.” Luke licked the remaining crumbs from his fingers and gestured towards his ear.

Yves blinked when he realized his hand had unconsciously drifted to stroke his earring. He released it and felt the cool metal tickle his neck.

“Who says I’m Rhodolite’s leading fashion expert?” he asked.

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, you’re by far the most put-together person in the palace. But since you asked, Jin told me.” He hovered his hand back over the plate ready for his next reward. Yves nodded and Luke scarfed down another two cookies while he sat back in his chair and looked at the ceiling.

Was it true? Well, like Luke said, it was no secret that Yves spent a lot of time prepping his appearance every day, but he didn’t realize Jin thought so highly of his efforts.

“What else did Jin say about me?”

Luke slowed his munching and shrugged his shoulders. “Just some general stuff, I s’pose. You’re the fourth — no, fifth prince, you’re in the same faction as him, you’re a whiz in the kitchen,” he eagerly picked up more cookies for each trait he listed, “you get along well with Licht, you don’t get along at all with Nokto, your mom’s an Obsidianite princess, you like to play the violin —”

“Wait, back up a bit!” Yves shot up in his seat.

“Oh, the part about Nokto? Sorry if that upset you before. But you know funny thing, Jin called him a ‘silver-tongued fox’ too, but he made it sound like a compliment —”

“No, after that. You know about my ancestry?”

“Oh… yup.” Luke triumphantly eyed the collection of seven cookies he managed to stack into a tower.

“Does it… doesn’t that bother you?” Yves asked in a small voice.

Luke peered around his cookie-tower quizzically. “Should it?”

Yves made a pointed face that shouted ‘Obviously!’, but Luke interpreted it as a new question and reached for another cookie.

“Does it bother you that I grew up a commoner?” he retorted, eyes fixated on the tower as he carefully positioned his construction of the eighth level.

Yves opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself as he pondered the question. Yves recalled the dumbfounded look he wore when he first learned of Luke’s existence, the stinging betrayal he felt toward his father, and the sleepless nights plagued with apprehension ever since, but he never actually considered his feelings toward Luke. Jin was also raised as a commoner at first, but he managed to overcome his handicap and integrate within the ranks of royalty so seamlessly Yves often forgot his origins. Would it be the same for Luke?

He admitted he never went out of his way to interact with the boy since he arrived at the palace, but he chalked that up to their schedules never overlapping rather than some preexisting prejudice he may have harbored. Adding that to the fact that Clavis scooped him up for the diplomatic faction almost instantly, Yves never interacted with Luke beyond passing him the occasional dish during mealtimes in the roundtable room. As far as he was concerned, Luke was just another person he happened to be related to.

That wasn’t right either; it’s exactly how he described his Obsidianite relatives. At least Luke was talking to him instead of outright pretending he didn’t exist.

“No,” he said in a flat voice.

“There you go then,” Luke stated matter-of-factly. He set the eighth cookie on the top and sat back to admire his work. Once he seemed satisfied, he grabbed the structure from opposite ends, condensed it as much as he could without making it collapse, and brought it in its entirety towards his mouth.

Yves watched wide-eyed as Luke forced as much of the tower as he could into his open jaw. Some of the ends crumbled in the chaos and spilled onto the table, but that didn’t stop Luke from pumping his fists and letting out a victorious “hummh!” when he finally managed to close his mouth. Yves blinked at him several times before erupting with gleeful laughter. Luke tried to join in as well, but his attempts only ended up with him sputtering and spraying the table with even more crumbs.

Five minutes passed with uninterrupted mirth filling the previously lonely corners of the kitchen until the pair calmed down. Yves’s sides started to ache; he couldn’t recall the last time he let go and allowed himself to laugh so freely. He wiped away tears that sprouted in the corners of his eyes and looked back at Luke, who finally managed to swallow the entire cookie tower and was now bouncing in his seat.

“I suppose that concludes the interrogation?” he said, moving to stand.

“Haha, hold up, I can keep going!” Luke grabbed his arm and pulled him back down to sit.

“Alright, but I can’t think of anything more — Hang on, what does Nokto say about me in your office?”

Luke’s face turned pale and he immediately ceased his bouncing. “On second thought, I think I’m full.”

Yves frowned and pulled the plate of cookies (which had about a dozen remaining) towards himself, lifted it in front of his head, and tilted it so that the cookies slid into his mouth in one swoop. He fixed a hard stare on Luke as he gobbled the lot, and it was Luke’s turn to watch him bewildered.

Yves wiped his mouth with his sleeve and smirked. “In that case, how about you ask me something?”

And thus, the two princes talked animatedly for hours with the familiarity of old friends catching up after years apart. They spoke of hilarious exploits, rambunctious mishaps against authority, and perilous adventures across borders, neither of them making any mention of the upcoming Belle selection nor the looming threat of Obsidian, and Yves prayed that dawn would never arrive.

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

I really enjoyed writing from Yves's perspective. I'm sure he had a lot on his mind before Belle showed up to the palace, and he always seemed the least "beastly" of all the princes, so I imagine his isolation is what led him to his midnight feasting. (Side note, his metabolism must be through the roof!)

As for Luke, I'm not quite sure if I captured his personality correctly, but he was still very fun to write. Throughout all the routes currently available in the English version (up to Licht), he's probably shown up the least in total and he almost never mentions anything about his past. It's a shame, but that'll make it all the more exciting once his route does finally come out. It also makes me wonder if the King will ever show up in any flashbacks (got some choice words for him, let me tell you).

But for those who have finished his route in the Japanese version and find some errors in this story, chronologically or otherwise, my apologies.（◞‸◟）I'd really like to see if they tell us how Luke meets each of the princes, that'd be really cool.

Regardless, Yves and Luke's interactions in the game are precious. Good night!

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikeprince #イケメン王子 #ikepri yves #ikepri luke #scorchie writes #yves kloss #luke randolph

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psychovigilantewrites · 3 years

Text

Chapter 14 - A Different Point of View

Summary: Things that happened that you weren't aware of.

Word count: 9,163 words

A/N: Thank you for being so patient with me. I struggled with this chapter due to its nature. I had to further dive into Bruce and Dick's character that I wasn't too familiar with.2020 was a very tough year for me. I lost lots, learned lots. And I thought that the quarantine would mean I would write more. But I was wrong. Life hit me hard, and I stopped doing a lot of things I used to enjoy.Despite being virtually absent last year, you guys stuck by me anyway. Thank you. I love you all for that.Special thanks to my two beta readers. You know who you are. Here it goes.

(i recommend you guys read previous chapters to refresh coz I had to lol)

Ao3

Masterlist

The roles that people played were false- a mere necessity for their career or survival. Everyone was playing a role, whether it was of their own accord or not.

Bruce Wayne was a role- superficial, fake, yet vital to Gotham. Batman, on the other hand, was a completely different role, born out of exigence and a sense of justice.

Dick Grayson, however, genuinely enjoyed playing his role.

Nightwing felt right to him. Being a police officer felt right to him. And especially, if not ultimately, being an older brother.

He listened to the dial tone of his phone, which rung for a few seconds before you finally picked up.

“Hey,” Dick heard your voice, the usual chirp absent that day.

Dick frowned to himself. Bruce was right about you being troubled after all.

“Hey, sis!” he forced the concern out of his voice. “You busy?”

“Nah, I’m just going over some old case files. What’s up?”

Dick leaned back into his sofa. Aside from the traffic blaring outside, the silence in his apartment made it easier for him to concentrate on analysing your speech patterns.

“Can’t I call just to ask how you’re doing?” he teased, easing into the conversation.

Everyone had always told him how he was natural at talking.

“You already called last week…”

Dick smiled to himself. He could already picture your narrowed eyes regarding him with suspicion.

It was good that you were always on your feet, but it was becoming borderline unhealthy. It reminded him of Jason and how he was always so guarded .

He pushed the memory away.

“I can’t call you again?” he rolled his eyes at no one.

“Bruce put you up to this,” you accused.

That’s because he’s worried about you, kid.

If only you knew how much Bruce had changed for you. Dick was glad that you were being loved by Bruce, yet he still couldn't help but feel slightly bitter that he never got that kind of treatment from his father- not the same treatment he gave you.

But he would rather die than admit his selfish thoughts to anyone.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “He was worried about you after last night.”

“I’m fine, Dick,” you insisted.

How many times has he heard those very same words from Jason?

“Well, if you’re not, then you can talk to me,” he offered.

A short pause.

Your response would be what differentiated you from his late brother.

“Actually, yeah,” you admitted.

There it was. No matter how stupid he knew it was for even comparing the two of you, he found that he always had to remind himself not to.

“How did you deal with it? Did it affect you?”

Dick told you his own experience with gore and dead bodies, how he overcame it, how he coped. There was silence after, and he just somehow knew what you were going to ask next.

“How did, uh, he deal with it?”

Your voice came in a whisper, hesitation evidently clear.

Dick was expecting it, but his heart still sank. He knew how everyone acted when Jason was brought up in conversation- he was guilty of reacting as well. He also knew how you were smart enough to avoid that topic.

It had been years. They should all have moved on, because Dick knew that they were also hurting you.

“He came to me as well.” Dick recalled Jason’s hesitant voice over the phone, never directly saying what was wrong, just rambling about things other than what was really going on in his head.

“Then he gradually called less and less when he learned how to deal with it himself.”

The day Dick noticed it, he was happy for Jason, but a small part of him was saddened that his little brother no longer needed him.

“I’ll have to look for that cognitive therapy, then. Thank you for calling, Dick. Talking to you helped.”

Did it really? He noticed your voice had changed again. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone on about Jason like that.

“No problem, kid. Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

The familiar beep left him isolated with his thoughts, wondering if you would trail in Jason's footsteps.

When will the day come when you eventually stop calling altogether?

***

He felt indebted to his city- the city he loved. The city he hated. The city that robbed him of his childhood.

He felt indebted to his family- the family he would give up everything for, the family he couldn’t stop hurting.

And he was sorry. God, he was sorry.

Sorry for everything he’s said and done- or didn’t do. But he still couldn’t stop. Because he didn’t know how.

Yet, no matter how much he claimed to love his family, the problem with Bruce Wayne was that he always expected them to be the people he wanted them to be.

Never like himself, though. No, he would never want them to turn out like him.

“That’s an order. Stay-”

The silence that followed the click in his ear represented the first time you had ever disobeyed a direct order.

It was a little late on your side. Dick and Jason had begun to disobey him within their first six months in uniform. But you had always been obedient- which made it easier for Bruce to trust you in the field.

This first time came as an unexpected and unwelcome surprise. And Bruce was…

Disappointed.

He grit his teeth when he saw you on the ground with the warehouse burning behind you. If he had just been a few seconds late, would you be in the fire, too?

“I almost had him.”

Bruce didn’t miss the wince of pain as you got up to your feet.

He had heard those exact words before countless times from J- no.

Bruce shoved that thought away.

“He would have gotten away, and we wouldn’t have known who it was that did this,” you argued, brows drawn together in a frown, mouth downturned. Your respiratory rate was high, and you were having trouble breathing.

When did you grow so tall? So confident?

Bruce silently pointed to the active security camera he noticed the minute he arrived and saw your expression fall- only for a second.

“I still think I made the right decision,” you insisted.

“You disobeyed a direct order.” He hated his own voice. The way he spoke sounded too militant.

“I acted how I saw fit,” you continued, “You always say to follow my instincts-”

“Not if your instincts contradict my orders.” He regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. He thought he had changed. But no, Bruce was still a dictator.

“Wow. Just- wow.”

He could see the little twitches of annoyance within the disbelief on your face. He understood it completely.

You were walking away, clutching onto your side and weakly limping to your bike, adamant on not seeking his help.

He hated seeing you injured, in pain. It was his fault. If only he was faster, he could have stopped Red Hood from beating you up. If only he predicted it sooner, if only-

“I’ll be heading back now.”

He missed what you had said before that.

“Robin,” Bruce forced out, “Have Alfred check your injuries.”

He should have been there.

When you drove away, he lingered at the crime scene.

Bruce flipped a switch in his helmet, and his lense changed. Non-organic material lighted up bright white. He noticed a fractured piece of shrapnel lying on the ground, less than a centimeter long.

He picked it up and placed it into a test tube from his belt. Switching his view to normal, he saw that it was red, maybe made from fiberglass. He could only deduce that it was a piece of Red Hood’s helmet.

Despite Bruce’s frustrations at you for disobeying him, he felt a swell of pride. You probably landed a hit hard enough to crack the helmet just a little bit that you yourself probably didn’t even realise it.

He shone a UV light on it. A small portion of it glowed.

Bruce had always been numb when he played investigator so that he would remain impartial and objective. That was true justice.

But when he pocketed the evidence and sped to the Batmobile, he felt something he had never felt before.

Against all logic and rationality, he found himself dreading to uncover who the blood belonged to.

***

Bruce never drank his sorrows away. It was dangerous, too easy to develop an addiction to. He could have easily drowned in alcohol at any given chance, like when he thought of his parents, or when he thought-no, knew- he wasn’t enough.

But no, he only restricted his drinking for leisurely activities. He was disciplined. It was the reason why he was who he was.

However, in that moment, staring at the results of the DNA analysis after hours of anxious waiting, he wished he allowed himself a drink.

Not because he was distraught, not because he was in grief- but because he just didn’t know what to feel.

It wasn’t numbness. It was just plain confusion, an internal tornado of emotions whirling inside him all at once.

Footsteps.

He tapped on a button once, immediately closing the window of the test results displayed on the screen.

Composing himself, he clicked on another pending case to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown. It’s just another role.

“Master Bruce.”

Why was he still up at this hour?

“Yes, Alfred,” he turned to meet the butler’s tired eyes- just as tired as his own.

Tired because of him.

Alfred was always up because of him. Because Bruce was a disease, constantly burdening others, dragging them down, keeping them up at night.

“I made some sandwiches. They’re light. Please do eat them,” he set the tray on the cluttered desk, simply pushing aside the numerous stacks of papers.

“Go to bed, Alfred,” he told him. Alfred was too old to be up at this hour. And whose fault is that?

“In due time,” he responded calmly, “What of the blood results, if I may ask?”

“Inconclusive,” Bruce lied.

“I see.”

Suspicion shrouded Alfred’s voice.

“How are her injuries?” Bruce asked, the pain finally creeping in, seeping into his bones.

“I commend you for asking about your daughter’s injuries after only four whole hours of staring at the screen, Master Bruce. You would definitely win father of the year.”

“I was occupied,” he sighed, “Please.”

“Her injuries are only superficial,” Alfred said, “Surface contusions at most.”

He still hurt her.

“Thank you, Alfred. Now go to bed.”

“It was only a little more than two decades ago when I was telling you the same,” he grumbled away.

Bruce made sure Alfred was gone before pulling up the results on the screen again, the glaring ‘MATCH’ sign staring angrily back at him as if it were shouting at Bruce, yelling in rage.

And Bruce understood completely. He had failed Jason Todd. He had betrayed him. And now he was back, vengeful, and full of resentment.

But that didn’t matter to Bruce.

Because despite it all, his son was alive.

In the end, that was all that mattered.

***

What did my son do to my daughter?

Bruce watched in horror as you lay unconscious on the hospital bed, hooked to the IV bag. He couldn’t stop staring at the bruises littering your neck.

Bruises that were far too small and evenly shaped to be the effect of a mere throttling.

He knew how the people close to him viewed him. He knew they thought he was strong, unforgiving, cold, emotionless. Especially when they put him side by side with Clark.

But he forced himself to be those things, because if he didn’t, he would have broken down years ago.

He was used to it. The pain. The darkness.

But this time, he felt like he was being crushed.

He felt like he was hanging on by a thread- no. A delicate strand of thin, brittle hair.

“It’s okay, doctor,” you had said, “I know what you’re going to ask me. No, my genitalia does not hurt. He didn’t do anything to me.”

He felt a wave of relief crash over him.

Jason wasn’t that far gone, then.

But as Bruce looked at your neck again, he still couldn’t help but feel nausea crawling into his core.

He still touched her.

Jim left after his questioning, and you drifted to sleep. He went over to you and looked down at your face, taking everything in.

Since when did you look so mature? When did you get so beautiful?

He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. Even in sleep you had your eyebrows tugged down, as if you were angry that you had to go to bed. He didn’t know why he never saw that small part of you that shouted rebellion despite you almost always following his orders.

He realised that when he watched you sleep, you looked a bit like- no. Don’t ever compare the two.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to your forehead, trying to convey all of his feelings to you.

He was sorry. So god damned sorry for dragging you into this, for hurting you, for pulling you down to the depths with him.

Hoping you didn’t feel the teardrop that fell to your forehead, he quickly wiped it away before leaving for his press statement.

***

“Master Bruce, please!”

Another crash.

Alfred’s plea snapped him out of his blinding fury, his crushing pain.

He was standing at the hallway near the Manor entrance, glass and broken wood shattered at his feet, feeling the walls closing in and narrowing as Alfred looked at him in alarm.

“I-I’m sorry, Alfred. I-” he stammered, feeling like the small, helpless boy who watched his parents die before him.

He remembered the time when he was little, only a couple of months after the tragedy. He had done the exact same thing, taking out his anger and anguish by destroying things, triggered by something he had long forgotten about.

At that time, Alfred had held him closely in his arms as he stained the butler’s suit with his snot and tears. Again, a burden to the man who raised him.

This time, he refused the old man’s offer of comfort, walking past to descend to the cold darkness of the cave he was so familiar with.

Bruce didn’t usually drink his sorrows away, but this time, he did.

***

Dick wasn’t a good person. He was far from it.

Case in example, it was the first time he saw you after your kidnapping.

He meant to come sooner, he really did. But he was just so busy in Bludhaven, he couldn’t spare any time to rush over the moment he heard his sister was hurt. He tried to justify it in his head by thinking that you were probably handling it fine.

But he was just trying to make himself feel better.

What a great brother he was.

“So, why are you obsessing over violent crimes?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

Desensitization was one thing when you worked in that field, but obsession was a whole other problem. And he didn’t want to see his sister walk down that path.

“A lunatic just kidnapped me a couple weeks ago, Dick, maybe this is my coping mechanism,” you huffed, giving him your signature eye roll.

A lot of things start with just a coping mechanism, kid.

Dick knew it about it all too well. The people he brought in on an almost daily basis, high as kites. The accident last week on the highway at three in the morning, two innocent lives taken because of a drunk man who had started drinking three years ago to cope with his mother’s loss.

The man downstairs in the cold cave, who was just a little boy when his parents died, now living with the trauma while going out night after night to beat up criminals, sleeping only three hours a day at most.

“I don’t want your pity, Dick,” you huffed, “I’m fine.”

Yeah, you were. And that was what worried Dick the most.

“I know you are,” he tried to smile, “Which is why I don’t think this is your coping mechanism.”

You talked to Dick about Red Hood, sharing your concerns about him. This is what made you, you. Opening up to him, offering your thoughts and feelings. It was something he never had with Bruce or Jason. The both of them were similar in that sense.

“He won’t tell me either,” Dick huffed, “It’s always been like that with him. No matter how hard I try to get closer to him, sometimes it feels like he’s getting further away.”

It was the same with Jason as well. Did everyone he cared about just end up running away from him?

“I can relate to that,” you sighed.

“But I have a feeling that he will tell you eventually,” Dick tried to comfort you, “It seems too important not to.”

Dick knew better. Bruce had always excluded information from him, whether it was important or not.

“And,” Dick hurriedly tried to change the subject, “I heard from Alfred that you’re not talking to Bruce. May I ask why?”

“So that’s why you’re here,” you eyed him suspiciously. . “I came to check up on you,” he stated, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come here right after, but my little sister did just get kidnapped.”

When are you going to stop putting your guard up around me, kid?

“I told you, I’m fine,” you insisted.

“Then you’re fine enough to tell me why you haven’t been talking to Bruce,” Dick pushed, “I won’t judge. I’ve had my fair share of cold shoulders and fights with him too. I know first hand how frustrating he can be. So come on, tell.”

He saw you hesitate for just a moment, before conceding.

“We fought,” you began, “It was when I got back from the hospital. He wouldn’t tell me who Red Hood was. And he- he called me ‘Jason’.”

Ah, fucking hell, Bruce.

“Jesus,” he whispered, “What did he say exactly?”

“‘Back down, Jason’,” your voice cracked.

Dick saw the way Bruce spiraled after Jason’s death, and he would never tell you this, but deep down he was against Bruce adopting you so soon after. He thought that Bruce was using you to fill up the hole he too felt with Jason’s absence.

You were so like him, yet so different. Still, Bruce must have been really distracted if he could slip as badly as he did.

Dick would ask later.

“Now that’s something I haven’t heard in years,” Dick chuckled humorlessly.

Jason arguing with Bruce about using excessive force. Jason sneaking out to go for patrols whenever he was grounded. Hell, even Jason stealing whiskey from the cabinet at the age of fifteen.

He could still remember it so clearly. Jason with his dark hair poking into his eyes that were full of fury, cheeks puffed up and red as he pouted angrily at Bruce for making him stay at the Manor on nights Bruce insisted on going alone.

Dick tried to shove the past away. He knew he was making you even sadder.

“Has Bruce made any attempts to reconcile?” Dick remembered the conversation he was having with you.

“Yeah, but I’m still mad at him,” you pouted.

“And you have every right to be,” Dick nodded, “But Bruce, well, you know Bruce. He keeps these things to himself, but obviously he’s still hurting.”

You have know idea how much he’s hurting, Little Wing.

You avoided Dick’s eyes, looking down at your fumbling thumbs as the room became silent.

“I’m seeing someone,” you changed the subject.

“You are?”

Interesting.

“Yeah,” you blushed, “It’s still very new, and we’re not official yet or anything. But we’re definitely testing the waters.”

“That’s great,” Dick grinned, “Who is he? Tell me the deets. Spill the tea.”

He sort of loved gossip. It wasn’t a secret.

“I met him in the library a while back,” you excitedly said, “We exchanged numbers. Started texting, meeting up from time to time. He’s really cute.”

Ah, young love. What Dick would give to be at that age again.

“I bet he is,” Dick teased.

“What’s with that face?” you laughed, “He is! He’s slightly older, and he’s got this sexy bad boy look, you know?”

“I thought you liked the nerdy types?” Dick responded. He saw a picture of you and your classmates on your Instagram. Typical prep school kids.

“I never had a type, you ass!” . “You’re right. I thought you were completely uninterested in boys,” he wondered out loud, “Is he nice, at least?”

“Yeah he is,” you smiled to yourself, “He didn’t know I was Wayne until 2 weeks ago. Before that, we were mainly texting. Now we’re meeting up more. I feel like I can be myself with him. I don’t know, there’s just something about him that makes me trust him.”

So you still have some of your walls up with me, but you trust a stranger? Who is this guy?

“I’m not going to tell him anything!” you quickly added, “I’m not stupid. I know I shouldn’t trust someone I just met. It’s not about the confidential stuff. It’s the little things like how I feel, and my problems, and just- stuff, you know?”

The thought didn’t even cross his mind. Dick trusted you enough with their secret, just as how Bruce did.

“I get it,” Dick tried to rationalise, “You don’t know what it is about the person, but you feel like the two of you just click, am I right?”

It had been like that with Barbara. It had been like that with Kory.

Now Dick was alone, and deep down he knew that they saw him as how he truly was. Selfish.

“Exactly,” you smiled, “Been with anyone like that before?”

“One or two,” he brushed it off, “People like that- whom you just click with- they’re hard to come by. You should see where this leads. Who knows, maybe he’s one of those that would stick around, huh?”

What he would give to have at least one person who would stick with him.

After he met with Gordon, Dick went to the cave to see Bruce who was, of course, facing the computers.

“I know what you’re going to say,” his father’s voice echoed without even turning to look at him.

“Then you know how much you’ve hurt her?” he crossed his arms.

Bruce did turn around to face him, and Dick suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

He knew that Bruce hardly ever slept, but this was different. He looked disheveled, his complexion pale, his eyes more bloodshot and the dark circles even more prominent.

Alfred did say how badly Bruce took the kidnapping, finding him passed out on the cave floor with an empty bottle of scotch in his hand, but he thought that Bruce would have gotten himself together by now. It was surprising to see him that way, and Dick felt… Uncomfortable.

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the kidnapping, nor his fight with you.

“You found out something,” Dick narrowed his eyes, “Something important. What is it?”

He caught a flash of guilt in Bruce’s eyes. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Bruce,” Dick groaned, “This is why you keep on hurting her.”

Hurting us.

“I’m protecting everyone.”

“You can’t use that excuse with me anymore,” he sighed, “I don’t need your protection. So tell me.”

“No.”

That was his final word, and he knew that Bruce would never budge.

“Fine,” he let out a breath, “Did you know that she’s seeing someone?”

Bruce frowned.

Which made Dick frown. Since when did Bruce miss things? What the fuck was going on with him?

“Name?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. And no, don’t you dare,” Dick pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Do not do a background check on him. She deserves privacy. Hell, don’t even bring it up. You have no right to go poking into her relationships.”

Dick was being defensive, but that was because he was trying to convince himself as well, which was why he didn’t ask you for a name. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I wasn’t going to,” Bruce reassured, “She… She deserves a life. A normal life. Not this- not-”

Dick knew then he had to leave, because Bruce’s voice breaking meant he was far from okay, and he knew that Bruce hated to show his vulnerability to anyone.

“Bruce,” Dick said, this time softly, “You’re not alone, you know. I’ve been with you since the beginning, and I’m still with you now.”

And with that, Bruce turned his back towards him again, silently going back to his goddamned computers.

“He’s been that way ever since the kidnapping,” Alfred informed him when he walked up to the manor.

“I don’t think it’s just the kidnapping, Alf,” he frowned at the butler, “There’s something more to it. Did he figure out who Red Hood is?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred pursed his lips, “But he refuses to tell me.”

“That means we know him personally,” Dick theorised, “Who the hell could it be that he’s so adamant on keeping it a secret?”

“I do not know Master Dick, but it can’t be anyone good if he’s got Master Bruce drinking during the day.”

***

Bruce knew that he was wrong to call you by his dead son’s name.

But his dead son was supposed to stay dead instead of haunting him with that glaring red bat across his chest, and having that thought in his head all the time, he slipped up.

He prided himself with his contingency plans and detective skills and preparations, but no amount of time could ever prepare him for when he found out his dead son had sexually assaulted his daughter.

You seemed to have dealt with it surprisingly well, exceeding his expectations. In fact, Bruce thought it was a bit odd that you weren’t as affected by it.

And then he saw it.

He saw what he thought was the internalized anger you felt finally bursting through the seams of your tightly lidded emotions.

And he wasn’t prepared for it.

Bruce didn’t think you had it in you, or else he would never have made you Robin.

But there you were on the ground, beating a man beyond recognition.

He couldn’t dread this moment because he never saw it coming. Not from you. Never from you.

He hurriedly ripped you off the man, flinging you away with force.

Pulse was present, but weak. Flail chest. It took him only a few seconds to observe the damage you did to the man’s face. It didn’t look good.

“Stay back,” he growled at you when you came close.

He couldn’t look at you. He didn’t want to.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he heard you whisper.

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered.

There was no other choice. He had to take the fall for you.

“NOW!” he snarled at you again. In the background, you were on the phone, but Bruce’s thoughts were elsewhere, calculating what needs to be done.

You moved-

“Leave. I’ll deal with this.” You needed to go. You couldn’t be here when the ambulance and police arrived.

“Batman-”

“I said leave,” he snapped. He couldn’t even hear your voice.

He waited for the ambulance to come before leaving, making sure they saw him escape. Making sure he would be the one the media would attack.

And while he drove back to the Cave, he decided to give his son a call.

“Bruce?”

“Dick,” he sighed. He knew he had always been unfair to his eldest, giving him so much pressure to perform, pushing him to be his best- and ultimately away. He knew that he never showed it, but he was proud of Dick. He always had been from the very beginning.

“What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t a surprise that Dick picked up immediately that something was wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact that calling him out of the blue was what gave it away, Bruce himself trained Dick.

“She- she crossed the line tonight,” he tried to explain, “Jerome Miller. She attacked him. The damage she’s done to him is irreversible. I suspect he will be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life.”

“Jesus,” Dick breathed from over the line, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I wasn’t there,” he grit. He thought he could trust you.

But deep down Bruce knew that it was all his fault after all. Who was he to act so righteous when he was the reason your parents died?

“I don’t know if she’ll talk to me, Bruce,” Dick sighed, “Not about something like this. She’s probably beating herself up over this already.”

“As she should.”

“Bruce.”

“Please,” Bruce asked, “I’m worried. She isn’t herself and I can’t blame her for it, but the chances of her talking to you are much higher than if I were to try.”

“I’ll try,” Dick agreed.

“Report to me after.”

“Bruce, we’ve talked about this,” Dick grumbled, “I am under no obligation to report to you. I’m doing this for her. Not you.”

He was trying not to go back to the man he was before, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

They’re your children, not your soldiers.

He had to remind himself time and time again. It was easier to be just a father to you as compared to Dick and Jason, yet even then he made slips.

“I know,” he apologised. “Thank you.”

Click.

And then Bruce was alone again.

***

Bruce watched you from the corner of his eye when you came back. He noticed that you had put more effort into dressing up when you left the house that day.

There was a slight bounce to your step and a small smile that played on your lips.

Dick was right after all. There was someone you were seeing.

But no, he couldn’t look into it. In fact, it would be hypocritical of him if he did. Dick had many girlfriends and flings, and Bruce didn’t want to know about any of them. Mainly because Dick was his first, and the thought of a boy he raised maturing and having relationships made him feel confused about parenthood.

Not that many of them lasted too long anyway.

Jason was a little different. While Dick had girls lining up after him all the time, Jason was much more subtle about the girls he liked, and that made Bruce more curious- but not enough to investigate.

He thought about when Barbara had caught Jason looking at her, making him turn red. He wondered if Jason would like you.

A tight squeeze in his chest.

He didn’t let his mind linger there.

Bruce felt obligated to protect you, which tempted him to investigate the boy you were seeing. It could be a trap, it could be someone using you for fame and money, or something even more sinister. Hell, it could be Jason himself after that stunt he pulled off.

But there was no evidence, and Bruce wanted to be a father to you this time instead of Batman the mentor. So Bruce would have to trust you on this one.

***

There was something holding Bruce back from telling everyone the truth about Jason.

And because he is who he is, Bruce knew what it was.

Guilt. He blamed himself for what had happened, and telling others about it meant owning up to his mistakes. Bruce never ran away from his fears and feelings despite what others might think. On the contrary, he held to them very strongly, using them as a motivation to fight head on.

This time, though, he felt more self destructive- the worst he had ever felt since he carried Jason’s corpse from the rubble- and so he tried to delay the inevitable.

But time was running out. He had enough time to wallow in self pity. It was time to pull himself together, and the first step began with Alfred.

The Cave was colder than usual that night, air thin and darker despite the illumination he had provided. Bruce was slumped in his usual wheeled chair, cowl resting on the desk after patrol, the weight of his suit almost crushing him in his weakened mental state.

“Alfred,” Bruce sighed, “Please, take a seat. I have something to tell you.”

“I assume this is about the identity of one criminal who has been terrorizing your daughter?” Alfred retorted, sitting down anyway.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded, “This… This won’t be easy, Alfred. I suggest you prepare for the worst.”

“And the worst being..?”

Bruce wheeled himself closer to the butler, leaning forward. “It’s Jason.”

Alfred merely blinked. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid my ears have caught up to my age. I must have misheard you, because for a moment, I thought you said that Red Hood is Jason.”

“You didn’t mishear me, Alfred. It’s him.”

Bruce saw the confusion in Alfred’s eyes, the frantic search for reason. “Our Jason? Jason Todd?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

And then, Bruce felt it. The pain he had been suffering with for weeks spreading to the man who raised him. Alfred clutched his chest with one hand, the other clenching tightly over the armrest of his chair, his breathing quickened.

“Impossible,” he whispered, “Jason died. How?”

“There was an event regarding The League and Superboy punching reality. I won’t get into details, but I suspect that was what caused the initial resurrection. The restoration, however. We know of someone who has been continuously restored time and time again.”

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” Alfred concluded, “But why? Why on Earth would he restore Jason?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce frowned, “But it is an almost perfect revenge plan. I would like to entertain the idea that he has brainwashed Jason into thinking we are the enemy, but I can’t put it past him to develop a hatred for me. I… betrayed him.”

“Master Bruce, this is not your fault,” Alfred rose to his feet, “If it is indeed Jason, we can still help. I have faith in the boy.”

“Me too, Alfred. Me too.”

Bruce didn’t miss the sob that echoed faintly through the cave when Alfred ascended back up.

***

As if in slow motion, he saw every change of emotion on Dick’s face. The way he blinked once in confusion, the surprise approaching as he widened his eyes, and then his eyebrows stitching together in a deep frown, his lips downturning and nose flaring in anger.

Bruce saw the punch coming, but he did not do anything to counter it. Gladly, he took the right hook Dick gave him, appreciating the sting that radiated from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“How long have you known?” his son shook in anger.

“Dick-”

“HOW LONG, BRUCE?!” Dick roared, fists clenched, voice echoing in the cave.

“Since the night he blew up the warehouse,” Bruce replied.

“Jesus, fuck,” Dick ran his fingers through his hair, “Jesus, Bruce. That was over a month ago.”

“I know.”

“We-” he choked on his words, “We deserved to know.”

“I know.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!” he slammed his fists on the desk. Bruce caught a few drops of tears that fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologised, and meant it. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything more.

“You’re sorry?” Dick looked at him with eyes far too cold than he knew, “He was my brother, Bruce. He told me things he never told anyone else. We shared secrets and jokes. We went to the same diner once a week to catch up. He asked for my help and I asked for his. And then he died. Just like that, because you couldn’t keep him on a leash. And now he’s back, and you knew it was him, and you’re just sorry?”

Dick’s eyes were wet and red, and filled with contempt. Bruce couldn’t blame him. He hated himself, too.

“Does she know?” he whispered, “Does she know that the man who attacked her is your son, and is my brother?”

Like always, he pushed the pain away efficiently, logically, objectively.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I told her this afternoon.”

“And she’s not angry?”

“If she was, she did not show it,” Bruce described, “In fact, she looked… Worried.”

“Of fucking course she would be worried,” he snarled, “She’s worried that she’s going to be irrelevant to you now the dead Robin is back.”

“She’s not,” Bruce growled at that, “She’s not his replacement. She never was.”

“Does she know that, Bruce?” Dick snickered, “Did you finally get over yourself and tell her that? Because the last fucking time I spoke to her, you called her Jason.”

Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that. He was good at smiling at the cameras and making speeches and charming an audience, but he was never good with words, real words that described his true feelings to the ones he cared for the most.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, now numb to everything throughout years and years of practice. “I promise, I will bring him back. Will you help me?”

“What can I do that you can’t?” Dick scoffed.

“You knew him, Dick,” Bruce said, “You knew him in ways I never did. I can predict his movements, but to accurately guess what his motivations are- you knew him better than I did.”

“Fine,” Dick conceded, “But I’m not forgiving you for this, Bruce. I swear, you’re going to pay for all the secrets you’ve kept from us, be it by my hand or someone else’s.”

***

“Did you know that your daughter went out last night to see a boy while we were patrolling?” Dick brought up.

He was looking at Bruce’s back, as he always was.

Bruce was on the computers, going through hours upon hours of security footage and traffic cams for Red Hood- for Jason.

It was difficult for him to put the two together. Jason had always been his little brother. Young, naive, inexperienced. And now that same person was the leader of the underground.

It was definitely difficult.

“Alfred mentioned she went out, but I didn’t know it was to meet a boy,” Bruce replied without glancing his way.

“Well, she lied to me about it at first,” Dick sank in a chair, looking at his nails. “Got pretty defensive when I brought it up. Even tried to deflect by using Jason against me.”

Dick knew you meant to hurt him with your words, and it worked.

He was definitely surprised that you would stoop that low because he always saw you as a sweet, kind girl.

People change. That’s what happens when you stick with Batman.

But Dick didn’t expect you to change so fast.

“She… used Jason against you?”

Bruce finally turned towards him, the ever constant frown a little bit deeper that moment.

“Yeah,” Dick straightened, “It was the first time she’s ever spoken to me that way.”

“What did she say exactly?”

“That I was distracting myself by using humor as a coping mechanism, and that I should come to terms with the fact that it was my brother who kidnapped and sexually assaulted her,” he repeated bitterly.

“What did you say to her that she responded that way?” Bruce asked.

“I was just making fun of her boyfriend,” Dick shrugged, “Why? Do you think she’s hiding something?”

At first, Dick thought that you were genuinely angry at the both of them because you were right- Jason did kidnap you. Jason did do those things to you. And Jason was supposed to be under both Bruce and Dick’s responsibility.

Dick didn’t blame you for it, because he would have probably been angry if the situation was reversed.

It was one of the mistakes he always made as Robin when Bruce was teaching him how to accurately deduce by reading people. Never assume that someone’s motivations would be the same as your own.

“She hid that she has… someone from me. There must be a reason why.”

“Or she knows how you are and would rather not have your nose in her business, Bruce. She did find out about that tracker you put in her necklace. How did she even react to it?”

Bruce had done the same with both Dick and Jason while they were Robin, though it didn’t come disguised as a pretty, shiny piece of metal.

On the contrary, during Dick’s Robin days, Bruce had hid it behind his third molar while he was unconscious. He only found out after a year, when he was held hostage by a mercenary who wanted to use him to lure Batman. Said mercenary had detected the tracking device and pulled it out along with the tooth.

It made him increasingly more hostile towards Batman and his never ending need for control, but at least it saved him a trip to the dentist.

From what Dick knew, Jason died with his tracker on him.

Bruce had said that it was all done in the name of safety.

But would you tell Jason the same thing now?

“I apologised and never replaced the one Red Hood damaged. I thought that would have been sufficient for her to trust me again.”

Dick let out a bark of laughter at that, but it was void of any humor. “Only you would think that not replacing her damn tracker would make her trust you. No wonder she hasn’t told you anything.”

It was probably best not to mention that you were now also sexually active.

“Do you think she’s hiding something important?” Bruce asked.

“Are you actually asking for my opinion?” Dick smirked, “No, but it’s too soon to tell, anyway. Relax, Bruce. It’s like you forgot what it was like to be young and in love.”

That was obviously a joke. Bruce grew out of his childhood the moment he saw his parents getting killed in that alley.

As for being in love, did Bruce ever allow himself that?

***

“What did you say she called herself?” Nightwing asked softly.

The poor girl was scared out of her mind to the point where Dick found it difficult to extract important information from her ramblings.

Well, that’s what happens when someone makes you kill a person.

It was difficult, so difficult, to face the fact that it was Jason behind all of that.

“I t-think, V,” the witness- Elena- stuttered. “She with him. But try to stop him.”

Behind him, he felt Batman pause. He was walking around the club and analysing evidence while listening to the conversation.

“She tried to stop him? Him as in Red Hood?” Dick frowned.

“Yes,” Elena looked down and rubbed her arms.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but,” Dick tried, “You told me they were partners.”

“Yes, but she try to stop him,” she repeated, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Dick offered a smile, “Thank you very much. You’ve been a huge help.”

“Am I going to prison?” she looked at him with big, wet eyes.

“We’ll make sure you won’t,” Dick assured, “You’ll get the best defense team in Gotham.”

“You can do that?” she asked, hope in her voice.

“It’s the least we could do,” Dick answered, a sad smile playing on his lips.

He’s our responsibility.

“Thank you,” she gave a watery laugh, “Even prison better than with him, I want to be free.”

Dick heard footsteps approaching. As he turned around, Gordon entered the crime scene, followed by his team.

“Of course you’re here first,” he sighed at Batman.

“Gordon.”

“You might have to speak to the police again, okay?” Dick told Elena who was suddenly nervous again by the presence of so many people. “I’ll make sure they know you’re innocent. Gordon is the only one you can trust, okay?”

She nodded, her gaze turning downwards.

“Gordon,” he approached the aging man. He was used to talking with Gordon in Batman’s stead, even when he was Robin, and remembered feeling proud of himself whenever he finished speaking to Gordon regarding cases without Batman having to add anything.

“Nightwing,” he blinked, “It’s been a while.”

“Desperate times calls for desperate backups,” he grinned, “Anyway, the girl. She’s a victim of Victor Ibenescu’s human trafficking trade. Romanian, only thirteen when she was kidnapped. She was forced to shoot Victor by Red Hood.”

“This Red Hood likes his poetic justice,” Gordon snickered.

“It��s still first degree murder, or at least, that’s how the law would make it seem,” Dick reminded him, “But I assure you she’s innocent. Red Hood threatened to kill and rape her if she didn’t shoot.”

That was a lie, on both his part and Elena’s. Judging by the way she averted her eyes and touched her own arm, Dick could tell that she wasn’t telling the whole truth about being threatened by Red Hood- but he also knew that he couldn’t expose her and get into more trouble.

He wanted to let out a tired sigh, but that would give him away in front of Gordon and the other officers. He still needed to maintain his air of hopefulness, and he couldn’t seem like he was troubled by his thoughts.

Time to meet Bruce back at the cave and watch the surveillance footage.

***

“He’s got a partner now,” Dick voiced out his findings, “Since when did Red Hood partner up?”

Bruce’s frown was deep as he stared at the screen.

Dick pursed his lips. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Whether this is Red Hood or Jason?” Bruce hummed, “This definitely does not seem like anything Red Hood would do. He’s always tried to separate himself from others because it furthers his authoritarian agenda. He does not get friendly with people because people are disposable to him.”

“So you think this is Jason, then?” Dick concluded, “Well, Jason never had much of a problem working with others in the past, and he made some friends. He wasn’t the type to be hostile to people.”

“He did have trust issues,” Bruce pointed out, “At the very beginning.”

“Yes, and he kept a lot of things to himself,” Dick agreed, “But he did have friends.”

“Special friends,” Bruce added, “Friends who gained his respect and trust. So the question is- who is this girl and how did she manage to gain his trust?”

“Hey, play it back again,” Dick said, “Those moves.”

Bruce played the security tape, showing the mysterious girl and Red Hood taking down Victor’s men.

“Arnis,” Bruce pointed out.

“It’s a little different.”

“She has incorporated silat in as well. Low stance,” Bruce observed. “She’s skilled, but not polished. It could be anyone.”

There was something familiar about the girl that Dick couldn’t pinpoint. Dick usually had strong intuition- a gut feeling that enabled him to know which facts to focus on during an investigation, or a strong ability to see through people.

But the problem was that it wasn’t solid proof or evidence, something Batman heavily focused on. It was a gut feeling that told him he knew who the girl was.

“Do you think it’s-” he broke off without completing his sentence. There was nothing to back his claims.

“She has no reason or motive to work with Jason,” Bruce shot the idea down, “He’s hurt her. And… She wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“She’s been keeping secrets, Bruce,” Dick reminded, hating the fact that this time it was him who was suspicious.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Because he never would have thought that Jason was capable of torture and murder, either.

Why didn’t he come to me?

“As you clearly pointed out prior to this,” Bruce grit, “She has her reasons as to why she’s keeping secrets. And it is most probably because of me. All of you kept secrets. But this time, I’d like to let her keep hers.”

It was sweet, seeing Bruce that way.

“Is it guilt?” Dick asked.

“It’s repentance.”

Dick hated playing the bad guy.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be. He was the one people looked up to for inspiration, he was the light to Batman’s darkness, he was the smiles and charms and laughter.

He wasn’t the one who would accuse his little sister of fraternizing with the- was Jason the enemy?

Shit. Jason had messed with his senses. Dick’s head was chaotic, his emotions causing him to tense up.

Was he wrong? Was he just like Bruce? Was he jumping to conclusions just because Alfred told him you were out? Should he investigate this Carter you said you were with?

No. I’m not Bruce.

And now, you were looking at him with angry eyes, betrayed and appalled by his accusation.

*** Large.

That was the first thing that came to Dick’s mind when he saw his little brother.

The last time Dick saw him, he was much shorter, and definitely not as bulky.

And the last time Dick saw Jason, he was giving him a hug goodbye, complaining that Dick had messed up his hair.

And now, Jason was aiming a gun at him.

The gunshot didn’t hurt nearly as much as the thought that Jason had indeed shot him. Did Jason hate him that much?

You’re almost as guilty as he is, Jason’s voice echoed in his head.

“Bruce,” he gasped in the comms, “I’m down. They got away.”

“I heard a gunshot,” the deep voice in his ear spoke.

“Yeah, Jason shot my leg,” Dick winced, “Didn’t hit bone but I think it nicked my artery.”

“There are children here,” Batman said, “I was right. He’s sabotaging the Powers’. Gordon should be here soon. You control your bleeding.”

Dick nodded to himself and took a deep breath before plunging his finger into the gunshot wound to keep himself from bleeding out.

***

“...suspects that the crime lord only known as Red Hood and an unidentified female were behind the home invasion. Maria and Joseph Powers were left in a gruesome state according to reports, but their only child Carrie Powers was unharmed. The authorities are not sure what Red Hood’s motive was, but more will be elaborated during Commissioner Gordon’s public address later this afternoon...”

Dick heard you close the door.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he lowered the volume of the television.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered.

Dick looked over at you. You seemed tired, eyes swollen and red from crying, wearing an oversized t-shirt that he didn’t recognize.

“I was at-”

“Carter’s?” he finished your sentence for you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting down next to him on the sofa.

Dick frowned to himself. Your arms were crossed, you were avoiding eye contact, your body was angled away from him.

“You heard about the Powers’?” he turned his gaze towards the television.

“I saw the news on the way here,” you monotoned.

You smelled like a different shampoo. It was familiar, but Dick couldn’t remember where he had smelled it before.

“So you know that-”

“Yes, Jason did it,” you said rigidly.

“Along with-”

“His partner.”

Ah, now he remembered the smell. Jason’s favorite shampoo. He used to make fun of him for choosing one that was called what it was called. He didn’t really care about it, Dick kept his hair soft and fluffy with multiple women’s hair products. He just liked to rile Jason up because he was so defensive about it.

And with that, Dick let out a long, disappointed sigh.

“Bruce is in the cave. I suggest that you think long and hard about what to tell him,” Dick offered you a soft smile, “But no matter what you choose to say, you’ll always be my sister, and I’ll always love you no matter what, okay?”

You gave him a look of shock, and then realised that he had figured it out.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” you lips trembled, your eyes started brimming with tears.

“No, kid. I’m sorry,” he replied, “Go.”

You nodded and left.

Despite being right all along, he didn’t feel any sense of achievement. Dick couldn’t help but partly blame himself. For being so absent, for being neglectful, for being a bad brother.

Dick wasn’t perfect, but like hell would he stop trying to be.

***

For years Bruce had tried to stop feeling guilty for being relieved whenever someone else takes care of a problem he couldn’t solve- especially when it involved murder.

Bruce had tried to take down the Powers for almost a decade, and everytime he got close, there was always another obstacle in the way. It was difficult to expose the rich and powerful without resorting to violence, without resorting to breaking his principles.

So Bruce was ready to stop himself from internally celebrating their deaths. This time, however, he wasn’t as pleased. Because this time, it was Jason who brutally murdered two people. Jason, who was supposed to be under his care and responsibility.

“Bruce?” he heard your timid, small voice from behind him. “I have to tell you something.”

And there it was.

Bruce turned around and looked straight at you, piercing your eyes with his own as he waited on your confession.

A minute passed.

“I’m V,” you struggled to speak, “I’ve been meeting up with Jason for a few months now. I didn’t know he was Red Hood until you told me. But when you did tell me, I chose to confront him and team up with him anyway.”

Bruce didn’t say anything.

“He- he’s not a bad person, Bruce,” you justified, “He’s just really hurt. He needs help.”

You were telling Bruce things he already knew.

“I- I fell in love with him,” you continued, “And I let my feelings cloud my judgement and betrayed your trust. At first I thought that he was onto something, that his… methods were better than yours. And I was angry that you kept secrets from me. But after last night- after what I saw- I couldn’t- I couldn’t stay.”

Bruce clenched his jaw.

He suspected it. Dick suspected it. But for your sake, the both of them chose to put their trust in you. He had tried so hard to change from his old ways. He learned his lesson with both Dick and Jason.

He didn’t want you to go through the same thing they did.

So, he chose to blindly trust you anyway, hoping that he wasn’t right.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” you were sobbing now, “I’m so sorry. Please, say something.”

After another minute of watching you break down in front of him, Bruce finally spoke up.

“Hang up your colors. You’re no longer my Robin.”

#Red Who #Red Hood x Reader #jason todd x reader

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