#Ordering a tall heaping pile of dust

[vibinginthedreamlands]

Excuse me if the meme is illegible, this is just all I've been thinking about for 3 days.

Casner y'all... what the hell

I've only listened to the intro episode of Season 5 and yet. I really love his character and his voice actor does a fantastic job so I'd love for him to stick around in the show. But *he's gonna die.* My man can *not* do a another close call so instead he's throwing himself into hell and saying "Why be close when you can be intimate" as the flames of damnation consume him. All I want is for his arc to end with him getting back to Canada, reconnecting with his daughter, and most importantly *living*, but instead I guess I get to hear him die 👍

It's all good/lying

[waldau-archived]

congrats on your new milestone!! i really enjoy reading your work♡ could i please request mingyu+'we're in completely different leagues'+'i'm not sober enough to talk about this'

just the two of us — kim mingyu | 7,009 words | hurt/comfort, fluff

i typed up a mammoth sized story (to me, at least) because i had so many thoughts. behold my longest fic ever written, patiently beta-read by the wonderful @tomodachiii. thank you for your help, tomo! ily <3 and thank you, anon, for your request!

gender neutral reader. warnings: reader has massive self-doubt, gets drunk halfway through the story.

“the next time i even think of going on a date, just take my phone and force me to go out on a walk. reconnect with nature. touch some grass, maybe,” you say, kicking your feet against mingyu’s cupboard from where you’re sat on his counter.

“did you have a bad date i wasn’t aware of? was it the guy with the blue streaks?” mingyu asks, pushing the bowl of cake batter towards you. he never shies away from reminding you of the repercussions of having raw dough — that too in excruciating detail. salmonella. e. coli. things he could skip but doesn’t, just because he likes annoying you.

he lets it slide this time. you’re allowed just one big spoon, and the next time you’ll see the rest of it is when it’s baked and topped off with handmade frosting. courtesy of kim mingyu. your best friend as well as part-time chef.

“…no.”

“don’t lie to me,” he says, tilting his head. “you wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.”

“ugh. it’s just that…every time i even think of going out on a date, i have to reset my expectations. because men can’t clear the bar, no matter how low it is.”

you take a nibble from the spoon, and it tastes so damn good. it’s crazy how mingyu manages to find time to make new recipes and perfect them despite being a world-famous model that’s modelled for almost every major fashion house. you’ve lost count of how many magazines he’s been on.

it started out as a joke when you complained about all the magazines for his first ever gig having sold out. he’d taken it upon himself to get you a very special, signed copy that you have on display with the rest of the books in your glass bookcase. just the one, though. the rest of them are all piled up under your coffee table, much to mingyu’s chagrin. at least they’re in chronological order. and you’re making sure they’re not collecting dust.

that first edition is pretty much the only thing mingyu ever teases you about, tattered as it is, and on display for whoever comes to visit you. but you’d never get rid of it, not even for a new copy. it’s a milestone mingyu deserves to be celebrated for.

“does it taste good?” he asks with a small smile and a nervous smile. as if you’d have anything except praises to heap on him. this isn’t even the first time you wonder if he’d talk like this to you if you were together — endless smiles and warm cuddles under the covers and conversations about the most random things and stolen hoodies because you’re actually dating, and not just you being a guilty friend whose imagination runs a bit wild sometimes.

he does all of those with you. but he just doesn’t like you the way you like him.

how would he be, when he’s the kim mingyu? he has his fans falling to their feet if he so much as posts a picture of his hand. he’s the most charming human being you know. he’s tall not just because of his genes but also because of all the love he holds for everyone he knows.

you’re another moon that gets to orbit in the path of the admirable planet that he is.

sometimes you don’t even know how you managed to remain friends with him after university ended. the two of you started off as being part of the same friend group, having a few shared classes and some interests that kept the two of you together apart from your friends. by the time you graduated, both of you knew enough about each other to be able to hang out without needing your mutual friends. and it was hardly your fault that you felt drawn to how warm mingyu was, how easy it was to talk to him, and how happy you felt just by being around him.

so when it came to the topic of finding a place to live, the two of you decided it would be better for you to be roommates than find a complete stranger to share a living space with, and you went from friends to best friends soon after that.

mingyu’s always been your support system for whatever you’ve wanted to do, encouraging you to do what you wanted, regardless of how it would turn out or what others would think of it. in the same way, it wasn’t anything when you encouraged him to try out a modelling gig he’d signed up for and was unsure of how he’d fare.

long story short, the shoot was a pretty good success, and soon enough he got multiple gigs, managed to earn enough money to move into a bigger house, and even offered to pay your part of the rent because he wanted you to live with him — something that made you smack him.

you no longer live together now, mainly because of mingyu’s insistence on not wanting to disturb your sleep and your daily routine with all the schedules that keep him flying over the world. you did miss the breakfast he’d make for the two you every morning, and you’d managed to work out a compromise where mingyu became your personal chef on saturdays just so he’d have some time to spend with you.

it’s far from the worst arrangement in the world, and moments like these — him putting icing on your nose — make you realize how lucky you are to have him. you generally watch movies together, or he teaches you recipes, or he listens to you talk about your life, reciprocating with his own stories. things haven’t changed that much, even though you don’t live together anymore.

but part of you wishes things did change. that mingyu would, just once, look at you the way you look at him. it’s a wonder he hasn’t once caught you staring at him, because you’ve done that more times than you can count. but you can’t help it, because he just so happens to be your whole world.

but how long is this utopia going to last for? when is he going to realize you’re just plain old you, and that maybe he’s suited for more glamorous company? people who can probably pronounce the names of all his fashion houses correctly, people he models with, people that can hang off his arm and look like they belong there? not people who like wearing shorts and an old shirt as pyjamas and have bouts of self-doubt strong enough to crush entire mountains?

“…is it that good? you zoned out a bit there,” mingyu says, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes.

you blink out of your daydreams. it’s not even his fault that you’re so head over heels for him, although it kind of is. no one asked him to be so good looking and polite and so damn lovely that it became easy to imagine a future with him. just like lee youngji can imagine having a future with hong jisoo because he opened a carton of milk for her, you wonder how you haven’t yet succumbed to those thoughts when mingyu is such a big part of your life. you wonder at what point you knew you were fucked.

maybe it was when you and mingyu became friends, although you’ll never know for sure.

“no.”

“are you sure?”

“your ego doesn’t need to get any bigger,” you quip, finishing off the rest of your spoon.

he just laughs. “good to know. let’s just wait for an hour till it finishes baking, okay?” he hands you a baking sheet to line the pan with. you work in silence as he fiddles with the knobs on the oven, ladling out the batter into the pan and sticking it inside once the oven’s warmed up enough.

“want to do something while it bakes? watch a movie?”

“i was thinking we could go for a walk,” mingyu says, taking off his apron. he looks ridiculous, a hulking six foot two man wearing an apron that’s comically small for him, but he takes kitchen etiquette very safely. he hangs it up on the hook behind the door. “the weather’s good, and i don’t think i’ve been out for a walk in a while.”

“what about all those texts you sent me about missing bobpul? i wonder what your fans would’ve thought of that.”

“you’re not supposed to bring that up,” he whines, and you can’t help the giggle that makes its way to your face. he’s a grown man. and he’s the most adorable one you know. “that was a moment of weakness.”

“and you trusted me with it.”

“because i trust you.”

“i…fine,” you sigh, because what can you really say to that? “it’s cute, that’s all.”

mingyu wiggles his eyebrows. “you think i’m cute?”

“i swear—”

“kidding!” he walks you out of the kitchen, hands on your shoulders, and you love it as much as you wish he didn’t do it. “we’ll be back within the hour. the cake should be ready by then.”

he hands you one of his hoodies that’s lying on the sofa before you head out. you look up at him when he presses the fabric into your hands.

“it’s cold,” he explains, but it’s muffled by the messy way he’s pulling his hoodie over his head.

“and i can deal with the cold just fine.”

“no, you’re going to stick your cold toes on my legs when we sit down to eat, and i’m not going to bear that. even if you’re my best friend.”

and no matter what excuse you make to avoid wearing mingyu’s clothes, it’s never enough. he has to see you bundled up to make sure you’re not going to freeze in front of him, although that’s a tad bit dramatic. this is one of his newer hoodies, and you can tell by the way it doesn’t smell like him just yet. maybe it’s a good thing. maybe you can stop thinking about him like that. one step at a time.

“some best friend you are,” you mumble, wearing your shoes. you look up and mingyu’s frowning at you. not the usual way; there’s a tiny frown that would’ve been imperceptible if you didn’t know him the way you do, but you’re not going to ask what’s up. he tells you things if they’re really bothering him, so you’re going to let him let you know in his own time.

he wasn’t wrong. it really is windy. you’re glad he made you wear the hoodie. you pull the sweater paws over your palms, loving the way your palms instantly become warm. mingyu flips the hood over your head and you’re about to thank him for it before he draws the strings together and ends up blacking out your vision. he finds it funny for about two seconds till you stumble blindly and end up jostling him in the stomach.

he's still wincing when you undo the strings, and you can’t help but laugh. “sorry, gyu.”

“are you, though?”

“…no.”

“thought so.”

“was it my fault?”

“no,” he says, and smiles, and you feel your heart flutter again. “not your fault.” it’s so pretty. even his smile’s so pretty. you love his canines, his little fangs that he feels weird about sometimes. if it were up to you, you’d do anything to make him love them just as much as you did, even if that something were kissing.

whoa. not again. not when he’s with you.

“so, about failed dates,” he says, looking at you. “are you actually looking for something, or do you just…go on them to pass your time?”

mingyu does this thing where he can read you to filth without even trying. it’s like he knows what’s running in your mind, or at least has the vaguest idea of it, and he says things that are basically truths you don’t want to admit to yourself out of fear of not knowing what to do about them.

“why does it matter?” you ask, a bit defensive.

he frowns. again, that little frown. you wish you could remove it. “because there’s so many other things you could be doing to spend time instead of creeping yourself out every time you go on a date. and you don’t need to keep getting yourself hurt like that if it isn’t leading to anything.”

“are you dating someone?”

mingyu pffts. “what, i can’t have advice for you without being in a relationship?”

“no,” you say immediately, backtracking. of course he can. “sorry. i know you didn’t mean anything by it, but…”

“but?”

“i just wish i—”

you’re cut off by the sudden bark of a dog. you look around to find the source of the sound only to see a dog running around in circles with its leash in its mouth. it looks adorable.

“hey, buddy,” you say, crouching down in front of it. it looks up at you and barks. a happy little yip! before it continues running along in circles.

“are you lost?” mingyu asks softly, crouching down next to you. he reaches out a hand to pet its head, and the puppy leans into his touch completely. it looks familiar for some reason.

“do you have any idea whose dog this is?” mingyu asks. you shake your head. maybe you’ve seen a dog like this, not the dog itself, but you’re really not sure. he’s in the process of searching the dog’s collar, but someone yelling in the distance makes him pause. he gets up and tugs the dog by its collar. it has the name tag jamie inscribed on it.

the person yelling out for jamie is none other than one of your neighbours. you know her well. as well as you can for someone you don’t interact much with. not if you can help it.

she’s the kind of neighbour that always pokes her nose into matters that don’t bother her, the neighbour that outright shows she’s not interested in something if it doesn’t get her anything. the two times you tried to initiate a conversation with her as you waited for the elevator to reach your floor are a stark reminder of the fact that she’s not the kind of person you’d ever be friends with. you don’t know what you’ve done to rub her the wrong way, but she doesn’t look like she’ll even give you a chance.

you watch as mingyu hands over the dog to her, and once she’s done making sure jamie’s okay, she looks him up and down.

you don’t blame her. you’d do the same, a bit more subtly, but it does sting to see the way she’s probably the kind of person he should be hanging out with.

“thanks for finding jamie,” she says, all smiles. she really doesn’t need to be smiling that much.

“no worries,” mingyu says with a smile of his own. “and it wasn’t me who found jamie, by the way. it was them.” he points to you with a jerk of his thumb. you smile at her, but feel icy inside when she looks you up ad down.

“oh. are they your…” she trails off with a smile on her face that screams no fucking way. you suddenly wish you could just run back to your apartment and leave the two of them down here.

“partner? you think so?”

“just…you two look like opposites, that’s all. sometimes opposites don’t attract, but you never know. life’s funny sometimes.” she simpers a little, and your hands ball up into fists by your side.

what you don’t expect is for mingyu to throw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into himself. “yes, actually,” he says, leaning into you in a way that most definitely exaggerates your height difference. “you could call them my better half. and don’t they look good in this hoodie? it’s mine, by the way,” he says, and you can recognize the smile on his face — it’s a fake one, the corporate one he adopts when he’s in a situation he doesn’t like.

his words keep buzzing in your mind as you walk past your neighbour and back upstairs to your apartment. he’d said you were a couple so easily, even though you were not. better half? really? the way he’d leaned into you so easily, the fact that he told her it was his hoodie. it’s…weird. and too much for you.

you don’t speak much as you help mingyu remove the cake from the oven, getting it ready for frosting. he manages to get an indignant sound when he manages to get some on your cheek this time, but the rest of the evening is spent thinking about the interaction you had.

is it really so unbelievable for people to imagine the two of you together?

“hey,” he says, bumping your side with his. except he miscalculates his strength (or does it on purpose) and ends up making you stumble a few steps away from him. you don’t even have it in you to be mad when you see the giggle on his face. “you good?”

“yes. sorry,” you say, opening the refrigerator to take out the food mingyu had made last night. he cooks enough to feed a family of four even though you’re the only one that lives at your place, so it’s useful for when you don’t feel like cooking.

“who was she?” mingyu asks, setting down the plates on the table. “a friend?”

you shudder at the thought of her being your friend. “a neighbour. she lives in the flat down mine. she’s not really the kind of person i’d be friends with, but jamie’s cute. i keep seeing him around sometimes.”

“hmm.” you get the smell of reheated noodles as mingyu works at the stove. “she was…weird.”

“that’s an understatement.”

“is she always like that?”

“rude?”

“yeah. that’s not something you’d say to a couple you see, even if you don’t like them.”

“she certainly doesn’t seem to care,” you say, a bit more forceful than necessary, setting down two glasses as well.

“well, i think we’d make a cute couple,” mingyu says, a little smile on his face as he reaches out to ruffle your hair.

you swear your heart dies a little right then and there. you stare at him unblinkingly. “do you ever hear the stuff that comes out of your mouth?” you ask, regaining your bearings and filling the glasses with water.

“sorry,” mingyu says, sheepishly. “i just don’t like the idea of anyone talking like that. especially with you. especially when you’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

your heart warms at that. “thank you, gyu,” you say, reaching out to squeeze his arm. bad idea. you’d forgotten how much he’s been working out recently, and how big he is. “i’m glad i could one-up her this time.”

“just call me the next time you want to do it again.”

“yeah, sure.”

the rest of the night is spent watching this show that’s been on your watchlist for a while, and you don’t mind if mingyu conks out in the middle of it.

sure enough, you hear his soft snores after you finish your dessert, and you turn to see this big man that’s also your best friend craning his neck on the sofa as he tries to keep himself in the blanket that’s certainly not big enough for the two of you.

sometimes you wonder if he’d cuddle with you to save space and keep himself warm, and this also happens to be one of those times. You get up and reposition him as gently as you can, so that his back doesn’t hurt in the morning. His nose twitches when you rest a hand on his hair, wishing him a silent goodnight.

It's not the first time you wish you could kiss him, dangerous as that thought is.

you can’t stop thinking about the interaction you had a few days ago. sure, your neighbour isn’t someone whose behaviour you’d count on to matter, but was she right when she said she can’t see two people like you together? people as opposite to each other as you and mingyu?

sure, you’re not the usual kind of crowd he hangs out with, but is it so bad to imagine something between the two of you? was that just the sign to stop thinking about mingyu, get over him and resign yourself to a life without love?

as much as you complain about going on dates, there’s something that’s your fault too — you look for mingyu everywhere. none of the men you’ve gone on dates with are mingyu, and that’s the crux of the problem. none of them smile the way he does, none of them give you their jacket when you’re feeling cold, and it’s unfair for you to expect them to understand everything about you.

you can’t have mingyu, and you’re going to have to learn to accept that.

Which is why you’re at this party with your friend seungkwan. it’s not your usual scene — you’d much rather be curled up in bed with a book and some takeout, or cleaning your bookshelf while listening to music on the television — but you’re not complaining. seungkwan was right. you need to let go once in a while, just enjoy yourself before you inevitably spend weeks together keeping to yourself, immersed in your work.

“dance with me!” seungkwan yells out to you over the din of the crowd.

“i can’t dance! not like you!”

“that hardly matters! let’s have some fun, come on!”

seungkwan is nothing if not persistent. finishing off the last of the drink, you let him lead you out onto the dance floor. he rests his hands on your shoulders as he sways you to the music. it’s fast paced and something you’d be caught doing in the privacy of your own house, your own little concert, and for once you don’t care about the fact that people can see you. you’re lost in your own little world with seungkwan, and more importantly, you’re happy. the stress of whatever the fuck happened last week between you and mingyu, with him calling himself your boyfriend without knowing how down bad you are for him, is pushed to the back of your mind as the beat changes. seungkwan starts clapping to the rhythm, making you realize you’re dancing by yourself.

you’re not half bad at this. a little under confident, sure, but not bad. you could try making this a monthly thing and having fun with it.

eventually you end up too exhausted to dance to another song, and seungkwan guides you to a seat, your shoes in his hand as he asks you to catch your breath and wait for a while more till he finishes dancing with some other people.

you’ve ordered a basic drink for yourself when someone slides in next to you. you don’t pay them much attention, focusing on relaxing a bit and finishing your drink, but you have to turn around and look at them when you can actually feel their eyes piercing into your side and— boy, is he a sight for sore eyes.

he looks boyishly handsome, completely in place in this club as he watches you with his chin resting in his hand, eyes glinting in the light of the fixture above the two of you. he’s pretty, and just as handsome, and his eyes are the loveliest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

“saw you dancing out there,” he says, his words a bit of a drawl, and accented. “you were pretty good.”

“you don’t need to lie if you’re trying to flirt,” you jest, finishing your drink.

“i’m not in the habit of lying,” he says, smiling at you. “you looked like you were having fun.”

“i…was, actually,” you say. he’s still smiling, looking at you like he’s searching for something in your eyes. you feel warm. gosh.

“can i get you another drink?”

“no, thank you, actually. i need my head to remain intact if i want to get home in one piece.”

“suit yourself,” he nods, and asks the bartender for the same drink you had. the bar is in hell, but you’re impressed he backed off immediately. you watch as he makes quick work of his drink.

“so, you come here often?” he asks, wiping the back of his mouth.

“not really. my friend dragged me out tonight because he felt i needed a break from my life.”

“just a friend?” he asks, eyes following your line of vision to see seungkwan still dancing with some strangers, looking like he’s having fun.

“why, you interested?”

“depends on who you’re talking about.”

“him?”

“cute, but no.”

“me.”

“maybe.”

you trace the ring of condensation your drink’s left on the table. “but i’m not looking for anything, honestly. i’ve sworn off dating for a while.”

“that’s fine. we could just…talk.”

you look up at the man. you don’t know if this is his way of trying to get you to go home with him, but it’s the most genuine someone’s been. “you never told me your name, by the way.”

“me? vernon. nice to meet you.”

you give him your name in return, and like the way it rolls off his tongue.

“so…can i ask why you’ve sworn off dating?”

seungkwan’s still going to take a while, going by the previous times you’ve been here, and vernon definitely seems interested in talking to you.

“you ever…had a crush on your best friend?”

vernon winces — an actual wince, like he’s seen something terrible, and it makes you laugh. “yeah…once. it sucks.”

“exactly.”

“you’re trying to get over them?”

“trying being the keyword, yes.”

“then how are you trying to get over them if you’re not into dating?”

you sigh. vernon’s a perceptive one. “trying to think of other people even if i don’t necessarily go home with them. just anything to get my mind off him.”

“anything? how bored would you be if i started talking about why i think star wars is excessive but also misunderstood?”

you don’t find vernon boring, in fact. you find yourself drawn to him speaking, the way his eyes light up and his hands get a life of their own as he lists out every single point in aid of his stance, and encourages you to contribute to the conversation. it feels like he’s an old friend, and not someone you met hardly an hour ago. it’s fun.

“…so maybe we could go out to watch that movie? it’s coming out next week.”

“go out?”

“as friends, of course. i’m not looking to take someone home, either. if anything, i came here to keep my friends company, but…i think i lost them in the crowd.”

you look around, and seungkwan’s sitting at a table surrounded by a bunch of girls, and it makes you grin. he doesn’t need you sticking with him anymore.

“you were saying?”

“does next week work—”

“it doesn’t,” says a new voice. a familiar voice. there’s two hands on your shoulders, a familiar weight. “we’re hanging out at my place next week.”

“mingyu!” you exclaim, pulling him out from behind you. “don’t scare me like that.”

“sorry,” he says, not sounding the least bit sorry. “you have no idea how much time i spent searching for you only to find you hidden here.”

“why were you looking for me? how did you know i was here?”

he looks at you like you asked him something stupid. “because it’s late, and because seungkwan’s most definitely not driving you home.” ah. seungkwan must have asked mingyu to pick you up, given that he was your ride here.

“well,” you say, directing him towards your conversational partner. “this is vernon. my new friend.”

“hi,” he says, curt, and you frown. mingyu’s generally nicer.

“hey,” vernon says coolly. then he turns back to you. “can you give me your number? i’ll text you about it later, when you’re free. think i’ll search for them now.”

you hand vernon your own phone, given he’s had less drinks than you have, and it hardly takes a minute for him to enter his details before he saves his number and claps your shoulder, wishing you and mingyu a good night.

you find mingyu watching vernon making his way through the crowd. “so, who was that?”

“new friend. vernon. like i said.”

“a new friend? seriously? he just asked for your number.”

“so? he wasn’t hitting on me or anything. he just asked me so we could go see this movie we’ve been wanting to watch.”

mingyu’s eyebrows rise. “a movie? together? doesn’t that sound like…a date?”

you frown. “two friends can go watch movies, mingyu. don’t we do that all the time?”

“Yeah, but that’s because you know me. he’s just some random guy you met today. at a club.”

either mingyu’s being obtuse, or you’re not thinking correctly. “are you saying i don’t know how to read people’s intentions?”

“you’re drunk,” he says bluntly, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders. “you don’t know what he wants.”

something about his tone makes you angry. he wasn’t even here the whole evening. “as if you do. you didn’t speak to him at all, mingyu. you don’t even know what we talked about.”

“didn’t you say you wanted to stop going out on dates?”

the coldness in his voice makes you freeze. you’ve never heard him sound so hostile, not with you. “what do you mean?”

“why did i have to find out from seungkwan that you were out here at this club just a week after you asked me to make you touch grass if you so much as thought of a date?”

“but it wasn’t a date!” you exclaim, feeling more and more annoyed. to your horror, you feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “are you saying i’m—”

“you’re drunk. you don’t know what you want. did you seriously expect to make friends at the club of all places?”

this isn’t your mingyu. he’d never judge you the way he’s doing right now. you take his jacket and throw it on the counter, turning around and marching out. you’ll call a cab to take you to your place. you don’t need him dropping you home.

“hey,” mingyu calls out, jogging towards you, jacket in his hand. “it’s cold. take this, please?”

“i don’t care about what you have to say,” you sniff, wrapping your hands around yourself. “don’t talk to me.”

“listen, you can be angry with me all you want, but just take my jacket. i don’t want you freezing out here when you don’t need to be.”

“maybe you should’ve thought of that before saying all that shit to me,” you spit. “why do you want to talk to me now? just insult me some more, why don’t you?”

mingyu huffs, but says nothing. he just looks at you.

“come with me.”

“where?”

“to my car.”

“why should i?”

“i won’t leave you here by yourself. i want to make sure you’re safe. let me drop you home and you can be mad at me all you want. please.”

“what, your night’s going to be a waste unless i come with you?”

“no,” he says quietly, and it makes you pause. mingyu is anything but quiet. “It’s never a waste. but it’ll just put my mind at ease if i know you’re safe, okay?”

you see the logic in his words, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. “fine,” you say, taking his jacket from him and slipping it on.

“thank you,” he says, opening the passenger door for you.

the drive to your place is quiet. you can tell mingyu wants to say something, start a conversation, but you keep your eyes resolutely fixed ahead.

“come on,” he says, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out when you reach your building. you follow him upstairs to your apartment. he unlocks the door for you and makes way for you to step inside first.

“do you need water? food? anything i can get?” he asks, taking off his shoes.

you turn around to look at him. he’s big, as always, but for once it feels like he’s taking up all the space in your apartment.

“i’m not that drunk,” you say finally.

he stands up straight to look at you. “but—”

“yes, i had some drinks, but i know my limit. i had my last one just before i started talking to vernon. i hate that you thought i wasn’t capable of making my own decisions.”

he swallows. “i didn’t mean to undermine—”

“but you did! and you don’t know how terrible it feels. i’m not a baby, gyu. i know what i want and what i’m doing. i’m hurt. and,” you say, taking in a deep breath, “if you really want to know something, know this — we’re in completely different leagues.”

mingyu frowns. “what do you mean?”

“i—” there’s so much you mean. you can’t possibly recount all the thoughts you’ve had about feeling inadequate, all the nights you’ve spent wondering how long it’ll be before he realizes you’re not as cool as you should be. “i’m not sober enough to talk about this.”

“you just said you weren’t that drunk.”

“this is my home,” you say, a bit harsher than needed. “you got me here safe, and that’s all you wanted to do. this is me being mad at you, so if you respect me, you’re going to let me sleep. okay? goodnight, mingyu.”

“goodnight,” he says, and you hate how small his voice sounds. “sleep well.”

and you do sleep well. well enough that you sleep through your alarm, and wake up almost when it’s ten. at least it’s a saturday, so you’re not freaking out as you brush your teeth. you have some work to do today. and hanging out with mingyu is on the agenda as well, but you’re not sure if you’re keen on going through with it, especially after what happened last night.

if you were delusional, which you’re most definitely not, you’d say that mingyu had been jealous that you and vernon had exchanged numbers in front of him. except there’s no reason for him to be jealous. like he reminded you, you’re not looking for any relationships. there’s no one he has to compete with, so to speak.

so why was he that upset last night? and what about the things he’d said to you?

you’ve had fights before, fights that ended up with both of you not wanting to speak to each other, but this was different. he’d never been angry like this.

you’re the one who’s upset, you realize, as you walk to the kitchen to fix yourself some breakfast. you’re going to talk it out with mingyu once your head is clearer, and you’re going to see what he has to say for himself.

except mingyu’s already here. you can smell the delicious scent of tteokbokki wafting through the room. mingyu’s set out two plates, two glasses — the usual. you’re feeling woefully under dressed in front of him in your pyjamas, despite the fact that he’s seen you like this multiple times before.

“morning,” he says. his voice is hesitant. It’s never hesitant.

“hi. morning.”

“slept well?”

“yeah, better than…what exactly are you doing here?”

“cooking you breakfast,” he says, waving his spatula around.

“i can see that. i meant here. in my place. didn’t you go back home after dropping me off?”

“no. i felt too tired to drive back home, so i decided to crash out on your couch. and i’m making you breakfast now. isn’t that a win-win?”

you can see one win, but you’re not sure what the other is. you take a seat at the table and pour yourself a glass of water, wearily trying to assess the situation. mingyu had pretty much scolded you last night. like a parent who didn’t trust you to make the right choices despite having free will. and now he’s cooking you breakfast like last night just didn’t happen.

“can i ask you something?” mingyu says, pushing a plate of tteokbokki towards you along with a pair of chopsticks.

“don’t think i can stop you, can i?”

mingyu huffs. “hey. if you’re upset with me, just say no.”

“what is it?”

“what did you mean by yourself being out of my league?”

you set your chopsticks down. “you’re serious? you’re really asking me that?”

he frowns. “yes.”

“mingyu, you called yourself my boyfriend a week back. your…better half.”

“that was to make your neighbour leave. she was being weird.”

“sure. and then we went back to life like nothing had even happened.”

“because…it hadn’t? i thought we talked it out that night itself? what happened now?”

“i don’t think you understand how that made me feel. especially when you said—” you say, voice trembling. “you called yourself my boyfriend last week. like it’s something you throw around naturally. and last night you acted all…weird, as if i wasn’t allowed to have a normal conversation with someone who wasn’t you. why are you so confusing?”

“would you hear me out if i said i had a reason?”

“you’d better have a damn good reason.”

mingyu sets down his glass and looks at you. “i’m sorry for everything i said yesterday. i truly am. i didn’t mean any of it. i was just…jealous.”

that catches your attention. “jealous? of?”

“that guy. vernon. you seemed like you were having a good time talking to him and i thought about how if you got together you’d probably leave our relationship behind because you liked him so much.”

“whoa. slow down. i told you i wasn’t looking—”

“you weren’t. i know that. but the way you looked at him made me feel something.”

“what?”

“i’m saying…” mingyu takes in a deep breath, and focuses on something past your shoulder. not meeting your eyes. “i’m saying i like you.”

you blink. “i’m sorry?”

“i like you, and i was jealous because you seemed to be having so much fun talking to him. if you have to know, there’s no guy who possibly deserves you. i’m not saying i do, either, but i’ll try my best to be the guy you deserve.”

it’s still too early in the day for this. “stop joking, mingyu. i don’t want to go through it again. just—”

“i’m not!” he exclaims, coming over to your side of the table. “thinking i could be with anyone i wanted is a bold thing to say. how do you think i feel every time i go out for company dinners but all i want to do is spend time with you? have you as my plus one every time?”

your heart’s fluttering very fast. you feel almost breathless. “i wouldn’t even look that good by your side.”

“says you. have you ever seen yourself?”

“i have, actually, and i look—”

“so gorgeous,” mingyu cuts you off, eyes twinkling as he says so. as though he’d been holding onto it for so long and finally found the right time to release it. “you look exactly like the person i want to spend every single day of my life with.”

you almost expect cameras to pop up out of nowhere and film your reaction to what he’s just said. “the…rest of your life? you do know that’s…a long time, right?”

“i do. and i’ve already spent four years with you. eight, if you’re counting the time before we became best friends.”

it’s everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. what he’s offering is so close to you, just an arm’s length away, but you can’t convince yourself to reach out for it. you hide your face in your hands. “gyu…”

“i’m serious,” he says, gently peeling your hands from your face. his hands are so warm as he holds yours, and his boba eyes are so close to yours. he’s adorable. “give me one chance?”

“what if we…mess this up? what if you realize i’m not that fun to hang out with every single day?”

“what if you realize everything you're thinking is wrong? what if you realize there’s no way i’m going to let things go wrong, especially when it comes to you?”

you don’t know what to say. you don’t know what the future holds in store, and you have no answers to your questions just like you don’t have answers to his.

“i know you think…not so greatly of yourself sometimes,” mingyu says, squeezing your hands. “and i want to be here to tell you that everything you think in that regard is wrong. i like you because you’re you. why do you think you’re the only one who’s been my best friend for so long? you’re the only one i can be myself around completely. tell me you know that.”

“i…didn’t know that.”

“then i clearly didn’t do a very good job at being your best friend. maybe i can fix that now.”

now. now that mingyu likes you. now that you have the chance to see your relationship blossom into something more.

“you’re not even going to ask me if i like you?”

a slow blush spreads across mingyu’s face. “shit, sorry. um, do you…like me?”

“of course i like you, gyu,” you smile, feeling giddy at the way he gets redder.

“good. can i, um, be your boyfriend, then? would you like that?”

“you’re not taking me out on a date first?”

mingyu’s eyes shine and he leans in till his nose is inches away from yours. “hi,” he whispers, and you actually whimper when his lips brush yours the slightest bit. embarrassing. mingyu doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“g-good morning, gyu.”

“the best, actually. even better if you let me take you out on a date today.”

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched

@minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @viewvuu @bewoyewo

[ampheenix]

I'm at my highest peak, I'm ripe, about to fall (capture me) - CHAPTER 1

(BSD/MHA CROSSOVER FIC)

It was just a normal mission.

In and out, quick and easy- for Double Black, anyway. If Mori had sent grunts they wouldn’t have lasted five seconds with this particular Ability user, who seemed to enjoy slinging interdimensional frisbees at her enemies.

How annoying… but Dazai couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. This woman and her backup sure were giving his dog a lot of trouble, and it was kinda fun watching Chuuya struggle for once… battles like this were normally a cinch for him.

Whoops!

A bullet whistled past just before Dazai ducked back behind the rubble. The rubble he was STRATEGICALLY PLACED at (he was not hiding, as Chuuya seemed to believe and scoff at; figures that his dog wouldn’t understand simple logic. The simple logic being that he, for all his talents, was not bulletproof- and he wouldn’t put it past Chuuya to let a missile or two slip past his ability if he annoyed him enough.)

(Of course he wouldn’t mind a bullet to the brain, but unfortunately silly Chuuya’s aim was so inaccurate it was always a bullet to an arm or leg, and ended up being a painful inconvenience instead of sweet relief.)

Dazai poked his head back out, adjusting his bandages- this area was so dusty and dirty, it was starting to soil the cloth. He could already see stupid Mori smiling condescendingly once he saw his bandages, and chiding him for not being able to keep himself clean during battle… Ugh.

“SHITTY DAZAI, COME OUT AND USE YOUR ABILITY ALREADY!! I KNOW YOU’RE HIDING OVER THERE LIKE A COWARD!!!”

Ah, his dog was calling for him.

Dazai got to his feet, dusting the grime off of his clothes in a leisurely fashion, before making his way out from his ahem, strategic placing. His lips curled up into a grin when he saw Chuuya looking tired out for once; it was always nice to see him get humbled.

Dazai picked his way over all the grunts that had been firing carelessly earlier, now scattered in heaps on the ground. How messy of Chuuya, it was almost as if he had deliberately piled them in order to hinder his owner to the rescue.

“CHUUUUYAAAA, I’M HERE~” Dazai sang carelessly, doing a hop, skip and jump over a few bodies on the ground before coming to a stop beneath where the Gravity user was floating. Chuuya shot him a harried look, clearly out of breath as he continued to dart and dodge around the enemy’s rapid-fire attacks, hardly getting in any hits himself.

Yup, this Ability user certainly wasn’t your average run-of-the-mill… Dazai let out a slow hum, eyes narrowing. He had expected this mission to be somewhat difficult, but it was surprising that Chuuya had had to expend so much of his energy so early.

The Ability user was a tall, slender woman with flowing black hair, skin white as snow and an unnervingly wide grin. She floated in the air, slinging shimmering, dark-as-night disks through the air that arced in glittering curves… and where they landed, Dazai had already noted, they left deep holes in their wake.

Not your average holes, either. It was almost like they erased the land itself, leaving that odd, shimmery darkness all the way through. He had checked!

Dazai shuddered dramatically, who knows what would happen if someone fell through! Perhaps he should test that theory later, preferably with himself. Or, if Chuuya annoyed him enough, he could command him to jump in for the sake of scientific discovery.

Anyway, as fun as it was watching Chuuya put so much effort into living (so fascinatingly ridiculous) he should probably cut this short. It was rather tiresome watching that smug smile widening on the Ability user’s face; he had a nagging urge to put a bullet through her whitened teeth. Perhaps more than once.

Dazai let out a melodramatic sigh, stretching and rolling his shoulders- figures he’ll have to finish this irritating woman off for his dog. “CHUUYAAAA! IT’S TIME!!” Dazai announced with a bright smile, glancing up at the fiery-haired boy who was even more exhausted now, sweat beading on his forehead.

He barely had a second to shoot a glare down at Dazai before darting out the way as another shimmery disk whistled past, missing him by a hair. “IT’S ABOUT TIME, HURRY UP ALREADY!!”

Dazai smiled to himself, before sending a swift nod to Chuuya, both of them exchanging another glance quicker than you can blink before-

“Whoosh!” Dazai hummed brightly to himself as he flew through the air like an arrow, radiating scarlet light. This was the fun part, really, it was almost like he could fly- it was a shame he had to focus because if he didn’t, he’d probably get disc-ed and die and Mori would be annoyed with him.

Dazai’s eye glinted as he neared the woman, who continued to grin infuriatingly wide even as he was swooping in closer and closer- His mind raced faster and faster, everything coming to a head as he reached out, fingers inching closer and closer as the woman’s glowing hands conjured another disc, he was so close he could t-

“SHITTY DAZAI!!!!” A panicked yell interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see another disc zooming behind directly for him because the one she was “creating” with her hands was a DIVERSION, WOW, very original…

My, she really thought Dazai wouldn’t notice? Now that was just insulting, really.

Not to worry though, he knew his dog was observant. He was jerked out of the way in the nick of time, the disc cleaving through thin air and then straight through a broken-down building near them, leaving that shimmery midnight hole in its wake. Hm, fascinating.

Dazai reached out, natural curiosity overring caution of wellbeing, as that strange and dark shimmering substance looked almost… liquid. He wasn’t stupid though, he had gloves on, and his finger was just about to make contact when-

“MACKEREL, DON’T TOUCH THAT WEIRD SHIT!!” He was jolted out of the way just in time again, and let out a sigh of disappointment, unsurprised. Honestly, Chuuya was so boring, if he didn’t let Dazai experiment with weird substances that inexperience could kill him someday, you know. Probably. Maybe… Not really.

In any case, if weird substances kill him someday it’d be by choice, not by pure stupidity.

“Come now Chuuya, can’t I have a little fun?” Dazai whined, crossing his arms petulantly. He whipped his head to the side as a disc whistled straight past, nearly turning him into an Antoinette. Hm, as irritating as this woman was, at least she had better aim than Chuuya.

What a shame she’d be dead within the hour, truly. Dazai’s eye darkened as Chuuya sent him soaring through the air again, reaching out to touch and end all this, once and for all- he was getting a bit sick of beating around the bush.

His hand was getting closer and closer once more, ready to cut off this woman’s power and life in one fell swoo-

Wait.

Dazai felt a third set of eyes on him and darted around, instantly on his guard and- oh. Shit.

A second woman, identical to the first one, glided from the shadows of another building. Dread growing in the pit of his stomach, Chuuya tugged them both backwards through the air, unnerved as more and more clones of the Ability User emerged, still smiling wide.

“D-dazai, what the hell? Why didn’t you warn me about this? Is this another one of your twisted games or what?!” Chuuya scowled, eyebrows furrowed furiously as he turns to the other but Dazai is too shellshocked to respond, mind racing.

This… wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t in the intel.

But it was nothing Double Black couldn’t handle.

Dazai shook himself, giving Chuuya the look, and the other’s eyes cleared with understanding. “Shit, you couldn’t have warned me? Ugh, just don’t take too long like last time.” Chuuya let out a huff, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shot forwards to the first Ability user.

Dazai’s eyes darted around faster than you could blink, assessing the situation- it was a shame he wouldn’t be able to focus on watching his dog enter the Corruption state, beautiful as it was, but there was no time.

This was serious, he had to… hmm…

“Dazai! DAZAI!! LOOK O-”

Chuuya’s words were cut off unnervingly quickly, and Dazai stiffened completely. He knew what that meant, and he didn’t want to. A sense of horror filled him as the scarlet light around him started fading, the zero gravity surrounding his body disappearing completely as he fell through the air.

Shit.

 “No, no, no, no!! Chuuya?!” Dazai’s voice cracked against his will as his head snapped up and around, searching the air frantically as he plummeted. Where was he, WHERE WAS HE? “CHUUYA!”

He spun and found a disc swerving through the air swiftly towards him in a downward spiral, and- fuck, fuck, this must be the one that had gotten Chuuya, and it was coming straight for him and there was no time to dodge-

Dazai Osamu’s last thoughts were nothing but terror, dread and grief… and a sick sense of ironic relief, as though he had craved to die all his life, he had never wanted it to be like this.

THIS.

AH. AHDJ. !ADJSKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII#IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII101110110101000**101010110101011010101010101010101010101#@#%!01010101010102393892804822087152HHDHDHDHHHHHHHHHHHH42

01110011 01101111 01110101 01101011 01101111 01101011 01110101 00100000 01110011 01110101 01110000 01110010 01100101 01101101 01100001 01100011 01111001 00100001- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

-

-

-

-NO.

-THIS IS NOTHING.

-THERE IS NOTHING HERE.

-THERE IS ONLY DARKNESS.

-GO.

something whispers to the Boy-Shaped Wrongness in the space.

-GO. GO. GO. GO HERE.

-GO HERE NOW.

something shoves the Shape through the empty.

-GO. THERE IS NOTHING HERE.

something shifts the Boy-Shaped Wrongness over There.

something ends the Boy-Shaped Wrongness where it was Here, marvelling at such a short-lived mockery of an existence.

and something WAKES THE Boy-Shaped Wrongness UP.

SH. SHjdH.

DKSJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ%JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJDDDD$DDSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS010101010013101031010100130^@#$13J101301J10J1J03XJ131-1310100101@@000000101010101JKCM=

01100111 01100001 01111001 00100000 01110011 01100101 01111000------…….

Dazai Osamu splutters to a start, breathing heavily. His skin feels a bit strange, almost like it’s been peeled off, stretched and squashed, and then applied back onto his bones once more.

And his eye… he can feel the air on his other eye. It’s uncovered.

That fact alone jolts him up, eyes still closed, as he’s not looking forward to seeing a very displeased Mori standing by his deathbed. After all, he’d blacked out and almost died, and Chuu… Chuuya…

Dazai pushed that thought down for later. When it fought back, he viciously pushed it further and further until it was a scrunched up ball of agony at the back of his skull. Then, he inhaled deeply, as it smelled like… vanilla?

Mori’s “hospital” always smelt vaguely of blood and despair (even though it was deep cleaned daily) along with assorted chemicals. This… smelt sweet, but not the sickening sweetness of Mori’s smile. It was something very different.

Finally, Dazai opened his eyes, blinking blearily as his surroundings blurred and refocused.

First, he gawked.

And then, he gaped.

“Ah, good, one of you has finally awoken.”

Because sitting in front of him was a completely unfamiliar old lady squinting at him with a hint of suspicion in her eyes, hands folded in her lap, and standing beside her were… a series of ridiculously buff strangers.

Oh, and a white rat/bear/cat/?? who was smiling at him with the light of humanity in his eyes, despite obviously being an animal of some kind.

And wait, the lady had said one of you? Meaning it wasn’t just him? Dazai felt his heart leap into his throat, craning his neck, and finally noticed someone else lying in one of the other hospital beds, with- with very distinctive fiery red hair.

Chuuya was alive.

Dazai swallowed, blinking furiously as his eyes drifted across all the strangers before him, thoughts now filled with endless question marks.

Because… what the fuck?

[malemacrofics]

The Tiny Protector

Summary: While on a mission in the Hinterlands, Cullen comes across a small curiosity. A man victim from a spell by a darkspawn Emissary that’s left him reduced in height. Luckily, a small size doesn’t mean the tiny guy can’t still help protect his new protector.

Content: Accidental Shrinking, Caring Giant, Fluff

A/N: Hopefully this is the first of many new fanfics! Also, special thanks to @iliumheightnights for letting me use his OC, Finnick!

Cullen doesn’t normally go on missions for the inquisition. In fact, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t detest the idea of leaving Skyhold normally. Sure, its stone brick walls and floor offer little in way of comfort, but between his bedroom and the courtyard of the keep, it truly does feel like home. However, when Leliana’s scouts reported darkspawn activity in the Hinterlands, the Inquisitor specifically asked Cullen to go with his soldiers. In hindsight, it seemed like an odd request, but Cullen wasn’t one to question his superior. At Least not with Josephine and Leliana standing right next to him.

Regardless of what happened back in Skyhold, now Cullen was here in the Hinterlands. And so far, Lelianna’s spies seemed to be wrong. They’ve visited numerous small settlements and none have reported any darkspawn activity. In fact, the soldiers were at the last settlement they had to search through. There wasn’t much special about it so far. There was a lack of people in the settlement when the soldiers arrived, but the lack of any destruction or personal effects in any buildings just caused Cullen to assume people had gradually left. He doubts many cartographers were making it out here to update their maps after the rift opened.

As Cullen approached the town hall, however, he could hear faint sounds of combat. He called over some soldiers before opening the twin doors. Before them was a mage engaged in a fierce magical duel against a Darkspawn Emissary. Each spell cast was immediately dispelled by the opposing party. That was, until the mage’s focus was drawn towards Cullen and the rest of the templars. In the briefest of moments, panic began to set into the Mage’s eyes, just enough time for one of the emissary’s spells to connect to the mage it was dueling.

As a sickeningly green bolt of energy connected with the mage’s robes, it began to wash over the cloth like ocean waves crashing over sand. Immediately, the mage began to fall over, almost as though paralyzed. Once he hit the ground, all that remained was the cloth of the robes.

Maker’s breath… Cullen thought, If only we were able to get here sooner.

As Cullen thought, the emissary began to cast another spell, the same sickly green energy coalescing in its hands. However, after the bolt had been cast, but before it could hit Cullen square in the chest, it was met by a different ball of energy. This one cast from the robes laying on the ground. And in the moments between the emissary’s bolt being dispelled, and it beginning to cast another, an arrow from one of Cullen’s archers found itself lodged in the emissary’s chest. And as it looked down at the wound it now had, it began to dissolve, pieces of its own mass separating and falling to the ground. All that remained of the darkspawn was a small pile of dust and the arrow that had been shot into it.

Returning to reality, Cullen quickly rushed over to the heap of cloth on the floor. He began to search through it, hoping to find some personal effect that they could send home to the man’s family. However, in place of a locket or journal, was something Cullen wasn’t expecting at all. Laying in the cloth, almost in a daze, was the mage. He was still clothed, his undershirt and pants seemed to change with him, but instead of his normal height, he was reduced to mere inches tall. The man looked up at Cullen as a slight smile covered his face before he collapsed. All he remembered before everything went dark was the far off sound of a man ordering soldiers, and the feeling of leather against his skin.

—

Finnick woke up with a start. His head was pounding and he felt drained. Not only physically, but magically. He closed his eyes trying to remember what had happened. He recalled fighting a darkspawn in a wooden building, a strange man appeared, and the last thing he had done was cast a dispel. He looked around his surroundings and it appeared like a tent. Small candles dotted the area, providing scant light into the night. However, this tent was more akin to a fortress or castle. The ceiling above Finnick seemed to be nearly 100 feet above him. And the floor he was resting on seemed to be made of oak, with massive papers stretching it’s surface. Finnick attempted to run to the edge of the surface he was on, and after gazing over the edge realized two important things. One was the fact that he seemed to be at least 50 feet from the ground, and that whatever surface he was on was more akin to a table than any floor. And with those realizations, that’s when it clicked for Finnick.

He is on a table. And the ground wasn’t 50 feet below him, but probably only 3. Just as the fear begins to seat itself in the base of his stomach, Finnick watches as the strange man from the town hall enters the tent. His blonde hair and stubble framed his face quite handsomely, with a faint scar visible across the man’s upper lip. And his polished armor glinted in the candlelight, only hidden behind the large feathered collar. The man looked in surprise at seeing Finnick up and moving. He made his way to the table and sat in the chair that was pulled up. He began to introduce himself.

“Greetings, ser mage. My name is Cullen Rutherford. I’m here on behalf of the Herald of Andraste.” He said with a smile, “We heard rumors of darkspawn operating in this part of the Hinterlands, and upon investigation, we encountered you. May I ask your name?”

“Finnick. Just… Finnick for now. Where am I, and why are you so large?” Finnick asked nervously.

As soon as Finnick had asked that question, Cullen’s smile faded. “Right, your size. When we approached your battle with that darkspawn, it appears he had cast a spell of some kind on you. We don’t have the magical knowledge here at our base camp to have any hope of reverse it. However, with your permission, I’d like to take you to Skyhold. Perhaps the herald or our mages could reverse it.”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I? I either go with you, or have to fend for myself at this size.”

“Unless you have another idea, it appears that way, Finnick. My apologies.”

Finnick thought for a moment, hoping there was some alternative he could think of. However, each time his mind drew a blank. “And I can trust you?” He asked.

“Of course. I wouldn’t wish you any harm. You have my word.”

“Alright then, Cullen. How soon do you plan on heading back?”

“We’ll stay stationed here for the night, and leave first thing in the morning. If you’d like, to can even sleep in this tent with me.”

��That sounds nice. Although, I don’t suppose you have anything extra to cover up with? At this size,  the gentle coolness of the Hinterlands feels more akin to a midwinter night.”

“I’m afraid not, Finnick. I understand it would be unconventional, but if you wish you could rest on my body as I sleep. I don’t move much and hopefully my body warmth would stave off the cold for you.”

Finnick immediately felt himself blush. He turned his face away from Cullen. Did he honestly just offer for me to sleep with him? Finnick asked himself. I suppose he’s right though. It seems like the best option at the moment.

“And you wouldn’t find that too awkward, Sir Cullen?” Finnick asked, his face still flushed.

Cullen notices the slight blush, even in spite of the size difference between the two. He cracks a small smile at the miniscule mage, “Of course not. Would you?”

“N-no, not at all.” Finnick sputters.

“Then it’s settled. Just give me a moment to take off my armor, and you shall accompany me to bed.”

With his sentence finished, Cullen walked behind a folding screen. However, given the height of the templar, his shoulders and up were still more than visible. And Finnick could swear Cullen looked over his shoulder to check if the tiny mage was still watching. Once Cullen was done, he walked from behind the folding screen. His muscular chest bare as he stood there simply wearing a thin pair of linen pants. A small dusting of hair visible across the templar’s broad chest. Cullen approached the table and placed his hand on its surface, palm up.

“Climb aboard.”

Finnick stepped on the palm, grabbing Cullen’s thumb for support. Cullen made his way towards his cot and laid on it’s surface. He laid Finnick on one of his pecs before covering his legs and stomach with a thin blanket. He laid his hand over Finnick, almost like his own tent, before asking the mage “Comfortable enough for you?”

“Yes, thank you.” He quickly responded.

And as the two fell asleep, Finnick began to wonder how much he really wanted to return to his normal size. Life alone in the Hinterlands was hardly the easiest thing to have to do. Being under the care of a gentle man like Cullen seemed like a very worthwhile trade. Even if he had to be stuck at the height of one of Cullen’s fingers. Regardless, that’s an issue for another day, for tonight the moon is rising, a soft breeze blows over the hills and mountains, and the two men have a wonderful night’s sleep together in a tent. Wondering what’s going to happen next.

[primofate]

What I would say to Genshin male characters isekai’d to our world. [crackfic for fun]

Note: Bit of Filipino reference in Thoma’s

To Aether:

“Yes some people do believe in different Gods here... No, I don’t think I can take you to meet any of them,”

“What do you mean you don’t have a Paimon in this world? I’m right here? I’ll go wherever you go?”

To Albedo:

“I don’t have any painting materials... Oh here, use my tablet instead,”

“I do have a little sister... No. No bombs,”

“Come, I’ll show you what a REAL elevator is,”

To Bennett:

“If someone asks you to go to the casino just say no,” 

“That’s not a slime, that’s a jellyfish, I wouldn’t touch that if I were yo--oh woop, okay, too late,”

To Chongyun:

“Oh you’re gunna LOVE Halloween,”

"So would your exorcism work on the toxic people in my life?”

“I can definitely feel an evil presence nearby.” *Points at piled up assignments*

To Dainsleif:

“...There’s this game called Fire Emblem Three Houses...”

To Diluc:

“No you can’t walk around at night with your claymore,”

“No that falcon is not gunna respond to you,”

“I'm asking for a friend, but what are you looking for in a wife? "

To Gorou:

“Can you please ask my dog what he thinks of me?”

“Please don’t hate me if I call you ‘good boy’,”

"Her Excellency...? Oh, it's me. Yeah. I'm the excellency around here. I lead a war against this evil archon called Math,"

To Itto:

“Dude I told you not to write on the advertisement boards, that’s not how it works around here,”

“Believe me I don’t mind what you’re wearing right now but we should probably get you some new clothes,”

“So we were all just minding our own business and then BAM you came along,” 

To Kaeya:

“I just really want to touch that fluffy thing around you,”

“You interested in getting box hair dyes? Oh you know, perhaps red?”

“...Do you know how to play strip poker? Well I’m not THAT interested in your clothes. Let’s start with the eyepatch,”

“...Why is there 62 selfies of you in my phone...”

To Kazuha:

*drops heaps of paper on the floor, now it’s everywhere* “...Have you ever thought that your elemental skill might have other uses?”

"There, that’s the only pirate ship I know of,” *points at pirate ship ride in theme park*

To Razor:

“I’m adopting you,”

To Scaramouche

“..................Will you do the Fandango?”

“Do you know the expression ‘step on me’?”

To Tartaglia

“This is the cleaning spray we use,” *picks up bottle of Ajax*

“Got you a gift, you’re gunna love these!” *gives baby training chopsticks

"Greatest toy salesman? You’ve lost to a giraffe,” *shows Toys R Us mascot*

"I forgot to teach you how to clear search history. I think you have to learn it given the amount of Childe x Zhongli fanfiction you’ve clicked on,”

To Thoma

“My days of ordering takeaway are over,”

“Thoma can you hold this stick thing. Okay, now can you try saying ‘TAHHOOOOOOO’”

“That’s an air fryer, yes it’s a magical thing,”

To Venti

“You’ve only been here a week... Where did you get that fake ID?”

“That’s not Dvalin, that’s an airplane... I mean, same difference though,”

“You want some music...? Here let me introduce you to youtube,”

To Xiao

*Opens fridge* “...Who bought 12 cartons of almond milk?”

”You can feel an immense amount of karmic debt? Don’t worry that’s just my normal stress levels,”

To Xingqiu

“No I don’t really read a lot of books... Oh, that pile...? You know, I just... buy them and then...they collect dust. That’s how books work in this world,”

To Zhongli

“Don’t look at me I’m a lot more broke than you are,”

“Make that rock pillar thingie. Wanna climb on it and experience being tall for once,”

“Hold this slipper. ‘Kay now throw it at my lazy brother and say “I will have order,”

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[clare-with-no-i]

Icarus Falling

Summary: This time, the Death Eaters have made a critical miscalculation.  This time, they've gotten too ambitious; they've flown a little too close to the sun. 

OR: abducting Lily Evans Potter is an error that Voldemort's followers won't make again. James Potter will see to that.

A very-angry-Order!James one-shot by clarewithnoi :) watch out y’all! some dark themes in this one (violence, swearing).

--

September 5th, 1979

Everything was heavy: his robes, his footfalls, his breathing.

Even the air was thick, laden with ash and smoke, cut through only by the hissing sparks of wayward spells. The ground shifted under his feet with every step; his shoe nearly caught on a shard of broken glass sticking up from underneath a disjointed heap of broken stone. With a muttered swear, he stumbled sideways, shifting his weight awkwardly to one side before he could regain his balance. Chunks of broken brick tumbled athwart as small piles of cobblestone dislodged underfoot.

A low rumble emanating up from behind him waylaid any progress forward—he whipped around, teetering on one leg, and cast a silent confringo at the cursed vines now leaping up at him from cracks in the broken pavement.  They exploded in a tide of sickly green.

“JAMES!” A voice broke through the haze of battle, frantic, conquering even the distant booming of explosives. He whipped his head around. Sirius was sprinting toward him, arm raised and shouting something indecipherable.

“What?!” James called back, still maintaining his pace, trusting blindly in his own athletic ability to keep him upright in the maze of rubble and ruin.

“DUCK!”

Duck?

He whipped his head around. A tall, masked Death Eater was barreling in his direction, fragments of light already burning from the tip of his wand.

“NOW, JAMES!”

Oh.

As he tumbled down onto dust-slicked ground, light blue sparks collided with a ray of sickly yellow directly exactly where he’d been standing only milliseconds prior, and for a moment, the world dissolved into a hazy blanket of atomic white.

He shut his eyes against the glare. In his mind, only one, resounding thought.

I’m coming for you, Lily.

(read more on AO3)

[e350tb]

Red Alert - Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: Rolling Thunder

East of Colorado Springs Day Five

“This is Baker-One. Massed Soviet armour is rushing around Colorado Springs, headed towards the Air Force Academy. Any armour in the area please respond.”

“Alright, marines, that’s us. Ready up, we’re going in.”

“Oo-rah, Able Lead, powering ‘er up.”

The engine roared to life.

It was about 6.30 in the morning. It was still early enough in the year that a light sprinkling of white stuck to the yellow grass on the rolling plains east of the Rockies. The olive and brown camouflage of the marine tanks glistened in the crisp morning air, the metal cold and sparkling from the light coating of frost. These were state of the art monsters; tall and chunky, with accurate 105mm guns and .50 cal turret mounted machine guns. They bristled with smoke grenade launchers, and they stank distinctly of diesel.

A whole battalion of these monsters - the M65A1 Grizzly - roared out of their staging area, throwing up heaps of smoke and dust behind them. Nothing about them was subtle - but then again, neither was the Marine Corps.

“Gunner, load APDS. I wanna be ready for any Ivan tank we run into.”

“Hoo-ah, Gunny. Reds won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Heads up, Able - Red armour to port, two miles and closing.”

“Copy, two miles and closing.”

“We’ll halt and engage on the ridgeline.”

“Oo-rah, Able Lead.”

In the far distance, through their infra-red optics, the crews could just about see the shapes of oncoming Rhino tanks. Steadily, they rolled up a ridge next to a railway line, stopping just before the crest so that their turrets were visible, but their hulls were not.

“Alright, marines, we’re holdin’ up here until Liberty gives the word that they’re clear. Looks like they outnumber us two to one, so you better be bringing me back two dead tanks each.”

“Copy Able Lead, we’ll get you your scalps.”

“Target one mile and closing!”

“Understood, Gunner - let's hunt us some Rhinos.”

------

The 69th Regiment was already on the ground, scrambling into positions to augment the air force and national guard defences of the Air Force Academy airfield. Already, cadets were being piled into an eccentric collection of planes - Biggs whistled as he watched a silver civilian DC-3 taxiing towards the runway.

Colonel Hawthorne had insisted on landing to lead the operation personally, a bespectacled radioman following her to ensure she remained connected with the Liberty. Right now she was discussing the situation with General Townes, who looked distinctly agitated.

“They sent in a strike force ahead of the main advance,” said Townes ruefully. “Slipped through the Brigade Combat Team holding the line to the south and captured our labs. I ordered my men to destroy anything they couldn’t carry, but I don’t know if that order was carried out.”

“How much is there?” asked Hawthorne.

“About fifty of our best minds, plus detailed plans and models for our upcoming prototypes.”

“No, sir, I mean the Soviets.”

“Right, of course,” nodded Townes. “There’s at least a company of infantry with light armoured support - but before my men dropped out of contact, they said something about Tesla weaponry…”

“So they have man-portable Tesla Coils now?” asked Hawthorne.

“Doubtful. Likely they have some kind of specialised suit,” replied Townes. “I couldn’t get a straight answer out of the labs before they went dark. In any case, I need those scientists out, ASAP.”

Hawthorne nodded.

“Major Biggs, find Captain von Esling,” she ordered, “and round up Tanya. We’re sending them in.”

“Yes ma’am!”

“I have forces waiting to launch a counterattack,” said Townes. “Paratroopers. You’ll find them about a click south of here. I’ll make sure your boys get a map.”

In the distance came the sound of thunder - low cracks echoing from the plains. Hawthorne raised her eyebrow as plumes of smoke began to appear over the horizon.

“Looks like the marines have made contact,” she muttered.

------

The air stank of burning metal.

‘Big Mama’ sat on the ridge in a hull down position, her turret visible over the crest. The hatch was open - Gunnery Sergeant Rodriguez stood out of it, gazing ahead through his binoculars. The short, stocky, muscular marine, born and bred in Arizona, had been in the Corps for twenty years, and yet the smell of fumes and phosphorus in the morning had never lost its appeal. Some said war was hell - but hell was this man’s job, and he believed he had the best job on Earth.

Across the plain was a burning Rhino, the turret blown off, flames arching into the brilliant blue sky. Infantrymen who had ridden into battle on the dead beast had either leapt off or been blown off, and had gone to ground in the pale yellow grass. Behind it, a second tank was lumbering up to the battle, the gun roaring into action. A shot bounced off the domed turret, and on either side, infantry charged with fixed bayonets.

“Target eight hundred yards and closing,” said Rodriguez.

“Copy,” the gunner replied. “Got ‘im in my sites, gunny.”

“Fire!”

“On the way!”

The tank rocked, smoke and fumes kicked up by the gun. For a moment, Rodriguez couldn’t see through the haze. He put down his binoculars, taking hold of the machine gun.

As the smoke cleared, Rodriguez observed with satisfaction that his target was stricken, black smoke pouring out the hatches. The crew were tumbling out, and he could see flames licking the commander’s body. The unfortunate man leapt onto the grass and started rolling back and forth.

He grinned, aiming the MG at the accompanying infantry and squeezing the trigger. Long, controlled bursts swept the plain, mowing them like grass.

“Get ‘sum, ya red bastards,” he whispered.

There was a flash and a loud clang - a Soviet shell had bounced off the turret, shaking the tank violently. Despite himself, Rodriguez let out a loud whoop of exhilaration.

“Best job we ever had, ay boys?” he called.

“Oo-rah!”

------

The DARPA labs were a little way west of the Academy, hidden in a glade in the woods. It took some time for Gunter’s men to trudge their way through the forest, and in the distance they could hear the sounds of fierce battle.

“Someone wanna tell me how they hit Colorado?” demanded Private Wilson, brushing some dust off the handguard of his M16. “I mean, that’s the reason they put NORAD out here, right? ‘Cause it’s safe.”

“Safety don’t mean shit if you’ve got mind control, Wilson,” replied Ferris.

“So that’s a real thing? Mind control towers?” asked Phillips. “If the Reds have that, why didn’t they use them in New York?”

“Can’t put a tower on a submarine,” shrugged Ferris.

“I hate this.” PFC McLean, a Texan-born rifleman, spat in disgust. He hadn’t shaved since the battalion had left New York, his auburn stubble glistening in the sunlight. There was an ugly scar on his left cheek from grenade shrapnel that had barely started to heal - he had insisted on returning to the field despite it.

“We all hate it, Mac,” said Phillips.

“None o’ you boys have family in Texas,” snapped McLean. “The idea o’ my Mama n’ Papa kneelin’ down and praying to Lenin, it just… it don’t sit right.”

“They don’t prey to Lenin, Mac,” said Wilson. “They’re atheists.”

“I mean, he’s got a cult of personality,” mused Phillips. “It’s kind of a religion.”

“That’s not it!” McLean shook his head. “Only people who get in my head are God n’ Jesus. Ain’t right to be messin’ with people’s souls.”

“What was that?” a soldier to the rear called. “You gettin’ head from Jesus? Is it good?”

“Shut the hell up, Douglas,” shouted McLean, as the rest of the squad laughed.

“Quiet in the ranks,” called Gunter, raising an amused eyebrow. “Looks like we’ve found our friends.”

The men gathering in the clearing ahead of them wore peculiar olive-green armour. Their helmets enclosed their heads, save for an opening at the front that exposed their upper face; they reminded Gunter a little of motorcycle helmets, save for the raised groove that ran from the forehead to the back of the neck. They wore shining plated armour that covered their whole bodies, with breastplates and pauldrons marked with the US Army’s white star and thick black leather straps over both shoulders. Most striking of all was the pair of large, conical extensions on their backs.

One of them, his right arm marked with a Captain’s insignia, waved them over.

“You our commandos?” he asked.

“Gunter’s Cowboys, at your service,” replied Gunter.

“Obliged to you,” replied the captain. “Captain Kristofferson, 505th PIR, 82nd Airborne. My company’s going to give you cover while you get those lab boys out of there.”

“Interesting uniform you have there, sir,” said Ferris.

“You like it, son?” Kristofferson replied. “X-105 Jetsuit. Air Force have been cooking it up with the Limeys for about five years. We’re one of the first outfits to get ‘em.”

“Jetsuits?” Phillips tilted his head. “You have jetpacks?”

“Strictly speaking, they’re rocketpacks,” said Kristofferson. “We’re a Rocketeer unit now.”

He pointed over his shoulder.

“Lab’s in a glade just over the rise yonder,” he said. “These rockets ain’t subtle, so stealth isn’t an option. We’re gonna hit ‘em hard and fast and get out just as quickly, so you’re gonna need to get in and out ASAP. We’ll try to grab you one of their APCs, but we can’t promise anything. Understood?”

“Ja,” said Gunter. “We already have an agent on the way in - more likely than not, she already has eyes on our scientists…”

------

The Rocketeers came out of the trees without warning. One moment, the men guarding the captured lab could only hear the distant rolling thunder of battle; now it was upon them with all the force of a hurricane.

They shot out of the woods, carbines in hand, opening fire with a witheringly accurate volley. Some of the conscripts below managed a shaky reply, but most sprinted for cover, many cut down before they could escape their line of fire. A BMP-1 ACP, a short, squat vehicle, rumbled forwards to assist them, but was felled by three rocket launchers in a matter of seconds.

The men landed behind cover, continuing the withering fire as Gunter’s Cowboys broke cover behind them. They sprinted through the main doors and disappeared.

“Well, boys!” exclaimed Kristofferson. “I’d say that’s a good opener!”

Something did trouble him, however, as carefully took aim at the enemy and fired his short, controlled bursts - where were the Tesla troopers?

------

“McLean, cover us from the entrance! Hervey, Douglas, take point at that door! Los! Los!”

The Cowboys moved through the reception area, McLean taking three men behind the desk to cover them. Douglas and Hervey reached a grey door at the rear of the room, stacking up on either side. Hervey, closest to the door knob, produced a grenade.

“Times like this I wish I had an SMG,” he muttered.

“You got an M16, man, you’ll be fine,” shrugged Douglas.

“I ‘unno, I just have a bad feeling about this…”

He opened the door just a crack, his teeth clenched around the pin of his grenade.

Douglas felt his hair stand on end as a streak of electricity burst through the door, striking Hervey in the chest. He spasmed violently, his eyes wide as the current ran through his body - his hand jerked away from his mouth, pulling the pin from the grenade.

“Jesus! Get back, it’s live!”

Douglas sprinted back, throwing himself to the ground. Hervey’s fingers, already burning, clutched the grenade hard, unable to throw it or drop it. He let out a cry like a strangled cat, his eyes popping out of his head.

There was a flash, and then Douglas could hear nothing.

The doorway was blanketed in smoke - as his hearing returned, he could hear stamping boots. Slowly, an enormous figure stepped out of the haze - his armour was a sickly green, like a Soviet tank, a hammer-and-sickle printed on the chest. With it’s domed helmet, glowing yellow y-shaped visor and dull metal and rubber armour, it resembled a robot more than a human, but he could hear it’s deep breathing. Both hands buzzed with electricity, generators on the shoulders generating this deadly ammunition.

Douglas suddenly realised he’d dropped his rifle.

The terrible armoured figure turned to him, raising a clenched fist in his direction. Electricity leapt towards him, and he suddenly had the sensation of being on fire. His heart leapt, his teeth clenched so hard that they cracked, and he widened his eyes despite himself - everything hurt beyond belief.

“Fire! Aim for the visor!”

There was the sound of metal striking metal as Douglas’ comrades fired on the beast. One shot hit the visor, then another, and another - it cracked open, and a final bullet hit home between the pilot’s eyes. The enormous figure stumbled backwards, falling to earth with a mighty crash, and the pain was mercifully gone.

“Private Douglas!” Gunter raced over, lifting his head up. “Talk to me!”

“I��� tashte bloo’,” rasped Douglas.

“McLean, get him to cover!” ordered Gunter. “The rest of you, with me! Schnell!”

As the rest of the men raced away, McLean lifted Douglas over his shoulders, carrying him out of the building.

“I got you, partner,” he said. “Airborne boys’ll have a medic, just hold on…”

------

The main lab was mostly soundproofed, so the squad of Soviet soldiers inside had little idea of what was coming. This suited Tanya, hiding in the vent above the room, just fine.

It was a big room; the soldiers had pushed the tables and lab equipment to the side to provide room to force the scientists into a corner. There were about fifty all up, and Tanya reckoned they could probably take the twelve Russians guarding them if they charged them; but then, they were scientists, not soldiers, so you had to make allowances.

An officer - a Captain, she thought - was speaking to his superiors on a wireless brick-shaped phone, pacing back and forth anxiously as he did.

“I was of the impression that we were to send the scientists to General Bronislav’s headquarters… yes, I realise Colonel Demichev was transferred to PsiCorps, but that doesn’t… I’m not certain he has the authority…”

Tanya clicked the safety off her pistols. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Gunter’s men stacking up outside the bullet-proof windows, but the officer remained oblivious.

“...yes Comrade Colonel, I understand you outrank me… yes Comrade Colonel, I do remember what happened to Tukhachevsky… yes Comrade Colonel, I will shut up and do my job…”

“We’re ready to go when you are.” Gunter’s voice crackled in her ear piece.

“Try to keep up, Gunter,” she whispered.

“Ha! Jawohl, ma’am!”

The door creaked open, and a small, cylindrical grenade was tossed through. It fell to the polished floor with a loud clink, and the Soviet soldiers turned around to see what the matter was.

BANG.

The room was filled with a tremendous light and a concussive blast. The soldiers stumbled, swearing and clutching their ears, their vision shot by the flash. Tanya jumped down from the vent, landing cleanly and drawing her pistols. She aimed both at a soldier each.

Phut! Phut! Phut!

She pulled off a succession of three shots each, each finding the head of an enemy soldier. As she did so, the door flew open; Gunter stormed in, firing controlled bursts from his SMG and felling three more. One man raised his rifle to his hip and fired a long, uneven burst towards the door, but he failed to hit anything, and Tanya spun round and shot him.

A conscript screamed, charging with his bayonet. Gunter neatly sidestepped him, and he received a burst from Ferris’ machine gun. The last soldier, having clearly had enough, dropped his gun and threw up his hands.

“Nyet!”

The officer was standing by the lab equipment, fumbling for his pistol. Next to him was a small vat of blue liquid, about the size of a large soda bottle. Wilson stepped forward, M16 raised.

“Do we want ‘im?” he asked.

“Just scare him,” said Gunter.

“Wilco.”

He squeezed off a round, shattering the vat. Blue liquid spouted from the glass case, spraying the officer in the face. He fell to his arms and knees, screaming.

“Come on, he didn’t startle you that much,” grunted Tanya. “Get a hold of your…”

She trailed off.

The officer had thrown off his hat and was clutching his head - his skin seemed to be drying, his skin becoming withered and wrinkled. His hair thinned, growing outwards and then falling out as age spots began to dot his skin. He looked right at Gunter, and the commando could see his sunken eyes and aged face. His teeth yellowed and rotted away, then his eyes shrank into nothing and his nose disintegrated.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but a bony skeleton in the rags of a Soviet uniform, screeching wildly; then it collapsed into dust, and the room fell silent.

For a long time, nobody spoke.

“That,” said Wilson, “was the worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Experimental chrono chemical.” One of the scientists stepped forward, rubbing the back of his head. “We discontinued the program for, uh… well, that.”

“What, we don’t need a weapon that melts people?” asked Tanya.

“Ages, strictly speaking,” replied the scientist. “There were ethical concerns.”

“We can discuss this later,” said Gunter. “Let's get these scientists out of here. Hopefully Kristofferson got us transport…”

------

“Copy, Gunter, I’ll let her know.”

Biggs lowered his hand from his earpiece.

The last aircraft were now taking off from the Air Force Academy, and not a moment too soon. Word had just come through that the defensive line south of Colorado Springs had been overrun, and Hawthorne had just given the order to pull the tanks back. She stared southwards, hands tucked behind her back.

“Biggs,” she said calmly.

“Gunter’s Cowboys are out, moving northwards to the rendezvous,” said Biggs. “We have no more units in the AO.”

Hawthorne nodded, turning to Eva, who was standing next to the radioman.

“Call it in.”

“Understood,” said Eva. “This is Liberty Actual, bring down the sky, over.”

“Copy, we’re inbound.”

There was a loud roar, and a large flight of Harriers rocketed over their heads. Under each wing was a half-dozen guided anti-tank missiles, and under the fusilage was a large napalm bomb. They shot over the distant buildings - then, with a thunderous roar, the horizon was split by massive plumes of flame and smoke.

“That’ll slow down their pursuit,” said Hawthorne, satisfied. “Let’s get back to the Liberty. Carville will want a report.”

She turned, walking to her Nighthawk transport without once looking back.

------

Rodriguez sat in his commander’s cupola, an unlit cigar in his hand. Big Mama was rolling north, having successfully disengaged; he had counted up the paint scratches from ricochets and he wagered she’d weathered eight direct hits.

He looked back towards the burning horizon and grinned, pulling a lighter from his shirt pocket and lighting his cigar. He took a long drag and let out a satisfied sigh.

“Blessed be the warmakers, my brothers,” he said.

“Oo-rah, Gunny,” the gunner replied.

They drove onwards, the sky tinted red by the distant fires.

[returntobeaconhills]

Moonrise - Chapter Two

Chapter Two - The Hungry Fox 

Walt puts out dishes heaped with eggs and bacon as everyone takes a seat for their post-run breakfast.

"What are your plans for the day?" Talia asks her children, but her eyes are specifically on Derek.

"I don't have class. Thought I'd draw for a while, out at the edge of the preserve." Derek clears his throat and picks at his bacon.

"That sounds like a nice day," Walt says. "You should stop back in for lunch and I'll make you a chicken pesto sandwich. How does that sound?"

Derek smiles. "Yeah, Dad. Thanks."

Cora checks the time. "I've got to head out. I'm supposed to open the coffee shop today."

Laura finishes up and stands. "I can give you a ride."

"Have a good day, girls," Talia says.

"Thanks for breakfast, Dad," Derek says as he finishes his own food.

"Of course. I'll see you at lunch." Walt starts to clear the dishes.

"I look forward to seeing your sketches later," Talia tells Derek with a smile, but her face is still lined with concern.

Derek leans and nuzzles lightly against her shoulder, head bowed.

Talia sighs, comforted by the touch. She pets over his hair. "You never tell me that I worry too much like your sisters do."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Derek says with a small laugh. "Anytime we're not all together, it's like there's a hook in my chest, pulling me to wherever the others are."

Talia turns her face to look at him. "There is nothing wrong with you! You just feel a strong bond to the pack." She hugs him. "Would you like to stay home with me today?"

Derek shakes his head. "No, I'm okay." He pauses. "That's what makes it so strange, you know? I don't even remember making the decision to break from the pack and chase. I just did it."

Talia's lips go thin. "Do you think something else was controlling you?"

Derek tilts his head and considers. "I don't know. I don't think so, but...felt like instinct. Felt like when I was first learning to control the shift, and I'd turn without even realizing I'd done it."

Talia studies him for a long moment. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," Derek murmurs. Talia squeezes Derek's hand. "So, tell me, what did this fox look like?"

"It was a little fennec fox. Sort of tan-colored. Great big ears. They're not native to California, but. Immigrants, I guess." Derek licks his lips. "And as a boy, I didn't see him very long, but he was tall and pale and... freckly."

"I see." Talia suppresses a smile. "Maybe you can draw the fox from memory while you're out today."

Derek's eyes light up. "You're right. That's a great idea."

Talia stands and kisses Derek's hair. "Take some snacks and water with you so you don't get hungry."

"Yes, ma'am." Derek gets to his feet, stretches, and waits for his mother's dismissal.

Talia nods. "You may go."

Derek bows his head and goes upstairs to shower and dress.

As soon as Derek steps outside, it feels as if he is being watched. Derek tightens the straps on his backpack, a nervous habit, and starts walking out to the edge of the preserve.

As Derek is making his way through the preserve, his eye catches something unusual. As he approaches, he realizes it's a pile of clothing: a discarded hoodie, a T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, socks, and boxers. He kneels down next to the pile, scenting the air.

Once he catches the scent, the fox comes into view. The fox tilts his head as he watches Derek.

"Hey," Derek says, surprised. "It's you."

The fox lets out a short bark.

Derek flashes his eyes blue. "You never saw me like this. Do you recognize me?"

The fox huffs and nods his head. Still on his knees, Derek holds out a hand, palm up.

The fox approaches slowly. After several long moments, he sniffs Derek's hand. The fox pushes his head against Derek's hand in order to be petted.

“Hey, little guy,” Derek says with a laugh, gently running his fingertips along the fox’s ears.

At the use of 'little guy,' the fox nips lightly at Derek's wrist.

“Ow. Oh--sorry. You’re not just--those are really nice ears,” Derek offers.

The fox preens and ducks his head to offer Derek his ears. Upon closer inspection, Derek can see a small dusting of freckles and moles along the cream-colored fur.

“Wow, you have freckles even in your shifted form.” Derek’s fingertips hover over the freckles, mapping them from a distance like stars. “That’s...I didn’t even know that could happen. That’s amazing.” He gives a self-conscious laugh, looking away as a blush creeps up his neck.

The fox jumps on Derek's arm and climbs up to perch on his shoulder. He noses at Derek's red cheek before moving over Derek's shoulder to paw at his backpack.

“I’ll show you what’s inside, but you gotta jump off first. I don’t want you to fall off when I set it down.”

The fox uses Derek's shoulder as a launch pad to jump from. He settles on the hoodie as he watches with large eyes.

“Okay.” Derek swings the bag off of his shoulder and unzips it, pulling out several bottles of water, a brown paper bag with a bit of a grease stain on the bottom, a box of pencils, and a sketchpad.

The fox immediately pounces on the bag. He tries to tug it with his small teeth, but the sight is mostly comical.

Derek’s brow furrows slightly, even as his lips pull up. “Hey, little g--uh, fox. Are you hungry?” His eyes widen. “D-did I keep you from doing your hunting last night?”

The fox scratches at the bag and looks up at Derek.

“Sorry, yeah, let me...” Derek pulls a plastic container out of the bag, a bit of oil fingerprinting the outside. He opens it to reveal an aromatic Greek-style pasta dish with a bit of cooked lamb tucked into the corner, placing the meal in front of the fox.

The fox dives in, his little paws slipping in the dirt as he moves to eat. The fox eats about half of the food before pulling back. He yawns and curls up on the clothes.

“I’ll leave the rest for you. After your nap.” Derek puts the lid back on the container and picks up his drawing materials.

One of the fox's eyes stays cracked open, curious as to what Derek will do next.

Derek opens one of the water bottles and sets it upright on the ground next to the food. “Thirsty?”

The fox gets up and moves toward the bottle. He uses a paw to knock the bottle over and starts to drink as the water spills out.

“That’s good.” Derek clears his throat as he opens his sketchbook. “We always have plenty of food. More than enough.”

The fox gets his fill of water before settling back on the clothes. He hides his face with a paw as he sleeps.

Only the sound of the pencil moving across paper accentuates the fox’s even breathing. Derek stays perfectly still except to draw.

His phone goes off with a text. The fox stirs and lifts his head to look at Derek with as much annoyance as the small face can muster.

Talia to Derek: Everything okay, sweetheart?

Derek turns his phone to silent.

Derek: Yes.

The fox stretches out and sleeps for another half hour. When he wakes, the fox jumps up on a tree stump to get a view of Derek's drawing.

Derek breaks his pencil in his clumsy rush to try to cover up an extremely detailed sketch of the sleeping fox.

The fox huffs and scowls as Derek moves to hide his work. He jumps down and moves into Derek's backpack. He pokes his head outside, but doesn't make any other movements to leave it.

“Get cold sometimes?” Derek asks, voice a little too high as he closes his sketchbook.

The fox moves its head from side to side to indicate he’s not in the bag because he’s cold.

"That's good." Derek reaches out to pet him.

The fox starts a soft purr under the attention. Derek chuckles, a low, pleased rumble. The fox moves out of the bag and starts jumping around in a circle. He flashes his eyes at Derek.

"What's this?" Derek smiles at the sight, but scents the air to make sure it isn't a warning.

Sensing nothing, Derek looks back to the fox, who noses at the hoodie, then jumps up again before tugging at Derek's pant leg.

"Should I follow you? Want to show me something?"

The fox gives up and sits back. He considers for a moment before he darts off as fast as he can.

A growl escapes Derek before he can help it. He tugs off his clothes and shifts with a groan, running full-speed in pursuit.

The fox swishes his tail, almost taunting. With a short, joyful howl, Derek leaps over him, landing in front of the little fox so that they're facing each other. The fox scents at Derek before rubbing its face against Derek's legs. Derek flips onto his back, paws up by his chest, giving the fox room to play on his belly. The fox jumps up on Derek's stomach and nips at Derek's jaw.

As the fox's nose moves over Derek's throat, he goes perfectly, unnaturally still. The fox sits back on Derek's belly, confused. Derek shivers, nearly dislodging the fox in the process. The fox jumps down and lowers its head. Derek gets back up, shaking his head, taking a moment to recover before licking the fox’s nose in reassurance. The fox nuzzles against Derek. The wolf mouths at the fox’s snout again. The fox pulls back and sneezes, his small head twitching. There’s no mistaking the smile that overtakes Derek’s face, letting his long, wolfish tongue loll to the side. He leans in and licks the top of the fox’s head. The fox playfully slaps at Derek's nose before sprinting off.

They spend hours this way--Derek chasing the fox, constantly tackling or pouncing or nuzzling, and the two of them taking breaks in between to roll around and play in the underbrush.

As it grows dark, Derek hears Talia's howl.

Derek stills, ears pricking up. He howls in return, eyes bright blue, before he makes eye contact with the fox to see if he understands.

The fox licks Derek's nose before running off.

A soft, saddened whine escapes Derek, but he only allows himself a moment before he obeys the call.

Talia is standing in human form at the edge of the yard when Derek returns. Her face is etched with worry. Walt stands at her side.

Derek sucks in a sharp breath. Once he’s within a few feet of them, he lifts his chin up, baring his throat.

Talia relaxes at Derek's appearance but her tone is stern as she says, "You didn't answer your phone."

“I was shifted,” Derek murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

Talia reaches out to cup Derek's cheek. "You're okay?"

“Yeah. I’m good.” Derek leans into the touch, flashing his eyes as a sign of respect.

Talia matches it with her own red eyes.

Walt slaps Derek's shoulder. "See, Tal, no reason to worry. He just lost track of time, right?"

Talia huffs but her lips pull up the smallest bit. "You were just as worried when he didn't come home for lunch."

“I’m sorry,” Derek says again, biting his lip. “Did you howl before you got really worried? I-I tried to get back fast once I heard it--”

"It's okay," Walt assures him.

Talia tilts her head. "Were you with the fox again?"

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek murmurs.

Talia sighs. "I worry about this shifter being a bad influence. Did you get his name?" Derek winces. “No, ma’am. He didn’t shift back this time. But he seems very…sweet.”

Talia pets over his hair. "Go ahead and get washed up for dinner. You must be hungry. Did you finish your pasta?"

“No, ma’am,” Derek says, barely audible.

Talia kisses Derek's temple. "It's okay. You don't have to be upset."

“He seemed hungry,” Derek says quietly.

Walt frowns. "Did he need food? You could have brought him home for dinner."

“I sort of tried to ask about it, but...when he heard the howl, he took off.” Derek shrugs. “Maybe he’s scared.”

"Maybe." Talia leads Derek inside.

After getting washed up, Derek helps Walt finish preparing the meal and sets the table.

Talia keeps casting concerned glances at Derek throughout the meal.

"So, you found him," Laura comments. "Did you ask him out?"

Derek’s face goes splotchy and pink.

"Leave your brother alone," Talia warns her.

"I think it's good you made a friend, Der," Cora says as she helps herself to a second serving of food.

“Yeah. Kinda different for me,” Derek says, genuine. He pushes his food around on his plate.

Walt's brow furrows. "Is there something wrong with the food?"

“No, no.” Derek takes a bite, looking back up at Walt as he swallows it down.

Walt squeezes his shoulder. "I think there will be leftovers if you want to take some for your friend."

"Walt," Talia says. "It's getting late."

“Yes, ma’am. It can wait.”

After dinner, Laura pulls Derek aside into her room. "I can tell you how to sneak out if you want."

“They were pretty worried about me,” Derek says, putting his hands in his pockets.

"But this is so romantic. You need to at least get his name!"

Derek smiles a little despite himself. "You really think I should?"

"Yes!" Laura shakes his shoulders gently. "You almost never make connections with people."

Derek's smile falters.

Laura bites her own lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like a bad thing. It's really not! I just think if you're happy with him, you should pursue that."

"But what if it's..." Derek swallows, looking down at his shoes. "He didn't want to shift back with me there. He only did it the first time 'cause he was scared of me, didn't know what I was gonna do, at first. What if that's all it is, a fox and a wolf in the woods?"

Laura wraps her arms around him. "Did you ask him to change back? Maybe try talking to him instead of just playing."

"Maybe," Derek murmurs.

Laura pulls back. "If you don't want to, I won't push you into it. I just want you to be happy."

Derek nods. "I know."

Laura points to her window. "Go out my window if you want to try. Your room is too close to Mom and Dad's. If their window is open, they might hear you drop down."

Derek huffs a laugh. "Got it."

Laura winks at him. "I'm going to go watch a movie with Cora."

"'Night." Derek goes to his bedroom.

Talia and Walt both check in before they head to bed.

Derek sits cross-legged on his bed, going over sketches in pen.

Around midnight comes a soft tapping on his window.

Goosebumps rise on Derek’s skin. He drops his sketchbook and leans over to open the window, listening for any sign of his parents rousing as the wind moves through his room, sweeping up his papers.

The same young man from the woods tumbles through Derek's window, this time fully dressed in the rumpled clothes from the woods.

“Fox,” Derek blurts out, because he doesn’t know him by any other name.

The boy raises an eyebrow. "Stiles." “ Stiles,” Derek breathes out, slowly, testing the sound of it.

Stiles nods. "I waited. You didn't come back."

“I couldn’t come back.” Derek’s brow furrows in confusion. “My alpha called me.”

"Oh." Stiles shrugs, as if he doesn't quite know the weight of this. "Do you want to play now?"

“Um.” Derek shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, are you hungry? I’m a little hungry.”

"I could eat," Stiles admits. "What do you have?"

“Lots of stuff. My dad’s a chef, so we always have plenty.” Derek points to the door. “Want to?”

Stiles hesitates. "What about the others. Four others, right? I caught five scents total."

“That’s my dad, my mom--she’s the alpha--my older sister and my younger sister. But nobody’ll mind,” Derek rushes to add. “Promise.”

Stiles squirms. "They're all wolves?"

Derek’s eyes tighten, a small, nearly unnoticeable flinch, as if Stiles had pulled back to throw a punch. “They’re my family,” he murmurs.

"Okay." Stiles nods. "If you think they won't mind. Most wolves, they don't like foxes, it seems."

“Most people don’t like wolves,” Derek says simply.

Stiles scuffs his shoe along the floor. "They make you leave," he says in a small voice.

“You don’t have...?”

"I have someone," Stiles rushes out. "I have my dad."

“Oh.” Derek relaxes a little. “Is he hungry, too?” His eyes go wide, blood rushing to his face. “I-I mean...would he want to join us, or, or--is he a fox? Not that it matters if he’s--um.”

"He's not," Stiles says. He inches back towards the window. "He's human. And he's fine. I'm fine."

“Okay.” Derek clasps his hands in front of him to keep from trying to cover his blushing face. “Sorry.”

"I should go," Stiles says. He casts a glance at Derek's sketchbook. "You were busy."

Derek bites his lip and drops into a sitting position on his bed. “Okay,” he murmurs.

Stiles hesitates at the window.

“Sorry,” Derek says again, numbly picking up his sketchbook just to have something to do with his hands. He doesn’t actually open it, just turns it over on his lap, ducking his head so that Stiles can’t see his face.

The sound of a sneaker being kicked off draws Derek's attention as Stiles starts to undress. “What are you doing?” Derek squeaks out.

Stiles shifts. Once he's a fox, he jumps up onto Derek's bed.

“O-okay.” Derek lifts his hand, letting it hover over the fox’s head.

The fox pushes against Derek's hand. Derek’s muscles relax a little as he pets over the fox’s soft fur. The fox paws at Derek's legs like a cat settling in.

With a chuckle, Derek focuses on the fox, scratching behind his ears, rubbing his belly, running a thumb over the fine little hairs above his eyes. The fox's eyes grow heavy until he finally nods off, curled up against Derek.

Though he doesn’t remember the moment it happens, Derek falls asleep easily, slumping down to the bed like a puppet with cut strings.

When Derek stirs the next morning, he wakes to a very human, very naked Stiles sleeping against him.

Derek slaps his hand over his own mouth to keep from yelling. Hands shaking, he grabs an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it delicately over Stiles’s body.

Stiles nuzzles against the pillow.

There's a knock at the door.

Derek catches himself at just the last moment from clapping his hands over Stiles’s ears to keep the noise from rousing him. He swallows thickly, blushing to the tips of his ears.

"Derek, Dad wants you to know breakfast is almost ready!" Cora calls through the door.

“I have a guest,” Derek says, voice comically high-pitched.

The door cracks open enough for Cora to stick her head in. "What?"

Derek looks up at her, expression pleading.

Cora's eyes go wide. "Oh, my God," she mouths. She gestures for Derek to come out into the hallway.

Scowling, Derek gestures to Stiles, still sleeping soundly half-on top of him.

Cora rolls her eyes and closes the door. A moment later Derek's phone vibrates with a text.

He’s careful not to jostle Stiles as he checks it.

Cora to Derek: Omg!!!! Who is it??? I can't see his face! I never thought you had it in you! Scandalous. Derek: WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING. He’s the one I told you guys about. He came in last night and shifted. I was going to get us some food, but he fell asleep, and then I fell asleep, and THAT’S IT. Cora: likely story. 👉👌👬❤️❤️❤️ Derek: 😡 Cora: How am I supposed to cover for you? I can't exactly lie to them. Derek: Tell them the truth. Just leave out the naked part! Please Cora: Okay. I'm going to eat all your pancakes. Derek: Save enough for Stiles Cora: Stiles?? That's who it is??? You know who he is, right? Derek: ...no? Cora: That's the sheriff's son you're in bed with. Naked. Derek: Oh my God. Is he Derek: ! Derek: Please say I'm not committing a crime right now Cora: No crime. He's 18. It's legal.

A pause this time.

Derek: You gave me a heart attack, Cor Cora: Sorry! I just thought you should know.

Stiles snuffles against Derek. "Your pulse started racing. Calm down," he mumbles, still partially asleep.

"Okay," Derek whispers, adjusting the blanket so that it covers more of Stiles's body.

Stiles nudges his face to hide under Derek's arm as he falls back asleep.

Derek stays perfectly still for fear of waking him. His phone goes off with another text.

Talia to Derek: I would like to meet your guest before he leaves. Derek: Yes ma'am

After twenty minutes, Derek starts to hear another vibrating phone and realizes it belongs to Stiles, still tucked away in his pants pocket on the floor.

Derek chews his lip before gently shaking Stiles's shoulder.

Stiles jerks awake. "Wha?"

"Your phone," Derek whispers.

Stiles rubs at his eyes. He falls out of bed and crawls over to grab his phone. He types out a text before standing up and stretching, still nude.

Derek averts his eyes, cheeks blazing red.

"Oh." Stiles looks down. "Sorry. Must have shifted in my sleep." He pulls on his clothes.

"There's breakfast," Derek says in a small voice.

"Cool." Stiles runs a hand through his hair. "You okay?"

Derek gives a jerky nod. "Just--didn't want to, um..."

Stiles looks down. "You've already seen me naked," he says, confused.

"Th-that's not an open invitation. I didn't want to, you know--take advantage. You shifted in your sleep this time. It was an accident, so."

Stiles shrugs. "I'm not embarrassed."

"Okay. Yeah, sorry, I didn't--of course." Derek gets to his feet. "There's pancakes downstairs." He heads to the door.

"Awesome." Stiles follows Derek out.

Derek leads the way down to the dining room.

The family is all sitting at the table still. Cora smirks at Stiles. Laura gives Derek a thumbs up.

Derek clears his throat. "This is Stiles. Stiles, this is my mother and alpha, Talia. My father, Walt. And my sisters, Laura and Cora."

"Hi." Stiles gives a small wave as he sits down.

Talia purses her lips.

Derek takes his own seat, watching his mother nervously.

"When did your friend arrive?" Talia asks Derek.

"Last night. He wanted to go out to the woods again, but we ended up just falling asleep," Derek says. "Just falling asleep."

"I see." Talia clears her throat. "We prefer Derek to only go out shifted at night with the pack, Stiles."

Stiles fidgets in his chair. "Oh."

"I'll get you some food," Derek rushes out, jumping up to go into the kitchen.

Stiles gets up to follow him. "Maybe I should go," he says when he gets into the kitchen. "I don't need breakfast."

Derek stills, eyes on his shoes. "They're protective. The way people are about wolves...there’s so much fear and hatred. We're strong, but that doesn't mean we aren't vulnerable without our pack there to protect us."

Stiles rocks on his heels. "I don't really know anything about packs."

"It's a connection," Derek says softly, hand coming up to rest on his own chest without realizing it. "It's always there. It pulls at you, like the moon pulls the water. That's where we got it from." He lets out a self-conscious laugh. "That's what my grandmother says, anyway."

Stiles gives him a small smile. "That's cute."

Derek leans back against the counter, loosening up the more Stiles does.

Stiles eyes a stack of pancakes.

Laura enters. "Mom wanted to see if you needed additional help," she says with a pointed look.

Derek shakes his head roughly. “Got it.” He stacks pancakes on a plate and hands it to Stiles.

"Thanks." Stiles pours a lake of syrup on the pancakes before he carries the plate back out to the table.

“You guys are freaking him out!” Derek whispers to Laura, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Sorry!" Laura whispers back. "It's weird! Cora came down and said you had a guy in your bed."

“Nothing happened! Nothing at all. Sleeping happened, actual sleeping.”

Laura laughs. "You're so innocent!" She gestures back to the dining room. "We should get back out there before Mom interrogates him."

Derek’s eyes go huge. He nods vigorously and goes back into the dining room empty-handed.

Walt frowns. "Aren't you going to eat?"

“I’m good,” Derek says.

“So, Stiles--tell us about coming in through Derek’s bedroom window last night,” Talia says, pouring honey over her pancakes.

Stiles takes a huge bite of pancake. Talking through the barely chewed food, he says, "I thought he might want to go for a run, and I didn't want to bother anyone else," he says easily.

“We’re pleased to meet you, but there are rules in this house, and I expect them to be followed, even by guests.”

Stiles swallows and puts down his fork. "Like what?"

“You will receive my permission before spending time with Derek after dark or in his bedroom,” Talia says sharply.

Stiles's jaw clenches. He nods. "Got it." He pushes his plate over to Derek. "Have mine. I need to get home. My dad is wondering where I am." He stands. "Thanks for having me," he tells the others.

Derek looks gutted.

Stiles hurries out the door with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Talia sighs. "It wasn't an unreasonable request."

"I know," Derek says quietly, sliding Stiles's plate to the middle of the table. "I'm still tired. May I go back to bed for a little while?"

Talia reaches out a hand for Derek. "Sweetheart, of course I want you to be happy. You know that. I'd like for you to find a nice person that is good for you."

"I know." Derek ducks down under her hand so that it rests lightly on the top of his head.

Talia strokes over Derek's hair. "You may go back to sleep if you wish. Do you have class today?"

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek says. “This afternoon.”

Talia smiles at him. "Good. That will take your mind off everything. Go ahead and rest some more, then you can eat something before you go." “ Yes, ma’am.” Derek flashes his eyes and bows his head before going upstairs.

When Derek reaches his bed, he sees a note scrawled out hastily on a blank sheet of his sketchbook.

It reads: Meet me at 2pm where you first caught me. - S

[foulserpent]

the siege of kvatch

martin has a bad night. 3659 words

cw: death and violence and brief gore, child injuries, implied mass death, description of injuries

Something had jolted Martin awake. He blearily forced his eyes to open.

He was on his back, staring up at the low, cracked ceiling of his home. His surroundings were tinged a deep navy blue, with shafts of moonlight casting cool haloes on the ridges of his blanket.

Martin hoisted himself up, squeezing his eyes shut in irritation and flicking a small light into being with a simple spell. This was hardly unusual. He rarely slept a solid night, and it was a near futile task to fall back asleep unassisted once he'd been awakened.  

He shuffled across the room towards his kitchen cupboards, pausing for a moment to glance out the window for any sign of a disturbance. The dried herbs hanging above rustled gently in the breeze, and the night beyond was still, but for the distant chirping of frogs. He sighed.

The clink of bottles seemed deafening in the night air as he searched for the right potion, a simple sleeping aid. Some of the other priests frowned on medicating like this, something he never really understood. This was why he didn't live in the undercroft anymore. He could take the guilt of a negligible lack of devotion any day over the pestering from the rest of the faithful any time he didn't leave every facet of his health to the Akatosh. He figured he'd be of more use to the Dragon well rested.

Martin swirled the clear liquid, debating whether to just drink from the bottle, when the hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. He froze, straining to discern what had set him off. The dull clatter of the bottle settling unused into the drawer seemed even louder than before, and it hit him. The frogs had gone silent.

Suddenly, Martin felt a sensation as if the air was being sucked from his lungs, and the blueish moonlight burned away into a deep red glow. Then came a rumbling, a low moan from deep below the earth that set the window rattling. Then silence. A stream of dust hissed down from a crack in the ceiling, bathed a dirty rose in the ever-brightening crimson glow.

Martin shakily set about putting a robe on and slipping on a pair of sandals. The red light was only growing brighter as he cautiously stepped outside. He shuffled out of the alley and toward the source of the light, and froze.

There was something massive and black looming over a swath of houses a block away, framed by an even more colossal structure that towered high above the city walls and painted the night in crimson. It was ringed by black stone, hooking out from the earth like some half-formed ribcage, and between it swirled a shrieking vortex of fire and starstuff that crackled with streaks of white lightning. Martin's stomach dropped. He recognized, with painful familiarity, what he was looking at.

This was some kind of gate to Oblivion.

His attention was caught again by the black shape moving, setting a spiny leg through a house. The roof was pierced as if it were nothing, and there came a muffled shout that was drowned by the groaning of wood and something far deeper as the thing moved. The hulking mass slowly waded through the building on six legs wider than oak trunks, stepping almost delicately, as if it thought itself stealthy.

Martin stood frozen in place as the thing began to emit a noise,a low groan that raised into a brassy wail that shook the earth in a long, eerie note.  At its center, something began to glow the deep red of molten metal. The air seemed to grow still, sluggish, bending in a profane gravity towards the building heat and the hovering black sphere in its center, looking as if a bloody red eye. The light shifted from red to orange to hot-white, air shimmering under the infernal heat as the groaning crescendoed to a shrieking buzz. Martin briefly saw a halo of beady insectoid eyes glow into view through the waves of heat, saw the rim- no, throat quiver in feverish anticipation.

Then, the pressure snapped.

Martin flung himself to the ground.

A pillar of flame streaked through the air high above him, bathing the night an unearthly white brighter than any daylight. Martin closed his eyes and flattened himself into the mud as shrieking heat radiated down upon him. There was a great roar in its path, and the light that pierced through his eyelids began to simmer into a dull orange. He dared a glance upward.

Fire. Half of the city, the half he had just stumbled out from, was a flattened smear. It was as if a gigantic hand had raked the earth and casually wiped it clean, and in its place left a wall of flame. The mighty wall behind it lay in a smoking heap, and as he watched, the pointed arrowheads of another gate sprouted like some vile mockery of a flower in its remains.

As his hearing faded back in, he began to pick up the sound of screams. The streets around him were beginning to flood with people, stumbling out of their homes in nightgowns and bare feet and gazing in terror upon the half of the city that had just been wiped out of existence. Above it all, the great beast stood gleaming in the firelight. Its head looked to be blown off, chunks of flesh falling to the earth as it vomited liquid fire at its feet. And there was something swarming at its legs, shadows darting in and out of view. Large reptilian beasts were advancing from the gate, and behind them the horned and armor clad forms of infernal soldiers. Dremora.

Martin staggered to his feet and began to look around for an avenue of escape, but the red glow of those gates mocked him from every direction. They were being opened strategically, blocking off every exit from the city. There was a more mundane glow now lighting up the whole perimeter, under a sky blackening with smoke. They were setting fires. They were smoking the people of Kvatch out. Why?

He turned towards the southern end of the city, away from the swath of destruction. The chapel stood tall there, laid with thick stone and guarding a network of tunnels and crypts. If there was anywhere to hide, it would be there.

"Get to the chapel!" He choked out at the fleeing people around him. "It's daedra, get to the chapel!"

He waved frantically in that direction, panic mounting as the shadowy forms of daedra drew closer. The soldiers fanned out to either side of the street and stormed their way to the doors of homes, splintering the cheap wood with brutal kicks of thorny boots. How many people were still in their houses?

“Get outside!” He shouted, voice cracking.

“Get outside!” His neighbors echoed as they ran.

The smallest daedra were now plainly visible, charging forth at a steady lope, their hooked beaks glittering wickedly in the red light. He saw one veer to the side with a shriek, leaping at a man that had just emerged from his door with four clawed limbs outstretched. He was pinned underneath with a yelp, and the beast, with an almost delicate avian movement, ripped out his throat. Martin began to run. He would be no use to anyone if he was dead.

As he bolted down the streets the ground resumed its shaking. He chanced a look behind him, and saw that the giant insect-beast was now charging blindly through the city. It scrambled over houses and shops with a speed that defied its massive size, dribbling its molten core and setting fires with every step. Martin lost sight of it as it crested the arena district to his right, the earth still rumbling in its stead. He picked up the pace.

A large pack of citizens had fallen in beside him as he approached the chapel grounds. This part of town was in flames as well. A group of daedroth were busying themselves with picking off people that ran from their burning homes. One of the smaller beasts, armor clad and bearing a staff, turned to face their group and opened its spiny jaws. It barked an order at the other two, giant beasts that loomed almost a story above the ground. Martin cursed under his breath as the others began to scramble past him into the chapel.

A few armed civilians and a guard came to his side, her dark face streaked with sweat.

“You should get inside. Are you any good in a fight, priest?” She asked.

“Not really,” Martin panted as he readied a spell.

Two of the larger daedroth had ignored their commander, instead choosing to fight over what he hoped was a corpse.  Martin concentrated, collecting moisture from the air and cooling it between his hands. His will became a thorn of ice, and he sent it flying towards one of the larger daedroth. The ice tore through its neck, and the beast began to thrash wildly.

The other large daedroth dropped to all fours, and charged. They scattered, and the beast barrelled past and spun around, its massive tail smashing a dent into the doors of the chapel with the momentum. There was a scream from inside.

The armed men and women bore down on the beast as Martin readied another spell, turning to deal with the smaller daedroth. But it had disappeared from sight, leaving the grounds empty save for the flames. He had no time to wonder why it had gone. There was a cry of pain from the group. The daedroth had seized a man by the leg and begun to roll, splintering the limb like a twig. The others took the opportunity to stab at the beast, sinking their blades into its neck and stomach. It too began to flail, dragging the man by his ruined leg along with it until it finally lay still.

After the injured man was dragged inside, Martin took one last look around the grounds. An antlered straggler was scrambling over a pile of rubble. He looked to be in nightclothes and covered in blood, barefoot and shirtless and holding a blazing sword in his right hand.

"Over here!" Martin called.

The man's ears perked and he whirled around to stare him down. His chest was heaving, starkly cut by- a wound? No, a massive scar. His face was inscrutable from this distance, but the exasperation with which he threw out his arms was unmissable.

"What?"

"Over here!"

"What?!" the man yelled. "I'm not- what the fuck!?" He dropped his arms and bolted in the opposite direction. Towards the city's main gate. Towards one of those burning tears in reality.

Martin cursed. There was no time to care. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

There were about thirty people who had made it into the chapel, most singed and bloodied. The stronger men and women were set about barricading the doors, while throngs more just sat in shock or in huddled, wailing masses. He recognized most of the faces in the crowd, people he had seen every day on the streets and in the markets, people who had come through for his services and made friendly conversation, or who gutted him with casual quips about how good it was to see men like him practicing the true faith and left him wondering what about him they meant. They were all familiar, all masked in the same veil of dust and blood and fear.

"Is anyone wounded?" Martin asked. A stupid question.

"Over here, priest." Someone croaked. There was a good dozen people lying on the floor towards the altars, huddled over by other civilians who busied themselves in slowing their bleeding and setting their limbs. Martin made his way over, ignoring the searing pain in his own legs from all the running.

The conscious survivors mumbled greetings to him, and pointed numbly in the direction of six of their number. Martin could smell the burnt flesh from here.

"Do any of you know healing spells?" Martin asked.

One man looked up, a younger fellow with blonde hair. "I know a little but- but Nothing for wounds like these." He said, frantic.

Martin cursed to himself. Inexperienced healers in situations like these could do more harm than good. Just one moment of panic as a major artery or ruptured organ was attended to could warp flesh like wet clay.

"Keep working on the bleeding. Don't worry about the internal injuries for now, don't try to heal any deeper than the surface. Just stop any bleeding."  

Martin breathed hard as he looked between the most grievously injured. The man with a crushed leg, face pale and clammy as he stared at the torn piece of meat that had been a leg. Two women who were mauled almost beyond recognition, being hurriedly bandaged by a few other survivors. A badly burned man, blackened in one arm and angry red all over, breathing hard. A little girl who choked and clutched at her bloody chest, curly hair wet with blood.

He quickly made a decision, and brought himself down over her. He set to work with trembling hands, feeling for where she was injured. She was still breathing, but the sound was strange and labored and her eyes were glassy.

"Try to stay awake, please." He said.

She looked at him, then stared into space.

"Can you tell me your name?" He asked, hoping to keep her mind off the pain.

"A..." She said. “...Ah..”  It dribbled across her dusty lips alongside a drop of blood. Martin's heart sank.

"D-Don't speak, don't. I'm sorry." He took a deep breath and gently pulled aside her torn nightshirt. There was a wound between her ribs, foaming pink and hissing with each breath. He swallowed hard.

"Can you breathe out for me, as much as you can?" He asked, readying a spell. She let out a shaky breath, and he drew his hand back, pulling fluid from her lungs along with it and flinging it to the side. Ignoring the blood now coating his fingers, he covered the hole with again as she finished her breath.

"Good, good, keep breathing." He concentrated, sending out waves of healing into her chest, feeling the flesh stir to attention. Her lung had begun to heal, and he bit his lip in concentration, feeling the waves of the spell as if it were an extra limb. Her lung needed to be closed first with great delicacy, not letting the flesh of the vital organ grow too wildly or blend into the surrounding tissue, but gently coaxing the cells into mending themselves as if they had never been torn apart by something that should have never, never happened.

"Please, help me!" The burned man screamed. "I'm dying, I'm dying."

"Hold ON!" Martin barked, immediately regretting his words. "I-I need to concentrate, I'll be right there, just hold on."

He pitifully glanced back at the other survivors that crowded near the doors.

"Do ANY of you know any healing spells?"

They looked among themselves sheepishly. Before anyone could say what he already guessed, the door thudded with a mighty impact and they scrambled to brace it. There was a splintering sound, and a great clawed hand burst through the wood. The daedra knew they were there.

Martin let out a cry of frustration, and turned back to the little girl to finish the spell, doing his best to ignore the chorus of thumps against the chapel doors. The girls eyes were closed and she had given in to unconsciousness, but her breathing was now steady. This was all he could do for now.

He moved to help the burned man, but the woman next to him coughed a spray of blood and began to choke, and he moaned in panic. He cupped her ribs and sent pulse after pulse of the spell into her, coaxing the fluid out from her choked lungs. Martin glanced upwards to her face to check for alertness, and felt his blood run cold. Her head was visibly dented on the side, bleeding into the floor. How had he not noticed? How had no one noticed?

He scrambled, returning to her chest. She needed to breathe first, then he could fix her head. But as her ribs began to lock back into place, the pulse of his spell faltered. His hands gave off a weak glow, and then nothing.

The burned man screamed, and the blonde man attending to the other wounded began to hyperventilate. Martin felt as though he was suffocating.

Breathe, breathe, you can't cast if you aren't breathing.

He dragged in breath after breath, trying to stay calm.

Mara, my hands are yours. He prayed, straining to cast the spell.

The woman began to choke again.

Akatosh, give me strength. Please help me.

His hands remained useless.

Please help me.

As the moans of pain around him came to a crescendo, he began to sob.

----

It wasn't unusual. One hears about it all the time, in situations like these. Healing spells could be fickle, what with how heavily they rely on the caster's own body rhythms. Moments like these were nothing like when some mercenary is dragged in by a friend with a grievous wound, still managing to crack jokes even as she chokes on blood, and the natural anxiety of the situation metastasizes into a knife-edge focus. People still go about their days outside, and you know whatever happens, in the morning the world will be the same as it ever was. Your magic flows like honey, and the wounded leaves with "thank you"s and weary declarations of "I'm never going into the salt marsh in land-dreugh season again". Or they don't recover as smoothly, or you lose them, and it eats and eats at you but your spells still flow because it's nothing so bad as to leave you unsure that the sun will rise tomorrow.

In the burned out shell of everything you know, magic will lose your command. It will sputter, grow lean and feeble, or fade out entirely, leaving you helpless and useless as you try to work by hand what can only be done by the most skilled of surgeons, and life bleeds away through your fingers faster than you could ever hope to hold it in shape.

Martin sat next to the two surviving wounded in a heap. The young girl breathed steadily at his side, and one of the mauled women shivered into the robes offered by the other survivors. No one wanted to take from the dead.

Before him lay a hasty scattering of offerings and prayer materials. Just some candles the other survivors scrounged from around the chapel, with his own blood let and offered to the fires in bitter urgency. For hours now, he had spoken the rites again and again. He prayed through every splintering of the door, every distant scream, until his throat was sore and mouth was dry. Martin had begun to cry again, finally just begging for a sign that anyone was listening, the slightest abnormal flicker of a candle, a faint breeze, anything he could take and delude himself with that his god gave half a shit about what happened to some piddling little mortals in a burning wreck.

Now, his eyes were bloodshot and glassy as the dead, and he breathed slow and deep. He stared across the chapel, past the human shapes cloaked under straw prayer mats and curtains and blankets pulled up from the undercroft.

The chaos outside had long choked and begun to still, and the barricade was kept sealed tight. A cursory glance through the holes showed that the animal daedra still roamed the streets in great numbers, now settling into picking apart the dead. Soft rains had begun to fall, and it seemed that if there was to be any mercy on this night, it would be a slow death to the fires that still raged across the city.

A teenage girl approached with a loaf of bread. She held it towards Martin silently, brow raised in concern. Martin willed his eyes into focus. He recognized her. This was the daughter of one of the iron smiths in town. Her tusks had grown since Martin had last seen her, and her eyes were tired beyond anything someone that young should ever be.

"I'm not hungry." He said, wincing at the hoarseness of his own voice. "Thank you."

The girl turned away, then started at a small commotion. Something had gotten the people watching the barricade excited.

"What is it?" she called.

"There's someone outside! They're saying the gates are gone!" The guard responded.

The girl perked up and ran towards the entrance, leaving Martin to stare through the space in her wake.

He could only hear brief snatches of the conversation. There was fighting on the streets now, it seemed. The daedra were being faced by armed survivors and the remnants of the town guard. He could now hear it. More clashing outside, the shrieks of the beast daedra and raised voices.

Dawn was approaching, and it was far from over. Morning light had begun to filter through the intricate stained glass, painting the triple-faced images of Akatosh onto the cold stone around him. It made his stomach churn. Martin closed his eyes, though he knew no sleep would come to him. His head was split with pain, and his mind was little but a dull buzz. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. A few of the devout doggedly knelt nearby saying morning prayers, and he made no move to join them. Their desperate calls to the Dragon were little more than indistinct murmurs, muffled by the sounds of distant violence and the soft rain.

[prettypinkguts]

What would it be like if billy lenz and Brahms to scare there S/O so bad they start speaking in there native language?

A/N: aaa! I’m so excited that I got a request for Billy Lenz! I love that attic boy very much! I’m very sorry if he seems out of character though, I tried my best :) and I apologize if this is not exactly what you had in mind! I went a bit off the rails

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Billy Lenz/Brahms Heelshire scaring their s/o into speaking their native language

Billy Lenz 

Your attic was like those in many sorority houses in the neighborhood, tall and almost fully boarded. It was difficult to stand right at the edges where the roof sloped down, but there was still plenty of room for even the tallest adults. But, unlike many other attics, rather than being filled with junk and boxes left to be forgotten, your attic was slept in almost every night. 

It was your little room. A small single bed, looking like a snow drift, so white and feathery and high was it; one window curtained with a square of starched white cotton cloth that drew over the panes by means of a white cord on which it was run at the top; a tiny wash-stand with an old-fashioned bowl and pitcher of green and white stone-ware, and over it an old-fashioned mirror; a small splint-bottomed chair, and a large braided rug of red woolen rags. That was all, except in one corner, where a rocking chair older than yourself rested and was often the spot that your lover would sit and hold you with rough, twitchy hands. 

It hadn’t always been like that though. When you had first moved into the sorority house, the attic with its low beams was made all the smaller by the heaps of dusty "gems." Every one of them had been stored in battered boxes and garbage sacks for later use or enjoyment. In truth it was a graveyard for these treasures, a place for them to quietly die amongst the cobwebs until their sentimental value had depleted. Out of sight was out of mind and the pain of parting with the item postponed. They were left by the old owners according to Barb, never to be retrieved from the mildew and darkness. You were aware of all of this, yet you still scaled the steps up to the attic, determined to clean it of it’s forgotten treasures and take things of interest. And that’s when you first saw him. 

At first, you were sure that you were dreaming. The room was dark, the party downstairs was loud, and every girl in the sorority house had been shaken up by filthy calls that left a disgusted sneer on their faces and a cold chill down their spines. The previous call was still left etched in your mind, Barb’s angry words, Jessica’s look of discomfort and fear, all of it. However, even as you moved boxes and swept away heaps of dust and dirt in your fixer-upper of a bedroom in what little light you had, nothing could distract your mind from the slight feeling of shame that ran down your back like cold water. You hadn’t been as scared as the other girls whenever the phone had rang. You hadn’t leaned away from the phone in an attempt to block out the disgusting words that rumbled through it. In fact, you had leaned in, eager to hear more and to try and piece together exactly who or what the thing on the other end of the line was. 

“Whatever,” you had suddenly huffed, your back letting out a nice and satisfying crack as you stretched and moved one of the last boxes aside, “whatever it is, I’ll never even see it.” However, as soon as the words had left your lips and your eyes had opened in order to survey the last pile of dirt that needed to be swept, something had shifted in the corner of your eye. You lowered your arms slowly, nose scrunching up in distaste at the thought of your new room being infested by something such as a raccoon. “Already?” you had groaned, nostrils flaring with annoyance as you placed your hands on the nearest broom, “I thought I got rid of you damn raccoons for go- ARGH!” 

A scream of shock and terror forced itself from your lips, your own legs flying out from under you almost as fast as curses from your native language left your mouth for there, standing in the corner of your room was a grown man with curly brown hair and brown eyes that seemed to shine in the dark. He tilted his head at your fit of words, eyes seeming to open even wider as if he was the one shocked that you had reacted in such a way, but the moment you had noticed it was the exact moment that the look had gone. “W-what, what the fuck are you doing here?” you had managed to stammer, but your question was only ignored and was instead answered with a familiar voice saying “I didn’t know you could talk like that.” “And what’s that supposed to mean?” “You sound different on the phone.”

It was then that a wave of shame and realization flooded down your back in the form of a shiver, your throat suddenly going dry as you struggled to keep your knees from shaking. The phone, this was the man on the phone, and he was in your room. He was taller than you had imagined, his tall and lanky frame becoming more noticeable in the dark as the minutes passed. His boots were brown and dirty, similar to the way the bottom of his bell-bottoms also had dust and mud caked to the fabric. On his torso he wore a tight black sweater, the dark color of the fabric only seeming to make his bright brown eyes and fluffy brown hair stand out more than they should in the dark. And it was will another shiver of deep shame that you found yourself liking his appearance, even as he suddenly began walking towards you, you found it hard and then almost impossible to look away. Even as he twitched and licked his pink lips in a way that would make anyone want to scream or run, you couldn’t even find yourself wanting to move a single inch as he lowered his hand and roughly brushed his hand over your head, his fingers pulling and twisting at your hair as if he were deciding whether he should play with it softly or rip it from your scalp. You couldn’t decide which. Even his words seemed to be conflicted as he whispered almost frantically to himself, eyes glazed over and excited as words such as pretty, lick, kill, and piggy cunt reached your ears. 

“Are you going to hurt me?” you finally choked out, the party downstairs and everything else seeming to fade away slowly until nothing was left but the sound of your beating heart and the sight of the strange man’s face as he would begin to laugh and twitch in a way that you could only guess was a humored shrug. “M-Maybe not,” he twitched again “I think I like your voice t-too much for that” and it was with that, that a shaky slew of words would leave your lips once more and at the sound of them Billy would begin to smile that crooked smile that you would soon come to love. 

Brahms Heelshire 

The rain had gained the ambient temperature of early fall, freezing and paling your skin through the panes of a closed, large glass window. The view through the glass was muddy water in motion, filling deep puddles in the garden just outside the Heelshire manor. The rain that had been falling on this November night was colder than the rest, but sounded and looked the same as you watched the droplets drip onto the crystal clear glass from the comforts of your bed. 

Your skin was covered in goosebumps, a sigh of relief flooding over you as your hand lifted the soft comforter over the ice cold nape of your neck. This was your first chilling rainstorm at the Heelshire manor, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand the booming thunder and freezing weather. You knew it was better than the sweltering heat of summer, but come on, this? This made it hard to breathe. 

Your eyes were barely open, your heart pounding, and your mind racing although you couldn’t think of an exact reason as to why. Just moments before you had been peacefully asleep, but as soon as the first roll of thunder shook the Heelshire manor you had slowly emerged into consciousness. Not a single one of your thoughts were in high definition, the creaks and groans of the old house making your stomach feel uneasy. 

“Brahms?” you whispered out, hands clutching your sheets tight as another roll of thunder threatened to shake the Heelshire Manor, “Brahms are you there?” Nothing. But the more you contemplated waking him up the more you realized that it was impossible for Brahms wasn’t even in bed with you. It had taken your eyes a few moments to adjust, but once they did the scene became clear. An open bedroom door, a cold space next to you, and blankets that seemed to have been moved hours ago. 

Perhaps he was in his old room, you began to wonder, a shiver running through your body the moment your feet touched the chilled wooden floors. “It wouldn’t have been the first time” you sighed, your bedroom door clicking closed quietly behind you as you made your way through the halls and down one of the many staircases. It was extremely late on this particular night, the hands on the grandfather clock in the hallway pointing towards a shocking number 3. The old floorboards creaked and groaned beneath your weight, an annoyed huff leaving your lips every time a mixture of thunder and lightning caused you to jump like a child still afraid of the dark and what might pop around every corner. 

It wasn’t long until you reached the main hallway, the faint taste of tea and honey already making itself present on your tongue as you walked closer and closer towards the kitchen. However, once you arrived in one of your favorite parts of the home, fingers reaching instinctively for the tea kettle and honey, your movements stopped dead at the sight of the backdoor. It was a beautiful door once you glanced at it, for it was a beautiful clean white color with cute curtains to cover the small window and intricate designs to attract your eyes. It was through this door that Brahms would leave to take walks with you, your encouraging words helping him through his sharp breaths and agoraphobia. It was on this door that Brahms had pressed you up against his body in such a loving way that it made your heart flutter and his lips had pressed against yours in a way that made you lose your breath. It was beside this door that Brahms had insisted your futures children's height measurements would go. Yes, it was a beautiful door, but at this moment on this night there was something terribly wrong with it. It was open, you were alone, and flashes of red and blue shined distantly through the trees. 

“BRAHMS!?” the scream scratches your throat raw as it forces it’s way out of your mouth, eyes wide and full of fear as tears already threatened to spill down your cheeks. Police? Had someone called the police? Had they came in while you slept and taken your lover? Was he dragged out of the house and gasping for air without you? Was he in cuffs? Was he hurt? Was he- “AAA!!” A shrill scream leaves your lips once more at the sound of running and the feeling of a body enveloping yours. However, the moment you turn around to face your assailant is the moment you are met with a mask less and out of breath Brahms. His chest heaved and glistened with sweat, his cardigan was falling off his shoulders, and his eyes were as wide as saucers as they stared at your crying face and the open backdoor. “I didn’t mean to-” but the words wouldn’t matter, for as soon as Brahms had wrapped his arms around you, he could see the anger that flared in your eyes. 

Brahms would flinch like a scolded puppy with every single word that you would throw his way, tears streaming down your cheeks as you held him tight and cursed and screamed at him in a language that only you could understand. “You scared me!” you sobbed over and over again, more words in your native language following suit as Brahms could only kiss your forehead and hold you tighter in an effort to calm you, his own accented words mixing with yours as he explained that he had seen the lights and hid in the wall, how he had merely forgotten to shut the door completely, how he was safe, how he was yours. 

[pinballwitxh]

reach for me - request - spencer reid x oc

@prettyboyspenerrr​

summary: they had done such a good job of hiding what they had, no one on the team had any clue how close they really were.  the team takes on a serious case and spencer is sent into the thick of the fight, along with jj and morgan.  emotions are pushed to the limit and truths are revealed when the lives of the team become threatened.

warnings: violence, cursing, people getting hurt including bby boy Spencer, 

a/n: this request has already been a favorite of mine, I love dramatic and intense scenes!  I hope this doesn’t seem to rushed or anything but I loved writing this and I hope you enjoy!

- - -

Hotch briefed the team gathered behind the S.W.A.T. vehicles, reluctant to say who would be storming the premises.  Strauss had given him strict orders and he knew he needed to follow them, one of the toughest parts of his job.

Her breath hitched in her throat as Spencer’s name was said but instantly she steadied her breathing.  It was almost habit for her to contain these emotions, now.  So far she had gotten so good that none of her teammates expected a thing.  She barely heard Morgan and JJ’s name also being mentioned before they were dismissed to gear up.

Before going into Garcia’s mobile setup she trailed behind Spencer slowly, keeping her head buried in the files in her hands but making sure his figure was in her line of sight.  

She entered the S.W.A.T. vehicle and shut the door behind her quietly, turning to face Spencer after locking it.

“You shouldn’t be in here,”

“I just want to hug you before you go in,” she said quietly.

His gaze on her softened as he turned and shrugged his cardigan off.  She sighed as he shook his head, “We can’t start being risky, now”

She did not head his warning and ran into his unsuspecting arms.  He stumbled back a bit from the force, but eventually he hugged her back just as tight.  For a minute they stood there, tightly pressed against one another and breathing deeply.  It was one of the few spontaneous moments they could enjoy.

“Kick some ass like I know you can, Reid.”

“We’ll be in contact the whole time, I won’t be out of your sight.” he paused, “Not really, anyway.”

She chuckled, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

- - -

Garcia and Prentiss stared at the many screens in front of them as their teammates followed behind the S.W.A.T. team.  Hotch and Rossi were stationed outside with the rest of the local police force, shielded behind the many vehicles with flashing lights.  Gunshots interrupted the silence and rang out from inside the building.

She contained her worried gasp but gripped her pistol even tighter, “They’re gonna have to go in, now,”

Hotch nodded and gave the order to storm the building.  The S.W.A.T. team and BAU members picked up their pace and headed in different directions around the building.  Morgan lead the way into the front entrance, JJ and Spencer taking opposite sides of the building.

He was out of her sight now.

She crouched lower behind the vehicle as Morgan kicked the door down without so much as even a sweat, not surprisingly.  It was silent as he disappeared into the darkness with the S.W.A.T. team trailing behind him.

“I don’t see anything.  Reid, JJ?”

“Nothing from my side,” Spencer responded in her ear.

There was silence as they waited for JJ’s response, but it didn’t come.

Apparently there was some sort of commotion inside and more gunshots were fired.  They could only see the quick flashes of gunfire behind the windows and more screaming from the hostages inside.  She held her position, fighting back the lunges of fear she was feeling.

“I’ve got eyes on him!” JJ finally spoke.

“Do any of you have a good shot?” Hotch asked.

Before there could be any responses more commotion rung out from inside.  The itching in her chest wouldn’t go away and she had a feeling this was far from over.  Every second that passed with no response from her teammates and with each shot fired made her want to scream.

“Shit-” Morgan’s voice cursed over their comms.

“Is that-?”

“Get out!  Spencer!”

She recognized the frantic voice of JJ and looked around the building wildly, searching for any sign of her teammates.  She took a step out from behind the vehicle but was harshly pulled back by Rossi.

“Do not leave your position!”

“We have to go in!” she all but screamed at Hotch.

He glared at her, “Stand down, agent.”

There were more gunshots inside and she fought against Rossi’s hold, “You heard JJ, we can’t leave Spencer to fend for himself!”

Her heart was absolutely pounding and the fear that had taken hold of her was almost unbearable.  She couldn’t control her emotions much longer and she knew that if she had to wait one more minute, it would all be lost.  They had done so well in the shadows of their teammates, it was going so well.  With his life on the line it was testing every inch of self-control she had.

“He isn’t by himself!” Hotch yelled, “Pull yourself together, now!”

“I am not going to sit around and watch him die!” she screamed with tears in her eyes.  

Rossi pulled her tightly to him and she winced at the hold he had on her arms, “That’s enough, you wait here until you’re told otherwise-”

The ground shook before she could feel the heat from the blast.  Rossi was cut off as a resounding boom echoed throughout the vicinity and before they knew it they were thrown back from their cover behind the police cars.  

Car horns and sirens went off and rolled away from the building, glass flew everywhere and there was no time to think.

When she woke up on her side all she could think about was how grateful she was to Rossi for pulling her back.

Her ears rung something awful and it was all she could focus on.  Her vision was hazy and slowly returning, but the waves of nausea rolling throughout her body made her screw her eyes back shut.  

A few feet from her lay Hotch and Rossi, both equally as dazed from the surprise explosion.  This was not something they had profiled from the beginning, they had no clue this unsub was capable of creating mass trauma, let alone wanting it.

Someone rolled her over and she finally opened her eyes back up, it was a medic that she didn’t recognize.  He repeated her name over and over, waving a hand in front of her eyes until she sat up and blinked away her confusion.

“They’re still in there. . .where did that explosion. . .can’t hear anything. . .”

Bits and pieces of Hotch’s worried voice came to her ears and she couldn’t even piece together what had just happened.  She was even having a hard time remembering what they were doing there.  Rossi lifted her up and held her to his side, steadying her swaying body.  Ambulances and medical staff swarmed the area along with the entire fire department.  

Garcia and Prentiss came running to their sides, asking her so many questions that she was nearly reeling at Rossi’s side.  At the mention of Spencer, everything flooded back completely.  Her eyes widened and she shook her head, “I-I don’t know what happened.  I-It just, e-exploded!  Oh, Jesus. . .”

She turned and broke free from Rossi’s hold, despite their protests.  Prentiss followed closely behind her as she retraced Spencer’s steps down the side of the building.  She ignored every word Prentiss was saying, searching for him.

Frantically she began to call out his name with no sense of direction.  She entered the nearly-collapsed building and was met with a tremendous amount of smoke.  Prentiss tugged on her arm but she fought back, continuing down the hall calling out for him.

It was chaos inside, people were screaming and crying out for help but she couldn’t see anyone, she was blind to where they were.  Along the way she lost Prentiss somewhere but she didn’t care as she made her way down every single disheveled hallway.  The explosion had not happened on the main level, thank god, but coming from the second level sure left a lot of damage and injuries, still.

A portion of the floor had completely bottomed out from the force of the blast and that was where she caught a glimpse of a S.W.A.T. member’s vest.  The floor beneath them was not a far fall down and she saw a glimmer of hope when the debris began to move.

Glass and pieces of the floor covered them, rendering them unable to move for the time being.  She leaned down and began to pull the pieces off of them, thankful to hear groans of pain beneath her.

She called out his name one more time before he answered her, “I’m here,” his raspy and barely-there voice replied.

Quickly she moved over to his side and began to pull away every bit of debris that covered him.  His hair was littered with soot and glass, and his face was nearly unrecognizable from the smoke and dust.  

“Reach for me, Spence!”

His shaky hand met hers and she nearly sobbed at the warmth she felt from it.  She smiled to herself and thanked whatever God above there was before she began to pull.  He cried out in pain at the tugging but she insisted that he just needed to push himself up.

“I can’t, it’s too hard-”

“Damnit, Spencer, I am not letting go until I see your entire body now PUSH!” she screamed at him.

With more grunts and groans she managed to pull him out of the debris pile entirely.  He collapsed into her hold barely held onto her.  She tore a piece of her shirt off and covered his mouth and nose with it, “Keep breathing, Spence, I need you to keep breathing until we’re outside.”

She tried to pick him up but he was too tall and heavy, causing them to fall back to the ground in a painful heap.  She cried out for help desperately, coughing as more smoke filled her chest and throat. By the time Hotch and Prentiss found them her throat felt like it was on fire and her breathing was uneven.  

Spencer had passed out in her lap as she held him.

- - -

They took Spencer to the hospital, along with JJ and Morgan in following ambulances.  Hotch helped her into the front seat of his SUV and unbeknownst to her, told the rest of the team to ride separately.  

She was jittery and unable to focus as he started driving.  The worry was evident on her face but it was worry for only one person.

Spencer.

“You need to tell me what’s really going on,” he said as they trailed behind the flashing ambulance.

She shook her head, “What makes you think something is going on?  Jesus, Hotch, we just nearly lost half our team-”

“How long have you and Spencer been seeing each other?”

She glared at him, “What the hell, Hotch?  Why would you even suggest-”

“How long?” he asked again, sternly and with his famous frown.

She rolled her eyes and slunk lower in her seat.  He knew he had her cornered now and he wasn’t going to stop, “We aren’t leaving the vehicle until you tell me.”

“It’s only been seven months.”

“Only seven months?  Do you know how dangerous it is to pursue a workplace relationship with our jobs?” he looked at her, “Why didn’t either of you tell any of us?”

She scoffed, “Because of this!  We were being smart, no one knew about anything, it was safe.”

Hotch was silent for a few more minutes, the sound of the sirens filling the car.  Tears pooled in her eyes as they neared the hospital and she slunk even lower into her seat.  Once they arrived she left the car with no more words to Hotch, sprinting in after the gurneys that carried her friends.

She stood alone at the end of the emergency ward hallway, silently staring through the windows of the doors they had just wheeled Spencer down.  A friendly hand laid on her shoulder and she turned in fright to see Garcia smiling sadly at her.

“He’s gonna be okay, you know?”

She nodded.

“He’s gonna be so happy to see you when he wakes up,”

She smiled, “He’ll be okay,” she repeated to herself.

“I’m happy for you both,”

The techie squeezed her shoulder before she left to join the others in the waiting room.  Tears streamed down her face because then she knew that everyone knew.  

- - -

“You’re waking up, finally,”

Spencer blinked his eyes open, the light making his head hurt when he opened them completely.  Off to the side he could see a familiar figure sitting on the chair next to his bed.  He turned to face her before completely opening his eyes and the relief flooded his entire being.

“You’re okay,” he whispered as she leaned closer to him.

She sobbed as she held his hand, squeezing it so tightly he never thought she would let go.  Her forehead met his and he cried with her, both from relief and sadness.

She kissed his scabbed knuckles, “We’re both okay,”

He reached towards her and wiped the tears from underneath her eyes, “I don’t care if anyone sees us,” he whispered before leaning forward to capture her lips in his own chapped ones.  A small sob came from her throat as his lips claimed hers; any fear she held was now gone.

They pulled away and he was surprised to see she was chuckling to herself.  He stroked her cheek with his thumb, “What’s so funny?”

She leaned back in her chair but still held his hand, “We don’t have to hide anymore,”

His eyes widened, “Oh god, did you tell them?  How did they find out?  How are we going to-”

She silenced his worries with a second kiss that took him by surprise, but felt good anyway.  He sighed and melted back into his pillows as she kissed him deeply and slowly.  She pulled away and ran her fingers through his messy curls, tucking the strands behind his ears.

“It’s okay, Spence,” she smiled, “They’re all happy for us and it’s all okay.”

He shut his eyes and took it all in, humming to himself in thought, “I guess it’s better than keeping secrets.”

She took his hand and squeezed it once more, “It’s about time we told them, anyway.”

“LOVER BOY IS AWAKE!”

Spencer screwed his eyes shut and groaned, “But now I’ll have to deal with this annoying nickname of his. . .”

“Hey, I mean no harm by it because it is about damn time the two of you got together.”

“I agree with that statement,” Prentiss said as she followed behind Morgan into the room.

“Y’all had no idea, so shut up,” she said as she playfully stuck her tongue out to her friends.  Resounding laughter flooded the room and made Spencer smile.  

[cottonwoolsocks]

Nobody Knows You Now (When You're Dying In LA)

AO3 | Masterlist

title from ‘Dying in LA’ by Panic! At The Disco

Summary: He had to prove he was worth their time. He had to prove he was worth something. He had to pay for the love that they gave, atone for their adoration, because if he stopped providing, they would stop giving, and he would be left alone and worthless and unnecessary and he wouldn’t, couldn't, can’t have that.

He had to prove he was worthy.

Word Count: 1644 Genre: angst, canonverse Characters: Roman, others mentioned Relationships: none

Warnings: slight/ambiguous u!Patton and other Sides (excepting Roman)

If I need to tag anything else, let me know!

———

An actor’s most cherished talent is their ability to reinvent themselves, donning any number of masks to hide their true face and instead portray that of another.

Roman was…exceptionally practiced at this particular skill.

From the moment he had first laid foot in the home of the Light Sides, he had been built up, celebrated; honoured as brave, courageous, noble. He stood tall and mighty, aware of his importance, aware of how much they loved him and how utterly indispensable he was—not only to Thomas, but to the other Sides, as well. He was strong, valuable, fearless, and enjoyed living up to these expectations, always meeting or exceeding them and never slowing down, because why should he? He was bold. He was powerful. He was unbreakable.

He was the Good Creativity. He was important. He had work to do, and challenges to face.

Innovation poured from his pen in great torrents, song after video after sketch, building Thomas up, building the others up, encouraging them all to meet and exceed their potential, to always take the extra step, make the extra leap forward to greatness and significance.

Roman became a symbol for more than just Creativity.

Courage. Success. Confidence. All things he now represented, titles to nurture and crowns to bear proudly. He was not ashamed of his achievements. And he was excited, ever so excited for each new day, each new challenge to face, each new obstacle to overcome.

He was the Good Creativity. He was a standard that had to be upheld.

See, the trouble with such an unwavering incline in achievements and innovation is that eventually it must slow down. Humans are, after all, not like machines or characters in a play, and need to take time to breathe, rest, reset. Creativity is not a limitless tap—but it does recharge, with time.

Roman found this incredibly frustrating.

Success, he argued, was not something you could simply wait to acquire. Success required a devoted, steadfast stream of accomplishments, effort, determination—because the moment you let up, the second you break character, those around you will dig their heels into your shoulders in order to elevate themselves. Success is a matter of how far and how fast you are willing to climb, and what you are willing to do to reach it.

Dreams unfold upon the ashes of dreams.

Roman’s work was never done. Script after script. Song after song. He churned out creations, works to display, musings to share with the world. Always improved. Each better than the last. Always refining, never slowing, because if he hesitated for even a second then those in his dust would catch up to him and he would be left behind, not good enough, never good enough.

He had to prove he was better.

What the others thought of his brother was no secret. His brother was Dark, his brother was evil, his brother was not wanted. They had no use or desire for him.

And what made Roman any different?

Your goodness, Patton would say. You create nice things. Remus creates horrible things.

But where, Roman couldn’t help but wonder, was the line? What separated ‘good’ from ‘evil’, ‘light’ from ‘dark’? Surely it was but a matter of preference, of opinion, of what the individual had learned throughout their life to be accepted or admonished?

That was, ultimately, the reason the Split had occurred in the first place.

Creativity had been torn into two entities, Roman and Remus, Remus and Roman, ‘good’ and ‘evil’. 

And evil was not wanted. That much was clear, had been made clear from the very moment Roman had first grappled his way into existence. Evil lost friends. Evil lost acceptance. Evil meant nobody would listen to you, because you only caused hurt, pain, fear. ‘Evil’ was every villain of every show he had ever seen, always the losing side, never the happy ending.

And Roman was not evil. He made sure of that, tried so hard to make sure of that.

After all, could someone truly evil create such beautiful things, such exquisite artwork? And Roman was a prince! Princes were not evil, practically by default—this, of course, the reasoning behind why he had selected this moniker for himself in the first place, and fought so hard to make sure it wasn’t forgotten.

But he was running out of steam.

The quality of his creations was starting to diminish: not as popular, not as pretty, not as original. But he persevered. He had to keep going, because if he stopped, if they didn’t have a use for him anymore, if they saw through the cracks in his mask despite how he tried so hard to conceal them, then they would throw him away like they had done his brother. Like they had done Remus.

Roman did not want to be alone.

He had to prove he was worth their time. He had to prove he was worth something. He had to pay for the love that they gave, atone for their adoration, because if he stopped providing, they would stop giving, and he would be left alone and worthless and unnecessary and he wouldn’t, couldn't, can’t have that.

He had to prove he was worthy.

Minutes turned to hours turned to days spent locked behind his door, heaps of discarded scripts tossed offhandedly into empty space, neatly at first, then merely cast in the general direction of the trash as he clawed urgently for the next idea, the next project, the next success, because this would be the one, this one would prove it to them, this would show he was worth keeping around, indisputably, that he wasn’t evil, that he wasn’t his brother.

The papers piled up, Roman’s notebook overflowing with discarded ideas, and yet Thomas’s remained blank.

Once, Patton found him, head in his hands past four in the morning, torn up pages obscuring his desk and floor and half-full coffee mugs littering worksurfaces. He had been led gently to bed, and the next day Roman did not miss the sympathetic glances the others thought he couldn’t see. He didn’t miss the demeaningly cautious tone to Patton’s voice, Virgil’s uncharacteristic lack of teasing insults, the way Logan didn’t correct him, even when he purposefully misused the word ‘inchoate’ just to get a rise from him.

He had failed them. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be confident, proud, indomitable. Most of all, he was supposed to be creative.

That was his symbol, his mark, his purpose. It had to be upheld. He could not allow it to slip between his fingers, fall and shatter, scatter into a million tiny, irredeemable pieces, each too small to be of any consequence or concern.

He couldn’t allow them to see him stumble, because in a moment he would be gone, cast out, forgotten. Not worthy, not ‘good’, not enough.

He had to be stronger, he had to be unyielding, he had to act the part—and act he would. Acting was one of the few talents he actually possessed, one of the few uses he had, and he would damn well make the most of it.

An emotional mask, to an actor, is elementary. Change your face, portray another, hide your true thoughts and emotions and instead channel those of someone else, someone without the meagre concerns of your own life.

Roman donned his mask—someone proud, someone self-assured, someone powerful and determined and Good.

He would not let the mask break. He would patch the cracks before they showed, with wit and charm, magnificence and splendour. Because if they couldn’t see him beneath the extravagance, if they were unable to peer too hard into the shining brilliance lest they damage their eyes, they’d never even know the cracks were there.

He would be brave. He would be proud. Most of all, he would be ‘Good’.

He was not like his brother. He was not horrible. He was worthy, he was wanted, he was loved, and cherished, and appreciated. He was. Of course he was. 

He had to make it. He had to be good enough. Because if he wasn’t, if he couldn’t do the only thing he’d ever been good at, what use was he to them? What worth did he have?

Without his mask, what else was left?

The mask had become so rudimentary, so ingrained in his flesh that he wasn’t sure he even existed beyond it any more. He had been acting the part for so long, he wasn’t sure he could stop. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

‘Roman’ had become nothing more than a character he portrayed, his greatest and most elaborate creation. And he had been playing this ‘Roman’ for so long, this bold and brave and extravagant prince, he wasn’t sure he remembered who he had been before.

Had he been anyone before?

Or was this all he was? A shell? A vessel through which a character was to be portrayed?

Maybe he was never supposed to change, to question. Maybe he was supposed to just keep creating, keep acting, continue playing the part of this bold, brave prince.

That was his function, after all. His purpose. And as long as he existed in some shape or form, he must continue to uphold it, no matter how much he may wish otherwise. 

As long as he kept creating, as long as he paid for his place, upheld his standard, he couldn’t be forgotten. Couldn’t be overlooked.

These challenges strengthened him, fleshed out his character for a bigger and better and bolder performance. This pain led to amelioration. And if he kept pushing away the negative feelings, no matter how insistently they tried to tear him down, he would be able to soldier forward.

He is an actor, after all. And the show must go on.

[octoberland]

Happy Star Wars Day

It’s a little late, I know, but I’ve had a long day. I wanted to post a little present in honor of May 4th. I’ve been working on a Reylo fic. A serious one. It’s not done yet and I can’t promise when it will be done. I wish I had all kinds of free time right now but I’m one of those anomalous people that’s actually BUSIER now than I was before the pandemic. But I didn’t want to keep sitting on this and given everything that’s going on I thought it would be fun to post some of what I’ve written. 

This one ignores RoS entirely. It’s a direct sequel to TLJ. I don’t usually write science fiction so this is a challenge. Hopefully I can do it justice. I’m not posting this on AO3 yet so this is a Tumblr exclusive.  Please do not post anywhere else and credit if you share. Do we still need to say no copyright infringement intended? I feel like that’s gone out of fashion. 

Anyway, enjoy. Let me know if it’s something you’d want to read more of. I can promise you this, Ben won’t die.

Untitled Reylo fic

She found him on N'Adoon. It was a planet deep in the Outer Rim, as unforgiving as it was beautiful. Its climate was one of extremes. Freezing nights led to sweltering days. Torrential downpours would come only after months of drought. The winds could lift a Bantha clear off the ground, if one were unfortunate enough to find itself there. Little grew here, and even less survived.

Like the chaos of its climate, its politics were also often at odds. Decades ago, the Empire had tried to claim it as part of their plan to herd the Rebellion inward and away from the Unknown Regions. But they learned quickly that the elements were too harsh, even for them. So they left, and N'Adoon became nothing more than an entry in a log about an inhospitable and uninhabitable planet not worth the efforts of the Empire.

Since that time others had tried to claim it as their own. Explorers, slavers, even one creature who fancied itself the Maker. All perished; either by nature or by the hand of another. Ruled by none, it had become home to criminals and smugglers on both sides of the war. Spies, assassins, traitors, all found themselves here at some point. None stayed for long. None wanted to.  

She would have missed him, if not for their bond. It pulled at her and she followed it the way she used to follow tracks in the sand on Jakku. He was good at trying to hide. He would pluck her strings this way and that, sending her on wild chases through the galaxy. But she was better. She'd accepted that this would be a long game and that acceptance gave her clarity. So, when that pulse inside of her said to head away from the Rim she ignored it and went deeper in. He was throwing stones, she had realized. Misdirecting her. And she was done falling for it.

The rains had come by the time she arrived. She'd missed the Great Rise that accompanied them though she'd heard tell of it. Whole settlements would detach from the ground and float upon the water. They would stay like that, adrift, through all the weeks of flooding, until the droughts once again brought them to their dusty roots.

She knew she wouldn’t find him in the townships. He would not be among people, sharing drinks and meals and gambling for trade. He would be alone somewhere, because that was who he was. Or at least, who he believed himself to be. Instead, she searched the mountains. It was treacherous, tedious work. The rains soaked her to her bones and more than once she had skidded down the side of a slippery outcropping. Her body became bruised and battered and she questioned why she was even trying at all. But then, she would rest, and echoes of their bond would slip along her skin while she slept. Sometimes, she would dream. She would wake screaming, determination born anew.

Weeks passed and his silence spoke volumes. She was close. She knew it.

She found that, after the rains had ended, there was a brief and beautiful moment of bounty on this strange planet. Life sprang forth, green and vibrant and it perfumed the air around her. She felt it when she sat in stillness and closed her eyes. She felt tendrils reaching up from deep within the earth. She sensed the unfurling of tiny leaves on trees in a valley below. She could feel the patter of little feet, many of them, climbing out of burrows high in the mountains. It created a rhythm in her mind, a sort of tumbling thicket of sound not unlike the lapping of waves back on Ahch-To.

Scritch, woosh, thump, scritch, woosh, thump, thump, thump…

Rey's eyes opened. The sound remained though she felt it more than heard it. She stood, and nearly stumbled as she did so. She looked around, eyes wide and searching. She gathered her things quickly and scaled the next ridge clumsily. Her feet slipped in her haste and the misstep sent stones clattering down the side of the mountain. When she finally managed to right herself and clear the top her breath caught in her throat.

He was there. Tall and lean and worn. His dark hair was nearly double in length and stubble shadowed his jaw.

"You shouldn't have come," he said.

He turned from her and walked away, a small creature dangling limply from one of his large hands.

Rey followed, her steps quick and her mind churning. She’d expected a fight, maybe even a New Order hidden in these mountains. But not this. Not this disheveled man living on scraps of meat.

They approached a small campsite nestled against the remnants of a ship. Not his, she noted. Something old and rusted and nearly embedded in the side of an outcropping. Kylo sat on a cushion she assumed he’d pulled from the wreckage and began to dress his meager kill.

Anger brewed in Rey. She’d come all this way. Left her friends behind. And for what? For this broken man living like a hermit? Her saber sparked to life.

“Get up,” she said.

Kylo glanced at her and the corners of his mouth ticked up.

“You haven’t changed,” he said. He continued to skin his dinner, hands bloody and calloused.

“I’m taking you back.” Rey put one foot forward, readying herself in her fighting stance. “You need to pay for what you did.” she continued.

Kylo let out a deep sigh. He tossed the small animal to the ground and stood to his full height.

“Look around,” he said. His arms spread wide displaying his surroundings. “I am paying.”

“You know what I mean.” Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

“Rey.” Kylo took a step towards her and she parried back on instinct.

Kylo retreated. “I’m not going to fight you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He picked up his meal, brushed it off, and headed inside the broken down ship he called home.

***

Elsewhere in the galaxy….

The child picked through heaps of garbage. Their feet were dirty and their stomach grumbled. Momma was hungry too, they knew. And sometimes scraps could be found here, deep beneath the waste of the warmongers. Meal packets, ready to eat, unable to be scented by the mongrels that roamed these hills.

The sky above was gray and the air smelled metallic. They would have to head back soon. A storm was coming. They kicked at some scrap metal and a Lir rat burst from underneath and ran. The child knew that was a sign. Where there were rats, there was food. They dug at the pile of debris, tossing aside tubing, circuitry, and even part of what looked to have been a droid. Underneath, there was some netting, possibly from a camp.

The child pulled back the netting to reveal a door, dented and open just enough for them to slip through. They ignited the small light stick they carried with them and squeezed inside.

It was a ship, buried nose first in the earth, its front windows smashed and dirt filling the cavernous space. They could just make out what looked like one armored leg sticking out from the debris. Long dead consoles lined one wall, their indicator lights dark and silent.

The child felt wonder. They’d never been in a ship before. Only seen them in the sky above. They immediately approached the console and began to hit buttons, imitating the sounds they thought they would make.

Beep, boop, beep...

Whoosh.

A door slid open and a body tumbled out, startling the child. It looked like one of the white warriors except its armor was different, darker and shinier. The child knew it was dead. They had seen enough dead bodies in their short life to know. In the distance thunder rumbled. They didn’t have much time.

The child stepped over the armored corpse and deeper into the lifeless ship. Matte paneling lined the walls. They observed a smashed console next to the door, presumably the one that controlled it. There was evidence of laser blasts too, as though someone had desperately tried to escape this corridor.

The air here was stale and everything was pin drop quiet. Dust motes danced in the light from their stick. Further back there were more bodies, one piled on top of the other. The child could make out a stretch of skin beneath one askew helmet. It looked shriveled and withered and made the child shudder.

The child felt a sudden and overwhelming need to be with their mother. They turned, ready to go home and spend another night hungry.

It was then that another door opened, just to the left of the child.

Inside was a single object perched on a pedestal. A mask. And it seemed to the child that all of their prayers had been answered. For surely something deserving of a pedestal must be worth quite a lot.

Their family would not go hungry after all.

***

Back on N’Adoon

Rey was dreaming. In her dream she was walking. She didn’t recognize the planet she was on. It was devoid of life as far as she could see. She reached out with the Force, searching for something, anything, but all she felt in return was a vast nothingness.

The atmosphere glowed red, blocking any view of the stars above that might have told her where she was. This was worse than Jakku, she thought. Here she felt cut off entirely, her Force sensitivity useless amidst all this decay.

She walked on. She walked through canyons and up hillsides. Red, dry earth cracked beneath her feet with each step she took. There were no forests like on Takodana. No settlements like on Jakku. No oceans like on Ahch-To. There was no evidence that life had ever existed here at all.

Rey was thirsty. The dry air made her throat burn. Her skin itched and she scratched mindlessly at her arm. She paused her fruitless wandering and reached for her canteen, looking down to unscrew the cap.

She gasped and dropped the canteen.

She held her hands out before her, disbelieving of what she was seeing.

Withered skin, shriveling as she watched, wrinkled and gray. And then pain. Pain like she’d never felt, as though her very life were draining from her body. She began to unravel her arm wraps to see how far it spread.

That’s when she began to scream.

***

“Rey. Rey!”

Kylo was holding her by her arms and shaking her.

“Get off me!” She scurried back against the ship’s hull in the little corner she’d claimed. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep but she’d been so bone tired from her journey.

Kylo released her but he hovered near her, watching her intently.

“I’m okay,” she muttered, straightening herself.

“You didn’t sound okay.”

He looked at her with such genuine concern that Rey flushed.

“You smell,” she said, distracting herself.

One corner of his mouth ticked upward, an almost smile. He stood.

“So do you.” He turned and retreated to his corner of the ship.

Rey’s brow furrowed. “I do not.” Her voice was indignant but when he turned she lifted her shirt and inhaled.

“What you were dreaming?” he asked as he settled back into his corner of the ship.

Rey didn’t look at him. She reached for her canteen and then recoiled, the memory of what she’d dreamt snapping her back. She sighed and looked towards the door. It was still dark out, but only just.

“Don’t you know?” Her face hardened as she recalled when they’d first met, the way he’d reached into her mind seeking out information.

“No,” he replied, barely a whisper.

Rey stole a glance. He was sitting, eyes cast down, shame etched across his grimy face.

Rey’s frustration bubbled up and she stood. “I don’t believe you!” she shouted. “I don’t believe this act! You’re up to something. You’re always up to something.”

She strode towards him, determined.

“What is it?” she demanded. “What are you planning?” She reached for her saber but Kylo pulled her down and stayed her hand.

“You want to know?” he asked. “You really want to know?” Kylo took a deep breath. 

“I’ll show you.”

[starculler]

Whumptober 2019, no.9 - Shackled

Talon stalked the cave. Slow, even, silent steps that dragged him through half-remembered passageways, huge carved out caverns filled to bursting with decaying mementos. His eyes trailed the trinkets and toys: a rusted robotic dinosaur, a corroded penny nearly as tall as the space it was kept in, molded playing cards with a faded jester’s face printed on them. He lingered at the car, black faded into a dull gray with age, damaged and dismantled. Discarded in pieces as if someone had intended to go back and fix it one day. He brushed his fingers along the hood, left open a crack to allow dust to collect inside it.

He tilted his head first one way and then the other, trying to picture the person who’d once worked on it. Perhaps some small bird clad in red, scowling, with with their tools spread around them on the ground. Oil smudged their nose and there was humor, perhaps, but not from the bird sat on the cave’s heated floor. Talon frowned and retracted his gloved hand. The blurry-faced bird faded with the loss of contact, and he moved on.

The entrance to the main cavern was lined with glass displays full of costumes, and here, too, he chose to linger. He pictured lights framing them from below, and plaques not faded and fallen off at their bases. The costumes in the primes, neat and reverently arranged behind unbroken glass. A snarling white-streaked head, smelling of leather and gunpowder and anger as they stared at one in particular. The first of many. Talon continued on, hands smudging the dust and grime on each case except one left empty and abandoned. Its black and blue remains lay shredded on the ground among the case’s shattered glass.

Lights flickered and died as he trailed into the main room, but his eyes didn’t need it. He wondered if his eyes had ever needed the light to see, but the thought was gone before he could think on it for long. His attention was drawn, instead, to the mess he’d been sorting through for however long he’d been coming here. He blinked, head tipping to the side as he surveyed his progress.

Gym equipment had been sorted to one far corner, mats and weapons piled against one wall until he could bother to find where they’d once been stored. Gadgets and similar devices had been relegated to a long table nearer the center which he’d had to right from where it had been left turned over. The chair in front of a large computer had been fixed after a long while of meticulous fiddling before he’d found how it was meant to be fit together. The computer itself was a lost cause, an adult sized hole in its screen and its interior torn to shreds.

He had spent a long time imagining the people who had mingled there, among the clutter. Girls in blacks. In purples. With fiery hair and working legs. A boy who smelled of exhaustion and coffee and the bitter tang of loneliness. Another in yellow and so painfully bright. A man of shadows and misery who’s face had, perhaps, once been nothing but kind. He’d wondered, briefly, if they would have startled at the sight of him. The thought had been quickly discarded － there was no use entertaining the reactions of blurry-edged phantoms who had perhaps never lived outside of the fantasies he sometimes invented. The Court would have punished him for it. He kept imagining anyways.

Talon turned from those “finished” sections of the cave to a spot near the long, narrow, stone steps. An old elevator set into the wall had captured his recent attention, but he’d done little more to it than pry its sliding door open. The tall, rectangular lift inside had been cleared of dust and he’d done his best to affix the metal banister along its walls back into place. He didn’t have to work hard to picture the well-dressed, elderly man who’d once ridden inside it. The body had been old an decayed, crumpled in a heap with its chest marred by gruesome gauges, and its legs splayed out so its foot kept the elevator’s door from fully closing. Its shotgun had fallen scant inches from its fingertips, perhaps knocked away when its assailant had gone for its heart.

It had been strange to find the cave’s only definitive inhabitant. Bodies and dried blood and wide, endlessly staring eyes had never bothered him before. Any discomfort of them, if such a thing had ever existed within him to begin with, had been stripped from him in the maze. But that old, frail, decaying corpse had pulled at something inside of him. His chest had seemed to flutter for a moment in some fit of compassion or perhaps pity. He wasn’t sure, but he’d had plenty of time to read from the library’s-worth of books rotting away in the half-fallen manor upstairs.

He’d carried the body carefully in his arms, picked it and its gun up on a whim, and carried it out to the manor’s overgrown yard in the early night. He’d dug it a grave, prying the dirt loose with his fingers until only his head had been visible from the body-sized hole. The body had been laid into it with care, gun cradled to its chest as if meant to keep it safe from any intruder who’d dare to dig it up, and then covered. By the time he’d finished, dawn had broken over the horizon and Talon had retreated back down to the cave in silence.

The elevator felt empty without its corpse. Incomplete. Even the living phantom image he conjured up in his mind fell flat to the physical body he’d buried, but he refused to dig it up even if the solitude chaffed. After all, he was Talon. Last of his kind after setting fire to the chambers where his brothers and sisters had lain in their icy coffins. Last of a city reclaimed by nature in the absence of its people. Shackled to a cave and a manor and a corpse in its grave for no discernible reason except an order given to the Talon before him as he’d slowly frozen over in his own place of rest until its malfunction had freed him some indeterminate amount of time later.

Talon stepped inside the elevator’s lift, silent and stone-faced, to fiddle with the ruined panel to the left of its open doorway. He replaced what buttons he could, intact ones pilfered from the wrecked city not more than a few miles from the manor, and lamented how he’d never know if these, like the city’s elevators, would chime if he pressed them.

[galionne-vibin]

With my Guidance - Chapter 1: First Companions

Title: With my Guidance

Main Characters: Rodan, King Ghidorah

Summary: There were many things Rodan never expected to happen. Learning that Ghidorah had in fact survived his battle against Godzilla was one. Finding out he had done so by reverting to a hatchling was another. Becoming an impromptu mentor for said hatchling was a third. And yet, all it took was a single night for all three scenarios to become reality.

Read on AO3 or below

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So here’s the first chapter to my first ever Godzilla fic! It’s super cheesy with next to no drama, but I hope it’s still enjoyable!

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It was a cool, cloudless night over Boston. The city ruins still stood tall, somehow, gutted skyscrapers threatening to topple over at the slightest push. It had been a few weeks since the grand battle between the king of monsters and his three-headed rival had taken place, annihilating the entire city. No human had yet dared to return to the devastated area due to the radioactive fallout. There wasn’t a single living being for miles around.

… That was, except for the colossal bird-like creature rummaging through the debris.

The winged titan was letting out low, gentle caws as it pushed aside broken wooden beams, singed cement chunks and shards of glass with its beak.

Rodan didn’t know precisely what had drawn him back to these cursed battlegrounds. After everything that had taken place there ; after everything he had been through in just a few days ; it seemed more likely he would simply disappear into another volcano and hibernate for a century or two. And, truth be told, that was his original plan. Once Godzilla had dismissed the assembly of titans, Rodan had flown away and made himself a new nest in Fiji’s Mount Taveuni volcano as Isla de Mara was now a dying wasteland. The inhabitants had watched, in slight anguish and awe, as the Fire Demon built itself a new refuge on their land. Once the work was done Rodan had plunged right into the bubbling pool of magma and let the heat take away the many aches and pains crippling his exhausted body. Ghidorah had left many deep scars on him ; burns from his gravity beam, slashes and scratches from his claws, bite marks… But the wound that kept burning and aching no matter what Rodan did was the stab wound he had received from Mothra’s stinger.

Oh, he deserved it. He knew he did.

Part of him was still having a hard time believing he had actually fought with the queen ; that he had attacked her… He had joined Ghidorah willingly, that was a fact. It was his and every other titan’s role to obey the alpha. At the time he thought he would just remain on standby and wait for Godzilla’s inevitable return ; that he’d wait it out and not cause more trouble. But there was something… Something instinctive that made him act out under Ghidorah’s command. Suddenly every order the new king gave was his personal mission to accomplish. It sent his mind into an unmanageable frenzy, his body bubbling with excitement, adrenaline and a desire to strike. It would have been easy to dismiss his loss of control as being born from his fear of Ghidorah, or maybe even the new Alpha’s powerful, dominant aura taking him over. But Rodan knew he couldn’t pin everything on the three-headed monster. It wasn’t that easy. He’d let himself go as well… He’d let himself go when he should have fought back. Had he tried, he might have been able to resist his influence. Instead he let go and allowed his newfound lust to kill to take him over.

Yeah… He deserved to be stabbed. He just hoped the Queen would be able to forgive him.

Rodan felt a sudden twinge in his gut and moved to another pile of rubble.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt something like that- in fact these odd twinges had been occurring for a few days now and were part of what had made him leave his volcano. He had tried to ignore them at first, thinking they might just be stemming from his wounds and general malaise. But they had continued, accompanied by a growing feeling of urgency ; and became so strong he ended up leaving the comfort of his nest to go wherever his gut feeling would take him. This was how, after a few hours, he ended up landing back in Boston. He couldn’t help the dreadful feeling creeping in the back of him mind. Something felt… Wrong about the situation, but he couldn’t stop himself from digging. It was as though he knew he was about to uncover something terrible ; but something that needed to be uncovered nonetheless…

He took a step back and scratched at the scorched debris with his talons, removing another layer of dirt. He dipped his head again and pushed more rubble to the side, unearthing a heavy slab of concrete which haphazardly rested over two crushed vehicles. The twinge in his gut suddenly grew so strong it was almost nauseating ; and the sense of urgency that had been gnawing at his mind rushed back to him, hitting him with full force to the point where he was almost lightheaded.

 Right there.

Rodan found himself trembling with anticipation as he lowered his head, pressing his horns against the cold concrete and pushing with all his strength. The metal scratched and screeched under the moving weight, sending sparks flying everywhere. Rodan groaned and huffed, taking a step back before headbutting the slab one last time, toppling it over. A thick cloud of dust and ashes rose from the ground, masking the area and making the titan cough and retch loudly, shaking his head vigorously. After a few minutes however the cloud finally settled, and suddenly he saw it.

A minuscule, trembling heap of golden scales ; covered in a grimy layer of soil and soot.

“No…”

Hesitantly, the pterosaur brushed the tip of his beak over the scales, waiting for a reaction. Almost immediately the small creature shifted and let out a soft whimper, opening its wings and uncovering its body- as well as all three of its little heads.

“Ghidorah-?!”

Rodan stumbled back with a strangled cry of surprise. For a moment he wondered if maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him ; if maybe he was hallucinating… But no. No matter how much he shook his head or blinked, the minuscule hydra was still there. Clear as day. The pterosaur took a moment to compose himself before leaning closer to inspect it. The three heads, the golden scales, the two tails… There was no doubt about it ; this truly was Ghidorah… Even the scent was the same- albeit not as overpowering. Rodan sat down as he kept staring at it, still in disbelief.

Granted, Ghidorah surviving the assault wasn’t a complete impossibility. Most titans were not only incredibly resilient, they also had astonishing regeneration capabilities which usually tied into whichever energy or element gave them their life force. In Godzilla’s case it was radioactivity, in Rodan’s it was fire and heat. Should they be mortally wounded, being bathed in these elements would bring them enough energy to repair their bodies. There had in fact been a few times before where Rodan had returned from the brink of death by simply diving into an active volcano or lying down in the middle of a forest fire and absorbing the flames. Mothra herself had an even more complex ability the volcanic kaiju still didn’t fully understand. All he knew was that it involved her reverting to her larval stage one way or another after ‘death’ and going through the whole maturation process again. In a way, something not too dissimilar from what he had here…

The question now, though, was what was he supposed to do?

What was he supposed to do?! This was Ghidorah ; Godzilla’s lifelong rival and the titan who had attempted to destroy the entire planet- and now he was back. He couldn’t just leave him there! His first thought was to simply call over the king to let him deal with the situation. After all, this was his job ; he could take care of it. But then again…

Rodan looked down at the hatchling. It was chirping and squeaking softly, curling its wings back around itself as it shivered in the cooling air. It was tiny ; barely over 3 feet long without the tails and didn’t yet seem able to hold either of its heads off of the ground. Its eyes seemed to remain closed as well. And it looked so weak and fragile… Just a snap of the larger titan’s beak and he could crush all of its little bones-

Rodan winced and shook his head as he felt a sudden wave of unease wash over him. The image that had flashed through his mind was… Distressing, to say the least. He wasn’t sure why however- he’d had no qualms about killing smaller creatures (such as humans) before. But this tiny hatchling felt different… Watching it squirm on the ground and struggle to keep warm brought forth a new assortment of emotions the Fire Demon had never experienced before. He knew this was Ghidorah ; The Destroyer of Worlds ; yet he somehow couldn’t bring himself to harm the tiny hydra…

As he pondered about the situation he began unconsciously stepping away from the hatchling, mumbling to himself. But just as he got a few feet away, he suddenly felt a twinge in his gut again. This time however it was also accompanied by a soft sound and as he turned around, he saw the hydra was chirping in his direction and seemed to be looking for him. The winged kaiju blinked a few times, before hesitantly approaching the hatchling.

“Did you just… Call out to me?”

The small hydra didn’t answer as it was probably too young to even understand the titans’ spoken language, but Rodan had little doubt that’s exactly what had happened- and suddenly it all clicked. The twinges, the urgency to fly back here… The little one had been calling out to him through the hivemind titans all shared ; and somehow Rodan had heard it from the other side of the world. And not only that, but it had called him specifically… Rodan, the lonely king on a lonely mountain…

He opened a wing and delicately set it over the small kaiju, blanketing him comfortably against the cool nocturnal breeze. The three heads cooed softly as they blindly nuzzled closer to each other and the sight brought a comforting feeling to the pterosaur as he looked down at them. The hatchling had called out to him specifically… Because he was Ghidorah’s only companion. Rodan closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. He still remembered the extra-terrestrial kaiju telling him about his plight- being born on a dying planet with no choice but to flee ; never finding a world that wouldn’t attempt to kill or enslave him… Hope to find a new home turned into fear. Fear turned into despair. Despair turned into anger. Anger turned into overflowing, destructive rage…

Destructive rage turned into a vital need to annihilate.

It still surprised Rodan how easily the false king had trusted him with this tale. Maybe it was because he was about to burn down the planet anyway. Maybe it was to get things off his chest. Maybe it was to sway his new servant even further to his side with a sob story. Or maybe he knew they both led lonely existences ; and maybe (just maybe) he trusted Rodan just enough to understand… To be his second in command and first companion in destruction…

It was a tempting thought ; believing someone would put this much trust in him after all these years of solitude. As the last of his species and the lowest step in the titan hierarchy (even more so now), fighting by Ghidorah’s side had been an incredibly invigorating experience. It made him feel in control, powerful ; like he did matter at least a little bit on this vast, ever-changing planet.

All this because for just a moment, he wasn’t alone in the world anymore…

Because Ghidorah was there.

Rodan sighed deeply as he stood up. He’d made his decision. It was certainly one he was going to regret sooner or later… But for now, at least, it was clear what he had to do.

He looked over to the hatchling and saw it was fast asleep. With as much caution as he could he leaned back on one foot and slowly, delicately closed the talons of his other foot around it before gently lifting it off the ground. He made sure it was safely nestled in before taking off, keeping that leg closer to his body to keep it warm.

It was going to be a long flight home…

[oneofyatosfollowers]

One Of A Kind Chapter 2

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191861/chapters/47843311

FF: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13360973/1/One-of-a-Kind

Yato's alarm went off the next morning, slowly pulling him out of a deep sleep. The noise was less urgent then the warning from last night's dust storm, but bounced around his skull none the less. He heaved himself off the mattress with a groan, his limbs and eye lids heavy. As he woke up, so did his systems, the screens blinking to life along side his vision. The first message saying his charge was low and would need to be replenished soon, while the other gave him the usual schedule of clean-up.

Getting up to a low battery was like waking up sore with a hangover. No wonder he turned in early. Yato groaned and stubbled towards the door. Pawing at the wall to get his oxygen-mask and ascot off the hook. He put both on, looking down to see he slept in his boots again. He debated putting on another pair but decided to wear these ones out completely.

The brown-tinted sunlight blared down strong this morning. Yato unzipped the top of his brown wearalls, tying the sleeves around his waist. Along the underside of his forearm, flat green panels were where the soft skin should be. Embedded there was a flexible solar panel, the easiest way to charge his battery. Yato laid back down on the top of semi-trailer, belly down with his arms at his side, and let the sun light soak into his systems. Due to smog-covered sun, this way of charging took half the day. But it was necessary, where as eating and drinking was not. It also lasted much longer than any food had previously done.

Yato opened his eyes at the sound of the battery being full. He stood and zipped back up his uniform. Nodding to Nora who had crawled her way up, he climbed back down the ladder and grabbed his cooler after locking his compactor to his back. When he stepped on Nora as he made his way down the ramp, he quickly got on his knees to apologize. The cockroach buzzed at him in irritation before making her way up his leg and on his shoulder. Yato nodded at her, then set off to work, his compactor still clasped on his back.

The hours ticked on as usual. The cubes of trash forming a large square base as Yato's cooler filled with the treasures he found. He made his way to the next pile, tossing aside a fire extinguisher- having already learned his lesson- and found an old refrigerator. This was tricky, he would have to remove everything then bring the large object to the dump to have it compresses by a much larger machine.

When the door wouldn't open, he pointed his right finger at it, signaling the laser to shoot. He started at the top and slowly made his way to the bottom, allowing the door to split down the middle and fall apart. What was behind the door had him pause.

"Nora...What is?" Yato's voice was nothing but a whisper. He gazed at the anomaly that shown a bright green. Stark against the dark brown waist land. 'Prunus Serrulata- Japanese Cherry Blossom' his main frame supplied. After a moment he thought on how to best take it back with him. The instructions on how to properly relocate a plant showed up, he read them while Nora jumped down to take a closer look. After some shifting through the trash, the plant was carefully placed in a short glass bottle, then put safely in the cooler. Reading the rest of the information his drive provided, Yato decided it would be best to return the plant to his house.

The trip back went by quick. Yato tried to search his own memories, from before his Father modified him to be a Wall-E. He couldn't remember plants, not even in his earliest memories. He remembered the fake leaves kept on the main table. But the plastic look-alikes where dull and rough in comparison to what Yato carried. He rubbed the leaves and had his scanner check again and again, his data coming back assuring him of the object was in fact a living organism. An extinct one at that.

Once Yato placed the plant safely on it's own shelf, he made his way back out the door. Another bright color caught his eye. Yato had just opened the door to his home when the red dot appeared. Nothing flickered into his view to give him any help to the second oddity of the day. It was a big red dot. A light the size of his palm. He slowly picked up his foot, eyes going wide for a moment before he slammed it on the door. His head whipped to the side as the dot darted out of the way just in time. After a pause it took off down the path, stopping a couple meters.

At this, Yato moved much slower. Placing the cooler down, he sneaked down the ramp, keeping his hand in front of him. When he was close, he moved slower, eyes fixated, and reached for it. When he did, the light shook. Circling Yato in a sort of dance, who danced with it in order to keep his gaze focused.

Suddenly, Yato was running. Taking off after the light that rocketed across the land. It's been a while since he's ran, but he wasn't wiped of such an instinctive human ability. It took a second for his tech system to kick into high activity mode. After a few meters, Yato was bounding over trash heaps and vaulting over fences. It helped he knew every inch of this city down to the last newspaper.

When it stopped again he was over what was once the ocean, now solid pollution. Yato let out a puff of satisfaction, its been a while since his lungs and heart had to work so hard. He looked around to see where the dot brought him, only to notice more of them coming down in a line. The red came down the city and the dunes and Yato realized he was surrounded. Good thing his mainframe was still buzzing because Yato turned tail and ran to the nearest, largest pile of trash.

He threw his body behind it, his systems blaring in his skull, pounding against his heart and breaths. The ground began to shake and the wind picked up. Yato dug his hands into the trash heap to hang on as the whole world seemed to shake. He faintly recognized the sounds of a space ship engine, but was too busy hanging on for dear life to get excited.

After a while, it quieted down, not nearly as silent as before but Yato was already starting to forget what that was like. Machines and engines began to hiss as the orbital maneuvering engines whined and slowed down. The atmosphere immediately cooled again, but the air smelled burnt.

Yato peeked around the corner, hand ready on his compactor in case he had to start swinging. A new, rounded tower stood tall, silhouetted against the sunlight. The bottom of the ship hissed open and a white cloud fell out of it like a water fall. Blue light streamed out of it, scanning the surrounding area. Yato crept out of his hiding spot when the light disappeared. He subconsiously fixed his hair, tried to rub any dirt off his face, then patted down his uniform.

Yato slowly made his way closer, stopping again when a large tube came down from a crane. It was placed not two inches off the ground. More mechanic arms came from the ship, one opening the locks along the side, the other typing in a code on the keypads at the top. Yato decided these machines weren't sentient and made his way behind a closer-much smaller-pile.

Whatever the machine typed in had the entire pod glowing a bright blue. The front was a glass case, one that had the shadowed shillohette of a person. At this, Yato nearly leaped out of his skin. His human half was almost thrilled to tears. It had been so, so long since he'd seen anything that even resembled a human. Just when he was starting to think this planet had been long since left behind. On the other hand, his mainframe panicked. The other Wall-Es were all dead, and he wasn't nearly done with the work he was supposed to do. What's worse is that he was sitting doing nothing in the presence of someone who was defiantly above him, instead of doing said job.

Yato's thoughts were silenced as the glass door of the pod slid open and the creature- who he assumed was a human- sat up and slid out. It stood in a white skin-tight suit with little glowing buttons along the hip and light up blue lines that stretched thoughout. Tyed to the tail bone was what looked like a small hand gun, long and futuristic without any sort of handle. The human reached up at the helmet it wore and clicked the buttons. The helmet seemed to disappear into thin air and long brown hair fell out. Yato gasped in awe at this, the hair flowing beautifully as the human looked around at it's surroundings.

The human waved at the pod, allowing it to shut before walking a few steps to the left. One hand on the side of their head- the white parts of the helmet that covered where the ears should be, still visible- and allowed the other side to scan the ground, just as the ship had done. After a second, something on the human buzzed, and it walked a few more paces before scanning again. It continued this process even as the ship began to fold back into itself. Yato ducked as the engines turned on, eyes not leaving the new guest.

The Earth rumbled and heat waves pushed past Yato with great force. But his eyes were able to keep open, even under such conditions, so he braced himself and watched over the human. The ship took off, the charred ground where it once stood the only evidence of it being there. That and the new two-legged organism walking around.

By now, the human had turned so Yato could get a good look at- oh. It was a human. Not just any human. A female. Yato figured he should had guessed, what with the nicely kept long hair she had, but then he reminded himself of the few men that kept their long hair in ponytails. But, her face look soft too. The skin was smooth and unshaven, her cheeks rounded along with her jaw. She had a delicate swan neck, delicate collar bones, and yep. Defiantly female.

Yato finally remembered how to close his mouth and his systems flashed a quick reminder he would need to breathe soon. So he did, watching the girl as she continued scanning. Maybe she was a cyborg like him? His systems hadn't picked up another signal, but it hadn't mentioned the ship either. Maybe they were both too advanced?

The human stopped, and so did Yato. She turned to watch the ship leave the atmosphere, now just a ball of light. She didn't show any emotion. Yato hoped she wasn't sad. As much as he was happy to finally have company, he knew what it felt like to be left behind. Yato took a breath, ready to go introduce himself and tell her it wasn't so bad here. Until she suddenly let out a yell.

Yato fell back behind the pile, freaked, before he realized the cry was one of joy.

"Oh my..." Yato's voice was caught in his throat when the woman's boots opened up two motors on the bottom and she took off in the air. She spun around, letting out a type of feminine laughter similar to the last sound Yato heard from another person. Yato 'Ooo'd and 'aw'ed as the girl flew around, kicking up dust, and dancing on telephone wires like gravity had no hold on her.

Yato worried about her flying off, somewhere he couldn't find or reach. But she stayed within sight, breaking the sound barrier now and again. After her laughter died down, she skidded into a landing right back where she started. Her hair was barely disheveled and her suit didn't have a speck of dirt on it.

As she caught her breath, Yato made his way toward her. He thought about how best to indroduce himself, how best to explain the mess and the lack of superiors, and maybe how best to invite her over for dinner. Once he was a meter away from her back side, he took in a breath through his mask.

"Hello-AH!" Yato threw his body to the side, his back hitting the dirt hard. Past him, the ground ruptured and exploded, dust billowing up. Yato still felt the heat of the blast long his chest, her calm focused face playing on repeat in his head. Yato realized he made a grave error: he hadn't even considered this person could be an enemy.

When the smoke cleared Yato sat in the fetal position with his compactor held out in front. Even the heavy iron and steel squares that blocked his head would be no match for whatever just fired at him from close range.

The girl made a string of noises. Firm and controlled, at normal volume.

Yato peaked around his compactor to see she still had the gun pointed at him. From this close he could see her eyes were brown.

She made the sounds again. Yato realized she was trying to speak to him in a language he- or his systems- didn't understand. There was so much to say, but he addressed the first issue.

"Don't shoot me. I'm not dangerous." Yato mimicked her tone, if not a little more passive.

He watched her eyes flicker to the down slightly to the right and knew she was reading something. She pressed her lips together, looking between him and her info, unsure.

"You-" she took a breath. "You speak the old dialect?"

Yato figured the question was rhetorical, noting that she still pointed the gun at him. He pointed his gaze at the gun then returned it to her with a hard, pleading, expression.

The young woman looked at him just as hard before pointing her gun to the floor. Yato noticed it encased her hand, stopping just above the wrist.

"You are not human." She spoke again while looking off to the right again, her voice choppy and unsure.

Yato shook his head, slowly putting down his compactor but not letting go. Yato may be a Wall-E, but there had been more than a fair share of fights. He swung this thing around day in and day out, his enhanced bone structure able to carry it like a baseball bat. He could also tell that she was new, or at least never pointed that at a sentient being before. Yato was confident he could defend himself.

"No. Are you?" He held his gaze. And his breath. Wanting desperately to know the answer. Her eyes finally left his and widened at something just below his chin.

"You're a Wall-E." she spoke in awe, and continued to look him up and down. "But I thought they were-" she shut her mouth and look at him again when he spoke.

"What? You don't have Wall-Es?" Yato forced a joking smile, but the words came out more nervous than he indended. The young woman let the gun fall to her side.

"No." she informed him, almost sad.

Yato immediately felt bad for upsetting her, even if he didn't know what he did.

"That-That's okay! What about you? Are you human or a hybrid, like me?"

"That's classified." she looked stern again, but a forced practiced stern.

"Well that's rude," Yato huffed.

"Sorry. That classified, Yato."

Yato perked up at the unfamiliar sound of his name. His smile returned when she put her gun away and he scrabbled to his feet. His name sparking the energy he had during her arrival.

"What's your name?" he asked excitedly, stepping close to her.

She stepped back with a funny look, "S-Sorry, but that's classified too."

Yato suddenly remember a joke his father often told.

"Nice to meetcha 'That's Classified Too'! Welcome to Earth!" Yato did a bow and flayed out an arm to gesture to the garbage land that surrounded them.

"There's lots of things here I think you'll like! And I'll be happy to show you!" Yato took walked towards her again, frowning when she backpedaled.

"Th-That's okay! I'm on a mission, so I'll have to pass." Her boots clicked on again. "It was- uh- nice meeting you!" she waved a bit awkwardly and took off again, this time toward the city, out of sight.

Yato stood and stared after her. His heart felt odd in his chest. Like it was telling him to follow her and never let her out of his sight. A high pitched chirp brought his attention away from the sky, to the ground behind him.

"Nora! Did you hear that! She said it was nice to meet me! And those boots! Did you see she could fly? Oh, wasn't she amazing Nora?"

Nora shook her body at the volume he shouted, instead crawling up his legs to his shoulder. She squeaked again.

"If you wanted to go home you should have went on without me. You're just using me as a ride 'cause you're lazy."

Nora hissed at him as Yato put the compactor back in it's holder. The smile still planted on his face. His cheeks were hurting, not being used to the activity, and he knew the future was going to be much more fun.

After Yato brought Nora back home, he tidied the pace up as best he could. Then he washed his hair and clothes with a leaf blower. And finally, soaking both in fancy-looking cologne he found. It was the middle of the night when Yato found her in the city. She had ended up in an old mattress store asleep in her pod, but this time with a blanket.

Quietly sitting in the parking lot outside, his gaze was zoomed in as far as it could go. His night-vision gave him high definition as he scanned the length of her body. He concluded some things. One, she was human, or at least a lot less cyborg-y than he was if she required sleep. Two, her knowledge about this world was basic at best. Other than her shock at his existence, she seemed to have an idea of what things were. It was like she had only seen things in pictures or read about them in books. Three, she was not here for a long time.

Next to this pretty human, the space ship also set aside a small crate. And if this person needed sleep, it was safe to assume she needed substance as well. Something that the crate most likely provided. If that were the case, the amount of food that thing could hold- even dried- was three months tops. Yato had hooked up the city's security system to his TV and his mainframe, it alerted him of any movement. He watched her take a meal out before finding a place to sleep.

Yato saw her sigh and roll over, pink lips parted, her breath fogging the invisible helmet. The Wall-E sighed longingly as she drooled, it's only been a couple hours but he couldn't remember life without her. Yato wouldn't let her leave. He couldn't. There was no way Yato could go back to that loneliness.