#//YOUR HUBRIS SIR. CHECK IT!!!

[sixersigned]

icb bill deleted the equation

[jackalopesao3]

The Real Real Cocytus Hall Collapsed:

This actually gave me real insight as to why Solomon is culinary challenged. Fair warning: Solomon roast ahead! It’s all in good fun and this WW gave me a laugh! I do enjoy Solomon’s character a lot!

A plastic bag? In the oven?! You know what happens to plastic bags in the oven?! I feel like I can’t say anything because I mistook wax paper for cooking sheets and made my house super smoky once.

(They were melting chocolate.)

You set the chocolate on fire?! Chocolate isn’t hard to melt! I can’t bake very well but I help my mother and melting chocolate and butter is something even I can do. There are several different ways you can do it too. With the microwave, it’s pretty self-explanatory.

Now, you have likely burnt chocolate with your melted chocolate. Why can’t you just follow the directions?

But wait…this gets so much worse!

(Read More due to length)

Shadow newt intestines?! Muddy spice?! Did Barbatos say to add any of those? No!

In all fairness they could be legit Devildom food but they could also be alchemy ingredients (or, most likely, both).

Sir, this isn’t your science experiment!

We all know alchemy ingredients can have unwanted effects. Also, assuming muddy spice tastes…muddy? That with the newt intestines is not going to be a pleasant flavor for the dessert.

Isn’t it easier and quicker just to sift it than to recite a whole ass spell?! This is just arrogance. Magic isn’t always better. We already know some lingering magic gets mixed into whatever the old man cooks when he pulls stunts like this.

Delicious?!

Delicious?!

Get out of here with your deadass tastebuds, grandpa!

Magic can be an absolute must for sorcerers in their careers and yet be separated from cooking and baking. It doesn’t need to be in every aspect of your life, especially when proven time after time to cause disastrous results. Remember when your cooking sent MC back in time?!

Pics taken moments before disaster strikes.

Oh Luke, what was that noise indeed? I believe it was the death cry of any hope that MC had for a relaxing afternoon. No wait, that’s just the poor oven finally succumbing to probably centuries (I mean he’s stayed there before) of Solomon’s torture.

RIP Good Soldier - You fought bravely

Barbatos has the tired mom look. He didn’t need to use his powers to know this would happen. Someone please give this man a vacation.

Funny that you think there’s a kitchen left to check on, Barb. MC is probably trying to scramble out of the sinkhole that was once Cocytus Hall. The oven exploding probably opened up a rift in space/time.

(un)Fortunately, Luke, Solomon is immortal. He will live to torture us yet again with his cooking. 🤣

Conclusion: It’s not that he can’t cook, or that he’s clueless. Solomon’s hubris from being a sorcerer (magic will make it better!) and dependence on magic (I strongly believe he’s dependent on it at this point) are the reason for his disastrous dishes.

Solomon, you silly old man, I love you but you gotta get with the times and stop using magic for everything!

[ariadne-mouse]

The end of Coda is really exciting and Moc Weepe is absolutely stone cold for planning to sell out Saskia & the escapees to the Trust and also a complete idiot for exactly the same reason, because he should know better! Weepe, buddy, your business partner's under the table activities helping people escape the Trust are a literal showcase of how dangerous the Trust is, and meanwhile you're ignoring all that and thinking that you, specifically, are going to not get got by the trap because you KNOW it's a trap and you're going to outsmart the trap and use it to your advantage. Sir you are getting got and Imelda is doing it in 5 minute ad-hoc appointments in between her other busy commitments. Barely even had to bait the fish hook. If you don't start checking your hubris at the coat room you are going to experience Consequences (and in that sense please continue, actually, this is all fascinating)

[obsidiinium]

Chapter 2: The Festival of Tyr

part 3

------

"SILENCE."

A booming voice rings out across the festival. More worried murmurs and a few children start crying in the crowd. Neverember continues to clutch at his throat. The entire elevated stage is in disarray but no sound echoes from it.

“Zee… What the fuck?” mumbles Lilli under her breath, taking a step closer to the dragonborn and putting a hand on her rapier.

“It’s a silence spell. They’ve been silenced.” Zythraul looks around for a source of the spell, finding nothing.

"WE HAVE HEARD ENOUGH." the voice booms out again.

"WITNESS."

Dancing lights surround the stage as Lord Neverember, still clutching at his throat, is slammed with a vibrant green ray. It pierces through him just briefly, before dissapearing. Neverember falls to his knees. Time slows and everyone goes quiet at the same time. Flakes of the same green energy start to peel off Lord Neverember, floating upwards with the breeze. They continue, increasing, peeling away at his physical form. Lord Neverember disintegrates in front of his family, and most of Neverwinter.

The crowd screams in unison. Lady Neverember sees her husband vanish into dust and drops to her knees, her face echoing the scream but making no sound.

"I TIRE OF THIS HUBRIS. YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED. THE COUNTDOWN STARTS NOW."

Chaos. The crowd runs in all directions fleeing an unknown threat.

“We gotta go. Zee! C’mon!” Humility grabs Zythraul’s hand and pulls them towards the exit, being jostled along with the crowd trying to do the same. It’s a struggle. The crowd is running wildly in all directions. The moment Zythraul and Lilli find space they stumble straight into a few bodies lying on the ground. Humility trips and falls but Zythraul stays standing, barely noticing what put the bodies on the ground in the first place. One of the Neverwinter guard stands above the bodies, weapon drawn and bloodied, breathing heavily. He looks at Lilli lying on the ground right in front of him and Zythraul standing, unarmoured, surprised, and attacks.

He takes a swing at Lilli, but she rolls out of the way just in time.

“Ahhh! Sir what the fuck?” She rights herself and takes a swing at the guard with her rapier as she draws it, sticking him in the side. He yelps in surprise. Zythraul pulls out their sickle to do the same. The sickle flicks through the air and connects with the guards throat. He goes down, clutching it, before dropping to the ground to join the other bodies. Lilli starts to run towards the exit once more.

“Zee, Let’s go! We can’t stay here! We need our stuff!”

“Lilli, these people need help!” Zythraul tries to check on the people on the ground but Humility grabs them and pulls them away. They don’t get too far before they hear a groan behind them where the bodies were just laying, dormant. They stop running. Zythraul turns around. Two of the bodies that were in the pile - a tiefling and a dwarf - are now standing again, shambling towards Zythraul and Humility. Their grievous wounds remain open but there is no blood left in them to bleed. The zombies snarl and start to shamble towards Zythraul and Lilli.

“Oh. Ohhh no! I don’t like that!” Lilli yells as she takes another swing, this time at the dwarf zombie. She sticks it, but it does minimal damage to the rapidly decaying flesh. Zythraul swipes next at them but the zombie tiefling lurches in the other direction as they do. They takes a moment, repeating their oath and steeling their resolve, glancing at Lilli as they do. A gentle platinum glow envelopes her. The dwarf zombie tries to retaliate at Zythraul but they have lost control of their limbs and the hit goes wide. The tiefling zombie moves towards Lilli and attempts to do the same thing but a flash of radiant platinum light deflects the attack. Emboldened by Zythraul’s holy protection, Lilli holds up her violin and plays a single loudly discordant note; the *thunderwave* rushes forwards to slam into the zombies. The sound wave pushes them backwards and knocks the flesh loose from their bones. Zythraul hold up their sickle and it pulses with the same platinum glow as Zythraul swings it down on the tiefling zombie. It gurgles as the sickle cleaves through it’s shoulder, transferring the radiant energy into it’s body and burning it from the inside. It goes down. Lilli and the dward zombie trade missing blows Zythraul steps over to them. They do not miss. The sickle takes a chunk out of the zombie. It is starting to lose form and control of it’s body. Lilli looks at it sadly for a moment before stabbing it gently through the eye socket, laying it to it’s final rest.

Both adventurers stop to breath for a moment. They make eye contact.

“What the fuck is happening?” Zythraul asks. Lilli shakes her head.

“I don’t know. We aren’t safe here right now. Possibly not at all. We should get out stuff and get to someone who can help us. This is beyond us.” Lilli says in a monotone voice, staring at the unmoving tiefling body for just a bit too long. Zythraul nods, taking her arm gently and leading her towards the exit.

[therenlover]

🍄 Zemo with Kiss promt #22. It gives me pride and prejudice vibes and like I was standing in the rain today so why not XD Congrats again on 1k!!! Can't wait to see more of you work! 😊

Thank you so much!!! I suddenly had inspiration for this idea and I’m really glad I got it down before I forgot about it lol. I hope you enjoy it!

Another Timeline, A Helmut Zemo x Baroness!Reader Drabble

Prompt: Kisses In The Rain with Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of the Sokovia Disaster

Word Count: 1100~

-------

You had been feet from death when the roof caved in.

No, not feet. 

Inches. 

Huddled together with Heinrich and Carl, you had only made it out of the house seconds before a massive chunk of rubble had dropped down and destroyed the entire front room. If you’d been even a few seconds slower while leaving, or if you’d chosen to try to go back for your phone, all three of you would have been dead, but spectacularly, you had made it. There was nothing left to do then but hold your son close and pile into Heinrich’s ill-suited Lamborghini as you made your way as far away from the ruins of Novi Grad as you could. 

In the end, you’d stopped at the nearest big city almost 3 hours after watching your home crumble to dust under a chunk of the capitol where your husband had been stationed. Catatonic, you’d made your way to an emergency relief center the locals had set up and then came the waiting. Two whole days of nothing but waiting. 

It rained the whole time.

The people were welcoming, of course, most of them happy to give up blankets or rations for the Sokovian royal family, but you declined their assistance where you could. At least you knew when the last hot meal you’d eaten was before this hell on earth. The people out here… well, you couldn’t say the same. Besides, you were far too anxious to eat or sleep anyways, so you passed any food you could on to your son or your father-in-law. There was something a bit more pressing you needed to do. 

Every day, from the crack of dawn until you finally passed out, you sat camped out by the one small radio that the camp had said up in the central tent, listening to the officials list off the names of those found dead after the disaster. Heinrich insisted that it wasn’t good for you, that the three of you should just drive over the border to Latveria and take shelter with the Von Dooms, but you refused to leave, because there, bundled in a shock blanket, you were waiting to hear Helmut’s name. “If he looks for us, he’ll look for us here,” you insisted, and so you stayed, all three of you, huddled together at the side of that radio as you tried to assure your son that everything would be okay. 

Only at the end of the second day did you rise from your spot to try to gather up some more supplies from another tent. 

It was just before sundown, though with the heavy cloud cover from a mix of precipitation and dust you could barely tell the difference between night and day anymore. By lamplight, you passed the huddled masses in search of a supply table or organizer of some kind. That’s when you heard his voice. 

“Do you have a list of all the people taking shelter here?” 

You didn’t trust your ears at first. In the darkness, it could have been any Sokovian man searching for his family. Above you, the rain fell in heavy, mucky drops that settled on your skin and streaked it with the remnants of the debris that hung heavy in the clouds. It was a trick of the night, that’s all.

“I’m sorry, sir, but-”

“Please. I have a wife and a son, their faces are known to the public, I just need to know if anyone has seen them here,” 

In an instant, you froze. Could it be?

“Baron, is that you?” 

That was the catalyst. You whipped around and there, in the gaudy white glow of an emergency camping lantern at a check-in table about 10 feet away, was Helmut. He looked awful, with dirt smeared across his face and uniform and tears in his eyes. Seeing him again, though, in any state made your heart stop. He was alive.

Your sudden pause must have caught his attention because in a second his eyes were on yours and he was running at a full sprint towards you through the mud. A soft sob escaped your lips as he captured you once again in his arms and pressed a desperate kiss to your lips. It didn’t matter that your house was nothing more than a pile of rubble. In Helmut’s arms, you were home. So you kissed him. You kissed him good and hard and breathless despite the black rain that poured above you until you couldn’t kiss him anymore.

“Schatz, I-” he gasped, wet hair dripping long dark streaks of water down his face that almost masked his tears, “Carl? Is he...” 

“Safe,” you nodded, “He’s safe and so is your father. They’re just inside that tent,” As you spoke, you gestured off in their direction.

“Mien Gott... Y/N I came back to the house and it was nothing but dust. I searched for you, for your bodies, for days…”

“We’re safe, Helmut. All of us are safe,” Your whole body seemed to tremble as you brought a hand up to his cheek. He relished in your touch, pressed into it, craved it and needed it like he needed sleep or air. For the first time in days, you felt halfway conscious of the fact that you had barely eaten or slept. It still didn’t matter though, not when you had just come back together. 

Something dark crossed Helmut’s features as he looked away from your face. “The Avengers and their hubris have destroyed our country, our people, our home… I can’t let them simply get away with this. They’ll pay for what they’ve done to us,” 

Slowly, you guided his face and gaze back to your own. It grounded him, gave him something to focus on other than the tremendous grief and loss that surrounded you on every side. “Once we’re somewhere safe and dry, we can ask Victor what can be done to hold them accountable, but for now can’t we simply be grateful that we’re all together again? For me?” 

He nodded, pulling you in for another, softer kiss. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Schatzi,”

“Nothing good,” you murmured against his lips before pulling back, “Now, it’s time to go see your son,” 

Hand in hand, you trudged through the muck towards your future, thoughts of what could have been fully resigned to the back of your minds. Vengeance could wait, for now, you needed peace, and that was what you were going to get.

[elxsticlxve]

{ooc} Anonymous inquired;--  Hisoka doesn't seem to be the type that allows things to stir in his mind but we all have our faults from time to time. Has there ever been something that has truly perplexed and lingered in his mind for days that either upset him or bothered him?

≺ooc≻

First, of all- I dig this question a lot. Thank you for taking the time to send this in! But I think before I answer that I’d like to talk about just how obsessive this man is. How possessive, even. How he’s claimed in his head the people he’s decided are worthy enough to fall to his hand and his hand alone, and how he even went as far as to threaten someone who is of great benefit to him for the purpose of his possession. Even then it didn’t feel like a threat, it felt like a promise. You kill that boy and I won’t hesitate to end your life. That’s HIS kill. He’s the one who gets to snuff that light from his eyes and he decided that the very moment he stood up to him. The same goes for various other characters too. It’s a very ‘I licked it therefore it’s mine’ sort of mentality. Except this isn’t a case of hoarding it to himself it’s a matter of ‘I’m going to be the one to play with this toy until it breaks.’ A part of this also comes from his mindset that he is superior. He lacks fear but isn’t a stranger to being taken off guard either. I feel that if he is ever genuinely taken aback he would applaud it. He isn’t going to take someone outsmarting him as an insult. Instead, all it serves to do is wiggle that metaphorical string even more. I’ve often joked that he’s like a cat. Wiggle that string in his face and he’ll take notice, but just like a cat there's a moment to pounce, and he might not want to lunge for it just yet. Something that I’ve been doing since day one with this muse (and I’m totally about to out myself here to those of you who didn’t notice) is that I’ve had him say things incorrectly or insinuate things incorrectly on PURPOSE. Him making an assumption and then your muse comes in and corrects him or even shows a bit of smugness from him being incorrect? That’s all a part of it. He knows he can learn a lot by watching and listening and as any true showman isn’t opposed to taking a pie in the face so long as it serves as part of his act. He knows most people won’t tell him things outwardly, so he uses his own ego and suave way of talking to lure people into basically going ‘AH HES WRONG! I’LL SHOW HIM I GOT HIM NOW!” Oops. You just gave him the info. If there’s something he wishes to know about then he’ll find a way to figure it out. But as far as things that might haunt him? There isn’t anything there to haunt him besides his own hubris and apatite for the blood of the worthy and fearsome. He is constantly thinking about the things he obsesses over. The people. Fighting a spider for example- I think it’s safe to say that his obsession with Chrollo is so bad that he not ONLY missed out on an entire pandemic of beast men but he also had no idea that the chairmen died. These things had to be told to him. In a world filled with people who would chatter and squawk about the subjects, you’d think he’d at least overhear those things, right? But he didn’t. He was that focused. It had to be told to his face because he was that intent on chasing someone. Even then the chase itself wouldn’t have been enough to enrage him enough to stoop. If anything the only thing that served to bother him was just how BORED he was getting chasing Chrollo around and not getting anything out of it after a while. So him stopping to take a break and check things out during the election arc makes sense? Even he has to stop and recharge his batteries. But then he was still watching and rating the hunters around him. But not a single one caught his attention the way his target captivated him.

Speaking of I find it just so FUNNY that he began chasing this guy for so long like a kitty chasing a can of tuna DESPITE HIM BEING SO INTELLIGENT? Sir are you okay? Do you have it down that bad? The answer is yes. Chrollo is really out here going ‘pspspspsps’ and this idiot is going for it.

But the answer to your question nonnie is a hard ‘no’. The only thing that lingers in his mind is his vice for lust fueled carnage.

[sweetestpopcorn]

Honestly fuck that other anon. The story has been amazing to this point! I’ve been following your work for the past two years and just know you’ll have a great ending planned. What is with this fandom being extremely entitled with fanfic? No other fandom I’ve been in has been this obsessed with ‘correcting’ fanfics as this one!

OMG 2 years?!!!!!

Thank you so much!!!!!!!! 🥰🤗

Honestly I wish I was more surprised but as you say, in this fandom it's just ridiculous.

I still remember someone *cof cof* incel cof cof* just posting some rant on AO3 years ago because they were mad that on stories tagged Jonerys, Dany sometimes had relationships with other men - many times at the beginning - and so the person was just demanding no one who did this used the tag... how entitled can you get?! Mind you that they had no issue with Jon having relationships with other women (let me pretend to be surprised here for a moment); neither them nor many other people complaining about Dany with other men but then reading Harem Jon fics...

And on my fic just so many people who at different points came up to me to "lecture" me in different things. An especially *insert word of choice here* one was this *insert word of choice here* who while everyone was speculating about how Visenya would be, said they had read this great fic posting the link to my comment section (that's polite) and saying that in there Visenya was just like Rhaenyra in this and that "before Daemon turned her into a whore". They weren't kidding. In this day and age, people speak like this (unfortunately).

Another great example was actually the first hateful comment I ever received. It was maybe 2 months after I began the story, almost three years ago. I will never forget it because it had been an awful day for me, and I just arrived home thinking what was the point of getting out of bed that morning. I decided to check the comments and *chef's kiss*. Pretty much the imbecile (this one I am going to call names) informed me how wrong my story was and how wrong I had the lore (lol), how much my formatting sucked but that they thought my story had potencial so they told me to send them my stuff asap so they could start working on it and correcting it. #sokind #empath

Seriously to all of you entitled *insert word of choice here* I would like to know what kind of hubris you have that you think you can come up to people on the internet sharing things they do FOR FREE, and lecturing them or making demands? And then getting salty when they don't get a "oh yes, sir, please here you go; anything else I can do for you today, sir? you want my other leg to kick sir?" You know what you all are? Karens. You are Karens. Nasty Karens. But there's no manager here, Karen. And this isn't a shop and I am not an employee you can bully. And I don't care how hard your lives are tbh. We all have our struggles and you don't f_cking know the struggles of who is behind the screen so don't act like you are THE ONE who knows struggles and others don't. And I won't share mine because I don't owe the Karens an explanation about me of my life or my past. That doesn't make me any better or any worse. I am a person, and like any person REGARDLESS of my struggles I deserve the minimum amount of respect.

Also Karens, learn this when you get hate: play stupid games, win stupid prizes. When you say what you want to say, you will hear what you don't want to hear.

This all said let's just leave the other Anon to themselves. They clearly are struggling with issues in their personal life and could use some professional help to deal with a LOT.

Thank you so so much neonfox106 ❤ it's really great to know someone who has been following my fanfiction for so long 😭😭 and sorry for all of the changes and add ons btw XD

Much love to you!

[winter-fox-queen]

Kisses Like Wine: Part 3

In honor of the new photo, I think I will post this now. :)

Warnings:  Nothing, the reader remains a blank canvass.  Might have cursing.

Summary:  The reader is working undercover where she things the next heist will be, while trying to figure out the Thief's ways…

Note:  There really are diamonds in all these colors!  I spent way too much time looking it up.

“Joe F. Gambrel and Co., how may I direct your call?”  I shifted in my seat a little.  The chair was not that uncomfortable, but I felt like I was definitely out of my comfort zone.  I listened to the person on the other side, put them on hold.  Started an email to my boss.  Took them off hold.  “I am so sorry.  Mr. Larsen is in a meeting, may I take a message?”  I typed the message in the email, hung up, hit send.

This was the shape of my day.  Take messages for my reprobate boss, who was never in the office, and try to look like someone else.  Act like someone else.

And, most of all, case the joint.  I wondered, briefly, if the Thief ever called his work that…casing the joint.  Probably not.  He did not look like someone who used twenties gangster slang.

As I wandered the office suite, I hoped I was not wasting my time.  I was working for a high end antiquities firm.  If you wanted something, they got it for you.  They did not have a lot of staff, and the bosses seemed to be out of the office more than not.  The floors directly below me were home to a large business dedicated to restoration.

I’d been studying, and I was ninety nine percent sure that this was the next place the Thief would break into.  The crown was — just a crown.  Pretty, historied. I suspect he took it because he could, not because he wanted it.  After all, it had been right there.

No.  He had come for the Star.  Almost a half a year prior, someone had stolen The Golden Queen.  And now, if I had guessed right, he would be coming for a incredibly rare, beautiful pink diamond called The Compass Rose.

I went and looked at it, not for the first time. At the top floor of the high rise, the company — and Keith Larsen — kept the Compass Rose on display in an act of hubris that was sure, if Greek Myth was any indication, to anger some God eventually.  It was in a huge room, the ceiling was all glass that arched up to a sharp point that was illuminated at night.  The floor was marble, the walls a warm sandstone.  Four benches, one on each side of the pillar that held the diamond’s display case.  One wall held a fountain and greenery, meant to look like a small, exotic waterfall.  The water trickled softly as I went as close to the case as I dared.  And there.  The largest pink diamond that had ever been discovered in Australia, glittering deep rose.  It was one of a kind.

My thief was collecting a full set.  There were three diamonds, including this one, in Midas’s Rainbow that the thief had not stolen.

He could have gone after one of the other ones.  I could be wrong.

But I wasn’t.  I couldn’t be. I had bribed my way in, under a new name with a perfectly wrought set of identification papers, even a credit card.  I dyed my hair and carefully applied my make up so that I made my face a little different.  So if I ran into him, he wouldn’t immediately know it was me.  It was not, probably the best plan, but my training consisted of books and watching Leverage.

I was staring at it too long, the security guard peeked in.

“Miss?”  The security guard peeked in.  Older man, with warm, friendly eyes and a lovely voice that seemed not to match his age.  We’d spoken a few times on my daily check of the diamond.  No one was allowed to be in the room too long, and he was gently reminding me it was time to go.

I went out the door, leaned against the wall next to him, and asked the question that I’d been asking myself for weeks, since I started working here.  “If you were going to steal the Compass Rose, how would you go about it?”

He stared at me for so long I thought he was going to go report me.  “That’s not a smart question to be asking, around here.”

“There’s no harm, though.”  I said.  His voice bothered me.  I wanted more, if I could listen to it a little longer…

He shook his head and didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry if I offended.”

He gave me a gentle smile, touched his ear and pointed to a corner of the room.  Then he shooed me towards the door.

Back at my desk I snuck out my steno notebook from its hiding place in a stack of unused notebooks in my desk drawer.  It was where I kept my plans.  Layout of the building.  Everything I learned.  Since my purse could get searched at any time, I only had it at work.  One steno pad looks like all the others, right?  Locked in my drawer, under a box of tampons.

The fountain has to be the way in. There needs to be a way to service the pipes behind the wall.

If I could break something in the fountain without getting caught, someone would have to fix it.  Someone would have to open the door or the hatch, and I’d know how to get in.

And the thief always liked distractions. But what kind of distraction would he manage to create?

My work day ended, I grabbed my purse, made sure my desk was locked, and started out.

“Honey?”  The first front desk receptionist called after me.

I smiled and crossed over.

“I just wanted to remind you, tomorrow they are bussing in a bunch of high school students to tour the floors so they can see what it takes to restore old art.”  She smiled at me.  “You’ll want to make sure to get here early before they get here…it’s going to be a madhouse.”

Cue distraction.

The next day I went to see the madhouse for myself.  I wanted to see the teachers.  Most were women.  I didn’t discount them completely, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t shave his mustache if he could avoid it.  There.  Curly, dark hair.  Tweed jacket with elbow patches.  What century did he think this was?  I followed him as he ushered bored looking kids, careful not to let me see his face.  Finally I went around a dented suit of armor and managed to get face to face with him.  “Hey!”  I said cheerfully.

It wasn’t him. Eyes too far apart, nose too small, just not him.

I apologized and walked off just as one of the teachers asked, brightly, “Can we see the Compass Rose?”

“Well.  There’s no reason why not.  The public are allowed to go in, but only one at a time, I think?” The woman who had gotten stuck showing the group around said.  I hid as quickly as I could, not wanting to be pulled into the conversation.

I walked back to my office, hoping no one had noticed I’d slipped out, to be sadly disappointed.  My boss was sitting on the corner of my desk.

“Where were you?”  He asked me.

“Just wanted to see what all the noise was about.”  Behind him, the lady security guard who switched on and off with the one I usually saw stood, looking that part angry, part unamused way only a security guard could.

“Open your desk.”

“What is this about?”

“The Compass Rose.  It’s gone.  I want to know if you have it.  You spent enough time looking for it…made jokes about stealing it.  So.  Did you?”

I unlocked the desk and the guard pushed me aside, dumping the contents on my desk.  I held my breath when she flipped through the notebooks, but they all were empty.

Empty.  Oh, no.

I let her paw through everything I owned.  Let her pat me down.  “Unless she swallowed it, sir, I don’t think she has it.”

“I didn’t swallow it!”  I let panic creep into my voice.  It was not hard.

I let them x-ray me.  I did.  I admit it.  The lab tech a few floors down gave me sympathetic looks as I stood there, shivering, in my gown.

And then I let them fire me.  The frustrating thing was the lack of knowledge.  They refused to let me know anything.  What happened?  How?  Why?  Was a playing card left behind?  I wanted to know.

But most of all I wanted to know where my notebook was.

Two days later as I packed up my apartment, I received a package.  My name…my alias, rather, in quotes.  Quotes.  I grabbed a letter opener and ripped it open with more force than I needed.  I suspected, already, who would be cheeky enough to put quotation marks around my fake name.

My notebook.

The last page, there was a five of diamonds tucked in like a book mark. The back of the card the same as the one I carried with me wherever I went.

Across the last page he’d written, “A five star card for a five star effort.  Not bad for your first try.  I wish I’d thought of the fountain.  That was clever, if a bit damp.”  A couple of crabbed notes along side my own.  Suggestions.  Not actual plans.  No, I’d need to catch him to find out how he did his theft, if he could be convinced to tell me even then.

I sat down, hard.  He knew where I was.  Where I lived.  Knew I had a steno notebook, knew I’d hide it because I could have my belongings searched.  How?  How did he learn so much about me?  I thought over the people I had met, since getting that job.

I imagined large hands carefully drawing things out of my purse, lining them up neatly on the marble of the entry way desk.  “Sorry about this, miss.”  The guard’s voice said, as he went through my things.  Large, but graceful hands.  A warm voice that bothered me because I’d heard it before.  The security guard.  He’d been guarding the damned diamond all along.

“Five star effort? Oh, I’ll show you.  I’ll show you.”

I worried about telling my family of my failure, then I realized.  He’d given me a clue.  The cheeky bastard had given me a clue.  Because one of the other diamonds was kept in a five star hotel overlooking the Rhine.

He was telling me that he was going to steal the Heart of the Rhine, a mossy green diamond worth millions.  Now, if only I could believe him.

Thank you to you lovely people for being on my tag list, if you want added or dropped just let me know.  <3

@grogusmum @mishasminion360 @hnt-escape @littlemisspascal @pedro4ever @writteninthestars18 @fromthedeskoftheraven @sharkbait77

@quica-quica-quica @eri16 @the-blind-assassin @ayoungpascallover-readings @songsformonkeys

[nochiquinn]

exandria unlimited: calamity: episode 2: the calamity is a marquetian hoax

let's go lesbians

I was joking but everyone here is dressed as a different genre of lesbian

"laura's gonna kick my ASS"

just. just say queer. literally just say queer I lose a year off my life every time someone tries to say the whole acronym in a sentence

"but it's a slur" fuck you, read a book

sdlfkjslk

this is fucking adorable

and he PLAYS ALONG I love him

now it hurts

"this kid is way cooler than my kid" rude

too many kids in this campaign where everybody's gonna die

If I Don't Acknowledge It It Can't Hurt Me

the TAXMEN

"I know exactly what I'm doing" - someone who has no idea what they're doing

"friends with bad memory"

"you don't geT IT"

I ain't droppin no eaves mr cerrit

"I wouldn't repeat that mistake" sir

"it started off as a fuck machine"

the what the fuck now

ohh she knows

oh SHIT

what did you DO

aww marisha getting luis tissues

this whole scene make me feel like I missed an episode

[eggman voice] what the FUCK are you two talking about

if this is happening not even an hour in then what is the other four hours for

shit what are the other two episodes for

LEYWRIGHT??

as in WRITING LEYLINES

and then....light

uhoh

[puts mouth directly on mic] give me the secrets

that has to be an ashari ascendant right

magic bloatware

not here as zerxus, here as The First Knight

"she talks a lot of shit AND has given you very detailed maps"

his husband was first knight??

marisha is me

"the visual is loud!"

"I don't like the way you said that"

"he can see in ultraviolet!"

"...I can be late"

sitting next to pregnant laura means sam has lost all fear of being murdered by his castmates

"this plane is great, it's where I keep all my stuff"

ahh, wizard hubris

samuel

"we learned it from watching you mom"

HELLO???

yeah yeah hell yeah

insighting the world

check the ring cam

"I made a donation on your behalf" he PLEDGED to make a donation on her behalf

BRENNAN

"this miniseries is too stressful, I'm canceling it"

what the FUCK

"and it smells like juicy fruit"

"I don't pay attention to people dumber than me"

she done gone got her memory modified

morse code somatics??

"I saved someone's life today" "DON'T tell him"

"you guys changed canon"

"I'm sure you can make up with her tomorrow" sam

he's checking the slush pile

oh they're gonna get jump scared

"take it to PMs"

ZOOM AND ENHANCE

"it was keebler elves THE WHOLE TIME"

someone tell travis there are numbers between 32 and 1

oh shit

rogues are whatever

NOW he remembers how to roll low

mala: look, he heard you!

"what's the biggest, dumbest construct in here it's mine now"

MAP MERCER

I can only ever hear the word "enchantment" in sandal's voice

wizard racist

druids saw their search history and put on the child locks

ahh. they know.

.....ah

they saw the end and it broke them

a foul bauble of man's vanity

oh now that dog tag/dog collar tweet makes sense

oh I don't like it

anybody else seen constantine

luis: I'm approaching aabria: wHY

we have achieved travis hiding in his shirt

thrOUGH?

"THIS IS WHY WE HAVE BUDDIES"

what in the lucifer

OH?

oh hey I'm crying

"he is not of my blood but that is my son" hahaha non-bio parent emotions ACTIVATE

"he was somehow near" "did you ever try to bring him back" beacon? luxon??

"YOU HAD THIS COMING"

sdifjhods

excuse

didn't appreciate that

DON'T APPRECIATE THAT EITHER

[catboyyukineapologist]

Ay yo, Noragami keeps coming out on midterms/finals week check✌️

anyway i got all sappy last time and the post got 2 notes so what’s up fuckers I've been severely depressed for a month but it's the scheduled time to ✨cry about fictional characters✨

---

And we thought the boy had snapped before...🙃

Strap in because I have a LOT of thoughts.This was a long one, folks.

THIS CHAPTER WAS BEAUTIFUL ARE YOU KIDDING ME MA’AM PLEASE P L E A S E  YUKINE’S FACE EMERGING FROM THIN AIR, THE FIGHT SCENES, THE CLOSE-UPS, THE BACKGROUNDS OH MY G O D

every month i am reminded of how gorgeous this manga is and how hard the character design goes.

Yato is fine🙃 thanks for asking🙃 totally not using banter to deflect🙃 nothing wrong here🙃 not worried about two dead teenagers' continued existence🙃 everything's fine no one is in danger🙃 your life? your family? don't think about that don't you have a waifu to simp over?🙃

Glad to have proper confirmation that Kazuma's simping for Bishamon is literally stronger than any other conceivable feeling or thought he might have.

No thoughts. Head empty. All Viina.

can trash dad?? hear what rekki says???

I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate h

THEY'RE GOING TO FUCK UP TRASH DAD'S GRAVE PLEASE THAT SOUNDS LIKE A HORRIBLE IDEA EBI JUST UPGRADED FROM BABY TO SASSY CHILD DON'T KILL HIM AGAIN

But also babysitter Take?? Ebi-Take bonding??? MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED

More like Ebi is babysitting Take tho let's be honest.

And also also fucking up his grave does seem to be the most direct way of getting rid of him. I wonder if Fujisaki (you know. the real one.) would survive that...

Ebi putting all this pressure on himself to do well and single-handedly deal with the sorcerer hurts my heart. I’m glad everyone is helping him, though.

I keep getting a strong nag to call Yukine Haruki in the back of my brain like. That's not him anymore. No matter how strongly he wants to still be Haru. He has three names and I just thought of another essay length thing about names and identity and I may or may not elaborate but this is already long enough. Welcome to my brain.

Anyway my hafuri immunity theory thrives no I don't take criticism.

🎶Yukineee🎶 snapped againnn🎶 and I am okayyy🎶, it doesn't huuuurt🎶 at aaaaAAALL🎶

He literally went rogue. He said fuck gods. Fuck you. Fuck being someone's slave I want to wreck👏🏻shit👏🏻 and yk what? after midterms week? Same.

I WANT TO KNOW WHY HE HAS LIKE?? INFINITE SHINKI FORMS??? Like trash dad looked like he expected the weapon form and the little fucked up cat boy form but the net/cloud/hands(?) AND the staff AND the little fucked up cat boy AND like that weird oz the great and powerful shit he's got going on????? Sir Excuse Me?????? Is it like a hafuri thing? Is it an ayakashi thing?? Is it just Yukine being really incredibly fucking powerful as it is??? Is it the rush of hubris???? WHAT IS THIS PLEASE

“Its precision is sloppy” I knew that was foreshadowing, I knEW IT. he’s spreading himself too thin doing all these different things at once PLEASE I’M SCARED

You know shit's good when trash dad is terrified, and like at least that's a positive i guess. Silver lining and whatnot. I bet he pissed himself.

Yuka is about to be very confused about a lot of things.

Also ma’am excuse me hi sorry i know this is an emotional and difficult moment for you but where’s Hiyori?

I can't wait to know more about all this. I am honestly so hyped about the entire thing as a reader and as a storyteller myself. Can't say I'm happy it smells like an ending but MAN is it epic.

And as always here is your monthly reminder that punching trash dad's face in is self care<3

[bloodfromthethorn]

Friendly Fire

Mac tries very hard not to make mistakes, because whenever he does, people always, always get hurt.  An army days fic.

Part thirteen of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3.

..

Despite what a lot of people seemed to believe, Mac did make mistakes. It didn’t happen all that often because he was viscerally aware that a lot of what he did was dangerous to more than just himself and that meant that you goddamn checked your working, but he wasn’t infallible. When he’d been younger, those mistakes had usually been small things, like falling out of a tree because he’d misjudged the distance between two branches or not picking up on his father’s mood quickly enough to avoid a lecture, but there had been some big blowouts too. The football field was probably the crowning example, but it wasn’t the only one.

Then he’d joined the army and been sent into the desert and suddenly the idea of making a mistake went from ‘possibly dangerous’ to ‘will almost certainly cost lives’. It was around that time that he started triple checking his working, just to be sure.

Which made it all the more horrifying when he did finally screw something up badly enough to get someone hurt. And, just in case that wasn’t punishment enough for his own stupidity and hubris, of course that someone would be Jack. Of fucking course.

..

He dug through the rubble like a man possessed, tearing open a gouge on his hand as he did so but not faltering for even a single second.

“Jack!” He didn’t dare raise his voice too high just in case any hostiles had survived the blast, but he needed his Overwatch to answer him. Since the wall had come down, he hadn’t heard a peep. “C’mon Dalton, you’re not going out like this. You do not get to die on me.”

He scrabbled for a moment against a chunk of sundried stone just a little too heavy for him to comfortably shift, then was rewarded with the smallest sliver of desert camo. More carefully, he tossed aside some of the smaller bricks, uncovering a gloved hand to go along with the arm he’d first seen. From there it was the matter of moments to clear the rest of Jack’s body, quietly thankful with each new revelation that at the very least he was still in one piece. Bruised and bloody, but whole.

And still not waking up. Maybe Mac wasn’t so relieved after all.

“Jack? Dalton? Can you hear me?” He felt for a pulse, gusting out a pained sigh when he finally found it – a little too fast for his liking, but strong all the same. “Thank god,” he breathed quietly.

There was blood around Jack’s eye from a gash on his forehead, with more dripping from a split lip, but otherwise he looked remarkably alright. No doubt his combat gear and dust coated skin was hiding a multitude of bruises and possible broken bones, but at the very least he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out. Or- well. A thought suddenly occurred to Mac and he spent the next ten seconds wrestling with Jack’s vest to get at his stomach to search for any signs of severe internal bleeding, not relaxing until his search turned up nothing more than unbroken skin.

“Okay,” he said more to himself than his unconscious partner. “We’ve got to get out of here. Stayed too long as it is.”

A glance around didn’t turn up anything he could conveniently use as a litter. He was thoroughly unwilling to leave Jack’s side while he was so defenceless, particularly when hostiles might be closing in, so that meant they were doing this the hard way. He started by untangling Jack’s rifle and making sure the safety was on before setting it carefully on the ground beside him; Jack would be giving him hell for messing with it, but if that was an argument he wanted to have then he was just damn well going to have to wake up and have it, wasn’t he?

Next came the man himself. Even though Mac was technically classified as a non-combatant, he’d still had to go through Basic with all the other recruits, so he’d done plenty of fireman’s lifts before. None of them had really prepared him for the added weight of responsibility he felt as soon as Jack was on his shoulders. He’d always considered their partnership to be two-way: Jack protected Mac and Mac protected Jack right back. It had never really felt this literal before though. Normally his protection came in the form of defusing a bomb before it went off, not bearing the man’s limp weight as they moved through hostile territory when at any minute a bullet could come their way.

But now wasn’t the time to be frozen by indecision and fear. Certainly not when he had to contend with the not inconsiderable weight of Jack and his gear, and then had to juggle his rifle in his free hand. Now was the time for action.

Without stopping to overthink it, he hitched Jack up a little higher and took off in the direction of their Humvee.

..

No doubt he made a hell of a scene pulling into camp and skidding the vehicle to a stop beside the medical tent, but by that point he was far too wound up to care. Jack hadn’t so much as stirred once, and while his breathing and heart rate were holding steady, Mac could feel his skin crawling with the awful sense that maybe something was critically wrong after all.

As soon as the Humvee came to a stop, he was on his feet and shouting, summoning the random assortment of medical staff who happened to be both in earshot and available. On the other side of the ‘road’, a handful of signalmen poked their heads out of the communications tent to see what was going on. Mac barely spared them a glance – all he cared about was getting Jack inside and to help as quickly as humanly possible and then finding somewhere quiet so he could have a breakdown in peace.

To that end, he hauled Jack back up onto his shoulders and met the medical staff halfway, breathlessly explaining what had happened. A gurney was unceremoniously shoved in front of him and he carefully tipped his charge down onto it. The second Jack was down, the staff were pulling him away, whisking him off for an examination inside. He took half a step to follow, but was immediately blocked by one of the nurses.

“Sir, are you injured?”

Mac barely spared the Private a glance, trying to push past but getting stopped by a firm hand on his chest. “No, I’m fine, but he’s my Overwatch, I have to-”

“Specialist,” the nurse said sharply, moving with him to keep him from getting past. “Your partner is getting the best care he can. If you’re not injured, you’ll need to report in. Only medical staff and patients are allowed past this point.”

A prickle-hot wave of frustration raced through Mac at being denied access to his partner, but it was almost immediately chased away by a wash of cold when he properly registered what the man had said. ‘You’ll need to report in.’ Of course that’s what he needed to do – standard protocol and all that. Theoretically he was already in violation of his orders by not having turned on his heel the instant Jack was in the hands of the medical staff, although he was pretty sure he could be forgiven in this particular instance.

But even then, he needed to report in. He had to walk up to his commanding officer and explain that because of his own stupidity and carelessness, he might just have gotten his own partner killed. Jack wasn’t well liked by the Brass, exactly, but he was certainly well respected and now Mac had to walk up to the Major and explain just how badly he’d fucked up. And then, assuming that didn’t get him transferred or demoted or fucking arrested, he was going to have to walk into the barracks filled with Jack’s friends and hope that none of them decided revenge was a dish best served hot. The Brass might not like Jack too well, but the men sure did.

Well, at least he had one thing going for him: since they were in the FOB and not the main operating base, he wouldn’t have to report directly to the Colonel. Small mercies.

“Specialist?” The nurse was saying, apparently alarmed by his sudden freeze. “Are you injured?”

“N-No,” he managed when he finally managed to find his voice again. The nurse didn’t look convinced, so he repeated himself more firmly. “No, I’m fine. You’re right, I need to report. Just- Look after him, okay?”

The nurse’s severity and concern fell away under a blanket of reassurance, his expression turning soft. “We will, don’t you worry. I’ll make sure someone lets you know when he gets moved to the ward, okay? You’ll be able to visit him then.”

Barely clinging to the present moment, all Mac could do was nod. The nurse gave him an appraising look, but whatever it was that Mac was projecting apparently passed muster because he nodded sharply and backed off, giving him one last glance before ducking into the tent and disappearing. For a long moment, Mac just stared at the spot where he’d been in the hopes that if he waited long enough, his brain might kick into gear before he had to face the Major.

Of course, it didn’t happen.

In a daze, he backed up from the entrance to the medical tent, glancing about in sudden self-awareness but finding himself mostly alone. The few people he could see appeared to be going about their days as normal, not paying him the slightest bit of attention.

Right. Things to do. No matter what had just happened, he was still on duty. He had work to be doing.

With a firm mental shake, he forced himself to climb back into the Humvee and drive it over to the much more suitable parking lot. He procrastinated for a few minutes then, sorting out his and Jack’s stuff and making sure the equipment he’d collected earlier that morning was still secure. It already felt like a thousand years ago. That done, he checked the vehicle in with the mechanics and headed to the command tent to face his fate.

..

Mac had never had much cause to interact with Major Torres beyond receiving the occasional direct mission brief or having to give an in-person report when a mission went sideways. Both cases usually ended up being pretty stressful affairs, either because there was a lot on the line or because Mac had to own up to some hare-brained scheme that would probably have gotten him court marshalled twenty times over if his skillset hadn’t been in such high demand. The result was that almost all of Mac’s recollections of the Major were coloured in shades of concern and unhappiness, despite the man himself having never done anything particularly bad to Mac himself. On the contrary, the man had been ridiculously forgiving of some of the shit Mac had tried to pull in the past.

Nonetheless, as he stood in front of him now, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly small.

“So you arrived in Sakini at 1300 hours?”

“Yes sir.”

“What was the situation on the ground?”

“At first, quiet. There were a couple of locals around, but they didn’t appear armed and they didn’t visibly react to our presence at all.”

“At first?”

Mac swallowed, willing himself to keep his thoughts in the right order. The last thing he needed was to add ‘filing an inaccurate report’ to his list of transgressions. “Jack – Sergeant Dalton – went out to do a survey of the area. I stayed back in the vehicle. When he deemed it was clear, he called me out while he set up on the roof of a building in- the town square, I guess.” He pointed at the appropriate place on the map, well aware that the handful of buildings hardly constituted a town, much less one in possession of anything resembling a square, but the building Jack had chosen had good sightlines and that was the main point.

“You went looking for the IED.”

“Yes.”

“Did you encounter any resistance?”

“No. The locals all kept out of my way, but not so much so I thought they were actively avoiding me. More like they just didn’t want to get involved in our business.”

“But you did find a device?”

“Yes sir, but not for an hour or so. It had been tucked into the gap between two buildings and blocked off with crates. Just getting to it took longer than it should have done.”

Torres’ expression twisted in something that might have been sympathy. Two US soldiers alone in possibly hostile territory for over an hour was never the start of a happy story.

“Once I did get to it,” Mac continued, bracing himself, “I was able to disarm it pretty quickly. The device was well hidden, but not particularly well built. It had a single failsafe, but compared to a lot of what we’ve been seeing recently, it was surprisingly basic.”

Evidently, his opinion was not welcome; the Major’s face darkened. “If that’s the case, then why is one of my men in the infirmary following an explosion, Specialist?”

He ducked his head on instinct, shame and fear washing over him afresh. It didn’t matter; what had happened, happened, and beating around the bush now wasn’t going to change that.

“Because I messed up, sir,” he said honestly. “The device was successfully disarmed, but before I could pack it up, Sergeant Dalton alerted me to hostiles closing in on our position. One of them must have been watching Sakini in case we showed up. There were too many of them for Jack to safely deal with alone and they were between us and our transport, so I came up with a plan to funnel them into a small space, and then trigger the explosion. It seemed like our best shot of taking them all out at once, so Jack agreed.”

Torres nodded, but didn’t interject with his own opinion.

Mac cleared his throat. “I needed a minute to rearm the device, and we needed to make sure they all got into position, so Jack acted as the bait. He took a few pot shots at them to get their attention, then made a run for it. Thankfully, they followed. I planted the device at a weak point on the building’s exterior, armed it, and retreated.”

“Dalton didn’t have time to clear the building?”

If Mac had been a little more dishonest – and perhaps less certain that he wouldn’t immediately get caught in the lie – he might have said yes. It still put him on the hook for blowing up his Overwatch, but it still felt a little less like a crushing failure on his part. But that wasn’t who Mac was, and even if it had been, it certainly wasn’t who Jack was, and the second he woke up he’d be asked to give his own account of things. The only way forward was the truth, no matter what it might be.

“Actually, he made it out okay. Things appeared to have gone perfectly but… I wasn’t watching my back, sir. I thought that all the hostiles had entered the building and I wasn’t careful enough. One of them managed to flank me. He was yelling something – I don’t speak Arabic – and dragging me back towards the building – I fought him, but…”

The memory flashed back to him, a warm hand painfully tight on his arm, the hard barrel of an assault rifle jabbing into his ribs, and neither of those things as scary as the IED he was being hauled towards. He’d tried to say something, tried to struggle, but the man had been huge even if he hadn’t had a gun to back him up. Mac hadn’t stood a chance.

Fortunately, Torres seemed to read into what he wasn’t saying. “Dalton doubled back to help you.”

“Yes sir.” His voice sounded small even to himself.

“And he got caught in the blast when he came too close to the building.”

“Yes sir.”

A pause. “Were you hurt in the explosion?”

Mac blinked in surprise, caught off guard. In truth, once Jack had gone down and stopped answering his radio, it had never occurred to Mac to even think about himself. “Uh, no sir. The man holding me was – he was between me and the device, so he caught the worst of it. Knocked him out, I think.”

“You think?”

“I- uh. I knew Sergeant Dalton was hurt. I was more focused on getting to him and getting him out than I was about the hostiles.” He knew it sounded bad even as he said it. He tried his best to look sheepish, but all he really felt was bone-deep weariness. He wanted this to be done. “I’m sorry sir.”

The Major shook that off, unconcerned. “With your Overwatch down, Dalton should have been your priority. EOD aren’t trained to be combatants.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but Mac was hardly about to argue with the man. Besides, he doubted it had escaped notice that he wasn’t wearing his sidearm; he’d been given one as part of his kit and told to carry it with him whenever he was in uniform, but after about a month of working with Jack, he’d felt safer leaving it in the Humvee instead. He wasn’t confident that if there was a hostile in front of him he’d be able to shoot them anyway, so carrying around a loaded weapon was more of a liability than anything. Jack didn’t agree, but he hadn’t pressed the issue.

“What happened next?”

“I found Jack buried in the rubble. He had a visible head wound and he was unconscious. When I couldn’t wake him, I carried him back to our vehicle and came straight here.”

Torres nodded slowly. “Do you have anything else of note to report?”

“No sir.” He held still, waiting for his verdict. He could personally point out about twelve different things he’d done wrong, and every single one of them added up to Jack in a hospital bed. If it really was anything worse than a concussion…

If it came to that, there wasn’t anything the Major could do to Mac that he wouldn’t deserve.

“Alright,” the man said, his voice heavy and drawn. “I take it you know that I’ll have to report this up the chain. Circumstances aside, catching your own teammate in a repurposed IED blast isn’t going to look good and that’s before we even get to you getting ambushed.”

“Yes sir.”

Torres sighed, looking momentarily softer than he had any right to after the shitshow he’d just heard about. “For now, the most any of us can do is wait for Dalton to wake up so he can give his own report. We’ll go from there. In the meantime, I’ll send some men out to Sakini to work on clean-up; you go get washed up. You’re off rotation until your Overwatch is back on his feet.”

The very idea of having a shower and going to bed felt utterly heavenly – just thinking of being gifted such a reward after what he’d done made something in Mac balk. He straightened up, trying to make himself look firm. “That’s not necessary, sir. I’m still fit for work.”

Torres paused in surprise, then gave him a quick look up and down. “You’re asking for another Overwatch?”

Mac hesitated, but didn’t back down. “Not permanently, sir. I know Sergeant Dalton’s tour is conditional. But while he’s in recovery, if there’s work that needs doing then I’m happy to do it.”

The Major didn’t look entirely thrilled by the idea, but he wasn’t turning him down cold either. Mostly, he seemed thoughtful. “It sounds like you were pretty close to an explosion yourself. You’re sure you’re in good shape?”

“I mostly caught the blowback, sir. Made my ears ring, knocked the wind out of me. Nothing serious, nothing permanent.” It was true, too. He really had gotten off incredibly lightly given the severity of the situation, and he could mostly thank the man who had been trying to kill him for it. He’d ended up acting as a surprisingly effective human shield, in the end.

Slowly, Torres nodded. “Okay. I’m going to ask you to get a medical check-up to confirm you’re as okay as you say you are, but if that comes back clean, you can keep working. As it happens, one of our other EOD techs – Garcia – is shipping out in the morning, and his Overwatch doesn’t have a new partner yet. You know Corporal Lee?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. You can stick with him until Dalton’s back on rotation. Check in with him directly to get your instructions, clear?”

“Clear, sir. Thank you.”

“Good. Now, go get that check-up and find out what’s become of your partner. You know he won’t be happy about you working with someone else.”

Torres said it lightly, sharing something of an in-joke that Mac was only half party to. Jack had never properly explained the nature of his deal with Torres – and the Colonel above him – to extend his tour with some provisos, but he’d got the impression that there had been a lot of shouting involved. Honestly, he’d been glad to steer clear of it. Apparently, though, it wasn’t too much of a sore point with Torres anymore and Mac was grateful; he’d hated to know that Jack had put so much on the line for his sake.

With a clear dismissal, Mac saluted, then turned on his heel and headed back to the medical tent. He avoided the emergency area this time, electing instead to go into the space just beyond it that was set aside for the standard check-ups that active soldiers were routinely subjected to.

Stupidly, it wasn’t until he was gestured towards an unoccupied booth that he realised his palm was still coated in dried, flaking blood. In everything that had happened, he’d completely forgotten about the minor wound. Not that there was anything to be done about it now. It wasn’t like he could hide it and besides, it really was only very minor. It shouldn’t pose any threat to his ability to work.

When the doctor made it round to him, he suffered through the indignity of the exam with little grace, too worn out and drained to make small talk. Fortunately, the doctor seemed to understand his mind was elsewhere, because he maintained a solid professional demeanour throughout and didn’t prod when others might have done. He cleaned out the slice in Mac’s palm, agreeing that it wouldn’t need stitches, and carefully checked his torso for any signs of major damage. Finding none, he signed off on Mac’s duty form and gave him back his shirt.

“You’re Dalton’s partner, right?” He said, just as Mac finished getting dressed again.

Mac’s eyes snapped up to look at him. “Yes. Is he- Is there news?”

The man shot him a reassuring smile, flapping a hand to soothe his obvious concern. “Everything’s okay, calm down. He took a hell of a knock to the head, but there’s no signs of critical damage. We’ll be keeping him in for a few days for concussion and cognition checks and the like, but from what I’ve heard, he got off remarkably lucky. He’s sedated at the moment, but I think they’re planning to bring him around in the next hour or so – you can go and sit with him if you like?”

He made a vague sweeping gesture in the direction of the main ward, an obvious invitation, but despite his desperation to see that his partner really was still in one piece, Mac hesitated.

The last time Jack had been injured – a bullet graze over the meat of his shoulder that he seemed annoyed by more than anything – Mac had planted himself at his partner’s side and refused to budge. It had felt like the right thing to do; Jack had always made a point of sticking around whenever Mac was ill or injured, and the least he could do was return the favour. Besides, sitting and chatting with him was a lot better than continuously replaying the moment when the bullet had caught him, his cry of pain and surprise. Jack had certainly seemed to appreciate the company while he waited out the required bedrest portion of his recovery.

But that had been then, when Jack had been wounded by a bullet Mac couldn’t possibly have done anything about. Now, he was laid up with a head injury because Mac hadn’t been smart enough to watch his own back for all of five minutes and had ended up luring his partner into an explosion he caused. On every possible level, Jack’s injuries were his fault.

There wasn’t the slightest chance that the first thing he would want to see when he woke up would be Mac’s face.

He became distantly aware that he’d frozen in place and the doctor had started to eye him critically, so he slapped on what he hoped looked like a relieved smile.

“Nah, that’s okay. I don’t want to disturb him if he needs the rest. Besides, I’m knackered too.”

To his credit, the doctor managed to keep whatever he thought about that off his face. Instead, he offered an obliging smile. “Of course. You’ve had a rough day too.”

Mac nodded, then a thought occurred to him. “Can you let me know, though, if- If something happens?”

No matter how much Jack might not want to see Mac, the only way Mac would be able to not bear seeing him is if he knew that the man was going to be okay. He needed to know that his own stupidity hadn’t done worse than what he already knew about.

“Of course. You’re set up as his base contact anyway, so you’re supposed to be kept in the loop.”

He hadn’t known that Jack had done that, though in hindsight it made sense. He’d done the same the day after Jack had decided to stay on after all. Still, the very thought of it now, when Mac was just about the one person in the entire FOB who Jack shouldn’t be relying on to be there in times of trouble- It stung.

He buried the sensation as best he could under a wave of fatigue and hopped down off the examination bed. If he was going to have a breakdown over this, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be here.

“Is that everything?” He asked the doctor, wanting to be done and away from here.

He smiled. “That’s everything, Specialist. You make sure you get some rest before shipping back out tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to see you back here any time soon.”

“Sir yes sir.”

With that done and a form confirming he was ready for active duty clutched tightly in one hand, he scooped up his and Jack’s packs, as well as Jack’s rifle which he still hadn’t had time to return, and marched back out into the blazing sunlight.

..

The first few times Jack woke up, he spent the few minutes of consciousness he had in muddled confusion. There were bright lights and lots of sound, then pale blue moonlight and muffled voices, then light again – through all of it, he couldn’t have said where he was or what was happening. Everything was too distant and vague to grasp, and fatigue had sunk its claws deep into his mind, dragging him back whenever he dared to try to push ahead.

He couldn’t give up though. He might not know what was going on, but he was sure that there was something he was forgetting, something important. Whatever it was didn’t matter – all that did, was that Jack needed to wake up and get to it.

It wasn’t until he finally blinked himself properly awake that he was able to put some logic to the flashes he’d caught before. He was in a hospital bed, with the slowly undulating fabric of a tent above him – the FOB. That certainly made sense, given that he felt like he’d been hit by a truck, but it didn’t really explain the why of that whole situation and no memories seemed ready to spring forth from the depths of his mind to enlighten him.

Christ, what the hell had happened to him?

He crawled his hand over the scratchy bedding, searching for a call button and ending up surprised when he actually found one. Any higher tech than the stone age was normally reserved for the MOB, and since he was in a tent then he clearly wasn’t there. Shrugging it off as unimportant, he hit the button and waited.

A nurse appeared between the screens around his bed less than twenty seconds later. “Sergeant Dalton? Back with us this time?”

“This time?” He muttered, then regretted it when his throat rasped horribly over the words. Clearly he’d been out for a while.

Understanding brightened in her face, and she stepped closer to retrieve a cup of water from his bedside table and present the straw in front of his face. Uncomfortable as he was, he was pretty certain he could have held the cup himself, but it hardly seemed worth the argument when she was willing to do it. Besides, having a beautiful woman feed him by hand was hardly going to be the low point of his day.

When he was done, she returned the cup to its place and pulled out his chart. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Any pain?”

“Headache. Feels like I got run over. What happened?”

Her eyes flicked towards him, measuring. “How would you rate the severity of your headache on a scale of one to ten?”

“Four. It’s fine. What happened?”

She pulled a penlight out from the pocket of her scrubs and leaned in to examine his pupils. He let it happen with increasing impatience, long since aware that trying to rush medical staff when they were intent on checking him over was a losing game. Better to let her get it out of her system before pushing too hard for answers.

“Pupil response is normal,” she said after a moment. “It looks as though your concussion is clearing up nicely. Unfortunately you’re still in what we would consider the danger period for head injuries, so you’re going to be staying with us a few days yet for monitoring.”

That was annoying as hell, but with no idea what was wrong with him, he had no scale of what was reasonable. “Sure, fine, whatever. Can you please tell me what happened? I don’t remember getting hurt.”

Truthfully, he didn’t remember much of anything.

She hesitated, but she must have seen the determination in his eyes because she folded without further argument. “You were hit by falling masonry following an explosion. I don’t know the details beyond that. Your partner brought you in.”

His partner-?

Mac!

A rush of memories suddenly hit him, so sharp and fierce that he actually sucked in a hard breath in surprise. The IED in Sakini, hostiles closing in, an utterly insane idea from Mac that just might be crazy enough to work – and it did, right up until he heard a scuffle over the radio, Mac’s voice tight with stress saying, let go of me, we can’t go in there, there’s a bomb-

He hadn’t hesitated for a second to race back in the direction he’d come.

“My partner-” He said wildly, coming to life all of a sudden as cold terror rushed through him. “Mac- Is he- What happened? Where is he?”

Something had to have gone wrong. If he was alright then he would be here, teasing Jack for being so muddled and letting him see with his own eyes that he was unhurt. That was what they did.

The nurse’s hand pressed down firmly on his shoulder, forcing him back down from where he’d tried to jackknife upright. “Sergeant! Please, stay calm. Your partner is completely fine. Specialist MacGyver, right? He’s okay. No injuries.”

Jack’s wild eyes found hers and latched on, seeking truth. “He’s okay?”

“Yes. I promise you. When he brought you in, he wasn’t injured. He had a physical to clear him for duty and came up clean. You’re the one we’ve been worried about.”

There was a lot there that he needed to process, and most of it seemed beyond his exhausted mind, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. Mac was okay. That was- well, honestly, that was far better than he had any right to expect given the nightmare situation they’d been in, and the fact that apparently Jack had just checked out and left the kid to deal with it, in hostile territory no less. God, he owed him a beer.

But if he’d been sought medical clearance, then that meant… “He’s back on duty?”

The nurse nodded, evidently surprised by the question. It was standard practice for uninjured soldiers to rotate as needed around their teammates’ injuries, and if Mac really wasn’t hurt then there was absolutely no need for him to be sitting around the FOB twiddling his thumbs. But, then, ‘standard practice’ had never been their way of doing things. Thanks to Jack’s very carefully worded agreement with the Brass, the pair of them should have been free to turn down any requests for temporary reassignment.

Then again, Mac didn’t seem the type to pass on a call to duty, particularly if there were lives on the line.

He nodded slowly, letting that knowledge settle inside him. Mac was alive and uninjured, if not exactly safe. Jack was – apparently – alive and relatively okay. A win all round, really – so why did he feel like something had gone horribly wrong?

“Okay,” he said slowly, then again more firmly. “So, doc. Give it to me straight: how am I doing?”

..

Jack had kind of assumed that Mac had been absent when he woke because it was clearly the middle of the day, which logically meant that he was off-base somewhere. That was perfectly understandable and given the circumstances, Jack could understand why he’d done it – Mac hadn’t known that Jack was finally going to wake up after all and since he’d apparently been in and out for three whole days, it wasn’t surprising he’d not elected to sit around, bored out of his mind. Still, that logic fell apart just a little bit when night fell and no blond bomb nerd appeared at his elbow.

He knew that Mac was his contact, which meant he must have been informed that Jack was awake and talking and yet- He went to sleep that evening with no visitors.

He slept in the next morning, unintentionally, so if Mac had stopped by before heading out then he would have missed him. He almost wanted to ask one of the staff, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the kid hadn’t been by at all and that… That didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t that Jack thought he was owed Mac’s time or attention or anything like that, but he’d kind of thought that he’d get it anyway. The last time he’d been stuck in the hospital ward, he hadn’t been able to shake Mac off for more than a few minutes at a time, no matter how much he’d pleaded with him to go back to the barracks and get some proper sleep. Any time one of the staff had tried to chase him out, he’d planted his feet and refused to be moved. It had been touching, in an odd kind of way, a clear demonstration of Mac saying ‘If you’ve chosen me, I’ve chosen you too.’

Now- Now it was different, and Jack was pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing.

Some careful questioning – and an outright demand for an explanation from Major Torres when he showed up to get Jack’s report – had brought some things to light, but made others even murkier. For one, Mac had actively requested to remain on duty. After what had happened last time, that was a big red flag in its own right. He did at least have Lee watching his back, someone who Jack knew to be a crack shot and clever with it, so he probably wasn’t getting himself into too much trouble, but still.

Torres had also made it clear that their failed mission was not being received particularly well by the higher ups. When pressed, he’d alluded to the fact Mac had – apparently entirely willingly – painted himself right into the corner and placed the blame directly on his own shoulders. Jack hadn’t been able to keep himself from swearing aloud. Goddamn self-sacrificing idiot. He’d tried to make it clear that Mac hadn’t been to blame for what happened, and Torres seemed inclined to listen to him, but the details of his report did match up squarely with what Mac had said. The only difference was that Jack wasn’t about to start playing the blame game.

All signs pointed to something being very, very wrong with his partner.

When that evening rolled around and there was still no Mac, Jack had been about ready to climb out of bed himself and hunt the git down. In the end he was spared the trouble by a surprise visitor – just not the one he’d been expecting.

“Jackie! You’re looking- well, a bit shit, honestly, but much better than before.” Corporal Lee – Ryan, to basically everyone who had known him for more than five minutes – stuck his head through the break in the screens and offered him a wide, toothy grin.

“Thanks,” he shot back, grimacing at him then stopping when it pulled at the colourful array of bruising he knew was adorning his face – and most of the rest of him, come to think of it. “What are you doing here?”

Ryan slipped through the screens to stand beside him, casting a careful eye over his injuries even while he waved a careless hand in dismissal. “Your boy got a splinter that I’m making him get checked out. Thought I’d stop by to see you since I’m already here.”

White, electric panic shot down Jack’s spine. “Mac’s hurt?”

“No, no, he’s fine! Yeesh, calm down. It really is just a splinter, I promise, cross my heart. If he was anybody else, I wouldn’t have made him come here but I swear to god, someone needs to teach that boy he’s not immortal.”

The words were clearly meant in jest, but Jack felt the pit of worry in his gut that had opened when he woke up without Mac beside him suddenly yawn wider. Mac had never been particularly good at putting his own safety on his list of priorities, and if he really was blaming himself for Jack’s injuries, then there was a good chance he’d be acting downright reckless.

“He’s been giving you a hard time?” He asked, just to make sure.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Honestly man, I have no idea how you do it. I’ve been driving myself hoarse telling him to keep his goddamn head down and I’ve only been working with him a few days.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said, hoping his levity covered the ice crawling through his chest. Goddamn it Mac, you don’t get to do this. “You two have any trouble?”

“Nothing worth reporting on. More IEDs than I ever wanted to see in my life but that’s kinda par for the course, right?”

“Tell me about it.”

“But other than that, it’s been pretty quiet. Word got around that your boy took out ten hostiles on his own, so maybe the T-men are all too busy trying to stay out of his way. I sure fucking would if I were them.”

That did actually pull a smile out of Jack, despite everything. The situation was definitely FUBAR, but it was about time someone other than him realised the sheer elemental force that was a pissed off Angus MacGyver. For a skinny little bomb nerd, he packed a surprising punch.

“You haven’t seen the half of it yet.”

“You have no idea how horrifying that is to hear, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, you said he was here, right? In medical?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, smiling. Clearly he wasn’t distracted by Jack’s meek attempts at feigning disinterest. “Yes, he’s about twenty metres that way, and yes, I will tell him to come and see you as soon as that pretty blonde nurse stops flirting with him. I thought he was gonna come yesterday, but he ended up just crashing. Not sure he’s been sleeping all that well.”

The last was said with a quiet, gentle concern, the type of tone that made Ryan one of the most popular soldiers on base. He might be a devil in a firefight, but he was genuine and he cared about the men he served with well beyond what he was officially required to do. Jack was, not for the first time, very glad that this was the Overwatch Mac had been transferred to.

“Who does, in this place? Can you remember what your twenties were like? I’m glad I didn’t spend mine in this hellhole.”

Ryan shuddered. “I don’t think I was ever that young.”

“Me neither.” They shared a look of weary amusement as Ryan patted a warm hand to his shoulder and kicked off from where he’d been leaning against the bed.

“I’ll go make sure your boy doesn’t escape without saying hello. You take care man, okay? We’ve missed you in the barracks.”

“Not sure anyone’s ever missed my snoring before,” he shot back with a smile, then sobered. “And hey, thanks man. For watching out of him. There’s no one else I’d trust more.”

“Don’t sweat it. You’ve pulled my ass out of the fire before. You just rest up and let me take care of your bomb nerd for a bit.”

..

Mac knew that Ryan had only really been making him come to medical to prove a point and that it was all in service of trying to watch out for him while Jack was laid up, but he still found himself pissed off by it. He wasn’t a child in need of someone to pull out his splinters – he’d been perfectly capable of doing that since he was five. Besides, Ryan hadn’t even tried to pretend it wasn’t payback for Mac ignoring his warnings earlier that morning and momentarily ducking out of his sightline to check out a suspicious rock pile.

There hadn’t even been anything buried under the rocks – it was just a false alarm. He’d been back under the protective watch of Ryan’s scope inside of a minute.

All of this to say, he was pretty sour about the whole experience. The nurse was incredibly patient with him, raising an eyebrow at Ryan when he cheerfully explained the problem like he was a parent dropping a kid off at daycare. The attitude had not helped matters. Regardless, she’d sat him down and pulled out her disinfectant and tweezers, and hadn’t reacted at all to Mac’s stormy expression.

It was a waste of his time, and more importantly hers. There were soldiers here with real, actual injuries that needed tending to and here he was taking up space and resources for a ‘wound’ he had scarcely even noticed. Still, he was here now and it wasn’t like Ryan wasn’t going to give him shit for it if he didn’t stick around, so he stayed where he was, feeling worse with every passing minute.

The splinter was hardly difficult to find, in inch long fragment of wood sticking haphazardly out of the inside of his wrist. Too shallow to cause any real damage, but long enough to itch something fierce. It had taken all of Mac’s willpower not to scratch himself raw on the drive back. The nurse hummed in sympathy when she saw it, but didn’t take the opportunity to make a comment that would so visibly have been unwelcome. She simply disinfected her tweezers and got to work.

The process hurt, but it was superficial. More frustrating was the agonising amount of time she spent examining the wound, trying to make sure she’d removed every last bit of debris before she let him go. He knew that it was literally her job to thorough and that he’d live to regret it if there was something nasty still lurking under his skin, but he couldn’t help his own impatience. He’d done everything he could to avoid the medical tents in the last few days and now he was stuck here, no doubt metres away from his Overwatch.

The urge to give in and seek Jack out was almost overwhelming now that he was actually here.

He’d been told that he’d woken up and didn’t appear to have suffered any neurological effects from his injuries or from his extended sedation, but Mac couldn’t trust that until he saw it with his own eyes. If he hadn’t been so sure that Jack wouldn’t want to see him, he’d have been at his side as soon as he heard the news. As it was, Jack hadn’t asked for him so he’d stayed clear.

Ryan reappeared just as the nurse was smoothing a dressing down over the small gash. “Dalton’s a tough son of a bitch, huh?”

Mac’s head snapped up to look at him. “You’ve been to see him?”

“Yeah. And, as it turns out, I think he’s pretty surprised that you haven’t.” Ryan raised his eyebrows pointedly, somehow both a question and a condemnation. Mac was in no mood to answer either.

He shrugged. “I’ve been busy, and he’s been sleeping.”

“He’s not sleeping now.” Mac bit his tongue to clamp down on his response to that. Fortunately, Ryan didn’t seem to need one, because he continued, “He’s asking to see you. If you’re done here?”

The nurse, packing up her things, nodded amiably as an answer, then bid them both goodbye and left. Mac somehow felt more exposed with her gone and nothing else to distract Ryan’s attention.

He wanted to refuse. The only reason Jack would be asking after him is if he wanted to tear him a new one for being so uncompromisingly shit at his job that he’d nearly killed his partner, and Mac just didn’t think he was solid enough to take that right now. But, really, that didn’t matter. If Jack wanted to chew him out, then it wasn’t like it was anything Mac didn’t one hundred percent deserve. He’d have to face the music sooner or later and he stubbornly refused to be a coward about it.

“Okay,” he said instead of trying to find an excuse. “Lead the way.”

Brave face or not, apparently he was a coward in the end anyway, because he hesitated at the very last hurdle; it had taken Ryan physically pushing him forwards to get him past the screens surrounding Jack’s bed. The view that greeted him was- not unexpected, but hardly a pleasant one either.

Jack was awake and blinking at him, which was a vast improvement on the unconscious slump he’d worn the last time Mac had laid eyes upon him, but his face was also a patchwork of blues and purples, softening to a sickly yellow at the edges. He looked – well. He looked like a wall had been dropped on his head.

He opened his mouth with absolutely no idea what was about to fall out of it, but it didn’t matter because Jack immediately cut him off.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

It brought Mac up short. “I- What?”

“Me getting hurt. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Jack-”

“No, shut up, listen to me. I know you and I think I’m finally getting some idea of what’s going on in that idiot head of yours because you told Torres that you were to blame for all this. Isn’t that right?”

“Well. I am.”

Jack huffed, visibly annoyed, and Mac had no idea what he was supposed to do in this situation. He’d expected anger, shouting, not whatever this was. “Goddamn it kid. This isn’t on you, of course it isn’t. Why would you even think that?”

He’d apparently meant it as some sort of rhetorical question because he blanched when Mac put up a hand to count his mistakes on his fingers. Jack spoke before he had the chance to start.

“No, don’t actually answer that. Forget I asked. Look, whatever moon logic you’re using to blame yourself for this? It’s nonsense, man. And no one else is going to tell you that because they don’t know, but I was there, okay? I was there the whole time. And I’m telling you right now that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Distantly, Mac felt his body trembling. This wasn’t what he’d expected.

“We were in a shit situation, and your quick thinking is what got us out of it. I’m the one who was stupid enough to run towards an active IED even when I knew it was about to blow. And even after that, when the person who’s supposed to be watching out of you was out for the count, you kept your shit together long enough to get us both home without any further injury.”

Mac blinked at him.

“You saved my life, man.”

That was too much. He hissed, flinching at the absurdity of it. “I nearly killed you.”

“Nah, I did that. My mistake, not yours. And besides, I’m fine – couple of bruises ain’t nothing.”

“You were coming back because I was in trouble. Because I couldn’t look after myself for three minutes.”

Jack was shaking his head and Mac wished he’d stop because it looked like it hurt, and he couldn’t bear any more of Jack’s pain right now. “We were surrounded by hostiles Mac. It’s my job to keep an eye out for them so you can keep your eyes right where they need to be, and even I thought they’d all gone into that building. Anyone outside of that was trying to keep out of sight and you had no way of knowing you needed to be watching for that kind of threat. That’s what I’m here for, remember?”

Unable to find words to refute him, Mac just shook his head adamantly.

His Overwatch’s gaze turned soft. “Hey, man, c’mon. You’ve got to know that you didn’t have any control over what happened, and the bits you did, you did great. You got me out of there all by yourself. So what’s going on man?”

Mac hesitated, feeling torn open and raw, but somehow still entirely safe under Jack’s eyes. When he said nothing further, Mac felt himself deflate. “I’ve never-” He stopped, retried. “I didn’t come out here to hurt people,” he managed quietly. “All I’ve tried to do is disarm IEDs and limit the destruction and then this time…”

“This time you were the one setting the bomb.” Jack’s voice was level, understanding and without judgement.

“Yeah. And, of course, not only do I manage to-” He bit off the end of that sentence, his breathing ragged. “I also nearly killed you.”

He was aware that there were tears welling in the corners of his eyes, but he honestly couldn’t have been sure what emotion they were trying to convey. He just felt overwhelmed.

Jack put out a hand, setting his fingertips lightly on Mac’s elbow, the only part of him he could reach where Mac was keeping his distance. “That was the first time you killed someone,” he said calmly.

Wordless and bereft, Mac nodded. One of the tears slipped free.

“Ah, kiddo,” Jack breathed, leaning over a little further to grab Mac’s arm properly and pull him closer. Laid up as he was, he couldn’t offer much of a hug, but he was able to settle for tucking Mac into the curve of his arm and settling him there. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you hear me? I’m so sorry that you were in that situation at all, but you did everything right. Those men- They would have killed you and me and everyone in that village without hesitation, okay? I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you were protecting people Mac.”

Exhausted, overwhelmed, and with no way of voicing any of it, Mac just clung to Jack with a desperation he’d be self-conscious about if he was anyone else. Jack shushed him softly, running his hand up and down his back, and it was only then that Mac realised he was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled wetly, not sure himself if he was apologising for Jack’s injuries or his own meltdown.

“Ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. I’ll keep telling you as long as you need to hear it hoss, but this wasn’t your fault. None of it.”

They stayed like that for a long time. Mac felt himself starting to come together again just a little, still raw and hurting but able to breathe again. It was imperfect, but it was still somehow the best he’d felt in days. When he pulled back his head to look at Jack, he found his Overwatch smiling at him.

“There you are. Had me worried for a moment.”

“Sorry.”

Jack snorted. “If you insist on apologising, you could at least have the decency to do it for something that actually deserves it. Like, say, driving Ryan up the wall with your reckless behaviour?”

Mac’s eyes dropped, flushing. Jack just laughed at him, warm and relieved, absent of any actual anger. That part would probably come later, but it was obvious to anyone who looked that Mac wasn’t going to be able to withstand that sort of attack right now.

“Damn it kid. You’re okay though, right? Not hiding any injuries or something?”

“No. I should be asking you that. You’re the one who nearly died.”

“I’m not that easy to kill, brother. And besides, I had you watching my back. I knew you’d get me home safe.”

Mac’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think unconscious counts as safe.”

“I’m awake now, aren’t I?”

“Jack.”

Unable to help himself, Jack ruffled a hand through Mac’s mop of hair, laughing when he chirped in alarm and rapidly backpedalled out of reach. “I’m going to be just fine Mac. Quit worrying about me. I’ll be back on duty and driving you crazy over the radio in no time at all.”

When it came, Mac’s smile was a careful thing. “Can’t wait.”

“Me neither kid. Me neither.”

[shinebrite97]

Part 3

Read Part 2 here      

  Her phone had seen no action since her message to Lucifer, and with no little check mark to indicate he’d seen it, she figured he was still up to his eyeballs in papers and backlogged work.          Now her phone sat beside a fancy little appetizer plate along with too many forks and spoons, hidden behind a basket of steaming rolls between the two of them.          A quick dinner at Ristorante 6?

        Her mind was racing, taking in the sites of well-dressed demons giving her judgmental looks as Diavolo simply smiled and buttered a roll.          “So,” She said. “It's been some time since we’ve spoken...hasn’t it?” She asked.          “You’re absolutely right, Yuri,” He replied. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve spent time with you at all since you returned.” He glanced up, golden eyes boring into her from across the table as he busied himself unbuttoning the long sleeves of his uniform. “Tell me, how are you settling in as a returning student?”          “I...it’s been…” She trailed off, wondering how to respond. “I’m enjoying myself.”  When he didn’t say anything more, she shifted awkwardly in the chair. Its back was too high, the velvet cushion too firm, the space between her and the table suddenly felt very restricting.         "Um…" Yuri bit her lip, considering all the things she could gush about. The food, the people, the things she was learning. "I don't know…" she replied. "I'm just...happier here." She turned her head, stifling some comment about Stockholm Syndrome, and looked back when Diavolo opened his mouth. He closed it again, and her eyes flitted down, seeing him grip a golden soup spoon.          "Are you and Lucifer expecting another paper from me at the end of term?"          Diavolo laughed.         "No," he said. "No. I just wanted to know."          "Okay," she replied. "But I know you didn't bring me to this beautiful restaurant to ask about my stay."          "No, I suppose I didn't." His words ended in a trill, almost as if he was waiting for her to make the next move, but with a distinct lack of details as to why she was here, she bowed her head, letting the awkward silence fill in, hoping this chair would come to life and devour her.          “I’m not really sure how much help I’ll be for anything, to be honest.” She said. “I’m flattered, but…”         “Yuri, I need you to marry me.”         Dead air. That's what came of her parted lips. She hadn't even closed her mouth when Diavolo processed his words. He shook his head, feeling a bright burn in his cheeks as he cleared his throat.         "I could have said that better," he said.          "Sir?* She asked.          "I can explain," he said. "You are aware that I am the next in line for the throne, correct?"         "Yes."         "I have been raised for this position for thousands of years, and I've always done as instructed, learned all there is to learn, and the powers that be have decided that I'm ready."         "That's amazing!" Yuri replied with a big grin. "Congratulations Lord Diavolo!"          "Thank you," his smile took up the majority of his face, a bright beam that overtook the single candle at their table, and Yuri blushed.         I'd give anything to see that smile…         "However," he added. "There is one condition I seemed to have overlooked in all this, a requirement of ascension is to have a partner, one who can ensure the successful production of an heir."          "That's...awfully practical." Yuri replied. "And you're asking me to...take that spot?"         "I am," he murmured. "Now I'm not asking you out of convenience. I am asking because you have become a trusted friend, and because...well...you are the only woman who isn't afraid to be seen with me. The only person, aside from Lucifer and Barbatos, who will speak to me...who isn't afraid of me."         "Dia…" she whispered. The turn of his lips at her response made the pit of her belly burn. It was something so guarded, an attempt at hubris that didn't quite reach his eyes. Eyes that glimmered with tears in the flickering light of their table's candle. She saw his knuckles clenched above the table, fingers wrapped around the soup spoon, and without thinking, she felt his warm skin under her hand. Smooth as marble, strong and still. He barely noticed at first, but once he did, he cleared his throat and averted his eyes, but very pointedly did not move his hand away.         "Basically," he said. "I need your help with the ceremonial side for things. My coronation with take place during my wedding, and if you accept...it would also be your coronation...and wedding."          "Coronation?" She asked.         "Yes…" he said quietly. "Even at the lowest level of royalty, it would  involve changing your title, you would become Lady Diavolo, and I would become King...you would take on the responsibility I currently possess, and...well, the rest of the logistics could be decided later."          "I see…"         "Now I will not force you to agree, I will not hold you against your will, I am simply asking you...because...well to be perfectly honesty with you, Yrui...there isn't another lady I would want to ask.'         "Diavolo?" she asked.         "Not to mention, Barbatos told me. I asked him to look into the futures, the realities where this takes place, and I either forfeit the crown, or I live in a loveless arrangement with some other demon nobility, or I ask you...and he swore we were happy."          "Wow…"         "Is this too much?" He asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…."         "Here you are," a raspy voice broke off his apology as the horned waiter set down plates at the table for them.          Carved Shadow Hog was the only food item on the plates that Yuri recognized having enjoyed it with the brothers before. However the cup holding an odd-looking relish had bits resembling pineapple. Diavolo smiled in thanks as he lifted his fork.          "It looks delicious," Yuri said carefully. The waiter bowed his head before slithering away to the next table and Yuri picked up her fork, first going for the medley of steamed bitter vegetables.         She learned early on not to judge meals by name or appearance, because the one she feared most, the Quetzalcoatl brains had ended up becoming a comfort food for her. She recognized the prickly cucumber and the odd little root vegetable, one that Asmo seemed to favor, always saying that it was good for reducing puffy skin under one's eyes.          Diavolo paused his words long enough to take a bite of his shadow hog topped with the pineapple relish, though the second his mouth closed, he frowned, lips pursing and mouth scrunching as his eyes squinted into slits. He chewed hard, quickly swallowing and shuddering before taking a longer-than-necessary sip of red wine.          "Is everything okay, sir?" She asked.          He nodded, using the napkin to wipe his top lip.          "There are...pickles...in the pineapple relish." He grumbled.         She laughed. A loud sound that traveled through the dining room and left her quickly covering her mouth in embarrassment         "Oh, I see…" she smirked, hiding a giggle behind her napkin as she dabbed at her lips. Fondly, she remembered their conversations, the first time Diavolo ever confessed his hatred for pickles, and the time Barbatos and Lucifer devised a plan to slowly incorporate them into his meals. He'd been weary of any food prepared by them for months following the incident.          "You like pickles, don't you, Yuri?" He asked.         "I do, in fact." She replied. He smiled politely, using just his thumb and index finger to hastily pick up the small glass bowl and placed it gingerly on her plate.          "For you, my dear." he said softly.         Yuri giggled, accepting it and placing it beside her own. After a quick sample of it with the tip of her fork, she beamed.          "This is delicious!" She said.         "Ah the perks of partnership…" Diavolo mused. "One to enjoy the foods you do not."         "If I accept this deal," she said. "I know there is more than just a title and a dress. What are the things I will be learning?"         "Good question! I'll admit even I hadn't thought that part all the way through yet," he blushed. "You would require at least a crash course of everything I learned growing up... considering I have six thousand years of knowledge...and you only have two months to learn everything…"         "I'm sorry," she interrupted. "Two months?"          He had the decency to look stricken as he took in her response.         "Yes…" he said. "I know that is hardly any time, and I wished I had more time to offer you," His fingertips drummed against the surface of the table as he willed himself to he devoured into the chair behind him now. "I, myself, only found out about all of this today."         "I see…" she replied.         "Well, I think I have said everything I can on this topic, and I believe my last method of persuasion is simply begging on my knees, but I do hope you wouldn't have me do that here."          Yuri blushed at the idea, waving away the mental image and nodded.         "If I may...do I have time?" She asked. "At least tonight...just to think about it?"          "It is only right to grant you that," he said. "Very well. Once we finish our meal I will walk you back to The House of Lamentation."          "Thank you." She smiled.          

         Yuri was surprised at how nice it was to spend time with Diavolo alone. It was a thought that at one point intimidated her, but now more than ever she realized just how lonely the young demon prince was.          Their dinner conversation often shifted quickly, and once she used her DDD to find a Devilgram post he told her about, she finally saw the list of comments under each post.         Under one of Mammon and Leviathan, Diavolo had commented "That looks like fun!"          Under one of Asmodeus with shopping bags. "How wonderful!"         A post from Simeon where Luke seemed to be nudging Solomon out of the Purgatory Hall Kitchen. "Come have tea sometime!"

I'd like to join next time! Hope you enjoyed yourself! We should get together!

        Listening to him animatedly discuss things regarding those around him, all as heresay, made her realize how little he was in on others' lives.          He needed someone. A social buffer, the small cute thing that made him seem more approachable.          He needed a friend who appreciated him as much as he appreciated other.         He needed a partner.         And he'd asked her to be just that.         After dinner, and a bill he didn't even let her look at, he kept his word and walked with her right up to the gate, a quick goodbye and a quicker tight hug, and he watched as she walked up the steps and used her key to open the door.          I'll do it. 

[kaibacorpintern]

For the prompt thing: kaiba + yuugi + professionalism!

this was fun!! thanks to @dxmichelle for the retail stories. kaiba as a retail worker is like me when I was a retail worker because when i worked at a barnes and noble, i spent a LOT of time perfectly squaring the books. anyway all the kaibacorp adventure park castmembers get some fat fucking pay raise/benefit boosts after this

***

This was all Jounouchi’s fucking fault and Seto was never agreeing to any stupid fucking bets again. When did he become a good duelist, instead of just a lucky one? And he knew it, too, announcing his plans to win the Domino City Invitational with the kind of brash, easy confidence that was a front for nothing, a Roman wall around nothing, with nothing he needed to defend on the other side. As hard to read as a coloring book. Asshole. 

“The gods have struck men down for less hubris than this,” Seto snapped, over a game of poker at Yuugi’s weekly game night. Mokuba had badgered him into attending after their return from the yearly strategic planning retreat with the board. You need to be around normal people! No more sharks in people suits! 

“So what? You don’t believe in higher powers, Rich Boy.”

 “In my experience, a god and a higher power are two separate things."

“Oh, okay, Neeshee. Maybe you don’t believe in me, but you do believe in games,” Jounouchi said.

“Devastating insight,” Seto said. “And it’s Nietzsche.”

“Bless you. Don't be rude and sneeze into a tissue next time. Let’s make a bet. When I win the Invitational, you… pick up all my shifts at the Kame Game Shop for a week. I take home all the paychecks, but you do all the work. You know, bog-standard capitalism.”

Seto rolled his eyes. “When you lose, you give the jet a good wash and wax. Then you throw your deck and your Duel Disk into the river, and never duel again.”

“Deal. And I tell you what, Kaiba. One day we’re gonna meet across the field, and you’re going to lose, but it won’t even bother you, because you had just so much fun,” Jounouchi said, extending his hand across the table, with a savage grin. 

“Don’t fucking threaten me,” Seto said, shaking his hand.

Asshole! Jounouchi stomped the competition with an ease Seto hadn’t seen since he was fourteen and unceremoniously sacking Inspector Haga at the Pan Pacific Final. 

At least Yuugi gave him his own nametag, instead of making him wear Jounouchi’s: a plastic, turtle-shaped badge with a white space for his name. There was a line below it that said MY FAVORITE GAME IS... chess, Seto wrote in moodily, with the marker. Then he affixed it to his dark-green apron, neatly and precisely, just over his heart.

Yuugi nudged the curtain into the stock room aside, wearing a matching apron and smiling like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Ready to clock in - oh, no. This is the Kame Game Shop,” he said, reaching up to fix Seto’s name tag, tweaking it to sit slightly at an angle. “Perfect right angles are for squares.”

“A KaibaCorp Adventure Park castmember wouldn’t be caught dead with their nametag this sloppy,” Seto snapped.

“It’s not sloppy. It’s jaunty and playful,” Yuugi corrected. “Now, let’s review. You’re an engineering prodigy, so I’m sure you can handle the register. What do we do when a customer walks in?”

Seto sighed, hands bracing on his hips as his eyes rolled towards the ceiling. That asshole picked up five full days of double shifts. 

“Welcome them when they walk in,” he said, as Yuugi nodded along. “Ask if they need any help. If they’re just browsing, leave them alone. Provide recommendations if they ask.”

“And?” Yuugi prompted, raising his eyebrows.

“Wrap and bag their purchases and thank them for wasting my fucking time.”

Yuugi reached up, pressing the tips of his index fingers into Seto’s cheeks. “No! Smile!” 

Seto bared his teeth.

“Can’t believe people call you a bad sport,” Yuugi said. “Maybe just smize instead. Go! Clock in! Upsell your own Duel Disk!”

Seto let out a final dramatic huff, took the clipboard off its hook on the wall, and added his billion-dollar contract signature to the timesheet, below several rows of Jounouchi’s scrawl. 

***

After four hours, Seto took his lunch break, an all-too-brief thirty minutes in the alley behind the Game Shop, leaning back with one foot propped against the wall, answering emails on his phone with all the speed and fury his thumbs could muster. It was high summer. Vines spilled over the wall on the other side of the alleyway, limp and vibrating with heat. Even the shade under the wall was warm. 

The side door opened. He turned his head, preparing a choice little bon mot for Yuugi, and paused, his breath hitching in his chest with a wild regret, birdlike, startled suddenly out of hiding. 

He stared at Sugoroku, privately cursing Jounouchi for the nth time for making the fucking bet, winning the fucking Invitational, and putting him here in this fucking alleyway, staring at Sugoroku. It was too late to go back inside. Sugoroku stared back, hoary-haired, stooped under the weight of his years. Even wizened, with skin like old, pale leather, the family resemblances were clear: the same big, warm eyes, the same bright smile, no less weakened for age. 

He shuffled out the door, dragging a small garbage bag of recycling beside him.

“Open that up and drop this in, will you please? My back’s not what it used to be.”

“Yes,” Seto said, rapidly stooping to take the bag. Should he add sir? Yes, sir? He hadn’t said 'sir' to anyone in ten years. What was he supposed to say? Sorry. I was not myself. I was myself, but the worst version. It was the beta release of me and we have removed the bugs (the murder bugs) in advance of stable release. All remaining bugs are acceptable. We have added accurate legal and medical disclaimers to all our SolidVision and Virtual World products about how the sensory intensity of KaibaCorp proprietary holographic technology may exacerbate existing heart conditions. I am taking good care of her and I love her and she loves me. Who? Her. The dragon. 

He dropped the bag into the recycling bin several steps away and turned around to face Sugoroku, summoning his resolve with an inhale, exhale, firm and deep. 

“How’s your first day?” Sugoroku said.

“My company isn’t going down in flames without me,” Seto said. “Color me surprised.”

“How’s your first day here?”

“Enthralling. The adrenaline high of consumer retail is really just something else - ”

“Speak up, I can’t hear you over all that racket you’re making,” Sugoroku said. Seto paused, bewildered, mouth half-open - and shut it, color flaring across his face.

“Uh - fine,” he muttered. “It’s fine. I helped an eight-year-old pick out a board game.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She came in with all the allowance she’d saved up and she wanted something she could play with her sister. I sold her on mancala."

"That's a classic. Not a board game, but a classic. And hard to sell to children."

Seto scoffed. "I hate the crap they pass off as board games these days, with all the… fiddly, little plastic pieces and the arcane rules. Children get drawn in by the colors, but they don't have patience for the rules, so it ends up forgotten at the bottom of a bookshelf somewhere with half the pieces sucked up in the vacuum cleaner. Mancala is simple. You can play it with a patch of dirt and a handful of gravel. But if you want to win, you need to play with skill and wit. It's timeless. It’s elegant."

"Well, you've sold me. I haven’t played mancala in years. Shall we play tomorrow? During your lunch break?"

Seto said nothing, resisting the urge to bite his lip, a bad habit and a sign of nervousness.

“Yuugi speaks very highly of you, you know,” Sugoroku said. “I’d love to know why.”

He chuckled and shuffled back inside, leaving Seto fuming with an odd, stomach-clenching embarrassment. 

He checked his phone. Three more minutes left of his lunch break, and his feet were aching. He should’ve worn different shoes, not the Chelsea boots. Tomorrow. Mancala? Damn Jounouchi to hell. Better shoes.

***

“Excuse me,” the woman said. “Do you have Legendary Heroes II?”

Seto abandoned his task of aligning board game boxes at perfect right angles. Fuck jaunty and playful.

“No. That’s not out until December,” he said. The production issues on Legendary Heroes II were a fucking nightmare, and the thought of making his game developers crunch - making them miserable, overworked, and more likely to quit and get snapped up by Schroeder Corp - gave him hives. So he’d pushed release back to December, allowing the small hit to his stock under the rationale that the holiday retail season would make up for it. But she didn’t need to know that. 

“But - it’s my son’s birthday next Saturday, and Legendary Heroes is his favorite game,” she said, hands clenching loosely by her stomach, a gesture of pleading.

“I’m delighted to hear it. It does not change the fact that the game literally does not exist,” Seto said. 

“Can you just check in the back? He’s been asking about this for months now,” she said, and Seto clicked his teeth, face slipping into a snarl - from the corner of his eye, he saw Yuugi, watching him.

Smile, he mouthed, and pressed his fingers into his own cheeks, putting on a manic, plastic grin. 

“Of course. I’ll be right back,” Seto said, smiling, and stormed away. As expected, he did not find Legendary Heroes II in the stock room. He dawdled, checking his email, firing off a few replies, advising Mokuba on the right way to handle the zesty temperament of their general counsel - this’ll be fun, Mokuba said, I get to run KaibaCorp without you, like, dying or something - WHAT? - and stashed his phone back into his apron pocket.

“My apologies,” he said, returning to the woman. “We don’t have it in stock. If you’d like to pre-order it, it’ll be available just in time for Christmas. Just log on to the KaibaCorp website and enter the Kame Game Shop as your pick-up location. If you’re still looking for a birthday gift, I strongly suggest the new Duel Disk. The design is much better for children than the old one - lighter and more streamlined, with less intense haptics. If he already has a Duel Disk, he can bring that in for a trade-in.”

“Oh, perfect!” she said. “We'll do that. Thank you. You’ve been so helpful.”

“You’re welcome. Have a fantastic day,” Seto said, still smiling. He watched her leave and returned to his board game boxes, feeling hideously, fabulously smug. A customer walked in, carrying a bare Duel Disk under his arm, and Seto shot him a cheerful welcome. The man ignored him, heading straight to Yuugi at the counter.

***

Yuugi swallowed, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin.

"I'm sorry. We cannot accept a Duel Disk return without a box or a receipt," he said. Clearly stolen. 

"But I bought it here two weeks ago. And the stupid piece of shit is defective," the man said. "I want my money back!"

Loud enough that Seto, re-stocking towards the front of the store, turned towards them, with open curiosity.

"What's the nature of the defect?" Yuugi said.

"It just doesn't fucking work. I don't know what else to tell you," the guy said. "Are you gonna do the return or not?!"

His least favorite type of customer: smashing reason apart with the baseball bat of belligerence. Yuugi steeled himself for the inevitable slew of insults. 

"Sir. I can't do the return without a receipt - "

A hand came down on his shoulder, pulling him with polite insistence out of the way. Seto, with a canny, feline smile, the kind that foretold bloodshed on the dueling field.

"Oh no, Yuugi," he said. "Let me handle this."

[heavymetalover]

Heresy (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

Summary: You’re a witch visiting the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men, aiding to your fallen Supreme, Cordelia, when suddenly engaging in a spontaneous rendezvous with the Boy Wonder himself, Michael Langdon.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, light choking, fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, dom/sub, hickies, rough sex, daddy kink.

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: back with another one shot after a depressive episode hahaaaaa fuck

feel free to ask me stuff, i may get to a request if i have time. also i needa follow more ahs/cody blogs since im slowly morphing back into an ahs blog so ill try to follow everyone back! anyways 

enjoy:)

~~~~

 Ever since your arrival at Hawthorne, you’ve been enamored with the talk of the town. Mr. Bigshot Michael Langdon. You came with Cordelia, the plane ride made you nauseated. Not from the immoderate turbulence, but from the thought of your Supreme falling. You all had doubts, thought that Michael was just another powerful warlock, nothing too menacing; but when Michael brought back your sisters from the dead, something Cordelia couldn’t even do, you knew he was a threat.

Michael is one of the few people on this Earth you’ve met with unbreakable confidence. He holds his head high, a cunning smirk enduringly secured on his full pink lips. Yet something about him is also so child-like. His power excites him and he’s always quick to engage in conversation about himself; almost giddy with his effervescent wit, yet beautifully controlled.

You don’t know what made you want to engage with this man, the most you’ve ever done with him is shake his hand. There was a moment he brushed against you, you felt a hard bulge in his pants lightly brush against your ass, his big hand squeezing your shoulder as he wedged himself past you, lingering slightly and feeling as if he purposely was pushing his pelvis against you. You dismissed your suspicions of this minor interaction, explaining it away as a whimsical delusion plagued by your hormonal, juvenile brain. Although, you wanted more than anything to believe he was coming onto you, you were here to support the witches. Your sisters. Not the desperate, power-driven warlocks.

It’s late in the evening, Cordelia passed out on the couch in the common area while the other witches attempt to nurse her to health, a few of them nearly falling asleep next to her. For some odd reason, your eyes are resisting sleep tonight. You’re carelessly flipping through a book, eyes grazing over the tiny words. Your mind is preoccupied with something else, someone else. Constantly glancing around the room just in hopes you’d catch a glimpse of his golden curls reflecting the candlelight, or even his black cloak dramatically flowing behind him, something, anything to feed your hunger.

You presume a few hours have passed now; the whole school has gone silent except for a thumping bass in the distance. Once you fixate on the noise, your eyebrows knit in confusion. You thought you were the last person awake. You shut the book you’ve been neglecting and set it back on the shelf, prudently pursing the bass-y melody. Your heels echoing in the empty halls, stopping dead in your tracks when you come to the hall where the music originates. You walk through the arch into the rich, golden hallways lit up by flickering candles. Hard rock music blaring from a closed door, but it becomes obvious who’s room it is as you get closer. You can recognize his scent from a mile away. The music comes from Michael’s room.

You ball your fist, ready to pound his door and tell him to turn down his music, but pause before you can make contact with the door. You hear low groans over the music, momentarily mistaking them to be apart of the song, but soon realizing it’s Michael’s voice when he grunts out a loud “fuck!”

Your jaw drops, just hearing his moans on the other end of the door makes your heart sink. With little hesitation, you press your ear against the door, your earring hitting the polished wood and making a louder clink than you expected. Michael doesn’t seem to notice, continuing his low moans from inside the room.

You initially came with the intention of telling him off, giving him a much-needed reality check that the world doesn’t revolve around him. But you’re compelled to put all of that on hold and keep listening, laying your palm against his wooden door and resting on it, catching yourself pretending it’s Michael’s sturdy, defined body. You know you shouldn’t be so thirsty for him; he exudes arrogance out of his pores, exhausting and intoxicating you all at once. You’d never admit it, but buried deep down, you know you like that about him. You like his hubris, it makes you fantasize about how possessive he’d be when fucking you, how he’d humiliate you.

You run your hand down the door panel and press your cheek harder against the wood. Your other hand reaching underneath your short, lacey black dress. The scent of his cologne is strong enough to have tainted the door. You bask in the gritty, manly pheromones, starting to rub your aching clit in small circles. Your lips grazing the door as you quicken your pace, listening to his loud music and touching yourself to the rhythm. You can see why he listens to it; it’s even helping you get more into the mood.

You’re practically kissing the door when you almost fall flat onto the floor by somebody swinging it open. You regain your balance and collect yourself, feeling your face burning red with embarrassment. Michael’s icy blue eyes scope the situation for a moment, landing on you, then the door, then your hand on your crotch. You pull it away after Michael’s already found it. Shit. He clears his throat. “Y/n,” he talks to you slow, as if you were a toddler, “what the fuck?”

Your mind sets aside his condescending tone for a moment to revel in the fact that he knows your name; though you mentally beat yourself up right after for being so desperate and putting your dignity on the backburner. It takes you a split second to spew out your reply, “I-I could ask you the same.” You bite your tongue in hopes he didn’t linger too much on your stumble. “I could hear your music all the way from the common room, people are trying to sleep.”

“And why aren’t you?” he leans both his arms against the doorframe, looking so lackadaisical and impossibly sexy. You hate him for it.

“I was watching over Cordelia,” you lie, although you wish it was true. You know the only reason is because of him, because your thoughts always come back to his beautiful, smug face.

“I don’t believe you,” he says with a slight shake to his head, his lively curls bobbing with each movement.

You know you should just leave the situation now and give him one last nudge to turn down his music, but something inside you urges you to entertain his question. “Why don’t you believe me?” you ask, bouncing back and forth on the tiny heels of your stilettos. “What else would I be doing?” you wish you could swallow the words back up as soon as they leave your mouth.

He squints his eyes at you as if you had just asked the dumbest question on the planet. “Listening to me,” he shoots back, “and…” His eyes trail down to your crotch and he raises a brow. He doesn’t audibly declare your actions, as if saying the words aloud will frame the situation to be even more perverted than it already is.

“And touching myself,” you finish his sentence, taking a step closer to him.

There’s a certain energy to him, a sinister overtone even when a stupid grin spreads across his face. “You’re a nasty little witch, aren’t you?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

The tension becomes thicker with each pause, you feel your breathing getting uneven, mouth watering, a numbness to your fingertips. Michael looks completely unphased, still holding himself with the utmost confidence. “Maybe that’s for you to decide,” you reply gingerly, “sir.”

He inches himself closer to you until his nose barely brushes the tip of yours. “I think you are,” he whispers. You gulp down all the excess water in your mouth, just looking at him makes you hungry for more. He aggressively takes a chunk of your hair and pulls your head back, the candles in the hallway burn out. Did you do that?

He gives a measly scoff at your powers before turning back to you. Michael leans closer, his lips shave yours ever so slightly. Hooded eyes surveying every inch of your face, pulling tighter and smiling at your wince in pain. “You want me?” he asks, lips lugging against yours, but rejecting the satisfaction of a kiss.

“Yes,” you let out a breathy whisper. “I do, sir.” An attempt to kiss him results in your hair being mercilessly tugged again. It hurt to the point you felt a burning behind your eyes, tears threatening to appear, but you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop. At this point, you’d do anything Michael wanted you to do, be anything he wanted you to be.

He drags the back of his moist tongue down your neck and stops at the base, laying his lips down and lightly sinking his teeth into you, sucking up the salty sweat on your skin. You unexpectedly moan at his ardor, eyes darting around the hall for witnesses. He sucks vigorously, eliciting a surprised gasp from you each time he sucks harder. Deciding he’s done when your neck feels on fire, his mouth parts from your flesh with a delicious smack.

He releases his tight grasp from your hair, now clutching the back of your neck with a death grip, squeezing like he owns your body. A light groan dies on his lips as he comes back to your face, lips touching again. “I smelt you as soon as you came to my door, I know the smell of a witch well.” Neither of you make an effort to pull away, he uses one of his slender arms to caress the side of your body, moving along your curves. “I know the smell of a drenched cunt, too.” His hand finds your pussy and to his avail, he’s correct.

Sliding your panties to the slide, he thumbs your core. You grab his toned arm for balance as he touches your sensitive clit, rubbing it slowly with ease. “You eavesdropped on me fucking myself, huh?” his tone turns rough. “Invading my privacy…” he continues through gritted teeth as if he was holding back on cussing you out completely. He rubs you harder and faster, your face contorting as you grab onto him tighter. You bite your tongue to hold back screams, almost forgetting that you were standing outside of his room, but the thrill of getting caught turns you on even more. You can feel the wetness dripping down your thighs. “You like invading my privacy,” he starts again, rubbing harder than ever. You feel yourself getting pushed to the edge, biting your tongue so hard you draw blood. “Say it,” he demands.

“I like invading your… f-fuck! Y-your privacy,” it takes all your power to form a coherent sentence. Your pussy convulses under his fingers and he takes them away, leaving an agonizing throbbing in your clit.

He pulls you by your wrist into his room, shutting the door behind him. His lips automatically connect to yours, aggressively tongue-fucking your face, barely stopping to take a breath. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks breathlessly. “You want to be used like a whore?”

You smile at his crudeness; his dirty talk sends chills throughout your core. “Yes, daddy,” you respond softly, returning to his kisses. He grins against your kiss at this little nickname. A childish whimper escaping your lips when his pants rub against your unfinished cunt.

He pulls away to tug his black shirt over his head, you take the moment apart to slip off your tight dress. “I was hoping you’d stop by after I pushed myself into you,” he grins. A wave of relief passes through you when you realize that moment you shared with him wasn’t a product fabricated by being overly imaginative. “I knew your body would be mine the moment I saw you in that tight little dress.”

“I wore it just for you,” you speak your words with a sugary sweetness to match your frenzied desperation for him to fill you up. “My body is all yours.”

“I know,” he sneers. He pushes you onto the bed, towering over you as he claws off your panties. His skin slightly glistened in sweat, intimately lit by the dim lighting in his room. You’ve never seen someone look so goddamn sexy. He runs a hand through his perfect golden waved hair before settling himself between your legs. The first contact he makes is licking up your hot cunt before reintroducing his fingers. It won’t take much more to make you come since he started you off in the hall.

Now that you’re in the comfort of his room, you let all your moans escape as loud as you want. “Fuck, Michael!” you yell, hoping the music is loud enough to mask your screams. His tongue pulses against your dripping pussy as his slim fingers work your clit again. You shut your eyes as tight as you can and pull at the sheets of his bed, feeling the vibration of his moans against your cunt and the cadence of the song, everything turns you on.

Just not enough.

I need more.

Nothing seems to satisfy.

I said, I don’t want it.

I just need it.

To breathe, to feel, to know I’m alive.

Michael’s finger slides inside your pussy, pulsing to his own rhythm, speeding up before you can adjust to his intensity. He adds another finger flicking up inside your pussy, tickling your g-spot with each tap. “Fu-” you can’t even release your cursing. “Right there, right there,” you breathe, not sure your words are even audible. Michael begins pacing his tongue over your ripened clit, continuing to fuck you with his long fingers and rub your slit with his thumb, making sure every nerve is stimulated.

You yank his sheets, trying to sit up and watch him devour you, but dropping back onto the bed in defeat. “S-so good,” you cry. He speeds up even more and you yelp. He snickers at your titillation, sending a flood of heat against your cunt. “I’m,” is the only word you can get out before fauceting a stream of clear liquid from your hole.

Michael leans back, letting your pussy release all of the built-up tension. His face scrunches up inquisitively as you come all over his bed. Once you’re done leaking and completely out of breath, Michael glances at you in disbelief. “Wow,” is the only word that can cross his lips before licking up the excess filth that splashed onto your thighs. He climbs on top of you to plant a kiss on your begging lips, you taste your salty juices in his mouth. He parts from the kiss and you lick yourself off of your lips. “That’s my dirty girl,” he praises.

He takes both of your arms and pulls you to sit up on his bed. You’re so lost in ecstasy that you can’t even process Michael slipping his pants down in front of you and the enormous protrusion occupying his boxers. You get thrown back into the fire when his lengthy erection springs out and slaps your cheek. Your brain reacts as if programmed to be his little sex toy. You grab his cock in your hands and shove it down your throat. “Show me how grateful you are that I let you come,” he rocks his hips into your face. You grab his hips to push his dick even further into your mouth, working past your gags and pushing as deep as you can. Every time he thrusts you feel yourself choke on his length, “You like the way I fuck your face, huh? You like how I treat you like a dirty hole?”

You pull him out of your mouth, inhaling the smell of his cologne and spitting on the pink tip of his hard cock. You haven’t seen a dick this big outside of porn, maybe not even in porn. You stroke his length, giving yourself time to recover before shoving him back down your throat. You lick up his balls and he groans, beginning to reposition your head for sucking.

You open your mouth and he shoves himself back in, plunging to the back of your throat. You feel your mouth coat his dick with saliva, choking back on his precum and slurping back all of the juices. You run your hand up and down his shaft, feeling like you’re only able to guzzle down half of his dick. You pull it out of your mouth to spit on his glazed cock, continuing to jerk his shaft. You go back to sucking, bobbing your head up and down as fast as you can and releasing his cock to spit on it. He throws his head back as you continue mouth fucking him. “Goddamn!” he shouts, rocking himself into you even harder. You gag on his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks, he loves this. “Let me see your eyes,” he requests. You look up at him, blinking out your tears. “Fuck me,” he sighs before pulling himself out of your mouth, a white substance oozing from his hole.

You fight to catch your breath as he’s already repositioning you. Pushing you onto all fours and spitting on your cunt before entering. “I can’t wait to stretch out those tight little walls,” he says, teasing his cock up and down your folds. “Say it’s okay,” he begs, his cock pressed against your hole. Your heart skips when he says this. You nod your head, too in shock to conjure an answer. “I want to hear you say it,” he presses.

You gulp down your nervousness, trying not to appear stunned by his need for approval. “I want you to stretch out my walls, daddy,” you finally answer, using your hands to spread your pussy wide for him. “Fuck me until I can’t walk,” you plead, wiggling your tailbone and pushing his erection into your cunt.

This is admission enough for him, he inserts the head and you feel your whole-body tremble. His cock is so thick, you can really feel your pussy stretching for him. He grabs your hips and slowly starts adding some of his length. You tense up and grab his arm, he stops immediately. “Just relax, relax baby,” he reassures you.

You take a deep breath in and he pushes himself into you on exhale, placing a hand on the small of your back as he goes deeper… and deeper and deeper, as if his dick is bottomless. You find yourself pulling at his sheets again, more tears forming in your eyes. He starts rocking his hips, cramming his large cock into your tight pussy. Each push begins loosening you up, your pain turning into pleasure as he inserts more of himself into you. “Good girl,” he flatters, giving a small smack to your ass and making you jump.

Both of you moaning in pleasure, fucking to the rhythm of the song playing. The instruments enveloping you and you push yourself even more against his dick, wanting to feel all of him inside you. “Give it all to me,” you demand, pushing him deeper inside of you. You both sigh with how deep he’s getting. “Fuck me, daddy,” you hear yourself wailing like a child.

“M’yeah?” he breathes, taking it as a challenge. In an instant, he executes your request, shoving himself balls deep, filling your guts with his thick length. Taken aback, you accidentally knock out all the lights in his room with a squeal, leaving behind a single candle on the opposite side of his room. The wind gets knocked out of you; breath unsteady. You can’t summon any words to your lips, just incessant choked sobs that wither away at the back of your throat.

He keeps pounding himself into you, his balls slapping your clit and sending goosebumps throughout your body. “You like being your coven’s dirty slut?” he spits, giving another hard slap to your ass. You can’t bring yourself to answer him. He drills so deep into you that you can feel him hammering your cervix. You can’t take him anymore and autonomously shift yourself away from him with a raucous scream, crawling away from his thick cock, but Michael chases. He clicks his tongue. “Don’t run away from it, baby,” he teases as you keep shifting.

You stop crawling away once you reach the edge of his bed, his cock sitting idly inside your tight pussy as he catches up. He breaks the lull and starts pumping into you quickly again, this time pinning your arms behind your back. “No more running away,” he taunts. You feel your pussy spasming with each plunge, your muscles adjusting to his fat cock, but they never seem to process it. You can’t stop moaning, screaming for more. You roll your eyes back and drop your head in defeat, taking the hard pounding to your cunt. “That’s it, baby,” he sighs. “Take all of daddy’s cock like a good slut.”

He guides himself into you, salaciously smacking into your round ass with each thrust. You feel like your whole body is crumbling under his touch, one more move and you’d be pure dust. Your heartbeat quickened, body shaking, numbness in your legs, you know you’re close to coming. You close your eyes shut, clenching your jaw, stifled moans escaping animalistically from the back of your throat. You squeeze one of Michael’s arms as he continues holding your hands behind your back. Papers fly off his desk, the music volume fluctuates, you can’t believe how strong your powers are becoming under him.

“C’mon, baby,” he continues assaulting your cunt with hard thrusts, “come for me. Come for daddy.” He wraps a large hand around your throat, hitching your breath, and directs your body to be flush against his. Your back against his chest, creating friction as he keeps with the same fervor. His lips against your ear, “Who’s your Supreme now, baby?”

The thought of Cordelia decaying on the couch in the common space right now crosses your mind, but being under Michael’s influence sends dark thoughts rushing in your head. Who cares? “You, Michael. You’re my new Supreme,” you answer with a strangled sob.

He pushes you back onto the bed, burying your head into his mattress. You suck up his scent through the fabric; drooling onto his sheets while being fucked senseless, you love the way he uses you. “That’s right, baby,” he affirms, “I’m the fucking Supreme.”

He gives another smack, and with that, a trembling throughout your entire body. “Michael, I’m coming!” you scream, trying to lift yourself up, but he keeps pushing you down. “Michael, I’m-!” you get cut off by the unyielding orgasm overtaking your body. Your mouth hangs open, eyes rolled back, fingers digging into his sheets. The lower half of your body surrenders to the orgasm gushing juices from your already-soaking cunt.

Michael sneers over you coming before him, but he’s close to release too. You flip onto your back and he fondles your breasts, throwing his head back and letting out a deep sigh. His skin turns a sickeningly pale white, his eyes meet yours, completely blacked out. He leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, his skin burning hot. Why aren’t you scared?

Although you were certain you had lost feeling between your legs from orgasm, when he thrusts himself into you, the hardest he has yet, you can’t help but let out a little yelp. You feel his hot seed spilling into your cunt, he takes himself out of you, smearing his come into your folds with the tip of his cock. You don’t even give yourself the opportunity to dwell on what happened to Michael during orgasm, why he looked so evil. You write it off as maybe-it’s-a-warlock-thing.

He collapses next to you, skin returning to it’s usual light tan and eyes reverting to a deep blue. So blue that you can fall right into them. Oh, your mind wanders, how will you ever hide this from Cordelia? Or worse, how could you explain yourself to her? Face her at this time?

Michael rests his palm on your cheek, swaying your gaze towards him and snapping you out of your daze. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about Cordelia,” he assures you. Fuck, he was listening.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips, much more loving than anything else he’s done with you tonight. “Cordelia is falling. Remember, I’m your Supreme now… and you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

[qhostqizmo]

Little Slice of Heaven

“I would like to be left alone, Theophilus.”

“Come now Lord Amon, no one likes to be left alone.”

A quiet growl rumbled in the nobleman’s throat. His head whipped around, turning a piercing gaze towards the statesman. The corner of his lip peeled back in a snarl nearly feral in nature, prompting the gentleman to hastily take a step back.

“Well I do,” he opposed in a thick tone.

The mousy broad-bellied man shifted sheepishly before him, trying to shrink their figure inward. “P-Please m’lord- you will be rejoining after recess, won’t you?”

“I will need a moment to consider if I shall; or if your wingbagged alias has the ability to be silent and allow someone else to speak at these proceedings, before I pass judgment on that matter.”

“You’re being fatuous, m’lord-”

Amon exhaled sharply. His nostrils flared, the shape of his shoulders growing broader as his spine stiffened. The nobleman peered down at the politician as he spoke in an ominous whisper: “I am being sensible, Master Theophilus. If I waste my time any longer in a room full of arrogant rambling administrators, then I am wasting the time of my territory and those who seek my authority and guidance to protect and serve it. I do not have the hour to sit and be spoken over by the likes of Roulf Boude or Claudia Fulvianus, or any of the like with their hubris and tactless greed. I have other obligations that demand my attention, and when everyone has finally settled into peaceful discussion and respectably appropriate delegations, I would be happy to seek audience again.”

“But for now,” he rumbled, taking a step forward, “I suggest that you go, Theo. I need space to think, and I have responsibilities to attend to and contracts to review and sign. So if you do not mind getting off of my property, and allowing me to go undisturbed into my home-”

Nodding vigorously, the short and stout Theo began to retreat in a backwards scuttle off the Briarton Estate’s pathway. “Yes sir, of course sir, I hope we’ll see you s-soon sir-”

Amon grunted to himself, turning away with a dramatic flick of his cloak. Unlikely.

Bricks laid out the foundation of the walkway to the manor. Within the cracks along some of the blocks; squeezing with determination between slots, a few common wild violets had taken root. He took care not to step on any of them as the tenacious little flowers guided him to the threshold. A strong scent from the house-hugging flora greeted him as he breathed in deeply, opening the heavy oak door. The geranium’s and hydrangea were in bloom, competing each other for dominance in the landscape. They also had a delightful calming effect before stepping in; taking in the range of colors and relaxing scents they provided in the mellow summer breeze.

“Lord Amon?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he called out, shutting the door softly behind.

A young maid stepped around the corner, offering a bow. “Would you like an afternoon snack, my lord?”

“Not at the moment, thank you.”

She curtsied. “Very well milord. Call if you need anything.”

He nodded shortly, sliding the dense mantle from his shoulders to drape over his arm. The nobleman watched the young woman retreat as he stepped further into the foyer, the sound of claws scrambling hastily coming from the east side of the house.

Sighing, he anchored his boots to the floor just as Caesar came barreling from the gallery room. The great mastiff skidded into his knees, letting out one of his tremendous bellowing barks that filled the entire space with his eagerness. He gave a butt wiggle that shook in tandem with his tail, leaving Amon to chuckle as he reached down to scratch the hunting dog’s ears.

“A very dignified entry Caesar,” he reported as the pooch groaned with pleasure. “How’s my good boy?”

“Arf.”

“Excellent. Have you been out recently?”

The hairy beast of a creature gave a mighty shake, sitting upon his hunches. He tilted his head, panting heavily up at his master.

“Outside?” Amon asked, patting his head.

A simple whine answered him as Caesar stood up, circling his legs eagerly.

He pat his thigh, signaling for the mastiff to follow. The duo made their way into the gallery room; no longer a dull space of gray stone with only the taxidermy stuffed game to bare their teeth in greeting. Paintings lined the wall; and the new throw rug added a splash of color and pattern to the otherwise uninspiring space. A few seating arrangements had been added, along with a card table and sculptures. There were still a few bare spaces, particularly near the south-side of the room, but that was Part D of a rather extensive project to liven various areas of the house.

Crossing through the identified ‘man cave’ of the lower level, Amon entered the kitchen with Caesar fast at his heels. He propped open the door to the backyard with his foot, allowing the dog to bolt through with a delighted series of yelps as he chased off the closest songbirds rooting the grass for insects.

“Afternoon, milord.”

“Afternoon-” he barely managed to utter, catching just a glimpse of the houseaid before she disappeared into the extended pantry. He cleared his throat: “Would you mind listening to let Caesar in? I’m going to head upstairs.”

“Certainly milord; not a problem.”

“Thank you Carla.”

He took the way back in which he came, passing through the dark-lit interior of the ‘men’s sanctuary’ and into the gallery. His gaze passed the portrait of Fontane to his right; no longer lonely with canvas work added of loved one’s now passed. It was a small memorial space; with pressed lily flowers in frames and a few plaques quoting heartfelt quotes. A large branch had been recently anchored to the wall, with hollow holes allowing small metal dishes to sit sustaining candles. There were even some recent additions he hadn’t seen until this moment: peace lilies added to the vase at the corner nook table, and a new ivy plant along the bottom of the branch.

A twinge of pain radiated through his chest. Pressing his fingers to his lips, Amon blew a kiss to the beaming expression of Marie looking back at him before he moved on.

The Illiad heir hopped up the stairs with a spring in his step, meeting the second landing. Sunlight cascaded past the curtains, the smell of the central courtyard garden entering the open windows. He picked up on the rustling coming from the sitting room just ahead before he saw a figure moving quickly into the doorway.

“M’lord- Oh… Do you want to talk about what happened? You look stressed my love.”

Amon absorbed her appearance; soaking her in like flora to sunshine. The smile that graced her face upon first glance faded quickly with a knit of her worried brow. Shadows fell over her golden eyes like clouds blocking rays of the sun. She fiddled her fingers in front of the pale blush off-the-shoulder shirt she wore; cinched at the waist, with ruffled short-length sleeves. It was a pleasant rosy hue, making the shade of her skintone appear deeper, more a rich brown.

She was a breath of fresh air, deep in the depths of his lungs. He slid his feet forward slowly, finding her arms instantly open to welcome him into her embrace.

He inhaled the faded aroma of soap in her loose black curls, pulling her in close to rock from side to side. The shape of her was a familiarity to him; warm and soft, curving into his frame with the same shade of longing he felt beneath his ribcage.

His wife pressed her lips to the ticklish skin below his ear, and he chuckled.

“Rough day, beloved?”

“Vexing,” he agreed heavily, “but it’s already feeling a bit better.”

“Well I’m happy to hear that,” she hummed. “Can I get you anything? Was the summit dreadful?”

“A mockery Essie; truly. I’ve rarely dealt with such immature individuals. Would you care to join me when we reconvene? I could use your sharp tongue.”

Essätha pulled her head back to arch her brow, a playful smile on her face. “That depends; am I kissing you with it or spearing someone else?”

Amon’s eyes widened with surprise. “Quite the spirited tease today, darling.”

“I do enjoy a good game,” she admitted, reaching back around to pat his chest. “While you were out I went ahead and assessed the contracts Edger sent us; triple-checked them a few times. Our ledges and estimates all seemed in order and correct, but I didn’t sign anything until you oversaw it just in case.”

“You could have, you know I trust you.”

“I know, but I love hearing you read contracts aloud in that sexy deep droning voice of yours.” She winked at him as he chuckled, venturing onward, “besides, it’s a team effort. I would rather you catch my mistakes now than later down the road.”

The nobleman grinned, staring down into her smiling face. He leaned forward, basking in the glory of the way her breath hitched expectedly, and how her lashes fluttered low. She slid her arms around his neck to dig her fingers through his air as his lips brushed hers. A shaky exhale escaped her, waiting patiently, until he pressed closer for a more earnest kiss.

They separated slowly, with her eyes peering up at him beneath dark lashes. The sorcereress dropped her hands from around him, and grabbed gently at his bicep.

“Come, sit with me.”

Amon let go of his noblewoman, allowing her to take his hands instead. She guided him back into the sitting area where she had come from, walking at an angle so her eyes could remain holding his. It was a holy experience, following someone cut from the heart of divinity. He would follow her blindly anywhere, anywhere at all. She was in his blood, in his heart, the sun in his eyes glistening so brilliantly; she was everywhere he wanted to be, the only longing he could not live without.

“You’ve had a long enough day already,” Essie urged sweetly, taking a seat upon the sofa. She pat the spot beside her with her free hand. “Rest.”

He obeyed her willingly, obliging by sinking gently into the cushion beside hers.

She carefully detangled her hand from his. Her fingers brushed against the side of his face and up, pushing stray hairs away from his forehead. His eyes darted over her, watching as she indicated a sweeping gesture over her lap. An invitation.

Once more, loyal and willing, he began to drift towards her. Bunching his knees in, Amon kept his boots mostly off the clean couch by dangling his ankles off to the side as he rolled inward. Scooting and wriggling, he steadied himself to flat on his back, head in her lap, looking up into the vibrant joyful expression peaking down at him. Her smile was stunning; making an already beautiful woman ethereal in ways that slackened his jaw. It was a small gesture, but it softened around her eyes as the edges of her cheeks rounded.

“Wow,” he cooed, “you look incredible from every view.”

Essätha scoofed at him, the bridge of her nose wrinkling in disagreement. “Hussssshh…”

Leaning forward, she grazed her fingertips through his locks. She combed hair back from his forehead, stroked along his eyes, and rubbed the pads of her fingers near his temples.

A groan rose up in his throat, his eyelids falling to half-mast in bliss.

Softly, Essie began to hum. It almost felt as though it was filling his chest; radiating into his ribcage and bouncing around like an orchestra in a cathedral. Amon sighed heavily, allowing the heaviness in his body to drift away as he succumbed to her touch more and more.

She began to whisper slowly a hymn. He understood none of it, but he didn’t have to. Whatever the lyrics were, they were words of an angel, and of love. The words fell into a melody as her voice higher; louder, sweeter. It was not just the celestial tongue that had him so smitten, or the nature of the words. It was her body language that captivated him; the tenderness that poured out of her, the enormity of her compassion and unbridled will of strength.

Gods themselves would weep, hearing something so precious.

He melted; enamored and adoringly staring up into the halo of the sun that was wreathing her head. It was all so dreamy; so beyond what mortals could be capable of. Her touch was a saint’s blessing, carding through mane of fading-black. Her nails scrapped against his hairline; her palms rubbed metric gestures that seemed to coordinate with the rise and fall of her chorus against the side of his head. He imagined he could close his eyes and drift away to sleep; the most comfortable slumber he’d ever have, if he wasn’t so stubbornly enticed to being aware and there in the waking world with her. No fantasy’s ever did justice on the fascination and depth that resided in her soul. Nothing compared to the reality that was being beside her.

Clearing his throat, he reached up to cup the side of her face, sweeping his thumb against her jawline. “I’m in awe of you a little more every day,” he mouthed, breathing deeply.

Essie laughed shyly. “People are going to think I’m charming you with talk like that,” she teased.

“You are quite charming.”

“M’lord Amon.”

“Even when you say my name with disapproval, it’s still the most enchanting thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re love-drunk,” the sorceress murmured, ghosting her lips intimately along his palm, and down to his wrist.

“I have been,” he agreed in a lulled hush. “I have been for a long time, and I couldn’t be happier.”

“Do you not want a cure?” she mused, massaging her fingertips from behind his ears down to his neck.

A shiver rushed over him. “You are my cure. I love being intoxicated by you. You relax me, and you challenge me. You make me stronger, and you bring me to my knees. Your wit and charm make me feel invincible and intelligent, while also humbling me that I still can always learn more from you. I am in a constant state of balance and bliss, when you are by my side.”

Her eyelids dropped a little lower as he spoke, while her smile grew broader. Essie skimmed her touch from his forehead through his hair and back, making his groan again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Essie, so much.”

“I love you just as much,” she whispered, huddling over to give him a peck on the cheek.

Amon tilted his head a few degrees, allowing her hands to comb through a different section of his hair. His eyelids drifted a bit lower as she began to pick up the tune to the song she had been singing, the angelic lines floating through the air, giving harmony to his heartbeat.

Sighing, the nobleman nuzzled his face into her thighs, reaching around to wrap an arm around her waist. She half-giggled, continuing to sing as he peaked up at her from her abdomen, admiring the most gorgeous woman in all of the world. His home, his heart, the entire pillar of his contentment hindered on that soft, private smile made just for him. This moment alone with her reminded him of the true meaning of life: at the end of the day, love was all that mattered, and it would conquer all else… Even if all it had to overcome was the brief stormcloud of his sour mood. It never stood a chance against Essätha Illiad; vanquisher of darkness, and keeper of his heart.

[palbabor-writes]

10,18,23 and 27?

Hey there! (◕‿◕✿)

10. Character you find most interesting or mysterious:

MR. COMPRESS.

Who are you? Why do I like you so much? You are essentially the pseudo paternal figure here and, with that in mind, sir, why are you hanging around with all of these young adults? I can only imagine them all, sitting around and complaining about something, and Compress is just like: ugh. the youth of today. 

Would love to know more about that top hat wearing magician.   

18. Favorite fight?

Honestly, as corny as this is gonna sound, I really, really liked the All Might vs AFO battle. It sparked so much character development. While Izuku had his big kick off, his start of the Hero’s Journey™, this fight kinda kicked off everyone else's.

For Bakugo, we get to see him, crumpled and upset, so beaten down by the fact that he feels like this whole thing is his fault, a few chapters later & I just remember putting the manga down for a few hours after I read that and letting the sheer emotion of that moment wash over me. 

He’s so hurt and he’s disappointed in himself and for the first time, he’s showing Izuku his turmoil. It’s such a great moment & as the deuteragonist of this work I was thrilled to see some real growth.

For Tomura, he is finally pulled away from his one, remaining safety blanket. There are no more second chances, no more moments to try, try again. He’s absolutely shattered when he realizes what is about to happen and although I’d posit AFO never showed him much real love, or affection, he’s the last “family” member that Tomura has left. 

AFO saw this boy, clutching his hands in front of him, and said I’ll hold you & I’ll take you in. There are ulterior motives, and I have a strong suspicion that AFO is that man in the doorway of the Shimura household & he may very well have something to do with Tomura’s abnormal quirk, but he actually reached out to this five year old and gave him comfort. 

Tomura is close to tears when he is sent away & later we see him holding onto those hands of his family like they’re the only life raft he has.

Then, finally, there’s All Might. This man has worked so hard & tirelessly to help others. He’s devoted every little piece of him to that endeavor & he’s been nothing but pure hearted throughout. He’s the best of humanity and he knows this is his last stand. That panel of him covering the dying flame of OFA kills me every time I read it. He is willing to lay his life down and he faces that chasm with grit and a steeled resolve. 

Toshinori now has to grapple with a reverse journey. He’s shunted to the side, relegated and even ignored at times. IMO he is not given the respect that he deserves, from other heroes, or from everyday people. This man broke himself to bits for you and he’s still a valuable voice, with decades of experience. Listen to him goddamn it.  

So, yeah, that fight sparked so many journeys and I love, love, love it.    

23. Any moment that was a disappointment:

I’ve talked about this before, but the whole: KIDNAP THAT BAKUGO KID, never made sense to me?

I remember reading that and just going: wait. huh? It didn’t really fit in with Tomura’s character and there wasn’t much reasoning behind it. I guess it would have been: oh, well, we converted this UA student, check that out! But that feels like an attack on the school, rather than society at large? I guess they could have pointed back to the muzzle and chains at the sports fest, but it’s just such a gross miscalculation & IMO, Tomura is smarter than that?

I suppose it was likely just a reason to start the confrontation between All Might & AFO, but I shake my head at the whole thing every time I re-watch it.

Although, it did give us the PIZZA DELIVERY moment, which is the highlight of Edgeshot’s career & if he were to sell a hero shirt with that on it I would buy it immediately, no questions asked.   

27. Any moments that made you angry or frustrated:

I didn’t like Sir Nighteye. Like, was lowkey frustrated with him every freaking time he wandered onto the page. I get he’s worried about Toshinori & he wants to see OFA preserved, but, my man, that’s not your call. 

Sure, Izuku isn’t the greatest thing at the moment, but he’s fifteen! I feel like his foresight ability gave him too much hubris & he certainly paid for that, in the end.   

BNHA ask game