the moon should sometimes flicker. like a lightbulb threatening to go out. i would enjoy that i expect

Levi finding out his fem s/o dealing with mental and domestic abuse with parents and occasional physical and very awkward/scared talking about? If you’re not comfy writing it that’s fine. Stay safe 🖤🖤

!DISCLAIMER!

I'm sorry for my bad English, but I'm Italian and I'm currently studying this language, so this is also a way to improve my vocabulary. if you spot any mistake, feel free to correct me. furthermore THIS IS A SEPARATE POST AND HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE PREVIOUS ONES.

thank you for asking!!!! I'm so glad I wrote a story with your idea! hope you like it<3

Thanks for the attention and now let’s move on the story’s details.

𖥔 pairing: levi ackerman x fem!reader

𖥔 genres: fluff

𖥔 TW: mentioning of mental/domestic/physical abuse, self harm

𖥔 word count: 1.4k

𖥔 summary: while training, you have a little fight with jean and levi notices your weird behavior.

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“you fucking slugs better move your asses or I'll make you pay for it!” levi says in a bossy voice that makes a shiver run down your spine. you love him, but he low-key scares you when he acts like this during the training.

“jean what’s the issue with you? can’t you run faster? or you wish a titan eats your fucking head? come on!”

jean scoffs and mumbles something under his breath.

“eren is running slow too, captain. but that doesn’t seem to bother you at all.” says jean, a little pissed off, staring at eren with the corner of his eye.

“come on, jean. even if I'm on my period, I can run faster than you!” you say chuckling.

everybody knows jean has a huge crush on you, so you really enjoy teasing him and making fun of him, especially during training. he turns in your direction and you laugh at his mad face.

“what the fuck is wrong with you shitty slut? is your life’s so useless that you always need to make fun of mine? I'll tell you this, I'm fucking tired of this bullshit, Y/N” he screams in your face, pushing you on the ground, leaving everybody shocked. he never reacted like this at one of your jokes.

you quickly stand up and walk towards him. you slap his face as hard as you can, turning it on one side because of the impact. then you force him to look at you in you eyes.

“don’t ever try to touch me again or I swear I'm gonna pulp your liver with my bare hands and make you eat it.” you say in a hard voice. you grab his shirt and push him away from you. you quickly unhook your harness, throwing it on the ground and walking fast towards the sleeping quarters.

“what’s wrong, brat?” levi tries to stop you and talk to you, but you ignore him and run in your room. as soon as you close the door, you start to cry silently. you stand up and punch everything you find in your way, destroying the wooden table and chair and ripping the sheets of your bed. you sink your face in the pillow and start screaming as loud as you can, collapsing on your bed.

as soon as you feel something touching your skin, you wake up and run out of your bed.

“jesus christ levi! you scared the shit out of me!” you say to him, still half asleep. he sits on your bed and invites you to follow him. you sit near him, maintaining a little distance, as always.

“what was that out there?” he asks you looking at your eyes. you look away, not able to maintain eye contact.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you exactly know what he is talking about.

“Y/N don’t fucking lie to me, please. you know I hate it.”

“I don’t care if you hate it. you don’t need to know everything about me, we’re not fucking married! stop acting as if you care about me and my stuff!”

“oh so you think I just act like I care but I don't. then you're fucking wrong, Y/N. I care about you more than anyone else, don't even say I don't.”

“then why did you let jean treat me like that? you didn't say a thing, you just let him do whatever he wanted. I felt like shit and you didn't even notice that!”

“Y/N what are you talking about? I wanted to kick his ass when he treated you like that, but you said that we shouldn't tell the others about what's between us. as if I gave a shit about what others think. and don't think I didn't punish him, he’s been running laps for hours and he’s still training. and I'm not the one who run away without letting anyone help them. now, please, tell me why did you react like that?”

you lay on the bed in fetal position. you start to cry, but you quickly try to calm yourself down so levi doesn't notice.

“my parents said...”

he gets closer, but you stop him with a movement of your hand.

“and did... sorry levi I can't.”

you stand up and run out of the room. you never told anyone about what your parents use to do to you, not even levi. you still feel so embarrassed that, even if you try to tell anyone, words aren’t able to come out of your mouth. you sit under a tree near the field where cadets use to train, tearing tufts of grass from the ground. you look at the moon, you didn’t notice evening had already arrived. you look at your legs and arms full of goosebumps and you try to warm up your body a little bit.

“if you go out like this, don’t be surprised to wake up with a cold.” levi’s voice increases the goosebumps on your skin. after a couple seconds, you hear his strong arms grabbing you. at first, you flinch, but then you surprisingly let him catch you. once you’re in his arms, you rest your face on his shoulder and hook your legs and arms around his body. now you’re back in your room.

“Y/N, you know you can trust me. talk to me, please. I need to hear you.”

you feel a strange feeling in your body that makes you gain enough courage to ask levi what you thought you’d never ask.

“would you sleep here tonight?” you ask him so softly that he almost doesn't hear you.

“you sure? you don’t have to di this, Y/N. I told you I'll wait long enough to make you feel ready.” he says touching your cheeks.

in response, you grab his hand and you make him sit on the bed.

“I just... just wanna sleep, is that ok?” you ask him awkwardly. he softly chuckles and nods. you lightly smile and reach the furthest corner of the room, as you start to unbutton your shirt.

his face is confused. he’s probably misunderstanding.

“I’m sorry.” you say full of embarrassment. you take off your shirt and your pants and start to get closer to him. as soon as he can clearly see your body, his face becomes shocked. your thighs and arms are covered in scars. you seat besides him and cover your naked belly with your hands.

“did...did you do that to yourself?” he asks with a shocked face. you slightly nod.

“my mom used to tell me I was just an useless bitch who could only sell her body in the underground to gain some money and have a life. I spent my whole life cleaning the house or going around satisfying my parents’ requests. and when I went back to the house, my dad was there, waiting for me with his belt, prepared to beat the shit out of me. and when he finished, he used to tell me that he was just doing what it takes to grow a soldier.” your voice is broken, you know that you’ll not be able to hold back tears for still a long time. levi notices that.

“it’s ok if you cry. I'm not gonna judge you.” his words hit your ears like an order. in fact, as soon as he speaks, you burst into tears. he hugs you from behind and makes you put your head on his chest. the regular sound of his heartbeat calms you.

“the reason why I reacted like that today... it’s because it was like living again the hell the I've been through. and i’m sorry if I rarely let you touch me, but I'm afraid that you could act like my dad. actually, you’re the only man that can touch me. you’re really important to me, levi. you should know that. and i’m sorry if I didn't tell you this before, but I was embarrassed. and scared.”

“why that, darling?”

“because I didn't know what your reaction would be. what if... what if you found me repulsive? what if touching me made you feel sick? what if you couldn’t look me the same way anymore? levi... I can’t live in a world where you find me disgusting.”

“what are you even saying? how could you even think that? Y/N there’s no way in the world I could ever find you disgusting. you’re the only woman in my life, the only person that matters to me. I just want to make you happy.” he whispers.

as soon as you hear his words, you turn around and you gently place your lips on his.

your first kiss ever. with your man. with levi.

||𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙|| (5/20)

Apocalypse! Au (TW! Minor gore and cussing)

Reader x multiple

Chapter 5: A Flock Found

They pack a wheel barrow to the brim with the newly acquired supplies they find not botheringing to leave behind much of anything, making sure to cop the twenty five gallon container of gasoline from the tool shed out back behind the building... Lord knows they'll need for the grand task ahead of them. By the time the light in the south western sky began to fade from a light gray to pink over the backwaters of the panhandle they're ready. They slip outside through the rectory's side door and creep single file along the edge of the property. Y/n takes the lead, periodically glancing over her shoulder for any sign of the herd that had crossed the highway or any sign of the group that occupied this space all too recently. She carries a glock with a full magazine just in case. The dusky air gets clammy and cool on the back of the stranger's neck as he follows them to the car. They climb in hurriedly, stowing their provisions in the rear cargo bay. Y/n kicks the engine on as the newcomer clambers into the passenger seat next to her- much to the dismay of the other two- unfolding an old dogeared map.

"They usually stick pretty close to the ocean." He says almost to himself, silently calculating the mileage between them and the gulf. "Probably should start down by Perry or Carwfordville." He senses movement ahead of them through the windshield and glances up in time to see a couple of jagged shadows emerging from the woods about a hundred yards away, drawn to the sound of their engine. Garbled growls can be heard over the drone of crickets. The trace smell of garbage on the breeze, the light and space of the outdoors is almost overwhelming to him. He feels like he's been asleep for a hundred years, locked away in that dank and dirty church- he starts to feel dizzy.

Y/n gooses the accelerator and the SUV lurches away. He sinks into his seat as they roar down the road, swerving to avoid the half dozen or so biters now skulking out of the woods blocking their path. They sideswipe one the creatures, ripping a chunk of its shoulder, splattering fresh gore across the glass of his side window.

"You get used to it." she states after he flinches in disgust. He just stares at the splatter, flecks of bone chips, and a long trail of black bile.

"I don't think anyone can get used to that ..." Nick mutters from the back seat.

Night falls and the darkness deepens behind the trees on either side of the road. Most of the streetlights in this part of the country have gone the same way as the internet or cable TV, so the road only gets darker and darker as they head south towards the steaming thickets and festering swamps of the coastal lowlands. The going is slow, most of the two lanes are crowded with rusted out wreckages ,the carcasses of cars and trucks so old now that the weeds and switchgrass have begun to grow up from their metal endoskeletons. The two young men in the rear breathe heavily, thickly, half asleep while Y/n drives and softly hums some forgotten tune. They had passed the jerky and water around a few minutes ago- their standard fare of supper- and now their bellies growl and their eyelids droop with exhaustion.

"You never gave your name..." His hushed voices rings out from the shotgun seat.

"Hadn't crossed my mind at the time, sorry about that... It's Y/n" She chuckles softly. "The one with the headband is Nick but goes by Sapnap, don't ask i don't know- the other one with the accent is George." he just simply hums in reply.

"What about you big guy? What do they call you?"

He takes a moment to regard the woman seated next to him; his head still trying to wrap itself around this complete stranger who's shown him nothing but kindness. On the one hand, she seems trustworthy enough, friendly, a good listener, courteous and capable of single handedly taking out an entire chapel full of reanimated corpses... On the other hand she seems like a walking time bomb. He'd seen her type before- they type that's too kind until something or someone breaks that trust. A hairline trigger. The sad fact is he doesn't have a large array of options. Staying in that hellhole of a church with those enslavers, listening to the groans of the dead, waiting for whatever those bastards would do next quickly loses its charm... Seeing the aftermath of her cleaning house with that knife had given him an odd charge- a cathartic release. He's also aware that he'd never be able to find the caravan on his own given the sorry state he's in. He really has no choice but to go along with her and her scruffy ass men and hope for the best.

"I don't have a name.. that is, one that I can remember.."

She desperately wants to pry, how could he not remember his own name? But the thousand yard stare and glassy gaze is enough to stop her from inquiring any further. "Well we've gotta call you something big guy." She's met with silence in response. "Alright, I guess Big Guy it is then." He offers only a meek hum in response. In an attempt to silence his own raging thoughts his eyes landed on the red bandanna tied to the rearview mirror for what was probably the hundredth time since he started on this way too long car ride.

"... What's that about?" He points to the red scarf.

"It belonged to a friend of mine a long while back, before Sapnap and George were a thing." Her hands tighten their hold on the wheel. "I was caught by 'traders' and he was stuck in the same hole as me... Couldn't have been any older than fourteen at the time. One night the compound was under attack, their front gate was breached- luckily we were kept at the very back end, so when the opportunity came we managed to escape our holding cell and I hoisted him over the wall. Told him to keep running, to not look back. He got away but I was caught again," She takes in a deep breath before resuming her story.

"I was quickly sold off to some asshole who had these two chained up for breaking into their stores... one thing led to another and we snuck out and snagged this ride... we've been moving around since." It was obvious by her tone there was a lot she was leaving out and probably for a good reason. Notably the two in the back seat were dead silent, so much so that it made the air feel heavy and dense enough to cut with a sharp enough knife. Suddenly he was wishing he hadn't bothered to ask in the first place

"That sign back there," He manages, desprate to break the heavy air "Said 'Cross city 12 miles" He glances up from the map in his lap, gazing out the side window at the stewing darkness of Dixie County Florida. "Got a feeling we're getting close."

The vast patchwork of wetlands passes in a blur on either side of them. The land oozing a low blanket of methane as gray as mold, clinging to the shadows of pine thickets and gullies like dirty lace. The air smells briny and rotten with dead fish. Every few minutes they pass the ruins of a small town or wreckage strewn trailer parks. No sign of survivors in these parts, though only the occasional silhouette of an upright corpse shambling by, it's eyes like twin yellow reflectors in the darkness.

"We can't just keep burning gas all night." Sapnap says from his place in the rear, his voice all cranked up with pain and panic "and we can't just go off of what you overheard those traders talking about- Much less go off of feelings.." Big guy just keeps a neural face.

"We're in the ballpark" He persists "Believe me they'll be hard to miss." Y/n grips the steering wheel, her jaw working overtime on a piece of gum, snapping and chewing complusively as she drives.

"How many vehicles do they have in this convoy?" George questions between wheezy breaths.

"No idea... but it's quite a few ."

"That's pretty general."

"They'll be easy to spot." He replies once more, gazing back out at the darkness. "Our best bet is to follow the coast, they like to keep close to the water.."

"Why's that?"

He shrugs. "According to those 'traders' they keep their eyes peeled for ships or any possible way they might get their asses the hell out of here. Most of the bigger boats around here have been destroyed by the hurricane that hit a couple years ago, so it's a long shot that they'll find anything..."

They're about to give up the search when they start to climb the gentle slope- at first so gradual it's almost unnoticeable - up the side of a vast malodorous landfill- the barren trash-strewn scrubland to their left reaches across miles of sandy berms, all the way down to the deserted ghostly boardwalks that wind their way along the beaches. The sky has begun to bruise pink with predawn light and Y/n has just started to say something when the Big Guy sees the first faint streaks of red dots in the distant haze.

"LOOK!" He points his large gnarled hand down at the far dunes of ashen white sand winding along the coast. The surface is so pocked and windswept it resembles the dark side of the moon.

"Where?" She cranes her neck, slowing the vehicle down to a crawl.

"I don't see anything."

"About Half a mile up there... Look at the tail lights!"

She takes a deep cleansing breath as she finally sees the caravan chugging along the coastal road in the predawn light, it looks like embers throwing up puffs of smoke in their wake.

"Holy shit, I see it." A big smile washes over her face, Glad she decided to follow through with this insane plan.

"What do you think of those boys?" The two young men in the rear lean forward, transfixed by the sight, each of them rapt and silent as they gaze at the convoy.

"What are you doing?! Blaster your horn at them," George stutters anxiously. "Don't let them get away !"

Y/n smiles to herself, in her former life she used to be fascinated by the wildlife shows, often catching them in the late night showings after work before she turning in for the night. She remembers one episode in particular, on the behavior of sheep vs the behavior of wolves. She remembers the flock mentality; the sheep moving almost as one, easily managed by a single sheepdog. She remembers the instinct of the Wolf, stealthy, patient as it and its pack creep up on the flock. She shoots a glance across the dark interior at the larger man sat next to her before turning her head to face the two sat behind them.

"I have a better idea."

Taglist

@the-wandering-pan-ace @hvrcruxes

Half Moon Rising - Maul/Reader

Feeling totally WEIRD about this because I haven’t posted fic in like...5 years. But I really love Maul right now and felt inspired. Soo..yeah!

This is a standard Maul/Reader insert, pretty sure I’ve avoided most descriptive terms but I’d say Reader is a young woman.

No warnings, I guess a little sexual tension/angst/violence. I mean I hope to get much hotter but I’m easing myself into this

Despite your Force-senses, your feet tumbled over each other clumsily as you were dragged onwards. A rough, fibrous bag covered your head and the calloused hands of scoundrels gripped you roughly as they forced you to continue your steps. You tried to maintain a sense of calmness, only remembering what you could of your training.

You were once a Padawan in the Jedi order, but you never finished your training. The night before the final ceremony, your mother had passed suddenly. You recalled a bitter understanding that emotions were not the Jedi way, that you must let go of things when the time comes. This knowledge had not stopped your grief from clouding your judgement. Her passing sent you into a period of depression, and your emotions had cost you the title of Jedi.

It hadn’t mattered at the time. It didn’t matter now. You remembered your peers, shocked at your willingness to give up all your dedication for all of your short lifetime. Although you had a strong sense of justice, you’d always felt emotions very deeply. That was not the Jedi way. It had been right to leave, and you hadn’t looked back since.

You weren’t sure how your choices had led to this path. It certainly wasn’t what you’d expected.

Ever since, you had been living in the shadows, smuggling and occasionally stealing to make a living. You had managed to stay alive - so far - by staying careful of whom you stole from. Your Force abilities also meant you were very good at making escapes. This, would be a new challenge entirely though. One you understood you may not see yourself out of.

There was a shift in the air density - suddenly it was cooler - and you surmised you’d come to an opening in the dark, never ending tunnels. With a sharp shove from the man gripping your left shoulder, you fell to your knees roughly, almost falling on your face thanks to the cuffs that bound your hands behind your back. You inhaled deep breaths through your nose, exhaling through your mouth, in an attempt to maintain clarity of your remaining senses.

You reached out with the Force, trying to gauge how many of them were surrounding you. Maybe ten men. You could take them, maybe. But as your tendrils tentatively felt around the room, something suffocatingly powerful and dark wrapped around your aura, strangling you. Asserting its dominance. It touched your feelings like a burn, making you instantly recoil your senses back into yourself.

Dread began to flower like an unstoppable weed in your gut, prickling up your spine and stinging your nerve endings.

“Leave us,” rumbled a deep, ominous voice.

You heard footsteps shuffling away from the opening, some of the men shoving past you purposefully, until one barged into your shoulder with enough force to knock you off balance. You gasped as you fell to your side, nothing to break your fall. As you lay there briefly, pride diminished, you were almost thankful for the bag on your head as it hid the blatant hotness that creeped up your neck and flushed cheeks in frustration. Even with your Force senses withdrawn inwards, you could feel an overbearing satisfaction over your pitiful state rolling over you in potent waves, emanating from the one remaining body in the room.

You forced yourself back up to your knees. You continued to try to stand fully but were stopped by a crushing force pressing down upon you. You gritted your teeth as the pressure on your back became too much and you submitted.

The bag was whipped off your head without warning and you blinked quickly, eyes adjusting to the dim light in the tunnels, met only with empty space. You swallowed thickly, craning your neck to try and look behind you. An invisible pull whipped your head back to the front before you could.

“Curious little thing,” he chided.

You glared into the disappearing darkness of the tunnel ahead of you. “I like to face my enemies.”

You sensed a hand reach through the air towards you but still flinched as long, rough fingers winded into the hair at the nape of your neck. Nails caressing your sensitive scalp sent an involuntary shiver through you. Yet again you sensed a smugness flowing from them at your compromised position.

You heard him step closer behind you, too close, and suddenly felt overwhelmed. He was so close you could feel his body heat prickling at your bare skin. A dark and powerful energy caressed yours and you couldn’t help from pulling yourself inwards, flinching away. In response, the grip at your neck tightened, forcing your back to arch and your neck towards him in a vain attempt to relieve the pain pulling at the roots of your hair.

As you winced in his grasp, he came into your vision, albeit upside down, looming over you oppressively. “How unfortunate for you, to call yourself an enemy of mine.”

Your eyes widened, meeting ferocious amber iris’s stained with blood red veins and darkness. You broke eye contact to sweep your vision over his red and black tattooed face, up to the horns protruding from his skull menacingly. You were at the mercy of a beast. A Sith Lord.

His eyes narrowed when you met them again. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

“Maul,” you spat.

“Now, now, in your thoughts you were much more respectful,” he reprimanded, “Try again.”

At your silence, he gripped you even harsher, and his claws began to pierce the skin above your neck. To your dismay, you released a cry of pain, but still no words. He tutted at you, before his other hand floated into your peripheral vision, resting at your temples almost soothingly.

Suddenly, a crushing sensation overcame you, like a migraine splitting your head open and burning fire into the deepest corners of your mind. You screeched in pain as you lost all sense of control, until your legs gave way and you were held in place only by his grip.

His other hand left your temple and the pain swiftly subsided. Awfully, your body involuntarily sagged in relief against him. You cringed and tried to lift yourself away, but the hand at your nape had already snaked to wrap around the front of your neck now, holding you in place. You struggled and writhed in an attempt to shake him off, to which his hand squeezed tighter around your throat. You couldn’t escape his frame, his shadow. Stars began to dance at the edges of your eyes, until your vision tunnelled and his intriguing face was the only thing you could see. You were on the verge of passing out before he let up. When your vision returned, he was looking at you expectantly. Your eyes felt hot, prickly, a telltale sign that tears were threatening to breach, but the last thing you wanted to do after showing so much weakness already was to actually cry.

You finally relented. “Lord Maul.”

He hummed approvingly. You wished he would let you go, not stand so close that you could feel his body heat, smell the soft musk that was obviously his natural smell, and worst of all, feel his dark and draining Force energy licking at your soul in what felt like biting flames.

As if your prayers had been answered, he released you harshly, pushing you forward. You barely managed to stay upright and not fall forwards once again. He circled you as you regained your balance.

“And who might you be?” he countered, once he was stood directly in front of you, a few feet away.

You avoided his intense gaze, looking to the side. “I…I’m no one, really.”

“That may be so,” he sneered, “but I sensed you on this planet before you even left your ship. It’s not often I come across your kind any more.”

The disgust in his tone was palpable. You jutted out your chin. “I’m just a smuggler,” you deflected.

He grunted in acknowledgement. “Did you know who you were stealing from this time?”

It was a weighted question. Truthfully, you muttered, “no.”

He bared his teeth. From your position looking up at him, he was even scarier than the stories you had heard. “You should research more thoroughly before you go walking into places you don’t belong,” he said ominously. His horned head tilted, considering you. “Who gave you this job?”

You pursed your lips and hung your head. This was only going to go one way. He didn’t need to explain himself. It was either fess up, or have your mind pulled apart again until it broke open for him. A part of you wanted to retain your dignity, fight the good fight. You were stubborn by nature. But as you looked up at his hulking figure, avoided catching his glowing eyes directly, the concept of bravery seemed just as foolish as it did noble. You noticed him smirk as you came to that conclusion, telling you he knew that as well.

“It was The Hutts,” you said, your voice breaking slightly, throat sore from his heavy hand earlier.

Maul didn’t show any outward reaction, only continuing to look down at you coldly. He took one step closer to you, causing your breath to falter for a moment.

You wondered if elaborating would save your skin. Or had he already decided your fate? Partly, you were struggling to get words out as it was. He was very intimidating.

“You are certainly no Jedi,” he stated. Was that disappointment you could hear in his tone? You felt an unforgiving push at your consciousness again as he used the dark side of the force to sift through your mind. You winced.

“Get out of my head,” you whispered.

“You left the Order before you finished your training,” Maul concluded.

You only glared up at him in response.

“For your own good,” he continued somewhat casually. “You would have been executed with the rest had you stayed.”

You stared at the floor. He didn’t seem to like that and it felt as though an invisible fist had uppercut your chin as he used his powers to force you to look at him.

“Why are you dragging this out?” you accused.

He snarled, stepping closer again, “I don’t think you’re in any position to question me, little one.”

You leaned away from him as much as you could. His dark energy was suffocating, like a fizzing volcano about to unleash its rage on you. Suddenly, you felt the cuffs around your wrists go slack and your arms relaxed to the new range of motion.

“Get up,” he ordered as you were busy looking down at your freed wrists, “Up!”

You stumbled to your feet, backing away from him as he quickly advanced on you.

“It’s been too long since I’ve had a worthy opponent,” he said, and your eyes widened in panic. “Well…” he teased, as though he were pondering the notion, “I suppose worthy is an exaggeration. But we can have a little dance, can’t we?” he looked at you in a way that had you shaking your head, backing away still, chills running down your spine. Like a fox ready to rip apart a hare.

His hand went to his side as he drew his weapon. Holding his sabre in front of him horizontally, the two sabres ignited one after the other, your eyes following each of them as they instantly bathed the room in a red glow.

“This isn’t a fair fight!” you blurted, “I haven’t had a sabre since I left the order!”

Maul laughed ominously. “Then this may not take as long as I thought.”

He lunged, giving you no choice but to dive away from the wrath of the sabre headed for your abdomen. Your eyes constantly switched between him, one sabre then the other. You jumped back on your feet, quickly regaining distance between you again. “Maul…” you warned, backing away into the tunnels. His expression was unreadable, though you could tell he was enjoying this, matching your every step back with a step forward. Very aware of your huge disadvantage, you seized the only opportunity you had to turn around and bolt down the tunnel, away from imminent danger.

Your lifestyle kept you relatively fit but you knew Maul would be faster. He had every physical advantage you could wish for. You chanced a glance over your shoulder and caught him just entering the the mouth of the tunnel. He was taking his time. Playing with you.

You screeched left, then right, right, left, trying to remember where you had gone but it wasn’t long until you had no idea where you’d taken yourself. Your lungs started to burn, all of these tunnels looked identical to each other, but occasionally you would hear the ominous sound of Maul swishing his lightsabre, taunting you.

After maybe ten minutes, you had to stop. You’d hadn’t been pacing yourself. In your haste to put as much distance between you and Maul as possible you had been sprinting at maximum effort. You breathed ragged breaths but knew you had to be quiet. But he would find you using the Force anyway…

Panic threatened to disable you as you gripped your head in hysteria. You’d chosen flight over fight, but there was no escape. Only the endless tunnels. That bastard could at least give you a sabre and make it a fair duel. Your anger bubbled and you screamed, “COWARD!”

You felt Maul’s force signature slam at you in response. You had offended him, it seemed.

I am the coward? You are the one who is running, little padawan.

You spun around at the phantom sound of his voice in your head. “A true warrior would give me a blade and fight properly!” you shouted into the shadows.

You were met with silence, and you continued to walk through the tunnels, using the Force during this precious quiet moment to guide you. Perhaps you could miraculously find the path out of here.

“You make a good point, youngling.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. His voice wasn’t in your head this time. It seemed to be coming from ahead of you, and you cautiously took a few steps back before turning to run. Just as you were about to dart left down a new tunnel, you saw the tip of his red lightsaber emerge and then Maul himself appeared, rage pulling his tattooed features into a distorted demon.

You whimpered for the first time, you were tiring, you knew in your heart you couldn’t take him. He was too powerful. His chest rose with a deep inhale as he smiled, feeling your frightened thoughts, bathing in them. As your feet carried you backwards again, he stopped, unscrewing his double bladed lightsaber before you. Your heart stuttered.

He raised his brows, challenging you, and with a flick of his wrist one of the sabres flew into the air, towards you. You caught it gracefully through pure instinct.

You looked to Maul, then the sabre, unintentionally in awe. You hadn’t held a sabre in…years. It carried a strange weight, just as you remembered. A phantom feeling surged in your heart, a warm, welcoming feeling, like seeing an old friend for the first time in years. You didn’t notice Maul, curiously watching you in your trance, head tilted.

When you caught his eyes again, a strange feeling fizzled between you.

He grinned, taking an offensive stance, “No excuses now, girl.”

That was the only warning he gave you before he struck, closing the distance between you in the blink of an eye. You blocked his attack just in time, you were sloppy, out of practice. He flourished the sabre down, you blocked again, and again, and again. His fighting style was chaotic and like nothing you had ever faced before. Relentlessly, he ploughed strikes into you, advancing as you moved away. You couldn’t seem to break the cycle, only managing to defend yourself against his erratic attacks within an inch of your life.

Suddenly you roared, harnessing all the strength inside you and trying a combo you remembered to be an old favourite. He blocked your novice attacks easily, but you continued to strike, until you attacked five hits in a row and started to get a feeling he was letting you. But you wouldn’t be lured into a false sense of security.

You heard his voice whisper in your head as your eyes connected through the beams of the crossed sabres.

Clever girl…

“Shut up!” you yelled, swinging your weapon to his left side. He dodged, jumping backwards then suddenly advancing on you with a succession of unforgiving powerful hits from above. Your arm shook with the impact, your annoyingly delicate wrist barely withstanding his brutal strength.

You backed away quickly, unintentionally letting out a pained yelp. He gave you no reprieve, moving forward swiftly to strike constantly as your blocks became weaker, until he finally spun in an expert display — his lightsaber striking yours out of your hand — kicking you in the chest and knocking you off of your feet.

Winded, you coughed, looking up at him in panic as he advanced toward you. As you began to crawl back, his heavy boot planted on your bruised chest and his sabre came to point at your chin. You could only follow the blade’s trajectory to gaze up at his face. You were scared and you hated it. Hated how small and weak he made you feel, especially in these last moments.

As though contemplating your fate, he hummed darkly, a sound so deep you swore you felt the vibrations of his timbre ripple through you. You felt the weight of his boot get heavier, he was purposefully crushing you until you squirmed, your hands wrapping around his leg and pulling at him to no avail. You wailed, “please.”

His lip twitched. “Please, what?” More pressure. You could swear you could feel it in your head now too.

You cried in pain, “I.. I don’t know, please,” you almost sobbed. You didn’t even know what you were begging for. Mercy? It seemed pointless to ask for such a thing given who he was. This would only serve to destroy your dignity in your last moments.

His boot left your chest and you gasped for air as he repositioned, lowering himself over you dizzyingly before you could even blink. “No,” you struggled as he trapped your arms under his legs, he came to almost be sitting on your chest. You looked up at his tattooed face in confusion, why was he doing this, why hadn’t he finished you, why were you in this awful position?

Knowing you were trapped, he let you wriggle and fight against his weight, watching you patiently as though he were mildly entertained and enjoying your struggle. You let out a final scream in frustration, giving up as a treacherous tear slipped down your check. You looked to the side, couldn’t look at him, as he bowed forward and, unbelievably, kissed your cheek at your teardrop. It was sickeningly sweet, but not done to comfort you, only to patronise and scare you. Then, his hot tongue licked your cheek, upwards, tracing the tears path. The tip of his nose tickled your skin, and you realised he was inhaling, smelling you as he trailed around to the side of your face before dipping down into the crook of your neck.

You were shaking in fear, he was too close, you didn’t understand, and although you couldn’t see anything beyond him, you could still hear the buzzing of the lightsaber, constantly reminding you of your precarious situation.

He hummed again and a deep, sinful noise, almost a growl originating from his chest vibrated through you - you felt it everywhere. Everywhere. You whimpered involuntarily which only seemed to spur him on and he chuckled darkly into the sensitive skin at your neck. It sent nerves blazing down your spine, you would have shuddered if it were not for his weight pressing down on you.

Maul broke the silence, his breath caressing your neck, “Curious how you came to be here, isn’t it?”

You swallowed, gathering your retort, “the Force moves in mysterious ways…”

It was meant to be a mock joke, but your shaky voice ruins the delivery.

He rose up to resume his position above you, barking out a laugh. “Indeed, it does,” his eyes roamed over you ominously, blade returning to its position below your neck. You stilled.

“Tell me young one,” he began, pausing until you met his eyes, “have you longed for a Master over the years?”

His bold question lingered in the air as you stared back at him, shock and surprise stuttering you before a rush of heat flooded up your neck. His dark eyes flickered to your collarbone, making you instantly conscious the flush was visible. You didn’t know which felt heavier, his gaze or his touch.

“Answer me,” he commanded.

Blinking up at him, your lips parted and a tiny voice unlike your own uttered, “yes.”

“Good,” he hummed, and bizarrely, a fluttering warmth rushed through you. What the hell?

His mouth twitched upwards minutely before suddenly his blade retreated, its buzzing white noise and red light extinguished, leaving you both in quiet darkness.

“Although you have shown to be weak in your resolve, unskilled in your technique, unguarded with your thoughts…” Maul paused again, allowing his words to sink in, satisfied as a trace of hurt flickered in your eyes at his criticism. “These misgivings could be resolved under my teaching.”

Your breath hitched as a heavy moment passed between you, tension fizzing in the air. You knew you would have to choose your next words carefully.

“You would…teach me?” you murmured as he inclined his head, but you continued, “but this would involve…the Dark side?”

He smiled. “Of course, sweet thing. Those emotions you feel so strongly, they will be put to good use.”

You bristled at his words, his use of the word ‘good’ resonating in you through the sheer irony of it. Although your inability to reconcile with your emotions back then had diverted you from your Jedi path, by no means had you ever considered the dark side, or the Sith teachings. But now, you couldn’t escape how you’d felt when Maul’s sabre landed in your grasp, or the strange pull that was drawing you to him.

Maul’s eyes hardened, sensing your uncertainty. He seemed to look over you once more, then you felt his weight shift until he had rose away from you entirely, the sudden loss of his body heat making the cold air of the tunnel bite your skin instantly. He took a step back as you scrambled to your feet.

You tugged your clothes back into place self consciously as a quiet moment passed between you. As your gaze drifted over him, you realised you had no desire to crawl back to your rackety ship, nor answer to the Hutts for the unretrievable cargo. In fact, you’d likely have to go into hiding for several cycles - or work double jobs to make back what you apparently owe. The alternate path, the temptation Maul was laying out for you, would mean you never had to answer to those slimes - or anyone - ever again. Except for obviously, Maul himself.

Your heart hammered against your chest as you stepped toward him, closing the distance he had just allowed you. He must have already known your verdict, for as your eyes met once again, a large warm hand began to trail up your arm, coming to rest on your shoulder securely.

“I accept…” you began, unable to hide your own grin as an infectious smirk pulled at his lips, waiting for you to say… “Master.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Thanks if you made it all this way and hope you enjoyed.

We fill the gaps; You and Me make Three

Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart, 3.9k words. Undercut.

link to (ao3) 

They find each other in between afternoons and mornings. In rooms only lit by the abundant stars and occasional moon, they come together. His hands trace her figure. Palms skate down her sides and smooth over the light fabric of the hoodie on her back. He squeezes her covered flesh between his hands, a reminder of sorts; she’s alive, she’s here, she’s real .

He can’t count the number of nights, during her time within her crystalized defense, that he’s dreamt of her. Every single one began the same way; him sleeping in his room. A hand over his naked chest, his breathing calm and measured, until the door to his room opens. The rickety old piece of wood would scrape against the floorboards. The sound would cause him to suddenly sit up and thoroughly rubs his eyes. When he opened them he’d see her, leaning sideways behind the door, half of her torso visible, her face hidden in the darkness, the only discernible thing about her appearance are her bangs. Her already pale hair looks doused in silver, because of the moonlight peeking through his windows.

‘Annie,’ he’d let out in disbelief. The whisper of her name on his lips, would make her slowly slither into his room, until her back was pressed against the closed door. Now her body fully bathed in the moonlight, he’d notice she wasn’t in the Military Police uniform she had crystalized with, but in a loose white nightgown that fluttered against her ankles. That should’ve been the first sign, but dreams are meant to be realities one wishes were true, so he’d will himself to believe that Annie was indeed in his room.

His heartbeat would pick up, the fingers that had been splayed over his bare chest would shake as his heart thumped loudly against his ribcage. Without a second thought, he’d push off the flimsy piece of fabric covering his lower half and push his legs to the bed. He’d watch her quietly as she made her way towards his bed, her body moving so mindfully; she’d remind him of what he had once read in a book. ‘Animal who are believed to be higher in the food chain tend to pursue their prey carefully, they do not wish to lose their means of survival and so they proceed with caution, creating a false sense of security before jumping in for the kill.’

But if she was the predator and he the prey, he foolishly admits, he’d gladly let her kill him. If it means he can see her ocean eyes flutter open again and her warm flesh on his fingertips, he’d gladly take a knife to the back or the death grip of the Female Titan.

After a couple of minutes of mindless thinking, Armin would be brought to his senses by a weight settling on his laps. Somehow while he was thinking about animals and the food chain, she had found her way towards him, with both of her knees on either side of his hips. His throat would go dry, his arms on his sides, hands gripping the sheets while her own hands remained near his collarbones. It felt almost as if she were back to being a statue, her whole being frozen, despite their position, a position she had initiated . Her head would also be slouched, hidden from his gaze. His left hand would then move slowly, cautiously with the intent of tilting her chin towards his face, so he could see her eyes, but within the second he’d reach her skin, he’d wake up in pants, his body cold and drenched in sweat,

A dream.

And yet tonight was real, and so were the last few nights-- Her right index traces his brow bone and he gazes up at her. Her eyes are as impassive as ever, hidden behind the countless strands of her light blonde hair, but he can see traces of concern within the silver. He tilts his head slightly to the left to catch her palm with his lips, he hopes she understands what he tells her;

Sorry I got distracted.

I’m here now,

Her soft pink lips twitch slightly before she bites down on her lower lip and turns away from his gaze.  He knows why they meet at night, because she can’t bear to see him in daylight. It’s not him , at least he hopes it isn’t. He thinks he knows why; the reason why Annie can’t bear to look at him during the day is the same as why he can’t stare at his own reflection for longer than a second.

When did you start looking at me like that?

But it’s not her asking him that this time. It’s himself. He sees himself standing before him. The other him, has his eyes and heart gouged out. He’s weeping blood, coughing it up until his white button down is drenched in it. His other self moves slightly towards him, and he flinches. Are you disgusted by all that we have done Armin, the reflection asks. Armin thinks there is a metaphor or some poetic meaning to that delusion of his. Maybe it’s guilt, for seeking the best in people that are beyond help, or in situations that are hopeless. Or maybe it's for being a hypocrite; preaching about peace and other ways to achieve goals that don’t end in bloodshed, all the while having killed thousands and eaten someone he once called comrade and friend.

But.

It’s not him , it’s his blood stained hands, he thinks, as his thumb and forefinger grasp her chin, and tilts her face towards his.

It’s how despite this, despite the blood clinging onto his fingers and crawling under his nails, his eyes portray the calm, and not the storm that he has caused. A false sense of comfort that he has implemented so deeply into his being, to forget the guilt, that it shows within his eyes.

So it’s not him, he tells himself even though he knows it kind of is. He leans his forehead and touches hers. She inhales sharply, and he breathes out ‘ I’m sorry,’ at the same time.

At his words she moves away from his touch and raises a brow. “What are you apologizing for?” She asks, her voice softer than it has ever been, but still with a threatening edge. He chuckles, embarrassed. His cheeks feel hot, he doesn’t know if it’s because of the concern she has for him or the stern tone of her voice.

He lifts the hand that isn’t clinging onto her waist to his eyes, and tells her. “I am sorry for being a hypocrite.” At her words her brows pull themselves together, and he mentally slaps himself at the image before him. All he wanted was to soothe her worries and yet here he is making her feel even more anxious. These nights are meant to be silent, a way for them to map out each other without being forced to deal with the unsaid and yet here he was saying what should remain unsaid.

All he wants to do is touch the tense area between her brows softly, and trace her lips with his own, but he knows he’s opened a door that cannot be closed until they’ve somewhat aired out all that had been brewing within both of their souls.

She clears her throat before asking him why exactly he thinks that he is a hypocrite. His shoulders tense up, and she must feel it because her grip on them suddenly becomes a bit tighter. She’s fighting to keep him from drifting away.

“I, Annie...I am not a good person.” He tells her, his voice barely a whisper. He hears her let out a soft chuckle, “If you aren’t a good person, then I might as well be the Devil , Armin.”

Armin’s eyes widened at her words. He knew how she had never forgiven herself for all the bloodshed she had caused; he saw it in the way she flinched when Mikasa would touch her arm, a touch meant to be comforting would have her recoiling, as if she had been burned. He saw it in the way she refused politely to join him or the others during simple outdoor tasks or activities (not his idea, but Levi’s, for some reason their ex-captain is hellbent on having them spend quality time together).

He feels her shift, her face once again turning away from his own. Her eyes become focused on how the moonlight splays against his collarbones. The quietness that has settled between them isn’t uncomfortable per say, but he still fights to find the right words to say, because he has to make her believe that she is not the Devil she claims to be and he, not the pacifist Saint, most see him as.

Slowly he moves the hand that had been covering his eye towards her face. His palm cups her cheek. Unconsciously, Annie leans into his touch, and he feels a warmth bloom within his chest, his face softens. “Annie,” he says, his voice, soft, trying to coax her to look at him.

“Remember how I told you I didn’t like the term ‘ good person’? I meant that.” He says while brushing his thumb against her cheek. If he weren’t so close to her face he probably wouldn’t have noticed how her brows furrowed for a millisecond. “I do.” She says after a beat.

She tucks her nose into his shirt and inhales deeply, her arms now enlaced around his torso, her fingers crawling across his back to grasp his shoulder blades. The action takes him by surprise, he stiffens, as the hand that had been holding her cheek finds itself suddenly frozen midair.

Before she can second guess herself (something he knows she’s quite fond of unfortunately), he places his hand on her arm, rubbing circles onto it to soothe her anxiety away. Her breathing is slow and measured, and he takes that as a sign to tilt his head sideways and lay his cheek on the top of her head.

It’s quite comforting, and more intimate than anything she and they have ever done. They’ve kissed, touched and groped many times before and yet nothing could compare to the warmth she felt right now, in his embrace.

“We are not good people,” She hears his muffled voice. She flinches at ‘We,’ because she knows she isn’t, but to hear the words tumble out from his lips causes a different kind of pain. She knows he’s a master in deception, hell, she’s been at its mercy, but she also knows he’s incredibly honest when he needs to be.

He must feel her hurt, because in the next instant, he’s moving her away from his chest and grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She casts her eyes down, she doesn’t think she can bear to look at him in the eyes, even if the darkness clouds most of the emotions within them.

“A good person, seems to mean any one person, who is only good for you, and I don’t think there is anyone who is good for everyone.” He tells her softly, and Annie recalls the same words from the time he had confronted her after the 57th expedition.

“Annie…” His voice is hoarse, “please look at me.” Her heart thunders against her chest, she’s scared. She can’t. Not when his eyes will show her the truth, show her just how much of a monster she is.

Armin doesn’t insist again, instead lets the plea hang in between them. He knows why they meet at night. Darkness clouds vision.

Light offers too much of a window into each other’s souls; and Armin knows that she cannot look at him just as much he can’t look into her own eyes. But he also knows that he cannot live a life without being by her side or a life where she cannot forgive herself.

He resolves to tell her, even if she isn’t looking at him because he knows how much they both need to hear the truth.

His thumb and forefinger stay at her chin as he begins talking again but she doesn’t move her eyes away from the buttons at the bottom of his shirt. “We have killed countless.” He says before stopping as if he had just stepped on a twig that would unleash a beast onto him.

“Comrades, children, parents, daughters, sons, lovers,” she notes the way he whispers the last word. “We are not good people, because we haven’t been good to many people, we have killed their flesh, torn their bones.” He continues.

As he takes in a deep breath he sends the hand not holding her chin, behind his back, to grab one of the hands she has splayed on his back. His grasp is rough, prying, at first she doesn’t understand why, but then realizes that she had been unconsciously clinging onto him. Pushing his thumb into her palm, he brings her hand between them and leans towards her, his back curving in a way she knows must be uncomfortable. The springs in the old mattress under them creak as he moves his rear closer to the edge in order to accommodate this new position.

She feels him wobble a bit, but doesn’t move away, because she knows he’s got her, and even if he didn’t she’d just drag him down to the ground with her.

His thumb draws circles into her palm slowly as the tip of nose buries itself in her bangs. “We both have blood on our hands, and there’s nothing we can do about that.”

She lets out a shaky breath as the fingers within his grasp twitch. He continues, “I understand why you can’t look at me Annie, and I think you understand why I can’t look at you, and most in the eyes either, too.”

And she does, well maybe, she’s not sure why Armin would look away from anyone, when he’s almost the physical embodiment of the Sun, so she keeps quiet.

Armin takes her silence as a cue to continue, but the words get stuck in throat when he’s reminded once again of the dreams he’s had of her, unwillingly, he lets out a chuckle. Her head jumps at the sound, he’s met with her eyes, finally. He cannot believe that it took a little laugh from him to make her look at him, and not all the words that had been pouring out from his heart, but then again Annie is never predictable, and he loves her for it.

He takes this as an opportunity to straighten his back and adjust his grasp on her chin, he doesn’t ever want her to look away. He sees her lips part, eyes widen but before she can say anything, a groan falls from his lips. “Man, that was not the best thing for my back,” he says with a dry laugh, as he slowly lets go of the hand he had been holding to go soothe the ache in his back. He’s met with her own hand, pushing three of her fingers with force at the dip of his back. His eyes soften at the action. Annie feels her cheeks heat up under his gaze, she tries to turn her face to the side, but before she can, his grasp on her chin becomes a bit more forceful, not hard or painful, but just enough to tell her that he does not want her to move anymore.

Her hand stays on his back while he brings his hand to her face, his thumb glides from her brow bone to the corner of lips, and now she can’t tear her eyes away even if his gaze is eating up her heart. He looks at her so earnestly. With such open adoration, that she can’t breathe. How does one look at a monster like that? She thinks.

His hand now cups her cheek fully, “Hey Annie, are you still with me?” She must’ve dozed off, because his eyes are now filled with slight concern, she nods slowly, still looking into his eyes. He gives her a kind smile before taking a strand of hair between two fingers and twirling it.

“Why did you laugh?” She asks, because she is actually curious, and she can’t lie, she wishes to hear the genuine content sound again.

He smiles at her then, his eyes crinkling, teeth showing, and she wishes suddenly that there was more light in the room, so she could capture the scene and stash it deep within her mind, for darker days.

“I, uh-” he begins, “I’ve dreamed of you. I’ve dreamed of us, in a similar position as we are in right now.” She looks at him, and she must’ve looked threatening because in the next instant he’s stammering up apologies. “It was never lewd, I wouldn’t dare.” He says as his gaze drops from her eyes. She surprises herself by sending the hand that wasn’t on his back to his cheek, to tilt his head back towards hers. His eyes widen and his mouth opens, she nods, “Go on.”

He tells her, with his eyes staring into hers, that in these dreams, dreams he had for years, she would come to him during the night, with moonlight shining down on their features. And how she’d make her way to his lap in these dreams. She raises her left brow at the image, and once again he tells her ‘never lewd.’

“But I could never touch you, in these dreams.” He tells her. “I couldn’t make you look at me, I wanted to see you.” She hears the frustration in his voice, and sees it in the way his brows knit together, her eyelids drop. “What did you want to see?”

“I wanted to see you for who you were. All your sins and all your scars, because in the end we were- we are , similar, I believe you’re good while you don’t and you think I am admirable when I believe the opposite. And, he stops, I know it all seems paradoxical when laid out in front of us, but I feel like despite what we see in each other, you can see through me like no one else.”

She takes in his words, because it's a lot. They’ve never discussed this much about their feelings, burdens or the blood staining their fingers before. She understands him though, what he means. She always has, even during their training days, she remembers wanting to learn more about him, a boy with hope and kindness in his eyes, a kindness that did not waver even when he had cornered her after finding out she was the Female Titan. She knew he had seen horrid things, his comrades dying left and right and yet he remained somewhat hopeful, and she wished to see him, all of it, the bravery, the deception and also see him sag down in exhaustion, see him not be kind, because she knew he must feel a tremendous amount of pressure from guilt and the expectations set by his predecessors.

“Armin, I look at you admirably, because you are admirable.” His eyes widen as his mouth parts in protest, but she silences him with an index to his lips. “But, that doesn’t mean that’s all I see, I also see guilt, I see the uncertainty and fear of being a burden to others. I can’t control the way I look at you, or how I feel about you, but know this, I know that there is much more to you than the peacemaker and Colossal weapon most see you as.”

His shoulders sag in relief, and she lets herself take a breath, before her nerves finally give in. She takes refuge in the crook of his neck. She’s grateful that he doesn’t ask her to look at him again, instead the hand on her chin moves against her back, back and forth.

He pushes his nose into her hair and inhales deeply, “and you Annie, are much more than the Devil you see yourself as; you are a daughter, a strong-minded, caring and kind person, I wish you understood and saw what I see, but like I said we are both knee deep in our sins to believe what others say about us.”

“But I want you to understand that when I look at you, I am not undermining or ignoring your sins and struggles, I acknowledge them and take them into my heart because I love you,  all of you, and you can do with that what you will.” He finishes.

She stiffens as tears begin spilling out from the corner of her eyes, she doesn’t know why, but she lets them fall. They wet his button down, and if he notices he doesn’t say anything, only lets her let herself crawl deeper into the warmth he’s created.

When she thinks she’s cried enough, she slowly moves away from his neck. Her face must be a mess, she knows her eyes most likely a bit swollen, and her cheeks covered in tears, her nose is runny but he still looks at her like she’s some type of fucking constellation she knows he’s read about and rambled happily about to his friends.

“Do you always talk to the girls you take to bed, to death Arlert?” She asks in hiccups as she pushes the sleeve of her hoodie to her nose to wipe it. He lets out a small laugh before cupping her face in both hands, using his thumbs to wipe away any tears left. “Only the ones I love, now let's get this off of you yeah?” He says as he tugs slightly at the hoodie that now has a sleeve covered in snot.

Not her proudest moment she’ll admit, but she forgets her embarrassment somewhat when she feels his hands glide up her bare back. Her own hands come to the back of his head, her nails gliding over his undercut and her fingers tangling themselves into his hair.

She tilts her hips upwards as he begins to trace a path down her throat with his nose, “I love you,” she says finally, and he smiles into her skin. “I sure hope you do, I don’t think my poor little heart could handle a little white lie, from little miss Annie.”

She groans in annoyance at his words and nickname, before moving her hands to his chest to unbutton his shirt. When she’s done with his last button, they both rush to push off the garment. Her hands move down his back, which is firmer, still lean but now also with much more mass than before. His hands grip her thighs as he moves them fully on the bed. His arms find themselves on each side of her head, holding him up above her. His face looks down on her, hair slipping in front of his eyes. And she wants to see him, so she pushes herself onto her elbows and pushes her left hand horizontally against his hair, until she can see his eyes, brows and hairline. “We need to get you some hair clips, Arlert.” She says with a giggle.

“Is that so?” He asks he lowers one arm, now leaning onto his elbow too, while sending the other arm to slither down her back. She takes her free hand and places an index to her cheek, false contemplating. “Hm, that and matches, because I want to see you.”

“Yeah?” He breathes out, as if he’s shocked at her statement. “Yeah.” She confirms, with a shy smile.

“I can arrange that,” he says before sealing his lips over hers.

The Full Moon (A White Demon’s Love Song, Part 7.)

Series description: A new job was the reason you found yourself on a lonely road trip on the western coast, ending up in the woods of the Olympian Peninsula. Yet a sudden car malfunction was what cause your unplanned stay in Forks. To your surprise, there was a lot of sinister things going on under the veil of fog.

Part Summary: As the relationship between you and the grumpy shapeshifter finally moved on to the better ground, you knew you were now in the position to ask to see more of the magic that Quilete people could do.

A/N: Okay, okay, okay. I'm back and... Let's get this bad boy running, shall we?

Tagging: @missdictatorme​

Word count: 4.6 K

Twilight playlist: ✨ Twilight Crackheads ✨

Series masterlist: H E R E

Jacob sat there in dead silence for a moment, before he looked back at you, just sitting there, chewing the meat and staring at him with a small smile. - "Are you sure that you're in the right headspace? We can talk about this later if you want." - At that, you furrowed. You've asked him to show you the wolf again. Okay, maybe, you've been making a fairground attraction out of his abilities and you weren't afraid to tell it out loud, but you wanted to see the animal again. You were curious about seeing it. - "What are you after?" - You mumbled, taking another bite from your almost cold meal. Dear Lord, you've been sitting at the table for more than half an hour. - "You've hit your head, had a panic attack, fainted twice, and even though, you want to see it again. Don't you have any sort of self-preservation instinct? Or do you just find it exciting to have your life threatened all the time?"

It was played out as a joke and you both grinned, you even let out a small laugh... But it was just reminding Jacob of her. How excited she was to discover the werewolves, that she was fond of learning more about them - more so, there was a short fascination phase. Funny, how things sometimes replayed the exact way it was before. - "Hey, look at it from my perspective. I've been living my whole life listening to fairytales and legends, myths, stories... And now, I've learned that some of them are real. Of course, I want to see it again." - "It's not a magic trick. It's who I am, Y/N." - Jacob looked you dead in the eyes to scare you off a bit, but it hadn't made you even flinch. - "And I do respect that, Jacob." - It was just a whisper, but the five words meant a whole lot.

You were telling him that you're respecting this side of him and that you're not scared anymore. Well, that you're not scared of him, more so - which was fair, there was something way more malicious to be scared of. The cold ones, knowns also as the fricking vam-pi-res which you still couldn't say out loud. And now, it was your conflict as well, whether you wanted to take part in it or not. You were there and you should accommodate real fast, or it's going to cost a lot more than a slight concussion, two faintings, and obviously, making yourself an idiot out of yourself in front of fucking everyone. Which made you furrow. - "How do you even know I fainted twice and that I was acting like an idiot? You weren't here - Seth was with me the whole time." - "It's going to get crazier than it already is... Do you want me to answer this one?" - Jacob furrowed and you nodded. - "Are you sure?" - He asked once more. Again, you nodded

Maybe you thought that you're going crazy, Jacob couldn't tell what was going through that head of yours. So far, it seemed that not that much was going on there. And so, he went for it. - "We can see, hear, and feel our thoughts. The members of the pack a 24/7 access to every thought that has ever gone through your head, every feeling that went through... They can see everything. It's very uncomfortable and scary - but that's how I know what was happening here." - "Like all the time?" - "No, only when we shift and the person shifts around the same time." - Wow. How many boobies did the werewolves have to see? How much of the action... Did they see? Sex was the last appropriate thought in a situation like this one - but it was the most natural one.

Once more, your face was looking like a frozen Windows XP program as you thought about all the dirty secrets they knew about eating others... Well, there weren't any dirty secrets if they simply saw all of them, huh? That was one of the most fucked up things you've heard until that day. - "And can you like... Not share with them?" - You wondered after at least two-minutes-lasting silence. - "When you're good at playing mind games or you're a total asshole, constantly thinking about something unpleasant, theoretically, you can hide some of your memories... But trust me, we've been in each other's heads for enough of a long time. Mind games start to bore you to death after some time." - "But it's better than seeing someone bending Betty from the gas station over a table, ain't it? I'm sorry, but I can't stand the bare thought of seeing my friends... Doing stuff. Yuck." - At that, Jacob snickered - which fluidly translated to a burst of happy laughter. - "I'm talking years of being in each other's heads. Not just... Weeks or months. No matter how hard you'd try to conceal everything, there's always a small moment of vulnerability, which can tell others everything, especially when you imprint. Then you don't care about how the miserable singles perceive your all-day projection of a happy relationship." - Jacob mumbled then, his expression coldening at the end of his statement.

Again, there was this hint of sadness and the other Jacob taking over the wheel, steering the ship for now. Yet now, you were to jump straight into the sadness. - "Come again? Imprinting? And what's that about?" - You asked, reminding him that most of this is all news for you. You've never been inside the consciousness of the pack - you never saw Quil constantly gushing over his precious Claire, or before, you couldn't hear Sam thinking of Emily. At the start, it was sweet, but occasionally, it started to feel like flexing on the members who hadn't found the one yet. - "That's another form of slavery we, as the werewolves, participate in." - Jacob tried to joke around, but the tone of his voice gave him in. - "Okay, I'm ready to hear about that."

It wasn't making Jacob easy to talk about the imprinting, trying to explain it to someone - again. But he did. He talked about endless love where the wolf had no choice but to listen to the damn calling of his imprintee. He couldn't leave, he couldn't just stop loving them, the wolves had no choice in this matter. It was one of the most unfair and disgusting, weird things you've heard about that evening. But it made you think... Maybe this was why Jacob was so sour about Bella all the time. He imprinted - and she just let his trust go, becoming a vampire. She let him suffer, alone and unwanted. - "Did it..." - "No." - Jacob answered before you've even finished your question. So that wasn't what happened either - but you were positive that something similar to it had happened. The idea simply haunted you - how would it feel to fall for someone without choosing to do so? Without any reasoning?

On the other hand, it must've been extremely freeing. Not to think about doing right and wrong, just to do as your head tells you to - to love, admire and care for a person until the point it almost kills you, not to put yourself and your feelings in the first place... Damn. It had pros and cons. - "Okay." - You said when you've settled all the ideas inside your head. - "When we'll be doing it? I mean, when you're going to show me?" - Well, you certainly weren't fucking around. There was no question about IF Jake's going to show you, the question asked was starting with WHEN. On one hand, you've had the right to know more about it. On the other hand, it was none of your fucking business - especially with the vampires lurking around Forks.

And as usual for Jacob, he chooses the less logical solution. - "Tonight. I have a watch over the Ozette lake and I'm supposed to be alone there. Also, it's not probable for the leeches to track us out there." - Jacob was never the best with making good decisions, that was the first thing going on there. The second matter was that Jacob was sure you'd follow him into the woods - and if you'd drop dead again, Seth couldn't be the prince to rescue this time. The third thing about this situation was that it would be most likely the best solution, for a few days, to stick with one of the wolves. The trackers hadn't come across the few drops you've let in the forest when you banged your forehead into a damn root - they'd surely soon do so since it was quite smelly.

Now, when you were on board with everything, it also wasn't so crazy to ask you about borrowing a t-shirt from you. Sure, other boys and mainly Sam won't be too happy with how much did Jacob tell you - yet it was better than you walking around without having any clue. He could leave out some parts, for sure, but why would he do so? He was in a fucking shitty situation - no way in hell would he be pretending that everything on the planet is a-ok. - "Okay." - You chimed happily. Suddenly, you whipped folds with papers on the table, working as you ate the last crumpets on your plate. - "Also, there's this one problem." - "The money doesn't add up? " - Jacob asked back, his eyes glued to the TV. - "No, I'm just almost done with all the papers I was able to find there. You don't have the business for too long, do you?

At this, another bit of the conversation was started - Jacob told you how he got the old workshop from a mechanic who was too old to keep up. Of course, he paid something for the business, but it was more of a symbolic amount of money than a huge sum. Jacob also started to keep the record about all the gigs he has taken since he started to work as the new mechanic; yet despite his best tries, he was a messy person - your help was heavily appreciated in this field. This start-up was just what Jacob needed to leave La Push. He was still spending some time at the weekend in there with his dad, Seth, and his other friends, but now, he was trying to get through life on his own.

He dreamt about going on a vacation to somewhere where it's always sunny and warm, but he was still saving up for the dreamy trip of his life. Which, as you guessed, wasn't going too well. Jacob, being the good-willed idiot, was trying to help the needy people who couldn't afford to pay that much for a mechanic and there was a lot of small amounts of money he just... Let go. Just like with you, with Mrs. Peterson, and a ton of other people. So... He was most likely to spend his whole damn life in Forks. - "Yeah, but I mean... I will be done soon. What should I do when all the papers are sorted?" - You asked when the story was ended. - "Well, since you still have a debt, you might as well help me with the gigs, I suppose. Tomorrow, I have one in Sappho and then two cars in La Push, I think. And a routine check-up at the station... And then your car." - Jacob started to count on his fingers, naming every gig he had written into his calendar. - "I don't know anything about cars. And you've told me that you're gonna do something to me if I even get close to one of your cars. The cars don't like me either, just to let you know." - At that, Jacob laughed into the back of his palm. - "I'll be there and I'll show you your way around the cars, I swear. You won't be letting anyone's car blow up on my watch." - And there, it was the start of something so-called a friendship.

As Jacob promised, it could be around 8 p.m. as you both climbed into the tank he called a car. He made sure you've made yourself some hot tea and put it into a Thermo cup, some food, he so made you take your jacket and his raincoat just to be sure you won't feel cold. The whole ride to the unknown was quiet, yet in a nice way. You've been shifting on your seat expectedly, watching your surroundings. There were woods as far as you could see, nothing but deep and dark woods. Suddenly, Jacob turned off the engine and looked at you. You've been in the middle of literal nowhere, yet Jacob was sure you're just where you've been supposed to be. - "Well, come on, we're here." - The man smiled sadly. He was playing out the worst scenarios inside his mind for the last ten minutes and he was just praying you wouldn't fain when he'd show his wolf form to you. - "We'll be walking for half an hour," - "In this pitch-black night? Are you out of your mind?" - At that weak argument, Jacob snickered quite happily.

"I forgot you can't see that well in the dark." - The man scratched the nape of his neck as he looked around. - "But you'll be just fine, trust me. Let's go." - With a quite loud clap, he ventured to the forest head first, not waiting for what you wanted to do. Unexpectedly, you stood still at the trunk of his car while the wildest thoughts raced through your mind. That man told you, just mere hours ago, that there are vam-pi-res somewhere in the woods and now he wanted you to wander somewhere behind him, orienting only through the sounds of his heavy footsteps... Jacob was surely half-insane, you were one hundred percent sure of that. Suddenly, said crazy man popped his head on the other side of the trunk, making you squirm in fear. First, you ducked and tried to hide, but then, your mind clicked as your brain realized it's only Jacob

"Holy mother of shit." - The curse made Jacob grin, but he didn't say a single word as he leaned his elbows to the sides of the said trunk. - "I swear to God that I'll have a heart attack if you keep fucking around with me. You scared me to death."

"What are you so scared about? I've heard everyone looks better in the dark, Y/N, which makes me the best looking man in all of the Forks and La Push." - At that argument, a wide grin appeared on your face. Sure, you still were a bit tense, but as of now, Jacob's presence was calming you down... Which was a thing you thought you'd never say out loud. In the end, he was one grumpy and scary package. As of now, he was tall as a mountain and pretty well-built as far as you could judge; said man could also turn into a wolf at will, so it was a win-win situation. You had to be safe with him even if you didn't want to. - "Debatable." - It was not much more than a silent mumble when you answered Jacob. - "Come on. Don't be a sissy, nothing bad can happen to you. I can't smell anything inhuman in here. You're safe."

To be absolutely exact, Jacob couldn't smell anything other than you. Not that you'd be smelly or smelling funny, your smell was just outrageously strong, even in an opened, windy space. But he was sure that if any leech would be lurking around, he'd either see or smell them. - "Sissy?" - Was the answer you came up with, leaving the safe space behind the trunk. With never-before-seen confidence, you walked up to the edge of the woods, quite literally pulling your sleeves up in the process. - "You called me a sissy? Well, young man, you just outdo yourself. I'm no sissy." - And just like that, you stumbled to the pitch-black dark forest, walking a few steps forward between mossy, cold trees. At first, you still knew Jake's right behind to watch each of the steps you made, yet as the time passed by, the silence was growing louder and louder.

You've made it a few feet into the woods before you realized that you, in fact, were a total sissy. As you walked out of the edge again, you could now see Jacob resting his back on the side of his car, watching you with a small, daring smile. - "I gave you a minute before you walk back out. You impressed me with your time of a minute and fifteen seconds." - "Oh, fuck off. A forest is a freaky place when you can't see even a foot away from you. I almost hit a tree with my forehead." - With a sigh, you caught the straps of your backpack in your palms and looked at him. - "Well, lucky for you, I have a plan B."

First, you didn't know what he was doing - the man kneeled in front of you while showing you his back, waiting for you to do something. What you were supposed to do was in no way clear to you, to be honest. - "Are you climbing on it or not?" - Jacob asked impatiently after almost a minute of getting his knees wet. Were you doing... What? What did the man just ask you to do? To climb on his back? Well, who were you not to deliver?

With all the concentration you had in you and with the best skill you could have while wearing two thick jackets, you climbed on his back, making sure you were holding to his shoulders as firmly as you could. At first, it seemed to be working - with little to no actual force, Jacob walked at least half a mile with you on his back. The only problem was your ass slowly slipping down with each step he took. And suddenly...

"Oh, loca. Did you hurt yourself?" - As soon as Jacob heard a loud wet thud, he knew you've fallen directly on your ass. Yeah, it did hurt a little, but it was nothing you wouldn't walk off pretty easily. - "No, I think I'm good, it's basically nothing." - A mutter along with a sharp curse word left your lips as you tried to pick yourself hard. And you needed to say that it wasn't the easiest task when you couldn't see more than one and a half feet from you. Jacob watched you trying to find a tree nearby with a smirk on his face before he actually bowed down and made sure to pick you up bridal style.

"I can walk on my own, Jesus Christ, Black! I'm heavy!" - A quiet squirm hit Jacob's ears as he started running with you in his arms as if you were nothing but air. Even though you started to wiggle a bit to show you're not consenting to be carried, the man could hear your heart slowly calming down. Just like that, you felt very safe. - "We can talk about that once you start walking properly. You women really need to work on your marches, let me tell you that." - Jacob answered while making his way forward as if you weren't even there. - "It's hard to walk when you can't see for your dear life." - Was the last mutter you left out before curling up closer to the warmth he radiated as you tried to find a better position for yourself to relieve both him and you.

Jacob remembered the forest trail to lake Ozette from the back of his head. During the day, the place could be lovely when any leeches were around - it was a huge body of water laying as far as an eye could see, some shores were beachy, some of them were covered in reeds. When the summer was warm enough, it was one of Jake's favorite spots to take a swim at along with the boys, especially when they decided they are bored of cliff diving for now. As he thought about that, there were many beautiful spots around Washington the guides didn't talk about and which you definitely had to see for yourself - just like that one meadow high up in the mountains, or the canyon cutting the edge between Quileute and Cullen territory. There was just something simply magical about these spots.

It took him a moment to form the right kind of sentence before he started talking. Which, let's be honest, kinda freaked you out - the man was running around a pitch-black forest with you in his arms and nothing more than jean shorts and a plain t-shirt on, barefoot, let you add and he still found to breath to talk to you amidst all of that. - "You know, if we survive all of this in good health..." - Jacob started carefully. It was meant as a joke, but seeing your eyes widen in horror made him realize this wasn't funny to you. - "I mean, when all this is over, because, we will destroy those leeches and that's a promise, I think I have some secret spots for you that you might want to see." - "But... What about my car? Won't it be long repaired by then?" - Ouch. It was a good question, but it hurt the good-hearted Jacob right in the feels; this time, the mean, grumpy guy wasn't in charge.

Yes, he should focus on repairing your car as quickly as he was capable of just to get you out of Forks for good. As a reward, he wouldn't feel the heavy responsibility for another human being who was fully dependant on him and his pack in this scenario. On the other hand... - "What if we don't get the right parts, huh? I think you should start to prepare for prolonging your stay in Forks and by all means, you should find yourself a good part-time job. Newtons always look for a part-time worker." - Even if you could see just a sheer glimpse of his teeth, you knew he was basically smiling from ear to ear.

"Jacob Black, you're one of the best mechanics I've seen," - Wow. That was a huge compliment. Yet, then the second part of the sentence came to play and it ruined the nice thing completely. - "Truth is, I have seen like... One mechanic working. But you seem to be great at what you're doing and with your love for classic cars, there's no way in hell you wouldn't get my Beetle working." - "You meant do say the wreck, didn't you?" - "Oh, fuck you. No more compliments for you, you get cocky too easily." - To keep you in the headspace of winning that small quarrel, Jacob didn't say a word throughout the rest of the way. It wasn't much longer a mere five minutes later when something very bright hit your eyes.

Oh, it was the moon. It made sense - no clouds were in the sky, it was clear and you've also been miles away from the nearest small town. Here, as it reflected in the masses of water, the moon looked as big as never before. When Jacob put you down, you didn't wait for a signal that the proximity of Ozette if vam-pi-re free and just walked to the meadow surrounding it. As it was to be expected, it was cold as hell - there was a huge mass of water in front of you and the wind was blowing; yet your eyes were basically glued to the big, grey, shiny ball on the sky. - "I told you there are some secret spots you might enjoy." - Black grinned as he pressed something to your hand. At first, you just nodded with your mouth opened as you were unable to look away, yet as soon as you realized you're holding a piece of cloth, it hit you - Jacob walk walking back to the edge of the forest's edge, unzipping his jean shorts. It was happening.

With a soft thud, you took down your backpack and turned head first towards the spot the man disappeared at. Nothing more than a splashing of water and soft howling of the wind could be heard, yet you knew exactly what was happening. And when it happened, the sound reminded you of a quiet, strange explosion, you knew that this time, you've been perfectly prepared for what was waiting for you hidden just ten feet away from the nearest tree.

This time, when you saw it, you hadn't fainted. In fact, you stood perfectly still and watched the majestic animals slowly walking towards you.

Yandere!Melone x Reader

Melone develops an unhealthy obsession with you without even knowing you. To stasisfy his obsession he kidnaps you. This is the first chapter of Obsessed with You and can also be found on ao3.

[CW: noncon/dubcon, stalking, non-consensual somnophilia, kidnapping]

It is a scientific fact that people can tell when they are being watched. You are no exception. You could tell something has been off. Sometimes your door was left unlocked, sometimes it was the occasional missing panties or bra. Maybe how the tape over your camera always seemed to fall off. You shook off the paranoid feeling and got on the already overcrowded bus to head home. You hoped this ride would be uneventful. You went to grab onto a pole to support you and brushed against a stranger's hand. You didn't bother apologizing because after living in a big city overrun by crime you’ve learned to keep your head down. But not everyone knew urban etiquette. The same stranger's hand brushed against yours, so you moved it away. It happened again, you move your hand again. If this person really wanted this pole why wouldn’t they just say? Due to the constant touching, you gave up the pole so whoever it was would leave you alone. To pass the time you opened up your phone and scroll through your social media. You didn't pay enough attention though because suddenly you heard: “This is the last stop. A second bus will be here shortly. Please exit the bus.” You looked around and found only a handful of other people were still left on. While you rush to put your phone back into your pocket you drop it. After hurriedly picking it up you noticed it was more cracked than usual. Cracked to the point where the screen was almost completely destroyed and wouldn’t turn on. Shit. Panic had begun to set in as the situation fully hit you. it was getting dark, you were lost, you had no phone, and you were completely and utterly alone. First, you thought maybe you could use a payphone! But this is 2020 there are no payphones. Then you thought maybe you could catch a taxi. But there are no taxis, haven't you heard of Uber? As a last-ditch effort you hoped maybe you could borrow someone's phone, but who lets a stranger use their phone. After weighing your options you decided asking the bus driver for help would be the safest least kidnappable outcome. Once you decided survival was more important than temporary embarrassment and began to reenter the bus it sped off. This uneventful bus ride became a nightmare and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t wake up. At this point, you decided to accept your fate and wait at the bus stop across the street hoping a new bus would arrive soon. Except it didn’t. So waited some more. Nothing happened. It was just you and the sun until it was just you and the moon. As you waited a stranger approached you and sat down. Of course, this wasn’t weird, strangers sat next to each other all the time while waiting for the bus. The only issue was 1) the stranger was a little bit too close and 2) there was an uncomfortably familiar feeling about him. He sighed in a weirdly cartoonish manner and stared at you for a bit too long before asking “Do you know the time”. His voice was concerningly cold causing you to instinctively shiver in response. “Uh…” you paused not sure if you wanted to confess your phone didn't work, “Actually my phone isn’t working so I don’t know either”. You decided you had no real reason to lie. That was a mistake. He gave a fake-sounding laugh, “that’s got to suck.” “Yeah it does, I kinda missed my stop so now I’m a little bit fucked,” you didn’t know why you were so honest. Probably just stress and fatigue. “Buses are unpredictable, maybe I could give you a ride?” leaned back into the bench while propping an arm on the back of it. He gave a small smile that did not match the look in his eyes. “I don't know, you know don't get into cars with strangers they always say.” You tried to lift the mood with a bit of humor. It didn’t really work, it just made things more awkward. But the issue wasn't the awkward tension, more so that you really really wanted to say yes. A ride sounded amazing, the comfort of a real car compared to a public bench was tempting. And the likelihood of you getting kidnapped was pretty low, I mean what are the statistics on that? Surely you wouldn't be whatever small percentage it was. You paused to think about your response which only exasperated the already tense silence. “Yeah, maybe that works.” “Really?” he rushed out. Though you didn’t know him, the intensity of his response seemed out of character. You ignored it. “I mean, only if it’s okay with you” he added trying to regain his composure. Whether it be the fatigue or stress of waiting you ignored the pit in your stomach. That was not the right decision. Immediately after his response he stood up and outstretched his hand hoping you would grab it. You didn't respond to his hand but stood up to follow him ignoring his offer. He frowned furrowing his brow before quickly hiding it and continuing on. If you hadn't have been paying attention you would never have noticed the change in expression, even you weren't sure if you had seen it.’ Continuing to ignore the knot in your chest and sinking feeling in your stomach you followed him. He led you to a nearby fast-food parking lot. It was completely save for a single red motorcycle. You weren't completely sure if you were okay with riding the motorcycle given you assumed there was no helmet for you. As you got closer to the bike parked near a flickering light you realized that in fact there was a helmet for you. Lucky coincidence. Even more surprisingly, or concerningly, it seemed like one helmet was your exact size. “Remember, safety first! You're lucky I have a second helmet,” he remarked as he offered you the extra. As you began to put it on he gave a small warmer smile, “it seems to be a perfect fit, that's great.” the smile seemed innocent until you realized it seemed to be one more of pride and satisfaction. Almost as if he had purposefully picked it out and was happy he got the right size. You continued to suppress the alarms that rang in your head. He put his helmet on and hopped on the bike waiting for you to do the same. “Hold tight, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” You didn’t realize until it was too late that he never asked for where to drop you off. Maybe you should have listened to your instincts. What a shame. After you got on and nuzzled into him to make sure you wouldn't fall off he reached back and pulled you even closer. “Remember, what I said. Don't let go.” his previously chipper tone faltered back into his colder more formal tone as before. Once you stopped adjusting yourself and he felt you were adequately close he began to speed off. In the wrong direction. You didn't notice, you were too focused on the thrill of riding a bike and of practically cuddling a stranger. After a few minutes of riding it hit you: he never asked for directions, he was heading the wrong way, and you couldn't tell him to stop. You thought maybe it would be a good idea to hit him to get his attention, but you also didn't want to die in a motorcycle crash with a strange man. So you tried to accept your fate hoping that once he stopped you could explain to him why it was wrong to randomly pick up women and take them to unspecified locations. The ride took approximately 10 minutes. Coincidentally that is the same amount of time for chloroform to kick in and it did. One second you were panicked about your kidnapping and the next you half-conscious being carried by in someone's arms. That was the last thing you remembered until you were completely blanked. When you woke up you were tied to a stranger's bed, a very attractive stranger’s bed but a stranger nonetheless. Your head hurt, your body hurt, your entire existence hurt. But that wasn't the only concern. Something else hurt. Something you really didn't want to hurt. “Good! You're awake, I was kind of concerned you wouldn’t wake up,” he gave a light laugh “thank god I was able to properly calculate the amount of chloroform to body weight ratio.” You were very wrong thinking that you would be safe. You were very wrong for trusting a strange man. You were very very very wrong. Maybe don't talk to strangers was good advice after all. But this was too late, hands were places where they shouldn't be, bruises were where they shouldn't be, you were where you shouldn't be. “Now, where were we?” he hummed, the previous cold professional tone had completely disappeared in favor of a lighter bittersweet one. At the implication of 1) being molested in your sleep and 2) returning to that molestation you began to struggle against the ropes that kept you spread out before the disgusting monster. But no matter how hard you struggled it wasn't working. “Come on, you were so compliant earlier. Just calm down, you'll enjoy it soon enough” you flinched at the sudden soft stroke on your cheek. The softness of his touch didn't match the violation. “You really are my dream come true, you see I’ve had my eye on you for a while” he hummed while slowly moving his hand from your cheek to your neck to your breasts. You wanted to gag but you held it back. Slowly he began to fondle your nipples pinching and pulling on them roughly. “You have very good nipples for breastfeeding if you haven't noticed,” disgusting “we should put them to use”. Even more disgusting. He continued to grope your chest with one hand as the other moved further down caressing your waist leading down to your hip. “You don’t realize how much I’m holding back, just caressing you won't do for much longer. I need you, I need you Y/N. I need to be in you, I need you wrapped around me. Soon enough I’ll break you, I’ll put that pussy to good use.” You gagged again, harder. “Why are you gagging? I don’t even have my cock in your tight throat. Don't worry you'll have a reason to gag soon enough.” You wanted to scream. You wanted to thrash around. You wanted to fight. But all you could do was silently let tears fall down your eyes while periodically hiccuping. Why did you let yourself fall into this mess? He began to lower his hand even more down to your pussy. Oh god. Please no. God couldn't hear your begging today because this man didn't care. He began to stroke you softly waiting to see what you liked and what you didn't, ignoring the fact you didn't like any of it. “Hmm? Why aren't you enjoying this as much as I am? I've wanted this for so long” he began to rub harder, it started aching. “I've wanted you for so so so long. Why didn’t you recognize me earlier? I've been following you for months, I have your hair, your photos, your panties, your used forks, I have everything. Now all I need is you.” He kept rubbing, and rubbing, and rubbing. The knot in your stomach that was once fear and paranoia became that of terrifying pleasure. It kept building and building and building until it released. You came. You came on your kidnapper's fingers as he violated you. “Good girl” he hummed, retracting his fingers only to suck them. Once satisfied with your juices he pulled them out with a wet pop. “sleep well, I’ll be back tomorrow. And if you keep being a good girl maybe you'll get something to eat.” He then leaned down to kiss you on your forehead and give a few more strokes on your cheek. He whispered his love into your ear ignoring your whines and tears. After proclaiming his love he kissed you one last time before leaving you to cry yourself to sleep. Nothing but your tears comforted you as you waited for tomorrow. He was obsessed with you and you had no choice but to accept it.

Wish Upon a Shooting Star Going to Heaven

Okay everyone! I’m not gonna leave you hanging on that shitty prologue! Get ready to cringe at my first real story here to go with the holiday season! I’m sure it’s a story you’ll all enjoy!

Twas the night before Christmas when two souls had a fateful meeting.

The weather was extremely cold but with all the Christmas cheer and joy that blessed the village of Terra, everyone was able to withstand the harshness of winter. Cole was no exception on his way back to his family’s home, looking forward to the presents, decorations, feast, and above all, cake. His mouth watered just thinking about the deliciousness of the delicate sponge cake, fluffy cream, rich chocolate, and tangy fruits -

“OOF!”

Thanks to his sturdy build, Cole hardly lost his balance but the person he bumped into wasn’t so lucky. The skinny figure landed on their bottom and matches scattered everywhere. The person frantically picked them up and feeling bad for causing them trouble, Cole helped them.

“I’m so sorry about that. Let me get those for you.” He apologized.

“No. It was my fault for being an annoyance.” A voice that would’ve been silky smooth if it weren’t so frail spoke.

Once all the matches were gathered, Cole got a good look at the person and was saddened by his appearance.

The tall young man who appeared close to his age looked like death itself. Skin as pale as the snow falling around them, thin lips shaking from the cold, cheeks sunken in from lack of food, and tangled fair hair proved to be hard to look at. Cole pointed his earthy green eyes downward and found his voice in the worst way possible.

“Your feet...!” He cried out in an almost insulting tone.

While he was clad in baggy rags, the poor guy’s feet must’ve been exposed for a long period of time as the flesh had darkened and his toes were shriveled.

“Oh, I’m sorry for frightening you,” The freezing stranger apologized again, “I lost my shoes when I jumped away from the path of a carriage but my shoes slipped out and got trampled.”

Cole was flabbergasted at how this poor young man kept apologizing for things that were out of his control. All he could think about was taking him to his home, get him clean and warm, and share the holiday feast with him.

“Would you like to buy a match?” The stranger interrupted, offering the tiny stick.

“Are you trying to sell matches?” Cole raised a bushy eyebrow at the tiny item. No one would want to buy such a minuscule thing at a time like this.

“Yes. As per my guardian’s orders. I must sell all of them before I’m allowed back home.”

“Why does it matter if you sell them all or not?” A hint of fear revealed itself in the stranger’s eyes.

“He will... punish me if I fail... And I was strictly informed to not come back until I sell them all.”

Cole was far from stupid. The boy’s vulnerable appearance and anxious aura when talking about his guardian can imply only one thing.

"You don’t have to go back.” Cole said rather abruptly.

“What...?” The match seller was taken aback.

“Come with me. My family is rich. We can give you food and a place to sleep.”

“I would like that but I must fulfill my duty... and I don’t want to be a burden.”

“It’s not like this guardian or whatever will find out. Just throw out the matches and tell him you sold them.”

“But what about the money?”

“Don’t worry. My family is rich so I can just give you the money. How much are the matches?”

“One is for ten gold coins.”

“Really? That much for just one?” Cole couldn’t believe the ridiculous price for just one tiny piece of wood and didn’t hide his disgust.

“I’m sorry. My guardian chose the price.”

“Stop apologizing. If it makes you feel better, I have just enough for one match.” Cole offered what little money he had and the seller handed over the tiny stick. Still, he wasn’t satisfied until the match seller was safe. The pale boy turned to leave but Cole wasn’t having it.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Cole grabbed the seller’s arm and noticed his thumb met the tips of his fingers. The poor guy was even skinnier than he looked.

“I can only give one match to one person each. It’s also my guardian’s rule.”

“Why should it matter as long as you got the money? Like I said, my family is rich. I can take you home and give you all the coins they’re worth.”

“But I must obey my guardian.”

“You’re really not gonna give up are you?”

“I have accepted my task and I must see it through to the end, no matter what.”

Cole had a feeling arguing with him will be futile but he wasn’t going to let him be forgotten during one of the most joyous times of the year.

“Fine, but listen to me. No matter what happens, we’ll meet right here on Christmas morning, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“And I’ll also bring you some cake. I promise.”

“I really appreciate that. Until we meet again, farewell.”

The match seller walked off before Cole could respond. With nowhere else to go, the wealthy lad resumed his once forgotten journey home. He held on to the match like his life depended on it. He can’t imagine what the impoverished seller was going through. Once they meet up, he’ll find a way to free him from that so-called guardian. He made sure to remember it, even when he reached his large house in the wealthiest neighborhood in the village.

“Cole, where have you been? The party is about to begin!” Lou pulled his son inside so he can take part in the celebrations. Cole tried to tell his father of the poor young man he met but Lou wasn’t having it. Christmas is supposed to be about spending time as a family and he won’t let his son miss out on that.

Even as he received presents from his relatives he hadn’t seen in years and had his fill of roasted meats and warm home-cooked dishes, not even while eating slice after slice of his favorite cakes, Cole never forgot about the poor match seller. He kept his eyes on the match for most of the night until he looked out the window at the stroke of midnight just before going to bed and saw a shooting star flying across the dark sky. He normally doesn’t believe in it but he made a wish upon that shining star. He wanted to keep his promise to the match seller. He wanted to make his Christmas just a little bit brighter with his company and a big piece of cake and give him the life he deserves.

And perhaps find out his name.

Zane spent many hours into the night trying to sell matches but the crowds soon dwindled and even the carolers have gone home. He remained because he was obligated to fulfill his task. It was the least he can do for Vex for taking him in when he had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. But in a way, it made his life more difficult than it has ever been. He can count the times he slept on a content stomach with one hand as Vex ate most of what little food they can afford as well as the times he actually slept on a bed inside the house as he had often failed to complete the tasks Vex set out for him and just as often punished for it. He can’t fail him now, even when he was the only person remaining outside. Even then, he can’t go back until he sold every match.

The only sources of light to guide him were the moon and stars and the lights shining from within the warm houses of the village. Zane’s curiosity occasionally took control, leaving him frequently pausing to gaze at the windows of some of the homes. The lights provided by the nearby candles or a distant fireplace left him longing for warmth and the lingering scents of homemade meals ached his empty stomach. Zane endured, remembering the promise the rich boy made. He’ll get to eat Christmas cake for the first time in years and while that was just enough motivation to press on, his whole body has its limits unlike his will.

Spotting a little corner in the street, Zane took shelter, huddling against the wall and relying on what little warmth his thin rags had to offer. He still shivered, the echoes of his clattering teeth bouncing to and fro in his ears and each breath he took strengthened the swirling white fog surrounding him. Zane glanced at the matches and felt temptation growing inside his heart. If he lit one, he may find warmth but he knew he mustn’t and tried to hold out. It was so terribly cold and the thought of obtaining even the slightest bit of comfort quickly became too great to resist.

‘Maybe just one will be fine...’

Completely forgetting about any punishments Vex will inflict, Zane swiped one match against the wall. The heat and light emitted from the tiny flame gave him just a tiny piece of comfort but the poor seller couldn’t be more grateful. For some reason, he felt... happy. Staring at the tiny light awoken memories of a time where there was no pain, nothing to worry about, and knowing what true happiness felt like. It’s been so long ago he almost forgot and he only remembered just now because of his interaction with the wealthy young man who bought one of his matches. He wondered what he’s going through right now. He’s probably at home opening heartfelt presents, eating a lavish feast, or warming himself before a cozy fireplace... just like the one in front of him.

‘...What...?’

Zane knew it can’t be possible but it felt all too real. He can count each log burning in the hearth made of bricks. Above the flames, he can see woven stockings packed with trinkets. It’s all too good to be true yet no matter how many times he blinked, the wonderful scene remained before his pale eyes. The visage lingered for a time before slowly fading away. Zane almost cried out for the fireplace itself to stay but it quickly vanished, leaving a searing hot pain in his fingers to pour salt on the wound. The match seller flinched and a blackened match landed in the snow before him.

‘Was that vision coming from the match?’ Zane wondered to himself, staring at the burned out stick, ‘If I light another match, will I see anything like it again?’

Zane knew he’s already in big trouble for using a match for himself. Temptation quickly proved to be much harder to fight than the most seasoned warrior.

Nothing mattered to Zane anymore besides seeing these visions. Without hesitation, he swiftly lit another match. This time, he saw the most luxurious feast he had ever laid eyes on. The table was already large to allow room for all the delicious things to display themselves before him. There was roast chicken and beef, tall glasses of sparkling drinks, adorable decorated cookies, and a big, beautiful cake in the center. Zane felt his once dry mouth become drenched in saliva and reached out for the tantalizing food before him. Just like the fireplace, the gorgeous table disappeared once the match burned out.

Zane didn’t let a second go by before lighting a third match. He was greeted by the heartwarming sight of a cozy house decorated for the holidays. All the windows were framed with brilliant lights and hanging on the door was a wreath adorned with a big red ribbon twirling around the greenery and topped with big sprigs of holly and tinkling bells. The most beautiful of all was the large Christmas tree in the center, decked in a dazzling array of lights, ornaments, and tinsel. The tree was so tall Zane craned his neck up to see the large Christmas star that sparkled and reflected the various lights, illuminating the whole room. And just like the previous two visions, it all disappeared when the third match went out. Yet Zane continued gazing up at the starlit sky.

At the stroke of midnight, he saw a shooting star riding across the heavens. Seeing it suddenly reminded him of his father, his true parent who was the only person who treated him with love and kindness until his passing. He remembered when he was very little, his real father told him that when a shooting star appears in the sky, that is actually someone going to heaven. He wondered who it was that had to die on Christmas. He silently prayed that the poor soul will find happiness wherever they’re going.

And then Zane lit a fourth match and what he saw was something more precious to him than any glamorous decorations, extravagant feasts, or even a comfortable fireplace.

“Father...!” His feeble voice escaped his lungs and echoed in the night.

Standing before him was his father who was supposed to be dead. A tender smile graced his elderly face yet there was a hint of sorrow in his old and worn grey eyes. Zane now wished more than ever that the visions created from the matches were real. He wanted to believe his dearly departed father really was standing before him, giving him the love he never felt again since his death. He didn’t say or do anything but Zane was still overcome with joy by his presence he wanted to cry yet he can’t. He simply can’t produce any tears no matter how much he wanted to, almost like his body was too weak to do such a simple task. Just like everything else before him, the old man slowly started to fade when the match’s light began to waver.

“Father, no! Please! Don’t leave me!” Zane cried out, desperate to feel love and happiness again, desperate to not lose anyone or anything dear anymore.

Before the match could go out, Zane lit another so his father can stay with him. Much to his relief, his father was still there. As long as the matches were lit, he won’t leave. Zane lit each match one by one until none were left. The fire of the combined matches gave off a glow akin to the sun and his father looked even more radiant within its light. With both a loving smile and sad eyes, his father extended his hand to him.

“Zane, it’s time to go.” His father spoke in the same gentle voice he had and it was just as Zane remembered it.

“Go? Go where?” Zane asked, apparently confused.

“We can finally spend Christmas together as a family. There is nothing for you to worry about anymore.” The old man stepped back so his son can see the beauty surrounding them.

Zane looked around to see he was now in the same house with the same fireplace, feast, and Christmas tree that appeared earlier. He took in every sight in awe until his eyes fell on the cake. He recalled a promise to have Christmas cake in the morning and that’s when the memories flooded back. He did manage to sell one match to a wealthy young man whose face resurfaced in his psyche as well as the promise they made.

“But what about the young man I met earlier? We promised to meet each other in the morning.” Zane hesitated, not wanting to break his vow.

“The morning where you two reunite will come to pass.” His father spoke with the same wisdom he possessed in life.

Zane had a feeling his father was right. He too began to sense they will reunite in the future. For now, he can be with his beloved father again and finally have their first Christmas together since they parted.

Zane accepted his father’s hand and sank into his warm embrace, not wanting to let go of this love and happiness he knew will never leave.

At that moment, Zane knew he was finally home.

And then the morning came.

Cole wished he hadn’t seen the sad sight before him.

The poor match seller laid dead in the corner, covered in a thin layer of snow and surrounded by his matches that have been burned black as soot. He apparently died from the cold and futilely attempted to warm himself.

“The poor thing must’ve froze to death...” The villagers wept at the sad sight.

While everyone else expressed pity and sympathy for the dead young man, only Cole noticed the tiny smile on his face. He looked so peaceful and he had a feeling he was finally happy wherever he was. If only he didn’t have to die.

“No... No...” Countless tears rolled down his dark cheeks before he realized he was crying for the dead match seller.

The cake that was once in his hands now lies forgotten in the snow. Cole clutched the frail, cold body and sobbed, not caring that everyone saw or what they thought of him holding this stranger in his arms. If only he were alive, he could’ve felt the warmth of his touch that had come too late. The match seller may be at peace but Cole wasn’t. Not when he failed to keep his promise to save him.

Cole looked at the frozen smile and thought about how happy he must be in the afterlife. Somehow, he was determined. Even through his tears and despair, he made a promise to the match seller again, one he knew will never be broken.

“One day, I will find you... I promise.”

Say it with Flowers (Snatcher x MC)

Here we go lads! A cute, fluffy snippet of Snatcher confessing his love to his crush! (I was inspired by this ask, if anyone’s wondering) Basically, Snatcher is a dork and his crush is slightly oblivious to what he’s trying to do. Also, the crush will be referred to as “they/them” just so nobody gets confused!

Have fun! ;3

***

As Snatcher waited in one of the quieter parts of his forest, he was starting to become slightly impatient. He could feels himself becoming more and more nervous with every minute that went by. Occasionally, he’d summon a wristwatch to check the time or a hand mirror so he could make sure he still looked somewhat “presentable”. He’d adjust the tie he was wearing, or run his hand through his floof so it wasn’t messed up. But after doing that about five times in a row, he resorted to fidgeting. It was something he hated doing, but right now it was helping. All the while he thought to himself.

Why the heck was he doing this?

Because I told myself I was going to do it, Snatcher thought to himself. And it was true. He had been thinking of confessing to them for a while now. He’d just been putting it off till the last second. And if he didn’t do it soon, these strange emotions were going to drive him crazy. Might as well get this over with now, right? After all, he shouldn’t be afraid of something so...so…

Simple.

Snatcher snapped his fingers, a bouquet appearing in his hands. He turned the roses over to inspect them, carefully touching a few of the petals. He had (begrudgingly) taken Moonjumper’s advice, by getting something special for them. At first, he had just gotten some regular roses from a flower shop in Mafia Town. But then he remembered Moon’s words, “Get them something that shows you care!”. And the roses by themselves...they just didn’t seem like enough. So, he decided to use a bit of magic to make the roses seem a bit more “special”. After doing a bit of research, he use at least three spells that he knew they would be sure to love. One to make the roses glow, another to make them sparkle, and a final one to make sure they would never wilt or die. That showed he cared for them, right?

But as he looked over the magic roses in his hands, a cluster of beautiful reds and pinks, he wasn’t so sure about his chances. Would this really be enough? Would they even accept his confession? Because the last time he gifted someone flowers-

YOU TRAITOR! YOU LIED TO ME!

V-Vanessa, wait-

I HATE YOU! I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!

I-I do love you! Just let me expl-

NEVER! GUARDS! TAKE HIM AWAY!

No! Vanessa, please! This is all just a misunderstanding! Vanessa?!

VANESSA! PLEASE! DON’T LEAVE ME DOWN HERE-

...It didn’t end too well. And while he didn’t expect them to come running at him with a knife (not like he could die again, anyways), there was still a lingering fear of rejection. After all, this was silly, right? Him of all people? Actually in love caring about someone? The all-powerful king of Subcon having a slight, teeny tiny, ever so minuscule crush on somebody? It was a ridiculous notion. And extremely ludicrous-sounding to them, no doubt. Perhaps...perhaps he should back out now. To save the trouble and embarrassment. It’s not like he was too late to change his mi-

“Hey, Snatcher!”

Snatcher let out a yelp of surprise and quickly hid the bouquet behind his back. He smiled nervously, as they walked into the clearing with him. They smiled cheerily at him, giving him a wave. And he smiled back at them, if not a little nervously. While he tried to look as calm and collected as he could on the outside, he was practically screaming on the inside.

They actually showed up, he thought to himself in disbelief. And I didn’t practice anything to say. I’m a complete idiot. I should have written it all down so I won’t mess this up. And...OH MY STARS, WHAT IF I DO MESS UP?! WHAT IF I DROP THE FLOWERS AS I’M GIVING IT TO THEM?! THEY WOULD HATE ME FOR THAT! THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH-

He tried to shake away the worries in his mind and, instead, focused on greeting them.

“A-ah, hello! You arrived earlier than I thought you would...” Snatcher said, trying to put on a confident smile.

“Of course! You said it was important in the letter you sent me.” they replied back. Snatcher felt himself gulp.

The letter! Peck, he had forgotten all about that! Originally, he had thought about talking to them in person. But when that didn’t seem to work, due to his cowardice, he had thought about just leaving the flowers at their house. And when that seemed much too stalker-like, he had decided on a completely different approach. A letter, telling them to visit the quiet clearing in his forest for a “private matter”. At first, it seemed like a good idea. He even managed to convince himself to put his name on it, instead of just leaving it anonymous. But right now the regret was starting to set in.

“Uhhh, yes, It’s very serious, I’m afraid.” Snatcher mumbled out, feeling stupid and wanting so badly to bolt on this. But it was too late now, much to his dismay. Their face fell, looking rather worried at these words.

“Am I in trouble?” they asked, their head hanging low.

“W-what? No!” Snatcher assured them, waving a free hand in front of him. “I-I just...wanted to...” his voice trailed off, his face flushing bright yellow. But he stops there, not able to say the rest. They look at him, confused. Was he feeling alright? He normally wasn’t like this.

“Are you okay? Do you-”

“I’m fine.” Snatcher growled under his breath. They flinched a little at this, and Snatcher quickly noticed. “I-I’m sorry. I’m just...having trouble with this...” he decided to be honest. They liked it when he was honest, right? Now if only he could get the important part out.

“Oh...alright?” they said, feeling a bit more comfortable. They were still very confused though. Snatcher was acting so odd, not to mention flustered. It was actually kind of cute... But what was he so reluctant to say? “By the way, I like the tie! You look very nice!” they complimented him, thinking that would help. And it did, with Snatcher grinning shyly at them and blushing even more.

“Thank you...very much...” Snatcher said, before pulling said tie and clearing his throat. “W-well...I just noticed that...you’ve been visiting my forest quite a lot lately.” he stuttered, cursing at himself in his mind as he did. But nonetheless, they were listening to him patiently, so that helped a ton.

“Heh, what can I say? I have a thing for exploring haunted forests.” they joked, hoping to help Snatcher loosen up a bit. Snatcher did chuckle a bit, rubbing the back of his head.

“Heheheh, r-right. Speaking of that...” Snatcher felt his face growing hotter as he continued. “Whenever you happen to visit my home, to check on me or whatever-” he felt a slight twang of regret at that last part. How did he let that slip out?! Regardless, he tried to keep going. “I feel...I feel...” Snatcher felt himself getting stuck again, as he looked back at them.

They looked so pretty, beautiful, not to mention absolutely perfect. If he still had a heart or pulse, it would be thumping like crazy in his chest right now. He thought how much he liked having them around his forest, which was a new feeling. And they were always so nice to him every time the visited his home. But...how could he ever return those feelings? He was the worst at this sort of thing, considering he hadn’t done it in years. And he was not know for his “caring nature” towards anyone or anything for that matter. Panic started to set in, as Snatcher feared for everything to go horribly wrong.

Oh my stars, they are way out of my league! Why on earth would they say “Yes”?! What was I thinking?!

“You feel?...” they tried to help him along, waiting for him to get the words out.

But Snatcher felt like freezing on the spot. Maybe teleporting away to anywhere that wasn’t here. Or hiding in his home and never coming out. He felt weak and helpless, and he hated every second of it. Not to mention they were staring directly at him, which sapped all courage out of him. He felt like screaming, panicking, and running all at them same time. He gripped the roses behind his back tighter and tighter-

“This...this is so stupid.” Snatcher sighed in defeat, putting his face into his free hand. “I apologize, I must be wasting your time. I just can’t seem to-”

“No, it’s okay! You’re doing just fine.” they encouraged him. “I don’t mind spending extra time with you. It’s why I came here in the first place, silly!” they gave him a patient smile, making a heart with their hands at him. Snatcher could feel his whole face blushing, as his floof puffed up from being so flustered. He tried to hide his face from behind his claws, but it hardly helped since his face was glowing such a bright yellow.

Well...what the heck. What did he have to lose? Besides practically everything-

“I wanted to show you how much I lo-” Snatcher nearly let the “L” word slip out of his mouth, before hastily coughing over it. “I-I mean...really appreciate you!” he laughed nervously, a little louder than he would have liked. Their expression grew a bit surprised, which made Snatcher feel like he was sweating buckets. “S-so, I got you...th-these.” Snatcher slowly removed the bouquet from behind him. He held it out for them, shutting his eyes tight and shaking a little as he did.

“Snatcher...” he could hear their gasp of surprise. He could feel his nervousness growing with every step as them came closer. Now they were right in front of him, as he felt their hands on his. He flinched at bit as this, tightening his grip on the flowers. He braced himself, squeezing his eyes tighter and shaking like a leaf. He waited for the cruel laughter. For the mocking tone of heartless rejection. For the sound of the bouquet hitting the ground and getting crushed by their shoes. Or worse, for the cold unforgiving tone of disgust. With them promptly throwing the roses in his face and-

“Ha, seems like you beat me to it.”

“...what?” Snatcher opened his eyes in surprise and confusion. He was surprised to see that they were much closer to him than he thought. In fact, very close to him, and (sort of) holding hands with him. They stared down at the roses, the glowing spell illuminating their face, making their beauty even more radiant. Snatcher shut his mouth, fearing that he would ruin his perfect moment. If only he had a camera, or a tape recorder. He wished this moment could last forever.

“These are so beautiful.” they said as they looked up at Snatcher, which he was not prepared for. “I don’t think my gift will even compare...” they trail off, smiling sadly.

“A gift? For me?” Snatcher blurted out, before he could stop himself. Their eyes widened, and they turned their head away for a moment. That’s odd, Snatcher thought to himself. Is it just me or do they look...nervous?

“It’s not as good as yours, trust me.” they let go of his hands so they could look for it in their pockets. “I wanted to give it to you after we were done talking. I mean, before I knew you were going to…y’know, surprise me.” they mumbled, rummaging until they finally pulled it out. “Here. I’ll trade ya.” they half-smiled. Snatcher, still a bit in shock, exchanged his gift for theirs without saying anything. And after starting at them blankly, taking in the fact that they were enjoying his gift, he looked down at what was in his hands.

A small, light purple letter.

He opened it carefully, trying his best not to rip the envelope. He opened the flap, and took out a hand-made card. He took a moment to stare at it, dumbfounded, before opening it gently. He noticed how nice their cursive looked, written in red ink with small heart doodles scattered here and there. And then he began to read the message...

Dear Snatcher,

I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time

And I’ve been thinking about it ever since we met

You’re very special to me, and I wanted to ask you...

Snatcher felt his non-existent heart race as his eyes fell to the closing lines-

Would you like to be my SOUL-mate?

Much love, XOXO

Snatcher simply stared at the card, like his eyes were glued to it. He didn’t know what to say, he was at a complete loss for words.

“Do you like it?” they asked him, worried by the lack of response. Snatcher manage to tear his eyes away from the card to look down on them.

“Are you serious? This isn’t a joke?” Snatcher asked them, his voice flat and to the point. They shrunk back at this, afraid they did something wrong. Was he mad at them? Was the pun a little too much? Maybe they shouldn’t have added that in… But they slowly nodded back at him, holding the bouquet for comfort. Snatcher kept staring at them blankly, making them extremely nervous.

Then Snatcher started to laugh.

But it wasn’t a cruel laugh, or even his signature evil laugh. It was a laugh of delight and cheer, as he flashed a giant smile at them. Then, before they even saw it coming, Snatcher scooped them up off the ground and into his arms. They let out a surprised yelp as he spun himself around, floating higher up in the air before eventually sinking back down. Both of their gifts fell to the ground, but they landed just fine and weren’t even ruined. Which was good, considering that Snatcher was too busy holding them in his embrace.

“Hahaha, yes! Thank you so much!” Snatcher exclaimed, hugging them close. Joyous tears started to build up in his eyes, but he didn’t care. Because right now he felt like the happiest ghost alive! Not only did they accept his confession, but they felt the same way about him! And he wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything in the world. Not even all the souls on the planet could make him as happy as he was now.

“Snatcher...you’re squishing me...” they grunted, their face buried in Snatcher’s floof.

“Oh! Sorry!” Snatcher quickly apologized, letting them breath. “I just…I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.” he said softly, blushing. They looked back at him, once they got their bearings, and smiled at his cute flustered face.

“Good. You deserve to be happy.” they whispered as they went to gently hug him around his neck. They leaned in close, pressing their cheek against his. Snatcher was taken aback, before nuzzling them back with a dopey smile on his face. He sighed, closing his eyes and beginning to purr.

They both jumped at the sound, looking at each other. Snatcher felt like his face was burning, going entirely glowing yellow. They started to giggle at the sight, he was just too cute!

“So...you can purr?” they asked, putting a hand over their mouth to stifle their giggling.

“Sh-shut up.” Snatcher grumbled, his floof puffing up to the extreme. This just made them snicker more, before eventually letting it die down.

“Well, I think it’s cute, dork.” they added in that last part, before leaning back to plant a small kiss on Snatcher’s cheek.

“Ack! D-don’t do that!” Snatcher yelped in annoyance, trying to hide himself in all the fluff. But secretly, he enjoyed the smooch that they gave him. A little more than he would like to admit. They caught Snatcher’s attention again by fixing the tie around his neck. And he couldn’t help but smile, and sigh at them dreamily.

“Whatever you say, nerd.” they chuckled, tightening the tie before leaving it be. And the minute they were done, Snatcher brought them back into a hug. They were taken by surprise, before smiling and hugging him back. “I’m glad you told me, Snatcher.” they sighed, rubbing their face back into his soft fluff. Snatcher started to purr again, but he paid no mind to it. It was actually starting to become rather comforting with them around.

“Yeah, ditto.” Snatcher sighed back, holding them closer.

And as the moonlight lit up the dark forest around them, and the two held each other lovingly, he felt like this was the best moment in his afterlife. To think, that he would ever be able to love again. And for once, his loved one loved him back! Actual, real love for a person like him. It lit a spark in his non-existent heart that he had, surprisingly, missed being able to feel all these years...

He was starting to like this whole “affection” thing.

Entreri, flatly: "Where did you get that?" Jarlaxle, 'innocently': "I should think it would be obvious, abbil." "Put it back." "Don't be silly." *deploys wand, summons apparently nothing but a small raptor-shaped shadow on the ground.* Jarlaxle: "Hmm..." *looks disappointed.* Entreri: *looks up.* "Jarlaxle..." "I'm disappointed. ...Hmm?" *the shadow rapidly grows less and less small. Quite large, soon, in fact. Distressingly so.* "JARLAXLE." ((slightly too long -- to be continued))

“I still fail to see why you could not simply order your pet psionicist to make you a new one.” 

The diffuse light in the spiraling stair column was so scant that only the assassin’s furrowed brow and prominent cheekbones would’ve been seen by normal eyes. However, Artemis Entreri didn’t need light to clearly discern his feathered companion nestled snugly in his left palm, but he wondered if the transformed Jarlaxle could, in turn, see him just as well.

Not that the drow-turned-hummingbird seemed particularly interested in looking at the human. Those ruby eyes, clever even in their smaller incarnation, darted to and fro, and Entreri resisted the urge to clap his right hand over his left one, lest the troublesome mercenary spot something else “interesting”.

Troublesome indeed, the assassin thought with a scowl. His body was still taut from the earlier ordeal imposed upon him by his now feathery handful, and this was compounded due to his inability to employ his left arm thanks to it being the new home for the trouble’s originator. Finally, that inability to shed tension from his form only served to prolong his feeling of needing to sneeze.

Back in the room with the endless glassy pairs of beady eyes, Entreri had been at his wit’s end, keeping his legs underneath him in the wake of Jarlaxle’s relentless “onslaught”. Thankfully, the transformed drow had apparently overestimated the amount of energy that his tiny body possessed, suddenly falling onto his side, then rolling onto his back with his sprig-like feet stiffly clawing the air. When the bird didn’t respond to his pokes, Entreri had started back for the wand, and his fingers even brushed it before his keen eyes noticed the faint rise and fall of the iridescent chest. 

A tingling in his palm called the assassin back from the memory.

“Not again!” Entreri’s glare shot to his companion, and his mouth opened to berate him, but then noted that in lieu of the precise, deliberately measured strokes that the bird had performed before, now, Jarlaxle was flailing his wings and kicking his feet. The perplexed human wondered briefly if the transformed mercenary was attempting again to fly, but there was no buzzing. 

Realizing with a start the alternative possibility, Entreri hastily set the bird down on the next step, hopping back as soon as Jarlaxle rolled out of his palm. Even still, he wasn’t swift enough, for the drow reverted back with a loud “pop!”, then promptly vomited onto his companion’s boots.

“Seriously?” Entreri exclaimed, disgusted, but also surprised at the lack of rage in his own tone.

Jarlaxle was leaning heavily against the wall and retching. A stray ray of sunbeam caught his slender form as it convulsed, and the assassin wondered if the mercenary had always looked so delicate. 

Entreri eyed the puddle running down the stairs and plotted a way around it. He began moving towards his companion. “How fare you?”

Jarlaxle had drawn a handkerchief and was wiping his mouth with it. He’d begun to stagger to Entreri when his eyes bulged.

“Privy?!”

“What?”

To Entreri’s great astonishment, Jarlaxle charged past him back up the stairs, the abruptness of his rush forcing the assassin to reflexively jump aside. 

Unfortunately, the drow’s earlier discharge was directly in his chosen trajectory, and the poor man had to forego his usual grace in order to save his boots from being further coated by his companion’s ejecta. 

Although no stranger to tainted environments, the assassin reluctantly set off after his companion, preferring to draw his quickened inhales in cleaner air. His steps were slowed, however, by the painful moans echoing through the stone corridor. He wondered where to stop, to grant the drow proper privacy, and more importantly, not subject himself to a different but equally unappealing odor.

Thankfully, Entreri didn’t need to contemplate the matter too much, for Jarlaxle, a shaky, unsteady Jarlaxle but Jarlaxle nonetheless, awaited him around the stairwell’s next curvature. The mercenary’s usual obsidian-black skin looked ashen as spent charcoal. 

Entreri shook his head and sighed. Without a word, he firmly seized his companion’s left arm, threw it over his own shoulders while his right hand simultaneously caught the drow’s waist. He knew Jarlaxle’s weight well enough to discern that the mercenary was leaning heavily on him, the sensation heightening the uneasiness that’d been stirred by his recollection of the room full of lifeless stares.

Wordlessly, the assassin eased them both down the long, spiraling stairs. More than once, he wondered if the shallowness of his own breath was influenced by the drow’s soft panting.  

“Kimmuriel is preoccupied with other tasks,” Jarlaxle croaked.

Entreri flinched, the drow’s soft tones cutting through the rhythm of their shuffling steps. 

“Why didn’t you just use your portable hole?” 

Jarlaxle craned his neck up to regard his companion with a raised eyebrow. “Unthinkable! Surely, you know of how often I use it as a pass through!”

“So, before the next time you use it, clean it.”

The drow shook his head. “There might not be a chance to do so. Before our journey’s end, we might have need of it, employing it in its proper custom. Besides, I would not so mistreat that which I’d often use to store precious things.”

“Such as myself, I presume,” Entreri intoned sarcastically.

Jarlaxle hid a laugh in a cough. Entreri knew it to be fake, but still, he could feel the occasional shudder coursing through the body against his own, and knew through their proximity that those convulsions were involuntary.

“You’re fortunate that I haven’t dropped you,” the assassin nonetheless rebuked, scowling.

“I’d never doubt you, my abbil.”

“Which is why you held your tongue until after we’d long passed your earlier discharge, and all of its propagation.”

“If you ask me, this one might be beyond him,” Jarlaxle continued as though Entreri hadn’t responded. “I didn’t ask you.”

“Yes, because I asked you.”

“And I foolishly agreed to help you.” Entreri snorted. “Never do I seem to learn my lesson, although I hope that you’ve learned yours.”

Jarlaxle didn’t respond, and Entreri knew that he wouldn’t get an admission out of the prideful mercenary. They’d finally reached the bottom of the long and winding staircase anyway, and the assassin was more than a little eager to leave behind the eccentric wizard’s beady-eyed hoard.

The assassin wasn’t comfortable in the woods. Rather than the irregular alleys and rickety walls describing every city block, nature made its own maze following a logic that he did not fully understand. But his companion, who was now leading the way, seemed confident enough, and he was further galvanized with each step that separated them from the tower. 

By the time that they finally emerged, Selûne’s glory shone across the deep tapestry of the night, and the lack of any of her trailing tears allowed the assassin to judge the the hour to be not so late as the darkness implied. He frowned. Despite his ability to see perfectly without Selûne’s light, Entreri was more attuned to brighter circumstances at this hour, an effect of the conglomerate of light sources melded within a city’s walls. 

Jarlaxle, on the other hand, hadn’t bothered to look up at the moon or the sky at all, but had already made his way far enough out of the woods that he wouldn’t start a fire. As the drow bent to set down his obsidian figurine, the assassin saw, descending fast from the sky and headed right for Jarlaxle, a swarm of large birds. Entreri began to call out, but his words died in his throat, as each member of the flock gracefully circled his companion before beating their wings to retake their altitude again. 

The bewildered man couldn’t believe his eyes at first, but after blinking, even rubbing them with both hands, did he ascertain, even if his mind couldn’t quite understand it, that most, if not all, of the birds had pointedly turned their heads to study the drow.

Jarlaxle was patting the back of his neck, studying the airborne visitors as they resumed their journey when he felt Entreri’s hand land on his shoulder, heavier than a plate pauldron. His cheery countenance turned to meet a taut deadpan.

“Who was the wizard whom we’d just called on?” Entreri bit off every word.

“Ah, the bird enthusiast?” Jarlaxle raised both white eyebrows, his smile wide and innocent.

Entreri nodded, his unblinking stare locked upon his companion’s ruby gaze. “Yes. What did you call him? Something… thologist?”

Those ruby eyes wanted to dart out of that awful stare that captured them, but Jarlaxle knew that even the slightest shift would give him away. He held out both hands helplessly – slowly and out very far from his body, the assassin noted.

“…Ornithologist?”

[[ To be continued... ]]

Maul 25 26 27?

Religion: Baffles him.  Which is funny, because one could consider being Sith a religion, or being a Nightbrother as having some pretty hefty ties to religion.  But Maul just– doesn’t so much do spirituality.  He understands power.  He understands the Force to the degree a Force user should, but he doesn’t exactly think about it except as just a part of himself?  In canon, he’s obviously the type to exploit others’ religion if it suits his ends enough.  In WM, GoT:A or – probably – Taking Flight, he didn’t spend twelve years going completely off the deep end, and thus never gains enough incentive to learn how to exploit those things.

That being said, he doesn’t do spirituality, but occasionally he might end up brushing up against it in a way.  In And in between the moon he’s definitely tripping hard, since the Force is pretty much just massively overwhelming to him and he can’t effectively keep a handle on it, so he goes a bit off and you can almost call that spiritual.

Beauty: Heh.  That’s a tough one.  He likes nature.  Like– a lot.  So, most of Maul’s concept of beauty is wrapped up in natural settings.  On occasion, though, people can fall into the definition, but not in the sense of attraction so much – which his own understanding of is incredibly skewed and wasn’t exactly all that strong to begin with – but in the sense of something he finds compelling.  Obi-Wan doing forms.  Or Kilindi swimming.  Which implies he has a thing for appreciating gracefulness quite a bit, really.  For himself, beauty was motion, it was striving for perfection and getting close, and once, even touching it.

Sleep:  Oh boy, he has a complicated relationship with that.  It’s an incredibly vulnerable state to be in, and I’m pretty sure his childhood would have destroyed anyone’s ability to sleep comfortably by default, so I’m sure that he avoided it as much as he possibly could.  In WM, it’s indicative of just how devastated he is that he so completely stops caring about it and actually prefers to retreat to oblivion after they break him; he doesn’t care if they attack him, he doesn’t care what happens, and at least sleeping he doesn’t have to feel how broken he is.

Oh, geez, this is gonna end up being a dissertation again.  Okay.

One of the hardest scenes to write in all of SIOF for me, in terms of sheer emotional devastation, was actually that second to last flashback, and that one still makes me cry.  Because for all of the awful shit Maul had lived through by that point, and for as downright miserable as his early days/years in the Temple could be, that was the one where he had already been stripped of literally everything, they couldn’t possibly take anything more from him.  And Obi had been coming around to seeing him as a person, and even acknowledging that he was a living thing with feelings, but some part of him was clinging to the idea that Maul was still the enemy.  That there was some reserve of defiance or Sithly rage left.  And, if you want to dig deeper, there was something in Obi which was clinging to his own power and control, something in him that was spiteful and wanted to eek out that last bit of punishment that he felt Maul should deserve.

So, on one side, you have this really badly wounded guy who has been pushed past even the point of survival, and on the other you have the guy who cut him in two and spent months glaring at him and now – seemingly out of the blue – was demanding he get up for some purpose Maul couldn’t even start to grasp.  And for Obi, he’s seeing defiance – because he wants to see defiance – but there’s also something twisted and genuinely abusive in his actions of those moments.  (Bear with me, I love Obi, but the fact is that people who are otherwise good and full of heart are still capable of doing abusive, cruel things and that was an abusive and cruel thing to do.)  So, when it looks like Maul’s just tuning him out and ignoring him, Obi-Wan gets angry and disgusted, and he knows that all he’s going to do is maybe haul Maul up to his feet and bully him into moving, but Maul– only sees an impending attack.

And it’s not like it matters if he’s attacked, but he acts on instincts that go all the way back to his toddlerhood.  Literally, this is the first time since he was like five years old that he flinched (except when cut in half, anyway), and so he scrambles away to put his back into a corner and it’s not any kind of thought or anything, he’s not even so much trying to defend himself, it’s just– automatic.

And he doesn’t know why.  Not why he tried to get away.  But why he’s about to be punished.  That’s really what devastates me, as the author; he hasn’t done anything except try to stop suffering and he’s going to be hurt and he doesn’t know why he’s going to be hurt.  He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to learn from this, what this serves.  What he did.  Why.

It’s also probably the first time that he can remember ever having a full-blown panic attack, so bad he actually can’t breathe, though it’s possible he did before he was old enough to remember.  He doesn’t know what it is, only that it hurts and he can’t breathe and he can’t understand and he just wants it all to stop, and yeah, that’s pretty fucking awful.  And so, in this truly awful moment, something in his mind tags it as being punishment for wanting to sleep.  Because that’s what abuse victims do: They try to find what caused it so they can figure out how to avoid it.

See where this is going yet?

For Obi-Wan’s part, this is where he realizes that he’s not the good guy in this moment.  This is when he actually really sees Maul.  And he’s not seeing an ex-Sith, he’s not seeing a defiant enemy, he’s seeing a twenty-two year old who was physically crippled, harried and tormented for months – and he was complicit in it even if he wasn’t the one trying to break into Maul’s mind like safe cracking – until he was destroyed to the point of trying to escape by committing suicide in a moment of unfathomable pain.  And who wasn’t trying to be defiant, just trying to stop hurting.  Because before this, Obi-Wan knew he was the good guy.  All self-loathing aside, he wasn’t evil.  So, of course Maul had to know that Obi-Wan wasn’t evil, right?  Because it never occurred to Obi-Wan to put himself in Maul’s place.  All Maul knew of Obi-Wan was pain and anger and implicit threat, but it never occurred to Obi-Wan to realize that.

To his credit, he very quickly puts together that he just did something terrible and that he needs to change himself and his approach pronto, and he did.  He honestly, truly did.  If anything, Obi-Wan went so far the other way that it was an issue in SIOF, his overbearing protectiveness.  Because that moment haunted him, for those ten years.  That moment where he was the monster.

It’s only in this next chapter of And in between the moon and you that he’s actually realizing the full ramifications of that moment of meanness, though.  The long-term.  It’s when he puts together that six years – six whole years – after that moment, after they’ve kissed and started building a romantic relationship on the platform of slow bonding and trust, when they’re on that mission in the mountains and Maul’s gone almost three weeks on catnaps to the point where he’s practically hallucinating from fatigue that it ties back to that moment where it looked like he was about to be punished just for trying to sleep.  And it ties back into why he didn’t just go and not pace anxiously for a day and a night on Chandrila, eight years after, in But you held your course.  And, too, why Maul kept reassuring when he was on Alderaan post-Zigoola.

It takes Obi-Wan ten years and Zigoola to realize that there are still scars there, and it’s really on Alderaan he starts dealing with them.  Because yeah, he was also the one who managed to rebuild enough trust and repair enough damage that they sleep together like old married people now, but even now, there’s something in Maul that can’t really trust sleeping like he should be able to, and while it was Sidious and his brutal upbringing that did the most damage, Obi-Wan has to own the fact that in the worst possible moment, in a way he had no right to, he reinforced it.

So.  it’s complicated.  Obviously. 

@doorsclosingslowly  (if you have any thoughts on my dissertation, please by all means.  I’m not sure how coherent it is.

Destiny: Formless and Form

“He poisoned himself?” Two times Eris and Toland needed to talk about the weapons they built together. Eris/Toland hurt/comfort, ~5k. 

   Every morning, she remembered Crota. The Hive were her second or third thought, and the first were all impressions: the cold coming in through her woven blanket, the yellow light and blue sky outside the Tower. Eris Morn did not want to move, but she heard a Ghost buzz around her, and turned over to press her face against the cot.

    “What?” she muttered.     “You’re needed in the City,” the Ghost said with concern.     “Why?”’     “Please. It is important. Please attend.”     Eris dragged her arm from underneath herself and rubbed at her bleary eyes while she reached her other hand toward the Ghost. She found it just as she sat up, her fingers fitting comfortably around the flanges. The Ghost buzzed slightly as she held it, in the same kind of mock affront she had seen cats perform. She swung her legs off the cot and held the Ghost to her chest, grounding herself with its buzzing for a moment before opening her eyes.     The Ghost was pale green, with a chipped flange, and her own Ghost was sitting on her low bedside table with its light lit.     “Ampilyne,” Eris whispered, and let go. The Ghost darted out of her hands almost as fast as she had moved her fingers. “Sorry. Sorry!”

    “Some people would have screamed,” said Toland’s Ghost.     “Then they would not have had as much composure as you,” Eris’ Ghost said to the other, then turned to Eris. “We should probably go. If one of your teammates calls, it’s important.”         If Toland calls, it’s probably a puzzle difficult to work out. As she stared at her Ghost in tired disbelief, though, she couldn’t help but feel that the small, glowing eye saw through her skepticism to her intrigue. Ampilyne hovered, making occasional nervous jumps. Toland had been with her team for long enough now that he felt like a part of it, if one who balanced his usefulness with the burdensome fact of his cryptic and irritable personality. She had spent a lot of time scoffing privately about him - about his words, about the strange machinery he carried, about the blind grace of his always-gloved hands.

  She raised an incredulous eyebrow at her Ghost.     “It is Ampilyne, though. You know how it is.” The Ghost did not sound certain. Although she would have had to hunt for years to find the reason for such a hunch, she was also almost certain it was gently mocking her.     Eris threw the blanket over her shoulder and went toe-to-nonexistent-toe with Ampilyne, who buzzed slightly away. As soon as she thought about holding Ampilyne she felt her cheeks heat up. Toland was known for recording his own frenzied studies, Eriana’s more measured research, and the team’s idle conversation. For what reason of pique or posterity, Eris did not know.         Maybe he had scried this.         Ampilyne said again, “You’re needed in the city.”     Eris shut her eyes, shook her head and wondered what Eriana would be working on right now, and what could possibly have gone wrong. Corrupted weapons? Thrall in the City? The fear was more familiar than Toland’s Ghost.     She shooed Ampilyne out the door and began to dress, trying to soothe her mind of the ever-present idea of Crota.

                                           ______________________

   Eriana was pacing in the book-crowded flat when Eris arrived, her guns and her Ghost hidden under her moss-green cloak. The energy of the Sun moved gently around her, stirred up but not aflame. Ampilyne had taken his own path, and Eriana reacted to him first.     She watched the Ghost buzz around the front room, her eye lights bright and narrow. Her voice was clipped, stressed, and Eris drew herself up under her cloak, unsure whether Eriana needed a staunch soldier or a sympathetic friend.     “I’m glad the Ghost found you,” Eriana said. “Toland has poisoned himself with some smithing ritual and needs the antidote.”     “His Ghost can’t …”     Eriana and Ampilyne dimmed their lights at the same time. Eriana moved toward the door, one hand hovering, calm, near her sidearm. “It needs to be a Warlock who undoes the wards at his hangar, and I know the instructions.”     Eris wanted to ask why she of all people had been called, but she thought she knew - she was not as competitive as Omar or impatient as Tarlowe or as suspicious of Toland as Sai. A bit suspicious, yes, but she was good at hiding her distrust. Naked distrust wasn’t a useful thing to display in front of its object in this particular case.     Eris nodded. “What else do I need to know?”     “Toland will keep to himself. Make sure no one we don't know comes in while he’s … like this.”     “He poisoned himself?”     Eriana ran her hand over her forehead. “That’s how he explained it, anyway, with that condescending tone like he’s telling a half-truth for the sake of simplicity.”     Behind Eriana, Ampilyne disappeared through the closed door in the back wall. Maybe Eris would just sit in the front room until Eriana came back.     For the first time, Eriana focused and met Eris’s eyes. She gripped the Hunter’s shoulder, the Sun stirring Eris’s hair. “You’ll be okay, right?”     “Yes,” Eris said, and meant it. She had half-expected to be flying to the moon right now, unprepared and half-armored, so staying in the flat felt like a pleasant if momentary respite.     Eriana swept out the door, radiating.     Eris sat on the sagging couch.     How many times had she sat here, with her fireteam surrounding her? On some days, the place felt like a mustering hall, or like a target. If Crota attacked the City, Eris’s most horrible and most selfish fears said, he would rain green fire down on this spot first. The Vanguard, too, would turn a bright and dangerous eye on the fireteam if they knew that Eriana planned to breach the Hive-pit. Now, though, the flat felt more like a shelter than a bull’s-eye. Although she knew that it was a fickle thought, part of her mind was telling her still-groggy body that Crota couldn’t get her here.     She spent a few minutes looking at her feet, then pulling books off the shelves with unnecessary violence. Scraps of words on dusty pages seemed hugely significant to her life at this very moment, even if they had nothing to do with it: Brown lichen grows on the sunward facing side of cliffs in the taiga. Another book: The universe’s way of pursuing equilibrium. Another: In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing / Over the tumbled graves, around the chapel.

Maybe it was because of these, or because of the faint traces of the Sun-Light which had not left when Eriana did, that she went to the door in the back and didn’t knock. Instead she pushed the door open the width of her foot and said “Hmm?”     The room spelled like potting soil. Eris remembered, from the last time that Toland had sat in there and shouted out instead of joining the team around the couch, that the exile had commandeered a desk and the bed, which was allegedly available to any member of the team who wanted to stay the night and was willing to remove Toland to the couch in order to do it.     In the days since she had last seen him, Toland must have moved more of his belongings into the room. Bundles of plants, some dry and brown and some alive and looping around twine, hung from rusting loops of metal screwed into the ceiling. A potted plant on the desk had climbed up the twine to the ceiling, crawling half way across the ceiling of the narrow room.     There had always been books and maps piled in the shelves on the desk. Now there was a gun, too, a rifle with garish purple paint and workmanlike lines. There were vertebra and cords scattered around it, and now Eris noticed that there were bones threaded into the makeshift arbor too, bird skulls and what might be keel bones.         Toland said “Hmm?” back at her, trailing off in exaggerated despair, and Eris opened the door the rest of the way out of irritation. She had to see what had merited such self-pity.     Toland was covered in both of the apartment’s woven quilts. He still wore his black cloak; Eris could tell because he had kicked one leg out from under the blankets at some point, showing a corner of the cloak and a bare, bony foot. She stood with her back to the desk as if it was a bunker she could retreat to.     Physically, Toland did not look more ill than usual. Pale and high-cheeked, he was always a bit of a death’s head. The dark bruises under heavy-lidded green eyes were not unusual either. The Light, though.         His presence usually felt strange, threaded through with some withheld rottenness, but now his Light was dim, as if he was hardly in the room at all. She had to blink her eyes to be sure. Would he have a pulse, now? Ampilyne materialized near his right shoulder.     “You did this to yourself,” Eris muttered, certain.     Toland leaned back to show her his throat, and she could not tell whether he was in pain or luxuriating in the attention. Her own ambivalence to the difference disgusted and unsettled her. “Such experiments have been conducted before. Light-sickness.”     “No wonder.” She looked at the hanging plants, the picked-clean bones. “What will cure you?”     “At the hangar I have herbs and artifacts. The noble Eriana has gone questing for them.”     Eris appreciated that Toland hadn’t implied that he’d ordered Eriana to go.     The Light flowed around him in thin rivulets, from the cot to the desk to the hanging plants. Toland pulled his foot back under the blankets. Eris knew Arc light best, and felt Toland’s Sun as a power less refined than Eriana’s. Instead of warming, it burned and gathered in strange coronae.     He must have felt her inquiry, or wanted to fill the silence that had grown while she had kept her eyes on the desk while her mind explored. “My Light isn’t gone. You’re walking all around it.”     She flinched, a bodily reaction she had not expected and immediately wanted to separate herself from. She’d never felt Light like this before, though, and the idea of walking within its strange orbit was like an unexplored road - there might be danger there, but she was prepared for it. Would there be any value in telling him that she was curious about it?     “Were you using it for that project?”     “Yes.”     “A scout rifle?”     “A pulse rifle, although the body is not as important as …” He coughed in thick, dry barks. When he spoke next it was in a quiet rasp. Eris moved closer to hear. Her own legs felt weak, so that it was comforting to sit with her legs crossed, her knees brushing the mattress, while Toland turned his back to her.     “The Light,” he said.     “So that’s what wounded you.” As soon as she knew, the lines of Light became more vivid. The gun was still pulling at him. He had brought the plants in to serve as a smoke screen, or as an unwitting sacrifice, to distract whatever black hole of Light he had concocted from the life around it. They would die for his plans. She sent her own Light sliding along the lines, mapping the frayed connections. At the gun it weakened, sparking against Darkness and a small, dense core of potential and hope. There at the core of the half-made gun was something like a perpetual motion machine, a knot of precariously balanced Light in Darkness. Her vision gently blurred as she focused on the ribbons of Light, on the small plants, on what she could do to mend the frayed lines.     Toland turned onto his back and looked at her. “The antidote will restore that energy,” he muttered, but he was also only paying attention to his Light-sense, his eyes and his voice unfocused.     The dark knot was drawing more and more of Eris’s attention. There were paths to walk there, caves unexplored, dark, smooth places like nests in which to sleep.     “I do not need … ” Toland was saying, but Eris had already figured out where she could string Light between his tattered web and heal some of the troubled air of the room. Ampilyne and her Ghost floated in curious, concerned orbits around the desk, but she did not heed them.     Toland sat up, got his legs under him and crouched as if to stand and move toward the desk. His presence in the web only increased Eris’ understanding of it, so that when she gestured him down her perception of the world moved even further away, the Tower and the City and the hanging vines all equally distant and equally intimate, all part of the web of the Light. She kept putting puzzle pieces together, shocking life into the tiny ash-lines of his dying Light. A breeze rustled the hanging vines and sparked.     The Light eddied more carefully around the gun now, more willing to look into its skull-eyes. Healthier, Eris thought, although she too had contributed to pulling life from a living thing to a dead thing.     “You could have brought me some water,” he said, “instead of interfering in the delicate machinery of this web that I have woven.”     Exhausted but happy, Eris gestured disinterest.     Toland tried to stand. Either his knees were weak or he was dizzy; either one felt like the natural state of the world right now, as if Eris was surrounded by the fog of the sickness herself. Toland sank back sideways on the cot and Eris reached out to touch his shoulders, so that it was natural for him to lean back against her and rest his head on the field-cloth just above her armored knee. The two Ghosts circled.     “This isn’t for your records,” Eris muttered, some memory of the reality of her team’s foibles coming back.       Toland scratched uselessly at the pillow a few times before finally grasping the top and plopping it in front of Ampilyne. The Ghost chirped a few times, then alighted and sat still. If Toland was concerned for Eris’ Ghost, he didn’t say it.     Instead, he shut his eyes and swept his weak and aging Light toward the gun. “The gun drives itself. I have placed a bit of living Darkness inside, and when it is complete it will not fail its wielder even in the darkest of places. I sacrifice this Light for that alone, Eris.”     “For that alone?”     “And because the weapons of the Darkness have things to teach us. Do you expend yourself for this task as well? It is honorable work with a dishonorable mask. How sharp are Hunter eyes, to see through it!”     Was that what she had done? Seen brightness in the core of the dark? No. “You can’t help us when you’re this weak.”     “No. But this is a temporary strife.” He sat up again and scratched at the back of his neck, then lay down again on the bare cot next to the Ghost. “Eriana will return. And that …” A shake of his head toward the bones lashed to the gun on the desk. “Is ours. We have built something together now, no matter how … accidental your contributions.”     “Will they be able to tell?”     “Will Eriana suss out your interference? I don’t think so. She knows exactly what I do here. I do not think she’ll bend close enough to smell you on it.”     She didn’t regret giving him her Light, she thought with thrilling terror. She could quicker imagine him owing her than him betraying the team. She could quicker imagine him thanking her, and reaching out to touch her hair. Maybe there would be other projects, other twinings of Light and Light in the miasma of Darkness which she was now beginning to feel again was not in all the City but just in this room, piled like blankets.     Eris stood and fled.     Until Eriana returned she sat on the couch with her legs under her and read a history of the City, reminding herself of the many things people had survived in the dark times before her dark times, interrogating the City’s biases, watching its business-owners squabble in the pages over maps and boundary lines.

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   Years later, Eris and Toland had both given more in the service of the Light and more to the loyalty of one another. Years later she would not hesitate to help him, but it was a more confident and more measured help. He was a ghost and she was dying, scarred by her own hands and by the pit from which they both escaped. He was a ghost and he knew, through some other sense, that some other Ghost was working on Bad Juju without a by-your-leave.     “Ornaments?"     “A new invention. Drawn from the Iron Lords, I believe, and their legacy of snow and skins."     Toland tisked, a sound which Eris found unaccountably funny when it came from the incorporeal pillar of fog standing in her room.    Toland had gotten his wish, had fallen and torn himself open on the sharp edge of the universe and survived with the burn-blast scars of it. He was ghostly when the Light burned and more comprehensible at night, when the Guardians' own burning was dulled by sleep or distance. Toland was the antithesis of a moth to a flame, despite his admiration for the Hive’s dusty and scaled majesty.     And so he visited, pretending with exaggerated dignity not to concern himself with whether Eris was there or not.     Tonight she had retired early, and tonight she had retired angry - hurt by the mutterings of Guardians who had not visited her, who scoffed with ignorance. (Toland scoffed with knowledge, and was there a difference in the tone, the sibilance? People in the Tower still were warm to her - she spoke to Amanda or Ikora or the several Guardians with whom she had gained a rapport. Almost three years from the Hellmouth, though, and people forgot. People imagined that she tore at her own skin so as not to forget her wounds, so as not to come unawares again upon the same terror that had first made them. An insistence on progress, though, did not always include a denial of history, and the Guardians had begun to forget that the Hive were more than crowds of thralls with which to collect on small-coin bounties.     So when she asked, “What do you want?” of the pillar of Darkness, she only half needed an answer.     Toland’s face was a mess: now eyes, now dark fog like scribbles on a map, now skin like he had worn in the safe house. “Only time.”     Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, like a word floating in the Dark with its own weight. All of them had wanted more time. Eriana especially had clawed for it, had dragged until the dirt of it clotted thick between the joints of her fingers. Eriana had demanded that Crota give the Earth more time, and then that the very flow of time in his world change.     “We never had enough time,” Eris said. “Now, I cast my mind to space more often.”     Toland gave a small nod. The little bit of clarity showed on his face, made him a creature corporeal enough to have to step across the white floor. “That is an answer almost as true as the other. Consider the throne worlds. Each is connected to each by a portal, but each is ascendent in the same way, the same energy flowing to them, the same … sit down. There. There.”     She crossed her legs in the middle of the floor.     She thought that he might have been going to use her as the centerpiece of a diagram, as the gravitational center of some strange system, but instead he took up the rest of the room and seemed to ignore her physical presence, ranging around her in widening circles.     “Savathûn, queen of spaces, watches each to each with eyes that flay the language she witnesses.”     “She cannot hear you here.”     “No. No.” His voice had gone soft, like the dripping of water in a far-away cave. The fervor of his  call bled off him like the smoke, leaving him human-shaped and cold, with Eris’ eyes. “The courts turn their backs, sometimes, and have learned to armor their soft places.”     So, he felt that he was being ignored.     “Come here,” Eris said.     His silence was full of questions; she could tell from the way he tipped his head, from the brightening of one bulbous eye. After a requisite moment of consideration he circled her again, his feet clicking softly as if his smoking boots were real gear instead of some strange mix of Darkness and manifested flesh.     He crouched in front of her, skeptical, bending close enough that she felt her heart jump. “What do you want, my dearest Eris?”

She reached for his collar. The tattered facsimile of a Warlock cloak was fibrous and solid, or at least deigned to be that way while she pulled a handful toward her. He lurched closer but did not fall and did not touch her. No breath, no movement of his chest under the thick fabric, no smell from his scornful mouth.     “Do you remember the day you were sick?” Eris said. “Do you remember what you put yourself through for that gun?”     He drew away, keeping his gaze locked to her even while he turned over and suddenly lay down on her skirt, snugging the top of his head against her stomach. She looked down on him in awe and startlement. Her vision almost blurred as he moved, but she drew herself back, her skin prickling, while he grinned.     “I thought you wanted me to be a the gaps in your lost Light,” she whispered, and touched his shoulder while he sighed in her lap.     Lazily he swatted at her hand, then reached up and with some clumsiness drew his fingers across her lips and jaw, his thumb catching between lip and teeth. The void-stuff prickled in her mouth like poison. “Would you like to be? It is such a critical gravity.”     She slid her hands into his hair while he brushed the back of his hand against her wet cheek.       He said, “I would speak your name to the worlds at the top of the world, were its speaking not anathema.”     “Move, Toland.” She got her hands under his shoulders and pushed. With a wounded look he let himself slide onto the floor while she turned and stretched her legs out, trying to stop them from prickling. She leaned over and kissed him. Instead of protesting he dragged her arm across his chest, bracing her against him so that she leaned into the kiss, catching her breath against skin that felt real, now warm, now intangible like fog.     “Anathema or anthem,” he whispered, and then the world was her name for a while, her name against her mouth, against her ear, against her throat, until she was surrounded by the whole dark universe of him and he was flickering, bled out by the light of her. He eased back and licked his lips and she followed him, took another kiss that made him keen and squirm. He turned, pressing his cheek against the floor as he flinched away from her.     She looked down at him, and let the silence sit for a moment. “Would you rather I were Savathûn?”     He was silent, heaving now with breath that she still could not feel on her face. Then, the words clear but laborious between breaths: “Would you rather I were the stark and truthful Deep, with all its blade-sharp honesty?” The truth of that sank into her like a stone into deep water. The Guardians did whisper. She would tell Toland her own truth now.

   “It was not the Deep that saved us,” she said. “Just you and I.”     “Not the Light, either.”     “You and I,” she hissed, and was surprised at the fury of it. She heaved him up by the shoulders again so that his head lolled against her legs. He looked at her with the patient expression he had given his concoctions. She had expected his fury to match hers, and so there was some impression of instability in his calmness, or else a balance, as if they siphoned energy from one another and could not both be furious at once. Toland’s sometimes-fanaticism had slackened into quiescent concern. The difference seemed as unexpected as his madness.       “Let me tell you of the great love of the Deep.”     “I think I know it.” Her lips curled in disdain.     He resettled himself more comfortably in her lap. With his long legs stretched out on the floor he looked like a narrow shadow, his right boot bumping up against the wooden leg of her bed. “I have flown between the black stars. I have walked on silver threads and touched the bones of things not yet dead. And all along the Deep, the embrace of a universe too full of truth for empty praise. The Deep does not lie, Eris, and if you belong to it you are armored against lies and whispers. Each word is proven against this truth and that, that is why the Worm names ring out as they do.”

“Do not speak of Worms.”     “Of embraces, then? Of worlds wrapped ‘round one another, of the burn behind the black of the universe? Behind everything there is that heat and there is that song.”     He sang of darkness speckled with stars. He sang of Hive conquests that ripped nebulas apart, that fed greedy black holes with entire fleets. The blue-black sky outside her bedroom window snagged and held her gaze as he spoke of the warm comfort of greater darkness. She drifted, almost asleep, while his voice rose and fell in ugly cracks and poetry.     When she felt that she had heard enough, she muttered, “You think you know so much.”     He brushed his hand against her cheek. “Yes, I do.”     “What action would you have us take? Is there anything useful in this poetry?”     “We have already made so much. The gun was just the first. But we have made opportunities and treaties and schemes since then, have we not?”     “It is all still there,” Eris said. “Remember that place? Fuzzy, like a smudged painting, but the place ... must be there? The flat in the city.”     “I know of no reason why it wouldn’t be.”     “Eriana’s things. The library …”     “Can you get there?” He asked.     “Yes.” She answered immediately. She had gone to the City before, on small quests and pilgrimages, on the journey where she had met the Exo spacer.     He shook himself, then curled his lip. Wistfulness and revulsion moved over his face fast, chasing one another. “And our weapon?”     “The Guardian has it.”     “The Guardian!” He crowd. The sudden loudness surprised her, and she flinched. Toland took his weight from her legs and sat beside her, running one hand from her hip to her knee as if to ground her.    “Murmur is mine as well, given away.” She shifted over to sit on his lap, the floor becoming uncomfortable now that she had spent so much time there. Both of them were used to stone, though. With his arms around her waist and the prickle of his skin - little warmth, little texture, no heartbeat - she could have been back in the pit, clarified and terrified and held.     “Such generous gifts. Ornamented also?” A buzz against her neck might be her own gooseflesh, might be his lips, might be the night breeze through the open window. The floor was uncomfortable against her hipbones and so she rose to her feet, alone for a moment. Had he left her? Had the Light flowed in just such a way as to tuck him under?     She spoke to the plane where she could always find him, unconcerned for whether he could hear. “No. That one is purified, but otherwise unchanged.”     A chill breeze like a disdainful kiss swept up from behind her, stirring her hair and her clothes. The Dark whispered of focused approval, and just a tinge of disappointment. That last was, like everything and his death had been, for show.     “Your disappointment is an afterthought,” she whispered. "Still putting on a face to impress."     The specter of Toland agreed, not a whisper but a confession. Hands made of smoke clasped hers and disappeared.     Eris Morn sat on hard ground and felt at home.