#I simply was a sack of meat. no emotions

[poettheythem]

My friends: Many you are super on this show. I mean your acting is incredible. Its so believable and your greek chorus mode is so good.

Me: Thanks I haven't felt an emotion in two hours

[charnelhouse]

In my fucked up little mind, ghost wears a mask because his face is covered in (literal) battle scars that are either 1) too painful for him to see bc they bring back such unpleasant memories and trigger PTSD, or 2) he’s trying to hide them from others bc of slight embarrassment or just not wanting to answer questions about them. And he’ll only remove the mask for the ✨right girl✨ and let her kiss all the scars and tell her where each one is from and then bang her into the next century.

To clarify I’ve never played this game in my life so what do I know 🧍‍♂️

A/N: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Red Fox). injuries. a little blood kink. making out in bathrooms. angst. mentions of torture. i don't have a life.

It’s a close call. It’s so close that Simon can taste it. He lives by the skin of his teeth only because the bullet grazes a fleshy section between the base of his throat and the crease of his shoulder. The second one hits home in his bicep, but it's got a clean exit.

He doesn’t hesitate to return fire, relishing the pop and hiss of his gun as the shooter’s body slumps. 

He’s been shot numerous times. It tends to feel the same. Adrenaline numbs it well enough until he has a moment to pause and realize he’s burning in concentrated parts.

He shrugs it off just as he shrugs off most of his near-death experiences. Another day. Another hour. It’s the job and he used to believe that he had died years ago. Tortured to the point where he couldn’t remember his name. He had seen his insides, pink and shiny, and that was only the physical shit. The mental assault had ripped away the rest of his nerves until he was nothing but a wet sack of meat. His loved ones murdered. His history bulldozed into fragments until it resembled something altogether alien.

He’d erased it, put it somewhere he didn’t touch.

He hadn’t really been living until - 

“Ghost,” you gasp, and it draws him from the edge. His eyes find yours across the room and your expression is stricken. You needed to work on that. Don’t expose your weakness, duchess. It’s bad form. “Are you…?”

Ok?

Going to live?

Is it fatal?

He glances down to see blood soaking his sweatshirt. He prods it until he decides that he can simply wrap his arm until they’re somewhere safe. “Nothin’ you have to worry about, Red,” he says flatly before he’s sprinting to the next location for Operation La Paz. 

***

In the safe house, he can finally take stock of his injuries. His shoulder has begun to prick, and the hole embedded in his bicep is searing down to the bone. He’s on fire in one place and bitterly cold in others. Soap takes the upstairs bathroom, while Gaz and Vargas head for the kitchen. 

“You got it?” Soap asks over his shoulder and Ghost grunts. He doesn't, but he'll be damned if he asks Soap for aid.

He pauses in the entryway to figure out what to remove first. His fingers spasm as he tries to unbuckle his gear. The lighting is dim and the floors creak. He tastes dust and the after-bite of chemicals. He has to duck his head because of the murky lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that keeps knocking into his temple. He fumbles with his bulletproof vest and when he lifts his wounded arm, he groans. 

“Let me,” you insist, appearing from behind him and instantly working on the straps of his gear. He sighs and drops his hands, knowing that arguing with you is a losing game anyway. 

He’d never admit it, but he doesn’t mind having this opportunity to give you a onceover - make sure you're alright. There’s dirt on your face and your eyes are a little red, but you seem okay. Subtly he touches your hip, running his thumb along the fabric of your tight undershirt. You swallow thickly, your gaze darting up to catch his. He bites his tongue, caught off guard at the emotion visible in the creases of your expression. 

“Bathroom,” you whisper. "Now."

He leans closer. He’s looming, fully aware that he could crush you beneath him. He’s done it before, but only in a way you enjoyed. 

“Why, little Red?” he implores. His chin grazes the top of your forehead, and you grasp his waist, fingers clutching at his belt. Your bury your face into his chest and he uses his good hand to gently grasp the back of your head.

“Please?” you answer, a brush desperately. You extricate yourself, turn around and glide past the kitchen to the bathroom at the end of the hall. You pointedly ignore Gaz who loudly asks if you’re coming to eat.

Ghost exhales sharply, massaging the nape of his neck. His muscles are stiff and tight as a stretched wire. What surprises him is that he does want to go to you and spend a precious moment of privacy together.

Usually, he craves isolation after a mission. He prefers to lick his wounds in peace and get his head on straight.

But, how can he deny you when you blink up at him with those big eyes and protruding lower lip?

When you fuckin’ beg like that.

He removes the rest of his gear you’ve loosened, and then the hard portion of his mask and follows you.

“Lieutenant,” Gaz barks. “You want dinner?”

“Later,” he snaps, waving a dismissive hand in Gaz’s direction before following you into the bathroom.

You and Ghost are acting less than subtle. He supposes he could lie and say you’re tending to his injuries, but the men aren’t fools. They know even if he’s not advertising the fact that he’s fucking his subordinate. They’ve probably heard it enough. 

When he steps into the small room, the lights are off. It’s almost pitch black except for a sliver of foggy moonlight that filters through a narrow window. He shuts the door behind him, suddenly aware of what you wanted. 

“Fox...,” he murmurs before you lunge at him, nearly knocking him into the wall. He grunts from the pain in his shoulder, his bicep sticky with blood and medical tape. 

“You got shot,” you whisper frantically before you curl your thumbs beneath his ski mask, rip it off and throw it somewhere. He can breathe freely, inhale the tang of your sweat and that hint of pear and freesia from the expensive perfume you favor. The air caresses his bare skin and your palms rasp across his unshaved jaw. 

“Kid,” he tries, but you can’t hear him. You’re glued to his body, your tits crushed to his upper stomach as you rise on your tiptoes to reach his face. He forgets about the pain in his bicep, the sting of the bullet graze. “I’m fine,” he reassures you, their noses brushing together in the dark. 

“Prove it,” you breathe, before fisting his hair and dragging him down to your hungry lips.

It’s a ferocious kiss. Insistent. Wet. You lick into the cup of his mouth as he clutches your waist. He can’t help the low, broken noise that rises from the rear of his throat as you nibble his lower lip.

“Simon,” you whimper before pressing your mouth to his repeatedly.

Quite frankly, he’s a little shocked. You’re affectionate, but not like this. He’s never seen you lose your cool unless he’s got you impaled on his cock and you’re begging for him to take pity on you. 

You’re just kissing him. No. They’re making out like two horny teenagers. Even in the dark, he can feel your heat, the rabbit-fast pump of your heart as you scrape your nails across his scalp. You tug his uncut hair, run your fingertips across the scars that litter his face. 

When a warm wash of blood dampens his shirtsleeve, he realizes he’s opened up the wound. Your hand wraps around it, constricting like a snake to stem the flow and he moans because it hurts and it feels fucking incredible at once. His world narrows to the sensation of your tongue fighting his own as you squirm and writhe in his arms. 

He supposes this is more intimate than when he’s fucking you. It’s his face in your hands and his lips on you and he can’t remember the last time he’d ever just kissed anyone. 

“I hate this,” you whine as he pins you to the counter with his hips. “I hate this.”

“I know.” He grabs your ass and lifts you onto ceramic, your back hitting the mirror. “Fuckin’ terrible.”

He understands exactly what you mean because suddenly it isn’t about the end goal of a mission. Now, there are stakes. Now, there is red fox and your goddamn beautiful face and how he’d forsake a lot of things he’d sworn to protect if it meant you were safe. 

It goes against everything he is and everything he thought he had buried in his past. He was Ghost. He couldn't be Simon. He couldn't be yours and yet...

If it had been you who was shot, he would have gone on a rampage.

"It's awful," you say, fiddling with the string on his sweatshirt before yanking it so he's forced to hunch. You grip the hinges of his jaw for an unforgiving kiss that bruises his mouth and then you release him. He's going to get whiplash. You're going to drain him. He's too fuckin' old, but he's also a fool for your tongue and the warm, tight snatch of your cunt where he's found something close to home.

Ghost stands there between your thighs, still bleeding and injured and his chest hitching as he catches his breath. He squeezes your knee. “What do you want, love? What do you need from me?”

The “love” has now made an appearance. Usually, it's "kid" or "duchess" or "red ." He blurts out "love" or "darling” when he’s sick for you. It's becoming far more frequent. This isn’t him. This isn’t him at all. He can’t recall the last time, he cared this much about someone because that shit always came around to demand its pound of flesh.

Mum. Tommy. Beth. Joseph. 

He feels your hand on his cheek. He flinches out of habit before leaning into the dry comfort of your palm. You’ve traced all of his scars, licked them while you straddled his lap. You’ve tasted them in his tent, storage closets and occasionally your bed. 

I hope you’re not hiding behind a mask because you think you’re ugly. 

No. It’s - it’s more complicated than that. 

So you’re extremely hot under there and you just don’t want to get hit on?

You’re trouble enough. 

He should give you his face. You deserve it and yet he hesitates. Because if he offers you that then what they have becomes very fucking real. You're someone he could lose and that unnerves him.

They're dangerously close to a point where he wouldn't be able to stop if he tried.

“You can’t die on me,” you murmur before clearing your throat. “That’s what I want, Ghost. You safe.”

He huffs a laugh, the bullet wound twinging. “I should say the same for you, Red. You never listen.”

“I listen a lot.”

There’s defensiveness in your voice, sweet breath against his neck as you draw closer. 

“In bed doesn’t count, kid.”

You make a frustrated noise before you pull at the button on his jeans. He snatches your wrist, holding your hand against his stomach. “I could fuck you now....” he says. “Or you can sew me up and I can fuck you proper afterward.”

“A hard bargain,” you muse as your other hand cups him firmly. He growls at the contact, his fingers around your wrist tightening. “Do you think they know?”

Simon cocks his head and a lock of hair falls into his eyes. He’s so used to having it nearly adhered to his skull with his mask.  He squints, barely able to distinguish the lines and curves of your expression in the blackness and hints of moonlight. “Well we ain’t been subtle, love.” He finds your chin in the shadows and thumbs your lower lip. You shudder. “We’ve been in this bathroom for twenty minutes and I’m quite certain they heard me getting shoved into the door when you ate my bloody mouth.”

“I wanted to feel you,” you explain. “I wanted to make sure.”

“I’ve survived worst, Red.”

“You know what I mean.”

Fuck. He does. 

[meanbossart]

So, not sure if you've covered this. But I thought I'd ask. How do you feel about the durgetash subtext? Are you pro or against? How do you treat the "relationship" / "partnership" between them? I'm curious to know how their interactions would play out hahah. (Im very pro Durgetash, cause... well. Yeah.)

First of all, obviously I'm all for people interpreting subtext however they wish to interpret it, and I think there's more than enough in the game to imply a canonical romance between The Dark Urge and Gortash; some of my favorite artists on here delve into that and I think both their art and theories are brilliant. Especially as the canon stands now, I think it's more likely that they DID have something going on rather than not, though I doubt Larian will ever confirm it one way or another to allow the player freedom with their avatar's background.

That said, in the lore I decided for DU drow they did NOT have a romantic relationship, although they did have a complicated one. My first impression upon meeting Gortash at his coronation (this was long before all the dialogue Larian added) was of someone who wanted desperately to butter me up to get his plans back on track. Yes, I do think he was happy to see the drow, but that's because he knew DU drow would honor their initial agreement (had his memories not been erased, at least) and was indeed more reliable than Orin - who clearly wanted to achieve things on her own instead of entertaining their alliance even before betraying her brother.

I did a write-up a while back on what DU Drow's perception and plans for Enver were here, but I would like to make some additions!

First of all I didn't clarify this, but when I talk about "love" in that post I did not mean the romantic kind. What DU drow had for Gortash was a tenderness that he could not bring himself to entertain in earnest because of his profoundly skewed sense of empathy and emotions. He did relate to Gortash, He did admire how he had lifted himself up from nothing and how he easily brushed off DU drow's attempts to get under his skin. DU could simply never admit such a thing or even recognize it in himself - had he been a more sane man they would have been dear friends, and there would be glimpses of that could-be friendship in how they interacted before. Gortash was probably equal parts annoyed and charmed by the Bhaalspawn's high eccentricity, his gaudy style and extreme bluntness and shamelessness- he thought he was fascinating enough to put up with his attitude, not to mention that he was reliable and got things done when he set his mind to it.

(More under cut)

Alas, DU Drow wasn't raised to entertain friendship or tenderness whatsoever prior to getting a clean reset to his brain - this doesn't change the fact that he is, by nature, a very intense man, and those emotions had to come out in one way or another. Hence his weird preocuppation with Gortash and how he made him feel. He is primed to become extremely conflicted in his feelings towards anyone who sticks around in his life as anything but a pawn or a victim, and Enver constantly tried to pose himself as a friend - arguably a even more baffling concept to DU drow than if he wanted to be a lover - because then he would at least be seeking out sex from their interpersonal exchanges. This is also why a lot of DU drow's focus when insulting/trying to torment him would have been sexually charged, besides a simple desire to shock and objectify himself and others as sacks of meat to be fucked and killed.

But Gortash grew up in literal hell, I think his capacity to withstand abuse from others (and swiftly brush it off) would have been extremely well honed, especially if it will ultimately get him what he wants. He never flinched at the guy's constant allusions to perversion and cruelty, likely rolled his eyes at it even lol. This would have been very disarming to DU drow and kept him coming back for more, and fostered (along everything else I mentioned) the admiration brought up in-game in that one letter durge writes to Bhaal. That letter would have been a very rare moment of clarity and introspection between DU drow and his father - perhaps the only entity he could ever disclose this kind of conflict to, much like a man having a crisis of faith is still likely to turn to the very god he's doubting for comfort.

I haven't yet decided how Gortash felt towards him, though, besides the aforementioned fascination mixed with irritation. I do think that after being tad-poled, when DU drow shows up in his coronation room looking so dramatically different from the man he knew (hair unkempt, clothes reduced to their practicality, shell shocked stare, the absence of his usual, lecherous grin) he would have thought what a shame that was, that this relentless beast he knew would never allign himself with someone beneath his caliber, often to the point of being unreasonable, had squandered his own ambition and was now in such meager company lol like he's got this half-elf girl just short of hanging onto his arm, this squishy wizard that he would have chewed up like hide in his teeth once, and the smug little elf? That's just his type, but the man Gortash knew had eyes for no one but his sister - regardless of how often he tried to warn him of her duplicitous nature. Ohhh what a mess she made of him, he wishes he remembered anything so he could at least say I told you so.

[cloudninetonine]

A Player's Aid: Chapter 12

Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe

A/N: Ya'll I'm sorry but I am exhausted so please don't think I'm ignoring the asks OIUEHIF I'M JUST GETTING THROUGH THE WORK DAYS AND GETTING THIS STORY FINISHED- hope you enjoy tho! I'm glad I was able to get it done faster this time!

Warnings: Bad language, mentions of violence, threatening language, descriptions of blood and gore, mentions of injuries and mentions of death! (Please tell me if I missed anything it's near 1:30AM IOEUFGIF- I am a little manic)

“NO!”

The words echoed through the hallway, a blood-curdling scream that bounced off the walls and dragged a stinging down into their ear canals, reverberating through the heroes' heads as the champion dived into the middle, the fingertips barely brushing before any trace of you disappeared completely, leaving behind the carpeted floor that Wild slammed right into.

“GODDESS BE DAMNED!”

Hyrule had closed the gap between him and Sky violently, slashing at a Skulltula that leapt desperately after the blonde with dripping pincers snapping dangerously. Its squeal nothing but a nuisance in his ears as he spun his sword tip down and thrust it violently into its head, eyes popping with a disgusting squelch as he pinned it to the floor.

Sky could see it, the bloodthirsty look crossing his face- teeth grinding, huffing up a violent storm with murder dancing in his eyes, an abyss of forest brown with hints of green.

He had caught a glimpse of it that day, a look of rage, the look of rage, the one that stretched over lifetimes and painted itself over the faces of the calmest of men. The Hero of Skyloft had worn it too, many moons ago, as he struck down Demise and brought peace into his era.

Hyrule had worn that exact expression at the lake, and now, after taking a small glance towards Wild, shaking and panting in a similar state, he knew that the cook had felt the exact same way.

“Champion!” Time’s voice was of urgency and authority, batting back another hissing Skulltula with a grunt. “Rejoin the circle!”

Wild’s hands dug into the fabric of the royal carpet, digging in his nails desperately as images and scenarios raced rapidly through his mind- there were so many possible things that could have been following through this. The Shadow had you in its clutches, just where they didn’t want you, and so easily too, brain jumping between two things and two things only.

A slow, painful torture as the Shadow dragged whatever information he wanted from you, he would be cruel, he would be sadistic and soon enough your anguished screams would echo through the castle or he could just kill you, simple and quick, with nothing but an uninterested shrug to his shoulders when he and Hyrule would ask what became of you.

“Their presence was simply a way to bring pain, dear Champion, and well, I did want to wait longer yetttttt- watching you pathetic heroes whimper over some even more pathetic sack of meat is simply much more entertaining.”

Death, torture, death, torture, death, torture, DEATH-

Hands settled violently onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his tunic and his skin when Twilight’s face came into view. Worried, frustrated, angry and a whole whirlwind of emotions as he hissed his name desperately.

“Now isn’t the time for this, Link! We’re surrounded- pull yourself together!”

And in a sudden rush of everything, Wild released a trapped breath in a heavy gasp.

His eyes checked over to Hyrule, noting his shaking figure as he violently hacked at the monsters, the phantom red flying as he frantically tried to kill all that barred his path. The traveller was in a panic, similar to himself, but unlike the blonde his panic hadn’t completely frozen over, he still had his fighting spirit and by the goddess, he was ready to stain the walls with monster blood if it meant that he could go chasing after you- even while having no clue on how to get to you.

“We have to go after them.” 

Twilight’s eyes reflected understanding yet the frustration was still obvious. “Yes and we will-”

“We have to go after them now.”

Of course, that was the obvious thing to do, but that wasn’t a following thought, it was a present one- fuck these monsters and fuck this pathetic excuse of an ambush, Wild needed to get you now and he was ready to risk it all to do that.

“And how do you suppose we do that!?” Legend snapped, bashing a Skulltula back with his shield. “I am not sure if you’ve noticed, Champion, but we can’t exactly waltz our way through this!”

Wild had already zoned in, his eyes watching the movement of Legend’s arm as he blocked another set of gnashing pincers, turning back to Twilight and ogling his target item hanging right off his arm.

Twilight looked curiously at his shield before the realisation dawned and he hardened. “No-”

Hyrule’s frustration was sharp enough to cut through stone as he snapped. “They could be dead by the time we get through these monsters, so shut up ranch-hand and listen to his fucking plan!!”

Wind’s cackle was like a light within the darkness. “They sure are tainting you, traveller!”

“Is this really the time, sailor!?”

“I’m just saying-”

“Enough!- Go through with your plan or be done with it!” Time’s roar was an imposing one, a whole slew of emotions dripping from his words. “I will not have infighting! Especially not now!”

The group was not a stranger to stupid or dangerous ideas, a memory of Warriors and Wild sailing over a camp upon the back of a fallen tree surfaced at the thought, or the many times one of the boys (Hyrule and Wild) had leapt onto the back of a great beast to beat it down to size, or even that time when someone had tried to outrun a Gohma with sheer determination alone after angering the monster in hopes it would stray from the downed comrade- sometimes stupidity was held over safety within them all, if it meant defeating the enemy, or saving the victim, they would go to great lengths to keep them safe.

Twilight knew that Wild considered this one of those times. There wasn’t any way to get around it, no reason, no refusal- the cook had made up his mind and this was what was going to happen.

So, with a final sigh, he caved.

“What is your plan?”

----------

"Come now, dear Guide, don't leave me in the dark- talk to me."

Dink’s voice was best described as an amalgamation, many spoke at once, an eerie echoing drip to his tone that could never just blend together adding to his disturbing supernatural aura that made him this shadow demon. You could hear them all, every single voice belonging to the Chain was mingling with his own, sometimes one would domineer the other- you could hear Time, you could hear Wind, you could hear Warriors, you could hear Four, the Shadow after all was that, a Shadow, so would it make sense for him to have something of his own when he himself wasn’t his own person?

Even now, the face that stared back at you was very clearly Hyrule’s-...or was it? Bathed in darkness, bearing a callous front the shadows that formed his body swayed with the wind. Like smoke to a dying flame, his body constantly shifted and left you dumbfounded about what you were truly looking at. It may have been Hyrule but in that very same breath, it could have been someone completely different- only adding to its demonic presence that made you back further into the wall hoping to become one with the stone and avoid this situation altogether.

Successfully tearing yourself away from his grasp at the price of Hyrule's dagger, you’d tossed it violently towards him as you twisted your leg from his hand (more like a claw from the way his nails dug into your skin) as he dodged it then scurrying back until your back made contact with stone to make as much distance between you as possible. 

It was funny to him of course, he just laughed, for you were a bug beneath his shadow boot- did you really think tossing a measly little dagger was going to do any real harm to him? Especially with that pathetic excuse of a throw?

"I must say, the townsfolk show better skill in the face of monsters, how embarrassing for the guide of the heroes."

"I-Im not the Guide." Your voice was a whimper, shaking from your very obvious fear. "You've got the wro- hm, wrong person-"

The Shadow tilted its head, smirk teasing. "Is that right?"

"...Please let me go."

People liked to joke about this kind of scenario. In the situation of kidnapping, they'd annoy the person to near insanity and get off scot-free- or in their hyped-up cloud of adrenaline, pure rage would take over and they'd simply beat their attacker back, an uno reverse card one might say to the whole scene. However that was just chit-chat, online humour for Internet points, you knew for a fact the wrong thing said at this moment would probably have your throat slashed with barely any of his strength.

And that terrified you.

You were terrified.

Back in childhood, you were that little five-year-old cowering in the corner of your room under the piles of blankets, hawk eyes trained onto the darkness creeping within your wardrobe. The crack between the open door held an opportunity for the monster within to stare right back at you without your child mind knowing a thing. Would it come for you when you finally collapsed from exhaustion or would it burst forth and gobble you up the second your focus dimmed?

The fear within you was primal then, that fear of the unknown, what lay where you could not see it and it was with you now, bubbling sickeningly in the pit of your stomach as the Shadow chattered and joked about your early demise that he would bring with his own hand.

Not even a week ago this creature was a character to you, a fairytale if you will.

And now you were about to be murdered by it.

Dink walked between the streams of light cascading through the windows of the room, the particles of his shadows faintly catching the shine at each turn he made. It made sense that he clung to the darkness, but you begged within that he would step into the beams once. Just once, so that your mind could be laid to rest- trying to comprehend what you were seeing was hurting your head. 

He looked more like Wild now- or was that just the darkness playing tricks?

The Shadow only let out a belly laugh, his voice bouncing off the walls, “Oh, you humour me so, do you really think your whimpers will change my heart, dear Guide?”

You teared up, “Please, I just want to go home-”

“Ah, home.” He said the word with a fake interest, tilting his head as he feigned consideration. “I have never had such a thing, you know, I merely passed through the times through the shadows of The Hero’s light-”

He grinned, crouching down to look at you. “-it’s why they call me the Shadow, you see, I have no other name nor a life to call my own.”

“....Is that why you need me?”

And once again, the monster burst into laughter throwing his head back and covering his mouth to muffle his hysterical laughter- creepy and bone-chilling, he already sounded inhuman enough but the laughter that caught your ears certainly wasn’t doing anything to ease your worries.

“You think I would value something so pathetic? Bah!” With a wave, he pushed off his knees back to his full height, looking you down with those crimson eyes full of malice and disdain. “I would find it an insult if you didn’t sound so sincere- idiotic, but sincere.”

Curling deeper into yourself, you shook, voice wobbly, “Then why am I here?”

A cold chill ran through the room, the shadows within the corners growing, casting great darkness over the walls and eating at the light that cascaded through the large windows. The eyes of oil paintings glaring down at you through the pitch black that only grew closer and closer, judging you with hell flames dancing in their painted pupils as the gloom tickled the points of your boots and caused you to only shrink deeper into yourself. Dink’s eyes were demonic through the shade, piercing through the surrounding tenebrosity to stare right back into your fear-struck gaze.

“Why do you think?” The bitter tone crawled over your skin like millions of bugs, the phantom feeling of many legs running over your body as he spat. “A being able to ascend through timelines, with the knowledge of all that has, is and will ever be? From another world entirely but yet you still hold influence in this one while the Goddesses stay ignorant to anything that strays from their precious creation. If you’re able to do such a thing, you must hold more power than even the Golden Three themselves-”

With each word, he seemed to melt into the gloom of the room, red eyes still following you as he paced like a predator ready to pounce. “-and with that kind of power I can finally get rid of those heroes, wipe them from history and do as I please without their pathetic little attempts to get in my way.”

The terrified tears streamed freely now, face flushed hot in fear and heart frozen in terror yet still pumping the blood through your veins to rush the adrenaline in every crevice it could find- your stomach plummeted when he turned and suddenly it seemed he had vanished, no red eyes to show his position with his shadows hiding him from your sight.

You shook; you cried.

“I’m not the Guide.” The sob caught in your throat, an anxious sickness brewing in your stomach as you searched for him frantically in the pitch black. “I don’t have any magic power, I can’t even do a coin trick, please you have to believe me-”

You couldn’t even scream- the red eyes were back and rushing towards you until they were a breath away, a hand slamming next to your head with more talons than claws digging into the stone. Roughly your chin was grabbed, the frightened yelp leaving your mouth muffled as your lips were smushed under his coarse gloves. You couldn’t escape.

Dink’s red eyes were manic, pupils straining in barely restrained venom. “Don’t lie to me- the spell brought me to you. You bear the name and its suffocating presence I’ve felt for decades, you dare try to trick me?”

“I-I’m not! I’m not, I promise I’m not-” His grip tightened and you whined at the pain, “Please- please don’t kill me-”

With a monstrous growl, he ripped his hand away, the pain still lingering in an itchy ache as he grabbed your front tunic violently and hauled you to your feet. He towered you now. An enigma of shifting shadows with a taut scowl that seemed too big for his face, inhuman in a way that was too real for you and left you a shivering mess against the wall as his words dribbled from his mouth similar to the dripping of blood from a blade- sleek but chilling.

“I’m going to kill you.” Quiet. His words were quiet because he didn’t need a reason to shout for the calm was way more terrifying than the force. “Tear out your heart, throw it at the heroes’ feet and watch them weep over it.”

His scowl stretched into a smile. “Cry now, little guide because you won’t be able to soon enough.”

The sincerity in his tone was what got you, coupled with the swirling bloodlust in those pools of crimson you could see your life flash right before your eyes. The longest second you’d ever felt, experiencing whole lifetimes in only an instant as you thought back to your own world, your friends, your family, the strangers that had come and gone, everything that had led up to this exact moment. Here. In this castle of ruins, with the real Heroes of Hyrule, with real monsters of Ganon and the actual Dark Link whose voice had muffled from the gallons of blood rushing in your ear.

That night when he first chased you was an example of the fight or flight response- your instincts choosing to fly as you sprinted away from the Shadow as it chased you through the streets.

That option was scrubbed away, with no room for fawning and the option to freeze was laid to rest by the adrenaline, you did the only thing you could do.

Raising your knee you slammed it between his legs without an ounce of hesitation, you didn’t hold back putting all your strength into the attack as it made contact with him, a small grunt of effort leaving your lips as you did. You weren’t about to play fair at the edge of Death’s door.

Silence.

Red eyes glanced down to where your knee met his crotch, the appendage hesitating before it slowly fell back, your booted foot meeting the floor just as his gaze returned to you.

“Did you really expect that to work?” His voice was a mixture of amusement and chagrin. “I’m a shadow- I share your hero’s likeness but not their weaknesses.”

You strained out a shaky breath. “...fuck.”

Then, without a single thought of your own preservation or even a single thought at all, you acted upon impulse and slammed your head right into his nose.

The following moments would have been comedic if your thoughts weren’t screaming at you to bolt. The two of you stumbled away from one another in a daze, Dink dropping back onto his arse with a string of violent curses while he held his face desperately trying to stop the stream of black ooze which resembled blood (he could bleed?) drip from his nose. You weren’t too great either, dazed and dizzy from smashing your forehead against his face, staggering about with a similar chant of swears as you tried to decipher which way was up and which was down.

“You…fucking…wretch…” Dink gasped through the pain, still crumpled over, “Just…you wait-”

Your blurred vision settled, the doubles that you were seeing finally melting back into one and you could see the doorway just a few steps ahead, leading out into the castle halls.

This was your moment.

“Get back here-”

Without a single glance back, you bolted, still a little dizzy but refusing to let that get in the way of your freedom. Shouldering through the door, you came across an unfamiliar hallway enveloped in the webbing of the Skulltula and promptly cringed at the sight of eggs sacs scattered through the natural fibres. You didn’t stop, however, powered by your fear you took to one direction and fled.

“You dare run from me!? I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD, PEST!!”

You felt violently ill from the words, the pure unyielding rage in his voice was clear, one mistake, one slip up- if Dink got his hands on you, the last thing you would be seeing were those red, demonic eyes.

You weren’t about to let that happen.

Boots slammed against the carpet, the bangs muffled by the fabric. You heaved and puffed, your lungs in an icy pain as they burned from the strain but in your mind, the words rung out like a mantra “Don’t stop, don’t stop” and you kept those words true to yourself- you weren’t about to stop, not now, not ever, not until you reached the Chain and the sounds of Dink’s footsteps chasing after you finally faded from your mind.

You skidded around a corner, finding comfort in the light that streamed through the open windows of the winding corridor, you were still quite lost, unable to piece together the exact location unsure if you had stumbled in. Was this a place which you had trekked in digital form, or another restored section of the great building?

Sounds echoed behind you, your form tensing in horror before you brushed away questions and rushed down the hallway. 

It didn't matter where you were in the castle, you didn't care, you'd do laps around the entire thing until you finally found your group. Your stamina be damned, you were getting out of here alive. You'd see the Chain again, you'd see your family again, you'd see your friends again and as long as you kept running that thought would manifest into reality.

Your boot snagged a piece of frayed carpet, eyes growing into dinner plates as you shrieked in horror. No, no this wasn't about to happen, you weren't about to fall victim to that damned Hollywood trope- you weren't. Pushing through the stagger, you didn't allow yourself to plummet straight into the floor, taking a few wobbly steps that you were quickly able to correct and mentally cheered.

I think the fuck not-

You plummeted from the force around your ankle, covering your face and letting your arms take most of the blow as you collapsed into a shaking heap on the floor

You fell.

You fucking fell.

"NO!" The scream was Oscar worthy, as were the tears and horror on your face, head snapping back to see the black murky substance that had enveloped your foot. "No- fucking- please!"

Magic no doubt, dark magic that writhed and twitched in the shadow of the hallway. In an effort to escape you kicked at it hysterically, clawed at it desperately and even tried to drag yourself closer to the light in hopes that maybe, maybe it would burn away the dark. 

Hyperventilating through choking tears, you fought. Sick threatened to decorate the floor, the anxiety and the dread a horrid mix that clashed violently as the seconds continued to tick by. This wasn’t about to happen, you were not about to die this way- like some stupid horror cliche, chased by the psychotic axe murder hellbent on gifting you with a slow, torturing death- This isn’t how you wanted it to end.

The rapid thumping of footsteps had finally reduced to an uncanny nothing as the Shadow had begun to ascend the hallway. Silence. That was all he produced. Not a footstep on the carpet, not a pant from his frantic run- you didn’t hear a peep from Dink as he slowly made his way towards you. 

It reminded you of the documentaries, that quiet walk of his, a slow but gradual stalk as the predator drew closer to it’s prey, feral eyes pinpointed on one thing and one thing only.

You really wished you could have been the cameraman in this moment, for being the prey was just as panic inducing as you had thought it would be.

“You’ve had your fun.” The venom was cold but laid on heavy, searing into your skin and burning at your very core as an icy fear. You tried to scramble faster, “I’ve let you run, for long enough, insect. Scutter along these floors but enough is enough.”

You moved to your back, still dragging yourself despite the obvious being clear- you weren’t getting out of this.

“What the fuck do you want with me!?” You screamed desperately, tears still running as you gasped for breath during your panic attack. “I don’t have anything to fucking give you!”

“Are you really that dense?”

The streams of light were your only source, watching as Dink grew closer and closer. Terrifying really, his body moulded each time he reached the sun- first you saw the shadow of Hyrule before his form returned to the black mass of the shadows only to reform into Wild, once again disappearing and he had shrunk himself into Wind. With each shift his voice would change, but not to match the hero he wore, he couldn’t even give you the kindness of that. Suffering. He just wanted you to suffer during your hysteria and leave you disarray.

He really was eldritch in a way and certainly nothing you had ever wanted to experience.

“Your power, Guide, I want your power-”

“I DON’T HAVE ANY POWER!” Your voice was shrill to you, bouncing off the walls and echoing even further down the halls. “I’M NOT FUCKING SPECIAL- LET ME GO YOU STUPID FUCK!”

He stopped just a few inches off, watching you with eagle eyes as you wailed, tears and some snot running down your face. You knew you were a pathetic sight to see, snivelling and crying in a pile of limbs on the floor- not an ounce of bravery on your face, your eyes only reflected the fear that followed the scent of death and the further unknown. How could this be the heroes’ Guide? Valued and respected amongst the masses, was something that probably fluttered around his head. Nothing but another weak and useless slab of meat, similar to the many he had cut down before.

“I have no more time for this.” Quiet, restrained. You could hear the metal slide along his sheath as he pulled his blade. “You die here, guide.”

He pounced.

You weren’t quite sure what happened in those few moments- your mind was reeling. Too much was going on for you to fully comprehend anything other than your own screaming thoughts: You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t see. Not fully anyway, you couldn’t turn away from the crimson that stared you down with a hatred so true.

You just wanted it to stop. It was all you knew as you threw your hands in front of your face, hoping in some way that it would somehow block the blow. You wanted everything to stop- your brain, time, your upcoming death- all you really wanted in that moment was for everything- to-

STOP!

…

……

………

…………ding…

……….ding…

…….ding…

A static stillness filled the air- along with grunts of effort that you knew belonged to Dink. No humanoid made such a distorted sound, nor did any monsters you knew, so horrific to your ears as his noise of struggle being the only thing you could register. You almost didn’t want to look, caught in the belief that looking would break the spell that had suddenly cast over the shadow that kept him at bay. Nevertheless, when his steady flow of forced threats and other colourful words flowed from his mouth did you finally take the chance to glance at what had befallen him.

Yellow.

Dink was yellow.

No, not yellow in colour but in tint- it covered each inch of his body from his boots to his strands of white hair. Not just yellow however, phantom chains accompanied the glow, pinning him midair and phasing off into some impossible abyss. They jangled, they swayed and they kept your almost-murderer only a few inches back, his frantic red eyes trained on each little movement you made in a moment of pure mania.

You crawled back instantly when your own eyes met them, huffing and puffing in horror.

Stasis…

Dink was in Stasis.

Who the fuck put Dink in Stasis?

A very quick answer was found when your hand flew out as you moved your weight, sight catching the electric glow beneath the leather of your vambrace glove right where you knew the Sheikah eye stared back at you.

Had you Stasised the Shadow?

It was only then did you notice the sound from earlier, growing only more rapid as the seconds ticked by and you felt your heart mimic the beat of each metallic “ding!” as the magic of the Sheikah slowly faded the longer you laid there. 

There was no time. 

The clock was ticking.

Fight or flight returning with a vengeance, you leapt to your feet. Still in panic, still covered in tears and snot, still shaking like a fearful child- you had no more time to question what or how, it was now or never- you turned.

Only for your impulsive thoughts to flare, a tactic flying at impossible speeds right into your overstimulated senses.

Without a second thought, with a raged cry you flew back around with your fist clenched and slammed it right into the demon’s nose.

Then, without a second to register the pain you bolted, not caring to look when the illusion of magic finally shattered as your timer ran out, an enraged cry catching the wind as Dink’s body flew back a few feet and skidded through the hallway.

Silence.

You had just turned into the next hallway when it happened- the scream. The scream of a lifetime, not human, not monster, just pure demonic as it exploded through the way. Like a shockwave, you felt the brush of a burning magic on your neck before you embraced the darkness of another corridor, his shriek changing in a constant cycle: low, high, near, far, human, animal, monster- decades worth of fury built into one horror movie wail.

You knew he would have been nominated for the oscar in another life.

“GEt bAcK hERe-” 

You phased him out in a desperate attempt to stay sane, something so wrong shouldn’t have ever reached your ears. You just kept running. You didn’t stop. Not when Dink’s voice finally faded and not when your lungs and legs began to burn. If any stray arachnids still lingered you wouldn’t have ever known, only focused on the way ahead and any stray obstacle that laid on your path and likely zipping past them, leaving the Skulltula to the dust. You were never one for running, you hated PE, but today you would be awarded gold and the Olympics would write you down as the fastest runner alive- Usain Bolt could never.

Your sanity dwindled on the fine line of insane and sane, dancing a sloppy strut as the world around you began to fade and all you could focus on was running.

Until you were finally running no more.

An arm had caught you, thrust forward into your person and catching your chest as your form curled into it from the force. Winded. Your breath was thrown out of you at the contact, a heave leaving your mouth and leaving you with no time to recover as you were dragged into something solid that breathed like a human and felt like a human.

It didn’t stop your blood curdling scream though, hands frantically beating at the clear appendage wrapped around your body as you tried desperately to escape. You would not die here, cold and alone, in the arms of a monster instead of being surrounded by the warmth of love. You would wail, you would fight until your last dying breath because in this moment that’s what was happening- this was your dying breath and you would not go down without knowing you tried to beat the odds.

“No! No! No! No-” Your head was tucked into something warm, spit flying from your frightened yells as the fight was bled out of you. “No! No! No! No-”

It was all you could say, it was all you could think.

No.

No.

No.

It was all you could gasp.

Even as your body finally registered safety, even as you finally collapsed against the form that most clearly belonged to the Wild, the sight of his ocean blue tunic washing over a blanket of comfort that only zapped away your remaining adrenaline. The mutters of “No.” repeated. Robotic. Desperate. Pleading.

“I have you.” He whispered into your hair, his arms protective. “Focus on me, (Name), you are safe.”

“No. No. No. No….

no….”

~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sorry no tags rn I can barely think straight (I will edit in tags when I can!)

[raiiny-bay]

oc deep dive questionnaire - dhes edition

tagged by @sikoi (ty you for the tag!! <3)

-what common/uncommon fear do they have? tbh, there's not much that scares Dhes. when he was younger, he feared rejection, but that fear has lessened significantly as he's gotten older & become more comfortable with himself

-do they have any pet peeves? he's pretty particular about housekeeping, so his biggest pet peeves tend to be related to that. but he especially hates when Kelly leaves his shoes lying around instead of putting them away (bc Dhes *always* trips over them lol)

-what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? CDs (lots of CDs), a tamagotchi (he brings it to work. it never stays alive long), & notes that he & Kel wrote back & forth to each other during class throughout their teen years

-what do they notice first in a person? whether or not they look directly at him/look him in the eyes

-on a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance? probably 8 or 9

-do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? fight - Dhestyn's a fighter through & through

-do they come from a big family/are they a family person? his family is pretty average, size-wise. his family dynamic is very eccentric, so whether or not he's a "family person" is kind of a complicated answer. he's not particularly close with anyone in his immediate family, but he does talk to them & visit them often

-what animal represents them best? a dog - generally, he's very friendly & loyal, but in the right circumstances, he does tend to bite

-what is a smell that they dislike? burning meat

-have they broken any bones? if so, how? several, mostly his fingers & wrists though. he's broken them in skateboarding accidents, during fights with other kids when he was in middle/high school, & by simply making poor decisions due to his reckless nature :-)

-how would a stranger likely describe them? i actually kind of explained this on his character page, but to sum it up people tend to see Dhes as either very charming or very unsavory

-are they a night owl or a morning bird? both! Dhes has a horrific sleep schedule. he'll regularly stay up until 1-2am & he wakes up at 5 o'clock every morning. though if he had to choose one, he prefers mornings

-what is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? he really likes cinnamon. he's not a big fan of seafood.

-do they have any hobbies? yes! skateboarding, hacky sack, making playlists & listening to music, working out (weights/jogging), fashion (read: "fashion"), & ruining his hair, to name a few.

-boom, surprise birthday party! how do they react to surprises? Dhestyn always appreciates a nice surprise

-do they like to wear jewelry? if so, what is their favorite piece? yes, the man loves to accessorize. his favorite piece of "jewelry" is actually a necklace Kel gave to him when they were fifteen - it's a simple black cord with one of Kel's old guitar picks on it.

-do they have neat or messy handwriting? somewhere in the middle - it's legible, at least.

-what are two emotions they feel the most? love & anger

-do they have a favorite fabric? not particularly, no

-what kind of accent do they have? standard PNW accent when speaking English, though occasionally he'll have hints of a more Mexican-American accent, which he picked up from his mom's side of the family

tagging: @mobwhim, @lynzishell, @vicciouxs, @teddybearsims, & @salemssimblr (feel free to ignore ofc!)

[hunnythebee]

Stow Away

Chapter 3: Hiding in Plain Sight

A tense day on Nevarro followed by an evening with a different kind of tension. Is she crossing a line or is he?

Warnings: NSFW, NSFT, mentions of trauma, PTSD, crying, cursing, voyeurism, masturbation

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Masterlist

A/N: So I changed up a few things in this chapter. First, it explores third person omniscient territory, giving us a glimpse into our Mando's thoughts as well as the MC. From here on out I intend to include more glimpses into his mind and emotions as well.

Second, finally diving into some smut. I'm excited for that, but I am also a complete plot-whore so it's definitely going to be plot with porn.

And last but not least, I have officially given the MC a name. I hadn't intended on naming her, but I couldn't help it, it just kind of happened.

Hope you enjoy and I look for to seeing you all next week for chapter 4!

It had been awhile since he left. He took the kid with him so she has the whole ship to herself. She searched around for a good hiding spot, which there really weren’t any. Then she had a brilliant idea. She rooted around in her sack and pulled out her hooded cowl and engineer goggles.

Perfect.

She removed a panel on the outside of the Crest and began to do idle busy work. She tucked her hair completely into the hood and pulled the mask up, with the goggles covering the remaining exposed portion of her face no distinguishable features were left visible. She was deep in the panel when two bounty hunters approached the ship.

“What’re you doing here?” The taller one asked, resting a hand on his blaster.

“Workin',” she kept her words short. “You?”

He laughed gruffly, “Workin’”

The two men boarded the Crest. Her hand was violently shaking, but she hid it by throwing them back into work. The two reappeared a minute later, with the carbonite slabs floating gracefully between them. 

“Enjoy your 'work' little lady,” the other said, his voice making her skin crawl.

She swallowed hard and nodded to them. The nod made a small strand of hair peek out from the hood. Her hair was truly her most recognizable feature, it was colored to look like a nabooian sunset, a gradient from purple to orange. The small strand was a blaring siren, begging to be noticed, but lucky for her they’re backs were already turned to her. She quickly tucked the strand back in and shoved her head into the ship compartment. Once their gravelly footsteps receded, she hustled back onto the ship and closed the ramp behind her. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she crumpled to the cold floor, allowing her emotions to pour out. A sob echoed through the quiet hull. She let her tears flow. Mando didn’t remind her of him. But those men, those hunters did. After the tears slowed she took a few deep breaths. Just in time too, because the gangplank lowered, and the Mandalorian boarded the ship. She wiped away at her eyes, hoping her breakdown wasn’t too apparent on her face.

It was.

Mando noticed immediately. Her nose was pink, her eyes were swollen and red. Her cheeks still had faint tear stains on them. He felt a protectiveness come over him. He wanted to ask who had done this to her. He wanted to make them pay. More than anything he wanted to pull her in and make her feel okay. All of this ran through his head as he simply stood there, staring at her.

She can never know. He warned himself.

“H–How’d it go?” She asked, wanting to break the silence.

“The usual.” His voice sounded so distant. Realistically, he was just lost in thought.

“The…usual?” she questioned.

“Got my payment. Got more bounties.”

“Ah. The usual. Got it.” She began to walk towards her cot, but he stopped her in her tracks with his next words.

“I brought food.”

“You… brought food?” She echoed.

He silently held up a satchel, burstin with assorted produce and meats.

“You brought food.” She said once more, feeling a sense of safety nudge at her heart.

He handed her the satchel, and she examined it closely.

“Hmm… I know exactly what to make from this,” and she left for the galley. He remained cemented to the spot. Silently swearing to himself to learn why she had been crying and to never let it happen again.

A few hours later, they were in orbit of Nevarro and she was putting the finishing touches on a roast. They hadn’t spoken since he had given her the food, she had plunged herself into cooking. It was mostly an attempt to recover from the flashbacks of earlier, and it mostly worked. 

She shouted out of the galley up at the cockpit, “Food’s ready! Come get it while it’s hot!” 

She fixed the three of them plates, and set one plate down at the spot he usually sat in. She and Grogu took the seat that they had been in before, their backs to the seat he would take. Grogu was already finished by the time she heard Mando’s boots hit the floor. She had, unwittingly, waited for him to start eating. She heard his helmet depressurize and she started to eat her meal with him. She nearly choked when she heard a sound from where the Mandalorian sat. He had taken a bite and moaned. He kriffing moaned, and it made her freeze completely. She couldn’t see it, but he had frozen too. Shocked by his own involuntary noise. He knew she had heard it, because he heard her gag on her food. Heat crossed his face and he was never more thankful for the Creed than in that moment.

They ate the remainder of the food in complete silence. He collected the plates when they were finished, and she put the now sleeping child to bed. She was closing the crib when he reappeared. His visor was fixed on her and it sent a shiver through her body.

“I liked it.” He spoke abruptly.

“Hmm?” She asked as she slumped back down into her seat.

“The food. I liked it.”

“I bet.” The tease slipped out before she could process what she was saying. Her whole body tensed.

“What was that?” He asked, taking a step toward her.

She stood and moved backward, “N–nothing. I’m glad you liked it.” The nerves caused her voice to quiver slightly.

He stalked closer. “That’s not what you said.”

She tried to turn, wanting to hide in the 'fresher, but his hand snatched her wrist and pulled her to the wall. Pinning her between him and the cool durasteel. Her heart was thundering in her ears. She should have felt scared but this was different. Less threatening. Probably because he wasn’t holding a blaster to her this time.

“What. Did. You. Say.” He was impossibly close now. He smelled like her blanket.

No… she thought, the blanket smells like him.

She steadied herself for a moment and committed to the teasing.

“I said, ‘I bet.’ As in I bet you liked my cooking. At least it sure sounded like you were enjoying it.”

He hovered for a moment. He was contemplating something. She assumed he was debating whether to smack her for taunting him or not. In reality he was contemplating her. Her body. Her face. How good she would feel when he– 

Stop!

His internal voice screamed. And he finally released her, quickly leaving for his bunk. The door hissed shut behind him before she even had a chance to move. She slid to the floor. She was dazed and confused by the bizarre interaction that had just occured between her and the Mandalorian. He didn't seem angry. In fact he had seemed... Excited. A heat settled low in her body, which she elected to ignore.

That's absurd. No way was that what had been happening.

She shook the thoughts out of her head and finally stood up from the floor. She still wanted to shower before bed. The scent of ash and smoke was clinging to her hair and she craved the scent of the soap. She didn't take long, focusing mainly on her hair. She stepped out into the hull and the quiet was deafening. All she could hear was the soft breathing of the child on the other side and... She froze.

She heard a moan. Before tonight she wouldn't have been able to place it but now she knew exactly what she was hearing. She was planted to the spot. Not moving. Not breathing.

Another moan ripped through the quiet.

Her eyes found his door, lit dimly by the light of the refresher. The warmth she had felt earlier returned, this time it was less bearable. Her body moved without her willing it to, and she found herself in front of his door. She wasn't sure what she was doing there. This was a private moment. An intimate moment she wasn't supposed to bear witness to, yet she couldn't keep herself from listening. She chewed her lip for a moment and wrestled with herself internally.

After a moment of contemplation, she pressed her ear to the door. She wanted to hear more. His moans were hot and it had been so long since she had been a part of anyone's pleasure, so she indulged.

The moaning was expected, as were the whispered curses. What she hadn't expected was what he groaned out as his orgasm slammed into him.

"Jomira..."

She stumbled back. That was her name. He was moaning her name. Her heart raced as she rushed back to her cot and quickly climbed under the covers. His voice echoed in her mind.

Impossible. I just imagined it. That's all. Still...

She pressed her thighs together. Her arousal had reached a fever pitch and it was becoming a problem. She reached over and shut the child's crib. Then she slipped her hand below her waist band. She was soaked. Her pussy. Her thighs. Imagined or not, he had an effect on her that she could not deny.

She pressed her middle finger to her swollen bundle, working it in slow, precise circles. She whimpered quietly and covered her mouth quickly with her free hand. She continued working herself closer to release. She could feel it, she was on the precipice. Just as it poured over her the door to the Mandalorian's bunk slid open. She jumped, throwing the hand that had been covering her mouth over her eyes, burying her face in her elbow. The hand that had been working so desperately for her release was trapped between her legs. Her orgasm made her throb against her fingers, the ruined release causing her cunt to clench and spasm.

Neither she nor Mando moved. She took a deep, slow breath, feigning sleep. She prayed to the Maker that he hadn't seen her, that he would just assume she was asleep and leave. After another beat, she heard his boots move. They ascended the ladder, followed by the cockpit door hissing open and then shut.

She let out a sigh and removed her arm from her eyes and her hand from her pants. Her heart rate slowed finally, and her eyes began to feel heavy. Sleep fell heavy onto her body and she knocked out quickly. She dreamt of him that night.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Masterlist

[aloudplace]

Chapter 14 temperature

They found a considerable store of food in a larder panel in the kitchen. The larder itself had been sealed with exceptional preservation spells, so the sacks of grain and flour, crates of vegetables, dried fruits and meats were perfectly fresh.

There was even wine.

Loklan stared at the rack of unlabeled bottles for a moment, remembering the last year.

He'd spent hardly a moment of it sober and yet…

He felt no desire to drink.

Huh.

"There's enough food here to last us a year," Eiara exclaimed, and then set about lighting the heavy steel stove. "I find it difficult to believe they would leave all this here without intending to return," she added, taking the paper-wrapped bundle of meat he handed to her.

Loklan chose a pair of plump green squash, a fat onion, and a bottle of wine. "It is a bit strange." He set the vegetables on the white stone counter beside the stove and started opening cabinets, looking for a cutting board. "Terraforming work is usually done in stages over the course of several decades. Perhaps the families working here were on a rotation and the project was canceled between phases."

"That makes sense." She pulled a large iron skillet out of a low cabinet and set it over the lit burner. "Did you see any oil in there? Or butter?"

Loklan's stomach growled. "I'll look again." He went back to the larder, adding, "As much as I enjoy the view, you should probably put something on before you start cooking that, or you're likely to burn yourself."

Eiara looked up with the slab of raw meat in her hand. She was still naked. They both were.

There wasn't any pressing reason to dress, after all. They were alone, and the temperature inside the bunker was perfectly regulated.

"I saw an apron hanging on the door in the pantry there," she pointed.

Loklan handed her a small tin of butter, retrieved the apron, and then looped the strap over her head and tied the ties for her as she set the meat into the pan.

He was still standing behind her, shaping her little waist with both hands and admiring the curves of her ass when she said, "Will you cut the vegetables?"

"Of course," he murmured, bending to kiss her shoulder. It was a strange task for a prince, but Loklan had spent a good deal of time in the kitchens as a child. The servants were Miyuni peasants, and they didn’t give a damn if he was a bastard. They’d treated him well, taught him things no prince ought to know.

Namely, how to cook and clean.

Perhaps that was why the easy domesticity with which the day progressed was so comfortable for him. Cooking, eating, retiring to the big bed, falling asleep with Eiara curled against the front of his body... It should have been strange. Awkward.

It wasn't.

He'd never lived with a woman this way. Never shared domestic tasks. In fact, he'd never shared anything with a lover before, besides his body and occasionally his bed.

It occurred to him briefly that this fact might have some import—that his pleasure in sharing everything with Eiara might represent some deeper emotional significance than simply lust, but again, he didn't pursue the thought.

He did, however, settle firmly into the knowledge that whatever happened—if they ever managed to get off this moon, and wherever they might end up after—he had no intention whatsoever of letting Eiara go.

***

Their first full day in the bunker was one he would remember vividly for the rest of his life.

It started with a lazy bout of lovemaking that began and ended before either party had fully awakened.

Loklan simply rolled toward her and pulled her beneath him, drawn by the silky heat of her body. Her legs parted and his morning erection seemed to find entrance of its own accord. With his face tucked into the crook of her neck and his weight pressing her into the mattress, he completed the act in a series of rocking thrusts that brought them both to a slow, shuddering orgasm.

Afterward, he dropped off to sleep again with Eria's fingers in his hair and her breath tickling his ear.

A few hours later he climbed out of bed and found her sitting naked at the big dining table, drinking a mug of tea and reading another agriculture book.

"Didn't they bring books on any other subjects?" he asked, stealing a sip from her mug.

"There were some children's books, too," she replied. "And history books. But I wanted to read about Eiarflower."

Loklan perched himself on the edge of the table and her gaze slid down his body. His cock immediately began to stir in response.

“You remembered how to read?”

“Mm-hm.”

He smiled. "And what did you learn?"

"Eiarflower takes years and years to cultivate. It can be used for powerful healing magics." She looked down. Fingered the edge of the page she'd been reading. "I wonder whose choice it was to name me after it."

Loklan was silent. Unsure what to say. He grappled with a spurt of anxiety, thinking of her family. Of the people, she couldn't remember who must love her.

The people she might remember one day. The people she might wish to find. To be with.

Instead of him.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

Her gaze returned to him, lingering on his thighs and then his sex, totally ignorant of his inner turmoil. "No."

Guilt pricked his conscience. He pushed it away. "Would you like to do so before we take care of item one?"

Green-brown eyes rose slowly to his face.

"No."

There was a moment of silence and burgeoning sexual tension, and then he murmured, "Stand."

She understood immediately. Like an intuition. The same one he felt, commanding her.

It was another game.

It felt…natural. Instinctive.

Exhilarating.

She licked her lips. Glanced again at his cock, which stood up quite stiffly now.

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

"Lick your fingers," he commanded darkly.

Her brows rose a little in surprise, but she lifted her hand and licked the pads of her first three fingers.

"More," he said, watching with predatory interest.

She stuck the fingers in her mouth and sucked them.

"Now touch yourself."

Swallowing audibly, she put her fingers between her legs.

He watched the slender digits slip into the hair there, and then between her little folds.

"Is it hard?" he asked softly.

Her answer was breathy and almost soundless. "What?"

"Your clit. Is it hard yet?"

Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth. She nodded.

"Were you waiting here at the table for me to come and fuck you?"

Her lip reappeared, mouth opening on a shudder of breath. "Yes."

Pleased, Loklan began to stroke himself. "Do you remember what I told you?"

"Not gentle," she repeated, watching his hand.

Goddess, this was going to be good.

"Put your fingers inside."

Eiara widened her stance a little, hand delving between her thighs, belly flexing.

"Now, show me how wet you are," he growled.

The slender fingers she extended to him were glossy and slick.

That was it. He grabbed her arm and spun her so fast she cried out. An instant later he had her pinned face-down over the table, one scaled hand splayed in the center of her back. The book fell to the floor, swept aside by her arm, small hand scrabbling for purchase on the broad oakwood surface. The mug skittered over the edge in the other direction and shattered on the floor as he kicked her legs apart and positioned himself against the lips of her sex.

"Say you love me," he commanded, startling her—startling himself.

She tried to look back at him and he growled low in warning.

"I love you," she gasped, jerking hard as he thrust inside.

The words made him feel wild.

He withdrew until he could see the edge of his glans peeking from the entrance to her body.

"Again," he demanded.

"I l-love you," she whimpered.

Loklan thrust so hard she sobbed and scraped her nails on the table. The impact of his hips rang loudly in the room. He pulled back and watched the skin of her ass flower red where he'd made contact.

"Say it again," he rasped, cock pulsing.

This time she could barely form the syllables, but he drank them down anyway, and then he made her say it again, over and over, riding her so roughly that the heavy table began to jump across the floor.

The first time she came he bit her shoulder and rode it out in a punishing rush. A few minutes later, when she began to shake and clench again, he stopped moving and watched the mouth of her sex clutching at the base of his cock, holding her hips so she couldn't rock back into him.

After that, he decided to see how many times he could make her come before he reached his own end.

What he found—with a dark, animal sort of delight—was that there seemed to be no limit to the number of times he could bring her.

After the fourth, she began to beg.

"No more," she cried, back bowing, legs trembling.

He'd aborted his own orgasm half a dozen times already. His testicles had begun to ache, drawn tight to his body.

But he'd fallen into a reptilian haze, focused on her responses—every clench, every cry. The way her insides fluttered and gushed in response to certain angles and alterations in his rhythm. The sheen of sweat on her back and the way her spine rippled when the next orgasm began to break.

After the sixth time, she started trying to get away. Loklan pinned her arms and sunk his teeth into the back of her neck. Rode her faster, battering her cervix and then shortening his thrusts so the head of his cock worried at that little pleasure spot just inside.

"Please," she gasped, bucking under him, pulling at his grip on her arms. "Loklan, please!"

He growled roughly against her neck, hearing the animal sound as if from far away. He felt like an animal. And his prey writhed deliciously beneath him, sex tightening again, sucking him in.

"Come, please come!" she sobbed, words breaking up into ragged, meaningless little sounds as her body seized a seventh time.

Loklan had read once that it was possible to drive a person mad with pleasure. Some small part of his mind was still lucid enough to wonder which of them would go mad first.

Or perhaps they were both lost already.

When Eiara came down from her seventh orgasm, she seemed to have lost the ability to speak, subsiding into a low, constant keening that filled him with enormous satisfaction. She'd stopped fighting too; her surrender was almost as sweet as her pleasure had been.

Despite his state of arousal, the violence drained away and he took his final pleasure in a tender haze, licking the marks where he'd bitten her and thrusting unhurriedly into her wetness.

At the very end, he heard himself whisper, "Say it again," in a voiceless rasp.

She moaned very softly, "...love you..." and Loklan bowed above her, white light bursting behind his eyelids, mouth open and gasping against the back of her shoulder as he poured his seed into her body.

She might have come again—her sex was almost painfully tight around his final thrusts—but he was so lost to it that later he would wonder if he hadn't blacked out.

When he could think again, he found himself on the floor with Eiara collapsed on top of him, her hair in his face and their combined wetness trickling across his upper thigh.

She was completely limp, one leg trapped between his, cheek pressed to his upper chest, arms flung across his own. They were both still gasping.

By the Goddess, he'd never had any woman so deeply and with such animal violence.

And she'd come from that! Over and over, she'd come! He could still feel her little sex clutching hungrily at his cock.

And hear her pleas…see her struggling to get away.

Shit. Damn.

His head began to clear at last.

Dread and shame gathered inside him.

Loklan lifted himself on trembling arms and looked down.

"Eiara," he managed hoarsely. "Are you alright?"

Her only response was a reedy little whine.

Oh no. Oh no…I've done it again…

"Look at me, sweetheart," he rasped.

She shook her head so minutely that he almost missed it.

Loklan made himself sit up, holding her against his chest when she would have slid off. He lifted her, rearranging her carefully across his lap.

Her face was flushed, her lips parted, hair damp and sticking to her cheeks.

His chest began to constrict with anxiety.

"Open your eyes, love."

Her eyelids cracked a little, but her gaze was unfocused.

"Have I broken you?" He tried to make it sound playful, but his heart was pounding.

Her lips moved; no sound came out.

Loklan put his ear to her mouth. "What was that?"

Two faint syllables formed in her throat.

"...killed me..."

And then her gaze focused laboriously on his face and her lips curved upwards at the corners.

His gushing sigh of relief ended in a low laugh. "I may have lost control of myself," he admitted. "Shall I begin apologizing profusely?"

Her head lolled a little in negation. "Kiss..." she breathed.

"You want a kiss?"

She managed a nod.

Amazed, swamped with unexpected gratitude, he kissed her with such care and tenderness that she hummed into his mouth.

"Good," she murmured when he let her go.

Loklan stroked her back. "Yeah? You mean the sex or the kiss?

"You," she sighed, eyes slipping closed.

He chuckled. "You had me worried there for a minute."

"Mmm..."

"Would you like to go back to bed?" he asked. "Or perhaps a bath?"

She nodded.

"Which?"

"Bed," she whispered.

Loklan rose carefully and carried her back to the room. She held on when he would have tucked her in.

"Cuddle," she demanded softly.

Loklan's heart did a funny sort of two-step. Which was stupid; he'd cuddled her countless times before.

But she'd never asked him to, he reasoned. And certainly not in that melting, pleasure-drunk voice. So he followed her down amongst the blankets and folded himself around her.

"Just for a little while," she mumbled.

"For as long as you like," he replied gruffly.

She sighed. "Loklan...love you..."

And though he laid very still and said nothing, Loklan's heart answered so loudly that he could no longer pretend it hadn't.

.

[snowbird-down]

Tempus Hiems (Pt 2)

General ~83ish/Garlemald spoilers, so proceed at your own risk!

---

Laelia didn’t really have much of an appetite, but she wasn’t about to turn down Pater’s minestrone. It was more watery than usual and he’d clearly cooked it with canned vegetables, but – it was still savory and tomato-y and a welcome blush of warmth. A taste of Locus Amoenus; preserving their ancestral recipes: that’s what the Belisars had prided themselves on not so long ago, and here they were now, on a decrepit rooftop, still stubbornly clinging to those traditions. Pater spooned the soup into a metal mug -- something he’d clearly looted because it was too utilitarian to have belonged to the restaurant -- and plonked it into her hands with a lopsided smile.

In truth she’d accepted the soup purely to earn that expression. Out of the three of them, Pater looked the worst: his coat was tattered, and a linen wrap now covered two of his eyes, leaving only the right exposed. Verina was dirty and bruised but generally no worse for wear; Tacitus had earned himself a gnarly new facial scar, still raw, but the distance in his eyes suggested that his true wounds were less tangible.

“Sorry it’s not quite up to code, Sport,” Pater said, his good eye twinkling. “We went through the fresh stuff ages ago.”

“Hey, at least you have food,” Laelia said, with a small laugh.

“Why do you think we’ve defended this place so hard?” Verina asked. “Right now we’re more wealthy than the Emperor. We lost about everything in the kitchen, but the storage? We still have all the storage.”

Laelia’s eyes widened. The restaurant’s kitchen had always been a little cramped, leaving them to store all the non-perishables in the basement. If they’d managed to somehow hide the fact that they even had a basement, that meant that right now they were sitting on barrels of wine and olive oil, racks of salted meats, sacks of rice, sugar, and flour, and whole palates of canned goods.

“Nobody’s tried to raid you?” she asked in wonder.

“Oh they’ve tried,” Tacitus said, without turning. For now he was content to hover over the little stove they’d fashioned from a ceruleum bottle. A portable radio droned under its breath beside him. “Turns out Papa’s aim hadn’t rusted even after all these years.”

“So they stopped trying pretty quick.” Verina smirked. “Afterwards, I was able to start negotiating. Anyone who could bring us ceruleum or ammo got paid with food in exchange.”

Laelia lifted the mug to her sister in salute. “Only you could put your law degree to use during the apocalypse.”

Verina rolled a shoulder shyly.

“So you’re in contact with other survivors?” Laelia asked.

“Well…we were.” Pater spooned up his own mug and sat down heavily by the fire. “But little by little they lost ground to the Glory-Be’s and their machines, and most folk fled the city. We started having to look for ammo and ceruleum ourselves.”

“Is that where everyone else is?”

Pater and Verina looked at each other. Tension suddenly coiled through Tacitus.

“We…haven’t seen Marco since the scream,” came Pater’s quiet response, his gaze in the bottom of his cup. “Your Nonna sent him out to get some groceries that night and that was the last we ever saw of him. She was the one who first volunteered to start getting ceruleum for us once our supply was on fumes -- grabbed a kitchen knife and made the trek to and from Tapper’s Den countless times. Not sure what finally got her but one night she simply never returned. So then your grandfather went – insisted – but I knew he’d never get far on that leg, and he didn’t. After two trips he didn’t return either.”

The cup fell from Laelia’s hands.

Verina saw the look in her eyes and glanced away. “When Papa didn’t return with any ceruleum either, we finally ran out,” came her quiet offering. “It was a little while before we could get more, and…Mater got sick in the meantime.”

Tacitus punched the rooftop – a single shotgun blast of emotion. Laelia started. She’d never once, in all her life, seen her oldest brother lose his temper.

“If I’d had access to the hospital – to a clinic, a pharmacy – anything! Pneumonia. It was fucking pneumonia! A single bottle and she’d still be here with us, but I couldn’t do even that for her!”

“He and Pater searched everywhere,” Verina murmured. “And came back like…”

“Come on now, no brooding.” Pater forced a smile. “You saved me, Tas.”

Tacitus’ head vanished between his shoulders. “I couldn’t save either of your eyes.” 

“Good thing I had three!”

Tacitus did not respond.

Dead. Mother and Marco, Nonna and Papa, all of them…dead. Wasting away in the rime or buried in it, or wandering the streets like a corpse, bereft of agency and thought. Laelia fell forward and dry heaved.

Dead. Dead. Half her family, dead.

The last Laelia had seen her family whole was that fateful night. She was still in the capitol recovering from the wound she’d earned evacuating Baelsar’s Wall. The Legion had given her leave to return home, to recover while working at the restaurant. So she had. In those quiet evenings, she’d managed to take the first steps towards repairing her relationships with them all. It almost felt like – at some point in the future, anyroad – they could all be a normal family again.

But then came the Mad Prince and his purge. They came for the Populares in the night, and while Laelia was but newly-recruited, she didn’t want to take the chance that she could lead royal bootlickers to the Cucina. Instead she fled, raced for the hangars, stole the Delphinus, flew free. And with that, Laelia jen Belisar became a viator, undoubtedly to the shame of her family.

She’d been off doing fuck all in Eorzea while they suffered here – had been racing scrap heaps in the Hinterlands and fucking around with elezen nobles while Garlemald crumbled and burned. Her family had needed her and she’d abandoned them.

She never had the chance to apologize for her behavior in her youth, for all the things she said and didn’t say; did and didn’t do. For the trouble she’d caused. That night, she’d fled in such haste that she couldn’t tell anyone she loved them. Now she never could.

“Hey.” Father’s voice, soft and rumbly, jolted her from her tears. “You came back, Sport. That’s all that matters. Gives us hope that Irene will show up again too. All that matters now is that we’re together. From here we can make things right.”

“Make them right fucking how?” Laelia managed, her voice cracking.

Verina leaned in. “Word has it that Emperor Varis is still alive. Many people have reported hearing him over the radio. The Ist still fights in his name, and the Xth is on its way to bolster them. Together they’ll have enough strength to retake the city.”

“With…with what? Where are they getting their ceruleum? Or their food? The legions aren’t coming, you guys. That’s why Eorzea moved in.”

All three of them straightened.

“The savages are here?!” Tacitus demanded. “Of course. Of course they are! The moment we show weakness--”

“Tas, it’s not like that--” Laelia began.

“Look at all this!” He swept a hand out to indicate the city – to indicate the unholy tower behind him – his eyes blazing like lit ceruleum. “What do you think all this is? It’s magic, Lee! The savages laid this curse on us!”

“Will you shut up a second and listen to me?! Where do you think I’ve been all this time? I’ve been living with Eorzeans, they’d never do something like--”

“You just said they’re on our doorstep.”

“They’re here to help, asshole!”

She flinched the moment the words left her tongue; he flinched as though she’d struck him. Here they were, screaming at each other, when Tacitus had always been her best friend. Verina stared; Pater wilted.

“I think…we could all use some more soup,” Pater said at last. “And maybe a good bottle of marsala. Verina? Will you show your sister how to get into the basement?”

“Uh…sure. Yeah.” Verina stepped down from her roost and offered her rifle to Tacitus. He didn’t immediately take it, baleful eyes lost in the stove’s little flame.

Laelia bid Brutus to stay and rose to follow her sister.

But that numb, disconnected feeling she’d gotten while walking through the city had returned, and it ate her emotions whole.

[coolhearted]

  HER LIPS are warm —- that's the first thing he takes note of once the two of of them have closed the distance required to finally, properly kiss. Usually, warmth burns his freezing skin, it brings forth only pain, but he believes that the coldness of his own have an effect akin for her in turn. She doesn't move away however, and thus neither does he. Her arms wrap around Victor's metallic shoulders, and he can feel her fingers come to rest on the back of his head. He cups her face with a pair of unfeeling, robotic hands, and he presses his lips more firmly against hers.

  It's as though the indistinguishable mess that the world is, finally clears up; it's as though everything makes sense again. Nothing has ever been as confusing to him as life has been these past few years. What is the point of all of this? Everything has become irrelevant, miniscule and dull. Objects, people, animals: they have only been what they quite literally are, instead of what they are usually seen as. Sacks of meat, material objects, pointless lives that don't matter in the bigger picture.

  Koonak however, has been the only one that's made things worth it throughout her absence. The boy isn't just a plain human being, but someone with a soul, someone the anti-villain genuinely cares for. And lately, due to not only him, but several different causes, the world's been slowly regaining its color.

  Nora is the one to make everything come alive at last. Like the last finishing touch on a large painting, her kiss, her love, has everything become more relevant once more. She makes him not feel like a criminal or a monster, but simply the person he truly is underneath, or the person he once was, at the very least. Victor Fries is still alive, and he does care, he does have emotions, his life isn't pointless and neither is anything else. Not really.

  If anyone asks though, this is not the case —- a part of him will urge him to remain cautious and cold towards strangers and enemies for a while longer, but he'll need not hide any of this to her. She chose him, she came back, she doesn't mind, and therefore he'll give her his heart. He'll give her the real him.

  She deserves it, she deserves to feel loved and appreciated after being handcuffed to a man who's treated her so poorly for years. She deserves the truth, she deserves the gentleness and affections, the poetic words and the unarguable sense of safety she says she feels with Freeze. He'll shield her from any and all pain to the best of his abilities, he'll respect her and adore her for as long as she'll have him. He wants nothing more than for her to be safe and happy. How that's achieved though, is her choice to make entirely —- she's free to leave if she ever thinks it best, or she can stay if she finds this is what she wants.

  The chaste kiss doesn't last nearly as long as either of them would like, for the temperature of each other's skin ends up eventually overwhelming the nerve endings of the other. When they pull away, her hands move to rest on his shoulders. Victor opens his dark eyes and looks at her, showing the vulnerability and raw depth of his emotions for her in them. "I love you too," he tells her, softly, as though it's a secret. Her following smile has his non-existant heart melting into a puddle all over again.

  He smiles back.

[roxybefab]

Dating Bill Cipher Includes;

At first he freaks out, he’s never experienced these kind of emotions and has no idea how to act

Eventually he just does things in the heat of the moment and he realizes he has a small liking to you, which just so happens to not be platonic in any way

At first, expect strange gifts from him

Like some wolves molars or the heart of a Multibear

But eventually he starts giving you a few more ‘normal’ things

As in, chocolates or flowers

He doesn’t understand what the hell gets humans so excited about sugary treats or plants that die two days later

But he only does it to make you happy

He also happens to sneak into your dreams.

A lot

Now, Bill tries his best not to be possessive of you but it’s hard for him when he’s never felt these emotions

He acts really yandere like and gets jealous easily, only hurting those that you’re fine with him hurting

You have a tight leash on who he hurts and make sure that he never kills them, usually telling him to only scare them to leave you alone

He gets carried away and carves stuff on them

Or breaks a couple of bones

Surprisingly, the guy is really insecure

If you don’t remind him that you love him at least four times in a day, he gets angry

Which then results in you getting angry

Which ends up in an argument

You always win, however

Since he knows you love him and he’s just over dramatic

If you call him a dorito he gets really annoyed and snaps back

“Hey, Dorito!”

“Hey, Meat sack!”

Yeahhhhhhh,

You stopped calling him that

He lets you wear his top hat, claiming that it looks good on you

Did I mention makeovers?

You put mascara and eye liner on his eye before putting some orange eye shadow

You mostly do it when he sleeps though

It annoys him so much when he gets summoned and the creature laughs at him or thinks he’s a joke

You better hide or he’ll be giving you nightmares for months

You think his human form is pretty cute and convince him to spend time with you at the mall to make other girls jealous

It works

If only they knew he was a dream demon

He thinks it’s worth it because he can eat with a mouth and not his eye, which looks pretty weird to him

“Wow! It’s human soda!”

You need to stop him from drinking too much soda because his body won’t be able to resist all the sugar

He’s also possessing your body multiple times, especially when on your period or some guy is being a creep

Unlike Dipper, he doesn’t push you out of your own body

In other words, he simply lets you stay in your body but is controlling it for you

You comunícate with him through your mind when he’s possessing your body

Anyways, if by any chance you’re in public and want to spill your thoughts or opinions to someone, you speak to him through your mind as well

There have been times, however, where someone stares at you as you stare off into space

People think you’re crazy but you honestly don’t care

Official Masterlist

Other Masterlist

[takerfoxx]

happyandstupidotter submitted:

Oh man, this took me long. Long story short, I had a lot of work and I wanted to have time to read the chapter again and review. So here we are 2 weeks later.

Before I start I want to talk about that dream Oktavia was having. Even though it was quite simple and straight forward it reminded me of Stuff TM.

I don’t know if you know about this one fun fact, but one of the interpretations of Kyoko’s witch version was that she was named Ophelia as a reference to the character with the same name from Hamlet. In Hamlet, Ophelia fell in the water and embraced death by letting herself drown.

Hamlet!Ophelia’s death has some similarities with Kyoko’s first witch out in the PSP game. In that route, after Sayaka witches out and Oktavia is killed, Kyoko survives, but witches out after realizing that Sayaka is indeed dead and that she wouldn’t be able to escape having an horrible death. So, we have Hamlet!Ophelia letting herself drown to stop being a tool being used by Hamlet to meet his own selfish ends and we have Kyoko letting herself fall to despair after Sayaka/Oktavia’s death to be free of the circle of suffering she found herself in after she made the contract. I quite like this interpretation of Witch!Ophelia’s name.

And the other thing it reminded me of was of the special ending after episode 8 in which Kyoko reaches out for a drowning Sayaka. Ahhh, love that ending.

Anyways. Plot.

I’ll be serious with you, I read Kazumi many years ago and I barely remember it. I had zero memories of a dead girl and clones of said dead girl for instance. Even though that’s the case, I am enjoying the clones very much. They are weirdos full stop, but that is what makes them charming. In their own way. That and the fact that their simple existence makes Kyoko think hard about what it means to like two girls who share one body and how she should approach it to not fuck up things with the girl that is currently driving the meat sack. Soul vapor sack. You get it.

Seriously, this is the most complex and angsty love triangle EVER. I love it. My heart was full and content with all the KyoTavi content from this chapter, thank you so much.

Since we are in the love subject… April has a girlfriend, huh? Kyoko and I shared the same shark reaction to that information. I was so not expecting it. Man, I already love April. The entire Kyoko-April conversation was GOLD from start to end. April has trouble expressing facial emotions that are deemed socially acceptable, but she’s clearly great. I’m excited to learn more about other calendar sisters.

I’m also excited for Mami to get proper professional help at some point in this arc. Or at least her meds back. Fingers crossed for the people in the city to have something for her.

And get Kyoko her cowboy hat. The poor girl will start dreaming of cowboy hats soon if that doesn’t happen.

Thanks for the chapter! It was great reading it twice.

I was wondering when I would hear from you, lol.

Y’know something funny? I of course know who the original Ophelia is (English major, son of an English teacher, grandson of a theater set producer) and even made a reference to it in Ophelia’s introduction in WN, but until you explicitly pointed it out just now, I don’t think I ever consciously made the connection between Ophelia’s death and the frequent motif of Kyoko drowning that keeps popping up in my stories. I mean, you’d think it be obvious, seeing how the WN Ophelia is terrified of water, Kyoko and Sayaka’s special ED literally shows them drowning together (which is what Oktavia’s dream was referencing), Kyoko canonically can’t swim, and I later want to also have the RD have an aversion to water as well, but that was mainly to have her be a foil to the water-loving Oktavia. I mean, I might have noted the connection somewhere in WN and referenced it, but if I did then I forgot immediately. So chalk it up to another unintentional but very appropriate connection. 

Kazumi Magica had its ups and downs, but the (SPOILERS!) big twist was interesting. Basically, Kazumi found out that she was actually a clone of Michiru, who had turned into a witch and was killed by her friends, so her friends tried using witch flesh (which I guess they could get somehow) and magic to try to clone her. Kazumi herself came out all right, but at one point she discovers where they were keeping the failed clones, and a fight ensues in which she’s forced to kill the clones. And I always felt that the clones got a raw deal, so I stuck them in RD, had them discover the original Michiru, and form a family with her.

The love triangle was one of those happy accidents. The original plan was for Oktavia to simply turn back into Sayaka at some point, kind of like how Candeloro became Mami in IM. But I realized that I had spent so much time building up Oktavia as her own character and made her identity issues such an integral part of the story that doing that would be kind of a slap in the face. Then, when I was writing Restless and had everyone turn into their opposite selves at the end of their respective dreams, I realized that this would be a great way to introduce the original Sayaka as a character separate from Oktavia and see where that takes us. And as it turns out, where it takes us is ANGST!

April was honestly so much fun to write. I’ve talked a lot about how I like to beings that are usually treated as disposable (clones, the undead, aliens, AI’s, and so on) and humanize them as much as possible. Like, okay, to me, introducing unsettling, uncanny valley clones with strong Stepford Wife vibes to creep the characters out is one thing, but I feel that once you actually got to know them and realized that they’re also people with their own lives, it kind of changes how you view them. Having April have a girlfriend was a big part of that.

And Mami getting some seriously much-needed help was a long time coming. Hell, they all need it. 

Also, obligatory:

You ever get the feeling that the people who made the Madoka Magica Online character cards never actually watched the show?

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Seven

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Paladin Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, yawned loudly right before he took the shot. The radstag looked up, alerted to his presence, but it was already too late for the beast.

  Danse lumbered down to the water's edge, hauling the body up onto the withered grass and then drawing his combat knife. As messy as field dressing creatures could be, Danse found himself soothed by the memorized motions. He wondered idly whether he could have been happy doing something like this. Just hunting to support his own needs, staking a claim on some forlorn piece of land and slowly shaping it into a home, maybe even starting a family...

  He almost nicked his thumb due to his inattention and Danse grunted, a little irritated to have caught himself daydreaming about a more domestic existence. You're a member of the Brotherhood of Steel , he scolded, start acting like it! Imagining fake lifetimes was reserved for those who hadn't sworn the Creed, dedicating their lives to carrying out the will of their Elder and honoring the tenets of the Brotherhood.

  Theirs not to make reply, theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.

  Danse's familiarity with the task made quick work of butchering the animal, the paladin rolling everything neatly into the bedraggled hide he had peeled off the beast. The inedible bits of the animal he buried, not wanting to draw any predatory attention to the site. 

  With the lumpy, makeshift sack slung over his shoulder, the paladin trekked back up the hill to the station. Preston waved at him from the fortified wall and the paladin saluted out of habit. 

  Danse found himself powerless to stop his smile when a freckled face popped out from the doorway of the station, Matthew staring down at him. The child's fear seemed to have evaporated overnight, replaced by the verbose curiosity that so many of his age group eagerly employed. It probably helped that Danse had left his power armor behind the station.

  "Whatd'ja get?" The boy asked, skittering down the stairs.

  "Radstag. Notoriously gamey, but ultimately acceptable for consumption." Danse replied as he rinsed off his hands and knife, surprised when Matt nodded solemnly.

  "My papa and older brothers get them sometimes. He says I can't see them shoot one yet though. When I'm older I can come along." Matthew squatted beside the paladin, watching intently as Danse unrolled the pelt and separated out the different cuts of meat. Some would benefit immensely from being aged, but out in the field there was little chance of a reliably-cooled environment. 

  Danse frowned. He had been hoping for smaller game, like some mole rats. He hadn't wanted to pass up the prolific meat the larger beast offered, but now he felt a bit foolish for impulsively going after a creature they may not be able to consume entirely before it spoiled. He couldn't spend all day cooking or preserving it either, he had promised Preston he would finish the wall--

  "Good news!" Garvey called, a spring in his step as he approached the two. "Matt's folks are coming 'round to collect him as soon as possible. I'd expect them by noon, if not earlier."

  "Does your family need food, Matthew?" Danse asked the boy bluntly, gesturing down at the meat. 

  "I got three brothers and four sisters, Mister Danse sir." Matt said by way of reply, his eyes a little wide. "We grow some stuff and my mama makes pretty things to sell, but food's kinda' tight." A flush rose on his face. "We're not poor though! Not poor. We have a place to live, and clean water." He continued defiantly.

  Danse was stunned silent for a moment, and Preston cleared his throat. "You need a hand with that, Paladin?" 

  "I...yes. Thank you, Lieutenant." Danse mumbled, struggling to gather his thoughts. "I may have bitten off more than I could chew as far as resources go. If you would...just...uh, wrap the…"

  "You want them to have the decent stuff, or the larger stuff?" Preston asked simply, crouching down.

  The paladin grimaced. "The whole damn thing, but I'm certain they wouldn't accept it." He muttered incredulously under his breath, " eight children." 

  "They're lucky. A lot of times, pregnancy doesn't really work out so well." Preston rumpled Matthew's hair. "How about you decide, big man. You want the whole deer, minus what we eat for breakfast?"

  "What, really? All of it?!" The boy asked excitedly, looking up at Danse like he was waiting for confirmation. Danse nodded jerkily, unsure of exactly which emotion was choking him at the moment. "This will make my mama wicked happy! I hear her cry sometimes about food. S'why I went to the water place, I was tryin' to scavenge for stuff like my big brothers do."

  It was hardly Danse's first time encountering a family that was low on resources. He had grown up a scavenger himself, alone and hungry. The Capital Wasteland had been rife with desperate people who were willing to try their luck against fully armored BoS troops. Danse couldn't even begin to count the amount of times hostile situations had erupted due to the Brotherhood sitting pretty atop a mountain of supplies. 

  "I'm glad it'll be put to good use, then." He managed to say, his fists balled up tightly. 

  At least right here, right now , he could help.

  …

  Danse trudged across the lot yet again, dragging a massive fallen tree behind him. Thanks to his power armor, the paladin was a machine of industry when it came to building the remaining two sides of barricades. Backhand was just grateful that he had waited until after eight o'clock to begin. Her sleep had been poor, filled with dreams of chasing after Shaun.

  Danse worked almost silently aside from noises of exertion, and it seemed as though his mind was elsewhere. If Backhand had learned anything during her brief stint of traveling with the paladin it was that when he pondered, he appeared to devote his whole body to the task.

  "He's really somethin', General." Preston commented. "I mean, just look at him go! If more folks in the Brotherhood were like him, I feel as if the tide would finally start to turn for the Commonwealth."

  "You're not wrong." Backhand agreed, wiping the sweat off her forehead. After Danse had assured her that he was more than up to the task of finishing the fence, she had decided to start planting the crops. So here she was, General of the Minutemen, up to her elbows in dirt, tato seeds and corn kernels while Matt 'supervised'. "I think he likes helping."

  "Kindred spirits?" Preston teased. 

  "Maybe so!" She laughed, flicking his knee with dirt-covered fingers. "I think the Commonwealth could always use more people willing to lend a hand, though."

  "The Minutemen certainly can, even if the rest of the Commonwealth wants to stick its head in the sand." The radio on Preston's lapel crackled to life and he dashed off, practically bounding up the steps to the station so he could get a little higher and clear the signal. " Lieutenant Preston Garvey here… "

  "I hope my parents come soon." Matt said quietly. He toed at a mound of dirt, his expression troubled. "D'ya think they'll be mad at me?"

  Backhand grimaced. "I doubt it. They'll be happy that you're okay. You're really lucky, y'know."

  "I know." Matt continued staring at his feet, "I just didn't want my mama to cry anymore. I wanted to fix it."

  Backhand raised her hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving him a little shake. "Hey, sometimes we're just not big enough to fix stuff by ourselves. Sometimes we're not strong enough, even when we think we are. But that's how you learn, right? So you gotta' pick yourself up and try to help where you can." The little boy still looked dejected. "I'll tell you what, Matt. As General of the Minutemen, I'm giving you a field promotion to Intel Lieutenant."

  "Intel Lieutenant?" Matthew echoed in confusion, his eyes wide. 

  "Yep. You're observant and resourceful, excellent qualities in an intelligence operative. I need you to keep your family safe, and that includes keeping you safe. A smart intelligence operative always ensures the safety of the people around them. Can I count on you, Lieutenant?" Backhand asked, wiping her hand off on her jeans and extending it to the boy.

  "Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, I can do that!" Matthew puffed his chest out a little, small fingers grappling her own when he shook her hand. "What's my first order, General ma'am?" 

  "Your first order will be to work in tandem with Preston and secure the perimeter. You walk the inside beat, he walks the outside." Backhand instructed, barely stifling her laugh at the child's stiff salute. 

  "Matthew?" An unfamiliar voice called, a thin woman slipping through the doorway Danse had left in the fence. "Matthew!"

  "Mama!" Matthew hollered, bolting across the settlement to fling himself into his mother's arms. The woman sank to her knees, holding her son close and crying into his hair as he clung to her.

  Backhand's throat ached and she looked away, blinking away the tears she wanted to shed at the reunion. She noticed that Danse had stopped mid-motion, the paladin appearing to silently watch the scene unfold.

  Preston trundled down the stairs, his smile kind as Mrs. O'Brian tried to thank him. "All part of the job, ma'am. We were happy to help." He assured her. "Really, you can thank that curmudgeon Rob. Without him telling the General about the super mutants, she never would have gone to Weston."

  Backhand rose from the dirt, brushing her knees off and meandering forward. Mrs. O'Brian launched into a new wave of thank-yous which Backhand attempted to graciously deflect, and in the midst of their conversation Mr. O'Brian arrived. He was wheezing a bit from the climb, freckled face red with exertion.

  "Matthew Amadeus O'Brian!" He thundered, and Matt lunged for him.

  "Papa!" The little boy cheered, hugging his father's leg. 

  "You had us out of our minds , young man!" Mr. O'Brian scolded, the relief in his eyes belying his sharp tone. "Don't you dare wander off like that again!"

  "I won't, I promise!"

  "We seriously can't thank you enough, we...we've been so worried ." Mrs. O'Brian daubed at her eyes with her sleeve. 

  Backhand caught her arm and carefully took her aside, speaking in undertones when she said, "Matt told us that he was trying to scavenge like his older siblings did. Apparently he overheard some discussions about food scarcity."

  Mrs. O'Brian froze guiltily, looking back at her son and husband. "I...well, the winter was so hard , General, and caps have been tight because the corn wouldn't pollinate properly. We'll get by, though. We always have." She said staunchly. 

  Backhand cocked her head towards the motionless Danse. "My friend Danse butchered a radstag earlier today. We ate our fill this morning, and Matt already promised us that you'd be willing to take the rest. It'll just go to waste, otherwise." She reasoned, watching the other woman's eyes glisten with tears all over again.

  "Oh General, we...I mean, if you're sure -?" 

  "Absolutely. Myself and the paladin will be going our separate ways from Lieutenant Garvey today, and that much meat will definitely spoil before we reach our next destination. Please, I insist."

  "I thought the Brotherhood of Steel wasn't willing to help civilians?" Mrs. O'Brian whispered cautiously, her eyes flitting to Danse.

  "I can't speak for anyone else, but my friend Danse is a cut above your average grunt." Backhand said proudly. "Once this settlement gets up and running I hope to establish a caravan between here and Starlight. If we can get the logistics squared away, hopefully that will make trade a little easier. I can't promise anything, but-"

  "I can already tell better days are coming." Mrs. O'Brian said softly, her hand clasping Backhand's own. "Now that the Minutemen are back...well, it gives folks hope again, and sometimes that's all you need." She then waved Danse over.

  His power armor grinding loudly, Danse obligingly approached the two women. "Citizen." He addressed Mrs. O'Brian with a polite nod once he was within earshot.

  "I wanted to personally thank you, Paladin Danse." The older woman announced, her voice wavering slightly. "For finding my son, a-and for the food."

  "Oh, you don't...er, thanks are not necessary, citizen." Danse floundered, rubbing the back of his neck. "A good Brotherhood of Steel soldier knows that their responsibilities lie with the people under their protection." His smile was slow, and a bit awkward. "I am simply glad that we discovered Matthew before any serious harm could be done, though I have to apologize for the cut above his eye."

  "Matt was hiding in a wall when we entered the facility, and we thought he was a hound. We may have gone through the wall." Backhand explained with a wince. 

  "The super mutants would have done much worse. Hopefully that little scrape helps him learn." Mrs. O'Brian brushed off their apology ruefully. "He's very fond of getting into trouble. I call him my little wanderer."

  "If you'll excuse me." Danse murmured, offering the older woman a salute and then turning to Backhand. "I should be done by fifteen hundred hours or thereabouts. At that point, I believe it would be prudent for us to return."

  "Are you sure? You're already burning your grease, Paladin." Backhand pointed out worriedly. 

  Danse shook his head. "Paladin Brandis will have reported in by now. I can get my armor serviced at the base."

  "Alright, I'll have everything locked and loaded." 

  The paladin nodded and headed back towards the framework of a wall that he had constructed. "God, he is tall ." Mrs. O'Brian muttered. "And stiff." She seemed to remember herself after a moment. "Uh, anyway! We really appreciate everything that you've done for us, General. Everything . If there's anything you need, or...even if you're just in the area, you're more than welcome to stop by. We'd love to have you visit!" She said, loudly enough so that Danse could hear her. 

  He simply nodded again and heaved a log up into his arms, then slammed it down over his armored knee to snap it in half. The bark essentially exploded off the trunk, bits and pieces landing on the ground as Danse shoved the crude beam into the dirt. Where the first half of the wall had been constructed with various scrap, the second half was much more reliant on raw lumber. It looked more like a stockade wall than anything.

  "Oh." Mrs. O'Brian said weakly. "Are they all...like him?"

  "I imagine some of them are way worse." Backhand chuckled. "We'll leave him to it. Let's get you that radstag."

  Mr. O'Brian was a touch more reserved than his wife, but he still expressed a wild amount of gratitude to Preston and Backhand. The entire time Matt was glued to his leg. "I'm just happy to know that there's still damn decent people out here." The older man remarked, looking a little misty as he secured the pelt over his shoulder. "We owe you a lot, General. You can count on us if the Minutemen ever need help."

  "I'll hold you to it, Mr. O'Brian. Lieutenant Matt." Backhand inclined her head to the little boy, who saluted her. "It's in your hands now, soldier. I'm depending on you. I know you're up to the task." 

  "Uh huh." Matthew replied, sounding a bit breathless. He scrambled away from his father right before they departed, fumbling with the knotted bandanna around his hand. "Here, General! I gotta' give you your luck back before I go." He said seriously, unwinding the cloth and returning it to Backhand. Without waiting for a reply, he then rushed at Danse. "Mister Danse! Hey, Mister Danse!" 

  Danse halted where he was. "Yes, Matthew?" He replied.

  "I wanted to say thank you. And I'm sorry I thought you were scary before. You're not that scary." Matthew said plainly. "You're nice even though you look scary."

  Danse arched a brow. "A charitable allowance, citizen. Maybe I'll bump into you again someday. In the meantime, try to stay out of mischief and listen to your parents. You are…" Danse paused, his expression sad. "You're very lucky to have them, Matthew."

  "I know!" The boy answered brightly, wrapping himself around Danse's greave in a makeshift hug before skipping back to his parents. "Bye, Mister Danse!"

  Danse raised one large gauntlet. "Goodbye, Matthew."

  …

  There was no easy way to say it. Danse was in a slump . It felt like the closer he got to the airport, the harder it was to force himself to keep moving forward. He doubted the amount of labor he had done earlier was helping matters, as the joints in his armor protested vigorously with every step. 

  When Knight Vega tentatively suggested that they find shelter for the night, Danse hated the relief that flooded his body. "The next suitable structure we come across." He promised, knowing that she must have spotted the radstorm he had been tracking on the horizon for several hours. 

  Steaming rain began to fall as Vega pointed out a ramshackle-looking lean-to, butted up alongside a collapsed house. "There, c'mon!" She said urgently, running through the tall grass alongside the road. 

  "Vega-!" Danse began to protest, lumbering along in her wake. Green lightning split the sky in the distance, the odd warbling thunder that accompanied radstorms rolling shortly thereafter. "Knight Vega, you don't know whether that's inhabited! "

  "I don't care!" Backhand retorted, shoving open the door with her shoulder and vanishing inside. 

  Danse tried to enter through the doorway, but it was too narrow. "Dammit Vega, you need to think your trajectory through. Don't just go running off whenever you get an idea in your head." He scolded, swapping his rifle to his right hand and flicking on the tact-light as he sidestepped gingerly through the door instead.

  The beam wavered in the darkness, playing over the battered walls and half-tarpaulin roof. It did appear that the tiny structure was deserted, and Danse wasn't sure if he should be even more cautious. What could have caused the previous inhabitants to depart? 

  Backhand stood in the middle of the room, her arms folded around herself as she shivered. "C'mon, get in here. The wind is picking up and I'm freezing ." She complained.

  Danse attempted to oblige, nearly cracking his head open on one of the ceiling trusses in his haste. The paladin grimaced, ducking and then carefully closing the door behind him. "Better?" He asked, a little irritated with her demanding attitude. 

  "Y-Yes." She replied, her voice sharp. She immediately began stripping her armor off, as well as the Vault suit beneath it. 

  Danse flinched, turning his head away. "Vega, will you-"

  "Please just...just give me a second." She begged. 

  Danse's brow furrowed, and the paladin shot her a look. Thunder rumbled in the distance and...was that a flinch? "Vega, are you-"

  "Just give me a second! " Backhand cried, probably louder than she had intended. Danse took a reflexive step back, his gauntlet clattering against the wall. "I'm sorry, I...I'm sorry, Danse. Paladin." She apologized after a second, floundering with her greaves. "It's the rain, I can't...it makes me feel sick to my stomach." 

  "You should have said something earlier, Vega." Danse chided gently. "We could have found a more defensible position."

  "I thought if we moved quick, we might make it back to the airport before it hit." Her motions were jerky as she yanked the Vault suit down, unlacing her boots as an afterthought. "But now we're stuck here for the night."

  "At least the roof appears to be sound." Danse tried to look on the bright side of their incarceration, and tried to not look at her as she stripped to her smallclothes. He was dry aside from his head, the gorget seal at his neck saw to that. But Backhand had no such luck. "I'll put my armor in front of the door to barricade it." Danse offered after a moment, taking the opportunity to turn his back to her. He didn't get a reply, and he honestly wasn't sure if he had even expected one in the first place. 

  Danse emerged from the armor, stepping down and back smoothly before he urged the hatch closed once more. He then popped the fusion core out and tucked it into his utility belt. He knew he was being overly cautious and performative when it came to giving Knight Vega her privacy, but at this point he was doing this for his own sanity as well.

  After a pregnant pause, he heard her shift her weight. "Okay, I'm decent." She mumbled.

  The scent of lantern oil wafted past his nose and a light flared up behind him, turning his shadow into a pitch black silhouette on the wall. Danse took a gamble and slowly turned around.

  Vega had thrown on a shirt that reached her mid-thigh. That was her idea of decent? She scuttled around bent nearly double, spreading her bedroll without even bothering to clear the floor beneath it. "Vega." Danse addressed her quietly, then a bit louder when she failed to respond, " Vega . You'll do serious damage to your back if you sleep so rough. Take a minute to prepare."

  "I-" Backhand's eyes were wild when they met his own. For a moment, Danse wasn't certain she knew who he was, or if she even saw him . 

  "Knight," He paused, clearing his throat and then mumbling, "Elizabeth." Saying her actual name, the name she had given Matthew, felt oddly inappropriate. "You're alright." He assured her calmly. "You're fine. We have shelter, light and food. You're alright."

  "I know ." Backhand retorted. "I-I know. And don't call me that." 

  "What?" Danse asked in confusion. "I apologize, I didn't mean to-"

  "Paladin, please ." Backhand's eyes had gone fierce, pale blue snapping in the light from the lantern. "I'm not his fucking Beth anymore." She practically snarled the words.

  "I didn't call you Beth. I called you Elizabeth." Danse replied, trying to gentle his tone.

  "Oh. I... God , Danse, I'm so sorry. I don't mean to be all…" she trailed off helplessly, making a vague gesture. "I didn't sleep well and getting sick from the rain wouldn't help. We used the last of the Rad-X for you."

  Ah . Danse should have known. This wasn't about her getting damp or being uncomfortable, it was the usual resource scarcity that had her on edge. "It'll be alright, Knight Vega. We're only a few hours out from the airport." He hesitated, unsure if he should continue. "I apologize for using your first name. I was unaware that it was a raw subject for you."

  "It's not , not really. I just...he used to call me Beth and I'm not that person anymore. It's been so long since I heard Elizabeth that I must have just assumed you said Beth. I'm sorry, Danse." She was wringing her hands nervously.

  "Logan." Danse murmured.

  "What?"

  "Fair's fair, right? My first name is Logan. I regret that I have no nickname to give you."

  …

  Backhand's eyes widened. Logan . It was a good name. It suited him. She mouthed it once to herself. "Don't encourage me to give you a nickname." She joked, aware that she probably sounded a little too reedy. "I can guarantee you'll regret it."

  Danse's eyes crinkled good-naturedly at the edges when he smiled down at her. "I don't doubt it," He allowed, repeating, "but fair is fair, Knight."

  "I don't like the radstorms at all." Vega blurted out, a blush staining her face. "The thunder, it's wrong and I hate it."

  "Understandable, Knight. The noise is highly unsettling." Danse had her gather her sleeping bag back up, the paladin using a spare piece of plywood that he found by the door like a makeshift plow to shove the debris off to the side. "There," He said finally after he was satisfied with the state of the floor, " now you can lay down. Without worrying about tetanus or a herniated disc." He teased.

  "The Brotherhood will not forget your sacrifice." Backhand ribbed in reply, smoothing the wrinkles out of her bedroll.  

  "And this is how I'm promoted to star paladin." Danse said dryly. "For my dedication to the art of proper slumber in the field." He shook his head ruefully, unrolling his own sleeping bag and spreading it lengthwise at the base of his armor. He was blocking the door, Backhand realized after a second. Like the immobile armor wasn't enough!

  "Hey, come over here." She requested boldly, patting the cement beside her. 

  Vega didn't expect him to obey, the larger man dragging his bedroll parallel with hers after a moment of thought. "I suppose the floor is more level here." He reasoned. "Good eye, Knight."

  "Oh yeah, it's not because you're probably warm or anything. I was definitely looking out for you."

  Danse's chuckle was soft. "Understood. I am a commodity." He lowered himself onto his sleeping bag, waiting patiently as she dug through her satchel. 

  "So for dinner, we have a wonderful assortment of Cram. After that, I'll brew us some tea." Backhand said finally, digging two cans out of the pack. " God I wish I'd had the stuff to bake bread, would have made us some back at Oberland." 

  Danse shook his head. "It spoils so fast out on the road. Though during the harsher months there is nothing quite like a fresh slice of hot bread with a little grease alongside the meat stew from the mess hall." He sounded wistful, despite the fact that Backhand knew he was talking about military food and therefore it probably wasn't anything to write home about.

  "Remind me to bake you some bread." Backhand tossed him a can of Cram, and then opened her own with less-than-steady hands. She did her best to ignore the storm that was raging closer and closer, steeling her spine from flinching at every rumble of thunder.

  Danse all but devoured the canned substance, the large man obviously starving from his day of labor and walking across the Commonwealth. He drowsily watched Backhand set up the small coffee pot she lugged with her, the lantern now doubling as a brazier of sorts. Backhand pried open her tea tin after a momentary struggle, grabbing one of the bags inside and dropping it into the pot of dubiously-clean water without much ceremony.

  The tea was a hubflower blend, lacking in caffeine and bearing a sweet, calming scent. Backhand often employed this beverage when she had difficulty sleeping, finding that the entire tea-brewing process tended to calm her racing mind.

  Danse dug out the cup from his mess kit for her to pour into, the thin metal thoroughly scoured clean and dented from use in the field. "Be careful, it's really hot." Backhand warned, gingerly scooting the cup across the floor to the large man.

  He nodded absently, cradling the cup close. He looked pensive, as though he wanted to ask something but couldn't quite think of how to phrase it. "Knight... how do you know of the way to get into the Institute?" Danse's tone was wearily quizzical. "That information is...it's unprecedented , but I assume you must know that already."

  Backhand exhaled, staring up at the ceiling as she tried to gather her thoughts. It was a relatively straightforward story, all things considered, though some portions would sound insane . So she started talking.

  She told Danse about going to Diamond City and employing the assistance of a well-known detective. Finding out that Kellogg had been there, with a ten year old child. The grueling endeavor of tracking him across the Commonwealth, culminating in a ferocious gunfight against the mercenary and his group of synths. The grisly discovery of the devices implanted in his body, and the slow unraveling of the truth from the escaped Institute scientist in the Glowing Sea. Teleportation .

  Backhand conveniently left out the fact that Detective Nick Valentine was a synth, and that Virgil the Institute scientist was once a man, who had in turn become a super mutant by force of necessity. 

  She sipped her tea, realizing that her throat was parched from talking. The look that Danse was giving her was one of extreme incredulity and she grimaced into her cup.

  "Christ, Vega." He said hoarsely. "What happens now?"

  "Well, if I have any luck left , I figure out how to convince someone to help me build a giant machine that I don't really understand." Backhand shrugged glibly. "Sturges has been working on a few things, but I think this project might be beyond his scope of expertise." 

  "Maybe Proctor Ingram should take a look at the plans you have? If there's anyone I know that can make sense of a mess, it's Ingram." Danse suggested tentatively. "Her and Haylen are...just outstanding ." The warmth in his tone whenever he spoke of Haylen never failed to make Backhand smile, but this was the first time he seemed to notice her doing it. "What? Did I say something funny?"

  "Not at all! You just talk about Haylen like she hung the stars." Backhand pushed down the brief flare of envy she felt. "It's sweet."

  " Sweet? " Danse sputtered, a flush rising on his cheeks. "I am not...she isn't--Knight, you misinterpret my admiration. She is a phenomenal soldier, an immensely talented field scribe. I sponsored her as an initiate. She and Rhys are...they're the only ones left of Gladius. I'm thrilled that they've decided to pursue a relationship." Danse's eyes were soft and haunted in the dim light of the guttering lantern, but his words were sincere when he said, "They deserve to be happy."

  "What about you, though?" Backhand asked gently before she could stop herself. Danse tilted his head, appearing confused. "Don't you deserve to be happy too?"

  His smile was sad. "I am a paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel, Knight Vega. I am sworn to uphold the tenets and be an example to the troops. My own happiness was doomed to irrelevancy the moment I accepted the promotion." He folded his hands in front of him, leaning forward a little and staring at the floor. "Truthfully, it was rendered obsolete long before then."

  …

  "Why?" Vega sounded curious and Danse cursed himself for even bringing up the topic.

  He could lie, or simply brush off her question. But that didn't sit right with him. Danse sighed heavily and began to speak.

  He talked about growing up alone in the Capital Wasteland, no parents or siblings that he could recall. Always alone, picking through the ruins for anything edible or salvage that he could trade. He talked about opening his own little stand in Rivet City once he was grown, and he was ashamed of how his voice broke when he mentioned Cutler. Joining the Brotherhood had been a no-brainer, like it was the only course of action possible. Everything had gone so well. He had felt like he was actually making a difference. Until the day Cutler disappeared on a scouting mission. Danse vaguely remembered arguing with Paladin Krieg, his sponsor attempting to shout down the then-knight. But Danse was fiercely stubborn.

  He tried to tell her what he had found when he had finally tracked the remains of Cutler's squadron down, tried to continue his explanation as to why his personal happiness held little to no ground in his life, but the lump in his throat left him incapable of speech. 

  Backhand's touch on his arm startled him and he jerked, looking up at her. Her eyes were sorrowful. "Hey, you don't have to say any more." She offered him a weak-looking smile. "I get it. I lost my C.O. during an assault on an enemy bunker. You feel like it's your fault and you stay up all night trying to figure out what you could have done to save them."

  "I know it's futile to think of such things. " Danse rasped.

  "And yet you do it anyway." Backhand rubbed his arm. "Empathy is some rotten stuff, Paladin Danse, but we need to be reminded that we're human sometimes." Her sigh followed the tail end of a rolling boom of thunder. "I was incapacitated by the same explosion that killed Sergeant Cathan. He bled out next to me. I was shipped home with him technically, although I wasn't in a pine box. I went to his funeral, got to listen to his widow try to keep her shit together when I knew all she wanted to do was bury every single uniformed asshole there that had sent her husband to die." Backhand scoffed. "I knew because I felt the same way."

  "I was furious with Arthur for sending Cutler's squadron out to that corner of the wastes." Danse admitted. "It was shortly after I had discovered what happened to Cutler that Ar-" He stopped short, horrified that he had nearly let the information slip.

  " Come on Danse! " Arthur had complained, rolling his eyes . " I know you did this stuff for Cutler. "

  Danse cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter." He breathed. He had always been a terrible liar and he knew Vega didn't buy it for a second . 

  Those pale blue eyes narrowed and she scooted even closer, her sleeping bag pooled around her knees as she studied his face. Danse just tried to avoid eye contact. "What did he do, Danse?" She asked softly.

  " Nothing ." Danse stressed the word, his tone sharp. "I said it didn't matter, and it doesn't."

  "Hey." Backhand murmured, "I'm on your side, okay? Don't lie to me. Whatever it is, it's eating you alive."

  Danse's breath hitched. How could she tell? How could she pierce through the stoic facade he had painstakingly crafted over the course of his military career? 

  The answer came to him suddenly and he felt a little foolish for not having seen it sooner. 

  She wanted to. 

  Ludicrously simple, almost child's play. It was because she dared to bother . In a world that was more than content to let appearances be, she did the unthinkable and probed past the first glance.

  She was like Cutler. Perhaps a bit too much like Cutler. Curious to a fault, whip-smart and witty. Danse's heart ached in his chest. The idea of opening himself up again like he had with Cutler was... terrifying , mind-numbing, it was like standing on the deck of the Prydwen knowing that one misstep could send him plummeting to his demise. He had barely survived the depression that had engulfed him after he was forced to end Cutler's life, knowing that it was what the other man would have done in his stead but also hating himself for being able to carry it out at all. What did that say about him as a person, that he could stare into the eyes of the only individual he had been truly intimate with and kill him without a word?

  Danse was a model soldier. He was relatively certain that he would be following orders until the day he died. No one had ordered him to go after Cutler. He could have left it alone, simply gone along with the " missing, presumed dead " verdict. But those damn emotions he struggled with so much had reared their ugly head, made him volatile to the point where he had gotten into a screaming match with Paladin Krieg . 

  The person he had really wanted to shout at had been Maxson, both for assigning Cutler such a far-flung post and for doing it without warning. Danse hadn't even been able to say goodbye , damn it.

  And then the hive, the empty suits of power armor covered in blood and gore and fragmentary human remains and Cutler , babbling nonsense in a voice that grated and shrieked. He hadn't recognized Danse when the other knight foolishly removed his helmet. Instead, Cutler had lunged at him, trying to tear him apart with his newfound mutant strength--

  "Danse?" 

  The paladin jolted at the sound of her voice. "It doesn't matter, Knight." He repeated dully. "We should get some sleep." Without waiting for a reply, he shifted down a bit in his bedroll and tugged the fabric up over his shoulders. 

  Backhand stayed up for a bit longer, probably finishing her tea. The rain continued to beat on the roof, the occasional flash of green lightning blazing through every crack and crevice in the dilapidated lean-to. 

  The Capital Wasteland hadn't gotten storms like these. Danse had to assume that they must blow in from the Glowing Sea to batter the surrounding landscape. 

  He heard her shuffling around, and her whisper of " good night, Danse ." He didn't reply, hoping she would believe he was asleep. 

  Vega sighed softly and Danse barely kept himself from jumping when he felt her back press against his own. He wasn't sure if the defensive sleeping position was really necessary what with his armor in front of the door and all, but he appreciated the strategic forethought. 

  It felt like he had only closed his eyes for a second, the rain pounding on the roof lulling him into a doze and then he was being blinded by a particularly vibrant beam of sunlight. Danse grunted, half-lidding his eyes to try and adjust to the light.

  He idly watched over the top of Vega's head as motes of dust wafted lazily through the beam, the paladin feeling weirdly peaceful and unhurried. As if he could take the time to simply observe the world. He noted that he had rolled over in his sleep, and so had Elizabeth. Backhand. Knight Vega . 

  His thighs were pressed against the jut of her knees, her elbows tucked into his stomach through the layers of their bedrolls. Backhand apparently slept with her hands folded beneath her chin, but her left arm was threaded up beneath the hem of her shirt to do so. It pulled the fabric to bunch just above the bottom of her breasts and only through extreme self control did Danse manage to exhale slowly through his gritted teeth, knowing that his face must be bright red. 

  He flicked his gaze back up to the sunbeam, feeling like a lech. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He could pretend like he was still asleep, but that may come at the cost of their progress. He'd rather not sleep rough yet again, although if it was beside Vega--

  No , Danse reprimanded himself sharply. Maxson had given him hell for his lack of self control the last time he had seen him. The last thing he wanted was to give Arthur the satisfaction of…

  Of what? Having something else in Danse's life that he could ruin or take away? 

  Danse reached out slowly, cautiously, taking hold of the fabric of Vega's sleeping bag and drawing it up and over her shoulder to preserve her modesty. Then, the paladin eased his body away from hers to rise, his back protesting a little when he stretched. 

  The sooner we get back to the Prydwen, the sooner I can get my armor serviced , he mused, still opting to let Backhand sleep a bit longer as he checked over their weapons and his gear.

Part Eight

[icicleteeth]

So I wrote a tiny ESO AU with @your-holy-mountain​ ‘s Finn and my dunmer Servyn for the laffs and because I got emotional about Finn being a good friend because Tii is a good friend of mine enjoy the trash under the cut...

(Disclaimer though, this isn’t going to be super well written at all, as it’s just an off the cuff little ficlet alsjfdj)

The early morning rabble of Mournhold’s central trading plaza sings with the hustling and bustling of a city which never sleeps nor rests--men, mer, beast, automata, and sometimes tamed daedra fill the streets in a near shoulder to shoulder crowd, all of which with important work for important people to attend to, though none of which called themselves nor anyone else by their real names, as such work wasn’t so important as to interrupt the annual weekly celebration of the Jester’s Festival--an honored holiday amongst all of Tamriel where Khajiiti named Kitty Kitty Bang Bang and Bosmer named Big Meat Indulgence address eachother as such unabashedly, as if it were completely normal and expected to do so.

Servyn wished he could join in on such festivities. He quite hated his name and would usually revel in any excuse to change it (even if temporarily)...but there wasn’t much use in changing one’s name when said one is a street Dunmer. He never had any reason to give anyone his real name, let alone a silly made up one. Most just called him Beggar. He supposed “Beggar” was a better name than “Servyn”, but it would feel odd to share the same name as every other beggar in Mournhold (of which there were many). 

He lies curled up on the ground against the blacksmith’s plaza. Many filter in and out without noticing him much, though this particular spot gave a perfect view of the city’s wayshrine, where those coming in from all over Tamriel will inevitably see him, as the blacksmith’s is right across from the shrine’s entryway. Servyn looks to his tattered cap a few feet away, and makes a heartless effort to reach for it without having to get up (this being for a lack of motivation, he tells himself. Not because he doesn’t trust his legs to give out the moment he tries to use them). He’s able to brush the tip of it, but gives up trying to check it. Probably no coins in there anyway. At least watching the large guild stores haggle with passing knights and mages and trading goods he could never hope to behold in his life brought him some amusement. The aforementioned humorous names exchanged while doing so helped a bit, too.

Something was sniffing--a breathy heavy sniffing--at him. Servyn had managed to shift between laying on his side facing the streets to instead face the wall some time ago, which he’d done so when watching a trader present a whole roasted bantam guar became too much to handle. This seemed like a good idea at the time, though it meant he couldn’t see what was currently invading his personal space; not that this was too unusual. Street animals were just as numerous as street mer, and even they weren’t desperate enough to gobble up filthy urchins with hardly any meat on their bones. Just let it happen and it’ll go away. 

“What’s that you found, Dandelion?”

At the sound of a man’s voice close behind him, Servyn twitches and sweats. Okay, so it isn’t a nix hound. That’s fine. Right? He’ll take one look at me, reel back in repulsion for a few seconds, and let me go--

Before he’s able to finish that thought, he’s suddenly off the ground, for whatever was sniffing at him decided to pick him up and carry him by his shirt. The first thing he sees is the large bear paws--bear paws!--shuffling below him on the ground. The second thing he sees is an even larger Breton man in a black tunic and huge muscles adorned with intricate tattoos standing before him.

This is it, then! This is where I die, right here and right now! Be it by the hands of a strongman or in the belly of a bear...or both! All he could muster is quick desperate breathing, for it was useless to cry for a guard. They wouldn’t care to see a beggar go, anyway.

As expected, the Breton reels back with a look of surprise--though this surprise doesn’t seem like one of disgust.

“Wow! You found a baby grampa, Dandie! Amazing!”

Grampa? He was hardly past his early twenties! Not that he was offended by the mixup--his hair is naturally white, and the unkempt nature of his facial hair could certainly fool anyone into thinking he was an old man. The uncontrollable shaking in fear surely ought to tell the man he was far from a grizzled elder. Now you’re just giving him more reason to see you as easy prey!

“Oh, but will you please let him go, Dandie? Most people don’t like being held by a bear’s maw--I know, I don’t get it either. But it is what it is!”

Just as commanded, the bear releases Servyn, who falls to the ground like dead weight. Were it not for his still raspy and frantic breathing, one could easily assume he were already dead.

“Sorry about that, little elf! Dandie likes magical things, because she’s magical too! But that means you’re magical, right?” 

Not really. He may know a good deal more magic than the average street rat, but it was only simple magic he picked up from beginner’s spell books in the public library. He likely paled in comparison to the city’s many wizards and Telvanni mages. Surely this adventurous looking man has seen a good number of better mages to gawk at.

“Finnegan Stormborne, at your service!” he bows, and squeaks “and Dandelion, at yours as well!” in his best (and frankly impressive) falsetto. The bear still seemed uncomfortably interested in Servyn, but he was powerless to run away. He didn’t want to talk to the stranger, but decided maybe if he engaged in small talk with the man, then he may be generous enough to not let his bear tear him to shreds.

“Is...that your Jester’s name, sera?”

The Breton blinks, though is silent for only a moment before bursting into hearty laughter.

“Ha! I could never be a real jester, no. They’re funny on purpose, you see.”

“I...do?” The intentions of the Breton named Finnegan were lost on him. It didn’t seem like information--which was good, because Servyn wasn’t like the other beggars in that way. It didn’t seem like he simply wanted an easy target to bully, as he hasn’t done so--yet. It couldn’t be money, because surely the last place you’d look for extra gold is--

“Say, you dropped your hat!” 

Oh. Maybe it is money after all. Servyn doubted anything was in it anyway, but on the off chance there was...well. He supposed it wasn’t the first time he’d resigned himself to another night of sleeping hungry, though he didn’t have much time to lament about this, as he feels something placed on his head, and a handful of coins presented to him.

“These were inside it, too. Best hide ‘em, you never know when the gold-eating rats decide to come out...”

The what?

With great effort, Servyn sits up to better address Finnegan (though slightly wilting at the man’s towering height).

“There are no gold-eating rats here, sera. Or anywhere...at least, I don’t think so...” He cuts his own sentence off quickly, fearing the man would snap at him for talking back.

“Oh! That’s just what I call tax collectors. But eh, what does sera mean, by the by? Do you mean to say “serenade”? Cus I’m always in the mood for a song, and I don’t do so well, being tempted with a good time!”

Now it’s Servyn’s turn to blink. Finn, on other hand, seems jovial as a drunken Nord.

“Yeah, you know what? What do you say to a night in, Dandelion? I’ll get you a good roast, sing some songs...hey! Why don’t you join us, Dunmer? Dandie seems to really like you!”

Now the Breton must really be out of his mind. Him? In a tavern? With other people, who will probably sneer at the presence of a vagrant in their establishment? Alongside a stranger, no less!? The worst part was said stranger seemed genuine in his offer--but it didn’t matter. He shouldn’t go. He can’t go.

“Erm! I’d be happy to join you, Sir Finnegan, but my legs aren’t very strong, and I don’t think I will be able to stand...nor do I think tavern patrons would stand me, if you understand what I’m saying. You’d best be off on your own, the local tavern is that way--”

In an instant, Servyn, for the second time, is lifted off the ground; this time in the rock-hard muscular arms of Finnegan (a feat not difficult for him at all, as Servyn’s meager height of under five feet tall and malnourished frame required no more effort to lift than a sack of potatoes). This time he does yelp, though it comes out more akin to a frightened squeak.

“If that’s all that’s stopping you, then I can help with that! By the way, you can call me Finn. Now, where’d you say the nearest tavern was? That way? Come on, Dandelion!”

Servyn wasn’t sure which was worse: watching Finn dance the Lava Foot Shuffle directly on the Flaming Nix Inn’s hot coal stove, or watching Dandelion gnaw at roasted salmon. Neither one helped calm the frantic anxiety for his new friend‘s wellbeing...or the ravenous appetite of his long-unfed stomach. Finn notices this, and hops off the coals for a moment.

“Hey, are you alright? If you tell me your name, I can sing a song about you!”

In truth, Servyn wasn’t really paying attention to Finn. In an attempt to look somewhere else, his eyes ended up settling on the large cauldron of duck soup cooking behind the innkeeper’s counter. He didn’t notice the bit of drool escaping his mouth, but Finn does, with a sad “Oh.”

Before Servyn knew it, a bowl is presented to him, with Finn kneeling down a bit to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry, friend. I should’ve known you must be famished, being on the streets and all. Do you like this stuff?”

Were Servyn in a different position, he’d beat himself up for such rudeness, as he didn’t wait to ask before taking the bowl from Finn’s hands without a single word and wolfing the soup down in a hunched up ball on the bench. Finn, however, is more than happy to let his friend be, and return to his dancing, only turning around to say: “I paid the chef for as many bowls as you want, so don’t be shy if you want more!”

Three bowls and an unceremonious belch later, Servyn lies sleepily against Dandelion, who situated herself behind the mer and quite enjoys acting as a large fluffy pillow while she dozes a bit herself. Finn, in his never-ending zeal, still happily dances amongst the coals whilst singing a new song about a Nordic king in a far-off kingdom. However, once noticing his ursine companion give a big toothy yawn, he stops singing.

“Ah, suppose you’re right, Dandie. It’s getting late. Hey innkeep! I’ll have two rooms for the night, put it on my tab, will you?” He makes to leap gracefully off the coals, but trips on a particularly odd-shaped stone and falls with a thud and a nonchalant “Ow.” Servyn perks up, immediately worried for Finn, and is not calmed down despite the Breton getting up easily and without distress.

“The second room I bought is for you, Dunmer. You don’t have to take it, but I thought it’d be better than going back to the streets. It’s no big expense on me, either way.”

There wasn’t time to worry about that right now. Struggling to get up, Servyn manages to stand, though with wobbly legs and a belly that felt much heavier than he was used to.

“Sir Finn, your arm..!” He points to a raw patch of skin which endured direct contact with the coals, and is now a large splotch of pink. Finn shrugs.

“Oh, don’t worry about that! I’ll take care of it later. But you look exhausted, friend. I can carry you to your room, if you’d like. Or the streets, I guess...if that’s what you want...”

Without thinking, Servyn trudges over to Finn, half of his energy focused on not collapsing, and the other half dedicated to channeling a healing spell. He all but collapses into Finn’s arms, but is able to cast the spell on the burned skin, and watches with relief as it mends right before his eyes--and Finn’s who stares in awe.

“Say, I knew you were magical! My arm feels good as new!” He hugs Servyn a bit tighter than he’d like, but thankfully the man has enough foresight to not put his usual effort into the embrace. He now cradles his friend, who looks to the floor sheepishly.

“It was just a simple spell, and was the least I could do, given the kindness you’ve shown me...” 

“Simple? I’d say that’s a real talent you have there! Have you tried joining the local Mages Guild? I bet they’d love to have you!”

Of course not. Someplace as prestigious as a guild would turn him away the moment they saw him, with his dirty untamed hair and filthy ragged tunic and patchwork pants. Finn was the weird one for not doing the same. Why didn’t he do the same?

Knowing he expects and answer, Servyn simply shakes his head. Finn makes his way up the stairs, still with the mer in tow, who doesn’t object or ask to be taken back to the streets.

“You should! I work for them sometimes. Sort of. I find these weird books all over the place that they’re interested in, but lots of mages are real stuck up. They complain and say things like “Finnegan, why is it covered in swamp stains?” Maybe because I found it in a swamp! You wouldn’t care if I gave you a book I found in a swamp, right?”

Servyn once again shakes his head, and mutters “a book is a book, sera. It’s not your fault it happened to end up in a swamp.”

“Right!? See, you understand, and I bet you would call me Finn instead of Finnegan. Mages do that to sound regal, but it’s too formal for me! Wish I had a friend in the guild who wasn’t so stuck up...like you!”

They reach a door. Finn pushes it open with his shoulders, and lays Servyn on the single bed. He blushes a bit--at the softness of the mattress and blankets so foreign and long forgotten after years of sleeping rough, and at the seemingly never-ending kindness of the Breton man.

“I’ve got to tuck Dandelion in now, but I’m in the room just across from yours. You can knock if you need me.”

Finn turns around, but before he’s able to leave the room, a soft voice interrupts him.

“S-Servyn! My name is Servyn. So you know who to...um, send the bill to. I don’t know when I can pay it back but--”

“Servyn, eh? I like it! Now I know exactly how to introduce you to the Magister! This is fantastic! Thanks for telling me, Servyn. But I’ll let you sleep now, okay? We’ll need all our strength for tomorrow, after all!”

The door clicks shut before Servyn is able to retort back. He isn’t sure whether he’s decided to give up on understanding Finn or understanding why he let the Breton sweep him up into a tavern room to begin with--all he knew was he was tired, much so that he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He could hear the man from the hallway baby-talking (presumedly to his bear) but didn’t feel at all annoyed by this break in silence. Finn’s voice truly exude a warmth so rarely heard, even from the kindest Temple priests. Servyn couldn’t bring himself to complain, and felt odly...okay with him knowing his true name, and he knowing Finn’s, and this sickeningly sweet okay-ness that he never thought he’d ever feel again lulls him into a gentle sleep. 

But if anyone else asks, my name is Captain Sujamma Guzzler.

[carnagefacade]

*  ⊹  ·       (   @lobiita​​​​​ 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑...   )

👧 💔 🍟

👧 - What is your muse’s relationship like with their siblings? Who do they get along with best?

    he’d never say it outright, but dana mercer is his most cherished person which could or ever exist. bold, obnoxious and non-conforming, dana is more trouble than she’s worth. a journalist and a pretty damn good hacker, she was pretty good at getting information and driven to push injustices and government secrets in the public light, her own health be damned. she also took no shit from anyone, and is the only person who could properly boss alex around, though only used her world-destroying sibling to get groceries and things from tall places.

    she was the only person alex had in his younger days, and likewise the first and only human in the entirety of the manhattan outbreak to treat him like a person in spite of his man eating qualities. she treated him like a brother, even beyond discovering he was essentially a confused virus piloting said brother’s bullet-ridden meat sack. unforgettable and cherished, alex checks in on her often.

    he gave her an immortal cat. well, it’d live to be fifty, which is more than one could say for cats.

    if she had anything but the best damned life she could give herself and a peaceful death, alex will start killing people. i can’t tell you if or when he’d stop.

💔 - How would your muse react to losing a romantic partner? How would they cope?

    in all likelihood, closing himself off from any future romantic endeavors would be his option of choice. it takes a lot to earn alex’s trust, moreso to gain his faith and good enough standing to be on a touch-oriented baseline. romanticism is not something he is good at, and doesn’t try to acquire romantic partners, much less intrapersonal relationships in general. for alex to open up to someone, it’d take time and frustration on both parties, frustrations he wouldn’t like to go through a second time.

    losing a partner itself would be hard on him. he can’t forget, it’s simply outside of his body’s capabilities to lose information as each and every one of his cells could perform all his bodily functions, including those of the brain. he’d remember the good and all the emotions attached as vividly as if they occurred the moment they did, including the bad. letting go would be exponentially more difficult than it would be if he were human. it could take years to cope if he ever decides to, but the bitterness would be hell.

    alex deals with negative emotions easier than positive. considering he has a legion of the voices of everyone he’s ever eaten floating in his head, screaming in pain or at him or in general, and everyone there hates him more than anything, any perceived flaws on his behalf would be multiplied exponential by the choir of alex-haters. the ‘fuck alex’ fanclub, if you will, population: everyone he’s ever tentacled.

🍟 - How does your muse feel about their body? Would they change it if they could?

    already answered!

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

I hear you're really helpful with typing. I typed myself as an ENTP back in middle school but now as a Real Adult I'm not sure the skin still fits (I read descriptions of ENTPs and think, mm, sound like really immature assholes! ... Although I'm aware online profiles do have a tendency to suck). 2. I'm probably extroverted. I like to think out loud, I like to meet new people, if I give a good public speech I can live off the high for a few hours. (1/9)

(2/9) most of my introverted traits boil down to more sensory type things. I can't stand noisy places, parties or crowds make me feel trapped. Also, my very introverted family all firmly insist I'm obviously an extrovert, so 🤷‍♂️. Reading intuitive descriptions always feels like reading weird mumbo jumbo, but sensing descriptions like reading a list of things I'm bad at. I'm awful at awareness of my surroundings

(3/9)  I find driving stressful because there's so many streams of external input I need to be on top of and if I dare space out on an interesting thought I could literally kill someone. I was never in roux with my body (wished I could be a robot tbh) although after my first kid I did sign up for a dance class and it was so cool finally have my body be something other than an annoying meat sack with incomprehensible constant needs i need to constantly deal with.

(4/9) (incomprehensible = do I feel bad bc tired? Hungry? Thirsty? Guessing game time!). For me aesthetic sense basically I can turn on or off, default is off and I don't notice at all, but I can consciously turn it on so as to have a preference (what to eat for dinner) or taste (researching art styles to inspire my own). But yeah I can and have lived in a featureless white cave of a house and just don't notice/care. Thinking/feeling is complicated for me (ur not my therapist, I know).

(5/9) my family was SUPER t and looked down on emotions and stuff so, like, how much of my discomfort with emotion based values/decisions/behavior is me vs that, I don't know. I do know I read some T stereotypes and feel they're stupid. I may be shit at it, BUT being able to work with people and coordinate is how anything happens in the real world, and looking down on people skills is just a sign you're not very smart, imo. OTOH I do just genuinely love logical thinking. So sexy and satisfying.

(6/9) I work as a programmer. I love the rapid feedback cycle, I love constantly learning new things, but I think the most satisfying part is making a program "elegant". Taking a revolting mess of a four page function, compressing it into a beautiful little recursive six liner. (I also like hunting for bugs, most of the time very satisfying, and I love watching something cool emerge from what was literally nothing before). I like categorising and sorting and labeling things (see: mbti) in ways

(7/9) that reveal this underlying system that I can then apply/extend to other things. I like the satisfaction of a good explanatory theory. My husband is into solving problems with things (engineer). I'm also an engineer, but the problems that draw me are people related. Like I said, really it's all coordination problems, cooperation problems, how we can make the human system work towards a good outcome instead of getting trapped in a shitty equilibrium point.(I've worked on my people skills sm

(8/9) re p/j I have no idea. Everything stereotypically J just sounds like things I needed to learn to do as an adult? Make and follow plans and stuff. As I've gotten older, P stereotypical behavior went from being comfortable to being anxiety inducing. So gonna skip that and hope the function stack casts light on it instead. 

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

Hi anon,

Before reading I will freely admit my first thought was probably high Ne; it is usually high Ne users who see a max character count/question limit as an invitation to reach that limit, whereas everyone else sees it as simply a thing they cannot exceed, but can fall short of.

Going through, from the start, it sounds like, barring any kind of unmentioned or undiagnosed sensory processing issues, an extrovert who is an intuitive makes sense in that you’d be excited by people but not by a lot of sensory experiences at once. This also fits with what you describe later - finding driving stressful because you can’t focus on both thoughts and the road, difficulty interpreting internal physical signs.

I definitely agree with you re: people skills (ie, hating people isn’t a sign of high intellect, but a bad grip on reality and also just probably being an unpleasant person).

I suspect you are more likely to be a high Ti user and therefore an ENTP - programmers/engineers aren’t automatically high Ti users, but I do think elegance tends to be something high Ti users strive for the most, whereas my own programming tends to be “does it work” (although also I’ve never been a programmer as a main job so the expectations and requirements for what I do are a much lower bar). Hunting for bugs and actually enjoying it rather than just wanting the code to work also sounds a lot more Ti-Fe than Te-Fi; an enjoyment more of the process than the end result.

Since you’re an adult and your Fe is tertiary (so actually getting to be pretty decent) and as you said developing people skills is just a reasonable part of life, I think developing an enjoyment of problems that involve people is probably part of that. I think the point you’re at in life and what you said about perceiving vs. judging fits well with a perceiver who is of normal adult levels of maturity. If you were a judger (and even setting aside my initial leaning towards Ne, you don’t write like high Ni user as they tend to use shorter sentences and have a very linear style vs. the more casual/digressive Ne/Si style), you would probably be experiencing the opposite experience, of slowly coming to terms with the sponteneity and need for flexibility of adult life vs. coming to terms with things like deadlines and planning which would have been more initially natural to you.

So: ENTP actually does sound like a good fit! I agree a lot of ENTP descriptions out there are written by people who seem to think interrupting with the phrase “well, actually” is a virtue instead of really annoying, so...yeah, I think it’s reasonable not to relate them and a reasonably mature adult ENTP definitely wouldn’t.

[boarix]

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XIX

Harbinger

Trigger Warnings: canon violence/language/gun, drug and alcohol use.  

Bloody Mess Warning!

Please Enjoy!

 Infamy stared after Wraith and Radiance as if in a haze. With their back to Harkness, they were caught completely unaware when he tackled them to the ground. The large man seemed oblivious to his own injuries while providing the glowing one some of their own. He sobbed for breath as he pummeled Atom’s Assassin; striking them repeatedly about the head and face.

“This was you! I lost them…” his breath came in ragged gasps, “all because of you! I lost them both! They trusted me with their friends… my friends! YOU’VE KILLED THEM BOTH!” Exhausted, he fell off of the ghoul and groaned into the mud.

Infamy’s mind was elsewhere it seemed. They allowed the beating and after it was over they climbed to their feet and walked slowly to where Sun of Atom lay. Not bothering to avoid the grisly remains of Marie, they simply stepped on or through the piles of the young woman’s digestive tract: trailing loops of purple-grey small intestine behind them after it caught on their boot. They crouched over the sad and crumpled form of their fellow glowing one and placed a hand on his brow.

Harkness made an attempt to get to his feet but only succeeded in flopping over onto his back. Panting, he struggled to pull his shirt up and over his head before wadding it into a ball and pressing it to the worst of his multiple knife wounds. Looking around he saw what Infamy was doing and a sudden flare of hope stirred within him “Can you… I’ve seen glowing ones revive…”

“No. There isn’t enough brain left.” They rose to their feet and paced back to him, “His light has gone out in any case.” Placing their knuckles on their hips, Infamy leaned down to glare at him, “What do you mean I’ve killed them?” Sweeping a hand through the air, they gestured to the bodies lying in the muddied turf, “Do point out the general’s corpse. I know it may be hard considering how popular a hangout this area is for dead folks. Don’t see her? Hmm... Did you miss the part where that spectacular glowing creature swept Wraith away?”

“Fuck… you…”

“She took all my ferals too… that beautiful bitch!”

“Why are… you still here?! Fuck off already!”

They snorted in amusement then turned and leisurely walked to the shipping office. A moment later they returned with Wraith’s med kit and tossed it to a very surprised Harkness.

“What?! Why?”

“Where? When? Who?” laughing mockingly, they roughly pulled the cloak from one of their collective; shaking it so the body fell to lay face down with limbs askew. They then folded the garment into a makeshift cushion and sat on it, “Can’t have you expiring before my questions are answered. Now, can we? Hahaha!”

Harkness injected himself with Med-X then a stimpak. Rummaging in the bag, he also found a derma-fuse and a small bottle of disinfecting alcohol. Pouring some onto clean gauze, he winced as he wiped at the gash along his ribs. He popped his chin to the cloak’s former owner, “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d treat a loyal follower like garbage.”

“Tch,” They waved a hand dismissingly, “their light has returned to Atom. The meat sack is unimportant. Besides, it’s hot and wet out here and I have a particular loathing for swamp ass.”

As Harkness did his best to mend himself he could feel the ghoul watching him. It annoyed the shit out of him, “What makes you think I’m going to answer any of your fucking…”

“Did you ever ask him?” Their lip curled in amusement, “Sun. Did you ever ask him about your light? Or, did you assume that you must have one. After all you are alive, right?” Their voice deepened and came as the lowest of whispers, “Are you alive, Harkness?”

“I will not play, Infamy.” His eyes mirrored the iron in his voice.

“You’ll play. After all, you’ve curiosity of your own to quench.” They brought a hand up under their chin, propped their arm on a knee and bat their eyes at him, “Don’t you want to know how I knew where you were? Hmmm? Don’t you want to know ‘why now’?”

“No. I figure… you heard Sunny… or one of you did. Why are you so interested in Wraith? What is she the Harbinger of?”

They made an indelicate noise and waved a hand dismissively, “It’s not her I’m interested in any longer. I imagine she was the Harbinger of Death for Sun of Atom…”

“NO!” Furious, Harkness pound his fist on the ground, “You fucking… uncaring monster! It can’t be as simple…”

“Wraith is up to Atom. Whether or not she’s ‘The Harbinger’ is up to the Mother of the Fog and I don’t pretend to know their Holy Plan. And I’d be careful thrashing about and opening your wounds, brother; you’ve only got so much of that red fluid left.”

“Red fluid?! It’s blood, you fuck! I am alive and I have blood!”

“I’m a monster, remember? I know nothing of blood as my veins are filled with ichor. Ha!”

Harkness struggled to his feet. Walking on unsteady legs, he went to Sun and with some difficulty, gathered the ghoul into his arms, “If anyone was Death’s Harbinger it was Marie.” He carried his small burden to the office and set about arranging him; folding him in his robes as if he was swaddling an infant.

“Marie…” Infamy watched from the doorway, their voice dripped with loathing, “complete buffoon. Utter garbage.”

“Well, you listened to her and came up here, so who’s the bigger idiot?”

“The trouble at Crater House, the loss of Kingsport Lighthouse and the babbling of High Confessor Tektus is why I came. Though, I suppose Marie’s whining about false prophets needed to be addressed as well… she did know the area…” They shrugged, “Oh, well. She’s not going to be spreading hysteria any longer and all those who followed her around will go back home and follow Atom instead. As they should.”

Harkness slammed his fists on the floor, “Oh, well? All’s well that ends well?!” He rushed the ghoul but couldn’t catch them and fell out of the door and landed on his knees, “People are dead! You killed and maimed people based on false information!”

They shrugged again, “They are not important. Who was that glowing one? Where did she come from? Does she speak? She seemed more than feral…”

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

“Would Wraith’s little boy know? Should I go and ask him? Oh, I like him. Very, very much.”

Harkness started to shake with rage, “If you set one rotten toenail in that settlement, MacCready will destroy you.”

They paused and a flicker of real fear crossed their face, “Oh… the sniper. If I’m not mistaken, he was a demon of Morningstar’s, at one point… Little Boy was no slouch in a fight either, and there are probably dogs, Dragoons and a super mutant…” They spun around; holding their arms out and twirling like a child, “I suppose I could just follow her… Although, that might be dangerous; wouldn’t want to get ensnared like Wraith.”

“I get the feeling, if she wanted you, she would have taken you.”

The ghoul’s eyes narrowed, “I am a Master of Infamy. A Necromancer! Atom’s Assassin, of course… well… hmm… perhaps you’re right. Oh, well. Maybe I’m not her type. That’s up to her, I suppose.” They blew Harkness a kiss and turned away toward the hole in the fence, “Try not to miss me, big boy.”

“For the last time; go fuck yourself!”

“Delighted to. I’ll be thinking of you!”

  The loss of blood made Harkness’s journey back to Sanctuary a long one. He had left Sun’s remains along with most of his own gear, locked in one of the shipping company’s trailers. He went the long way around: avoiding the road and using a Stealth-boy to pass through the gate unseen. Nearly overwhelmed by exhaustion and grief, his invisibility wore off as he stood on the grass in between Wraith’s office and the clinic. Blinking into view, he looked back and forth, trying to prioritize.      

As it happened, Danse had just glanced out the window and saw a vaguely familiar, very bloody man standing on the lawn. He assumed he was a member of the Minutemen and immediately went out to help, “Are you alright, soldier?”

“Oh. Hi, Danse. Glad to see…” Harkness trailed off as he lost consciousness and sagged into the other man’s arms.

 “THIS IS TOTAL CRAP!”

A meeting had been called as soon as Harkness had regained consciousness. Bear, the Valentines, Danse, Curie, Cait, Lloyd, MacCready and Sofie had all gathered in Sanctuary’s Radio Freedom broadcast center. The leaders of Goodneighbor, Diamond City and The Castle were all listening in, and had been voicing their opinions on what to do next over the radio.  

“MacCready, please stop yelling…” Sofie stood up to put her diminutive form between the sniper and the object of his ire.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HER?”

“How would I even begin to do that?” Harkness’s emotions were oscillating between anger and sadness and he would have very much liked to bellow back at him, but every time he took a deep, preparatory breath, he felt a sharp reminder that he’d been repeatedly stabbed. “I had just watched her literally rip another human being in half. With very little effort, might I add?” He looked unflinchingly into the other man’s eyes, “She and I weren’t super pals, but I was really starting to like her. I had begun to know her. I saw her when she went for Marie. Even before that glowing one took her, she had already gone feral. Her eyes were nothing but burning rage. If I had tried, she would have killed me too.”

“We are facing the fact that Wraith has now become… a potential threat… We cannot allow her to hurt anyone else.”

“No,” MacCready took a deep shuddering breath, “you can’t possibly believe that, Sofie.” He cast about in disbelief, looking for allies in the sad eyes of his friends. “I know she’s… gone a little… she’s always come back though! Hancock! Tell them! You’ve brought her back. Tell them how you…”

“That’s right,” Danse leaned forward eagerly, “aboard the Prydwen. Wraith told me that she had lost control,” He swallowed and closed his eyes, “and that it was you who…”

“No. I couldn’t. It wasn’t me…” Hancock was barely audible.

“We need to find her. If we can hold her somehow, maybe it’ll… wear off?” Piper’s question was pleading.

“We’ll mobilize the Hounds and the Dragoons.” Preston had been silent up to that point; unhappy to be the pro tem general, “Even Wraith can’t rip through metal. Can she?”

“I agree,” Nick Valentine had been standing in the doorway, facing away south, “We need to try…”

“And what then? How many people will she kill or injure in the effort to capture her?” Sanctuary’s head settler hated what she was saying even as she said it, “She’s surrounded by feral ghouls. One of whom is potentially the most powerful glowing one we have ever encountered. We have to find her, yes, but we should be considering…”

“YOU CAN’T BE THINKING OF KILLING THE PERSON WHO SAVED US!”

The ghoulett clenched her fists and tears stood out in her eyes, “You think I want her to be killed?!” She took several deep, shaking breaths, “We must think how she would feel knowing that people were hurt on her behalf. We must do what’s best for all…”  

“WRAITH IS WHAT IS BEST FOR ALL!”

“MACCREADY!” Hancock’s voice crackled over the radio, “I’LL BE DAMNED IF I LET HER DIE!” Then, softer, “Robert… I don’t know if I can reach her but…” The deep breath he took was audible, “On the airship… I took some heavy-duty chems just to keep up with her. I was jacked on Psycho jet, Ultrajet and Buffout, but it still wasn’t enough to stop her. You wanna talk about rippin’ through metal?! She shrugged me off like I was a bloatfly! And when I kept at it she… she went for me like I was the enemy. The only way she made it back to the vertibird was cause she was chasin’ me. When the Prydwen blew, our ship got caught in the shockwave and we went down like a wet sack of shit. As soon as her feet were on the shore, she was off again; splashing after the BOS survivors around the airport… snarling.” He paused and cleared his throat, “Sorry, Danse. I know that’s gotta be rough to hear…”

“I… Please continue.”

“I was hurt pretty bad; Maxson got his licks in and the crash was rough. There was fire everywhere. Even the water was burning, but I still tried to go after her. She did one of her crazy judo throws though, and dropped my ass in the drink. I thought for sure she was gonna drown me. Deacon was tryin’ to pull her off me and she hit him so hard, I think I saw stars. He got up, bloody as hell, and was calling her… to her. He was sayin’, ‘Please stop! You’re going to kill us.’ and she just… it was like a switch got flipped. She blacked out and don’t remember a thing. Told everyone that I saved her but, it wasn’t me… it wasn’t me…”

Quiet descended as the group somberly digested the ghoul’s words. Harkness quickly put two and two together and came up with Harley = Deacon. He also decided that he very much needed to return to the Capital Wasteland as soon as possible.  

“Shark cages,” Sturges’s unmistakable voice chimed in from the Castle radio, causing everyone to flinch at the broken silence, “at the Nahant Oceanological Society. They were strong enough to hold a great white, right?”

“Why on earth would anyone want to trap a big pale shark?”

“Waaay off subject, Lloyd!”

“I meant for Wraith, naturally. We find her and like Mayor Wright says, maybe whatever that feral did to her will wear off, cause last I checked, Deacon ain’t exactly local these days.”

“What about Infamy, Harkness? What further action can we expect from them?”

Wincing, he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, “Honestly, Danse, I don’t think they are going to be a threat to Wraith’s settlements any longer.”

“I call malarkey on that one.”

“No, Mayor Wright, I think the main force will already be on their way back to the Capital Wasteland. As for Atom’s Assassin… they seemed fascinated by Radiance and left to…”

“Can we please get back to Wraith?! Like, now!” MacCready’s patience was all but gone.

“What about the Glowing Sea? You said they headed south.”

“I don’t know, detective. I… they could be anywhere…” Harkness closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Okay,” MacCready clapped his hands together, “that’s close enough to a plan for me! Me, Danse and the Dragoons will suit up and stomp our way down to the Glowing-est Place on Earth while the Minutemen fetch us a cage to everyone’s favorite berserker in.”

“I’m goin’.” Bear stood and nodded at the group, “I’ll go get my hammer. Assuming we are leaving soon.”

“I shall go as well.” Curie lifted her chin and her eyes dared them all to contradict her.

“Curie, what about the syringer?”

“That’s a great idea, MacCready. Thinking like a true weapons master! You can load it with Pistol Whipped…”

“What is this? ‘Pistol Whipped’?”

“It’s what we’ve been callin’ that sleep aid you and Wraith were working on.”

“Of course, you’ll be going too, Nick.” Ellie clapped her hands together as if the choice was made.

Valentine gave his wife a stricken look, “I can’t very well leave you here…”

“You most certainly can! Wraith is my friend too, and I want the best detective in the Commonwealth out there looking for her.”

“You can wear my armor, Nicky; it’s a real classy chassis. I’ll put my people on it too. I gotta rearrange some things before I go runnin’ around, but in the meantime, I want to be notified as soon as anybody lays eyes on her, you feel me?”

   Her voice was like a white-hot needle through Wraith’s head. Wordless, it was nevertheless meticulously specific. The instructions held a weight that was all but crushing. Pain surrounded and penetrated her whenever Radiance spoke, but in the voice’s absence there was only confusion and fear. She didn’t remember who she was or what she wanted. All that mattered was Her.

The Metro tunnels were dark, but somehow Wraith found her prey. She knew that everything living, apart from feral ghouls, must be destroyed. She swept through the raiders and monsters like a poisonous vapor. Unseen by most save for the moment of their death.

There are powerful fighters even amongst the raiders. And these grizzled veterans of turf wars and skirmishes over inter-gang pecking order posed a serious threat to Wraith. So reckless and lost, she took risks she might not have taken and wouldn’t retreat even when outnumbered. Were it not for Bear’s armor she would have been killed. As it was, the lack of self-preservation often resulted in injury.

After she cleared a location, Radiance would immediately come and find her. The glowing one held her in her arms, healing her wounds and filling her mind with a blazing light.

Following behind, Infamy tested the range of Radiance’s influence. Several times the ghoul came too close and the mental assault dropped them to their knees while they fought to keep their free will. The vast horde of ferals that had been gathered in the Glowing Sea, that Infamy had intended to set against the Minutemen, now swarmed around the glowing queen and did as she bade. Frustrated but determined, Atom’s Assassin persisted. They kept telling themselves that they should be powerful enough to pull ferals away and were growing fearful at their complete failure to do so.

  While Deacon stared silently out the window of his Tenpenny Tower office, Harkness’s chin dropped low to his chest. He had finished his debriefing moments before and now in the ensuing silence the exhausted agent was in real danger of falling asleep.

“You called me ‘Deacon’.”

Harkness’s head snapped up, “Oh… Did I?”

“Yes.” Deacon sighed, “I guess it would be pointless to contradict you at this point, huh?” Turning, he crossed the room to his desk and after shuffling a few papers aside, picked up a holotape and held it out to Harkness. “Take a few days to recover before you start on this.”

After accepting the tape, Harkness continued to hold it out at arm’s length. Maintaining eye contact, he lifted a brow, “What’s this?”

“Your next OP.”

“What… what are you…?”

“This one should be a little more routine. That being said, I still want you…”

“What do you mean my next…?” He continued to hold the holotape out and away from himself. Now when Deacon interrupted him again, he bobbed his whole arm up and down as if using the device to punctuate his ire.

“You’re finished with your last mission. You debriefed me. I’ve been debriefed. I stand debriefed.” As Deacon spoke his volume increased as if he was trying to drown out Harkness’s arm waving, “I’m pants-less before you!”

“God DAMN it! What about Wraith?!”

“What about her? I’m sure the Commonwealth branch will be able to…”

“Don’t, boss…” Harkness lowered his arm and let the tape fall on to the floor before bringing hands up to his face. When he spoke his voice was muffled, “please don’t. Don’t pretend like you don’t care.”

“I don’t. Wraith is someone else’s problem. I can’t afford to be distracted by her.”

Harkness launched himself to his feet and rushed Deacon. He stopped just short of the other man so they stood nose to nose, “I think you fucking care quite a bit.”

The phrase sent Deacon’s mind back to a similar conversation he had had with Hancock and he chuckled humorlessly at the irony of it. “She… has a way of getting under your skin, doesn’t she?”

“I think she’s a pill.” Harkness sagged, turned and all but dragged himself back to the couch, “She’s violent, moody and… she cares deeply for her people. She puts her own safety at risk to help others. Strangers even. She’s very brave and is a brilliant, terrifying fighter.” He smiled helplessly up at the other man, “I don’t know whether I want to take a bullet for her or shake her.”

Deacon remained very still and silent as he tried to concoct a lie that would end the immediate conversation and put the subject of Wraith to bed. Even as he stewed, he knew that he didn’t want to ignore Wraith’s plight. “Even if I wanted to help…”

“Which, you do…”

“…what do you expect I’ll be able to do?” All trace of humor had fled from him and Deacon’s tone was almost accusatory. He returned to the window, and frowning at his reflection, resisted the urge to break the glass.

“Governor seems to think you’ll be able to snap her out of it.”

Deacon scoffed, “Ha! ‘Governor thinks…’” He shook his head, “The situation is different; this is not of her own doing. This ‘Radiance’ creature has her… entranced. This isn’t the berserker we all know and love. No. We’ll all turn to dust long before she calms and returns to her senses.”

“Since when have you adopted such a defeatist’s attitude? Why wouldn’t you go? Why not try?”

“You’ve only had a small taste of what she’s capable of… I definitely can’t fight her.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. Why is she so physically strong?”

Deacon frowned, “I don’t know… exactly…”

“So tell me vaguely.”

“Let’s say… she’s one failed step in the march toward the ultimate super soldier.”

“That’s a hell of a stumble.”

Deacon heard the creak of the sofa springs as Harkness rose and came to stand behind him. He could see the large man’s chest reflected in the window glass, and his arms as he crossed them over it. He let the silence drag out for as long as possible and when he finally spoke he let the full weight of his ire carry in his voice, “I’ll ask again; what do you expect me to do?”

“Retire and go back.”

Deacon spun about, his face a storm of anger, “I don’t get to do that.”

“I don’t see why not. Morningstar never meant for you to have to stay here.” He turned and went to sit at Deacon’s desk. “I’m thinking I’m your replacement. I’ve had enough of field work for now, and with everything you’ve set in place, this job could almost be easy.”

“Easy…?” Deacon’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“I know you can help them. Wraith needs you, Deacon.” He folded his arms behind his head and set his feet on top of the desk. “We don’t.”

“For the last time; what do you think I can do?!”    

“Call her name.”

 Hancock’s snores could be heard throughout the Old Statehouse. His feet were up on his desk and his head was tilted back over the top of his chair; the awkward angle accounting for the great volume of his log-sawing. And yet, his granddaughter was completely undisturbed. She was in what he called tree-frog mode: perched on his chest with limbs drawn in and chin tucked. He had one hand gently cupping her back and so the tiny infant was perfectly safe riding up and down with his deep, rhythmic breaths.

He was exhausted:

Several months had passed since the meeting and Wraith was still missing. The excursion to the Glowing Sea provided very little clues to her whereabouts. While there, Danse, as the ranking Minutemen officer, met with Mother Isolde and informed her of her daughter’s death. During the meeting she spoke on how a vast horde of feral ghouls had pass very near to the Crater and that they seemed to be moving northeast.

“Normally such a thing would be noted as odd but not concerning. This… even we at the Crater, Atom’s holy ground, couldn’t help but feel threatened.” She lowered her head and touched her finger tips to her temple.

“I am very sorry for your loss…”

“It is not only that… forgive me but I have been having headaches…”

Soon after, MacCready had parted ways with Danse and the rest of his squad to escort Valentine and Curie back to Sanctuary. Leaving almost as soon as he returned, he stopped in Goodneighbor to collect Hancock and the two set out to follow up on leads from the ghoul’s network. There had been witnesses that spoke of a mass exodus of raiders and other unsavory types, fleeing the Mass Pike tunnels and the various MTA stations around the city. Like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Hancock was most concerned about the reports coming in from Postal Square, “That’s part of the Blue Line. I know there’s blockages between there and the Third Rail but…”

When the duo finally found a raider to question, they couldn’t be sure how much of his terrified babbling was chem induced.

“It was a deathclaw! But, like a little one. Not a baby, just real small. Not real small, more like it was people sized. And the ferals! They were all runnin’ and hoppin’. Glowing ones everywhere! I had ta run and hop too. The voices in my head got LOUD! Oh my head, oh… Mayor Hancock… you packin’? You haulin’, man? Cause, I could need some Psycho, man. My arm skin tryin’ to crawl away from me, boss.”

“Sorry, pal. I’m light these days. It’ll be winter soon, why don’t you head over to Goodneighbor? So long as you mind yerself, you’ll do alright.”

“I don’t mind… don’t mind takin’ what I need from your dead…”

The raider never finished. As soon as he went for his knife, MacCready had pulled a sidearm and blew his brains out through his ear.

Danse returned to Sanctuary just before the first snow. His time spent in his power armor much improved his mobility and stamina as the support the suit provided proved to be a surprisingly efficient form of physical therapy. Despite this, he found himself at a trough in his mental recovery. The inability to find his friend and save her, like she had done so many times for him, was incredibly crushing. On several occasions, Curie would lose track of him and find him standing in one of Sanctuary’s fields in his power armor, having completely worn down a core. Calling to him repeatedly, she would stand in the cold until he regained his senses and followed her slowly home.  

Strong’s reaction seemed to be the most out of character. The super mutant became strangely quiet and after he returned with the hounds from the glowing sea, took to picking up and carrying around any of the mutant canines that happened to be available. Cait overheard him whispering to Gracie, appearing to be reassuring himself by talking to her, “Alpha is still with Strong. Strong feels small human friend. Alpha won’t wear out like other humans. Alpha will come back. As soon as ghoul is dead…”

Martha Daisy Hancock had been born early. Fahrenheit had become gravely ill in her last trimester and Dr. Amari had called for Curie’s aid. Diagnosing her with pregnancy induced liver disease; she had been able to convince the mother of a dramatic course of action and thus, performed her first C-section to great success. In turn, Amari made the journey to Sanctuary a month and a half later to help deliver Ellie and Nick’s son, John Emiliano; whom everyone called “Jack”.

MacCready and Hancock had continued to scour the bowels of the ruins, going tunnel by tunnel, with little to no rest for the entire winter. The decision to abandon his search when Fahrenheit became sick nearly tore the ghoul in two. Now, he threw himself after every new rumor, no matter how vague, like a starving dog on a scrap of meat.

Now, not even bothering to knock, Fahrenheit opened the door to the mayor’s office and followed closely by MacCready, strode purposely to Hancock’s desk. She reached out, intending to take her daughter from the ghoul’s arms, but stopped herself after briefly considering the consequences. After all, they both were finally sleeping…

MacCready had no such compunctions and deftly plucked the baby from his arms. In almost the same motion, he substituted a small bag of beach sand and stepped back, grinning triumphantly.

“There’s no way…”

Hancock sat bolt-upright, “Oh!” Blinking owlishly he stared at them for a moment before looking down at the sack he was cradling gently in his arms. His mouth set in a scowl, he growled at MacCready, “You asshole.”

MacCready chuckled, “Aww, man, don’t curse in front of the kid!” His laugh turned into a pout, “I really thought that was gonna work… been carrying that stupid bag forever.”

Hancock’s face softened as soon as he heard him laugh. It had been a while since the young man had shown any inclination toward cheerfulness and it made the ghoul feel better to hear. “You’re lucky I love ya, stealing my baby…”

Fahrenheit loudly cleared her throat before turning to MacCready and holding her hands out expectantly. He in turn, backed away while sticking his lip out even further.

“Give me a few minutes! At least until she starts crying. I’ve hardly gotten a chance to hold her… since… well…”

She relented and went to set herself on Hancock’s couch. “Hancock, I just got off the radio with Garvey… General Garvey.”

Hancock immediately stood. His brow knit, he clenched his hands into fists and advanced on the door. When he spoke his voice shook with barley suppressed rage, “How could he? How dare he?”

Fahrenheit stood up as well and positioned herself in the doorway to block the mayor, “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go and give him a piece of my mind! That’s where!”

“Oh, no you’re not!” She pressed a hand to his chest and was a little surprised when he didn’t back down. Determined, she pushed harder and locked eyes with him, “If you go now you will say something hurtful to a man whom you greatly respect.”

“It wasn’t just him, Hancock. They had a meeting and decided to follow Wraith’s notes.”

Surprised, Hancock whirled on him, “So, you’re okay with them removing Wraith from command?!”

“I didn’t say that,” MacCready let an edge creep into his voice, “I said that it wasn’t all on Preston.”

“Oh! I see!” He threw his hands up, “So it’s okay because it was decided in fucking committee!”

“NO! It’s okay because Wraith essentially TOLD THEM TO DO IT!” MacCready’s eyes flashed at him.

“They simply made official what has been their reality for the past few months, and Preston will do a fine job of it. Despite his age, he has years of experience and has learned a great deal from his time with Wraith.”

“His age? Pretty sure he’s older then you…”

She shot MacCready a glare, “Be still.”

Hancock whirled from the doorway and uttering a guttural sob, surprised them both by beginning to cry. Filled with anger and grief he was barely able to speak, “I can’t stand that they’ve given up on her… that they are following her Will… that she’s… she’s…”

Martha began to cry even as her adoptive grandfather and MacCready passed her to Fahrenheit before wrapping his arms around Hancock.

“Don’t, man. She’s not dead!” His own voice thick with impending tears, he squeezed him tightly, “We will never give up!”

Fahrenheit made an attempt to calm the infant while frowning at them, “Queenie is adaptive and powerful. I share in MacCready’s optimism and am almost positive she’s still alive.” Returning to the couch, she offered her daughter a breast, leaned back and closed her eyes. Hancock wasn’t the only one who was exhausted. “We need a better plan. Something actionable.”

MacCready and Hancock politely turned their backs and went to seat themselves at the mayor’s bar, the former reaching over the counter to grab a bottle of whiskey. He poured two portions and was surprised when the ghoul declined. His concern grew when Hancock set his brow into the heal of his palm and muttered something about “headaches”.

“You’re like, the fifth person I’ve talked to today who has a headache.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I just need some Mentats and I’ll be right as rain.”

MacCready, unconvinced, continued to frown at him, “You’re sure that’s best…”

Hancock chuckled, “Sez the man who just drank a fifth of whiskey.”

“Oh… right.” MacCready reached out and gently grabbed the back of Hancock’s head and pulling him in close, bumped their foreheads together much the same way Wraith would.

They stayed together this way for almost a minute before Hancock leaned away, smiling, “Ya know, I think that might’ve helped.”

Fahrenheit rolled her eyes at them, “Absolute mush.” She stood and patted her daughter on the back, “A plan, gentlemen; where do we go from here?”

“I got a idea, actually…”

“Well, be gentle with it. It’s in a strange place.”

“Ha ha.” Now it was MacCready’s turn to roll his eyes, “You remember that one vault that was down in Quincy Quarries?”

Hancock growled, “Yeah, I remember. There was a Vault-Tec scientist there who’d turned ghoul. The place is massive. Wraith tried to set up a whole settlement down there; it’s fully powered and everything. She gave up though. Folks told her it was like livin’ in someone else’s grave…”

“Exactly! It’s completely abandoned but probably fully provisioned and fortified. Not to mention the entrance is right in the middle of one of the most irradiated places in the Commonwealth.” He smiled and swept his hands out across the bar, as if revealing the answer to all the world’s problems, “I can’t imagine a more perfect place for a mass of feral ghouls to spend the winter.”

“That’s actually… hmm, that’s not bad.”

MacCready’s triumphant smile returned and he beamed at her, “Now I know she sealed it off, but…”

A sudden commotion in the stairwell outside interrupted him. They could hear raised voices and the thundering footsteps of several men running up the stairs.

Fahrenheit reached the door just as a Watch member had raised a fist to knock and narrowly avoided getting knuckled in the face, “Report!”

Staring stupidly for a moment, the ghoul shook himself, stammering awkwardly, “Cap… Cap’n Fahrenheit… Mayor Hancock… I… it’s bad!”

“Now what?!” Hancock pushed himself to his feet and quickly crossed the room.

“There’s some drifters going crazy! Two… two were in the Rail and…”

“Show me!”

It was bedlam in the streets of Goodneighbor. The Neighborhood watch fought to subdue residents who, only moments before had been calm and peaceful. MacCready and Hancock separated as soon as they were at ground-level. Each picked a target and rushing to help pin the snarling, apparently feral, ghouls without killing them.

“Knock them out if you can!” Fahrenheit stood on the balcony and called instruction to her subordinates. “On your three o’clock, Coach!”  

“Then… oof… what?!” MacCready caught an elbow to the ribs, “You don’t have a jail here. Where… Ow! Goddamn it! This guy just bit me!”

At that moment, Magnolia, face pale as a ghost, rushed to Hancock’s side, “There’s a glowing one in the Rail! I think… I think… I think it’s Her!”

Thank you for reading! Like what you’ve read? Looking for more? Please see my master link: pinned post and tagged as Wraith in the Ruins. As always, any questions/concerns/comments please feel free to send me an ask. I look forward to hearing from you. =^..^=