#FRACTURED RIBS MY KING WHY???

[somedaytakethetime]

And in today's news about Kasper Peter Schmeichel

Small rib fracture.. no proper decisions.. no proper information... *heavy pained sigh* the usual I guess.. 😔😞

[foureyedfella]

☆I've gotten the case of a little art block so I'm sharing my headcanons on what I think the biggest injuries each fighter has had (apart from bring in the ring!)

Glass Joe

☆man what hasn't happened to Joe it's hard to pinpoint his biggest injury 😭 his biggest was probably a combo: twisting his ankle and then falling down the stairs due to said ankle. While trying to get him on a leveled area, Disco Kid and Bear Hugger drop him (butter fingers). Several bones broken and a concussion 😞

Von Kaiser

☆ Prank gone wrong.

☆ His students tried setting up like a Kevin McCallister home alone prank, miscalculated how bad the punching bag would swing, sent Kaiser FLYING-

☆If anyone wonders why the boxing schools' water fountain is snapped off the wall, it was him

☆ Dislocated his jaw, and if he is still or resting he can still feel the lower back pain from the incident 💀

Disco Kid

☆ He was in a paired up dancing competition, and his partner was NOT locked in 🙏

☆ During the climax of the dance, Disco Kid needed to spin mid air and get caught by his partner. His partner did not catch him.

☆Cracked his skull, but was more upset to find out they would have made it to qualifiers if it weren't for the infraction

King Hippo

☆Rogue Coconut.

☆This in itself isn't terrible, but it KEPT happening on the same spot on his noggin.

☆Severe concussion, can still hear the coconut conk when its quiet.

Piston Hondo

☆ He is honestly pretty careful and mindful when doing stuff so he probably has not had anything catastrophic happen to him

☆Unfortunately his carefulness does not account for those around him. He was caught in the Bear Hugger Fishing Fiasco.

Bear Hugger

☆The Fishing Fiasco.

☆Was on a fishing trip with Hondo, decided to try to get all fancy with his cast.

☆To be fair, the motion of his fishing line was cool- unfortunately a badly timed sharp swing while the fishing hook was still swinging behind him sent the hook straight across their backs

☆Both got stitches done

Great Tiger

☆ To the surprise of no one it would be Aran to cause his demise 💀

☆ He was doing an eye coordination test on Aran with his clones, with the goal being that Aran can still spot him after shuffling between the clones.

☆What he did NOT expect was for Aran to just lunge at him AND his clones at once, safe to say he found the real Great Tiger

☆Fractured neck, for the 2 months he wore a neck brace, he made sure to not leave Aran alone about it

Don Flamenco

☆ His heart 😢 por Carmen 😢

☆I'm lying, he was drunk one night doing the bachata on a flimsy table, it quite literally folded on him

☆ Everyone was too drunk to take anyone anywhere, so he just woke up the next morning in agony 😭

Aran Ryan

☆ Tried getting into a classic bar fight like he was back in the grand city of Dublin at the pub, except he's not and he was in America

☆Definitely got shot, but it grazed him so he clowned the guy on his way out for not getting the job done right, passed out after the adrenaline rush

Soda Popinski

☆ Also incredibly drunk one night, decided to put his juggling skills to the test with more and more stupid objects

☆ Curse whoever recommended him knives because he did just that

☆Several hand stitches, claims they're from boxing so he doesn't have to bring up how he actually got them

Bald Bull

☆ Early in his career when he was setting his persona straight, his manager was pretty adamant on having bull tied into it

☆ Did this really need to involve actual charging bulls at him? No, not at all. Was he doing pretty good wrangling them? Yeah honestly but you can only do so much with so many bulls

☆ Got rammed. Broken ribs, and a fired manager

Super Macho Man

☆ Unironically got into a "how much you bench bro" squabble with some other meathead at the gym

☆ He did NOT have the physique he has now so idk what he was thinking actually

☆ Tore his chest muscles, devastated that he ruined his precious pecs 😞

Sandman

☆ Actively chooses to gatekeep this information. Never shares it

☆ (but between you and me, he absolutely snapped his arm in an arm wrestling competition when he was younger.)

☆ It took way too long to heal and it pisses him off when he thinks about it now

☆ Little side note, but the punch out community has been so awesome here, I was surprised to find such a nice community when I started posting you guys have been so awesome 😁

☆ I love that everyone has such differing opinions from eachother and we're all like "👍" I love hearing everyone's headcanons

[nedjemetsenen]

Facts, Tutankhamen, and ChatGPT

So I’ve seen a couple people talk about how ChatGPT often gives inaccurate or incomplete answers to questions about historical stuff and I am a curious person by nature, so I went and asked it to tell me how King Tutankhamen died. This is what happened next along with commentary from me about the accuracy of this stuff! Please feel free to fact-check me on any of it! Egyptology is my hobby, not my profession. Also note that I did remove ChatGPT bits that didn’t actually give facts and were more general statements like “The mystery surrounding King Tut's death continues to captivate historians and Egyptologists”

Me: Give me a 200 word summary of how king tut died King Tutankhamun, popularly known as King Tut, was an ancient Egyptian pharaoh who ruled during the 14th century BCE. While the exact cause of his demise is not conclusively determined, several theories exist. The most widely accepted theory suggests that King Tut died from complications resulting from a combination of factors. Recent scientific investigations, including CT scans and genetic analysis of his mummified remains, suggest that he suffered from a number of health issues, including a severe leg fracture that may have become infected. Additionally, genetic evidence indicates that Tut had a cleft palate and a clubfoot, which may have contributed to his physical difficulties. Furthermore, some researchers propose that Tutankhamun's weakened immune system, possibly due to genetic disorders resulting from generations of inbreeding among Egyptian royalty, made him more susceptible to infections. Some even suggest that malaria may have played a role in his demise, as traces of the disease were found in his DNA.

This is somewhat accurate? The broken leg and malaria are real and there is a theory that malaria caused or contributed to his death. Tutankhamun was also the product of generational incest, leading to a lot of health issue. However, reading this, you’d probably think he just got sick and died, but that is NOT the ‘most widely accepted theory’. I don’t actually know if one of those exists as of the time when I’m writing this (June 2023). You see, this explanation is missing some vital data. Let’s see if we can get Chat GPT to add it!

Me: I thought that his death was violent? I apologize for any confusion. While there have been speculations about a violent death for King Tut, the current scientific consensus leans more towards a non-violent cause. The examination of his mummified remains did not reveal any obvious signs of violence or trauma. However, it is important to note that some alternative theories exist. One hypothesis suggests that King Tutankhamun was murdered, possibly by a blow to the head. This theory is based on an X-ray taken in the 1960s that showed a fragment in Tut's skull. However, subsequent examinations and CT scans have cast doubt on this theory, as the fragment is now believed to be a result of the mummification process rather than a fatal injury. While the evidence does not strongly support the notion of a violent death, the possibility of foul play cannot be entirely ruled out. 

The bit about the murder theory is accurate. That was a popular theory, but I’m not sure if the lack of a pre- or peri-mortem head injury actually quashed the theory. All it did prove that a blow to the head wasn’t the way that he died. There are still facts that support the idea that something fishy was going on in Egypt around the time of his death and Tutankhamun was the son of a hated king. Read up on Tutankhamun’s widow, Ankhesenamun, if you want to know more. Her Wikipedia page is a pretty good summary of the basics.

That’s not the fun part of this answer, though. The fun part is the bit about there not being "any obvious signs of violence or trauma." To show why that's the fun part, here’s the next bit of my conversation with ChatGPT:

Me: What about his broken ribs? I apologize for any confusion in my previous responses. While there is no consensus on the exact cause of King Tut's death, recent studies have indeed suggested the presence of a significant injury, specifically broken ribs, which may have played a role in his demise. In 2014, a team of researchers conducted a thorough examination of King Tut's mummified remains using CT scans. The scans revealed that Tutankhamun had a fractured rib on the right side of his chest. The break appeared to have occurred shortly before his death. However, the scans did not provide definitive evidence as to whether the injury was a result of an accident or inflicted intentionally. Based on this finding, some experts propose that the broken rib could have been a contributing factor to King Tut's death. It is speculated that the injury may have caused internal bleeding, which, in combination with other health issues he was facing, could have led to complications and ultimately his demise. Nonetheless, the precise circumstances surrounding the injury remain a matter of speculation, and it is difficult to draw definitive conclusions about the specific events leading up to his death.

No obvious signs of violence or trauma, huh?

This reply is accurate, by the way. They did find that Tutankhamun has broken ribs and some people have theorized that he fell from a chariot while on a military campaign or that he got attacked by a hippo (a thing that did happen in ancient Egypt). Oddities about his mummy, which was very much an amateur job, give credence to the idea of a violent or at least odd death. If you want to know more, National Geographic’s documentary Tut’s Treasures: Hidden Secrets is a great, though slightly over-dramatic, watch (It’s on Disney+ and can probably be found elsewhere, too). For something that isn’t behind a paywall, here’s a 25-minute podcast from Youtube, which was also done by National Geographic.

The History of Egypt podcast also has hours of recent content about Tutankhamun because November 2022 marked the 100-year anniversary of the discovery of his tomb.

Thanks for reading. Hopefully you learned a bit about Egypt’s most famous Pharaoh and grew a bit more wary of Chat GPT. For full disclosure, I did ask it more questions and the results were hilariously wrong, but they include things about child loss, so I left them off this post.

[casspurrjoybell-19]

Does it Matter? - Chapter 55 - Part 1

*Warning: Adult Content*   

Brayan approached Hudson where he was crouched next to the river that cut through the valley, washing clothes in the clear, fresh water.

For the first few months after Hudson had joined them, Brayan had assigned him this job as a light punishment for inappropriate behaviour.

He'd understood that a Wrasher wouldn't have perfect manners and he had been willing to offer some leniency but he had been determined to poke and prod him in the right direction.

Then one day Brayan had wanted to give Hudson a small reward and he had let him choose his camp chore and he had chosen... laundry.

The whole time, he had enjoyed the job or at least preferred it over others.

Most of the men hated it but Hudson liked to be on his own and get lost in his thoughts.

He didn't find such things tedious or isolating.

Hudson looked up as Brayan neared, held eye contact for a full second and then returned to ringing out the shirt he'd been rinsing like he had never even seen him.

"We need to talk," Brayan told him.

Hudson didn't bother to look up again.

"That never goes well."

"Which is why we need to talk."

"Uh huh. What about?"

"Well, first of all, I'd like to apologise for threatening to whip you."

Hudson looked up, eyebrows lifted.

"Oh, come on. You've done worse when I've deserved less. Why that of all things?"

"Because it happened yesterday. I can apologise for things that happened a year ago if you like but I doubt that would bring you any satisfaction. The point is that things are changing now and I can no longer resolve conflicts with a whip."

Hudson scoffed and returned his attention to his work.

"Thing you don't realise is that the whip was always pointless. You've never taken a whip to a man and then not cut him loose shortly after. Wrasher don't bother with beating people. We know that if someone's worth having on our crew, all you have to do is talk to them when they fuck something up and they'll learn just fine. If you have to whip them to keep them in line, who knows what they'll do behind your back?"

"Wrasher don't have the kind of leadership structure we do. If someone is no longer on your crew, that's the end of things. Maric is a prince. I don't think you appreciate what would happen if there was no particular expectation that anyone show him respect."

Hudson wrung a shirt out and tossed it into the clean side of his clothes basket.

"Just doesn't make much sense to me to demand someone respect you. If they work for you, fine but otherwise... why should they? Just because you happen to be more powerful?"

"Because when you're trying to run a country, someone has to be in charge and there has to be some expectation that they will be obeyed and respected. There would be chaos if it were optional. Nobody is so beloved that everyone would follow them by choice. Not on the scale of a country."

"Hmm..."

"I'll admit I've been unnecessarily rigid in my enforcement of that at times but consider the other powerful men we've encountered in the time of this short trip," Brayan said.

"Consider how those situations would have ended if Maric had not been able to lean on his inherent power to assert his will. Men like that need someone above them to tell them no."

"Men like that need a knife between their ribs."

"Believe me, I hope the day will come when I can deliver one to Lord Nolen. He is exactly why a king is necessary. If there wasn't one, the kingdom would fracture once more and Lord Nolen would become a king himself with nobody to tell him what he can and cannot do."

"Because our current king is doing such an excellent job of controlling him."

"He's not, clearly but Maric would."

"Hmm."

Hudson slapped a pair of pants into the water.

"Fair."

"Maric is considering going with Dara and Bug into Ticia. He thinks that's where the visions have been leading us."

"Makes sense."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Fine by me. I hate your awful country and maybe you'll stop complaining about treason when we're no longer within its borders."

Brayan tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"That is starting to feel like a silly thing to worry about. At least from our own men simply speaking their minds."

"Uh huh. Prove it. Say something bad about the king."

"He rapes children. Maric doesn't like to say the words and I... I don't know... I knew it was true."

"You still went with Maric to meet with him just weeks ago. Sat in the same room with him, bowed to him, called him Your Majesty."

"What would you have had me do? Spit in his face and get executed to prove a point? What would you have done?"

Hudson smiled.

"Ah, I just like giving you shit. Someone's got to do something, though, right?"

"What, though?"

Hudson shrugged.

"Seems like maybe head over the border into Ticia. After that... I don't know."

"Do you truly not know anything we don't?"

"I know many things you don't but about this? Not really."

Brayan sighed.

"Well, thank you for your time. I should get back to Bug."

"Uh huh."

Brayan shook his head and walked away.

[mydewottwantstofightme]

Currently typing this from the hospital recovering from a fractured rib. Gonna recount what happened yesterday.

So, we ambushed the Hydreigon (aka Kirby). Shoe answer, we got our asses kicked but Queen (my Cinccino) saved our asses.

Long answer, we got the jump on Kirby, and things started off pretty well. Flint’s Cryoganal landed a confuse ray, Natasha’s Tinkaton (Athena) landed a Thunder wave, and everyone had all their Pokémon out landing good hits. Torrent in particular made good use of Copycat to copy Athena’s Play Rough. Meanwhile Nova was setting up Quiver Dances. However before we even realized it, Kirby set off an Earthquake, taking out Marty’s Lucario, and Natasha’s Orthworm and Kingambit.

Then we learned that not only did the shell bell necklace work, it worked really well, and shook off that Paralysis Athena inflicted. Marty’s Heracross and Mienshao tried to land some hits in while Kirby was confused and they were covered by Cryogonal’s reflect, but Kirby started setting up Dragon Dances before going on an Outrage. Marty’s team was fully taken out at that point and Marty Smokebombed out of there.

Athena and Torrent tried landing some hits in while Queen used her King’s Rock and Tail Slaps to stun Kirby, but he broke through despite it all and used another Earthquake to take down Torrent and Athena. He then Frustrationed Cryogonal down. This forced Natasha and Flint to Smokebomb out… leaving me… alone with my main partner down.

Thankfully Nova had set up enough to launch a devastating Dazzling Gleam, but Kirby was strong enough to take it and strike back hard enough to immediately take down Nova. Just leaving Queen. She tried stalling him a bit, but Kirby wasn’t having it. However, as he was still confused from the outrage and was also still in an unstable state, he went for me instead with Frustration. This hurt. A lot. And broke my rib.

I didn’t have time to escape, and thought I was gonna get much worse injuries, but before Kirby could take another Frustration on me, he stopped.

Because Queen was in front of him holding a paw out, like she was telling him to stop. She squeaked for a minute or so, I wasn’t tracking because pain, but after that. He calmed down. It was then I looked at Kirby and realized something: Queen had prepared Attract, and used it to pacify Kirby. I don’t know WHY she didn’t use it earlier! Or why it appeared to work more like Hypnosis or Negotiation. But she had it.

So after that, Flint came back and was able to remove the Shell Bell collar and detain Kirby in a Pokeball so he could take him somewhere where they could hold him. He also called a helicopter to take me to a hospital.

I should be out in a few days, I’ll update y’all on the situation with Kirby when the time comes. This was painful to write. But hey. I’m alive.

[ormir]

Why is it still allowed to keep happening? The Huscarl smiled a manicured, sedative smile. If there was one thing he’d learned from narrowly surviving Aytaç’s arguments, it was when a trap was being laid for him. Sparring against teenage girls was a delicate and lethal dance the Raven-Feeder could admit to himself that he still didn’t know the proper steps to. Perhaps it was a small mercy that this conversation would be fogged in her memory. But if it were the princess here, brain-leaking and painted with bruises, would he not be driven to raise the house responsible? Only she’s not your ward, Ormir was made to remind himself. She’s your champion. A tool to be tested, to break and eventually be broken.

“The King couldn’t risk a civil war in the midlands too early. You’ve seen how divided they’ve become.” He reasoned. “His Grace needed to be shown you could be trusted to stand on your own. In doing so you’ve earned the crown’s backing and more.” If it were the princess standing before him, she would’ve painstakingly filtered each statement through a fine-mesh sieve, picking out each imperfection just to flick back at his head. Among the glaring untruths he could hear rattling around in his statement, the most obvious was this: If it was true she had earned the King’s favor, the notice of it would’ve arrived as a crown-sealed decree of it in his stead. Even knowing Orhan’s will would need to be bent significantly to mold around his finger, Ormir found himself making a promise. “You’ll not face another challenger alone. You have my word.” If stone could speak, it would’ve sounded less rigid.

Oh, good. It appeared that the seed he’d planted had found purchase in her muddied thoughts. “What your critics say is of little concern to you and your duty.” He assured her. “You need only walk straight, as you have been. Let me handle the rest.” Yes, he’d been the one to position Tove before the King, but as she aged into her influence and grew in prowess, it was worth cementing his worth to a powerful woman in the long run. One act of charity would not be enough to sustain her gratitude when the real adversity began.

Watching her beaming smile unravel her posturing, he was reminded of just how green she was. Wheat-gold hair fell across her round face, matching the gold thread sprawling across the shield’s fractured surface. Would she notice that the wood was pristine beneath the varnish? That it wasn’t fractured in exactly the manner the jarl’s blade had carved it? The imitation would not hold up to a thorough memory. He’d hoped it wouldn’t need to, but the Huscarl prepared a full screen of justifications in advance, in the case that Tove would ask.

“Do you li-”

The jarl of ten-and-six flung herself into the noble’s arms, striking the breath from him with a jarred ‘Oof’. She was a solid brick of unpolished muscle. Ormir might as well have been pounced on by a young cave lion. He chuckled through the discomfort and patted her shoulder. The eyes of the Kingsguard, he knew, were dutifully unfocused on the scene as it unfolded, as passive and discreet as living furniture – just as he’d vetted them to be. Witnesses to such overt displays of affection made him itch, regardless. A sharp point dug into the sedentary softness beneath Ormir’s ribs. He realized it was the shield’s corner, squeezed beneath the girl’s arm through their embrace. “Careful,” A father’s chiding voice slipped out, thinking of the immodest sum the commission had run for. “You’re holding an heirloom.”

Truth always felt much simpler when Ormir spoke it. Freydis wondered sometimes if it was something that came with experience, or if he had just been blessed with stronger logic and constitution than she might ever possess. She tried to swallow that simple assertion, but the medicine was bitter, and she seemed to become hopeful again when he began to speak once more. She paid him as much attention as her aching head would permit. “If they’re traitors, why is it still allowed to keep happening?” She sounded her age when she asked it, almost brooding and moody with the wiles of youth. She glanced away at this final point. Although she knew he didn’t mean it as a reminder or a reason she ought to bow down and kiss his boots, she never truly forgot that her power was an illusion, a thought experiment that Ormir had somehow convinced Orhan was worthwhile, or his own idea, or whatever he may have had to say. 

“I wouldn’t embarrass you like that,” Freydis responded, a playfulness in her tone–but beneath that an obvious satisfaction and delight that he had expressed his pleasure in her ability to best this most recent opponent. She listened to him, unsure if he meant he influenced those who made a difference or if Ormir was simply good at drawing the scribes to lionize those of import. “And how wayward is my leadership compared to the quill?” 

Freydis was as curious as she was sheepish when he stated he had brought her something. With a slight delay, she turned her face in the direction he had gestured his hand in time to watch a wooden box be presented and subsequently opened for her to gaze upon. It felt strange to receive something as a housewarming present, but she bit her tongue in case it would prove her to be folksy and unsophisticated to say as much out loud.  But when she cast her eyes upon the contents of the box she would have been stricken speechless anything. A soft gasp escaped her as her eyes widened and her brows raised in immediate recognition. The expression of shock subsided from her face and was replaced with a genuine smile so wide it threatened to undo the work her split lip had done to begin to mend itself. 

With reverence, she lifted the shield from the box. At first, she held it before herself and admired the way the varnish made it gleam and its golden fissures. Then, she propped it against her hip to balance it, drawing a swollen, twisted finger along one of the gilded pathways that sutured the simple material back together. The concussion she suffered made no difference in the present moment, she would not have been able to maintain her composure even at her most level-headed and clear-minded. Freydis tucked the shield under her arm and turned to Ormir, embracing him tightly in a display of obvious, albeit simple and provincial, gratitude.

[bowandcurtsey]

Hi Aine! Congratulations on the 1k subs/ 1 year anniversary!

Could I request Yami falling for one of Julius’ doctor mages and he keeps getting small injuries just to go and see her <3

Ehehehe!! I've been missing Yami so much and seeing him back makes me so happy (〃‿〃✿)

Yami Sukehiro x F! reader

"It's not even that big of a deal, old man." Yami grumbled to the wizard king, "It's be better in a few days."

"Just let the healing mages check up on you, it wouldn't even cost you anything~" Julius persuaded him.

"Hello Captain Yami," you greeted the herculean captain, "My name is Y/n, Master Julius already told me to ensure you're all alright, so let's have a look shall we?"

Yami took of his singlet and sat on the examination table in front of you. His body was so ripped and each muscle was so well-defined you wondered what does this man do on a daily basis.

His back was covered in bruises and deep cuts. Upon further examination, you realised he also has a fractured rib and displaced shoulder.

"I don't think this will recover in a few days as you told Master Julius, Captain Yami..." you gave him his diagnosis.

"Heh," He starting lighting up his cigarette, "I've been through much worst, brat."

"I'm not a brat," you started to heal him, "and you're getting older, in the past your body could withstand more because you heal fast."

He coughed as he choked on his cigarette and gave a heartily laugh, "I'm not THAT old. Geez, how old are you? You're nagging like you're Julius' age."

"I'm younger than you, Captain Yami!" you rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue at him.

---

You were finally done with the treatment for the day. It was about an hour but it felt so fast because you and Yami kept bickering the entire time.

Yami put his shirt back on as he prepared to leave, "thanks, kiddo."

"I'm not a kid, I'm just 3 years younger than you, Captain." you pursed your lips and rolled your eyes for the umpteen time, "you need to come back in a week, remember that."

"Oh, you're asking me on a date now? I'm a busy man you know?" He wriggled his brows and he left.

That night, the captain lay in bed but he had troubles sleeping. Not because of the pain of his injuries, but because he kept thinking about a certain healing mage he just met today. He chuckled to himself, thinking about how cute you were, arguing with him throughout.

---

Yami was right, his body miraculously healed rapidly. His fractures were now reduced to bruises and his shoulder was also in place. The cuts were reduced to light scratch marks and the bruises were all gone.

You were surprised that Yami came one week later as per you asked him to, even though his body was almost back to perfect condition again.

He must have read your ki and understood what you were thinking, as he sat on the examination table lighting up a cigarette, he chuckled, "told ya I'll be okay, right? If I didn't come, you wouldn't believe me, will ya?"

"But..." you quickly said, "it's still better to have a check and disinfect the wounds at the initial stage. Who know it's because I did a good job last week which was why you recovered so quickly~" you hummed proudly.

Yami was dumbfounded at your confidence and he could only smile and take a drag from his cigg. "Whatever you say, doctor~" he said in a teasing manner.

You still gave his body a little boost with your magic, so that he'll feel at a 120%.

"Feels like I can go through the entire invasion all over again," he shrugged his neck and shoulders after you were done, "Well, I'll see you around I guess, brat."

---

3 weeks in and Yami felt like his mind lingered to you every once in awhile. While he was out on training or missions, he wanted to get hurt, so he could have an excuse to meet you again.

During a training with Sisgoleon, he purposely let himself get hurt. He marched himself into Julius' HQ.

"What are you doing here, Yami?" Julius smiled upon seeing his old friend.

"Taking advantage of your free medical team as a magic knight." he shrugged nonchalantly.

Julius was pretty surprised, "Well I thought you seldom liked seeing the healing mages? Are you in a bad shape?"

"Sisgoelon bullied me." he held his hand on his chest in feign hurt, "she had me beat up."

Julius chuckled and thought that it was just an accident and Yami just didn't want to admit that he was in pain.

---

"Yo." Yami walked into your office and you were pleasantly surprised to see him. But you were suddenly stricken with worry because it was never a good thing to see anyone coming into your office.

"Captain Yami, are you hurt?" you quickly stood up and walked towards him.

Yami blinked at you as he sensed your worried ki.

"Er. I was sparring with Sisgeleon a little, think I pulled something. I was in the area so I just thought to get a free healing that's all." Yami quickly said and he felt your ki calming down. Heh. she's that worried about me?

"Okay.. Let's have a look." You raised your grimoire and scanned Yami's body.

You found heavy bruises on him but nothing major. You healed him pretty quickly and he was as good as new again.

"Geez," he stretched his arms over his head. "This always feels so good, it feels better than a massage."

"That's because I repair and restore cells, so you feel much younger when I do that." you crossed your arms in front of you.

He smiled to himself, seeing that confident smile of yours. He found it so sexy.

"Get your bill from that old man!" he said over his shoulder and left.

---

2 weeks later he was back again, with blood on his biceps. He said he was careless while sparring with one of the bull kids but it was nothing serious.

Another 3 weeks later, he said his back hurt. And then the next time he came, he knee was hurt.

"You've been getting injured a lot lately, Yami" Julius cooed when he came into his HQ again.

"What can I say?" Yami shruged, "I'm working hard for the kingdom, you should appreciate me and raise my pay."

"Oh? what if I told you y/n was going to move to another squad as their healing mage?"

"What?!" Yami stared at the wizard king, "which squad?"

"I said 'if' Yami," Julius smiled at the captain.

A single drop of sweat was trickling Yami's temples as though he's been caught in his act. "I'm just here for the free healing services! It feels good y'know!"

"Really? y/n is out for lunch break, so maybe Aaron could help you with your wounds. Or would you like to wait?"

"I'm not in a rush old man," Yami pulled out a chair in front of the wizard king's desk and took a seat.

"You both would look cute together~" Julius teased Yami.

"Cut it out old man. She's cute, I'll give you that." He rested the back of his head in both his palms as he leaned back in the chair.

You walked in after getting your lunch, you were used to seeing Yami pretty frequently now, "Oh you're here Captain Yami? Are you injured?"

"Yami's here to wait for you to have lunch together~" Julius suddenly stood up and smiled at you.

"Whaddya talking about old man?!" Yami suddenly sat up right.

"I'm going out with Marx for lunch and some roundings~" the wizard king winked at the both of you and quickly disappeared.

"Dammit, that old man..." Yami grumbled and cursed at Julius under his breath.

"I'm glad to hear that you're here for something else besides you being hurt, Captain Yami!" You smiled in relief.

Yami's eye widened at your confession, then he chuckled. Julius must have known everything all along.

"Just wanted to treat you to lunch for helping me out all these while.." Yami finally said as he lifted his gigantic hands and patted your head.

-end-

UWU just softie Yami~ I love it!

[phoenixyfriend]

Jangobi 5 for the soulmate thing? Because that would make the fight on kamino just *chef's kiss*

soulmate au prompts

5. the one where you don’t know your soulmate until you touch them.

Apparently there’s never any skin to skin contact in the movie? Because armor? So......... we’re gonna just. Quick little thing.

Also I’ve been doing a lot of “marginally less shitty” Jango, but this is just-as-shitty-as-canon Jango. It’s, uh, not much of a romance, because Kamino. Actually it’s mostly just a lot of angry yelling about human rights violations.

...I’m sure they’ll get together eventually. It’s just, you know... it’s going to take a while.

------

Jango’s heard about this Jedi.

The man isn’t famous, or particularly acclaimed. It’s just that Mandalorians gossip, and Death Watch isn’t exempt, and Dred Priest still has friends in the terrorist group. So do a few others.

(Jango sometimes wonders if he’d have invited Priest, had he knows the monster was only a step away from being Death Watch himself.)

(Probably not.)

(He’d at least have been able to see the battle circles coming.)

Death Watch hates one specific Jedi above all others: Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It’s almost enough to make a man like the pretty bastard, except the reason Death Watch hates this specific Jedi is because he kept Duchess Kryze alive, and Jango isn’t much of a fan of hers, either.

In the moment, though, the main thing this all means is that Obi-Wan Kenobi knows Mandalorian customs.

First meetings, out of armor, mean ensuring the arm clasp has skin contact.

His eyes flick down to where Jango is reflexively pulling up his sleeves, and the man just... does the same, sodden as the beige-on-brown-on-dark-brown robes are.

Jango can’t just play it off. He has to, ugh, arm clasp with a Jedi.

Kenobi probably guesses how unpleasant this is for him, going by the grim little smile that he wears, the one Taun We can’t read and Jango can, but they touch forearms and le--

They do not let go.

“Oh kriff,” Kenobi swears, and then it’s just... it’s too late. It’s too late to stop anything.

“Jetii,” Jango spits as if it’s a swear.

He doesn’t want to be soulmates with a Jedi. No sane person ever wants to be soulmates with a Jedi, but as a Mandalorian, and as specifically Jango Fett, who signed onto this project for revenge against Jedi, the idea is just... excruciating.

“For revenge? Not entirely unexpected, but I’m still somehow disappointed.”

“Stay out of my head.”

Kenobi smiles at him, completely devoid of anything but the blackest of humor. “Are you staying out of mine?”

And, well, no. They’re soulmates. Kenobi has more of an idea on how to control how far his mind wanders into Jango’s, but in this moment, just seconds after being bound together by the universe... Jango’s slamming into Kenobi’s shields with an embarrassing lack of control.

“Is something the matter?” Taun We asks.

“I do believe we need to speak alone,” Kenobi says. “Unfortunate timing, but this is our first meeting, and it appears we are soulmates.”

“Ah. We were informed of the human tendency towards such.” She blinks, too large eyes impossible to read for Kenobi, but entirely readable for Jango after all these years. She’s irritated. “I apologize, but it appears we were unable to remove such unpredictability from the product.”

A wave of revulsion leaks out of Kenobi’s mind and into Jango’s. The man just nods. “I understand. As it is, I imagine that the near instantaneous communication on the battlefield will be a boon, if any are bonded to each other or to active soldiers.”

“I defer to your judgement as client, Master Kenobi,” Taun We hums, still irritable. It’s less visible in her face, but... Kenobi can feel it. “I shall leave you to get... acquainted.”

Aaaaaaaand she’s expecting them to sleep together the second she turns her back. The disgust she feels at the thought of such carnal activities is thirdhand to Jango, but he can still feel it, because Kenobi can feel it, because they’re soulmates.

“Oh, do tell me how you really feel,” Kenobi mutters, sweeping past him into the apartment.

Jango wishes he could slam the door as he storms after the Jedi.

“Listen here--”

“Absolutely not,” Kenobi says, with the kind of bland, impersonal smile that Jango’s heard Dred Priest bitch about at least a dozen times. “I need you to answer me this: why are you selling your children into what is clearly slavery?”

“They’re not my children.”

“You choose to be dar’buir, then?” Kenobi clucks a tongue, acting like he can’t even feel Jango’s waves of hate that are just growing by the second. “Shame on you, Mand’alor.”

“I am not the Mand’alor.”

“No. You are demagolka,” Kenobi says, the sweet words of Jango’s first language falling from his lips like poisoned honey. “They are your children, Fett. Your clones, just as human as you.”

“They are little more than droids, Jedi. The Kaminoans--”

Kenobi laughs, sharp and bitter, and it’s enough of a surprise that Jango stops talking. The Jedi strides closer, and it takes everything in him to not step back at what little emotion the Jedi allows through.

“Let me show you,” Kenobi hisses, putting a hand on either side of Jango’s head and it’s too much this is not a sense he is meant to have.

Kenobi cannot lie to Jango, not in this mental space. Not in this existence. He can cherry-pick what he shows, he can exaggerate, he can hide, but he cannot present a falsehood.

What Kenobi shows him, as he pulls Jango into his mind and drowns him in the sensation of the Force, is how each and every clone shines, bright and unique and so very human, so very sentient, so very alive.

These are your children, Kenobi says, directly into his mind and with no room to pull away. If they choose to disown you for your crimes against them, then that is their right, but until they do, they are your responsibility. You’re playing in denial and cognitive dissonance, soulmate mine. If I have to drag you into caring for your children the way any Mandalorian would, then so be it.

“Kriff off,” Jango manages to grit out in the real world. Kenobi looks unimpressed, when he lets go. The sensations in Jango’s mind, the jangled distaste and horror and anger, those are worse.

“Are you going to be dar’manda?” Kenobi demands. “You, who were once king of your people, have you really sunk so low to be the worst of your kind? To be so horrible that even Kyr’tsad would be shamed? Or worse, approve?”

“You have no place--”

“You are violating one of the core tenets of your culture!” Kenobi shouts. “You are being the worst of what you could be, Jango Fett! The most important, the absolute most important element of your culture, the care and nurture of children, and look at what you’ve done--”

“The clones--”

“Your sons!” Kenobi growls at him. “Your children, Fett. I’ve a student that is, by every Mandalorian standard, my son. I know what it is to take in a child that is not yours by blood, to raise a foundling, and you are cutting off millions that are your blood. You aren’t turning away an orphan to another family because you cannot care for them as they deserve, you are breeding your children for war like bantha to slaughter.”

Jango throws the first punch.

Kenobi throws the second.

By the time the fight ends, the room is in ruins, for all that they do not draw blasters or sabers. Kenobi has Jango on his back, straddling his chest with knees on his wrists, a vibroblade to his neck. Kenobi’s lip is bleeding, and Jango thinks he might have caused a hairline fracture in the cheekbone. Both of them have at least one broken rib, and Jango’s currently blind in one eye from the blood pouring out of a cut on his forehead.

Kenobi’s a good fighter. If it weren’t for everything else, Jango might have even been able to appreciate that.

“You,” Kenobi growls, fisting one hand into Jango’s curls and yanking for emphasis, earning himself a snarl in return. “Are going to fix this mess you’ve helped create. If I have to drag the entire Jedi council, the entire senate, if I have to drag in all of Mandalore to make you fix this, I will.”

There’s determination in those words, angry and a little spiteful, but mostly just... disappointed.

“Of course I’m disappointed,” Kenobi spits out, like the words are hot coals. He’s expressive. Jango wants to like it, but mostly he just resents the trait. “I hoped to never find a soulmate; it just complicates things. Opsec becomes a nightmare and holding to the code is difficult. And now I have a soulmate, and he’s an absolute monster that views his own children as little more than droids.”

“War is going to come for them no matter what,” Jango manages to say, and Kenobi’s look is back to unimpressed. “Don’t pretend you haven’t heard of the separatists. There’s an army of actual droids, metal and code, just waiting for the right moment to pick a fight. It’s too late to stop it.”

“...you’re not only raising an army of your own children, but engineering the war that’s going to kill them?” Kenobi almost screeches, and the wave of nauseous loathing that slams into Jango is almost enough to make him actually vomit. Kenobi didn’t pull punches, not in the actual fight and not in whatever mental battle they’re apparently having via emotions and words.

“I’m not engineering it,” Jango says. “I’m just one part in a bigger machine. I got my payment. The rest is on Tyranus.”

He doesn’t even stop the images from flickering through his mind, throwing the man who hired him under the speeder.

“Master Dooku?” Kenobi whispers, horror growing. “No, no, I killed the--the Sith can’t--I killed the one on Naboo, and the Council mentioned the Rule of Two, but... oh hells.”

“You know him?” Jango taunts.

“He’s my grandmaster,” Kenobi says, and Jango can’t imagine the rest is meant to reach him, but the undercurrent is there.

Count Dooku is, by Mandalorian law, Kenobi’s grandfather.

Jango... suddenly feels a little regret about the taunting.

“I’d rather you feel regret about your children,” Kenobi snaps at him. “Every single one of them is a person, one that you chose to bring into this world, and they are your children.”

The argument is going in circles, but there are still places to take this.

“Your army is all adults, Kenobi,” Jango decides.

“They are ten years old,” Kenobi retorts. “Accelerated aging, sure, but they are children.”

“They’re soldiers.”

Disgust again, the same thing Kenobi has felt every time Jango has reasserted the purpose these children were born to, the same thing Jango has told his son, his sergeants, himself, for over a decade.

“A son?” Kenobi whispers. “Is your denial that strong, Fett? That you would claim one and not the rest?”

“Payment,” Jango says, and lets Kenobi feel the rest, since he seems so karking keen on it.

“Keeping one child in exchange for letting yourself be the creator of a slave army,” Kenobi says, and he doesn’t seem impressed. “Weren’t you a slave? Two years on a spice ship, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare--”

“And you would put your sons in chains,” Kenobi hisses, hands going for Jango’s head again. It’s a sense memory, this time, of dark tunnels and exploding collars and a dar’jetii that... was his older brother. According to the Jedi way of thinking.

It’s a twisting fear and pain and I will die so that others may live while looking at an older man, a Master, who can maybe save the other slaves at the expense of one too-angry Initiate’s li--

“Get out of my head!” Jango roars, and he still can’t move his arms, and his legs are held down by the Force, but he twists his head to bite and Kenobi snatches his hands away.

Kenobi glares down at him, almost sneering with the amount of disdain he has for Jango’s general existence. “I’m your soulmate, and had we met fifteen years ago, I might have even thought that an alright thing... but whatever you are now isn’t something I can abide by. You won’t listen to morality, so let me say this instead: a Jedi does not kill an unarmed opponent, but I have full authority to arrest you, even here. I will take you back to the Republic, to be tried for your collusion with a Sith, and you will go to prison. You can try to run, but I am in your head, and you’re in mine. Once you’re in prison, what happens to your son?”

The implication is there, but even if it wasn’t, Jango hears the thought:

They’re soulmates. The Republic would place Boba with Kenobi.

He refuses to have his child raised by a holier-than-thou Jedi.

“Holiness doesn’t have any meaning in Jedi philosophy,” Kenobi says, relaxing just the slightest bit. “Other religions, yes, but no place in ours.”

“You’re a self-righteous bastard,” Jango says flatly. “Despite threatening a child.”

“You mean threatening to take custody of a child being raised in an unhealthy environment, one where he’s being taught to devalue his brothers, engendering a mental dissonance where he has to convince himself he’s special for a reason and that you won’t just drop him if he fails to be perfect?” Kenobi asks. “I prefer to keep children with guardians who love them, but the argument that he’s better off away from you isn’t a difficult one.”

“Oh, like a child-stealer--”

“My mother tried to drown me when I was a toddler,” Kenobi says, even flatter than Jango had been a minute earlier. “Because I was Force-Sensitive, and it was considered curse on my home planet. A Jedi saved me. Tell me that was a kidnapping and not being saved.”

Jango grinds his teeth. “You’re damned smug whenever you have some sob story that outranks mine.”

“This isn’t about who has the bigger sob story,” Kenobi says, and Jango can feel how he’s just as ready to start clenching his jaw to deal with Jango’s bullshit. “It’s about you doing your damned job as a Mandalorian and a father, and taking responsibility for your children. All three million of them.”

It really, really is a pity they didn’t meet before Jango took this job. They could have been great together.

As it is, Jango goes for the groin shot the second Kenobi lets him back on his feet.

[sanjisock]

if it lasts forever

a chapter 1031 coda. ao3

“Cook,” he says.

There’s gravel under his feet. It digs into the soles of his feet, hard and sharp and uncomfortable, but it is nigh preferable to everything else — the throbbing pain inside his skull, the fractures in his ribs, the long gash across his forearm from King’s sword. He feels his hold on Wadou slacken between his teeth, and bites down — he can’t afford to be lax. Not now.

“Oi, Cook,” he says. “You there?”

The gravel makes a low crunching sound under Sanji’s feet as he treads on them, his steps loud, almost careless. It triggers all kinds of alarm bells inside Zoro’s head — this isn’t the Cook, he instinctively knows; not the soft, graceful cook he knows, whose every movement is always deliberate, always done with such care.

Just listen, I’ll be quick. After we’re done, if I’m not in my right mind, I want you to — 

“Sanji,” he says. He tightens his grip on Enma as Sanji’s left leg starts to catch fire. He doesn’t let go.

 -

“Do you have someone important to you?” Mihawk asks.

It is a simple question, but jarring, in its suddenness — only seconds ago he was flung over a cliffside with a knife embedded in his guts, falling into the sea below. Now he is lying on the beach of Kuraigana, out of breath. His right eye has closed shut, swollen. Cold waves lap at his legs, numbing the pain.

It might be the throbbing stab wound, or the fact that he can’t even lift his own head now, that compels him to indulge Mihawk. “You know I do,” Zoro answers. “My captain. My crew.”

“Not the kind you would die for,” Mihawk says slowly. “Not the ones you would show your back to.”

Zoro watches Mihawk walk through the shallow water, ripples spreading. His legs are freezing and his stab wound burns hot, like a brand. “What do you mean.”

“Not the ones you protect,” Mihawk says as he stops to stand beside him. “Nor one you swear your loyalty to. But someone you would stand with, side by side.”

A certain blonde immediately flashes through Zoro’s mind, and he looks away. “And what if I do?”

Mihawk bends down over him, and for a moment Zoro thinks he’s going to offer him a hand; but Mihawk’s outstretched hand reaches towards the hilt of the knife instead, and Zoro can barely react as Mihawk pulls — the burning in his guts explodes to a fever-pitch as he doubles over in pain.

“Fuck!” He yells, clutching at his stomach. The seawater leaves pinpricks of pain against his wound. He thinks he’s going to throw up. “Fuck fuck fuck — why would you do that —”

“Remember this pain,” Mihawk says, and he rests the bloodstained blade against Zoro’s eyelid. “I will ask you another question, next time.”

“You fucking asshole,” Zoro yells, no longer caring about Mihawk’s cryptic words. Red floods his vision as Mihawk presses, and Zoro lets go.

-

“Stupid Cook,” he yells, staggering backwards as he tries to block the flurry of kicks aimed his way. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Sanji doesn’t answer. He spins instead, the movement blowing dust around them and catching Zoro off guard; he coughs just as a kick manages to slip past his defenses, slamming straight into Zoro’s chest. It knocks the breath out of him.

Remember this pain, he remembers Mihawk said, and grits his teeth around Wadou. He bats another kick away from him and slams the hilt of Enma against Sanji’s throat. “Oi, Swirly,” he growls, yanking him by the collars with his free hand as the Cook chokes and sputters. “Stop ignoring me — what do you want?”

Cold, dead eyes stare back at him. Zoro remembers the freezing water of Kuraigana, lapping at his feet.

“I don’t want anything,” the thing says — with Sanji’s mouth, with Sanji’s voice; but not with his warmth. “You’re simply in my way,”

Zoro makes a piercing cut with Kitetsu, and his heart sinks as he sees Sanji block the attack with his hands — the treasured hands of a cook.

Zoro thinks of his bleeding arm and bruising ribs and split lips — of Mihawk’s knife, slicing through his eye — and he knows none of those hurt as much as the cold way Sanji looks at him right now.

-

“That Cook of yours,” Mihawk begins.

Zoro scowls at him. Lightning flashes overhead, and the rain is soaking the bandage over his eye; the wetness makes it itch, but it doesn’t hurt anymore, and it is the least of his concerns right now. “He’s not mine —”

“The Cook, then,” Mihawk concedes. “What would you do if he was going to die?”

He immediately sits up straight. Mihawk has parried and flung all his swords away during their earlier spar, but he instinctively reached for them anyway, only to be met with empty hilts. He clenches his fist, frustrated. “What the fuck kind of question is that.”

“It invokes a different kind of pain, isn’t it?” Mihawk continues, clearly ignoring Zoro’s reaction. “You are used to wounds left behind by sharp blades and closed fists.”

“What is it to you,” he rasps.

Mihawk shakes his head. “Your enemy will not always be so kind.”

He bends down to pick Wadou up from the ground, and throws it back to its owner. “You need to be prepared for everything, Roronoa,” he says, unsheathing Yoru once again as Zoro staggers to his feet, Wadou back in his hands. “Now tell me — what would you do if he were to die?” 

-

It has started raining, but Sanji’s fire burns bright still. Smoke fills the space between them; Zoro coughs, suffocated.

“You know,” Zoro says, together with a swing of Kitetsu. Ever bloodthirsty, it manages to nick the underside of Sanji’s leg. “Someone important to me asked me to stop you.”

The thing that wears Sanji’s face doesn’t seem particularly interested, kicks unrelenting. “I don’t care.”

You need to be prepared for everything, Roronoa, Mihawk’s voice says, like a ringing in his ears. What would you do if he were to die?

He crosses Enma and Kitetsu in front of him, but instead of blocking, he tips the dull sides of the blades towards Sanij’s leg. He steps back and swings upwards just as Sanji kicks, tipping the Cook backwards, and he rushes — pushing the Cook’s calf against his chest and using his own body weight to pin him down.

His whole body aches; warmth leeches out through his sodden boots. He can feel the effects of Chopper’s medicine fading, swallowed by the pain.

“He asked me, ” he repeats, mostly to himself. He bends down, placing Wadou’s blade against Sanji’s neck. “Because he believed I could do it. Because he believed in me.”

He earns no response; Sanji doesn’t seem to care that he could die at any moment.

Zoro has held Wadou ever since he was twelve, but the sword has never been heavier between his teeth.

Zoro lets go.

-

“Don’t move, dummy,” Perona scolds him. Zoro glares at her, but tries his best to stay still — she is being nice enough to help him with the bandages, and her company is not entirely bad, once in a while. She always wraps them a little too tightly, but is perceptive enough to loosen them up when Zoro grunts at it.

The comfortable silence they fell into was broken with Perona’s inquisitive, “Hey, what’s up with that thing you and Mihawk always do?”

Zoro tilts his head. “What thing?”

“The questions,” she says. She then lowers her voice, in what seems to be an impressively accurate impersonation of Mihawk, “What would you do if he were to die? What a grim way to start every sparring session with.”

Zoro remembers Thriller Bark. Death clung to the place like carrion birds and carcasses; half-dead humans and fully-dead zombies and Perona’s own ghostly apparitions roaming its grounds. Perona doesn’t get to complain about something being too grim.

Perona tuts as she finishes wrapping Zoro’s right arm, and gratitude fills Zoro enough to stop him from starting an argument. “It’s… at first I thought he was trying to rile me up,” he tries instead. “But I understand now. It is only a thought experiment; a way to be prepared, and draw one’s strength from it.”

“Whaaaaaaat,” Perona says, elongating the word on purpose. Her ghosts pop up from behind her, as if to join in on the mocking. “You guys are so weird.”

“What’s not to understand?” Zoro asks, indignant. “It is unpleasant to think of, but swordsmen and martial artists alike have trained through mental simulations for a long time.”

“Not that part, silly. You have to make yourself think about it first, right?” Perona points out. “It is not something that comes naturally to you. ‘What would you do if he was going to die?’”

Her ghosts dance around him, and Perona laughs. Death clung to Thriller Bark and its residents, but Perona wears it like a royal garb. “Zoro, how did you ever convince yourself he wasn’t?”

-

“Why did you do that?” Sanji demands. He looks unlike the way Zoro has ever known him — face twisted, eyes haggard, like he hasn’t slept for days. He’s wearing an oversized blue sweater, and he looks like he’s drowning in it.

Zoro’s body aches all over, the pain deep and close to the bones. A few hours ago, Sanji stood before him with shaking shoulders, Bartholomew Kuma towering over them both. “Why did you?”

Sanji jerks back, as if struck. “I can’t —” he slumps into the chair by Zoro’s bedside, nails digging into the cushion. “Between the two of us, I received less injury. You could even barely stand.”

“And what do you think I should’ve done? Just sit down and let you walk into slaughter?”

“You offered your own life!”

“I survived,” Zoro crosses his arms, ignoring the pain shooting up his joints at the movement. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Sanji stands up again, face leaning close toward Zoro’s. “To me.”

Zoro opens his mouth to retort, but Sanji places his palm on Zoro’s forearm, the touch soothing and warm. “Next time, you need to let me go, Zoro.”

Zoro jerks away from the touch. “There will be no next time —”

“We’re pirates, Zoro! There is always a next time,” Sanji says, voice turning desperate. He grabs Zoro by the shoulders. “I’m not invincible, and neither are you. Of course I don’t want to die. But maybe, in some distant future, you’ll have to make this choice again. And if it ever comes to this, I need you to let me go.”

-

Kuina stands before him. She always looks so big, like this — head held high, her sword steady in her hands. She has cuts and bruises all over her body, but she smiles like she’s invincible.

That night, he will lose to her for the two-hundredth time. That night, she will stay undefeated. That night, they will share a promise.

Tomorrow, she will never smile again. Undefeated, but not invincible. Koshiro will hand him her white sword with shaking hands and barely-concealed tears, and Zoro will never let it go.

-

“What would you do if he were to die?” Mihawk asks, under the rain. It is not the only question he asks. “Would you let him go? Or would you let yourself be taken down with him?”

-

There is gravel digging against his back. Sanji is leaning on top of him, pinning him down.

“Why didn’t you do it?” Sanji asks, and it’s the first time Zoro hears a hint of emotions in his voice — something akin to distress. “Why did you let go of your swords?”

That one is a much easier question than Mihawk’s. “Because I love you, Cook.”

Sanji’s hands tighten around his neck, but it’s nowhere near his real strength. Zoro isn’t using any armament haki; Sanji could break his neck if he wanted to. He doesn’t. “I’m not — you know I’m different, now. I’m a monster now.”

“You are loud, and annoying, and such an asshole,” he says. “But you’re not a monster. You’re our Cook, and there is no world where I could imagine ever seeing you die. Not while I’m alive.”

Perona was right. It is not about being prepared — either he can, or he can’t. And Zoro can’t. Not when the Cook stood in front of Bartholomew Kuma on that graveyard of an island all those years ago, and not now, with Sanji’s fingers around his neck.

Mihawk thinks he needs to be prepared, or he’ll die. Perona thinks he should simply accept death — his own, and Sanji’s.

But there’s something Mihawk and Perona will never understand. 

“You believed in me,” he says. “So I’ll believe in you. You’re not a monster, Cook.”

He reaches out then, resting his palm on Sanji’s cheek. The skin is cold to the touch, like steel; but the wet tears that fall on his fingers are warm.

“Come back to me, Sanji.”

Zoro closes his eye. He doesn’t let go.

-

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Heyo, reporting back to request a continuation of a continuation of a continuation, if you wouldn't mind! Aka, please more 3rd Life Villainpulse angst, I'm so invested (and very curious as to whether his latest murder attempt was an actual success, or if he really should have stuck around to verify the death...)

i genuinely rly love this! i’ve got such plans for it now that i think i’ll make it into an actual proper fic.

i’ve also now posted it on AO3, titled Stand For Nothing! link here

…

Impulse is getting concerned. It’s been over five minutes and no death message in chat. It should’ve happened by now. He had been worried about being found near the scene of a death — it’d already been about five minutes since the meeting and someone would’ve gone to find Skizz, so his items would almost certainly be found — but now he’s starting to think he should have stuck around anyway and made sure the job was finished.

He had been intending to stay here at his villager trading centre until the death notification came up and then he would run back to Dogwarts and play the distressed best friend.

But no death message. So his plan has to change.

When he makes it back to Dogwarts, he finds Ren standing outside the Renchanting building, his face pale. When he spots Impulse, he quickly beckons him. “Impulse! For the love of god, where’ve you been?!”

Impulse blinks. With no death message in chat, what can Ren be so worked up about? “W-What? What’s happened…?”

“Skizzle’s been attacked! We heard an explosion outside our walls and when we went to check, we found him out there, passed out. He’s in a critical condition but Martyn’s with him now and hopefully he’ll recover.”

Impulse can only stare at Ren with an open mouth and a pit in his stomach. Somehow, in all the possible outcomes he pictured for this scenario, he never imagined Dogwarts would actually find Skizz alive. After three perfect murders, it seems he got careless.

“O-Oh my god,” he manages to choke out. “C-Can I see him?”

“Not yet, but Martyn will tell us when we can.”

Ren takes him down into the living area under Renchanting. There, Etho is pacing back and forth in front of a closed door, clearly deep in thought, but he glances up as Ren comes in. “Ren, you found him.”

Ren nods, even though it wasn’t really a question. “Any word?”

“Not yet. Martyn has three healing potions in there with him though, so I’d say Skizz’s chances are really good.”

Impulse has to strain to keep his expression steady at that. “G-Good. That’s good.”

Something changes almost imperceptibly in Etho’s expression, but Ren, clearly not noticing, rubs Impulse’s back reassuringly. “He’ll be okay, Impulse. Don’t worry.”

All Impulse can do is nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the door opens and Martyn appears, his body blocking the view inside the room. “He’s awake,” he reports, a very serious look on his face. “Ren.”

Ren quickly ducks into the room, but when Impulse starts to follow, Martyn blocks him. “Not you,” he says coldly. “Etho, stay with him, please.”

Impulse’s heart freezes. There’s only one reason Martyn would stop him from seeing his injured best friend.

Skizz has told him everything.

He takes a step back and bumps into something behind him, causing him to jump.

“What’s going on, Impulse?” asks Etho casually, an only-just-discernible undertone of danger in his voice. “You seem a little tense.”

“My best friend almost died,” Impulse replies coldly, but even he can tell his words are unconvincing.

“Indeed. I wonder how that happened?”

“I don’t like what you’re implying, Etho. Why would you have any reason to suspect me?”

Etho just folds his arms and says nothing, infuriating Impulse. “You said I was the only person on this server you really trust!”

“That was before I joined these guys. I’ve had a weird feeling in my stomach about you for a while, Impulse. Something hasn’t felt right since this whole thing started, but I assumed it was just me trying to apply rationality to this irrational world. But one thing never changes, Impulse. No matter how much you try to change it.”

Impulse falls silent, scowling at the ground. He’s already given away too much in his tone and expression.

He glances sideways at Etho, who has his eyes fixed on the door Ren and Martyn went through. Realisation dawns on him: Etho isn’t expecting him to put up a fight. Etho thinks he has nowhere to go.

Now is the time, then. He can’t afford to wait any longer; when Ren and Martyn come back out here, it’s over. Impulse knows he can’t take on three people at once. This is his last chance to escape alive.

So when Etho shifts position a few seconds later, Impulse strikes. Before he can react, Impulse sweeps Etho’s legs out from under him and shoves him into the wall as he’s falling. Without waiting around to see the result of his attack, Impulse takes off running.

He makes it out of Renchanting and is just about to run down the hill towards the crastle when an arrow whizzes by him, nicking the sleeve of his t-shirt and causing him to lose his balance. Suppressing a scream, Impulse topples down the hill and lands in the shallow river at the bottom. He tries to continue onward but has to stop as he puts weight on his left foot and realises he must have twisted his ankle during his fall.

Gritting his teeth through the throbbing pain, he looks up in time to be able to dodge another arrow fired at him by the figure on top of Dogwarts’s wall.

He has to keep going.

Every step on his left foot is agony but he pushes himself on, half-galloping down the hill on the other side, the crastle in his sights.

“Bdubs!” he shrieks as he draws near, his heart racing. The Red Army is likely right behind him. “BDUBS!”

The person he’s calling rushes out of the castle over the drawbridge just in time to catch Impulse as he finally loses his balance and pitches forward.

“Impulse! You’re soaking wet!? What the-?!”

“Th- They’re coming for me,” he croaks. His eyes flicker up and he spots two faces in the windows on the second floor. It’s time for the performance of his life. “Dogwarts turned on me! They think I killed Tango and Cleo a-a-and made you kill Joel!”

“What?!” gasps Bdubs. “That’s ridiculous! Why would they think that?!”

“I-I don’t know but th- They’re gonna kill me, Bdubs…!”

“Not on my watch!”

Bdubs quickly ushers Impulse inside the crastle and into the waiting arms of Jimmy. Together, the two guide Impulse upstairs and lay him down in the bed Grian has placed in a position safely away from the slit windows.

“What happened, Impulse?” Bdubs asks softly. “How did they turn on you?”

Impulse takes a shaky breath. “Something happened to Skizz. He… He got attacked. Then he told everyone it was me and that I’d killed Tango and Cleo and manipulated you into killing Joel.”

“First of all, that’s utterly ridiculous,” Bdubs snaps. “I killed Joel because he was about to kill you. And second, why on earth would you want to kill Tango or Cleo?”

“I-I think you might’ve been right, Bdubs. I th-think Etho was responsible for Cleo’s death. And now he’s got Dogwarts trying to make me a scapegoat.”

Bdubs’s gaze darkens. “Despicable little-.”

“BDOUBLEO!”

“Stay there,” says Bdubs.

He strides to the window, flanked by Grian and Scott, armed with his crossbow. “What do you want, Ren?”

Down on the ground, having left Skizz in the care of BigB, stand Ren, Martyn, and Etho, staring up at the castle. The latter two hold bows, while Ren is armed with a sword and shield.

“We know Impulse is hiding out in there,” Ren announces, with the regal but dangerous air of a king. “Hand him over to us, Bdubs.”

“No way in hell,” Bdubs snaps back. “He told me everything!”

“We can guarantee you he did not,” responds Martyn steadily. “Not the truth, anyway. He’s using you, Bdubs.”

“YOU’re the ones using HIM! As a scapegoat!”

“Impulse isn’t the angel you think he is, Bdubs,” Etho says darkly. “You’re protecting the person who killed Cleo.”

“No, YOU killed Cleo,” snarls Bdubs. “And I bet you killed Tango too and tried to blame it on me! You’re just trying to frame anyone you can so you can get away with it!”

Despite the pain and stress he’s experiencing, Impulse can’t help feeling proud of himself. The seeds of doubt and suspicion he’s sown between Bdubs and Etho are paying off now.

“Bdubs.” Ren’s voice drops slightly as emotion creeps into his tone. “He attacked his best friend and left him to die. If we hadn’t found him in time, Skizz would have succumbed to his injuries alone and terrified in the middle of nowhere, murdered by his own best friend.”

“What exactly is Impulse’s motive supposed to be, here?” Scott asks suddenly. “You say he killed Tango and Cleo, orchestrated Joel’s death, and tried to murder Skizzle. Why exactly would he want to do that?”

“Skizz claims Impulse said it was because Tango “knew too much” about something,” Martyn says. “Some kind of secret that Impulse is keeping. And that Cleo’s and Joel’s deaths were “necessary to push the war forward”. That’s his motive, Scott. Impulse wants war, and he doesn’t care who he hurts to get it.”

“We ARE talking about the same Impulse, right?” demands Bdubs. “Our Impulse? The sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly? Are we sure Skizz didn’t just misremember? He's a little unreliable like that. Maybe he said it was someone else who-.”

“Don’t you dare!” Martyn bursts out suddenly, his voice filled with the most venom anyone had ever heard it. “Don’t you DARE say that! You weren’t there, Bdubs! You didn’t have to fix his broken ribs and his fractured neck and his shattered arm! You weren’t there when he finally woke up after several minutes of crying out and panicked breathing like he was having a nightmare! You didn’t hear the way he cried, how terrified he was when he told me what happened, the raw agony in his voice! That’s not the demeanor of someone who MISREMEMBERED! Skizz has gone through hell today and it’s all Impulse’s fault! So I’m not leaving here without his head, in one form or another!”

“YEAH!” Ren yells in agreement, hitting his sword against his shield. “No more arguments. No more wasting time. If you don’t give us Impulse right NOW, we will declare war on you and take him by force.”

Inside the crastle, Impulse’s heart skips a beat. This is it: the moment of truth. Either everything he’s been working towards will finally come to fruition… or Bdubs will hand him over and he will die.

Bdubs straightens up, a steely look of determination appearing in his eyes.

“Then consider us at war.”

[elizabeethan]

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 15 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: get ready for some whumpy aftermath

Rated M

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Read the Rest

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Read on Ao3

~~~~

Emma creeps through the building, eyes scanning each door for any indication of Elsa’s whereabouts. Robin told her in haste as she was leaving that Elsa lives in this building, too, but he failed to inform her of what unit she was in. 

 As she walks the halls, a door opens slowly and reveals the face of someone she recognizes and is relieved to see. “Tink, hi.”

 “Looking for El?” 

 She nods. “Killian asked me to make sure she’s safe.”

 “Is he okay?” she asks with concern. Emma almost smiles at how much his friend truly cares about him. 

 “I don’t know,” she shakes her head. “They really hurt him.”

 Her voice is heated. She won’t get past the anger that boils the blood singing through her veins. They hurt the man she loves, and she isn’t sure how she’ll get past that fact without making someone pay. 

 “Well, let’s get the hell out of here so we can get him help.”

 Tink shows her where Elsa’s apartment is and she knocks on the door, answered quickly and coldly. “Yes?” 

 “Elsa,” Emma greets, confused by her clipped tone, less confused to see that she looks entirely unharmed. “Killian wanted me to check on you.”

 She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure he did,” she says sarcastically. 

“We have… we have a safe place for you. Come with us,” she tries. She doesn’t actually want to even bother convincing her, but she knows it’s what Killian wants.

 “Safe? You’re full of it.”

 She knew it. Killian feared that she had the information tortured out of her, unable to believe that she could have betrayed him with her own free will, but Emma had a sinking feeling that that wasn’t the case. Now, she thinks she’s right. “You told them,” she accuses. 

 “Yes, I did. He should know better than to try to betray the club like that.”

 “He trusts you,” she tries. “He loves you because you loved his brother.” 

 “I love my family,” she argues vapidly. “Killian tried to destroy it by shacking up with you and killing one of our own. He betrayed Neal, just because he can’t get over what happened to Liam.”

 Tink laughs, shaking her head, and Emma says, “They killed Liam! How can you not see that?”

 “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t see. You don’t know anything; you certainly don’t understand the inner workings of the club or why Peter makes the decisions he does.”

 Her thoughts are swirling in her head, moving too quickly as she tries to straighten out what Elsa says to her. She’s too forgiving, too accepting of what’s happened to the man she was supposed to love. Her actions have been too cruel. Someone who loves Killian wouldn’t have given him up; she wouldn’t be taking such a black and white stance if… 

 “You knew,” she accuses knowingly, without needing to ask. “You’ve known all along that they killed Liam.” 

 With a roll to her eyes, she says, “Liam’s actions no longer reflected his promise to the club. They did what needed to be done, and I understood that-- unlike you. The club has been my family long before Liam came around.” 

 “How could you…” she whispers, unable to say anything more. She can hardly vocalize how horrified she is to learn that someone she thought was sweet and innocent has been working against the people who love her all along.

 With a scoff, she says, “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Go back to your real boyfriend, you slut. You’re lucky he even still wants you after all you’ve done to betray us.”

 “You’re a monster,” Emma grumbles, backing away from her. “I don’t know how you can do this to someone who really loves you.”

 The sting against her cheek is immediate and sharp, Elsa’s hand delivering a solid slap and making Emma and Tink gasp in unison. “The club loves me. They’ve taken care of me since I was a kid. Now get away from me before I tell Peter what you told me about a safe place,” she goads. “Go back home, and maybe you won’t get hurt.”

 “Like Killian did? And Liam?” 

 “They got what they deserved. If you’re not careful, you will, too. I’m willing to look past this transgression, only because I know Neal loves you and thinks you’ll be a good candidate at carrying on the bloodline. But make no mistake; fuck up again and I’ll be taking this little conversation to Peter.”

 Emma couldn’t have convinced Elsa to come with them if she tried, because she wasn’t even able to try. The door slams in her face before she has a chance to get another word in.

 ~~~~

 His surroundings are barely visible before the pain sets in again. 

 It’s blinding, no matter what he does. Opening his eyes is painful. Keeping them closed is, too. 

 He doesn’t need to be awake to know where he is, either. The waves rocking the boat violently give away their location.

 “I think he’s waking up,” someone says with a voice he doesn’t recognize. “Get over here.” 

 “Mate,” he hears from Rob, his voice vaguely recognizable through the fog in his brain. “Killian, come on.” 

 “You shouldn’t have let him sleep. He probably has a concussion.” 

 “You try stopping him.” 

 “Shut up,” he groans, his lip cracking again as he speaks. Each of the men by his side laugh in relief. 

 “Killian,” he hears Robin breathe. “You alright, mate?” 

 He winces as he tries to take in a grounding breath, his ribs protesting vehemently. “Where is she?” he asks, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice. 

 “Who’s that? The one looking for me?” 

 “Emma,” Robin confirms, and Killian forces his eyes open. He only hopes that the look he gives his friend is enough to relay his fear and anger at him telling this stranger anything about the woman he loves. Doesn't he know she’s in danger already? “Don’t look at me like that, mate,” he says, although Killian can detect a hint of relief in his voice at seeing his open eyes. 

 “What did you do?” he asks, unable to expend the energy it would take to say much more. 

 “This is David. You, and especially Emma, might recognize him as James Spencer.” 

 Killian groans as he lifts his head, the crushing pain of his headache almost unbearable. Truthfully, he thought he would be worse off. Sure, he’s quite certain several ribs are broken, and he worries that he might have a fracture or two in his cheek from how many times Cassidy beat on him, but the pain isn’t quite as bad as he expected it to be. 

 It’s still bloody excruciating, though. 

 “Spencer,” he answers, looking at the familiar stranger. “The cop?” 

 He nods. “You’re girlfriend’s good. I’m with the FBI now, deep undercover. I thought we’d buried everything.” 

 “Of course she is,” he agrees, trying to take a breath deep enough to actually fill his lungs. He digs his fingers into the thin mattress and winces. “So, what now? Where is she?” 

 “She’s meeting me here,” Robin tells him. 

 “You left her alone?” he asks angrily.

 “You told her to round up Tink and Elsa. Begged her. I had to get you the hell out of there before they bloody killed you.” 

 “Why the hell would you listen to me?” he grumbles, rolling his eyes painfully. “How long has she been gone?” 

 Looking down to his watch, Robin answers, “About two hours. But she’s smart, she’ll get out of there alright.” 

 He can’t even answer, can’t even tell his friend how stupid it was to let Emma go off on her own, unprotected, before Nolan speaks up. “Your friend tells me you always seem to have a plan.” 

 “Give me some water and something to get rid of this damn headache and I’ll be much more amenable to talking.” 

 He can barely keep up with his surroundings, too disoriented and dizzy and in too much blinding pain to keep his eyes open or to form a coherent thought beyond his worry for Emma. He isn’t even sure how much time passes, how long it takes for the glass of water to appear in his hand.

 “I checked you out,” David says after what must have been a few minutes, the water finally washing away the taste of blood from his mouth. “I have field training. I think you have some cracked ribs, but I don’t think your face is broken.” 

 With a sigh and a roll to his eyes, Killian says, “Well aren’t I lucky.”

 The medication he gives him sets in after a few minutes more, numbing the pain slightly and making it so that Killian can finally breathe in enough oxygen to not feel like he’s drowning. Satisfied with the lessened pain, he takes another gulp of water and says, “Aye, I think I have a plan.”

 “Go on.” 

 “Peter’s on a rampage, ready to destroy whoever he can, but I’m assuming that if you’re here, the Kings of Elsinore must be close.” David nods in agreement. “He doesn’t know they’re coming. He planned to attack them first. Have your gang found the Lost Boy’s clubhouse yet?”

 “No.”

 “Good. We can tell you where to find them and you can set up a raid with the FBI, take both clubs down at once. On one condition.” 

 A particularly forceful wave rocks the boat again, the one that’s all too familiar to Killian, and sends David stumbling to the right. Killian’s stomach flips once more. “What’s that?” he asks once he gets his bearings. 

 Despite his pain, and his desperate need for some chapstick, Killian smirks. “You’re going to help us get out of this mess.”

 ~~~~

 It’s almost midnight by the time Neal finally falls asleep. His adrenaline and anger has kept him up, his anger directed at his plaything being taken from him rather than his girlfriend potentially being hurt before he finally crashes. He hasn’t even noticed her swollen, red cheek, too busy focusing on his rage. 

 She plays it up dramatically, acting like she’s relieved that he finally found out and got her out of the dangerous situation, while also terrified at the fact that it happened. Really, she knows she’ll be having a similar, but still drastically different, exchange with Killian the moment this is over. 

 She takes a final look around the apartment once he’s sleeping, looking for one thing and one thing only and unable to find it. She isn’t sure what he’s done to her only possession; the children’s book is the only thing she cares about aside from her friends' safety. But she isn’t surprised to know that he stole or destroyed it given his complete disregard for her well-being in any capacity. 

 She sneaks out the front door, content to never return, and creeps down the hall towards Olivia’s unit. 

 “It’s time,” she says once she gets there, her voice just above a whisper. 

 As they quietly tiptoe across the dock once they arrive, she briefly wonders how Robin will know of their arrival, before her question is answered for her. He pokes his head out of the cabin of a rather large yacht, and Emma scans the area before hurrying towards him. 

 “You made it,” he exclaims, taking her backpack and helping her onto the deck of the boat. “Where’s Elsa?”

 “Where’s Killian?” she asks, willing to ignore his question and put her out of her mind a bit longer. 

 “Below deck. He’s awake.”

 She’ll tell them about Elsa soon. Right now, she has more important things to worry about, and she can’t imagine bursting Killian’s bubble once again by telling him the truth. 

 Stepping down into the cabin is daunting. The boat reminds her of the clubhouse, weapons on display wherever they can fit. She wonders about how safe that can be, the clubs and knives and primitive looking tools bound to fall eventually with the way the waves are rocking the boat. 

 “Killian,” she exclaims, excitement to see him sitting up on his own taking over her resolve to stay strong for him. The tears are leaking from her eyes before she even realizes she’s about to cry, and she hurries towards him. The last time she saw him, he was so broken that she was worried she would lose him. 

 He breathes her in when she collides with him, wincing as she puts too much pressure on his ribs but not releasing his firm hold on her. 

 “You alright?” he asks her, his lips brushing against her neck as he speaks. Leave it to him to worry about her after he was beaten within an inch of his life. His hand reaches up to touch her cheek, the redness fading but evidently still noticeable enough, at least to a man who truly cares about her. “What did he do?” 

 “I’m fine,” she answers. She wants to crawl onto his lap and hold him in her arms for the rest of their lives, but she knows she can’t. They have to move. “Can we go now?”

 “Where’s El?” he asks, confused. 

 Robin interrupts, not letting Emma answer, and says, “we can’t go yet, unless we want to get arrested. Emma, meet Special Agent David Nolan.”

 Her eyes widen when she looks up and sees a man she recognizes, stunned to have his identity confirmed for her. “James Spencer,” she says, nodding her head. “So you are undercover?”

 “I am. Props to you for figuring it out, although it’s a bit disconcerting.”

 “I didn’t tell anyone,” she shrugs. The agent laughs. “Plus, I thought you were just a cop.”

 “Close enough.”

 “Emma,” Killian says softly, his hand closing around hers and squeezing again. “Where's Elsa? What happened to you?”

 She bites her bottom lip when she looks into his eyes again and is met with his painful stare. It’s unfair that she has to be the one to tell him this. That a woman he thought was his family should betray him like this and she has to be the one to pass the information along and to see the look on his face when she does. 

 “Killian,” she answers softly. “Olivia and I went to her and tried to get her to come with us. We told her we had a safe way out, that we would help her escape. But she wanted nothing to do with us.” 

 He touches her face again, the concern written across his face pulling at her heart. “What happened?” he nearly whispers. 

 “She said some awful things,” Tink tells him. “Emma told her she was being stupid, essentially-- ripped her a new one for selling you out-- and El gave her a good slap.”

 His fingers dance along her tender skin once more as he shakes his head in disappointment and disbelief. “She did this to you?”

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you--”

 His lips find hers effortlessly, his touch gentle and delicate and careful not to let things between them get too passionate while they still have an audience. She’ll have to tell him about Liam eventually, but it’s too much right now. He’s so broken, and she worries that telling him that his sister-in-law knew about his brother's death could put him over the edge when he has to focus on healing. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe she would--”

 “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we really should get moving. The SWAT team will be here soon.”

 “SWAT?” 

 “Love, David is planning a raid on the clubhouse. We’re going to give him the club’s location in exchange for our freedom and immunity during any investigations.”

 She lets her jaw drop in surprise, her expectations of their evening completely shattering before her. “Oh shit…”

 “Aye,” Killian confirms. “We just need to figure a way to get them all to the clubhouse. We need Peter to call another family meeting, but me simply being gone likely wouldn’t be enough of a reason.”

 “If I may,” David offers, Emma looking up from Killian’s distracting eyes at him. “Isn’t she the leader’s girlfriend?”

 “She is called Emma, and if you think she is going back there, you might as well just haul me off to jail right now because I’ll bloody beat--”

 “Killian!” she insists, placing her hand on his and squeezing to try and calm him down. “Just hear him out. He might be onto something.” 

 He turns to her, his cheeks flushed in his pain and anger. “I’m not sending you back there! You just left; I’ll die before I let anything more happen to you.”

 She rolls her eyes, but it’s only to protect herself. The fact is, he did almost die in favor of letting anything happen to her. “No you won’t,” she says definitively. She stands from her place beside him and looks seriously at the agent. “What did you have in mind?”

 “Emma--”

 She turns around sharply. “After everything you’ve been through today, don’t you dare tell me I can’t do something to protect you. We can end this, Killian. We won’t be on the run; we’ll be completely free to live the lives we want.” Turning back to David, she asks, “Right?”

 “She’s right,” he agrees, though he’s looking at Killian. “With all of your cooperation, I’m positive I can get you off scot free.”

 “Killian,” she whispers, sitting back at his side and taking his hand once more. “I can do this.”

 “I know,” he agrees immediately with a firm nod, a look of consternation on his pained face. “I’ve yet to see you fail. I just hate that I have to put you through this.”

 “You’re not,” she promises. “I am. And I’ll be fine. I can handle Neal.”

 “Aye, you’ve proven that much,” he smiles, his hand finding her cheek again. His eyes are starting to look heavier and heavier, whatever he was given for the pain taking over his consciousness again. “You’re a mighty strong lass.”

 “You sound so much more British when you’re high,” she laughs, leaning over to kiss his broken bottom lip softly. 

 “I just happen to know you like my accent,” he flirts, and she giggles in response, pecking the tip of his nose. 

 “Alright, my love,” she whispers. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

 ~~~~

 “Neal,” she whispers when she arrives in his bedroom. Their plan is a solid one, fully formed and ready to be put into action. That fact doesn’t make her any less anxious. 

 Killian gave David plenty of information on the club before she’d arrived. He told him about the millions in merchandise they’ve stolen, and where to find the pieces and the blueprints for evidence. He told them about the countless murders they’ve committed, including that of his own brother and where his body can be found. He told them about the illegal pornography business they’ve been running, and in exchange, David and his team will look past Olivia’s involvement. 

 Now, all that’s left is to gather the club for a family meeting and wait for the shooting to start. 

 She won’t be there, though. She and Killian made sure of that, making a plan just before he fell asleep and just after David left to make a call to his superiors. 

 “Neal, baby, wake up,” she says, appealing to his distorted senses and shaking his shoulders. 

 “What is it?” he asks grumpily, pushing her hands away. 

 “I found something.”

 He groans and snaps, “Just tell me what it is.”

 She clears her throat awkwardly and says, “I was able to pin Spencer’s last known location. He’s here, in Storybrooke. I think the whole gang is.” 

 He sits up suddenly, his eyes glowing meanly in the moonlight and making her shudder. “An attack,” he says, his tone definite, as if he’s the one who figured this out. 

 He doesn’t bother to even question how she found out, but she’s fine with that. “I think we should ask Peter to call a family meeting. This changes the whole plan, right?”

 “You’re right,” he agrees. “Come on, get dressed.”

 For once in her miserable relationship with him, she happily does as he commands. 

~~~~

~~~~

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​ @batana54​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @deckerstarblanche​ @zaharadessert​ @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza​ @captainswan21​

[janetbrown711]

"you've always been strong for me. let me return the favor." Angelina 2 to William 🥺

To say William woke up feeling refreshed would be the most obvious lie of all time. 

His first thought in his painfully groggy head of his was of his location. From what he could sense, it wasn’t familiar. The beds felt cheap, nothing like the royal silk sheets he had gotten used to at the palace. 

His second thought was of Lena. He couldn’t feel her presence, which caused him to snap his eyes open and look for her. 

This third thought was remembering what had happened. 

Freeing Wakko. Hurting his arm. The attack. 

He tried sitting up but a wave of pain shot through his whole body and he was forced to sit back down. However, he looked across the room and saw her. 

Lena was in a bed across the room from him, and it hurt his neck to look at her, but he couldn’t look away. He had never seen her with so many bruises and bandages around her in his life. It broke his heart.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” The familiar voice of his childhood best friend, Helloise Nerz, spoke softly. “How are you feeling?”

How was he feeling? Almost every inch of his body ached and hurt, his wife somehow appearing worse than him, and he was miles and miles away from his children, who he already missed terribly. 

“Right... poor question,” She apologized. “How much do you remember?”

He thought a moment. 

“Last thing I remember is passing out on your doorstep,” He said. She nodded. 

“Good, because that was the last thing that happened,” She said. 

“So... what’s wrong with me, doc?” He joked a little. Helloise chuckled. 

“Nurse. Scratchy is the real doc, I’m just the assistant,” She remarked. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Helloise. I’m sure you could run this place if you had to,” He said. She snorted. 

“You’ve got a terribly sprained arm that I noticed was already bandaged, but you’ve made much worse, I presume from carrying her highness. You also have a torn ligament in your right ankle, minor frostbite, and numerous pulled muscles throughout your legs,” she read off of a chart. 

“And Lena?” He asked. 

“Broken rib, a minor concussion from what we can tell, fractured fibula, severe bruising on the face, minor frostbite, and blood loss from a severe wound in the right shoulder we cleaned and stitched up.”

William looked at his wife again. 

“How long have we been asleep?” He asked. 

“Three days,” She said. William blinked. 

“Th-three days?” he asked.

She sighed. “William...” she sat on the edge of his bed. 

“The whole kingdom thinks you two are dead, and honestly, you two are lucky to be alive.”

“What? Why? How? What about Yakko Wakko and Dot? Are they alright?” He tried sitting up, but the wave of pain reminded him not to. 

“Well, her majesty the queen threw a funeral two days ago. They said attackers stormed the castle in the night and killed the two of you,” She explained. 

“But what about Yakko Wakko and Dot? Are they okay?” He asked. 

“I haven’t heard any news of the three of them, so they should be alright with the queen.”

“If you could consider being with the queen alright,” he muttered. 

“Right... She wasn’t the best mother, right?” She remembered. He shook his head, sighing. Just then, a low grumble came from across the room, and Lena began to stir. 

“What... where... Will..?” she mumbled as her eyes slowly opened and she took in her surroundings. William wanted nothing more than to rush to her side, but the numerous injuries Helloise had informed him about kept him where he was. Instead, the good nurse went over and started evaluating and explaining the situation to her. 

“D-dead..?” Her face went pale as a ghost. “That means... They’re with... we have to go. Now,” She looked at William, and started climbing out of her bed, nearly collapsing immediately if it hadn’t been for Helloise catching her. 

“Your highness, you can’t. You need to recover,” She said, laying her back down. 

“I can’t leave them with her- I can’t,” She shook her head.

“Lena...” He said softly. She looked at him for a moment, before lying back down and looking away, her expression mostly unreadable. Just then, the doctor came in. 

“Oh goodie, you two are awake,” He said, but he quickly read the room. 

“Er... how are you two feeling?” He asked. William shrugged, while Lena remained silently looking away. 

He then pulled the nurse back outside to talk for a moment, promising it wouldn’t be long. William nodded and let them go, and his eyes went to Lena. 

She wouldn’t look at him, even when he said her name. Something was deeply, deeply wrong. William wished he could read her mind, though he did have a few guesses. For one, the kids. 

William knew they were resourceful and clever, but he honestly had no idea what Angelina was going to do to them now that they were out of the picture- especially if she thought they were dead. 

It sent a shiver down his spine just thinking about it...

“So... your highnesses... what can you tell us about the attack?” The doctor reentered and asked. 

“Oh god... where to start?” he chuckled nervously. 

“If you aren’t ready, it’s totally fine,” Helloise sat on the edge of his bed. “We just... well... the people are curious. You are supposed to be dead after all.”

“Of course,” William said, before taking in a deep breath and beginning. 

.o0o. 

It had been a tense week. William had been mad at himself when he had sprained his arm. He was a knight, dammit, he was supposed to be trained to be better than that. Now it meant he had to postpone any of his own mini training lessons he was giving Wakko and Yakko until later, which he knew Yakko would be suspicious of. He always had a habit of picking up on their anxiety and carrying it with him like it was his responsibility too, which was upsetting for multiple reasons. 

Some of Angelina’s lessons were extremely difficult to try and undo. 

At least Wakko was trying to be optimistic about things. After he had broken him out of the tower, Wakko was spending a lot more time with them as a family, suddenly talking to them a lot more than he used to, which William took as a good sign, seeing as he desperately wanted something to look on the bright side about. 

Dot was happy too, of course, as she was just glad to have Wakko back too. She could hardly tell everyone else was anxious, she was only four after all. 

When the first window broke, William had been up in a flash, and despite his injury, he grabbed his sword anyway. 

“William? What’s the matter?” Lena had asked. 

“Go back to sleep, my love. I’ll handle this,” he kissed her head, leaving their bedroom. 

He walked through the halls, surprised at just how silent everything was. Still, he kept his guard up, not allowing himself to relax for even a second. 

“...this castle is huge! Even with the map she gave us,” a disgruntled, not-too-far off voice said. William ducked behind a curtain for cover. 

“It’s a quick mission though: grab the king, grab the queen, and grab the kid if there’s time to spare,” A lower voice shrugged, and William felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. Immediately, he burst out and attacked one of the men, and they quickly began a sword fight. 

Unfortunately, William found himself evenly matched by his opponent and realized he was surrounded by allies, some that were even taller than him.

He was kinda screwed. 

Still, he fought and parried and swung and blocked with a valiant effort, though the pain in his arm burned more and more and it was evident he was becoming weaker. His opponent saw this, and got behind, and he brought down the handle of his sword onto his arm, and William dropped his sword and fell onto the ground, growling in pain. 

“Remember, queenie said no blood on her carpets or tapestries,” The tallest reminded his attacker, who was now pointing his sword at his face. “Tie him up. With the strongest removed, we can work on getting that queen and the middle boy,” He ordered, before taking a few and leaving. 

Wakko. 

William growled, and swiped his feet out from under him, causing his attacker to fall to the ground. William then began fighting with his bare fists against the men who tried jumping on and fighting him next. 

However, the numbers were too large, and before William knew it, his wrists were tied and he was captured. 

“Alright, move it, princey,” one of the men kicked him. William gnashed his teeth, but they planned for that, as two of the men held him down, and a third quickly put a muzzle around him. 

“There, now that should get you to behave,” He grinned, pulling William up, and the three men forced him out of the castle, and into the back of a carriage, where he was locked in and left. 

He tried kicking the door open, but it must’ve been solid wood because he got nowhere, and all he ended up doing was exhausting himself. 

William was alone for quite an amount of time, and he tried everything he could to break free of his restraints but nothing was working. He cursed his stubbornness that caused him to sprain his arm- if it hadn’t been for that he was confident he would’ve been able to take down the six men. He was a knight for god’s sake- he was supposed to be able to protect his family. 

He was supposed to be able to protect his family. 

After a long moment of silence and stillness, the door opened and Lena was thrown in next to him, and William caught a glimpse of the outside and noticed it was snowing lightly. 

He didn’t dwell on that, his eyes falling onto Lena, who looked horrible. Tears were streaming down her face as she looked at him, slowly and painfully crawling her way over and lying against his chest. William did his best to hug her with his hands tied. 

Neither of them could say a word, but both knew exactly what the other was feeling, and they did their best to embrace and comfort each other. 

Then, the carriage began to move.

They didn’t capture Wakko.

Despite everything, William sighed a breath of relief.

Silently, the couple rode for hours, not knowing where they were being taken or why or who was behind any of this, though they had a few guesses.

William was just glad he still had her... even if it wouldn’t be for much longer.

He loved her with his entire being, nothing would ever change that, not an evil queen, and not even death.

However, his mind quickly went to his kids.

Wakko was alive- at least, he hoped. The attackers said they couldn’t get blood anywhere, hopefully, that meant they just ran out of time to find him and he was okay.  

But if they were killed, William had no idea what Angelina would do to them. They would have no protection from her now. They could be hurt, or worse...

William hugged Lena a little tighter.

After an hour or two of riding, the temperature inside the carriage got notably colder, the snow outside picking up.

William prayed for a miracle.

They continued riding on, William even drifting to sleep at one point, when they were suddenly jerked awake. there were shouts from out of where they were, and William and Lena sat up best they could, though Lena was in a lot more pain. Suddenly, the carriage lost control, and started to skid and slide, though William and Lena had no idea what the cause was- but it didn’t matter because not before long, it crashed into a tree and everyone was thrown into the air, and landed with a crash and crack. 

William winced at the sound, closing his eyes but when he opened, he saw it-

The doors were busted open. 

Quickly, William scooted out, gesturing for Lena to follow, but she was closing her eyes and cringing in pain, and William realized she had injured her leg in the fall. Knowing they didn’t have much time to run, he carefully got her out, having her arms go around him with the tie, and having her hold herself up best she could with her remaining upper body strength as they ran into the woods, as far away as they could manage, also while looking for something they could use to untie their hands- and also a hiding place for when the attackers began to search. 

Luckily, William was well trained in tracking so he did his best to make sure his footprints in the snow made zero sense and were misleading at best, praying they wouldn’t be able to follow, but he didn’t know who or what they were, so it was hard to be certain. 

Eventually, William and Lena made it to a cave and they hid in there for a while, With William finding a particularly sharp rock he used to untie his hands, remove his muzzle, then untie Lena, and remove her muzzle. 

“William,” she said with teary eyes. 

“Lena,’ he replied, becoming overwhelmed with the desire to hug her, but noting her injured state, he instead just pressed his forehead against hers, and she did the same, placing her soft hand against his face as she cried softly.

“We can’t stay here for long- a bear probably lives here,” she said. 

“Just for a moment, we need to rest- figure out where we are, and what our next move is,” He said. 

“We’re so far from home... how are we going to get out of this?” She asked. 

“I... I don’t know, Lena,” He admitted. “But we will, I promise.” 

They stayed hidden for quite some time, having only one close call when one of the tracker’s voices was close enough for them to hear, but William was ready with the sharp rock in case he got too close, but he never did, so they were alright. 

Well- alright, considering everything that just happened. 

Eventually, the sun started to rise in the woods, and it slowly dawned on William that the coast was clear, and they were free to go. 

But... free to go where? They had no idea where they were- were they even in Warnerstock? They could be in foreign lands for all they know- a place where they didn’t even speak the language and they could be killed for sneaking in and-

Wait. Lena was the Princess, and knew all the languages of the neighboring kingdoms, and would likely be given aid. William was panicking over nothing. 

However... Lena was looking rather weak. She lost a lot of blood, and her injuries were only pilling up. 

“Where do we go?” Lena asked as he was looking at her.

“Well... I don’t think we can go home... as something tells me your mother was behind this...” He stroked his chin. 

“You’re telling me,” she huffed, before wincing in pain. 

William snapped. “I know a place where they can’t refuse us,” he grinned. 

Lena blinked. “William... Acme falls is in the middle of nowhere and perhaps one of the first places they’d go looking for us if we were missing,” she frowned. 

“Well- not unless your mother wants us to be dead. Then she wouldn’t have to or want to look anywhere,” he said. “It’d be just like it was when we had just gotten married.”

“When we just married...” Lena trailed off into the memory, a look of sad nostalgia written on her face. 

“Look... I’m going to go and try to figure out where we are, so we can head to Acme. Will you be okay if you stay here?” he asked. 

“I don’t think I have a choice,” she tried to joke, but William knew she hated it. He kissed her forehead. 

“I love you,” He said. “I won’t be long.”

“I love you too, Wiliam,” she replied, and William ran out of the cave. 

It took about an hour, but eventually, William discovered that yes, they were still in Warnerstock, and found the direction they were to go to if they wanted to go to Acme Falls. It would be quite the trek, especially if this snow continued to fall, but he had determination on his side. 

He was not going to die here, nor was he going to let Lena. He would carry her in his arms if he had to, simple as that. 

.o0o.

“So... yeah. We hiked for hours to reach here, the strains and pulled muscles and frostbite are from trekking through the snow, and that’s how we got here,” William finished his tale. 

“Oh William... that’s terrible,” Helloise looked at him sadly. 

“That does explain a lot... you two should really be getting rest now, yah?” Scratchnsniff remarked, reading over their charts one more time. 

“Rest, yeah...” he nodded slowly, though sleep was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to go back to the palace asap, and kill Angelina, and get his kids back. He was confident Lena felt the same.

Though...  they wouldn’t be able to do much good in this state... especially without a plan. 

“We’ll leave the two of you alone... you’ve been through a lot,” Helloise said.

“Thanks,” he gave a weak smile, which she returned. 

His eyes then went to his wife, who still wasn’t looking at him, staring intently at the ground and wall. 

“Lena, my love, what’s the matter?” He asked. Lena snorted. 

“That’s your first question?” She snarked. 

Okay, that was on him. That was a pretty dumb question. 

“What are you thinking about?” he tried again. Lena crossed her arms.

“It isn’t fair...” she said. William sighed. 

“I know it’s not fair that-”

“I’m not talking about my mother o-or the attack- I-i’m talking about you,” she snapped. William paused. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. Lena sighed, wincing at the pain. 

“Damned broken ribs...” she muttered. 

“I meant... It’s not fair. Time after time after time I end up hurt or crying or abused- it isn’t fair. You’re always so strong William, it pains me. When is it my turn to be strong for you?” she said, wiping away tears and trying her best not to cry. 

“Lena...” William reached out to her as much as he could, his arm nearly touching her pillow. Lena continued to look away. 

“I’m serious. No matter what happens, you’re always so strong and so brave and comforting. I just- I feel so inadequate,” she whispered. 

“Lena, you aren’t inadequate,” He said softly. “You’re just...”

“Damaged?” she said, matter-of-factly. “Don’t pretend it isn’t true- I know what my mother has done.”

“Lena, I don’t care. I love you,” He said. 

“And I love you- but... I just... you’ve always been so strong for me William. I want to return the favor, just once...” She looked at him. 

“Lena, we’ve both lost so much... this shouldn’t be something we measure or keep track of,” He said, and Lena placed her head where his hand is on her pillow. 

“I miss them, William,” she whispered. 

“I miss them too, my love,” he whispered back. Lena kissed his hand. 

“We’ll get them back, Lena. I promise,” he said. Lena nodded, kissing his hand again and closing her eyes.

“I promise too. No matter what it takes, we are going to get our babies back.” 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

[xiaomomowrites]

so mean, xiansheng

Genshin Impact | ZhongChi

Summary: “You still refuse to yield?” Zhongli taunts, digging the ball of his foot into his chest. “After all that, you still persist? You’ve reached for your delusion, you’ve summoned all the weapons in your armory, and now you’ve resorted to crawling away? Frankly, when Tsaritsa had explained to me that she’d send her strongest diplomat my way, I hadn’t expected this level of...incompetence.”

The blunt end of his spear makes contact with his navel, and Childe’s face burns red. Fuck, why does he want it so much lower—

"Pathetic."

Or, Childe figures out Zhongli is Rex Lapis. He challenges him to a fight, anyway.

Find it on Ao3!

This story has nothing to do with the series! I just got the urge to write Zhongli being the badass he is. 

A/N: Okay I wrote this immediately after I finished my draft for act VI, so that should definitely be coming very soon! But my evil beta, Peaches, implanted this horrible idea of Zhongli being a little more mean and a little more malicious in my head, and I had no choice by to write it. One of these lines is actually hers, and I just adjusted it a bit, but it really inspired me to write a whole damn fic. Oh, the power she holds.

Let it be known that I did NOT expect this to turn out the way it did. I wanted angst, not sexual tension! But hey, sometimes fics really do write themselves. Thank you, Peaches, for helping me scratch an itch I didn't even know I had. Anyway I hope you enjoy!

Find me on Twitter where I'm very chatty and talk about Genshin too much! -u.n

--

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

In all fairness, Childe didn’t expect to win this fight. He really didn’t. Tartaglia had just pieced together that Zhongli was the Rex Lapis, and he had gotten ahead of himself anyway. Really, challenging a six thousand year old God? Childe has done many, many reckless things, but this has to be his stupidest trick yet. And still, still, he found himself in the Golden House, surrounded by the walls of ebony, and feeling like he was getting swallowed whole by the golden hue of the mora beneath his very feet.

Well, he was on his knees, now.

Childe pants from where he is hunched over. Somewhere in his fight against his precious Xiansheng, Zhongli had managed a good hit to his abdomen with the butt end of his weapon, and he was only mildly aware of the fact that he was bleeding internally. But on the bright side, the dull throbbing kept him from passing out right then and there; every jolt of pain that spread through his core has kept him awake and mildly aware up until this point. Childe grunted and cradled the wound with his left hand, his right one occupied with his bow. It came back stained red. Well, shit. It wasn’t so internal anymore.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Even though he knows he isn’t in immediate danger, and that Zhongli would never actually harm him, Childe’s heart still sinks terrifyingly low into his stomach. Childe whips around and ignores the burst of pain and the pressure building behind his eyelids at the sudden movement. He draws his bow, summons a hydro arrow and gets a clear shot of Zhongli’s ridiculously sexy face and—

The Archon closes the distance by twirling and tossing his polearm forward, disappearing into thin air, and warping right in front of him again in a flash of blinding gold. With a flick of Zhongli’s wrist and the slightest nudge of his spear against Childe’s weapon, the bow goes flying. It clatters somewhere far away from him, skidding until it hits one of Zhongli’s geo pillars. Childe panics slightly, using his feet to try to scoot away while frantically summoning his water blades.

Zhongli is quick, though. He never misses a beat, never leaves an opening, never lets Childe get a single hit in. And, well, maybe Childe could have worded his challenge better. The Harbinger should have known better than to hit him with the classic “hit me with everything you’ve got” because apparently, he didn’t know his own damn limits. And looking at the way the Archon hasn’t even broken a sweat, it would be safe to assume that Zhongli is only exerting maybe half of his energy. Possibly even less.

Childe, on the other hand, was already haggard from the effects of his delusion. He had summoned his stronger form sometime during the fight, reaching for the electricity that crackled within his bones for a boost in strength. Tartaglia had felt confident, then, upon seeing Zhongli looking so tiny from where the Harbinger stood. He had held himself tall and proud in that moment, all strength and lethal lightning surrounding his body. But of course, the Archon did not budge. If anything, Tartaglia remembers him smirking, looking smug from where he had stood. His eyes had flashed a brilliant gold, and the tips of his hair burned a brighter amber. Childe remembers lunging and Zhongli parrying effortlessly, countering his every attack like it was nothing but a mere dance to him. Tartaglia had even kept contact with him! Each swing he sent had touched Zhongli fair and square, but each bludgeoning hit was redirected with ease, and it slid right off the Archon like water off a duck’s back.

It had infuriated the Harbinger to no end.

But then he let his guard down, blinded by his own anger, and Zhongli had met a fist swinging wildly with his own open palm sliding against Tartaglia’s arm. The Archon had formed an invisible wedge that steered Tartaglia off course and away from his vital points. Zhongli had tilted his head slightly to the right then, lunged forward, and took his opponent down in one fell swoop.

Tartaglia didn’t remember much after that. All he remembered was that he was in pain, his joints were croaking pathetically, and he was back in his normal human form. The lingering effects of his delusion danced along his fingertips in the form of purple electricity.

But it doesn’t matter what form he takes, because Zhongli derails his train of thought as the bottom of a boot is suddenly pressed against his chest, forcing him down, and not stopping until he hits the floor. Childe wheezes, the obvious fracture in his ribs making itself known. Those geo pillars getting summoned from hell really did not do the ginger any favors, especially the one that rose up beneath his feet and slammed against his chest, sending him tumbling away and coughing.

“You still refuse to yield?” Zhongli taunts, digging the ball of his foot into his chest. “After all that, you still persist? You’ve reached for your delusion, you’ve summoned all the weapons in your armory, and now you’ve resorted to crawling away? Frankly, when Tsaritsa had explained to me that she’d send her strongest diplomat my way, I hadn’t expected this level of...incompetence.”

The blunt end of his spear makes contact with his navel, and Childe’s face burns red. Fuck, why does he want it so much lower—

Childe whimpers like a wounded animal. Because the worst part is, he’s not even wrong. And Zhongli isn’t even trying to sound mean. He simply is .

“Pathetic.”

Childe’s toes curl at the degradation.

Oh, fuck.

What is going on?!

“Stop,” he pleads. Gods above, please, please keep going, his mind betrays him.

“Oh?” Zhongli taunts, dragging his foot down until it reaches his abdomen. He uses his polearm to nudge Childe’s legs apart a little further and oh he might pass out. He digs his heel into Tartaglia’s stomach, purposely avoiding his injury. Not because he’s being nice, no. He’ll just get to that later. Childe grunts at the contact. “I don’t think you want me to, though.”

Zhongli’s eyes flicker down to Childe’s crotch, and watches with sick satisfaction at the way his hips squirm in anticipation. Zhongli waves his hand and in one motion, the weapon disappears.

“Oh Celestia,” he laughs. He laughs, and Childe’s cock twitches at the sound. It’s empty and hollow, and not at all filled with the usual joy he’s used to hearing. Childe suddenly gets the inexplicable need to swallow it. “You like this?”

Childe opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Barely a squeak, if anything. Oh Tsaritsa, what is wrong with me?

Zhongli moves his foot a little to the left, applies the slightest bit of pressure, and—

“A-Ah-!”

The god smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Childe croaks, “W-what are you—“

Zhongli stares at him with eyes that somehow became a shade darker, a shade meaner. They were filled with a hunger that was almost inhuman; an aura emitted from him that was otherworldly and frighteningly possessive. It was only in that fraction of a second that Childe was hit with the realization of just who he was looking at. This...this was no simple soldier. This was no flimsy Millelith, that he could dismantle within seconds. This was a whole deity. The oldest Archon, the dragon himself, Morax-

“You know who I am, do you not? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have challenged an innocent consultant to such a grand battle, and in the Golden House, of all places,” Zhongli summons a lone piece of mora and twirls it between his fingers, observing the way the weight felt in his hand. It glimmers faintly in the light. He doesn’t even bother to look at Tartaglia anymore.

“Kings and Gods of all realms have bowed before me,” he states with such nonchalance it makes Childe’s head spin, “whatever made you think you could be an exception?”

Childe chuckles weakly, and finally lets his head hit the floor. His eyes flutter shut in surrender. He supposes that Zhongli is right. Besides, he knows when he’s lost a battle. It was time to end this.

“Alright,” he voices, “I yield.”

“No,” Zhongli states firmly, and much to Childe’s surprise and (reluctant) delight, the Archon drops all of his weight onto him and straddles his torso, pinning his body to the ground. His hands, quick as lighting, pin Childe’s own above his head. Zhongli leans down slowly, condescendingly, until there’s barely a hair’s width between their lips. The Harbinger’s breath hitches.

“You yield when I tell you to.”

[yandere-wishes]

💝My Obsession // Yandere! Leona Kingscholar x Reader// 💝

Someone, please explain to me how all my Leona fics end up being 2,500+ words?? Also props to whoever figures out which anime got inspired by to write the ending. Any way enjoy also thanks so much to @malleusthorns​ their game motivated me to write this.

Warning: Gore...I guess.

🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁

There was a throbbing that wouldn't seem to go away, reverberating through the young girl's skull. Bouncing from wall to wall of her cranium just like a bouncy ball. The pain caused her to close her eyes tighter, trying to lull herself back into the numb comatose that had started to crack under the weight of alertness. Tiny fracture sprinkled around the darkness, noting to fully break her dormant mind. That was until something icy and wet splashed over her face, jolting her from her slumber.

(Y/n)'s eyes shot open, tears forming at the sides ready to slip out. She was becoming cognizant of the hammering in her head. A shiver ran up her spin before creeping over her skin, laying cutis anserina in its wake. As her sense began to awaken one by one, (y/n) started to feel a tug on her shoulder. The poor girl tried pulling her humerus forward, only for her skin to scrape against a smooth, freezing surface. Something was bounding her arms...and her legs she noted as she tried to kick her feet. 

Nervously her bloodshot eyes scanned the room, it was dark and chilly. Something was causing every hair on her body to stand up on high alert, her guts where entwining amongst themselves screaming that something just wasn't right. Endless minutes flew by before a rollicking noise jarred silent darkness. A tapping soon followed, pittering across the floor. One second she could practically feel their presence less than a millimeter away from her. The next all she had was their even,never-changing noise where, she could only assume, was in front of her.

'Please talk' a  timid voice croaked inside her head. 'Please say something' the nervous noise was poking at her tolerance. 'Just talk!' she couldn't tell if she'd actually screamed out the words or only hollered them inside her head. Either way, it did not matter, the footsteps only continued on their way, ignoring her presence altogether. The steps were getting further and further...the footfalls ceased and were instead replaced by a ripping noise that echoed through the emptiness.

In moments the obscurity was pierced by thin feeble rays of silver light. Despite the lights infirm nature it's brightness (y/n) still shut her eyes in an attempt to stop the stinging that had sparked from the back of her eyeballs. Endless minutes passed before a heavy sigh filled the air accompanied by the mirthless voice of the mysterious kidnapper. "Life's not fair is it?"

That question, that signature rhetorical question that had all but engraved its self in the depths of (y/n)'s memory. There was only one person, one person in the entirety of the world that could state such an overlooked fact as if it was the foundation that life was built on, one person...

"Leona..." Her whisper was as light as the air itself, the name of her beloved childhood friend mingled with the air before it was carried off into oblivion. Craning her head to the right, (Y/n)'s eyes caught the ever so familiar frame of the Savanclaw dorm leader. His green eyes glowed in the eerie rays. His posture wasn't as lax like it always was. There was an eagerness to him, an unsteadiness engulfing him. His spin was stark straight, his gloved fingers dug into his hips, scrunching the fabric of his shirt. "Surprised kitten?" his voice rumbled from his chest, echoing through the room. "You really shouldn't be, you've had this coming for some time."

(y/n)'s brows knitted together, whatever had been spilled on her earlier was starting to dry over her face. Sticking to her visage like a second skin. "L-Leona..." her voice was brittle, wither away like a dying rose. "W-what are...are you talking about?" dread was wrapping it's decaying thin arms around her, hover above the doomed darling watching the spectacle. "Wh..why am I here?" questions where bubbling inside the girl, floating out of her mouth and lingering in the stale air. It did little to phase Leona, he just kept starring and starring. Almost like a predator hunting its prey.

Slowly the lion boy stalked forward, his tail swished from side to side, almost like he was nervous about something...When he was close enough he leaned over. With one hand he tilted the metal chair backward. With the motion (y/n)'s head tipped backward. Their faces were close, far too close, (y/n) could feel every breath that Leona took. There was malice and sadness hidden behind his emerald orbs. His face was twisted into a snarl, sharp teeth on full display. "Why do you always have to be so dame clueless?"

(y/n)'s nerves were starting to snap. If this was a sick joke, then it had lost its humor the moment she woke up. "Stop it!" her voice creaked like old floorboards. Her vocal cords strained almost on the verge of bleeding as she tried to morphed her tone into an intimidating one. "This..this isn't funny Leona!!" The older boy rolled his eyes. He tipped the chain back to its initial position. Before waling behind her and undoing the restraints. Just as (y/n) came to move her arms, Leona forcefully pushed the chair into the ground. (Y/n)'s face slammed against the dirty floor, bouncing upwards from the sheer force before falling down numbly once more.

Leon watched as the young girl tried to get up, balancing herself on her hands and knees. as she stretched her neck to look up at him, he noted that blood was pooling under a few areas on her face and left eye. Creating supple red bruises. Though he would never say it out loud, she looked pretty like this, she had always looked her best when she was bleeding of hurt in some manner, it caused a sort of glow to orbit around her. But her beauty did little to make up for her insolence. There was a storm brewing inside him of him the anger, danger, and a newly awoken darkness where entwining birthing the personification of his obsession.

"By the king of beasts," he grumbled as his fingers shot up to his temple, as they always did when the iteration of the situation was planting another neuralgia in his head  "I want you...no, you are mine, you have always been mine! You're just so stupidly dense that you never once realized it!"

(Y/n)'s eyes widen in disbelief, her heart was pounding against her rib cage practically breaking her ribs with each beat. Nervously she brought the back of her hand to her face, trying to distract herself. As she went to wipe the substance off her face. The substance cracked and peeled off the second her hand rubbed against it. As it fell it revealed a sticky layer underneath. Retracting her arm quickly (y/n) tried to see what it was that she had just touched...Another wave of shock rolled over her...

"B-blood?" Frantically her eyes ran up to Leona's begging for answers. The dark-skinned boy shrugged. "I didn't like your history project partner". (y/n) gulped, "How long?" her question silently floated between them, acting as a shield brightened by the dimly light. Leona only raised an eyebrow, he opened his mouth an inch but closed it once he heard the choked sobs and enraged shouts coming from his "lover". "How long?"... there was no reply. "How long have you felt this way!" It was a stupid question. (y/n) knew, if anything she had known for far too long, but she had been so happy in her hubris. So content with playing "sibling" with her childhood friend, she knew how he had felt for far too long. But everything had been so sweet, so pleasant, almost like a fairy tale. It was easier to look for a prince charming in other men and expect her "big brother" to be there and catch her once that prince inevitably broke her heart. 

A sharp pain in her scalp caused the girl to look up. Leona was kneeling in front of her, pulling her hair up to look her directly in the eyes.

"Stop being so selfish and just fuking be mine already! it's not that fucking hard!" His yells held a desperate undertone, the big strong king of Savanclaw was reduced to this? A lovesick boy? Angrily (y/n) took in a deep unsteady breath before bellowing: "I'm the selfish one? You kidnapped me and tied me to a chair! You broke that beautiful illusion we had! To want to throw away our friendship for what? So we can break each other's hearts?!"

Leona remained dumbfound, his grip on her hair strengthened. "Actually I ordered Ruggie to kidnap you so that on him" he tried to keep a haughty prideful tone, but her words had left a growing bruise on his ego.

"Doesn't matter! if anything that just further proves my point! You are the selfish one! Just fess up, you're the one at fault here!"

Leona's body had begun vibrating with rage. Lifting his free hand he struck (y/n)! His claws snipped at her flesh,  tearing apart skin tissue by skin tissue as if it was nothing more then silk fabric. Slashing at the muscles until there was a large enough opening for the blood to flow past. Trickling down her cheek the mood pushed away the rotten plasma caking her face, splattering on her clothes, leaving large messy circular like stains.

"No no! This! This whole fucked up mess we're in is all your fault! It's always been your fault!" Leona roared. His pupils had started to dilate, tears were forming in his eyes. Swiftly the older boy lifted his fist only to smash it onto (y/n)'s, again and again, and again...

Laughter, a sicking, and high pitch bordering on maniacal. Leona stopped his assault, his brows shot upwards, as his mouth twisted in a snarl, creases started forming on the bridge of his nose. How dare she laugh at him! How dare she mock him!

(Y/n) opened her eyes, they were harboring similar insanity as her kidnapper. Her mouth opened permitting her to cough up some blood that had pooled inside. "Why can't you just accept responsibility? You were always like this! Even when we were kids! Nothing was ever your fault because you were such a tragic little prince weren't you! If you really love me then own it! Don't blame me for your obsession! It wasn't my fault! I thought you...I thought you were happy with what we had!" Leona slowly pulled away. His green gaze never once leaving (y/n)'s damaged face. His fingers unlocked from her hair, which causes the young girl to immediately start rubbing the top of her head.

"I don't really care how you see this situation. My fault -which it isn't- Your fault -which it is- the point is...you're mine now and that's how it's going to be..." Leona's hand slithered over to (y/n)'s wrist, gripping it and pulling her into his arms. (y/n) buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in his nostalgic scent, as he calmly petted her head as if she was a pet cat.

Time had frozen, granting the two so-called lovers a break of sorts. For the endless moment. It wasn't until Leona had gotten bored of their little hug, that the two moved. Leona's hands dug into her shoulder, he leaned his head down just as (y/n) tilted her head up. Lips brushing against each other prepping for a kiss.

The quietness was disrupted by a loud banging noise from behind them followed by an airy sound that got louder and louder. Until it struck right past Leona. Cutting the fabric of his jeans and slicing through his flesh. The lion let out a hiss, jumping to his feet and pulling (y/n) up with him. He pushed her to his chest as he maneuvered his body into an attacking pose.

"Let go of (y/n)! You horrible beast!" "Ecoute a lui, roi des lions" "Don't touch (y/n) Onee-chan!"

Those voices, (y/n)'s mind rushed back to the situation. She had seemingly forgotten just what Leona had done to her. The kidnapping, the humiliation, the beating...somehow it had all ran away from her memory the moment her beloved Leona had embraced her. 

Behind the "couple" Rook shot arrow after arrow, aiming for the lion's limbs. One lucky arrow managed to strike Leona's left bicep. The lion boy let out a pained roar, his arm falling limp to his side as blood gushed downwards. "Rook, Ortho now!" Vil's voice boomed through the chamber. Rook nodded as Ortho replied with a "sure thing". The two raced forward, Rook switching his bow for a pocket knife and Ortho punching Leona with his metal fist. Leona tried to fight back but with his wound and the gang up he mostly ended up getting punched.

Sometime before the attack had fully commenced, Leona had shoved (y/n) to the side. Vil ran up to (y/n) grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the exit. Right before he left the "king" of Pomefiore snapped his fingers, causing both Ortho and Rook to leave a bruised and broken Leona. "How did you find me?" (Y/n) asked as she was directed through the maze of hallways and staircases. Vil turned his head to stare at her for a split second before running forward. The hallways were just as dark as the room she had been kept in, the numerous windows were covered by thick black curtains preventing the moon from sharing its light. However, thanks to Ortho's built-in flashlights the gang had a clear, illuminated view of a few feet in front of them. "Idia saw Ruggie knock you out and drag you to the catacombs" Vil explained, his grip on her wrist tightened. As the group ran to the Ignhyde dorm, (y/n) couldn't stop herself from peering over her shoulder. Expecting..no, hoping that her childhood friend would pounce out of the darkness at any moment and chase after them. It was a longing to see the boy she had known her whole life chase after her, the only difference was that this time if he did catch her, she would not object to his advances. But Leona never came...

and she was beginning to think he never would.

Days have a tendency to blend when together there is nothing left to look forward to. (y/n) couldn't remember how long it had been since that night in the NRC catacombs, how long it had been since that "confession"? Time had turned into a paradox, having simultaneously stooped and sped up. Idia and Ortho had taken the role of her caretaker. Bringing her food and checking up on her from time to time. Idia had even broken his shut-in nature just for her, every once in awhile he'd bring over some games to play. Ortho would pop in every day, trying his hardest to entertain the stoic girl. But no matter how hard either Shroud twin tried (y/n) would never smile, her face would never forme any real expression. She only ever spoke when necessary, conversations with her mostly consisted of nobs and grunts. Some days after school Vil or Rook would stop by the Ignihyde dorm with treats. Hoping to return (y/n) to her old, innocent self.

Deep down (y/n) was grateful for the efforts the boys put in. But it felt so meaningless go hollow. What was the point of it all? (y/n) could feel the threads of her sanity slowly ripping. Her days and nights -granted she'd lost track of which was when- where filled with constant pondering over guilty thoughts. Every single one of her waking moments was dedicated to envisioning that damned day, dreaming of just how it could have turned out. Why didn't she just kiss him? Why didn't she jump into his arms and scream that she was his? That she would always be his? That it didn't matter how they loved each other so long as the love was there.

Earlier that morning Vil had stopped by to tell (y/n) that  Leona had come back from the semester break. It had seemed like a warning after all Vil was only trying to look out for her. The thought that Leona was back had sent her heart aflutter. She may have not shown it but her nerves where a wreck, she was both excited and nervous. A nagging voice in the back of her mind kept screaming that he wouldn't care about her that she had lost her chance the night she let herself be rescued by Vil, Rook, and Ortho. But a small piece of her still begged that Leona would come for her, that he still loved her.

Sleep was something that came in waves, sometimes she would sleep for days on end, and other times she would spend weeks in an insomniac daze. Tonight was one of the later nights. (y/n)'s eyes refused to close, her brain resisted the urge to think about anything other than Leona. She spent so many nights with his face in her head, mulling over every little detail. As the hours ticked by, (y/n)'s eyes started to grow heavier and heavier. The final scene the moment he said he loved her or at least tried to was still so vibrant in her semi asleep head. She could still hear his voice, his shouts and cries....his voice why was it so clear?--

"You know~ in another life, we could have gotten married, you could have been my queen and I, your king. We could have been happy like all those other happy idiots of the world." 

(Y/n) bolted upright, her hands suffocating her blanket. Her window had been reduced to dirt. Leaning against the frame of where the windowpane had been was no other than the man that had plunged her thought for far too long. Standing on her bed and walking over to him, (y/n) couldn't help the larger than life smile that spread over her face or the tears of joy that just wouldn't seem to stop.

She came to a stop in front of him. Just like that night, the moon's rays of silver light cast a surreal glow over Leona's frame. He looked almost like an angel sent to free her from her suffering. "What..what makes you think we...we could ever be normal?" A tiny laugh escaped her mouth as she wiped the tears from her face. All Leona did was smirk, he extended his arm, his open palm beckoning her to take it. Eagerly (y/n) grabbed a hold of his arm, her grip was tight, too scared to let go always this all be some illusion fabricated by her tortured mind.

"Oi shut up already idiot...just stay quiet" He pulled her up, back into his arms, right where she belonged. His embrace was nothing short of bone-crushing. But (y/n) didn't mind, the pain proved just how real how was. With a final tug, Leona pulled her out of the window. As they began to fall to the ground, Leona smiled, a genuine smile that for once harbored no ill intent nor ulterior motive and said:

"You will always be my obsession (y/n) just as I have become yours..."

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 11: “Your place is on the throne.” “My place is by your side.”

Masterlist

canon-compliant

cheiristis: wielder (greek); bellator: warrior (latin)

Jason Grace does not have a good feeling about this. A god showing up at your doorstep is one thing, but being summoned to Olympus? Well it would make anyone jumpy. And gods is he jumpy. Just this morning he had dropped a shampoo bottle in the shower and screamed so loudly Leo had rushed in hands blazing, eyes wild, yelling about killing the monster. And to make matters worse, Jason hadn’t really slept in the three days since Chiron had delivered the news. He burns holes in the rug underneath him, trying, and failing, to ignore the glare of the Zeus statue in his cabin.

“I don’t need that look from you,” He hisses, “I’m already going to see it in person.”

The stare seems to be steel as it continues to pierce him. He turns away with disgust, and lets the fear in his stomach churn like acid. Just when he feels like he can’t take it any longer, the alarm on his phone blares to life and with it a flash of lightning in the otherwise blue skies.

“Welcome to doomsday.”

Jason grabs his sword from the table, swinging it around and sliding it into the pouch at his back and with a final look around the cabin he takes to the skies, letting the wind carry him to Olympus. Tempest would have been too volatile, and he didn’t want to do anything to set off the Gods, who angered if you so much as breathed wrong in their direction. Oversized, all-powerful toddlers.

It didn’t take him long to get to the Empire State, the tall spire jutting out against the swirl of golden clouds that always seemed to cover it when Olympians were present. He pulls up fast against the building and takes several breaths, trying to pull the depleting oxygen that comes from being so high up.

A crack of thunder slams into his skull. His whole body goes stiff with pain. It takes him a second to realise he wasn’t struck, it was just right next to him.

“I’m coming, you bastard!” He growls, and he hopes his father heard.

He steps onto the stone bridge of Olympus, lined with fruit trees and their dancing nymphs, and he wonders if this scene has ever inspired peace in those who come. Mostly it makes him nervous. What horrors have occurred in the throne room while the melodic reed-pipes of the satyrs play out here, harmonising to suffering like it is the greatest symphony? He shudders as he moves to the marbled floor of the entrance, and then suddenly he’s at the doors to the formidable room. The cyclopes that stand guard are looking at him, unblinking.

“I have an audience with Zeus.”

“Name?” One of them grunts.

“Jason.” His voice is shaky and he hates it. “Jason Grace.”

They share a look, and then push open the massive sea-stone doors. The gush of power that rushes out threatens to bowl him over, but he pushes down on the soles of his feet and growls with the force of staying put.

“Ah, our honoured guest.” A deep, gravelly voice mutters, “So glad you could join us.”

Jason Grace looks up, lightning blazing in those blue eyes, and catches his first glimpse of the almighty gods. There are seven of them present, most looking bored or agitated. His father sits at the head, staring at him. There is no emotion on his face, and it is that that makes the demigod move into the room.

“Father,” He bows. He refuses to look to his right.

“Stand child,” Zeus’ voice reminds him of mountains, treacherous.

The room is silent for a beat, as if each of them are holding their breaths, waiting for… something.

“Do you know why we called you here today?”

“No.” He wants to scream. “Father.”

“Cheiristis.” The King of the Gods calls. Every muscle in Jason’s body tenses, and slowly, painstakingly slowly, his eyes slide to the right. 

There, in all her beautiful, composed glory, blonde curls dragged into a small knot at the base of her neck, and grey eyes as calm as lazing rivers, is Annabeth Chase.

“Hello Jason,” She says softly, stepping down from her throne of cities and floating towards him like a wraith. Like a star. Like a queen. Like a goddess.

“Hello Annabeth,” He cannot keep the emotions out of his voice, ones that threaten to shut his body down, overwhelm him.

“You are looking good.” They had seen each other only a handful of times since that fateful day, but no matter how long they spent apart the crackling energy between them, as alive as electric wires, never ceases. In fact since the last time- four months, twenty days, and roughly one hour- it seems to have grown. He can almost taste the current between them. It is crème brulee dissolving on his tongue. 

“So are you,” His voice is soft, like he’s afraid talking too loudly will fracture the moment. They stare at each other, lost in clouded skies and falling oceans and the beginning or the middle, or something between, that ignites their every nerve. He cannot get over how she glows; like light bends towards her, for her. Even all those years ago, when Piper went through her transformation after being claimed she didn’t look as radiant as Annabeth does now.

“What am i doing here?”

She brings a hand towards him, brushes her fingers over his cheek. He fights to stay still, to not lean into it. “Always so serious my bellator.” She smiles. It pierces the darkest parts of his soul.

“It is not often I get called to the home of the gods.”

“I am sorry, I haven't come to visit.” Her eyes shutter; he sees the regret and worry flash in them.

“Don’t.” His voice is still soft, but there is firmness behind it that makes her look up. “You are busy. You are a god. I didn’t expect you to be with us all the time. Nobody does.”

She bites her lip, and he knows she’s holding in everything she’s no longer allowed to show. Instead she throws her arms around his neck, and mumbles ‘thank you’ into every hollowed part of him.

“We miss you.” He tries not to sink into her arms. He’ll never leave. “I miss you.” He pulls back, but isn’t willing to let her go completely. “But your place is on the throne, helping us from here.”

The unshed tears in her eyes make them look like swelling rain clouds. “Sometimes I feel like-” She cracks. “Like my place is by your side. Nowhere else.”

“Are you two done?” That same gravelly voice that greeted him at the door drawls sarcastically. 

“Shut it Ares.” Annabeth growls. “The only thing on your schedule for today is getting rejected by Aphrodite yet again.” A murmur of amusement travels through the room as the rest of the gods rib him endlessly.

Jason takes the moment to pull her close once more. “We will be together again soon.”

“I know my bellator.” Her presence disintegrates in his arms and then she is back on her throne. “Son of Jupiter.” She is all goddess. “We need your help.”

He falls to his knees in front of them. “Anything for you, my lady.”

Annabeth hides her smile, but he can see it glittering in her features. Jason Grace winks at the Goddess of Demigod Battle and accepts the fate that will bring him one step closer to his wife. 

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Tags:

@nishlicious-01​

@spoopylucy​

@leydiangelo​

[winterhawkremix]

The time has come!

The collection has been opened up and all of the fics we have received are now available to be read... except no one knows who wrote what!

Here’s the full list of all the remixes that were created for this year’s Winterhawk Remix in alphabetical order. There are 18 fics in total, so that should keep you all going for a while, and maybe you’ll rediscover some old favourites when you see what has been remixed!

Note that, while we’ve included ratings, to conserve space, we have not included tags, so make sure you check them out when you click through! Fic responsibly, folks.

And now, without further ado...

Go forth and read!

[Remix of] Is That The Fangs I Get? (Rating: Teen) A remix of @downwarddnaspiral’s Is That the Fangs I Get? “He does know, right?” “Know what?” “That I’m a vampire.” “Oh! Yeah. He’d have to, right?” Behind Bars (On The Other Side Remix) (Rating: Explicit) A remix of @captn-sara-holmes’s Behind Bars If Clint had known that hooking up with his cellmate would lead to escaping prison, making it all the way to Wakanda without being recaptured, and convincing King T'Challa and Captain America to let him stay once he got there, then he'd...well, he'd probably still have kissed the guy. Bucky was smoking hot, after all. Clint just really hopes he doesn't get mad when he finds out that Clint's been telling everyone he's Bucky boyfriend. Bottom of the Sea (just don’t go without me remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @verdantmoth’s bottom of the sea It was on his way out that he saw it. It looked pretty innocuous, like a bedroll or someone's discarded coat, but he knew it as soon as he saw it. His mom's had looked the same way, too long unworn and faded around the edges, but still silky smooth and beautiful in the right light. Clint limped over and grabbed the skin, draping it over his arms as best he could, trying not to touch it too much with his hands and the crusted-in blood under his fingernails. By Faith Alone (Rating: Teen) A remix of @badacts’ sola fide Bucky's daemon knows full well what he wants, but it's going to take a while for his head to get onboard with his heart.

Fractured, a Splintered Remix (Rating: Explicit) A remix of @flawedamythyst’s Splintered Clint touches something mystical at Dr. Strange's place and next thing Bucky knows, there are four extra Clints running around. He takes it upon himself to gather them up and help them come to some important realizations about the world. You know. Sexually. I dreamed I held you in my arms (Rating: Teen) A remix of @fadedsepia’s Like Sunshine He’s just about managed to focus on the mission, mentally reviewing the details of the target, when Clint strolls out of the bathroom, long and lean and — “You’re wearing that?” James finds himself saying. Clint stops short as he loops the purple aid around his ear and presses the earmold in, sky-blue eyes wide and startled. “Yeah? Why — is there something wrong with it?” James can’t help himself, his eyes wandering the slow course from head to toe. The dress shirt is mustard-yellow, linen so fine that it’s practically transparent. The collar is unbuttoned almost midway, showing the sharp jut of Clint’s collarbone and a slice of freckled chest below. The residual steam from the shower is already making the fabric cling to Clint’s incredible musculature. It’s fucking obscene. i hope i'll see you when it's light (the remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @nightwideopen’s i hope i’ll see you when it’s light After the fifth time they sleep together, Clint knows he’s in too deep. I Still Choose You (The Public Domain Remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @1000-directions’ i don’t have a choice (but i still choose you) Clint really didn't intend to do anything more than make a joke, but when his stupid 'soulmate' comment gets posted on social media, he ends up in a fake relationship with the one person he wishes really were his soulmate. Just Being Neighbourly (The Remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @mariana-oconnor’s Just Being Neighbourly Bucky can’t remember the last time he worked this hard to get somebody’s attention. He lowered the beaters into the mixing bowl with the speed setting turned up a little too fast, making his batter fling up in tiny flecks. “Jesus, again? What are you baking for now?” “Shut up, Stevie, and hand me the vanilla, damn it.” Make You Feel At Ease (Rating: General) A remix of @tintedglasses’ tell you truth, but never goodbye Just because it was Memorial Day and things in the past had definitely not been as kind to Bucky as they should have been didn’t mean that Steve needed to worry. But he also knew that man deserved a whole lot more good than that world had decided to give him. Novel Recognition (Rating: Teen) A remix of @lissadiane’s Blame It On Bad Luck Bucky tries to ignore the sudden change, the words that push to the surface of his skin some time between getting off work and getting Steve’s rail-thin ass up the stairs without falling or bruising any more of his best friend’s ribs, but… Why the fuck would it show up now? Bucky Barnes finally has a soulmate; someone he knows, but has yet to meet. Organic Chemistry (the remix of Improper Fractions) (Rating: Explicit) A remix of @cloud--atlas’s Improper Fractions Natasha's got a hot new roomate, and Clint's got a staring problem. The guy's a science teacher for fucks' sake. But if Clint doesn't get to suck his dick, he might actually die. Personal Security (Let's Go Steal Ourselves a Remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @kangofu-cb’s Personal Security Whatever his intentions, right now Clint’s a thief and a liar, and Bucky has worked hard to leave this kind of life behind him. It wouldn’t be fair to make a move right now. Push and Pull (Rating: Mature) A remix of @flowerparrish’s hey there, demons Bucky really wasn't expecting to see his one night stand at work the next day. right here, empty for days [a Written On My Heart remix] (Rating: Not Rated) A remix of @supervillainny’s Written on My Heart Soulmarks are funky lil' things. He can’t feel the lines on his skin, doesn’t know they’re there until he spots them. (Sometimes he thinks that’s a bit of a fluke on fate's part. What happens if ya miss ‘em? Or ya can’t see ‘em? Maybe fate knows though, which ones are meant to be seen.) safe and sound (finally safe remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @loonyloopylisa’s Finally Safe “I’m so sorry,” Clint says and it feels inadequate, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He thought he had a rough time waking up in that HYDRA cell, but at least he woke up somewhere else. He can’t imagine what it would be like to wake up in the same place he went to sleep, knowing that there’s no one else out there for him. “It wasn’t rare,” Bucky says, ducking his head slightly. “It was the thirties and healthcare wasn’t great and so it wasn’t rare for people’s soulmates to die before either of them reached twenty-one.” Bucky swallows hard again, his voice the quietest it’s been when he says, “But I guess I just never thought that it could happen to me.” susurrus (the one touch to know remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @drgrlfriend’s A Murmur in the Trees Sam Wilson has a nice place. It’s also conveniently located across the street from a small park with several old, heavily-in-leaf trees with an excellent vantage of his windows. Clint, settled high in the canopy in the vee between two sturdy branches, watches a weary, limping Cap arrive fresh from the hospital through binoculars. It’s embarrassing that this is what his life has come to. take a snapshot (dirty laundry remix) (Rating: Explicit) A remix of @thescarletwitch’s Take a Snapshot (If It Makes You Feel More At Home) You know this is basically soft porn, right?” Clint murmurs with a sly grin, cupping his own dick through his pants before shaking his head and laughing. Clint, like Clint Barton. Like the Avenger. Fuckin’ Hawkeye, for fuck’s sake. The not-so-secret love of Bucky’s very gay life. “Nothing soft about it,” Bucky mutters to himself. Clint and Bucky get dirty at the laundromat.

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Author reveals will take place on 30th June. Until then, have fun reading and enjoy the mystery!