#I am so glad they finally got a shell ask you have no idea

[ask-dee-sdv]

Hey! What’s your favorite shell you’ve ever found?

Favorite shell! Why I found an almost perfect rainbow shell the other day, there was a smooth chip on the spiral but it felt really nice to hold so it sits on my counter at the farm!

Other than that I have a line of egg cockles and bittersweet clam shells at the beach right around the edge. Hopefully I'll be able to finish a complete boarder and make another one! OH I found an broken in half knobbed whelk a couple weeks back, it stabbed my foot because I was to busy looking at the ocean. I also have a jar full of lettered olive shells that I collect.

WAIT was I talking to much? I'm sorry I just love sea shells! I even left some for Vincent and Jas and I saw them showing off some really cool ones to people, they even found a Calico scallop shell that I missed.

*they continued to talk about shells for the next few hours*

[allwormdiet]

Shell 4.3

In which we finally discuss the locker

Little surprised that Alec is taking the lead on this one, but pleasantly so

And yeah, here we finally get an explanation for powers and triggers and all that, or at least the foundations of it

...Also there's no way that Glory Girl triggered just because of a basketball game, that has to be a crock of shit. What's up with New Wave claiming to be the most open hero team and then coming off the shadiest? How am I trusting these people less than I trust the government capes?

I like that they make a point of reassuring her after her blunder. She couldn't have known, and they know that, and they don't hold it against her. I love these kids.

Brian seems more comfortable smacking Alec around than he does Rachel. I don't think that's a thing of not wanting to hit women, last arc he decked Vista like she owed him money. Maybe it's that Rachel intentionally provokes that reaction and Alec is just kind of a little shit? Idk

Again, I remain utterly fixated on how this is Taylor's one line, the thing she refuses to compromise on ever. I'll buy that she doesn't want outside interference from the Undersiders or other capes when it comes to the bully situation, but it's harder to do that when she never makes a move herself.

This is so. Evil. Like, the false friendship, the rotting tampons, the imprisonment. The fact that nobody who sees this play out even bothers to help her. The fact that she's trapped for hours. If that didn't give someone a trigger event, I'm not sure anything would.

Alec is actually so real for this. Like for all that he was disgusted with the story (which, fair) his disgust isn't with Taylor, it's with the fuckers who did that to her. And Brian agrees with him! Lisa is making a point of not disagreeing, even.

Oh hey, Taylor actually acknowledges her thing with anger and violent retribution. Glad she's cognizant of that, it'd be a whole situation if she wasn't tbh

Actually thank god for Alec keeping up this line of thinking, this might be the most passionate we've seen him get about anything. The runner up is like, him being annoyed he can't keep Kid Win's skateboard, and that's peanuts compared to this. Maybe he's wrong about the revenge thing but I don't know that he is, and he's definitely not wrong about the indignity that Taylor is allowing herself to suffer

I don't think this is half the lie that Taylor thinks it is. For all that she has noble intentions, and I don't doubt she'll do her best with those... I don't think Taylor's drive to be a superhero was entirely selfless. This isn't all truth and justice going on here, this is feeling strong and being appreciated by others and not being looked at like a bottom-feeder.

Wonder when she'll figure that out for herself

Get cared about idiot! Get absolutely blanketed with affection and approval from the people who would absolutely rip your bullies apart if you asked them to!

You know. I think Brian's trigger event is one of the ones I know the least about? I know the broad strokes of almost every other Undersider, but I don't think I know anything about his.

Current Thoughts

Even knowing what's coming, reading through Taylor's ordeal with the locker is so fucking heartbreaking. She could've died in there and the consolation prize she got was not worth the cost of admission, that's for damn sure. Emma Barnes is a fucking maniac for this one.

The stuff about powers and trigger events is a pretty neat concept, and I like how it kind of contextualizes most capes as being fucked up. Like, I'm thirteen years late to the party on this one, but what a fascinating fucking idea to build your superhero setting on.

Alec really shone through for me in this chapter. Maybe I relate as someone who finds it easier to get angry on others' behalf than to be angry for myself, or maybe it's just nice to see him get fired up about something. I like this kid.

...Got work and a family thing today, but I'll see if I can't slip some more updates in. I'll probably read some at least and double back with my thoughts if nothing else

[sitepathos]

Hello. I know this might sound dramatic, but I want you to know that you probably save my life tonight.

I was having a really bad day. My family doesn't understand me enough to care, and maybe my issue with my family is the reason why I found comfort in Batfam fics. Today, everything just got worse. My father yelled at me for something he didn't even know, I don't know why he even had the audacity to speak when he doesn't even know the matter, and now I can't speak and yell at his face that he's wrong because I am a child and not a parent, I would be considered "disrespectful" if I wanted to speak what is right and true.

I was really begging any Gods at that point to take me. I was thinking of ways to execute myself tonight. I was planning to starve myself tomorrow and ignore today's dinner. I was planning on searching what's "Metoprolol" is because growing up as a kid, I always think that "concern" is a form of love, and maybe if they saw my dead body tonight, maybe they'll cry because they love me. I know this is bad. I know this is inappropriate to say, but when I tried to atleast make myself feel better and decided to read Batfam fics again, I saw your new chapter of From Gold to Mold and it genuinely makes everything better. I didn't want to read Chapter 3 because I saw the comments that you left it with a cliffhanger, and I hate that, and decided to wait for the next chapter instead. Ever since I saw the new chapter, I actually ate dinner, because atleast I know there's still things in this world that makes me happy. When I saw your new chapter, I asked God, "Is this your way of comforting me?", and I want you to know that your work is a form of blessing for me. I started thanking God at that moment, and told myself that I also want to thank you.

I actually don't read Batman comics, or watch Batman. I never read or watch any DC movies before, but Batfam fics is about a family that I will always desire yet never really grasp. I wish for all Batfam authors to live the life they wanted.

I am very sorry for saying this, and straight up said that I was actually considering doing it. I am very aware that this is inappropriate but I really, really, really want to tell you that you save me. I know saying that a "fanfiction" save my life sounds ridiculous, but that's where I found my comfort in, and I would be willing to be ridicule at if it means showing what genuinely makes me happy. I will always love your works even if it means showing my lack of redamancy for my family, or even hatred if I have to admit. This doesn't mean that you are a start of my rebellion. I am only stating that you are a light in my times of darkness.

Thank you.

Wow, ok, wasn’t expecting my work to have such an impact. Good to know.

First of all, I’m glad you’re enjoying the series! When this idea popped into my head, I wasn’t sure if there would be many who’d actually enjoy it. With people like you, I’m inspired to put all that I have into From Gold to Mold! I hope my future work meets and exceeds all your expectations!

Second of all, I’m so sorry that you’re going through such a rough time in your life right now. Since you were brave to share a part of you for all to see, I’ll share something, too. About five years ago, my mother was a major junkie. With that, plus her narcissism, led her to divorcing my stepdad (who brought me out of my shell and made me a better version of myself) and moved us to my grandmother’s house after my grandfather died after battling lung cancer. Living with her was a nightmare, constantly walking around eggshells for fear of pissing her off, her stealing money from my grandmother, and yelling at everyone. She was always riding my ass to get a job just so she could take money from me. Early 2020, she was finally evicted and it’s just my grandmother and I living together.

She’s actually cleaned herself up and we enjoy a decent relationship.

So, while things look horrible and it may take a while, things do get better. I’m rooting for you.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Yay prompts time!!

1. A 5 + 1 idea? Untamed verse: 5 times people flirted with NMJ and he Did Not Realize, and for the one, either the one time he Did Get It, or the one time he tried to flirt with someone else.

5+1 times Lan sect members tried to marry NMJ in front of LXC's salad - ao3

1

The Cloud Recesses was fairly large – not as large as the Nightless City or Lanling City, but impressive enough in its own way, and certainly large enough that a recent guest would need to be shown around a fair number of times before they got the hang of getting around.

That happened to suit Lan Xichen’s purposes perfectly.

Nie Mingjue was more than happy to take him up on his offer to show him new parts of the Cloud Recesses – even if his agreement was perhaps more motivated by a desire to move around than a desire to admire the surroundings, it was still agreement, and that was what was important. He did express a little concern that he was imposing on Lan Xichen, making him walk around the paths that had been familiar to him since childhood, but Lan Xichen firmly assured him that he was no burden at all.

Far from it.

In fact, the opportunity to spend time with Nie Mingjue, virtually alone, was utterly priceless.

They were talking about this and that and nothing and everything, just as they always did – Lan Xichen had never met anyone with whom the words flowed as well and as easily as with Nie Mingjue – when Lan Wangji wandered out of a side path, a solemn and rosy-cheeked little boy.

Lan Xichen was happy to see him, of course. He was always happy to see his little brother, and even more so as of late. Lan Wangji had been so sad these past few months since their mother’s death, and it had really only been very recently that he had emerged from his shell. Nie Mingjue had had something to do with that as well, since there didn’t seem to be anything he couldn’t do, and Lan Wangji had gotten very attached to him as a result, and often went looking for him.

It was only that sometimes Lan Xichen, who barely had any time to have Nie Mingjue all to himself, sometimes wished Lan Wangji would come looking…just a little less often.

“Hey there, Wangji,” Nie Mingjue greeted Lan Wangji with a bright smile that made Lan Xichen’s heart quiver. “Well met. Having a good day today?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“As am I,” Lan Xichen interjected. “We won’t stand in your way, Wangji, if there was somewhere you were going…?”

Lan Wangji shook his head, then reached out and tugged Nie Mingjue’s sleeve, his usual signal that he wanted to ask a question.

Nie Mingjue looked at him in silent question, prompting him without pressuring him – he was really great with kids – and after a few moments of chewing over his thoughts, Lan Wangji finally spoke.

“I want to marry you.”

Lan Xichen choked.

Nie Mingjue blinked, then laughed and scooped Lan Wangji up into his arms. “I appreciate that,” he said warmly. “You don’t know how much, really. But marriage is a big old boring ritual, and I’m not planning on doing it for years and years. I’m sure you can find someone you like better than me in the meantime, yeah?”

“No. Only you.” Lan Wangji insisted.

“Well, there’s plenty of time for that,” Nie Mingjue said, giving him a hug and then putting him back down. “But, you know, if you want to get married, you need to make sure you have the criteria for it. Have you been keeping up with your lessons?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“Good. Keep it up.”

“I will.”

With that, Lan Wangji headed off purposefully, probably towards the training field or maybe the library to do some more copying – probably preparing himself for his future wedding, Lan Xichen thought bitterly, scowling after the (apparently) would-be thief that was his younger brother.

“Oh, don’t make that sort of face,” Nie Mingjue said, seeing him and chuckling. “He’s not going to leave you that quickly. Kids that age, they just get all sorts of ideas in their heads…”

Lan Xichen had a better notion of Lan Wangji’s personality than Nie Mingjue did, but he felt it was preferable that Nie Mingjue continue to not realize how serious Lan Wangji was about his little offer – and anyway, Lan Wangji was only six. Surely he’d find someone he liked better, and leave Nie Mingjue to Lan Xichen, as it ought to be.

“There’s still plenty of time,” he agreed, then smiled at his friend. “Shall we continue?”

2

“Shufu, we have to do something,” Lan Xichen hissed, increasingly desperate.

Nie Mingjue was being cornered by a whole bunch of sect leaders, each and every one of them seeming intent on talking to him about his future marriage. It was no surprise, of course, what with him finally coming out of his filial mourning, recently come of age and already a sect leader of one of the Great Sects; any sect that managed to squeeze their daughters (or their sons, for that matter) into the position of his wife would have pulled off quite a political coup. The fact that Nie Mingjue was uninterested in taking a wife so soon was irrelevant to all of them.

It was not, however, irrelevant to Lan Xichen.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Lan Qiren said to him, his uncle toneless as ever and clearly not treating the situation with the gravity it deserved. “He’s turning them all down, isn’t he?”

“They’re trying to trap him! If he says the wrong thing to the wrong person, he’ll insult them, and they’ll be able to use that as a reason to try to get him into trouble and make him do what they want – ”

“Your political acuity has improved,” Lan Qiren said to him, sounding appreciative, and normally Lan Xichen would preen at the compliment, a rarity from his stern, conservative uncle, but now was not the time.

Now was the time to intervene so all those poachers would keep their hands off of Nie Mingjue!

“Shufu, surely there must be something we can do,” Lan Xichen said. He was shifting from one foot to the other, impatient and anxious. He knew it made him seem even younger than he was, a reminder that he was still a callow youth, an adolescent, not yet ready to take the mantle of sect leadership and make important decisions for himself, but he didn’t know how else to convey that this was important. “It’s appalling that they’d ambush him like this, at the very first discussion conference after he’s put away his mourning clothes. It’s in such bad taste!”

“That is true.”

“And we’re the Nie sect’s allies, right? We should make a stand of some sort, stand up for him – show our support – something –”

“That seems a bit too far for a mere alliance,” Lan Qiren remarked. He was stroking his beard. “Xichen.”

“Yes?”

“You do not need to speak around the subject with me, and indeed I would prefer that you did not. If you wish for me to rescue your friend, I will do so.”

“Thank you, shufu,” Lan Xichen said gratefully.

Lan Qiren nodded, then seemed to take a moment to take a breath – almost as if he were steeling himself, though Lan Xichen didn’t know why – and then made his way over to Nie Mingjue, who was listening to some small sect leader passing along his daughter’s effusive compliments over the breadth of his shoulders with a fixed smile on his face that suggested he wanted to throw himself out a window.

Lan Xichen didn’t actually hear what his uncle said, precisely, but he did hear the immediate silence afterwards.

“Ah, forgive me,” Lan Qiren said loudly. “Were you not engaged in a competition of citing terrible examples of courting poetry? I had overheard several of the statements made, and simply assumed.”

Lan Xichen’s eye twitched. Had his uncle just propose to Nie Mingjue himself?

“Age takes precedence,” Nie Mingjue said with a laugh that was more genuine than any of his previous expressions. “I’m sorry, everyone, I’m afraid I must allow Teacher Lan to sweep me away. We’ll be leaving now…”

Lan Xichen made a beeline to where they were walking away from the crowd.

“ – cannot begin to express my thanks,” Nie Mingjue was saying to Lan Qiren, who nodded. Taking the credit for it himself! How could he?!

“Thank Xichen,” Lan Qiren said. “It was his idea that we intervene on your behalf.”

Nie Mingjue turned his smile onto Lan Xichen, who decided that he could forgive his uncle after all.

(But only if he wasn’t serious about marrying Nie Mingjue!)

3

“I seem to have a problem,” Nie Mingjue announced.

“Oh?” Lan Xichen asked, leaning back and looking up at his beloved friend and, now, sworn brother. He was standing on one of the paths in the Cloud Recesses, wreathed with light from the afternoon sun, and he looked happy and light-hearted, with that new expression of freedom that he had only regained now that the war was over. And beautiful, of course, but that was nothing new. “What’s the problem?”

“Your newest ward seems to have taken a liking to me,” Nie Mingjue said, his eyes twinkling as he smiled, as he dropped down to sit next to Lan Xichen on the bench. “He’s been following me around all day, you know, and vows that he won’t let me go ever again.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes narrowed a little – what was it with Lan Wangji’s family line, adopted or not, that made them both incredibly precocious and inclined to stealing? – but he maintained his smile.

“Did he now?” he said, and shook his head. “How silly. Do you remember, Wangji said something similar when he was a little older than that?”

“I do remember,” Nie Mingjue said, shaking his own head. “Ah, those were the days. I mentioned it to him, you know, when I was dropping little Sizhui off with him.”

Lan Xichen paused in what he was doing.

“You…mentioned it? Mentioned what?”

“The fact that he once asked to marry me, of course,” Nie Mingjue said, utterly oblivious. “As a demonstration of how silly children could be, and a compliment for how similar his ward was growing to be like him. He simply hummed thoughtfully at me – I have no idea what he meant by that, though I’m sure you would’ve known at once if you were there.”

Oh, Lan Xichen didn’t have to be there to know. He already knew perfectly well what Lan Wangji’s feelings on the matter were, and they hadn’t changed one bit even with the whole Wei Wuxian business – it was only that he now wanted to marry two eligible young masters, not one. Clearly his little brother needed a refresher course on Do not be greedy.

And now little Lan Sizhui was trying his luck as well?!

At least there was enough of an age difference that Nie Mingjue probably wouldn’t take him too seriously…

“Sizhui is certainly a cute child,” Lan Xichen said, aiming for neutrality.

“Delightful,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Anyway, what are you up to?”

Lan Xichen was only too happy to change the subject.

4

Lan Xichen had his hands full with trying to mediate between Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, who were at each other’s throats again – Nie Mingjue was in a particularly nasty temper, too, with his mood having taken a considerable downturn over the past few months despite Jin Guangyao assuring Lan Xichen that he was playing Clarity for him regularly – and he didn’t need any new stresses.

Least of all ones like Su Minshan.

What Jin Guangyao saw in the man, Lan Xichen would never know. He’d been a Lan sect disciple once, and probably Lan Xichen should know the man better than he did – he was around Lan Wangji’s age, though, and Lan Xichen had a bit of a blind spot for his brother’s peers within their own sect. Still, he used to be a Lan disciple, but was no longer, and he’d gone off to make his own sect, which was perfectly reasonable and no one could fault him for, only he’d done it using Lan sect techniques, which they could. It was maddening!

And yet Jin Guangyao persisted in defending him, time and time again…truly, Lan Xichen’s younger sworn brother had too kind a heart.

Far too kind.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Xichen said, managing to maintain his smile through sheer practice in willpower. “I must have misheard something. Did Sect Leader Su just offer you a marriage, Mingjue-xiong?”

Su She looked as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, as he ought – how dare he try to steal a march on Nie Mingjue behind Lan Xichen’s back, when Lan Xichen was right there? Did he think Lan Xichen was too busy paying attention to Jin Guangyao (who’d vanished off somewhere, come to think of it) to notice when someone was trying to propose marriage to Nie Mingjue?

No way. Absolutely not.

“Xichen, what are you doing here?” Nie Mingjue asked, frowning at him, and – why was he asking that? Why wasn’t he laughing and agreeing that Su She’s offer was completely ridiculous, the way he usually did when some other sect leader made him an offer? “Weren’t you with Meng Yao?”

“He had to go,” Lan Xichen said vaguely, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Su She, who took a step back when he noticed. “Anyway, I’m here now. What’s this about a marriage, Mingjue-xiong? Something you’re considering?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nie Mingjue said, sighing. “And it wasn’t a marriage proposal. Sect Leader Su was only making a joke.”

Was he, now?

Lan Xichen smiled at Su She, who for some reason chose to take another step back, then yet another.

“I’m sorry I missed it, then,” he said. “I’d be interested in hearing such…humor.”

“I sadly don’t remember exactly what I said,” Su She said hastily. “Perhaps another time, Sect Leader Lan, Sect Leader Nie. I’m afraid I have another meeting to attend at the moment.”

“Do you? What a pity…”

Su She walked away very quickly.

“You’re really not busy?” Nie Mingjue asked Lan Xichen. “I thought you would be spending time with Meng Yao this afternoon.”

“Ah, I think he’s busy? Anyway, it’s been too long since we spent time together, da-ge! Why don’t we spend the afternoon together…?”

That way he could make sure Su She didn’t come back with any stupid ideas about making that ‘joke’ of his into something more serious.

5

“What do you mean you’re not going to be sect leader again?” Jin Ling asked. He sounded appalled.

Lan Xichen was technically in seclusion at the moment, but he pressed his ear against his door, as he did with anything involving the recently resurrected and now conscious fierce corpse Nie Mingjue.

(Nie Huaisang really didn’t do things by halves, he thought to himself, and for once the pang of sorrow that that thought brought forth was not as bad as it had been. Progress of a sort, he supposed.)

“Why would I be?” Nie Mingjue asked. His voice was lower than it had been in life, raspier; it was probably due to having had his head cut off for so many years. It was still his voice, though. Lan Xichen had missed it. “Huaisang has only just finally had an opportunity to do the job right. I’m going to let him have the chance to shape the sect the way he thinks it ought to be.”

“But…”

“Anyway, I’m not suited for it.”

“Why not? There’s no rule against a fierce corpse being a sect leader!” That was Lan Jingyi, loud as ever.

“That’s only because no one thought of it as a possibility,” Lan Sizhui pointed out. “Anyway, I thought Sect Leader Nie has been doing a pretty good job this past year or so. Why swap him out now?”

“You just say that because you like Chifeng-zun,” Jin Ling grumbled. “Everything he says, you agree with.”

“That’s not true!”

“There are other things you have to think of,” Nie Mingjue interjected, clearly intent on redirecting their argument. “I’m not really alive, after all. Huaisang has shared half his lifeforce with me in order to give me a semblance of real life, rather than merely life as a fierce corpse or even a ghost general like Wen-gongzi – we’ll live together, die together, and as mobile targets go, I’m a lot tougher to kill than he is, but in the end, I’m still dead. And that has certain connotations.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I can’t have children,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “My ancestors would never forgive me for cutting off the main family line like that.”

“Wait, that’s the reason you won’t be sect leader?” Jin Ling exclaimed. “Because you can’t get married?!”

“That’s ridiculous!” Lan Jingyi shouted, equally fervent. “That shouldn’t be a barrier! That’s just – unfair! I mean, not having children…it’s absurd. You can always adopt, can’t you? And as for marriage, I mean, I’d marry you!”

Lan Xichen felt his eye twitch in a way it hadn’t in years and years.

Lan Jingyi, too?

He would’ve expected it from Lan Sizhui, who’d been a precocious little seducer ever since he was young, but – Lan Jingyi? As far as Lan Xichen knew, he’d only ever been in love with his dinner. That showed what he knew, he supposed; you never knew what sort of hidden depths people had.

“I appreciate it,” Nie Mingjue said, and he sounded serious about it, too. What in the world? Was he serious? Lan Xichen supposed that Nie Mingjue had  always liked lively people, after all, including his own brother…yet surely, the age difference…Nie Mingjue’s current un-alive status…there were so many reasons why it wouldn’t work! “You have a kind heart, and a generous nature. But you really ought to be more thoughtful before saying things like that, all right? You never play too lightly with matters of your future happiness.”

“I – I guess,” Lan Jingyi said. He sounded as though he was frowning. “But I wasn’t speaking lightly! I meant –”

He meant what?!

“No need to explain. You’re a good sort, Lan Jingyi, always willing to help another. Keep that heart of yours.”

“But –”

Lan Xichen ‘accidentally’ knocked down a vase in his room. The crash distracted everyone outside, and then everyone realized they were too close to his household which was supposed to represent silent contemplation – silent as in not disturbed by others – and soon enough, Nie Mingjue was saying, “Why don’t you head back to the main area?”

“Yeah, probably a good idea…aren’t you coming with us, Chifeng-zun?”

“I’ll make my way there eventually,” Nie Mingjue assured them. “For the moment, I just want a quiet place to sit.”

He’d been sitting on the bench outside Lan Xichen’s seclusion for at least a shichen every afternoon, if not two. He said he did it for the quiet to anyone who asked, but Lan Xichen thought it might be…more than that.

Maybe he was waiting for Lan Xichen.

+1

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said. He was smiling. “You’re out of seclusion?”

“I am,” Lan Xichen said. “I have – many things to say to you.”

“Not more apologies! Haven’t we had our fill of them?”

“Perhaps. I have a different question for you – one I should have asked a long time ago.”

“Ask anything.”

“All right,” Lan Xichen said. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course.”

Lan Xichen blinked. “…what, just like that?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that for years,” Nie Mingjue said. “Why wouldn’t I say yes?”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth, then closed it again. Had it really been that easy all this time?

“Anyway, who else am I supposed to marry, especially after I put in all that effort to learn all your family rules?” Nie Mingjue chuckled. “I don’t suppose anyone else in your Lan sect would be willing!”

“…mm,” Lan Xichen said. “Let’s focus on us, shall we?”

[devilfic]

❝small favor❞

IV. another white guy from new york.

parts: previously / next plot: it's uncanny, but it can't be. right? because that would be stupid. and spider-man isn't stupid. right? pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: violence, guns, knives, blood mention, alcohol consumption, peter parker isn't beating the average white guy allegations, well. when he smiles like that he might. words: 6.7k.

You almost expect them to turn you away at the door when you hand over your badge, some paranoid part of you thinking they’ll take one look at you and know you don’t belong here, but the man at the check-in hands it back to you with a pleasant, “Enjoy your evening.”

That was half an hour ago, and Parker was nowhere in sight.

He was going to “meet you there” as Jameson promised, though without a clue what to look for, you found yourself aimlessly floating through perfume clouds of high society. You didn’t want to hit the bar this close to eight, but if you didn’t find an anchor quick, you’d vibrate right through the floor. Worst of all, you didn’t even have the guy’s number. What would you do if he was a no-show?

Your job, you suppose, sullen and already dreading the evening to come.

There’s no sign of Wilson Fisk either. In your usual setting, you might’ve already flagged down a guest or two to ask what they thought about the rumors, but your usual settings were messy, bloody, and out in the real world. Here, you had a list of questions to ask that didn’t even scratch your curiosity.

What’s your name? Are you excited to be here this evening? How does the Stark Charity Ball reflect the New York City you know and love? Were you attacked? Can you confirm Wilson Fisk was on the scene?

You hadn’t even made it to the fourth question before you’d given up. How would you last a night like this?

Slithering through the crowd, you make your way to the snack table with hopes to eat your way through the night. At least you could count on rich people to shell out on good cheese.

There’s a band playing in the corner, a gentle stringed melody that you appreciate over the chatter of the guests. You make your way over and let yourself get carried away in the tune, only glancing every so often at your watch to gauge the time. It was nine minutes to eight, nine minutes until Pepper Potts took the stage to start the night, and you still had no idea where your partner was.

It’s almost natural the way your hand finds your phone, swiping over the familiar contact name and pressing out a quick message.

The party can’t start without you.

Towering windows make up most of the ballroom, fading sunlight overpowering the chandeliers above, and you take advantage in hopes it might reveal your webbed friend hanging off the roof.

Almost immediately, you get a text back.

Aww, you really do like me :) No kidding. Are you already in place? Just about. Doing a quick perimeter check. You enjoying the party? I would be if my partner was here on time. Hey, cut Parker some slack! His train’s probably late and I don’t see any signs of Kingpin yet. I'm just glad you've stopped trying to fight me on this. If you can’t beat ‘em... And maybe look up every once in a while, you’re gonna run into somebody.

Just as your eyes scan the very last word, your senses go haywire. There’s cold liquid running down your hand and you've just run into something. When you finally tear your eyes away from your phone, you unfortunately realize that something is now wearing the remainder of your drink.

People nearby have formed a clearing around you, but it feels less out of courtesy and more to point and laugh at you. Regardless, you’ve got to fix this, “I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

Your victim stands in a small puddle of sangria, the front of their tux dripping in it still, and you could see how red stains crawled up crisp white. You could only imagine how much every bit of their suit cost (and the Daily Bugle definitely didn’t have the budget to cover it).

They lift their copper head and you’re at first struck by the smile on their face, then the peppering of freckles across the bridge of their nose, and finally... their name.

He carefully removes his suit jacket to assess the damage to his shirt, “Nah, don’t worry. I was looking for a reason to leave early anyway.”

You’re breathless, certain you should be rushing to grab towels or begging him not to sue you into oblivion, but you don’t really get that far, “I’m... really sorry.”

He laughs, so genuine that you feel the tension in your shoulders deflate just at the sound. Just then, a waiter rushes over with a hand towel, insisting he lead him to the men’s room to clean up, but he’s waved off with little more than a “thank you” and “I’ll survive, I promise.”

He steps out of the puddle to allow someone to clean it up, bringing him that much closer to you. When he's done with the towel, he hands it off to you. His eyes trail to your chest and his eyes widen some, “The Daily Bugle. You a reporter?”

You realize he’s spotted your press badge and rush to introduce yourself, wiping absentmindedly at your sticky hand, “Uh... yes. Actually. Crime beat reporter.” You set your empty cup on a passing waiter’s tray and hold out your clean hand to shake.

His hand is warm, if not a little sticky like yours, though you have no grounds to complain, “Nice to meet you. I’m Harry.”

“Oh, I know.”

He quirks an eyebrow, still smiling, “Then... was that drink a calculated assault?”

“No! God, no. I genuinely wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Not very safe for a crime beat reporter, don’t you think?”

You’ve got to be on fire. You feel like it, struggling between a laugh and a whine, “I’m sorry you had to be the one to teach me that lesson.”

“No worries. Like I said, you did me a favor.” Harry glances around, “So… you're reporting on what, exactly? You betting on a robbery or something?”

The humor of that isn't lost on you, “Actually, I’m filling in tonight. Our usual reporter definitely wouldn’t have ruined your nice shirt.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I find this stain rather charming.”

You can’t help it. You giggle and he smiles even wider, “May I ask why you want to escape so soon?”

“Not if you’re gonna write it down.”

“Off the record? In exchange for the stain.”

Harry Osborn has a boyish look to him even though he’s steadily approaching 26, some baby fat still clinging to his cheekbones when he smiles wide enough, “Well, this was my first stop since hopping off a nine hour flight from Oxford and I’m, as the English say, absolutely knackered. I was gonna leave in half an hour after photos but…” He laughs, casting a look over his shoulder at the stage, “I’ve made my donation. I won’t be missed.”

Perking up with an idea, you reach into your bag and pull out a recorder, “In that case, how about I get you down for a comment on your generous donation of…”

“Five million.”

You blink, swallowing hard, “Five million… to make up for it? I'll even throw in a few questions about your study at Oxford. I hear you're working on a revolutionary breakthrough with lab-grown bacteria that breaks down plastic.”

Harry's eyes light up. For a moment, the image of Harry Osborn is just Harry, “You sure Jameson would let you publish something nice about an Osborn?”

The Daily Bugle was no friend to Spider-Man, but neither was it a friend to Norman Osborn. You recall some of the more scalding headlines about Oscorp’s president that you’d published in the past. It was the one thing you and Jameson could agree on. “You know Jameson well?”

“Of course. I’ve got a buddy who works there too, actually. You might know him. His name’s-”

Harry’s voice is drowned out by the collective oohing and awing of the crowd when the lights dim, shrouding the grand ballroom in the fading glow of the sun. The stage, once empty, is now illuminated with the presence of Pepper Potts. Uproarious applause fills the room. Harry smiles politely at you. His buddy would be a conversation for later.

You want to focus on Pepper, you really do, but it’s like you’ve broken out of a spell the second Harry’s eyes leave yours, and you find yourself once again scanning the crowd for Parker. There was no good reason for him to be this late and you couldn’t even give him a piece of your mind about it.

You shoot off an indignant text to Peter.

Your guy better have been hit by a cyclist on the way here or he’s getting an earful when I see him. Pepper looks amazing :(

But no instant reply. In fact, three minutes pass and there’s nothing. You glance up to the windows for any sign of him watching and find none. Was... he here?

You glance at Harry. If Jillian were here, she’d punch you in the face for what you’re about to do, for the opportunity you're about to squander. Okay, maybe not a punch, but it’d be violent.

But then you’re thinking about Peter, about that night that changed everything, about his blood and bruises and the men with guns for hands. You think about how Peter worried for you. You think about Harry, who has just donated five million dollars to charity, and how there are over a hundred more of him packed in this ballroom right now. You think about Wilson Fisk, and how much havoc he could wreak if he put Spider-Man out for good.

And then you're elbowing yourself through the crowd, searching for the nearest emergency stairwell, hoping that if Peter’s still watching he might meet you halfway. Parker and those questions be damned. You'd find a way to make it up to Jameson somehow.

You’re about ten feet away from the nearest exit when someone takes a hold of your wrist, a few seconds away from the end of Pepper’s speech, and whoever is holding you back has a grip so iron it stings. You can’t clearly see the face of who’s grabbed you but it doesn’t feel familiar. Your heart jumps into your throat. Had Fisk's men infiltrated the room already? Had they gotten to Spidey? Did they know you? Were you next?

You’ve got no pocket knife on you, but you have a fist.

You curl your fingers inward and aim right for your captor’s head. Your fist makes contact with skin. The room erupts into thunderous applause. The lights go up.

You never actually land the punch, but your captor looks a little too wide-eyed to be one of Fisk’s men, too soft in the face. His own hand has completely stopped yours in its tracks, just a hair away from breaking his nose, and he’s staring at you like a deer in headlights. A big, brown doe-eyed deer. “Uh, hi,” your eyes flicker down to the camera hanging from his neck, almost blocking the badge beneath it that reads "P. B. Parker", and then you meet his eyes with the same bewilderment, “sorry I’m late.”

Parker is about average height with a build you can't quantify when his shirt is draping off him. It's a ridiculously huge plaid thing, the kind of thing someone would wear to hide themselves, but all he does is stand out in the sea of Armani and Givenchy. Old jeans, old shirt, high-tops, and a muddy-grey beanie to top it all off. It was a wonder they let him in the door at all.

What you can feel is the strength behind his hand as it holds your fist in place. Some people are looking—you realize, after the tremors of your punch reverberate back up your arm—and so you yank your hand back before any security can take notice.

Your partner waits a full second before holding out his own, offering a subtle, wobbly smile, "I would've been here sooner but... traffic, ya know?"

His voice is low, you notice this next. Practically a mumble. You kind of realize why your coworkers said you weren't missing much; outside of his awkward mannerisms and sweet, unassuming baby face, he looked like any other white guy from New York. He also seemed like he didn't want to be seen or heard, and you imagined that Jameson had no problem with that.

But his mumbling forces you to take notice of his lips so you can read them, and their thin, blushy quality is only marred by a little dryness. Broken by biting or... or something. "You're late." Is all you manage to say.

His lips part, turning downward, "Yeah, I know," he stutters, the pitch of his voice going up a hair, "I said- um, I caught the last half of Mrs. Potts’ speech." And then he turns his camera to you, flicking through images that are too small on the screen for you to assess the quality of. You actually have no doubt they're good, but you're upset he's late and you're certain there's nothing remarkable about this guy—nothing at all—and yet you can't stop staring.

"You know Spidey?" You blurt out next, and his eyes widen and zero in on you. You don't know why he's surprised. "He's mentioned me, hasn't he?"

Parker blinks, "Oh! Yeah. Yeah. All the time. You're very... good. At your job."

"Thank you. So are you."

And wouldn't you know it, he actually blushes. It's sweet and alarming how quickly red blooms across the apples of his cheeks, how his hands wobble around his camera a bit, how it disarms you for a moment. It'd be cute if you could just figure out what about him was throwing you off.

In fact, you're so enthralled in figuring out that something that you see his lips moving but just miss his question, barely hearing the tail-end of it. You watch his lips again as you ask him to repeat it, but the musicians have started up a jaunty tune with trumpets and high white keys, so you duck closer to him and ask him to repeat it once more.

"I asked-" And as you get closer, you have an excuse to look at him more deeply.

Your eyes follow the curve of his mouth to his chin (and all its little hairs that he hadn't caught shaving), down to his neck where you see, just peeking out beneath the lip of his beanie, a curl. You've abandoned his question now. You just feel, as strange as it is, that you need a closer look...

Your hand is moving before your mind can catch up with it, until it's caught in Parker's halfway to his throat. You're so close to him that you can see the way the skin of his chin rolls with the effort to lean away from you, or the honey speckles in his eyes that are all but eclipsed by his blown-wide pupils.

His fingers are latched around yours. He's not using the same strength he was before, doesn't need to, but you can sort of feel it beneath the callouses. Even then, it's so gentle. You don't know why you react with just as mush wonder. The world might as well be at half-speed. You almost wish him to speak again because you've got nothing to say for yourself here.

Parker looks on at you, still holding onto your hand. He smells... like the city.

"Do you-" He starts, chokes on his spit, and then swallows, "are you always this friendly when you're tipsy?"

You blanch. "What? I'm not-" You yank your hand back, cup it to your mouth and nose, and breathe in the sangria. Could he smell it on your breath? "I'm not tipsy. I barely even had a drink before I spilled it all over..."

You catch Parker's eye to find him looking interested. "Spilled it all over...?"

"Someone. Whatever. It was an accident."

"You spilled your drink on someone?"

"It was an accident."

"You know, I was feeling real bad about showing up late, but Jameson's gonna have a field day with this." You're mortified. He wasn't interested, he was amused. "Are we gonna get sued?"

"No!" Your voice draws the attention of a couple nearby, making you shrink even closer to Parker, "I told you it was an accident and I apologized. And you're still not off the hook for being late."

He folds his arms across his chest, smiles steadily this time, and agrees. The action is so unmistakable that it saps all the lightheartedness right out of you. Parker notices the change.

The only thing that breaks the moment is Harry Osborn finding you both.

Your head whips at the first "Peter!", thinking you'll see red and blue somewhere nearby, but Harry is gunning straight for Parker with the widest smile on his face. You break away just in time for him to envelop Parker in a big, friendly hug that would've knocked Parker off his feet if not for how solid he was. A few onlookers take in the scene, some amused, others not so much.

It takes you a moment to digest that Harry meant Parker, had called him Peter with such love and affection that there was no way he was mistaken, and Parker had returned the hug a beat later without correcting him.

There were probably a million Peters in New York alone. And yet...

They stay intertwined a minute longer, only breaking away so that Harry could hold... Peter's face in his hands. "Peter Parker! What the hell are you doing here?" Harry seems to remember you're there. He releases Peter and points to you, "So, you two know each other after all. Pete's the buddy at the Bugle I told you about. We've been best friends for years."

As if this Peter business wasn't enough for you to wrap your head around, you struggle to imagine these two being best friends. One of New York City's richest heirs and a contractor for the Daily Bugle. Your disbelief is evident as you ask, "How did you two meet...?"

"College. We went to ESU together. We were even roommates before I went off to Oxford." Harry smiles proudly, patting Peter on the back. It's then that you notice Peter is looking very, very uncomfortable. You wonder for a moment if this is all some elaborate joke Harry's playing, but it hadn't struck you as his type of humor.

This is, in fact, a man named Peter Parker. He works for the Daily Bugle, he's best friends with Harry Osborn, he works with Spider-Man, and they both share a name. Unremarkable Peter Parker. Nothing you were missing, they'd said.

Peter must see that you're focused hard on him, so he turns to Harry, "Yeah, Oxford. Why aren't you... there? Again?"

Harry laughs, unbothered, "Don't tell me you didn't miss me?"

"No, it's just... last I remember, your dad wanted you there until your project got approved."

The very mention of Norman Osborn kills the mood entirely. Harry's smile falls quick, though he tries to hide it, and shuffles a bit uncomfortably. "That was the deal. But you know dad: the world revolves around his every whim." Harry's eyes cut to you so fast that you tense up, recovering quickly. "Off the record."

Jillian would not accept that. You, on the other hand, swallow it down and tuck it away for another day, "Anything for a friend of a friend."

That gets Harry smiling again, however terse. The conversation quickly changes course as Harry pulls at the stained white of his shirt to show Peter, "Speaking of: you like? Our new mutual friend gave it to me."

Peter glances at you, chuckling with a nervous edge, and grabs at the fabric to examine for himself, "Something tells me you deserved it."

Harry immediately resorts to banter that Peter melts into. It was no doubt now that they were friends, that Peter's awkwardness had only been on account of you being here.

You can only smile and nod, smile and nod, while you watch Peter's every move. You couldn't say anything even though you were bursting, but now your heart was beginning to pound in your ears, making it hard for you to do what you were trying to pretend you weren't doing.

Spider-Man was smart. Beneath the quips, he was extremely smart. He wouldn't tell you his real name and then show up here as a civilian, so brazen, knowing that you'd instantly figure out it was him. That'd be too easy. He trusted you, sure, but he wasn't stupid. He'd been uncomfortable at the very thought of unmasking when you'd mentioned it last night. If Peter was... Peter, he wouldn't have come at all. Because that would be stupid.

And he wouldn't have bothered to pretend, up until the last second, that he wasn't Peter, if he was just going to flay himself before you like this. Because you would've figured it out eventually.

So, surely, there were a million Peters in New York and you happened to know two of them. And they knew each other. And one of them was a superhero. Of course.

You slip your phone out, checking your recent messages with your heart in your throat. If Peter wasn't Peter, he'd have texted you back by now. Because Peter—fuck—Spidey wouldn't miss a chance to make that joke.

There's one new message. You barely get to see what it says before broken glass sprays from above.

There’s a cacophony of sound all at once. Glass breaking, screaming amongst the crowd, and the sound of gunfire letting off into the ceiling. One minute, the room had been in peaceful bliss, and the next, a tidal wave of terrified guests were rushing at you.

You’re lucky that Peter’s arm is like iron, strong enough to rip you back and away from the crowd that converges on the exits, because if you had stayed in your spot for a second longer you would have been trampled underfoot. Like your phone, which is in pieces the second it slips out of your hand.

Harry is there too, huddled against the two of you in the corner, but that doesn’t stop you three from all being pressed upon by the panicking crowds. There’s no rhyme or reason, no order in the chaos. Beautiful clutches embedded with Swarovski crystals lay abandoned at your feet. Everyone in the room can see, whatever it might be, that their life is worth more than a single thing in this room. Even worth more than the lives of the other guests they shove to get out first.

You try your best to see over the heads of the swarm to get a glimpse of what had set the entire party off, and immediately two things are visible. One: Pepper Potts is center stage, the bright white stage lights beating down on her. If it weren’t for the sweat beading at her brow, you’d think her bored. The second thing was that there was a man standing beside her who wasn’t standing there before, a microphone in one hand and a gun in the other.

Even from all the way at the back of the room, you could see the gun trembling in his grip as the barrel kissed Pepper’s temple.

The next thing is his voice. It’s loud, feedback screeching off the walls so high that you think they might shatter the windows. The crowd is loud and he’s louder. You can hear him saying something about how everyone shouldn’t leave just yet, that they’d want to see this front row and not on the 10 o’clock news. You do not see Kingpin. This man is utterly alone.

Harry is shouting something at you, you can feel his breath and the spit that flies out in the hurry of his words, but you can barely make out what he’s saying over the guests. Peter clutches you both even closer.

“We… we have to…” You start, glancing up at the windows for any sign of Spider-Man, but you see nothing. Your eyes drop to Peter’s to find him already staring right at you. You’ve no idea what’s going through his head, and the adrenaline rushing behind your eyes makes it hard to speculate. You only know what you need to say, “…we need to find Spider-Man.”

“We need to leave!” Harry argues. He wriggles out of Peter’s grip and starts pulling you both toward the nearest exit, but he only makes progress with pulling you forward.

You were about to argue back until you felt Peter’s hand at the base of your spine, pushing you into Harry with ease and right toward one of the exit doors. You turn, clutching onto Harry as to not lose him in the crowd, only to find Peter isn’t following you. “You both need to get out of here.”

“Both? Wh- Peter! We’re not leaving without you!” Your attempt to grab at him is futile. He shrugs away from your touch, keeps pushing you and Harry through the stampede as if he really intended on staying behind. “Peter!”

He finally looks you in the eyes that second time, the desperation with which you’d said his name snapping him out of some dissociative spell, “I��ll be right behind you! I’m gonna help get people out. Some got trampled, I-I’ve got to-”

Harry is next to admonish him, “Pete, come on. This isn’t the time to play fucking hero!”

But Peter’s not listening again—eyes faraway, slipping over the crowd as if searching for something—he’s heading back into the fray, calling to you some half-hearted promise that he’d follow soon, and then his head disappears into the whirlwind of bodies. You were able to follow him up until the moment his hat got pulled off, and then… nothing.

The current pushes and pulls at you and Harry, dragging you down the hallway. You feel your ankle twist awkwardly and are thankful that Harry is still clinging to you because had he not been, you would’ve been dragged down and trampled for sure. He holds you upright, pressing you to his side, assuring you over the noise that you’d go back in to get Peter in a minute.

You think that Harry Osborn is much kinder than his father seemed to be, and that you really do owe him a good soundbite in the Bugle after this.

You feel a draft coming from outside, promising you were close to being free from the confines of the hallway. You grab Harry’s hands and peel them off of you, pushing him forward into the crowd without a second thought, just as you see the light of the city come up ahead. His head whips to you. He calls your name as he’s swept away, but you press yourself hard against the wall and let the crowd lead him out to safety.

The crawl back to the ballroom is awful.

There are fewer people escaping, thankfully, and so it’s less like an undertow, but there are so many people and all of them are perfectly fine with throwing their bodies forward with caution thrown to the wind.

It takes you longer than a minute to get back to the door you’d come out of, even longer to squeeze through with elbows hitting you square in the chest and heels digging into your feet.

The room is less than a third of what it had been when the gunman had arrived. You frantically search for Peter in the remaining, scattered crowd; people are frozen in awe, in horror. Some people in the crowd were begging the gunman to reconsider, and others were praying. Your heart sank. A woman was about to die and there was virtually nothing you could do.

You look up to the windows one more time. You couldn’t see him, couldn’t call him, but you close your eyes and pray too. Whoever he was. Wherever he was.

And then you hear it. The familiar thwip! cuts through the air. You open your eyes and a second later, the clatter of the gunman’s pistol hitting the floor follows. You’re blessed with a whole five seconds of glee before the gunman surges forward and pulls a knife on Pepper, holding it to her throat in a panic.

“Easy there, buddy.” Your head snaps up to the rafters. From a single thread of spider silk, Spidey descends from the ceiling with a hand outstretched. He’s a ways away from the two of them, offering some sense of space. “You don’t wanna do this.”

The gunman has since abandoned his microphone, but his voice reverberates in the near empty room just fine, “Get out of here, Spider-Man! You’re next!”

“Why don’t you and I hash it out, then? Just you and me. Leave Mrs. Potts out of it.”

“No, no,” the man mutters; you can hear sirens growing closer to the building, “she’s part of it. You’re all part of it.”

Pepper speaks up for the first time, “Whatever you want, I can get it. This doesn’t have to end badly.”

That must’ve been the wrong thing to say. The man jerks his knife closer to her skin and you can see, after a moment, a thin bead of red dribbles down her collarbone.

Spidey holds out both his hands, “Whoa, whoa, whoa-”

And it happens in a flash. One second, Pepper is being held at knifepoint, and the next, she’s being pushed off the stage.

Spider-Man immediately swoops in and catches her, swinging her to safety on the other side of the room, but you’re too mesmerized by the new body on stage pinning the attacker down by the throat. How you’d missed him, you’ve no clue, but he’s wrestling the man onto his stomach and restraining his arms behind his back just as the doors to the ballroom are thrown wide open.

Cops stream in, rushing the stage to take the gunman into custody. Some head straight for Spider-Man and Pepper, but it’s the guests that catch your attention. There are maybe fifty of them in the room altogether, but applause catches on like wildfire. All of them, and the musicians and the cops at the door, erupt into applause.

Because the man on stage, the man who’d thrown himself at the gunman and disarmed him, the man who had just saved Pepper Potts’ life… was Wilson Fisk.

You can’t find Harry anywhere. Most of the guests had stayed behind out of sheer curiosity, but Harry was nowhere in sight.

You stand out on the sidewalk with the rest of the crowd as the police escort the gunman into a cop car, murmurs flitting from ear to ear on who he’d been, what he’d wanted, and whether they should stay behind for interviews. Pepper was still inside getting questioned. But Wilson Fisk was out here.

You’d been in the same room as Fisk only once before, the night of his infamous press conference three years ago when you were still an intern trailing after the likes of Jillian. He’d struck you as a measured man, one who carried himself with impenetrable humility, and even in the face of his detractors kept a cool head.

Back then, he’d been accused of money laundering, something to do with all his companies not adding up. In and out of trouble, he was. Jameson had likened him to a cockroach: never quite dead, even when he really ought to be by now.

And now he stands before reporters, guests, onlookers, and the like, giving a statement about his “harrowing” rescue of Mrs. Potts. He hadn’t even been invited.

You know you should be right up there with the rest of them, fiending for a soundbite, but you’re gnawing your bottom lip from afar trying to catch him in a lie. Something about this was refusing to add up, and thankful as you were that Pepper was safe, the whole thing was off. Convenient, even.

You watch him smile and nod, none of the charm ever reaching his dead eyes, but everyone eats it up anyway.

Just as you’re about to force yourself to head over, knowing Jameson would have your head otherwise, you’re flying.

“Jesus!” You screech, scrambling to cling onto Spidey as the crowd below watches the two of you swing away. Your stomach drops as he carries you to a nearby rooftop, and you all but collapse when you meet solid ground. “Oh my God, don’t ever do that again.” You expect a quip in return, but when you look behind you, Spider-Man is sitting with his head on his knees, utterly silent. Your stomach drops again, “Spidey?”

That gets him to look at you, big white eyes narrowing, “We’re not on a first name basis anymore?”

You’re stunned, and then you scowl, “Peter Parker.” When he says nothing, you repeat it, “Peter Parker.”

“That’s his name.”

“His? Or yours?”

His eyes stay narrowed at you, only now his head is lifted upright, “I’m not the only Peter in New York.”

“I’m sorry if I find it a little suspicious there’s a Peter Parker who works at the Daily Bugle selling the only decent photos of you in the city, who just so happens to share your name and- and your lips.” That last part awkwardly tumbles out of you and his eyes are no longer narrowed.

“My lips?”

Peter’s lips flash in your mind. You don’t know how to say it without sounding more suspicious than him, “You’re… you both… your mouths are very similar.”

A beat passes. The silence isn’t enough to convince you you’re wrong, but it is enough to make you fidget.

But then Peter bursts into laughter, and, well, it’s not funny to you at all. “Quit it.” You demand, meek.

“I’m sorry, I just- I stick to walls and you think it’s crazy that we’re both named Peter?”

“You can’t convince me I’m off with this one.”

“There were like… four Peters in my graduating class!”

“He even kind of sounded like you! When I could hear him clearly.”

“He sounds nothing like me!”

“He sounds a lot like you.” You say, and wish that there had been a moment when you’d caught him speaking at an octave higher than his, frankly, forced baritone and an octave below shouting. Peter—this Peter—has a voice you know well enough. You’ve memorized his vocal fry when his voice gets a little too high, that nervous ramble-y pitch of his. It’s so distinct. If you had just… heard him use it just once, “You can’t make me feel crazy about this.”

“’m not trying to make you feel crazy, I swear. You’re one of the smartest people I know. I’d be skeptical too.” You wait patiently for a confirmation or a denial, but he gives you none. He takes a deep breath and stares out over the edge of the building where Fisk is being escorted to his car. You crawl over to sit beside him.

Part of you wants to ask him to prove it, to peel his mask off and show you, but you can’t make yourself do it. He’d only just given you his name. He trusted you with that. You’re wary about pushing it.

Because the pieces fit so well, but he’d never make that kind of mistake. Would he?

Would he think it was a mistake?

Peter sighs. “Hey, you alright?” You ask.

He doesn’t really look at you, though his voice answers at a lower volume than before, "This was too convenient.” You hum in agreement. “That guy… he said we were all ‘part of it’. Like it was planned.”

“You think Fisk planned it.”

“I think he’s a little too eager to be in the spotlight about it.” But getting that off his chest doesn’t seem to change the solemnness in his tone.

“Pepper was never in danger.” Your hand presses against the scratchy concrete, itching to touch him. To comfort him. “If this was Fisk’s plan, it was all for publicity. Pepper was never gonna get hurt.”

“She got hurt.” Peter whips his head to you.

You knew Iron Man was his mentor, had plucked him off the streets and thrust him into a world of gods and aliens before his untimely death. And maybe with Tony gone, he thought it was his job to keep her safe.

“Peter, you can’t… you can’t think like that. You can punch your way through a lot of things, but that? That back there? You did what you could.”

“I could do more.”

You get that urge to touch him again, only this time, you let yourself do it.

Your hand touches the side of his mask, cupping below his ear. He watches you the entire time but doesn’t move to stop you. Your thumb rests on his cheek and your pinky- it brushes the overlap between his mask and the rest of his suit, “It’s not just that you’re Peter, too.”

You feel the muscles in his neck twitch, “What?”

“It’s that… in all that chaos, you chose to stay behind. To help people. You made sure me and Harry got out, but you stayed behind. Everyone was so busy trying to save their own lives and you were thinking about them. I don’t know Peter Parker very well. Maybe he’s just that kind of guy. But I know you. I know if anyone in that room was you, he’d be it.” Peter doesn’t say anything. You feel the tension in his jaw, feel the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow, but he doesn’t say anything. He just watches you. You stare hard into those white eyes and imagine a someone staring back at you. “Or maybe that’s just the kind of people Spider-Man hangs out with.”

He huffs humorously, “Yeah, that checks out. We’re friends, after all.”

Your heart swells to hear it, “friends”. “Don’t make this about me when I’m trying to expose your secret identity.”

“I think Peter Parker would be flattered you think so highly of him. He was kind of worried he made the wrong impression… after you tried to punch him in the face.”

Your jaw drops, having nearly forgotten in the mess of the night. “Well, maybe Peter Parker shouldn’t go around grabbing people in the dark.”

“You were walking so fast. How else would Peter Parker get your attention?”

“Are you just saying Peter Parker over and over to convince me that you’re both completely different people?”

“I just think it’s funny that you don’t believe more than two Peters can live in the same city.”

“There are other factors!”

“Can’t believe you’re the type of reporter who flies by the seat of their assumptions. But you do work for Jameson, after all.” When Peter stands, you naturally follow.

You decide to switch tactics, bruising the alter ego, “You- you know what? You’re right. You couldn’t be Peter Parker. Peter Parker would be shaking and crying if I so much as raised my voice at him.”

“Wow. I’m gonna tell him you said that—wrap your arms around me?” And he snakes an arm around your waist, sending your heart into overdrive again, “he’s never gonna talk to you again. He’s probably gonna issue a copyright claim every time you put his pics on the Web-Blog, now. Legs too.”

“Wait, no. We are not swinging again. We are taking the stairs.”

“How else am I gonna get you off the roof? Legs, please.”

“We can take the stairs!”

“Door’s probably locked and Kingpin’s already on his way back to his super-secret evil lair. Legs or I’m webbing you up in a baby wrap.”

You grumble. It’s enough to make you grab onto his shoulders and jump, locking your ankles across his back with the fear of gravity instilled in you. You reckoned he’d be fast enough to catch you if you did fall. The very possibility makes you sick to your stomach, though. “Please don’t drop me.”

Peter dips his chin into the crevice where your neck meets your shoulder. "Don't worry," and it's not even that you hear his voice, you just feel it, "I've only dropped someone once."

And you're plummeting off the ledge before you get the chance to run away.

[another-fire-emblem-sideblog]

In case I delete my damn Twitter (I really should), I want to preserve the only tweets I ever made that I liked. Which, unfortunately, was rating every Fire Emblem Final Boss on their fuckability (remixed).

I'm sorry.

(Note: I confess that I am not a monsterfucker, yes yes leave your angry comments below, and I will be ranking every boss on their most anthropomorphized form to even the playing field)

(Edited on 2/17/2024)

MEDEUS (FE1/FE3/FE11/FE12)

Oh boy here comes the most generic villain ready to offer me the most generic sex possible. How could I ever contain my excitement

VERDICT: Look tumblr likes to make evil sex with your evil spouse look de facto exciting but even the spark can go out of villain sex. If he's a boring villain in the streets he'll be a boring villain in the sheets.

DUMA (FE2, FE15)

Man I am so glad that the remake gave Duma a human form and I don't have to be talking about ~~Duma's wiggles~~

VERDICT: I will confess to not being particularly attracted to him, but.... Not to spoil anything but he's going to be one of the better picks on this list.

JULIUS (FE4)

He is a child.

VERDICT: He is a child.

VELD (FE5)

Oh boy, you KNOW he fucks with the same enthusiasm of a disgruntled middle manager fitting in a quickie between reruns of Home Improvement with a wife that he's a decade past loving.

VERDICT: I mean there are worse choices on this list but love yourself.

IDUNN (FE6)

Even putting her somewhat... neotenous features aside, the whole free will removal kinda makes the idea of sex with her pretty unethical at best.

VERDICT: And even if we ignore all that she got one rounded by Roy. Total turn off.

FIRE DRAGON (FE7)

There is no anthropomorphized form. It's just a dragon.

VERDICT: I have concerns about size differentials here.

LYON (as possessed by FORMORTIIS) (FE8)

Ok, ok, I acknowledge this one is kind of a stretch as those two are separate entities and the Formortiis you fight is NOT in the shell of Lyon but like. Give me a break. I know you horny fuckers want Formortiis to become intimate with your intestines. I'm terribly sorry this stupid post isn't for you.

VERDICT: Let's be real. Unless you're Eirika or Ephraim (or willing to put on some cosplay) he won't be bringing his A-game. If you are, though... oooh. Boy. The emotion would run high. There would be crying. I'll leave it up to you as to whether this is a plus or minus.

ASHNARD (FE9)

Unlike some other options on this list, it is at least 100% proven that he has had sex, if only as a means to an end. I honestly doubt whether he would fuck for any other reason to be honest

VERDICT: If, for some reason, being used as a genetic experiment isn't a turn off, he's absolutely going to ask if he can turn a family member of yours into a mindless war beast, probably immediately after the sex. If for some reason this still isn't a turn off, uhhhhh I hope y'all are happy together.

ASHERA (FE10)

While I could imagine most of the other characters in this list being open to the idea of sex, I really couldn't see Ashera being DTF. But...

VERDICT: She's hot in a scary Drakengard way, so I'd say it's worth at least shooting your shot. She'd probably turn you to stone, but that's the risk you take for love.

ROBIN (As possessed by GRIMA) (FE13)

Fell Robin is a great example of the effects of evil on human attractiveness. On their own, Robin is human tofu. They are a perfect 5/10. Being possessed raises their score to at least 6/10.

VERDICT: 6/10 is better than average. Why not.

TAKUMI (FE14)

As far as I know, he doesn't have an official age, but I see this character and I think "that's baby"

VERDICT: All I want to do is give him butterscotch candies and ask him how he's doing in school.

GARON (FE14)

Like Ashnard, at least you can say he definitely fucked. Quite a bit, considering the excess of children he has (discounting his propensity for picking them up off the streets) So, uh, he's got one thing going for him?

VERDICT: He has this expression the entire time.

The

Entire

Time.

ANANKOS (FE14)

man who fucking cares

NEMESIS (FE16)

He's the only final boss in Three Houses that doesn't turn into a big ol' monster so he's got that going for him (or against him, depending on your point of view.) Unfortunately, he is, however, a zombie, which I would rate as worse.

VERDICT: One certainly can't say he's slacking on the gym routine but... zombie. Does he smell? Ew.

EDELGARD (FE16)

It's everyone favorite problematic waifu! What is there to say about her that hasn't been said before.

VERDICT: No, I mean really. Uh... if you like her I said she was stinky and if you hate her Edelgard come step on me uwu. Everyone can be mad at me. It's fun for the whole family.

RHEA (FE16)

Rhea is a scary, scary woman and fucking her would ruin your life

VERDICT: Rhea can totally get it.

EDIT: As of this writing (2/17/2024) I have beaten Fire Emblem Engage, and have edited this section accordingly.

SOMBRON (FE17)

Like Garon, Sombron canonically fucks. A LOT. This does not mean he's necessarily any good at it, mind, but he's got to at least... know... stuff, right? He was able to turn the yaoification beam on Hyacinth so he's clearly not completely lacking in sexual appeal. He will NOT wear a condom tho, although who on this list would?

VERDICT: I feel like you'd need to have some very specific fetishes for this to be a good idea, but if you do... have fun?

As for Heroes, I will confess that I only played Heroes very briefly; I don't know shit about the story and will have to rely on the wiki. So if I get some stuff wrong, apologies that I didn't play a shitty gacha. I was too busy... uhhhh having sex with your mom (NOTE TO SELF DELETE LATER)

BRUNO (Heroes, Book 1)

This bitch loses shirts like a Yakuza character. His abs have more screentime than his face. He pops on screen and Yusuke Kozaki manifests behind you and whispers in your ear "don't you just HUNGER for his dick????"

VERDICT: Oh come on.

SURTR (Heroes, Book 2)

Uh... he was pretty good on my team for the brief moment that I played. Uh... shit let's consult the wiki

VERDICT: ...oh. He's not very nice at all. Yeah don't fuck him.

HEL (Heroes, Book 3)

Ok. Look. Listen. Ok. Ok. Look. Ok. Ok. Listen. Ok. Listen. Listen. Listen. Ok. Look. Ok. Look. Listen. Listen. Look.

VERDICT: ...

...

...yeah...

FREYJA (Heroes, Book 4)

Ok, she's cute, but... I don't know. I just don't vibe with her design. It screams "designed for lonely dudes" and I'm a lonely GAL thank you.

VERDICT: Bring back the goth milfs.

EITRI (Heroes, Book 5)

NO.

VERDICT: NO.

EMBLA (Heroes Book 6 oh my god how many fucking books are there)

Oooh, she looks deranged! I like that; I'm a big supporter for women's wrongs.

VERDICT: ...Admittedly, she has more "wet drowned rat" appeal than sex appeal.

Book 7 isn't actually done yet (I think) as of time of this writing so I'm DONE. NO MORE.

[lady-squid]

Hypocrites With A Cause Ch2/2

Summary:

The family returns to their home after the Krang invasion. Leo and Donnie are both hurt but are too anxious about the other to take care for themselves. Luckily big brother Raph is here.

Words: 2926

Chapter 2: POV Donnie

Donnie was glad to finally be home, the old brick walls of his subway tunnel sanctuary providing a small peace the invasion had not allowed throughout the day. The turtles, their father, April, and Casey made it to the makeshift home after the traumatizing day, As much as he wants them all here he feels a bit claustrophobic. The genius doesn’t think there's ever been this many people in the tunnel home at once and it’s making him anxious. The group seemed as relieved as he was entering the subway station, a small weight lifted from their shoulders. they didn’t have time to feel relieved though. Everyone’s worried and focused on Leo. 

Donnie’s shell throbbed in pain from the Technodrome. He can still see Mikey’s concerned face upon removing his outer armor, not fully trusting the idea. He knew he was right, the thought of removing his battle shell outside of his home felt wrong let alone in the technodrome. But it was the only way he could think of to connect with the ship. 

Falling shell first into the Krang was pure agony, the slimy tendrils wrapping around him and crushing his soft shell. In the flesh of the ship, he truly thought there was no way the body could take any more pain than he was in. He was quickly proven wrong. The Krang forcefully pulling him from the ship was so, so , much worse. The force of snapping tendrils ripping and lacerating his shell was like white-hot fire. 

The teen knows he’s going to have nightmares for years. Luckily the others hadn’t gotten a good look at his shell with all the action. As soon as the group got home the purple ninja sneaked back to his lab, retrieving another battle shell, trying hard to ignore the agony that placing the heavy metal on his fresh wounds caused. His family needed to focus on Leo. He couldn’t let himself become a distraction, so he hid behind his purple shell. His purple walls. 

It doesn’t matter that he is in pain, it doesn’t matter how much he wants to scream till his voice is raw and destroyed. Leo needs him, Donnie is the second-best medic they have after Leo. The blue brother has always helped him, even when he was hurting. The least Donnie can do is push through some pain to help him. 

Donnie sneaks back to the group from behind, hoping no one noticed his absence. He sees his injured twin falter, Casey catching him before he can stumble. Only ensuring the idea in Donnie’s head that he needs to hide his shell further. Casey swings Leo’s arm over his shoulder holding him up. God the kid’s a godsent. Creeping behind his family, trying hard to ignore the pain of his battle shell rubbing against his soft shell, he makes a mental note to properly thank Casey later for all he’s done. 

“Leo take it easy, can you go three minutes without hurting yourself?” Donnie quips from behind like he has been there the whole time. “Where’s the fun in that Dee?” The purple teen rolls his eyes, Leading the two to the living room. His twin will be the death of him, his destructive and rebelling nature has already gotten him hurt, and next time… he might not be so lucky. The idea of living without his twin is scarier than anything the Krang could throw at him, and it almost happened. “Don, you ok?” He almost stops in his tracks. Is he ok? His brother, who was just trapped in a space prison with a psycho alien trying to beat him to death, was asking if he was ok. “Am I-Leo how could you be asking if I’m ok?!” Donnie raised his voice as a tremor ran through his body. He could not believe his twin right now, why is he concerned about him ? “You’re the one who almost-” He stops himself, all fight leaving his body. No, not now. Sighing he runs a three-fingered hand down his face. “I’m fine Nardo, just focus on getting better, ok?”

 The whole team followed closely behind as Donnie led Leo to the living room. Donnie knows they care, that they are just as worried about Leo as he is, but the hovering of his warm-colored brothers, April, and Dad only makes him more anxious. They're close, too close, too close to his shell. Casey carefully lowers her sensei onto the chair. Leo tried but failed to suppress the pain it caused. 

“You’re all being dermatic!” Leo attempts to smile, waving his hand dismissively as he speaks. “I’m fi-” His face scrunches in pain as a hiss escapes his lips making Donnie's soul ache. Or is that ache coming from his back? He isn’t sure. “Like hell, you’re fine!” Ralph's distress snaps the genius from his thoughts. Kneeling in front of the teen he carefully takes Leo’s arm to inspect it. The younger twin is as gentle as he can while looking over his brother's arm, he notices how tense he is. I guess we have that in common, Donnie thinks. The discomfort of others looking after them, he knows what he’s feeling, it’s like a twin thing. They have more in common than Donnie would like to admit. The abnormal bend of Leo’s arm along with the intense red swelling told Donnie everything he needed to know.

“God- Leo.” Donnie stands, gently placing Leo’s arm on the chair armrest. “It’s broken.” The soft shell tells Raph to fetch a first aid case he keeps in his lab, then gets to bandaging up Leo. The rest of the family stay close, not wanting to leave till they know Leo’s alright. Donnie hates kneeling beside his hurt twin and having all these people hover above him. He feels like they can see through his battle shell, that all eyes are on him. It’s worse than the throbbing pain.

As the teen genius looked over Leo the rest of the crew checked each other. He noted Casey wrapping Mikey’s hands. Ah, right. The mystic magic had cracked his hands open causing them to bleed. From what he saw they aren't too bad, just dried and chapped, though he wouldn’t be surprised if they give him difficulty in the future. Splinter and April seem to be making sure Raph is well taken care of, looking after his eye. Donnie trusts the pair and Casey so he mentally checks making sure his other brothers are ok off his list.

God Leo looks like hell, well, He just got back from hell. He double-checked his twin, he couldn’t miss anything. He had to do this right. He already failed him once today, Leo wouldn’t be hurt if he had flown the Technodrome into the portal faster, Leo wouldn’t be in pain if he had pulled through the agony of his shell faster, Leo would be ok if he was stronger. “Donnie?” Leo’s voice was quiet, not wanting the others around them to hear. He hadn’t realized he'd been staring at Leo's arm, not working. He looks… Worried? Why does Leo look worried? Is he hurt somewhere he hasn’t found yet? Is he-

“Donnie, Can you hear me?” Oh, it’s him. He’s the problem. Leo is hurt, Leo is in pain, and he’s thinking about him. The blue teen has a look in his eyes like he knows Donnie is hiding something. “I’m fine, Leo.” He attempts a reassuring smile, hoping to ease Leo’s distress, but it wavers. Leo’s tired eyes can see right through him. Of course they do, they always do. He hears talking around him, but the people’s voices are far away from his mind, like echoing at the end of a cave. Leo is ridiculous, he shouldn’t be worried about him when he’s clearly hurt. Not when it’s Donnie’s fault he’s hurt in the first place. Suddenly there's a firm hand on his shoulder. “ Don’t .” He wheezes pathetically, his voice is raspy and quiet, grabbing the intruder's wrist. They're going to hurt him, they're going to touch his shell, they’re going-... It’s raph.

Raph is safe. Raph wouldn’t hurt him… anymore. “S-Sorry…” It’s quiet and timed, so unlike his usual confident voice. He lets the leader go, turning back to Leo finishing wrapping the last bandage. Raph hasn’t moved from his spot behind him. He can’t bring himself to turn and look at him, he already knows the look the red teen is giving him. Worry, worry he doesn’t need let alone deserve. damn it why can’t he see that he’s busy? The purple brother sat back, admiring his handy work. “I’m done.” Their father, Casey, April, and Mikey take that as their cure. Standing quickly from their spots on the floor to crowd Leo. 

Donnie backed away, giving the others the space, avoiding eye contact with Leo. He needs to stop thinking about everyone else when he’s clearly hurt. He is far too selfless. Donnie hadn’t noticed someone put on a Lou Jitsu movie in the background. It’s Leo’s favorite. The film is suddenly too loud for him despite not even knowing it was on mere seconds ago, the group of people beside him was loud, his own heart was loud, the throbbing in his shell was loud, everything was loud, loud, loud .

There’s a voice, it’s louder than the others. Closer? That would make the most sense. “Don-... you ne-...” The voice is muffled and hard to hear like it’s underwater, only being able to make out small bits of what it’s saying. A hand hesitantly holds his own. He recognizes those hands, they are big and rough but oh so gentle. “Raph.” It came out pathetic, almost inaudible. “Yeah Don, It’s me-... you… lab?” Lab, he recognizes that word. Lab is safe, lab is quiet. The distressed teen nods. Raph gently guides him out of the room and down the hall, away from the constant loud noises. Donnie’s eyes are downcast, his head suddenly becoming heavier. He can feal the adrenalin wearing off, giving way to exhaustion. The feel of concrete to metal on his feet tells him they made it to his lab. 

Donnie is led to his office chair where he not so gracefully plops, the sudden contact of shell with the back of the chair sending a bolt of pain through his body. “What’s wrong?” Shit, he forgot Raph was there. He didn’t even try to hide the pain his chair caused. “Are you hurt?” No, no he’s fine. It’s Leo they should be worried about, not him. “Don you gotta breathe.” Breath? Oh. He hasn’t been breathing. The soft shell tries to take a deep breath but is caught in a coughing fit, the movement making his shell hurt more than it already did. “Hey, hey it’s ok. Just take it slow.” 

The mutant teen tries again, this time more successful. It takes a couple of minutes for Donnie to regain control of his breathing, Raph whispering praises the whole time, aware that if he talks any louder his little brother will break. This is ridiculous, Donnie thinks to himself. Leo is hurt and he’s making this all about himself. He’s acting like a child. “Stop.”

The teen looks up to his older brother kneeling before the chair, confused. “Stop using that big brain of yours for five minutes and just breathe.” It’s like the leader could read his mind, he knows his brother well. Knows the dangers of his overactive brain. “Tell me Dee, what’s going on?” He’s fine, Donnie’s fine. 

“Why aren’t you with Leo?” The question earns him a sad smile from the red turtle. “Because I'm worried about you Donnie.” He’s taking up his time, he’s pulling him from Leo. “I-I’m fine Raph.” The older brother is not amused. “Raph isn’t as much of a dum dum as you think Don, you just had a panic attack for Pete's sake.” Dam it. This won’t be easy to get out of. But that won’t stop him from trying. “Leo is hurt badly Raph, you should save your worry for him, not me.” Donnie starts to stand, attempting to put an end to this uncomfortable conversation, only for Raph to grab his arm and not so gently pull him back down. 

Donnie couldn’t help the hiss of pain that left his lips as his shell hit his chair again. Ralph's face turned from frustration to concern. “Stop deflecting Donatello, you're clearly hurt!” Full name, he’s serious. There’s no convincing him now. The snapping turtle let out a sigh, running his hand over his face. “You are so much like Leo, both pains in my ass…” He mumbled into his palm before removing it to make eye contact with his brother. “You are the only one that hasn’t gotten checked for injuries Don, just let me make sure you are ok. Ok?” He knew there was nothing he could say to change the mutant's mind, so he let him. Raph may not be their best medic, but he knew enough to take care of Donnie.

The older ninja left to grab another first aid kit before returning by Donnie’s side. Raph went over his body, making sure not to miss any scrapes. Gently cleaning cuts and applying bandages where needed. He finished with the soft shell's skin, turning to him with a concerned and unsure expression. “Donnie… You asked me to get a med kit from your lab for Leo…” He faltered trying to make eye contact with Donnie, but he just couldn’t. Couldn’t look at his older brother's face without breaking, already teetering on the edge. “One of your battle shells was missing…”

 Shit. “You came here and put it on when we first got home… Didn't you? You weren't wearing it before.” He places his hand on the soft shell's shoulder, making sure he can see him before he does so he can pull back if he doesn't want the touch. “Why are you hiding your shell, Donatello?” 

Donnie froze, breath catching in his throat. Logically he knows it needs to be looked after, that what he was doing was dumb, but putting his family through even more distress, taking attention from his dying brother, seemed so much worse than the physical pain and the possibility of infection. The red leader’s eyes were searching his own, hoping for some confirmation, before they went wide.

“Shell. off. Now.” The change was instant, His lax shoulders turning rigid as he glared holes into Donnie’s armor. Raph’s sudden change made the purple teen flinch away from the hand on his shoulder. Panicking his thoughts raced, Was Raph mad at him? Had he finally gotten sick of his shit? His eyes followed Raphs line of sight to his battle shell. Oh. He hadn’t noticed the blood that began to escape from under the shell's armor, steadily dripping onto the now-ruined office chair. 

“Donnie, please .” He couldn’t handle it anymore. The fear and desperation in Raph’s voice, the eyes on his shell's armor, the pain coursing through his body. He cried. Raph startled, his concern only rising. Donnie never cries . Gripping his skull with his nails Donnie curled in on himself, his breath getting faster. “Ok, ok, you’re ok.” Donnie isn’t sure who he’s reassuring anymore. “Raph’s got you, Raph’s gonna make sure you're ok.” He held out his hands for Donnie to take, seeming surprised by how fast he sought out his comfort. “C-Can’t” He wheezed out, hands grasping at his larger brother’s plastron. “Can’t br- breath.” Is he having a panic attack? He isn’t sure, his chest hurts. His breaths got caught in his lungs which burned like fire. The plastron under his hand began rising and falling dramatically. “Deep breaths Don, come one with me.” 

Following his brother's example, the soft shell tries to slow his breathing. They sit like that till Raph seems to deem that they’ve made progress, Donnie’s breaths no longer desperate but still not entirely steady either. Coxing the younger brother to sit on the floor, Raph positioned himself behind Donnie. Continuing to take deep exaggerated breaths for him to follow. The tech enthusiast can feel Raphs finger hovering over the button on his shoulder that releases the battle shell, hesitation evident. “D-Do it.” The soft shells voice shakes. “Just do it.” Taking a deep breath himself, Raph removes the shell from his brother's back.

Pain, holy hell all he feels is pain. Pieces of his sliced shell peeled with the armor, reminding him too much of the tentacles that were ripped from his back. A gasp escaped Raph, hands hovering over his mess of a shell. Donnie can’t see him, see his face, but he doesn’t need to too know it’s bad. He feels fuzzy and weightless, that's probably not good. “Alright, Don you with me?” Said mutant only nodded, not trusting his voice. “Ok, Ok, good. I’m gonna get Dad ok?” No, no, not ok, don’t leave him here, don’t leave him in the ship don’t-

“Don ,Don your ok. Shhh.” Rough hands from behind gently but firmly held his shoulders, grounding him. “I’ll be right back, ok? I promise.” He is scared, He doesn’t want to be alone again. Alone in the flesh interior of the Technodrome. But he isn’t, He’s home, Donnie knows he’s never truly alone at home. So he nods. Raph will get dad, and he will be ok. Leo will be ok. Maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but someday, they’ll be ok. 

Roses are red, 🥀 Violets are blue, 🔵 The twins are a disaster, 🧑🤝🧑 What else is new,💀

[concussed-to-pieces]

On The Shoulders Of Titans

Fandom: Destiny 2

Pairing: M!Titan Guardian/F!Titan Guardian

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: The light flickered. "I couldn't say. Some of us look for our Guardians for decades, sifting through the rubble and hoping to get lucky." The Exo nodded as if he understood. He didn't, of course, but he could pretend. "I'm so glad I found you. You have no idea how long I've been looking."

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to this foray! But before we begin, a small disclaimer: There was no overlap between Season Of The Splicer and The Dawning. For narrative purposes, however, I wrote this as though they were happening at the same time. Also! I have done my research on Exo anatomy, but I am by no means an expert and have had to make some assumptions. I ask only for your leniency on that front. That being said, I hope you enjoy! 💚

Tag List: @velvet-paradox @crookedmoonsaultpunk @thebrotherofmany @calwitch @stargazerofgoldenwords @differentpeanutpatrolfan

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains self-loathing, canon-typical violence, depictions of mental and physical duress and sexual acts between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]

Raised in the middle of a raging thunderstorm, the Exo was stunned to discover that his life was not, in fact, over. 

Metalloid pieces clicked and whirred in his auditory sensors, everything too much and too loud all at once as he forced himself upright, his large frame tottering forward a few steps on unwieldy legs. Something small and bright hovered around his head when he collapsed beneath some cover, too exhausted to move again for the moment.

The thing introduced itself in a chipper yet worried tone, saying that it was a 'ghost'. "Actually," it carried on after a pregnant pause, "I'm your Ghost." 

"A manifestation of my supposed soul?" The Exo asked wearily, his head hanging between his knees. "That kind of ghost?"

"Oh no, no no. Not that kind. I'm just...well, it might be easier to explain once we get to the Last City. How do you feel? You've been dead for a long time."

Dead. Said so glibly, like it didn't matter. "A little lightheaded. Nauseous. What is all this?" The Exo grimaced, gesturing upwards at the ramshackle, bombed-out structure doing a poor job of shielding him from the driving rain. "Where are we?"

"The Cosmodrome of Old Russia."

Well, that left him with even more questions. The Exo popped his jaw, the motion strangely familiar. "Ghost," He queried finally, "why me?"

The light flickered. "I couldn't say. Some of us look for our Guardians for decades, sifting through the rubble and hoping to get lucky." The Exo nodded as if he understood. He didn't, of course, but he could pretend. "I'm so glad I found you. You have no idea how long I've been looking." 

The heartfelt tone of the little machine caught the bulky Exo off-guard, and he extended his hand to it. The Ghost settled into his palm like it belonged there, the points of its...casing? Shell? Body? fitting snugly between his fingers. "I assume I have a directive?" The Exo hesitated, then continued, "I feel like that's what I would need...for some reason."

The lone optic of the tiny Ghost blinked up at him. "Well, you're freshly hatched. We should probably let you rest for a little while. Gather your strength, you know."

"Understood. Are we safe here?" 

"Well…" the Ghost trailed off, its shell popping apart as it rose out of his palm. It continued to expand until it was a small orb of light, plating rotating around it like moons in orbit. "There is a band of refugees not far from here. We'll be safer there."

"Understood." The Exo got to his feet, tearing down a worn piece of red canvas that might have once shielded a doorway when the structure had been intact. The armor that stretched over the natural framework of his body seemed almost too frail to withstand the punishing rain. He took a moment to drape the canvas over his head and shoulders, holding up one side of it and indicating that the Ghost should take shelter beneath the mantle.

…

Amongst the refugees, the Exo known as Bulwark-26 handled the defense. Volunteering to stand between the Fallen, Hive, Cabal, and the group he wandered with through the temperate forests on their way to the nigh-mythical Last City. It seemed like every day they faced some new threat and in an apparently-common twist, the power he had been gifted from what his Ghost called ‘the Traveler’ took on a decisive form as if making an effort to shift with his responsibilities. Lightning surging through his frame, he was always found moving into the fray. 

On the day a Hive tombship dropped out of orbit to regurgitate its shrieking contents upon them, Bulwark toppled several of the tall, thin pine trees to halt the Hive's advance and buy the other refugees time. Arc Light flowed through him and he seized it with both hands, shattering the thralls and acolytes like glass with his armored fists. This was nothing new. What was new, however, was what happened when he noticed the missiles launching from the tombship, aimed at the cowering group of refugees. His barricade had failed, trunks cleaved through by a now-deceased knight, and the crowd was suddenly, incredibly vulnerable to attack. 

No! Bulwark reached out again, Light pulling into him in response to his urgency. The Exo then sprinted back, skidding to a halt in front of the refugees and ordering them to retreat in a voice like thunder. 

The Light this time was different. Instead of being some new offensive power, it stretched itself into a protective dome overhead. The surface swirled opalescent purple, and the Exo was enraptured by the limitless, hungering power of Void Light. The salvo struck the shield with a muffled boom!, the strain of maintaining the barrier shoving Bulwark back a step. He readied himself for the next strike, bewildered when he felt arms wrap around his midsection. 

They didn't run. 

The refugees actually piled up behind him, helping to brace his body against the incoming blows. Bulwark set his jaw, leaning into the assault as he heard someone priming the group's shared, barely-functional rocket launcher. 

"Stepping out!" Her. He shouldn't have even been surprised. She always said she had nothing to lose, brown eyes dark with loss and brow creased with sorrow. “If they can’t shoot through your dome, I doubt I can.”

The launcher looked wrong in her hands, yet it was clear that she had used it before from the way she handled it. The woman settled the weight of it firmly on her shoulder and then braced the launcher against a rock. The tombship attempted to meander ponderously through a fresh wormhole, but she pulled the trigger and blew it out of the sky.

Bulwark had never been more grateful, dropping the Ward immediately and collapsing–

"...Guardian? Guardian."

Bulwark-26 jolted upright, only to sink back down with his head in his hands. Another dream, he thought bitterly. His Ghost, dubbed Requisition (Rex for short) was hovering overhead, an ever-watchful eye. 

"Cabal troops are sweeping the area, Guardian. It won't be long…" Rex paused. "I'm sorry, I know you're exhausted."

"It doesn't matter." Bulwark replied curtly. "Better that you woke me now instead of letting that play out."

"The dream again?"

"Yes." Bulwark sighed. "I had dealt with the Hive, so at least it had only just gotten to her." He paused, and then, painfully soft, he admitted, "I miss her."

"I do too, Bull." Rex assured him gently.

…

Bulwark had been powerless, stripped of that Light which had made him so brazen and sent plummeting to his demise from that Cabal flagship. It was through sheer luck and ingenious armor design that he had managed to limp away from that fall, and even more lucky that he had located his Ghost. Poor Rex had been just as battered as he was, but still mustered up the wherewithal to mend Bulwark's broken frame.

"I can't resurrect you, not since..." The Ghost had sounded utterly beaten, several ruined points of his once-pristine shell drooping under their own weight. "Guardian, the Light is gone."

Then had come the days of panicky skirmishes, shepherding more and more refugees to the Farm and other safe zones. Bulwark-26 found himself constantly surviving by the skin of his teeth, the large Exo unused to caution after having had the Light for so long. As the days turned into weeks, Bulwark had finally received the news that his...friend had been killed. A missile barrage had utterly destroyed the building she lived in, and with so many Guardians Lightless, search and rescue missions were effectively halted in occupied territory.

It shouldn't have mattered. She had been just another refugee to him, after all, and what was one more loss when stacked against the mounting casualties of the Red Legion? The ordinary woman, alone, caring for others to fill the void of whatever she had lost. Bulwark hadn't asked, he hadn't thought it was his place to do so. Never asked her name, either, which filled him with deep regret once she passed away. Many of the refugees didn't share their names, though, suspicious and tense around one another even while they broke bread together. It was the way of things out in the wilds; you kept a hand on your gun and waited for the knife in your back. Bulwark didn't particularly like it, but he understood. Not everyone was as lucky as he was.

She had died during the opening attack of the Red War, and there was nothing he could do about it, yet the loss weighed on him heavily. Her life and countless others had been sacrificed because he hadn’t been strong enough, and the weight of that knowledge alone kept Bulwark rising again and again to fight once he sought out the fallen shard of the Traveler, once he reclaimed the waning remains of the Light housed within it. 

Despite his best intentions he often visited the memories of his time spent in the wilds, the months before he came to the Last City as well as the frantic relocation during the Red War. In a way it was comforting, retreading familiar ground. One memory in particular he returned to more often than he would admit out loud, the events in it never failing to leave him a little more weary than before. He couldn't really find it in himself to be sad, not exactly. It wasn't really a memory that evoked an emotional response at all, not one that he was ready to address. So he just settled on tired. Yet still, it constantly found its way to him, playing out before his eyes when he drifted off…

She had cried herself to sleep against his side one night after the watchfire had died off to embers, the now-patched red cloth wrapped around her shoulders to keep away the damp chill in the air. 

Bulwark had been paralyzed by her presence alone, the Exo remaining stiffly upright for hours after she went still. 

Her brown hair smelled of sweat and smoke; the day's journey had been long and not a soul in the group had the strength to wash up that evening. Least of all Bulwark, who knew he must still reek of Fallen ether.

Certain things had come to mind, certain memories that were apparently his but not, but different, but before. Between the fragments of old battles rose soft moments; delicate fingers tracing the skin he no longer had, the heaving of breath in his lungs, the willing partners he had known. Confusing, jumbled feedback for his now-mechanical form to sort out, to rationalize. He was unsure...what could he even offer, like this? 

Nothing. 

And so when she came to him at his watchfire after a nightmare, her face wet with tears, Bulwark steeled his resolve and held her securely until she cried herself back to sleep. Lulled by the sound of her breathing evening out, the Exo had slipped into a lower functioning state as well. 

He vaguely remembered her stirring against his body before he roused himself in the dawn, one large, metalloid arm thrown over her shoulders as he stretched. She had groaned, relaxing back into his arms, and for a moment Bulwark-26 indulged himself by tightening his hold.

Only for a moment, though.

…

It hadn't taken overly long for the Vanguard to reform and strike down Ghaul. A few months, maybe a year or two. The passage of time was…difficult for the Exo. He had seen many things during his time as a Guardian, and even more of the older memories he bore were ones that were foreign to him. A gift from being a mind uploaded into a fancy frame instead of human, he assumed. Sometimes he felt like he could recall the frigid winds of Europa, the locale many of his kind considered their birthplace. But it was hazy and fleeting, muscle memory in a phantom limb.

He tried not to think about her for years after the Red War. Or was it months? He did his best not to think about her, either way. She was dead, and things like that for someone who wasn't a Guardian tended to be pretty final. But it felt wrong to avoid a memory that for some reason, his mind had slotted into a ‘cherished’ designation, so when the crackling call for aid came down the line once more Bulwark geared up for Europa without a second thought. 

Eliksni refugees. Here, he could be useful. He never thought he'd see the day that the City would open its proverbial doors to the Fallen, and indeed he nearly didn't. The public outcry alone was almost enough to render the effort useless, to say nothing of the odd behavior of the Future War Cult. But Bulwark-26, bullheaded and grim, soldiered onward ferrying the skiffloads of refugees from Europa to the Last City.

He was almost content, all things considered. Staying busy helped to keep the past at bay. 

…

One fateful day (wasn’t it always!), the titan was escorting the next band of Eliksni survivors fresh from Europa. They had children in their ranks, hatchlings, too young to walk and bundled up in slings on their parents' chests. Guardian duos were usually requested for hatchling escorts, the Eliksni exceedingly protective of their young. From what little Bulwark knew of their specifications, eggcloth and things like that, he gathered that the hatchlings were incredibly fragile. 

No other Guardian had responded to the summons, though. The time was odd, maybe, or maybe Lakshmi-2 had pulled something else on their comms. Bulwark eventually just set out through the outskirts of the slums solo with his little band in tow, reminding the group of wiry Eliksni to stay close and quiet. His attempts at stealth were for naught, however (as they all too often were), because they soon ran afoul of a Red Legion sniper nest. One of his charges chittering wildly and pointing upwards was the only warning he got before a bolt blasted a hole in his right shoulder. 

“Rex!” The Exo barked, herding his charges behind the shelter of a nearby rubble heap. The Ghost materialized once he had the all-clear, working quickly to knit the neural mail back together. There hadn’t even been the chance for the wound to hurt, so clean was the shot. Bulwark gave the mended joint an experimental rotation, nodded his thanks to Requisition, set his jaw and alerted Mithrax over the comms. He then chose his targets, scout rifle easily picking off the three psion snipers in their lofty perch. With them gone, he could breathe a little easier. However, the phalanxes were the problem, a duo of them setting their shields together to create more optimal cover for the legionaries. The Cabal were steadily advancing and Mithrax and the rest of the Botza Eliksni ‘welcoming party’ wouldn't be within range for nearly five more minutes, maneuvering through the wrecked slums they called home. That was five minutes Bulwark knew they didn't have. If he was alone, of course, it wouldn't have mattered. But he had to keep his little group safe. 

Rage boiled in his mechanical lungs; hadn't they dealt with enough? Between his heavy-handed correction of the hunter and titan he had encountered earlier in his patrol rounds and this new incursion, it seemed like everything in the universe was pitting itself against his charges. 

“Stay here!” The titan ordered the refugees, casting his Ward Of Dawn for a bit of added security. The shimmering dome enveloped the group and Bulwark grimaced beneath his helmet when he saw the terror etched on their faces. “Please. I promise you'll be safe.” He assured as firmly as he could. Unfortunately the nightmare of The Saint’s den still clung to the Eliksni, leading the refugees to stare upwards at the purple dome and hold tightly to one another.

The Exo sighed, unable to offer anything more comforting and almost wishing that he had honed his Light in a different way. Cabal slugs thundered against the shield wall as the titan reloaded his scout rifle, making the Eliksni chitter amongst themselves and cringe back behind him. 

“Don't worry.” Bulwark-26 said quietly. He then strode forward, taking with him the blessing of an overshield from his Ward. It was not overly advantageous for him to engage the Cabal head-on, but he had little choice in the matter. He could either hold the line here or fail. 

And he refused to fail again.

Bulwark had barely planted his scout rifle against a cement barricade and sank his first shot into a legionary’s skull when he heard a strange crackling noise. Fearing some sort of ambush, Bulwark jerked his weapon to the sky and got the shock of a lifetime. A titan was plummeting downwards from some unseen location, and in their hands was an enormous, flaming maul.

A Sunbreaker.

"Eyes up!" They shouted, landing on top of the platoon a moment later. The crater they made was sizable, as was the devastation the maul wreaked upon the remaining Cabal. Hot whirlwinds of embers and debris spiraled upwards, carrying with them the ashen remains of the phalanxes and legionaries.

Bulwark just tried to keep the terrified Eliksni from fleeing this new threat as his Ward dissipated, cursing the unknown titan under his breath for their overly-showy entrance. He prayed he wouldn't have to knock some sense into this Guardian as well after already having encountered previous resistance.

"Well!" The Sunbreaker said cheerily, hauling herself out of the divot she had created. "I suppose these are the refugees I've heard so much about?" She called to Bulwark. The Exo nodded warily. "Perfect! Sorry I'm late, got hung up a ways back. Few hunters and a warlock wanted to mix it up when they caught wind of my assignment." She dusted off her greaves and then removed her helmet, extending a hand to Bulwark in greeting.

The Exo felt like someone had just pulled the plug on him. "You." He breathed, the scout rifle falling from his grip to land in the dirt. It was her.

It was her. 

She offered him a blithe smile. "Yeah! Mithrax told you I was coming?"

Bulwark floundered momentarily, jerkily tilting forward to shake her hand. Guardians aren't supposed to investigate their past. "I'm B-Bul-Bulwark. Twenty-six. Bulwark-26." He stammered, crouching to pick up his weapon.

Her gaze grew distant, brown eyes focusing on a point far beyond the Exo. "Bulwark-26...huh. I feel like…" Her words drifted off and she shook her head, running a hand through shaggy brown hair. "Heh, sorry. I'm Delta! Just Delta."

"You don't remember me?" He didn't know why the hell he asked, of course she didn't remember! Most Guardians didn't recall who they had been before they became Guardians. They all came to the Light as equals no matter their status in their first life. Stupid! He scolded himself. He could feel Rex giving him the proverbial hairy eyeball, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the Ghost.

Delta's eyebrows knit together and for one disorienting moment, she looked exactly like the woman he had once known. Care-worn, face smudged with dirt, some deep worry furrowing her brow… "Now that you mention it, were you on that fireteam a few weeks back?” She asked, tapping her chin in thought. “Y'know, in the Cruci-”

"No." Bulwark cut her off brusquely. "Never mind. It's not important." The Crucible stirred up too many of those phantom memories for Bulwark-26 to venture into it casually. He could only assume he had been very good at what he did before his death. Though...clearly not that good. He had died, after all. "You're here to help me get these people to safety?"

"'Course!" Delta replied, seeming none the worse for the wear in spite of his rude interruption. She fastened her helmet to her hip right above her tattered titan mark and then beckoned his nervously-chittering charges. "C'mon guys, your paradise awaits."

…

He volunteered for a patrol detail in the Botza slums after the refugee skiff escorts had slowed. Several, in fact. So many that they eventually became routine. The Eliksni of House Light weren't a threat, but then again, they weren't the ones he had been concerned about to begin with.

Bulwark broke up multiple scuffles between the Eliksni and the Guardians or civilians that seemed to think they were doing the right thing by harassing and bullying his charges. Many refugees began to recognize the booming roar of Bulwark's voice even from a distance and they would come scampering to help remove their brethren from whatever conflict had arisen. The number of Guardians that Bulwark escorted out of the district by the scruff of their hoods, the hem of their robes or the seat of their marks bordered on obscene. That self-righteous glow of the Light would be the death of them all, and Bulwark's patience didn't last long past the beginning of his patrols. It was with a grim familiarity that he accepted the responsibility of keeping the refugees safe.

It was how his time had always been spent. 

Delta, the ghost of the past herself, would often sign on for patrols as well. Bulwark had to admit (if only to himself) that she was an excellent partner. Her Sunbreaker skills came in handy more than once against the solar shields of the Cabal that still wandered the far reaches of the City, she never made much in terms of unnecessary conversation, and she even offered to buy him a drink after their shifts. 

Bulwark wasn't quite sure why he continued to decline her invitations. 

He had never dared to try and get closer to her in her…first life, painfully aware of his mechanical form and the blessing-curse of being infinitely recycled. She isn't for you, he had told himself sternly time and again. She had deserved the chance at safety, at some form of normalcy with her own kind. There was also the added benefit of her not seeming to have any interest in him as well, her indifference lessening the depth of his emotions.

Now though, she was in the same boat as him. Gloriously expendable, eager to help, her eyes bright with the energy of a New Light. Yet Bulwark declined all the same, leaving her to drink alone with the sensation of something akin to self-loathing hanging heavy in his chest.

Bulwark reasoned privately that it felt a bit like cheating the system, to just assume to be close to someone because you had known them once before. People changed, and Guardians certainly changed. The Risen were clean slates, and from what he knew they only occasionally bore fleeting glimpses of their first lives. It was an unspoken rule that one didn't go looking for their past, as it only seemed to bring more questions.

She continued to hang around, though. Not pressing, just offering. Friendly. Normal, a smile on her face that warmed her once-sad eyes.

And he continued to be civil, and continued to turn down her offers.

…

"What happened?"

The Kell of House Light, Mithrax (known to his people as Misraakskel), sighed heavily enough to make his rebreather rattle before greeting the Exo. "Velask, Bulwark." Two of his hands continued to sift reverently through the wreckage of what had once been a Servitor. Overhead, the first few flakes of snow began to drift gently down, beginning to cover the ground in a thin blanket of white.

The titan jerked his head to the side, indicating his impatience. "Mithrax." The Sacred Splicer Kell had a tendency to sit on ceremony a little too much around Guardians, often waffling unless prompted.

Mithrax hesitated, the hiss of ether the only sound for a moment. "The people of your City...they have destroyed much of our ether processors." The large Eliksni raised a third hand to halt Bulwark's impending tirade. "They are still...uncertain of the Eliksni of House Light. They blame us for the Endless Night.” His hand gestured upwards to the darkened sky. It had been devoid of light over the Last City for many weeks while Mithrax and a few brave Guardians waged war on a different plane of reality. “It is a coincidence, but the timing of it is suspicious. I do not fault your people for being wary of us.”

"Uncertainty is one thing, but I'm not about to let your hatchlings starve because someone listened to the wrong Exo!" Bulwark retorted sharply. That may have been the wrong way to approach the subject; Mithrax audibly huffed at his words. The Exo attempted to soldier on, "Are there reserves somewhere? Can I...I don't know, secure a spot for a new Servitor? Something. I’ve seen too many refugees waste away to just sit on my hands and watch.”

Mithrax went silent and still; Bulwark could feel the Kell studying him intently. "If I do this," the Eliksni began after some time, "I will know immediately if you decide to betray us, Bulwark."

"I won't." The titan promised firmly. 

"Many strong words have been said easily. Do not offer us empty assurances." Mithrax warned. "I will know." He sighed again, and then continued, "Variks knows of our servitor stores on Europa. He can guide you to them. We have reserves, of course, and that will sustain us for the time being. I had hoped to build the stores a bit more before proceeding to transfer them, but it seems that our time has been shortened."

Variks, the Loyal. House Judgement's last holdout, once a denizen of the Reef. Bulwark nodded, going to depart. However, Mithrax stopped him before he could, three large digits gripping the titan's shoulder.

The Kell growled, "come out," his words infused with an unfamiliar gravity. It sent a chill down Bulwark's spine. That must be the commanding tone of the Eliksni authority, the Kelsvoice, the one that made The Spider quake in his proverbial boots.

"Sorry! Sorry, sorry. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, just didn't want to interrupt." It was Delta, the woman emerging from behind a half-destroyed wall with her hands up. "I heard some weird transmissions earlier as I was signing on for my patrol and I saw some civilians skulking by the edge of the district, probably because of frickin’ Lakshmi, so I wanted to…" She trailed off, obviously noticing the destroyed Servitors. "Oh no, Mithrax." 

The Kell sagged visibly, releasing Bulwark. "It will be alright, Delta. Bulwark has offered to assist us."

Bulwark hesitated, glancing at Delta. The other titan raised her eyebrow in query, immediately offering, "You want a partner?" Instead of deciding for himself, the Exo looked to Mithrax. It was only fair for the Kell to have the last word; his people were on the line. 

Mithrax seemed to ponder, then nodded slowly. "This is acceptable. House Light trusts the two of you. Can you recommend any replacements for patrols while you will be absent?"

Delta snapped her fingers. "Don't you fret, big M! I've got just the gang for you."

The Eliksni tilted his head. "Big...M."

...

"No place like home for the Dawning, eh Bull?" Delta yelled over the howling winds. 

"Technically, yes." Bulwark grunted, continuing to trudge forward to the Charon's Crossing outpost that Variks had claimed as his own upon his arrival to Europa. "I do not recall it, however."

Up a slight rise the two trekked, the driving wind threatening to rip them off their feet and fling them into the yawning chasm alongside the path. Bulwark-26 grimaced, squinting on reflex even though his helmet was keeping the snow out of his face. The outpost seemed to materialize from the blizzard, invisible one moment and then reappearing the next like some frigid mirage. 

“Hey Bull! You ever read any Lovecraft?” Delta called from behind him, her voice a little strained. When the Exo turned, though, she wasn't facing him. Instead, she was looking backwards, towards the black form of the Ziggurat. The horizon was clear in that direction and he could plainly see the sharp edge of the esoteric structure's highest tip scraping the sky.

“I don't believe so, no.” Bulwark answered slowly, confused at this turn of conversation.

“Don't. Save your sanity.” With that frankly baffling tangent obviously over, Delta turned to face him once more. “Let's get a move on!”

The large Exo clicked his mouthplates together, annoyed, but moved doggedly onward to the outpost. It was incredible just how much the building did to deflect the wind and snow, the overhang by the front entrance alone reducing the howling to a dull whistle.

"Hell of a way to spend the holidays." Delta griped, stomping her plasteel sabatons on the ground to keep warm while Bulwark fought with the outpost bulkhead. "The wind cuts right through my armor! You feel it too, right?"

"Yes." He continued to push and pull at the door, finally managing to turn the lock and unlatch the heavy thermal plating. His mind turned to Titan at the familiar sensation, the constant hiss of air from the pressurized bays, bulkheads opening and closing over and over, Hive build-up thick on every surface–not now. "Variks?" He called, rapping on the outside of the door with the back of his gauntlet. He noted wryly that Delta had cupped a fusion grenade in her hands, cradling it close in an effort to stay warm. “Put that away, you'll give the old man a heart attack.” He muttered, making the woman snicker and chuck the cooking explosive over her shoulder, sending it sailing into the rift below the station.

Out of the dim interior of the building there was an insectoid clicking, and it was with great caution that the scribe of House Judgement emerged from the shadows to greet the two. "Velask, friends. Misraakskel has sent you, yes?" He questioned narrowly, one of his remaining hands resting on the butt of his pistol. 

"Velask, Variks! Who else but us?" Delta said with a smile, opening her arms wide to indicate she was unarmed as she bowed. Granted, with the Light there were very few ways to truly unarm a Guardian, but Variks seemed to appreciate the gesture. Bulwark observed the shift in his posture to something a little less…ready, and did the old scribe the favor of mimicking said posture. "You staying warm, Variks?" The female titan continued, the concern in her tone surprising.

The Eliksni shook his head, murmuring, "Variks regrets to inform the Guardian that he is, in fact, not very warm at all. With all the House Salvation Eliksni on Europa, food and warmth are scarce."

"Good news, then." Delta tugged a small package out of her hip pouch and extended it. "Dawning greetings to you!"

"Dawning...Variks remembers Dawning, yes. Many Guardians bringing treats to their allies. It is good to be the friend of a Guardian, yes?" Variks accepted the box after looking at it for several moments, and he quickly opened it up. "Coldsnaps, yes? Very good, very good. Variks sees that House Light has been sharing with the Guardians."

"Eido's work keeps us educated." 

After spending so much time around the Eliksni, Bulwark realized that he had picked up on a few of the nuances in regards to their expressions. Variks clicked meditatively at Delta's reply, his eyes slanting downwards. “But not enough to keep ills from happening, yes?” The scribe hummed, his tone brimming with polite hostility.

“Don't worry about that. Bull and I will deal with the clowns that keep creeping back into Botza.” Delta asserted confidently. “They're young and dumb, probably just scared. Lakshmi talks a great game.”

Variks’ eyes shrank to irritated slits in his weathered face, that insectoid chittering filling the silence for a moment. Clearly there was no love lost between the Future War Cult and Variks of House Judgement. “Variks hopes so, for the sake of your people and his own, yes. Variks believes we need not repeat the past.” He leaned heavily on his scribe staff, the wind seeming to have gone out of his sails. “It will take time to secure the Servitors. They are hidden, yes, very safe. Many hours,” he warned, “Misraakskel knows. Very safe, but very far.”

“Where? We can-” Delta was cut off by a sharp gesture from one of Variks’ arms.

“No!” The former scribe barked, and Bulwark got another fleeting glimpse of the deep fear that so obviously plagued the Eliksni. Even after all of their help, after everything they had done to strengthen the bonds of this particular fellowship, some wounds just couldn't be mended so simply. “Eliksni will bring them here, yes. Five Servitors.” Variks continued calmly, as if to smooth things over. 

To her credit Delta just stepped aside so Variks could use his comms system to hail whatever clandestine parties he had available. The woman fiddled with her gauntlets momentarily, then tipped her head to aim the curved viewport of her helmet at Bulwark. “We should go and pick up some patrols. Thin the herd a little and stir things up so our friends can get their job done easier.” She suggested.

Bulwark nodded in agreement, offering Variks a belated and stiff bow. “May the Light provide.”

“For you as well, friends.” Variks waved half of a coldsnap in their general direction, the chain veil covering his mouth jangling softly with the movement.

The duo of titans departed, Delta leading the way with steps that were not-quite stomps. Bulwark simply waited patiently, taking the brief moment of silence to check over his gear. Predictably, it wasn't long at all before Delta spoke again. “Man, no matter how many times I talk to Eido I always put my foot in my mouth when it comes to Variks.” She said unhappily. “I don't think he likes me.”

“We are titans.” Bulwark-26 pointed out bluntly. “It's an uphill battle for us in regards to the Eliksni. Saint-14 is doing his best, but we can't expect miracles. I don't blame them for thinking what they do about us. A lot of hatchlings were raised hearing stories about the Saint, after all.”

“Yeah, and definitely not good stories either.” Delta agreed, her tone glum. “I wish there was some way to make things easier for…I dunno’, everyone involved.” She kicked a snowdrift, clearly frustrated.

“Mithrax trusted us to bring the Servitors to safety. That's a pretty big step.” The Exo gave her a pat on the shoulder which she comically staggered from. His laugh was, as ever, a strange approximation of synthetic sound. “Have patience. We have all the time we need, New Light.”

Delta scoffed at the nickname. “I'm not even new anymore! It's been years, when are people gonna’ stop-”

“Never.”

…

The Eventide Ruins were much less ‘welcoming’ than Charon's Crossing, but at least there was more cover. Without saying a word to one another, the two titans immediately set into the work of being a distraction. Patrol beacon after patrol beacon was pinged and subsequently completed, objectives accomplished and targets annihilated. They worked together in near silence, both used to how the other operated after their rounds in Botza. Bulwark told himself he was just staying close to Delta because she radiated heat, the woman absently tossing her smaller solar hammer back and forth from hand to hand when they weren't actively engaging the opposition. It had nothing to do with the creeping sensation of familiarity that he desperately attempted to ignore every single time he came to Europa, and it definitely had nothing to do with his rapidly-blooming feelings for the woman.

Who she had been before and who she was now…it felt like a betrayal to even think it, but Bulwark-26 preferred her now. She just seemed more confident and sure of herself, which he supposed came with the Light. It was easy to be confident when you felt untouchable.

Like Cayde. 

Bulwark shook his head, draping the belt of ammunition over his arm while he reloaded his heavy machine gun. “You fired six bullets.” Delta snarked at him, making the Exo smile beneath his horned helmet.

“That's six less I would have in the chamber the next time these House Salvation punks want to come at us.”

Delta hummed noncommittally and Bulwark heard her stifle a yawn a moment later. The sound reminded him of how worn he was as well; they had been running and gunning for hours without stopping. He had been so eager to help that he hadn't registered the faint weariness tugging at his limbs. And if he was tired…

“Bull, I gotta’ rest soon. I'm dead on my feet.” Delta's admission was all Bulwark needed to justify his own desire for a halt, the Exo quickly agreeing with her. 

“As soon as we find a defensible position.” Bulwark noted with concern that Delta's armored boots were now melting the snow around her feet with every step she took. She was obviously having more difficulty regulating the Light in her body, another unfortunate side effect of her ignoring her limits. “Delta,” he began.

“I'm fine.” She cut him off. “I've dealt with worse than this. I did have to make it to the Last City alone, y'know.”

You were on the outskirts of the City when your building collapsed, it wasn't exactly a long walk! Bulwark bit his proverbial tongue, setting his jaw against the words that wanted to erupt out of him. It would be needlessly cruel to tell her how she had expired. She must have been terrified, pinned beneath thousands of pounds of rubble before she eventually succumbed. 

To think of her trapped in the pitch-black, wounded, waiting for help that would never come while the Cabal gunned down survivors…

Bulwark's throat ached. 

“Understood.” He said instead, defaulting to a mechanical response. It was less messy that way, less…emotional.

Delta turned her helm far enough to the side that he knew she must be able to see him, but she offered no further conversation. The chill in the air between them had nothing to do with the temperature.

They were making their way across a broad open expanse of snowfield when something suddenly struck the side of Bulwark's helmet with enough force to topple him, his auditory sensors ringing from the deafening noise of air bursting out of the cracks in his helm. The Exo clawed frantically at the snow in an effort to regain his footing, feeling more than hearing the shrapnel launcher blow apart the ice inches from his head. The radiation of Europa rushed into his broken gear, sour wind tearing through the framework of his jaw and writhing down into his lungs.

His fist met the ice and a barricade half-formed, shimmering glassily into being. Bulwark couldn’t maintain his focus long enough to entirely solidify the structure, but it was something-

A familiar sabaton crashed to the ground next to his forehead, the plasteel now red-hot and glowing. He was abruptly warm, so warm, bathed in a radiant light like Sol's sun. He dared to look up, finding Delta standing over his body, her stance broadened to account for the width of his shoulders. In her hands resided her enormous Devastator Maul, the heat of the thing making the air around it bend and sway. 

Far enough that they hadn't noticed in the poor visibility conditions, but near enough that it could easily take potshots at the duo, the enormous Fallen raised its shrapnel launcher once again, its roar echoing across the ice. 

Delta batted the largest projectile away with her maul, the woman taking a labored step forward. Ice at her feet immediately liquefied, causing her to sink slightly into the ground. She grunted in annoyance, then tilted forward and broke into a loping sprint. The maul sang a hissing dirge as she ran, the woman using her momentum to smash through the support struts on the small deck the Fallen stood upon. After that, she quickly adjusted her grip on the maul and swung violently upwards to unmoor the platform from the cliffside, sending a fiery shower of sparks whirling as she did.

The deck began to slide down the side of the glacial abyss, leaving the large Fallen to scrabble desperately at the glassy edge of the cliff before the entire platform tumbled into the unknown. 

Rex darted around Bulwark's head, the Ghost working quickly to reconstruct the shattered metal and plasteel that graced the Exo's face before he suffocated in the radioactive atmosphere. Bulwark just watched Delta's back, stunned silent. The woman's shoulders were hunched, fists clenched tightly at her sides after the maul fizzled out. She looked half-ready to jump into the fissure after the Archon-sized Fallen.

The Exo swallowed even though his frame had no need to do so, raising his voice after a moment. “Delta?” He called, still a little dazed. When his eyes finally refocused Delta was standing over him again, that impassive helm unreadable as she offered him a hand.

“I need to rest.” She stated flatly once he was upright. No longer was there any sort of levity in her tone; she sounded utterly defeated.

Bulwark clasped her arm instead of replying, his nod all the answer he could give. For some unknown, immensely frustrating reason, his voice refused to cooperate. Delta slumped forward against his shoulder momentarily, her helmet clattering into his pauldron. His arms raised in a stilted attempt to embrace her, but then he hesitated. What if she-

Delta's fingers rasped against the armor on the small of his back, the woman taking the initiative to hug him tightly. Bulwark felt like his sigh was crushed out of him, his own gauntlets finding purchase on her back. “I'm alright,” he soothed, the modulation of his voice burring oddly. Radiation must have fried my voiceprint. “Didn't mean to worry you.”

“I wasn't.” She insisted stiffly, still clinging to him.

“Right, of course.” Bulwark raised his head, squinting off into the distance. “Let's make our way to that building. We can sweep it and then get a few hours of shut-eye.”

She released him, and Bulwark wondered at her seeming reluctant to do so.

…

A few hours of rest, he told himself. Their Ghosts could alert them to any activity. Just a few hours.

Bulwark sat down heavily once Delta melted through the ice coating the floor, unrolling his bedroll with a quick snap of ultralight nylon. He then draped the orange and navy fabric around his shoulders, attempting to warm it up a bit before he climbed in. With a flash of humor he noted that Delta's sleeping bag had a few singed holes in it. “Hot sleeper, eh?” The Exo teased, smiling when Delta huffed and flapped a hand at him.

“You wanna’ be warm or not?” She retorted, her trusty grenade crackling between her fingertips while she forced the large bulkhead door closed. The air scrubber rattled to life after the environment was sealed, vents creaking as they warmed from use.

Bulwark-26 laughed, bowing his head as he conceded to her point. “Fair enough, fair enough.” In the gloom of the room via the glow of his own orange optics he could barely see her groping forward, the woman finally crouching to rifle through the pouches on her discarded utility belt. A small folding lantern flickered on, momentarily blinding the Exo.

“You hungry?” She asked, not waiting for a reply before tossing him a ration bar which landed in his lap. It threatened to taste like meat and cheese, ‘made with five percent beef and real dairy!’ Bulwark snorted, but thanked Delta all the same and cautiously removed his helmet. Food was food, after all.

“I've got some freeze-dried fruit.” He offered once the two of them had verified the air was safe and started gnawing at the ration bars. “If you want dessert and your jaw isn't worn out, of course.”

Delta's eyes lit up. “Hell yeah, thanks Bull.” Her Ghost (a paranoid little cube named Sinclair) actually made a rare appearance, hovering beside her head for a second or two while she instructed him to keep watch with Rex.

The two Ghosts departed, reluctantly leaving their Guardians alone. Oddly, once the Ghosts had made their exit, Delta seemed to grow tense. 

Bulwark watched as her shoulders tightened into a rigid line while she slowly worked her way through a crunchy, freeze-dried strawberry, the woman sitting in the least-relaxed position he’d ever seen. Even her empty left hand hanging over her knee was balled into a nervous fist. 

When Bulwark glanced at her face, the woman was studying him. “Hey, Bull, I…can I ask a question?” Her voice squeaked a little, devoid of its usual confidence. The Exo inclined his head, struck with an immediate sense of dread at the way her expression twisted. “Do you–er, that is, do Exo…c-can you guys have–” Delta paused, her face reddening while her hands fluttered helplessly. 

Bulwark blinked. The momentary shuttering of his optics wasn't required for survival, but it was something Exos did anyway. Like eating, and sleeping, and…

Oh.

“Intercourse?” He supplied bluntly. 

Delta reacted like he'd just uttered some sort of unspeakable word, the woman making an odd noise in her throat and frantically gesturing at him. “W-Well, yeah, I guess!” She finally exclaimed, her cheeks still flaming red.

“We can.” Bulwark didn't understand why she was behaving so strangely. Reproduction was normal for humans, and Exo were human previously. “Many Exo partake in the act, even if it doesn't bear fruit.” 

Delta was coughing now, the female titan rushing to slosh some water into her mouth to quell the spasm. A weak, “ah,” was all she eventually managed to wheeze out, however.

“Why?” Bulwark pressed, curious. 

“W-Well I–I was just wondering, I guess, I uh, I hope that's not offensive to…shit, I should have thought of that beforehand.” Delta half-hissed, as if to herself, then said, “I'm sorry, I promise I'm not trying to be rude!”

“You're alright.” Mildly amused, Bulwark decided to push a little more. “I take it this has been on your mind?”

Delta huffed out a breath, looking away. “Lima mentioned some things to me about how her…about how she works.”

Bulwark-26 barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Lima-4 the warlock was strong, funny and reliable, but she was also an incorrigible flirt and tended to overshare. “So you wanted to ask about different models?”

“Y-Yeah.” The woman's gaze was locked on her knees. Bulwark wished for a fleeting instant that she would look at him again. “I'm really sorry, Bull.”

“I said it's alright,” he chuckled, “don't worry about it. I'm happy to answer any questions you've got.” It's not as if you were concerned about it the first time around. The thought caught him off guard, but Delta was now leaning forward, her brown eyes intent on his face. A tremor ran through his frame and Bulwark forced himself not to clear his throat in order to break the silence. Another unnecessary tic left over from who he had once been. “So ask.” He grunted after several seconds of her examining him. 

“How does it…how does everything work, exactly? Like is it a pump system, do you have multiple attachments…?” 

Bulwark couldn't help the little snort he let out. An involuntary response to humor; the habit was a bad one. “Some frames use attachments, yes. We all have the potential for change, if we are unhappy with our original settings and concerned about possibly triggering DER.” He then shrugged. “I'm not an expert on how it all actually functions, of course. You'd have to ask the Head.” He didn't like saying ‘Clovis Bray’ aloud. The name filled him with an anxiety that bordered on superstition, which he knew was foolish. 

Delta rubbed her upper arms, warding off the chill. “That's wild. I guess you wouldn't know though, would you? That'd be like expecting me to be a neurosurgeon or something just because I'm human.”

Relieved, the Exo nodded in agreement. 

“Have you ever slept with a human, then? Or an Awoken? Are they–l-like…” She was visibly struggling now, her brow furrowed. “Compatible with you?”

Bulwark was a little stunned at this abrupt and personal turn of conversation, but he answered as best as he could. “T-They are compatible, yes.” Internally, he cursed his stutter. It wasn't due to nerves, of course. Rex must not have fixed his voiceprint properly, that's all.

Delta's thumb landed on her lower lip, the woman's teeth worrying the skin momentarily. Bulwark prided himself on his restraint, impassively watching her thumb indent the soft surface of her lower lip and absolutely not wondering about how his metallic jaw might raise goosebumps on her skin. Definitely not.

He didn't think about things like that.

“Have you?” Delta's query was soft. He almost hoped he had imagined it. 

“Yes.” Bulwark kept it short. To the point. An answer without any added fat, enough to satisfy but only just. He should have known she would be hungry for more. 

“Did you…did you like it?” It was unfair really, that she could sound so shy while prying so deeply.

“Yes.” Bulwark paused, setting his jaw. “Have you?” 

Delta bit her lip, shaking her head. “You think I'd be asking all this if I had?” She laughed, seeming a little sheepish. “Nah, never had the chance to try with an Exo. Being a New Light keeps you busy!”

Bulwark-26 had to agree with that, remembering all too well his months of defending the wandering refugee band.

And her.

“That's why I like you, Bull. You'll at least let me take a damn break every once in a while.” Delta ticked a finger downwards at her sleeping bag. “You don't treat me like I'm some sort of unstoppable freak of nature.”

“I don't expect humans or Awoken to be able to ignore their limitations like I can.” Bulwark leaned his head back against the wall, staring dully upwards at the frozen ceiling. “I am, after all, designed to overcome the frailty of a flesh and blood body.”

“But even you get tired, don't you?”

“It takes…” The Exo hummed low in his throat, an unnecessary processing delay. “...it takes much more strain to exhaust me.”

“Interesting.” She sounded a little faint. “Well, I'd uh, I'd better get to bed. After all, we don't know when we'll be called, right?” With that, Delta quickly shuffled down further in her sleeping bag, the woman hooking the top of it over her head and effectively ending the conversation.

Bulwark couldn't help a brief smile at the sight of her wriggling worm-like in the bedroll, the Exo soon following suit. The floor was cold even through his sleeping bag, making the male titan grunt in annoyance and then shift his weight onto his back. He could see the faint reflection of his optics on the ceiling, the light dimming while his mind wandered aimlessly. 

She didn't care, back then…

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was blinking sleepily up at the ceiling once more. A repetitive noise had roused him, a quiet and continuous rustling of nylon fabric. Punctuating that, however, was a sharper clattering sound. Bulwark wracked his mind, trying to recall what the noise was. 

“Delta?” He finally spoke up. The clattering paused. 

“W-W-W-What, Bull?” The woman mumbled drowsily. 

She was shivering, her teeth chattering. That was what he had been hearing; she must have been doing it in her sleep.

She's going to freeze. As ludicrous as the concern was (she was a Guardian), once it grabbed hold of him he couldn't seem to shake it. Torn between offering to share body heat and just rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, his sense of empathy naturally won out. "Bring your sleeping bag over here." Bulwark grumbled, making a curt gesture. Delta obliged slowly, shuffling across the floor in her bag on her knees and then dropping down alongside him.

"I'm fuckin' freezing." She admitted with a shuddering yawn. 

Bulwark jerked open his sleeping bag, entirely forgoing his painstaking stoicism in favor of wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. "Why didn't you say anything?" Damn it, woman.

"Didn't want you thinking I was helpless, one of Shaw's little blueberries. I'm pretty good at taking care of myself, just more used to the temperate climates." Delta yawned again, snuggling down into his grip. “An’ I'm too tired to use the Light…t'warm up…”

She still continued to tremble uncontrollably, making the Exo frown. He carefully tucked the other end of his bedroll beneath her and then pressed himself even closer in an effort to warm her. Being an Exo, he could adjust his body's temperature independently to some extent. After all, what use was a killing machine that might freeze or overheat?

Delta's tremors finally eased a few moments later, and the woman groaned and stretched. “Ugh, I hate how tight shivering makes my shoulders.” She complained, turning over and burying her face in Bulwark's chest. “Remind me to pack my warm pajamas next time.” Bulwark froze at the sensation of her breath on his neck, the Exo's fingers momentarily digging into her sleeping bag before he could force them to relax. Delta wriggled in his hold, the woman arching her back against the pressure and then sighing, “mmm, that's nice. Thanks Bull.”

Bulwark didn't trust his voice, certain that it would make some sort of odd, squeaky sound if he attempted to respond, so he just nodded, his chin tapping against her forehead.

“Hey, Bull?” The female titan murmured. He could feel her lips moving against his neck when she spoke, and it was as if every faux nerve in his body focused down on that one spot. The Exo made some noncommittal noise in reply, barely a grunt. “I don't know how much more forward I can be here.”

It took a moment for her wry tone and verbiage to penetrate the haze of sensation he was battling with, but Bulwark's orange eyes eventually rolled downwards, the Exo studying the crown of her head. 

“Like really, I don't know.” Delta mumbled, her fingers digging into his thermal shirt. “Do you not like me? Should I back off?”

Bulwark closed his eyes, praying to the Traveler or whatever else might be listening for patience. “I like you.” He admitted.

“Okay, so…?” Delta trailed off, the woman obviously waiting for him to elaborate. 

Bulwark crushed the heel of his hand against the corner of his right optic socket, the dull pressure grounding him somewhat and urging him to stop running. “I…knew you. Before.” The confession was painfully soft, but at least now it was started. He heard her gasp. “You were a refugee. We never even exchanged names, but we traveled in the same group for…a very long time.”

“I remembered the pine trees.” Delta said, her voice shaking. “Pine trees and then there was this…purple dome. It was you.”

“Yes.”

She asked, “why didn't you say anything?!”, her fists resting on his chest while she pushed herself back so she could see his face.

The truth. “Guardians aren't supposed to go looking for their past, and,” he hesitated, avoiding her inquisitive eyes, “and…I was afraid.”

“Of what?” 

Without thinking he replied, “Of you.” Then, frantically, “Of you being different! O-Or you not feeling anything for me, or-”

“Bull.” Delta cut him off, her forehead pressed against his own. “Are you kidding me?”

“I assure you, I've said nothing close to a damn joke while I've been talking.” The Exo half-snarled, his hackles raised from a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. “I didn't want to ask. Ever. As an Exo, I…can't give people certain things. I couldn't promise you anything,” Bulwark's voice faltered into a mutter, “and it didn't even seem like you wanted anything from me the first time around. I figured I should just let it be instead of muddying the waters-”

Delta kissed him, so hard that Bulwark could feel her lips crumple slightly when she pressed them to his mouth. “I want you.” The woman gasped once she pulled away. “I want you. Please.”

His heart was trying to erupt out of his chest, the synthetic organ hammering at his metalloid ribs. Bulwark's hands clenched into fists without his input. “Please, Delta, I-” Don't do this to me. Don't let me hope. “If you want me like you say you do, I'm never letting you go again.” The titan said fiercely. “Please understand that I take this very, very seriously.”

“As opposed to how lightly you take everything else.” Delta retorted dryly, her expression slowly softening while she looked at him. “I understand, Bull. Not like–everything. But I do understand. It's okay.”

Bulwark's fingers were trembling when he carded them through her shaggy brown locks. The woman tipped her head, leaning into his touch with a quiet sigh. “I can't do this halfway.” Bulwark warned, feeling like he was begging. Tell me to stop. Don't let me do this to you. “If I…”

“I want you to fuck me.” Delta interrupted him bluntly. “I've wanted you to fuck me since I first met you in Botza.”

“That long?!” Bulwark asked, flabbergasted when she nodded. A bashful chuckle accompanied the motion, the woman still seeming a bit embarrassed despite her straightforward words. “You could have said something!”

“You didn't seem like you were interested! I didn't want to be pushy. I figured you probably got a lot of unwanted attention from New Lights anyway.” Delta reasoned, raising an eyebrow. “You did patrol the city limits most of the time. You were basically like the welcoming committee.”

Bulwark thought about it, bewildered to realize that it was, in fact, true. He had led so many Eliksni through the rubble of Botza, he had nearly forgotten about the fresh Guardians that kept popping up as he went. “I was more like the unwelcoming committee,” he mused ruefully. “At least all it would take is one kick to the teeth and they would come back a little more contrite. I don't recall any of them viewing me overly fondly.”

“Well, that's not what I heard.” Delta insisted, “I heard you were very popular with the blueberries. The Pronghorn Titan who roams the borders, rescuing stragglers as he goes.” 

“And who told you that? Lima-4?”

“Alright, alright, point taken.” Her mouth was suddenly on his neck, teeth clicking against the plating there. Bulwark shuddered, uncertain of how to respond. It had been…

Well, it had been a very long time since he had indulged like this. “What do you like?” He breathed. Delta nudged him onto his back, the woman straddling his hips after a moment. She shifted her weight, staring up at the ceiling as she did. Bulwark blinked, confused when she swore under her breath. 

“Well this won't be comfortable. Your hips are too broad.” Delta finally complained, stretching her left leg out. “I'll cramp in two minutes flat! Give me a second Bull, I can come up with something else.”

“My everything is broad, I don't know if-”

“Got it!” Delta got up off of him, hauling at his arm until he rolled over. “Like this, yeah?” She instructed, propping him up onto his forearms so she could pantomime getting beneath him. “And then I'll be on the ground!”

“On your stomach or back?” Bulwark grimaced uncertainly. “That's where all your vital organs are, though. What if you get too cold, pressed against the floor?”

“I will live with the consequences of my actions.” With that grand statement, Delta began to tug down her thermal pants. “I'll be on my stomach then, that way I can basically leave these on!” 

Bulwark exhaled, a bit thrown off by how excited she seemed. Surely she couldn't be that interested in him? “Alright, but we need to make sure you're warmed up at least.” He insisted. 

“Sinclair can just repair whatever happens.” Delta's reply was so blasé the Exo had to catch the wall for stability. 

“What the hell do you think I'm going to do to you?!” He snapped, but then felt his fingers dent the metal framework he had latched onto. Shit. “I'm going to do my best to not…hurt you.”

“Oh, likewise! But accidents happen, I know.” Delta shrugged with a little grin. “Sometimes things get away from us, and I can be pretty impatient.” As if to prove that point, the woman spread her legs as best as she could with her thermal layer still bunched up at her knees. Strands of wet arousal laced back and forth at the apex of her thighs, a few of them snapping under the burden of their own weight. “I want you, Bull. And I don't want to wait anymore.”

I want you.

The Exo dropped to his knees in front of her, hesitating for a split second before shoving his right arm and shoulder in between her legs to open her up even wider. The thermal pants flopped down around her ankles, then stretched taut across Bulwark's back. 

Delta yelped, doing her best to balance on one foot with her other one hooked over Bulwark's shoulder. “Bull!” She exclaimed, clinging to his shoulders. Bulwark's hands came up, gripping the backs of her thighs and steadying her. The Exo, already half-feral from the length of time he had spent trying not to think about this, burred loudly in his throat and then struggled to shove his mouth clumsily against her cunt. He had no nose, so the task was a bit more difficult than it should have been, but after he shifted his posture and nearly took her other leg off the ground in the process, he managed to open her up wide enough for him to press his mouth against her.

Delta whined out, her fingers slipping helplessly across the smooth metal of his head. Bulwark gently began to work on her clit, worrying and teasing the bud by capturing it between the warm plates of his lipless mouth. Overhead, he heard Delta make some odd noise and then she was quivering with every touch, her noises intensifying when the Exo sought out her entrance with one of his fingers. She was wet enough that his digit slid in without resistance, so he swiftly followed it with a second. Unyielding metal thrust upwards and then curled, causing Delta to whimper and jerk her hips forwards. 

“You're shaking,” Bulwark mumbled through half a mouthful, tilting his head so he could glance upwards at her.

“Of–Of course I am!” She panted, her face flushed. “Bull, you're-”

Bulwark hummed against her clit, startling another, much louder cry out of the woman. He then fastened his mouth down, tugging and rubbing as best as he could. All the while his fingers worked inside her, spreading her wide to make what came next a bit more manageable. “Do you want me, Delta?” He asked softly, his free hand shifting down to his groin in order to slide the plating on his pelvis to the side. Bulwark didn't often take himself in hand, so the feeling of his fingers wrapping around his cock was more than enough to have him groaning. 

Delta didn't give him much time to think about it, the woman abruptly grabbing the back of his head and crushing his mouth against her cunt. Bulwark, thoroughly dazed, obediently did as he was instructed, the Exo relishing the sensation of her fingernails digging into the back of his head even as her thighs attempted to close down on him. She had devolved into chanting his name, her back arching helplessly against the wall while she rocked herself down onto his waiting mouth and fingers. 

When she came, it was preceded by a burst of heat and light. Bulwark flinched, originally startled, but he then felt her throbbing around his fingers and he realized what had happened. “Easy,” he soothed, stroking her trembling thigh. “Easy, it's alright, turn it down. You're safe with me.” Delta sobbed out overhead, the sound gut-wrenching, and Bulwark felt a few tears hit his cheek. “It's alright, shhh, you're safe.” He continued to murmur quietly, easing her down so she could collapse on their sleeping bags. She was shaking wildly, her eyes wide and full of tears as she stared up at him. Bulwark hushed her again, smoothing her tears away with his thumb.

“Wh-What happened?” She finally hiccupped, her eyes closing when the Exo ran his hand over her forehead to push her sweaty hair out of her eyes. “I…that's never happened before, holy shit.”

“There's always work to do. Sometimes you just-” Bulwark shrugged, “-build up a backlog, I guess. How do you feel? Do you want some water?”

“Y-Yeah.” The woman gratefully accepted the canteen he passed her, and Bulwark heard the condensator begin to rev as she drained the remaining contents. “You're incredible, Bull.” Delta panted, wiping her mouth. “Let's keep going.”

“I…” Bulwark frowned, skeptical. “Are you sure? We can stop.”

“No way!” Delta protested, grabbing his arm. “Please, I swear I'm fine. Please.”

The urgency in her tone struck the Exo crosswise, sending a shiver down his spine to curl hotly in his groin. “If you're sure.” He was mildly entertained by the way her eyes kept darting to his cock, like she wanted to look fully but was too embarrassed to do so. “See?” The Exo rested his dick in his palm, effectively giving her permission to stare. Which she did.

Intently. 

“How does it feel?” Delta asked, sounding a little nervous. 

“Touch it and find out.” 

“Is that…okay?” She was reaching out even as she spoke, so Bulwark just nodded in reply. “How should I…I mean, just like normal or-?”

“Yes.”

Delta ran a finger down the length of his cock after he had tugged his pants down to his thighs, making the Exo bite back a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, it's warm! I don't know why I thought it would be cold.” She grazed the side of his groin plating, examining his pelvis with obvious curiosity. Bulwark grunted, every touch making him want to buck and writhe against her hands, but the large Exo managed to keep himself under control. “You're pretty big, so I guess it makes sense that your…er, that your hardware is big too.” The woman seemed like she was thinking out loud, wrapping her fingers around his cock to give him a firm stroke. 

Bulwark couldn't stop the sound he made then, his hips jolting forward. Delta huffed out a breath, her eyes widening slightly. “Delta, I…I would like to continue.” The Exo tried to keep his tone level, the task made extremely difficult by the way Delta was moving her hand. “Soon, if possible.”

As if waking from sleep the woman blinked up at him, nodding so rapidly he was worried her neck would give way. “Yeah, absolutely!” The female titan then rushed to roll onto her stomach, wriggling her hips upwards as if to entice him. Bulwark shifted his weight, straddling her body and then craning his neck to kiss her. Delta crooned into his mouth, her rear pressed firmly to his pelvis. “Please Bull, please.” She begged softly.

Bulwark slid his pants down further, fumbling with them for a moment before resigning himself to stripping them off entirely. The Exo titan tugged the sleeping bag up and over the two of them, his cock slotting in between Delta's thighs as he moved. Delta's breath hitched, the woman slipping a hand down to palm him and give him a few lazy strokes. Bulwark grunted, feeling his dick prod her cunt with every motion. “Ready?” He asked, his jaw set to keep him from making any excessive noise.

“Mmhm,” Delta murmured dreamily, her fingers tangling in the bedroll beneath her as Bulwark tugged her hips up slightly and pressed the head of his cock in. “Oh,” the woman moaned, the sound stretching until it broke as Bulwark fully buried himself in her body. “Bull, ah-” 

The Exo wasn't doing much better than her, all things considered. Locking his jaw had helped somewhat, but he could hear the roar of his breath through the framework of his face and that didn't exactly cut down on the noise. He forced himself to remain still, giving the woman time to actually adjust to his size. Delta wasn't making it easy however, gasping into the sleeping bag and bucking herself backwards in an effort to get him to move. Bulwark finally latched onto her hip with one hand, preventing her from moving. “I will fuck you once I think you're ready.” The Exo seethed in her ear, “take a damn second and breathe.” 

Delta slumped down fully prone on the bedroll, the woman whimpering but obediently going still in anticipation. Bulwark could feel her walls throbbing around him, the Exo broadening his stance and then rocking his hips forward until his pelvis met her rear with a dull slap of skin and metal. Delta's knees slid across the sleeping bag for a moment before she managed to slightly raise her hips, giving Bulwark a better angle. Grateful, the Exo tucked an arm beneath her hips to prop her up. Delta cried out at the sudden adjustment and Bulwark hooked his hand down over her pubic mound, bracing his forearm on the floor while his fingers found her clit once more. 

“Bull!” 

“Shh,” Bulwark grunted, “you're going to make our Ghosts think something is wrong.” Delta's cries became low, stifled groans, the woman burying her face in the bedroll as Bulwark rolled his hips. “Delta, you feel so damn good.” The Exo growled in her ear, chuckling when she writhed against him. His index finger grazed her clit and he relished the way her body jumped in reply, tremors racing down her thighs. “Love how you respond to me,” he continued, his voice burring in his throat. “I'm glad you're enjoying this.”

“Bull…” Delta gasped, her hand wrapping around his wrist so she could move his fingers the way she needed them. “Fuck, Bull, I'm going to-” 

“I know, Delta.” Bulwark soothed, “let go, I've got you.” He sheathed his cock in her welcoming pussy, feeling a rush of heat and liquid that began to slowly drip down his inner thigh plating. “Good girl,” he praised her breathlessly, stroking her hair as she quaked and spasmed beneath him. “Come for me, Delta.”

The woman collapsed on the sleeping bag, moaning out his name when Bulwark propped himself up and rutted down into her. All the guilt, all the shame at what he had considered misplaced feelings, all the worry over what she thought of him, thought of his weakness…he couldn't even think about it for once, his mind wholly, gloriously blank except for her name. He realized in a daze that he was repeating it over and over under his breath as he fucked her, the sound forcing itself out through his locked jaw. 

Gods she was so wet, so warm, like she was made for his sensation-starved body. She raised her hips up in an effort to give him that better angle once more, but Bulwark pressed a hand to the small of her back, silently telling her to relax. This was more than enough for him. Getting to experience this closeness, this vulnerability…it was more than enough.

“I-” Bulwark hesitated, his words failing. He covered her with his body, threading his arms beneath her stomach to secure her in the apex of his thighs so he could slowly, leisurely rock down into her. The Exo fucked her open with methodical strokes, knocking the breath out of her with every motion. He knew he must be making a mess but he couldn't bring himself to care, too enraptured by the noises she was making and the way she clung to him to be overly concerned about later problems. Her voice broke, reducing her to making pitiful little sobs and gasps that had Bulwark's cock the hardest it had ever been. 

The Exo moved more frantically now, hands sliding up her torso and finding their way beneath her shirt. Delta arched her back, filling his palms with her breasts as she did, so Bulwark kneaded the flesh and teased her nipples much to her obvious delight. 

Her hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pinning his jaw to her shoulder, and Delta whispered, “come for me,” in a tone that brooked no argument. Bulwark grunted, shuddering. His voiceprint glitched momentarily, dropping by several octaves and issuing this strange rumbling growl that made Delta purr and fuck back against him in response. 

“Damn it.” Bulwark snarled, grabbing onto her hips and holding her still as he came. It was an odd sensation to find himself nearly winded, the Exo having to brace his weight on the floor momentarily. 

Delta went pliant beneath him, the woman moaning out a tremulous ‘holy shit’ when he asked if she was alright. Uncertain as to what that meant, Bulwark took it upon himself to tug her thermal shirt back down, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric. 

“Delta?” He queried again, wanting to be courteous but fumbling a bit on his phrasing. “I'm going to…uh…pull out, alright?” 

Delta waved a limp hand back at him, which he took as a go-ahead to withdraw. The Exo cautiously pulled away, warning her not to move as he rushed to dig through his supplies for something to clean up the mess he had made. Finally settling on an unused undershirt, the titan made quick work of wiping her down. The woman remained slumped on the bedroll so after another moment of silence, Bulwark gingerly wriggled her pants up her thighs, situating the waistband properly and then settling back onto his haunches to study her nervously. 

Was she upset? Had he done something wrong? Why was she so quiet?

A snore abruptly interrupted the tense stillness and Bulwark had to muffle his laughter with his sleeve, the titan relieved beyond reckoning. Asleep. She had just passed back out, obviously still weary. He doubted his ‘tender attentions’ had done much to dispel her exhaustion. Thank the Light.

…

When the call came through a few hours later, it found the two titans wrapped around each other, both sleeping soundly. Requisition hovered uncertainly, letting Sinclair take the initiative to rouse the Guardians. Bulwark woke at the first chiming hum from Sinclair, but chose to remain where he was for one last peaceful moment.

“Variks is ready.” Sinclair repeated to the sleepy Delta, tone soft but firm. “He says to be wary, House Salvation is rallying after your efforts earlier.”

Delta groaned, stretching her arms overhead and then shaking Bulwark's shoulder. The Exo growled something unintelligible, a fist meeting the floor and scoring another dent in the plating when he propped himself up. “Un'nerstood.” He mumbled through a broad yawn, metalloid jaw issuing a loud clunk with the motion. “Three minutes to put the kit back on.”

“Three and a half?” Delta bargained, already strapping on her greaves. She had always been quick with her armor, but the rest of their camp could take longer. “Some of these clasps are fiddly.”

“Variks is waiting.” Bulwark reminded her while shrugging on his underlayer of plasteel weave, grinning when she rolled her eyes. “And House Light. Just think about how happy this will make Misraakskel.”

Delta puffed out her cheeks, seeming to turn the idea over in her mind. “Alright, yeah, I get it. Let's bring those Servitors back home.” 

“That's the plan.” Bulwark helped her settle her helm down onto her gorget, wiggling it back and forth until he felt it slot properly into the weave. His own helmet followed, and Delta took it upon herself to straighten the crooked latches securing his right pauldron as he donned his gauntlets.  

“There.” She said finally, having fiddled with it for much longer than Bulwark would have deemed necessary. The woman then cupped the side of his helmet, tapping her forehead against his jaw. “Let's go.”

“Understood.” 

The two of them stepped out into the snow once more, joined hands held for a brief moment before being dropped in favor of slinging weaponry forward into a usable position. Back to work. Bulwark glanced down, watching Delta deftly slot shells into her shotgun. 

“Hey, I…” the Exo paused, fiddling with his scout rifle while he tried to force out the words. He could feel Delta looking at him, the woman waiting patiently. In a way, it was like she always had. “You want to go for a drink sometime?” Bulwark-26 finally mumbled gruffly. “My treat.” 

A gauntlet landed on his shoulder with the clatter of articulated digits, Delta's laughter crackling through the speakers on her helm. “Really, Bull?” 

The Exo shifted his weight awkwardly, nodding. “I'm…I'm sorry I took so long.” He apologized, the words a little stilted. 

“Hey, I'm just glad you finally came around.” Delta gave him a gentle jab in the ribs with the butt of her shotgun. “And now I can show you where my favorite spot is! It's going to be great.”

Bulwark wanted to scold himself for smiling over something so mundane as a favorable response, but at the same time… “I look forward to it, then.”

“Me too.” Delta heaved a heavy sigh, “but first, the job. One more thing to shoulder, eh?”

“We're titans.” Bulwark reminded her, knocking a prong into the side of her helmet. “We carry the world's burdens. We are the wall against which Darkness breaks.” He could feel her rolling her eyes. “We will keep them safe.”

“I know.” She leaned into his prong for a fleeting moment, then straightened back up. “We've got this, yeah?”

“There is no alternative.”

“Traveler, you sound so fucking old.” 

Bulwark cuffed her good-naturedly around the back of the helmet, his laughter no longer feeling quite so unfamiliar. Delta's own laugh rang out and the woman bolted off, sabatons punching through the icy crust on the snow as she went. 

“Don't get left behind, big guy!” She called.

“Not a chance, New Light!”

[greypetrel]

Sera and Solas for the opinions meme? c:<

Ooooooh you asked me to spill the tea!

Thank you for asking about the elves, I'm glad they can rest together hating on each other in this ask. uwu

Sera:

First impression: *starts singing Anarchy in the UK* Beside that, I didn't like her all that much at first. I liked her points of view, but playing as a Lavellan... At first it was a "Yeah but why you're so hostile". She grew on me like moss.

Impression now: I love her your honour, she's such a nuanced and complex characters, and with Dorian one of the most caring people around Inquisition, if you spend the time to build a good relationship with her. Her point of views on politics are genuinely good and much more rooted in reality than Solas' (for obvious reasons)

Favorite moment: Her whole set of reactions in Trespasser. The way she notices Inky is feeling all but well but still does her best to cheer them up and remind them that there is an after that they can shape how they want, she's there to help. The way she's genuinely worried sick for you and is there to help... It was the moment she became a ride or die for me. Also all her banters with Dorian. All of it.

Idea for a story: Anything expanding what we see of her character, really. Anything. Little things, her learning to cope and interact with an Inquisitor who is a mage and/or a Dalish, she spending time with the Chargers and finding the family she always lacked. Cookies experiments. Flirting with Dagna. Anything. Some expansion over her War Table mission and having Cullen saying "Do you know what, I'll do it. I'll send soldiers to hold drills as loud as possible under that noble's windows. Yes.".

Unpopular opinion: She's one of the most emotionally intelligent characters around. She is closed and abrasive, sure, but show her you care and are sincerely interested in having some kind of relationship with her and BOOM. Don't know how unpopular it is tho, LOL. And: she and Solas could actually get along and have more similar opinions that they would admit. It's just that Solas is not a people person (he's 24/7 screaming internally, there's no mental space for much else) and approaches her in the wrong way.

Favorite relationship: I'll say three. She and Dorian gives me life, you see the prince and the pauper going on and learning to live together and finding points in commons and enjoying each other's company. She and Cullen. I am sure Cullen is the one who has the most fun in the Red Jenny missions (not that he will admit it), and they are both commoners and simple people at heart. She sees right through the hard shell of pretending he's a serious knight of course no no he's the expert here, uh-uh. He's totally at level with the other advisors. She is there to take him down a notch. Also. She and Solas. Listen. They share quite some opinions. Sera is more rooted in the actual reality of things, while Solas just has theoretical knowledge. They say the same things and have a lot of things in common (both are solidly against the establishment, both renounced to position of richness to just go and play hobo, both are artists and imaginative. He's a marxist, she's an anarchist, but as above: she's rooted in reality, he isn't). Solas just chose the wrong way to approach her and doesn't know how to fix it, and she's not making a step towards him either.

Favorite headcanon: She's the little girl that got the painted box from the Warden in Denerim.

Solas:

First impression: I was heavily influenced by @karmicblackhole, who is the friend that brought me into the saga and my number one Solas authority. So I got to know him in theory before and came knowing who he is exactly. I was curious when I first play to see him finally in game.

Impression now: I like his character A LOT. Wouldn't romance him, I recognise the fascination but personally there's a "You're not like other girls" theme that is really not my cup of tea. Again, if you're not here from 5 minutes you all know I love him as a platonical friend figure, I love his character and I'm firmly convinced he may be your local trickster and obscure character... But a villain? Evil? No. Not at all. Man is going on of pure inertia screaming internally. And also he's the worst liar around Skyhold. Worst of them all. I sniffed there was something weird with Blackwall, but at least Blackwall doesn't let slip things about his past that don't add up with the story he told you and disapproves when you call him out.

Favorite moment: The last cutscene pre final battle when he's there panicking and asking you advices about how to deal with horrible mistakes. The façade cracks a little and he's just... A scared person not knowing how to fix his mess. Also the way he treats you in Trespasser if you had a positive relationship with him during the game. He's a cuor di panna, he's very tender, he's just so horribly bad at people.

Idea for a story: I am pondering from months on a short ficlet about him going back to watch the Inquisitor as time goes by. Because yes he may be resolved... But he's bad at plans. Also DadWolf, but I'm drawing/writing it. Basically, anything that lets him find something he may use to stop running in circles in guilt and self-commiseration and learn that hey, it went how it went that's ok.

Unpopular opinion: He's not a villain and he's not evil. I can see why people think of that and he's in that grey zone that's grey enough that he can easily fall in both parts... But in my opinion he's not. He's just panicking HARD and starved for human contact. Again, I can see why people treat him as a villain... But I think we saw him only up to the middle of his narrative arc. It would be like judging Cullen stopping at DA2 before the final battle and the mutiny. You can but we're all missing the second half of it. I may be wrong in my opinions and I read some great fics that has him as the villain. He could double, again, I just like to think that people are fundamentally good.

Favorite relationship: As above. Him and Sera. Him and Varric co-parenting Cole gives me life. I recently brought him on a mission with Blackwall and they had the funniest banter ever, BOTH sweating profusely and lying. x°D

Favorite headcanon: He's a huge softie and hugely touch starved and it will take very little to bring him back to the good side. Also, I'd love to see him... Doing something to the Veil and actually making elves mages. Also, he's a terrible hugger, but will appreciate being hugged greatly.

[diary-of-animalcrossing-villager]

Day 1 - The beginning

👚🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🍐🎣

Today I arrived in a little town called Purinton. The villagers there immediately mistook me as their new mayor and wouldn't listen when I desperately tried to convince them that I was not their intended mayor. So somehow all in the same day I've moved to this strange place in search of a new life & become the mayor of this little village. In order to finalize my position, i must become a full-fledged resident. To begin this process, my new secretary (boy does that sound weird) Isabelle took me to the town hall and got me registered by name. She sent me on my way to a home improvement store over on the bustling Main Street where I met the owner of that store, a tanooki named Tom Nook. He was surprisingly understanding of my situation and actually helped me find the perfect spot for my future home! The only problem -I may have irresponsibly come all the way to this faraway place in search of a new life with no bells to my name at all! There was no way I could afford the construction of an entire house!! Mr. Nook was so kind to me and told me to just pay him whenever I can at my own pace & there was no deadline. What a sweet deal!! I think I love it here already. But I quickly realized that in the meantime, I had no where to live!! And Mr. Nook threw me yet another bone and set up a tent for me to live out of for free. It's a pretty nice set up if you ask me.

Since I had to figure out how to make bells, I decided to take a stroll around my new home town. Earlier in the day, Isabelle had me plant a tree to commemorate the day that I became the mayor of Purinton. All of the towns people were gathered around there, I decided starting there to look for ways to make money might be the best idea since some of those villagers may still be lingering there. When I got to the plaza though, I met a beaver named Chip. He was conducting a fishing tourney and the goal was to catch the biggest fish of everyone in Purinton. I didn't have a fishing rod or even enough bells to buy one from Chip. But I did run into a villager named Annalisa who told me to sell some shells down at the beach for bells and some fruit off of the trees. That was a pretty great idea so I boogied down to the beach and collected as many shells as I could. When I brought my findings to the village thrift shop, Retail, I made more than enough bells to pay for a fishing rod. So I thought it would be best to go back to mainstreet and spend the extra funds on any other tools I may be able to find after buying a fishing rod from Chip. From the Nooklings Junction i bought a shovel and a bug net. From the Able Sisters I got a pair of blue boxing shorts, blue warm up pants, & a sea captains coat. Since I STILL had money left over, I paid retail another visit and scored some good condition items that were being sold by other villagers including a cute clothes closet & a basic red bed. Isabelle was kind enough to bring me a lantern so I have light when it is dark outside. I gotta say, I'm living pretty large for living in such a tiny tent. Everyone in the village is so kind!

After my little shopping spree, I shook some trees around town and got 300 bells just from doing that. Free money! And finally, I participated in the fishing tourney. At first I kept catching pond smelts over and over. I knew there was no way I would stand a chance with those measily little fishies. I persisted & it paid off! I eventually caught a 14.75in dace and handed it over to Chip which put me in the lead. There was still so much time until the fishing tourney was over, I knew I'd have to go bigger and better if i wanted to ensure my victory. I'm glad that I did! I ended up catching a 21.25in dab and won first place in the fishing tourney taking home the golden trophy which looks amazing in my little tent.

Since I am the new mayor and all I really wanted to get to know everyone in the village starting on mainstreet. So I went back up to main street just to get to know the business men and women of the town a little better. I started with Tom Nook and scoped out his store. Seeing what kinds of things he sells for home improvement filled me with determination to pay the down payment for my house ASAP! Then I returned to the Able Sisters to chat with Mable, Sable, and Labelle. Mable was by far the friendliest. Sable didn't say much & Mable said it was just because she was focused on her work, but I sensed that she was just an anxious hedgehog and left her alone. Labelle...well I couldn't get much of a read on that if I'm honest. Earlier, I had met Timmy at retail when I went in to sell shells so it was okay that he wasn't at Nooklings Junction. Tommy was there though and all i can really say about both if them is that it seems like they share the same braincell. Then I met Blathers who seems to be a very intelligent owl who works at the museum. The museum was completely empty & Blathers was upset by that because he is very eager to teach about all of the creatures of Purinton. He kindly asked for all different kinds of donations. Luckily I had some left over fish to donate from the fishing tourney.

Finally I properly introduced myself to all of my neighbors. Today I met Naomi the cow, Elmer the horse, Annalisa the anteater, Pippy the bunny, and Avery the Eagle! So far, moving to Purinton has been more exciting than I could have ever imagined. And I can't wait to see what lies in store ahead!

[bishounen-jump]

Tag 10 People You Wanna Get to Know Better

tagged by @danhoemei thank u for still tagging me even tho it takes me forever dlkfajdl;kfjd;klfj ily <3

Relationship Status: I'm just chillin lol

Favorite Colors: umm yellow probably? dark blue and dark grey are also v nice

Favorite Food: gyoza!! specifically my mom's

Song Stuck in My Head: it was reincarnation apple for the longest time but now it's this cover of 熱異常 by miyashita yuu :') how does his mouth move that fast slkajfdslkfjad; also i rlly like the lyrics

Last Thing You Googled: "teru big nair" i wanted to search for "teru big hair" for a fanart idea i've had for years but never done but i made a mistake😓 lsdkfaj;lsdkfaj

Time: 1 pm

Dream Trip: tbh i'm so tired that any trip sounds like too much work? something not too strenuous, i guess, like looking for shells at the beach or something. looking for rocks in a creek. i suppose i'd want it to be pretty warm though

Last Thing You Read: stereotypical life of a reincarnated lady, so glad it was finally finished after like 2 years <3 absolutely love the art style

Last Book You Enjoyed Reading: i really like reading thousand autumns!!! it was so fun to read aldsk;aj;dsklf yan wushi is my blorbo now shen qiao my beloved and i'm obsessed with yanshen's dynamic aaaaaaaaaa

Last Book You Hated Reading: uhh i skimmed through one of those elsie dinsmore books bc of a post i saw. poor girl, the post described her pretty unkindly even though she was being abused (probably they read it too long ago to remember the specifics)

Favorite Thing to Cook/Bake:I don't do a whole lot but anything with eggs i guess??? except i get really excited and often end up smashing the eggs akjfkljf;kldjf

Favorite Craft to Do in Your Free Time: i like to make horrible little drawings sometimes, but besides that embroidery when i have the energy!! got back into crocheting recently also

Most Niche Dislike: umm when people get mad about people saying "why is this so funny ldkfjads;lkfj;dsk" and are like "obviously it's the humor that makes it funny" it's literally just a thing to say! it's like saying "why would you keep this in the tags." you just say it even if it's not necessary or completely true. when i say "why i am laughing lmaooo" i'm not asking for a fucking answer lkdsfjalk;sdfjaksdfljlk

Opinion on Circuses: i don't remember a whole lot about them! i remember wondering why everyone thought the clown was funny though. like i didn't get why a guy crying was funny lmao

Do You Have Any Sense of Direction: i'm ok i guess, i can read a map and follow directions, i am aware of the position of the sun but usually i don't really care lmaoo it's not the end of the world to get lost (most of the time)

tagging: @unfotp @taira-nova-34 @gothamstan @eccedentesiast-sapphic @joy-drops @kjthenbee @psychicai and anyone else who would like to! as always no pressure!!! <3

[twinsandselfships]

First (?) Meeting

(platonic) ship: 🐚 best ocean friends (Rick Shades & Amica Nemona)

Finally! Some context! :D :D

SPOILERS for "Epithet Erased: Prison of Plastic"!

"...Odi? Odi!!"

Rick Shades turned around at the direction of the sudden call, and so did Giovanni and Molly, who were walking beside him along the waterfront of Sweet Jazz City. A pink-haired girl (coral pink, to be precise) was running up to them, holding her long skirt up a little. She panted as she finally came close, her eyes fixed on Rick.

"Odi! Wha-What happened, where were you?" The girl huffed a little, but was still determined to get the words out. "I left you on the beach, but when I came back, you-- you weren't there! Oh, but I'm glad you're okay though!"

Molly's eyes widened. If this person knew Rick's real name, they must've known him from WAY before. The dusky skin, the brightly coloured hair... This lady must've been from Ocean Country! How did she get here? Did she also float on the ocean surface for three days? Then Molly looked at Giovanni, who was squinting at the scene. The curly-haired girl tensed a bit. Rick didn't tell Giovanni about his past yet. Giovanni didn't know about Odi. She imagined it wasn't the best way to reveal it like that. Molly looked at Rick, wondering if he had an idea of how to get around this situation.

"Hmm? O-Odi? Who's Odi???" Rick grinned at the newcomer, but Molly still noticed the nervous twitch in his voice. Giovanni was ever unaware.

The coral-haired girl, pretty short but probably at least 18 by Molly's intuition-based calculations, froze with her mouth slightly open. In disbelief, she shook her head, not taking her eyes off of the purple man.

"W-what? B-but you are Odi!"

"AHAHAHAHAAA!" He threw his head back, his laugh loud but joyless. Instantly, he snapped his head into its normal position, smiling at the strange girl with wide eyes. "Whatever do you mean? My name is Rick Shades!" Rick said in a cheerful tone, and Molly caught his quick glance at Giovanni before he looked at the coral-haired stranger again. "And what's your name?! Want to be f r i e n d s???"

The probably-not-such-a-stranger winced away at Rick's odd behaviour. She weakly shook her head again. Molly felt bad for kinda ruining this reunion for Rick. Or... Did he really not remember this person?

"B-but I am your friend! I'm--" The lady got interrupted by Rick's loud, obnoxious gasp.

"You ARE???" The guy turned his head to look at Giovanni and Molly. "Did you hear that?! She called herself my friend!! That's means I'm her friend! We're friends!!!" His grin grew even bigger as he fixed his unnaturally wide-open eyes on the lady and strongly shook her hand with two of his. She was surprised, but didn't try to pull her hands away from his. Then, Rick suddenly stopped. He stopped moving altogether for a couple of seconds, making the lady uneasy with his blank stare. He looked up at the sky, as if expecting something to happen. The black lightning, Molly thought. It didn't strike!

Rick lowered his head, looking into nowhere as his eyes adjusted and his mind wandered. His sight fell on the lady's hand, which he was still holding. There was a simple bracelet on it, made of tiny lilac and purple shells. Rick (or was it Odi now?) breathed out shakily.

"... Ami?"

Slower than usual, two black static-y hearts appeared in front of the lady's and Rick's chests respectively, with a black, slightly erratic string connecting them. Rick looked "Ami" in the eyes. And this time, finally, she saw Odi looking back at her through the darkness of the sunglasses.

"Whaaaaat is happening," Giovanni asked, which was pretty fair on his side. But Molly couldn't have that.

"Oh, uh-- Look, boss! Isn't that Dark Star? We should go say hi!" She pointed somewhere down the street, where there was actually 0 Dark Stars, but looking for him would make for a good distraction, at least.

"Where?!" Giovanni immediately headed to where Molly was pointing. "And don't forget, we should use normal names in public!"

"Got it!" The minion followed the boss, briefly turning to Rick to give him a thumbs up. She didn't like lying to Giovanni, but... she didn't have to feel bad about lying anymore! She's a bad guy! Besides, it was for the greater good.

Odi smiled back at the girl and nodded. He looked at Ami, still unsure how to react. She was standing there awkwardly as well, but she was quicker, throwing her arms around the purple-haired guy.

"You do remember! It's... It's really you!" She hugged him, pressing her head against his chest.

How long has it been since Rick got a genuine hug? He did hug someone fairly recently, but didn't get a hug in return or anything. The gesture was always coming from him. He doesn't even remember if Amica ever hugged him like that, but... it seems that she really missed him. And oh boy, has he missed her. And genuine hugs.

And so, he slowly, carefully, as if this reunion was so fragile that he was afraid of breaking it, placed his arms on her shoulders. Hugging back. It's really her! His friend from way back when! She didn't abandon or forget him, she still held on to the string connecting their souls, she still remembered... Odi. She remembered Odi. She was friends with Odi. Oh no.

The sudden terrible thought made Rick pull Amica away (he didn't want to, so the pull was very light, almost subtle). She looked him in the eyes. It almost made this much harder.

"L-listen...", he stuttered and gulped. No, no, he had to pull himself together. “It’s been, uh, a while, so— Could we start over? Yes, we should start over! Definitely!” The more he spoke, the more confidence he put on. A weird smile gradually creeped up his face. A smile Amica didn’t recognize.

“Start over… what?”

“Our friendship! It’s a new surface world, and a new surface life, after all.” Rick’s voice sounded chipper, but also painfully strained, like a rope pulling a massive weight. He didn’t want to throw away a connection that lasted this long, he really didn’t. But he didn’t know what else to do. What if she had to fight Odi? What if Odi had to fight her?

“What do you… Wait. Is this about earlier? Are you… pretending to be someone else here?”

“AHAHA THAT’S A FUNNY THOUGHT!” Rick yelled right in her face, causing her to jump away. “No no, I’m just a completely new person, and so I am in dire need of some fRiEnDs!” He stared at Amica intently, without blinking. She stepped away, feeling uneasy. It was a stare she wasn’t familiar with. Rick’s heart hurt seeing her like this, yet his odd smile was unwavering.

Rick cleared his throat and stretched out his hand to the pink-haired lady. “My name is Rick Shades. Would you like to—”

“But you don’t have to pretend in front of me, Odi.” She put on a caring smile, despite the off-putting behavior she just witnessed. “No one is around.” She gasped. “Unless there are guards up here, too?”

“Hmmm? Who is this Odi you speak of?” Rick looked at her with a very convincing innocent look. But it hurt him to say these things. Why did it hurt so much? It was supposed to protect them both from pain. So why, why did it hurt?

“D-don’t do this again!” The coral-haired lady clenched her fists. “Do you want me just— just to forget about Odi?”

“Oh, yes, do that!” Rick nodded eagerly through the pain.

What was Amica to think? She put her hands to her chest, feeling tears building up as her throat was already getting sore. She really hoped she was mistaken, but… she had to make sure.

“You… You don’t want to be friends with me anymore, do you?” Please let it not be the case. Please, please, please.

“Wha-WHAAT?! Of COURSE not! Didn’t you hear what I, Rick Shades, wizard extraordinaire, just said?” He shoved his outstreched hand to her face, as if to make sure she saw it. “I’m in dire need of some frieeends!”

Like magic, tears evaporated from Amica’s eyes. Well, thank goodness her suspicions were wrong. Still, this was all waaaay too confusing. She paused, mulling the situation over.

“… So. You want me to forget Odi?”

“Yes!”

“But you still want to be friends with me?”

“YESSS!” Rick nodded frantically. Amica wondered how his neck didn’t snap from this rapid movement. She should’ve been put off again, but she was honestly impressed instead.

Wait, no time for that!

Amica squinted as she looked this “Rick” guy over, from head to toe. She crossed her arms.

“Alright then. I still don’t know what this is about, but… If you think that anything will get me to leave you, think again! We ain’t getting separated again, you hear?” She pointed her index finger at Rick, then shook his hand with no hesitation. “I suppose it’s nice to meet you, Rick Shades.”

[aceri1485]

Running Away

Chapter 1: An old friend and a fresh start

Synopsis: A Kpop star leaves Korea to run away from drama and start over, reconnect with himself and figure out if he still wants to make music or if its time to move on.

a/n: Finally ready to start posting ahhh here we go! This idea has been on my mind for literally years so I'm excited to finally dedicate some time to it. I'm guessing it will be a longer series - this first part is meant to be a quick introduction to see what people think.

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

Hajoon looked up from his phone, pulling a knock off brand Airpod from his ear, ready to be annoyed at whoever was interrupting his PubG mobile game, only to break out into a grin when he saw who it was. 

“Siwoo! Your flight landed early!” he said to the man who had interrupted him. Siwoo stood in front of him, arms crossed. It was clear he had tried to dress not to draw attention - black hoodie, loose fit grey joggers, a black face mask, hair falling down into his eyes, no luggage but a single black hard shell carry on beside him - but even with his face covered, it was hard to deny that the 6 ft man was drawing the gaze of every woman, and more than a few men, in the vicinity. Game forgotten, Hajoon put his phone in his pocket and opened his arms wide for a hug. 

“I said,” started Siwoo, stepping back and putting a hand out to stop Hajoon from stepping closer, “what the hell are you doing here?” 

Hajoon sighed, arms dropping to his sides, “I thought you’d be happy to see a friendly face after such a long flight.” Siwoo glanced over his shoulder, catching two girls waiting for their luggage staring at him and whispering to each other behind their hands, “I was trying not to cause a scene, man.” The two girls, caught, blushed and turned away quickly, pretending to be really interested in a suitcase going by them on the carousel. Hajoon looked over Siwoo's shoulder to see who he was looking at, then rolled his eyes, “Siwoo, you’re joking right? I am not the problem here - you draw attention to yourself just by existing.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Siwoo asked, crossing his arms again as if attempting to make himself smaller. “C’mon, man. This is Vancouver. It doesn’t matter if you're wearing plain clothes, there are still people around here who will recognize that your sweater is from the 2019 D’Antidote drop and your shoes are one-of-one Nikes. Not to mention your suitcase is Gucci - and in immaculate condition. Seriously, did you take it out of the wrapping just for this trip?” Hajoon teased, pretending to wipe a speck of dust off of Siwoo’s suitcase. Siwoo blushed, “Its from the 2020 drop, actually,” he said, pulling at the sleeve of his hoodie self-consciously, “but besides - everyone must think they’re just knock-offs.” “Mhmm..” Hajoon wrapped an arm around Siwoo and started guiding him towards the exit, “and none of them noticed that you were in first class and breezed through customs first either I bet.” 

“I - I guess I didn’t think -” Siwoo stuttered, but Hajoon shushed him. “Don’t worry about it man. Let’s just get out of here.” 

“Fine.” Siwoo said, then fell silent for a moment as they walked away from the baggage carousels towards the promise of sunlight outside. “I am glad to see you, Hajoon. It was… a long flight.” “I bet, man,” Hajoon said, patting Siwoo on the back, “I’m glad you got here safe. You can tell me about it later, okay?” Siwoo smiled for the first time since getting on the plane back in Seoul. Before that, he had smiled only to his mother as she hugged him goodbye - an empty smile, meant only to reassure her that everything was going to work out - and before that he hadn’t smiled in, well, months. The media had attributed his low demeanour to smoulder, being fashionably sad, haughty and disinterested. The fans thought he was upset about some secret breakup, a relationship gone sour, and rumours ran wild about who it could have been and why they must have broken up. His family didn’t ask much, just knew that the pressures of his work were building, and left him to his own devices. 

Siwoo sighed to himself, then shook his head slightly to clear the cloud forming in his mind as he and Hajoon stepped outside. Shading his eyes from the sun, Siwoo looked around, “So, where did you park?” “Park?” Hajoon said, turning to him, “I didn’t.. I didn’t drive here man. We’re taking a taxi.” Siwoo baulked, “A taxi? What, why?” The grin forming on Hajoon’s face was starting to worry him, “Don’t you have a car here?”

At this, Hajoon outright laughed, “Oh man, am I about to blow your mind. Did you forget what you were signing up for?” Hajoon grabbed Siwoo’s suitcase and rolled it to the back of the line of people waiting for taxis, “Welcome to being a nobody, man. You’ll get used to it.” 

Siwoo was quiet in the taxi, fiddling with the rings on his fingers and letting Hajoon give the driver the address and make small talk. As they passed industrial pathways mixed in with apartment buildings, over unfamiliar bridges from which you could see both the mountains and the ocean, and through winding suburbs with hedge upon hedge and seemingly pointless roundabouts, Siwoo felt the fatigue of travel finally settling in. By the time Hajoon and Siwoo stepped out of the cab in front of an unassuming apartment building on the edge of downtown, he was barely hiding his yawns. 

Both stopped and looked up at the building, savouring the warmth of the sunlight on their backs and the pink-orange haze coming from the light hitting the windows of the apartment building. Then, without saying a word, they started towards the front door, Siwoo’s suitcase wheels clacking over the cracked sidewalk. “I picked up the key this morning,” Hajoon said, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket and handing it to Siwoo, “I hope its okay, but I went in to make sure everything was alright and left your lease papers on the kitchen counter. Here, watch -” he punched in the code to the front door, making sure Siwoo was paying attention. 

Siwoo shook a small key out of the envelope, “Thanks, man. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” 

“Hey, buy me dinner once you’re settled in and we’ll call it even,” Hajoon smiled, “Oh, by the way, your landlord wanted to meet you today but I convinced her to come by tomorrow afternoon instead.” 

“Thank you,” Siwoo sighed again, “I don’t think dinner will be enough for how much I owe you.” He hesitated at the threshold, “Did you want to come up and see the place?” 

“No, that’s okay - like I said, I saw it earlier today,” Hajoon said, “and besides, I know you must be tired.”

“I’m not tired, I swear!” Siwoo said through an unconcealable yawn, causing the two to break out laughing.

“Sure, man, whatever you say,” Hajoon said, laughter dying down, “Just shoot me a text tomorrow, yeah? I live just a couple blocks away.” He held his arms open for a hug again, raising his eyebrows at Siwoo.

Siwoo smiled, then gave Hajoon a hug, squeezing tight and patting him on the back, “I will. Thanks again.”

Siwoo stood at the front door to the building until Hajoon had walked away around the corner, then turned to fully enter the building. He glanced down at the envelope again to check the apartment number - 404 - then looked around the tiny lobby of the building.

“I.. thought he was joking.” he said to himself under his breath, realising that Hajoon was being serious when he told him there was no elevator in the building. After taking a moment, the fact that he would need to do four flights of stairs before finally collapsing into a bed after almost 12 hours of travel really sinking in, Siwoo started up the stairs.

Because really, what could 4 flights of stairs do to stop him from his fresh start after everything he had already endured?

To be continued...

[theadventuresofgarlandodra]

The Adventures of Garl and Odra Manyboots- Heatwaves and Zombies

Prev.

“Gaaaarlll… it’s fucking hot ooouuuut…”

Garl groaned softly but made no attempt to move from his place under the tree or to even open his eyes. Odra rolled across the ground and finally came to a stop in front of the gargoyle.

“How is it so hot? It’s not even midday yet. And I’m gonna burn to death.”

“It’s a heat wave, Odra,” Garl said, trying to be patient with the cranky child that was his companion. “We’re taking the day off from getting to the Underdark because of it, calm the fuck down and stop moving so much. Movement brings up your body heat. You’re not helping yourself.”

“Everything makes you hotter though!” Odra complained, throwing her arms up in the air. “Drinking booze makes you hotter, dancing makes you hotter, the only thing that cools you down is snow, ice, or a lake! And we have none of those!”

Garl sighed and pressed his hands to his temples. The heat was giving him a headache. “Odra. Are you naked?” he asked a question he already knew an answer to.

“Yeah, why?”

“Nevermind. Is that why Sylvia and Dullahan are nowhere to be heard?”

“Dullahan’s making an acid weapon out of his own stomach bile and… I don’t know where Sylvia is.” Odra scratched her ear. “What else did you expect me to do? It’s so hot out here a tiefling would be sweating his balls off. A fucking tiefling.”

“At least put something on your lower half. Not everyone’s used to seeing you run around in your birthday suit.” Garl was past the point of caring- he’d seen his little companion butt naked so many times he’d been pretty desensitized to it.

Odra whined before she rolled herself across the ground where her pile of clothes was. She did put her leggings back on, but even that was miserable. “I’m gonna die,” she declared before looking over at Garl and their special delivery. “So… how’s your friend?”

This finally got Garl to open his eyes. He looked over at the cart that was carrying the gargoyle’s body.

“He’s dead, Odra. Nothing’s changed from the last time you’ve asked, so why do you keep asking?”

“… It’s just weird.” Odra walked up to the cart, looking the statuesque creature up and down while being sure not to touch. “When everything else dies, it disappears. I mean, after swelling and bubbling and rotting, but it disappears.”

“That’s what makes us different from everything else.” Garl wiped the forming condensation off his face. “Ulgth. Even I’m sweating. How the fuck am I sweating?”

“The air’s super sticky. And you’re a fucking rock. You’re making me regret putting pants back on.” Odra flopped back on the ground and rolled back to Garl. “I’m glad I’ll disappear when I’m dead. I don’t like… just the idea of being here forever. It weirds me out.”

Garl hummed softly before he closed his eyes again. Odra wouldn’t understand. Goblins had such a blip of a lifespan. Even their elderly were barely fifty years before they croaked. Gargoyles were, in a quite literal sense, forever. Even when their souls were gone, they left behind their shells to forever watch over their ancestral dens.

This one would be returned back to its resting place soon.

“… Uh, Garl?”

“Yeah?”

“Something’s not right.”

Garl’s eyes popped open and he reached for his blade. “How not right?” he asked.

“Birds.” Odra’s ears twitched as she inched towards her rapier where it laid next to her discarded clothing. “They stopped singing.”

Good. Perfect.

“Odra, fall back to the grass if you have an opening. I have to stay with him.”

Odra didn’t question him, but she didn’t have much time to. She barely scooped up her rapier when the first zombie stumbled out of the woods.

Fuck.

“GARL!” Odra skittered backwards, keeping her rapier at the ready as the rotting creature hissed and spat at the goblin. “I need my daggers!”

“In the cart! Fall back! And plug your ears!”

Garl took a deep breath before he threw his head back and roared. He didn’t care to bring so much attention to himself, but he needed to get the others back here, and fast- more zombies were coming out of the undergrowth, and not all of them were human. That big one with the loosely hanging jaw was a fucking ogre.

Odra dived into the cart before emerging with her daggers, flipping them around in her fingers. “I hope they heard that!” she fired back before throwing herself into the fray.

Garl looked up at the undead ogre that was now shambling towards him.

“… Same.”

Garl charged forward with another ear shattering roar and swung his blade at the ogre. Thankfully the hit connected- zombies weren’t great at dodging. However, it didn’t seem to mind that its guts were now starting to drip down to its knees, and Garl grimaced as he saw it raise its morningstar.

Garl ducked under the blow, but the weapon instead crashed into a tree. The tree cracked down the middle and teetered for a second before it tipped to the side and fell… right towards Odra.

“ODRA! MOVE!”

The goblin dodge rolled out of the way of the tree, but unfortunately right into the path of another zombie’s whack. She yelped as it punched the back of her head, sending her sprawling on the ground.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck-

Garl couldn’t have been more thankful when a shadowy beast came crashing out of the trees and bodyslammed the ogre, getting its attention off of Garl. While the ogre turned to deal with the new threat, Garl bolted over to where Odra was getting her bearings.

“Odra! You all right?”

Odra hummed before stumbling to her feet, rubbing the back of her head. “You’ve hit me harder,” she joked before she slipped both of her daggers out of her belt. “Keep their attention. They’ll never see me coming, hehe!”

A bottle of a nasty yellowish liquid soared through the air and shattered in front of a few of the other undead. One made the mistake of stepping in it and immediately it started to melt. By the time it reached the other side of the puddle it was little more than arms, shoulders, and head.

“Well, this is a lot of dead bodies.”

Dullahan strode out of the trees and tossed another bottle of that vile looking concoction between his hands. Garl grimaced as he caught a whiff from the puddle. “That’s your vomit, isn’t it?”

“Garl, the things I know about how to weaponize hair would make you stay up at night.”

As if to demonstrate this, one of the zombies ambled closer to Dullahan, swiping at the madman. Dullahan took a step back and Garl watched as the hair rose on the human’s arms before it grew and shot out to stab the zombie through the head. The zombie twitched before it dropped to the ground, back to being dead.

“… Oh. Well, that’s actually new. Interesting.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Garl snapped.

Dullahan shrugged before he sidestepped another zombie coming to eat his face. “Well, as much as I’d like to continue this experiment, it’d be appreciated if someone took care of that one…”

“MINE!”

Odra flung herself out of the bushes and onto the zombie’s back, stabbing both of her daggers into its skull. Blood and brain flew through the air as Odra cackled, obviously having completely forgotten about the heat of the day. Nothing made a rogue happier than pulling off multiple sneak attacks, which considering zombies had just about as much awareness as you’d expect, she was getting a lot of those.

The ogre zombie finally toppled over as the shadowy creature bit its head off. Sylvia walked out of the trees. “Oh gods, it smells,” she gagged, reaching up to cover her nose.

Garl dodged another zombie’s pitiful grab for him before he slashed the corpse down the spine. “Where did they even come from?” he said.

“Who the fuck knows, and who the fuck cares- GAH! GET OFF!”

Sylvia shoved a zombie back but not before its rotting fingers tore open her cheek. She hissed in pain as she covered the bloody wound. Without another word, she just barked an order at her summon while lifting her crossbow up to fire.

The bolt stunned it for a second, enough for the summon to get its claws into it. Sylvia spat out any of the blood that dripped into her mouth before easing back into the shadows, her eyes positively glowing with rage.

How were there still more of these sons of bitches out here-

Garl felt something in the air change and he knew to hit the ground before the lighting hit.

The drow mages dropped from the shadows as the zombies twitched and writhed. Now everything smelt like Dullahan’s shitty acid potions, rotting flesh, and burning flesh.

At least once they stopped twitching they were all dead. One of the drow, likely the one in charge, took off her helmet to reveal a nifty pair of goggles that likely shielded her eyes from the daylight. She snapped something in Elvish, her lip curling at the sight of the party.

Garl shook the blood off his blade as he glowered at the sorceress. “Speak Common, for the love of-”

Dullahan cleared his throat and raised his hand to cut Garl off. Then he responded in perfect Elvish to the drow sorceress, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.

This clearly got the right impression from her, as a smile crossed her lips and she patted the human on the head. They had a brief conversation before Dullahan was allowed to rise.

“We’re good. She knows a shortcut into the Underdark, she just thought we might have something to do with the zombies that have been apparently harassing their entrances. We can bring the dead guy too.”

Garl took a deep breath, counted to ten, and said, “I hate him. I really do.”

Sylvia snorted as she pressed a handkerchief against her scratched cheek. “Join the club,” she grumbled before she followed after him.

“You okay, Garl?”

Odra dropped down on Garl’s shoulders and Garl managed a smile before he grabbed the cart and pulled it as they joined the others. “Just fine. How’s your head?”

“I got a thick skull, I shook it off. And Dullahan gave me a potion that I’m pretty sure had a few of his fingernails floating around in it judging by the texture. Very. Sharp. And metallic.”

That was something about that that made Garl shudder. “I hope he lets Sahsi give him manicures sometimes. That’s fucking disgusting.” Dirty fingernails. No thank you.

Funny, he’d wanted to actually bring the hexblood with them, but she wasn’t in her room when he went to recruit her. Pity. He’d prefer her sissy healing potions that smelled like rose petals over whatever gods forsaken crap Dullahan pulled off or out of himself to make his concoctions.

They would’ve missed this entrance to the Underdark if they hadn’t had a drow guard. The leader woman murmured some secret words at a stone and it just rolled out of the way, revealing a dark tunnel that seemed to go on forever. At the sight of it, Odra sighed with relief.

“At least it’ll be cooler down there!”

Next

[theashemarie]

omg omg omg so i thought i recognized the writing style in the first chapter of aftershocks but i guess i’m blind because it took until JUST NOW for me to realize it was you!! one of my fav fanfic writers!!! PLEASE tell me you’re writing a solo fic because i would lose my marbles for real

omg anon i cannot express how much this asks means to me. i'm super glad you're enjoying aftershocks and that you're stoked for my writing so much ;A;

i am actually working on a turtle fic, though it's gonna be a while until i post anything. here, have a half-finished scene i wrote the other day ;)

--

Every morning, Donnie and Leo played rock paper scissors to determine who was the oldest. It was a long-standing tradition that began one day when Splinter got sick of their bickering but accepted that this was a life-or-death issue—who was oldest—and treated it with the gravity it deserved: best of three, with two witnesses, every morning, and the title lasted all day unless willingly traded. They readily passed it back and forth like a baton, allowing each other to claim the coveted second oldest brother whenever they needed, but it was never clear exactly who was the oldest. Splinter had no idea, and it didn’t really matter in the long run.

But it did matter. It mattered a lot.

Donnie wasn’t one to renege on a deal, so that morning, as he had every morning since they were six and a half, he stumbled into the kitchen, exhausted because he’d only managed three hours of sleep, and threw a rock to Leo’s scissors, then a paper to Leo’s scissors, and finally lost with all the grace of a wounded bird when he played paper and Leo hit him with scissors again. Leo crowed, clearly well-rested, Raph muttered that the sound check on Leo’s lungs was complete (they were fine, like always), and Mikey stared blearily at them over a bowl of mushy cereal. Donnie waved his hand and turned to leave, pride hurt, but he was used to this particular loss. Leo didn’t have a strategy when it came to rock paper scissors—something Donnie had learned the hard way—so he played randomly, while Donnie still tried to think around him. It was pure chaos from Leo, and Donnie had no idea why he always tried to bring order.

“Have a good day, little brother!” Leo called after him, goading. Donnie tried not to let it get to him, but he could feel Leo’s voice burrowing under his skin, especially when he followed up with: “That’s three days in a row. I hope you’re used to it!” and laughed that obnoxious laugh of his.

“Actually,” Donnie said, pausing briefly to look over his shoulder, “I’ve won over two hundred more times than you, so you are the one who should be used to it.”

The look on Leo’s face was worth every second of the humiliation Donnie had been under for the last three days. “What?”

“Oh yes, I’ve been keeping track. Just 153 more wins and I’ll have been older for an entire year.” Donnie let out a dark chuckle. “Enjoy your winning streak, big brother. Soon, it won’t matter, and I’ll be a whole year older than you…”

“I don’t think that’s how it works…” Mikey piped in, finally awake enough to comprehend what was happening around him.

“Scoff. Oh Michael, stay out of things you don’t understand.”

“I do understand…” Mikey muttered to Raph with wide eyes. Raph groaned.

“Donnie, leave Mikey alone. You’re not going to be a year older than Leo just because you won 365 more times than him.”

“Au contraire mon frère—”

“Poor Don,” Leo cut in, leaning forward on the table. “So desperate that he’s been counting for ten years…”

Leo grinned at him, and Donnie felt his hands fist at his sides. “It’s not desperate if it’s facts—”

“It is. It’s so desperate.”

“Facts are facts.”

“Desperate facts.”

“So you admit it. I’ve been older for longer—”

“I admit that you’re desperate, yeah.”

Donnie took in Leo’s smug expression and felt something click behind his eyes. It was too early for this, and he didn’t have a battle shell, but that didn’t matter. He launched himself at Leo with a yell.

The scuffle was short lived, more for show than anything, though Leo did get a good poke at Donnie’s eye, with flailing limbs and loud, overexaggerated grunts. Donnie shoved Leo’s face away as they wrestled, and Leo smacked his open hand on Donnie’s plastron as he tried to get him into a headlock.

“That’s enough,” Raph sighed as he pulled them apart. He held one brother in each hand at arm’s length, unphased as they squirmed and kicked toward each other, not done with their scrap. He shook them once, sending Donnie’s brain scrambling. “Dee, stop taking everything so personally.” He looked at Leo in turn. “Lee, stop goading him. You know how he gets.”

“Ha!” Leo cried, pointing one strong finger in Donnie’s direction and sticking his tongue out.

[bay-did-nothing-wrong]

Tell All (Donatello x Reader)

Synopsis: Don and the Reader had been hiding their relationship from his family but they decide its finally time to come clean.

Genre: Fluff mostly, some crack, literally one sex pun

Word count: 1946

Soft.

So soft.

Wasn't his skin supposed to be rougher all together? How were his lips so soft and smooth then? Just another mystery.

Your mouths split with a tiny wet sound, but neither of you was in a rush to go anywhere.

But you should have been.

"Dinner's ready!" came Mikey's energetic shout from somewhere withing the lair. Probably the kitchen.

A soft longing sigh left your lips, and you felt a warm current of air hit your face - Don felt the same.

"We should go." you state, convincing yourself as much as him.

"Do we have to?" he whined breathlessly.

Yes, yes, you did. And he knew that. You both did. Otherwise his brothers and his very observant father will notice you're acting suspicious. They'll probably figure out he wasn't just helping you study for that AP Statistics exam. That is, if they hadn't already.

Your hands slid down his shoulders in an attempt to separate you two but instead they fell onto the top of his plastron, thumbs running softly over the last uncovered skin there, where you knew he was sensitive.

"Hmmm..." it came out as a low growl and it surrounded you on all sides. "You're not helping."

"Am I ever?"

"DONNIE! (Y/N)! DINNER!" at least Mikey stuck to the strict "No entering during study-sessions" rules. That's good to know that he can be intimidated into compliance. Or blackmailed... Point is, it worked.

Donnie's head falls in defeat, forehead leaning on yours for support.

So glad he took those goggles off. You can see more of him this way.

He sighed again, defeated - he was too smart to not figure out that at some point your behavior will raise suspicion. His head lifted back, and turned to the door.

"Coming!"

And your cheeky ass giggled at that.

"Oh, Donnie." you teased, "I haven't even started."

"Pfft. " chuckle, and a snort.

He really did like your dirty puns.

The man took your hand into his cool giant one, somehow providing comfort like no other, as he pulled you to the lab entrance. But once at the door you had to split. It's part of the arrangement.

His family shouldn't know about you.

You two decided at the early stage of your budding romance that keeping the whole thing on the down-low for a while was the smartest choice. It would prevent his brother's jealousy, it won't incite any fights, it won't change their relationship with you and you'll get to feel things out at your own pace - no pressure or prying eyes.

Just you.

But there was a list of downsides too. For one, neither of you was a great actor, Don was even shit at lying, so you'd had to take extra steps to remain as friendly-looking as possible. Then there was the trying-to-set-you-up-with-Vern thing that April was doing and every time the topic came up you could act regular-disgusted but not in-a-happy-relationship disgusted, and so would your favourite turtle. And then there was the hiding, coveting each other in the lab or in small stolen moments in the lair, and the lying about going topside to do recon or install something somewhere, the covering up - no, of course Donnie wasn't with you at your place, he must have gone somewhere else.

You were quite honestly sick of it. You were ready to tell his brothers. You were ready to tell the world.

"We should tell them." his voice was once again low, quiet as if to preserve the last few moments of the secret to yourselves.

Once again you were entirely in sync despite being vastly different.

He was a genius, you, decidedly, weren't.

He was really into sports, you weren't.

He was a 6'8 ninja turtle raised underground by a rat dad, and you obviously were not.

And yet somehow, you clicked.

"I agree."

At that point you knew that your approval would kick into gear the most destructive process in Donnie's mind - overthinking.

Your hand immediately darted out and grabbed one of his pulling it up to your lips and kissing the knuckles in reassurance.

"We'll figure it out."

But still, you had to split. Even if you did plan to tell them, there would be a time and a place for that.

"What took you so long? The lasagna got cold." Mikey was positively outraged - as much as he could be - by your lack of interest in his usually excellent cooking.

"Sorry, Mikey." you butted in, trying to save the day, "There's just something about Inferential Statistical Analysis that I can't wrap my head around." Bullshit, you knew exactly what it was and how it worked - it's part of the basics but he didn't need to know that.

"Still smells great though!" Don sounds cheerful enough even though you'd just agreed to break the fragile peace in your relationship just a minute prior. He was getting really good at the lying part. Too bad it won't be needed for much longer.

Dinner was as uneventful as it can be around five mutant ninjas. Master Splinter asked about your day, you told him about the nearing finals season and he offered some comforting words after which the conversation bounced around the rest of the family in a natural progression.

Once you were full, and once all of Mikey's delicious food had been virtually inhaled by the four giant men around you, you got up to get the dishes to the kitchen and help clean up. It was only fair, after all.

Apparently it was Ralph's turn to wash dishes and there was no wiggling out of that because Splinter said so. Well, at least you can dry them.

And dry them you did, meanwhile casual conversation about whatever kept flowing and you figured you won't be able to go back to the lab and do some more 'Statistics'.

You were just drying and putting away the last plate when a thiqq arm stretched over your head to reach a cupboard you couldn't even get to in your dreams.

Your head whipped back, eyes landing straight on some hard looking chest plates under a pair of suspenders. And then you looked up and saw Donatello, the cheeky shit, with a pop tart in his mouth and a shit-eating grin around it.

"Oops, sorry, (Y/N), didn't see you there."

Oh, I'll give you Oops, didn't see me, my ass. You'll see.

He was being unusually open about his closeness to you and that was less then an hour after you'd decided to come clean.

He was ready then.

"I was planning on checking out the meatpacking District tomorrow." Leo was going on about that idea he had to check out some building or another, Mikey was wiping down the table, and Raph was finishing up the dishes, and for once Don was just there chilling.

His treat was gone, meaning he ate it all, he seemed relaxed, his shoulders loose and shell leaning on the wall.

No time like the present.

"You guys, I'm gonna head out. I've got work tomorrow and after that I've got a study group to attend so, I should head to bed."

"You need us to walk you home?" Leo asked more out of courtesy, he knew you lived close and would usually decline.

"No, no, that's okay." you replied, looking for your bag and jacket where you'd left them near the kitchen table.

"Aaaw, you're leaving already? Well, at least you ate." Mikey quickly swept you into a hug goodbye and turned back to sorting his ingredients in the cupboards.

"Thanks to you, Mikey Steward." to which he giggled in response.

"See you tomorrow, shorty." Raph waved as he turned to get a beer from the fridge.

"Stay safe out there, okay?" Leo always the guardian, warned you for the hundredth time, again just out of courtesy.

And then you walked to where Don was leaning on the wall, took his chin in your hand and pulled him down.

Oh, shit, am I actually gonna do this!?

Your lips met, your heart pounded, the room became super hot and that wasn't just because of the brilliant piece of man-candy in your hands. You could feel their eyes but then again that was the whole point.

A loud dramatic intake of air was heard, a drop of something metallic and then silence.

Your face pulled away from him, eyes opening slightly to look at him, as your weight fell back onto your heels from standing on your tiptoes. His face had that same dazed, satisfied-yet-hungry look that he usually had whenever you'd had to break apart.

He tasted so sweet, you just had to lick your lips at the memory.

"I'll see you tomorrow." you whispered, that was all you could force out in that moment.

"See you tomorrow." his voice was as soft as yours even though his brothers could probably hear.

You fully pulled away from your man, now certain that there'd be no secrets between you and the ninja clan.

You were not an actor, you quickly got embarrassed with your performance, however brilliant it may have been, and speedily scammed to pick up your belongings and jogged outta there.

You turned one last time, because something in you said you should and what you saw was truly a sight.

All three of Don's bothers with their mouths hanging open and Splinter peeking out of the door to the dojo with his eyes like saucers and then there's Donnie - the image of peace, hands in his pockets, a soft smile on his lips, now shiny from your lip gloss, and looking you straight in the eye as you retreated.

"Bye." you shout to no one in particular and scramble for the exit.

-_-_-_-_-

Phone - charging

Alarm - set

Pajamas - on

What's missing then?

Ding!

Your phone notified you that someone was requesting your attention and you were more than happy to find out it was your man.

'Hey, Laika' Oh lord it so got you giggling like a schoolgirl when he called you that.

'Hey, Tyson' and then he told you that he loved to be compared with the biggest name in astrophysics today.

'How did it go?' you felt super bad for bailing on him but at the same time there was this relief that came with the cat being out of the bag.

'Surprisingly well. No one was mad that we kept it a secret.' well, that's good. You won't have to jeopardize your relationship with the boys. 'Dad still wants to talk to you tho'

Ah, well, that's to be expected. Even though Donnie is an adult, the were still a very tightly knit family unit so, you supposed that something like that would be a pretty big deal.

'That's fine, I'd do whatever'

'I wish I could kiss you rn'

It honestly shocked you how chill about it he was. Probably because he wasn't being grilled for information anymore, neither of you would have to lie anymore, and because he could now tell Vern to fuck right off, with no worry about how it would look.

You were so looking forward to being solely and entirely his.

'Tomorrow we start anew'

He had a point, things would change. But hopefully not between you.

'Can't wait to meet you for the first time again lol' you didn't know if you were being funny or just cheesy but it felt right.

Despite your smile, your eyes started drooping, your breaths slowing and you felt the exhaustion of the day slowly hug you like a blanket.

'Goodnight'

'Goodnight, (Y/N)'