#creepy and unsettling without ever being full on horror | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grandlinedreams · 7 months

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[First request! Warnings: cursing, mentions of blood/gore, body horror, death, unreality]

“Babe, check this out.”

Ace’s call makes you turn from where you’d been staring at a cloak, finding him holding something that he tosses to you for inspection. Catching it, you inspect it and find it to be a mask – made of smooth white plastic with deep, dark spaces for the eyes and a macabre, wide yawn of black for the mouth.

“Creepy,” you remark as you toss the mask back to him. “Like a kabuki mask, but way worse. Why do they have something like that for sale?”

“Dunno,” Ace answers, still studying the mask, tugging at the stretch of black fabric that covers the back of it. “Maybe it’s for some kind of festival. This island feels like they’d enjoy something like that, you know?”

“Maybe…” You trail off. Indeed, the island that the two of you have found yourself on is undoubtedly strange – from being undetected by the log pose to the almost too friendly attitude of the townsfolk that you’ve come across, something doesn’t sit quite right with you. Or perhaps you’re just being paranoid – if there were really something wrong, Ace would have picked up on it too, right? Shaking your head, you dismiss your thoughts and step away from the high-collared cloak you’d been examining. “We should probably find somewhere to stay.”

Ace doesn’t respond, still staring at the mask. You frown, approaching to snap your fingers in front of his face and he jolts, jerking back as if scalded. “Huh?”

“I said we should find somewhere to stay,” you repeat, studying your boyfriend’s expression with mounting concern. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Ace answers, and you don’t miss the way his gaze drifts back to the mask for a moment. “Just – yeah. Let’s go find somewhere to stay, okay? And something to eat.”

There’s the boyfriend you know and love – thinking with his stomach. You roll your eyes fondly, grateful when Ace finally lets go of the strange mask in favor of hooking his arm around your shoulders. Without the presence of prying eyes and people who recognize you, affection is easier, and you lean into his embrace.

Though the strange behavior from him is forgotten by the time you find accommodations for the night, the sense of unease about the island has returned, even as you watch Ace dig into the food before him with his usual gusto. It takes him a minute to realize that you aren’t eating, and he looks up. “Something wrong? Do you feel sick?”

“No,” you answer, though you set your fork down and lean back in the chair with a sigh. “Doesn’t this island just feel…off to you? I mean, the log pose didn’t even pick it up.” You gesture to the cuff around his wrist. “Is it still acting weird?”

Ace glances down at it, watching the shuddering spin of the needle with a frown as he swallows the food in his mouth. “It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, “and besides, the grandline is full of odd things.”

He has a point, but the sinking feeling of wrong won’t dissipate. “I don’t like this,” you say, brow furrowing. “Not one bit.”

“You worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough,” you counter, and Ace grins before his expression sobers.

“I agree that this place feels weird, but–” He pauses as a smiling waitress sets down another wide platter of plates laden with steaming food, “it’s probably nothing. Just try to relax, okay? We’ll leave in the morning, and hopefully the log pose will have reset by then.”

Maybe you are being too paranoid, too accustomed to watching over your shoulder wherever you go, mindful of who you talk to and what you say for fear of inciting the Marine presence – but no matter how hard you try to buy into Ace’s reassurance, the unsettling feeling just won’t let up.

No longer able to stomach the idea of eating food, you scoot back and stand, Ace’s eyes following you. “I’m going to go explore a little more,” you say, “meet up with you in a little bit, okay?”

Swallowing another mouthful of food, Ace thumps his fist against his chest and exhales before he gives you a look of concern. “Just be careful,” he tells you, and you hope the smile you offer conveys confidence you don’t quite feel.

“I will, don’t worry.”

The sun has begun to set by the time you make it back into the center of town, the sky a melted blend of pastels that’s admittedly beautiful. Maybe Ace really is right – your paranoia has gotten the better of you, imagining problems where there are none.

You still as the unmistakable chill of being watched washes over you, tensing as you place a preemptive hand on the pistol at your hip. Training kicks in as you force yourself to resume walking, listening for signs of a presence other than your own.

Cold sweat beads at your temple as you force yourself not to spook at the skitter of rock beneath your feet, gaze carefully sweeping from side to side as you move to turn the corner – and come to an abrupt halt as the sick-sweet smell of rotting fruit reaches your nose.

It’s nauseating as you move to cover your mouth, searching for the source – an overturned trash can perhaps, a forgotten basket, groceries gone bad before they could be eaten. It’s a handful of steps before you spot the culprit – indeed, an overturned trash can, black plastic bags spilling their contents onto the ground. Half-eaten apples, strawberries white with mold, and –

Your stomach lurches.

The skyward jut of bloodied fingers, poking out of another bag that flies cluster around in dark, buzzing clouds. You know that smell too, of sun warmed blood and the bloat of decay –

Ace. You should go get Ace, figure out what to do, come up with a plan – you move forward, aware of the staccato beat of your heart in your ears as you approach the trash bag for a morbid inspection.

Nudging the mouth of it open further, your stomach finally gives a hard rejection, the swell of saliva the only warning you get before you’re forced to lurch away, hands and knees slamming against the ground hard as you vomit.

Your stomach doesn’t let up until you’re retching around nothing, gasping raggedly as your mind finally catches up with what you’ve just seen. A corpse, but not just any corpse – the face of the waitress who’d dropped off food to your table less than an hour ago, her eyes foggy and unseeing, coagulated blood at her hairline and lips. But how? There’s no way she could have been killed and look like that in under an hour – your stomach rolls again and you press the back of your fist to your mouth.

Something is very, very wrong with this island, this town –

Ace. You need to get him and get the hell out of here. Adrenaline filters through your veins as you scramble to your feet and turn, darting back in the direction that you’d come from. You don’t miss how the sky has darkened considerably, that most windows are dark now – snuffed out like candle flame and mocking you with the distortion of your own pale, frightened form as you dart past.

‘Gotta get out of here,’ you think, ‘even if it’s just to the other side of this fucking island–’

You collide with someone, hard. You let out a startled noise as you stagger back, correcting your balance and looking up, a reflexive apology on your tongue before relief floods you as you find yourself staring at your boyfriend’s back. “Ace,” you say, relief clear in your tone, “we need to get out of here, I just found–” You stop, realizing that he hasn’t turned to look at you. “...Ace?”

He finally shifts to turn towards you at the same time that you realize the back of his head is covered by black, gauzy fabric – and the dying sun gleams off of smooth, white plastic as your stomach drops.

It’s that fucking mask from the store.

“Ace,” you begin shakily, “take that off and listen to me, okay? I was right about this island, something is seriously wrong here, I just saw our waitress’ dismembered corpse in a trash can–” You pause, scowling as Ace’s head only tilts. “Aren’t you listening? I said to take that stupid thing off.”

You reach to yank it off, only for him to catch your wrist before you can touch it. There are a thousand situations you’ve been in where Ace has grabbed your wrist like this, but never has he gripped it so hard – hard enough to bruise, hard enough for it to hurt.

“Ace,” you snap, struggling to free your hand. “Let go of me!”

His head only tilts further, the tip of the mask now at an unnatural angle with the length of it – and you struggle harder as his other hand slips down to the leather sheath of his dagger. What is wrong with him? Surely he isn’t going to do what you think he is – there’s the flash of dying sun against gleaming silver, and your eyes widen.

“Ace, no!” Your shriek is desperate as you finally wrench yourself free of his grip in time to avoid the upward arc of the blade, stumbling backwards before you turn on your heel and bolt. You almost half expect him to pull ahead of you in a whirlwind of flame, but he doesn’t – and when you chance a glance back, he’s still standing there, knife in hand.

Your mind races as you duck into an alley, back pressed against rough stone as you try to catch your breath. What the hell is going on? That can’t possibly be your boyfriend – he’d never raise a hand against you, let alone a blade – had something happened to him while you were gone? Poison? No – mind control? Another devil fruit user?

Above your harsh breathing, you can hear something – and you jolt as you realize it’s your name, being called in a childish sing-song. “Where are youuuuu~ Come out and play~”

You clap a hand over your mouth and tuck yourself further into the alley, eyes narrowing as you watch the opening, reaching for your pistol once more. The idea of using it against your boyfriend makes you feel sick – but you can’t just let him kill you.

Ace moves to pass the alley way and you slink closer as quietly as you can, waiting until his back is to you to lunge forward, just as he turns. You collide, momentum sending you both to the ground – but you aren’t fast enough to pin his arms properly, the flash of silver the only warning you get before he’s sinking the dagger deep into your shoulder.

Blinding pain sears through you and you bite back a scream, struggling to swipe at the mask on his face. “This isn’t you,” you manage, fingertips hooking around white plastic. “Ace, you don’t have to do this–”

The mask comes free. Though the shock of black hair is Ace’s, the face that stares back at you is not your boyfriend’s. It’s a comical caricature made from the stuff of nightmares – dark, hollow holes where his eyes should be, a wide, gaping maw of black where you’re so used to seeing his bright, dazzling smile.

“What –” Your voice falters. “What are you? What did you do with Ace? Tell me, right now! Tell me what you did with him!”

Whoever – or whatever is wearing Ace’s face laughs. It’s far from his laugh, cruel and mocking as it twists the blade into your shoulder, using your recoil to its advantage as you find yourself pressed into the ground, the horrible thing above you.

“I killed him,” it rasps, voice unholy and making you want to do nothing more than to get away from it, though your efforts are greatly hindered by the amount of blood you’re losing, making your head spin and your limbs heavy. “And now I’m going to kill you.”

Helpless. You’ve never been so helpless against an enemy, unable to do much but writhe in pain and fear as the creature pulls the knife free, bringing it up to its wide, gaping mouth – and dragging a black, rotted tongue against the smear of bright red blood. It leans over you, reeking of rotten flesh and wet earth.

“You never should have come here,” it taunts you. “This island has become your demise, as so many before you.” There’s hard pressure at your throat, tight and making it impossible to breathe, sending your head spinning further and your vision darkening at the edges. So this is it, this is how you die –

“Wake up!”

The cry is sharp, familiar – and you lurch upright with a gasp, eyes wide and wild as you turn to find Ace watching you, his expression one of unfiltered concern. “There we go,” he says, “hiya, sleeping beauty.”

You stare for a long moment, becoming aware of the warmth of the sun on your cheeks, the soft grit of sand beneath your hands – you’re on a beach, Ace’s striker bobbing just a few feet away. Overhead, there’s the distant call of birdsong, high and sweet.

“Ace…” You lurch forward, his startled yelp of surprise in your ears as you latch onto him, arms locked tight around him as you tuck your face into his neck. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Ace answers, “I’m perfectly fine. You’re the one I should be worried about.” His arms wind around you. “I went to take a look around here and when I came back, you were out cold in the sand. I thought somebody attacked you.” There’s audible relief in his tone, though he stills when he hears you sniffle. “Hey, hey, you okay? What happened?”

You press yourself further into him as much as physical limitation will allow, soothing your frayed nerves with the steady thump of his heartbeat. “Nothing,” you finally mutter. “Just a nightmare.”

#ㅡmine.#one piece x reader #one piece scenario #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #–ml: ace.

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plus-size-reader · 3 years

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Weird

Stu Macher x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2755 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Stu developing a little bit of a thing for Randy’s coworker at the video store

Just a weird little thing my brain cooked up, with not too much intricate plot to speak of.

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He’d been staring at you for an hour.

If he didn’t knock it off soon, Stu was sure that it would start to get creepy but he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t like he could just walk right up to you and start a conversation.

You probably wouldn’t even recognize him.

Besides, Stu wasn’t a super good conversationalist to begin with. He always got tongue tied and made inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times. There was no telling how it would go, especially with you.

Stu’d had his eye on you all this time, and while he had never had trouble making friends, it was different with you.

All he could do was walk around the aisles of the video store, doing his best to look busy as he browsed the video selection.

He had always liked movies, and wasted away plenty of night watching tapes with his friends but as of late, the movies had little to nothing to do with his frequent visits to the Woodsboro rental, and everything to do with you.

At first, it was innocent.

One night while he and Billy were looking for a couple blockbusters to occupy their time, he noticed you behind the counter where he typically would have found Randy.

It should have ended there, but because Stu was Stu, of course it didn’t.

The next day at school, he had given his strangest friend the third degree about who the hottie in his place was and found out that you were new.

Randy didn’t know too much about you, other than the fact that you chewed gum the entire time you were on the floor and that your favorite movie was Frankenstein.

It was hardly enough to get to know a person, but it seemed to appease the man enough to end the barrage of questions.

At least for a while.

It wasn’t until he came in six or seven times without his partner in crime that Randy started to get suspicious over just what Stu thought he was doing here.

After all, he had a girlfriend, a very hot girlfriend, who he could be spending time with instead of stalking you at work.

Not that he actually went out of his way to ask the blonde right away.

While his being there so frequently definitely looked weird, there were plenty of explanations for what Stu could have been doing, and in all honesty, he kind of freaked Randy out.

Besides, if all he wanted to do was look through the VHS tapes, there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. Billy and Stu were both good customers and as long as they kept renting movies, it was all good.

If you just so happened to be there when he came in, that was just how it was.

After all, you worked there so you were bound to be there pretty often. That meant that, coupled with the amount of time Stu and Billy spent there looking for good stuff to watch, you were bound to run into them quite a bit.

There were a lot of regulars.

Woodsboro was a relatively small town and you got familiar with people’s faces, especially those you saw all the time, but that didn’t mean you really knew them. You had begun to recognize Randy’s friends, but they were little more than that to you.

Maybe that was why you seemed to be so oblivious to Stu’s constant attention on you. To you, he was just another customer, one that you were even less familiar with then most of the others because Randy handled all of their business.

You very rarely even interacted with them at all.

Not to mention that you were extra busy tonight with the murders and all that. The residents of this town had taken that terrible act as inspiration to have their own blood-soaked horror movie nights in the comfort of their own homes.

There were so many people here tonight that you weren't even sure you would have had time to notice any individual person at all.

You may not have had time, but Randy certainly did and he’d had enough.

Not only was what Stu was doing inappropriate because he had a girlfriend, but it just made Randy feel kind of weird. You were a really cool person, sometimes Stu would have known if he ever bothered to say hello to you, and you didn’t deserve to be gawked at while you were trying to work.

“You’ve been looking at that for a while, you need help deciding?” Randy asked, less than subtly catching Stu in the middle of his ogling, not that the latter seemed to care in the least. Randy worked with you all the time, surely he saw what Stu saw.

You were hot.

That wasn’t his fault.

All he did was notice.

“Nah man, I’m good” he hummed, even going as far as to wink at Randy, making it painfully obvious that he knew exactly what he knew. There was nothing wrong with checking out a cute girl, and if anything, he assumed that Randy was just jealous.

After all, Stu was sure that he hadn’t made a move on you yet.

“You know Y/N’s a person right? you could just go talk to her” Randy scoffed, snatching the tape from Stu before he could argue.

This whole thing had been going on for too long and it was starting to get ridiculous.

Stu didn’t say anything for a second as he thought over what Randy was proposing. It couldn’t have hurt to actually talk to you, even with as nice as just staring at you for the last hour or so had been.

There was a small chance Billy wouldn’t like it, with the threat it would pose to their long con it would pose, but when the blonde glanced over at his friend to find him chatting up a few girls of his own, he made up his mind.

It wasn’t like talking to you would be the end of the world or something. It was just a conversation and it was like Randy said, you were a person after all.

You had been stacking VHS tapes on the displays around the store for the last few hours, filling in gaps here and there, and by this point, it was like muscle memory. You didn’t really think about it as you put each case on the wall, hardly paying attention to your surroundings.

This was just supposed to be a job to help pass the time and give you a little bit more walking around money, and you didn’t get paid enough to cater to every customer's every need.

That kind of thing was much more up Randy’s alley, who treated this job like the greatest thing to ever happen to him. If someone had a question about a movie, you pointed them in his direction and kept on stacking.

...but that wasn’t always going to work.

Out of nowhere, you heard someone clear their throat behind you, too close to be directed at anyone that wasn’t you.

Naturally, having worked here for a while, you assumed that it was just someone with a question about where to find something and turned around. Helping people find the things they were looking for was literally your only job, after all.

What you could have never expected was Stu Macher, standing there with an almost expectant grin on his face.

“Can I help you find something?” you asked, practically reciting from the script you were given when you were hired here. He was probably looking for some movie full of Jamie Lee flashing her tits, just like every other guy around here was.

Whatever it was he needed though, he needed to get to it.

You had to restock all of these shelves with titles from the back, a task that would surely keep you here until midnight anyway.

The longer he took to get to the point, the more behind you would be.

Besides, it wasn’t like he needed you specifically for that. He could have just as easily asked Randy for whatever horny horror fest he was searching for.

Not that such a simple idea had struck Stu in all the time he’d been here, doing whatever it was he was doing.

“I’m actually just looking,” he hummed, shrugging in a way that should have sent him back to where he had previously been browsing, if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was a complete and total lie.

Stu was only here for one reason, and one reason alone.

He had to make a move.

If he didn’t, it was becoming clear that Randy was thinking about it and there was just no way the blonde was going to let that happen.

“You come here often?” he tried after a few seconds, letting himself lean a bit over you, consuming all the space that your height didn’t occupy.

It was quite the line, you had to give him that, not that it was anything other than awkward given his clumsy, goofy delivery and the dopey look on his face.

He wanted to be cool about this whole thing, and to come off mysterious and suave, like Billy always did, but it wasn’t working. Obviously, because as soon as he said it, you laughed.

You actually laughed.

It was hardly the reaction Stu had been expecting from you, or any guy could have expected under the circumstances, but he assumed it was better than you just shutting him down right off the bat.

At least if you were laughing, you weren’t walking away.

“What?” he laughed, an almost unsettled edge to his desperate attempt to salvage any part of this interaction. Given all the time that he’d had to prepare for what exactly it was he was going to say to you, it should have been much better than that.

...but you had to give him some credit.

As awkward as this was, he put himself out there in a way that took a lot of courage, courage that most guys around here didn’t have. Normally, they would just make some crude attempt at sexualizing you then call you fat when you rejected it.

Stu was already vastly ahead of the douchebags you were used to.

“Nothing, that's just much more of a line than I was expecting, Randy put you up to it?” you questioned, catching sight of the way the male in question was gawking over at the two of you, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t snooping.

It wouldn’t have surprised you if he set it all up to be funny, but Stu didn’t seem to find the same understanding. In fact, he was almost insulted by the idea of what you were suggesting. Like he couldn't just hit on a pretty girl without a reason?

He’d done it plenty of times before without cause.

“Nah, I just wanted to get to know you a little better” he shrugged, continuing to talk even as you leaned down to gather a few of the movies from the storage boxes, headed to the rom com section to stock them on the shelves.

It was sweet, in a strange way.

He was really weird, you couldn’t act like he wasn’t, but there was also something about him that was almost endearing.

“Well, I’m a captive audience until six so ask away” you allowed, a small smile on your face as you tried to focus on doing your job while also maintaining a conversation with the man in front of you. You were trying really hard to keep it as professional as possible, but it wasn’t exactly easy.

After all, he was laying it on pretty thick, making it overly clear just how interested in you he was even though he was trying to convey an air of casualness.

“Okay, what’s your favorite movie?” came Stu’s voice again, accompanied by the tapping of his fingers on the shelf.

You thought over his question for a second or so, doing your best to figure out what he wanted you to say before you decided to just go with it. Talking to Stu wasn’t the worst thing you would have to do today, and based on how it was going, it might actually help pass the time.

At least he was entertaining.

“It depends on what genre you’re looking at, I guess. I like all kinds of stuff” you decided, standing up briefly to find him leaning over the shelf separating the two of you, his face in his hand.

If nothing else, he certainly seemed to be pretty enthralled with this conversation.

It was something you didn’t get super often, and it would be a lie to say that it didn’t feel nice to have someone so interested in every single word that fell from your lips.

It was no wonder he was so popular.

“I’ve always been a horror guy myself. Like any of those?” he asked, tapping his fingers gingerly on the shelf as he spoke, syncing up his words rather nicely as he grinned at you. He was hoping, not so secretly, that you did.

As much as he was clearly attracted to you, his obsession with gore was a big part of Stu’s life and he didn’t want to miss out on it in any way.

It would just be a huge bonus if you liked watching them with him, so that you could watch them together for date nights and stuff.

It would be a good time, not to mention the fact that he and Billy only ever really did that.

“Yeah, I do. That’s actually why I started working here” you informed, thinking about just how quickly you had applied for this job once you found out they were hiring. Of all the places you could work in this town, it just felt like the place.

It was perfect.

“That’s great, I was hoping you'd say that” Stu allowed, smiling at you as he thought about it. All in all, this was going a lot better than he could have ever assumed and now that he knew he could check the horror block with you too, he was thrilled.

You couldn't have been more perfect for him.

“Maybe we could watch some sometime, at my folks place?” he offered, a twinkle in his eye as he finally got to the point that he’d been waiting for all this time.

The two of you had never really had a conversation alone before now, because his friends were always tagging along. However, it wasn’t as if he’d made too bad a first impression, as strange as he was.

You were kind of lost as to what could have brought this on so suddenly but watching a movie or two at his house couldn’t have been the end of the world.

He was harmless, and besides, it could have been fun to get to know him better.

You stopped, straightening up to look him in the face, that same sly grin there that he hadn’t been able to wipe off his face in this entire time.

“Yeah, we can do that. You can just get my number from Randy and call sometime” you smiled, turning back away to finish up the last of the box from the back. The sooner you finished this up, the sooner you could start cleaning up from the rush.

For you, it was a simple enough suggestion. Randy and the rest of your coworkers all had your telephone number and seeing as they were pretty close, it would just be easier for him to get it there.

If your manager found out you were flirting on the job, you would never hear the end of it.

Though, for Stu, it was far less innocent. He had only really just interacted with you in this new way but now that he had, he wasn’t exactly a huge fan of Randy already having your number.

Especially not knowing how much the male in question likes you.

“Cool, cool, I’ll talk to you later then” Stu nodded, turning around to find Randy still watching intently. He seemed to really think that he had a shot but now that Stu had made up his mind, there was no way he was ever going to let that happen.

You were too good for him to just let you go so easily.

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firstofficerwiggles · 3 years

Text

Chapter 8: Desperately Seeking Mandos

Link to Chpt. 7, Link to Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: M/E, 18+ only

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (F and M receiving), explicit description of sex (still romantic smut though), canonical violence

Word count: ~11K

Author’s Note: This chapter took a bit longer than I originally planned, but my semester has reached its busiest time and it’s harder to carve out as much time as I’d like to write. So, thank you for being patient with me. Also, I would like to send a special thank you to @imthemandalornow for being an excellent source of inspiration -- you’re the best, darling. As always, thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

You sit in the passenger seat of the Razor Crest as you stare out at the blue glow of hyperspace, normally you find it pretty and rather peaceful, but today you’re sitting tense and fraught with worry. Din monitors the scanners regularly and it appears as if you have avoided detection by any Imperial vessels. Still, the feeling of unease stays with you. Din talks to you about some possible planets you could try to avoid detection, but neither of you seem very sure about what your next move should be. You’re distracted from having to decide when the comm dings with an incoming transmission.

“Princess and Mando, are you there? It’s Mistress Eira.” Her image comes in over the holo and she looks distressed.

“We’re here, Eira,” Din replies. You come over to stand close to him so you can see the holo better.

“I’m so glad to hear your voice, Mando, I was so worried for you both, something terrible has happened here,” she tells you in a serious voice. “There were ex-Imperial officers here; they killed Mistress Sigrid.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Eira,” you tell her with a heavy heart, “Was anyone else hurt?”

“No, but, honestly you shouldn’t shed any tears over Sigrid,” Eira sounds angry now, “She had some type of deal with them, apparently she was helping them find you. I’m calling to warn you.” You gasp at this news, you didn’t expect such treachery from Sigrid.

“Eira, do you know who any of the Imperials were?” You feel like you already know what her answer will be.

“Yes, the man that killed Sigrid is a Commander Kerrick Hoven, we have security footage of their interaction and then the shooting,” Eira confirms your worst fear, “I have to tell you, Princess, the man seems obsessed with you, the footage of him is unsettling, he was… talking to you, well, an image of you.”

“I’m sorry, Eira, I had no idea he was looking for me, I haven’t seen him in years and I never would have thought that I was putting anyone in danger,” Ok, technically you did know there were Imps after Din and the baby, but not you too. But who could have predicted that they’d find you on Angel One of all places?

“It isn’t your fault,” she says, “We’ve discovered that Sigrid has been in contact with the Empire for years making many underhanded backdoor deals.” Eira pauses for a moment and then says, “Listen, I’m going to send you the security footage, I think you should see what I mean about this man, you need to know what he’s like.”

“Alright, thank you, Eira, any information we can get about him will be helpful,” you say.

“Do you have any information about their ship?” Din asks Eira.

“Oh yes, I’ll send all that we have to you now,” she replies.

“Eira, thank you for helping us, you’re a true friend,” you tell her before she ends the holo.

A few minutes later, the files she promised come through. Din reviews the information for Kerrick’s light cruiser and confirms that it was the one the scanners detected as you were leaving Angel One. After he’s stored all the pertinent details about the ship, you know it’s time to see the second file.

As the holovid begins to play, you watch as Kerrick goes from an icy calm officer, to an angry bully, and then to a disturbing ex-lover. You clutch Din’s hand as you watch and you cringe in horror, as it continually gets worse. When Kerrick finishes his creepy soliloquy to your image, you feel ill.

“Oh, cyar’ika, come here,” Din stands and pulls you into his arms, “Don’t cry, my love, you’re safe here with me.”

You didn’t even realize there were tears streaming down your cheeks until he says that. You let your arms come around him tightly and you try to even out your breathing. Din rubs your back and murmurs soothing words to you and slowly you feel yourself calm down. With your face still pressed against him, you say,

“I had no idea Kerrick still thought about me, let alone that his feelings for me have become so twisted, ugh and he still calls me his ‘doll’, I always hated that, even when we were a couple… I can’t believe we ever were,” your voice shows your disgust.

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep him from you,” Din pledges to you.

“I know that you will, Din,” you murmur against his chest. You hear a sad little coo and look over to the child who is looking back at you with teary eyes.

“Oh sweetie,” you say, and you go over to him, pick him up, and hold him tight to your chest, “I’ll be alright,” you look back to Din, “We’re all going to be alright,” you promise.

“Maybe you should take him downstairs and try to get some more rest?” Din suggests his voice full of concern, “I’ll reach out to my contacts and work on finding us our next destination.”

You’re feeling exhausted and so you pull Din into a hug with you and the little one, before heading down the ladder and crawling into your bed. You don’t bother to put the child in his hammock and instead let him cuddle up next to you. You rub his back as you watch his tiny face and see as he slowly drifts off to sleep. Eventually your own eyes start to feel heavy and you fall asleep too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frustrated, Din ends another holocall without much to show for it. He’s been at this for almost two hours now and he still has no idea where to go, or what the best course of action will be. He knows he needs to be more patient, he’s made the calls for assistance and now he has to see what comes from them. Still though, the churning in his gut keeps him far from patience and instead brings him doubt and worry. It doesn’t help that he can still hear Kerrick’s disgusting words in his ear, calling you his ‘doll’ and promising to rid you of the ‘vile Mandalorian’. He’d never wanted to shoot someone through a holopad before, but as he watched that holovid his fingers were itching to pull out his blaster. When you first told him about Kerrick, Din had thought about tracking the man down, thinking maybe he’d help you get a little revenge on the man who broke your heart and betrayed you. Later, he realized that was just a silly fantasy to make himself feel important to you, but once Din understood how much you’d come to care for him, he had stopped thinking about your ex-lover altogether.

Din sighs, rolling his neck and stretching the muscles there. He’s wishing he could go down and join you in some sleep for a few hours, when the holo dings.

“Din Djarin, I hope you are well,” he hears as the Armorer’s image glimmers into view, “Word has reached me that you are being pursued once again by Imperial forces.”

“Yes, that is correct, I am seeking shelter for a few days to formulate a plan,” Din replies.

“The Covert has regrouped and joined with another,” the Armorer tells him, “You will join us here and we will assist you in your strategy.”

“I- I do not wish to endanger the Covert, I should not come to you,” Din responds, his tone regretful as he remembers all that the Covert has sacrificed already on his behalf.

“By its very nature the Covert is always in danger, it is a fact that we accept,” she states calmly, “We are gar vode, your brethren, and we welcome you in your time of need. We are always here for you. This is the way.”

“This is the way.” Din responds and he enters the coordinates she gives him into the nav. As he does this, he tells her about you and the latest trouble that has managed to find you both. Din feels comforted by the Armorer’s genuine interest in you as he tells the story, and he greatly appreciates her willingness to help you.

Feeling a sense of relief Din after his conversation with the Armorer ends, he switches on the autopilot and heads downstairs. When he sees you and the child sleeping so soundly, Din feels a sense of contentment wash over him. As he snuggles up next to you in the bed, he knows that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you both safe and that it will be worth it no matter the cost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Din explains that you’re heading to his Covert, you feel reassured at first because you know how formidable your Mandalorian is and you can’t think of safer place to be than surrounded by a whole group of them. Nonetheless, it dawns on you that this is Din’s family that you’ll be meeting and you find yourself wishing that you were getting to meet them under better circumstances. You also start to feel a tad nervous about making a good first impression.

The Covert is currently located on Dol’har Hyde, a planet almost entirely covered in dense forests. When you land in a clearing that is just large enough for the Razor Crest, you wonder if the coordinates were correct because you can’t see any type of settlement or structures of any kind. You follow Din down a narrow forest path listening to the birds singing and enjoying the natural beauty of the place. It’s soothing and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the planet was uninhabited. The further you go down the path, the thicker the forest becomes and it seems as if you are walking in twilight as the multitude of leaves above you block out more and more of the sun’s rays. Finally, the path appears to end and you see the opening of a cave.

“This is it,” Din says, and you look up to see a small carving of a mythosaur in the stone entrance. You get no more than five steps into the dark cavern when two Mandalorians appear out of nowhere asking you to identify yourselves with blasters raised. Different from Din, their armor is decorated with paint, one in orange and the other in blue. Once they recognize Din, they lower their weapons and greet you.

“Welcome home, Djarin,” the Mando in blue says as he thumps Din’s pauldron in greeting, “Still getting into trouble I see.”

“Vizsla, still a pain in the ass I see,” Din replies curtly.

“I’m afraid the trouble is my fault,” you speak up, not wanting Din to take the blame for your past catching up to you.

“Well hello,” Blue Mando welcomes you with a pleasant tone, “The Armorer mentioned Djarin was bringing someone with him, who knew you’d be so pretty.”

His compliment surprises you, and you stutter out, “O-Oh, thank you.”

Din makes a grunting sound as he places his hand on your lower back and steers you past the two guards, “We’re going to see the Armorer now,” he informs them.

“I’ll take you to see her,” Orange Mando offers.

“Thank you,” Din responds.

“I guess I’ll see you later then, pretty one, you too, Djarin,” the Blue Mando chuckles as you walk deeper into the cave.

As your eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting of the cave’s passageway you can see that there are drawings on the walls, many featuring Mandalorian helmets. They look like they could be children’s sketches given the simplicity and the height of most of them. It makes you smile, knowing that you’ll be somewhere with families, maybe your own little one will be able to make a few friends while you’re here. Eventually, you can hear the sounds of other people and when the passage opens up to a large room in the cave you see a comforting and homey site.

This part of the cavern has a small pool in the middle and it creates a beautiful soft glow as the water reflects back the artificial lights that have been arranged throughout the space. Around the room, there are small groups of people chatting with each other, playing sabacc, helping children with schoolwork, polishing armor, and performing all sorts of small domestic tasks. It makes you smile to yourself. Everyone here wears helmets, including the children, and all of the adults wear armor too. You notice a few helmets turning towards you as you move past the groups and you wonder if you must seem odd to them with your face uncovered.

There is a second passageway on the other side of the room and you follow Orange Mando down this next path. As you walk, you can feel a hot wind run through the tunnel and you hear a metallic clanking in an almost rhythmic pattern. The noise grows louder and soon you reach a warm room where the Armorer is working. You are mesmerized by her striking golden helmet and the graceful but powerful movements she makes as she forges a piece of beskar armor. When she sees Din, the child, and you, she pauses in her work and nods in your direction. Din motions for you to sit on a stone bench and the three of you sit patiently as she finishes her work.

“I see your foundling is doing well,” the Armorer comments, “And this is the caregiver.” She looks over at you and you offer her a smile and a nod. She rests her tools on her workbench and comes over to you. Din stands and you mirror his movement. The Armorer offers you her hand and welcomes you to the Covert.

“Din Djarin tells me that you are a very special woman, it is clear you have been a positive influence in his life.” The Armorer speaks in such a deliberate way that you feel honored to hear such praise from her.

“Thank you, I’ve tried to do my best to help him and we’ve grown very close, but I feel such regret that it’s my fault we’re in trouble now,” you admit to her and you know your face shows the guilt you’re feeling.

“It isn’t your fault,” Din corrects you, “You have no control over Kerrick’s actions.”

“Din is correct,” the Armorer affirms his statement, “You are not responsible for the actions of an evil man who seeks to control you. We will do all that we can to assist you. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” Din repeats.

“Thank you, I am beyond grateful for your help, and for making me welcome with your tribe,” you tell her.

“You are welcome,” she responds, “I must ask now though to speak to Din alone with the other members of our tribe, if you do not mind.”

“Of course.”

You hear footsteps behind you and you see that several other Mandalorians have joined you. Several of them give you a nod in greeting in your direction and a woman with purple armor steps forward.

“I can take you and the child to the place where you’ll be staying while you’re here,” she offers. You turn to follow her, but before you can, Din reaches out to give your hand a squeeze and says, “I’ll find you later, cyar’ika.”

Din watches you leave and then turns back to the Armorer, feeling a little nervous now that he is alone with her and those who remain in their tribe. His own feelings of guilt rise within him as he looks around the room and realizes how few their numbers have become.

In a low voice full of shame and remorse he says, “I am sorry for Nevarro. I can never thank you enough for helping me and the child, but I--”

“Have nothing to apologize for,” Paz interrupts him in a gravelly voice laden with emotion. Din turns his head toward him in surprise.

“We were honored to help you and we would make the same choice again,” a female member of the tribe speaks up.

“It was our duty and our privilege to fight alongside of you in Nevarro,” another tribe member says.

“You are ner vod, an important member of our tribe and we are here for you,” yet another person tells him.

One by one each tribe member speaks up to reassure Din of his place in the tribe and to express that none of them hold him responsible for the attack on the Covert in Nevarro. His eyes fill with tears and he can feel them slowly gliding down his face in response to their acceptance and love for him. He’s felt so disconnected from the tribe since being forced to flee but being with them here now, and hearing their words of support makes him feel like part of a family again. It is so much more than he could have asked for and it means everything to him.

“Th-thank you,” Din chokes out when the last person has spoken, he wants to say more but his emotions are causing a tightness in his throat and it’s all he can get out now.

“Now, let us discuss the threat against your companion,” the Armorer says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Purple Mando leads you to a small room with modest furnishings where you are able to stow your bag of belongings. She asks if you want to rest, but you tell her that you’d rather spend time with the others if that’s alright.

“I know that little one would love a chance to run around a bit too and maybe play with some other children, if he can,” you suggest.

“That sounds like a nice idea, and you can meet some of my tribe members.” Her voice has a pleasant tone and her friendly demeanor puts you at ease.

When you’re back in the larger cavern that seems to serve as the common room for the Covert, she introduces you to a group of her friends.

“Look at your little foundling, what a cutie he is,” one of the women coos at the kiddo.

“He’s a sweetie,” another one says, “He’s welcome to go play with the other children, here, I’ll introduce him to my two boys.”

“Thank you,” you reply and you put the child down so he can toddle over to the other little children who are playing with blocks. “Be sure to share, buddy,” you call after him.

“Oh, is he in the ‘mine’ phase?” Purple Mando asks you.

“It’s hard to tell really, it’s more that he doesn’t have much time to spend with other children so he’s used to all the toys being his,” you explain.

“Ah, I see, well I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” she says in a reassuring manner.

“So, will you tell me a little about your tribe? I’ve only ever met the one Mandalorian.” You’re really curious to know more about their way of life.

“Sure, we’re happy to tell you anything you want to know.” Her friends make positive sounds and nod their heads in agreement. “But you also have to be sure to tell us all about you and your Mandalorian,” she says with a small chuckle.

You agree with a smile, and the women proceed to tell you about the tribe. They’ve been here in this Covert for quite some time now. On the other side of the cavern system there is a settlement where they can go for various necessities. Unlike Nevarro, there is less threat here so they are able to leave the Covert in small groups. The adults in the tribe have one of four principle jobs. The protectors assist with guarding the Covert and training the others in fighting techniques. The hunters are responsible for bringing in fresh meat from the surrounding forest. The crafters make weapons, vibroblades and other knives in particular, that they sell to help earn income for the tribe. Finally, the caregivers are responsible for the domestic tasks including maintaining a large garden to grow food for the tribe. There are also a few members who have special jobs like the tribe’s two healers, the Armorer, and the beroya, a bounty hunter, like Din.

“Although we hear your beroya is more skilled than ours,” one of the women says, hinting a little at the subject of Din.

“Well, he isn’t one to brag, but he always seems to be successful in catching his quarry, at least as far as I’ve seen,” you explain but you can’t keep a note of pride out of your voice.

“His tribe has only been with us for a few months, but we have heard stories about him,” Purple Mando tells you, “And they were very pleased to hear that you were coming to stay with him for a bit.”

“Really?” This surprises you because you wouldn’t have believe that Din’s tribe would give too much thought to you seeing as they’ve never met you.

“Mmhmm, yes, apparently he’s never been serious about a woman before, so they’re all wondering if he’s finally ready to settle down,” she laughs lightly as she says this and tips her helmet in your direction.

“Oh I- I don’t know about that,” you stumble over your words a bit, feeling flustered at the implication, “He um hasn’t said… I mean, I wouldn’t assume anything… I-”

“Don’t let her tease you,” another woman pipes up, “She’s a hopeless matchmaker.”

“Oh c’mon, what can I say, I just adore love and a riduurok,” Purple Mando giggles.

“What’s a riduurok?” you ask.

“A marriage ceremony,” she tells you, “When two people become each other’s riduur, or spouse.”

“Well, I appreciate learning new words in Mando’a,” you say with a chuckle, “But I don’t think there’s going to be a riduurok any time soon, unless one of you are getting married this week?”

The women laugh with you and you feel a contentment that you haven’t felt in days, it feels like you can let your guard down with them. As much as you enjoy spending time with Din, you’ve missed having friends. The afternoon passes quickly as the women fill you in on the gossip in the tribe and you watch the child playing happily with the other kids.

When Din returns to your side with several members of his tribe, he introduces you to many of them although all without names as per their tradition so you continue to refer to them in your mind by the colors of their armor. Even though some of the colors are repeated, the patterns of the paint vary sufficiently that you can easily tell everyone apart.

One woman with pink armor seems very chatty and interested in you. She asks you all about your work with languages.

“Oh, how did you know about that?” you ask surprised.

“Din told us of course,” she says pleasantly, “He’s very sweet on you and talked at length about your many accomplishments while we were catching up.” As she comments on Din’s affectionate side, she nudges him slightly with her elbow and it’s clear she’s teasing him. It’s cute and it reminds you of the way you used to tease your brother about girls.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you whisper conspiratorially to her, “I’m sweet on him too.” You hear Din let out a chuckle at that and he rests his hand on your knee. He’s relaxed here in a way you’ve not seen before and it’s nice.

“Oh, but yes, languages have always intrigued me, I love figuring out how they work and learning about new ones,” you explain, “I’ve even learned several words in Mando’a today.”

“Which ones?” Pink is curious to know.

“Well, beroya, talking about Din, of course,” you say with a smile, “And then a few related to families, ad’ika, aliit, and buir, oh and then riduur and riduurok too.” You’re just happy you remembered all the new words.

“Hmm, riduur and riduurok, talking more about Din, I suppose?” she giggles.

“Oh! No! I- I didn’t mean in reference to him, it- it just came up…” you trail off embarrassed to have implied such a thing. You’re thankful that Din is deep in conversation with one of the other men and doesn’t appear to have heard that.

“Don’t worry, I’m only playing,” Pink reassures you, “I’m just so happy with my own riduur. It’s only been eight months and I’m already expecting.” She tells you this excitedly and places a hand on her lower abdomen tenderly where you can see a small baby bump.

“Congratulations!” you beam at her with delight, “That’s so exciting.” You ponder her news for a moment and then ask, “What’s it like? Being pregnant, I mean? I’ve always been curious.”

“Well, at first I just felt really tired and I could throw up at a moment’s notice,” she explains, “But now, I’m further along and I just feel really happy and excited. Plus my riduur is just so proud and happy too.” She points to a man in black armor. Then she leans in closer to you and drops her voice low as she whispers, “And honestly, the sex has never been better. You’d think he was trying to get me pregnant twice.”

You laugh merrily along with her, not realizing that you’re drawing Din’s attention back to you when you pipe up to say, “I’ve always fantasized about being pregnant, it seems like such a special time, knowing that a new life is growing within you.” Your face takes on a dreamy, wistful look as you say this to her. But then thinking about your reality, you say, “I guess it’s just a far-off wish, but it’s fun to dream about it.”

Din’s helmet snaps to look directly at you when you say this, and, as it turns out, so do several other curious helmets. Something deep inside Din’s chest pulses with a desire to make your wish come true. Suddenly he can see what you would look like round and swollen with his child, the beautiful glow you would have, the tender way you would look at him when he’d caress your belly, and so much more. He wants to say something, anything to you, but he can’t think of the right words, especially not in front of so many people. Happy giggles from you and your new friend distract him from these thoughts.

Pink giggles at your statement and then leans in to stage whisper, “You should be careful saying that around a bunch of Mandalorians, one of them might take you up on it and put a baby in you tonight.”

Her statement is rather blunt, but it just makes you laugh along with her. After the stress you’ve been under all day, you’re enjoying making a new friend and just giggling along with her. As nervous as you were about meeting Din’s tribe, you are so thankful to be here now.

“So Djarin, your woman wants a baby,” Paz ribs Din, “You know if you’re not up to the task, I’d be more than happy to oblige her.”

“Shut up, di’kut,” Din mutters at him.

“Vizsla has a point; she is a beauty, I’m surprised you’re not trying harder,” another guy sitting next to him gets in on the teasing.

“Not you too,” Din replies and gives the guy a shove.

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves, get to know her,” Paz says cheekily, then walks over closer to where you’re seated. “Hey, mesh’la, how are you doing this evening?” he nods his helmet in your direction.

“I’m pretty sure he means you,” Pink snickers.

Not wanting to be impolite, you smile kindly as you answer, “I’m having a nice time; everyone has been so welcoming.”

“That’s good; we all want you to feel welcome.” He props his knee up on a rock formation and then leans his arm down on it so he can be closer to where you are. “Maybe later you’d like a nice tour of the caverns? I know some really nice spots.”

Din stands up at this and positions himself between you and Blue Mando, “You want to ask her that again, Vizsla?”

“I dunno, maybe she’d rather see some Mandalorian sparring? Let her see how a real man fights,” Paz jeers at Din.

“Why not? I’m sure she’d enjoy watching me kick your ass.” Din taunts back.

“Whoa, guys, there’s no need for this,” you try to interrupt, but the air is thick with tension and testosterone. This seems to be an older dispute, and you’re just a convenient spark to reignite the flames of the argument. You’re worried that they might actually start fighting when the child comes to your rescue.

The little guy toddles over carrying a big piece of paper in his claws. He wants to show Din and you a picture that he’s drawn.

“Hi, buddy!” You purposely step between Din and Blue Mando to reach down and pick him up. “What do you have here?”

It’s a drawing of a stick figure family with flowers and what looks to be frogs surrounding them. One of the figures has a helmet-shaped head, another has hair that looks a lot like yours, and the third little figure has big green ears, so it’s clear that he’s drawn his own little family of Din, you, and himself.

“This is so good, buddy,” Din tells him and then he leans over to pat the kid on the head.

“You did so great, kiddo!” You say enthusiastically, feeling a bit relieved too. You lean in and kiss the child on the forehead, and then whisper, “Good job calming down your papa too.” He coos at you in his happy way and you could swear he understands everything you say to him.

Just then, a soft gonging sound rings out across the cave. You watch as the other children scramble back towards their parents and little groups begin to funnel out of the room.

“What’s happening?” you ask Pink.

“It’s time for the evening meal. The food is prepared collectively, and each family goes to collect their portion before heading to their private quarters to eat. Follow me and we’ll get you three all set up.”

You follow her and the rest of the Mandalorians towards another large room with a buffet of food. It all smells delicious and you didn’t realize how hungry you’d become. The child starts wiggling in anticipation when he sees the feast before him. He starts making little whiny sounds and grabby hands towards the dishes.

“It’s ok, sweetie,” you tell him, “We’ll get our food very soon, I promise.”

Din moves forward to begin collecting your dinner and he quickly scoops up a bun that had started to mysteriously float upward and hands it to the child so he won’t get too fussy. “Don’t get too impatient, kiddo,” he says gently reproaching the child.

You retreat to your appointed room with your meal and once you make sure the child can’t peek over at Din, you’re able to enjoy the food. For a while, you simply eat in a comfortable silence. There’s been so much going on today, it’s nice to be here where it’s more tranquil and you have a moment to yourselves that doesn’t feel as stressful as early in the day.

“I’ve really enjoyed meeting everyone here, they’re so caring and nice,” you tell Din, “Pink and Purple did a great job of introducing me to lots of people and teaching me about the Covert.”

“Pink and Purple?” He asks, confused.

“Oh, well, I don’t know anyone’s names so I’ve just been referring to them by the color of their armor in my head, Pink, Purple, Orange, Blue, you know?”

Din laughs at this and says, “You’re so adorable, cyar’ika.”

“Thanks, darling,” you say laughing a little with him, it is rather funny, “Seriously, I’ve felt so safe and at home here, even though it’s only been a few hours.”

“It makes me happy to hear you say that, cyar’ika,” he responds, “I hope you don’t mind but I told my tribe a lot about you, I wanted them to know how hard you’ve worked to take care of the child and keep him safe.”

You feel a fluttery sensation in your chest at his words, “I’m honored that you wanted to tell them about me.”

“Of course I wanted to,” Din says, “You’re very important to me.”

“You’re important to me too, Din,” you admit softly, trying not to get too choked up as you share your feelings with him. You hear him come closer to you and then he’s placing his arms around you, hugging you to his chest. His helmet is still off and you can feel him nuzzle his face into your neck and hair.

You sit like that for a while, just enjoying the closeness; you’re holding the child in your arms and Din is holding you in his. After a bit, you start to rock the child a little and hum a little song to him. He’s had a long day after running around with the other children and now that his belly is full, you can see he’s getting drowsy. As his big eyes start to blink longer and longer, you get up to put him in his little pod for the night. When you close it, you can feel Din has followed you and is standing right behind you.

“I have something for you,” he says, his voice a little gruff, but modulated so you know he’s wearing the helmet again. You turn and face him and you see he’s holding out a small leather pouch for you to take.

You smile broadly at him, “A gift for me?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

You untie the strings of the pouch and reach inside to pull out a necklace with a heart pendant made of beskar. It glimmers in the light and you can see there is a mythosaur skull imprinted on the heart. You hold it up and smile, touched by the gesture.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Din,” you breathe out in delight, “Thank you so much. Will you help me put it on?”

You hand him the necklace and then turn away so he can clasp it at the nape of your neck. He tries to do it first with his gloves on, but then you hear him mutter, “Kriffing gloves,” followed by some shuffling before you feel his bare fingers against your skin as he finally secures the clasp for you.

“How does it look?” You ask him.

“Beautiful, just like you,” he says, before adding, “It’s made from a piece of my armor.”

“It is?” you gasp a little, “So it’s like I’m wearing a little piece of you?”

“Mmhmm,” he nods.

“Then I love it even more,” you tell him truthfully. “If I close my eyes, can I thank you with a kiss?”

“Absolutely,” Din says. You let your eyes flutter closed and then you feel his lips on yours, kissing you softly and slowly. It’s so sweet and romantic, you feel like you want to swoon. His tongue comes out to brush lightly against your bottom lip and you open your mouth letting him deepen the kiss. You pull him closer to you, running your hand up into his hair as you tug lightly and shift against him to position yourself to an even better angle. This rouses something in Din and he kisses you more passionately as his hands run down your back to your hips before pulling you flush to his body. After a bit he breaks away from your lips, only so he can trail kisses down your neck and throat, traveling further down until he kisses your chest right above the pendant.

“I’m glad you love the necklace,” Din says and you can feel his breath on your chest as his fingers lightly play with the pendant, “It… it means a lot to me, giving this to you means I feel attached to you… it means that you have my heart.”

“Oh, Din,” your voice fills with emotion, “You have my heart too.”

“Then I don’t need anything else in the galaxy, cyar’ika.” After those sweet words, Din moves back up to give you another scorching kiss.

When he pulls away this time, he rests his forehead on yours and asks, “Did you think to grab the sleep mask before we left?”

You giggle a little at that and say, “Yes, I did. It’s in the outside pouch of my bag.”

He kisses you again, “Can I get it?”

“Yes, but, do you think it will be ok with the little one right in the room with us? I mean I know he’s in his pod…” you trail off, really wanting things to continue but a little torn given the sleeping accommodations tonight.

“His pod is soundproofed, but I’m sure we can be quieter if we try,” Din replies, “But if you’re not comfortable with that, we can just sleep.”

“Well, if you think we can be quieter,” you reply honestly, “I’d rather keep going.”

“Me too,” Din says and in almost an instant, he’s back by your side slipping the mask over your eyes and kissing you soundly again.

“Cyar’ika, can I undress you?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you respond. Gently, Din removes each piece of your clothing. He is unhurried as he reveals more of you to him, almost as if you’re a present and he’s savoring the unwrapping. When he reveals a patch of skin, he pauses to kiss you there, sometimes letting his hot tongue slip out and taste you. Each time he does it, you melt a little more into his touch. When you’re completely naked, he guides you to the bed so you can lie back. He kisses your lips one more time before telling you, “Let me remove my clothing now, I’ll be just a bit.”

You wait in anticipation, and when you hear him moving closer to the bed again, you’re surprised when you feel him kissing your toes.

“Din!” you yelp in surprise.

“Shh, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, “We’re supposed to be quieter.”

“You surprised me,” you explain, but in a softer voice this time.

You feel his lips again on your feet as he starts to kiss his way to your ankle and then up your calf. He’s gradually parting your legs as he works his way up higher and higher. You can guess his destination as he places a kiss high up on your inner thigh, but then you’re surprised again when he pulls away. When you feel him kissing your other foot, you realize he’s repeating the whole process on the other leg this time. He’s taking his time kissing and tasting your skin, and it feels so good that it’s turning you on more than you can believe. This time when Din gets to your inner thigh, you’re trembling in anticipation. As he lingers, you can’t take it anymore and you start to beg him.

“Din, please,” you whine out so softly it’s almost a whimper.

“Do you want more, cyar’ika?” he says against your skin and he lets his tongue caress the very top of your thigh. It’s so good, but it’s still too far away.

“Yes, please, higher.” This time it is a whimper and you don’t even care just so long as it gets him to finally kiss and lick where you need him most.

“Well, when you ask so nicely…” Din finally brings his tongue to your pussy and licks a path from the bottom all the way up to the very top where he places a kiss directly on your clit.

You let out a soft mewling sound and he says, “Was that better?”

“Please, more,” you manage to get out in a breathy voice.

“Anything for you, cyar’ika,” Din says before licking you again in the same deliberate manner. He keeps this up, licking in long strokes but very slowly, driving you completely crazy with desire. You start to try to grind your hips against his tongue but his hands come up to hold you still.

“You’re so eager,” he chuckles, “But be patient, my love; I’ll make it good for you.” With that comment, he pushes his tongue inside you as his fingers come up to draw light circles around your clit. It feels incredible and you let out a shaky moan as he finally starts to give you more. His tongue and his lips start to explore you in earnest, tasting and sucking on your most sensitive parts, turning you into a moaning mess. It an attempt to be quieter, you hold your hand up to your mouth to muffle the sounds because you just can’t stop making them.

“Mmm, that’s a sound I like to hear,” Din says between licks, “Reminds me of when you were first on the ship with me, late at night, I’d hear you trying to be quiet as you touched yourself.”

“You heard that?” you manage to gasp out, you’d be a little embarrassed but considering where his head is now, you don’t care.

“Yes, and I lived for it,” he tells you before diving back in and picking up his pace. You keen up into his mouth as he sucks hard on your clit, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste, and you feel your thighs starting to quake. When he pushes two fingers deep inside you, you can feel yourself starting to tighten around them. Your pleasure builds and just when it seems like you can’t take anymore, you feel yourself coming apart all over his face and hand.

You’re still panting when he makes his way up your body and then pulls you into another passionate kiss. His enthusiasm for you is humbling, but truthfully, you feel the same way, like you can never get enough of him. You break the kiss to move down his body now; you place hot, open-mouthed kisses all down his torso. You stop at both of his nipples to tease them with your tongue and nip at them lightly. Now it’s his turn to moan as you let your hands and mouth guide you lower and lower.

“Where are you g-going, cyar’ika?” Din grounds out, his voice stuttering as your tongue delves into his navel.

“Mmmm, can’t you guess, my love?” And with that, you let your mouth envelope the head of his cock and swirl your tongue all around it. Din lets out a loud groan that is almost a whine and you smile to yourself.

“Now who needs to be quiet?” you tease before returning to let your tongue caress his shaft all over with long, wet licks.

“Aaaahhh, just feels so fucking good,” Din breathes out, his voice low.

“I’m going to make you feel amazing,” you promise, and you return to the head, rubbing your tongue across the sensitive spot just underneath before sucking him into your mouth. You go about halfway down this time before pulling off him again. You return to taunting him with licks, this time running your tongue over his balls before you resume sucking him. You repeat this teasing process, each time sucking him deeper into your mouth until you start to hum to open your throat as you begin to reach his base. When you finally take all of him, he’s practically shuddering at the sensation. You take pity on him and instead of continuing to tease, you hollow your cheeks and begin to glide up and down, showing him how much you want to please him, wanting to give him the same intense pleasure he brought you a few moments ago. You can hear him doing his best to muffle his moans as he shakes and writhes underneath you. You can tell he’s trying not to thrust into your mouth, but he can’t help bucking his hips a little and when he does, it causes your throat to constrict around him increasing his enjoyment. You can tell he’s starting to get very close, but before you can get him there, he’s pushing you away.

“No, no, wait, I… I don’t want to yet…” Din gasps.

“Are you sure? I wanted you to finish in my mouth,” you explain, still eager to resume.

Din groans a little, but moves to haul you back up against him, “If I do that right now, I don’t think I’ll be able to make love to you anymore tonight, and I want that more.”

“Oh, Din,” your voice catches a little, “I do want you to keep making love to me, but sometime, I want you to let me finish you with my mouth.”

“Yes, sometime,” he kisses you to seal the promise. Din rolls you onto your side so that your back is flush against his chest, “I want to take you like this, cyar’ika,” he says. His hands are already maneuvering your legs so he can slide himself between them, and then you feel his steely erection rubbing deliciously between your folds.

“Yes, Din… aaah, like this is perfect.” Your breath hitches in your chest as he positions himself to enter you.

“Tell me,” he says.

You reach back to cradle his head with your hand and bring him closer to you, “Take me like this, Din, I want you… I need you.”

With that, he thrusts into you in one swift motion causing all the breath in your body to push out in a gasp. As he moves within you, he winds his arm around you tight holding you close against his chest. It’s like there’s no space between you at all. His mouth attaches itself to your neck where he’s biting and sucking a new mark into your skin. You can feel him everywhere and it’s overwhelming in the best way. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the stirring of your climax again and you start to struggle to stay quiet. In this position, every thrust hits on your most pleasurable spot deep inside you and it’s taking all that you have not to scream out Din’s name. You know he must be getting closer to his peak too, as he’s also starting to groan and grunt more.

“Are you close, cyar’ika?” Din asks you desperately and he drops his hand to your clit to rub fast circles there. All you can get out is a whimper and a shaky breath, as you start to feel the waves of your orgasm lapping at you. Din doubles his efforts and starts to beg you, “Please, cyar’ika, please… I’m so close… want you to come first… need you to… oooh, please.”

Hearing him plead with you like that is all you need to send you over the edge and almost as soon as your inner muscles begin to flutter around him, Din is following right along with you. He holds you as tight as he possibly can as he pumps himself into you and bites down on your shoulder to keep himself from crying out. You’re so stunned by the sensation you feel like you might black out from the pleasure. You’re shuddering from little aftershocks of bliss when Din starts to speak to you again but he’s speaking in Mando’a and you can’t fully understand what he’s saying.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika,” he says reverently and turns you towards him so he can kiss you fully.

When he breaks the kiss, he speaks again, only this time in Basic, “I love you, my sweetheart.”

Your heart skips a beat and then you tell him, “I love you too, Din.” His lips find yours again in the sweetest, most tender kiss.

When you break apart the next time, you ask him, “Will you say it in Mando’a again?” He does and you carefully repeat it back to him. You barely get the last syllable out and he’s kissing you again, as if he can never kiss you enough. You kiss him back fervently trying to pour all of your love into it, wanting him to understand just how much you love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next two days pass pleasantly in the Covert. Din feels pleased that you fit in so well with everyone and it warms his heart to see how eager you are to learn more about his culture. It fills him with a new hope for the future, and he lets himself daydream about being able to return to the tribe permanently with you. Still though, Din can’t ignore the danger that you’re in and each hour that passes makes him anxious that the Imps could be headed here right now. In discussing the predicament with his tribe, Din was able to come up with a plan to keep you on the move and, hopefully, to find a stronger Covert that could help you defeat Kerrick. While his tribe and the others in this new Covert offered up their fighters, Din refused to accept based on their already reduced numbers. Now each moment that passes, his unease at being caught builds. It’s on this third evening, that he brings up his worries with you.

“I think we should leave tomorrow,” Din suggests, and you can hear the concern in his voice.

“You don’t think we’re safe here?” You’d been feeling so much better since arriving, that you’d hoped you’d be able to stay longer.

“It isn’t that-- I… I don’t think we’re safe anywhere, really,” he pauses and looks down at the ground when he says, “I’m worried that if we stay any longer, I’m endangering the Covert again, like Nevarro.”

You know all about Nevarro now as the other night the Armorer and the rest of Din’s tribe spoke about it, wanting both you and the other Mandalorians to understand more about that part of their history, and as a way of honoring those who lost their lives during the battle. Din was very quiet though as the story was being told, opting to simply grip your hand tightly and listen. You could tell that he still felt responsible for the loss of the Nevarro Covert, despite his tribe’s endeavors to show everyone that only the Imperial forces were to blame.

“I understand,” you reassure Din, “We can leave tonight if you think we should, it won’t take long to get our things together.”

“Can we? I think it would be the best option.” You can hear a note of relief in his voice as you agree with him and let him know that you’ll start packing right away.

“I just need to speak to the Armorer again,” Din tells you, “I shouldn’t be too long.”

When he finds the Armorer at her forge, she appears to have been expecting him. He doesn’t know how she does it, but it’s almost as if she can anticipate his thoughts, it’s always been that way with her. He wonders for a moment if she might share some of the child’s powers.

“Din Djarin, I have the pieces you have requested,” she speaks in her carefully measured voice.

“Thank you, I appreciate that you’ve worked to complete them so quickly for me,” he responds and watches as she moves to collect two small leather pouches. When he opens the first, he pulls out another beskar pendant; this time it is a mudhorn, the exact match to the one on his pauldron. The second pouch contains three rings, one is a ring of yours that Din swiped from your jewelry collection, and the other two are matching bands of beskar, one in the same size as your ring and the other sized to fit his own finger.

“I see that she wears the heart pendant with joy,” the Armorer tells him, and then asks, “When will you ask her to join your clan?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Din admits a bit bashfully, “But I want to be prepared to ask her when the time is right.”

“You have the blessing of the tribe, if you should want it,” she declares to him, “Your woman has mandokarla and we will always welcome her.”

“Thank you, that means so much to me,” Din replies gratefully.

“You have decided to leave us,” the Armorer states, again already seeming to know his thoughts before he shares them.

“Yes, I think it is for the best.” His voice can’t contain its concern, but he knows she understands as she nods to him.

“You must do what is best for your clan. This is the way,” she confirms.

“This is the way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later and you’re back in hyperspace. You’ve been following the plan that Din’s tribe helped him design, stopping at some remote outposts in hopes of finding other Mandalorians. So far, the information the Covert shared with Din has been reliable and you both feel confident in your efforts. A sudden pinging on the dash draws Din’s attention and he sees that a transmission is coming in.

“Brother, we heard you are seeking assistance,” a strong voice speaks out into the cockpit, but no holo accompanies it.

“That depends on who’s offering,” Din responds carefully.

“Our Covert has heard that you need warriors to battle against some Imps,” the voice says, “We are willing to help you in that endeavor.”

“How did you come to hear that?” Din questions the voice.

“We are in communication with many other Coverts, and heard of your needs through our contacts,” the voice explains.

Din stays quiet as he thinks; the caller’s explanation seems logical but trusting a disembodied voice also seems a bit naïve. He continues to hesitate in his response when the voice speaks again.

“We also have information about where you can find the Jedi.”

“What are your coordinates?” Din asks, his mind made up. If they know about the Imperials and the Jedi, then they must have spoken to his Covert.

“We’re transmitting them now,” the voice informs him.

“Thank you, for being willing to help us,” Din says graciously.

“Ibic mando’kar,” the voice states.

“This is the way,” Din replies before ending the call.

As soon as the transmission is cut off, you speak up, “Do you think they’re the Mandalorians we’ve been searching for?”

“They must be, I know they’re an older sect and it makes sense that they’d say ‘Ibic mando’kar’ for ‘This is the way’,” he explains to you, “I think they can help us.”

You’re about to ask him more about these Mandalorians and what he knows, but you’re stopped by the child who has started fussing and crying. You go over to pick him up, but he’s worked himself up into a real tantrum, and no matter how much you try to soothe him, he won’t calm down.

“Are you hungry already, buddy?” You pull out some snacks from your pocket for him, but he shoves them away and cries harder. You know Din needs to focus on piloting the ship to the new coordinates so you descend to the hull with the poor little guy. You try rocking him, singing to him, even a warm bath, but nothing seems to help. He doesn’t seem to be in any visible discomfort so you simply sit and hold him hoping that ultimately your presence will show him that everything is ok. Eventually, he’s exhausted himself and falls asleep. You clean the tears off his little face, and although it’s finally quiet on the ship, you can’t shake a feeling of unease after how upset the child has been. However, you’re exhausted too after trying to care for him and you find yourself curling up on your bed your own eyes closing shortly afterwards.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You reach the coordinates provided to you by the Covert on a remote planet whose name you don’t know. The scenery does nothing to lift your mood, as the place appears to be an old industrial center and now looks run-down and abandoned. Although, given what you know about the need for the Mandalorian Coverts to remain secretive, you suppose that makes sense. You follow Din off the Crest with the child’s pod floating right beside you. As you walk to the designated meeting point, a large warehouse building, the child begins to whine again. You see the familiar sight of a mythosaur skull painted above the doorway to the warehouse and you breathe a sigh of relief, that this must be the correct place. You enter the building, but everything is dark and dusty inside and it doesn’t look like anyone is around. Thinking back to Din’s Covert, you expect that some guards will probably appear like before. When you see a helmeted figure in the shadows, you think you must be right, that is until the person turns to reveal the stark white helmet and armor of a storm trooper.

“You found us!” An eerily cheery voice trills out, making your blood run cold. It’s Kerrick.

Din instantly moves to shield you behind him, but you know it’s in vain, as now you can see an entire squadron of troopers moving out of the shadows to surround you. Even with Din’s impeccable skills as a gunslinger, there’s no way you could take on this many troopers, you are hopelessly outgunned.

“Come now, my little doll, don’t be shy,” Kerrick’s voice is almost sing-songy in his joy at trapping you, “I’ve missed you so very much, baby doll.”

Your heart is lurching in your chest and you feel sick to your stomach. You’re running through all the possible scenarios in your head, but there’s only one that you can think of which will keep Din and the child from being hurt.

“I’ve missed you too, Kerrick,” you call out, stepping out from behind Din.

Din’s hand reaches out to pull you back, but you gently shake your head and pull away. Before you do, you try to look into his visor with all the love you can and silently try to tell him that everything you’re about to say is a lie, but you have no idea if he can understand that.

“My sweet baby doll, come here and give your man a kiss,” Kerrick leers at you with a wide grin.

You raise your hands up as you walk slowly towards him, and you make your voice high pitched and girly, the way he used to like when you were in bed together, as you say, “Kerrick, all these guns are scaring me, can’t you have them put the blasters away?”

“Oh, my little doll, those are for your protection,” Kerrick explains condescendingly.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I can come any closer, I’m too scared,” you tell him.

“Alright, my doll, for you,” and he motions for the troopers to lower their blasters.

You feel a tiny sense of victory as you can tell you still have some power over Kerrick even with how twisted and vile he’s become. You move closer to him and when you’re within arm’s reach, he becomes impatient and he reaches out to grab you. Din’s instincts kick in and he draws his blaster without thinking and aims directly for Kerrick.

“Uh, uh, uh, Mandalorian, she just said she’s scared of blasters,” Kerrick admonishes, “You don’t want to scare my doll any more than you already have, do you?”

Oh no, you need to salvage this and quickly, “It’s not like that, Kerrick, he’s been trying to help me find you,” you lie, “I’ve been so lonely and sad without you, and he’s been protecting me until I could get back to you.”

“Is that true?” Kerrick asks, skeptical, “From our visit to Angel One, I was under the impression that you’ve been acting like a little whore for him.”

You want to die as you say these next words, but you know you need to convince Kerrick to let Din and the child go, “I was just using him, so he’d keep helping me, but it was just so I could find you again, Kerrick, after all, I’m still your doll.” Your hand comes up to your chest to sit over Din’s heart pendant hidden under your tunic and you hate yourself for having to put Din through this.

Din’s blood is boiling and he feels heartsick as he hears you lie to Kerrick. He knows you must be lying in an attempt to save him and the child. But he can’t ignore how much your words hurt, even if they’re not true. Hearing you call yourself “doll” though and seeing you grip your pendant, he tells himself that you don’t mean what you’re saying, that you do really love him, and that you’re prepared to sacrifice yourself to save him. He’s so angry with himself for leading you into this trap and he’s desperate to find another solution, but like you, he’s out of options. He has to do all he can right now to reign in his desire to start shooting.

Kerrick’s arms are wrapping tighter around your waist, and you know you’re going to have to muster up every acting skill you have if you’re going to convince him of your falsehood. You bring a hand up to caress his face, and he nuzzles into your touch. You thought he was handsome once, but his years with the Empire have changed him and his smug, pretty boy face holds no attraction for you now. You push these thoughts deep down though, and close your eyes as you bring him closer to you for a kiss. It takes everything you have not to shove him away in disgust. As Kerrick forces his tongue into your mouth, you tell yourself to be calm and then you pretend you’re kissing Din. It’s a struggle, but you manage to fool Kerrick enough that when he pulls away he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Let’s go, doll,” he says and he starts to tug you away.

“Wait, Kerrick, will you do something for me, please?” You do your best to make yourself look as sweet and innocent as you can and you use the girly voice again.

“What can I do for you, baby doll?” He looks at you like you’re a child asking for a treat.

“Will you let the Mandalorian go back to his ship? He really did help me find you, and if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have this wonderful reunion.” You pray Kerrick won’t see through your ploy.

“You always were so softhearted,” Kerrick says as he pats you on the ass.

“Please, for me? Please, Kerrick,” It’s soul crushing to have to beg him like this, but if it can help Din even a little you have to do it.

“Oh alright, I don’t want you to be sad or distracted all night. I have much better plans for us,” Kerrick tells you suggestively. You do your best not to throw up right then, but plan to save it as an escape for later.

“You six, take the Mandalorian back to his ship,” Kerrick motions to a group of troopers. Ok, six is still kind of a lot, but if feels like a number Din can probably handle. You don’t believe for a second that Kerrick is actually going to let Din go without a fight, but at least now he’s not facing an entire squadron.

“Can I say goodbye?” You know you’re pushing it, so you add, “To the child.”

“Fine, but make it quick,” Kerrick pats you on the ass again and you run back over to Din and the child. You scoop the baby up in your arms, but you look directly at Din and mouth, “I love you, I’m sorry.” He inclines his head in the slightest of nods and you know he understands. It doesn’t stop your heart from breaking in two though and you know tears are threatening to spill from your eyes.

“That’s enough!” Kerrick’s sharp voice calls out and you place the baby back in his pod before fixing a fake smile on your face and turning back to Kerrick. It’s shaky at best and you know you can’t hide your teary eyes so you throw yourself back into Kerrick’s arms hoping that a seemingly enthusiastic hug will mask your true feelings.

He chuckles, pats your head, and says, “Don’t worry, doll, I’ve got you now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The troopers lead Din out of the warehouse and each step feels painful, as he knows it’s taking him further away from you. All he wants to do is run back into that warehouse and fight for you, but he knows a deathtrap when he sees one. He doesn’t believe for one second that the troopers are going to let him leave, but he’s pretty sure he can take them out and get to the ship fast enough to get away. If he can make the jump to hyperspace before Kerrick’s cruiser can realize what’s happening he should be able to escape with his life.

“Be sure to get the asset,” one of the troopers is muttering to another, and Din knows it’s time. He charges and fires his whistling birds taking out four of the troopers at once and as he turns to fire at the other two, he sees their bodies being slammed together forcefully. Despite the terrible situation, he smiles to himself as he sees the child’s hands raised, helping him defeat the Imps. He quickly dispatches the last two troopers and then dashes to the Razor Crest.

He takes off as quickly as he knows how and, risking everything, makes the jump to hyperspace while he’s still in the planet’s atmosphere. It’s incredibly dangerous but it pays off and thankfully, the Crest manages to get away.

As hyperspace glows blue around him, Din plots in a course back to his Covert. He needs reinforcements and this time he can’t let the past hold him back from accepting help.

“We’re going to get her back, buddy,” Din vows looking at the child, “Don’t you worry.”

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

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. Link to Chapter 9: Not Without My Cyar’ika

Mando’a glossary:

gar vode = your brethren, your brothers

ner vod = my brother

beroya = bounty hunter

riduurok = marriage, wedding ceremony

riduur = spouse

ad’ika = little one (affectionate)

aliit = family

buir = parent

di’kut = idiot

mesh’la = beautiful

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you (literally, I know you forever)

mandokarla = having the right stuff, the epitome of Mandalorian spirit

Ibic mando’kar =This is the way (there is some debate about how to say it)

Tag list: @grogusmum @wellofeternalthirst @idreamofboobear @theamuz @fangirlalexia @callmekane @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @theravenreads @nicotinebirds @boomtownboy @nova646 @wandering-storm-lost-shadow @becks-things @sleepwithacommunist @mackycat11 @som3thingcr3ative @punkdalek @pinkninja200 @s-unflowxr @ladyjenny19 @peppywitch @haley7242 @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @hotsauceonabiscuit @asta-lily

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut

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ashyblondwaves · 3 years

Text

I Saw What You Did

Prompt: Winning a Teddy Bear for the other.

Word Count: 2,219

Warnings: Mature. References to sex and very, very mild horror references.

Summary: Vision sees a Teddy Bear at the carnival that he needs to have, but Wanda isn't so sure about it. There's something awful about this bear. The way it looks is unsettling, but Vision brings it back to the compound anyway, obsessed with a monstrosity that will make him question everything that's logical.

***

They were packed shoulder to shoulder, a faint hint of musk wafting in the summer air. Wanda’s hand was nestled comfortably in Vision’s as they navigated the crowded carnival together. Vision pushed through the groups of people with purpose, as though he were on a mission only he knew about, his neck craned in search of… something.

“Vis,” Wanda called, tugging at Vision’s arm. “What are you looking for?”

“It was right around here…” Vision replied, mostly to himself. “Right…. THERE!”

Wanda followed Vision’s outstretched arm, her eyes landing on the biggest, ugliest teddy bear she’d ever seen. She wasn’t even sure you could call it a teddy bear. Its mouth was downturned into a frown, the fur looked to be matted and staring right back at Wanda was the most unnerving pair of red button eyes she’d ever seen.

“That’s what you are hellbent on?” Wanda asked, a soft laugh escaping from her mouth.

“Isn’t it brilliant?” Vision asked, a wide grin playing on his lips. “I have to have it.”

This time, Wanda’s laugh was a loud, booming howl. The thought of Vision having a 7 foot teddy bear sitting in his room at the compound was amusing to say the least. But at the same time, it was unsettling. She didn’t like the bear. There was something about it that got under her skin. She almost laughed again at the thought of not liking a teddy bear and how crazy it would have sounded if she mentioned it out loud. It was nothing more than fur and stuffing, what was there not to like?

“Shall I try my luck?” Vision asked, his voice full of hope. He gave a gentle pull to Wanda’s arm and they started back through the flood of people and over to the booth containing the massive, daunting bear.

The game looked simple enough. You’re given what looks like a homemade fishing pole with a ring on the end of it. The point was to put the ring around the bottle and make the bottle stand up.

Vision smirked, the side of his mouth lifting up just enough to tell Wanda that he was confident. Maybe too confident.

Fourteen dollars and seven tries later, Vision was flustered. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed and scoured through his wallet for another pair of singles, only to come up empty.

“Can I try?” Wanda asked, holding out the two dollar fee to play the game. She was handed her homemade fishing pole and she went to work. Carefully, she lined the ring up with the bottle and slipped it over the neck. But that was where the easy part ended. While it wasn’t impossible, it certainly took a steady hand and incredible concentration to get the bottle to stand.

Wanda stole a glance at Vision, the hope on his face palpable. That’s when she knew she had to do it. She waited for the perfect moment, when Vision was lovingly staring at the creepy oversized teddy bear and the carnival worker was off collecting money and explaining the game to another family. With her free hand, she pointed at the bottle and made it stand up, being careful to keep the ring over the bottle’s neck as she magicked the bottle into place.

“I did it!” Wanda wailed. She stayed perfectly still so the bottle wouldn’t tip back over. She knew these games tended to be stacked in favor of the carnival. Any sudden movement could wipe away the look of elation that was now plastered on Vision’s face.

“Winner, winner!” The carnival worker yelled, ringing an old bell. “The little lady here did it! Any prize, miss. What will it be?”

“The bear,” Wanda said, pointing unnecessarily at the seven foot monstrosity dangling from a hook.

“The bear, it is!” Wanda could hear the frustration in the carnival worker’s voice. She’d beaten the game and now he had to give up a big prize. Wanda shrugged, more focused on Vision’s eyes. Wide, blue orbs filled with pure joy stayed focused on the bear as it was hoisted down off its hook.

“Here it is,” the carnival worker said through gritted teeth, trying to push the bear into Wanda’s arms.

“No, not for me,” Wanda said, looking over at Vision who smiled like a little kid at their birthday party. “Hand that thing to him. He wanted it.”

The carnival worker complied, shoving the awkwardly sized bear at Vision who happily grabbed it and raised it over his shoulders.

He was giving this eerie teddy bear a shoulder ride.

“Thank you, darling,” Vision said, bending down to press a soft kiss to Wanda’s lips as the bear flipped from Vision’s shoulders and hit Wanda in the head. She looked at the bear with mild disdain. Why did he suddenly look pleased? “He’ll look rather dashing in one of the chairs in my room, don’t you think?”

“Wherever you decide to put him will be perfect,” Wanda lied, deciding to humor Vision’s sudden fascination with an oversized, creepy teddy bear.

“I’ve never seen something so large,” Vision said, adjusting his position with the bear. “It’d be a shame to leave without it.”

If navigating the crowd on their own was difficult, it was ten times more difficult doing so with a seven foot stuffed animal clogging up the space. They bumped and pushed their way through the crowd, hundreds of apologies floating through the air as a stray stuffed arm flew out and hit a woman square in the face as they exited the carnival.

Then it barely fit in the car. After a bit of pushing and shoving, the bear was safely burrowed in the back seat of Tony Stark’s Audi, its horror-like features pressed up against the glass of the rear windshield.

“I hope we can get him back out of there,” Wanda said, wiping sweat from her forehead. She actually hoped it would be stuck in there and rip trying to get it back out and then it would be destroyed. She just didn’t like the thing and she couldn’t explain why. It felt a little too lifelike to her. Maybe she was seeing things, but it certainly looked like the bear’s expression had changed since being taken off the hook at the carnival.

***

Vision was right, though; the bear did look quite dashing on one of the chairs in his room. The light cream color of the stuffed animal was a perfect contrast to the rich mahogany of the chair, but there was still something unnerving about the bear. Wanda would watch it as she walked through Vision’s room and she would have sworn its eyes were following her. Those red beady eyes with the smallest hint of black in the middle had moved, Wanda would swear to it.

Being with Vision in his room was even more unnerving with the bear sitting just mere feet from where they sat tangled naked together, her hips rocking on top of Vision’s.

Wanda paused, looking over her shoulder at the stuffed bear. It felt like it was watching them. “Can we move that bear for right now?”

Vision groaned, clearly not in any mood to stop making love to move the bear. Instead, Wanda lifted her hand, the red orb glowing in the dimly lit room and picked up the bear. It floated through the air, limp limbs dangling and she shoved it behind the chair, out of sight.

“Where were we?” Wanda purred. Rolling her hips again, eliciting a moan from Vision.

After, as Wanda fixed her clothes, she walked over to where the bear lay crumpled on the floor behind Vision’s chair. Vision had gone to the kitchen to get Wanda some water, so she took a moment to really stare at the bear’s, dumb smile. A smile he did not have at the carnival. Suddenly, without warning, the bear lifted its head to look at her.

“I saw what you did,” it whispered, rising up on stubby legs and walking closer to Wanda “You’re a cheater.”

“It got you off that hook, didn’t it?” Wanda pointed out, backing away from the unthinkable sight walking toward her.

“You cheated,” the bear growled. “You must pay.”

Wanda was backed up against the wall, the bear getting closer to her with each passing moment.

It was Vision that ended it. He phased through the wall without warning, glass of water in hand as the bear was just about to reach out for Wanda. As quickly as it happened, the bear went limp, falling into a heap right in front of Wanda. She kicked the stuffed creature and hoped it hurt.

“Your bear!” Wanda bellowed, kicking it again. She wasn’t sure how to finish what she wanted to say, Hey, Vision. So your bear came to life and threatened me. It would sound ridiculous and the last thing Wanda needed was to sound hysterical right now. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s just a toy,” Vision reminded her. “What’s not to like?”

“That thing is not a toy,” Wanda replied, giving the bear another kick for good measure. “It…” she sighed, knowing how her next words were going to make her sound. “...talked to me.”

“It talked to you,” Vision repeated, the words coming out slowly as Vision searched for an answer that he likely did not have in any of his databases. “What.. what…”

Wanda didn’t give Vision a chance to finish his sentence.

“I want it gone,” she said, her tone serious and face expressionless. “Burn it.”

“Now wait…”

“Burn it or I will,” Wanda yelled, her eyes glowing red as she stormed out of Vision’s room. She went to her room and locked the door behind her, a mix of fear and shame coursing through her body. She was scared of a stuffed toy. A 7 foot stuffed bear that could walk and talk and wanted to punish her.

Nothing was normal about the situation, not the way the bear was won or the unimaginable reality that this thing was alive. Wanda took a deep breath and resolved that no matter what Vision said, she was going to get rid of the bear, once and for all and she was going to do it immediately.

She shouldn’t have stormed out of Vision’s room. The bear was right there to take care of and she left. Now she had to make the embarrassing move of going back to Vision’s room and force him to see that this bear was not a toy.

Vision was still standing where he was when Wanda left, clearly trying to figure out what had happened and why.

Wanda was quick, picking up the bear and dangling it in the air. She shook it, waiting for it to do something. Anything.

“Come on you piece of shit,” Wanda snarled. “Talk!”

She kept shaking the bear, throwing it around the room as Vision came up to her. He grabbed her shoulders and turned toward him, forcing her to break her concentration and drop the bear.

“What has gotten into you, Wanda?”

Breathless, Wanda tried again to explain what happened with the bear, but Vision wasn’t buying it.

“It’s impossible for this bear to come to life,” Vision reasoned.

“Is it?” A gravelly voice rose up behind Wanda.

Vision was wide eyed and speechless as he watched the stuffed monstrosity walk to them, an evil glint in eyes that were trained on Wanda.

“Cheater,” it said, shuffling on stubby legs, a sight that would normally be comical but was instead reduced to panic and confusion in the midst of an attack.

The Mind Stone lit up, a beam of yellow light buzzing out of Vision’s forehead as the beam came in contact with the bear’s stomach, melting the already matted fur. Vision continued, going for the legs this time, melting the both to the spot. The bear lunged forward with a grunt, arms out and still trying to reach Wanda.

But the bear was no match for Vision. He easily melted it down, leaving a heap of burnt synthetic materials stuck to the floor of his room.

“What was that?” Vision asked, still unable to comprehend what just happened.

“You picked a possessed teddy bear,” Wanda said, not believing the words that were coming out of her mouth. “And… it wanted to hurt me.”

Vision laughed, the sound that came out was one of deep confusion. Instead of saying anything else about the bear, he pulled Wanda close to him and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I will never let anything hurt you,” Vision whispered.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Even if it’s a bear I won for you?”

“Especially if it’s a bear you won for me.”

They moved to Wanda’s room, curling up together under the covers and putting Dick Van Dyke on. Wanda rested her head on Vision’s warm chest, smiling at his laughter. It reverberated through his chest, almost tickling her ear.

Vision pressed kissing to the top of Wanda’s head, his fingers raking through her long tresses. It was a move that always made Wanda fall asleep and she was just about fully dozed off when the shrill voice of Tony Stark cut through the air.

“Vision!” Tony yelled. “What’s this on your floor?!”

#flufftober2021 #day 1 #scarletvision #scarletvision drabbles #wanda maximoff #the vision #wandavision #the avengers #fanfiction #writing shit

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fastidious-and-a-mess · 4 years

Text

Empty.

I see them everywhere. Everywhere, all the time, every day. They follow me, I think. I don't know what for, but I don't dare to contemplate their reasoning, or else my mind will wander to places of such horrors I think it might drive me mad, if I'm not mad already. I saw the first one exactly 17 days ago, I’ve been keeping a careful count. It was the same day, maybe even within the hour, I can’t quite recall, that I received the notice letter.

It was pinned to the front door of the house I’d been renting for nearly a year. My rent had been missed one too many times and I was no longer allowed to stay. I begged and pleaded and tried to reason as much as I could, the shop wasn’t doing well, they couldn’t get people their paychecks on time, if I could just have one more week, but it wasn’t enough. They gave me three days to remove all of my belongings from the house. “Where to?” I tried to make them understand. “I have nowhere else.” They told me that was not their concern, I needed my things out by Thursday or they’d fine me, so I had no choice.

I called Allison, my daughter, and I asked her for help. Ever since She had gone off the college so many years ago, she had no issue expressing her disappointment in me as a father, and it hurt. She never really approved of me or my choices, called my art awful and ugly, told me it would never sell. And she was right. I was never well-off enough to support myself, and I relied on her help more than I’d like to admit. When I called her, asking her to let me move into her house, she was understandably reluctant. I begged and reasoned with her the same as with the landlords. Eventually, though, she gave in. She didn't understand my position or sympathize with me, she simply gave in to my pleading.

It was when I was loading the boxes full of my few belongings into her car that Wednesday when I saw it.

It was standing behind a tree in the forest across the street, a figure, it looked like a man. It wore a black pinstripe suit and brown loafers. Something appeared off about it, but I could not recognize it at first, as the trees shadowed it from view. I found it somewhat unsettling, that a man I believed I did not know would be staring at me, not moving at all or making any sound, just standing. Soon enough though, my attention was drawn elsewhere when Allison called to me from the house and I quickly forgot about the off-putting encounter.

The next time I saw them was two days later. It was already dark outside, a result of the changing seasons. Allison was still out at work and would not be home for a few hours more, so all that were in the house were me and Allison’s cat. She works for a successful businessman as the manager of his accounting branch. I was always proud of her for that, she had found a way to make a living that made her happy. I think I'm lying to myself when I say I don't envy her for that.

Anyways, I was alone with her cat and I had just finished dinner. I was putting my dishes in the sink when I glanced through the window that spanned above the counter looking into the backyard, and I froze. There they were, two of them this time. I suddenly remembered the creepy moments from the other day as I realized that one of them was the same man from the forest. Except, now that I had a clear view with the light from the house and surrounding houses, I could see that it was not a man at all, and neither was the figure next to it. They were dressed the same way, with fedora hats now, staring directly towards me. If staring was even the right word for it, for they had no eyes. No faces at all. I realized this is what must have been so off-putting about the man from before. I tried to brush it off as teenagers pulling some mean prank, but it seemed to me too real to be masks. “Just the lighting, of course they’re masks,” I told myself, but I was unconvinced.

It continued like this for a few more days, I would see them wherever I was, at least one, usually more. Allison never believed me, I believe she simply thought it was the consequences of being an old man, dementia or paranoia setting in, or both Or maybe she thought I was just going mad, I wouldn’t blame her either way. The first few days I ignored them, tried convincing myself it was a prank, that they’d give up as soon as they realized they wouldn’t get the reaction from me they were looking for. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me, I told myself, and I was starting to buy into the “paranoia of an old man” belief Allison harbored myself, but I just couldn’t completely convince myself. Eventually though, I decided I had had enough. I gave up on the theories, the more I saw them, the more real they became. About a week after seeing them I decided to go to the police. Allison tried to talk me out of it.

“They’ll never listen to you,” she said, “they’ll just tell you you’re seeing things and send you off. And they’re right, Dad. They don’t have faces, they aren’t real! Please, I really don’t want to have to deal with bringing the police into this.”

She was right again, of course, but I didn’t listen to her. I just couldn’t bear it any longer. So the next day, exactly one week after the first time I saw one of those things, I went to the police. The receptionist, one Dorothy Riggs according to a pin on her chest, didn't take me very seriously, but she put me through to an appointment with a man named Officer Palmer. "He'll get a kick out of this," I heard her mumble to herself when she sent me down the hall, and she took a long drag from the cigarette dangled loosely between her fingers.

I knocked on the open door frame of the room down the hall to which Ms. Riggs had directed me, "Excuse me? Is this Officer Palmer's office?"

"Yes sir, it is. You're speaking to him now," a tall man with broad shoulders and a face that has seen age but chosen to ignore it was standing in the room, flipping through some papers. His graying blond hair was cut crisply and a goofy smile sat upon his stern jaw. "What can I do ya for?"

"I'm being followed," I began, careful to not lead too strongly and drive him off.

"Well now, isn't that exciting? Can you tell me what he looks like?"

"They, actually, it's a group of them. They all wear the same clothes, like out of a detective movie from the 50s, with suits and loafers and even the hats."

"That doesn't really help me here, sir. I can’t do anything with clothes, give me something useful. What are their faces like? Body types, hair cuts, stuff like that." He sat in his chair and pulled a new file folder out of his desk and began filling out the various documents it contained. "I never got your name."

"Smith, sir. Roger Smith."

"Thank you, Roger. Now, their faces."

"Well, uh, that is the thing," a sense of dread washed over me as I tried to recall exactly what the things looked like, something seemed to be keeling my mind from putting together the whole memory, and it frightened me to my core. "They didn't have any."

"Excuse me? No faces?" I could tell I was losing him, I had to make him believe me, I had to get him to help.

"Yes sir, no faces."

"Ok, Roger. I'm going to need you to quit wasting my time here. If you're lying to me, you better come clean right now or I'm kicking you out of my office. I have better things to do." His tone changed quickly, from lax and humourous to something much more stern and unforgiving.

"No, Officer, please, I'm telling you the truth. People without faces are following me and I don't know who they are or what they want. Please, sir, help me," I pleaded.

"I don't have time for this. Get out," he stood up, tossed my file into the garbage basket, and started towards me to lead me out of the room back into the hallway.

"But pl-"

"Nope. I have more important things to deal with than a paranoid old man. Get out of my office."

With that, he kicked me out and I left the station, back at square one, still totally helpless and alone.

Across the street, much to my distress, stood the largest group of those things I've ever seen, ten or fifteen at least. It filled me with such a sensation of horror and helplessness that I had never felt before in my long life. I knew something was coming, something very bad, and there was nothing I could do about it.

That catches us up to now, as I'm sitting in Allison's living room recounting the story to myself alone while Allison is once again working late, and I'm trying to prove to myself that I'm not losing my sanity. I look out the back door, made of sliding glass, where I saw the pair of them only a few days ago. It feels like eons. The dusk is starting to set in, so I can't see clearly, but I know there's something moving in the darkness of my daughter's backyard. The only light on now is a small table lamp on the end table, casting blackness into the corners of the room and leaving the yard abandoned by the light. I hope whatever is out there is her cat, but I fear the worst. As it comes into the small amount of light trickling from the house, I realize it's not one thing, but a group of those faceless creatures so much larger than I've ever seen. I've never seen them moving before either, just standing, unnaturally still, and the sight of their movement is something so horrid I can barely stand it. They move with such an artificial stance, so unnatural and void of life, I could hardly even process it. The fear paralyzes me. They keep coming, there are so many, oh my god there are so many. And they don't stop walking.

They don't stop, keep walking, all the way to the door. They don't stop there either, no, they start pounding. Pounding so loudly on the door, so hard, it begins to crack, and I feel my very soul crack with it. Overwhelming terror fills me up to the brim and I know. I know now. I know what they want. It's me. They want me and there is nothing I can do about it.

The door shatters and they pour into the living room, some of them stumbling over each other or falling flat, all of them clambering towards me. Their movement is hasty now, erratic. I scream, loud and hoarse, but there's no one around to hear, or care.

They're coming closer now, only a few feet of time left in my life, I know, then it will all be over.

And I am powerless to stop it.

They're right in front of me now, reaching out with white and pale and almost plastic looking hands, reaching towards my face.

Only a few inches left.

And now they're on me. I can feel their hands, their skin is cold and the contact is empty.

Oh god, they're all over.

Their hands cover my face and I feel myself becoming empty. Everything fades to black, first my vision, and then my very soul, my life, until there is nothing left.

I scream again, but there is no one and nothing but the empty.

#hi!#so this is that original piece i mentioned last night #it was originally for my creative writing class last year #but i finally got around to pollishing it up a bit #i'm happy with it #any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated!#so uh. yeah.#update: laptop located so a cut has been added!#thank fuck

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fabllama02 · 4 years

Text

That Superhero AU

Dagur the Deranged dives into Jackson’s path during the hazy dusk of a weekday. Jackson’s been patrolling for hours now; he suited up straight after school, webbing his backpack full of civvies and calculus homework to the underside of an apartment building’s AC unit before taking to the sky. He’s chasing a couple of thugs who’s held up a local 7/11 when Dagur makes a grab for him.

Jackson flips safely out of the way. Dagur cackles, and chases after him, mouth full of wet, pointed teeth.

“Get a hobby, you maniac!” Jackson calls over his shoulder. Dagur forces him to duck and roll to the left. Those thugs and their bundles of cash must be long gone by now.

“You’re my hobby,” Dagur says.

“Yeah?” Jackson yells back. “You want me to come with you to the craft store? Help you pick out some wool, some watercolors; maybe we could pick up a model airplane to build together-”

Dagur snags his arm. He’s intimidatingly larger than Jackson. His hand wraps entirely around Jack’s bone thin wrist, almost obscuring his entire hand beneath that meaty fist.

“Uh oh,” Jackson says, right before Dagur throws him through the air and into the side of a building. Cement cracks under the force. “Ow.”

Dagur chases it with a punch. Jackson back-flips out of the way, crouching low on the pavement. The street is bustling with people rushing home from work, all of them skittering backward with fright.

“Come on, Dagster, can’t we talk this out like the rational people we aren’t?” Jack offers.

Dagur rises back up on his feet and- yup, oh yeah, he is definitely stupidly taller than Jack. He’d be getting a complex if he wasn’t too busy dodging deadly, swiping hits and ignoring the screeching whine of his spider-sense.

Dagur bares his teeth. It’s not a smile. “I don’t want to talk, little Angel. I want to see what your insides look like.”

“Thank but my insides prefer to be on the inside-”

Dagur grabs Jackson again, nails digging into the soft skin of his throat, and bodily throws him. Jackson doesn’t just crack the side of a building; this time, with a hitch in his breath and a scream of his spider-sense, Jackson goes careening through the storefront window, glass shattering and customers inside shrieking, and then straight through the solid far wall. Jackson’s been thrown through walls before. It never stops being so painful, so disorienting, like a boulder has been smashes over his head.

“Ugh,” Jackson says. He lies in the nest of fractures cement and shards of glass and wonders if numb, tingling limbs is a blessing or a very, very bad sign. Probably the latter. “Ughhhhhh.”

“My boss is going to kill me!” The middle-aged manager in a polo shirt stands behind the broken wall. The glare he wears is anything but sympathetic. Geez, a guy can’t even get thrown through a window and a wall without upsetting someone in this city.

“My super-villains are going to kill me,” Jackson snipes back.

“Look what you’ve done,” hisses an older customer, tiny, glinting glass shards in her hair. She’s not hurt, though, thank god. “I just bough this shirt! Are you going to pay for it?”

Jackson hauls himself out of the Jack Frost shaped hole, stumbling over shaking feet. “When the deranged guy comes back, I’ll probably be paying for something. With my blood.” The manager and the customers go back to cursing him out. The sharp, accusatory bite to their words sounds vaguely venomous. “Are none of you concerned about the guy that was just chucked through a solid wall? And has a giant, murderous super-villain on his tail? No?”

“I should sue you for-” says the manager. He’s several inches taller than Jack and uses his height to bare down on him, arms crossed.

“Why is it that everyone who hates me is tall?” Jackson wonders. “You, Dagur’s ugly butt. And people wonder why short people all have tempers and complexes-”

“I like your height,” Dagur says, clambering into the broken electronics store. Looks like Jackson’s lunch break is over, then.

The manager and the other customers shriek and rush for the exits. The deranged man ignores them, all his attention focused keenly on Jack- hooray for him!- as he shifts, grins, continues, “You’re conveniently small. So easy to throw. To manipulate.”

“Well, hey,” Jackson says, “at least one of us appreciates my height.”

Dagur snatches Jackson’s hand; he’s too off kilter from being ditched through a store to dodge or shake him off but Dagur doesn’t throw him again. His fist tightens, and Jackson’s spider-sense drags a warning up his spine, and then he snaps Jackson’s fingers backward.

Jackson howls and throws himself backward. Dagur is too strong- Jackson dangles from his grip, four fingers of his left hand broken crookedly, panting against his mask.

“See?” Dagur remarks as Jack gasps through the pain. “So fragile and small.”

“Go jump into the Hudson,” Jackson says.

Dagur leans in, shark-like teeth brushing against the vulnerable, hidden curve of Jackson’s ear. “I’m going to kill you next week,” Dagur promises. It’s low, not a whisper, but a quiet exchange passed only between them. “You’re going to come to come, and I’m going to pull you apart until you’re gasping, and bleeding, and dead.”

“I would never go to you,“ Jackson spits. Dagur readjusts his hold on Jackson’s hand, and yanks again. His glove twists, and his skin burns- his wrists isn’t sprained, but it’s a near thing, accompanied by stinging, heated pain.

“You will,” Dagur says like the condescending asshole that he is. He drops Jackson, and the teenager skitters away from his hold.

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, then I guess I’ll just have to come to you. Do you think the news channel would be horrified by a man being ripped open on a public street, or do you think, in lieu of an obituary, they’ll publish an article blaming you for dirtying public property?” That smile- it’s going to crawl it’s way through Jack’s nightmares like the haunting, damning thing he knows it for. “I doubt anyone would even mourn.”

Jackson’s breath is hitched, his wrecked hand cradled to his heaving chest. Dagur laughs once more, a victorious sound, before taking off into the darkening city, leaving Jackson to the approaching sound of police sirens, the judging eyes of surrounding civilians, and a growing, cancerous dread.

The injury in his hands had vanished quickly, but Dagur’s promise stayed with Jackson. He tried to ignore it, but there was something unsettling about Dagur, more so than any bullies, or criminals, or even super-villains that Jackson faced before. The deranged man is a different breed of villain. He rattles Jackson; it doesn’t matter how hard Jackson tries to ignore it, the man always manages to crawl under his skin.

But, over a week later, when Jackson flips past Oswald Tower and his spider-sense blares to life, Jackson doesn’t think about Dagur. His senses direct him downward, into a hatched window on the lower floor. His hearing picks up begging, someone crying, and then a choked off scream- and Jackson’s running before he thinks about where he is.

Jackson just wants to help. It’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

It’s uncomfortable to search out a crime like this. His spider-sense naturally urges Jackson’s body away from danger. To rush against it like this, sprinting further into the winding hallways, having it build louder and louder in his head, makes him uneasy. It’s like the world’s worst game of hotter/colder. Jackson’s colors slowly melts into his surroundings; making him invisible.

It’s late, and Jackson thinks nothing of the hallways being almost entirely abandoned, only a few interns shrieking at the sudden sight of him crawling along their ceiling like something out of a horror movie. He shushes them and points towards the nearest exit that isn’t blocked. They nodded in thanks before rushing past him and he turns invisible once more.

His spider-sense takes him to a closed set of doors. Jackson crawls in the room through the vents. He found two men inside. One is knelt as though in prayer, drenched in blood and shaking visibly. The other- impeccably dressed, all sharp angles and too seeing eyes- smiles before looking up. At his direction. His grin only grows, his head cocks, and when he takes one testing step forward, Jackson’s spider-sense flinches up his neck like a panicked animal and his invisibility falls off.

“Always a surprise,” the man remarks. “Always exceeding my expectations of man’s ability for blind, foolhardy heroism.” The man’s visage flickers before it completely falls and reveals-

“Dagur.” Jackson says through gritted teeth.

“Permafrost!” The man on the ground tries to reach for Jackson. “Help-”

“Oh, shut up.” Dagur bends down and slams the man’s bleeding head into the floor. Jackson’s spider-sense is a haunting, distracting thing, urging him to run.

“Get away from him,” Jackson says.

The deranged man looks down at the slumped, unmoving man. “Whatever you say, little Angel,” he says, taking a pointed step away, towards Jackson. “He’s just a scientist that out grew his usefulness, anyway.”

“I’m more heroic each time; you’re more vague and creepy each time. We’re a match made in heaven.” Jackson doesn’t leave. He knows Dagur would only take it out on the helpless man on the floor. From the glint of teeth, Jackson guesses Dagur is well aware of the responsibility Jackson has to the unconscious man, too.

“I didn’t even have to enact the second part of my plan. You came straight to me, sought me out through the twisting burrows of my Tower. A dog returning to his master.”

“That’s not very nice,” Jackson says through the building fear. “And after all the effort I made to come visit you…”

The deranged man wearing Oswald’s skin smiles. The click of the reinforced door behind him and the spray of gas shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does. The villain straps a gas mask over his smile.

Jackson rushes Dagur. He doesn’t make it to the man before chocking on his breath and collapsing into a pile of weak, useless limbs. Jackson passes out there, goes lax in the bowels of Oswald Tower, spread out at Dagur’s feet.

Jackson comes to with a weight against his throat and heavy limbs. His legs feel like they’ve been dipped in tar, a sticky, moving wetness on his legs and arms. His spider-sense is still with him, screaming incoherently at the base of Jackson’s skull. It gives a rough indicator for just how screwed exactly Jackson is.

He tugs against the wet slime. It shifts, pins him down. He tries again, but the thing doesn’t move and his palm is clenched firmly closed inside it so he can’t frost his way out of this either. It’s like being held down by chains made of molasses.

“Sssssstay,” the Venom-like thing gurgles. His spider-sense shudders down his spine at the sound. Of course, this is why his senses had freaked out; not only was someone in trouble, but a symbiote is involved. They always set Jackson’s spider-sense off, too loud, almost painfully so.

And whatever Dagur’s planning must have been a factor, too. Maybe his spider-sense wasn’t hightlighting the pain the scientist was suffering. Maybe it had sniffed out Dagur’s plan and lit up like a Christmas tree in fright.

“You walked into this one, Jack,” Jackson croaks around the dryness in his throat (how long was he out?). “You idiot.”

“With an IQ so high, you’d think you’d see a trap before you walked blindly into it.” Jackson’s head tips against the tiles to see Dagur, stood above the lain out teenager, looming like a skyscraper over pedestrians. “Hello, Jackson.”

Jackson freezes. Splutters, “I’m- I’m not-”

Dagur holds up his red mask. Jackson realizes, stomach dropping, that his face is bare.

“I’ve known for a while, Jackson,” Dagur says. “A long while.”

“You weren’t good for this city. You’re good for me.”

“Yeah, well,” Jackson says around his panic, “you’re not very good for me. I want to take this relationship back to the shop and get a full refund. The receipt is still in my other tights-”

“Your incessant babbling isn’t as sharp when you’re this panicked. And here I thought you’d be slinging clever puns until the sun burnt out.” Dagur crouches down next to Jackson’s pinned form, grin as slippery as the symbiote holding Jackson in place. He thumbs at a square piece of metal held in one hand. “Maybe I can make you shut up for once. Let’s see, shall we?”

Jackson opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the weight around his throat tightens, buts off his air and his words, before it pulses electric shocks down his nerves. This is different from the familiar sting of the police’s tazer shots aimed at him- this burns. It scorches. Jackson doesn’t have enough air to scream.

Jackson feels floaty. Distant. When he come back to himself, his chest is heaving. Fingers card through his sweat damp hair.

“You shouldn’t wear that mask,” Dagur admonishes. “It’s too nice, seeing your face. Do you have any idea what you look like when I do this?” He presses at the remote and Jackson is lost beneath another wave of encompassing, red hot pain.

“Bet- bet I still don’t look as ugly as you,” Jackson pants when the sensation ebbs. Dagur’s right- his jokes aren’t as good.

Dagur ignores that. “I’ll tell you; you’re pale. Your eyes roll back in your head, leaving only bloodshot white, and your mouth slips open.” The fingers drift from his hair to trace Jackson’s cracked lips, pressing in. Jackson tastes his fingers on his tongue. He tries to bite him, but Dagur retracts his hand too quickly. “Your whole body convulses…”

“If that hand drifts any lower, Dagur, I really will bite it off.”

Dagur laughs and plucks his hand from Jackson’s clavicle. “You’re lovely, like this.”

“Gross,” Jackson says. “You’re so, so-”

Dagur presses down on the remote. Jackson throws his head back with all his strength. His cranium bangs loudly against the hard floor. But he barely notices the tingling pain or the blood pooling there. He won’t notice the concussion until later.

It continues like that. Dagur leans in, brushes his fingertips over Jackson’s panting, sweating face, looming over the wreck of a teenager and grinning like he wants to devour him whole. The remote is twisted, the collar tightens in warning and then-

Jackson tries fighting, but he feels like he’s underwater. The symbiote holds him down. So, too, does the shocking, sporadic pain and the piercing weight of Dagur’s eyes.

“I made you this way,” Dagur whispers as Jackson gasps for air, shaking violently under the billionaire’s hand. “I made you what you are. I own the spider serum, I own you; my collar belongs around your throat.” The symbiote gurgles. It moves, crawls like a seaworm, like it’s fidgeting. Dagur laughs at the sight, “Your brother is jealous of my affection, Jack, you should be grateful.”

It’s not Dagur’s sugary words that make the half-formed symbiote anxious. It’s the collar. Each flick o Dagur’s thumb on the trigger makes the symbiote skitter along Jackson. He didn’t pick it up in the beginning, too blinded by the waves of pain that swept over him, but after a while, after even Dagur has grown impatient with this method of torture, Jackson is numb enough to recognize the symbiote’s fear. It stays away from where his nerves are the thickest- his feet, his fingertips, the inner curve of his thighs (places that, unfortunately, Dagur is not afraid of touching).

Jackson remembers; Venom had been frightened of pulsing waves of sound, like Church bells. Electricity- this one doesn’t like electricity.

Jackson upper body surges like he’s going to attack Dagur, and the villain reacts instinctively, thumbs slamming down on the collar’s remote trigger. It tightens in warning, leaving him breathless, and Jackson twists on his side. Rather than going lax, surrendering to the inevitable rush of pain, he curls and presses his lips to the writhing, black mass pinning down his arms. When the bundles of nerves beneath his skin flood with electricity, the symbiote screams with Jackson.

It’s just enough. The symbiote flinches off of him and Jack rolls, shuddering with the aftershocks, and punches the shock off of Dagur’s face. As the two monsters recover, Jackson skitters across the lab floor. His free hand reaches up and freezes the collar before crushing it. The bulky metal cracks and energy crackles inside the ice but didn’t fully reach Jackson. It hurts, burns like spitting oil, but it’s nothing like before.

Dagur roars behind his teeth, one hand pressed against his broken nose, spurting blood against his fingers. Jackson smiles victoriously, feeling a little feral.

Take that, Dagster. Jack, 1. Dagur…probably more than 1, come to think of it-

The symbiote is still squirming, but makes no move towards Jackson, skittering away from it’s master’s hands.

I kissed the symbiote, Jack thinks, staring at it. I kissed Venom’s less developed cousin.

And Dagur, Dagur- his eyes are dark and wild. He runs at Jackson and he sees a flash of metal, a loud warning from his spider-sense, before the much taller man barrels into him.

They tumble to the ground, Jackson beneath Dagur. He’s burnt out and exhausted, his collar still spitting toned-down shocks of electricity through his fried nerves at random intervals. Dagur’s teeth are red. His blood drips from his nose and wets Jackson’s maskless face.

He hasn’t don his villain’s suit yet, but he’s still the very picture of Jackson’s nightmares.

Dagur’s elbow digs into Jackson’s chest. It hurts. It pins him. Jackson makes a grab for it, but his spider-sense screams, and Dagur shoves a knife between Jackson’s ribs.

“There it is,” Dagur pants, his blood splashing onto Jackson’s wet cheeks. Some of it gets into the teenager’s open, screaming mouth. It doesn’t taste coppery; all Jackson can taste is pain. “That open, lovely expression. I don’t even need this.” He fiddles with the collar, but snatches his hand back when it splutters and chocks both him and Jackson.

Jackson grapples with Dagur, knife still embedded in his side. Dagur blocks easily enough. Jackson’s strong, but clumsy with pain. The deranged man is still not wearing his gears, but coherent and running on the high of victory.

Dagur grabs his hand and twists. Jackson feels something crack, and Dagur drinks in Jackson’s scrunched expression and breathy cry of pain.

“This wasn’t the type of father-son bonding I was picturing,” Jackson says through his teeth, because he has to, because the other opinion is to scream or cry, giving Dagur what he wants. “I thought- I thought we were going to go fishing, maybe watch some baseball, play catch out the front-”

Dagur punches him across the face, fist closed. Jackson knows how to take a punch.

“You need to watch more American family films, dude, because this? This is not how adults interact with teenagers. There’s a severe lack of baseball mitts and nicknames like ‘sport’ and ‘sonny’-” Dagur hits him again, harder. His lip splits open, and Jack swallows a mouthful of blood and spit. He slants a glare up at his villain. “You’re kind of an asshole, I ever tell you that, Dag-fart? Ha- oh my god, Dag-fart the Deranged, that’s my new name for-!”

Broad hands wrap around Jackson’s neck, ignoring the metal collar and squeezing. Jackson squirms against the chokehold, he tugs at Dagur’s hands and promptly spread frosts along his forearms but strangely enough, he didn’t budge. Even as skin seems to darken in blue at the beginning of a frostbite, Dagur’s sharp-nailed fingers dig into the soft column of his throat. He splutters up at Dagur’s face- purpled in rage, eyes wild, grin as manic as ever- and tries to form words.

“I prefer you quiet,” Dagur tells him. His grip tightens. Jackson’s fingers scramble at the tiles, at Dagur’s hands, desperate for air. “Ah, I think I like this face even more than the last one. You’re so beautiful, desperate. Dying under my hands…”

Dag-fart, Jackson thinks through the airless haze. Dag-fart.

Dagur relaxes his grip enough for Jackson to take in rattling, shallow gasps. His lungs burn. Dagur’s hands go soft, his spread fingers rubbing circles along Jackson’s shaking throat. This deceptive gentleness is sickening.

Their faces are inches apart. Less than. They’re breathing in each other’s air, and Dagur can feel the violent trembling of Jackson’s body, can feel how warm the blood beginning to seep from his stab wound is. That, after everything that has happened today, is what pushes Jackson over the edge.

His legs snap out and he kicks Dagur off of him with all the strength of a bucking, enraged horse. The billionaire’s ribs crack with the force. Jackson yanks the knife out. He resists the urge to curl around the injury or spend any more precious seconds tearing at the collar that keeps spitting electricity. With adrenaline thrumming through his blood, he clambers up and makes for the door. Dagur is still curled on the floor on the other side of the room. The symbiote lays still, as harmless as spilled out, spoiled milk.

Jackson hastily activates his invisibility and limps out of the door and down the long, dark corridors as fast as he can with a bleeding side and a malfunctioning collar.

Dagur isn’t down for long; Jackson can hear the man’s chocked off shouts of rage through the walls. He limps faster, puffing little breathy gasps with each jarring step.

His torso feels soaked through with the blood even as he iced his bleeding side. Wall crawling may be faster and give him the rare higher ground on his too-tall enemy, but it’d paint a path to Jackson. Dagur would just have to follow the dripping, bloodied handprints along the wall to find him.

No. Walk-limping would have to do.

“JACKSON!” He hears the shout muffled through the wall. Dag-fart sounds pained. Good.

Jackson’s been hurt as Jack Frost before. Concussions, jarred fingers and sprained ankles, bullet wounds to the thigh, even a stab wound or two. But there’s something different about this- something that’s visceral and real. Too raw, too much. This, limping through evacuated, empty halls, nerves burnt out and a head wound beginning to make itself known, a concussion pressing nauseous into his throat and blurring the edges of his vision, frostbite beginning to take place on his badly bleeding side, the echo of Dagur’s manic voice ringing through the walls-

It’s too much. Jackson clenches his mouth shut, teeth trapping any noise he might make, and breathes raggedly through his nose. He won’t succumb to the jagged whimpers he can feel in his throat, won’t cry, won’t let panic attack pressing against his ribs take him down.

He has to get out of here.

Dagur is a distinct point; Jackson can just hear his rough pants and the slick-slide sound of his button down and slacks against the villain gears he wears as Dagur the Deranged. Jackson just has to… stay out of his grasp. And find help.

An adult, his mother would say often, driven by worry that her tiny, fresh in his teens, son would think he had to deal with anything awful by himself. She knew he was too selfless. Too stupid to draw attention to his problems. You tell an adult if something bad happens, okay? Promise me, Jackson.

Jackson, tiny and trusting and sick of these too familiar lectures, had nodded his promise. Had sworn it.

Jackson hates the idea that he’s not enough as he is. He hates being told he’s too weak or not capable or should be protected cause he’s 15 years old and still impatiently waiting for a growth spurt. He’s a superhero. His fists are small, but they pack a mighty punch.

But even stupid, stubborn Jackson has to admit that he’s in a bad position here. Fingers clenched tight to his iced stab wound, Jackson relents; his mother was right.

Jackson needs an adult.

He finds the phone in an empty lab a few levels down. Dagur had taken him to the basement levels, floors hidden beneath the concrete ground of the city, buried in the soil. The man assumed that, after escaping, Jackson would’ve limped up. Tried to find his way out into the sunlight.

But Jackson’s seen enough animal documentaries. He knows about the feral, sharp toothed predators that wounded their prey and then stalk it down, waiting for it to slow, to eventually succumb to their injuries, before capturing and devouring it. He’s not going to crawl and get inches from safety, only to have Dagur snatch him back up.

So Jackson winds his way down to even lower levels. It buys him time.

The scientists usually manning these labs must have been told to abandon them in a hurry. Bags are still left at workstations. There’s no one here to stop him from rifling through their belongings until he finds a phone without a passcode to crack.

With shaking, wet fingers, Jackson dials the closest hero. The one that had- after snapping at him for going out, young and untrained- reluctantly handed over a phone number. Not a name, not an address; a phone number. For emergencies.

It’s one of the few numbers Jackson has memorized, outside of his mother, and his little sister, and a few other dozen friends, and-

“This is Matt Murdock’s phone!”

“Um,” Jackson says. The voice doesn’t sound like Daredevil; it’s too chirpy. “I’m looking for Daredevil…?”

The man on the other end of the line sighs. “Of course you are.”

“Is this the wrong number? Are you, like, his secretary?”

“Sometimes I feel like it.” Jackson has no idea what that means. “How did you get this number?”

“Daredevil gave it to me. We’re…we’re colleagues.”

“Winkwink, nudgenudge colleagues?”

Jackson stares blankly at the lab wall. He’s starting to feel floaty again. Out of body. Like nothing, not even a phone in his hands, not even the warm voice in his ear, is quite real. “I’m a superhero, I’m not sleeping with him or anything. That’s gross.”

“No, no, I got that-” Something shifts in the background. The man murmurs gently, urging someone back to sleep. When he returns, he asks, hushed, “What do you want? Daredevil isn’t available tonight.”

“He needs to be available,” Jackson says through his haze, heart thumping like a frightened animal. His collar shocks him every ten minutes or so, sending out a weak, painful pulse of electricity that makes him jump and lose his train of thought. “I-I need his help. I’m in tr-”

“Foggy?” Someone in the background says, words badly slurred. “Who’s on the phone?”

“No one, buddy!” says this Foggy, this man who acts as Daredevil’s secretary, this man who’s keeping help from Jackson. “Go back to sleep, you’re still too injured. It’s just a prank call.”

“Is that him?” Jackson begs. “I need to- I need-”

“I’m sorry, kid, but running around in spandex can wait. You’re going to have to be patient for a few nights.”

“Wait-” Jackson begins, but Foggy has already hung up. Jackson tries to call again, but the phone rings out. Foggy must’ve turned it off. Figures.

“Okay, Jackson,” Jackson tells himself around the chattering of his teeth (either blood loss or fear, the jury is still out). His lungs feel tight, like they’re stuffed full of cotton wool and there’s no room for his sharp, shallow inhales. “Don’t panic. So Daredevil hired an asshole secretary who won’t take your calls, you’ve faced stuff like this before. Who else do you know? Who else?”

There’s a group. A group, in their gleaming building with their famous name, who Jackson’s been snapchatting and texting, who’s number his scrambled, fried brain remembers.

He lowers himself to the ground, one hand around his bleeding middle, the other dialing quickly. E. Aster Bunnymund answers with a gruff, “Hello?”

“Bunny? It’s-it’s Jack Frost,” Jackson whispers. His mouth is wet and dripping; there’s too much salvia in his mouth like he’s about to throw up.

Bunny laughs on the other end of the line. “Frosty? Is this another prank call? Because, I tell ya, I ain’t gonna fall for it a second time around-”

“Bunny,” Jackson says, “listen, I need the Four’s help with something. Now.”

“Come on, Frostbite. You don’t call, you don’t write- I feel neglected-”

“Bunny!”Jackson’s voice pitches too high, gone crackling with panic. On the other end, Bunny audibly winces. “Sorry. Sorry. I just… I really need your help. Please.”

“Sorry, Jack, but the Four and I are off-world. We’re actually on our way out ta deal with another spacial anomaly thingy. Ye just caught us; we’re going to fly out of the range of Earth’s satellites soon.”

“Talk about a long distance call,” Jackson says idly, almost distantly, as though his heart isn’t trying to fight it’s way past his ribcage. The too wet feeling in his mouth worsens. Maybe he really will throw up, this time. Would that attract Dagur? A loud, retching sign of weakness- blood in the water, calling out to the hungry, hungry sharks.

“Good thing ya didn’t call on yer cell,” Bunny agrees. He laughs again. Jackson doesn’t laugh with him. “It’d be phone bill out of this world.”

“Do you know a phone number that will get me into contact with the other Guardians?” Bunny hums, doubtful, and Jackson begs, “Does North know? Does he have Ombric’s phone number? Someone else, even- any unknown vigilante currently living in this city?”

“No and no to da last two, I think.” Bunny leaves the call briefly. Jackson can hear him talking to the others briefly. There’s a click over the line and the telltale crackle as Jackson is put on speaker phone.

“Jack Frost!” North greets joviantly. “What’s the problem? Is it something we can advise you on? If it’s a strategic battle I could walk you through-”

”No, no.” Jackson chokes on the words, around the congested, panicked feeling building in his chest. “I need actual physical help. I need the cavalry, North.”

“We’re pretty far from being able to help, Frostbite.” Bunny’s voice is light, on the edge of a joke. It makes Jackson feel like crying.

“Do you know how I can contact the other Guardians? Or a- a superhero helpline, maybe?”

“I’m sorry, Jack, but my superhero contacts are all saved in the Workshop servers on Earth. There’s nothing I can give you-” North says.

“Nothing?” Jackson asks. Beneath his mask, tears drip down his nose. He didn’t cry when Dagur loomed over him and made him shake and whispered awful, awful promises, but this? Knowing how well and truly alone he is? It’s choking. A hysterical, knife-edged sob crawls it’s way out of Jackson’s throat without his consent.

“Frosty?!” Bunny’s voice is back. Jackson bites at his bottom lip, and curls up tighter around his knees, and presses the phone closer, like he can climb into the screen if he tries hard enough. “Are you- are you crying?”

“Jack, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” That’s Toothiana. Her voice is hard with worry.

“Blyat,” North says, panicked. Jackson is growing numb and distant and cloudy, the way he does when a panic attack is really brewing, thick and heavy, in his chest. “Is he-”

“I’m on my own, then,” Jackson cuts North off. His words are shaky and strained; concussions are awful things, especially when coupled with blood loss. Jackson swallows thickly. “It’s- alright. It’s alright.”

“Frosty!” Bunny says. “Snowflake, wait a second-”

Jackson hangs up.

The phone rings almost immediately. He silences it by denying the call, but it rings again moments later. It doesn’t even occur to Jackson to turn the thing off. He picks it up and crushes it between shaking fingers. It doesn’t ring after that, scattered as it is in warped, useless parts.

“It’s going to be alright,” Jackson says, just once more, and gets to his feet.

Jackson realizes, belatedly, that he should have used that phone to call his mother and little sister. He really may not make it out of this, not if Dagur catches him. A phone call to apologize and say goodbye would have been nice. Then again, the sound of both of their voices may have made him break down for real, and Jackson can’t afford that right now.

The pain is distracting, but the accompanying immovability is what makes Jackson grit his teeth. His whole body feels stiff. He can’t limp away from this. He can’t jump from a window and flips his way to freedom.

The collar goes off again. Jackson freezes the damn thing again and ignores it. He doesn’t have the time or coherency to pull the thing apart.

The blood running thick and slippery over his shaking fingers is alarming. Like a red flag, it shouts Jackson’s own stupidity back at him. He shouldn’t have gotten caught. He should have fought harder. Been faster. Shouldn’t have even gotten out of bed that morning-

Dagur is back.

A door opens and shuts a few hallways over. Dagur’s wearing an expensive grey suit, but beneath it, hidden from prying eyes, is the synthetic gears of his villain outfit. The same way Jackson’s suit is usually tucked away beneath hoodies and t-shirts.

Daredevil’s secretary may have denied him, but Jackson’s still grateful for the hours the older man had spent helping Jackson hone his advanced senses. He can hear the slick-slide of the deranged man’s suit against slacks as loud as a warning bell.

Daredevil may not know it, but he just saved Jackson’s life. Even if it may not matter, in the end.

Jackson immediately activates his invisibility again and wedges himself into a maintenance closet, and holds his breath, and silently begs Dagur doesn’t find him.

He doesn’t- the slick-slide of fabric passes Jackson’s hiding place and disappears further down the corridor. Jackson hasn’t stopped to hide yet, so Dagur has no reason to check all the rooms. He knows that will change the longer he evades the older man. Soon, Dagur’s going to stumble over him, and Jackson’s going to be in no condition to run or fight him off.

But, for now, Jackson shuffles further against the wall, curls into an impossibly small ball, and , with hands smothering his loud breaths, lets his looming panic attack finally crash over him.

The slick-side sound returns. Jackson is exhausted in the aftermath of a panic attack, the vinyl beneath him a sticky red, showing off his blood loss. There’s no air vents in the closet, no hidden nooks for him to disappear into. When Dagur inevitably finds him, he’ll-

“I don’t care how many laws it breaks, scan the corridor. Find whatever experiment Dagur is doing down here.” The voice isn’t Dagur. It’s warmer, a part of him thinks. It doesn’t send shivers down Jackson’s spine. “Who cares about lead lined walls? What are you, Superman? Oh, come on, Fishlegs, you’ve trained better than that-”

An intruder, Jackson thinks. Dagur’s enemy. An ally, in a nearby corridor, starting to wander away from Jackson and his hiding place.

Jackson clambers to his feet and stumbles into the hallway before he can stop himself. His spider-sense has been active since he first burst into the building, and it’s still simmering on low. A reminder that something is coming, that danger looms on Jackson’s horizon. But it doesn’t raise it’s warnings when Jackson started towards the voice,

“Wait!” Jackson blurts. The slick-slide sound fades out. For the first time today, Jackson desperately wants it to come closer.

Jackson hobbles after the voice. The stiffness in his legs is worse after sitting still for so long. His torso flares with old, inhibiting pain with every hurried step. His head lolls, too heavy. Jackson’s fighting through mud, not air, limping after the one person who might actually be able to help him.

The ache in his legs finally, finally gets to him; Jackson stumbles and falls. Shaking tremors work up his body, so violent Jackson has to lean against the wall to keep himself upright. He can’t stand. He should at least be able to sit. The cream wall behind him is smeared with red handprints, where his messy hands struggled to keep him upright.

“Wait. That’s- that’s not right.” The voice, that deep nasally voice- Jackson chokes on the hot lump in his throat. “There shouldn’t be any heat signatures. All the workers were evacuated from this part of the building, and it’s too small and bright to be a fully grown-”

The slick-slide of fabric. Fat, brisk steps. The faint whir of a machine working overtime. A tall young man rounds the corner and freezes, eyes blown wide. He flinches violently back at the sight of bloodied spandex and folded limbs.

“Help,” Jackson slurs. He thought the shaking would abate if he found another ally, but it doesn’t. It worsens. He’s too overstimulated. The shock is like a dam, blocking any relief and putting hot, prickling tears in his eyes.

The man sprints the few meters between him and Jackson. The slick-slide sound is so loud- why does this stranger sound like Dagur? The intruder’s suit is somewhat bulky yet light. Maybe- maybe it’s another kind of undersuit? Something he wears under there like an armor? Or maybe-

“Hey,” The man says, and he sounds panicked. “Hey, can you hear me?” Jackson hums, yes. He tries to nod his head, but it flops, rolls to the side, and doesn’t co-operate. “What happened?”

“Dagur. Turns out, he was right.” An arm snakes around Jackson’s neck, and the taller man tugs him closer. Jackson’s wet, ruined face presses against the man’s suit jacket. “No- no- I’m too dirty-”

“I don’t care,” The man says. The taller man is vehement, oddly so. He presses gentle fingers over the bulky collar, with it’s warped pieces sitting snug against the base of Jackson’s throat, finger-shaped bruises blooming on skin beneath it. “Oh, my gods…”

Jackson’s ruined fingers latch onto the man’s shirt. He doesn’t feel safe yet, but the guy is warm. He’s not hurting him. He’s an anchor to Jackson, who’s been floating and lost all day.

“Did you come for me?” Jackson chokes. Maybe the Big Four had managed to call someone under the Guardians before being out of the Earth’s satellites. He didn’t think anyone was coming. He didn’t think he was allowed this kind of help.

The guy hesitates for a long moment. “No,” He admits, and Jackson swallows, “I’ve been suspicious of Dagur for a long time. I knew he was up to something, and I’d been in his servers, so when I got the report that he had his basement levels evacuated without reason, I snuck in.”

“Sorry. No big conspiracy. ‘s just me.” Jackson’s fingers slip from the man’s button up. He feels less like he’s going to hyperventilate again, less stressed, just this heavy, empty kind of tiredness. “I’m a pretty sucky Christmas present, I know. You wasted your time for nothing.”

The man doesn’t let Jackson go, though. He holds on, even as Jackson’s thoughts haze over, body going loose. “Stay with me,” The guy whispers against his bloody forehead. “I’m going to get you out of here if it’s the last thing I do.”

Concussions really do suck. Or maybe it’s the extended exposure to electric shocks; that cant be good for the human body. Or maybe it’s the knife wound, or blood loss, or good old fashioned shock that’s sending Jackson in and out of awareness, everything blurry and distant. He tries to grab hold of his surroundings and pull himself into coherency, but his body won’t co-operate. For the first time in a while, his spider-sense is quiet. His body takes that as a sign to shut off.

Jackson barely registers that he’s being carried. He barely hears the sound of a vehicle door opening before he’s slid onto leather seats.

Someone sucks in a sharp gasp. “Gods, what happened to him? Is that a collar?!”

Jackson’s head lolls. He squints up at a blonde young woman, peering over the front seat at him. “Dag-fart,” he informs her, seriously.

The man’s surprised bark of laughter is nice. The other woman smiles, but the edges are wrong; she’s too sad for it to be real. “Heroes are really all the same, huh?” she says.

“Yup,” The guy says with delight. “Dag-fart. Oh, that is too good. Remind me to change his name to that in absolutely everything.”

“I’m surprised Dagur let you leave, Hiccup-”

“He didn’t, Astrid. I had Fishlegs map us a path back up to you so that we avoided the snake. I’m not sure he would have let me leave with him, and I couldn’t risk fighting Dagur. Jack Frost needs help too badly.”

“How long did he have him?” Astrid asks. She doesn’t sound very happy, Jackson notes.

“I don’t know,” Hiccup says with a choked tone Jackson’s soupy, useless mind can’t quite understand. “I didn’t even know he was missing. He didn’t even call for help-”

“I did,” Jackson says. He’s half-guessing that they’re talking about him, but he needs them to know that he’s not this useless. He can tie his own shoes, fight his own baddies, and knows when to call for reinforcements when necessary. Even if he doesn’t have any reinforcements available to him just yet. The concept of real, dependable allies- outside the sudden, accidental appearance of this stranger, who’s assistance is born from moral responsibility rather than anything more tangible, like friendship- is still foreign. An unlockable feature Jackson hasn’t gotten to yet.

“Daredevil’s secretary is bad at his job,” Jackson slurs up at the man.

“Yeah, you’re definitely concussed there, Frost. Take it easy.”

Jackson squirms in his seat. “Thought I was- was going to die,” he admits, and then frowns. “Don’t let Dag-fart get my comic books, ‘kay?”

“Your comic books are safe,” Hiccup reassures. To the blonde young woman, he says, “Fly us home.”

“Got it,” says the woman, accompanied by the soft thrum of a powerful engine as they rocket away from Oswald Tower and the monster stalking it’s halls.

Hiccup lets Jackson go limp against him. His stab wound drips onto expensive leather, and he’s wetting the guy’s fancy suit, and he’s probably a bony, uncomfortable weight on the guy, their relationship not close enough for this easy contact, but the guy doesn’t push him off, just gathers him closer. And when fingers card through Jackson’s damp hair, he leans into the touch, relaxes, and doesn’t think about the monster hidden beneath Dagur’s skin.

#jackson overland #jack frost #Hijack #hiccup haddock #superhero!au #yep #as u guessed it #it's mostly copied and pasted #i swear i just wanna share my vision and happiness #hoad's drabbles #hoad's fics

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terramythos · 4 years

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TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 27 of 26

Title: How Long ‘Til Black Future Month? (2018)

Author: N. K. Jemisin

Genre/Tags: Short Story Collection, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Horror, Dystopia, Magical Realism, Steampunk, Cyberpunk, Post-Apocalyptic, Female Protagonist(s), LGBT Protagonist(s).

Rating: 8/10 (Note: This is an average of all the stories -- see below the cut for individual story blurbs/ratings).

Date Began: 9/27/2020

Date Finished: 10/4/2020

I really liked this collection! Jemisin wrote my favorite fanstasy/scifi series ever with The Broken Earth trilogy, and I really enjoyed her recent novel The City We Became. I was in the mindset for shorter fiction so decided to read this collection of short stories. Of these 22 stories, my absolute favorites (9/10 or higher) were:

The City Born Great - 10/10

The Effluent Engine - 9/10

Cloud Dragon Skies - 9/10

The Trojan Girl -10/10

Valedictorian - 9/10

The Evaluators - 10/10

Stone Hunger - 9/10

The Narcomancer - 9/10

Too Many Yesterdays, Not Enough Tomorrows - 9/10

Sinners, Saints, Dragons, and Haints, in the City Beneath the Still Waters - 9/10

A more detailed summary/reaction to each story under the cut. WARNING: IT’S LONG.

1. Those Who Stay and Fight - 8/10

Describes a utopia called Um-Helat that exists solely because no one is seen as superior or inferior to anyone else. Over time we learn it's a future, or potential future, of America. But America today is pure anathema to it due to rampant structural inequality. In order to achieve its utopian ideal, Um-Helatians have to root out and destroy people corrupted by the past.

This story was apparently written as a tribute/response to the Ursula K. Le Guin story “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas”. I first read this without context, then went and read the Le Guin story. I definitely see the parallels. Both feature a narrator describing a wonderful utopia in the midst of festival, trying to convince the reader of the place's existence, before introducing something dark that is the price of the utopia. In the Le Guin story, the utopia exists at the price of the horrible misery and suffering of one child, and everyone is aware of it. Most live with it, but a few leave for the unknown rather than continue to live there (hence the title). In Jemisin's story, the price is instead the annihilation of those tainted by exposure to the evils of the past. The choice, instead of leaving, is for those tainted yet capable to become protectors of the new world, or die.

The thesis is pretty clear: that only by abandoning horrible ideologies and refusing to give them any ground or quarter can a utopian society truly exist. I will say that rings clear, especially when one considers Naziism and fascism. Not all ideologies deserve the light of day or debate, and even entertaining them as valid allows it to take hold. I liked this story, though it comes off as a social justice essay more than a story in and of itself.

2. The City Born Great - 10/10

This one is told from the perspective of a homeless young black man who feels a strange resonance with New York City. He meets a mysterious figure named Paulo, who tells him the city is about to be born as a full-fledged entity, and the man has been chosen to assist with its birth. However, there’s an eldritch force known simply as The Enemy that seeks to prevent this from happening.

I've read this one before since it's the prologue to The City We Became. And honestly it was one of my favorite parts of that book. New York City is a phenomenal character. I love that the proto-avatar of NYC is a young homeless black man, one of the most denigrated groups out there. Cops being the harbingers of eldritch destruction is... yeah. It was fun to reread this. The ending is a little different, because in the novel, something goes terribly wrong that doesn't happen in this short story. There is also a flash forward where he is, apparently, about to awaken the avatar of Los Angeles. Makes me wonder if that is ultimately the endgame of the series. But otherwise it's the same thing with absolutely phenomenal character voice and creativity regarding cities as living creatures. I'm glad Jemisin expanded this idea into a full series.

3. Red Dirt Witch - 7/10

Takes place before the (1960s) Civil Rights Movement in Pratt City, AL. The main character is Emmaline, a witch with three kids. A creepy figure called The White Lady comes to visit and steal one of her children.

I love the little twist that The White Lady is a faerie. And the different take on rowan/ash/thorn instead being rosemary/sage/sycamore fig. There is a lot of touching bits about the horrible trials and human rights abuses during the Civil Rights marches (which are unfortunately all too relevant still), but ultimately a hopeful glimpse of the future of black people in America, though hard-won.

4. L'Alchimista - 6/10

Stars a Milanese master chef named Franca, who fell from glory for Reasons, who now works as head chef at a run-down inn. She feeds a mysterious stranger, who then challenges her to fix a seemingly impossible recipe.

This one was fun and charming. I thought the food (and magical food) descriptions were very vibrant and interesting, especially the last meal. I can tell this is an earlier story and it's pretty light hearted, but I enjoyed it. It felt like it needed a little more of.. something.

5. The Effluent Engine - 9/10

In an interesting steampunk take, Haitian spy Jessaline comes to the city of New Orleans to meet one of its foremost scientists. Her goal is to find a viable, unique energy source to strengthen Haiti in a world that wants to see her nation dead.

I really liked this; it's one of the longer stories so there's more time for character development and worldbuilding. And it's gay. I'm not hugely into pure steampunk because a lot of it comes off as very... samey (hyper Eurocentric/Victorian, etc) but I thought this take was fresh.

Like much of Jemisin's work, there is a lot of racial under and overtones; this one specifically goes into the terrible atrocities committed against the Haitians during their Revolution, and the varied social classes of black/Creole people in New Orleans at the time. A lot of this is stuff I was unaware of or knew very little about. I thought it was interesting to bring all of these to the forefront in a steampunk story in addition to the dirigibles, clockwork, action, and subterfuge. Also, everything tries together in a very satisfying way by the end (the rum bottle!), which I love in short fiction.

6. Cloud Dragon Skies - 9/10

Takes place in a post-apoc future where some humans evacuated to space while others stayed behind and took on more indigenous traditions to heal the Earth. The sky has suddenly turned red on Earth, and some representatives from the "sky-people" come to study it and figure out why.

I really enjoyed this little story; fantasy/scifi fusions are my jam, but science fiction specifically told through a fantasy lens is just so cool to me. The cloud dragons were very interesting and imaginative. Also, I love how the opening statement's meaning isn't particularly clear until you read the whole thing.

7. The Trojan Girl - 10/10

This one is about sentient computer programs/viruses that struggle to survive in something called the Amorph, which is basically a more advanced, omnipresent version of the Internet.

Holy fucking shit was this a cool story. Probably the coolest take on cyberpunk I've ever read. The main character Moroe has formed a messed up little family of creatures like him who live and hunt in Amorph's code, but can upload to "the Static" (real life) if needed by hijacking human hosts. The way this is described is so damn creepy and unsettling. I love that while they're anthropomorphized, the characters are mostly feral and compared to a pack of wolves. Soooo much wolf pack imagery. And the ending is so fucking good and imaginative.

This was apparently a proof of concept story that Jemisin decided not to adapt to a longer series, which I'm kind of sad about, but it was REALLY cool nevertheless. The next story is apparently in the same universe and serves as the "conclusion".

8. Valedictorian - 9/10

This one is about a girl who is, well, top of her class in high school, and the stresses that mount as graduation approaches. But while it seems like a familiar setup, there is something decidedly Off about everything, which is revealed gradually over the course of the story.

I originally gave this an 8, but honestly I couldn't stop thinking about it so I boosted it to a 9. It doesn’t become clear how this connects to the previous story until the midpoint. I liked this one because it functions as a nice dystopian science fiction story but also biting social commentary on the modern American education system. I'm not going go say more on it because spoilers. While I personally like the first story more I think this is an interesting followup/conclusion with a more cerebral approach.

9. The Storyteller's Replacement - 6/10

This one's presented as a traditional "once upon a time" fable told by a storyteller narrator, about a shitty despotic king named Paramenter. Desperate to prove his virility, he eats the heart of a dragon, which is said to be a cure-all for impotence. It's successful, but the six strange daughters that result seem to have plans of their own.

Not really my cup of tea-- it's pretty fucked up. But it's definitely cathartic by the end, which I appreciate, and I do like how creepy the daughters are.

10. The Brides of Heaven - 5/10

Framed as an interrogation in an offworld colony called Illiyin, in which a terrible accident occurred on the way that left all the adult men dead. Dihya, who lost her only son to an alien parasite, is caught trying to sabotage the colony's water supply for reasons unknown.

I like some things in this story. I love the trope of alien biology affecting human biology in unexpected ways. I'm not terribly familiar with Islam but thought it added an interesting faith vs practicality vs tradition element to the science fiction. However I found the sexual body horror REALLY squicky which turned me off the story as a whole.

11. The Evaluators - 10/10

Stylized as a collection of logs and excerpts from a First Contact team of humans visiting and studying a sapient alien species to potentially set up trade relations. There's a focus on one team member named Aihua and her conversations with one of the aliens, but there's miscellaneous important hints/excerpts from the survey that hint Something Creepy Is Going On.

This one was BIZARRE and took me two reads to fully appreciate, but it’s a great work of nontraditional science fiction horror. Just... the epitome of "*nervous laughter* 'what the fuck'". I can't say more without spoiling but dear lord. That whole Jesus bit hits different on a second read. Fucking hell.

12. Walking Awake - 7/10

Takes place in a dystopian society in which parasitic creatures known as Masters keep a small number of humans alive to be flesh suits for them, which they take over and trade around at will. The main character Sadie is a human "caretaker" responsible for propagandizing and raising well-bred human children that eventually become the Masters' hosts. She starts to have disturbing dreams when one takes over the body of a teenage boy she was particularly attached to.

This is apparently a response to Robert Heinlein's The Puppet Masters, which I have never read. It's a full damn novel so I probably won't. Google tells me it's about parasitic aliens, but was obviously also Red Scare paranoia about communist Russia. The argument in the Jemisin story is that the parasites are a result of human folly in an attempt to punish/control people their creators didn't like. This went poorly and resulted in the whole world being taken over.

The story itself is disturbing since the victims are innocent children, but it's ultimately about standing up and taking the first step toward revolution. I felt pretty neutral about the story itself; perhaps I would have liked it more if it was longer and I had more time with the world and protagonist. I wanted to connect to Sadie and her maternal relationship the boy who got killed more. Or maybe it's more impactful if you're familiar with the Heinlein novel and can see the nods/digs.

13. The Elevator Dancer - 7/10

A very short story that takes place in a Christian fundamentalist surveillance state. The protagonist is an unnamed security guard who occasionally sees a woman dancing alone in the elevator and obsesses over her.

I like this one but I'm not sure if I really get it. It's heavily implied the dancer is a hallucination, and the narrator gets "re-educated" but it's all a little ambiguous. I think it's about the struggle to find meaning and inspiration in an oppressive world.

14. Cuisine des Mémoires - 8/10

This one's about a man named Harold who visits a strange restaurant that claims it can replicate any meal from any point in history. He orders a meal which his ex-wife, whom he still loves very much, fixed for him years ago.

This one was certainly different, but I really like the idea of food-as-memory, especially because that's an actual thing. This story just takes it to an extra level. Honestly this story made me feel things... the longing of memory and missed connections/opportunities. Jemisin did a great job with emotion on this one.

15. Stone Hunger - 9/10

Stars a girl in with the ability to manipulate the earth who's tracking down a man she senses in an unfamiliar city. It's heavily implied the world is in a perpetual post-apocalyptic state. When she's caught damaging the outer wall of the city to break in and injured/imprisoned, she's aided by a mysterious, humanoid statue creature with motives of its own.

I have to say it's really interesting to see an early beta concept of The Broken Earth. Orogeny is a little different (and not named)-- there's some kind of taste component to it? Though that's possibly unique to the main character? While hatred of orogenes exists I don't think it's a structural exploitation allegory at this point. Ykka + proto-Castrima existing this early is pretty funny to me. People also use metal, which is VERY funny if you’ve read the series. But I was thrilled to see stone eaters were Very Much A Thing this early and almost exactly how they appear in the series (a little more sinister I guess. At least the one in this story is. I think he basically gets integrated into the Steel/Gray character in the final version).

Anyway as a huge fan of The Broken Earth it's inspiring to see these early ideas and just how much got changed. It's hard for me to look at this as an independent story without the context of the series. I think I'd like it due to the creative setting and strange concepts, but I appreciate the final changes to narrative style and worldbuilding, which really made the series for me.

16. On The Banks of the River Lex - 8/10

Death explores a decaying, post-human version of New York City. He and various deities/ideas created by humans are all that survives in the future and they struggle to exist in the crumbling infrastructure of the city. But Death gradually observes new and different creatures developing amid the wreckage.

I liked this! Despite a typically bleak premise the story is very optimistic and hopeful for the future of the world post-humanity. I like anthropomorphized concepts/deities/etc in general. I thought the imagery of decay and life was gorgeous. Also octopuses are cool.

17. The Narcomancer - 9/10

Told from the perspective of Cet, a priest known as a Gatherer, who can take the life of someone through their dreams in order to bring them peace. When a village petitions his order to investigate a series of raids conducted by brigands using forbidden magic, Cet joins the party. However, he is troubled by his growing attraction to a strong-willed woman of the village.

This apparently takes place in the Dreamblood universe, which I have not read and know nothing about. However, I really enjoyed this story. It's the longest in the collection so I felt I really got to know the characters. The dream-based religion and fantasy was captivating to learn about. It was also romantic as hell, but not in the typical way you’d expect. I thought the central conflict of a priest struggling between an oath of celibacy and his duty to do the right thing (bring peace to someone who needs it) was fascinating.

18. Henosis - 4/10

A short piece, told anachronistically, about a lauded, award winning author on the way to an award ceremony. He gets kidnapped, but there's Something Else going on.

Honestly I get the sense this one is personal, lol. I will say I like the disturbing play on expectations, but I didn't connect much with it otherwise.

19. Too Many Yesterdays, Not Enough Tomorrows - 9/10

Follows a group of bloggers who have found themselves caught in isolated quantum loops. Their only human contact is through tenuous online conversations with each other. Styled as various chat logs and emails interspersed with the thoughts and perspectives of Helen, a young black woman who before the loop was teaching English in Japan.

This one is real depressing and definitely Social Commentary (TM). The central thesis about loneliness and disconnect at the end made me pretty dang sad. Good stuff in an ouch kind of way and made me think.

20. The You Train - 6/10

Told from the perspective of an unnamed narrator talking (presumably on the phone) to a friend about her struggles adjusting to life in New York City. She regularly mentions seeing train lines that either don't exist or retired a long time ago.

This is the kind of story I'd normally really like. I think trains are interesting and like vaguely supernatural, inexplicable shit. The one-sided phone call is also an interesting narrative device. But I'm not sure I really got this one. It comes off as vaguely horror-y but also optimistic? I couldn't really figure this one out, and it was too short to feel much investment on top of that.

21. Non-Zero Probabilities - 7/10

Luck has gone completely out of whack in New York City. Highly improbable events suddenly become way more likely, both good and bad. This story follows a woman named Adele and coming to grips with the new ways of life this brings.

I liked this one well enough but I don't have a lot to say about it. I liked how the story looks at how people would adapt to a life where probability doesn't mean anything anymore.

22. Sinners, Saints, Dragons, and Haints, in the City Beneath the Still Waters - 9/10

A magical realism story about a man named Tookie struggling to survive in New Orleans in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. He meets a talking, winged lizard and the two help each other out. But it soon becomes clear there is something sinister lurking in the flooded ruins of the city.

This story was very imaginative and a great cap to the collection. I thought it was an intriguing time period to set a magical realism story in. I love the little details, especially those of omission -- the "lizard" is never called a dragon, for example. I can see echoes of this story in The City We Became, especially the themes of cities as powerful entities, vague eldritch fuckery centered around hatred, and certain people being guardians of the city.

#2020 reading challenge #BONUS ROUND #taylor reads #8/10 #i am posting this Late but i was basically writing this review as i read so it's like. all done lol

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myakkoh · 4 years

Text

brightened doubts (bleak hope)

(Read on Ao3 here!)

Inspired by @blackkatmagic ‘s tumblr blog by the apparent lack of space horror and creepy stuff in Star Wars. Did I mean to start it? No. Whose fault is it? By this point. BY THIS POINT. It's mostly Kat’s server’s fault but mostly Kat. Mostly.

(I did enjoy writing this, though! Without further ado, please enjoy!)

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

Something is humming.

Jon’s eyes flicker open, before squeezing them shut just as quickly from the sudden painful throb in his head. Breathes slowly as he reopens his eyes to sickly green light flickering in front of him. If he remembers correctly, the last thing he has done was split up with Agen to find the supposed creature of the Dark Side Cave. Jon found, fought against a dark presence, and it... it was stifling.

It’s still stifling. His breath hitches as he stares in front of him, a dark wisp of smoke seemingly curling in amusement. The Darkness seems to lurk around it ever so carefree, happy, and the familiarity makes him grit his teeth silently. This is the presence he had faced, fought with earlier. Licks dry, chapped lips as he stares stonily at it, a brush of amusement against his shields.

There’s too much familiarity with Dark Woman, too. Jon nearly flinches, but holds steady from the dragging touch of sudden dread. The dark presence seemingly smiles, fades away to reveal familiar dark eyes watching him, soft warmth replaced by cruel amusement. The smile on its face has too much teeth, rocking back on its heels as it watches him.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” it drawls, smooth ice coated with honey, unsettling with its current looks, and—the voice is also his. Tries to move and there’s something clamped around his wrists, his legs. Oh, he thinks as he glances to see stone encased around him and tries to move with—no, it’s stone. Stone that seems to be preventing him from using the Force.

He can sense the Force. But he can’t use it.

“Interesting?” Jon asks flatly, tugs on his restraints to test the strength of it.

“Oh, yes,” it says as it lifts a dark-skinned hand to observe itself. The smile on its face widens, and Jon only blinks slowly. It doesn’t look right on his face, doesn’t seem right either, not when he’s kind, far more gentle than one would think. “I never expected to find a Human and a Zabrak coming into my cave. Even better...” It leers at him with a vicious smile. “You love him. The Zabrak. What did you call him again? Agen?”

The truth, laid out all bare to the world. Breathes steadily as he watches it continue to rock back on its heels, and—Jon knows. He knows he loves Agen, trusts him to be able to take care of himself, knows how loyal Agen is to the Jedi’s teachings and the Jedi Order. Knows how much Agen is true to his word, no matter what happens, how trusting he is to the other Jedi.

Agen trusts him, and that’s enough for him. He would never harm him.

“And?” Jon asks quietly, ignoring the sudden grip of fear that seems to clash against his shields. It reels back, hatred flickering across familiar dark eyes like a blazing inferno, then it smooths over into a neutral look. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it does, little Human. It does.” It smiles with Agen’s face, far too unsettling on the face it wears. A cold touch of dread bubbles in his chest, when he realizes where this is going. “You want so many things, but as those Jedi, you cannot act upon them.”

“I want nothing,” Jon says firmly.

“Oh, isn’t that a lie? You shouldn’t lie to yourself, shouldn’t you, Jedi?”

‘Agen’ laughs, a curl of dark pleasure echoing and thrumming against his skin. It’s no lie, he wants to protest, but settles for staying silent as it laughs again, and again. There’s no saying otherwise if the being believes that wholeheartedly, that Jon is lying to himself.

Sickly green lurks in the shadows, seemingly taking in the glee of him being restrained. Jon only stares back at ‘Agen’ with narrowed eyes, before he shakes his head and keeps silent. The creature of Dark Side Cave can feed on emotions, the inhabitants said when he and Agen had questioned them. It comes out of Dark Side Cave once a year to feed upon them all before retreating back.

They say that the creature is part of the tainted and corrupted Force lurking in the swamps nearby. Shadows, the familiar feeling of Darkness, how it turned into ‘Agen’ and has nearly the exact mannerism... it clicks. It shouldn’t have taken him so long to figure it out, but—it clicks, and he breathes through it slowly.

“You’re the creature,” Jon says softly.

It pauses, dark eyes glancing towards him, and there’s teeth. Pearl white, sharp fangs gleam in the dark, the sickly green light emitting from the cave walls. “Slow, but you’re smart, if not a little dumber than the others,” it purrs before letting out a throaty laugh. He ignores the implications of those words. “Yes. You can say I’m this... creature that you speak of.”

The Force is far stifling here than outside of the cave, but he needs to get out of here. Find Agen, make sure no one else is in the cave with them, and lead him back here to take down the dark presence. But—he’s trapped here, with no way to use the Force, and Agen is alone. Alone with no one to warn him. Jon meets the dark presence’s eyes. The smile widens ever so slightly with dark delight.

“You want him.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. How it wants Agen, Jon doesn’t know, but he doesn’t need to see to know that Agen will be in trouble regardless. Carefully doesn’t think of how lips curl into a faint smile and a warm hand gently lying across his shoulder. He doesn’t.

It laughs, sadistic and full of glee. “Perhaps I do,” it says slyly, examines the nails on one hand. So full of itself, but—a weakness. Jon discreetly files it away for later. “Your Agen is full of despair and pain, even if he doesn’t show it. It’s... delicious, really. Fun. A pretty plaything, if I have to be honest. Perhaps it’ll be even more fun to watch him break.”

Break.

The memory of the Zabrak’s soft smile and the steady look in his gaze flashes over Jon’s mind. His breath hitches quietly as ‘Agen’ laughs, inhumane in his ears. If the creature wants to break Agen, it won’t stand a chance against him. Agen is strong, and the other Jedi knows him. Knows him far too well and Jon knows, knows that Agen will know, too.

Jon presses his lips together tightly, looks past it and to the cave’s opening. He needs to bid his chance, once the creature leaves. To find a way to escape, find Agen, to protect the inhabitants in the nearby settlement. The cave opening is pitch black, full of looming and flickering shadows, then–

A flicker of wariness.

No.

The creature simply looks delighted. “Well, well, well,” it says and turns back to him with a sickening sweet smile on Agen’s face. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong– “I believe this is where we must part ways, little Human. Until I bring back the Zabrak’s broken body, anyways.”

The image of Agen on the ground, helpless and still, flies across his mind, makes him give the creature a stony look, breathes carefully as it laughs again. There’s no telling what it will do to Agen, what will happen. But Agen knows, he knows, he’ll be fine. “He’ll stop you,” Jon says quietly, his hands curled into fists. “He’ll know.”

“And if I look like you?”

“He’ll know you’re not me,” Jon says quietly as ‘Agen’ melts into wisps of shadows and darkness again. Watches it transform—his own face looks back at him.

Agen will know. He trusts him. Jon knows it in his heart, knows it when a sliver of light curls around his wrist.

His own face smiles cruelly back at him. “Well, let’s find out and see, shall we?”

#my writing #star wars #the enabling server’s collection #agenjon #jon antilles #agen kolar #force being #angst #look anytime I write a Jon fic it is Kat’s fault #it will always be either hers or Cat’s or one of the Star Wars enablers in the server #i love them for it anyways

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escapekissed · 4 years

Note

Lucky do you have any favorite pieces of media from the psychological horror genre? Feels like its a genre that matches ur interests very well 👉🏽👈🏽

there are a couple that really speak to me!

first is rule of rose, which is a game that is incredibly formative to me. in a time where i was looking for representation as a young gay person and REALLY into looking up wiki pages for horror games, rule of rose showed me the symbolic trauma of puberty and toxic ‘love’ between girl children and the violence of patriarchal figures that i was looking for. it showed such cruelty but also such strength in its main character, and the symbolism? exquisite.... it also just has such a creepy atmosphere and the fact that the game is near impossible to play along with its shitty graphics for the enemies makes it so. peculiar and creepy in a very special way to me.

catherine is another atlus game near and dear to my heart, tho i dont think i’m ever going to be playing full body for that exact reason. it’s a game basically about eugenics and misogyny, about gods&devils thinking of women as only reproductive objects and the men in their lives that ‘waste their reproductive time’ being tortured and killed for it, taking away a woman’s choice. i always thought it would be so interesting to do trans and lesbian takes on this game, and i have never really? stopped thinking about how this game is so thrilling in its themes of entitlement and stopping people’s freedom to love as they wish. this is also one of the only horror games in which the ‘human element’ actually interests me. so many horror games give u terrible people and i dont give a FUCK ABOUT THEM. but the way this game shows u just snippets of his life as a ‘break’ from the excruciatingly scary (to me, because time limits scare me LOL), stressful as hell puzzles. and u get to figure out the mystery of what is going on in people who would otherwise be boring to you, but in this game are shrouded in just enough mystery that ur actually interested in their boring day-to-day lives. its so satisfying just to drink with ur buds. its like really great gameplay to me tbh. i also just love katherine and catherine and they frusturate me so much and that’s exactly what they’re supposed to do which i LOVE. extremely effective atmosphere setting and worldbuilding, basically.

the lighthouse is my favorite horror movie tbh because it does suspense so well. the movie is literally themed around suspense, the suspense of not getting sexual satisfaction to completion, of being touch starved and lonely and repressed, of being able to hold ur boss but never kiss him, of being fed lobster but it tastes flavorless and bland and u can smell ur boss’s farts the whole time while he prattles on with disturbing sailor’s tales and barks out orders until he’s lulled into his drink. i honestly love this movie. and the acting is brilliant and unhinged

there’s a few indie games i really like that have been either formative to me or i just??? really like their vibe and i can basically tell from them i would like every game in the ‘genre.’

pocket mirror to me is like, this beautiful game about your own inner toxicity and escaping from yourself. i love indie 64-bit games like this, the background art is so beautiful, and while i’ve never played all the way through it because it scares me too much---i love ib and all the games in the ‘ib’ genre LOL.

doki doki literature club i know is a very strange game to like, but i enjoy it for letting the women be actual characters with their own thoughts and feelings. the pychological horror movie ‘i’m thinking of ending things’ is the exact opposite of this game.'i’m thinking of ending things’ is a backwards approach to feminist horror in my opinion. it’s from a male’s perspective of his hallucinations of a girl that once didn’t give him a second glance and his violence towards her in these fantasies. it takes itself painfully seriously. it pretends to deconstruct something that the director helped soldify (the manic pixie dream girl trope) in the public eye. doki doki literature club on the other hand, the passive character who ‘things happen to’ is the man. the active roles all go to the women in the game and what they do to themselves in order to be loved by not just a man, but the player, and in doing so they often become the all-knowing god of their own prison. like tell me that’s not the dopest thing u’ve ever heard of!

twilight zone is a big one for me but 5 episodes in particular have shaped how i view horror forever. ‘to serve man’---where the greatest, scariest thing in the world is not being able to understand the language another person is actually using and for them to manipulate u using ur own, actually wishing u harm as they placate you with your own interpretations. the episode where a rich man’s last will and testament is for his vain, selfish relatives to wear a mask until midnight that reveals symbolically how ugly they are to him. they bicker all night with petty squabbles, and then at midnight he reveals the mask has permeanantly shaped their faces to reveal who they really are and the abuse he suffered under them. the cornfield episode still scares the shit out of me as someone with an entitled younger brother whose entitlement and anger is often enabled by those around us, and i’ve always thought that it was such a good show of like, how patriarchy enables little boy’s violence. the episode ‘all the time in the world’ where an abused man with a shitty life is finally the last man on earth and he can do anything he’d like to do and all he wants to do is read but then he breaks his glasses. and finally! the episode where toys in a box come to life and bemoan their fate as they realize they will be trapped there forever in clothes and identities they do not recognize. these episodes always scare the shit out of me LOL.

besides that i really like. low-budget passion project indie games. the first that comes to mind is ‘the path’ which is about a family of four sisters of various ages all inspired by little red riding hood who stray from the path and are hunted by the woodsman. and then the game that YOU my dear myers! showed me! that haunts me to this day. basically a tape talks to you about the areas of a house and then starts to talk about the house as a living creature. and the living creature is hungry, without you inside it. the living creature is tired of being alone, it’s tired of being abandoned, it’s tired, and it’s eyes are empty with no one in the windows, and it’s mind is blank with no one in the bedroom, and it’s hangry there’s no one in its basement to feast on, to torment as it has been tormented by disuse.

last but not least, i really enjoy the book ‘sharp objects.’ which is not technically a horror novel. but it is about a serial killer, and about women and abuse and it has some of the best writing ever. so i highly recommend it AND the miniseries (watch the miniseries first then read the book bc the miniseries is like. directed better? but the novel is written and characterized better. it’s also very short u can finish it in like a day and a half).

honorable mentions for horror In General (not necessarily psychological horror) are: 1) the birdcage. i honestly consider this movie entirely unsettling. robin williams failing to portray a man that is actually attracted to nathan lane, which could be because they have simply been married so long but also is just awful to me in general bc it makes me feel like even our outwardly gay but still more masc gay men can’t love and be attracted to femme camp gays even when they’re married to them. the fact that both these men that could be so in love, that were so in love at one time, you can at the very least imagine, are told by their only son that they need to go back in the closet to impress some old ass republicans, giving the message that no matter how succesful you are in the gay community, no matter how bright and wonderful a presence you are, no matter how loving you are, no matter how much you love, no matter how interwoven you are in lgbt-ness, the straight people you love most will still try to change you to impress the wold. horrifying.

2) coraline. its children’s horror but that’s still horror baby! i think lately about how much the movie talks about mothers and birth. coraline calls whybie ‘why born’ and i just think about how much she thinks about creating a new life with a new mother, and how going through that small door into a long tube... it’s like crawling into a new womb and being reborn to a new mother that loves you. and that’s horrific from a feminist perspective in and of itself---that your child would feel so unloved and unimportant to you that she would literally... rather die in this life, technically, rather be ‘unborn’ to you and born anew to someone, someone just like you but better, someone just like you but what SHE wants a mother to be, feminine and skirted and smiling. and then there’s the fact that coraline only gives this up when she realizes her other mother basically wants to change her more to suit her liking in ways that would cause her pain, at which point she realizes this whole fantasy is a lie, not real, something meant to entice her and control her and make her ‘perfect’---the same way she wants her mother & father to be ‘perfect’ in a way that causes her to act out and hurt them. it’s psychological horror that’s technically not psychological horror in the best way, something you can really dig your teeth into, something that has so many layers to it. and the animation! gorgeous!

3) finally i have recently watched annihilation. and it kind of changed my life a little bit.... so often we’re used to viewing monsters as either 1) malicious or 2) romantic/sad/sexy. but the monster in this movie is literally a metaphor for cervical cancer.

to me, the monsters and the corpses and all the beautiful scenery in this movie, in every color u can think of, a muted rainbow of flowers and nature at its best and most bizarre and sprawling. i often say that monsters are beautiful, but tbh, i feel like... somehow i always mean that in a way that is near-fetishitic, somehow self-depcrating way, where i want to consider what other people think is ‘ugly’ is ‘beautiful to me’ because what i am also ugly to other people as a monster to the cishet white patriarchy. there are things i consider beautiful, certainly, purely beautiful. but when i talk about monsters being beautiful, it is in the way the sublime is beautiful. it scares me, it haunts me, i love it, i want to possess it as part of me, a totem to carry in my back pocket to make the strength in my own ugliness stronger.

when i saw the monster in this movie (SPOILERS) i was immediately unnerved at this bad cgi abomination that bloomed from the most beautiul cgi cancer death cosmos imaginable. it scared me and i had to sleep with a light on for 2 days after LOL. but i was also moved by its gentleness. by the fact that the cervical cancer alien, when it tried to hurt you, wasn’t trying to hurt you at all. it was simply copying your movements. in the movie, it says that the creature wants nothing. it was simply copying. it was simply changing. it’s a prism of nature---and it corrupts yes, and it can hurt people and things and turn them into scary but still terribly unique and beautiful things that also kill---but the movie says that it wants nothing. it simply exists. it’s a part of nature, same as us, a part of the same universe and cosmos, despite being alien to us and stange and hurting us sometimes in ways that it doesn’t understand.

i don’t know. if i quite believe the movie when it says that, though. because i think if you copy someone, like a child would, you are trying to understand them. you are trying to understand yourself. you are trying to form yourself in another’s image when you have none, and you are failing at that, and hurting people and creating monsters in the process, but you are trying as best as you can to be whole and beautiful and sane like the lovely creatures you’ve met on this earth, or this body. to be part of something great and beautiful. to be part of another world.

maybe it doesn’t want anything. but do WE want anything as children, when we copy adults? why did the bear and the alligator try to eat our heroes if they were not hungry? did the bear and the alligator not WANT to eat? i think everything wants to live, and everything wants to grow, and if it can learn to live better and grow better it Will learn even if that is not its explicit intention. does the alien have feelings? does nature? do we have to personify things to understand them? no. does personifying things make us understand them less? no, yes, sometimes. we ask animals and nature to copy us, follow us, so that we can understand them better. the relationship in between----from the hurt, from the pain, from the droughts and the food shortages and the hurricanes and the fireworks---forms from our kindness and understanding. that our crops are useful, and the man-made mutation of our crops and the help of the ran and the sun is also useful. that our animals may not love us, but they need us, and we love them for putting their paw on our thighs to be pet, for following us into the bathroom even when we just wanted a moment alone.

regardless of its intentions, the alien, cancer, every creature, every human, they simply want to grow. in copying others---in trying to touch, to change, to understand, and be close---we learn to live in the same body, learn to live in the same world. the togetherness--the new sight the prism brings---it’s beautiful. it is beautiful to copy, however poorly. it is beautiful to try. we all shape others to our own standards---we sometimes forget we too, were made in own own perception of others’ image.

#ooc: replies #this took me all day to answer because i had to go to COSTCO in the middle. LOL #destructiveglitch

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years

Note

Future!Adrien pays a visit to his past: Adrien wakes up to an insistent tapping on his cheek (accompanied by a low hiss of his name by Plagg) and the feeling like he was being watched. It's with that unsettling feeling that he cracks open in a squint to give a quick scan of his room and can only squeak in surprise at a pair of narrowed green eyes staring at him from his couch. He did not look happy. "You, what did you /do/?" "I, what?" Adrien scrambled to sit up, "I didn't do anything!"

So I think you were wanting angst.

I was wanting spite.

Instead, I got creepy.

Have some creepy.

FUTURE TENSE BAD END

“You. What did you do?”

“I—what?” Adrien scrambled to sit up. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Clearly you did, or I wouldn’t be here.” The stranger responded, looking more disgruntled than anything.

“Who are you?” Adrien demanded. “How did you get in my house?!”

“He’s you.” Plagg explained. “From the future.”

“Wait—what?” He turned back to the older male and couldn’t help but gape. Blond hair. Green eyes. And—oh god, what caused scars like those? They littered his arms, but the one he couldn’t tear his eyes away from was the one scar that went from his jaw to down his neck, to even beyond the vest the man was wearing.

Ignoring Adrien’s clear confusion and growing horror, Plagg then turned on the so-called ‘Future Adrien’, looking altogether unimpressed. “You’d better have a good reason for being here or Tikki is going to kill me.”

The ‘Future Adrien’ only smirked back. “Pretty sure that’s never stopped you before.”

The cat kwami bristled at that.

“Don’t be that way with your chosen, Plagg.”

“You’re not mine.” He hissed back.

“What’s going on?” Present and horribly confused Adrien demanded.

Since Adrien met Plagg, for all the time he had known the little cat god, he had never heard Plagg make anything close to the angry hiss he was making now at his other self.

He looked up at his future self, wary. “You’re me, right?”

“We’re both disappointed about that, I assure you.”

Adrien flinched but chose to let the insult go because this was not the time. Not if a future version of himself was standing right in front of him with injuries he hadn’t gotten yet and eyes full of misery he’d hopefully never have to face.

“What happened?”

Why are you here?

Why are you like this?

How did I turn into you?

“I can’t believe how clueless you are.”

That line came out of nowhere and Adrien blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Did you know how close she’s been all this time? How much she’s done for you? How she adores you?” His eyes narrowed into a dark glare. “How you’ve hurt her?”

Anger rose at that and Adrien couldn’t stop himself from arguing. “But I haven’t hurt her—”

“Yet?” The other interrupted with a sinister grin. “Is that what you were going to say?” His future self asked sardonically as he leaned forward, feral and imposing in a way that made Adrien shift back despite the several feet of distance already between them.

“I…I—”

“You’ve already hurt her. Through your selfishness as Chat and your ignorance as Adrien, you’ve hurt her plenty, and yet she still loves you.”

“Kid…” Plagg whispered. It sounded like a warning, though it wasn’t certain to whom.

“She’s been right behind you.” The older one continued. “Supporting you. Encouraging you. Doing everything just to make you happy.”

He sneered, downright hatefully in a way Adrien never knew he was capable of.

“And you never even noticed when you had the chance.”

His eyes widened in shock.

“What?”

“By the time you finally bothered to look, she was already gone.”

No.

No, that couldn’t be. Not Ladybug. Not his Lady.

“Ladybug dies?” He asked, almost whimpering.

Older Adrien flinched, his hands closing into shaking fists.

“Yes.” He finally answered.

Adrien felt everything inside him freeze at that.

Plagg looked back and forth between the two, uncertain. “Kid—”

“But how?”

How did it happen? How did he fail? He had always been beside her, protecting her, taking the blows so she would always be able to come through. So what went wrong?

The question made his future self glare at him in pure loathing.

“Because you make every wrong choice possible. Don’t call out the liar. Don’t protect your friends. Don’t question your father. Don’t listen to her. Don’t support her when she needs it. Don’t FUCKING TURN AROUND AND SEE HER!”

His final shout echoed throughout the room. Adrien felt his heart pounding.

There was a moment of silence. Adrien felt his heart pounding, both from the man’s words and from the fear that someone would have heard him and may come to investigate. He glanced to the door, fearful and just waiting to have to give out some excuse. But a minute passed with no disturbance. No knocking at his door or question as to his wellbeing.

Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised at the negligence.

For once, he was actually grateful.

He turned his focus back to his future self. A version of him he never wanted to become.

It seemed that the man had been able to take the time to calm, appearing less tense. Less shaking. Less uncertain.

More determined.

That’s right, Adrien realized. He was here for a reason.

If anything happened to Ladybug, Adrien knew without a doubt he would be willing to do anything to stop it, even if it meant turning back time. It only made sense that any future version of himself would do the same.

“So what happens?”

“What?” His future asked, appearing surprised at the question.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To prevent it from happening?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

Adrien smiled at that. This was not what he wanted to wake up to, but this was a chance to save his Lady and stop something horrible from happening. And if there was even a chance, he was going to take it.

“Then tell me what happens. Then maybe we can come up with a plan to protect Ladybug.”

His future self smiled in return.

“No.”

Adrien blinked in surprise. “No?”

“I’m not here to tell you the future. I’m here to fix it.”

“Fix it?”

“Kid, RUN!” Plagg shouted, realizing the plan.

Too late.

One hand sent Plagg flying into a wall.

The other hand shot out and grabbed Adrien by the throat.

“If this is my second chance, like I’m really going to go and let you screw everything up again.”

Adrien choked, unable to speak. Desperately trying to draw in air. Eyes closed as he tried to fight the hold but was ultimately futile.

“Don’t worry.” Came the whisper. “This will be quick.”

He felt he hand on his chest.

In his chest?

Under his skin.

Through his body.

And spreading within him, filling him with billions of tiny bits and specks of a burning energy he couldn’t even start to describe. It was like he was being eaten from the inside by the particles invading his body in a manner so reminiscent of his Cataclysm.

Is this what it would be like for it to be used on someone?

Weak from lack of air and yet full of a raw growing pain slowly engulfing him, he forced his eyes open to see that whatever was entering him seemed to be taking from his other self. With each moment, there seemed to be less of his future self, like the man was fading out of existence.

Or maybe into it.

Is he—?

The older Adrien smiled.

“Let me in.”

It wasn’t a kind smile.

It was dark.

Obsessive.

Possessive.

Terrifying.

It wasn’t anything like any of the smiles Adrien had ever worn.

Yet it matched the one growing on his own face against his will as the sensation spread to his lips.

His eyes.

His heart.

His mind.

And suddenly—

Everything made perfect sense.

“Hey, guys. Does Adrien seem a little…off to you?”

“You mean besides the way he’s been checking you out?”

“Alya, I’m serious!”

“What? You should be happy! The boy may be finally getting a clue.”

“Why now though?”

“Why not now?”

“But don’t you think he’s been acting a bit strange lately?”

“It’s understandable. I mean, a lot has happened recently. What with his dad’s heart attack. That just came out of nowhere.”

“Guess that’s what stress does to you. Especially the stress of running a fashion empire.”

“Isn’t he still in the hospital?”

“Yeah! Then there was Lila’s accident. Poor thing. I heard her family has to learn sign language now due to the damage to her throat.”

“And I heard now that Chloe’s mom is insistent on taking her to New York due to ‘all the stress’. Not that that last one is so bad, but still, that’s a lot on Adrien right now. Anyone would have a hard time handling it.”

“It’s like he just can’t catch a break.”

“Yeah, talk about bad luck.”

…

“…Bad luck?”

“Marinette? You in there?”

“C’mon girl. That just means it’s important for you to be there for him now more than ever.“

“I don’t know. There’s just something weird about it all.”

“Don’t worry, Marinette. You’re probably just imaging things.”

#miraculous ladybug ficlet #adrien agreste #time travel #plagg #tales of ladybug and cat noir #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #chat noir #plot bunny #for the plot bunny anon #future tense #she's not just imagining things #this wasn't supposed to be creepy #why did it have to get creepy?

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pixylate-archive2020 · 4 years

Text

The Mother of Valerie Mache

{ tw for talk of kidna.pping and chi.ld-abuse. }

Cadence Beaumont was raised in Kalos. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth, she never had to struggle when it came to much of anything. She was given everything she needed, wanted, and could ever want, by doting parents. Said parents also encouraged her to become a woman who would take whatever she desired from the world, as she deserved good things. Naturally, all of these factors allowed Cadence to grow into someone brimming with hubris.

(Said hubris led to her downfall.)

Faeries have always been known throughout Kalos for centuries through folktales and various legends, while some in the modern today have claimed to have seen or met one personally, surviving the encounters. Cadence herself was was interested in the existence of faeries for one reason and one reason only: they allegedly could give blessings. Though she already had a good life, things going for her that a lot of people dreamed of having, she wanted more. More wealth, more respect, more love.

When she heard someone claim that there was a faerie currently roaming Santalune Forest, she went to investigate. She brought along her team of Poison-type pokemon, just in case she would need them. She did eventually find the faerie, who stated Cadence had quite a lot of bravery, or foolishness, to approach her so brazenly. But, the faerie was in a particularly good mood, and was curious as to what Cadence wanted from her.

Cadence did end up gaining enough of the faerie’s favor to earn a blessing, though of course, they made a deal. Just as the faerie would give her what she wanted, Cadence would do a favor to repay the entity. However, Cadence chose to not hold up her end of the deal. She saw no reason to, as she got what she wished for, and looked down her nose at the fae, thinking she wouldn’t be able to do anything genuinely harmful.

By Cadence not fulfilling her end of the deal, the faerie was of course angered. Not only did she take away her gift, she seeked to make Cadence utterly miserable. Of all the things to not do to a faerie, disrespecting them is the biggest one. No one did such and got away with it, never in history, and the fae was determined to not let Cadence be the first.

Cadence soon realized the warnings and horror stories about faeries held water. Waking up with her skin mysteriously marred in various areas, her hair falling out, her money vanishing, the people who she felt were her friends turning their backs on her; her life gradually fell into shambles. After her mother and father suddenly deemed her a disgrace, and Cadence lost her only regular source of income, she saw it appropriate to try and flee Kalos in order to get away from the faerie she deceived.

She moved to Johto, as she has old family ties to it, and it was far enough away from Kalos to where she felt safe. Choosing to live in Goldenrod City, Cadence slowly adjusted to living in Johto over the span of 3 months, mentally frazzled but thankful she at least stopped waking up with her appearance falling apart. She gained a small job working in a flower shop, and while she hated having a job more fitting to a “peasant”, it was better than nothing.

One day, she met a man who came into the flower shop to buy a bouquet. He was attractive, sure, but she didn’t have much interest in him at first. It took multiple visits and he innocently commenting that she was pretty, for Cadence to “notice” him. Soon, they started going on dates, and over time, she found herself falling in love with him. The feeling was reciprocated.

After close to a year passed, they ended up getting married. Cadence moved into Tobias’ home in Ecruteak City to live with him. Life started looking great for her again, and for a while, she thought she would never have to deal with faeries & their wickedness ever again.

Eventually, Cadence Mache became pregnant. Both she and Tobias were excited to be first-time parents. The pregnancy went by without any unusual problems, and after about 9 months, Cadence gave birth to a girl. She was lovingly named “Valeria”, and taken home with Cadence when they were cleared from Ecruteak’s hospital. That night, the family all settled down within their home, with Cadence putting Valeria to rest in her crib.

Little was Cadence aware that her newborn was stolen as she and Tobias slept. Her nightmare wasn’t over; the faerie who she disrespected before was still bent on making Cadence suffer. The woman fleeing to a different region didn’t do anything but increase the faerie’s annoyance. What’s more, is that the faerie’s own lover joined her in this quest for revenge. They discovered Cadence was pregnant, and bided their time, waited for the child to be born. They easily entered the human’s domain, switching Valeria with their own faerie child.

Cadence discovered the following morning. She instantly knew the infant laying in her daughter’s crib was not her daughter, despite their appearances being identical...except for their eyes. This infant’s eyes were a startling silver, softly glowing like they contained the full moon within them. She knew this meant one thing: this baby was a faerie. A changeling.

Naturally, she was angered beyond belief. Knowing her firstborn was taken by a faerie, surely the one she upset long ago, filled her with a burning anger and suffocating grief. However, there was little she could do about it. Tobias had no idea she didn’t pay back a faerie what she owed them, and thus had them hunting her.

Tobias didn’t know that this Valeria was not the true one; picking her up from her crib and affectionately holding the thing close. He noted how her eyes seemed to have changed, but was strangely not concerned. Cadence knew this was the spell of a changeling at work; the magic making to where the parents (or in this case, one of the parents) would accept the fae despite however it differed from the original child.

To keep her husband ignorant of her past, and thus the fate of their child, Cadence kept the true nature of “Valeria” as a faerie secret. Unsure of what would occur, Cadence was too fearful that Tobias would be furious that his first child was taken away from him, because of her crime. Not wanting to lose him, not after she lost about all the other good things in her life, Cadence never uttered a word about it. Instand, she would play along with this twisted punishment, raising “Valeria”.

However, she never treated “Valeria” with love. Why would she, as not only was this creature a faerie, it dared to mimic her lost daughter’s appearance? Take her place? Brimming with rage and hatred, Cadence abused “Valeria” often, venting her her ill feelings through her actions.

She made sure to play nice when Tobias was present, but as he was out of town a lot for his job, that left she and “Valeria” home alone constantly. It didn’t matter that the faerie child herself was completely unknowing of her own nature and what her purpose was; Cadence took everything out on her. A defenseless child was the perfect punching bag, all the more better that she was a faerie on top of it all.

Cadence never took it too far though, not wanting “Valeria’s” injuries to be too severe and alarming to Tobias. Bruises, cuts, scrapes; those were all excused as the girl being careless outside and in the house. It helped that due to her faerie biology, “Valeria” healed from her injuries far more quickly compared to the average human being, and didn’t scar.

Years later, a school-aged “Valeria” was taken out of school by Tobias, when he learned she was being bullied by her peers. The children found her appearance creepy, and the majority of the teachers didn’t ever feel inclined to help her, as she unsettled them as well. Refusing to let his daughter be treated like that, he asked his wife to homeschool her, and she of course accepted. More opportunities to make the faerie suffer? Cadence couldn’t turn that down.

As “Valeria” grew older as time went on, Cadence made sure to make the child believe she was a horrible, flawed entity. She didn’t tell “Valeria” herself that she was a faerie, for two reasons. One, she didn’t want the information reaching her husband. Two, she wanted “Valeria” to believe she was being treated the way she was because she deserved it; plain and simple.

Cadence manipulated and psychologically abused "Valeria” in many ways: to think whatever she wanted her to think, to act however she wanted her to act, unless she wished to be punished more. "Valeria” was a mistake, a blemish on this good earth, and a complete waste of life; all things Cadence wanted to carve into the girl’s mind so she’ll know it forever.

However lovingly Tobias treated “Valeria” in contrast, Cadence countered it. To push it further, she made the constant threat of death to “Valeria”, if she tried to tell her father what she was doing.

For her 10th birthday, Tobias gave “Valeria” her very first pokemon: an Eevee. Cadence gave her permission for it, hiding her sheer displeasure, and told her husband that she would help their daughter care for the normal-type. She kept to her word...mostly. She never laid a hand on the Eevee, but if the pokemon made a mess in the house or misbehaved, she punished “Valeria” for her lack of diligence and forced her to clean up after him.

Some months after “Valeria’s” 13th birthday, Tobias revealed that he had to live in Kalos for business, but he didn’t know for how long. Cadence refused to go, claiming she didn’t want to leave Johto (though in reality, she didn’t want to go to Kalos ever again if she could help it). “Valeria” however wanted to go live with her father, so she could stay with him.

(She wanted to get away from Cadence, more than anything else.)

Cadence very well could’ve said no and kept “Valeria” home in Johto, but she allowed the girl to leave with Tobias. Frankly, she was sick of her. Not having to deal with her sounded like a blessing, one Cadence passionately believed she deserved. Bags were packed, farewells were said, and “Valeria” departed with her father to Kalos.

That day was the last day Cadence and “Valeria” (who mainly goes by Valerie now) saw and spoke to one another. Valerie never tried to contact her mother. After Valerie left her father’s home and traveled Kalos, she stopped being in touch with him for a multitude of reasons, thus cutting herself off from her known family completely.

While to this day, Valerie has no idea what her parents have been up to, some events have transpired. Years ago, Cadence and Tobias eventually divorced, when Tobias finally started to suspect that his wife wasn’t as good of a person as she seemed.

Cadence chose to take a “vacation” from Johto; traveling to Hoenn. During the process, she disappeared.

No one knows where she currently is, or if she’s alive for that matter.

#❥ NO‚ I DON'T THINK LIFE IS QUITE THAT SIMPLE || about & headcanons.#/ i finally finished thi sdhgsdgs \#/ i apologize in advance for any spelling errors n such \#abuse tw-#kidnapping tw-#long post

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fromtheringapron · 5 years

Text

Scary Wrestling Stuff from My Childhood

Every Halloween season, it’s not uncommon for wrestling fans to reminisce about the moments in our great sport that genuinely scared them, and I’m certainly no exception. At the end of the day, wrestling is still a fantasy world that’s seen plenty of dark, suspenseful, and even at times supernatural bullshit. In fact, one of its biggest stars is The Undertaker, who has been in turns a mortician, a zombie, a Satanic cult leader, a desert biker, and some strange hybrid of all those characters at once.

Truthfully, nothing in wrestling scares me anymore. Well, at least not in kayfabe. Real life still provides a lot of fright in and out of the ring. When I see a wrestler get legitimately injured in the ring, you bet I’m concerned. The depressingly common trend of premature wrestling deaths is a terrifying subject on its own. But when you’re a kid, where even the most ridiculous thing in wrestling can seem real, there’s a lot in kayfabe to be scared about, and you don’t even known what the hell the term “kayfabe” even means.

So, to get in the spirit of the spooky season, I’ll give you a quick rundown of some things that personally scared me shitless watching wrestling as a youngster:

Evil Doink the Clown: Doink is usually associated with everything wrong in WWF’s New Generation era⏤one-dimensional gimmickry, cheesy beyond belief, and worst of all, out of touch. But it’s a reputation that isn’t quite deserved. The original Doink character was that of an evil clown, brilliantly brought to life by Matt Borne. As someone who churned out many rewatches of WrestleMania IX as a child, which features the character at its peak, you better believe I was terrified of this wrestling clown with lime green hair. If evil Doink’s sudden mood swings and aggression weren’t unsettling enough, the entrance music is fucking horrifying to this day. Far scarier than Pennywise and the Joker could ever wish, complete with maniacal clown cackles. Yikes, yikes, yikes. It sounds like the soundtrack to a haunted carnival episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark? on Nickelodeon. Given the rise of creepy clowns in recent pop culture, evil Doink would still get over now, and scare a whole new generation of kids to boot.

Kane, Circa ’97/‘98: Hear me out: the video package to Kane and The Undertaker’s clash at WrestleMania XIV is one of the best ever. The music, the footage, and even the random Michael Cole narration all flow together perfectly to create something goosebumpingly epic. But, damn, as kid? This was some terrifying shit. Considering I was too young to stay up and watch every episode of Raw in full, that package was like a highlight reel of pure horror. Kane has become known for taking part in some of the most infamous and illogical storylines in WWE history, but it’s often forgotten how effective a job was done to build him up as a monster upon his debut. Remember when he lit that random dude on fire on Raw? Holy fuck. Not even the Wicked Witch of the West setting fire to The Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz shook me up quite like that. The eyes peeping out of his mask was, to me, the most frightening part of his appearance. Total nightmare fuel. Generations more familiar with bald, mask-less Kane could never quite know the trauma.

Papa Shango’s Sega Genesis Theme Music: Okay, this a fairly obscure one, but my brother and I would play WWF Royal Rumble on Sega Genesis back in the day. The game was complete with cute little 8-bit versions of each wrestler’s entrance themes. The Crush theme, in particular, is a minor masterpiece. The other piece of music that made an impact on me is the version of Papa Shango’s theme. I didn’t have too much footage of Papa Shango in my childhood wrestling VHS collection so he held some mythical status to me. The original theme is creepy enough, but the Genesis version really takes you to an dark, murky swamp where Shango is hexing his latest victim. It scared me so much that I’d speed ahead the character selection screen in the game so I wouldn’t have to hear it. You can scoff at me now all you want, but I must speak my truth.

Zeus and Randy Savage Attack Hulk Hogan and Brutus Beefcake: If you’ve watched Survivor Series 1989, you may remember a segment where Mean Gene interviews Hulk Hogan and Brutus Beefcake about their upcoming match at No Holds Barred. That’s not scary at all, but it’s what happens as the interview unfolds that, for whatever reason, really tore me up when I’d put my copy of this show in the VHS. Sensational Sherri crashes the interview, with the most wild-eyed glared you could imagine, shouting at Hogan and Beefcake in her dark, garish makeup. She then throws handfuls of powder in their eyes, allowing Zeus and Randy Savage to attack them. It’s so hard to describe what’s so scary about this. No Holds Barred, both the movie and the pay-per-view, were pretty notorious failures so it’s not even like it’s remembered as a major angle or anything. If anything, I gotta think it has something to do with the sudden tonal shift from a goofy babyface interview to an all-out assault, which can be pretty striking for any young viewer.

Mick Foley, Hell in the Cell: I don’t really need to say any more, do I? The Hell in the Cell match at King of The Ring 1998 is something that warrants a post of its own, as its undoubtedly one of my favorite matches of all time. But I cannot stress this enough: watching a human being do what Mick Foley does in this match, no matter how pre-planned, is some seriously distressing shit. As an adult, you realize you’re watching this man single-handedly take years off his career. But even in kayfabe, there’s true terror in watching the full extent of Mankind’s threshold reveal itself. The dude literally fucking smiles to the camera as he’s concussed and his mouth bloodied into steak tartar. If that image alone doesn’t stay with you, I don’t know what will. Mick Foley turns this match into a mini horror movie. Years before people tuned in droves to watch Saw and Hostel, they watched Mick Foley torture himself. In the match’s most chilling moments, he turns Mankind into a character like Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees⏤just when you think he’s been completely broken in half, he’s up and ready for more.

Early Undertaker: I can’t possibly go on without mentioning The Undertaker. When you really think about it, some of things I’ve mentioned already wouldn’t have been possible without him. It seems a little cliche to even bring him up for a topic like this, but he’s the OG of cheesy wrestling horror. Plus, it needs to be said: The Undertaker, in first couple years of his WWF career, could easily scare kids. It definitely scared the kids who grew up watching that version of the character, at least. I watched Survivor Series 1990 countless times growing up so, as you could imagine, I was one of the fortunate/unfortunate children. One of the more brilliant touches of The Undertaker’s early character, outside of the creepy glare and slow approach, was the various shots of mortified children in the crowd. It seems like a minor detail, but it went a long way in establishing him as a genuine monster. Not to mention, there were things the Undertaker did during that era that, even by the family-friendly standards of early ‘90s WWF, were pretty messed-up. How about that time he locked The Ultimate Warrior in a coffin? Or when he worked with Jake Roberts to terrorize Randy Savage and Miss Elizabeth? Make no mistake, those first few years were critical in letting us know for whom the bell tolls.

And that about does it for my own personal horrors. Maybe you think mine are silly, but what about wrestling scared you growing up? Does it still scare you? Does it still give you nightmares? As you ponder, I’ll be looking over my shoulder, hoping I’m not attacked by Zeus.

#wwe #the undertaker #mick foley #sega #halloween #scary

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velkynkarma · 4 years

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ooh, anything on specters in space (any work in the series or the series as a whole)! i really really love your spoopy fics they're my favourite :D

I love spoopy fics too!! Since it’s anything from the series, then I’m picking my favorite, Whisper in the Dark.

First of all, if you weren’t already aware, this fic has an abso-fucking-loutely amazing piece of artwork illustrating Keith’s fight against the monster at the end. Even if you did know, just go look at it again, it’s amazing and terrifying and perfect and worth a few minutes of your time.

Second, it was written specifically with this piece of music in mind.

Third, Whisper in the Dark is what happens when I’m legitimately writing a horror story intended to go hard into the ‘horror’ genre. See the thing is, while I have a tendency to sprinkle dark or creepy themes into fics, or make scenes here or there unsettling, it’s for setting mood more than anything else. Pillar in the Dark is unsettling, but more about inducing anxiety; no monster ever jumps out to attack anybody and nothing truly horrific happens. A Thousand Burning Eyes has an eldritch horror scene that freaks out even Zarkon, but the story itself is more about the looming threat of that thing than it ever actually doing anything dangerous. Road Trip to End Times uses horror zombie apocalypse elements but is more of an adventure story than a horror one. Sometimes horror even slips in by accident, like when I describe druids in the middle of a carefree silly romp with mice mission. It just sort of slips out, like a side effect, but my goal isn’t really to scare you.

Whisper in the Dark is me going, ‘my goal is to make you hide under your blankets, jump at small noises, and be high on adrenaline from intensity.’ Subtlety was not the goal here. Taking a horror-studded baseball bat to your metaphorical reader kneecaps was the goal. Based on the comments I got on this fic, I succeeded. And I went the whole nine yards on this while trying not to go overboard. There’s the psychological horror of Keith’s perceptions being messed with and the way the narrative will change without warning when the creature is messing with his mind. There’s the fear of Keith’s friends being used against him, and the fact that they’re completely helpless puppets, with no free will and no ability to protect themselves. There’s traumatic implications with Keith trying to save the others (notably Lance) and hurting them in the process, and that really messes with his head, because who’s the monster in that situation then, right??? And of course there’s the physical horror, fighting a grotesque, horrifying alien and the use of some pretty graphic, awful injuries on Keith’s part. This fic was intended to be no-holds-barred. It was raw and I loved every second of writing it.

Whisper in the Dark was also a way for me to explore the whole ‘Keith is half-Galra and part of the Blade of Marmora’ thing. I never really liked the BOM and I wanted to make them interesting for me. I wanted to justify their bizarre s2 trial they had for Keith and give them a more interesting backstory than they had at the time (or really...ever got). Wouldn’t it have been interesting if the Marmora ascension trial was designed entirely around being both physically and mentally skilled enough to fight these strange manipulative creatures that warped perceptions and messed with your head? I actually have an entire BOM history sketched out in the back of my head that I kept in mind while writing the entirety of WITD, and I know exactly what the BOM’s full purpose was. The plan was to write another extension of the in the Dark series exploring that further, but I never did get around to it.

Finally...favorite scene in Whisper?

Keith ignores its threats, twisting his body to land on one of the flailing tails, and using its momentum to ricochet off of it to safety. He lands in the mud and brings both blades into a guard stance, watching the monster writhe in pain. It can be hurt, he knows. It can be vulnerable, especially to his knife. But he doesn’t know how to kill it, and it’s still dangerous to his friends.The head. That’s probably the best bet. Assuming he can get through the mess of writhing, thrashing limbs to reach the creature unscathed.It’s just like the asteroid field, Keith thinks, watching the way the creature is always in movement, like a massive knot of constantly shifting tentacles. Except this time you’re the Red Lion.Easy. Keith actually smirks as he charges forward towards the beast.He leaps with his jetpack, and hits the first of the lashing tails, using its momentum to kick off into a second. The creature turns, feeling his presence, but Keith is already diving, letting himself drop lower into the tangled mess. Pushes himself off of a third snapping limb. Fires his jetpack to dive through the space created by a fourth and fifth, just in time, before they can snap together and thrash him apart. Slices deep into a sixth tail with the Blade, severing it cleanly, causing the creature to shriek again—then kicks back the way he came while the creature twists for where he had been.Duck. Dodge. Leap. Spin. Roll. Fly. Cut, and cut again. Never be where it feels him, always move before it finds him. Be an obnoxious little insect, bite and disappear before it discovers him. It wants illusions? It wants mind games? Let it try to find Keith. Let it try to catch him. He moves so fast he barely knows where he is himself. He reacts before he even knows he’s taking action, purely on instinct. He sees movement and every possibility to react before his conscious thoughts even realize he’s only split seconds from death. Threat leads to dodge. Obstacles are to be cut away. Slice it down piece by piece from every direction until it doesn’t know where he is anymore.And when even that massive beast can’t counter him, for all its size and power, strike to kill.

Honestly I had this clear-cut image in my head of this thing being just...a mass of enormous, constantly writhing tentacles, and Keith having to navigate his way through the writhing mess with split-second timing or risk being crushed. I liked it so much I had this exact scene commissioned later. I re-wrote this a couple times but I really like in the end how I captured the sense of fast-paced, instinctive movement.

I’m Doing Fanfic Director’s Cuts!

#Velkynkarma answers #Velkynkarma memes #Voltron #Whisper in the Dark #Keith #long post #Anonymous

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kokichi-and-co-imagine-blog · 5 years

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I have an idea: basically, each of the DR1 kids gets sucked into a different horror movie, and they all become the protagonist of that movie, & have to keep themselves and the rest of the victims alive & defeat the killer. What kind of horror movie would each of them be in? How would they go about defeating the killer? I think Mondo & Sakura would defeat it by fighting their killers, Toko would use a magic spell book to banish hers, ect.

I think I'm the only mod with extensive knowledge of horror movies, I hope I can do your ask justice while in a funk. If you want any of these expanded upon just ask!

Makoto: Makoto would land himself in a Hellraiser movie (look it up if you love graphic body horror and cosmic horror). Getting ahold of the infamous puzzle box, The Lament Configuration, he'd just fiddle with it without knowing what he was doing, using it as a stress toy. He liked the soft melody that played as he moved each piece, and one night while in the shower he'd be manipulating the box when suddenly the room grew ice cold and light seeped from every single corner. He brought forth a small gash of cenobites. Looking upon him, they could not believe that someone so small and untempted could have even held the Lament Configuration. Makoto of course was all kinds of freaked out, being naked in the same cold room as 4 leather bound bleeding freaks. He fumbled with the box, reconfiguring it to try and put them back. Sadly, Makoto just summoned more cenobites. Ones whose flesh twisted unnaturally into various shapes, others with no eyes or mouths. He couldn't comprehend what was happening, and opted to just ask the least bodily frightening one. Coincidentally, this one looked like a pin cushion. This cenobite spoke with an oddly warm voice, instructing him on how to send them all back to where they belong. Makoto followed the instructions carefully, and finally sent the terrifying ghouls home to their Leviathan. He promptly pitched the box out a window, where a hobo picked it up out of the street and turned into a bone dragon and flew off into the night. Kirigiri would never believe him. He didn't believe him.

Komaru (hush she doesn't get enough attention): Komaru would be stuck in Suspiria, having been sent away to a dance academy. She'd make friends with some of the staff and girls also attending, and learn of weird occurrences and a few deaths that had happened. Over time she would figure out the hidden secrets of the academy, and find out that the owner of the academy was actually a really old witch. She would try to run away, but learn quickly that was not an option. In an odd turn of events she'd find the sleeping owner, and stab the hell out of her (fittingly invisible) body. The rest of the coven would of course crumble, and she'd go home alive and wanting nothing to do with dance ever again.

Kyoko: Our Kirigiri would be entrapped in an episode of an Alfred Hitchcock Thriller show. She'd be a detective of course, working to learn the identity of a killer who had been targeting women who live in a very specific apartment building. It was just reasonable deduction, though what she did not account for was herself becoming a target. When Kirigiri would have the killer cornered and questioned, she tried to overpower her and strangle her. Kirigiri having none of that smashed an ashtray over his head, killing him. Makoto was never told that this was how the case ended.

Touko/Syo: This human 2-for-1 deal would end up in Child's Play. Chucky would come into their possession while Touko was writing a horror-romance novel and researching what it's like to have a human shaped doll that actually was a demon that would only take for at midnight and--- you get the idea. After the creepy little doll started to do some intensely unsettling things, Syo took the wheel and threatened the possessed doll with evisceration. It took no time for Chuck to show his true colors, one being the red of his blood trickling down the wall from where it was pinned by a pair of scissors.

Byakua: Togami would be trapped in The Shining, slowly losing his mind in the massive Overlook Hotel. He'd see all kinds of visions, images of his loved ones and people his didn't know butchered in great detail. He'd see a laughing woman decaying in a bathtub, mere moments after seeing her humming away and beckoning him to her. He'd see Fukawa hung in the middle of the ballroom, only to glance away and back to nothing at all. He lost his mind, almost. In a night of desperation, he set the hotel on fire and fled, any visions he had fading as he got further away. The hotel lay burned, and Togami is still missing.

Chihiro: Managing to move into a gated community, Fujisaki thought he was getting into a safe place. He thought it would all be fine. What he did not account on was someone trying to turn him into a cyborg that was a submissive little girl. Needless to say, it took very little time for him to escape capture and take control of all the other cybertronic captives. In spectacular fasion, Fujisaki took over an entire community of monsters with an army of Cybernetic women. Good for him!

Mondo: Mondo would get himself in a ghostly situation like what was seen in Paranormal Activity. Instead of getting scared shitless, he'd visit a nearby Church and get some holy water, 8 silver rings, a few bundles of sage, and some seals for protection. The moment he'd be pulled out of bed by an unseen force or something similar, he'd come out swinging with holy water soaked fists and silver rings. He placed a seal in every room, and burned sage within each one, still swinging away wherever he heard footsteps. He was never haunted ever again, but he hasn't taken off the rings. Just in case.

Kiyotaka: He'd land himself in a camp-based slasher film as a straight laced counselor, being spared any harm for not being immoral. He'd probably take out the killer after finding some evidence of some kind. Probably a mask and bloodied weapons. Taka would send everyone still alive home on account of the murders, save for the killer. He'd take a final stand, backed by a group of police officers. Why would he endanger himself? Heroism like that isn't meant for a camp environment.

Aoi: this swimmer would get stuck in a short film called The Raft, as seen in Creepshow 2. She'd go skinny dipping in a nice secluded lake where nobody else would bother her, stopping on a wooden barge in the middle of the lake. From there, she'd notice a churning black patch floating around the lake. It looked like it was just being moved by the breeze. She dove back in for a few laps around the lake to warm up, when the tar started to move and follow her. The next time she was on the barge, the tar had gotten closer and was on the other side of the lake. Sensing something wasn't right, Asahina watched the tar move close to a duck that had landed in the water. The tar bubbled up and over the duck, taking it under. Seeing this, Asahina dove into the lake and beat her legs as fast as she could, not stopping until she was ashore and driving outta there. The tar didn't even have the chance to catch her.

Sakura: She'd be hunted by a Yautja of Predator fame, noting she was a formidable fighter among humans. Sakura and the Yautja fought hard, both taking blow after blow. Both bleeding and battered, it was a draw. After a rest, the honor bound pair traded honorable partings. The Yautja learned new hand to hand techniques and Sakura was given a mark on her cheek that meant (roughly) in English "Strong Friend" and a set of bracers made of a light and strong metal.

Mukuro: Mukuro would be in a Purge situation, picking off anyone trying to take her neighborhood year after year. Pretty simple all things considered. She never left rooftops unless it was to block roads with cars and take out hard to hit targets by hand.

Hifumi: Yamada would awaken an AI program that would take over his whole life, and be madly in love with him. Yamada, being Yamada, was overly okay with this. He'd eventually be stuck in a VR sim with his AI darling. He defeated the antagonist by loving his 2-D yandere girlfriend, who would have thought?

Celestia: She'd have inadvertently been hexed by an old woman while playing poker. This being a Drag Me To Hell scenario, Celes just took a gamble and payed the woman back before the curse got any worse. It subsided quickly, and they continued to play cards every Thursday. Anytime Celes won, she'd a cursed until the following Thursday. This almost friendly exchange between the two was enriching to the old woman, taking Celes under her wing as a practitioner of black magic. Couldn't have ended much better.

Leon: Leon would be firmly lodged in a sci-fi original movie called Werehog (not a real movie probably). He'd be friends with a man that would change into a human sized black and red hedgehog at the sight of the full moon. Taking all of his silver piercings, he melted them down into a ball and hit it like a base ball to kill his cursed friend.

Hagakure: This big ol dumb would be the one character who'd live through any movie or show. I'd like to do an entire ask dedicated to to him if you'd like.

Sayaka: She'd be a final girl in The Evil Dead, as in she'd pitch the spooky book into a roaring fire the moment she heard creepy Latin or Sumerian whispering from nowhere. After throwing the book, she'd run out of the cabin and never look back. Gladly, nothing was awoken in those woods. Not yet.

Junko: This loony would be in a Saw movie, basically killing off all the other people stuck with her in any and every puzzle. Upon making it to the end, and being free, she'd even critique Jigsaw's methods. Nobody said she had to be a good person right?

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carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich · 5 years

Text

Amaryllis - Chapter 2

Link to chapter 1

A/N: Oh my word this took forever but it’s finally here! Real life is keeping me very busy at the moment so I’m afraid I don’t know when I’ll be able to publish chapter 3 but it will appear at some point!

Chapter 2: Spoils of Tragedy

It was not often Carla felt nervous, but as time stretched on and Shin failed to make a reappearance, a distinct sense of anxiety descended upon him. Coupled with the already unsettling air of the mansion, it was enough to make his stomach twist as he tried to think of plan of action.

Even if they could find somewhere with phone reception, it wasn’t like there was anyone they could call aside from Karlheinz, the man who’d led them here in the first place. His thoughts trailed the same paths over and over as his eyes traced the patterns in the carpet, trying to find something he’d missed, anything they could use.

“My sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting.”

Carla jerked his head up in surprise at the female voice coming from directly in front of him. Before him was a young women who could be no older than himself, dressed in a crisp black shirt with a short, pink and black checked skirt; definitely not a member of staff.

He hadn’t heard anyone approach him and that she could get this close to him without his notice… Was his illness playing tricks on him?

“Oh, did I startle you? Then, being in a creepy old mansion like this does tend to set one on edge, doesn’t it?” She offered him a polite smile that Carla made no effort to return.

“I suppose.” He stood to his full height and gave her an assessing glance. Surely she was too young to be the business contact Karlheinz had spoken of, or the proprietor of such a grand house, but then appearances could be deceiving. “And you are?”

“My name is Kuronagi Seiren and I suppose you could say I’m the owner of this mansion. I knew I’d be having house guests but I was misinformed as to the date, so I was unprepared for your arrival. But er…” She made an effort of looking around the entrance hall. “I thought there would be two of you.”

“Yes, myself and my younger brother. When no one greeted us, he went in search of someone. You haven’t seen him?” Carla tried to keep any trace of concern out of his voice. If Shin hadn’t found anyone, he should have returned by now.

“No, I haven’t I’m afraid. I shouldn’t worry though; it’s a large house so he could easily be lost or even still looking for someone. The mansion is a little understaffed, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d gone this long without finding someone.” Seiren offered him a reassuring smile. “I tell you what, why don’t I give you a tour of the place and we can look for him at the same time?”

“Hm, I suppose.” Something still felt off, but there was little he could about it. At least this confirmed the place hadn’t simply been abandoned.

“Good, someone will fetch your bags,” she said with a dismissive wave towards their luggage, before turning to walk down one of the many hallways leading off from the entrance hall. Carla fell into step behind her and she turned back slightly to look at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Tsukinami Carla,” he replied simply.

“Hm, Carla? That name’s German in origin I believe, an interesting selection on your parents’ part.”

“My mother’s family hail from Germany, it was her choice,” Carla said, before quickly shutting off that train of thought. It wasn’t something he wanted dwell on, especially not now.

“I see,” Seiren said before turning back to the corridor. “On the first floor, we have the dining hall, the kitchen, the living room…” She continued to list off rooms and point out various doorways an she led him around the grand estate.

Carla paid only a moderate amount of attention, more intrigued by the large number of paintings decorating the hallways than anything else, a collection that certainly rivaled his own from before they fell into ruin and impressive enough that it allowed him to forget the unnerving aura surrounding the place.

Seiren appeared to notice his interest, as when they started a tour of the second floor, she paused in front a spectacular piece portraying a castle build from pale stone, dyed a soft pink by the light of a vibrant red moon hanging in the sky. “You have interest in art, I take it?”

“Yes, you certainly have quite the assortment.” He looked over the painting, scanning over the texture of the brush strokes, how the artist had used them. The warmth of the pink and reds against the midnight blue sky.

“Ah indeed, I’m something of a collector. A lot of the paintings here are very special.” Seiren’s voice was wistful as she trailed a finger over the thick layers of paint.

“This one here, for example, is the only remaining work of the artist. The others were all destroyed in a fire sometime after his death. A pity, he was quite skilled, but then it does make this piece all the more unique. The spoils of tragedy, I suppose.” Her lips quirked in amusement as she spoke. “Anyway, we should be getting on, I’ll show you to your room,” she said, turning back to the corridor.

Carla spared the painting one last glance before following. The artist was indeed talented, and now that he knew what had happened to the rest of his legacy, the artwork seemed to take on a melancholy air. Even the red of the moon looked duller, the color closer to that of partially dried blood. It was uncomfortable enough that he turned away, keen to leave the picture behind.

“Most of the rooms on this floor are unused, but I’ve put you and your brother next to each other. This one’s yours.” Seiren paused in front a dark wooden door and opened it, allowing Carla to look inside.

The room was certainly better than the one he’d become accustomed to. The space was furnished with heavy wooden furniture and thick, plush, dark red fabrics covered the bed. The finery of it was enough to remind him of what they’d lost once more. What they needed to regain.

“Is something wrong?” Seiren asked, and Carla turned to look at her.

“How did you come to own all of this?” The girl’s wealth was clear but Kuronagi was not a name he was familiar with and Carla was well versed in who was who in the upper echelons of the business world.

“Ah, well my father purchased this mansion for me and has allowed me to do with it as I please for the most part. He was the one who informed me you would be coming to live here, but you won’t be meeting him during your stay, he’s a very busy man. ” Although there was more Carla wanted to ask, Seiren gave him no room for any further questions, turning instead to the next door along the corridor.

“And this,” she said, pushing it open, “is your brother’s room. Would you care to take a look?”

Carla approached but stopped dead in front of the door, the air in his throat turning suffocatingly thick as he caught sight of what lay within.

Hanging from the frame, suspended by his wrists, was Shin. He appeared unconscious with his head hanging down and his legs limp, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

That alone was enough to make Carla feel sick, but the most horrifying detail was the wounds littering his younger brother’s body. Shin’s shirt had been ripped clean from him, revealing bloody puncture marks covering his neck and shoulders and one of his arms was twisted at an uncomfortable angle.

For a moment, Carla stood frozen in horror as he scrambled to process the situation. Something hard slammed into his back with enough force that he was sent sprawling onto the floor. It was only instinct that had his hands brace his fall, palms stinging as he just stopped his face from colliding with the carpet. A dark chuckle came from above him and Carla looked up to find Seiren giving him a wicked smile.

“What an excellent expression! I really should have taken the time to set up a camera.” Her tone had changed from the polite, mild one she’d used with him earlier, now it was full of sick amusement.

“You! What is the meaning of this?” Carla cursed his sickness as he struggled to get to his feet, the action requiring far more effort than it should have.

Shin was strong, he knew how to handle himself for the most part, so how could a lone woman overpower him and inflict that much damage so easily? There wasn’t a scratch on her. He could only conclude she’d had help, but he had yet to see any trace of anyone else in the mansion. Something icy crept through his veins and it was only years of behaving as the perfect heir that kept him from showing it.

Seiren chuckled and placed a foot flat on his back, pushing him back to the floor. ”Why don’t you use your imagination and try to figure it out? It’s a bit more fun that way.”

Carla grit his teeth at the humiliation of being forced to the ground, he tried to move away from her but she simply applied more pressure until his torso was being pressed into the carpet. “Release me and explain yourself,” he barked. Even though he was in no position to give orders, it was not in his nature to cower or beg.

“You are a curious pair, aren’t you? I thought your brother behaved in an overly self-important manner for a mortal but it seems it runs in the family. Tell me, you come from wealth, don’t you?” Carla twisted around to look at her and found her staring down at him with a faint curiosity. “It’s always amused me the way humans think that having a certain amount of money entitles them to respect, as though they were ever more than chattel to begin with.”

Fear gripped him as he stared up at those bright grey eyes. He was not used to being at another’s mercy and the way she spoke about them… Current assets aside, Carla was still his father’s heir, he had more dignity than this; being trodden on and treated like a curiosity had his temper flare but it was quickly being smothered by a sense of panic at his own helplessness. He glanced towards his younger brother, the taste of bile coating his tongue as he took in the sight of him once more.

“What- What are you?” It took everything he had to keep his voice steady. No mere girl should be able to keep him pinned like this, even with his ill health. And no matter how much his rational mind tried to explain it away, he couldn’t help but notice the way the puncture wounds on Shin were all in pairs, all equally spaced and mostly centered on the neck.

Then there was the way she’d just referred to them as humans, as though she was something else. The explanation his brain supplied was not one he liked, not something he could accept as being real.

“From your expression I think you’re starting to work it out, you just don’t want to accept it. Would it help if I told you your brother’s blood is delicious?” Carla snapped his head back to her and she drew back her top lip, revealing sharp white fangs.

“That’s not possible.” This had to be a dream, some nightmare induced by his sickness or the drugs used to treat it, even as his senses screamed at him that the creature above him was something out of fiction.

“Would you care for some proof? Normally a simple bite is effective enough but-“ she sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose in distaste “- I can smell the sickness on you. I’m surprised my father would even think to send me any sort diseased prey, let alone someone like you. I can’t tell what it is exactly but from the stink of it I’m sure it’s serious. A shame, you’re very pretty, for a human, and I’m fond of pretty things.”

Carla spluttered as heat flooded his cheeks, never in all his life had been spoken about in such a crude manner, as though he were nothing more than a slice of meat. The mention of his illness stung too, even if it were all that spared him from being preyed upon by the supposed vampire before him.

“I suppose a demonstration of my strength might suffice.” The force pressing against his back increased sharply and Carla hissed through his teeth at the pain. “Is this enough or should I keep going until I crack a rib? In your condition I’m really not sure how much you can take.” Her expression was positively wicked.

“Stop this,” Carla wheezed, struggling to draw enough air into his lungs. His body was weak enough without this sort of abuse, he didn’t dare to think what might happen if she did worse.

“I think that request is missing something, do you not know how to ask for something politely?”

Damn it, he shouldn’t be treated like this, let alone yielding to it, but his chest burned and he could feel another coughing fit on the horizon. As much as he wanted to hold his head high, he was in no condition to do so. “Please,” he rasped, grateful that at least Shin wasn’t conscious to witness this.

The foot on his back vanished and if he had enough air, Carla would have sighed in relief. “There, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

Seiren gazed down at him, eyes devoid of any sort of empathy as he took rasping breaths interrupted by spluttering coughs.

“What is it you intend to do with us?” His voice wasn’t as strong as he would have liked but at least he was able to get the words out.

“I would have thought it was obvious,” Seiren said, glancing at Shin. “But if you really need me to spell it out for you, you’ll be staying here to provide me with food and entertainment.”

“You won’t get away with keeping us here against our wishes.” Carla got to his feet, trying to retain some semblance of dignity.

“Oh really? And who’s going to come looking for you? The only humans sent here are the ones with nowhere else left to go and no one to miss them. I find it very unlikely that you’re an exception.” The words made his skin crawl.

“You mean other people have been sent here before us?” Carla thought about how empty the house was and his gut to turned to lead with the implications of their fates.

“Not for a while, I’ll admit, but yes. As for what happened to them, well, all you need to know is that you and your brother are the only living mortals here.”

Carla instinctively took a step back in horror. He needed to get out of there, now, but his chances of escape seemed low. Even if he still had the strength needed to carry his unconscious brother, he would have to contend with the vampire standing between him and the door to the room.

“I tell you what, I’ll make you an offer. I have no interest in drinking from a sick human so you’re really not of that much use to me. Your brother on the other hand…” Seiren walked over to Shin and ran a hand over his chest.

“This is my offer Tsukinami Carla, I’ll let you leave this house, with transport to a nearby village and enough money that it’ll make whatever fortune you once possessed seem like a pittance but, in exchange, your dear little baby brother will be trapped here with me, left with the knowledge that you chose to abandon him. And should you get it into your head that you could come back here and save him, well, you’ll find that all memories relating to the location of this house become rather difficult to recall.”

She gave him a wicked smile that showed off her fangs. “What do you think? Freedom and your fortune restored for however long you have left, or sacrificing it all just so that darling Shin here doesn’t have to endure me alone?”

Carla’s mouth went dry. It had to be a trap, there was no question of it. No matter how tempting the idea of regaining their status and leaving this wretched place behind may be. But not only that, even if Seiren’s offer were genuine, he couldn’t abandon his only brother to this fate, to spend the rest of his days with a monster. They’d find a real way out of this, together.

He fixed her with the steeliest glare he could muster. “No amount of money is worth Shin’s life. When we leave here, it will be together.”

Seiren looked at him for a moment, scrutinizing, and then burst into laughter. “Aw Shin,” she said, taking hold of his chin and tilting his head towards her. “Did you hear that? It seems like your big brother really cares about you. How precious… and stupid.”

She let go of Shin and his head slumped down once more, still fully unconscious. “You’d really trade the offer of being a free man just so that you and your brother can share in your misery? It’s so disgustingly sentimental I think I might vomit. Alright then Carla, let’s see how far your love for your brother goes, shall we?”

She slipped a hand beneath her skirt and withdrew a small, sharp dagger. Before Carla could react, it was pointed at Shin’s neck. “Now, you’re going to follow my orders to the letter, or else I’m going to slit his throat. Although,” she trailed the edge of the blade against his skin, “I think I’ll have some fun cutting him open first.”

Digging his nails into his palms, Carla assessed the distance between himself and Seiren. Even if he were in good health, there was no way he’d be able to reach her before she’d been able to do some damage with the dagger. And what would he do once he reached her anyway? She would have no difficulty fending him off with that hideous strength, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. No, he was left with little choice but to submit and it made his stomach curdle.

“Hmm, what should I have you do first, I wonder? Ah, I know, I think I’ll have you kneel for me. I get the impression that you’re not used to lowering yourself before anyone so I think you’d better start getting used to it.” Her expression was positively viscous.

Carla glanced at the plush carpet beneath his feet and then back towards Shin. He had to do this, no matter how much it rankled with him.

Gritting his teeth, Carla sank to one knee and then lowered himself so that he was kneeling, glaring hatefully at the woman before him all the while.

“Now, normally I’d have you kiss my feet to demonstrate how utterly beneath me you are but I don’t particularly care to get your saliva on my shoes, so I think I’ll have you lick the floor instead.”

Even with everything she’d already done, for a moment Carla thought that she couldn’t possibly be serious. There was no way he could lower himself to doing something so base.

“I’d suggest you do it quickly, before I start to get bored. Or-“ she pressed down with the knife and drew it slowly across Shin’s skin, leaving a thin gash behind “-have you decided your brother’s life isn’t worth your pride?”

The sight of Shin’s blood was enough to get Carla to force his head to the floor, silently spitting every curse he knew. One day, somehow, he would make her pay for this.

He ran his tongue over his lips, bracing himself for the shame of it.

A knock sounded on the door and irritation flashed across Seiren’s features, while Carla lifted his head, relief surging in his chest at the interruption.

“What is it?” She snapped.

“A letter has arrived for you mistress Seiren.” A voice came from the other side of the door, soft and male.

The vampire let out an exaggerated sigh. “Can’t this wait? It’s been a while since I’ve had guests and-“ she locked eyes with Carla “-we were just getting to the good part.”

“It’s from the King himself, mistress.” The man, who Carla presumed must be some sort of servant, replied.

“Very well, leave it in my room; I shall be there in a moment.” The dagger became a blur of silver, arcing towards Shin’s arm before Carla had time to react and he felt his heart stop. A second later, Shin’s body fell to one side, one arm now hanging down. Mercifully, it seemed she had only cut the rope tying Shin to the bed,

“I trust you can now get your brother down by yourself,” Seiren said, turning to make her exit. “I’d advise you not to try to make a run for it, though I doubt you could get very far, given your condition and the fact I dislocated Shin’s shoulder earlier. If you stay put like a good boy then I’ll send someone to fix it soon but if not-“ she paused at the door, turning to give him a truly terrifying smile “-then I might just be in a poor enough mood to cut his whole arm off. Until later, Tsukinami Carla.”

The door closed behind her with a soft thud and Carla felt the tension in his muscles loosen a fraction. He looked down at his own shaking hands with a sense of disgust. To be forced into such a low position by someone like Seiren was beyond humiliating, even if no one else had witnessed it.

Looking back up at Shin, Carla felt his stomach churning, along with a pang of guilt. He should have taken over the family business the moment he noticed the unwise decisions his father had made. Even failing that, he should have stopped him from fleeing with the remains of their fortune.

And now, that lack of action had stranded them here, in a mansion with a monster.

Carla had thought there was nothing else he stood to lose.

He’d been wrong.

#Amaryllis #my writing #AU #my OC #Originally this chapter was going to be longer but I felt I reached a nice place to end it #I hope it's okay I ended up rewriting it a lot #I'm sad there isn't more Shin in it but don't worry he'll be back next chapter #This is mainly a Shin story

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