#I will fail these bastards though but I won't just give up even if it kills me because I am stubborn

[xomakara]

Beyond The Bounty

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | When you get caught by Seonghwa, the bounty hunter, for the hefty bounty on your head, you can't help but want to know his story. PAIRING | Seonghwa/Reader GENRE | bountyhunter!Seonghwa, cowboy!Seonghwa, outlaw!Reader, off to the wild west we go, smut with no plot, uprotected sex (wrap it up everyone!), first time, fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex, praising, pet names RATING | Mature LENGTH | 7026 words AUTHOR’S NOTE | They fit the cowboy concept so well. Plus I watched too much westerns the past few days LOL. I actually couldn’t decide which member would suit this story so I let a name pick generator decide haha. And Seonghwa it is~

There was no point in struggling. No point in trying to escape when your hands and feet were tied by the harsh ropes. All you could see was the passing terrain of dirt and grass.

Your body was aching from the uncomfortable position you had been bound in. The bounty hunter that caught you didn't even give you a horse to ride, instead opting to lay you unto his saddle as he steered his horse.

"You know...You'd think that you treat a lady better than this." You muttered to your captor. He scoffed at your remark before starting up his horse again.

"You're not exactly a lady though." The man replied, smacking your ass hard enough to make you yelp out in pain. "What man would treat an outlaw like you as a lady?"

"Ouuu, tough words for the big bad bounty hunter." You scoffed. "Come on, you only caught me for my big bounty and left all these other bastards untouched. It doesn't really seem fair does it?"

"For a woman, you talk too much." The man chuckled.

He rode for hours without speaking another word. You tried getting him to say something else but failed every time. Your captor was a silent man. So you had nothing to do but look at the passing terrain of dirt, grass, the man's boots, and the horse's hooves. It seemed like the endless landscape never ended. It was almost maddening how monotonous it was. If it weren't for the horses hooves hitting against the earth constantly, you might have lost your mind.

After what felt like ages, the man finally stopped. He got off his horse and untied you.

"This ain't no prison." He explained while keeping his grip on the ropes. "But if you don't start being nice, I'll tie you back up until I find someplace we can settle down. What do you say?"

"Whatever you say." You shrugged.

"Good girl." The man said happily before letting go of the ropes and walking away. You watched him walk off into the distance before laying on the ground.

Oh, your back aches so badly. Being bound in the same position for such a long time hurts your muscles horribly. A few moments later, you heard the man come back and he squatted next to you. He lifted a flask of water and gave it to you. You took it from him and drank, glad that the damn water tasted good. When you finished drinking, you handed the empty flask back to him.

"It's getting dark and we're not going to make it to town at this rate. I'm setting camp up here." He started and gave you a look. "If you promise to behave, I'll leave you untied tonight. But if you try to run, I'm tying you back up. Do you understand?"

"Yeah yeah. I won't run." You rolled your eyes. You watched as the man prepared to set up camp. You laid back on the ground and let your mind wander.

"What's your story?" You asked suddenly.

The man looked at you with a frown. "What makes you ask?"

"You're just a lone man traveling around and collecting bounties. No family or friends to speak of. How did you end up doing this? And why are you alone?"

"I can ask you the same question." He asked you back, as he leaned against his saddle. "How did a woman like you become an outlaw?"

"Easy." You answered, rolling your eyes. "My seven brothers decided they wanted to be cowboys, so I went with them. We raided ranches and stole cows. We got chased by the sheriffs all the time and got shot at several times. I helped them hijack a train one day, escaping with a large amount of money and guns. And then we split up after finding out that we had a large amount of bounty on our heads. I was just in town stocking up on supplies when you caught me. And here we are."

"Interesting." He said simply. "So you're telling me that you used to live a normal life?"

"Normal?" You laughed. "Nothing about me is normal! It's probably a miracle that I survived growing up the way I did. I have seven brothers. Imagine the chaos!"

"Seven." The man nodded. "That must have been difficult."

"To put it mildly." You nodded. "If you ever get the chance, tell me your story."

"No thanks." The man shook his head. "I prefer living my life alone."

"What's your name anyway?" You asked suddenly.

"Why?" The man replied with a frown.

"Just curious." You shrugged. "I'd like to know the name of my handsome captor. I'm Y/N by the way."

"Seonghwa." The man told you.

You smiled slightly and nodded. "Nice to meet you Seonghwa."

Seonghwa didn't mutter anything and when you turned your head to look at him, you let out a soft gasp. You never got the chance to really look at what your captor looked like since you were hanging off the horse most of the time. But now that you weren't looking at the dirt, you were able to take in his full appearance.

Holy shit, he was beautiful. From his black hair to his brown eyes, there wasn't a part of his face that you didn't like. His arms were also well toned. Every muscle was defined and showed signs of the many adventures he had lived through. Not to mention his chest was pretty impressive too. Even with the jacket covering it, you could still make out a decent sized pec.

'Damn it.' You cursed yourself silently. 'Now I feel guilty for getting captured by him.'

You quickly shifted your gaze back towards the horizon. You couldn't afford to think about him right now. You had to stay strong. Your past experiences with men made it impossible to trust anyone except for yourself. Even if he treated you well, you couldn't get attached to him because you were bound to be killed eventually.

You did have a hefty bounty on your head.

Sighing, you continued to watch the horizon as you waited for the sun to set. "I've never met a handsome bounty hunter before." You sighed, unable to hold back your thoughts anymore.

"What makes you say that?" Seonghwa inquired.

"You're good-looking, ruggedly handsome, in fact. Most bounty hunters I've seen aren't exactly the best looking." You told him honestly. "You got a wife and kids back home?"

"No." Seonghwa shook his head. "I've been traveling since I was young. Sometimes for months at a time. Other times, for weeks. No attachments."

"Hmm..." You pondered over the situation.

"And you?" He looked at you as you slowly sat up. "Anyone waiting for you?"

"Well..." You trailed off. "I did once upon a time. Before I became an outlaw. But he was gunned down before we could consummate the marriage."

"Damn." Seonghwa cursed. "How awful."

"Yeah, it sucked." You frowned. "I warned him what would happen if he were to stay in my life. And he chose to stay anyway. It wasn't even an hour after we were wed that he got shot in front of me. He was so young. Only eighteen. That bastard never should have gotten himself into such a dangerous line of work."

"Did you avenge him?" Seonghwa inquired curiously.

"Yes." You said simply. "After he died, I joined my brothers. I shot the bastard in the head once I found him. I went straight from being a naive girl of sixteen to a widow in a matter of hours."

"Do you miss him?" Seonghwa asked softly.

"Sometimes." You whispered. "It's been nearly ten years so I can't remember how he looks now. But sometimes I do. It gets hard living my life alone knowing that he's dead."

"You said that you came from a large family." Seonghwa remarked. "Are you sure that you're alright without someone by your side?"

"Of course." You scoffed. "A simple trip across the country isn't going to kill me. Plus, I have a handsome bounty hunter here to keep me company. It's definitely a win-win situation."

"Ha ha." Seonghwa snorted. "Keep joking like that and you'll regret it."

"Really?" You giggled. "Handsome bounty hunter says that I'll regret joking with him. Should I believe you?"

"Absolutely not." Seonghwa told you sternly. "I'm not like those other men. I may be a bounty hunter, but that doesn't mean that I'll touch women without consent."

"Such a gentleman. I like you already. Sad that you're turning me in though." You said before giving him a sweet smile. "Just kidding. Seriously though, don't turn me in. Let's be friends."

"Friends?" Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. "No way in hell."

You let out a sigh as you resumed watching the dirt and grass below you. Hands and feet tied again, you thought you would be sitting upright on the saddle in front of him but he decided to lay you down instead. You could feel his warm hands near your back, holding the reins to keep the horse steady. He didn't say anything. There was no conversation. In fact, you couldn't hear any sound at all. Nothing but the sound of the wind blowing and the horse hooves hitting against the land.

"Back to looking at dirt and grass." You huffed. "Wonderful."

"There are other things to look at besides the dirt." Seonghwa pointed out.

"Like what? Cacti? Rocks?" You suggested sarcastically.

"Sounds about right." Seonghwa agreed. "Tell me something."

"Anything." You answered, trying to glance at him but to no avail.

"Have you always been this bold? Most women I've met don't exactly act like you." Seonghwa said with a slight hint of surprise.

"And how do they act?"

"Most are demure and coy. They don't talk much and prefer to remain quiet. They're happy to stay within their own circle and keep themselves safe." Seonghwa informed you. "They want security and nothing more. They want a nice home, some children, and the rest of their lives will follow suit. You, on the other hand, aren't afraid to challenge yourself and take risks. I mean what woman becomes an outlaw?"

"Me." You admitted. "This woman. So yes, you're correct. I am very different from other women. My parents were both strong people. They raised me differently than others. And when my parents died and I went with my brothers, they taught me to be tough. I've had to fend for myself since I was little. There was never a moment where I felt safe. Even after my husband died, I knew I had to go out on my own. If I wanted to survive, I needed to learn to fight. After joining my brothers, I learned how to shoot, rob trains, and kill. I have to admit, however, I never liked the killing part. But what choice did I have? All I cared about was keeping myself alive."

"I never said I disliked it. I respect your strength. It's admirable." Seonghwa said sincerely.

"Thank you." You smiled, staring at the man who stared at the land with equal intensity. "But let me ask you something."

"Go ahead." Seonghwa said simply.

"Why the sudden interest in knowing about me?" You asked. "You're going to turn me in anyway. What difference does it make whether or not you know my backstory?"

"True enough." Seonghwa conceded. "But I find it interesting."

"Okay. I guess curiosity killed the cat. Ask away." You rolled your eyes. "But first, can I ride sitting up? Laying like this is awkward and it hurts."

"Sure." Seonghwa said. He grabbed the reins and pulled gently to make sure the horse stopped. When the animal compiled, he released his grip, untied the ties that bound your feet and positioned you onto the horse seat. You were grateful to finally be able to sit properly and look around.

As soon as you sat up, you immediately took in every detail of the man that sat behind you.

He wasn’t as tall as your brothers Yunho and MIngi but still tall nonetheless. His broad shoulders barely fit into the leather jacket he wore. Black pants and boots completed his attire. However, his favorite piece of clothing seemed to be the black shirt that he wore underneath his jacket. It was open just enough to show a glimpse of his chiseled chest. It was slightly unbuttoned and made him seem even more desirable.

"Stop staring or you'll go back to looking at the ground." Seonghwa chastised you with a glare.

"Okay. Fine, no staring." You sighed in defeat. "Ask your questions. Or whatever it is that you want to know."

"Your siblings." Seonghwa began. "Who are they?"

"Don't you know the Ateez gang?" You asked curiously.

Seonghwa stared down at you. "Those are your brothers? The seven men with five thousand dollar bounties each on their head? You rode with them?"

"Is it that surprising? I'm surprised my oldest brother Hongjoong doesn't have a bigger bounty..." You paused for a moment before continuing. "If you're wondering, yes I am the youngest."

"I wouldn't have guessed that you were the youngest." Seonghwa commented. "It must be tough having to live up to everyone else."

"It's not that bad. We're actually quite close." You shrugged. "Everyone else has big personalities and we all get along really well. They all became my brothers when my parent's adopted them. I will always be their sister and they will always be my brothers even if we don't share a single drop of blood."

"You must care for them very much. To risk everything for them." Seonghwa said in understanding. "Have you fallen in love again after your husband died?"

"Again? I don't understand what you mean." You replied innocently.

"You fell in love with a man and married him. Have you fallen in love with another man since then?" Seonghwa pressed.

"Uh... What? I never said that I was in love with my husband. But I did respect him. He was a good friend and would have been a good husband." You explained. You turned to look at him. "Seriously. It’s not fair that I’m the only one talking. Tell me about you."

"I...I had a wife and child." Seonghwa said sadly. "She died from childbirth and my son died too from illness. He was only a few months old."

"Oh...I'm sorry." You muttered. Your heart broke a little bit at the sad news. You really hoped that the man beside you wasn't going to turn you in. Because right now, he reminded you a lot of her. Of your past self. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Seonghwa reassured you. "It's been about five years now since she died. Sometimes it still feels fresh. But I've gotten used to it. Since then, I haven't found anyone else to settle down with. Not because I don't want to. But because it's not possible. I just can't bring myself to trust another person."

"Trust is hard to earn." You murmured. "So I understand why you can't do it. But perhaps you should try? Just one more time?"

"One more time?" Seonghwa repeated incredulously. "What makes you think that I would fall in love again?"

"Well...first of all, you are not alone." You argued. "Second, most of the world is lonely. They may have many friends, but they don't have a companion that they can share everything with. That special someone that is there for them when times are good and also for them when times are bad. Someone that they can depend on to be there through thick and thin."

"Someone like you?" Seonghwa questioned, looking at you curiously.

"Calm down, big boy." You laughed. "I'm not telling you to marry me. I'm just saying that maybe you shouldn't shut off your chances at finding happiness because you're afraid of getting hurt."

"Wise words coming from an outlaw." Seonghwa muttered with amusement. "Alright. Let's give it a shot. One more time."

"Another question for you." You said casually. "Of all outlaws to catch, why me? There were a ton in the town I was in. I don't even resemble my wanted picture. So why me?"

"I don't know the exact reason...but I think it's because you are so unlike any other woman I've ever met." Seonghwa answered honestly. "I know I said that you're different. But it's true. You're not like any of the traditional women out there. You're not a saloon girl and you're not a prostitute. When I saw you standing there next to your horse, I just had this feeling come over me. Like I could tell that you're more than meets the eye."

"You like the mysterious type, huh?" You teased.

"I like it when a woman stands out from the crowd." Seonghwa told you honestly. "I like it when they dare to defy society. I find it very attractive. My wife was like that."

"That sounds wonderful." You breathed out.

Seonghwa watched you intently. Your hair flew freely behind you. For some reason, he couldn't stop staring at you. You stared back at him curiously. Something about him intrigued you. From the way he spoke, to the way he looked. Maybe it was the aura he emitted that intrigued you. Whatever it was, you couldn't deny the fact that you were drawn to him. It didn't matter if you got arrested, turned in, or got a bullet to the face, you had to admit that he was handsome. And charming. He was just...so unlike any other man you've ever known.

In a good way.

After a while, Seonghwa cleared his throat. You instantly snapped out of your thoughts and forced yourself to focus.

"How long until we reach town?" You asked curiously.

"Not long." Seonghwa confirmed. "We'll stop at the nearest inn for dinner and drinks. Then it will take us another day to reach our destination."

"I guess I should get comfortable, huh?" You sighed as you adjusted yourself on the saddle. You looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Since I'm going with you peacefully, can you untie my hands too? Please?"

"You promise not to run?" Seonghwa asked curiously.

"I swear." You nodded.

"Alright." Seonghwa sighed. He removed the rope binding your hands together and loosened the knots on the other side of your wrists. "There."

You rubbed your wrists appreciatively. Now that you weren't tied up, it gave you the freedom to stretch your arms out. In response, Seonghwa wrapped his arm around your waist. You looked up at him with wide eyes but he seemed to just stare off into the distance.

You looked down at his hand resting against your hip. He hadn't removed it yet. Instead, he held it firmly as if he intended to keep it there forever. Without thinking, you leaned into his touch and placed your head on his shoulder.

For the rest of the journey, neither of you moved. You didn't speak. You didn't say anything either.

Both of you just stayed silent, savoring each other's company.

You reached the inn that was in the middle of nowhere. If you looked at the map carefully, it wasn't even a real city. However, it served as the last outpost for food supplies and travellers before they arrived at the main city.

You and Seonghwa walked up to the counter where a grizzled old man stood, watching you both. "Lookin' for a room?" He grunted gruffly.

"Yeah." Seonghwa said confidently. "Do you have any vacancies?"

The old man glanced over at you before answering. "I only got a small room meant for one traveler and not two. Does your pretty wife mind the small space? I reckon she'd prefer the comforts of a larger room."

Seonghwa didn't even correct the man as he looked down at you. "You don't mind the small room, do you sweetheart?" He asked softly.

You shook your head. "We'll take it. After all, it's only for one night."

The old man led you inside the small room. You pulled back the curtain and took a look around. It wasn't too bad, but it definitely wasn't a large luxurious room. There was a bed, which was only big enough for one person, a dresser and a table with chairs. It seemed to be more of a bachelor room rather than a couple's. But hey, at least you wouldn't have to sleep on the floor tonight.

"This room is the cheapest we have." The old man announced as he pointed to the bed. "But I suggest you make yourselves comfortable. Dinner will be ready soon."

He left without waiting for your answer. Once he closed the door behind himself, you turned to look at Seonghwa.

"Wife? Sweetheart?" You asked in confusion. "Am I missing something here?"

Seonghwa sat in one of the chairs as he gestured for you to take the bed. "It's a good excuse for a man and woman that’s together to be in these parts. To most folks, a female outlaw is unheard of. But a man and woman travelling together under such circumstances?"

"I guess...yeah. Makes sense." You mumbled.

"Take the bed." He muttered. "I'll sleep in the chair."

"Why not let me share the bed with you?" You suggested.

"You trying to seduce me?"

"Do you want to be seduced?" You countered playfully.

Seonghwa looked away guiltily. "No, I..."

You placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "Don't worry about it. I won't seduce you."

"Go to sleep, Y/N." Seonghwa urged gently.

Reluctantly, you climbed onto the bed. Your skin prickled as you stared at Seonghwa who was already sitting in the chair.

You waited until he finally laid down on the chair before you finally relaxed. It was a short wait. Within minutes, you were fast asleep.

This time he didn't tie you up and lay you down on the saddle. This time, he actually put you on his lap as he steered the horse with one hand. As you sat comfortably in his lap, his free arm went around your waist.

You stared out at the beautiful scenery around you. It was truly amazing how vast the plains were and how beautiful the sunset was.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Seonghwa whispered. His breath tickled the back of your neck as he spoke.

Your heart fluttered at the feel of his voice against your ear. You lifted your head to look at him. "Yes. It's beautiful." You breathed out.

"Right now, you don't look like an outlaw. Don't act like one. Be yourself." Seonghwa encouraged. "Enjoy the ride and the view. Just be happy. It's alright if you want to enjoy being in my arms. I'm not going to tell anyone."

His voice made your heart beat faster. You couldn't help but lean into his chest. "Thank you, Seonghwa." You breathed out.

"Y/N. Can I ask you a question?" Seonghwa asked curiously.

You turned to look at him curiously. "Sure."

"I know we just met but...can I kiss you?" Seonghwa breathed out nervously.

"Why the sudden interest in me now?" You questioned jokingly.

"Because I want to." Seonghwa admitted. "I never thought I would meet someone like you. Someone that doesn't follow the rules. Who dares to break away from what others expect her to do. A smart woman with such high morals. And she's honest and has strong principles. I always knew that I wanted to be around someone like you."

You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a strangled sound. At first, you didn't know what to say, but then he pressed his soft lips against yours. Your body reacted involuntarily, giving in to his gentle kisses.

His warm lips felt good against yours. 

It felt right. 

Everything felt right.

When he pulled away, he didn't look disappointed. In fact, he looked completely content. As if he hadn't been looking for you, but found you anyway. That realization filled you with hope. It may have only been the second day since you met him, but you could tell that there was something special between the two of you. You didn't know if it would go anywhere in the future, but you were glad that you met him nonetheless.

You didn't know what this feeling was. Surely it couldn't have been love. This was your second day of knowing each other after all. Love was impossible. So you couldn't possibly be in love with him. Right?

Still, you couldn't help but smile. Maybe this would turn into something great after all.

As you rode into the main city, you gazed out at the streets, amazed by the hustle and bustle around you.

People were everywhere, running around and buying and selling their wares. Despite the bustle, you couldn't help but think that everything looked calm and peaceful. It almost seemed unreal.

But despite the chaos and turmoil, people still smiled and laughed. Even amidst all the commotion, they managed to make jokes and laugh. You found that incredibly reassuring.

"You're turning me in?" You asked, his chest warm against your back.

"Do you want me to? Or do you want to stay with me?" Seonghwa replied softly.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" You asked him, as his horse trotted along the streets.

"Would you be unhappy staying here?" Seonghwa asked with uncertainty.

"I'd be locked in a cell for the rest of my life. Why do you ask?" You questioned.

Seonghwa sighed. "Because for some odd damn reason, I don't want to turn you in."

Your brows furrowed. "Why?"

"I dunno." Seonghwa shrugged. "It's probably because I'm a soft-hearted bastard on the inside. Maybe I want you to partner up with me to hunt outlaws instead. Heard you're pretty good with a gun."

"You tryna make me one of the good ones?" You teased.

Seonghwa smirked. "Only if you wanna."

"If it means that I won't get hunted down..." You glanced over at him and grinned. "I might take you up on that offer. Thanks."

"Good girl." Seonghwa replied happily as he pulled you closer to his chest. "Let's go rest up in our rooms and decide our plan of action tomorrow morning."

You and Seonghwa decided on one room again but this time the bed was much larger to accommodate a couple. You both took a bath and washed your clothes before settling in to sleep.

As you lied in bed, listening to Seonghwa breathe, you couldn't help but think of your future. For the past few years, all you did was spend money and travel the west with your brothers. You grew tired of doing that. Of taking people's possessions and running away. It was boring. Sure, there was the occasional excitement and danger but you always escaped alive. What else could you possibly gain from living like that? All you had to show for your adventures were scars and bruises.

Now you have the chance to live your life differently. This might be your last chance to do so. Now that you had met Seonghwa, things weren't exactly the same anymore. The path ahead of you was still uncertain, but the unknown was always exciting. What would happen next?

You heard Seonghwa move in his sleep beside you. Then, a few moments later, you felt his fingers lightly tracing your cheek. You smiled, enjoying the warmth radiating from his touch. "Seonghwa?"

"Hmm?" Seonghwa replied sleepily. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You told him honestly. "Just thinking."

"What are you thinking about?" Seonghwa whispered suddenly.

"About us." You confessed.

Seonghwa's eyes snapped open and he quickly rolled over to face you. He cupped your cheeks with his hands. "What about us?"

"Us as partners." You stated simply. "And lovers."

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip. "Are you sure?"

"Very." You assured him as you leaned forward and kissed him tenderly.

"Have you ever been with a man since your husband passed?" Seonghwa asked as his lips trailed down your neck.

"No. Not once." You replied quietly. “Still a virgin, here.”

"Then I promise that you'll find no better lover than me." Seonghwa whispered against your lips. "Let's leave the past behind us and start anew. We'll see where this takes us."

Slowly, you drew back and nodded. "Alright." You murmured.

Seonghwa leaned in and kissed you passionately. "Do you want to keep going?"

You sighed in pleasure as he nipped at your bottom lip. "Can't stop now. I need to taste every inch of you."

With that, he continued down your neck, kissing you lovingly as his fingers slowly explored your curves. Soon, he was stroking your breasts through your shirt and teasing your nipples with his thumbs.

When his lips returned to your lips, you parted them eagerly, your own tongue reaching out to taste his. Soon, the passion between the two of you increased, intensifying with every passing moment. When he started kissing your neck, moving lower and lower down your chest, you held onto his shoulders.

"You're so soft, baby." Seonghwa breathed out huskily. "Soft as silk and sweet as honey."

"Mmm..." You moaned.

"So sensitive." Seonghwa breathed out as he traced his tongue across your nipple. "I could lick you all night long."

You whimpered as he circled your breast with his tongue, teasing you with the tips. "Seonghwa..."

"You've never been touched like this before, have you?" He questioned in a hoarse whisper. "Touched like this and felt loved."

"Yes." You whispered as you reached out to touch him.

"Have you ever tasted a man's flesh before?" Seonghwa asked curiously.

"Uh..." You shook your head. "No. Despite my flirtatious and bold nature, you'd be the first man I've ever given myself to."

"That's quite a confession." Seonghwa chuckled. "I think it's time that I changed that."

You gasped as he bit gently on your breast, making you arch off the bed in ecstasy. "S-Seonghwa!"

"I love it when you say my name like that. You know that, right?" He whispered against your skin. "I could listen to you say my name forever."

He began to suckle on your breast while tracing his fingers down your stomach. "God, I wish you were naked." He mumbled. "Wish I could touch you. Feel every inch of your soft, silky skin."

Before you knew it, he had undone the buttons of your shirt, revealing your chest. With shaking hands, he removed it and tossed it aside. "Look at how perfect you are." He breathed out. "So fucking sexy."

"Like what you see?" You asked breathlessly.

"Every damn thing." Seonghwa groaned as he caressed your naked skin. His fingers traced down your abdomen, trailing lightly over your stomach, stopping at your hip bones. He tugged at your pants and undergarments until they fell to the floor. "Fuck, you're gorgeous. So sexy and beautiful."

He lowered his head and ran his tongue along your belly button. You sighed in pleasure as he ran his nose up your abdomen, inhaling deeply. Suddenly, he pushed himself up and sat back on his knees, gazing at you seductively. "I want to taste you so badly." He said darkly. "I want to savor every part of you."

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him. Then, he lowered his mouth to yours and kissed you deeply. The sensations coursing through your body left you wanting more.

Slowly, he slid down your body, tasting you with his tongue as he went. One hand caressed your thighs while the other trailed lightly up your side. "Beautiful." He whispered. "So damn beautiful."

His lips trailed up your ribs, to your collarbone, to your chin. He nibbled at your jawline before kissing your lips softly. Slowly, he began to explore the insides of your mouth, sucking and licking at your lips. “How are you feeling, my sweet girl?” He whispered against your lips.

You smiled. “Amazing.” You breathed out.

Seonghwa grinned. “Let’s give your body even more pleasure.” He whispered huskily as he stood up and yanked off his shirt. His muscles rippled with every movement as he approached you. Then, he knelt down in front of you and pressed his lips against your thigh. You squirmed slightly at the contact.

“Oh!” You exclaimed softly. “Seonghwa!”

“Shhh.” He soothed as he rubbed his lips against your leg. “Just let yourself enjoy this.”

Slowly, he moved his way up your thigh, giving you goosebumps with every stroke. You couldn’t help but feel excited as he kissed your inner thigh, his fingers continuing to stroke you gently. “Seonghwa…” You whispered softly. “What are you doing?”

“Shh…” He repeated. “Trust me.”

A low moan escaped your lips as he slipped his finger into you, gently caressing your walls. “Ah…”

“Such a good girl.” Seonghwa murmured, smiling at you. “So eager and eager to please.”

His fingers played with your clit while he continued to kiss you tenderly. You could barely contain your excitement as his lips traveled higher and higher up your thigh. Then, he slid his tongue into your cleft and licked up and down your slit, his hands stroking you gently as he went. Your hips bucked up against his face as his fingers continued to work their magic on your g-spot.

Soon, he sucked your clit into his mouth, gently biting down on it. You moaned loudly as you began to tremble. Your legs tightened around his head, forcing his head deeper inside you. He didn’t seem to mind though as he continued to play with your clit.

“Seonghwa…” You moaned again as your entire body tensed up. You couldn’t hold back any longer as you came apart underneath him.

He continued to lick and suck at your pussy, making sure to drink in every drop of your orgasmic juices. He kissed your inner thigh several times before getting up and standing over you. “I want you to take off my pants.” He commanded as he kicked off his boots.

Slowly, you undid his pants and took them off, throwing them to the side. Once you finished removing his pants, you pulled off his underwear, his erection springing free. Your eyes widened as you gazed at his cock. It was already half hard and incredibly large.

"My sweet girl, can you take me in your mouth?" He asked with a wicked grin.

You nodded slowly. "I'm willing to try anything once."

His eyes darkened. "Do you really mean that?"

"Yes." You answered as you wrapped your hand around his shaft and gave him a gentle squeeze. "I'll do whatever you want."

He cupped your cheek with one hand and looked deep into your eyes. "You'll let me fuck your pretty little mouth?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "Of course."

"Oh, baby…" He breathed out, closing his eyes as he imagined the two of you together. You on your knees in front of him, holding his thick member in your hand as you prepare to slide it inside your warm, wet mouth. You looking up at him, your hair cascading down your back as you stare into his eyes, begging for him to fill your throat with his seed. "I bet you look amazing like that. Can you imagine it?"

"Mmm... Yes." You moaned as you felt him sliding his fingers through your hair. "I can definitely picture it."

He moaned in pleasure. "God, I want you." He growled.

He reached down and guided himself into your waiting mouth. As soon as the tip of his dick hit your lips, you closed your eyes and swallowed the head of his cock. He winced in pleasure as you started to move your head back and forth, taking more and more of him inside your mouth. He could hear you moaning in pleasure as you bobbed your head up and down. Soon, you started to take him further and further down your throat.

"You're taking it so well, my sweet girl." He breathed out, leaning forward to run his fingers through your hair. "Is it too much?"

You shook your head. "No." You breathed out. "Keep going."

He grinned. "Good girl." He moved his fingers from your hair to caress your cheeks. "I'll take it slow if you want."

You didn't answer him, instead simply nodding your head as you sucked harder on his cock. You could tell he was enjoying the sensation because his breathing became heavier and faster. "Baby, can you take more?" He whispered huskily. "Can you handle the whole length of my cock?"

"I'll take you as far as you want, Seonghwa." You replied breathlessly.

Suddenly, he thrust himself deeply into your throat, causing you to gag a little. He held onto your head and forced himself to keep going, knowing that if he stopped, you would struggle to breathe. "There we go." He breathed out. "I knew you could handle it."

With every inch of him that entered your mouth, you felt yourself growing hotter and hotter. You were starting to shake with desire as you leaned forward, trying to take more of him inside you. He didn't stop, pressing himself into your mouth and stroking your throat gently.

"Keep going, my sweet girl." He encouraged you. "Take all of me. Make me explode inside your mouth."

As you kept moving your head back and forth, sucking and slurping on his dick, he reached out and caressed your cheek. Your face flushed red as you looked up at him. "You look so fucking beautiful like this." He whispered. "Taking everything I have to give."

He watched you continue to suck and lick at his cock. His breathing was beginning to become irregular as he fought the urge to come. "Oh god... God, I need to fuck you now." He moaned. "I can't take this anymore."

With that, he turned around, pulling you with him. "Come here, my sweet girl." He commanded. "I want you on top."

Once he lay down on the bed, you straddled him, hesitating. "Seonghwa...you're so big. Will you fit?"

"You won't know unless you try." He encouraged you as he caressed your face. "Put me inside you. As much as I need you, tell me if it hurts and I'll stop."

You bit your lip nervously. "Alright." You said softly. "I'll try."

"Good girl..." He murmured as you slowly sank down on him. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." You gasped as you felt him filling you completely.

"It's not too painful?" He breathed out.

"Not at all." You answered honestly. "It feels amazing."

He smiled. "That's my sweet girl." He said as he caressed your breasts. "Feels so good to finally be inside you. To be buried deep inside you."

His words sent chills down your spine as you rode him, bouncing up and down. Every time you bounced, he gripped your hips tighter and held you in place, ensuring that you stayed impaled on his dick. With each thrust, you could feel him throbbing against your pussy walls. He could see how badly you wanted to come, how badly you needed to come. But you knew Seonghwa wouldn't come before you did.

"Tell me what you want." He whispered softly as he stroked your stomach. "Say the word and I will give it to you."

Your pussy clenched around his dick as you bit your lower lip. "Fuck me harder, Seonghwa." You breathed out. "Please."

"Such a naughty girl." He chuckled. "But I love it."

He grabbed your ass and started thrusting into you harder. "This is our first time having sex, you know?" He breathed out. "You're doing so well, my sweet girl. Don't worry about anything. Just ride me and let me give you pleasure."

You smiled as you pumped up and down on him, loving the feeling of his cock inside you. The room was filled with heavy breathing and low moans as the two of you tried desperately to reach your orgasms.

"I think I'm close." You breathed out.

"I think you are too." He agreed as he kissed your neck. "Just let go, sweetheart. Let go and come with me."

Then, you felt an intense wave of heat building within you. You trembled as you reached your peak and cried out loudly, squeezing Seonghwa's hips tightly. As your orgasm ripped through your body, he continued to fuck you even harder, wanting to make sure you came just as hard as he did.

"That's it, my sweet girl." He grunted. "Let it all out. Come all over my cock. Take everything I have to give."

As the two of you rode your orgasms out, you held onto Seonghwa's arms tightly. "Oh... oh god... I don't know if I can take anymore..." You panted out as your body relaxed.

"Hold on, my sweet girl." He replied as he ran his fingers up and down your arm. "We've still got some time left."

The next few minutes were filled with kisses and soft touches as both of you recovered from your climaxes. After a couple of minutes, you opened your eyes and gazed lovingly at him. "Wow... that was incredible." You said softly.

He smiled and brought his thumb to his mouth, tasting you. "Yes, it was." He replied. "And it gets better every time."

"Oh, really?" You asked with a smile.

"Really." He replied as he cupped your cheek. "If you're willing to be patient with me, I promise you that it will only get better and better. And someday, I will give you something you've never experienced before."

You shivered slightly. "Like what?"

"Hmm... I haven't decided yet." He admitted with a sheepish grin.

You let out a laugh, cuddling closer to his body. "Well, that doesn't exactly help me decide whether or not to be patient."

"Sorry, my sweet girl." He apologized as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "I'm trying to be romantic, but I'm very rusty at this sort of thing."

"You'd better get used to it." You replied with a wink. "Because I plan on being your partner for a long time."

[asunflowerana]

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair.

"Unbelievable. You couldn't even stop for one minute to check the weather? Heck, it's not that hard to just look at the sky and realize that it is getting bloody grey!

You huff, crossing your arms and maintaining your gaze to the car's window: it wouldn't be of any use meeting Kiyoomi's outraged eyes. He's been giving you a lecture since picking you up from your work building, the pouring rain and crazy wind making you wet from head to toe, even though you took less than a minute to get inside the car.

The fact that you forgot your umbrella didn't help you either.

You know that he means well by his words, but it doesn't lessen how they sting inside your mind, tired of being reminded of something you're already beating yourself up for it. He sounds just like your parents whenever you did something foolish for lack of attention. It's annoying, the repetition and "i told you" tone mixed up into a painful monologue that you need to endure the whole drive to your home.

What you don't know, though, is the reason why your long time friend is mad at you. Unlike what you think, there's nothing to do with you wetting the leather of the passenger's seat; rather the fact that you were still at work by 09:00 instead of resting on your couch.

He told you already that your new desk neighbor was a nuisance, trying to take advantage of your kindness and making you stay late at work to finish his demands. And it's not that you're not frustrated about it, but he's new and young and insecure and you can't help but lend him a hand whenever he seems to freak out since he's still getting used to the routine.

You keep saying yes, but you can't see how bad that boy has been using you to do something he was hired for. And that makes Omi go nuts.

"Let me guess, that moron had a "pet emergency" again?" He taunts, gripping the wheels a bit tighter after remembering your dripping state all alone at your work entrance. "What a goof. Couldn't even wait a minute for you to leave."

"Omi, I told him to leave. It was way before it started raining."

"But he still left you alone, didn't he?" He doesn't take any, glaring at you for a moment. "He left you alone while you were putting yourself in danger and staying late trying to save his butt from being kicked. How can you not see the guy's a freaking bastard?"

"Alright! I get it, okay?" You blurt out, looking in his direction with worn out expression. You can't take more of this. "You were right, the whole time. That guy's stupid and I'm even more stupid for trying to help him. Now, can you please stop putting salt on the wound?" You take a moment to breathe, sensing the tension between you both. The back of your head falls on the headrest with a soft tud. "... I'm really tired, Omi. It wasn't a good week and... I'm really sorry for making you come all the way here for my dumbness." You sigh.

It takes a few seconds of silence, helping cooling off the air, before you feel his gaze on you again. This time, it doesn't make you want to hide from it.

"Don't say sorry for that. You know you can count on me, whatever happens." He assures lowly, a certainty inside his voice. He's feeling almost offended that you even considered you're a bother for him. "I only worry. That's all."

You know you won't receive an explicit apology from him, but you know the meaning behind his words, matching the shamed glance he offers you. He knows he's wrong. And when Sakusa realizes he failed, he tries his hard not to repeat the same mistake.

You hate how even without a proper "sorry", he makes your heart swell with fondness.

"Did you cut your hair?" You ask, also trying to change the conversation to something more light. You try not to openly check him out as you appreciate his new short bangs look.

"This morning. How's it look?" He slows down, stopping the car at a red light.

"Nice enough." You'd never admit what you're really thinking. Neither the way your hand is almost aching to touch those black short locks of his.

The corner of his mouth still lifts, though. You were never good at deceiving. "Only nice enough? C'mon, I saved you from desolation and a severe cold."

"Don't push it." You send him a playful glare, making him snicker while moving his hand to squeeze your knee. You smile in return, never getting tired of this intimate banter with him.

Omi might not be the most docile company in the world, but after driving you home, cooking you some pasta and making sure you stayed warm enough before he left, made you realize that you don't want him to change.

You fell in love with who he is. And he's more than perfect that way.

a/n: hey darlings!! thank you for reading this work. this will be part of my small new series "Things I hate about you", starring Omi and other characters. Let me know if you wish to be tagged!

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved

[amymbona]

“Every night when I go to bed, I dream of walking up to hundreds of asks in my inbox that could captivate my attention for the whole day and I wouldn't be able to stop writing”

i feel the need to reveal myself as i’m a sucker for fics and i recommended the blurb of soft patrick 🤭 i love your writing style.

you should totally write something where patrick fails to find anyone who truly understands him except for the reader (yk cause they’ve known each other for forever and the reader is like perfect for him and just an overall amazing person). and he fails to find anyone to connect with, if u know what i mean 😈 PLS GET IT IM SO SORRY IDK HOW TO WORD MY THOUGHTS I LOVE JOSH O’CONNOR

"I LOVE JOSH O'CONNOR" WE ALL CHANT IN UNISON🙌🙌🙌🙌

Patrick Zweig, and I stand by this fact, is absolutely in need of a person who wouldn't judge him for any of his actions. Who'd simply listen, hold him if there's a need (and believe me, there is), and simply let him cry his eyes out. He needs a person who wouldn't sugarcoat anything but at the same time is soft spoken and won't yell at him for simply voicing his worries.

And that person is you.

You're the one who holds him after Tashi's injury, after both his girlfriend and his best friend completely wipe him out of their lives, as a result of something he couldn't possibly control. He lays on your lap, head resting on the soft flesh of your thighs, the four walls of your neat dorm swallowing him in a small bubble of warmth and comfort. And you hold him, fingers delicately running through the mess of his curls, while allowing him to ramble for hours on.

"It's just so unfair to me, like how could I possibly guess that this would happen. Not like I was the one who kicked her to the ground and broke her leg."

He's livid, only too physically exhausted to do something about it, to go slap Tashi like she deserves. His poor boy, despite being familiar with the toughest of trainings, can only handle so much, and then mix of his unsatisfied libido and psychosomatic stomach ache doesn't do him any good.

"And that bastard. Did you see him? He wouldn't even let me talk to her! Acting like her fucking bodyguard."

That is the true twist of the knife stabbed into Patrick's heart, the betrayal of his best of friends, the guy he thought he could trust with his own life. It's simply something that Patrick thought would never, ever happen, the complete one-hundred his best man did. Even you can't really believe what you hear.

"I know, Pat," you whisper, the soft movement of your fingers in his hair faltering as you zone off a bit, trying to come up with the best words to soothe him down. Even though it would be best if you just stayed quiet.

Patrick, too used to the comforting touch you've given him, grabs your wrist with an agitated huff and demonstrates the soft scratching of his scalp, silently demanding more.

So you continue, sighing softly and giving Patrick what he wants. You know this will help calm him down, so why not oblige. You'd much rather see him content, at least partially happy where he is.

"It's just unfair," he pout, nuzzling his face deeper into your lower tummy, an arm thrown around your thighs, holding onto you tightly, "Fucking manipulator. I bet he's fucking her right now."

The voice, despite muffled against the fabric of your sweater, actually make you shudder. The sheer idea of someone betraying their best friend purely for the interest in a girl - someone's girl - seems completely unforgivable. Patrick is definitely not in the wrong for being the offended one here.

"Then what if he is," you mutter, hoping to deliver your words in the best suitable tone to Patrick's ears. "Let the shitty people stay together, Patrick. You're better than them."

Patrick's shoulders tremble lightly at your words and he wants to sob, so so deeply trying to take your words to heart, to really believe them. But he's hurt at the moment. And he doesn't believe he is better than anyone else, let alone Tashi and Art who have been percieved as perfect in his eyes so far. Up until now. At the moment, you're the purest image of perfection, the embodiment of it. And he doesn't believe you're actually with him.

"Don't leave me," he simply whispers, too vulnerable to look you in the eyes while saying it. He hopes the light squeeze of your thighs is enough to let you know how much he really needs you.

You sigh, looking down at the mop of curls on your lap, fingers slowly untangling the mess that somebody left there. "I won't, don't worry."

[macsimagines]

hiiii!! I saw your "yanderes who will resort to murder" so can I request separate HCs for Yandere Kisaki Tetta and Ran Haitani where they cheated on their darlings bcs "she couldn't keep them entertained" and ofc the yanderes won't allow their darling to leave them so their darling becomes more and more lifeless day by day... thank you so much!

TW: Yandere, Abuse, MINORS DNI

Yandere!Kisaki

He doesn't cheat. Don't get me wrong, he's tried. But he can't stand the feeling of someone's lips on him if it's not you. Nothing will ever matter if it doesn't revolve around you.

What he does though is make it look like he cheated. He needs to test you. Sure you were here before he became a rich mogul, but are you really going to stay no matter what? Will you really keep your promise?

Kisaki is shocked when the answer is no. "You think you can leave me?" "Don't give me that crap! YOU cheated! YOU'RE the cause of all of this!"

The second you try to walk out that door, bags in hand, Kisaki is grabbing you by your hair and dragging you back. He has never once been physically violent with you, that's why you're so shocked and can't even react right at the action.

"You're not fucking leaving, Y/N. That ring on your hand means you HAVE to stay."

It's your turn to shock him when you throw your ring on the ground. You've never taken it off since the day he slipped it onto your finger...

"FUCK YOU! I WANT OUT OF THIS MARRIAGE!"

But there is no out. Not anymore. The doors are bolted, you're chained and collared, and no matter how hard you try there is no escape.

The light fades from your eyes, day after day, and he's so broken seeing you slowly start to loose your light. You're everything to him, and like an insecure fool he's ruined you.

"Y/N please," he'll beg, "It was all a lie. I just...I needed to know you'd stay with me no matter what."

Your eyes start to water and Kisaki feels sick because that's your first emotion in weeks. "That makes everything so much worse..."

Kisaki will try and fail to build you up again. He's been trying to prove how much he loves you, how devoted he truly is. "Of course I'd never be unfaithful. The thought of anyone else makes me nauseous."

"I wish you would cheat... I wish you loved anyone else and not me." "...That's never going to happen, darling."

Yandere!Ran

He treats you like you're replaceable and you've let him for years. Eventually though, you've finally decided you've had enough.

"Haven't I been good to you!? I take all your bullshit and love you through it, why can't you just be loyal!?" His words make you sick "Not my fault you don't excite me anymore."

Well if that's how it is then you're not going to waste one more second of your time. The bastard has the audacity to actually leave you there crying.

"I actually have something important to do than listen to you cry, Y/N." and just walked out.

If that's the way he wanted to play it then you were going to leave. You had more important things to do as well, like rebuild your whole life without Ran Haitani.

When he returns home you're gone. You packed a bag and dipped out even emptied out your bank account. "She's bein' real dramatic."

Doesn't take it seriously until his brother says something. "Bro... I really think she's done this time. My guys just found out she bought a ticket outta Tokyo."

Thats when he really starts to get pissed. Goes out and finds you. "Look, I'm soooo sorry," he tells you rolling his eyes, "Now will you quit bein' hysterical? Do you get how bad you're makin' me look?"

The cold empty indifference in your eyes shakes him. Like you don't even care that he came all this way to get you. You're not even saying anything to him.

It goes on like that, him making demands ordering you to come with him, you not even acknowledging him. "You have your whores. You don't need or want me." is the only thing you say before you're making a move to get on the train.

Fuck making a scene. No one leaves Ran Haitani.

Its been months now. And you still won't talk to him. He's tried everything from isolation to starvation and physical violence. You might scream here and there, but verbal communication? Nope.

That empty look in your eyes is starting to really scare him. Ran really had no idea how much he needed you until you were really gone. Physically you're there, but its like he's holding a husk.

Once again, his brother has to speak up, the younger Haitani always did have a soft spot for you. "Bro, c'mon already. You broke her. She's got nothing left."

[bloedewir]

Weekly delusional theory time yay 🥳

It's fun to think Solas is a tired mess of an elf who can't plan anything without screwing it all up. How can that weirdo possibly achieve his goal? More so, how did he even trapped elven gods?

By playing the game with well known rules. Like, idk, chess?

Look, the figures are different so as maybe the board but the rules are the same. And tactics. All he need is to be inconspicuous and discreet as always.

Distract the enemy, let them think they're winning, then strike.

It's already a proven strategy: take the unlucky one (Inquisitor/Rook), put them into the middle of worldwide catastrophe (Breach/Evanuris), step aside, offer your help, guide them wherever course you need, give them shelter (Skyhold/Lighthouse), look trustworthy, when all is over - say byebye and continue following your plan.

Yes there's still a few blind spots and something that can't be foreseed yet there's also a time to prepare yourself. Did Solas have a plan in case Inquisitor would've been failed? Presumably. If he has a plan in case Rook will fail? Presumably.

A part with Inquisitor' involving back in time was an improvisation but it paid off. Unintended risk it was however; not a comfort zone but odds depending play, like Wicked Grace. Quite efficient though. Why not try again but with some improvements?

Solas didn't know who Inquisitor is before the Conclave. Now (I'm like 78% sure) he knows who Rook is.

Varric chased Solas for some time and Solas was well aware of it. Varric didn't pick up Rook just before the beginning of the game. Their dialogue assumes they know each other (for some time, like weeks idk?). I bet Solas knew about "da4 protagonist", had time to look closer and fit Rook into his plans. That's why after all these years (10!) it was surprisingly easy to find him and even interrupt the ritual. Because it was intended.

(I won't be surprised if all this "ah help I trapped in the Fade" situation turns out to be a top tier wolf prank)

Right, but why make your life harder and involve a random mortal? As a wild guess: evanuris must be released to tear down the Veil. Seven gods, seven seals - get rid of them and follow your dream, destroy the Veil and restore your ✨perfect elvhen empire✨. Why risk and deal with two evanuris himself when you can move one of the pawns? Place your rivals against each other and look. Inquisitor won and proved mortals are not useless, so Rook can win too. And if Rook fails, you can intervene and finish the job.

I also think that's the reason why Inquisitor will be back. And I think Solas won't like it. Inquisitor is the one who can say, "What's going on here? Hey, I've seen it before. I know what you're up to". Without them Solas is quite comfortable with drawing a portrait of a tired lonely being who's easy to sympathize with. But a sudden Inquisitor's comeback can mess this up.

I'm not saying he doesn't deserve sympathy or he's a pure evil. He had enough time to turn his flaws and destructive feelings into useful tools. And if he uses his guilt/loneliness/despair when it's needed it doesn't make it a less real. The dude is complex like rocket science after all.

For now, as it seems to me, Solas intends to "replay" Inquisition because it went kinda well. Minimal risk as he may think. What the odds another mortal happened to be unique too? They doesn't even bear a ✨magnificent elvhen magic✨ mark! Poor bastard (affectionate), he doesn't even know what comes.. But I swear to gods, above and below, if he'll do that "what we had was real" thing again, I'll kill everyone in that game and then tear that freaking Veil down myself.

[majeoeje]

Where the lights shine

Childe x reader (part 2)

Not even the snowstorm could keep me from you

Part 1

"Childe? Really? That's a name that you went for?" Your eyebrow raised involuntarily holding in a laugh that threaten to escape your lips

"Hey! You told me you won't laugh" he crossed his arms barely containing the pout that ghost his face

You decided to invite your dear friend to your humble living space whilst you wait for the lantern rite to start

Though the comforts of your house has never felt as cozy as now. Your living room seemed to be rendered in a hazy gold rays of sunset and the plants that decorate it glow to be more vibrant

The orange hues of sunlight passed through your window highlighting the furniture of your apartment

Has this place always been this beautiful?

Ajax or "childe" sat beside you, still dressed in the same fatui uniform that he wore when you met him a few days ago, very much different from how he used to dress back then. You also doesn't miss how his demeanor grew to be more calmer...and perhaps colder

Though those unmistakeably deep blue eyes never seemed to lost it's depth, his orange hair still glow in the ray of sun

You continue to observe him, noticing every small detail that you missed from him

"You're staring again" he said, despite that, he never broke eye contact

You let out a little laugh

"Do you have more have more freckles?" You asked, taking a closer look

"I do?" He perked up curiously, how you missed this expression of his

"Yeah, right here" you pointed with your thumb on the spot below his eye "and here.." you brushed a few strands on the side of his face before ultimately resting on it once again

"Oh yeah? Where else?" He asks

You tilted his face side to side, examining it thoroughly

"Here" you say, finding one on the side of his other eye while not shying away to rest your hands on the side of his face

He smiled, a smile so cheeky you couldn't help to return it

"Pfft. How could you even notice that? You're making it up come on." he sighs weakly, you didn't fail to notice the blush that spreads accross his complexion. Maybe he wished you did made it up. The thought of you making excuses just to touch him has him weak

"How could i? I know for a FACT that these are new" You cupped his hand, your touch still not faltering from it's place

Ajax didn't know what was it with you and how much you like touching his face. The truth is he likes it even more than you do

"Maybe you just like my face so much you remember it so vividly"

Not wrong

"No, it haunts me in my nightmares"

The sun went down and darkness ensues on your apartment

"Mhm, whatever you say" he rolled his eyes playfully cheeky little bastard

You hadn't realize how close your face was to ajax's. You hoped that he didn't see how you stared longingly on his lips

You coughed profusely, inching your face away. The intimate moment made your breath hitch

"You good?" Ajax patted your back

"I'm awesome!" You stood up from the sofa making ajax confused on your sudden movement

"I almost forgot.. i think they're already setting up the laterns, shall we go?" You hesitated before you reached out your hand to help him stand

He took your hand in his and stood up, the both of you simultaniously agreeing to watch the lantern rite from the roof

Just like the old days, it does feel nostalgic how you held his hand giding him to the roof, how you two sat chattering about things that passed, how he never let go of your hand

But the butterfly that flutter in your chest was anything but nostalgic. It was explosive. Like fireworks that shoot up and went off into the sky as you two chat your night away

"Is that why you became a florist?" Ajax asked, looking into the distance, as you talked about your aspiration

"Yeah, when you gave me that frozen flower...it just kinda stuck you know?" you laughed awkwardly "when it melt and wilt, i hoped to grow more of it"

In the harsh snows of snezhnaya, hardly any plants can grow, so when ajax came and give you a flower frozen within ice, you were awestruck. Something so beautiful. So fragile. You were infatuated with it

Ajax was more than happy that he could inspire you, even when his heart swelled in ache letting you go away to start your journey

"Im proud of you" he suddenly says, as he finally looked into your eyes, a look that was filled with genuine feelings and acceptance

"You have a business now, it seems to take off with the funeral parlors and even to other nations" he rambled, feeling like he hadn't praised you enough

"I'm super proud of you too, you're a harbinger!" You pat his back "you've come so far. I'm sure your family is also proud of you"

Gentle yellow light from the lantern, paired with colorful flash of light from the fireworks illuminated ajax in a way that you've never seen before. It took your breath away

"Glad it all worked out yeah?"

"Yeah... still. I hope you'd visit me more now" you didn't pry your gaze off him

Has he always been this beautiful?

"Now that you've said that i'll be up your hair 24/7" he says, smiling again, feels like he couldn't stop smiling when he's with you

"Pfft. Okay"

"I hope you enjoy nagging at 4 in the morning"

"Alright"

"I might even stay here for months to come"

"Doesn't sound too bad"

"And what if i don't want to leave?"

"You know i won't mind. Ever."

Your faces were dangerously so close to one another as you bask in the beautiful light that illuminates from the lanterns.

"I want to kiss you"

He whispered shamefully a confession that he had held back for years. He doesn't wish to hold it for more years to come, this time he was the one holding your face, you find it tremendously cute. Though you'd never admit it

You didn't respond, what would you possibly say in that situation anyway? Other than giving him a long awaited kiss that shouldn't had been delayed for how long it did

You held each other. A warm embrace that didn't felt nostalgic, a new booming unfamilliar feeling, yet you yearn for it

[thecountesstribe]

House of the Dragon 2x3 episode reaction. I have alot of thoughts, bare with me.

The episode was eh but that's mostly just because it's the calm before the proverbial shitstorm.

BAELA “I COULD SMELL BITCH FROM A MILE AWAY AND IT'S ON SIGHT” TARGARYEN, HOW I LOVE YOU!! MOONDANCER IS BEAUTIFUL! MY BRAVE GIRL DID HER THING. IKTR POOKIE!! HER SASSING RHAENYRA, 10S across the board. I know Rhaenyra is tired 😩

I'll always feel for Rhaena, she finally was able to speak although, I wanted more dialogue from her, it's fuckin owed atp HBO, but you could feel her resentment, her anger and her frustration during her scenes. I feel so bad for her cause the only people that are really looking out for her are Rhaenys and Baela. Daemon don't give af, Rhaenyra is trying to find a balance between being a mother and queen but you could see that there is a distance between her and Rhaena even though she lived with them instead of on Driftmark with Rhaenys. When Rhaena first accepted the “mission” and walked off you could tell Rhaenyra wanted to tell her something but it looks like she doesn't know how to talk to her, which is fuckin sad. So those headcanons of her probably only having her brothers to talk to and Luke by extension makes her situation even worse. The glass child fr. So she's most definitely claiming a dragon this season and honestly good on her. Although if they do write Nettles out I'm gonna be pissed. That scene with Baela and her warmed my heart though. Another thing Rhaenyra totally brushing her feelings aside and being like my sons, my sons, my sons is totally not helping her character either. I'm honestly mad they fumbled the majority of the team black relationship dynamics. Rhaena going to ward is literally foreshadowing her future in the dance so I'm not mad at her, she did become everything Rhaenyra wanted her to be, was literally the last of the Targaryen's future and history before Dany came along. I know one thing though they better give her Morning idgaf what they gotta do. That is one important part of the plot I won't forgive if they rewrite it.

Honestly I don't give a damn who gets pissed but fuck Corlys. I said what I said and I'm not taking it back. I don't ever want to hear another “Rhaenyra and her bastard boys usurped Rhaena and Baela”, Corlys is just as misogynistic as the rest of the men in the realm. In the books the succession of the Driftmark throne was up in the air but they rewrited it in the show and yes Baela and Rhaena didn't have a claim to it cause Laenor was Corlys firstborn in the show and he did legitimize his boys but he had an opportunity to make Rhaena Lady of the Tides, she would've been either way had she married Luke as intended but he didn't and you wanna know why? Take a guess, exactly. It goes without saying. I understand him not naming Joff, he's heir to the throne in case anything happens to Jace but he could've named Rhaena and he didn't. So fuck him. Also foreshadowing for the end of the dance.

I wish y'all could've heard the long drawn out exhale that I let out knowing we gotta be see Larys Clubfoot ( the old man was so real for that name 🤣🤣😭😭🤣) more on my television screen. So Crispin, Clubfoot and Gwayne and Aegon, I can't win. Battle of the incels and they're failing upward while we lose 💔. I'm sick. The only thing I like about Gwayne is him irritating crybaby Cole and immediately clocking that there's something going on with him and Alicent. He's messy, I could appreciate that.

Young Rhaenyra was a nice little surprise even though the context for the scene was dark. Daemon getting his death notice in Harrenhal (also foreshadowing) and his dream sequence was peak if you ask me.

I need Rhaenys to never ever in her life speak on Luke's name again. I understand what she was trying to say but even having the audacity to insinuate that it's Luke's fault the war even started cause he took Aemond's eye (he was literally trying to protect his brother and her granddaughters) and that Otto and Weak King Vizzy T council wasn't planning to usurp and kill Rhaenyra from the start is blasphemy to the highest degree. Her clocking Rhaenyra's council was good though. The men in this show are just so ughhhhh. Why did they give Rhaena and Rhaenys an off screen goodbye when she was one of the most important people in her life and especially since she's gonna y'know...

Helaena telling Alicent she forgives her is so gonna hurt when we remember in future episodes. This is gonna greatly contribute to Alicent's suffering especially when Helaena goes off the deep end. She's going to realize she had a hand in destroying one of the purest and greatest things in her life and we the viewers are gonna be hurt.

Didn't expect to get a full blown view of Aemond hanging out but okay I guess. There he goes again not addressing his problems (his bum ass older brother, his nuisance, his bane of his existence) and going to take it out in somebody else though 🥱.

Sept Rhaenyra had the same energy as Arryk pretending to be Erryk and you can't convince me otherwise. I know they were gonna do a reunion between the two but Rhae still trying to be a pacifist and not knocking Alicent's head about even a little bit was stupid to me. She literally tormented her and her children for years! What more was there to say? Get in the field Rhaenyra!! Do you guys really think Alicent didn't know Viserys wasn't talking about her son Aegon? Let's all bffr for a second. She knew and they wanna chalk up the entire dance to it being a mistake is rather irritating. Alicent being prideful and can't admit to her wrongdoings even after the fact that Rhaenyra told her the prophecy is not in the least bit surprising. It just cheapens the outlook on the whole “Dance of the dragons” honestly.

I hate the fact that the writers spun the show into an Alicent vs Rhaenyra situation when the whole gist of season 1 and the books was Rhaenyra vs Misogyny. Women not being allowed to rule because they're women y'know.

In terms of screen writing HOTD IS WEAK and I'm blaming the writers for not reading the source material before putting pen to paper. Don't get me wrong I'm not saying they can't rewrite certain stuff, it's a given with the limited amount of episodes per season, sometimes you do need new plots to shock the viewers and you can't really get into everything but at certain points it's downright ridiculous. Spinning the conflict into a misunderstanding is stupid and I stand by that.

[mellowwillowy]

- Specimen Girl -

Yan!Dottore×Fem Reader

Dead Dove : Do Not Eat

Yes, it's all based off the lyrics to Specimen Girl's song lol. Also I aint a medical student so let's just pretend what Dottore does is scientifically true lol

Gore description (maybe), delusional Dottore, reader got kidnapped and 'operated' by Dottore (eyes gouged, arms and legs numbed down), necrophilia but you can almost ignore it if you stick with Dottore's delusions, cannibalism (eating your heart), suicide (you and Dottore)

some comfort: Sandrone tried to avenge you but Dottore said bye-bye first lol (don't worry she'll dishonor Dottore's death with Columbina for you instead). I've also toned down lots of things and scenes so yeah, I've warned you so don't come at me

Will mention reader's past a bit near the end of the story.

Word Counts 4.1k

01・Let’s gouge out your eyes

00・that way, you won’t look at anyone else

Dottore's finger dances on your face, his thumb slowly caressing the skin around your left eye. You try to break free from your restraint but fail nonetheless. Bruises formed on both your wrist and ankle, burning from the friction of the restraints whenever you struggle. Your eyes dilate in fear and pain as Dottore presses his scalpel on your lower eyelid.

"Say, Senior, why did you stare at that bastard so lovingly?"

He presses the blade even deeper now, drawing out blood from the cut. You scream from the burning sensation, writhing under his restraint which earns a chiding from Dottore.

"Ah ah ah. If you won't stop wriggling, the operation will not be neat anymore" he chides you as he brings his palm to your tear-stained cheek, blowing wind to your eyes as though he's mocking your pitiful state.

"W-why, wh-why me? Lo-lord Ha-Ha-Harb-Harbinger, I-I have ne-never even o-once shown a-any-"

Dottore shushes you down. He knows what you were trying to say. That you have been nothing but a good citizen. That you have never even once disregarded Tsaritsa nor opposed her rule.

"Like I said earlier, this," Dottore presses the scalpel inside your eye socket, cutting down the nerves of your eyes as you scream in pain "is only your punishment because you've been giving your attention to someone that's not me"

Each second feels like you are being skinned alive, flapping like how a fish would be on the ground. Dottore slowly circles the scalpel around your eyeball, cutting every nerves it can find. Your left eye has already lost its sight the moment the blade cuts one of the nerves, blood flowing out like a waterfall.

"Aw! Don't leave me just yet! What's the point of this punishment if you are not here with me?" Dottore bites your lip, drawing out blood from it. You can feel the steel taste of it and it makes you feel sick. Your stomach can't even tie any knots anymore at this rate.

Dottore humms down a tune as though he is trying to calm you down. It's the tune you used to hum during your study in ʏɿoƚimɿob and almost everyone knows that it's your little song that you'll use to ease people down.

And not for a maniac humming it.

Dottore pulls out your left eyeball easily, observing it closely before he kisses it and shoves it for you to see. Better remember how it looks like before you can no longer see anymore right?

"Go on, observe how beautiful your eye is Senior. Oh? Maybe you should also..." Dottore places your eyeball right next to his beautiful ruby eyes "remember how your Junior's eyes look like" Dottore grins maniacally.

Without being said, you've long memorized your captor's appearance. Ruby eyes, teal hair, and visible sharp pointed teeth whenever he talks or grins.

And how red his tongue is as he licks your eyeball.

Time's up and all you see next is how Dottore places your eyeball into a container with fluids in it. Probably to preserve your eyeball. And what about the other jars? Oh god no. Why did you think about the other jar when you were trying to-

"I won't allow you to avert your thoughts away, Senior" Dottore kisses your right eye, slightly licking it as though your eyes are nothing but sweet candies for him. Again, the scalpel comes into sight and

"So please bear with it, Senior ♡"

The last thing you tried to focus on was his pointed teeth that were revealed as he grinned.

You scream atop of your lungs and drowned into oblivion after that.

04・Let’s cut off your hands and feet

00・that way, you won’t touch anyone else

You might not be able to see anymore but even you can make out where you are right now. A bed. You can feel something tight wrapping around your eyes. Bringing your shaky hands toward your eyes, you can feel just how empty your eye sockets are now.

It hurts.

You cry out but what comes out was not crystal clear tears but instead, blood.

Why must you feel this pain again even in this world?

What had you done wrong to him? You knew he was a harbinger and you had never even once insulted him, right? You cry to yourself before realizing that you are no longer restrained. Run.

And so you run, bumping toward everything but still manage to reach the door. You frantically turn the door knob and swing the door open, running toward the empty hall despite bumping into lots of things.

And you bump into a man. It's not him right? Judging from their groans, it's probably someone else.

"H-help! Help me! P-pl-please! I- I, so-someone" your hands frantically try to find their way toward the man's, looking for support.

Oh if only you were still able to see, you could have seen how the pale the man was as he shook in fear. Even so, the man stayed silent and

Splat

You feel something... gushes toward your face. Some kind of fluid. It doesn't take long for you to identify what it was after the fluids find their way toward your tongue.

The man's body slumped down and you threw yourself backward. What just happened? You don't know, you can't see anything!

Losing your own balance, you fell down on your butt. Still in shock, you frantically feel the blood on your face. Realization hits you and you realize, the man has been killed in front of you. You scream in horror as you wipe your face frantically, smearing the blood even more. It's getting harder to distinguish which is yours and which is his.

"Senior"

Dottore's voice cut your mind in half immediately. You twitch in fear, this man is still here with you. You can feel him walking toward you, his footsteps are not heavy but sharp nonetheless. He stops in front of you, crouching down, he yanks you by your ankle toward him.

"Come to think of it..." his fingers slowly caressing your ankle "I haven't punished your feet too hm?" Horrors shot inside your body. No no no. You have enough of being blind, now to become an immobile porcelain doll altogether? You shook your head vigorously, a bunch of incoherent babbles of begging won't stop him.

"And this hand..." you cry even louder as he yanks you up to your feet "I shouldn't allow it to touch anybody else anymore right?" He gives the back of your palm a kiss "Mmh, let's proceed with it now"

He drags you toward somewhere you don't even wish to know. Smells of antiseptics and blood invade your nose. It's your biggest nightmare now. You thrash under his grip but it barely does anything, especially with how weak your pitiful state is now.

He lays you down on a chair this time, your hands and legs taped onto something plushy. Dottore hums the tune again. Instead of making you feel better, it only makes your stomach churn in fear again. Clinking noises, pokings, and pricking your skin, you feel how the foreign fluids enter your body.

It's not anesthesia to your demise.

Left wrist, right wrist, left ankle, right ankle.

You feel your whole body boiling in pain. Your scream never bothers him as it's much more regarded as music for his ear instead. Your eyes wound reopen as you cry, blood flowing out like a waterfall.

It didn't take long for you to finally choke on your own sobs, how you can no longer feel your arms and legs.

How you no longer wriggle in pain and fear.

Dottore kisses your sweating forehead as he wipes all the blood off your face.

"You did great, Senior ♡"

01・Why did you, although I am here,

00・sleep with other men?

Dottore's eyes did not leave your side even once. Watching every movement like how a predator would. His gaze lingered on your half-exposed chest. Dottore didn't like you showing your skin but he had to admit that your dress did a great job with it.

Your face remained beautiful in his eyes even with the mask covering half of it. You did notice how he was gazing over you despite having his eyes covered by his mask but you brushed it off. Besides, you had a better thing to care for, which was the company in front of you. Oh, how his arm found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him as you two whispered to each other seductively.

The alcohol definitely helps you two loosen up to each other, sharing kisses before making your way to any chamber available.

What you thought to be a private moment with the man was shattered down. Dottore was in fact, there, inside the room. His eyes were redder than usual, watching you two in fuming rage. Where he was is none of your concern, what matters is that he was there.

A few days after that, the man was announced missing. His mutilated remnants were soon found floating by the river.

03・That’s the punishment for the crime you committed

00・I’m not letting you go anywhere anymore

But he can't do that to you. Instead, he'll break down anything of yours instead of blowing a death to you directly. Yes, your punishment would be way easier than theirs. He wants you to be with him after all.

― ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ, ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵐʸ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵐᵉⁿ ―

00・I'll drive a picket into your chest

00・and put you inside a case with a glass door

But, even so, the temptation to learn your heart remains there. No matter how many years it has been, he still wishes to learn how your heart works. What makes you skip? What makes it beat so fast? How does it pump your blood? You wouldn't mind him poking it every now and then right? He'll just pull your heart out and learn it for a moment before returning it back to its respective place.

00・I’ll place that in my room

00・and observe you every day

There has never been a moment where no one sees him without you next to him. Either on a wheelchair or carried by him or his clones. Isn't that nice? This way, you two will never be separated anymore!

He will never be bored observing you who was sitting motionless. Oh, you are the most beautiful doll he has ever seen! Even Sandrone furrowed her eyebrows as though envying his precious creation while Columbina spins out curses toward him because of how she would never be able to match your beauty.

03・Each time I look at you, I feel shivers

00・and the blood in this body boils

Even today too, you can feel Dottore's gazes linger all over you. How he loves to move your hands or legs, how he loves to kiss your cheek while lightly biting it with his sharp teeth. To draw out noises from you, that's all he's asking for. For someone who can't move or see, you surely survived longer than he expected to.

Not like you can do anything after all

04・You are already only mine

06・Yes, you are my Specimen Girl

On some occasions, Dottore will cover your face with a veil, only allowing him to lift it and observe your eternal beauty. Your bandages used to be drenched in red wine but it seems like you have finally accepted everything.

The bandage is pristine white, meaning you are no longer dwelling on your past traumas, reopening the wounds with your tears.

00・That’s right, I’ll preserve you in that liquid

11・That way, you won’t rot away

But this is weird, you've been awfully quiet recently. It's not weird for you to stay silent for almost a whole day but even so, he would never fail in earning a groan from you. He also notices how your skin started to crack up like how an old porcelain doll would.

He places his head on your chest, listening to any kind of heartbeats or it pumping blood. Not a single beat was heard. And you, on the other hand, start to crack even more. Are you a human, or a doll?

Have you ever been a human in the first place?

No human would have their skin cracking like this, and yet your flesh and heart are real. What and who are you? Dottore ponders to himself before deciding to craft some kind of potion for you. One that a living one should never be exposed to.

"Don't worry Senior, this will help you"

00・Silent as the grave, that unique scent

00・arouses me once more

You are as silent as a porcelain doll would be. Some kind of sick, familiar scent is now all over you. And yet, he does not make any complaints at all, instead, he... loves it. The mixture of something rotten and the foreign fluids inside your guts and on your skin, he never has enough of it. It's sickening as much as it is addicting. Sandrone and Columbina's distaste grows more and more even though they can't do anything about it.

As much as they hate his treatment toward you, they have to agree that your beauty was in fact, preserved as how it used to be. Flawless if they discount the small cracks on your skin.

They hate him but what can they do? They have promised you and one should never break their promise. Never.

00・Your now unmoving body

00・I defile without paying any price

You didn't move but he could hear you coming to life again. Has he succeeded in bringing you back to life? Have you finally found your will to live again? Countless nights of learning your heart and brain are finally paid off.

The blood doesn't taste like it used to anymore but who is he to judge? As long as it's you...

Dottore hugs you tightly, his hands traveling to somewhere he shouldn't be. His kisses are greedy and rough, teeth ripping your lip as he tastes your blood in his mouth.

He intertwines his fingers with yours as he pushes his kisses deeper into you. His tongue explores your mouth, clashing with something familiar. Has your tongue always been like this?

―ₐₐₕ, ₙₒw ᵢ fₑₑₗ ₗᵢₖₑ ₑₐₜᵢₙg yₒᵤ ᵤₚ―

The frilly dress is ripped open as his eyes won't stop devouring every inch of your body. Your heart is beating, for him, for him, for him!

Angelic moans can be heard as his finger traces your delicate skin before resting inside your lacy panties. Just because you have found your will to live again doesn't mean you have also gotten yourself a new body. In fact, you still couldn't move at all. Even so, Dottore still tries his best to earn any kind of reaction from you, how your head twitches in pleasure as he teases that one spongy spot inside you.

Oh if only you still have control of your arms and legs, you would probably trap him with your leg and choke him to death.

He has to feel what you felt and yet to your own dismay, all he's doing right now is pleasuring you. Hell knows you wouldn't want him to feel the same pleasure.

His lips found their way again, to your cold lips, neck, shoulder, chest, tummy, and...

"The night is still long Senior, so please bear with it okay?"

00・Your body gone cold

00・when I touch it with my hands I feel shivers

You lay there next to him with the moonlight illuminating all the bruises he made. He can't help it, to pull you closer and closer to him as he pumps himself in and out inside of you. He will always love the sensation of adjusting your limbs to him, giving him a sense of control toward you as he brings your hand to his neck. He knew you wanted to choke him. Judging by you would occasionally clench your jaw and brought your head close to his neck, trying your best to bite the spot where his vein is connected. You wanted to kill him.

And that is your new resolve to live again.

10・I cut open your chest with a knife

00・I take out your heart and eat it

But this is getting into nerves more than he thought it would.

You've been sitting quietly with an unhinged smile plastered on your face. You who didn't really care for your appearance ask him to dress you up beautifully every day now. How you want to wear frilly puffy dresses, how you want a beautiful lacy blindfold instead of plain white bandages, how you want to wear a long white stocking with frills and bows, how you want him to ornate your head with accessories.

And how you ask him to eat your heart out so that he can just kill you right then and there.

"Cut my chest open and eat my heart out" you lean toward Dottore's ears, whispering of what he had long wanted to do to you.

This is in fact, nothing but just a green light for him to pluck your heart out and eat it on a silver platter now.

Eating it all up as though it's his last meal, drinking up all the blood like it's the world's finest wine to ever exist. Oh how Sandrone and Columbina wished they could just behead Dottore's head and offer it to you.

In the end, not a single bits of your heart remained on the plate. It's all in his guts now.

00・With this, your heart is now mine

06・you won’t be able to love anyone but me

He has done it. He has taken your most important thing which is your heart. Your heart is all his now. Without your heart, you can no longer love anyone nor see the truth. Without your heart, you can no longer feel what it's like to be alive.

Your heart is inside his guts now. The feeling of your heart being one with him is addicting. It's proof that you now are only able to love him and him alone. No one will be able to take your heart away anymore, be it literally or figuratively.

00・I return the rest to the case

00・I place it again by my side

Your heartless body remains beautiful. While you start to crack more and more, he'll always know a way to put a stop to it. But even so, he starts to feel paranoid about you.

Every now and then, he can see you strolling with those flimsy long white gowns around the palace all by yourself, humming the old tune from the Akademiya days.

No matter how many times he breaks your leg, you'll always be seen strolling around the palace.

No matter how many times he cut your vocal chord, you won't stop humming the same tune for others to hear.

He hates it. Your voice is only for him to hear. It's reserved for him and him only. Even so, whenever you lay on the operation table while having your vocal chord destroyed by him, you could still chuckle at him creepily. Sometimes, strings of curses can be heard as well.

Dottore will always receive complaints from the other fellow harbingers, about how the maniacal laughter and curses never end. How footsteps can be heard ringing in the middle of the night, how the tune will be hummed in an eerie way, and how the trickle of blood won't stop dirtying the floor.

And so, he sealed your body inside a crystal glass box. This way, you can no longer roam freely and will forever be sealed next to him, for him to be the only one to see you.

00・I won’t let you go for as long as I live

00・after all, you are my

"Senior," Dottore's fingers dances on your glass box, "You will always be my Senior no matter what"

→・―It’s unforgivable―・→

00・From inside the case

06・Look only at me

00・until I die

No matter how tight he ties your blindfold, he will always feel as though it's loosening up. What will happen if the blindfold is taken off? Will you be looking at someone else with that empty eye socket of yours? He can't allow you to look at anyone else other than him! You are only entitled to look at him until he dies.

No, even after he dies, he will never allow you to look at anyone else. Dottore who feels the knot in his stomach tied even tighter than ever decides to untie it. To untie your blindfold and

00・Aah, but you

00・no longer have eyes

02・After all, that is

―because I gouged them out...―

Therefore, he is greeted by your empty eye sockets. Is it delusion? Dottore slowly inserts his finger inside your eye socket as much as he wishes he doesn't want to. Empty. Ah, he really did gouge it out. The proofs are still in his chamber, placed on his nightstand. That way, he can just take the jar and observe it as he tries to drift himself to sleep. Your beautiful eyes never fail to mesmerize him.

B̶̨̨̳̭͎̝́̒̅̂̄͐͠͝u̷̢͉̼̭̗̎̐͒́̓̍̈̎̽͝ț̶̫̬͓̌̽̀̏̍̓͑̿̉͝ ̴̗̯͇̗̜̟̙͇̗̄́̃ȟ̶̯͐̀̎o̵̻̺̬̦͙̘͑͆͌̅̑̒̔́͘͘w̷̱̗͂̉́͊̎͝ ̶̳̹͕͖͎͖͉̩̱̎̽̈́͛ả̴̝͇͇͍͍̙͇̩͙̯́̋̔̽́̔̚͝b̴̨̛̦̲̩̰̣̲̦̻̆̉̀̀͊̊̎͐̽ọ̸̢̨̡͔͔̮̜͖̀̄́̈́̕ͅu̵̡͖̥̬̤͕̺̓̓͋̈̌͆͋͑̐̚ͅẗ̴͉͚́͐̄ ̶̡̢͉̪͕̥̝͐̄͐͜a̴̛̳̭͔̰̠̎̄̑͛̏͑͝͠ ̵̭͆͑̍ṕ̴̧̥̥̜͖̭̞͇͉̾̀̿̉͐͗͂̒ą̷̨̲̱͈̹̣̘͈͗̔̎͋̀͠i̴͚̜̎͆ŗ̴͙͈͖̝͉͔͙̭̲̀͐̉́ ̶̢͓͍͙̩̺͍͊̈͛̅o̴͈͕̞̩͓͑͒̈́̊͋̓͐͌̏̕͜f̶͔̜̫͔͍̥̓̑̋͘ ̴̧̧͕̞̮̭̠͐͌͆̽̇̍̒̈́͊ȅ̵̤͔̘̥̳̤͓̘̇̋͠y̵̨̱͒̇̍̾è̷̠͉͋́̏̆́̽s̶̹͚̟͕̣̓̑̐́̀̓̏͋͝ ̵̢͕̜͓̩̠̠͙̆͗̈́́͑͂̀̀̒̕ṫ̸̙̣̫̪̜̫͊̌̓h̵̩͊͂a̴̟̯̤̣̼̪͎̠͆̋́̇t̶̨̞͓̤̮̀̽̾̊ ̵̗̜̹̱͔̲͖̙̼̗̆́̅̒͠͠ĺ̴͉͙̀͘o̶̥̟̦͖̯̱͖͌̍̑͐̅ǒ̸̢̞͎̹̜̗̥̱̰͌͌k̸̡̹̮̀s̷̡̪͕͖̭͉͉͈̞̀̀̔̈́̎̾́͋̉̋ ̴̨͍͙̥̰̮̂̃͋̆̕͝ͅļ̶̛͌͌͗̉̄͌̒͜ị̷͚̫̈̕ķ̶̛̳̠̹̳̯̣͙̤̰́̑̓̒͆́̓͝͠ê̷͉̺̘͓̻̜͖͜ͅ ̴̺̳̭̳̫̱̌̓̌̌̃͜ͅh̷̛͚̜̞̬̲̥̪̅̄i̷͎̿̀̆̔̚͜͝͝s̸̜̩̞̣̝̓͆̑̌̄̚͜͠͝?̸̹̲̝͙̞̝̟̌͜

00・I’ll put glass beads in your eyes

02・Let’s make you new eyes

09・What eye color should I choose?

02・That’s right, a red like blood would be fine

But to use some kind of fake eyes would be boring no? And so, a clone of his was burnt down in the incinerator with empty eye sockets.

01・With those beautiful eyes

00・look only at me always

This way, he can feel you staring at him again. No, he will never recreate your eyes even though he can. It'll never be able to match the real one after all. He won't even bother looking for someone to take their eyes because he doesn't want someone else's eyes staring at him and even worse, inside your eye sockets.

04・Only you from now on and always

01・I won’t let you go from my side

He won't repeat the same mistake anymore. To be weak and hopeless as he watched you leave the Akademiya in humiliation, all to the way of being exiled out of Sumeru without anyone protecting you.

You didn't do it. He knew you didn't do it. And yet, no one would believe in you two as though they had been blinded by something. To make things even worse, your little friend was absent during your exile. If only she was there, perhaps she could shield you from the crazy citizens throwing you pebbles and rocks. Maybe that way, you wouldn't trip down from the cliff and be pronounced dead from concussion.

Maybe people wouldn't gawk at your dead body and broken limbs as though you were nothing but an animal. For them to step on your off-positioned limbs, your splattered brains, and your body altogether.

How did you come back to life? He'll never know it. Maybe Sandrone truly had something to do with it after all.

But for now, what matters is that you are here with him.

07・After all, you are mine

09・From now on and always mine

02・Until this body rots away

00・Yes, you are my

『Specimen Girl』

Sandrone's voice rings.

―Only mine―

―Only mine―

Sandrone places the gun on the back of Dottore's head. She had had enough of this farce already. She no longer cares about the promise she made to you. She wouldn't mind being selfish for this is her only wish. She will avenge your death by shooting his brains out.

『Only mine』

What she didn't expect is that Dottore would be the one shooting his own jaw, splattering his brains all over Sandrone's pristine dress. His body slumped forward with a thud. He ends his own farce in the end. Is it out of guilt or realization? Did his madness and delusions finally swallow him whole? Even so, Sandrone wastes no time in spitting Dottore's body before stomping and dragging his body to be experimented on in the most inhumane way possible. Columbina too will be there to lend Sandrone her hand.

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

There is another fic (and possibly more in the future) about Dottore x Senior but it might be different than what's mentioned in reader's past

Zandik's Memories, Dormitory (TBA, WIP)

Zandik's Diaries (TBA)

Senior (different but similar nonetheless)

As if for Sandrone's and Columbina's, I don't think I'll be writing for them until there's a request coming in for them lol

Inhumane (TBA)

Dormitory's Lullaby (TBA)

All these fics will be extreme OOC in both lore-wise and characters so proceed with caution.

[fleetsonourgecentral]

hii not sure if this blog is active still but since its the 23rd, that means scourge finally gets the birthday he deserves in the fleetway universe.

OH SHIT HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY TO THE BASTARD MAN HIMSELF

~~~

"Scourge."

"Mmn."

"Scourge."

"Mmn."

"Scourge."

"Can't you take a hint?" Scourge hissed, swatting at the finger insistently poking him in the head. "'M sleeping. Go away."

"Absolutely not," Sonic snorted, evidently giving up on poking Scourge awake and upgrading to physically shaking him. "If I let you sleep in, you'll just be bitching later."

"When have I ever bitched about sleeping in?"

"Repeatedly. Get up before I push you out of bed."

It wasn't an empty threat, and Scourge knew it. The knowledge, however, did not stop him from burying his head under the pillow and groaning long and low. "Fuck off and let me dream about setting Tekno's experiments on fire."

It was disappointing, but not surprising, when instead of heeding Scourge's command, Sonic yanked him out of bed by his ankles, letting him crack his head on the cold, unforgiving floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Scourge twisted in Sonic's grip, pulling his poor ankles free. He glared up at Sonic, who looked down at him with his arms folded, customary smug smirk on his face. It was sorely tempting to kiss that stupid smirk away, but that would require getting up, and Scourge was seriously considering pulling the blankets off the bed and curling up on the floor and going back to sleep out of sheer spite. "What was that for?"

"Get up and you'll find out," Sonic said, nudging him with his foot. "It'll be worth it, I promise."

"How about you get up and find out a new place to sleep tonight," Scourge grumbled, reluctantly hauling himself to his feet. "Won't even let me sleep in peace when there's no new missions you need me for... don't get in the bed if you want to be up at the asscrack of dawn."

"This is my room," Sonic said, linking his arm in Scourge's before Scourge could contemplate throwing himself back under the bed-sheets. "If it bothered you that much, you would go crawling back to your own room."

"Maybe I will."

"Sure you will."

"You think I won't?"

"Prove me wrong tonight if you want to, but you're not going back to bed today. After all the bitching you did about the birthday chair on my birthday, I'm not going to let you sleep your birthday away and give you the chance to bitch about not getting the chair."

"Some boyfriend you are, not letting me sleep in on my..." he trailed off, half-asleep brain finally registering Sonic's words. "Birthday?"

"Yes," Sonic said, looking at him like he was an idiot. "Birthday."

That couldn't be right. His birthday wasn't until...

Scourge frantically tried to remember the date, and when his memory failed him, he snuck a glance at the calendar.

Huh. Well, fuck him sideways, look at that. It was his birthday.

Scourge... had honestly forgotten all about that.

It wasn't his fault! It was this stupid dimension and their backwards way of writing dates. The weirdos wrote the day before the month, like maniacs, instead of putting the month first like a normal person. That little difference had tripped him up more times than he cared to admit, and he'd lost count of the amount of times the mix-up had gotten him into trouble. His recent tactic was to just leave all the date stuff to everyone else, and while he had gotten better at remembering their weird system, it still didn't come to him automatically. It was one thing to know, logically, what month it was, and another thing entirely to look at the date and associate the unfamiliar order with the month they were in. So he hadn't been paying much attention to the date, and the reminder of his birthday just sort of... slipped by him.

Apparently, though, it did not slip by Sonic. He remembered. Although Scourge couldn't remember ever telling him when his birthday was, so how Sonic knew was beyond him.

"It's my birthday, and you're still making me get up at ass o'clock in the morning?" Scourge complained, shoving down the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest as he snatched his glasses from the nightstand. It was a familiar feeling by now, and it didn't bother him as much as it once did, but it was way too early for anyone to see him feeling sappy feelings.

"Oh please, it's only nine o'clock," Sonic snorted, dragging him out of the room. "Nowhere near the asscrack of dawn. Quit your bitching."

"I think I should get to sleep in as long as I want on my birthday. Don't I get any birthday privileges? What kind of fucked up dimension is this?"

"Your birthday privileges are the birthday chair. Move your ass, or you won't get any of the presents you were bitching about missing out on on my birthday."

Presents? Well, that was a motivator, Scourge couldn't lie. He dragged his feet for a few more seconds, just to prove a point, just so Sonic wouldn't win, but with lingering sleep slowly losing its grip on him, eagerness took its place, and he couldn't stop himself from picking up the pace a little. Sonic, like the dickhead he was, noticed immediately, and that stupid knowing smirk returned, and fuck, Scourge really needed to kiss it off his face. He'd do that. Later. Pencil it in to his to-do list. He'd get around to it right after he opened his presents.

Downstairs, the rest of the Freedom Fighters bustled about, the same way they had done for Sonic's birthday. Just like before, there were no cheesy banners (thank fuck for that) and the old ratty armchair had once again been dragged out of storage. The hand-made banners from last time were nowhere to be seen, but that was expected; those were banners for Sonic, after all, and Scourge didn't want banners about Sonic Day hanging from the walls on his birthday anyway. Overall, there weren't as many decorations as Sonic had, and the ones that were in the process of being hung up were boring and generic, but as most of those decorations from last time mentioned Sonic specifically, Scourge wasn't too upset about it. There was a green cushion on the armchair, though, which wasn't there last time, and Scourge took his rightful place on his throne for the day with smug satisfaction coiling in his chest. It wasn't much, but the cushion was so clearly bought with him in mind. It was for him and him alone, and it did wonders for his ego. No wonder Sonic was so pleased with himself while sitting on the armchair on his birthday.

"Scourge!" Amy appeared seemingly out of nowhere, beaming at him with a bright smile Scourge still wasn't used to. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks." Scourge leaned back in the armchair, crossing his legs and doing his best to shove away the bubbling discomfort. Amy didn't need to know he still wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to such genuine... genuineness. If she knew, she'd probably do it more, under some kind of excuse like helping him get used to it, which was such bullshit; Scourge knew her well enough by now to know she liked messing with people, and liked messing with people by being nice to them even more. The only reason she'd stopped telling people she was Sonic's girlfriend was because Scourge bragged about dating Sonic too much for anyone to believe it; apparently not even dating Tekno was enough to get her to stop, because Tekno found it funny and encouraged her to do it more. If anything united the Freedom Fighters outside of, well, fighting for freedom, it was opportunities to screw with Sonic.

Speaking of Tekno, she also fluttered in and out with presents clutched in her arms, parroting another "happy birthday" in his direction, although thankfully she was gone almost as soon as she said it, so he didn't need to reply. Even Tails waved at him as he flew in with a few more decorations.

"Sonic, can you-"

"Yeah, yeah, already on it," Sonic interrupted Amy, dashing into the other room after Tekno to help. Scourge peeked through the doorway after him; from what he could see, the pile of presents was nowhere near the size of Sonic's pile on his birthday, but he guessed that was to be expected. Sonic was the Hero of Mobius, receiving presents from grateful citizens in every Zone they entered, including a few sent over from the Special Zone, and Scourge had no interest in being viewed as a hero by anyone. No one had the same sense of gratitude towards him as they did towards Sonic.

An envelope and present landed on his lap before he had the chance to feel anything about that.

"From Ebony," Amy said quietly as she passed, like a secret. "And... well, the rest of them, too, I guess."

Raising an eyebrow, Scourge ripped open the wrapping paper on the present; Sonic had waited until all his presents were brought into a pile at his feet, but considering who this was from, Scourge figured he'd be forgiven for opening this one early. It was nothing special - a simple mug, Scourge couldn't tell if it was hand-made or store bought - but it was honestly more than he was expecting. It would be good to put his hot chocolate in, if nothing else, since he broke his last designated mug and hadn't gotten around to replacing it yet.

Setting the mug aside out of sight, he ripped open the envelope next. A cheesy birthday card greeted him - gross - but when he opened it, he was greeted with a glorious sight: money. Score.

He almost didn't bother reading the words on the card, but he was feeling gracious, so he skimmed them. Ebony's neat, cursive handwriting greeted him: thank you for all you've done for us. From Ebony, Pyjamas, and Super - The Groovy Train

Ew, sappy shit. Scoffing, Scourge tossed the card aside with the mug, ignoring whatever weird feeling was happening in his chest. He didn't even know why they'd bothered to send him anything; he didn't even like them that much, he only showed up to babysit Super if Ebony promised to pay him. But hey, if it meant he got birthday money out of it, he wasn't going to to question it too much.

Folding his arms, Scourge watched Tails and Amy hang the rest of the decorations. Someone managed to get their hands on some balloons, which they'd scribbled "yearly survival day" on in marker. And - oh boy - they'd found some banners to hang up after all. Amy was balancing on a ladder holding one end, while Tails grabbed the other, flying up to stretch the banner out-

Oh.

That... that was a hand-made banner. Not one of Sonic's, and not a generic or cheesy one, either.

Thanks for bullying Sonic, it read, with a bunch of names scribbled underneath. Signatures. Signatures of people he knew, people he was... friends... with. Front and center, proud, not tucked away at the back where they'd be out of sight.

Scourge stared at it. It was objectively ugly, an eyesore if he'd ever seen one, clearly made with limited resources, and the letters smushed together at the end where they'd clearly started to run out of room when they were writing. It was messy, far from perfect, nothing lavish or fancy. In all his life, he'd never had a birthday banner as ugly as this.

A pesky lump formed in Scourge's throat. He swallowed it down. At least his eyes were dry, and if that changed, his tinted glasses would hopefully hide that.

And oh fuck, there was Sonic suddenly standing before him, arms full of presents, glancing at the banner before meeting Scourge's eyes with that stupid, stupid, smug and knowing smirk.

Fuck it. He wasn't waiting. He was moving this task to the top of his to-do list.

Sonic barely had time to drop the presents onto the meager pile before Scourge seized him by the arms, dragged him in, and finally kissed that smirk off his face.

His triumphant plan promptly failed, for although Sonic couldn't smirk, his smugness was apparent in his kiss, instead. Asshole.

"Worth getting up for, huh?" Sonic said when they broke apart. "Was I right, or was I right?"

"Eh, I've had better," Scourge lied, pulling Sonic onto his lap. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

"I've got something planned for later," Sonic promised, looping an arm around Scourge's neck without his customary complaining. "Bring your spray can, we're going vandalizing."

... Fuck, Sonic knew him too well. Damn it, Scourge loved him. It was actually unfair how much he loved him. He'd say there should be a law against it, but... well, Scourge wasn't exactly famous for giving a flying fuck about the law.

"You'd better treat me to dinner after," Scourge said, instead of saying any of that sappy shit.

"You'll get burgers or hotdogs from the first stand we see and that's it."

"Cheapskate."

"You'll get over it."

It wasn't lavish, or extravagant, or over the top, or any of the flashy, fancy things he was sure he'd get when he became the King of Moebius. And it was still too damn early, and he would've still liked a lie-in. But the hand-made banner was for him, and was signed, and Sonic wasn't even complaining about being in his lap, so... it would do.

It would do just fine.

[kareofbears]

you never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)

"Communication, right?" Thomas spits, looming above Newt, and he hates this, hates it so much but he has to pull Newt out of whatever mindset he's buried himself in. It's one thing to raze the world to save Newt—it's another for Newt to be the one to get in his way. "Then talk. Convince me to let you turn into a Crank."

—

Or, a missing scene in The Death Cure where Thomas can't let Newt sacrifice himself. He just can't.

read on ao3 or below the tag :)

It never fails to send Thomas reeling, whenever it happens.

It happened a lot when they were in the Glade, sure. They got along well, very well, even when Thomas had just freshly popped out of the Box and could barely catch his breath with the speed of questions leaving his mouth. But he and Newt weren't aligned yet, not the way they are now. Back in the Maze, it was more political than anything, a system of governing that both of them had to heed. Power structures, hierarchy, Greenie this, Keeper that, order, order, order.

Out of the walls and into the Scorch, the two of them snapped into place. There was no room for hesitation, not when it was just Newt and Thomas (and Minho. They have to save Minho, now). All structure gone, they could only rely on each other to lead a group of terrified teenagers through a desert, Cranks, and a staggering bounty on each of their heads. There were so few of them left, dwindling by the day, that they couldn't afford to slip up. Communication above all else. Minimize mistakes, but when they happen (and they will happen, god will they happen), talk about it. Figure it out. Make sure it doesn't happen again.

Neither of us goes to sleep confused, you hear me? If there's one thing we can control in this hell, it's this. Good that, Tommy?

Long conversations couldn't stay long, not with how fast everything moves around them. So it was something they refined, polished until it was shining.

They learned how they ebb and flow, memorized each other's landmines and remembered not to step on them unless they had to. Learned each other's nervous ticks, every twitch, every frown, what sets the other off and what's a surefire way to de-escalate the situation. They found themselves not needing much to get their point across; a breath, a few words, a pat on the back, a clenched jaw, the quirk of a brow. It was beautifully efficient for them and annoyingly grating for everyone else.

Like this, it was laughable to even try and hide the fondness they had for each other, not when it showed in their every move, every action, every breath.

Once they sorted that out, though, their wavelengths only became steadier, impossibly solid—seemingly parallel lines merged to become one, harmonizing in a frequency only they could hear, a language only they could speak.

Their foundation is something that's second nature to Thomas now, a structure that gives him good footing and the confidence to surge forward, letting him hold his head up high. If he has anything, he has this.

Until he doesn't.

—

Frypan grips his spatula like an instrument of war. “Hell no. You know my rules."

"But I just saw Gally leave with a sandwich."

"Yeah, I didn't feed that bastard for six months and look where he ended up. With some wacky military cult group who wants to take down the government. He gets to have a snack from me, just once."

Thomas sighs, just a little. "Come on, man, I'm starving."

"And what do you think I'm doing right now? Gardening?" Frypan jerks his head at the portable stove with a stock-pot bubbling on top. His tone leaves no room for argument, an assertiveness that only fully materializes in a kitchen. "Dinner's ready in an hour. A little wait won't kill you."

He fights another sigh, remembering how it was Frypan himself who used to sneak extra skewers for him back in the Glade.

It's not that he particularly likes it that people have a different attitude about him nowadays. He's grown to expect the expressions of the people around him, the range of irritated to pitiful. In truth, he knows where they're coming from. He's always been abrasive, but ever since he found out about Newt, it's gotten out of control. Thomas' temper is parabolic enough to be comparable to the Flare; he's snappish and intransigent, a complete nuisance to work with. He's fully aware that he's become borderline unbearable—the interrogation with Teresa only solidified that.

But despite everything, they still put up with it. They love him, he's their friend, yes. But the real reason they put up with it is because they understand why he's turned into this.

Thomas turns around to leave, resigned, when he hears Frypan click his tongue. "Hey." Looking back, he just barely catches a bag of trail mix tossed his way. "Share that with your boy, okay? Don't go ruining dinner just because y'all are spoiling your appetites."

Because everyone loves Newt, some of them longer than even Thomas has. While Thomas may be the loudest to voice it, may be the one who'll always take it too far, every single one of them are doing what they can to help Newt.

Thomas doesn't quite smile, but it’s a near thing. "Thanks, Fry."

"Anytime. Now get."

Newt's waiting for him just outside the kitchen, leaning against the wall, eyeing the bag. "That's not the sandwich I was promised," he says, but takes it out of Thomas' hands anyway.

"Should've been you who asked." They like you better. He pops a raisin in his mouth.

Newt gives him a look before kicking himself off the wall—an action so reminiscent of Minho it makes Thomas ache. "Now, Tommy, we have to work on that confidence of yours."

"Lots of people would beg to differ," he says, waving him off. It honestly doesn’t bother him. He likes Newt better, too.

"Depends on who you're asking." Newt shakes the bag, carefully picking out the good bits. Thomas lets him. "We probably looked real bloody confident earlier."

"Yeah," he says mildly. Thomas watches him pour the almonds back in, feeling himself start zoning out as he replays the interrogation in his head, speeded up like a faulty DVD.

Teresa's in, which is admittedly good. He and Newt talk a big game, but it would be infinitely harder to get into WICKED without her. They need to talk to Lawrence as soon as possible, make sure he doesn't back out of their deal. He also has to talk to Newt, confirm that he's comfortable flying the Berg out with Jorge. All of this is already written down in his leather notebook, written and re-written enough that he can recite it from memory, but it doesn't hurt to think it through one more time.

Without warning, Newt slaps his bicep, pulling him out of his stupor. "I can see those wheels spinning," he chides. "What's in that big head of yours?"

"Nothing." When he receives a dry look, he takes a deep breath. "Nothing yet. I'm just thinking about our next steps."

"Let me guess," Newt throws some cashews in his mouth. "You want to bust into The Last City tonight, have the infiltration take only half an hour long, and have the Flare out of my body in an hour, tops. Sound about right?"

Thomas huffs. "An hour's too long, can we make some edits on that?" Still, he can't help but let his eyes drift towards Newt's forearm. "I want that thing out of you, Newt."

"You and me both, love," Newt mumbles, chewing, deep in thought, and Thomas has to turn away to hide a pleased smile. "It's a lot to worry about. So many players involved in this, stakes are high. Teresa's only the first step."

Taking a deep breath, Newt pushes his shoulders back and starts walking in the direction of their meeting room. Thomas follows close behind.

"Here's what we're going to do," he declares, passing the half-empty bag to Thomas. Their shared footsteps are silent, a habit they fostered in this new life of theirs. Gone are the times in the Glade when they can stomp around all they like. "You and I are gonna work this out, like we always do. Every nook and cranny, every little detail your overthinking brain can think of, we're nailing down. Make this thing airtight before we bust in there, guns blazing and hell raising. Make a plan so good it'll put all of our other plans to shame. Then you're going to your little cot and sleep eight hours straight, snoring loud enough to ruin the night for the rest of us. Good that?"

Something fierce and reverent squirms in Thomas, and an easy agreement is on the tip of his tongue when something makes him stop in his tracks, feet stuttering to a halt.

Newt walks a few steps further before noticing. He turns around, brow cocked. "What's up?"

"We?"

That makes Newt's face scrunch up even more. "Well, if you wanna talk to Gally about this instead, be my guest. Or better yet, invite Teresa, why don't you?"

Thomas doesn't laugh. "We bust in," he repeats, heartbeat in his throat. "That's what you said."

The confusion melts off of Newt's face, caution taking its place. "Yes," he says slowly. "That's what I said."

A silence grows between them, and Thomas is waiting for Newt to say he's joking, that he's just trying to pull a smile out of Thomas. Instead, the silence stretches.

"Newt," he says quietly. "You aren't coming into the city."

Newt's shaking his head before Thomas can finish. "We talked about this, on the rooftop—"

"No, that was different. You wanted to help with the missions, and you have been. You wanted to help find Minho, and you did. You've already done enough."

"Done enough?" His expression is unimpressed. "Well enough that Minho's here now? Well enough that all the Immunes are magically saved? I don't think so, Tommy. We're not done here, not even close. I'm going out there."

Thomas forces himself to take a breath. "The Flare gets worse the more stressful a situation is. Here, let me—" Wildly patting down his jeans, he all but rips his notebook out of his pocket and flips through the pages, ignoring the tremble in his hands. "There, see? 'If individuals infected with the Flare are in constant stress—"

"I know."

"'—it can rapidly increase the— "

"—infection rate of the brain,'" Newt finishes, idly touching his forearm. "I know."

Thomas lets the book fall from his hand with a muffled thud and doesn’t bother to pick it up again. "Okay," he hears himself say. "You know. So you're not going."

Newt takes a step forward, placatingly eyeing him in a way that makes Thomas' chest tight. "Tommy, I'm going. This doesn't work if—"

"We'll make it work."

"You're not listening to me. If you go into WICKED, just you and—"

"We'll make Gally stay with me the whole way. Frypan. Jorge. If you're staying here—"

"Which I'm not, and you're going to have to accept—"

"You're not going—"

"Thomas," his voice is dangerously soft. Thomas flinches away, something vile curling in his gut, the sound of his own name making him sick. "Listen to me. I'm fucking going."

Thomas' eyes shutter close. It feels like his mind shutting down, cortex by cortex as he fails to understand what Newt’s trying to say. For a blissful moment, he’s deafened by the ringing in his ears and the beat of his thrumming heart.

When he finally opens his eyes, all he sees is red.

Grabbing Newt’s jacket collar, he all but drags him out the closest door, taking them to the chapel’s courtyard, unfeeling the cool night air brush against his skin. What was probably once a beautiful garden is practically a garbage dump now. Broken glass is sprinkled on top of dead rose bushes, plastic bags swaying in the breeze. There’s a fountain in the middle, its ceramic cracked and caked in dirt, filled with debris that’s accumulated over the years to the point where it spilled onto the grass beneath their feet.

Thomas doesn’t give a shit about any of it. He drops Newt on the lip of the fountain, almost throwing him in from the force of it.

"Communication, right?" he spits, looming above Newt, and he hates this, hates it so much but he has to pull Newt out of whatever mindset he's buried himself in. It's one thing to raze the world to save Newt—it's another for Newt to be the one to get in his way. "Then fucking talk. Convince me to let you turn into a Crank."

Newt's glaring daggers up at him, and it would normally be enough to sway Thomas. He steels himself and refuses to look away. Not this time.

"Don't you toss me around like I’m some damn shank," Newt says lowly, eyes narrowed. "And you're not letting me do anything. I'll do what I damn well please if it helps Minho and take down WICKED."

Thomas grits his teeth. "Talk. You said it yourself—you know the dangers, you know why you can't just rampage into the city with us. You know better to jump into something so stupid."

"Stupid?" Newt repeats, incredulous. He moves to stand but Thomas pushes him back down, and it makes the flame in Newt's eyes burn brighter. "You of all people don't get to call me that, you bloody hypocrite. How many times have you jumped headfirst into danger without talking to any of us about it? Saving Alby and Minho in the Glade, following Aris in the WICKED compound. And, what, the minute I try to do even a fraction of that, you get all pissy at me?"

"That's different!" Thomas realizes, belatedly, that he's half-yelling. "You know why it's different. I didn't have the Flare, I wasn't sick and getting worse by the minute. You going to the Last City is suicide, Newt."

"Then why did you let me help during the interrogation if you're so sure I was going to be such a nuisance?"

His mouth drops open, bewildered. "I didn't say you were! You helped during the interrogation because it's Teresa—she knows me, she knows us—" Newt scoffs and rolls his eyes, and it's such a petty move that it fills Thomas' veins with thunder. He grabs his shoulders and shakes roughly. "What the hell is your problem?"

Thomas is livid, seething with rage. But above all else, he's shaken. Newt has never been so hostile, so reluctant to see logic. He tries peering at Newt's face, to try and read between the lines that he knows better than his own, but Newt tilts his head away from him.

Is it the Flare? Is it something else?

Is it both?

"You want to know what my problem is?" Newt says, still not looking at Thomas, expression excruciatingly blank. "My problem is that you don't trust me."

Nothing. Nothing could have prepared Thomas for that.

Letting his hands slip, he stumbles backwards like he took a blow to the gut. An uncontrollable laugh slips out of his lips, mildly hysterical. "What?" he manages.

"You bloody well heard me." Newt stands, approaching Thomas step by step with a certainty that makes his skin crawl. "You don't want me there, ruining this operation. You think I'll get in the way. You think I'll Crank out in the middle of it, or attack you halfway through and you have to carry me out of there."

Thomas refuses to take a step back, letting Newt invade his personal space. "You know that's not true," he says, voice hard.

"It's true." Newt's eyes are wild, black, darting all over the place. With every breath he takes, his black veins pulsate in time in a sickening rhythm. "It's true. Say it's true. Say I'll ruin it for everyone."

"No."

"Say it, Thomas."

"Fuck off. No."

Thomas feels it before he sees it. A sudden blow to his jaw, his head jerks sharply to the side as he loses his footing for a moment. Newt stands in front of him, hands still curled in a tight, shaking fist. Apparently, he isn't done yet.

"Say it!" Newt screams, and the sound makes Thomas recoil more than the punch did. "If you don't say it, I'm going, with or without you!"

Thomas doesn’t answer, instead he lets his instincts take over. He connects his fist to Newt’s cheek, feels the bone underneath his knuckles. Newt topples over, lithe body hitting the ground hard. Blond hair blocking his eyes and black lines polluting his neck, he doesn't move for a brief, horrifying half a second.

Time slows down. In that moment, Thomas sees the future: Newt, dead, splayed out on the ground. Or maybe Newt, a Crank, haggard and vicious and stripped of everything that makes him so, so lovely. In both possibilities, he knows, he just knows, that Thomas would be the one to put him in the ground, because he would never let anyone else touch Newt. It would have to be him.

Unable to control himself, Thomas lurches forward to the fountain and vomits, heaving and shaking uncontrollably, the urge to scrub that image from his brain almost unbearable.

A hand grabs his jacket and roughly pulls him back. Thomas lets it happen, his back hitting the grass hard enough to wind him.

Newt clambers on top of him, hand placed on either side of Thomas' head, teeth bared and nearly snarling. "I'm going to the city."

"You can't," Thomas mummers, thoughts still jumbled. "You can't, Newt. You'll die."

Slamming his hand down, Newt grips either side of his face, thumb cruelly pushing into his throbbing jaw where the punch landed. "You don't get to take this choice away from me. Over and over again, you ruin things for me, for everyone. We could still be in the Glade, we could still be safe and ignorant in the facility, if it weren't for you. Minho would still be here if it wasn't for you. You don't want me to die? Maybe consider the fact that it's you who's killing me."

The words glance off of him. Instead, Thomas stares up at Newt, eyes carefully taking in every detail there. Past the ferocity, past the seemingly impenetrable anger and dripping hostility, there's something in his expression that's screaming at Thomas to be noticed. There's something layered there, begging to be found, subtle and invisible to anyone who isn't him.

"Make it up to me, Thomas. Make it up to me by giving me a choice." Newt's chest is heaving, leaving Thomas space to say something. When he doesn't, Newt's face twists even more. "What, no comment? No clever words today? Aren't you the inspiration between the two of us? The fucking wonder boy?"

A hot tear rolls down Thomas' temple, sudden and uncontrollable. It's as if his body figured out what's going in Newt's head before Thomas himself did.

Newt, eyes black with fury, digs his nails in with a vengeance, but Thomas can barely process the pain, his entire being staring intently at Newt’s face. “Give me a choice. Let me do this. If you care for me, if you ever gave a damn about me, respected me as a person and respected me as yours, you’d grant me this.” With every word he hisses, Newt squeezes tighter, and Thomas doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t dare breathe. “Grant. Me. This.”

Then I went and found the tallest wall I could, and I climbed up there and—

It clicks.

When Thomas finally speaks, it feels like his heart is in his throat. It feels like the world is ending. “You’re not planning on coming back.”

For a long, long moment, neither of them say a word. A strong breeze ruffles Newt’s hair like a caress.

Newt leans back and sucks in a deep, shaking breath. His shoulders sag in on himself, and the tight grip on Thomas’ face eases until the pain fades away, replaced by Newt’s thumb gently stroking what he’s sure is a glowing bruise on his jaw. The symptoms had passed, for now.

Thomas swallows, ribcage creaking with swirling, conflicting emotions. Slowly, carefully, Thomas sits up until he’s chest to chest with Newt and pulls him in for a hug. Arms encircle his waist and holds him tight, then tighter. Tight enough that it feels like nothing can get between them. Tight enough that it feels like if Newt’s heart stopped beating, Thomas’ would, too.

—

“The Flare didn’t make that up, did it?”

They’re both leaning against the fountain, the clean side. Cleaner side—the side that Thomas didn’t throw up in. Sitting on the ground, they’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, sharing whatever’s left of the trail mix that stayed miraculously sealed in Thomas’ pocket. Like this, he feels a wave of nostalgia, a wistfulness for the bonfire back in the Glade. It’s almost silly, feeling homesick for a place you lived in for all of a week. Can barely even call it a home.

Newt considers his question and Thomas immediately diverts his attention to ripping up the grass underneath them, vaguely enjoying the sensation. These talks always work best when Newt can pretend Thomas is busy doing something else.

“Some of it,” Newt admits. “At least, I’d like to think some of that wasn’t me.” From the corner of his eye, he sees Newt’s gaze flicker at Thomas, no doubt taking in the bruise that’s still blossoming there.

He shrugs, unbothered. Thomas taps at his own eye before nodding at Newt. “Gave you a black eye, in case you forgot. And between the two of us, at least you actually have an excuse to go a little crazy.”

“You’ve always been a little crazy.”

“For you, maybe.” And just to seal the deal, he winks at Newt, poorly.

As he suspected he would, Newt reels back in shock for a moment before laughter bursts out of him. Eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking, he feels himself laugh back a little, on reflex. “There you are,” Thomas says softly. “Welcome back.”

Newt grins back, the remnants of his joy still strewn across his face, stubborn and sticky like honey. “Didn’t peg you as a flirt, Tommy.”

Tilting his head up skywards, Thomas hums, enjoying the sight of a clear, night sky as he lets relief wash over him. “I’m glad I have my Tommy privileges back.”

It was supposed to come out as a joke, but it comes out more vulnerable than Thomas intended. He can’t help it. Back in the Maze, everything was taken away from him, from all of them. The only thing you get back is your name. Every Glader remembers that feeling for the rest of their life. It’s a fierce thing, to be reconciled with a name that you’ve lost when you don’t have anything left. It’s the only thing that’s truly yours.

When Newt called him Tommy for the first time, in that casual way of his, it meant everything to Thomas. It’s taking what’s Thomas’ and making it distinctly Newt’s. It made Thomas distinctly Newt’s.

He knows Newt heard the sting in his voice. Silence blankets them, thick and weighted.

This fight was hideous. Brutally ugly. It’s the kind of argument that Thomas would expect to have with Gally, or Alby back in the day. Hackles rising, knives out styles of confrontations that Thomas had grown used to. A necessary kind of viciousness you have to emulate. But not with Newt. Never with Newt.

If this was any other situation, either of them would have their weapons down by now. Waved a white flag. Not this time.

Not knowing what to do with his hands, he peers into the bag of near-empty bag of trail mix and spots a peanut still in its shell. Pulling it out, he cracks it open and offers it to Newt, who accepts with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Not then, not now.”

Newt sighs, rebuttal surely about to come out, but Thomas shakes his head. “Please. Just let me—I have to get this out.” Straightening up, he fully turns to face Newt, unable to stop himself from glimpsing at his black eye before focusing. “Again and again, you’re here for me. You know my moods, you know how I function, you know what makes me stop functioning. And I thought,” his voice cracks, and he falters for a moment. “I thought I knew you, too.”

“Of course you do,” Newt reaches for his hand, and Thomas takes it gratefully. “Better than anyone.”

“When we were on the rooftop, and you told me about your leg, I convinced myself I couldn’t do anything about it.” He traces the callouses on Newt’s hand absentmindedly. “‘I wasn’t there. What could I have done? I’m here now. I’ll help him now.’ But the worst thought, the fucking worst one of them all,” Thomas’ mouth twists bitterly. “I thought: ‘It’s in the past.’”

“It is,” Newt insists, but it comes out weak. Hollow. A beat passes. “I thought it was in the past, too. I think the Flare must’ve pulled that out of my psyche or something, honestly.” He laughs, the sound brittle. “Like a bloody truth serum now? As if this couldn’t get worse.”

A question enters his brain. It’s one he doesn’t want to consider, a question he can’t fathom voicing. But it’s for Newt. “Do—” he tries, throat closing up. “Do you still want to…to try finding—a tall wall—?”

“No,” Newt interrupts firmly. “God, no, Tommy, no. Not anymore. It’s different now. Sure, it gets hard, but it’s always been hard. No time for breaks. We get lazy—”

“We get sad,” finishes Thomas, a small fraction of his worries fading away. “I remember.”

Newt’s eyes brighten with mirth. “My bright pupil, you are.”

Silence stretches once more, and Thomas passes the time by playing with the peanut shell in the hand that isn’t holding Newt’s, nail scratching against the rough shell, before shoving it in his pocket, not wanting to litter.

It’s not that he’s surprised that Newt is self-sacrificing. They all are. It’s impossible to be so devoted to this cause without eventually realizing that you’d do anything to make sure the mission’s completed. What doesn’t settle well with Thomas is that Newt sees that there are options. Newt, I’ve called a Gathering to see what the others think. Newt, patience, Greenie, it would do you some good. Newt, slow down, Tommy. What are we not seeing?

Time and again, Newt is the one to take a step back and see the bigger picture. He has the disposition of a leader, the ability to make the calls without panicking. There’s a reason why people gravitate to him the way that they do.

But all of that is thrown out the window when it’s about Newt himself.

Newt takes a breath. “I just think,” he says, slowly, like he’s thinking about every word before speaking. “That I should go to the city because it would increase our odds of success.”

Oddly enough, Thomas is almost glad that they blew up at each other earlier. Otherwise, he’s sure he would probably be yelling at the top of his lungs again. As it is, Thomas’ head has been clearer than it's been in awhile. “Well, I for one think that if we saved Minho and took down the entire WICKED organization, but you Cranked out or died, it would be the opposite of a success.”

“Do you really think that? That if we saved dozens of kids and took down the evil bastards, but you lost me, that it wouldn’t be worth it?”

Thomas steadily meets his gaze. “What about if it was me instead of you?”

Something dark flashes in Newt’s eyes, and he turns away. “Noted,” he concedes, jaw clenched. “But on that note, Tommy, you also have to consider that I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you leave me a on a berg when you’re taking down said WICKED organization.”

“You don’t have to be on a berg,” he argues. “You can be…with Lawrence.” They both turn to each other with a grimace. “Okay, scratch that. But there’s something else you can do.”

Newt taps his chin, faux considering. “Yeah, I think so too. Like letting me go with you into the city.”

Thomas tightens his hold on Newt’s hand. “Newt, please.”

“Tommy,” he warns. “Come on. You have to work with me here. You know you can’t keep me here. I’m not throwing punches this time around, but I’m putting my bloody foot down on this one, you hear me?”

“A compromise?” he attempts, desperately.

“Does this compromise involve keeping me out of the Last City?” When Thomas doesn’t answer, Newt shrugs. “Then I’m not hearing it. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

It’s like the walls are getting tighter and tighter, the open sky suddenly crashing down on Thomas. He knows Newt’s expression—his mouth quirked like he’s slightly amused but the glint in his eyes is saying that Thomas is fighting a losing battle.

Thomas gets up on his knees and scoots over until he’s in front of a surprised Newt. Taking Newt’s hand in both of his own, he buries his face into his wrists, right along where black veins only seem to grow dark and darker. Head bowed and eyes clenched tight, he’s fully aware of how supplicant he looks. “Newt. You can’t die.”

“It’s not like I’m planning on it—”

“No. You can’t die.” Thomas presses his cheek tighter against Newt’s wrists, like he can physically stop him from going. “There’s no point to this if you die. There’s no point to me betraying WICKED and helping the Right Arm, no point to losing anyone in the Maze, no point to any of us being here. I need you to know that. It won’t be an inconvenience to me if you’re gone—it would be the absolute, fucking worst case scenario.”

The image of Newt, Cranked out and dead, unbiddenly comes to the forefront of his mind once more. “If you go, and you turn into a Crank, and I have to kill you—” Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. “If my hands are stained with your blood, I’ll make sure the last thing I do is put a gun to my head. Do you understand that?”

A beat. Then long, elegant fingers pull Thomas’ chin upwards. Newt’s expression is ashen, and for the first time, hesitation laces his features. “I understand,” he mutters. “I understand. But what you have to understand, love, is that I don’t trust anyone else to take care of you out there.”

It crumbles. It all crumbles. Any argument in Thomas’ throat shrivels up and dies. It feels a lot like seeing the Maze for the first time, the way the helicopter pulls up higher and higher until Thomas is forced to see the bigger picture, the reality of the situation.

Because the same way Thomas would move mountains to prevent any harm from befalling Newt, it will be a cold, cold day in hell before Newt would let Thomas suffer.

Newt can’t be convinced. Not when Thomas’ safety is involved.

“Are you sure this decision isn’t because of the Flare?” he insists in a desperate, last ditch attempt to try and sway him. “You know I fucking hate when people use that on you, but—”

"Tommy," Hands grab his face and Newt shakes him, just a little, like he can’t bear to be rougher to him than he is now. Like he knows how much this hurts Thomas and can’t bring himself to add to that hurt. "I'm looking at you, see? I'm looking."

Thomas sucks in a breath and holds it, willing himself not to break. When he breathes out, a gust of wind blows with him, and it threatens to shatter him into a million pieces. Instead, he focuses on how Newt holds him with such a tenderness, such a surety, that Thomas can’t possibly fall apart. The Glue, WICKED had called him, not knowing the sheer truth of that statement.

“Okay.” Thomas relents, nodding to himself. “Okay. You’re going.” Placing his hand on top of Newt’s for a moment, he pulls away to stand. “You’re going, but that compromise I mentioned? That’s fucking happening.”

“Oh, is it now?” Newt retorts, but Thomas is only half-listening.

He jogs back into the building, Thomas scoops up the fallen notebook off the floor when someone coughs to his right.

“Dinner in twenty,” Gally greets tonelessly, peering at Thomas’ face, probably clocking his swollen jaw. “Don’t be late. Fry’ll kill you.”

Thomas throws him a thumbs up without looking, almost running back out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“Compromise,” he repeats, flopping back down beside Newt and clicking his pen, shifts so that the rim of the fountain isn’t digging into his spine. “What’re your non-negotiables?”

Newt straightens up, brows scrunching ever so slightly. His business face. “No staying on the Berg, for starters,” he scoffs. “I have to be in the city. I have to be with you the whole time.”

As he lists it out, Thomas diligently writes notes, splitting the page into two columns, one for each of them. “The whole time?”

“Whole bloody time.”

He clicks his tongue but writes it down anyway. “For me—”

“Give me the book. I want to make sure you’re not putting random shit in there.”

“Try to actually make your writing legible this time, Newt.”

“Quiet down and get to talking, yeah?”

It’s familiar, the rhythm that they naturally fall into. Sharing each other’s personal space as they take turns writing, discussing how to morph the situation into something they’re more or less comfortable with.

Less, Thomas says. Definitely less.

Come on, Mr. Compromise. Wasn’t this your big idea?

There’s disagreements, inevitable clashing of ideas, many crossed out proposals on the page, but they work it out. They play a classic speed-round of what if? A game where they have two minutes to list out everything that can go wrong, and they take turns giving possible solutions. Some concerns are so ridiculous that it makes the both of them double over with laughter, but some solutions end up being strokes of accidental genius.

Newt, despite being the taller one, leans down to rest his head on Thomas’ shoulder. From then on, he tries very, very hard not to move too much.

Once they finish, they both straighten up after leaning over for so long, stretching out their limbs as they peer over their work. Their handwriting scattered throughout the pages—Thomas’s incoherent scrawl and Newt’s slanted cursive. It does something to him, seeing their shared thoughts and proof of their wavelength on something tangible. A good chunk of the pages have been filled, the earliest pages basically indecipherable but as they flip through the pages, it becomes neater and more organized, until the final draft is polished enough that even Thomas can’t help but be impressed at how much they covered in a short amount of time.

Newt massages his leg, groaning. “I’m actually starving now. A whole new level of hunger. Can you believe that man? We just restructured our entire infiltration plan and he’s still cooking?”

“You know,” Thomas says, standing, working out the kinks in his neck with one hand and offering the other to Newt. “Maybe if you asked the first time, we wouldn’t have beaten each other up.”

“Oh, slim it.” Newt takes his hand and pulls himself up. “That was some good work we just did.”

Thomas doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets his fingertips trace Newt’s wrist until he feels the faint thrum of a pulse. He feels it beat once, twice, three times. Just to make sure. “You’re going to try,” he says, a statement rather than a question. “You’re going to try your damnest.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “We talked about this. Of course I will.”

“If there’s a chance that you can finish the mission, but you end up sacrificing yourself, you’ll say no?”

For the briefest moment, Newt hesitates. Thomas doesn’t dare blink. “I’ll say no.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Tommy.”

He nods, the movement jerky. “I know I’m insane right now. Or, lately. In general, I’m just—”

“A bloody lunatic?” Newt offers dryly.

“Yeah, exactly, and you knew that already. But if anything happened to you, I’d be—” A danger to everyone around him. Shattered to the point of no return. Begging to be put out of his misery. “—not okay.”

While he speaks, he watches Newt’s expression grow fonder and fonder. Twisting his hand, Newt shifts until they both feel each other’s pulses, feeling how they beat in time with one another. “I have an inkling that you don’t know how—”

He cuts himself off when Frypan yells, loud enough to be heard from every corner of the premises: “Dinner for you ugly bastards! Ugly bastards, dinner time!”

Newt huffs out a laugh and drags Thomas back into the chapel. “Come on, Tommy. Can’t take down evil on an empty stomach and peanuts, now can we?”

Thomas lets himself be dragged along, still thinking, still planning. Arguing against Newt is a losing game, but he can make sure he’s as bubble wrapped as possible going in. Schematics and contingency plans float through his head, flipping through ideas over and over again. He knows

It never fails to send Thomas reeling, whenever it happens.

It happened a lot when they were in the Glade, sure. They got along well, very well, even when Thomas had just freshly popped out of the Box and could barely catch his breath with the speed of questions leaving his mouth. But he and Newt weren't aligned yet, not the way they are now. Back in the Maze, it was more political than anything, a system of governing that both of them had to heed. Power structures, hierarchy, Greenie this, Keeper that, order, order, order.

Out of the walls and into the Scorch, the two of them snapped into place. There was no room for hesitation, not when it was just Newt and Thomas (and Minho. They have to save Minho, now). All structure gone, they could only rely on each other to lead a group of terrified teenagers through a desert, Cranks, and a staggering bounty on each of their heads. There were so few of them left, dwindling by the day, that they couldn't afford to slip up. Communication above all else. Minimize mistakes, but when they happen (and they will happen, god will they happen), talk about it. Figure it out. Make sure it doesn't happen again.

Neither of us goes to sleep confused, you hear me? If there's one thing we can control in this hell, it's this. Good that, Tommy?

Long conversations couldn't stay long, not with how fast everything moves around them. So it was something they refined, polished until it was shining.

They learned how they ebb and flow, memorized each other's landmines and remembered not to step on them unless they had to. Learned each other's nervous ticks, every twitch, every frown, what sets the other off and what's a surefire way to de-escalate the situation. They found themselves not needing much to get their point across; a breath, a few words, a pat on the back, a clenched jaw, the quirk of a brow. It was beautifully efficient for them and annoyingly grating for everyone else.

Like this, it was laughable to even try and hide the fondness they had for each other, not when it showed in their every move, every action, every breath.

Once they sorted that out, though, their wavelengths only became steadier, impossibly solid—seemingly parallel lines merged to become one, harmonizing in a frequency only they could hear, a language only they could speak.

Their foundation is something that's second nature to Thomas now, a structure that gives him good footing and the confidence to surge forward, letting him hold his head up high. If he has anything, he has this.

Until he doesn't.

Frypan grips his spatula like an instrument of war. “Hell no. You know my rules."

"But I just saw Gally leave with a sandwich."

"Yeah, I didn't feed that bastard for six months and look where he ended up. With some wacky military cult group who wants to take down the government. He gets to have a snack from me, just once."

Thomas sighs, just a little. "Come on, man, I'm starving."

"And what do you think I'm doing right now? Gardening?" Frypan jerks his head at the portable stove with a stock-pot bubbling on top. His tone leaves no room for argument, an assertiveness that only fully materializes in a kitchen. "Dinner's ready in an hour. A little wait won't kill you."

He fights another sigh, remembering how it was Frypan himself who used to sneak extra skewers for him back in the Glade.

It's not that he particularly likes it that people have a different attitude about him nowadays. He's grown to expect the expressions of the people around him, the range of irritated to pitiful. In truth, he knows where they're coming from. He's always been abrasive, but ever since he found out about Newt, it's gotten out of control. Thomas' temper is parabolic enough to be comparable to the Flare; he's snappish and intransigent, a complete nuisance to work with. He's fully aware that he's become borderline unbearable—the interrogation with Teresa only solidified that.

But despite everything, they still put up with it. They love him, he's their friend, yes. But the real reason they put up with it is because they understand why he's turned into this.

Thomas turns around to leave, resigned, when he hears Frypan click his tongue. "Hey." Looking back, he just barely catches a bag of trail mix tossed his way. "Share that with your boy, okay? Don't go ruining dinner just because y'all are spoiling your appetites."

Because everyone loves Newt, some of them longer than even Thomas has. While Thomas may be the loudest to voice it, may be the one who'll always take it too far, every single one of them are doing what they can to help Newt.

Thomas doesn't quite smile, but it’s a near thing. "Thanks, Fry."

"Anytime. Now get."

Newt's waiting for him just outside the kitchen, leaning against the wall, eyeing the bag. "That's not the sandwich I was promised," he says, but takes it out of Thomas' hands anyway.

"Should've been you who asked." They like you better. He pops a raisin in his mouth.

Newt gives him a look before kicking himself off the wall—an action so reminiscent of Minho it makes Thomas ache. "Now, Tommy, we have to work on that confidence of yours."

"Lots of people would beg to differ," he says, waving him off. It honestly doesn’t bother him. He likes Newt better, too.

"Depends on who you're asking." Newt shakes the bag, carefully picking out the good bits. Thomas lets him. "We probably looked real bloody confident earlier."

"Yeah," he says mildly. Thomas watches him pour the almonds back in, feeling himself start zoning out as he replays the interrogation in his head, speeded up like a faulty DVD.

Teresa's in, which is admittedly good. He and Newt talk a big game, but it would be infinitely harder to get into WICKED without her. They need to talk to Lawrence as soon as possible, make sure he doesn't back out of their deal. He also has to talk to Newt, confirm that he's comfortable flying the Berg out with Jorge. All of this is already written down in his leather notebook, written and re-written enough that he can recite it from memory, but it doesn't hurt to think it through one more time.

Without warning, Newt slaps his bicep, pulling him out of his stupor. "I can see those wheels spinning," he chides. "What's in that big head of yours?"

"Nothing." When he receives a dry look, he takes a deep breath. "Nothing yet. I'm just thinking about our next steps."

"Let me guess," Newt throws some cashews in his mouth. "You want to bust into The Last City tonight, have the infiltration take only half an hour long, and have the Flare out of my body in an hour, tops. Sound about right?"

Thomas huffs. "An hour's too long, can we make some edits on that?" Still, he can't help but let his eyes drift towards Newt's forearm. "I want that thing out of you, Newt."

"You and me both, love," Newt mumbles, chewing, deep in thought, and Thomas has to turn away to hide a pleased smile. "It's a lot to worry about. So many players involved in this, stakes are high. Teresa's only the first step."

Taking a deep breath, Newt pushes his shoulders back and starts walking in the direction of their meeting room. Thomas follows close behind.

"Here's what we're going to do," he declares, passing the half-empty bag to Thomas. Their shared footsteps are silent, a habit they fostered in this new life of theirs. Gone are the times in the Glade when they can stomp around all they like. "You and I are gonna work this out, like we always do. Every nook and cranny, every little detail your overthinking brain can think of, we're nailing down. Make this thing airtight before we bust in there, guns blazing and hell raising. Make a plan so good it'll put all of our other plans to shame. Then you're going to your little cot and sleep eight hours straight, snoring loud enough to ruin the night for the rest of us. Good that?"

Something fierce and reverent squirms in Thomas, and an easy agreement is on the tip of his tongue when something makes him stop in his tracks, feet stuttering to a halt.

Newt walks a few steps further before noticing. He turns around, brow cocked. "What's up?"

"We?"

That makes Newt's face scrunch up even more. "Well, if you wanna talk to Gally about this instead, be my guest. Or better yet, invite Teresa, why don't you?"

Thomas doesn't laugh. "We bust in," he repeats, heartbeat in his throat. "That's what you said."

The confusion melts off of Newt's face, caution taking its place. "Yes," he says slowly. "That's what I said."

A silence grows between them, and Thomas is waiting for Newt to say he's joking, that he's just trying to pull a smile out of Thomas. Instead, the silence stretches.

"Newt," he says quietly. "You aren't coming into the city."

Newt's shaking his head before Thomas can finish. "We talked about this, on the rooftop—"

"No, that was different. You wanted to help with the missions, and you have been. You wanted to help find Minho, and you did. You've already done enough."

"Done enough?" His expression is unimpressed. "Well enough that Minho's here now? Well enough that all the Immunes are magically saved? I don't think so, Tommy. We're not done here, not even close. I'm going out there."

Thomas forces himself to take a breath. "The Flare gets worse the more stressful a situation is. Here, let me—" Wildly patting down his jeans, he all but rips his notebook out of his pocket and flips through the pages, ignoring the tremble in his hands. "There, see? 'If individuals infected with the Flare are in constant stress—"

"I know."

"'—it can rapidly increase the— "

"—infection rate of the brain,'" Newt finishes, idly touching his forearm. "I know."

Thomas lets the book fall from his hand with a muffled thud and doesn’t bother to pick it up again. "Okay," he hears himself say. "You know. So you're not going."

Newt takes a step forward, placatingly eyeing him in a way that makes Thomas' chest tight. "Tommy, I'm going. This doesn't work if—"

"We'll make it work."

"You're not listening to me. If you go into WICKED, just you and—"

"We'll make Gally stay with me the whole way. Frypan. Jorge. If you're staying here—"

"Which I'm not, and you're going to have to accept—"

"You're not going—"

"Thomas," his voice is dangerously soft. Thomas flinches away, something vile curling in his gut, the sound of his own name making him sick. "Listen to me. I'm fucking going."

Thomas' eyes shutter close. It feels like his mind shutting down, cortex by cortex as he fails to understand what Newt’s trying to say. For a blissful moment, he’s deafened by the ringing in his ears and the beat of his thrumming heart.

When he finally opens his eyes, all he sees is red.

Grabbing Newt’s jacket collar, he all but drags him out the closest door, taking them to the chapel’s courtyard, unfeeling the cool night air brush against his skin. What was probably once a beautiful garden is practically a garbage dump now. Broken glass is sprinkled on top of dead rose bushes, plastic bags swaying in the breeze. There’s a fountain in the middle, its ceramic cracked and caked in dirt, filled with debris that’s accumulated over the years to the point where it spilled onto the grass beneath their feet.

Thomas doesn’t give a shit about any of it. He drops Newt on the lip of the fountain, almost throwing him in from the force of it.

"Communication, right?" he spits, looming above Newt, and he hates this, hates it so much but he has to pull Newt out of whatever mindset he's buried himself in. It's one thing to raze the world to save Newt—it's another for Newt to be the one to get in his way. "Then fucking talk. Convince me to let you turn into a Crank."

Newt's glaring daggers up at him, and it would normally be enough to sway Thomas. He steels himself and refuses to look away. Not this time.

"Don't you toss me around like I’m some damn shank," Newt says lowly, eyes narrowed. "And you're not letting me do anything. I'll do what I damn well please if it helps Minho and take down WICKED."

Thomas grits his teeth. "Talk. You said it yourself—you know the dangers, you know why you can't just rampage into the city with us. You know better to jump into something so stupid."

"Stupid?" Newt repeats, incredulous. He moves to stand but Thomas pushes him back down, and it makes the flame in Newt's eyes burn brighter. "You of all people don't get to call me that, you bloody hypocrite. How many times have you jumped headfirst into danger without talking to any of us about it? Saving Alby and Minho in the Glade, following Aris in the WICKED compound. And, what, the minute I try to do even a fraction of that, you get all pissy at me?"

"That's different!" Thomas realizes, belatedly, that he's half-yelling. "You know why it's different. I didn't have the Flare, I wasn't sick and getting worse by the minute. You going to the Last City is suicide, Newt."

"Then why did you let me help during the interrogation if you're so sure I was going to be such a nuisance?"

His mouth drops open, bewildered. "I didn't say you were! You helped during the interrogation because it's Teresa—she knows me, she knows us—" Newt scoffs and rolls his eyes, and it's such a petty move that it fills Thomas' veins with thunder. He grabs his shoulders and shakes roughly. "What the hell is your problem?"

Thomas is livid, seething with rage. But above all else, he's shaken. Newt has never been so hostile, so reluctant to see logic. He tries peering at Newt's face, to try and read between the lines that he knows better than his own, but Newt tilts his head away from him.

Is it the Flare? Is it something else?

Is it both?

"You want to know what my problem is?" Newt says, still not looking at Thomas, expression excruciatingly blank. "My problem is that you don't trust me."

Nothing. Nothing could have prepared Thomas for that.

Letting his hands slip, he stumbles backwards like he took a blow to the gut. An uncontrollable laugh slips out of his lips, mildly hysterical. "What?" he manages.

"You bloody well heard me." Newt stands, approaching Thomas step by step with a certainty that makes his skin crawl. "You don't want me there, ruining this operation. You think I'll get in the way. You think I'll Crank out in the middle of it, or attack you halfway through and you have to carry me out of there."

Thomas refuses to take a step back, letting Newt invade his personal space. "You know that's not true," he says, voice hard.

"It's true." Newt's eyes are wild, black, darting all over the place. With every breath he takes, his black veins pulsate in time in a sickening rhythm. "It's true. Say it's true. Say I'll ruin it for everyone."

"No."

"Say it, Thomas."

"Fuck off. No."

Thomas feels it before he sees it. A sudden blow to his jaw, his head jerks sharply to the side as he loses his footing for a moment. Newt stands in front of him, hands still curled in a tight, shaking fist. Apparently, he isn't done yet.

"Say it!" Newt screams, and the sound makes Thomas recoil more than the punch did. "If you don't say it, I'm going, with or without you!"

Thomas doesn’t answer, instead he lets his instincts take over. He connects his fist to Newt’s cheek, feels the bone underneath his knuckles. Newt topples over, lithe body hitting the ground hard. Blond hair blocking his eyes and black lines polluting his neck, he doesn't move for a brief, horrifying half a second.

Time slows down. In that moment, Thomas sees the future: Newt, dead, splayed out on the ground. Or maybe Newt, a Crank, haggard and vicious and stripped of everything that makes him so, so lovely. In both possibilities, he knows, he just knows, that Thomas would be the one to put him in the ground, because he would never let anyone else touch Newt. It would have to be him.

Unable to control himself, Thomas lurches forward to the fountain and vomits, heaving and shaking uncontrollably, the urge to scrub that image from his brain almost unbearable.

A hand grabs his jacket and roughly pulls him back. Thomas lets it happen, his back hitting the grass hard enough to wind him.

Newt clambers on top of him, hand placed on either side of Thomas' head, teeth bared and nearly snarling. "I'm going to the city."

"You can't," Thomas mummers, thoughts still jumbled. "You can't, Newt. You'll die."

Slamming his hand down, Newt grips either side of his face, thumb cruelly pushing into his throbbing jaw where the punch landed. "You don't get to take this choice away from me. Over and over again, you ruin things for me, for everyone. We could still be in the Glade, we could still be safe and ignorant in the facility, if it weren't for you. Minho would still be here if it wasn't for you. You don't want me to die? Maybe consider the fact that it's you who's killing me."

The words glance off of him. Instead, Thomas stares up at Newt, eyes carefully taking in every detail there. Past the ferocity, past the seemingly impenetrable anger and dripping hostility, there's something in his expression that's screaming at Thomas to be noticed. There's something layered there, begging to be found, subtle and invisible to anyone who isn't him.

"Make it up to me, Thomas. Make it up to me by giving me a choice." Newt's chest is heaving, leaving Thomas space to say something. When he doesn't, Newt's face twists even more. "What, no comment? No clever words today? Aren't you the inspiration between the two of us? The fucking wonder boy?"

A hot tear rolls down Thomas' temple, sudden and uncontrollable. It's as if his body figured out what's going in Newt's head before Thomas himself did.

Newt, eyes black with fury, digs his nails in with a vengeance, but Thomas can barely process the pain, his entire being staring intently at Newt’s face. “Give me a choice. Let me do this. If you care for me, if you ever gave a damn about me, respected me as a person and respected me as yours, you’d grant me this.” With every word he hisses, Newt squeezes tighter, and Thomas doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t dare breathe. “Grant. Me. This.”

Then I went and found the tallest wall I could, and I climbed up there and—

It clicks.

When Thomas finally speaks, it feels like his heart is in his throat. It feels like the world is ending. “You’re not planning on coming back.”

For a long, long moment, neither of them say a word. A strong breeze ruffles Newt’s hair like a caress.

Newt leans back and sucks in a deep, shaking breath. His shoulders sag in on himself, and the tight grip on Thomas’ face eases until the pain fades away, replaced by Newt’s thumb gently stroking what he’s sure is a glowing bruise on his jaw. The symptoms had passed, for now.

Thomas swallows, ribcage creaking with swirling, conflicting emotions. Slowly, carefully, Thomas sits up until he’s chest to chest with Newt and pulls him in for a hug. Arms encircle his waist and holds him tight, then tighter. Tight enough that it feels like nothing can get between them. Tight enough that it feels like if Newt’s heart stopped beating, Thomas’ would, too.

“The Flare didn’t make that up, did it?”

They’re both leaning against the fountain, the clean side. Cleaner side—the side that Thomas didn’t throw up in. Sitting on the ground, they’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, sharing whatever’s left of the trail mix that stayed miraculously sealed in Thomas’ pocket. Like this, he feels a wave of nostalgia, a wistfulness for the bonfire back in the Glade. It’s almost silly, feeling homesick for a place you lived in for all of a week. Can barely even call it a home.

Newt considers his question and Thomas immediately diverts his attention to ripping up the grass underneath them, vaguely enjoying the sensation. These talks always work best when Newt can pretend Thomas is busy doing something else.

“Some of it,” Newt admits. “At least, I’d like to think some of that wasn’t me.” From the corner of his eye, he sees Newt’s gaze flicker at Thomas, no doubt taking in the bruise that’s still blossoming there.

He shrugs, unbothered. Thomas taps at his own eye before nodding at Newt. “Gave you a black eye, in case you forgot. And between the two of us, at least you actually have an excuse to go a little crazy.”

“You’ve always been a little crazy.”

“For you, maybe.” And just to seal the deal, he winks at Newt, poorly.

As he suspected he would, Newt reels back in shock for a moment before laughter bursts out of him. Eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking, he feels himself laugh back a little, on reflex. “There you are,” Thomas says softly. “Welcome back.”

Newt grins back, the remnants of his joy still strewn across his face, stubborn and sticky like honey. “Didn’t peg you as a flirt, Tommy.”

Tilting his head up skywards, Thomas hums, enjoying the sight of a clear, night sky as he lets relief wash over him. “I’m glad I have my Tommy privileges back.”

It was supposed to come out as a joke, but it comes out more vulnerable than Thomas intended. He can’t help it. Back in the Maze, everything was taken away from him, from all of them. The only thing you get back is your name. Every Glader remembers that feeling for the rest of their life. It’s a fierce thing, to be reconciled with a name that you’ve lost when you don’t have anything left. It’s the only thing that’s truly yours.

When Newt called him Tommy for the first time, in that casual way of his, it meant everything to Thomas. It’s taking what’s Thomas’ and making it distinctly Newt’s. It made Thomas distinctly Newt’s.

He knows Newt heard the sting in his voice. Silence blankets them, thick and weighted.

This fight was hideous. Brutally ugly. It’s the kind of argument that Thomas would expect to have with Gally, or Alby back in the day. Hackles rising, knives out styles of confrontations that Thomas had grown used to. A necessary kind of viciousness you have to emulate. But not with Newt. Never with Newt.

If this was any other situation, either of them would have their weapons down by now. Waved a white flag. Not this time.

Not knowing what to do with his hands, he peers into the bag of near-empty bag of trail mix and spots a peanut still in its shell. Pulling it out, he cracks it open and offers it to Newt, who accepts with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Not then, not now.”

Newt sighs, rebuttal surely about to come out, but Thomas shakes his head. “Please. Just let me—I have to get this out.” Straightening up, he fully turns to face Newt, unable to stop himself from glimpsing at his black eye before focusing. “Again and again, you’re here for me. You know my moods, you know how I function, you know what makes me stop functioning. And I thought,” his voice cracks, and he falters for a moment. “I thought I knew you, too.”

“Of course you do,” Newt reaches for his hand, and Thomas takes it gratefully. “Better than anyone.”

“When we were on the rooftop, and you told me about your leg, I convinced myself I couldn’t do anything about it.” He traces the callouses on Newt’s hand absentmindedly. “‘I wasn’t there. What could I have done? I’m here now. I’ll help him now.’ But the worst thought, the fucking worst one of them all,” Thomas’ mouth twists bitterly. “I thought: ‘It’s in the past.’”

“It is,” Newt insists, but it comes out weak. Hollow. A beat passes. “I thought it was in the past, too. I think the Flare must’ve pulled that out of my psyche or something, honestly.” He laughs, the sound brittle. “Like a bloody truth serum now? As if this couldn’t get worse.”

A question enters his brain. It’s one he doesn’t want to consider, a question he can’t fathom voicing. But it’s for Newt. “Do—” he tries, throat closing up. “Do you still want to…to try finding—a tall wall—?”

“No,” Newt interrupts firmly. “God, no, Tommy, no. Not anymore. It’s different now. Sure, it gets hard, but it’s always been hard. No time for breaks. We get lazy—”

“We get sad,” finishes Thomas, a small fraction of his worries fading away. “I remember.”

Newt’s eyes brighten with mirth. “My bright pupil, you are.”

Silence stretches once more, and Thomas passes the time by playing with the peanut shell in the hand that isn’t holding Newt’s, nail scratching against the rough shell, before shoving it in his pocket, not wanting to litter.

It’s not that he’s surprised that Newt is self-sacrificing. They all are. It’s impossible to be so devoted to this cause without eventually realizing that you’d do anything to make sure the mission’s completed. What doesn’t settle well with Thomas is that Newt sees that there are options. Newt, I’ve called a Gathering to see what the others think. Newt, patience, Greenie, it would do you some good. Newt, slow down, Tommy. What are we not seeing?

Time and again, Newt is the one to take a step back and see the bigger picture. He has the disposition of a leader, the ability to make the calls without panicking. There’s a reason why people gravitate to him the way that they do.

But all of that is thrown out the window when it’s about Newt himself.

Newt takes a breath. “I just think,” he says, slowly, like he’s thinking about every word before speaking. “That I should go to the city because it would increase our odds of success.”

Oddly enough, Thomas is almost glad that they blew up at each other earlier. Otherwise, he’s sure he would probably be yelling at the top of his lungs again. As it is, Thomas’ head has been clearer than it's been in awhile. “Well, I for one think that if we saved Minho and took down the entire WICKED organization, but you Cranked out or died, it would be the opposite of a success.”

“Do you really think that? That if we saved dozens of kids and took down the evil bastards, but you lost me, that it wouldn’t be worth it?”

Thomas steadily meets his gaze. “What about if it was me instead of you?”

Something dark flashes in Newt’s eyes, and he turns away. “Noted,” he concedes, jaw clenched. “But on that note, Tommy, you also have to consider that I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you leave me a on a berg when you’re taking down said WICKED organization.”

“You don’t have to be on a berg,” he argues. “You can be…with Lawrence.” They both turn to each other with a grimace. “Okay, scratch that. But there’s something else you can do.”

Newt taps his chin, faux considering. “Yeah, I think so too. Like letting me go with you into the city.”

Thomas tightens his hold on Newt’s hand. “Newt, please.”

“Tommy,” he warns. “Come on. You have to work with me here. You know you can’t keep me here. I’m not throwing punches this time around, but I’m putting my bloody foot down on this one, you hear me?”

“A compromise?” he attempts, desperately.

“Does this compromise involve keeping me out of the Last City?” When Thomas doesn’t answer, Newt shrugs. “Then I’m not hearing it. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

It’s like the walls are getting tighter and tighter, the open sky suddenly crashing down on Thomas. He knows Newt’s expression—his mouth quirked like he’s slightly amused but the glint in his eyes is saying that Thomas is fighting a losing battle.

Thomas gets up on his knees and scoots over until he’s in front of a surprised Newt. Taking Newt’s hand in both of his own, he buries his face into his wrists, right along where black veins only seem to grow dark and darker. Head bowed and eyes clenched tight, he’s fully aware of how supplicant he looks. “Newt. You can’t die.”

“It’s not like I’m planning on it—”

“No. You can’t die.” Thomas presses his cheek tighter against Newt’s wrists, like he can physically stop him from going. “There’s no point to this if you die. There’s no point to me betraying WICKED and helping the Right Arm, no point to losing anyone in the Maze, no point to any of us being here. I need you to know that. It won’t be an inconvenience to me if you’re gone—it would be the absolute, fucking worst case scenario.”

The image of Newt, Cranked out and dead, unbiddenly comes to the forefront of his mind once more. “If you go, and you turn into a Crank, and I have to kill you—” Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. “If my hands are stained with your blood, I’ll make sure the last thing I do is put a gun to my head. Do you understand that?”

A beat. Then long, elegant fingers pull Thomas’ chin upwards. Newt’s expression is ashen, and for the first time, hesitation laces his features. “I understand,” he mutters. “I understand. But what you have to understand, love, is that I don’t trust anyone else to take care of you out there.”

It crumbles. It all crumbles. Any argument in Thomas’ throat shrivels up and dies. It feels a lot like seeing the Maze for the first time, the way the helicopter pulls up higher and higher until Thomas is forced to see the bigger picture, the reality of the situation.

Because the same way Thomas would move mountains to prevent any harm from befalling Newt, it will be a cold, cold day in hell before Newt would let Thomas suffer.

Newt can’t be convinced. Not when Thomas’ safety is involved.

“Are you sure this decision isn’t because of the Flare?” he insists in a desperate, last ditch attempt to try and sway him. “You know I fucking hate when people use that on you, but—”

"Tommy," Hands grab his face and Newt shakes him, just a little, like he can’t bear to be rougher to him than he is now. Like he knows how much this hurts Thomas and can’t bring himself to add to that hurt. "I'm looking at you, see? I'm looking."

Thomas sucks in a breath and holds it, willing himself not to break. When he breathes out, a gust of wind blows with him, and it threatens to shatter him into a million pieces. Instead, he focuses on how Newt holds him with such a tenderness, such a surety, that Thomas can’t possibly fall apart. The Glue, WICKED had called him, not knowing the sheer truth of that statement.

“Okay.” Thomas relents, nodding to himself. “Okay. You’re going.” Placing his hand on top of Newt’s for a moment, he pulls away to stand. “You’re going, but that compromise I mentioned? That’s fucking happening.”

“Oh, is it now?” Newt retorts, but Thomas is only half-listening.

He jogs back into the building, Thomas scoops up the fallen notebook off the floor when someone coughs to his right.

“Dinner in twenty,” Gally greets tonelessly, peering at Thomas’ face, probably clocking his swollen jaw. “Don’t be late. Fry’ll kill you.”

Thomas throws him a thumbs up without looking, almost running back out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“Compromise,” he repeats, flopping back down beside Newt and clicking his pen, shifts so that the rim of the fountain isn’t digging into his spine. “What’re your non-negotiables?”

Newt straightens up, brows scrunching ever so slightly. His business face. “No staying on the Berg, for starters,” he scoffs. “I have to be in the city. I have to be with you the whole time.”

As he lists it out, Thomas diligently writes notes, splitting the page into two columns, one for each of them. “The whole time?”

“Whole bloody time.”

He clicks his tongue but writes it down anyway. “For me—”

“Give me the book. I want to make sure you’re not putting random shit in there.”

“Try to actually make your writing legible this time, Newt.”

“Quiet down and get to talking, yeah?”

It’s familiar, the rhythm that they naturally fall into. Sharing each other’s personal space as they take turns writing, discussing how to morph the situation into something they’re more or less comfortable with.

Less, Thomas says. Definitely less.

Come on, Mr. Compromise. Wasn’t this your big idea?

There’s disagreements, inevitable clashing of ideas, many crossed out proposals on the page, but they work it out. They play a classic speed-round of what if? A game where they have two minutes to list out everything that can go wrong, and they take turns giving possible solutions. Some concerns are so ridiculous that it makes the both of them double over with laughter, but some solutions end up being strokes of accidental genius.

Newt, despite being the taller one, leans down to rest his head on Thomas’ shoulder. From then on, he tries very, very hard not to move too much.

Once they finish, they both straighten up after leaning over for so long, stretching out their limbs as they peer over their work. Their handwriting scattered throughout the pages—Thomas’s incoherent scrawl and Newt’s slanted cursive. It does something to him, seeing their shared thoughts and proof of their wavelength on something tangible. A good chunk of the pages have been filled, the earliest pages basically indecipherable but as they flip through the pages, it becomes neater and more organized, until the final draft is polished enough that even Thomas can’t help but be impressed at how much they covered in a short amount of time.

Newt massages his leg, groaning. “I’m actually starving now. A whole new level of hunger. Can you believe that man? We just restructured our entire infiltration plan and he’s still cooking?”

“You know,” Thomas says, standing, working out the kinks in his neck with one hand and offering the other to Newt. “Maybe if you asked the first time, we wouldn’t have beaten each other up.”

“Oh, slim it.” Newt takes his hand and pulls himself up. “That was some good work we just did.”

Thomas doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets his fingertips trace Newt’s wrist until he feels the faint thrum of a pulse. He feels it beat once, twice, three times. Just to make sure. “You’re going to try,” he says, a statement rather than a question. “You’re going to try your damnest.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “We talked about this. Of course I will.”

“If there’s a chance that you can finish the mission, but you end up sacrificing yourself, you’ll say no?”

For the briefest moment, Newt hesitates. Thomas doesn’t dare blink. “I’ll say no.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Tommy.”

He nods, the movement jerky. “I know I’m insane right now. Or, lately. In general, I’m just—”

“A bloody lunatic?” Newt offers dryly.

“Yeah, exactly, and you knew that already. But if anything happened to you, I’d be—” A danger to everyone around him. Shattered to the point of no return. Begging to be put out of his misery. “—not okay.”

While he speaks, he watches Newt’s expression grow fonder and fonder. Twisting his hand, Newt shifts until they both feel each other’s pulses, feeling how they beat in time with one another. “I have an inkling that you don’t know how—”

He cuts himself off when Frypan yells, loud enough to be heard from every corner of the premises: “Dinner for you ugly bastards! Ugly bastards, dinner time!”

Newt huffs out a laugh and drags Thomas back into the chapel. “Come on, Tommy. Can’t take down evil on an empty stomach and peanuts, now can we?”

Thomas lets himself be dragged along, still thinking, still planning. Arguing against Newt is a losing game, but he can make sure he’s as bubble wrapped as possible going in. Schematics and contingency plans float through his head, flipping through ideas over and over again. He knows he won’t get a wink of sleep from now until the infiltration is over.

He’ll rest when Newt’s safe.

he won’t get a wink of sleep from now until the infiltration is over.

He’ll rest when Newt’s safe.

[stromuprisahat]

Question: how do you justify what the darkling did to Genya, Alina and Nikolai? I don’t even mean this to sound rude, but I’m just genuinely curious how you just brush past that when you say the Darkling never did anything he’d have to apologize for 🙃

I'd start with stating that I don't like the word "justify". Google says its meaning is "to show or prove to be right or reasonable", which to me sounds like something that's expected whenever you're about to do something that might offend or hurt anyone. Like pre-made apology you owe people even though you might not have anything to apologize for in the end.

It's really about lack of better words. Czech dictionary translates "justify" as "odůvodnit" or "ospravedlnit", out of which the first one is strictly without that moral baggage. Closer to "give reason".

Aleksander's actions are often perceived out of context, as malicious crimes he committed for his own enjoyment, or whatever suits the antis best, while there are plenty of factors we shouldn't fail to consider.

Ravka- The country he loves, even though it doesn't love him. Rarely peaceful- according to Shadow and Bone, current wars last for over a century. Drained by both its neighbours, split in two for long enough it's pretty unbelievable the West is only planning to secede, poor, with ruling class, who doesn't care and has no reason to.

Grisha- From outright hated to respected, but in constant danger anywhere else, Aleksander manged to carve out a place for them under conditions. The Crown allows Grisha to live right on its backyard (to better keep an eye on), safely train and serve as soldiers or servants of noble houses, as long as they're useful, but... also has no need or intention to take it further. Grisha are glorified, envied serfs in fancy clothes. They're used by monarchy, despised and distrusted by masses, as proved by several little things throughout the first book and instant pogroms once the Fold moves (And don't forget there were no survivors- no true witnesses-, aside from few of the Darkling's people.).

His own lives' experience- Let's be honest- centuries of watching his people- however close- die, drawbacks, betrayals, constantly repeating history... gives one quite a perspective. It's a miracle the Darkling is merely numb and tired, yet somehow hardly unfeeling. Unlike the young heroes he possesses enough self-control not to start begging, crying, screaming... He's lashing out, when he has a reason to believe it won't bite him in the ass, he's petty and hurts others, punishing them for hurting him.

setting- Forget 21st century morality. If we're talking about 19th century-esque world, it wouldn't only have fancy nobles, dashing princes to play pirates privateers and masses of uneducated peasants. The reason people think the way they do is they got there somehow. Ravka still has servitude, for gods' sake! Lives don't matter the way people want them to today! It won't be only about some being rich and some poor, there should be huge differences depending on one's circumstances of birth, bloodlines, wrongs or slights generations old... I'm aware we're suppose to pretend Alina get a pass, because she's "Living Saint", but for example slapping a member of royalty should cost her. Bastard or not, you let it slide once, and next thing you know people are getting ideas and building guillotines.

Now to your question:

Genya is the easiest. She got punished for disobeying direct order, betraying the Darkling for a girl she hardly knew and who was too self-involved to truly act like the friend Genya for some reason suddenly feels her to be.

Aleksander let Genya close enough to be considerably honest around her, at least regarding his intentions with Lantsovs. Dangerous thing to do for a man in his position (and although I have my theories, this reply is no place for them). That's why he made it personal. She didn't only abandon their cause, she hurt him, so he took what she valued most about herself, fitting his revenge into her expectable punishment.

He could've had her whipped. To death even. Instead he chose more personal approach.

Alina's the messiest, because way too many feelings got involved and Aleksander's shit in handling those. His only lasting relationship is his abusive mother, others tend to die on him. Alina's a personification of a dream. Someone to keep him company for the rest of eternity. A companion he longed for for so long, he's not able to handle the bitter truth. I don't think he ever considered his "One and Only Equal" might not be interested in his goals and while he might rationally understand Alina's so much younger, he quickly loses his patience and decides to speed up her development because her young self is interfering with his general plans.

Now, while younger Aleksander might have been more passionate, he was never allowed the luxury of recklessness or even childhood, as a consequence of which he has no idea how to handle hormonal teenagers. Alina's worldview is incredibly narrow and she has several mental mechanisms to prevent her from changing that, while Aleksander's living in constant paranoia, possibility of fight or flight 24/7. They're incompatible the way they are- Alina unwilling to change, Aleksander too rigid and lacking the luxury of choice- yet in each other's way too much to merely split up. The Darkling needs the Sun Summoner as a tool and a symbol, and as long as he breathes, Alina won't have a chance to regain her beloved anonymity.

What he did to her?

The Collar was his hand forced. Unreliable deserter possessing the power he needed to ensure ceasefire.

What else is there that couldn't be explain by simple "They're on opposite sides of a conflict."?

The only other moment that comes to my mind is him burning down the orphanage, one of my favourites. The situation is thus:

The Darkling occupies the Throne (Yay!), but he lacks wide support, numbers and resources, therefore he's forced to rule by fear, which is no way to go, when he wants to build future, where Grisha are accepted. Who does have the love of masses, is an undeserving "Saint" and rogue prince, starving his own people, while being cheered on for it, because he's thwarting the Darkling at the same time. I'll ignore Nikolai for now. So, how do you catch a single person, who could be hiding anywhere, with help from anyone, while you can count on no one? You make them come to you. You make them show themselves under circumstances you control.

Alina already fled slaughter of others three times, one she even directly caused. She might pretend to be a do-gooder, but she truly cares only about herself and her otkazat'sya past. Threatening Malyen already proved to be fruitful, but that one's out of Aleksander's reach, so he tries the next best thing. Destroying her "home". There's also poetry in it- he lost his mother for Alina, it's only fair she'd lose hers. As a symbol of the past Alina's so stubbornly clinging to, there's even some chance it WILL really hurt her, which is certainly plus for his vengeful self.

Eventually it proves to be ruthless, simple and utterly brilliant. Alina falls for his threat and meets him in the Fold.

It's a beautiful example of sacrificing a few (The Grisha teachers probably stayed with the children for their sake, and residents of the orphanage were also just doing their jobs as far as we know.) to end civil war and bring the other side to heel. Ravka wasn't able to handle two-front war, opening third one was insanity and I'm genuinely surprised the country didn't fall (or that West didn't use it to finally free itself from East). With Alina's power under control the Darkling could've attempted "Peace or the Fold" again, perhaps even succeed this time.

And then we have Nikolai.

Second-born Lantsov thwarting his plans, proposing "his" Sun Summoner, loved by masses and army alike because unlike Aleksander, he's otkazat'sya. Goals? Same. Positions? Incomparable. Willingness to give everything? Yes for both.

In better world, they could've been allies. One easily accepted, the other highly experienced. But the story doesn't want that, so Nikolai is serious contender and an obstacle in Aleksander's way to "Fine, I'll do it myself.". He needs to be gone. Killing him would be easiest and most permanent, but Kolya fucked up, when he made it personal.

Tricking the Darkling, shooting him, proposing to his "not"gf, evacuating royal family AND Baghra, starving his forces once Darkles sits on the throne... taking away Nikolai's most valuable quality, while keeping him conscious enough to comprehend it is the way to go!

There's also a POV that says showing your essence down your rival's throat to irrecoverably change him might be seen as a romantic gesture or outright foreplay, but I happen to be a Fannibal, so I'm aware the majority of Grishaverse fans might find my ideas of romance a bit harder to digest (pun absolutely intended).

To sum up: Most of the Darkling's actions corresponds with his position of 19th century-esque war general and revolutionary attempting Coup to save his bankrupt country, while hated by masses and lacking resources. Plus a drop of clever, petty vindictiveness.

(And whole bucket of bad writing, because there are things that just DON'T MAKE SENSE- both regarding worldbuilding and characterisation.)

[sageappa]

Ok, so, hear me out, HEAR ME OUT. I promise this is good speculation for GO3.

Good Omens was renewed for a third and final season. (I have been screaming and crying out of joy since 15:05 of my time zone, the exact time when Good Omens Prime's X account posted the news. But that's not the point.)

Mr. Gaiman, about this renewal, said:

"Season One was all about averting Armageddon, dangerous prophecies, and the End of the World. Season Two was sweet and gentle, although it may have ended less joyfully than a certain Angel and Demon might have hoped. Now in Season Three, we will deal once more with the end of the world. The plans for Armageddon are going wrong. Only Crowley and Aziraphale working together can hope to put it right. And they aren't talking."

So if I read it correctly, and if my English as a non-native isn't failing me, it seems that this time Aziraphale and Crowley actually intend to make Armageddon happen.

The plans are going wrong. Together, they can hope to put it right.

So what on Earth could have made them change so drastically their idea? What changed? Did Metatron do something to Aziraphale? Did Crowley get so depressed without his Angel that he'd rather have the world get destroyed? Naaah. Nah, I don't think so. They're both too attached to Earth and earthly beings to change their minds so quickly.

No, my guess is Armageddon changed.

It should have been how the Bible says: the coming of the Antichrist, the Four Horsemen riding, the enormous battle, etc. But it wasn't. And the Antichrist (or former Antichrist, since he refused Satan's paternity) won't collaborate to make the world end. What to do then, if both Heaven and Hell wanted it so bad?

Well. If Hell didn't make it, Heaven could get their try. (And Crowley knew this. Crowley knew that they'd come to some similar solution. That's why "he understands it a lot better than Aziraphale does.")

At the very end of Season Two, we hear this conversation between Metatron and a very unhappy Angel:

METATRON: Well, I can't think of a better angel to wrap things up, and to set into motion the next step in the great plan.

AZIRAPHALE: Um, yes, you mentioned that. Can I know what it is?

METATRON: Well, it's something we need an angel of your talents to direct. An angel who is familiar with how they do things on Earth.

AZIRAPHALE: Ah.

METATRON: We call it the Second Coming.

So Heaven is going to make their move. And it will be with a Second Coming - another Christ, another son (or daughter?) of God. With Armageddon in their minds.

It's the Anti-Antichrist.

Aziraphale is now the Supreme Archangel and, as Gabriel did with the very first Annunciation, he will have to give the happy news to the mother of this baby. In a contemporary world. Where no one would believe that easily the "it's God's son!" story. Yeah, good luck Aziraphale, no wonder Heaven needed someone who spent six thousand years on Earth to do this job. (And if they're planning Armageddon, who cares if Aziraphale still is Supreme Archangel, there would be just heavenly sounds and no problems at all after Heaven wins the war. Right? Just let the dude with a lot of knowledge about human do the job and then whatever.)

But. Do you really think that Aziraphale would just do it and make Armageddon happen exactly as intended by Heaven? Do you really think that, after what happened, after the Armageddon't, after him having to say no to his beloved Demon and losing him - and even though all of this happened he was still ready to throw himself in Heaven, in that lions' pit made of angels that always bullied him! -, after the courage he showed and the hope to make a change and do good -- do you really think he would just say "yes" to this? (I know, I lost my English here, I'm sorry, I'm just super-hyped.)

Oh, no, come on. He's still enough of a bastard worth knowing.

He is the Supreme Archangel, and even if everyone would just want him to be a nice puppet and do what the others say to him, he won't throw away his shot, I can assure you that. (How fun would it be though to have a scene where Michael and Uriel are kind of arguing between themselves about who should "suggest" Aziraphale what to do? And then Saraquel having to intervene?) No, no, Aziraphale learned from Crowley that sometimes he has to make his voice a little louder and be more incisive, as shown when in the last episode of Season Two he takes the lead in the library - while Heaven and Hell discuss what to do with Gabriel and Beelzebub. And he will do that again. He will make everything he can. He sacrificed his own happiness with Crowley for that. He cannot fail... and he has to do it alone. It's scary. He'll be anxious, but he'll do it. For the world. For good. For Crowley too. And for sushi.

So Aziraphale will try to make Armageddon something different. It's not "the" Armageddon, it's "his" Armageddon. Or theirs. He would have loved it, to be theirs - his and Crowleys'.

Our beloved angel is spot on in finding all those little quibbles that allow him to not go openly against the rules but also not follow them strictly. Maybe he'd find something also for the Armageddon. Maybe he'd find an Armageddon that would involve only Heaven and Hell, leaving the world and humans be. Maybe the Armageddon will become a way to reinvent Heaven and Hell. Make them fight, have their war on some galaxy far away from Earth, "destroy themselves" (I'll get to this later) and then a new Heaven and a new Hell would rise from their ashes. You know, how they became toxic, and everything else Crowley always repeats? Maybe it is not possible to change them without them having their war. They won't stop until they'll have had it, so maybe the only way is to give them war.

Or at least, to make them believe it.

What if Aziraphale and Crowley would actually need to collaborate in order to trick Heaven and Hell into thinking they had/are having their war? What if this plan cannot be done just by an angel? What if this is their only chance to stop this madness, once and for all, even though it's not easy for neither of them to get in contact again so soon after what happened?

[reigenkills]

girl why is there plot

ao3 | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | 7 | 8

You keep an ear out for news of the old man and his cursed son Elrick. Being a cursed creature yourself, you've have some sense of solidarity for your fellow unfortunate bastards. And while you don't trust yourself not to go into a depression nap if you try only to fail to save this kid, you still hold on to some hope that he's somehow gonna pull through with this.

A day and a half after the incident at the bar, you hear from local gossip that Elrick is still holding on. Somehow. Whatever's going on with him, ol' Wolfie himself hasn't come to collect yet.

Maybe it's not his time. Death had said something about not meddling with the affairs of life unless it concerned him, and for all that you've bit him, he's refrained from hurting you too badly even though you know full well he could. You don't know all the rules and regulations of being death incarnate, but there must be some line in the sand he can't cross.

You crack the Evil Witch's spellbook and start hunting down whatever you can find that can counter a sleeping spell. 

By the afternoon, you've got little scraps of notes bookmarking possible answers. There's, of course, the classic cure-all - True Love's Kiss; there's the Fountain of Youth, where someone gives a part of their lifespan to someone else, but it won't break the sleeping spell, only buy time until you find another solution; there's a Crossroads Deal, where for a price, any spell can be broken; and there's, of course, finding the original spell caster and having them break the curse.

Things aren't promising, but at least you've got something.

You ask Muffet for directions to Elrick's house. She draws you a map on a napkin and tells you to mind the potholes on the way.

The boy's family lives in a farmhouse in the outskirts of Poisonapple. According to Muffet, the father is a farmer, Elrick's older brother is a Huntsman, and Elrick himself is a shepherd boy. Less than ideal for whatever his beau's family's status is. You can see why he'd get screwed over.

You trudge down the pathway to the farmhouse,  pulling your hood up as a cold breeze blows by. The sky is heavy with clouds tonight, and you can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. Hopefully you won't get caught in the storm on your way back to your inn.

The lamps hanging from the farmhouse creak and rattle in the wind. You eye them warily, stepping away from them, and raise your fist to knock on the front door.

A tall, burly, man with tired eyes opens it for you. He looks like he hasn't slept in days, and it shows in his voice when he croaks out: "Yes?"

"I don't have a clear cut answer for how to wake your brother up, but I might have some things that can help," you say. 

The Huntsman narrows his eyes at you, studying you from head to foot. "You don't look like no witch."

"I'm not, I just know some magic." Just like you know how to hit a drum. No training and no intricate knowledge of tips and tricks, but you know you have to hit it in order to make a noise. It's not the best method for magic, but as long as you follow the instructions, you should be fine. It's worked for you so far.

The Huntsman grunts. After a moment, he steps aside and lets you in.

You pull your hood off and let out a sigh of relief, realizing you'd been freezing in the cold outside once the warmth of the house hits you.

"What do we do?" The Huntsman asks.

"I was told you live with your father," you say. "I think we should discuss this with him."

The Huntsman grunts again, but he leads you to the living room and ushers you to sit. He disappears into a hallway right after, and you hear a door open; he's in the backyard, probably. As you wait, you pull out your spellbook from your satchel, arranging the notes you've pinned between the pages on the table.

The Hunstman returns with his father a few minutes later. The old man's eyes widen as he recognizes you.

"Witch," he says.

"I'm a mercenary, not a witch," you say. "I just have some knowledge from dealing with witches."

"You can help us?"

"I have some terms, first."

The old man nods, quickly moving to sit down while his eldest son eyes you with suspicion and remains standing.

"When you address me, please say can you, or may you, or please," you say. "I am not a dog. Don't tell me what to do so flippantly."

"...and?" the Huntsman asks.

"That's it. Overstep and I'm out the door." You smile thinly. "All I ask is some politeness."

"Huh." The man lets out a huff and takes the seat beside his father. "Okay, can you help us?"

You nod, and present to them your notes, turning the papers around so they can read it, as they're both sitting across you. "Obviously, there's True Love's Kiss, but we have no idea how we can contact your son's beloved, and we might not have enough time to save him if we kidnap her. The Fountain of Youth can buy us some time, but it swaps a portion of someone's lifespan for someone else's."

"That wouldn't wake my brother up, would it?" the Huntsman asks.

"No, it's a transference spell. Nothing to do with breaking curses, but it'll reset our clock." You push a sheet of paper towards them. "This one isn't the most optimal, but I've worked many a job concerning Crossroads Deals. As long as you pay up, you can just about ask for anything you want."

"How much is the payment?" the old man asks, wringing his hands together. 

You glance to the Huntsman with some pity. He, at least, seems to know what a Crossroads Deal entails. "It's a what. It's demon magic. They ask for your soul."

The old man sags back in his seat. Alarmingly, a deep look of thought passes over his face. The Huntsman flips the page over to hide the instructions on a Deal away. "You got anything else?"

"We can find the original spellcaster and get them to undo the curse," you say. 

The Huntsman's face falls. There are barely any witches in the area, so if the aristocratic family that's cursed his brother got a spell from one, they probably live miles from here. Maybe they're from a completely different island, even. 

"Could you find the spellcaster?" he asks.

"I could try, but your brother doesn't have enough time," you say. He nods jerkily, frowning down at the table in silence. You lean back in your seat and turn your attention to the window, watching the storm and giving the father and son some privacy.

The Huntsman clears his throat. "Can you…give us some space?"

"Of course." You rise from your seat, taking your spellbook and your notes and tucking them under your arm. "I'll be outside."

Outside is cold and windy, and half of the lamps have already blown out from the chilly draft around you. You draw your hood up over your head again and stuff your spellbook back in your satchel, drawing the rest of your cloak closer to yourself.

A gust of wind snuffs the rest of the lamps at the front of the house out. In the dim light, you can barely see anything. 

There's a flash of lightning to your left. You turn, attention instinctively caught by light, and find yourself looking up at the tall shadow that looms over you.

Twin pinpricks of red stare down at you. In the cold and the dark, you remember exactly how menacing Death can be when he wants.

"Mercenary," he greets.

"Señor Muerte," you say, because you've got manners and he's probably on duty and not in the mood to mess with you, if he's so serious. "So the boy dies, then, after all?"

He chuckles, a low throaty sound that comes out more intimidating than mirthful. "We'll see. His brother's still thinking things over."

"So you're…waiting to see if he does?" you ask. "And then you're scaring the dad into a heart attack?"

"They can't see me, Mercenary. You only can because I want you to." he says. "And Death is patient. I always wait."

"I thought that was supposed to be Love is patient." You snort. "So the kid's either gonna live or die tonight depending on what his brother decides?"

"Yep," he says. "Would have been a straightforward visit if you hadn't come here telling them about the Fountain of Youth, but, look at you. Altruistic little thing that you are."

Ah, shit, is he here to kick your ass for meddling with death or something?

"At ease, Mercenary," he says, laughing slightly. "I'm not going to collect your soul just yet. You didn't completely overturn the balance of nature, don't flatter yourself like that."

"I thought you just, like, knew when it's people's time."

"I do. Every action has its equal opposite reaction, and when people make certain choices, they shape and change their paths," Death says. "Sometimes those paths get them killed, sometimes they don't. When they're on track to kick the bucket, I come fetch them."

"So is Fate, like, bullshit?"

"No, my sister's very real. She's a lot less complicated than you people think she is, though."

You hum, nodding. That…makes sense, you suppose. And it's somewhat comforting to know free will does exist, to some extent.

There's a clatter behind you. You look up just in time as the breeze bangs a lamp against the underside of the overhang. Ugh. It'll be a strong storm tonight.

"Don't suppose I can hitch a ride for when you do your whole disappearing act," you say.

"Hah, tough shit," Death says. "Walk in the rain on your own; maybe then I can snatch you off this mortal coil a little earlier."

"Pipe dream if I've ever heard one, lobo." You chuckle. "You're not getting my soul until I wring every ounce of misery from it by my own damn hands."

"Eh, your lifespans are barely anything to me."

"Yeah, yeah, flex being the grim reaper or whatever." You turn around to glance in the house, and smile as you spot the Huntsman by the window. You know he probably can't hear you over the wind, but you ask anyway: "Well?"

The man blinks, like he's waking from a trance. He moves away from the window and opens the door, beckoning you back inside. Behind you, you can hear Death move, but just as he's said, the Huntsman doesn't appear to notice him.

He steps in with you, ducking under the doorway carefully. You have half a mind to ask if it's possible for him to bump into it if he's somewhat incorporeal, but you'd probably look like you're talking to thin air in front of the Huntsman.

"So?" you ask the Huntsman instead.

"Uh - my dad and I talked," he says, motioning to where his father was still sitting on the couch, his hands wrung together and a concerned, but resigned look on his face. "We want to buy some time for Elrick first."

"Fountain of Youth, then?"

"Yes," he says. "I'll swap a week of my life for Elrick."

"And after?"

"We want you to find the one who made his curse," he says. "But - we probably can't pay you in money, but we can give you our harvest - "

You raise a hand, motioning for him to stop. He does.

"Even I don't know if I can find this spellcaster on time. Think about that if I'm successful," you say.

Death leans over to you and says: "Not really selling your services as a mercenary there."

"My skills are more suited for clean-up," you say, both as an answer and a clarification for Elrick's family. "Not detective work."

"That's fine," the old man by the couch says. "Please just help us."

"I'll do what I can." You turn to the Huntsman. "Now, the Fountain of Youth?"

He nods. "Tell me what to do."

You've packed spell ingredients in your satchel just in case they chose to do the Fountain of Youth. You wouldn't have brought it up if you didn't think there was a possibility they wouldn't bite. So you spend the next few minutes throwing yarrow, lavender, and dragonfly wings into a bowl and mashing it all into a poultice. Afterwards, you pull out a dagger from your boot and motion for the Huntsman's hand.

"I need you and your brother's blood," you say. He warily offers you his palm, and you pull it closer so you can get to his lower arm, cutting a thin line near the elbow and catching the dribble of blood in the bowl. You do the same to the unconscious Elrick, mix everything again, and pour the mixture into two different glasses. 

The blood-mash-potion is barely a few centimeters from the bottom of the glasses. The Huntsman looks at you skeptically.

"You said a week," you say. "You underestimate how human lifespans can be."

Behind you, leaning on the wall, though nobody else can see him, Death chuckles.

The father lifts the glass up to his unconscious son's lips while the Huntsman, though grimacing, knocks the whole thing back. A flash of cold sneaks up behind you, and the candles in the room flicker. You look up just in time as Death approaches and reaches a claw out.

As both Elrick and the Huntsman drink, a faint, thin line of gold loops around their necks. Your eyes widen, though neither the Huntsman nor his father seem to see the glowing string. Death slowly, carefully, grazes it with the tip of a sharp nail, and the color melts into bright, searing red, before it vanishes from existence.

"I honor this exchange," he declares. The candles in the room die out, and in the next instance, spring back into brightness, strong and steady.

Oh. Oh. That's why he stuck around. Because an exchange of lifespans means someone's trading in death for that missing life.

"There," you say. "It's done."

"And…Elrick's got a week?"

You glance towards Death as discreetly as you can.

"About a week and two days, you flubbed the amount of blood," he says.

"About a week and two days, made sure to give us a bit of wiggle room," you say.

Death lets out a bark of laughter. "Hack."

"I'll get to looking for that spellcaster as soon as I can," you say. "I'll try to get correspondence sent in a few days."

"Thank you," the father says, the most relieved you've seen him. "Thank you so much."

"Don't thank me yet," you say, eyeing Elrick's sleeping form. He looks way better, less starved, but it'll only be for nine days.

You have to work fast.

[narancias-headband]

Secret Santa with La Squadra - you giving them presents

I like to think they all do Secret Santa to cut down on present buying in their busy lives. So... Who did you have to buy for?

Part 2 coming soon :) 💚❤️

Risotto

He's always the first to open his gift. The team shows a little respect for their Capo.

Semi-gracious gift recipient. He's kinda awkward with it.

Does really appreciate whatever you got him, though, regardless of what it is.

Honestly, he'll just leave it on his desk to look at for a while. It makes him happy. You must have really thought hard about him and that puts a smile on his face every time.

If you got or made him something edible, though, it's probably gone before the others are done opening presents.

Formaggio

He's dead honest. If he likes his present, he's over the moon happy. If he's not a fan, he's not acting any different.

Will not fail to acknowledge the humor of a joke gift. He gets it.

If you've pleased him, he's ranting and raving, showing off his gift and squashing you in a tight hug.

If not... Well. He's not mean but he's not sugarcoating it. Probably makes a joke at your expense. Ouch.

Will probably compliment your wrapping job regardless of it's quality. It's impressive to him that you actually got the wrapping paper on the package. That's a lot of work.

Prosciutto

You'd think he'd be critical and hard to please, but not so.

He's a gracious gift recipient always. A smile and a thank you regardless of the gift. And they're probably at least halfway genuine.

If you've really touched him with your gift, he'll go quiet. He'll try to still be polite, but it's a bit hard to speak with tears welling in his eyes.

He'll probably step away for a moment. Don't be too shy to follow for a rare Prosciutto hug.

He's had some real bad Christmases in the past. To receive a gift with any thought at all is nice, but if it required lots of time, effort, and/or money he's touched. And since he's already a bit touchy around the holidays, he's much more likely to let his emotions slip.

Pesci

The biggest smile on his face the second he sees the present. It only gets bigger when he learns it's from you.

He has so much trust in you to get him something nice. I hope you didn't fail him.

The happiest to see what you got him. Even if he's a little disappointed (he'd never tell you), he acts as gracious as can be. Also he won't be disappointed anyway.

He's so thankful for your gift. You took the time to think about him and buy him this? Amazing. Stars in his eyes.

Will fight whoever gave you a gift if it's not good enough. You've inspired something wild in him.

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio is... Well. You know how he is. Don't take it personally.

Even if he loves the gift you've given him, you'll get a dismissive thanks in return. Gratitude is just not one of his favorite emotions.

You'll have to be observant to get your real thanks. The more you notice him using it, the more he truly appreciates your present.

He'll probably, or rather, possibly approach you later and say a more heartfelt thank you after he realizes just how good your gift actually was.

Illuso

He's a harsh critic. People do not want to be his Secret Santa. It's no easy task to avoid the insult that comes with a present that's not up to his standards.

If you fail your quest, it's a verbal execution. At least most of the others have been through it. They don't blame you.

If you get him something he does like, though, that's something special. He's in awe. You must be real special.

This means you must be in love with him. If you took the time to observe him and think of this... He gets it. Most people are in love with him, right? No, Illuso, you cocky bastard.

Will 'give you a chance' due to that cool present. If that's what you wanted, awesome. If not, he's annoying.

Melone

He's very jolly around the holidays. Honestly, he's just happy to be around and to get gifts. It's very fun for him.

Most likely to appreciate a gag gift. Or at least act like he does.

Acts like whatever you got is exactly what he wanted. He will probably actually use and enjoy it.

Will move to come sit by you and rant and rave to you about it and ask about how you came up with this idea. He's gonna get in your personal space bubble, too, real bad. He's just excited.

[queenbloody]

Hawkins Boys Kinks

WARNING: Content for +18!

Minors DNI!!

NSFW!!!

Jim Hopper:

Size kink: Come on, have you seen that the women he dates are smaller than him, coincidence? I do not think so! This man loves his petite women (For my tall girls, just imagine that Hopper is much taller than you, by the way, you are very beautiful, complete amazons).

Thigh jobs: Babe, he's a busy man, but that doesn't mean he ignored your desire for satisfaction, so every time you seek him out because you failed to climax on your own, he makes you sit on his thick thigh until you can cum all over him. stimulation, as well as he does his work, and everyone happy.

Daddy Kink: Surprise? Nope, Hopp is a man with a protective instinct, he loves to be a figure of authority, strength, dominance and protection (And that's absolute canon) so telling him Daddy, will get him going, he'll rear up completely, prepare to not be able to move during a good couple of days, but look on the bright side, Daddy will now take care of you 100%

Eddie Munson:

Overstimulation: It happens that Eddie gets excited easily, especially when he's eating you, so he ends up giving you more orgasms than planned and overstimulating you most of the time. He once managed to make you squirt, so now the overstimulation is on purpose. Sweet torture.

Cock Warming: When they smoke weed they both get incredibly horny, but very lazy, so they decided it was best if you warmed up Eddie's cock, they could both move whenever they wanted, but stay in their sleepy state. A delicious solution.

Sexual Roleplay: This is good, the dungeon master and his imprisoned princess, the faithful and brave knights lost the battle, so now they must be subjected to the torture of the big bad man consuming the purity of their pretty princess. Translation: The kids lost the campaign, you came to get Eddie from the club after it got really late and he concluded that the dress you were wearing was pure torture to his sanity, so he decided to fuck you on the board once all the members of Hellfire will leave. The end.

Steve Harrington:

Breeding Kink: Please, the boy wants 6 children, what other explanation do you need from me? He loves to cum inside, even though he knows you're on birth control, he's hoping to breed you, gorge you on his seed, make you round and soft with his babies. He loves to tell you how much he wants to keep you filled with his children while he keeps you in a mating press. He goes wild.

Praise Kink: He loves you too much to insult you in what is supposed to be an intimate moment of love, passion and trust, you are his pretty little bride-to-be, his angel, his good girl. The apple of he eye. He has a whole arsenal of praise for you, whether in or out of the bedroom. The poor boy kisses the ground you walk on. Love him back please.

Mommy Kink: This is because of his fixation on sucking your boobs, snuggling on your chest, and well, he let out a muffled “mommy” while you were riding him, he was embarrassed for a few days, but after talking it out calmly, we both they agree to explore this kink. Baby Steve is happy and horny.

Billy Hargrove:

Corruption: Precious, you are a sweetheart, a true ray of sunshine, and the very thought of Billy being the lucky bastard able that makes your pretty doe eyes sparkle with lust and unbridled passion, and being the possessor of your normally hidden virtuous body for tender and modest clothes, he has it hard in his narrows pants; it's a wet fantasy she plans to make come true. Angelito, better run away, because the devil wants to make you fall into temptation and sin.

Pregnancy Kink: Oh sweet baby, the devil got you and now there's nothing in the fucking world to make you leave him now or ever. But he knows you're too good for him, he's sligthly toxic and has abandonment problems, please he just wants the certainty that you won't leave him too, so what's better than putting a baby, his baby, in your womb? Will you leave it sweetheart? Will you let him make you his baby mama?

Dom/sub: I don't see much of a complication in the nature of your relationship with Billy in terms of this preference, he has always had dominant undertones so he was obviously attracted to someone with a soft and submissive nature to cushion his rough edges; you are the perfect opposite of him and you love to be dominated, his rude and possessive facet in the bedroom have led you to climaxes that you never dreamed of knowing. Also, once your relationship has gotten really deep, you get to know a side of Billy you never thought possible, in short: Aftercare King.

As always, pardon my crappy English.

[sweetheartstan]

Uhhhhh so... bloons am I right? Alright, talked about it last post, and I actually do intend on following up on the silliness that is me talking about towers and their strengths and weaknesses, both 'cause it is indeed actually quite fucking fun AND I get to hear myself talk for awhile, so a win win really. Just know I probably won't do this very often, mostly because of how goddamn complicated this all is. Bloons isn't the deepest Tower Defence game out there, but there's still a lot to talk about with each towers, like crosspathing and synergies with other towers, and that takes a lot of brainpower for me because I am not smart in the slightest!

As some notes before I jump into all this, I wanna say that I am NOT a bloons expert. I play BTD6 pretty regularly and can play it well, but I am the type who still struggles with elite bosses (I'm bad at farming). I do however play a ton on CHIMPS, and I'm MOSTLY gonna be talking about the towers in the context of CHIMPS games. That doesn't mean I'll talk about them only in that context, but know that is the main perspective I am speaking of any tower on. I also wanna note that when I say late game, I mean Rounds 80-100, and I'll use the term "aftergame" for anything post 100.

That said, Dart Monkey! Silly creature, and suprsingly a very good tower overall! The biggest positive I can give Dart Monkey overall is how fucking cheap the bastard is, being the cheapest tower in the game to place down. Aside from middle path, you aren't really gonna be breaking the bank to get T5's (Or T4's) with the little fella. They are also great in the early game no matter what path you go, though I personally think one is the obvious pick of the bunch.

That cheapness wouldn't really matter too much if the tower didn't have good damage it could deal and honestly, only one path is kinda consistently good at that? Not to devalue the other paths or say they don'tdo at least alright damage, but there's one specific path with Dart that's very apparent in being the best in most situations, due to how well it carries into late game and it being relatively cheap for how fucking powerful it is. It's ironically its biggest weakness in my eyes, but I'll get to that momentarily; got two other paths to talk about afterall.

Top Path Dart sucks in most situations!

It's big draw (aside from being the cheapest of the three paths) is that it increases the pierce of the darts before lobbing spiked balls of death at the bloons, with each upgrade letting the ball last longer, before the T5 makes it a giant ball that explodes into smaller balls upon hutting any obstacle/the edge on the screen. I think the biggest positive is that the path overall is super cheap and is good at early game defense, and could even crush Round 63 in the right circumstances. It's also a god at smashing cermrics, seemingly making them evaporate on touch, can pop all bloon types (minus camo) with just a 500, and has some excellent pierce to it. However, there's a lot of issues with said path.

The tower does NOT scale well to later rounds on most maps. It's alright at dealing with anything but MOAB class bloons, so it starts drowning as the game goes on. It just doesn't have the raw damage to keep up overtime. It also plays best when it's placed with at the end of a straight line, which while that works out well on beginner maps, it's basically almost impossible to find on some harder maps, meaning it's gonna fail about and pray that it can hit something.

On top of that, the whole "breaking out into more balls" gimmick the 5xx Dart has is basically useless on basically all maps, due to the balls bursting in cone formation, meaning the balls quickly spread out and do almost no additional damage to shit like MOABs.

There are some positives though. This tower, if used on a map that's really inclosed (like Cornfield or Encrypted), can fucking DEMOLISH almost anything that gets near it. That cone shape doesn't matter too much in a small location, and combine that with it constantly shooting? The damage does actually quite stack up and makes it a real damn threat. It's a very situational tower in that regard, being only really good on a handful of maps, but man does it makes those maps it's bitch.

As for crosspathing, objectively speaking, Middle is 99% of the time the best way to go with this one. Sure it can't hit camo, but that's nothing some other monkeys can't help with (or just use a village). A 502 is viable in certain situations (ie its your main defence but you can’t get a village near it), but just go with faster attack speed if you really wanna melt some fuckers.

The biggest positive/negative about Top Path is its situational uses. On certain maps, it will fuck up the bloons in worse ways than the other two paths can ever dream of. On basically every other map, the other two paths are fucking LEAGUES better than it. It's really only a tower I can recommend only if you are using it on certain maps... with that said, I love this path all the same. Is it bad? Mostly yes. Is it fucking fun to use? HELL YEAH IT IS. Nothing more satisfying than seeing this really mediocre tower shread through higher layered bloons like its nothing. Personally, I think this path is very fun to use in a "can I get away playing like this?" sort of way, where you try to push yourself to the limit. And as one final positive, it's dirt cheap for a T5! Only around 18K on Hard pricing iirc, so it won't even really break the bank to get.

Overall, Top Path Dart is a guilty pleasure of mine, but can be a legitimately great tower on the right map. I wouldn't really seriously recommend it otherwise, but maybe use it to have some fun once in awhile. Could be a nice shake up to most of the bog standard strats.

I'll cover the middle path sometime later, this was a lot more writing than I expected tbh. I hope yall enjoyed reading this. If I got anything wrong or you didn't like reading it for whatever reason, I will NOT be taking criticism! (I am joking please tell me if I fucked up or how I could do better, love this sort of thing).

Thanks for reading, yall the real ones :3c