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glimmerglanger · 4 years

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Whumptober 2020 - Day 4

Well, here we are. We’ve reached the part of the oof!au where Vader stops playing around. MAJOR warnings for this (and all subsequent) parts of the oof!au. Specific to this one: branding, torture, non-con. Dead dove, do not eat, etc. Please consider the warnings before reading.

(Oof!au general information: Post-Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. One-side Vaderwan.)

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

Things weren’t going the way Vader had planned. He’d imagined, for three years, exactly what would happen once he got Obi-Wan under his control. He’d dreamed about the way his old Master would break, fall apart, realizing the true extent of his failure. He had relished the idea of proving that he had been, all along, the stronger of them.

Obi-Wan, damn him, seemed intent on ignoring the reality of his situation. He would not shut up, wouldn’t even use Vader’s proper title, not even after multiple sessions, before Vader was called away to handle a problem on Ryloth.

Vader was supposed to be getting information from Obi-Wan. About the rebels. About anything. Vader hadn’t managed that yet. He kept getting… distracted.

According to the reports generated by the clones and droids that guarded Obi-Wan in his absence, his old master spent his time meditating and performing different exercises in his little cell. Apparently he tried to speak with them, his minders.

Vader smiled at the thought, beneath his helmet. Obi-Wan had ever prided himself on his silver tongue. Well, nothing he said would improve his situation back on Mustafar. He could plead and cajole and beg as much as he wanted.

It would be like pleading with gravity.

The time spent on Ryloth helped Vader decide on a course going forward, in any case. He considered it after the rebels managed to tear his suit, revealing some of the ruined flesh beneath, gone almost bone pale after so long hidden under leather. He could not bear to look at the rippled scars left behind by the burns, shuddering even as he killed the rebels who had dared--

He had obviously been approaching the situation incorrectly, snagged on the small matter of his name. Obi-Wan could be stubborn about it, if he wanted. He’d learn. Vader would teach him.

And, while he was receiving his instruction, Vader could repay him, in full, for everything he’d done.

The last of the wounds and bruises across Obi-Wan’s skin had faded by the time Vader returned from the campaign. He wondered, walking through his base, if Obi-Wan had realized yet where they were; the temperature controls within the base kept out the volcanic heat, in any case, and cut off from the Force… it was possible he did not. Vader could fix that. Wanted to fix that.

Memories pushed that thought aside as he moved deeper into his fortress. He remembered, so clearly, returning form a campaign, making it back to Coruscant and heading directly to Padmé’s apartments, being greeted with a sweet embrace and sweeter kisses, his beautiful wife who had loved him beyond everything else in the galaxy, until Obi-Wan had turned her against him.

His hands balled into fists, the brief sweetness of the memory turning to ash. Obi-Wan had ruined everything, had ensured there was no Padmé to kiss his brow and soothe his hurts with her soft hands.

Obi-Wan was the only one he had to come back to, now. And there would be no sweetness, between them, no matter what possibilities he’d considered in the past, in a different life.

Obi-Wan had never been willing to return his affections, even then. The man he’d been - Anakin - had deserved care and attention. He would have been good to Obi-Wan, even, gentle with him, kind and giving, but-- But Obi-Wan had never even gazed at him, rejecting him out of hand, turning to another, instead, and--

Well. He no longer had any opportunity to reject anything. Vader had ensured that Obi-Wan had to take what he was given, and the thought eased the raging anger and hurt inside his chest, as he entered his chambers. His orders, delivered before he arrived back on Mustafar, had been followed to the letter, and he smiled at the sight of the stockade erected before his throne.

He inspected it carefully, running a gloved hand over the X that it formed, testing the manacles, pleased with the work put in by 2224. He found he quite liked using 2224 for this work. He’d played a role in taking Obi-Wan away, distracting his focus. Vader couldn’t punish the man 2224 had been; that man was, effectively, dead.

But he enjoyed the knowledge that the man 2224 had been would have rather put a blaster against the side of his head and pulled the trigger than participate in any of Obi-Wan’s just punishments. He could only follow Vader’s orders, now. Only do as he was told, like a good soldier.

Vader turned aside, checking that the rest of his ordered preparations were in order. The furnace made the room hotter than he liked, but it was necessary. He would bear the discomfort. He opened it, more heat rushing out, and gripped the handle of one of the long, metal prods inside, lifting it enough to see the white-hot edges.

He waved a hand towards the far wall of his quarters, using the Force to activate the controls to raise the view shield. He preferred not to look out, not to see the lava fall below, but…

But he wanted Obi-Wan to see, to know exactly where he was. To understand the wrongs he was paying for, at least in part. Vader had so much to pay him back for.

“Bring him,” he said, still staring into the heart of the furnace, remembering fighting across lava, remembering the agony as the heat consumed him, burning him and setting him on fire just from its closeness, remembering that Obi-Wan left him to die, not even granting him a clean end to his suffering, remembering--

“--just try to remember,” Obi-Wan was saying, as the troopers dragged him into the room, falling silent as he took a step in. Vader felt the sudden flux of his emotions, rising and twisting in the Force: horror and regret and, there and gone, anger.

They passed, too quickly. Obi-Wan’s emotions ever did, and it wasn’t fair, the way he could process them, be rid of them so quickly, when they’d always cluttered Vader’s mind. “Anakin,” he said, sparing Vader from trying to find words that had, temporarily, forsaken him, “What is this?”

“Do you like it?” Vader asked, turning aside from the furnace. “I had it designed for you. Secure him,” he added, to the troopers. He required all of his troopers to keep their helmets off, these days. He preferred that Obi-Wan see their faces, as much as possible. He’d found so many from the 212th, after all.

Obi-Wan struggled against them, as they hauled him towards the stockade, enough so that Vader activated the collar. The troopers took Obi-Wan’s weight when he slumped, hauling him up, fitting one wrist and then the other into the shackles, before kneeling, pulling his ankles into place.

Vader stared, looking at the pale expanse of flesh - he’d provided Obi-Wan with no clothing, and did not plan to start - looking at the scars and freckles that littered his back, strung up for him. He could do whatever he wished. He thought, briefly, of Padmé, her soft arms around him, pulling him to their bed after he returned from the war, and he’d never have that again, but…

“What do you think of the view?” he asked, stepping up behind Obi-Wan, pleased by how much he dwarfed his old Master, these days. Obi-Wan had stolen Padmé from him. It was only fair that he… make up for his theft. Vader put a hand on Obi-Wan’s side, leather dark against creamy skin, slid his palm lower, and felt the wave of revulsion that came off of Obi-Wan, through the Force.

It was stunning and immediate and ever-so-clear through the bond that Vader had not managed to break yet, despite all his efforts. He jerked his hand away, without intending to do so, the taste of vomit in his mouth, suddenly.

Obi-Wan’s voice jerked him out of the strange twist of his thoughts. He sounded agonized when he said, “Do you really make yourself stay here, Anakin?”

The words took a moment to register, and then Vader snarled, activating the collar again, growling out, as Obi-Wan jerked, uselessly, in his chains, “Do not feign towards pity for me, Master. I do not require that from you.”

He listened to Obi-Wan gulp at the air, as the pain stopped. Muscles across his shoulders and back jumped and quivered. He mastered himself far too quickly and asked, his voice a rasp, “What is it that you do require from me, then?”

“Have you not realized?” Vader asked, turned aside, back to the furnace. “I require nothing more than I am owed. Justice. Recompense. Payment for everything you took for me.” He opened the furnace, curled his fingers around the handle of one of the brands, and felt his stomach kick over. “You left me to burn,” he said, remembered agony moving through him. “Can you imagine what that felt like?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, his own voice blank.

Vader scowled, lifting the white-hot metal, displeased with the answer. He’d hoped for begging. He snapped, fury moving through him that, even now, Obi-Wan would act so cool, so calm, “Well, you won’t have to imagine anymore.”

And he gripped the back of Obi-Wan’s hair, forcing his head forward, holding him tight and bringing the brand to his side, listening to the flesh sizzle, smelling char. Obi-Wan jerked against his hold, trying to get away from the hot metal, but there was nowhere for him to go.

Vader listened to Obi-Wan gasp as he lifted the brand away, the flesh beneath red and ruined. Angry. Obi-Wan had broken out in a sweat, across his back, gooseflesh rising over his spine and shoulders as the pain moved through him, the back of his neck exposed. Vader clenched his fingers tighter in Obi-Wan’s hair, his own breath coming fast and shaky.

He held out the brand and said, “Put it in to heat again. Bring me the next.”

2224 said nothing when he handed over the next brand. “Thank you, Cody,” Vader said, only because he wanted Obi-Wan to know who the instrument of his pain was. He wanted Obi-Wan fully cognizant of what was happening to him, who was hurting him. “Well,” he said, pressing the other brand lower, “is it what you imagined?”

“Very close,” Obi-Wan gritted out, voice not even cracking, damn him, and Vader threw the brand to the side as it cooled, knowing the troopers would retrieve it, enjoying the sound it made clattering across the stone.

“Another!” he snapped, hand out, demanding, and he snarled, “You’re going to pay for everything you did to me, Obi-Wan. Repay everything you took. Everything, do you hear me?”

“I didn’t,” Obi-Wan gasped, straining against Vader’s grip in his hair, just for a moment, “take anything. From you. Anakin.”

And the fact that he’d still lie about it, deny his responsibility for everything that had happened was infuriating. “You took everything from me!” Vader roared, tossing aside the spent brand - most of the right side of Obi-Wan’s back was all raised, weeping burns, Vader’s mark standing on the skin, freckles eradicated, and--

“No,” Obi-Wan ground out, still full of denial, “I--”

“You took Padmé!” Vader cut him off, tired of hearing his lies. “I should be - be back on Coruscant, with her. With our child. But--” He cut off, because Obi-Wan’s emotions did something strange, at that moment, going utterly still and distant, which was--

“You killed them,” Obi-Wan spat, muscles tensing across his shoulders and down his back. Bracing, Vader noticed, but the realization felt far away and unimportant. “You killed your wife and unborn child, Anakin, don’t you remember? It was right down there where you strangled--”

The sound Vader made wasn’t words, it was beyond words, beyond fury and righteous rage at all that had been stolen from him. He wanted Obi-Wan to shut up, to cease the flood of lies, wanted him to pay for what he’d done, to give back what he’d taken, to fully comprehend his situations and--

And Vader had never pawed open the front of his suit, before, tugging at clasps with his robotic fingers. “This is your fault,” he snarled, “all of this is your fault, Obi-Wan. I could have been on Coruscant. With Padmé. Celebrating.”

He gripped at Obi-Wan’s right side, his sensitivity nodes picking up the heat of the burned flesh as he dug his fingers in, hearing the agonized sound it dragged out of Obi-Wan’s throat, and if he thought that hurt--

“To bad,” Obi-Wan gritted out, “that you killed--”

“Shut up! I should be with my wife,” Vader snarled, shoving aside the little voice that pointed out that he’d always wanted this, too. How many times had he thought about visiting Obi-Wan’s quarters on the Negotiator? About pressing him to a wall, hushing his inevitable protests with a kiss, knowing he’d need to convince Obi-Wan, at first, stripping away his clothes and his control--

But that was just because Obi-Wan had made him want it, made him lust after someone that wasn’t Padmé, and then - then denied him. Ignored him, in favor of someone else. That wasn’t Vader’s fault, none of this was his fault. He held onto that knowledge, snarling, “But I suppose you’ll have to do.”

And Obi-Wan’s legs were already spread, ankles already shackled into place. He thrashed, violently, but between the shackles and Vader’s grip, he barely moved. There was just the harsh, panting sound of his voice, and Vader expected begging, weeping, pleading--

But Obi-Wan didn’t do any of that, he said only, “No, Anakin--”

And Vader felt all the speeches he’d prepared for the moment - because he’d known he was building to this, from the moment he captured Obi-Wan, known he was going to take what was his - slipping from his mind, feeling Obi-Wan’s pain like it was his own across their bond and refusing to allow that weakness to stop him.

This was what he deserved. Vader was no longer sure if he meant himself or Obi-Wan as he shoved in, dry, nothing to ease the way until something… tore, in a hot rush, and--and he snarled, “Anakin is dead, you killed him.”

“No--”

Vader tightened his grip in Obi-Wan’s hair, gripped around his throat with the Force, squeezing, not wanting to hear any more of his lies, his twisted versions of the truth, just wanting him to be quiet, to be accommodating, for once in his Force-forsaken life to just do as he was told and--and it was so easy to squeeze, the Force jumping to answer his call.

Obi-Wan’s fingers gripped at the stockade, his knuckles standing white against his skin, and Vader tried to make himself think about Padmé, but he wasn’t, he wasn’t at all, she slipped his thoughts completely, as though somehow she weren’t the reason he was doing this, punishing Obi-Wan like this, taking him as he should have been taken and--

And Vader’s cardiac system was malfunctioning again as he fell over the edge. It had been… years, since he’d achieved physical release. He hadn’t touched anyone else, hadn’t felt skin against his flesh, around his cock, gripping him tight and good-- Not since Padmé, not since Coruscant, not since he was Anakin and...and he pulled away, pulled out, roughly, his head full of noise. There was blood across his skin, the only bits of it exposed, he noted, tucking himself away with rough hands. It wasn’t his.

“Get him out of my sight,” he barked, turning away from the way Obi-Wan had slumped against his bonds, the burns across his skin, the way he was breathing shakily, the blood and fluids smeared down the insides of his thighs. His signature in the Force wavered. The marks around his throat were red and purple - black - already, deep, peeking out around the edges of the collar.

Vader looked back, automatically, at a soft, pained sound that he recognized, and watched the troopers unlatch the shackles, watched Obi-Wan just slump over into 2224, like he was someone else, someone who cared, Obi-Wan’s head resting on his shoulder, completely and foolishly trusting.

It was infuriating, and Obi-Wan made a harsh, gasping sound as Vader’s power curled around him again, tightening before Vader mastered himself. It wouldn’t do to kill Obi-Wan. Not yet. He scowled, releasing his grip, noticing, distantly, that there was something wrong with one of 2224’s eyes.

The sclera had turned completely red. Of course, 2224 would be one of the clones to show major defects. Vader intended to keep him around as long as possible, after seeing Obi-Wan’s reaction to him. But 2224 was tapping a finger on Obi-Wan’s side again, eye red, because nothing could ever be easy.

Vader turned away again, mouth full of bitterness, and said, controlling his tone, “Take him to the healers. I don’t want him to die, yet.” He paused, and added. “Have them look at you, as well.”

#whumptober2020 #no.14 #branding #clone wars #fic #torture #mistreatment of prisoners #non-con #non-explicit #dead dove do not eat #codywan #vaderwan #my writing #oof!au #unreliable narrator

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user-name-not-found5 · 3 years

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Interrogation Techniques pt.3

Part One

Part Two

Kylo Ren is determined to get the map out of the Resistance Pilot. By any. Means. Necessary.

Even if that means exploring new ways to sexually psychologically manipulate his victims into getting what he wants.

AU where the map leads to Luke’s new Jedi Temple, where he is training the next generation of Jedi. Poe is a Resistance pilot, who General Leia Organa has put in charge of running the transport routes in order to bring force-sensitive younglings to the temple where they belong. The First Order is headed by Kylo Ren, a fallen Jedi just as Count Dooku was, and he is determined to end the Jedi for good.

Warnings overall: non-con, torture, violence, manipulation, smut, absolutely filthy smut, degrading language, abuse

Warnings for this chapter: sexually frustrated kylo ren, degrading language, torture, and manipulation

Ren’s chest was heaving as he tore down the corridor. Luckily, he was able to control himself until he’d made it into his private quarters. The helmet fell from his hand and hit the floor with a sickening thud as he roared, his lightsaber humming to life with his rage. The feeling in his chest refused to quit, and he lashed out, slashing across nothing, the weightless blade making a red arc through the air. He screamed again, the force strong at his fingertips, and he whirled around, blasting the door with lightning. He could feel someone at the other side, and slammed his lightsaber back onto his belt, scooping his helmet up from the floor. He didn’t bother to turn as he willed the door to open.

“If you’re quite finished with your tantrum, Ren, we have news.”

Hux’s polished boots clicked across the floor, side-stepping the skids of ash along the ground as he brought the data pad inside.

“I thought I made myself clear, General. I am not to be disturbed in my private quarters.”

Hux sniffed. “Well, then I suppose it would do you well to be at the helm. Then I wouldn’t have to come all the way down here to inform you that we discovered something.”

Ren continued to stand silently with his back to the General, but didn’t miss his eye roll.

“We believe that the Resistance pilot was also carrying information about the other squadrons of the Resistance- a flier’s log, if you will. However, unlike the map, it would not have been contained on a drive, and would simply be a ledger of-”

“The pilot won’t give the location of the map drive, what makes you think he will give me a single name on that ledger.” Ren liked how cold the mask could make him sound. Right now, it was masking the heat that he still held, the way his face burned and the dryness in his mouth. Something about that pilot was driving him mad.

“-hadn’t interrupted, you would know that we captured a resistance X-wing. The pilot, sadly, didn’t make it.” Hux grinned devilishly. “Our technicians are inspecting the ship now in case there is a copy of this ledger, or the map, on board.”

“Then tell me when there is any actual progress, and not just conjecture.” Ren snarled. Hux gave him a defiant and clearly agitated sniff before pivoting on his heel and exiting, leaving the Supreme Leader to stew.

Poe blinked a few more times, scared to close his eyes; if he opened them, he might awake to feel Ren’s lips on his neck, or his gloved hands on his body once more. He wasn’t going to sleep, wasn’t even going to let himself shut his eyes too long. His body was aching, the back of his head and scalp throbbing from Ren’s violent pulls. Already he could feel a slight swelling in his lower lip, the edge marred from rough kisses. He shuddered.

“I’m sorry.”

He whispered into the air, tears welling from his eyes. He could still hear the little girl in the back of the ship, BB’s delighted whirs and clicks as they played. The blaster shot fired through his mind again and he choked back a pained sob as he remembered the deafening silence that followed. Who knew where BB-8 was either. Probably being used for spare parts.

“I’m sorry buddy.”

A tear escaped despite his efforts, trailing through the blood stains that had dried and cracked across his cheek. He lay his head back gently, taking a long breath in through his nose. The vision he’d had when Kylo- no, Ren. Just Ren. When Ren had invaded his mind, when the little girl came into the cockpit. Was it real? Did he have any hope? She was force sensitive, he knew that, but she was dead. How could she have reached him? He pushed the thought away. He would have time to grieve her once he’d gotten out of here. And until proven otherwise, no one was coming to rescue him, or knew he was here at all.

As his mind kicked up an effort to plan, the cell door slid open, and he froze. Ren’s robes floated across the polished floor, until he was faced with the mask again. Ren seemed to be keeping a distance, not within reach to touch him- merely staring into his face.

“What’s the matter sweetheart? You were all over me last time.” Poe’s lopsided grin was painful, but he forced it anyway, hoping to provoke again.

This time, Ren didn’t answer. Didn’t growl, didn’t move, didn’t raise a hand against him. Poe fought the urge to shift under the scrutiny, staring right back at him with his best irritating smile. The silence and distance was agonizing, and Poe opened his mouth to make another snide comment, only to find himself choking on nothing. Ren’s hand twitched in the air as Poe gasped for breath, black spots threatening to cloud his vision. The glove dropped, and Poe wheezed, sucking in air sharply and coughing.

“Stop me.”

Poe wrenched his head up, still hacking. “What? Hk!” His jaw strained as he gasped for breath again, fighting desperately to keep from blacking out as Ren remained across the room, twitching his hand slightly.

“Stop me from suffocating you.”

The shadows around him were closing in, forcing him to focus on the silver of the mask, the last bright thing in the room as he started to collapse. The pressure abruptly stopped, and he gasped meekly, dangling forward in the cuffs. He coughed and spit, desperately sucking all the air he could into his lungs, choking on it. He felt like he’d run 12 parsecs without stopping, all the air sucked from his chest- like it had torn it’s way out, shredding his throat. He continued to gasp and wheeze for a few minutes, spit hanging from his mouth as he continued to inhale.

Ren watched him until his breathing was merely ragged before he moved again, pulling Poe’s head up to look at him. The pilot was still too deprived of oxygen to snark back, or do much more than stare up at him with dazed eyes.

“You can’t use the Force. And yet,” Ren was seething, silently. “Somehow, you continue to evade my attempts to wrench information from that empty head of yours. Somehow, you were able to memorize a complex route without saving anything to your hyperdrive or ship logs.” Ren gripped his face, forcing his bloodied lips into a sort of smushed pucker. Poe wheezed. “Somehow. You’ve…” He stopped, his mask inches away, close enough that Poe could hear the faintest heavy breathing from the metal filter. He stared blankly, his lungs still screaming for more air after being squeezed so relentlessly. Finally, Ren allowed his head to drop to his chest, and Poe coughed again, spitting blood onto the floor from his wet lip.

“What have the Jedi taught you.”

Ren’s words vibrated through his head as Poe strained to bring his back up against the table again, his wrists white and strained from the cuffs he was hanging from. Slumping against the back, he cast a lazy glance to the shadow in the corner of his vision, not as close as a minute before.

“The Resistance… is coming for you, Ren. And… they won’t stop… until the galaxy is safe…” He rolled his head around, staring into the face of the man who probably would end his life sooner rather than later. “The Jedi… live… again.”

He smiled as Ren brought his hand up again, and as the air retreated from his lungs, the shadows finally consumed him.

#darkpilot #poe dameron smut #poe #Poe Dameron #Star Wars #Star Wars smut #TFA #TLJ #TROS #canon offshoot #my work #writing #smutttt

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mythicamagic · 5 years

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Swimming in Silk: Chapter 24

Training in front of her, engaging her in conversation and now lending her his clothes…Kagome is starting to suspect that Sesshoumaru is trying to gain her attention.

Sesskag - Romance, Humour, Drama, Angst

Rated M - As always you can read this story on Ao3, fanfiction.net or Dokuga

Chapter One - here Previous Chapter - here Next Chapter - here (End)

Kofi

Warning: Torture and non-con elements (sexual deception)

Penultimate chapter, folks! The next one will be the end~

Counting in Centuries pt.2

Time marched on mercilessly. More decades and jumps passed. Inuyasha was brought along on one, left behind on another. Neither brother could say they were particularly thrilled about the situation but the state of the lands quickly distracted them.

The humans had become smarter, angrier. Hate-filled. Sesshoumaru noticed it spread like an epidemic, seeing the progression of smaller clans dispersing, fleeing their homes. He took only mild comfort in knowing the pup- no- he shook his head. The kit. Shippo. That he was with the Foxes, as their den lay hidden from most.

Battles lasted weeks. At first, Sesshoumaru's armies were successful with each wave. But the sheer number of enemy reinforcements began to overwhelm. Human and demon alike pushed the line of the Western forces back. Sesshoumaru revived his soldiers using Tenseiga, only for them to meet their end another hour later. It were as though all of Japan conspired to make the West fall as they began what would be called the final fight for the West. The last great house standing. True to what Kagome had said, some of the Eastern wolves joined their battle.

Inuyasha fought tirelessly, swinging his claws to kill dozens. Sesshoumaru loathed to admit it, but his brother proved an asset. Yet without Tetsusaiga, he eventually lost himself to bloodlust. He turned on their own forces, beginning to kill indiscriminately.

Sesshoumaru snarled, surfacing out a killing haze and grabbing his shoulder, pinning him down in the midst of battle.

"I do not have time to babysit you," he snapped, sheathing Bakusaiga briefly to grab two plain swords on the ground, thrusting one through the back of each hand to keep the Hanyou in place.

Enraged, Inuyasha roared and hissed. Snapping his teeth, red eyes glowed as he struggled on his stomach like a worm.

Sesshoumaru gave him a swift kick to the head, knocking him out. "Stay there," he grumbled, drawing his glowing sword anew. "I suppose I have to ensure you do not die now. How irritating."

Slashing Bakusaiga out in a wide arch, silver hair flew back as green energy struck a wave of youkai, consuming them. Planting his feet when the force sent him skittering back, Sesshoumaru panted slightly. With no eyes upon him, his facade briefly cracked. The endless fighting was starting to have a large impact on his youki. Without energy to feed it, Bakusaiga teetered on the verge of falling silent. Earlier he'd sent Kaito away from the fighting due to the General's own fatigue. The elder demon had been on the front lines for days, swinging his spear tirelessly to protect the House. Since the barrier had broken many years ago, guilt had changed him into an almost fanatical protector. Sesshoumaru figured briefly fetching some reinforcements from Bokuseno would give him time to recuperate.

"My Lord!" A small handful of servants hurried over, tears and distress clinging to them. He turned, mouth opening to ask why they weren't in the Keep not too far away- only to look further behind them. Flames were licking over its ancient roofs, eating through his history.

"We're sorry- we were forced to evacuate. I think the others inside already fled."

Sesshoumaru stiffened upon seeing two long silhouettes loop up around the Western Keep from out of the blaze, knocking long tails into the structure and causing some of it to cave in. Dragons.

"Have you seen Mother? She did not join the fighting," he shifted, padding towards the structure. She would not run.

"N-no my Lord," murmured a trembling servant.

He said nothing more, launching into the air. Heat flowed through his veins, pumping blood alarmingly fast as a red haze engulfed his body, transforming with a burst of energy. The inuyoukai grew large, into his towering true size, leaping onto the back of a dragon and sinking hard teeth into its tough hide, wrestling with it. Twisting his limbs and dragging hard claws on scales, he turned his neck and launching it airborne to land away from the Keep.

It snarled, landing near the fighting armies with a thud that shook the earth. Soon after, the dragon twisted and dived headfirst underground, burrowing underneath and disappearing. Sesshoumaru ignored it, facing the remaining purple scaled beast.

'I know you', his lips peeled back, spittle clinging to hungry teeth. 'You are of Ryūkotsusei's blood.'

Its jaws snapped wide, forked tongue waving like a flag when combined with a hateful hiss. 'He was our kin. Father's sibling.'

'Hn. You fight for one so long dead?'

The great dragon tossed its head. 'We fight because the reign of Dogs has ended. Long have you forged weapons and armour of our flesh and hide. Tonight we take our share of your bones and fur, mongrel-' it looped a long body around in a wide, quick circle, catching Sesshoumaru in the centre when it tightened its coils. Sharp talons slashed his back, teeth biting into his ear.

A roar thundered out, the two giants flying high into the air and blurring, twisting and manically biting at one another. When the dragon coiled tighter and tighter around him, Sesshoumaru transformed into his smaller, inhuman self, slipping out from its grip. He struck Bakusaiga down, snarling in victory when a large tidal wave of energy engulfed the beast. Flesh and scales were ripped to pieces, disintegrating from the inside out.

He panted mid-air, watching the dragon die. There was only a brief moment to wonder what had happened to the second, lighter dragon that had run away, before he noticed a giant ogre bent over Inuyasha, poised to slam a large hand down.

Sesshoumaru made a noise, transforming out of instinct once again and landing on its back. Aiming for the neck- he received an arm in his jaws instead, but gladly bit through the appendage, wrestling the great beast away from the trembling servants.

It was around that time he sensed her flying towards him atop Ah-Un. Why must it be now that you join me? He thought, not wanting distraction but grateful for it. He could utilise her.

Kagome touched his cheek once the ogre lay dead. His features returned to his inhuman self, wanting to feel a gentle touch on battle-worn skin.

"I heard all the allied clans were attacked at once. How bad is it?"

"I have not heard from many of them. No reinforcements are coming, and we have been fighting on and off for five days now." He uttered in an even tone, as though giving a report.

Blue eyes widened and seemed to notice something, gaping. "Sesshoumaru, your ear!"

His jaw tightened, knowing he must have been missing some of the tip, feeling blood leak into his ear canal. "Ignore it. There are more pressing matters."

Jaken lay dead, but there was nothing he could do for the retainer. Instead, he asked Kagome to go find his ridiculous Mother, disquieted by her absence.

"No matter the outcome, once done, take Inuyasha and the servants. Leave for either the Foxes or Bokuseno. I hear the kitsunes have not been hit, and I sent General Kaito to fetch reinforcements from the demon tree. I figured we could put a few guarding the tree to good use after all."

"You can't fight them alone, and why are you talking like you'll face them till the end? The stronghold-"

"Can be rebuilt. I refuse to yield my Father's land."

Blue eyes widened. "Your life is more important, please don't forget that. I believe in you, but promise me you'll leave if things get bad. Promise me."

Sesshoumaru did not answer, sensing her distress but remaining silent. Kagome's lips thinned, reiki crackling. She tilted her chin up. "We'll send word once we've reached safety."

He nodded and covered the miko as she made for the Western Keep's open gates. Cold control fixed his nerve endings, breathing in war. Though he killed methodically, perfectly, as he'd been born and bred to- the Daiyoukai's cheek burned with her touch and Sesshoumaru pushed himself harder. The miko was here. He could not falter now.

-----

That tantalising, out of place scent wafted into his senses once more a little later on, but Sesshoumaru did not turn to acknowledge it. He could sense Kagome with his Mother, having escaped the now collapsed Western Keep.

The sound of it caving in on itself had inspired something similar to transpire within his stomach.

He floated above the carnage of battle, the air so still. Embers floated up to greet him, a giant plume of inky black smoke rising up from the once great House. Sensing Kagome lead Ah-Un, Inuyasha, Mother and the servants away from the battlefield and into the forest towards Bokuseno, Sesshoumaru drank deep. He filled his lungs with the scent of his destroyed home, magenta lids sliding shut.

Sesshoumaru then raised Bakusaiga, streaking through the air with such speed he ripped through two men, beginning to fight without a thought in his head. Guided by instinct, he killed until it became monotonous. His armour cracked and dipped forward, loosening- so Sesshoumaru ripped off the hinderance, slashing through throats. Opening his palm after a moment, he realised he'd ripped off one of the red tassels from his armour. Mindlessly, he saved it for no particular reason other than nostalgia.

His comrades and units continued depleting the longer the fight lasted. Somehow this didn't bother Sesshoumaru or register in his mind. He absolutely refused to surrender and expected them to die for a House no longer standing. The lands would always be Fathers- His.

This unwavering pride and certainty in victory lasted until he smelt it.

Wood. Burning. Screaming.

Sesshoumaru paused, flicking out a weak, flickering whip of light that arched and killed the creatures around him. He tilted his head up, staring at the horizon of trees in Bokuseno's direction.

No. He panted, gaze starting to shake. How? When?

His heart thudded painfully fast in his bloodied ears.

Kagome.

The scent of the tree youkai being incinerated alive wouldn't leave. It caught in his senses and took root, leaving him reeling. Sounds of branches snapping filled his hearing. With every lick of flame, he was reminded that his mate's chance for extended life had perhaps been lost forever.

Something ripped, plunged- exploded into his hip. Sesshoumaru gasped out, gritting his teeth and pressing a hand to the wound. Barely any blood leaked out of the small hole, but he felt...strange. Sapped.

Sesshoumaru lifted burning eyes to the monk not too far away. Holy power shone around the staff planted into the earth, while he gripped prayer beads, chanting something and causing them to levitate mid-air. Sesshoumaru raised a hand, striking it in an arch and expecting a whip of light to decapitate the man- but nothing happened. His youki had all but vanished.

The Daiyoukai's markings emboldened with desperation. Claws stretched wide into talons. Canines elongated into large fangs as Sesshoumaru let out a blinding roar, leaping for the mortal just as the earth shook and exploded beneath his very boots.

Purple scales registered, before lightning crashed out of the mouth of the dragon, engulfing Sesshoumaru's body.

Everything went dark after that. Youki had been worn dry, physical strength sapped. He hit the ground, muscles slightly twitching as steam leaked up out of his burnt skin.

The Western Lord lay defeated.

----

The floor of his cell felt damp, reeking of blood. They had not stopped their prying, twisting and yanking for days. Needles of pain stabbed into the pads of his paws. Sesshoumaru could vaguely recall what had happened on the battlefield after passing out. Being dragged by horses. Body bound by enchanted chains that scolded his flesh. He was taken from the quieting battlefield where just a few demons kept fighting. Consciousness dipped in and out, but he'd been aware enough to feel the stinging pain on his skin. Because of this, during sleep he unconsciously managed to change into his true form, albeit a much smaller, bastardised version. This way they could not take his swords, and fur felt like more of a barrier.

Hazy crimson eyes had managed to catch sight of what would become his prison. A traditional looking compound with a broken torri gate, which led him to believe the place had been a temple, once. His location was far less clean, situated in a miserable tower on the ground floor.

He was muzzled, bound, dehydrated and starved, but the toss of his head remained proud for months. The snarl locked inside his mouth rumbled loud and terrible.

But the monks continued long after he felt they'd become bored. Sesshoumaru kept his stomach pressed low to the ground, trying to preserve vital organs when they began anew.

His claws were removed with metal clippers- taking the tips and webbing of his toes with them. Brands of hot, burning metal had been poked into his side, causing him to shamefully cry out. The white of his fur became dyed red continually until the lack of bathing rendered it dulled brown, the old blood caked into follicles. The monks decided to shave him at some point, sheering off large quantities of fur until he lay bare and humiliated, shivering. He felt only mild satisfaction when it grew back within a few days.

Sesshoumaru eventually lost all sense of self. Long periods of time spent in his True Form tended to wipe away blemishes of complicated thought. He knew basic things like pain, hunger, loneliness and dread. But most of all hatred.

He longed continually to sink his teeth into the pink of their flesh.

Kagome barely retained a human shape in his mind, instead becoming a feeling. A distant want he tried and failed to grasp over and over. He could not organise his thoughts to accurately remember her face or scent, but there are times he can recall the gentleness of her touch. Hear her words. The marks pulsing dimly on his neck were the only real proof he had that she'd existed at all.

Sometimes he thought he saw the miko watching him, and would blindly shift towards the ghostly spectre in his cell.

Hungry. This one is...hungry. Mate...bring me a youkai boar like the one you shot before.

Sesshoumaru struggled to swallow, feeling the collar dig into his throat. The spikes they'd lined the monstrosity with pressed into his neck, having broken the skin. He'd almost become used to it.

When Kagome left him alone unexpectedly, he became disorientated again.

Mate. Where is my mate? Is she safe?

Sesshoumaru's ears pricked slightly, picking up on the sounds of rainfall outside. His nose twitched, eyes closing. He barely opened them anymore, laying still.

Did she burn along with the den?

The thought caused him to dig his forehead into the ground, scraping stinging paws out. Energy sapped, he could only faintly whine. Had it been years? Months? Days? He did not know. There was only the monks who burned, the rain, the hard floor and the marks sweetly branding his neck.

The inuyoukai withdrew into himself. Deliberately sinking into the quicksands of sleep, he let it clog his ears and nose, wanting to cease feeling.

He lay as such until the air in his cell changed.

"Sesshoumaru?"

He did not hear the gentle calling of his name, nor feel the muzzle being dragged off. What he did sense was the familiar spark of holy powers- and he lunged.

Sadistic, dark pleasure welled up inside him like sticky black tar as flesh filled his mouth. He plunged sharp teeth down, tasting blood on his dry tongue. A woman's voice cried out, something nudging into his muzzle. Sesshoumaru snarled loudly, singing his victory.

"S-sesshoumaru, it's me, Kagome." She chocked out. "Don't you recognise me?"

Kagome. He knew that name. Recognised the blue eyes currently filled with tears. Her scent came to him then, achingly nostalgic and sweet like rich, juicy fruits filling his mouth.

Pain. He realised then that the bite marks on his neck were crying out. She was hurting- and he to blame. Sesshoumaru peeled his mouth away, lapping at the wound with a low, guilty whine. Forgive me, mate.

He could not be certain she was entirely real. In truth, even as they made their escape together from that cell and he witnessed her slaying their enemies once more, he remained suspended in a dream. Everything felt off. His limbs were heavy, youki sapped. He could not communicate to her that there was a prayer bead lodged in him somewhere, preventing his wounds from healing. Yet Kagome found out on her own easily enough while bathing him.

"You know, when we're in the future together properly, we better have sleepovers." He heard her say. "I expect the works. I'm talking my favourite movies, marshmallows on hot-chocolate, forts made of sofa cushions and possibly painting each other's nails."

She was babbling. His mate only babbled when nervous. He felt too tired to assure her, though this did not stop her selflessly stroking his fur. Tending to him. Loving the wretch he'd become.

Kagome lulled him into a content state, one he could stay in forever. If he transformed into his inhuman self now, perhaps he'd spit with disgust at how low he'd sunk. But he remained on the level of a dog, dozing at the feet of his mistress.

However, after waking, he found the cave dismally empty. She'd left behind a coat, two dead rabbits and a note.

'Don't leave the cave' it said. 'I've gone to find help- be back soon!'

Sesshoumaru stared at the paper, raising burning red eyes to the opening of the cave. If he ran now, perhaps he could catch up.

He shifted on his paws, planting them down firmly. Four legs shook as he raised himself up, panting. But he knew his body well and inevitably had to sit. It became clear he could barely stand, let alone move. More rest was required.

Or...he could trust in his possible hallucination.

Red eyes slowly slid shut, and he rested a tired muzzle on the coat she'd left behind, inhaling the fleeting scent.

----

Dim sounds made his ears prick. Wolves. The scent of wolves drew near.

Usually he'd be annoyed at the disturbance, but he dimly recalled their usefulness at the last battle. Cracking weary eyes open, Sesshoumaru stared unblinking as they transformed at the cave entrance, peering at him cautiously, skittish.

"Uh...Lord Sesshoumaru?" One tried.

He remained tense, silent.

Their leader, who he recognised to be Chief Kouga, stepped forward out of the group, hands planted on hips. "Geeze...what the hell," he said thinly.

Mild self-awareness came back to the inuyoukai. He'd been a leader who'd let his House fall. But Kouga stood tall, pack intact. It made him feel sickened, mildly hateful.

Kouga lifted up a scrap of pink material. Red eyes squinted- soon flying wide as he snarled, causing the sound to echo into the bowels of the cave.

Kagome's clothing.

The wolf held up a hand, frowning. "Oi, quit that. Kagome's fine. She found us and said to come find ya...before sinking into the ground," he sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Heh, I probably wouldn't believe me either. But it's the truth, you can trust that much usin' your nose, right?"

Hackles lowered with halting immediacy. Sesshoumaru eyed them tiredly, settling his head on his paws. She'd been real? Is this...even happening?

"Uh, Kouga? What do we do? Should we carry him back with us?" One of the wolves piped up.

Colbat blue eyes narrowed with thought. "He's a prickly bastard, I don't think he'll let us do that. Kagome mentioned he's got a prayer bead stuck in his hip. We pull that out- we get a healing Lord of Dog Breaths. Hopefully then, the pouty bastard will choose to come with us back to the den."

Sesshoumaru made a grumbling noise, turning to the rabbits Kagome had killed and sinking his teeth into them. They'd discussed their plan in front of him, what fools. As if he'd allow them to touch him now that he was free-

"NOW!"

What?

Sesshoumaru started violently, food still caught in his throat. He could not move swift enough to block the amount of hands suddenly pinning him down on his side. The wolves made soothing noises or small yips, but he hardly cared- snarling and kicking under their weight, utterly enraged. Clawed fingers were rammed inside his hip- and a loud noise escaped him, struggling harder and throwing wolves off him- before the thing that had been lodged inside muscle and bone was ripped free.

Kouga jumped away, landing on the opposite side of the cave. His eyes were wide, grin spreading on his face as he stared at the prayer bead held between bloody forefinger and thumb. "Quick and nearly painless! Hah!-"

Sesshoumaru lunged, scrambling up and snarling at the wolves, grabbing one in his jaws and tossing it outside. Despite his rage- teeth hadn't dug in. Even as he chased the pests from his cave, Sesshoumaru did not kill them, instead glaring and frothing at the mouth. Youki swarmed his fur anew, leaking out and working to finally heal him after being blocked off for so long.

Kouga lingered outside the cave a safe distance away, chuckling. "You're welcome, Lord of Dog Breaths."

----

He'd reluctantly followed the wolves back to their den but took to sleeping in a smaller cave not too far away. Apparently it had been Five long years since the fall of the Western Lands. Five years he'd been reduced to a plaything. Sesshoumaru rested his head on his large paws, refusing to change into his inhuman form. If it were cowardly, he did not know nor care. The instincts to eat, hunt or sleep were all he needed.

For three years he remained in this stasis, barely contributing anything to the pack. He knew some were vexed with his attitude, yet ignored them. The only two who seemed unbothered were the pack leaders. During the cold of winter, Sesshoumaru had started violently when they'd called the pack to sleep in his cave, huddling close to him and providing warmth in their smaller true forms. It had been claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but he'd only grumbled a little. The female, Ayame, sometimes gave him scraps if she were feeling generous, like feeding a stray cub. He'd noticed as of late that she was heavily pregnant.

The image of Rin flashed through his mind. She'd struggled with birthing.

"We have to leave here," Kouga announced one day to his pack. "The humans ain't too far away and they know we're in the area. Every Great House who stood and fought these types of raids have fallen. Usually I think it's fucking cowardly to turn tail and run, but we got our kids and elderly here. This is our pack, and we gotta protect it!"

Loud cheers rang out, fists flying into the air. Sesshoumaru observed them from the sidelines, thinking their leader knew much about morale.

Ayame piped up from where she sat. "We know for sure there's a safe place for us. All we gotta do is reach it. Some of us went to check it out. It's by the beach, and we'll have to share the space with other demons, but it's better than losing our lives."

"So!" Kouga bellowed. "Take only what you need. Once you're ready, let's get outside and get organised. We're leaving today!"

The pack hurried to do as instructed. Golden eyes flicked to Ayame, who struggled to stand without assistance. She made noises of discomfort that irritated his ears, causing his tail to swish with agitation.

Once everyone was outside, they began to move, carrying waterskins or bags of food. Barely any took furs for bedding. Wolves never did care much for luxuries. Sesshoumaru lingered inside his cave, contemplating.

Though he could not form complicated thought, his body registered a dull ache he had not recovered from. Deep within his chest. Arms and legs remained weighed down, tired. The demon felt, somewhere, that he must be injured, despite being fully healed.

Ayame made a noise again, further ahead, holding her stomach.

Sesshoumaru's ears pricked, lips lifting in a silent sneer. He wanted badly to ignore it. To stay, and accept the blade of a human. His pride had been stained the moment the Western Lands fell, crushed upon sensing Bokuseno burning and scattered to pieces with every lash inflicted upon his body. Kagome...would mourn him, but like this, she might yet find another.

A human, perhaps.

Jealousy bristled his hackles at the purely hypothetical thought. No, more than that. Kagome as his mate would die too if he stayed there a second longer. Another pained noise from Ayame had him suddenly up and moving. Claws scratched the ground, limbs burning. Frustration urged him on, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The silver inuyoukai padded up next to the woman. She brushed some damp red hair aside, forehead dotted with sweat as she blinked at him. She'd chosen to remain in inhuman form, and would not be able to change into her true self until after the birth at such a late stage. Like this, she was vulnerable. Birthing so many cubs would be agonising. He could not fathom why she'd done it, for surely comfort overtook preference, but it hardly mattered now. He stayed by her as they walked, following the scouts at the front while Kouga kept watch at the back.

Sesshoumaru remained on the treacherous side of the path when they navigated a mountain trail that held a steep rockface dwarfing them on one side and a sheer drop on the other. Ayame paused and winced, panting and reaching out to steady herself- fingers grasping his fur.

He did not react, having little explanation for why he'd seen fit to lend assistance. Perhaps it was payback. He padded at her pace even when it irritated him, finding her gait slow and akin to dawdling. When it became apparent they were holding up the rest of the group, Sesshoumaru made a noise, finally lowering himself.

Ayame tilted her head, panting slightly as she held her large, round stomach. "You sure? I'm heavy."

Sesshoumaru tossed his head, snorting. He made no noise of complaint when she climbed onto his back, gripping the fur. The other wolves lingered around them, skittish and worried for their female.

He padded on throughout the night, baring her weight as though it were a part of him.

"I'm proud of you," he heard the miko murmur in his mind.

'Be silent,' he thought.

Leaving the mountains behind, they travelled for days with barely any rest. Fires of war reached their noses. Other demons were still fighting, burning and dying at the hands of the humans. But the wolves took care of their own and did not lend aid. Sesshoumaru kept his head down, only raising it when he sensed salt flow through the trees of the forest.

The beach.

Something wet flowed into his fur then, leaking down his back. Sesshoumaru jolted, sniffing and turning his head to look at Ayame, who wailed.

"Oh no! K-Kouga! I think it's happening! My water just broke!"

They hurried on with a burst of urgency then, and by some miracle managed to find Shiori's village in under an hour. Ayame was taken away to a birthing hut, the rest of the wolves getting settled into the new place, greeted by the female Hanyou.

Leaving Sesshoumaru alone with a decidedly wet back. He thought it best to go bathe.

Old habits die hard however, and he found a new cave to lie in. As the days passed, he was reunited with the kit, Mother and their General. Oddly, Ah-Un survived, despite the odds. The foxes had disguised them as a horse through a heavy amount of glamour, but the two-headed dragon had to be hidden away in a cave at the village.

The demons all decided without his input that Sesshoumaru should be Leader, and though sceptical, the wolves were too grateful to protest. Sesshoumaru did not either, though he barely participated in leadership. Instead, he protected from afar, pacing through the forest bordering the beach, watching for any humans. Sometimes the wolves and cubs visited the cave, though he barely reacted to their presence. Shippo lay near him some nights, dozing. He'd become accomplished at spells, and Sesshoumaru found some feeling in him that wasn't apathy at the news. Pride, perhaps.

He was a good pup. Kit, he reminded himself.

But his next year was spent in much the same way as before. Only somehow worse. The toll of not changing in so long began to play with his mind again. His memories. It worsened with the self-imposed isolation.

He sometimes woke and thought that Rin was still alive, or that the miko was laying beside him. Always there was nothing, just the sound of waves crashing on rocks outside. The dark, empty cave occasionally dripped with water.

He slept deep and long. Falling prey to the weak trappings of his frayed mind. It conjured her.

Kagome began visiting him in dreams. She'd hold and stroke his body, pressing soft lips to his muzzle. Lean muscle relaxed whenever she approached until it came to the point her footsteps graced his hearing even while awake. The phantom sensation of her fingers trailing through silver fur made him purr. She whispered sweet nothings and made him remember how to yearn, to feel peace.

One day felt different, however. The crunch of footsteps on sand sounded louder, her smell...nonexistent. Which proved odd. He always tricked himself into smelling her. Sesshoumaru felt Kagome's touch, stroking and soothing. He made a low, crooning noise, feeling her arms wrap around his neck.

"My Lord," she murmured, kissing his nose.

Sesshoumaru's eyes fluttered open, hazy, but registering her naked body. Her perfect, familiar face. Long black hair and blue eyes caught the light from the cave opening, the cold air making rosy nipples hard.

When she melted against him, Sesshoumaru's fur shifted and regressed. Pale skin replaced it, and he bent to heatedly kiss her skin, taking the familiar shape of her body in his arms. She didn't feel quite the same, and the scars he recalled littering her figure were not present, but his scattered mind could barely hang onto one thought at a time. His cock strained with need, wanting attention. He thrust himself inside her wet heat, taking Kagome from behind and snarling with pleasure as she mewled and shook her hips.

The Daiyoukai pounded inside, burying himself within over and over again. She felt hot and tight, and he fucked her roughly, seeking blind completion.

When he snapped his hips forward and came inside her, she cried her rapture. His fangs sought the marks on her shoulder, wanting to embolden them once more-

But there were none. Sesshoumaru paused a hairs-breadth away from her skin, panting. His mind briefly cleared, scenting burrows, the woods and musk, instead of holy power and citrus.

The black hair held a few strands of blonde, her ears pointed.

Terrible, dark rage pooled in his stomach. The fox vixen glanced over her shoulder, flashing a mischievous smile. "I thought you could use the company~ Did I sound like her enough, my Lord? I do struggle with voices."

She did not smile for long.

Frantic teeth snapped down, face partially transforming so that his muzzle spread out, jaws opening wide. He snapped her neck with a sharp jerk, losing himself in rage, viciousness ripping her body apart.

He did not remember what happened after that. He thinks, perhaps, his mother approached and despaired, but also hid the evidence of the body. She covered it up to protect him from the wrath of the fox clan, claiming the demoness had disappeared.

Sesshoumaru did not like his cave as much after the event. He began forcing himself to take part in the fighting pits, wanting someone to come defeat him and seize the mantle of leadership for good. He forced himself to try and never imagine Kagome again, tormented by the comfort she offered.

When hearing two sets of footsteps crunching on the sand, Sesshoumaru inhaled, smelling the unpleasant fustiness of the wolf. Their natural scent, unfortunately. Seems Ayame was visiting him with-

Holy powers, citrus and the smell of a summer breeze. Sunlight on cooled skin.

Sesshoumaru sighed, unmoving. He'd slipped into fantasy again. He ignored them, dozing.

Oi!" Ayame growled. "You have a visitor. Wake up!"

He, again, sought to ignore them, vaguely hearing her cubs join them and start climbing over his form. A loud thud in the earth, like a fist, sent them scattering.

"HEY! This girl time travelled for your ungrateful hide!" She bellowed. "She came here just to see you! The least your sorry ass could do is say hello!"

Sesshoumaru made a noise, shifting to show his back. She is not here.

The fake Kagome was talking. "I'm going to um, stay here for a little while. Just in case he changes his mind."

He did not wish her to. Willing himself to fall back asleep, he found he couldn't. He felt it when she touched him when they were finally alone. Heard every whispered word.

"It's going to...get better, you know?" She murmured. "Not to be patronising, but it will. So for now, if this is what you need to be comfortable, then that's okay. Just...don't sleep forever," turning her face into the warmth of his side, hot breath fanned into his fur. "I'd miss you too much."

Red eyes cracked open briefly, staring at nothing, before they weakened and slid shut once again.

He fought Kaito when challenged, winning quite easily. That was the extent of excitement for one day.

But the following time, he did not expect Inuyasha to step into the fighting pits. What's more was the stunned, shaken feeling of his knees hitting the floor. The fight had been a blur of fists and raw power, but now he sat, surprised. Sesshoumaru blinked, feeling like a haze had been knocked loose from his eyes. His bloodied and battered senses took in the roar of the crowd, the iron taste of his own blood. Sometime during the brawl, he must have shifted into his inhuman self.

He looked up at his brother and the fake Kagome dazedly, before picking himself up, defeated. And yet... grateful.

Padding away, he slipped out alone onto the beach. White sands crunched under boots. He no longer had a duty to serve, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders.

"Sesshoumaru!" A familiar voice called from somewhere behind him.

Reiki pulsed and he stopped dead. Lips parted, and he inhaled, breath catching. Every nerve ending snapped alive, sensing her completely. Knowing, without doubt-

It is you.

He turned on his heel just in time to see her slip under the shallow waters. The pink colour of the waves receded soon after, time travel having worked it's will. One thing in particular kept Sesshoumaru standing there long after she'd gone.

Short hair. She'd looked like his first Kagome.

He decided to sit when standing became uncomfortable, shifting into his inuyoukai form once more. The breeze played with his fur, second eyelid blinking the sand away. Shifting down, he rested a heavy head on the beach, watching the ocean's horizon listlessly. Sesshoumaru didn't know when he slipped into sleep once more, but far too soon did he sense a disturbance.

"One good thing about short hair; it sure dries quicker."

One red eye peeled open. How are you here again so soon?

She smelled of salt, but without the haze, he knew with shaky confidence that it was Kagome again, sitting beside him. The Daiyoukai shifted, resting his jaw over her thighs. Giving a long, extinguished sigh, his chest warmed when a wet, gentle palm stroked over his forehead. Slowly, fur receded back into skin. Silver hair slid into the breeze, pooling around them as she smoothed a thumb over his pale brow. He barely noticed the emotional danger of staying in his inhuman form, calm in her presence.

He'd imagined this same thing occurring many times, and began to question his sanity again- until she said the most random thing possible.

"Do you have one of those pipe things your mom has?"

He blinked. "Hn."

Sesshoumaru handed it to her and watched with undisguised fascination as she pointed and flexed her toes in the sand, soon nearly coughing up a lung from the smoke.

Golden eyes studied her. Sometimes, she was just so...bizarrely magnetic, so obviously weird and for some reason he couldn't seem to become immune to the charm inherent in that. He always felt more sentimental when they were together.

True to form, she brought up the past, and they traded faces and names.

Unbearably easily, she lowered the defences that had kept him intact. He exhaled shakily, breathing the image of Rin into life. And suddenly he was silently acknowledging everything. His frustration at not getting to say goodbye. Losing her to mortality. His anger at having loved something that was going to die all along.

"It's alright," Kagome soothed. "It's okay."

His mate slid her hands over the plains of his body, and Sesshoumaru sank into her. Nothing kept him tethered to the ground as much as her touch right then. She smoothed kind hands over scars until they felt like mere creases. Just a few blemishes that she loved with her mouth. He slipped into peace, feeling it for the first time in years as he slid mindful claws through her short hair with vague confusion, dipping his head to accept her kisses.

The tide and waves rolled over them, and a startled noise escaped him, a dusty, genuine chuckle joining her quiet laughter.

----

Inevitably, she had to leave again. This parting felt different, however. Things had shifted. Something unexpected happened to the village with Inuyasha now the leader. Laughter came back. Demons masquerading as humans oddly seemed to relax, following his younger brother's example.

Sesshoumaru felt no jealousy where once he thought he would. Their people looked to his bratty sibling for stability and Shiori for guidance. Sesshoumaru had decided to hunt as much as possible for the village to reclaim some forgotten pride. He also resolved to spend more time with Shippo, refining his transformation technique so that he could melt into his true form if necessary.

Mother caught his eye a few months after Kagome had said goodbye, and he padded over to the entrance of the old fighting pits, now laying forgotten. No one challenged Inuyasha.

"...Is this about the vixen from the cave?" He asked bluntly.

Her brow arched. "No, dear one. Haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

Sesshoumaru glanced away, lips thinning. "I did not thank you for covering for me-"

"And this one did not do it for the thanks, so be silent." She smiled with her eyes, closed fan resting against her cheek.

"What is it you want then?"

"A partner to spy with," she lifted a finger to her lips, ducking inside and motioning to follow. They slipped through the tunnels soundlessly, hearing Kaito's deep baritone. Within, the wolf cubs and some of the younger demons were all gathered around, listening intently. Kaito sat on a higher step.

"-and there were great flumes of purple smoke for clouds. Inu no Taisho continued to fight with him. But the dragon's powers that so resemble lightning struck hard into the Great Dog Demon."

Sesshoumaru's gaze turned flat. Ah, he was teaching the young ones their history. He did a double-take when seeing Inuyasha sat among them, allowing the cubs to chew on or braid his black hair. He appeared to be listening, dark eyes focused.

And it occurred to the Daiyoukai that he'd probably only ever heard legends about their Father.

"He only managed to seal him to a cliff with his claw. According to many, Ryūkotsusei was much too powerful to kill," Kaito said gravely.

Inukimi gave a delicate giggle, fanning herself. All eyes turned to her. "I'm sorry, it's just cute. The way I hear it, there is one among us who did slay the beast," she directed an amused smile at Inuyasha, who scratched his nose uncomfortably.

"Yeah, what of it?"

Kaito and Sesshoumaru stared, the elder demon clearing his throat. "It is because of his fight with Ryūkotsusei that Inu no Tashio was mortally wounded, shortly before coming to save you, a newborn."

Inuyasha's eyes widened, and were his ears visible, Sesshoumaru imagined they'd lower to his skull. "H-huh. Gotcha."

The cubs clambered around him, yipping or gnawing on his elbow. The Hanyou seemed to want to ask more, but pride sealed his lips shut. Sesshoumaru watched him closely, before long lashes lowered.

"So um...when I was kidnapped by your mom, she did this thing where she exhaled smoke and made it into pictures from her memory."

He withdrew the pipe from his clothes, padding forward and taking a seat off to the side from Kaito, lighting it.

"I was just wondering if one day, in the future, do you think you could do that? For...Inuyasha?"

Sesshoumaru took the smoke into his lungs and exhaled it, breathing their great and terrible father into life via grey wisps. The high cheekbones, strong jaw, bushy brows and disarming eyes. The only thing missing was the magnetic personality and booming voice.

The Hanyou and the young ones stared at the smoke figure with wide eyes. Inuyasha then collected himself, glancing at him with mild confusion.

"You may as well put a face to the stories," Sesshoumaru said quietly.

"...Keh."

"Hn."

----

The monks who had imprisoned him were tracked down and slaughtered. Sesshoumaru had taken a small group with him, Kouga and Inuyasha joining him. He found one monk in particular who he intimately recalled, and had dealt with him alone. He hadn't had the time to exact the full scope of torture he'd wanted to on the monk, but oh- how he'd enjoyed it.

Within the cells, they freed a few youkai barely hanging to life, taking them back to the village once the bloodshed was over. Things began to heal, like a scab over a wound.

Everything seemed to have fallen into place for the group, save Kagome's absence. Yet something continued to niggle at Sesshoumaru.

He heard his mother's approach as he sat on the beach, old memories resurfacing.

"The one responsible for burning Bokuseno, do they lie dead, mother?" He asked.

"Yes," she purred.

He felt a mild weight lift from his heart until her next words: "but the woman who helped orchestrate it is not. Kagome saw fit to banish her because she had a young son. Chiyo was her name, I believe."

The servant. "I see," magenta lids slid shut.

He did not assemble a group this time, thinking they'd protest. Sesshoumaru slipped out from the village at night, flying back. Back to the ruins of the ancient tree. What he saw caused the same numbness that had entered his bones the first time to resurface- but Sesshoumaru shook it away. He had something important to do, collecting the remnants of his forgotten pride.

Trying to follow the trail of two deer youkai that was more than ten years old took time. For most beings, it could perhaps be impossible. Old tracking instincts returned, reminding him of the days he'd hunted Naraku.

For a few weeks, he travelled around Japan, black hair tied at the nape of his neck. Ears rounded. He posed just like any other human among the populous, observing the growing numbers. Their gazes soon turned to follow him, curious about the finery of his red and white silks. Eventually, he lifted the cover over a door up, standing in the threshold of a decent-sized house.

A woman knelt by a basin, preparing some food. She started and looked up, placing her hand on her chest. "Oh, you frightened me." She blinked. "My husband isn't here, I'm afraid. If you were interested in renting a boat you can find him by-"

"I don't need a boat," he said quietly, letting the cover slide into place over the door, blocking out the sun. Chiyo straightened, eyes going wide. Opening her mouth, no words came out.

A boy in the far corner of the room sat up.

"Hisao, come here-" she called sharply.

He slowly obeyed, cautiously easing around Sesshoumaru, before coming to stop by his mother. She instantly latched her hands onto his arms, standing behind him.

"Y-your mate banished us years ago. We have kept our word and not returned-"

"She made the decision without this one." He uttered in silken tones. "What you and your departed husband did cannot be eased with mere banishment. You have not nearly been punished enough."

Chiyo jolted with fear, hearing the sound of a baby stir in its crib.

Sesshoumaru glanced over at it. "...A hanyou. How interesting." Blazing golden eyes slid back to her. "And here I was informed from my mother the reason you burned Bokuseno was because you disapproved of my mating a human."

"I was not given much of a choice but to let a human touch me!" She hissed. "I have another, she's out working with her father. I did what I had to in order to surviv-"

"You dare-" Sesshoumaru swept in close, molten gaze burning with the harsh fires of hatred. Claws twitched with want to kill, but Chiyo ducked away, bursting into frightened tears. "You dare speak of suffering? Because of you, many died. My mate may have lost her chance to extend her life-span. Your mate burned Bokuseno alive and crippled my General-" he grabbed her wrist, suddenly pausing.

Thin blue veins had spread, visible on her wrist where her glove ended and sleeve began. Sesshoumaru pushed the sleeve up further, inhaling. "Ah, that's right..." he purred with dark satisfaction and amusement. "He was your mate, wasn't he? That's why I sense death in your scent. It's coming for you after you've evaded it for so long, vermin."

Sesshoumaru released her, watching with sadistic pleasure as she sank to the floor. Chiyo trembled, eyes wide.

Hisao suddenly darted in front of her, body trembling. "Y-you've got what you wanted, my Lord. Now that you know, p-please go."

"You misunderstand," he said gently. "I did not come here to kill her."

Golden eyes slid over Hisao's frightened expression, who swallowed. Reaching out, Sesshoumaru removed the hat on his head, spying the stumps peeping out of dishevelled brown hair. They'd tried to saw them down but his antlers were naturally growing. They must have tried their best to make the young demon blend in. Females could hide in plain sight like Chiyo. Males, not so much.

"You may come with me to the village of demons, boy." He levelled a weighty stare on the child. "It was your mother who was banished from the Western Lands and father who betrayed me and mine. If you continue this way, shame will follow your name long after she is dead. This one will restore your honour if you pledge yourself to the ashes of the House they helped burn."

Hisao's breath caught, young mind turning as his mother became quiet, eyes downcast.

Sesshoumaru waited patiently, briefly glancing around the place. She'd certainly landed on her feet, judging by the amount of decor and furniture. Pale lips sneered.

Hisao turned to his mother, brows drawn together.

Whatever he seemed to communicate, she nodded tearfully. "It's alright. You'd be...you'd be safer there. It's probably true."

Hisao wrapped small arms around her neck, burying his face in her hair. Chiyo hugged him, stroking dishevelled hair back from his ears. The Daiyoukai noticed scabs over the tops, were the pointed tips had likely been cut off.

He stepped out the door, giving one last dark look at the woman as Hisao hurried after him. You took many of my own. Now I take one of yours.

---

The house of ashes lay before them.

"Your parent's failings are not your own," he muttered, glancing down at the quiet boy. Wide eyes stared back, soon nodding hesitantly.

"I understand, my Lord."

Tired eyes shifted to the dead and dying earth around them. "...I am not a Lord anymore."

Accepting all the ugly emotions that came with seeing his old dwelling, Sesshoumaru knelt in the remains of the garden, having stopped there for a specific reason. Unearthing the box he'd previously buried before the fighting had started, Sesshoumaru broke the lock with his youki, opening it to admire the items he'd saved;

A purple pressed flower he'd glamoured never to lose its vibrancy. Kazanashi. The Higurashi shrine stamper, and now he added the red tassel from his original armour which had long since broken. And...something else needed to be added. Sesshoumaru lifted his arm, looking at the long sleeve trailing down. His prized red and white silks.

Removing them left him in the crisp white underlayer of his hanjuban. Folding the silks, he tucked the clothing away in the box. Now wasn't the time for them anymore.

Glancing at the ruins of the Keep, he took a breath. Hisao tilted his head, noticing a shoji screen jutting out under the debris, crouching to try and free it. He tugged, making a tiny grunt of effort, before a larger hand reached down next to him and slid the screen-free.

The boy blinked up at him, but Sesshoumaru said nothing. They took it with them back to the awaiting village and Sesshoumaru kept the items safely in his new hut.

It took a few days, but ultimately Kaito was the one to confront him.

"Why did you bring him here?" He rumbled, watching as Hisao helped attend Inukimi, who seemed delighted to have a helper. "He is the son of the traitors who burned the tree and killed our men." A hand settled on the stump of his leg. "His father...did this to me,"

Sesshoumaru glanced at the former General, gaze passive. "If we were to start pointing fingers, there are many already here to start sharing blame."

Kaito clamped up at that, vague shame filtering into his scent.

Observing the change in demeanour over the days, Sesshoumaru noticed the small deer youkai be accepted into the group. Kaito instructed him how to hold a wooden sword, beginning some basic training.

Things had become as Inuyasha said. The separate species had come together, accounting for differences. Things were not always smooth, but it felt like what he'd seen from the village of Edo, so many years ago.

A community.

The Daiyoukai happened to notice a change in Inuyasha too. The 'odd looks' began anew, this time with Shiori.

Sesshoumaru cut his eyes to the dark skies, feeling old suddenly. Whatever they did, it was no concern of-

"Hey," Inuyasha grunted, taking a seat next to him by the fire outside. "Need to talk to ya."

"Are you certain?" He inspected perfect nails. "This one would have thought talking to the female Hanyou would be your priority."

Bristling, Inuyasha stuffed his hands in the sleeves of his robes, huffing. His cheeks briefly reddened, gaze fixed on the fire. He took a long time to say anything, which made Sesshoumaru take notice. The brat had certainly changed in recent years.

"...I was thinkin' of maybe mating her. It's taken me a bit to adjust to the thought- I mean I saw her when she was a kid and now she ain't and it's weird but time travel has made us near the same age and yeah." He huffed, obviously having picked up the babbling habit from Kagome. He then quieted. "We talk about shit I haven't talked about with anyone else. Stuff I couldn't even tell Kagome cos the Kikyo subject always hurt her. Not surprisin' though."

"Are you certain she is riveted to be talking about your ex-partners?" Sesshoumaru muttered dryly.

"Shaddap! It's more than that. Not that I'd tell you," he stuck his nose in the air, before growling. "It's not enough that I got a load of baggage holdin' me back from asking though. I don't...want her to get hurt like my Mother."

Izayoi? Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed, wondering where he was going with this.

Inuyasha looked at him gravely. "Look, are Hanyou kids cursed to kill their mothers eventually?" He asked, muscles tense.

"...Elaborate."

"Keh. My mother passed away from an unknown illness when I was about 10 in human years. Shiori says hers died when she was around 14. Everywhere I go, I've heard of Hanyou kid's parents dyin' or something. So what is it? We cursed? Because I ain't keen on havin' kids if so. Shiori...shouldn't get mixed up with me."

Sesshoumaru stared. It became obvious that the Hanyou truly believed in what he was saying, but had never asked, for fear of what it meant. An old instinct to belittle and sneer at the boy rose up, but he suppressed it.

"No, you are not cursed. Rather, the majority of those cases probably happened because of the consequences of mating."

"H-hah?"

The words came haltingly, but he persevered. "Many suspected Izayoi to be Father's true mate. She died because her soul demanded to follow his into the Netherworld. It was not your doing," he quietly uttered. "When one mate dies, days, months or even years later, the other follows. To mate is to bind souls and lives together."

Inuyasha studied the fire, jaw tightening. He then stood, back straightening. "Gotcha. Didn't know. But I guess that's because-"

"No one told you." Sesshoumaru cooly finished the barb. It was true, he'd willingly snubbed the Hanyou, refused him entry into the West. Denied him many birthrights. Things were not the same as they once had been though. He did not feel angry, bitter or jealous. Merely tired. Dark eyes shifted over the features so like Father's. "This one is telling you now."

Inuyasha's eyes widened, confusion in his scent. He then slowly nodded, awkwardly taking his leave and padding away, kicking a stray shell on the beach.

----

Centuries passed. Sesshoumaru counted them instead of letting time blur as he had before. Things changed and progressed. Inuyasha and Shiori had ended up mating, causing the agitated boy to further mellow. The village moved. Even Shippo mated and became a Father, causing Sesshoumaru to have an age crisis. He saw Kagome twice more during her jumps until finally reaching the time period she'd been born into.

The buildings of Tokyo were much larger than when he'd last visited. They towered into the skies. Humans crammed into the streets, walking in a hurry to their daily jobs.

Sesshoumaru assessed his wealth, finding that he had enough to support Kagome for many years. They needn't work when they were together unless they wanted. Nonetheless, he opened a bookshop, employing Yukita and Riza, Shippo's son and Kouga's daughter respectively, in order to pass the next 18 years.

Shippo informed him of the day of Kagome's birth, having seen her briefly, in passing.

"I do not want to know," he rumbled over the phone. "Tell me nothing about her, but watch when you have the time, kit."

When it neared the day of Kagome's 15th birthday, however, Sesshoumaru ran into a mild...complication.

"I don't sense any magic coming from the Bone Eater's Well. Didn't you seal it?" Shippo barked.

He thought for a moment. "...Yes."

"And you didn't think to maybe unseal it so that she can hop down the Well and meet Inuyasha?!"

"..." Sesshoumaru hung up.

He hadn't wanted to see her. Hear her. Anything. Not until he absolutely must. Already his control shook, padding up the steps of the shrine. His image blurred partway up, inhuman speeds making him fly to the Well House.

Sutras were already plastered around the closed well, blessings and spells with no holy properties apparently trying to ward off 'evil.' Sesshoumaru smiled slightly in the dim light, opening the structure easily enough. He then slipped inside, dropping down the dark depths of the Bone Eater's Well and landing at the bottom. Striking a hand down, he coiled youki out onto his skin, ripping off the seal he'd placed into the earth when it gave under his power.

I do not think I will ever understand, he thought as the scents of the Fuedal Era wafted up from beneath his feet. How does this well operate? Did the Kami themselves place it here?

Hearing a 'meow' from above, Sesshoumaru craned his neck up, seeing a pair of eyes flash in the dark. Flying up to land on the rim, Sesshoumaru observed the fat feline.

"You must lure her here on her birthday if she does not come by herself, nekomata."

Kirara, or 'Buyo' just meowed again. He couldn't be entirely sure the demon understood him. Shippo had told him she changed cat forms every twenty or so years, keeping watch over the shrine. Personally, he found her silence indicative that the old cat had gone senile, but Shippo always defended her.

Closing the lid over the well, Sesshoumaru smoothed his palm over the wood. Speeding away without a farewell, he floated down onto a deserted street and resumed walking.

Just a little more time had to pass.

He heard of her exploits through Shippo when she finally began her adventures, who groaned with frustration over the phone when she got an F in maths. "I wish she'd focused on her studies more instead of us!" He complained. "I'd never let my kids go fight demons! What's that Mrs. Higurashi thinking, anyway?!"

Sesshoumaru held the phone away from his ear, reading a book.

When the beginning of those three years came and Kagome was cut off from the Fuedal Era due to the completion of the jewel, Sesshoumaru found himself truly tested. He'd wanted to steal her away. Keep her. He had even gotten so far as her house, heart thundering in his ears- daring to change history-

But the sound of her sobbing upstairs caught his ear.

"Inuyasha..."

The demon lowered his hand from the doorbell without pressing down, fingers clenching as they withdrew. She was still in love with him at this point. Kagome needed to go back. To face whatever they'd been before their break up.

Turning on his heel, Sesshoumaru squeezed red eyes shut, frustrated. Control snapped and he padded quickly away, needing to leave Japan for a while.

When he came back, Sesshoumaru witnessed her return from the well with Inuyasha in tow for her Grandfather's funeral. She searched for the Daiyoukai in the city, and he felt it, having to enlist Riza and Yukita in helping to dull his senses with harsh insense, lest he heed her call. Yet it hadn't been enough, and he'd broken free.

He let out a feather-light slip of youki to against her cheek while standing in her empty room as she searched for him outside. Touching the brown package he'd given to her Grandfather and leaving behind a slip of power, he disappeared, wanting to guide her in the right direction.

After her first jump through time, he and Shippo began planting the items, willing her to find and jump to the past. True, they orchestrated much, though at the time Sesshoumaru was still trying to grasp her powers and how they worked.

And when Kagome finally fell into his arms that winter's day, Sesshoumaru had never wanted her to leave. He'd taken her to his penthouse, kissed her, ached-

But duty carried on and he could only keep her for an excruciatingly unfair amount of time.

A warm palm settled over her fist and Sesshoumaru stared at her, winter lashes lowering slightly. Kagome's optimism seemed to slip along with her grin, glimpsing the emotion he'd rather keep hidden.

"I'll be back," she said quietly. Sesshoumaru inclined his head, sliding his hand free from hers.

"Hn…return home soon."

That was the last time he'd seen Kagome, sending her off to face that first mating, when he'd become so deeply ensnared by her.

Unlike before, he'd called off Shippo instead of asking him to keep vigilance over the house. The Daiyoukai decided to wait for her call, passing the time by trying to distract himself with visiting others.

He was not much for conversation, but Hisao hadn't seemed to mind when he'd received him for afternoon tea.

Passing through the park that evening, Sesshoumaru tilted his head back, inhaling the scent of Spring. It used to be Rin's favourite season. Flowers had started to bloom, dotting the landscape in flourishes of bright colours. The grass had broken free of the frost, sunset bathing it in warm colours.

He observed it all passively, remaining in the centuries-long limbo that he'd learned to navigate. He'd made a home for himself. It was merely that without her, it felt void of life, reminiscent of a box with four walls. Missing the key element that made it feel warm. Which was why he usually slept at the bookstore.

Taking one more step, he stiffened, stopping dead. Lying in wait beyond the trees, the lake further ahead suddenly held new blinding scents.

Sesshoumaru's heart began to race, old instincts crackling to life. Dark eyes, shining lighter in the sun, exploded into gold. Round pupils squashed into slits.

He forgot himself, the glamour, the concealment- everything- feeling it melt away as he launched forward into the air, coat and shirt rustling in the breeze.

#sesskag #sesshoumaru #sesshoumaru x kagome #kagome higurashi #inuyasha #sesskag fanfiction

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get-your-fics · 5 years

Text

Duality - Chapter Seventeen

Summary: Your life as Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend was pretty simple, actually. Well, as simple as things can get in Gotham. But it gets a lot more complicated when you meet Jeremiah Valeska, Jerome’s twin brother.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x reader, Jeremiah Valeska x reader, Jerome Valeska x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, kidnapping, stalking, mentions of abuse

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Just when you had started to recover your strength, you were once again on bed rest. Your body had stitches here and there from the broken mirror and blue and purple bruises. You couldn’t sleep anymore, forming dark circles under your eyes, and completely lost your appetite. But worse than all of the physical effects were the mental ones. You only spoke when absolutely necessary now and did everything in your power to stay in his good graces. You felt paralyzed with fear knowing that he could cause you harm without even touching you. Escape seemed impossible.

Jeremiah was more cold and distant towards you. He still took his liberties: he kissed you, spent the nights with you, still insisted he loved you, but it wasn’t the same. All of his actions were calculated, like he had thought them out beforehand, and he was more cautious. He was careful not to slip up around you. It was like he had said: you were back at square one.

You didn’t look up when the door opened. You could tell who it was just by the weight and sound of the footsteps. “Hello, (Y/N).”

You stared down at the white duvet and picked at a thread. “Hi, Jeremiah.”

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” His grave tone made you look up immediately, and your eyes met his shocking, green ones. “That’s better.” His scarlet lips curled into the smallest smile. “The preparations are almost complete. Bruce Wayne is coming by later to see the engine.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. Bruce... Maybe there was still a chance you could get out, a tiny sliver of hope? “You mean...” you trailed off.

His grin grew wider. “My plan to take over Gotham will soon be enacted. All that’s left,” he squatted down in front of you so your eyes were at the same level, “is you.” He reached out and pushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your chin. “Which leads to the important question I have to ask you.”

His gaze burned a hole in you, but you didn’t dare look away. “Yes?”

“Do you know the myth of Hades and Persephone?”

You quirked a brow. “Yes.” The amused look on his face fell. He looked taken aback, stunned into silence. “Did you expect me to say no so you could launch into some long, villainous monologue?” You couldn’t help the smile that came over your features.

He shot daggers at you. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, love.” He stepped away from you. “In case you’ve forgotten, Hades took Persephone to the underworld and offered her a choice: she could eat the seeds of a pomegranate and stay bound to the underworld forever, or she could return to the land of the living with her mother, Demeter.” He tilted his head to the side. “You ultimately know what she decided. She became the queen of the underworld and spent six months a year with Hades.”

“So... that’s the important question? If I know some basic Greek mythology?” You couldn’t stop the unimpressed tone from sneaking into your voice.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “No, this is.” He reached in the pocket of his suit pants. “I want to offer you the same choice.” He pulled out a small, metallic cylinder. It had a nozzle and looked like some sort of spray. “Turns out my brother’s serum wasn’t completely useless. I was able to make some simple adjustments, fine tune it a little bit...” His cold stare switched from the spray to you, his lips curling into a smirk.

Your eyes widened in realization. “No...” You scooted back on the bed as far as you could until your back hit the wall. “Please, don’t!”

“Relax, dear.” He let out a small, airy laugh. “This is a part of your choice.” He held it out to you. “You can spray yourself with this and stop pretending to be someone else. You can set yourself free, free to be the true you you’ve hidden deep down inside, to cater to every dark whim and desire you’ve ever had. Then, you can spend the rest of your life with me, and we’ll rule Gotham side by side together. I’ll continue to take care of you and provide for you.” His expression turned glum. “Or I’ll let you go. You can walk out of here and go back to living the life you had before I found you and took you in.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. You could leave? No, it was too good to be true. It had to be some sort of trick. “And you’ll remove the thing from my neck?” you tested him.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out the remote that controlled the implant in your neck. He dropped it to the floor and crushed it under his foot, smashing it to smithereens. “And I’ll remove it too,” he added.

You clenched your jaw. “How do I know I can trust you?”

He walked over to the door and pulled it wide open. “The door is wide open.” He came back over to you and took out a map. “And here’s a copy of the map of the maze.” He set it down on the bed in front of you. “As soon as you decide to leave, you’re free to do so.” He held the spray back out to you. “So? What do you say?”

You focused on the silver cylinder in his hand. You hesitantly reached out and took it, your fingers brushing against his cold ones. You stared down at the object, so small and harmless in your palm. You knew the obvious choice was to leave, to run away as far as you could, but you couldn’t stop your thoughts from straying to what would happen if you chose otherwise. You would finally be free, in a sense. Free from responsibility and fear. Free to embrace your past and let the darkness you’ve been hiding from for so long consume you, let it seep in and fill all the gaping holes in your soul. So what if it was bad? You wouldn’t know the difference anymore. The line between good and evil and dark and light would be blurred and there would only be... you. It would be nice.

And you wouldn’t have to be alone, either. You looked up at Jeremiah, at the hopeful look on his face. He would always be by your side, you were sure of that. His obsession for you was unwavering, despite how twisted and disturbed it was, and you could always count on him to be loyal. You’d never have to be afraid of losing him...

Then, your thoughts turned onto a boy with chocolate brown eyes and jet black locks, pale pink lips turned up into a small smile. How could you leave Bruce like that? Everyone in his life had let him down except for you. You had been there for him since the beginning, the one stable, constant thing in the tumultuous storm that was his life. Jeremiah might love you, but Bruce was deeply, irrevocably in love with you. His devotion to you was pure and simple and made all the hell the two of you went through bearable and worthwhile. And your mother, your friends? You couldn’t leave them behind either, even if it meant struggling with the darkness inside of you for the rest of your life.

“No!” you yelled and threw the spray at his feet. “I can’t do it!” You hugged your knees to your chest and rocked yourself back and forth, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” You looked up at him, tears streaming down your cheeks. “We don’t have to live this way, Jeremiah, immersed in darkness and fear. We don’t have to cut all the good things out of our lives just to deal with the shit we’ve gone through. We can rise above it. We’re strong, much stronger than we think we are.”

The light drained from his eyes, and the blank expression on his face made your blood run cold through your veins. He reached down and picked up the small spray can. “Of course, there is the version of the myth where Hades chooses for Persephone,” he spoke slowly in an eerie monotone.

Before you could register his words, he sprayed the can right in your face. A purple mist clouded your vision and filled your lungs. You coughed and hacked violently, and with every intake of breath, the substance filled you more and more. You felt like you were suffocating, and you fell back on the bed, writhing and twisting in the sheets. It was like you were on fire, and you scratched at your skin like you were trying to peel it off. You grabbed at your hair and gnashed your teeth, tearing out some strands. The air filled with your screams, and all you could see was purple when you opened your eyes.

“I’m sorry, dear, but I thought you would make the right decision.” You could barely hear Jeremiah’s voice over the sound of your agonizing shrieks. “I won’t stand by and watch you throw away everything we’ve done together just because you can’t see things the way I do. That can be fixed.” His glassy, green eyes pierced through the purple haze. “I won’t let you make that mistake.”

Suddenly, all of the pain faded away, and you collapsed on the bed, heaving. Your body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and you blinked rapidly, clearing the purple blocking your vision. You slowly sat up and looked around. Everything was in technicolor, and that sinking, empty feeling in your gut you had fought against for so long crawled out and spread to every limb of your body. It was like something had been unlocked inside of you and set free.

“Are you alright, dear?” He reached out and caressed your cheek. “I know the transformation can be painful. Unfortunately, that’s inevitable.”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m okay.” You leaned into his warm touch.

He smiled. “Good girl.” He smoothed out your hair. “You understand why I did what I did, don’t you? I had to do it for us to be together, so you could become who you were always meant to be.”

You nodded. The things he was saying just sounded right. “Yes.”

“You’re not mad at me?” He cupped your face with his hands, his lips pulling down into a pout.

You shook your head. “No.”

A small smile graced his features. “Good.” He ran his thumbs over your cheekbones. “I don’t know what I would do if you were mad at me. I love you so much, (Y/N).”

The corners of your lips tugged up into a smile. He seemed so inviting, so comforting. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, have his arms around you. “I love you, too, Jeremiah.”

His eyes lit up at your words. He leaned in and kissed you. “Say it again,” he whispered against your lips.

“I love you,” you said before he connected your lips again in a passionate kiss. You bunched the fabric of his shirt in your fists and pulled him closer to you. His hands drifted down to your sides and grabbed at your waist.

He separated your lips and rested his forehead against yours, his breath fanning your face. You closed your eyes and brushed your nose against his, desperate for any contact with him you could get. “I’m so glad you think that, darling,” his voice was breathy, “but there’s still something in the way, something that, I’m afraid if it’s not dealt with, will continue to get between us.”

You moved your hands to his hair and raked your fingers through the red strands. “I don’t want anything to come between us.”

His hand trailed up to caress your cheek. “Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?” The tip of his nose brushed against your cheekbone. The look in his green eyes was irresistible. “What you have to do so we can always be together?”

You nodded. Your lips lifted into a wide smirk, and you met his deadly gaze straight on.

“Kill Bruce Wayne.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

#jeremiah valeska #jeremiah valeska x reader #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x you #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska x you #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x you #gotham #gotham imagine #gotham fanfiction #gotham fanfic

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ilcuoreardendo-fic · 5 years

Text

Acquisition Part IV (Vader/Obi-Wan)

Finally. You can read Part III here. Or at A03.

There’s a lot of thinky-thoughts in this one. And some dub-con. The scene itself more mental/emotional than physical.

_______________________

Obi-Wan drifted. In the dark. On currents of the Force. He saw his past unfold in front of him, a grainy, untouched film allowing him to re-experience every mistake, re-mourn every loss. Faces swam out of the dark. Cerasi. Tahl. Qui-Gon. Siri. Satine. Anakin. Anakin in shadow, back lit by flame. Anakin crying, tears that evaporated as soon as they touched his skin. Anakin screaming at him, his voice turned raspy and harsh by smoke, by fire.

I hate you.

I hate you, Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan. Come back.”

Obi-Wan gasped, opened his eyes.

The world around him exploded in a cacophony of light and sound. Every nerve in his body burned. In his head, a thousand presences clamored for attention. But one in particular stood apart from the rest because of the bond that had linked them together. The bond that had been destroyed by fear and fire. Or so he thought.

Obi-Wan could feel him. Vader. Anakin. A bright spot in a desert night consumed by storm clouds; his presence in the Force was a roiling mass of darkness shot through with silver stars.

The mended bond settled into place, a puzzle piece snapping home. Obi-Wan’s mind burned along with his body.

The whirring click of a nearby droid registered somewhere in the back of his mind. A hypospray pressed to his neck and a moment later the fire in his body cooled. The world quieted, darkened and slipped away.

When he woke the next time, he had no idea how much time had passed. But his pain was less and the world was quieter, dulled by the fog of medication.

The room—his room, he noted absently—was dimly lit, but even the low glow of the lamps hurt his eyes and it was only after a moment of blinking steadily that he could see. A medical droid stood next to his bed, changing out the bag on an IV pole that ran a tap line down into his wrist. Once he noticed the needle in his wrist it was hard to ignore the pull of it, the itch of the medical tape.

He could feel Vader in the room. In the back of his mind, the bond between them surged, demanded attention. Obi-Wan ignored it, lying still, watching the droid, cataloging his hurts. There was the tight warmth of burned skin around his throat and upper chest. The smell of bacta lingered in his nose. His lungs ached as if he’d breathed in smoke. And his mouth was so dry it was if he’d been chewing sand.

With that thought, he tried to swallow, choked and coughed.

“You’re awake.” The modulated voice of the droid was far too loud in the hush. “It is 3 p.m. on Zhellday. You have been in a coma for 10.8 standard days.”

“Water?” Obi-Wan said, voice a cracking whisper. The droid turned away, fiddling with a pitcher and glasses at his bedside

“It wasn’t a coma.” The rasp-click of Vader’s voice scratched against his ears. And even through the miasma of drugs and pain and exhaustion, Obi-Wan could feel the careful control in that placid tone, the anger flowing like magma just beneath.

The medical droid held a spouted cup for him and Obi-Wan slowly sipped, the water sliding cool and vaguely metallic tasting over his tongue. “What,” he rasped, “would you call being unconscious for over a week?”

“An attempt to escape.”

The words hung heavy in the air. For a moment, Obi-Wan wondered if Vader were serious. Then he put wonder aside. There was no way out of this for Obi-Wan, apart from Vader releasing him or killing him.

Funny that he had nearly died after deciding to stay.

“I’m not the one who chose the outdated suppression collar.”

Obi-Wan wouldn’t have needed the Force to feel the anger in Vader boiling over. But without the suppression collar, Vader’s rage was like standing against the sun-hot winds of a Tatooine dust storm while perched on the edge of a cliff. It rose in front of him like a living thing, dark and looming and blotting out the light in the room, tearing at the tattered remains of his shields, threatening to swallow all that he was.

A door slammed shut.

Vader’s footsteps faded into the distance and only then did Obi-Wan gasp as the darkness receded, as he tried, shakily, to gather his shields around him, to flood peace into his mind. But he couldn’t. His breath came in short gasps, his lungs burned and the skin around his throat felt as though it were on fire.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the droid step forward. “You must calm down. You’re aggravating your symptoms.”

A moment later, Obi-Wan felt another hypo and the world grew grey around the edges.

He slept.

When he woke yet again, the chrono on the bedside table told him a day had passed. The room was twilight dim. The droid was missing. And across the room, in the sitting area, in Obi-Wan’s favorite chair, was a shadow darker than other shadows, quiet and cool in the Force. For a moment Obi-Wan wondered if his last interaction with Vader had been a dream.

“Luke?” Obi-Wan rasped, wincing at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t much better than it had been yesterday.

“All right. Apart from a broken wrist.”

A sigh of relief escaped him and a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying faded from his shoulders. He had the sudden urge to cry and fought it back, breathing out shakily.

“How?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I heard Luke screaming through the Force. Calling to me.”

Vader leaned forward, the curve of his black helm catching the meager light in the room. “You were told to not leave the property.”

“I didn’t.”

“Obi-Wan.”

With the tone in Vader’s voice, if Obi-Wan let himself, he could see Anakin rolling his eyes in frustration.

“The lakefront grounds and part of the lake are all part of the property. We wanted to go for a walk. Luke had been cooped up long enough. But the rest…” Obi-Wan shook his head. “That was my mistake. I should have been watching more closely. Qui-Gon always did warn me about sacrificing the present moment,” he said, voice soft, somber.

The mention of his old master’s name heralded a surge of…something through the Force. Anger, jealousy, and fierce possession cascading in a hot wave over Obi-Wan’s skin.

He didn’t panic this time. He breathed through the onslaught, even as he, surprisingly, felt Vader gather himself, bring his emotions under control.

“You’re not to leave the house again without accompaniment. Either the protocol droid or myself.”

With that, the shadow that was Vader swept from the room.

The next afternoon, the medical droid pronounced him well enough to get out of bed, with an admonition to not over exert himself.

There was, Obi-Wan thought, little worry of that, as his first steps were precarious, wobbly as a newborn bantha, his legs stiff and his gait unsure. He made it to the sofa and collapsed onto it. And that’s where he stayed for the rest of the afternoon.

Until the knock on his door.

He was steadier getting up, but upon opening the door, a heavy weight wound itself around his legs and dropped him to the ground. Luke scrambled from his legs and into his lap, throwing his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck. The rush of fear and panic that had washed over him receded as Luke held tight to him, tucking his head under Obi-Wan’s chin. The clean, sweet smell of the boy surrounded him and Obi-Wan gave in to the urge to bury his face against Luke’s hair and breathe deep the smell of warmth, comfort. Home.

One hand braced on the ground and the other against Luke’s back, Obi-Wan thought for a moment, then looked up at the shadow in his doorway. “I don’t think I can get up.”

The bond between them flickered and the world turned once more as Obi-Wan swore Vader rolled his eyes behind the helm.

A moment later, he and Luke were floating across the room, cradled in a hammock of the Force. They came to rest on the sofa and Luke wedged himself between Obi-Wan and the corner, burying his face against Obi-Wan’s chest, his arm slug over Obi-Wan’s belly, the air-splint around his wrist bouncing against Obi-Wan’s sternum.

Luke’s worry and loneliness were palpable. Even if Obi-Wan still had that blasted collar, he thought he would have felt it. “I missed you too,” he murmured into the fine blond hair.

“He’s been begging to see you for days. I couldn’t let that happened before I was certain it was safe.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said tiredly, knowing what was coming.

The collar Vader revealed was an unassuming thing. Silver-grey, it reminded him of storms over the Gluss'elta Sea. It was slim and polished, less crude than the bulky mass of the old collar.

Obi-Wan held very still as Vader fastened the thing around his throat then stepped back, watching him.

The last collar had blotted out all trace of the Force, kept him sealed off, as if in a colorless, airless room. This one… Obi-Wan let out a nearly inaudible laugh as the Force continued to flow around him, like water parting around stone.

Comfortable, Obi-Wan?

The bond between them sang and the voice in Obi-Wan’s head was one he hadn’t heard in years but would recognize anywhere, though it was more assured and darker in tone than he’d ever known it.

As comfortable as a collar can be.

The thoughts were pushed into the Force before he could think about it and Obi-Wan waited for pain to follow.

But it didn’t.

The only thing he felt was the brush of another mind against his as Luke touched the collar, looked at Obi-Wan curiously.

“Yes,” Vader said aloud. “This collar is far superior. You can feel the feel the Force. You can reach out to us. Just us. And us to you. That is all.”

Even as Vader spoke, Obi-Wan reached for the Force, harnessing it to pull the book from the table to his lap. The Force slipped through his fingers like water. Annoyingly just out of reach.

His fingers found and touched the cool metal. It hummed sweetly, darkly. An after-image of Vader’s own presence in the Force. “Sith craftsmanship? A gift from your master?”

“No,” Vader’s voice was flat. “My own creation. I was always good at creating things.”

You know that, my old master.

The contrast between the hollow, rasping mechanical voice of Vader and the low, smooth tones of Anakin made Obi-Wan’s head spin. Vader’s presence coiled around him in a way that was both familiar and alien, the coils of a black Krayt Dragon.

Luke was a balance presence at his side, leaning into him, the soft, warm feel of him like a balm. Obi-Wan caught himself leaning into Luke’s presence, basking in it like sunlight.

Then, “Time for bed, Luke.”

Obi-Wwan shifted, but a tilt of Vader’s help kept him still as Vader lifted a grumbling Luke and disappeared with him. Anakin’s voice rang in Obi-Wan’s head. Stay. Obi-Wan did, leaning his head against the cushions and watching the patterns of the shadows on the ceiling, cast by the light of the fading sun.

When Vader returned some time later, he was balancing a tray in one hand. Obi-Wan could smell soup, Gatalenta Grey tea and, was yet again, struck by the strange domesticity they had cultivated.

I intercepted the medical droid. You’re under orders to eat.

He did. Perhaps it wasn’t having eaten much at noon meal or perhaps it was having the Force returned to him, even in this stunted capacity, but Obi-Wan found himself ravenous.

As he ate, Vader sat across from him, watching. Silent. Until Obi-Wan had cleared his bowl and sat back, cradling his tea mug in his hands.

It’s time, said Anakin’s voice. That we discuss expectations. Let me repeat: The grounds are within limits. The lake will not be considered part of the grounds. And you will take one of the droids with you when you leave the house.

Obi-Wan gave a curt nod, sipped his tea.

When I depart from here, you and Luke will see me off. When I return, you’ll both be waiting. No more hiding, Obi-Wan.

“Shall I wear a pretty dress to see you off and welcome you home?”

Amusement hummed across the bond. If that would do it for you, certainly.

Obi-Wan scoffed.

When I’m home, your evenings will continue to be spent with me. But not always passively in your books, Obi-Wan. You can continue your lessons with Luke. Oh. Did you think I didn’t know? But you will keep your lessons to the Force, nothing more. No Jedi code, no light, no dark.

“Is that all? Play the happy house servant, teach Luke…”

Vader stared at him. Anakin’s mind-voice was silent. The bond was silent. He seemed to be thinking. Obi-Wan could feel Vader’s eyes on him. As the silence grew, the weight of the stare made him want to fidget.

Instead, he took a breath and placed his hands in his lap. “I’d been thinking about running. I know that doesn’t surprise you. Then I realized, I’d been running toward nothing. Luke was here. I decided to stay, that day, by the lake.” He looked down at his hands. “I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“Everything,” Vader said, finally. Obi-Wan felt the Force wrap around him and a moment later, he was kneeling next to Vader’s chair. Vader’s left hand cradled the back of his skull, durasteel fingers tangling in Obi-Wan’s hair. He dragged Obi-Wan close, until his masked face was all Obi-Wan could see. Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

“Everything you took from me,” his voice was steady, resolved. Promising. “I want it back. And we can start here.” The creak of leather and Vader’s thumb pressed against Obi-Wan’s lower lip. Almost reflexively, Obi-Wan opened his mouth, tasting the musty oiled leather of the glove. He remembered a moment, some skirmish or other, a blow to his face that he only half blocked. Then Anakin’s gloved hand tilting his chin up, examining the cut across his forehead. Anakin’s eyes warm, worried, with a flash of possessiveness that seemed to come and go like a shadow.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and saw black. The depths of space. Desert nights.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

Obi-Wan’s heart stuttered at the command. His stomach hollowed. For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

On the bed, Obi-Wan.

Moving as if in a dream, the air around him too warm, too heavy, Obi-Wan did as he was told. When he finally lay on the bed, some of the world had come back to him but he kept an almost clinical detachment.

What did I say about hiding? Anakin’s voice was a murmur in his mind. It’s only me. I’ve seen you. I know you. All those nights during the war where you sought me out, trying to make sure I was “okay.” Or that’s what you told yourself, isn’t it?

Obi-Wan blinked slowly, throat tightening. It was a truth he couldn’t deny. He would seek out Anakin when they shared ships, when they were on planet together. Under the guise of a concerned master to his former padawan. But that wasn’t all of it. Anakin’s presence had been a balm on his soul, from the days following Qui-Gon’s death, through the smoke and haze of war, in the soft hours of the night when they should have been sleeping but were too wound up from the heat and violence of the day.

And in those moments Obi-Wan gained control over himself, when he didn’t go looking, Anakin would seek him out. And Obi-Wan would led him.

You lectured me. Told me to be mindful of my attachments, when it was you who needed the reminder. Vader loomed over him, blocking out the light of the lamps. I was never sure if your attachment to me matched my own to you. But now I know. The bond between them pulsed with something like satisfaction, warm and smug. Now I know.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He felt Vader draw close, his weight making the edge of the bed sag, even as Anakin’s voice kept whispering inside his head. He kept them closed as the breath of the Force ghosted along his skin, as phantom touches—so real that he could almost imagine the calluses that would accompany them—trailed down his pectorals, along his ribs, over his flank. A seduction a long time in coming. One that never should have been.

Enough thinking.

Heat coursed through Obi-Wan, infused by lightning, the force of too many sleepless nights and hundreds of hungry dreams gone unfulfilled. The bond between he and Anakin, between he and Vader, lit up like a bonfire and for a moment all Obi-Wan could feel was heat, all he could see was light, pale and gold tinged.

Obi-Wan’s whole body seemed to seize on the precipice of a strange pleasure. Not an orgasm as he’d ever known it. It was more than physical, more than mental. The Force bond pulsed, wound tight around his body and mind, sending bright filaments into every corner of his being, then dimmed as quickly as a candle blown out. And Obi-Wan screamed a release as he spiraled down into that dark, hearing Vader’s laughter in Anakin’s voice as he succumbed to sleep.

#vaderwan #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #darth vader #obikin #toddler luke #obi wan #obiwanxvader #star wars: revenge of the sith #swfic #acquisition

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ekaterinakostrova · 6 years

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She felt it all—too keenly, too sharply.

Nesta is accused of ill-treatment of her younger sister (abuse and violence against Feyre), but Nesta has many reasons for this behavior - and Nesta's cruel words do not mean that she does not like her younger sister. Otherwise, Nesta would never risk her life for her sister and other people. Nesta's current condition - her rudeness, her cold behavior, alienation from the outside world (after ACOFAS’s events she’s totally cut off from the outside world) - is the only way to keep her emotions, to keep her inner rage under control. And in fact, Nesta is in deep depression. The core of depression is sadness, especially when this depression is combined with despondency, shame and hostility. And Nesta experiences each of these terrible feelings.

In the life of the whole family there have been global changes.

Firstly, the irreplaceable loss of a loved one – the unspeakable loss of the mother. For a person like Nesta, it was a real tragedy. A person needs to try to get through this and begin to live an ordinary life. They adapt quickly to hide their true feelings.

“My mother. Imperious and cold with her children, joyous and dazzling among the peerage who frequented our former estate, doting on my father—the one person whom she truly loved and respected. But she also had truly loved parties—so much so that she didn’t have time to do anything with me at all save contemplate how my budding abilities to sketch and paint might secure me a future husband. Had she lived long enough to see our wealth crumble, she would have been shattered by it—more so than my father. Perhaps it was a merciful thing that she died”.

It seems that right after the death of her mother Nesta had to build her inner walls to save and to protect herself in order to continue to live on, because most people after following shock and helplessness, have the strongest awareness of their profoundly personal rejection. Finally, there are accusations, disappointing attempts to escape from the realization of the guilt. These people are trying to shift responsibility for the loved one’s death onto anybody else. This person needs a "scapegoat". Nesta’s father became her own scapegoat. Nesta believes that her father is responsible for the death of her mother. Then she started having these irrational bursts of anger at him- she believed that he could save their mother, or he was the cause of the death of their mother and directed her rage toward him.

“I wanted to see if he would ever try to do it himself, instead of carving those bits of wood. If he would actually go out and fight for us. I couldn’t take care of us, not the way you did. I hated you for that. But I hated him more. I still do.”

“Does he know?”

“He’s always known I hate him, even before we became poor. He let Mother die—he had a fleet of ships at his disposal to sail across the world for a cure, or he could have hired men to go into Prythian and beg them for help. But he let her waste away.”

“He loved her—he grieved for her.” I didn’t know what the truth was—perhaps both.

“He let her die. You would have gone to the ends of the earth to save your High Lord.”

And that’s quite interesting, because here Feyre admits «I didn’t know what the truth was—perhaps both», so Nesta's true tragedy lies in the secret of her mother's death. What was happening in the family at that moment? Where was their father and what did he do when their mother was dying?

“Her cowardice, selfishness. The rage that had consumed her, so that she wanted them all to starve, just to see if their useless father would bother to save them. And then little Feyre had stepped in, and Nesta had hated her for it, too—that Feyre had done the unthinkable and kept them alive”.

In fact, such emotional walls that Nesta built up are a very well-known psychological state, and these “walls” protect people from painful feelings and thoughts. But they also cause the appearance of their changed forms of behavior. Thus, we can say that such emotional walls have their pros and cons.

In the case of searching for a "scapegoat", the feeling of anger does not disappear. This feeling is simply hidden. Anger remains with a person, deeply hidden, and exudes its poison. If this person spends the remaining days chasing scapegoats, then most of their life will be useless: they will experience constant bitterness, which will cripple their personality. In addition, such emotional walls prevent people from feeling the positive side of their existence: to get acquainted with new people, to enjoy life by itself.

One of the factors contributing to the growth of depression is rapid social change.

Nesta was not just from a wealthy family, she was almost a noblewoman, and the Archeron’s family had a real mansion. Feyre did not have time to get proper education, while older sisters had lessons of etiquette, music, and dance.

Surely Nesta already had her own idea and vision of her future, she repeatedly emphasizes the bad manners and lack of manners from other people, not only when they lived in the village among beggars, but also when she got to the Night Court. Nesta said that members of the Inner Circle knew nothing about real manners.

“Nesta had taken the loss of our fortune the hardest. She had quietly resented my father from the moment we’d fled our manor, even after that awful day one of the creditors had come to show just how displeased he was at the loss of his investment”.

“I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn’t stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory … Who had shrouded the loss of our mother, then our downfall, in icy rage and bitterness, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she had cared—beneath it, she had cared, and perhaps loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally”.

It might sound strange, but when a person finds himself/herself in an unfamiliar environment for them - it's extremely difficult to get used to it. This is a real stressful situation. Of course, Nesta and Elain, in some ways, were born with silver spoons in their mouths - they had expensive clothes, shoes, they never thought about what it would take to think about food. For them it was not a problem, and in one day everything collapsed.

“I’d been too young to learn more than the basics of manners and reading and writing when our family had fallen into misfortune, and she’d never let me forget it”.

I have a friend, who has experienced great stress after the death of her father. In addition to the death of a loved one, she experienced severe changes in her life - she and her mother lost their fortune. And she admitted that she had never used public transport until she was thirteen or fourteen years old. I understand it may be difficult to believe something like this is possible, especially in the modern world, but everything happens. They always got everywhere by car. Conditions of life changed, something had to be sold, you need to say goodbye to your property. But when a person has never used public transport, and then suddenly it is necessary to get used to new conditions - it's really difficult. Everyone is nervous when they first come to the university or to a new job - this is a new and unfamiliar situation, new environment. So, partially, I understand Nesta, and what she had to endure. From a rich mansion to move to a collapsing house, to lose all property. Hunger, despair and destruction - all were in a state of the endless stress.

It is not excluded that the Archeron’s family spent their free time surrounded by other noble families, and when you lose your fortune, property, influence, money - you feel a sense of shame.

“As usual, Nesta was complaining about the villagers—they had no manners, they had no social graces, they had no idea just how shoddy the fabric of their clothes was, even though they pretended that it was as fine as silk or chiffon. Since we had lost our fortune, their former friends dutifully ignored them, so my sisters paraded about as though the young peasants of the town made up a second-rate social circle”.

“He could find work if he wasn’t so ashamed, Nesta always said when I hissed about it. She hated him for the injury, too—for not fighting back when that creditor and his thugs had burst into the cottage and smashed his knee again and again. Nesta and Elain had fled into the bedroom, barricading the door. I had stayed, begging and weeping through every scream of my father, every crunch of bone. I’d soiled myself—and then vomited right on the stones before the hearth. Only then did the men leave. We never saw them again”.

Angry creditors broke their father’s leg and never returned. To be honest, in real life it's difficult for me to imagine, so I have a feeling that Neste had to sell something or do something meaningful so that they would not return to their house anymore. Everyone knows that the collectors are seeking the return of any debts, they will not go until they get their money back.

Nesta is from a noble family, so she cannot bear Feyre's dirty clothes. It is possible that someone will find such words an insult to Feera, but for me Nesta feels unhappier with the fact that Feyre allowed herself to look like that. And she also disgusted with the whole situation in which they were, she did not like the fact that her sister had to go to the dense forest.

“You stink like a pig covered in its own filth. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?”

Nesta still considers herself and the rest of her family as the members of the nobility, so she is frightened by the very thought that her sister looks like a beggar.

She stepped back to run a finger over the braided coils of her gold-brown hair. “Take those disgusting clothes off.”

Everyone accuses Nesta of letting little girl go to the forest, but the real culprit was her father. Despite the fact that Nesta and Feyre are sisters, they are completely different. While Feyre is a survivor, Nesta is a fighter. Feyre wants to survive, so she goes to the forest for food, she was not forced to go to the forest - it was her way of survival, and Nesta is ready to die if it helped her father to get out of oblivion. There is another reason - neither Elaine nor Nesta would ever really have gone into the forest, at least because of the fear. Nesta chose the path of perdition in order to prove her point of view, and Feyre wanted to survive, and for this Nesta hated her.

Even in human life there are situations where people stood in fear. For example, to jump into a whirlpool, save a drowning person, or climb down the cliff, ready to extend a helping hand to those in need or in any other emergency, in which the chances of dying to save another person are very high - it's difficult. A person in ordinary life and a person who falls into a stressful situation are two completely different people and the reaction to stress is different for all of us. Someone can’t move, someone reacts with a hysteria, and someone in a state of affect does something that they would never have done in the ordinary state. Stress for them is a start for immediate action. All of these are psychological factors that need to be considered. We must admit that all people are completely different. If someone could cope with a difficult life situation, this does not mean that another person can go through a hard and thorny path with the same circumstances.

In addition, Nesta is actually looking for the Feyre’s company. Her younger sister does not understand this. Nesta does not act directly.

“How is my sister?”

So he merely said, “Busy.”

A flicker of her throat. “So busy she cannot deign to visit, it seems.”

Tomas Mandray

“Tomas Mandray?” I interrupted. “The woodcutter’s second son?”

“You can’t chop wood for us, but you want to marry a woodcutter’s son?”

Thomas is from a poor family. And for me this person in Nesta's life remains a real mystery. Why Nesta wanted to connect her life with him? What was the reason? If Thomas had money, then I would understand Nesta's decision to choose him as her future spouse. Nesta really could not help her family as Feyre did, but Nesta could get married and get some money from her husband to help her family. It is possible that Nesta hoped that her younger sister would stop going into the woods.

“Tomas had wanted to, and she … some part of her had known no future lay with him. Knew about his hateful father, and that he did nothing to prevent the man from beating his mother. She had barely let Tomas kiss her, and that day when she had ended it, he’d …”

She swallowed, shutting out the memory of what he’d said and done. The sound of her tearing dress. No—it hadn’t gone that far, but … The blind terror in those moments he’d tried, before she’d screamed and clawed her way free. And never told anyone”.

Nesta has never told anyone about Thomas, what he did. But it is also not easy to be a victim of violence - this is also a trauma that remains for the whole life. She was not raped, but traces of the sense of fear remain with person "blind terror in those moments". Some are ashamed of what happened, and do not want to share with someone, what happened, others have an inferiority complex. Sometimes there is a feeling that rape has placed a certain mark that distinguishes a person from others. Sometimes people are locked in themselves, not letting anyone into their inner world, not revealing their feelings and secrets. Mental trauma finds a way out in angry emotions. In psychology, there is such a phenomenon as "visible adaptation" - a person returns to the usual way of life, however depression, bouts of anxiety periodically arise.

Nesta went through a lot, and as a sensitive person, for her everything was much more complicated than for Feyre. She must take her bitter experience as something unchanging. This important moment relates to the desire to move forward and the realization that not everything is lost. Of course, throughout the whole life there can be flashbacks of memories, nightmares, but this is more of an exception.

“She didn’t know what to do with it, that rage. It still burned and hunted her, still made her want to rip and roar and rend the world into pieces. She felt it all—too keenly, too sharply. Hated and cared and loved and dreaded, more than other people, she sometimes thought. Could sift between them all in a matter of moments, like she was trying on different sets of clothes, and no one could tell or care”.

Nesta must let go of her emotions. Letting others see themselves as they are, and not be afraid to be rejected that is the real strength.

#nesta archeron #nesta #JusticeForNesta #cassian #nessian #acofas #acotar #acowar #acomaf #postacofas #a court of frost and starlight #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #sarah j maas

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dragonfics · 6 years

Text

Dark Pleasures - Chapter One

On AO3 if you’d like to skip my gushing.

This fic goes to @cheapbourbon - for inspiring me with all of their wonderful Cash art. It’s only going to be 3 chapters long, but holy hell, I really want to write more of Cash after this. I just need to yank myself away from Spicyhoney for a minute, dear god.

This is just a silly little ExpensiveSpicyHoney (SpicyHoneyMoney?) Vampire AU (not, in fact, the vampire AU I promised to write when I did that poll the other week). Chapter one isn’t too heavy on the sexual content, but the next chapter is going to be VERY explicit - just a fair warning.

Also, Warnings for this chapter: non-consensual biting, seduction of an intoxicated person (no actual sex), mild sexual coercion. I would also like to point out that as far as the “non-con” parts of this chapter go, the characters themselves do not perceive it this way. Basically, they’re assholes. Mostly Rus.

This is my contribution to the petition to GiveCashMoreLove2k18. So naturally, he, uh, isn’t exactly in the first chapter??? I’m so sorry, Cash. Don’t worry, he’ll be making an appearance soon.

Anyway, here you go, Bourbon! I hope you enjoy this. The first chapter is almost exclusively Spicyhoney sexual tension.

Chapter 1: Dinner Date

The city, though small, was never quiet. Even now, in the dead of night, young party-goers and labourers returning home late from work swarmed the streets. Music could be heard from within almost every shop, home, or rundown warehouse. The streets smelled of alcohol and something a little fouler, and lights flashed at every turn.

Edge was grateful when he reached the outskirts of the city, the streetlamps growing dimmer, and the people scarcer. Soon, he was passing through a narrow underground pass, and he felt himself relaxing considerably. It was dark, but the shadows had never been a hinderance to him. On the contrary, he was rather fond of them. They gave him a distinct advantage when it came to hunting.

He could see his prey only twenty or so metres ahead. Not so close as to alert him to Edge’s presence, but not so far that Edge might lose sight of him. And Edge could smell him. Stars, he smelled good. Edge could feel his fangs extending of their own volition. Not yet, he urged himself. But he was hungry. He was so hungry, as he often was these days. But he kept his head ducked and remained in the shadows as he followed his target. The last thing he needed was to scare the other monster away. Edge wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hunger under control if he didn’t feed soon, and experience had taught him that a ravenous vampire often led to more than just one dead monster. This. This was necessary.

Edge trailed the figure for another ten minutes or so. He was thankful that the monster was heading away from the city. It certainly made him an easier target; out of reach of prying eyes and curious ears. Even from this distance, Edge could hear the steady beat of the monster’s soul. It served only to amplify his hunger, and he conceded to leave his fangs extended, no longer able to keep them at bay. The figure turned a corner into an alley wedged between two buildings. Perfect. Perhaps the universe had decided to make this easy for him.

But when Edge rounded the corner, he was met by nothing but an empty street, the alley deserted but for scattered litter and a few rotting crates. Edge crept forward hesitantly. He was in no mood for a trap, but then again, what could a mere mortal do to him?

Perhaps he had turned too soon? Or perhaps the monster had left the alley somehow. Though a quick glance around revealed no exits but for the way Edge had come…

The cold press of steel against Edge’s throat halted him, and he gasped as the metal burned at his vertebrae. Silver. He dared not struggle or fight—one quick slice of the thin blade and Edge would be dust. He felt a hand grip at his shoulder, the blade stinging against his bone as it dug a little deeper. “care to enlighten me as to why you were following me, vampire?” a smooth voice said. Edge couldn’t see the speaker, but he could smell him, and immediately recognised the scent of the monster he’d been trailing. Trust his luck to draw him to a vampire hunter of all people.

“I—” Edge rasped as the knife dug deeper. “Please, I-I won’t—”

“turn around slowly,” the monster said. “any sudden movements and this goes straight in your throat, got it?”

Edge would have nodded if he’d dared move his neck, so he gave a low grunt of understanding instead, slowly shifting to face the other monster. He was stunned upon realising it was another skeleton monster. His features were smooth—almost pretty—and his eye-lights were a deep shade of gold. A scarf was wound around his neck, but Edge could still sense the magic coursing through his bones. Perhaps what startled Edge most though, was the fact that he was smiling. “oh, you poor darling,” the skeleton crooned—sounding somehow sympathetic, despite the burning press of his blade against Edge’s throat. “look at you, you’re starving.”

Edge blinked in bewilderment. Was this some sort of trick? Or perhaps this hunter just had a twisted way of killing his victims. Either way, Edge wasn’t convinced. He bared his fangs, which dripped with salivary magic. “If you don’t let me go, hunter, I’ll—”

“hey, come now, there’s no need for that. i’m not a hunter.” The skeleton smiled sweetly, raising his hands defensively and holstering his knife. “i’ll feed you, if you like.”

Edge could only stare, frozen in utter perplexity as he rubbed the still stinging bones of his neck. “You—” His gaze darted unwittingly to the skeleton’s cervical vertebrae, barely concealed by his scarf. He was suddenly reminded of the consuming hunger searing his soul.

The skeleton’s light laughter broke him from his brief daze, and he quickly glanced up. Amusement coloured the other monster’s features, and he shook his head. “not from me, precious. that… might rub my master up the wrong way.”

He grinned at Edge’s bewildered stare. “Your… master?” Edge swallowed, glancing around anxiously.

The skeleton seemed at ease however, and took a step closer, a playful smirk dancing across his face. Edge cringed away as the smell of the other monster flooded his senses and reignited the burning hunger in his soul. But if the skeleton noticed Edge’s discomfort, he gave no sign, instead resting a hand on Edge’s arm. “i’ll take care of you, if that’s what you want, love.” His fingers traced idle patterns over Edge’s bare ulna, and Edge struggled to suppress a shudder. The smile on the skeleton’s face was almost sickly sweet, but Edge found it … inviting. There was no rationality remaining in his mind—he was a slave to his hunger. He nodded, the movement feeling stiff and automatic—but not reluctant by any means. The skeleton intertwined their fingers, a warm pulse running through Edge’s entire body.

“excellent,” the skeleton breathed. He looked nothing short of delighted at the prospect of helping Edge find his next meal. Any amusement Edge felt at the notion however, was immediately snuffed out as the skeleton pressed his teeth against Edge’s cheekbone. “and if you behave, perhaps we can even have a little fun of our own.”

If he’d had any magic left to spare, Edge would have blushed.

****

The skeleton introduced himself as Rus as he guided Edge back towards the city’s centre. He made idle chatter as they walked, speaking of his master, his home, the joys of metropolitan nightlife (and the pleasures). Edge tuned most of it out. In fact, he found himself rather distracted for a large majority of the journey. He couldn’t keep his focus off Rus’s slightly exposed neck and clavicle. His heightened senses allowed him to feel the flow of magic through the other monster’s bones; all he needed was to reach out and—

“here we are.” Edge froze, gaze quickly darting up to Rus’s face. He thought he caught a glimpse of the silver blade again at Rus’s belt, but he couldn’t be certain. “don’t worry, love,” Rus murmured, taking Edge by the hand and guiding him through the swinging doors of the establishment. “there’ll be plenty to eat in here.”

Rus wasn’t joking. As soon as they entered the bar, a thousand different scents hit Edge at once, and for a second, he was stunned into immobility. But as he came to his senses, he felt the fierce urge to feed reawaken tenfold, and he had to bury his claws into his femur to restrain himself.

Thankfully, Edge’s dwindling self-control didn’t escape Rus’s notice this time, and he quickly guided the vampire to a less populated corner of the room. A roaring fire burned in the hearth beside their table, and Edge tried his best to focus on the smell and sound of the crackling logs, and not the tirade of magical scents and soul-beats assaulting every ounce of his conscious. He gripped the edge of the wooden table until he felt something crack beneath his fingertips. Rus observed him—appearing more curious than concerned.

“how long has it been since you last fed?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. Edge found his complete lack of fear extremely uncanny. He seldom came across mortals who weren’t at least a little intimidated by him—much less when they learned what he was.

“I-I don’t know,” Edge admitted, shakily.

Rus cocked a brow bone. “you don’t know?”

“A month, maybe,” Edge muttered, trying to avoid Rus’s gaze. He felt uncomfortably scrutinised beneath the deep gold of those eyes, and he opted instead to stare at the grubby table. The wood had split beneath his fingers.

Vaguely, he registered the sound of Rus releasing a sigh. It wasn’t weary though, or even exasperated. The word that came to mind was ‘empathy’, but such an emotion didn’t seem fitting, directed at a vampire. “alright, look around,” Rus instructed, after a pause.

Edge frowned, but glanced up, gaze wandering the room. “What am I looking for?” he asked in confusion.

“pick someone.” When Edge conveyed his misunderstanding with a tilt of his head, Rus laughed softly. “someone to eat,” he elaborated.

“Oh.” Edge swallowed, though his throat still felt dry. His brow furrowed as he scanned the room, until at last he settled on a squat bunny monster, nursing her drink alone in a far corner. “Her.”

Rus glanced over his shoulder at the monster, and chuckled. “she may appear appetising, but i promise you—try to touch her, and she’ll break your pretty fingers.”

Edge flinched slightly, frowning at Rus. “Oh really?”

“really. i’m good at reading people. and i can tell you with certainty that she’s not the type to sit idly while a vampire sinks his fangs into her.” Rus leaned in, voice dipping as he added, “and i might need those fingers of yours later.”

Edge tried to hide his embarrassment with a scoff, crossing his arms indignantly. “Very well, since you’re so perceptive – why don’t you tell me who would be willing to serve as my food source? I don’t exactly have time to waste on guessing games.” The last part came out sounding a little more desperate than Edge had intended, a ravenous bite creeping into his tone.

Rus seemed unfazed however, his smile widening. “you want my advice, vampire?” He turned, surveying the room for only a few seconds before nodding in the direction of the bar. “him.”

Edge followed Rus’s gaze dubiously. A muscular monster sat at the bar, torn jacket barely concealing his chiselled chest and biceps. A broad grin stretched his long face, white teeth flashing as he flexed, much to the delight of the small crowd of monsters surrounding him. Edge turned back to Rus, ensuring the doubt was plain on his face. “That bravado of scales? Are you serious?”

“over-confidence makes him the perfect target,” Rus countered, shrugging. “don’t go for the quiet ones. they come here anticipating a fight; they’re wary of strangers. those ones—” Rus nodded over his shoulder with a smirk “—the ones with egos larger than their muscles – they’re your ideal targets. they love attention, and if you give it to them, they’ll be eating out of your hand—so to speak.”

Rus’s words were punctuated by a loud bark of laughter from the muscular monster at the bar, who took a long swig of his drink before shamelessly shrugging his shirt off and tossing it over the barstool. Edge grimaced in distaste. “Well, that’s all well and good, but surely it would be easier to simply pick someone off the street?” he contested. “Why go to all this effort?”

“picking someone off the street went well for you tonight, didn’t it?” Rus was grinning at Edge, who dropped his head with a scowl. “besides, fear taints the magic. pleasure your prey first, and the feed will be even sweeter.”

Edge felt Rus’s fingers find his own across the table, and he flinched away abruptly, pushing down the sudden curl of heat in his mouth that couldn’t be entirely attributed to hunger. Lacking the energy to argue, he sighed in resignation. “Fine,” he grunted, rising from his seat. But he was stopped by Rus’s hand on his wrist. He looked down at him with a frown. “I thought—”

“not yet. wait until the bar has emptied—closing is in an hour, so you won’t have to wait long,” Rus added, at the stricken expression that must have crossed Edge’s face. “we don’t want to make a scene if this goes awry.”

“If it goes—” Edge slumped back into his seat with a huff, trying to keep his composure. “I thought this was supposed to be a foolproof plan?”

Rus seemed unconcerned, shrugging and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “no plan is foolproof. it always takes a fool or two to execute a good plan.” Edge had to resist the urge to roll his eyes as Rus chuckled quietly to himself, lighting the cigarette between his teeth. Edge may have tried to argue if he wasn’t feeling quite so unstable, but he didn’t trust himself not to snap.

So, he conceded to wait until the patrons began to scatter, every moment sending fresh waves of agony to his starving soul. Not once did Rus show any sign of agitation however, his smile ever-present as he watched Edge across the table, smoke curling from between his teeth. Edge began to find Rus’s placidity more and more off-putting as the night wore on. What mortal would be so relaxed around a vampire? He certainly hadn’t met any who behaved this way; most would try to run screaming the moment they discovered the true nature of his being.

And the longer they waited around, the more intoxicating Rus’s scent seemed to become. Edge was almost thankful for the slight mask of his cigarette smoke, but more than once, he caught himself transfixed by the other skeleton’s pale bones. He could almost perceive the magic rushing through them, golden as their owner’s eyes.

When Rus finally stubbed his cigarette out against the table’s corner and rose to his feet, Edge was certain he’d left scars on his legs where his fingers had been clinging. Rus nodded in the direction of the bar, his eyes flashing. “ready for supper?”

Edge could only nod in response, too famished to chastise the phrasing. He trailed after Rus as they approached the scaled monster—now sitting alone with his drink at the bar. Edge was thankful that his shirt was back on, at least. As they drew close, Rus turned to murmur, “follow my lead,” before sending one of his sweet smiles in the direction of the muscular monster. As he leaned against the bar, Edge caught a glimpse of his iliac crest, peaking just above the waistband of his pants. Edge had to wonder if it was deliberate. It probably was, but Rus’s languid movements and easy smile betrayed no sense of effort on his part.

Needless to say, the boisterous monster appeared impressed, a lascivious smile crossing his face as he glanced up at Rus. “Can I help you, sweetheart?” he asked, voice marginally slurred.

“oh, i’m certain you can,” Rus said. “what’s your name, love?” Edge may have mistaken the brush of Rus’s fingers over the monster’s arm as affection if he hadn’t known better. There was a twisted glint in Rus’s eye that was almost alarming.

“Aaron,” the monster replied, grinning. He certainly hadn’t missed the deliberate touch of Rus’s fingertips (though undoubtedly, he was missing a lot, or he wouldn’t have been nearly so eager to accept Rus’s affections).

“well, aaron,” Rus purred, leaning close and touching his teeth lightly to Aaron’s ear, “my friend and i are in search of some company for the night, and you seem rather well… equipped for the task.” Edge heard Aaron release a low hiss as Rus’s fingers grazed over his crotch. “are you up for it?”

Edge decided it was worth rolling his eyes at the pun.

Rus’s expression remained painstakingly dispassionate as Aaron gripped his exposed iliac crest, yanking him forward so that he almost toppled into his lap. Rus released a husky laugh, even as Aaron began to trail his hands further down his ilium. “careful there. my friend tends to get a little jealous, don’t you, love?”

Edge could feel himself growing abashed as the other two monsters turned their gazes on him. Aaron’s eyes raked over him lecherously, and he had to push down the urge to cringe. “Aw look, he’s shy,” Aaron mused. “C’mere, sweetheart. I won’t bite. ‘Less you ask.”

Edge almost laughed at the sheer irony of the comment alone. He caught Rus’s gaze, and was thankful when the skeleton turned to Aaron to whisper, “perhaps he’ll find his confidence if we take him upstairs? i warn you though, he tends to get a bit vocal when properly motivated.”

Rus shot an impish look in Edge’s direction, which Edge returned with a scowl. Rus’s words had the intended effect however, because Aaron willingly obliged, sliding off his stool and casting a glance over his shoulder at them as he marched for the stairs. “Never fucked a skeleton b’fore,” he told them, stumbling slightly at the foot of the stairs. “You two’d better have something more than bones underneath all them clothes.” He chuckled, clearly amused by himself.

“we’ll be sure to send apology notes to all your suitors if we disappoint you,” Rus said pleasantly, sweepingly indicating the almost-empty bar with a flick of his hand. The subtle mockery seemed lost on Aaron, who just chortled as he led them up the wooden stairs, clinging to the railing for support. Rus turned his smile on Edge, looping an arm around his waist. “this is the fun part,” he whispered. “for you, at least.”

Edge felt almost queasy with hunger, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to pin Rus against the banister and sink his fangs into him. Soon, he promised himself. Just hold on a little longer.

They came to a corridor at the top of the stairs, and Aaron turned at the first door, extracting a key from his pocket and fumbling slightly with the lock. Clearly, he’d been anticipating company. Edge felt nerves arising as they entered the room, and he frantically looked at Rus for support. In truth, he’d never done this before. All his past meals had been snatched from the streets. No planning or strategizing—simply spontaneous enactment of his urges.

Seeming to sense his anxieties, Rus gave his hand a gentle squeeze, tracing his teeth lightly over Edge’s cheekbone. “i promise you’ll enjoy yourself, love. just relax.”

From across the room, Aaron chuckled, drawing Edge’s gaze. He had already kicked off his shoes and was removing his shirt as he watched them. “You two gonna give me a show?”

Rus’s exceedingly saccharine smile returned as he observed Aaron, and he released Edge’s hand to stride over to the scaled monster. “only if you behave, darling,” he murmured, trailing his fingertips over Aaron’s exposed chest. He circled the monster for a moment, smile still firmly plastered across his face. He caught Edge’s gaze over Aaron’s shoulder deliberately, before stepping close and kissing the monster.

Aaron immediately growled, gripping Rus hard and grinding into him. Edge watched them with uncertainty. He was reminded of the aching lack of magic in his soul when he caught the mingled scents of the other two monsters in the air, and he clutched onto one of the bedposts to keep himself subdued. “don’t be shy, my love,” he heard Rus call. Aaron was latched onto his vertebrae, half-pinning Rus to the wall as he tore the scarf away from his neck. Rus was watching Edge, gaze steady. A small—but deliberate—inclination of his head made his meaning fairly clear.

Gathering his resolve, Edge approached them slowly. His fingers trembled as he moved the monster’s hair away from his neck. A fire seemed to scorch his soul inside his chest, and he grit his teeth, willing himself to hold off for just a few more seconds as he looked to Rus for reassurance. Over Aaron’s shoulder, Rus smiled, whispering, “go for it, precious.”

With no more strength to deliberate, Edge ducked his head, and ran his teeth over Aaron’s neck. His skin was cold, as it was with many aquatic monsters, but Edge could sense the heat of the magic beneath. Aaron groaned against Rus, muttering, “Fuck, someone’s gained his confidence.” With nothing left to hold him back, Edge allowed his fangs to extend to their full length, sinking them into the soft flesh of Aaron’s neck.

Immediately, Aaron went stiff, a gargled scream escaping him. Any further noise was stifled however, and Edge vaguely registered Rus holding him still, hand pressed firmly over his mouth. Hot magic flooded between Edge’s teeth, and he moaned in appreciation as his soul sparked to life. He sunk his teeth deeper, and Aaron writhed weakly. Edge felt euphoria washing over him, and he began to relax, sinking into the feeling.

“good boy, you’re doing so well. that’s it.” It took Edge a moment to register that Rus was speaking to him. Soft words of praise and encouragement spilled from his mouth, and his fingers stroked deftly over Edge’s spine. Edge shivered pleasantly, sighing as his soul began to fill with magic.

Aaron had gone limp, and Edge faintly noticed the flow of magic growing weaker. “alright, love, that’s enough,” Rus whispered, his fingers still resting on Edge’s spine. But Edge was in no mood to stop. His soul demanded he continue. He needed more. He couldn’t bring himself to break the pleasant haze clouding his mind, or the ecstasy of the feed.

A sharp pain suddenly cut across his cheekbone, and Edge pulled away, hissing in surprise. Rus was giving him a bland look, knife balanced between his fingers. “Why did you stop me?” Edge demanded, wincing as he touched his injured cheek.

“we don’t kill monsters that are kind enough to spare their magic for us,” Rus said coldly, heaving Aaron over to the bed and lying him atop the covers.

“We?” Edge stared at Rus, incredulous. “You—you’re not even—I was the one drinking from him!” He couldn’t believe how much audacity this monster possessed. This mortal monster.

Rus seemed unperturbed by Edge’s outrage however, sighing without a word and disappearing into the en-suite bathroom. Edge stared after him, disbelieving. He glanced at Aaron, unconscious on the bed. Magic still trickled from the small bite wounds at his neck, staining the white bed sheets. Rus returned promptly, a damp cloth in hand, and began to dab gently at Aaron’s wound. He looked up at Edge for a moment, but his expression was plain, and he remained silent until all of the spent magic on Aaron’s neck was cleaned away. “well, he’ll probably wake up with a headache, but he’ll be fine. and i doubt he’ll remember anything.”

Edge frowned, observing Rus doubtfully, but held his silence. His cheek still stung, and he wasn’t eager for a repeat. Rus retrieved his scarf from where it had been discarded on the floor. He wrapped it back around his neck, but not before Edge caught a glimpse of two small puncture wounds piercing his vertebrae. He narrowed his eye sockets, but made no comment. Rus’s honeyed smile returned as he approached Edge, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “how do you feel?”

Edge’s soul was abuzz with fresh magic, and he felt considerably less jittery than he had a few minutes ago. He nodded briskly, straightening the crinkles from his pants and wiping away any remaining magic at his mouth. “Good. I feel… better.”

Rus’s smile widened, and his eyes seemed to sparkle as he leaned in, touching his teeth lightly against Edge’s. Edge tensed immediately, but Rus withdrew after only a second. “wonderful,” Rus breathed. They were both quiet for a moment, and Edge swallowed heavily as Rus gazed at him, as if searching for something beneath Edge’s cool demeanour. “i never did ask, love,” Rus said at length, “what’s your name?”

Edge blinked. “Oh, um…”

“or would you prefer that detail be kept confidential?” Rus’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a hint of something considerate beneath the look.

“Not—it’s fine, um… Edge. My name’s Edge.”

For whatever reason, this seemed to spark an excitement in Rus, his eyes flashing a brilliant gold as he regarded Edge with upraised brow bones. “edge?” His tongue danced briefly over his teeth, and Edge could already feel heat rapidly rising to his cheekbones. “well, edge, you did very well tonight. while you lack restraint, that’s easily learned.” He touched Edge’s arm. His fingertips barely brushing the bone, but a shiver ran through Edge nonetheless.

“Th-thank you,” Edge stammered, “for… helping me.”

“of course, love. though i’ll admit, my intentions weren’t entirely pure. i never was good at resisting monsters quite as… delicious as you.” Rus’s teeth were parted, and Edge caught sight of warm golden magic pooling in his mandible. He swallowed against his own magic and quickly looked away. “my master will be very pleased to meet you.”

Edge looked up at this, eyes widening. “Your… m-master?”

Rus cocked a brow bone, releasing a small laugh. “of course. be advised though, he tends to get a little… possessive. so…” Rus leaned close, voice dropping to a murmur, “some details we ought to keep to ourselves.” Without warning, Rus cupped Edge’s jaw, kissing him gently. Edge could only gasp softly in response, melting beneath his touch. This time however, the kiss didn’t remain chaste, Rus’s tongue trailing lightly over Edge’s teeth. Edge opened his mouth without a moment’s pause, holding back a moan as the taste of Rus flooded his mouth. He could feel his soul stirring with excitement, and it took a great deal of willpower to keep his fangs retracted.

All too soon (though perhaps just on time) Rus withdrew, his cheeks glowing softly. He rubbed his thumb over the thin cut on Edge’s cheekbone, the touch light, but still painful. Edge held back a whimper, though he wasn’t sure it was entirely the product of pain. “though, who can say?” Rus mused, gazing at Edge as if entranced by him. “perhaps if my master finds you impressive enough, he’ll decide to share.” Rus leaned in again, and Edge held his breath. “i should warn you though, i taste exquisite.”

#expensivespicyhoney #my writing #dark pleasures #I'm afraid this one probably won't be quite enough to make your angst loving heart cry Bourbon #(in truth it's mostly just me being self-indulgent and using your art as an excuse to write this shit)#BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #Because I really love Cash and I literally think I'm going to start hurting him soon #Hold me back

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3ros-on-ice · 7 years

Text

Read☑️: 3.whatever - 4.7.17 (whoops I skipped some weeks)

Disclaimer: Nearly all of these entries are Explicit or Mature in nature; I will post the authors warnings when necessary…also I know my taste isn’t always on point. I’m fine with this.

Without further ado, fic recs under the cut.

Sunlight Hurts My Eyes by MooseFeels

Mature. Victuuri. 7195w. WIP. Alien!AU

Viktor leaves his homeworld for a job on Earth, and he meets Yuuri and– Yuuri is a curator at an art museum, and the new docent seems very interested in him.

It’s new, so I can’t really gush about it without spoil it. It’s turning out to be fun an interesting though, and I’m looking forward to seeing how it turns out.

The Return of the Little Piggy by SASS_QUEEN

Mature. Victuuri. 14,341w. WIP. Fashion & Couture!AU

Everybody had their regrets in college.

For the students, it was making fun of Katsuki Yuuri.

For Yuuri, it was letting himself become too stupid.

For Viktor, it was not doing anything.

_-_

Once there was a boy named Katsuki Yuuri, who was shy, loved to make clothes, had adorable smiles and was fatter than the usual average human being. Unfortunately for him, apparently being chubby wasn’t all that accepted in the norm back then. After numerous accounts of bullying, Katsuki Yuuri disappears for good.

Now years later, there is now a man only known as Y.K. Fashion tyrant, multimillionaire, professional cold-stare giver… and is trying his ultimate best to run away from his dark past, until a certain silver haired CEO of a certain rival company who went to the same certain college he went to back then decides to flat out entangle their fates together. Do both of them have anything to say for it? Sadly, no. No they don’t.

FASHION!AU FOR YOUR NERVES!

Hustled by Bad_Wolf

Mature. Victuuri. 16,357w. Complete. Urban Magic/Crime!AU

Victor Nikiforov is part of a group that scams and steals to make a living. Victor is often the lead on the scams that require a more…personal touch. This particular job requires to seduce one: Katsuki, Yuuri in order to scam him out of a recent billion dollar windfall. Not a big deal. Victor’s done this a million times, seduce-scam-scram. But one: Katsuki, Yuuri is much more charming and magnetic than Victor realizes. If this is fate, then it’s a shitty, fucked up type of fate that Victor definitely deserves, but one which Yuuri (sweet, bashful, kind, inexperienced) Katsuki does not. Ah well, c'est la vie! Yuuri’s lucky break is about to shatter right under Victor’s palm.

Look Fam, This is actually part 1 of the Smoke and Mirrors series, and it’s pretty goddamn good. I’m looking forward to the rest for sure.

Just Like a Stranger with Weeds in Your Heart by MooseFeels

Explicit. Victuuri. 22,188w. Complete. Omega!Verse

Viktor sees Yuuri and he knows, he knows, he knows.

Now, you all know how I feel about Omega!Verse fic, but this one is one of those sweet soft fics. Everything is bright and nothing hurts. Canon-compliant probably.

Also shout out to @moosefeels for being really awesome.

Death of a Bachelor by exile_wrath

Teen. Victuuri. 19,676w. WIP. 20s Crime!AU

In which Victor is at the top of the (criminal) world, and ends up falling for the hot bartender that works at a Giacometti speakeasy.

Alternatively: In which Yuuri is a bartender with a thing for the hot patron which could probably kill him but also wants to have sex with him. To be fair, Yuuri is pretty down to sleep with him too.

But things don’t go as planned, sometimes, and rather than Victor finding someone to warm his bed for a night, he finds Yuuri, who offers him an intimacy and care that he had never thought he’d have. And in turn, Yuuri finds someone achingly lonely but willing to open his heart so they can both be together in a way they had only dreamed of.

Okay team, I’m here for this. It’s shadowy, but not dark. It’s built for the faint of heart. Enjoy.

We Are Lost, but We Are Not Gone by persephoneggsy

Mature. Victuuri. 20,201w. WIP. Dollhouse!AU

The Dollhouse deals in fantasy, but Victor Nikiforov just needs one night.

At least, until he finds himself wanting more. And it’s all because of Eros, the beautiful Active that’s consumed his every thought.

Super interesting! Extra excited for when this fic gets down into the nitty gritty.

How to Fly by FamousLastLines

Explicit. Victuuri. 8,034w. WIP. Hot Mess!AU

Call it fate, call it anything else. Ending up at infamous nightclub ‘The Palace’ was completely out of Yuuri’s control. Becoming further entangled in Detroit’s party scene, however, was less of an accident. As time goes on, even the neon lights of the club cannot conceal the dark reality that lurks just beyond the surface.

By the time Yuuri realizes the only direction left to go is down, he’s already standing at the ledge, lost to the sorry look in Victor’s eyes.

I identify with Yuuri in this fic mostly because I anticipate it will perfectly mirror the grand downward spiral of 19yo 3ros. (3ros is 23 and a vaguely functioning adult now.)

I Know Where My Heart Lies by Orro

Explicit. YuriYuu. 38,047w. WIP. Role-Reveral!AU

The day Yuuri Katsuki announces his retirement from competitive figure skating Yuri is forced to admit he has feelings that extend beyond rivalry. He’s been trying to knock Katsuki off his top spot on the podium for years. It’s not fair that he thinks he can retire and leave Yuri like this.

Victor’s dream has always been to skate on the same ice as his idol. Yuuri’s retirement throws a wrench into those plans but that’s okay; Victor is flexible enough for a layback Ina Bauer so he can totally work with this. Yuuri can be his coach instead.

Yuuri just wants to eat some katsudon and enjoy spending time at home after years away at competitions. He doesn’t need these Russians barging into his retirement. They’re interrupting a supposedly peaceful contemplation of what he’s going to do with the rest of his life.

[aka age swap au where Yuuri is the 27 year old legend, Yuri is the 23 year old rival, and Victor is the 15 year old newcomer.]

Look, Aged Up!Yuri fics are dicey as fuck, but I’m okay with this mostly because Yuri’s entire character is 23. He’s not just aged up so that he and whoever can have sex. (I mean they do end up knocking boots, but that’s not the point of the fic.) Good job, fam.

Canoe-dling: Not Prohibited by shereadsthestars

Mature. Victuuri. 12,839w. Complete. Summer Camp!AU

Yuuri is a seasoned counselor at Camp Okenoko who thought he was in for just another run of the mill, shenanigan filled summer with his friends. But he could not have been more wrong as he’s inevitably blindsided by the newest arrival.

Enter one Viktor Nikiforov, who’s got the charms and good looks to woo whomever he pleases, and who’s interest is instantly peaked by none other than, Yuuri Katsuki.

This precious piece of fic. It’s a fun quick read to lighten up your existence. Get into it.

Singular by TrashKanForLife

Explcit. Victuuri. 7,226w. WIP. 50 Shades of Grey!AU

Yuuri fiddled with the hem of his sweater, overwhelmed by the sheer formality of this floor. He’s sure his favoured pair of sneakers only cover about twentieth of the costs for the workers’ footwear and he wonders if they pay the salon daily for their sharp appearances. Yuuri does not belong here.

“Mr. Nikiforov will see you now.”

Okay so that “50 Shades of Grey” may be a little off putting, (and this fic is pretty new,) but I’m into it so far. I’m holding out hope. Bring it.

Separation Anxiety by Okaeri_Kairi

WARNING: Rape/Non-Con, Depictions of Violence

Explicit. Victuuri. 87,944w. WIP. Mafia!AU

Deep in the dark and unsettling back alleys of St. Petersburg, a network of crime rings and rival families makes up the heart of the mafia that runs the city’s underground. Of these, none is more feared than the Nikiforov family, an infamous group that is said to be led by a man of cold blood and steel. Viktor, the son of the previous boss, knows only too well just how frightening and unstable this man is.

He is, after all, married to him.

This is the main fic in the Haven series; go read all of them.

*Unintelligible screeching* This is a really good Mafia fic. I cry just thinking about it. I’m pretty sure this is right up their with Masquerade for fics that everyone and there grandmothers want all of their friends and their babies to read. if it’s not, IT FUCKING SHOULD BE.

Also she’s making a print version with extra scenes. You guys should look out for those preorders.

Lessons in Love by fangirlandiknowit

Mature. Victuuri. 30,842w. WIP. This is an AU I just don’t know how to ! this.

All Viktor wants is for his son to be happy - and if that means spending countless hours at the ice rink, a million more in the ballet studio, and devotedly cheering for Katsuki Yuuri at every competition he enters, then that is precisely what he’ll do.

He just didn’t expect to become a fan, too.

(He didn’t expect to fall in love.)

Team. TEAM. It’s cute and sweet, and bby!Yuri P. will melt your heart just like he did mine, damnit.

Starstruck by shizuoh

Teen. Victuuri. 58,955w. Complete. Single Dad!AU

“Hold my son for a moment,” says the Viktor Nikiforov, live in the flesh, sweaty and panting.

“Wha—” Yuuri can’t even begin to comprehend what’s going on before Viktor is gone, and there’s a child in his arms.

(in which yuuri is a simple barista, viktor is a famous movie star, and yuri is an 8 year old kid stuck in the middle of it.)

*In Tears* If i could just have the podium family as Viktur & Yuuri + Kid!Yuri. P I think I wouldn’t stop reading ever. like….EVER.

The Fastest Comet That Falls by lovefrompluto

Mature. Victuuri. 14,690w. Complete. Dancer!AU

Yuuri is a shy ballet dancer who is slowly disappearing. Someone starts sending him flowers after his shows.

Come through ballerino!Yuuri angst! Also, there are eating disorders involved, do with that what you will.

Tidal by wbtrashking(fan_nerd)

Mature. Victuuri. 11,428w. Complete. Mermaid!AU

Victor’s eyes linger on one of the photographs.

Maybe he’s been up too long, straining his eyes in the darkroom, but it seems that there’s a glimmering blue tail peeking out of the surface of the ocean. It’s too large to belong to any aquatic creature he recognizes.

His heart races as the chemicals make the picture clearer. It’s quite possible that Victor has captured something spectacular.

YOOOOO! It’s everything I ever wanted in a Mermaid!AU okay?

#3ros live #fic recs #fan fiction #yuri on ice #yuri!!! on ice #3ros reads #yuri katsuki #yuuri katsuki #victor nikiforov #viktor nikiforov #viktuuri #victuuri

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sshbpodcast · 5 years

Text

Tales from the Holodeck: TNG Fanfic: Chris’s Story

A Star to Steer Her By is closing the book on Star Trek: The Next Generation with our much anticipated fanfic series “Tales from the Holodeck”! With our random draws for our special guest characters in hand, we’ve written new adventures for the crew of the Enterprise-D for you to enjoy! Listen to the whole episode here, or read on below for Chris’s story!

“Special Delivery”

by Chris

Random Picks: Berlinghoff Rasmussen, Lal

“Well, Doc, here we are,” the pilot said, a low rumble filling the cockpit as various thrusters fired to bring the ship to what amounted to a “stop” in the frictionless vacuum of space. He turned to face his passenger, his idiot ponytail almost snagging on some of the flotsam he wore on his ridiculous vest. “Looks like we beat your contact, tho.”

“Oh, that I very much doubt, Captain,” the lanky passenger replied, standing and leaning towards the comms panel. He punched a few keys, and within a moment the sensor panel was alive with warning.

“What the…” The captain’s eyes darted around his panels. “A ship is decloaking! Doc, what’s going on? I don’t want to get mixed up in anything unsavory!”

“Don’t worry, my dear Captain. My friend isn’t unsavory. Merely cautious.”

He said that, but being honest he’d never actually met the owner of the ship that was, for lack of a better term, wavering into view. It was a simple, silvery affair, all sleek curves and a few, decorative swirls in the hull. It wasn’t the kind of vessel that was supposed to inspire awe or fear, to make people back away and tremble, and also not so high end as to inspire envy. A ship easy to lose in a crowded spacedock or port.

“This is the Erstwhile hailing civilian yacht,” the Captain said, interrupting the Doctor’s thoughts. “Repeat, this is the Erstwhile, Captain Okona speaking. Please respond.”

“Er, hrm, yes,” came a somewhat-croaking voice over the speakers. “This is the Stuart. Is Doctor Isaacson with you?”

“I’m here, yes,” the passenger called.

“Good. Handle anything remaining with your pilot and prepare to beam over.” A small beat. “You...have it, then?”

“I’d not be here otherwise.”

“Good lad. Stuart out.”

Several years in the 24th century had still not entirely gotten Rasmussen used to the sensation of transporting. He’d remembered the theory of teleporters getting real traction in his time, with early and promising tests with photons and such, but even then it was assumed they wouldn’t be considered safe for more than cargo for at least a century after their introduction. From what he’d learned, however, it didn’t take long for some mad Starfleet Captain to find an excuse to hurtle himself through space with one of the things.

He had been told by the denizens of the time that you adapted eventually. He wasn’t sure. To Rasmussen, it started as a tingle, like when his arm or leg would fall asleep, only over and within every inch of his body. And for a split-second he was aware of his entire being in a way he normally wasn’t, possibly because the sensation was so all-consuming. And even that second was so overwhelming that he felt his brain much shut down from the overstimulation of feedback.

Not that his feeling was, apparently, universal. Some people thought it was a pleasant, warm feeling. He’d read the memoirs of a Starfleet physician named McCoy who said it was simultaneously itchy and ticklish, while making him feel weightless for a few, spare seconds until reassembly made him feel sure, for just a moment, that his hair alone was heavy enough to crush his whole body.

Either way, for every little convenience and luxury and delight the future held, Rasmussen could’ve thoroughly done without transporters.

He glanced around and found he had materialized on a simple, three-pad affair. He was in the middle, his simple baggage to his left, and his delivery to his right. Before him was the control panel and, presumably, the person who had operated it. Well, person according to everything Rasmussen had read about his host. If someone said he was from a race of potato people he’d not be entirely surprised.

“Professor Soong!” Rasmussen said with a broad grin, stepping off the pad and extending a hand. “What a joy to finally meet you in person!”

“Hm, yes, likewise, Doctor...” the old man paused. “Is it Isaacson or Rasmussen?”

“Ah, yes, safe to use my real name now.”

“Then hello, Doctor Rasmussen.” The old man’s eyes darted to the case on the transporter pad. “So...was it difficult to get?”

“Oh, probably.” Rasmussen winked. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“It means I made sure my hands weren’t seen in this. Safer for both of us that way.” He turned around and lifted the case from the pad. “You meet the most interesting people in one of those Federation detention camps. Not that you’d know, of course…”

“No. The ne’er do wells in my family history went to regular jail.”

He gestured to Rasmussen and walked away from the transporter controls. There was no separate room like on larger ships; Rasmussen was standing right in the midst of a large space that was filled with various tables laden with a variety of electronic clutter. Off to one side, however, was a smallish bar, with a grinning man standing at it.

“Refreshment before we get to it, Doctor?” Soong offered. “Walsh here is an excellent bartender. What’s your pleasure? Samarian Sunset? Jipper? Mint julep?”

“I’ve developed a taste for Saurian brandy, if you have any of that.”

“Right away, sir!” chirped Walsh, spinning quickly to the collection of bottles behind him. He was soon slowly pouring from one of the distinctive, curved bottles into the traditional, corkscrew glass.

“Professor, is he…?”

“An android, yes. A very basic model, though. Nothing like my sons. Why make a machine that wants to be more when you just want it to make you dinner and tidy up, hmm?”

“Your drink, Doctor!”

“Thank you.” He waited while Walsh assembled some green concoction for Soong. He smiled, and the men clinked glasses. “To the Soong positronic brain.”

“Hrm, yes. Hopefully those Starfleet scientists didn’t make a mess of it.” Soong took a pull from his drink. “So...if you didn’t get it, who did?”

“A lovely woman I met at the camp. Actually the one who got us out, too. She’d done up this brilliant con where she had the natives of some backwater convinced she was some ancient God or demon or something they’d made a deal with for a millennium of prosperity or somesuch. But then Starfleet got involved and blew her cover. My old friend Picard was her captor, no less.”

“He gets around. Still, no offense to you, but no one I’d rather have keeping an eye on my boy.” Soong took another drink. “So, where’s your compatriot now? She’s not going to show up separately asking for pay, is she? Because whatever you offered her is coming out of your share of the latinum.”

“She wouldn’t know how to find you. And she thinks I’m dead.”

“Oh?”

“I staged an attack at our rendezvous point. I was “disintegrated” by some pirates when she handed over the package.”

“A lot of people are getting involved…”

“Don’t worry, you and the real contents of my package never came up. They thought I was smuggling narcotics to Risa, nothing special. I assume they’re awake by now…”

“Eh?”

“Oh, the idiot leader has this bizarre loyalty device implanted in all his crew and himself. It was easy enough to figure out how to mimic the signal of his controller. They were all having a nice nap when I met up with Captain Okona and beamed away. I set their ship to head for Romulan space. Hopefully they came to before crossing the Neutral Zone…”

“I suppose you left a bomb or something behind with Okona?”

“No, he was a gormless kid. Told him I was shipping some rare Tholian biological samples to be studied by a Federation scientist. The fare was nothing, already paid.” Rasmussen took another drink. “So...shall we to work?”

A table was cleared for the case. Rasmussen punched a code into a pad on the front, and a hiss escaped the box as its lid opened. Inside, perched neatly inside black padding, was what appeared at first glance to be a human woman’s head. Soong reached inside with trembling fingers and extracted it, revealing the metal joint and various connectors that were at the bottom of the neck. Its black hair was badly mussed and fell oddly around its face.

“Hello, Lal,” Soong whispered. “I’m your Grandfather.”

He carefully slotted the head into a socket resting on top of the table. He fiddled around underneath the hair and suddenly the entire top of her head came away, taking most of her hair with it. He spent a moment just admiring the silver skull underneath, tracing his fingers over a few connectors and the tiny, currently-unlit status bulbs scattered across it.

“From what I read there was complete cascade failure,” Rasmussen said after the pause had begun to become uncomfortable. “So...is there really anything that can be done?”

“Maybe. Just...maybe.” Soong looked up. “You see, my boy...well, he’s brilliant. But even he doesn’t have quite all my knowledge on positronic brains. And some of the work involved is...well, I hate to say this, but it’s not an exact science. Some of it is just intuition. And for all I can do, that’s something that’s just not programmable.”

“Well, then. Won’t know until we try. May I assist?”

“Thank you, yes.”

After that there was very little talking for the next several hours, save for Soong asking for a tool or directing Rasmussen to make some connection or replace some doohickey. Walsh would occasionally putter over with water before heading back to the bar to vacantly stare into the middle distance. While he had been very convincing at first, Rasmussen had to admit that the bartender was, indeed, an inferior model.

“Right.” Soong suddenly straightened up. Or at least became as straight as his ancient, bowed back would allow. “That should do it. I’m afraid her memory may not be intact, though…”

He gently placed the top of the head back into place, and a barely-audible click sounded from somewhere. He gently patted down her hair as a very subtle movement started under the eyelids. He crouched down, bringing his face close to hers.

“Come on. Come on. I’ve worked with enough androids in my time...you can do it.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Rasmussen said, wandering around behind Soong and casually picking up flotsam from tables. “I’ve been reading a lot of things since I’ve been freed. Catching up on two hundred or so years of history and technology.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s been terribly edifying.” Soong’s tone made it plain he did not care about whatever his guest was going on about.

“And Starfleet...well, they are rather bad at keeping things locked down.”

“My boy did take over their flagship pretty easily.”

“I’ve managed to get into some very interesting records. Even some reports that went to Starfleet command.”

The android’s eyes began to slowly flutter open.

“That’s it...hello….” Soong whispered.

“There was even one related to the time Data took over the Enterprise. Do you know why he did it?”

“Of course!” Soong stood up rather surprisingly quickly, considering all his movements up until that point. “I’m the one that contacted him! It activated a subroutine…”

“In both him and his brother. His brother who killed you.”

“Oh, is that what’s bothering you?” Soong snorted and turned back to the head on the table. He placed his hands to the tabletop and leaned heavily. Her eyes were open, but her eyes were slowly lolling around, struggling to focus on anything, and occasionally going out of sync. “Yes, well, there’s a simple explanation for that.”

“Which is?”

“Noonien Soong is dead.”

Rasmussen let out a shocked gasp as, in that exact moment, a pair of powerful arms had wrapped around him, squeezed tight, and lifted him off the ground. He kicked uselessly at the legs of his attacker as Soong moved towards him, a hand going for his pocket.

“You know, had you just not bothered being so nosy, I would have paid you and sent you on your way.” His hand emerged, a hypospray gripped in it. “Ah, well.”

He pressed the tip to the protesting Rasmussen’s neck, and the Doctor quickly went limp. Walsh lowered him to the floor, where he began to snore quietly.

“What shall I do with him, sir?”

“Escape pod.” Soong’s voice had taken on an entirely new quality. “Then send a signal to the nearest Federation starbase where to find their fugitive. Then get us out of here, maximum warp.”

“You do not wish to stay to see if there is a bounty?”

“Not worth risking myself, Walsh.” He tugged on one of his hands and the skin suddenly went very slack, slipping off like a glove to reveal a much smoother one underneath. “I’m probably more wanted than him”

He walked over to the table as he removed his other false hand. He then reached up and pulled off the white wig he wore, revealing a crop of short, dark hair. He turned back to Walsh, grinning broadly through the false face he still wore.

“Besides, this girl is going to be worth so much more to me than whatever piddling reward Starfleet might have on offer for such a non-offender as him.”

“Wh-where…” came a voice from the table. There was a slight hum and click under it, betraying its electronic nature. Something that would have to be fixed eventually.

“Ah, good evening, my dear!” “Soong” said, turning back to her and crouching.

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe.”

“Who...am I?”

“You are Lal.”

“Lal.”

“Who are you?”

“I...am your adoptive father.” He reached up, and pulled his false face away. The wrinkles and bushy eyebrows were gone, replaced by an almost cherubic face adorned with a thick mustache that he began to neaten with his fingers, before curling up the edges. “You can call me Harry. But to everyone else, I am Harcourt Fenton Mudd.”

Mudd rose, and looked over to where Walsh was dragging away the unconscious Rasmussen.

“You see, laddybuck, you don’t have the monopoly on time travel…”

A strange, turquoise-colored crystal on a nearby table softly glowed.

the end

—

We’re moving on to new Star Trek and Star Trek–related series we’re sure you’ll enjoy, so be sure to keep listening on SoundCloud, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and have yourself a jipper, on us.

#star trek #Star Trek TNG #fanfic #Star Trek Fanfiction #rasmussen #lal #soong #okona

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