#So follow me here. Hes saying to bren that none or some or all of these things can happen and hes comfortable and accepting of that.

[oodlesodoodles]

[themerriweathermage]

When Fates Align

Summary: Bren and Nix take some time to get to know the ins and outs of their new barony. In the quest to clean out the old hideouts and build a more reliable map, they come across some unusual belongings that seem too good to be true, and Bren comes face to face with his past when the path takes him back to where he was held captive... (Part 1/2)

POV: 1st and 3rd Person

Co-creator: @my-fandom-musings

Warnings: PTSD, Flashbacks, Mention of Death

Divider Credit: firefly-graphics

I was surprised that none of the other barons came gunning for us those first few days getting acquainted with Jacobee's territory, our territory. It was almost unbearably quiet, and then those who had fled in the wake of Jacobee’s capture seemed to resurface overnight. In one day, plus Minerva lending us some help, we managed to at least get the mansion in a state of repair, livable and secure enough for us to survive.

I had always dreamed of something like this, but not running a territory, not running a barony. Perhaps it had been a foolish decision, but it was my decision nonetheless. A hand touched against my elbow lightly, bringing me from the reverie, and I looked to find one of Jacobee’s loyal few, Dominique, standing beside me at the gates, horses’ reins in hand.

“Baron.” It didn’t matter that I had tried to save Jacobee. What mattered to them was that I’d killed the one who had succeeded him, the one who had killed him. What mattered to them was the possession of the signet ring, the balls to claim it from Quinn. I couldn’t begin to tell them how much I hated it. I hoisted myself to the back of the horse, taking the reins and following him out into the wilds.

It made me uncomfortable to do this. I was never one to keep a good poker face but I’m sure my brow was furrowed and my face contorted into something like a scowl. Part of our move to reclaim the barony was to suss out all the hideouts and see if they could be used for anything else. I knew that eventually we would come across the one that I had been held captive in, and that thought made my stomach turn. I would have to come face to face with my sins one day; I just didn’t expect it to be so soon. There was a nudge at my leg and I glanced over to see Nix at my side.

“Are you alright?” I realized that I had been zoned out again.

“Well, I...” It was stupid to wish that Quinn and Sunny were here with us. Much as I could use the reassurance of Quinn at my back, I didn’t want him to see this as weakness either, and I knew a man like him would. “Well let’s just say that I’m not looking forward to this.” Dominique glanced back sharply.

“Baron?” He was one of the few that had explicitly been made aware of the situation, which was why now he did not often leave my side. Even if I didn’t see him, he was usually there. “If it bothers you...”

“It needs to be done.” I replied. “We’ve waited long enough. It isn’t going to fix itself.”

“As you command, Baron.”

Most of the hideouts were empty. But one could tell that it had either sheltered nomads or runaway cogs in the recent past. Either way, it was getting marked on a map along with whatever resources that could be salvaged from it. There were more pronounced roads in this barony than I remember but I suppose transporting precious metals would do that. The search continued for days, until we were tired of riding horseback and making camp in these abandoned hideouts. I knew enough to know that we were starting to approach the western borders, surroundings vaguely familiar. What wasn’t familiar was the stretch of mountains in front of us.

“Where was I being held, Dominique?” I asked.

“Reports say that Jacobee’s secondary headquarters were stationed in this mountain chain. According to Sunny and Quinn and uh, the Baroness, you were being held at a rail station on the Northwestern side of the mountains. And trekked your way into the Widow’s territory shortly after.”

“How did we get here this fast?” I wondered aloud. Dominique’s brow furrowed. “I don’t remember walking this far.”

“You can ride the border line a lot faster.”

“I don’t remember being on horseback. I don’t remember much of anything.” His eyes flicked to the side. 

“Jacobee was a known field medic. He may have had no other choice but to drug you.” The words sent a chill down my spine. It was true enough. I knew my mind would block things out that were severely detrimental to me. But everyone who had been involved in that ordeal was dead now. I had no way to confirm such things.

“We don’t have to do this.” Nix pressed into my side. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“No, I don’t.” I murmured quietly. “But I’m going to. Take us in, Dominique.”

“Yes, Baron.” We followed in the wake of him and the other Clippers, entering into the underground cavern. It was like... if one could describe it, was everything one could imagine the great halls of Erebor to be, albeit a little bit dusty in some parts, but tunnels wide enough to run horses through, minecarts abandoned and filled with precious metals and gems, great forges that had lain cold for a long time.

“Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To find our long forgotten gold.”

For a moment, I could imagine that this was another world. That we had been taken somewhere that wasn’t the Badlands. That we were with the company entering Erebor for the first time. Hopefully ,we wouldn’t find a dragon here among everything else. Dominique twisted in the saddle to look at me behind him.

“The pines were roaring on the height,

The winds were moaning in the night.

The fire was red, it flaming spread;

The trees like torches blazed with light.”

I realized that Nix had joined in beside me, our voices mingling and reverberating off the walls of the mountain cavern. 

“We have no tactical advantage with you doing that.” Dominique whispered. I ignored them for now, continuing to hum under my breath. He must have gotten the gist that I was on edge because he didn’t press it again, simply signaling his men ahead through the tunnels. Much as I didn’t want to be in here, I knew eventually that we would have to stop and rest for the night, and I wanted to condition myself out of being hyper alert down here when there was no clear end in sight. The last thing I wanted to have was a panic attack.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. “You need to eat. Keep your strength, Baron.” Dominique murmured. 

“I’m not hungry. There’s no use eating it just to see it again after a couple hours. I’m sure you or your men would be better suited to--”

“I’ll hold on to your ration then, in case you get hungry later.” He murmured, hand on my shoulder. The chances of that were slim to none, but I wasn’t going to argue with him either, following him to mount up and hopefully finish this journey of following the rail out. Instead we were rewarded with the tunnel opening up to what could have been the engine shed, if one could ignore the fact that it looked more like an airplane hangar than an actual engine shed. If it hadn’t been for the rail running through it, I would have said otherwise. Still it was nice to have a breath of fresh air, and the Clippers were beginning to dismount and have a look around. In the midst of the mountains was this little dollop of paradise surrounding this building that led farther into the mountains.

“We camp here before we go further!” Dominique called out, giving the horses a chance to rest that wasn’t in a cramped space. I couldn’t blame them. It had been starting to feel quite claustrophobic in those tunnels. Something called to me out here. Maybe it was panic, knowing we were headed in the direction where I’d woken up a captive. Maybe not.

“You look green.” Dominique crouched to my side. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

“I...” I started quietly. “I would rather be sitting in Quinn’s office having him yell at me than be out here.” Dominique chuckled softly for a moment before he realized that I wasn’t joking.

“I don’t think I’d go up against Baron Quinn, knowing his temper.”

“I would rather.” I grumbled quietly, pulling my knees to my chest.

“Do you want to go exploring and get your mind off... everything?” Nix poked her head into the tent, offering me a hand.

“Sounds like a plan.” I took her hand, pulling myself to my feet. If I sat there any longer thinking about everything that had happened, I was going to work myself into a full blown panic attack. Days like this, I wished that we weren’t an entire barony away, or I would have holed myself up inside Waldo’s cabin by now.

“Seven Hells,” Nix looked up at the giant building. “If I didn’t know any better, I would swear it was an airplane hanger.”

Bren looked shocked. “Yeah, I don’t remember seeing anything like this on the show. I don’t remember being in any place like this.”

“What the hell was Jacobee using it for?”

“Guess there’s one way to find out.”

“Yup. Let’s see what’s behind door number one.”

Bren and Nix each grabbed a large door and began to pull. Dust flew out of the opening and a coughing fit ensued. Once everything settled down, it was easier to see inside. There were a couple of boxes scattered around. But towards the back, covered in a large tarp, was a hulking mass that was hard to make out.

“I have no idea what’s under that tarp, but the way it’s draped it almost looks like a giant French croissant.”

Bren laughed at Nix’s description. She wasn’t wrong, but now he couldn’t get the image of a giant pastry out of his head. She walked forward and then suddenly flew face first into the ground. Nix managed to use her hands to break her fall, but that didn’t stop Bren from running over. 

“Nix, are you ok?”

“Yeah, I just tripped. Though, I could have sworn that damn box wasn’t there a minute ago.”

Bren looked over and sure enough, there was a small box that he swore wasn’t there before. He reached for the offending item and opened it up.

“So? What came for my life so sneakily?”

“Uh, books? But not ones I recognize. One says A Storm of Swords?”

Nix blinked. “I’m sorry, what?!”

She scrambled over on her hands and feet over to the box and ripped it open. She pulled out the book Bren mentioned and another. “Holy shit. A Dance of Dragons. A Clash of Kings. A Feast for Crows. I can’t believe it!”

“What is it?”

Nix pulled out the last book and turned it to face Bren. A Game of Thrones. “It’s A Song of Ice and Fire. Or rather, the books that were out when we went through the portal. Makes sense the last two aren’t here.”

“It does?”

“Martin only wrote pieces of Winds of Winter and A Dream of Spring was still just ideas. Hence why the last couple of seasons of Game of Thrones were lackluster at best amongst the book fans. What the hell are these doing here?”

“Beats me. Do you think….?”

Nix instantly caught on and ran off to the large form. “That maybe we got gifts from our world? Hard to say. But can you imagine having a plane in the Badlands? Or a tank. Or whatever is under this?”

But something at the base of the massive form caught Nix’s attention. Bren noticed it was a short sword, sheathed, with a golden handle. Nix looked absolutely transfixed by it.

“Nix? What is it? Is it a sword?”

She pressed her lips together before turning to face Bren. “It’s more complicated than that. I think…I think we’re getting gifts from other worlds. Not just ours.”

Bren furrowed his brows and came closer. “Why do you think that?”

“This sword…it’s not one from our world or the Badlands. The hilt - the parts not gold - are black. That’s dragon bone. Which means the blade…” Nix unsheathed the sword, “Is Valyrian steel.”

“Which is….?”

“Remember how I told you about the Ice Zombies from the books/shows that were impossible to kill without a special sword? Yeah, this is one of those swords. Valyrian steel - also known as Dragon Steel - is a special material in Westeros and Essos. When the Doom of Valyria happened, the ability to make this metal went with it. It’s lighter than steel but far stronger. Some think dragon glass and dragon fire were used to make it.”

“Dragon glass?”

“Obsydian.”

Bren blinked. “Are you saying?”

“Yes, Martin took a real world material and gave it magical properties. This sword is known as Dark Sister if my memory serves correctly.”

“Odd that you would be granted such a specific item.”

Nix’s eyes were focused on the blade, speaking to herself. “Queen Rhaenys wielded Dark Sister while riding atop…”

Bren watched as Nix gasped so hard she almost dropped the sword. “What?!”

“Queen Rhaenys wielded Dark Sister while she rode atop Meraxes!”

Bren’s jaw dropped. “The same Meraxes…”

“Yes! The same Meraxes I put in Timeless Warrior!” 

Nix raced the rest of the way to the large form, grabbed the tarp, and tugged. The cloth dropped to reveal a large, mechanical dragon curled into a ball as if it was sleeping. With a black suit hanging off one of the horns on its head.

“Mother of Dragons,” Nix muttered to herself. “I will take what is mine. With Fire and Blood.”

“What?” Bren looked at Nix.

“Fire and Blood. They are the Targaryen words. Each house has them. But that whole sentence was something Daenerys said when someone tried to push her down. Keep her down.”

In the meantime of Nix celebrating the find of Meraxes, I found myself staring into the foreboding abyss of the continuing tunnel. For whatever reason, fate or fear, I found myself drawn more and more to it.

“Bren?” Nix’s voice was faint now, question in her voice. I didn’t immediately reply, making my way further into the tunnel until I came up against something rather unyielding.

“Baron?” Yes, I’m sure that these tunnels could be unsafe, home to wildlife or something much worse, but I had collided with something metal. Given a few minutes more, Dominique was sprinting down the tunnel with a lantern in hand. “Baron!” 

“I’m fine.” I replied, taking a step up now that light was spearing down the tunnel, keeping a hand out on this large metallic object. A smear of red paint beneath a thick coating of soot caught my attention and I didn’t care about dirtying my sleeve as I wiped through it, revealing a gold emblazoned number on the side: six one one. “You’ve got to be kidding me?!”

“What is it?” Dominique asked. Nix wasn’t far behind him.

“Bren?”

“The 611.” I murmured. “It’s the 611.”

“I don’t follow.” Dominique replied. 

“She’s a steam locomotive, a train.” I started.

“Um...”

“Guess that explains how Jacobee transported his gold.” Nix murmured.

“I mean you no offense, Baroness, but it’s my understanding that you and your Baron are the first ones to be out here in a while. This is unknown territory, even to us.” Dominique replied. “It’s possible that Baron Gideon, Jacobee’s father, operated more out of this than he did out of what you considered to be the heart of the barony. The estate grounds were Jacobee’s, even before he became baron at his father’s passing.

“She shouldn’t have been used to transport freight.” I muttered under my breath, taking the lantern from Dominique and following the rail. Guess it made sense now why the tunnels were two rails wide.

“Oh now, look what you’ve done.” Nix chuckled.

“What? She’s not a freighter!” I hollered back down. She wasn’t wrong though. These were freighter cars, loaded with gold and other precious metals, uncut gems and crystals. Jesus. It surprised me that more barons hadn’t contested Quinn’s hand for control of the barony but then again, maybe none of them really wanted to deal with this. I’m not even sure that I wanted to deal with it.

“So what’s in there?”

“A metric ton of gold and other valuable metals, gems and crystals, and only the gods know what else.” I replied, looking down to Nix. “Seriously, she’s not a freighter.”

“I believe you.”

“I’ve heard stories about machines like these.” Dominique murmured. “What do you mean, she’s not a freighter? I thought that was the job for machines like this.”

“I mean sure, she can haul freight. But she’s not built to haul freight.” I took a seat at the top of the mine car. “She’s a high speed passenger locomotive. Well, high speed as in as fast as steam locomotives can get.” I replied.

“Are there faster than uh... steam locomotives?” Nix snorted. “What?”

“It... yeah. Bullet trains. High speed rail.”

“How fast does this one go?” Dominique asked. 

“Its cruising speed matches that of a Thoroughbred. However, max speed was clocked at three, nearly four times that of the average horse.”

“Gods.” Dominique muttered.

“And high speed rail is approximately ten times as fast as an average horse.”

“Which clocks it at?” Nix asked.

“310 miles per hour, if I remember my math right.” 

“This could change things for the Badlands, if we were able to get her up and running again.” She started. 

“There’s some logistics to it, yes. Checking and rebuilding rails in some places, I’m sure. She’ll have to be towed out of here with the draft horses and it’s a long haul to the other side.”

Dominique sighed quietly. “I’ll make a note of it. We’re letting the horses get some rest before we go further, but I’m sure we could...” I waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be going further on foot. If we come across another train, we may as well be blocked in when it comes to the horses.” Dominique nodded.

“Take your ration at least.” He shoved the packet of dried meat in my direction before heading out in the other direction.

“Coming with me?” I asked Nix quietly.

“Sure as hell not letting you go alone.” She replied. I hopped down from the car, heading down the line. There was nothing but cars and cars and cars filled to the brim with glittering metals and gems and of course coal. 

“Mm.” I grunted quietly.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Coal should be at the other end, to be honest with you. They might have known what they were doing, enlisting a train to haul their metals but they sure as hell didn’t know how to take care of her. My only question is... how did she end up here?”

“Do you think she’s a gift from our world?” Nix asked.

“At least you know how to work Meraxes. But the 611? She’ll need a team to get her up and running and then she’ll need a team to keep her running. Sure, she might change travel in the Badlands, but there is no just *she runs*. And honestly as many cars as I’ve counted, it’s no wonder she’s not running. Well, I don’t know. I would hope not. I would hope to get something that I can actually use.” I replied.

There was light now, spearing at us from the end of the tunnel. We took the first few steps out and into the station and I was immediately catapulted into memory. 

All I could think about was surviving, about running and getting free, and that didn’t help when there was still a Clipper on my tail. I scrambled down the rail, taking my few seconds head start to hoist myself up onto the concrete platform when a blade buried itself in my leg. I twisted myself, free foot catching just under the chin of the Clipper, kicking him off me and into the wall behind him, an immediate blood spatter beneath the both of us as I managed to pull myself to my feet, sprinting down the hallway. It could have only been a few minutes more before I slowed to a stop because pain was beginning to cloud my senses, and I realized that I was no longer being followed.

“Bren! Brenior!” Nix’s hands on my shoulders pulled me to a stop, and I realized that I had actually been running, that I’d actually hoisted myself up to the platform of the station and booked it down the hallway. I took in a shuddering breath, sagging against the wall and pulling my knees to my chest. “We should have never come--”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She slowed to a stop.

“No. You, you didn’t hurt me. But you--”

“I remember... things.” I replied softly, hand resting on a copper stain that had sunk into the concrete beneath me.

“Baron! Baroness!” Dominique’s voice called down the line. I made my way to my feet, stopping short on the platform and surveying down the rest of the line. The bodies had been picked clean, I assumed by wildlife and by nomads, since only the bones remained. A faint scent of death still lingered. “Are you alright?” He took in my harried appearance. “Baron?”

“Can you bury them?” I asked softly.

“We can, Baron.”

“Will you bury them?” I asked again.

“If that is what my baron commands.” Dominique replied. I traveled the length of the rail slowly. Most of the fight that had happened was still blurred in my mind, but the scar on my leg, the memories that came attached to this place were more than proof that it had actually happened. Traveling down the line-- stepping over bones and blood smears-- brought back things that I didn’t want to remember. It surprised me, honestly, that I had survived it at all, outnumbered and outgunned.

The railway led into the engine shed. Had I been of a clearer mind when I was captured, I might have recognized it as anything but a warehouse. In all honesty, if one could ignore the set of rails that crossed it through, it could have been one. I knelt down to the ground, fingers grazing across the gleaming white of bone. 

“Are you okay?” Nix asked softly. I shook my head. That was a moot question, it seemed like. It couldn’t have been anyone else. I knew it was Ryder. 

“This one too, Baron?” Dominique asked, the others filtering in and out behind him, cleaning up the area.

“No.” I murmured lowly. He has a mother who I know will want to mourn him, and it is the least I can do to bring her son home so that she can bury him at her discretion. “He is coming home with us.” Nix raised an eyebrow slightly in my direction and then realized by the ashen expression on my face why I would take him back with us. Dominique barked out an order for a rudimentary box to be made before directing his attention to the skeleton in the doorway.

“And this one?” I stood, swaying on my feet, making my way to where he still stood.

“Did she have a family?” I asked quietly.

“Pardon me?” Dominique asked.

“Zypher. Did she have family?”

“Not that I’m aware of, Baron. She would have said that her Clippers were her family, as much as any Regent should.”

“Then her final resting place is to be decided by her fellow Clippers.”

“No offense to you, Baron, but we don’t want anything to do with her.” Dominique replied. “I’ll have her bones buried with the other traitors.”

“As is your prerogative.” He nodded curtly to me, having the bones removed. That left one. I stepped inside the small room, no doubt some sort of mechanical storage now that I could look at it with a clearer head, and my gaze shifted down.

For a moment, I lost myself again, lost myself in trying to bind his wound together, hands stained crimson in blood. His touch on my hands, to stop me from wasting the time when we both knew it wouldn’t save him. The strength that had faded from his fingers as his chest has risen and fallen once more, never to rise again. I knew he had saved my life. My only regret was that I couldn’t save his.

“Bren.” Nix’s voice cut through my memory again. I realized that I’d been sitting on the little cot for a lot longer than I had been thinking and that Dominique had his hands on my shoulders.

“We need to get you out of here.” Dominique murmured. “This is taking a toll on you. I’ll bury this one and then we can--”

“No.” I started quietly. “You said Baron Gideon was his father and that Jacobee inherited the barony when he passed. Does he have a grave somewhere?”

“In the City of the Dead. The graveyard between Quinn’s territory and ours.”

“Please.” I murmured. “He doesn’t deserve to be buried alone and forgotten, or beside the people who got him killed.”

“I...” Dominique sighed softly. “I’ll have another box made, okay? We can take him home and put him to rest beside his father. Alright?” I nodded and Dominique made his way from the room.

“I didn’t realize... You don’t talk about it.” Nix murmured lowly.

“I try not to remember it.” I said flatly. “I dream about it more nights than not.” 

“Jesus, Bren. You know you can come to me. You know that, right?”

“I know. I just...” I shook my head. “I feel bad for leaving you in Quinn’s territory that night. I mean, you had to go on the run. I can’t imagine... and I don’t want to put anything else on you. I got us into this mess, you know?”

Nix sighed heavily, pulling me into a hug. “You don’t have to face this alone, you know. We’re all the family we have in the Badlands. And as mad as I was about being left alone in Quinn’s territory, that doesn’t mean you can’t come to me.” I let myself be hugged, let myself be loved, resting my head against her shoulder. I was tired; this trip was more than physically draining. Long hours on horseback had tweaked against the scar on my leg and I wanted for nothing more than to be home and in my own bed.

I let go after a moment, watching Dominique lay the bones carefully into the box, packing them away among the other valuables we had found and could transport. “Can you stand to make camp here tonight, or should we move on?” He asked quietly.

Nix pulled back to look at me. “We could even take Meraxes out of here.”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

She sighed, “That would entirely depend on the tunnels. But it could be done.”

I shook my head. “It’s probably better if we don’t use her for that just yet.”

“The offer is there if this gets to be too much.” It was already too much. But I wasn’t going to tell her that either. Besides there was no way that we could fit Meraxes through the tunnels with the 611 sitting in them. 

“We should head back to the hangar and make our camp there in the valley.” Dominique nodded curtly to me, corralling the Clippers back in the direction we’d come.

“Is there no need to go further out this way?” Nix asked. I shrugged.

“It leads to the river. To the edge of our territory with Baron Rojas and Minerva.” I murmured, stopping for a moment at the edge of the room. I wish I could have seen it in its heyday, but the reality was that it was likely this place would always hold dark memories for me and that I’d never be able to enjoy it in the way that I wanted to. I sighed softly, making my way down the rail again, keeping my hand out to trace my way down the line of mine cars, stopping when we had made our way to the engine again.

“Bren?”

“Sorry, I’ve always wanted to sit in one.” I murmured, hoisting myself up to the cab. Oh, the time had gone where I had known how to run one, my own knowledge lost, but surely someone in the Badlands knew how to fix her up and run her. I took a moment more to lean back, imagining the freedom of running down the rails, steam billowing behind her. But when I opened my eyes again, we were still in the tunnels and she was still quiet and cold. One day, I thought, one day she would have her freedom again. I turned to leave as I could hear Dominique query down the line for me again, when a box sitting on the second seat caught my attention. It wouldn’t have either, if it didn’t look brand new, not covered in soot and ash and coal dust, red cedar glimmering under the low light that speckled in from the end of the tunnel.

I followed the others out, back into the hangar and to the camp that had been made beyond it. I sank into the comfort of my tent, examining the box carefully. “What did you find?” Nix asked.

“I’m not sure. I had a box like this back in our world. Red cedar. A graduation gift.” I murmured quietly. “But that one had a key and uh...” My thoughts trailed off as I opened the box, revealing a simple book, Edible Wild Plants. Trust the fates above all else to give me something useful. “Huh. And a tiny ceramic elephant.” I murmured quietly, handling it carefully, knowing how fragile it was.

“Something legitimately from our world?” Nix asked.

“Yes, something that belonged to me.” It sent a tingle through me just holding it. “I remember that I named it Marco.” The more I talked about it, the more I told its story, the more it seemed to crumble in my hands until it was gone, like chaff on the wind. 

“Why would you get it... only to lose it?” Nix asked quietly. “Seems cruel.” I shrugged. If nothing but to see it and hold it for one last time... rather than being ripped away from it and everything else like what had happened when we’d fallen through that portal. If it existed for nothing more than to give me closure of what had happened, then I would take it. “Is there anything else in the box?”

I looked down, examining the box carefully, my fingers closing around the dark stone. I held it up in the fading light. It called to me. It called to me more than anything else had. This was the reason I had gone searching down that dark tunnel. Obsidian, the protective stone. Not a weapon or a machine, but just something to remind me who I was in my heart. Regardless of what happened to me, to us, or what the future would bring, I would still stand to my last breath and protect the people around me.

I closed my hand around it, holding it close, and it was gone. I knew it was gone. Whatever those items had been-- magic or something else-- they had at least existed to give me closure, to give me some peace about living in the Badlands.

“It’s gone, isn’t it? I don’t understand.”

“If nothing else, it gives me some peace about moving forward in the Badlands.” I murmured. “At the very least, the book is helpful.”

“It doesn’t make sense that I would get Meraxes and the Dark Sister and you get virtually nothing.” Nix murmured.

“I guess we’ll just have to see.” I replied, taking the book and thumbing through it. Still in perfect condition. Well, I suppose that it would get its wear in in this world more than in my last one.

“Baron.” Dominique poked his head in the tent. “Dinner.” There was a no-nonsense tone to his voice, the kind that someone would get, I suppose, after watching someone not eat all day. I set the book among my belongings, following him out to where half of the patrol was already gathered around the warmth of a fire in the dying sunlight, the sparks flickering into the rapidly approaching night sky. “You need to keep your strength. Take my ration.”

“Dominique, I appreciate your concern but--”

“Baron, please.” 

“I’ll be real with you. I doubt I would be able to stomach two rations. There’s no sense in having my best Clipper down for the count too. Keep it.” I replied, pushing the ration back in his direction, taking a seat amidst the others, opening my own packet of dried meat and drifting into my own headspace as I watched the night fall on the area. So much had changed. So much was changing even now...

[unicyclehippo]

You ever think about how Caduceus is probably gonna outlive and bury all the nein.

there is a garden far to the north of the empire ringed by three stone-and-iron-and-thorn walls. the gateways stand open and from deep within the garden there is the ever present bloom of flowers. it is hot here. it has been snowing for weeks but the garden air is humid and sweat immediately begins to prickle beneath cloth, beneath armour. buzzing insects drone on about insect business, the wind talks through the leaves and the grass. when the trees of the garden give way, the complex opens into hillocks and divots where swamps have crept in and claimed a place. ponds of murky water skinned over by immense lily-pads. croaking frogs hold parliament at their edges.

though it takes a while for a humanoid voice to come through, there is one here.

he is seated on a log beside a rather complex looking set-up—a crackling fire beneath it and boasting a squat little teapot above. a curtain of pink hair falls to one side of his head, laced back by a simple braid embedded with flowers. the braid must have been done for him for the firbolg is very old; his eyes, when he blinks them curiously toward the singing birds above, are clouded over with age and his fingers shake as he reaches for the pot to pour another cup.

his name is caduceus clay and he tells this easily to the young adventurer who steps into the garden. they have done their research, what they could, and they know who is buried here.

‘their graves,’ he repeats when the adventurer asks to see them. ‘you want to see them?’

‘yes, please.’

he scratches at the long goatee that curls down from his chin. ‘for a monk of the cobalt soul, i suppose i could do that.’ his laughter is rich and warm, surprised out of him when the monk blinks. ‘you did a very good job hiding it,’ he nods. ‘never was sure why you all like to do that, but you do.’ he shrugs. heaves up onto his feet. towering at a full seven feet, perhaps taller, there is a moment when he is silhouetted by the cloud-dimmed sun and shadows fall across an angular face and he is not jovial or warm but imposing indeed. and then the moment passes and he gestures toward the pot steeping above his contraption. ‘tea? this is from the—‘ nostrils flare in his broad nose. ‘eresovon family.’

‘ah. thank you, yes.’

the grin he gives them is not comforting, but it is amused. ‘dead people tea,’ he says.

the monk shivers, very aware that for a moment they were surrounded. not by ghosts, not exactly.

‘well alright then, follow me.’

//

‘you’ve read all about them, i suppose.’

the monk—a half-elf who introduces themself as archivist kosh—nods eagerly. ‘yessir! everything that is available from the archives regarding their travels after the alliance and as much as i could gather from before their emergence as heroes. there is very little indeed from before the slaying of the laughing hand,’

‘ah, yeah. him. he was not very nice,’ caduceus nods.

kosh pales, seeming to remember that this man indeed was a part of this same group they have studied for so long. ‘right. no. servant of the crawling king. not nice. i shall...make a note, shall i?’

‘seemed pretty obvious to me but sure, yeah.’

caduceus doesn’t lead them far before they reach a well. he stands hunched beside it and doesn’t speak. kosh blinks. searches for a sign of what they are doing here. they shift their weight from their heels to the balls of their toes, bounce a few times to bleed off the restless energy.

‘this is where we put fjord. he made it himself.’ caduceus steps around, waving kosh to follow, and shows them the sword embedded into the stone.

embedded isn’t the right word. the stone has grown around it—creeping vines of granite holding the sword to the side of the well. kosh reaches out before pulling their hand back.

‘go ahead,’ the gardener rumbles. ‘everyone always wants to tug on it.’ he waits a moment, head tilted to the side, and then laughs quietly.

kosh wonders if they should write in their report that the gardener has a rather juvenile sense of humour. it is something they can decide on later; first, they want to try and pull the sword from the stone, as it were.

the handle is terribly cold, at first, enough to make them want to snatch their hand away. they don’t. instead, they hold tighter and lift and to their great surprise, the sword grates against stone for a moment before sticking again.

‘hmm,’ the gardener says. ‘interesting.’

‘is it?’

‘possibly. not sure.’

‘oh.’

//

fjord spent many years building wells, caduceus tells them as they wander the garden. partly because of his connection to water, definitely, but there was something comforting to building that he always enjoyed. maybe the fact that he would have people join him and learn how to do it themselves, how to make the repairs, how to drop a new well if this one ran dry. he liked people. was always good at taking a piece of them with him, in a voice or a gesture or a story. rather poetic then that so many people got to keep something of him.

miss jester lavorre, the sapphire, kosh has written in their notes. not far from fjord, there is a peculiar archway that always seems to be facing kosh no matter where they walk, overrun by tiny blue flowers that smell sugar-sweet, and the path—a short path, only a few feet long—is a shifting, shining mosaic of blue and green, pink and gold. she made it herself. started the day fjord passed. caduceus stares down at the path for a long, long time. breaks out of his quiet only when kosh’s curiousity lures them closer to the arch.

‘i don’t know where that will take you,’ he warns. ‘maybe to the other side.’

‘of...life?’

‘of the arch.’

‘oh.’

‘or death. or the fey. or the centre of a volcano.’ he shrugs. ‘who knows? nott is over here.’

veth brenatto is buried beneath wildflowers. hers is a simple grave, with a maker not unlike many kosh has walked past before. the flowers are simple too, common as weeds. caduceus offers no explanation, simply pats the headstone and moves along.

not far from her grave is another patch of flowers grown over a simple grave. vibrant orange blooms and—catnip? kosh stares in confusion and a faint sense of indignation wells up in their chest as they read the name etched without design or flair into the headstone. caleb widoghast. and, below it, bren aldric ermendrud.

‘he—the archmage of the mederi council—he should have a mausoleum! a place of connection! something that shows the esteem the empire—the world—has for him! this is not fit for the archeart’s chosen!’

‘not fit?’ again, kosh sees the shadows grow, though the sun is shining brightly. the birdsong seems to fade as kosh is aware of the thudding pulse in their ears. ‘the grave is not for you. the grave is for the dead and for those who loved them. what better grave is there for him than to be buried beside the person he loved best? to be a simple man, buried simply, and to grow beautiful flowers? come,’ he says and his hand settles on kosh’s shoulder. it is impossible to disobey and kosh walks from the grave.

if they are worried for a moment that caduceus will send them away, they need not be for only a moment passes and, like the passage of a breeze that dips and turns where it wishes, the cold anger of the firbolg shifts and is gone.

‘yasha is over there,’ he says, and points. near to the wall of the garden, there is a series of trees. at first, kosh cannot determine which of them the gardener is pointing toward, and then they see it. ‘part of her wanted to be buried with her wife, so she was. part of her wanted to be buried with us, so she was.’ he leads the monk up to a tree with dark red wood and dripping with red leaves.

‘a vermaloc tree. i didn’t think they grew—‘ kosh stops themself, flushing.

‘almost anything planted in her garden will grow,’ caduceus tells them, ignoring their embarrassment. ‘some take a little easier. it was worth tending to,’ he says much more quietly, and pats the red bark again.

he turns then, those clouded eyes focusing none-the-less with intent upon the monk. he says nothing.

kosh feels their stomach twist. that restless energy, mostly assuaged by their walk, returns. they bounce up onto their toes, unable to hide it.

a smile breaks across the gardener’s face. ‘i thought so. save the best for last.’

‘they’re all vitally important to our research,’ kosh recites.

caduceus nods. ‘and to you?’

they can feel their ears twitch. ‘she’s a hero. she’s a legend. she’s—all my life, i read about her and then when i joined the archive i tried to find out more but there’s even less in the archives! did she burn all the information about herself? was she just that good at going unnoticed? is it true that she could run so fast you couldn’t see her move, she was just there?’

the smile grows.

caduceus nods his head, toward the next tree. ‘that’s hers.’

it’s a strange tree. like and unlike many kosh has seen before. the bark shifts from smooth to rough in patches and pathways. the colours are dappled in browns, all healthy, and there is a peculiar energy that surrounds it that kosh can’t quite identify other than the urge to climb it, an urge they’re quite familiar with, is almost impossible to ignore.

‘does she have a headstone?’

‘do you think she does?’ caduceus asks.

kosh hesitates. then, they nod. ‘she could’ve gotten rid of every trace of herself but she didn’t. it was like a scavenger hunt to find the information.’

‘then i suppose if she does have one, you would have to look for it.’

it takes some days of talking with caduceus and walking the garden themself before kosh notices the branches of the oak and the vermaloc have twined together, high above. a blue ribbon tied where the two meet.

[capricornus-rex]

His Spark of Light (2)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by @stellar-trinity | Prompt: Clingy! Cal

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

The Mantis was nearing the last leg of the hyperjump. Cal glanced at the radar and the ship is closing the last remaining parsec before the ship approaches the planet’s orbit.

“We’re in the Yavin System now,” Cal announced coolly.

The main planet, Yavin itself, burned a bright red. It was massive enough to fill the ship’s entire windshield and have it on view. Cal spotted the moon, Yavin IV, Greez maneuvered to it and Cere has been sending transmissions to signal their arrival.

“I’m getting a lot of signals here,” Cere said as she switches from screen to screen, being both the giving and receiving ends of the communications. “Strange. It’s new yet… familiar.”

“Then that’s gotta be the rebel fighters [y/n]’s with,”

“Could be, but I hope I’m right about what I said earlier at lunch,”

The Mantis closes in on the moon, from the outside, it nearly resembled Bogano for the bigger land masses and less visible craters. When the ship was within orbit, Cere was the receiving end of the fighter base’s communication.

“Incoming freighter, identify yourselves,” a voice crackled through Cere’s headphones.

“This is Cere Junda aboard the Mantis,”

“Could you give us your code?”

Cere dictated and even typed the code to transmit it to the base’s communications. There was a moment of silence as everyone in the Mantis anticipated the operator’s voice again.

“Your code has been confirmed. Your entry has been secured,”

“Thank you,”

The transmission ended and Greez accelerated the ship towards the planet. The ship entering the atmosphere was turbulent—the entire crew held on to their seats, they almost got sucked into the upholstery as they went down—but the captain kept a steady hand despite the bumpy ride and managed to fly towards the base.

The moon was mostly dense vegetation and lush jungles. These fighters have made a base out of what appears to be the ruins of a temple. Its height rose and tapered upwards until the spire of the sand-gold pyramid poked through the treelines. Though, when close enough, one could see that the surface of its edges have crumbled, the once prominent carvings were eroded by wind and weather, reduced to faint yet large scratches.

The arrival of the Mantis evidently drew attention from the scouts and everyone else in the hangar. Greez spotted a nice place to land her; from the view of the windshield, there were some curious onlookers standing by the landing pad. Cal was searching for you amongst that cluster just outside the ship, unfortunately he didn’t find you there.

Perhaps inside the base. He thought to himself.

Cal couldn’t wait for the engine to die down. He sprang off from his seat and strode towards the door, slammed the button and then exited the ship. Cere followed right behind him and surveyed the base.

“There’s not many of them. This could only be the first few,” Cere thought out loud after observing.

“Well, if you say so, then I guess we can’t miss [y/n] around here,”

“Agreed,”

A man in a uniform approached the crew; he appeared to be respectable yet humble, the fine lines on his cheekbones suggested that he’s lived through the Clone Wars and the subsequent rise of the Empire. Behind him were two rebel fighters—smears of grime covered their cheeks, surely having seen action and retained their firm expressions even while in their safe haven.

The Mantis crew assumed that this uniformed man was the spearhead of this operation.

“Welcome. My name is Bren Hoss,”

He extended his hand to the crew’s general direction, unsure whether to shake hands with Cere or Cal. The former did the niceties with the man. Bren introduced himself as the commander of their quite modest fleet army.

“We may not be a big army, but I suppose it’s the fighting spirit that counts. You never know who you’ll inspire,”

In turn, Cere introduced the crew, and mentioned vaguely of you.

“I believe one of our crew is in this base with you, according to her transmission to us earlier,”

“Did she now?”

“Your people found her on Geonosis and brought her here,” Cal stepped in. “She’s the one who gave us the coordinates and the entry code before we got here.”

Bren’s lips parted as if to speak, but he was abruptly cut off by the female voice behind him.

“It’s all right, Commander, they’re with me,”

He turned around and you greeted him with a casual smile. You stood parallel to the commander and greeted your crew. Cal skipped a breath when he saw you—what was only a few days felt like ages for him since he last saw you in person.

“Ah well, I just had the pleasure of meeting your crew, [y/n],” Bren turned to the crew. “Please, don’t be strangers. Friends are welcome inside. Though I do apologize for the place being a bit shabby.”

“Not at all, Commander, we don’t mind,” Cere smiled and gave a short nod before Bren retreated back to the base and his bodyguards followed.

When Bren got far enough from the crew, Cal couldn’t help himself—he walked up and hugged you in the tightest that he could, in fact it was so tight that you suffocated for a second.

“Oh!” you chuckled. “I missed you too, Cal.”

You returned the hug—which was a long one—and when he finally let go, he kept his arm around your shoulder.

“Did you have trouble getting here?” you asked to no one in particular.

“We were just five parsecs away when we received your transmission,” Merrin replied. “And nothing came in our way—except, of course, a skeptical officer over the communication line.”

“Ah that. They’re very privy when it comes to who goes in the planet,”

You reminded everyone that you owed them an explanation. You invited them inside the base. The temple was wide but most of its parts remained untouched such as the dead ends—either natural or caused. Still, the ancient memory of the ruins now mingled with the technology of scanners, computers, and ships.

You led to them to a section of the temple, it wasn’t far from the area of operations, but it was just a gaping space that nobody minded.

“How did you meet these people, [y/n]?” Greez started.

“They stormed and raided the main hall—I was there too. We ended up helping each other. The ship I used to get there was trashed by the Geonosians while I was away and so they let me hitch a ride. So, in short, I was kinda like a stowaway in that situation,”

After summarizing your side of the story, everyone sensed the hanging tone in your voice after you spoke, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys right away. I requested to make contact with you, honest,”

“You made us worry there. But it’s all right, as long as we finally know you’re okay,” Cere said in a motherly tone.

You managed a small smile, “Thanks.”

The subject switched to what you’ve learned so far about these rebels and their base. It was something that you wanted to talk over with them during supper.

“Come on, at least stay here to rest. You guys are probably tired from the trip,” you insisted.

None of them could say no. Majority caved in to your invitation and you led them farther into the temple.

“This place…” Cal trailed off. “It’s so strong with the Force. Do you guys feel it?”

“Yes, so many memories linger within its walls,” Cere answered, looking at the tall walls and high ceiling, noticing faint etches of wall carvings in the sandstone.

“Like the Zeffo, an ancient civilization once lived here… until they mysteriously vanished.” You explained.

As the Mantis crew marched through the halls left and right, more and more rooms were uncovered; from what they could have gathered from their stolen glances, they assumed that they plan on maximizing their utilization and occupation of this temple as their mother base.

“I’ve heard whispers about that. A few hours ago, three transports arrived carrying shipments—they brought in machines and stuff for their operations. Engineers, mechanic and technicians, too,” you muttered within their earshot.

The crew arrived to a hall in the second level of the temple. From its structure, it could have been a small auditorium or courtroom; benches were lined in neat, symmetric rows, however, it hasn’t been fully utilized yet as the hologram projector was still stashed in the corner of the room.

“I think we can use this room,” you said.

Each one took a seat close to one another. When everyone was settled, you recalled everything what you have learned so far ever since you arrived here.

[sockablock]

For the fic giveaway: "I'm sorry... I have to do this." Prompt with Caleb and the M9 confronting Ikithon (maybe it doesn't go the way the party wanted *wink wink*)

“I…I am sorry,” Caleb whispers, and the flames rage above his head. There’s the cry of ash, of stinging soot, of tears turning to smoke as they fall.

“I have to…I have to do this,” he continues, “please, all of you, just run awa—”

“Bullshit!” Beauregard steps forward. Her foot snaps against a fallen beam. “Bullshit you do, Caleb, come back—”

“It’s not—” Fjord adds, then winces, throat strained, “—it’s not too late, I’m not upset—”

Behind them, a segment of the roof collapses. Splinters of charred wood erupt into the air, far off, down below, they can hear the guards approach.

Caleb doesn’t move. He barely even breathes.

The figure standing next to him lifts a hand. Long fingers, like gnarled ivory, rest upon his arm.

“Clean this up, Bren,” the figure murmurs. “I will wait for you at the manor.”

“Wait, you’re just leaving?” Beau spits out her words. The embers twirl around her face, though none as bright or angry as her eyes. “You really think he’ll just do what you say?”

“Beauregard, bitte—”

Trent Ikithon smiles. His grip on Caleb’s coat tightens.

“But I know that he will, Expositor. After all, he was a prized pupil. And his path to redemption has already begun, tonight.”

Below, the clanging of the Watch grow louder. Their cries are dimmed by the roaring blaze but slowly, surely, they start to surround the tower.

Soon, the Nein won’t be able to escape.

“Now clean this up,” Ikithon repeats. His hand lets go, he turns around, begins to step towards a glowing circle. Lines and lines of arcane glyphs cast a cool blue light against his skin.

Caleb swallows. It’s all he can manage.

“Lehrer…how would you like me do this?”

Ikithon’s robes billow in the night. Still, even now, they are spotless and pristine.

“I am in no rush to lose you again. No need to kill them, just ensure they do not follow.”

And his last words, before he disappears:

“Agiere schnell. Enttäusche mich nicht.”

Then a flash—he’s gone.

Caleb turns achingly towards the group, his teacher’s command ringing in his ears.

Not a single word of that had been magic. Somehow, this is the worst part of it all.

The Mighty Nein stare back at him, motionless. Caduceus is still sprawled across the floor, Jester doing all she can to shield his form. Fjord is half-standing, half-collapsed, searing red wounds scored deep into his flesh. Nott is at his side, of course, her eyes wide with disbelief, fingers trembling with betrayal.

Beauregard is shaking too. The ribbon tied around her staff quivers.

“Is he making you do this?” Her words are a hiss, her throat is dry and teeth pulled tight. “Caleb, tell me he made you do this.”

Another section of ceiling collapses.

Time is running out. His friends have to leave.

“Bitte,” he says instead, “you must go…”

“Not until you tell us why!” Her fist slams into a burning beam. “Not until you fucking explain—”

“But I…but I cannot,” he pleads, “not in a way that won’t put you at risk! Just…please, I implore you, all of you…just go, if you do not follow, you will not get hurt—”

Nott looks up.

“But what about you? Caleb, what are you going to do?”

He shuts his eyes.

They’re wet, despite the fire.

“I’ll do…do what I have to, I still remember—”

“What?!” Beau screams. “Caleb, what could you fucking remember that’d make you do all this?”

“I…I remember…”

…the colors of a carnival. Hiding in a crowd, seeing a magic soar beneath a tent. Riding a cart under open sky, sitting by a campfire with Nott at his side.

He remembers music at the Harvest Festival, remembers how before, Fjord couldn’t even throw a sack. He remembers the first time Yasha tried candied apples, remembers watching Jester destroy a game of strength. He remembers heading north, heading to a swamp, remembers fighting with Beau and making up. He remembers the fireworks at Hupperdook, remembers a timeless smile of the past, he remembers meeting Caduceus, he remembers sharing tea, remembers the journey home, then to the coast, then back, then to a world he’d never seen, and he remembers—of course he does—that at some point, along the way, he’d suddenly realized he didn’t want to leave—

He remembers the way Ikithon had looked when they’d finally stumbled into his chamber. He remembers the familiar glow of a beacon, the even-more familiar smile of his teacher. He’d remembered, in that instant, in that very second, this Archmage’s power, what was done to traitors, he’d remembered a time, long ago, in the Queen’s Cathedral, remembered making gambles, remembered saving everyone—

In that second, he’d realized he could save everyone—

His hands catch fire, as they’d done so a thousand times. His fingernails are still stained with sulfur.

“Leave,” he says, again, and takes a step forward. “Please, please, all of you, just go. I’ll be fine. It’ll…I’ll be fine.”

He tries for a smile. It doesn’t quite fit.

“I escaped once already, didn’t I?”

Beau moves closer, until a hand grabs her wrist.

It’s Nott. She turns back to stare, but the goblin is looking intently into Caleb’s eyes.

“You promise?” she whispers.

He tries again.

“You made a promise,” she says this time.

He feels himself nod—barely, but it’s there.

Jester glances between them both. She says, voice small amid the flames—

“If you don’t come back, Caleb, we will. We’ll always come back for you, alright?”

Beau whips around, “No, not alr—”

Fjord steadies himself with his sword.

He takes her other wrist.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

“What? No, Fjord, not you t—fuck, no!”

She shouts again as they pull her back, legs kicking out amid the smoke. And maybe it’s the anger, or the fury, or the fear, but she can’t seem to gather herself enough to fight, can’t seem to break free of their grasps. And writing, screaming, crying out into the air, she is dragged back, dragged along, with the rest, out of the chamber, out into the hall.

And, eventually, even she grows silent.

Starlight shines through a hole in the burning roof.

Caleb breathes in.

He’s not sure who breathes out.

And then, in the company of nothing but dying flames, he turns back around.

He steps into the circle.

—

Ko-fi link in bio✨ | Finished fic prompts right here! 💜 requests are CLOSED!

[beetlemancy]

hey welcome to my Liam O’Brien is a Playlist Menace collection. These lyrics are too good and are becoming very relevant again. These are just my personal favorite parts of many (but not all) of the songs from Caleb’s playlist and how I personally feel they reflect the story - they are definitely NOT the only parts of the song that do this. 

This is gonna be long as Shit so its under a cut.

Fire - Kimya Dawson

Trent IckyThong, Caleb and Beau’s talks about changing the Empire, his thirst for knowledge, and his continued use of Trauma (read: Fire) Magic to meet his ends and help his friends.

“He says he's protecting us but he's a liar I know deep down that it's down to the wire My heart will stop if I put out the fire As long as I'm burning I'll keep on yearning (Liam has Best Yearning Face) To save the world Not sure how but I'm learning”

Me and My Friends Are Lonely - Matt Maeson

Is he talking to himself, to Astrid/Wulf? or to Trent? Rexxentrum - when he escapes, it doesn’t stop the what’s happening there. Is it stressing all the things that you have morally accepted? Is it vexing wearing clothes that you have bled in? Picture perfect victim, overwhelmed and so sadistic I was looking for a purpose, what a chance you had some with you (woof) On the street when I forgot, the city breathes when I do not If I leave it does not stop here, no

The Shankill Butchers - The Decemberists

Liam’s Obsession With The Decemberists Continues Astrid, Eodwulf, Bren. Obviously.

They used to be just like me and you They used to be sweet little boys But something went horribly askew Now killing is their only source of joy (still possibly true for other two, oh god)

Walzur fur Niemand - Sophie Hunger (Waltz for Nobody)

there’s like 5 different translations of this one so i’m gonna use the ones that fit best i suppose

Caleb in the Vergessen (to forget) Sanitorium. Trent as Mr. Nobody. What did Trent want by keeping Caleb so close all those years? How the fuck is that part of the song so damn relevant all of a sudden??

Was wäre ich geworden gäb es Dich nicht What would I have been like if it weren't for you? (i cry)

Niemand, was, was willst Du? Immer bist Du hier Niemand, was, was willst Du von mir? Nobody, what, what do you want? You are always here Nobody, what, what do you want from me?

Here - Alessia Cara

Caleb just wants to hang one-on-one most of the time. Give him some Empire Siblings Take Over the Planet time and he’ll be fine. This song is an Autistic’s Anthem, btw. Excuse me if I seem a little unimpressed with this An anti social pessimist but usually I don't mess with this And I know you mean only the best and Your intentions aren't to bother me But honestly I'd rather be Somewhere with my people we can kick it and just listen To some music with the message (like we usually do) And we'll discuss our big dreams How we plan to take over the planet So pardon my manners, I hope you'll understand (took the M9 long enough) That I'll be here

Heart of Glass - Blondie/Phillip Glass

literally just check out @luckthebard‘s meta on this, but I feel BIG SAME about it because this is supposed to be about what went down at the Academy with Astrid (or Wulf or both) but holy shit yall none of these lyrics sound Good Once I had a love and it was a gas Soon turned out had a heart of glass (wtf liam) Seemed like the real thing, only to find Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind Once I had a love and it was divine Soon found out I was losing my mind It seemed like the real thing but I was so blind (AAAAA?!?) Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

The River, The Woods - Astronautalis

This one is kind of my favorite. Hold still, and listen, your hand on my heart If you need them, these beacons will lead you back to the start (i mean really) Liam put this on Twitter when we first got to Rexxentrum so like. Duh. Old growth, holds hope, let the brambles scrape your skin Scars are storybooks, the blood will wash away your sins (god i hope so caleb) Now let that sun slip, then let that moon rise Follow in no footsteps, listen for the true guides Woods will play tricks upon pretty blue eyes (you are pretty) Is that glimmer the river, or your village finally brought back to life?

okay that’s it for now cuz the others are more Future-y... Like, god what I wouldn’t give for “No Home - Nico Vega” to come true for Caleb.

[devilwcman]

FULL NAME: Brynhildr Brenna Charmaine. NICK NAME(S): Various aliases. Bryn (rarer)/Bren, Lady Lazarus. AGE: 1,242  BIRTHDAY/ZODIAC: April 4th (so technically in 2 days she’ll be 1,242)/Aries. PRONOUNS: She/Her. S. ORIENTATION: Homoflexible. R. ORIENTATION: Homoromantic.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Witty, Dynamic, Capable, Bold, Perspicacious. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Possessive, Manipulative, Vain, Amoral, Selfish.  FORMER OCCUPATION: Viking, countess, sculptor, club owner, you name it. 

SPECIES: Vampire. ACTIVE POWERS: All vampiric abilities. SKILLS: Combat/martial arts, weaponry, multilingual, ambidextrous, photographic memory.

RANK: Mistress. ROLE: Domme. TURN-ONS: BDSM, voyeurism, praise. TURN-OFFS: Bathroom play, degradation, age play. 

FURTHER KINKS: Here.

BIOGRAPHY:

Brynhildr was born in 778 AD’s Norway. Her childhood was one of thievery and survival, after her parents died young from disease. When she was in her teens, she was taken in by a viking who had lost his own daughter (and wife) during a sacking. His name was Asger, and he taught her all that he knew. The redhead crafted her skills - weaponry, combat, politics - and joined in countless raids, meeting infamous faces from the era while she became something of a tale, herself. People liked to say she was blood born: with red in her hair, red upon her lips, and red staining her hands. After years of her warpath, Brynhildr would be bested by none other than a vampire. The woman turned her at the request of a demon, who had come to be fond of the human from afar. Both her sire and the demon left her to her own devices, stepping in whenever necessary. 

Brynhildr became a fable. The redheaded vampire transformed throughout her lifetimes, adapting to her surroundings and its progressions. Over a thousand years of history, art, sex, and cruelties. While most struggled with their turning and vampirism, she soared, leaving a trail of enchanting and/or disturbing myths in her wake. Her personal favorite: a seductress who bathes in the blood of her victims. However, of recent years, the redhead’s boredom has been increasing to an uncomfortable state. Which is where Thorn Haven always comes in. Under a preferred alias, Brenna Charmaine, she has been visiting the city for the last hundred years to get her fill of drama. And to cause some, moreover. The residents know her games, by now, save for the newer ones. So, it’s safe to say they expect the storm that follows. 

DETAILS:

She knows quite a number of languages (she’s in love with learning them). Mastered: English, Old Norse, French, Italian, Russian, Spanish, Norwegian. Average: Chinese, Japanese, German, Latin. Basic: Greek, Gaelic, Afrikaans, Arabic. 

Knows how to play a few instruments, with violin and piano remaining her favorites.

Brenna doesn’t believe in religion. However, she does have a soft spot for Norse mythology (far more than any other religion, anyways). 

She is known for being a deceiver. Bear this in mind. Brenna uses her disarming beauty, angelic voice, graceful ways to enchant others before she devours and destroys them. She will be sweet and gentle and loving to get what she wants. And then she will turn.

Not many know the truth behind her human life. A greater number of people believe she was born sometime around the 1300′s, because she made her presence known (via carnage). However, those older than her, may have an inkling to how old she really is. 

Has long, thick red hair. Usually in Hollywood waves. Emerald eyes. Freckles, fair skin. Lips stained a forever shade of red. Long, heavy lashes. Her outfit choices are a mixture of vintage and high fashion. Examples here, here, here, and here. 

Has a Draumstafir tattooed on the inner of her upper, left arm. Example here. It was before she was turned, and it means to dream of unfulfilled desires. Her adoptive father, Asger, gave it to her the night before her first raid.

Concerning her homoflexibility, she rarely goes for men. But when she does, they are typically older than her, powerful, as cruel as she, and they understand that she’s merely using them to have her fun before moving on. As for romance, she has fallen in love with a woman (or two), given her age. It’s extremely rare, but she doesn’t exactly run for the hills when it happens. Brenna enjoys herself, but she makes sure to keep her distance and call things off before they become too serious. She doesn’t hide the fact she’s fallen in love - she knows she’s not an unfeeling, invincible monster. Not completely. But she doesn’t go around singing love songs, either. 

As for occupation, she doesn’t exactly need one because she is rich. So any occupation she takes up is more of a hobby than necessity. Currently, she works as a private architect. She generally fancies artistic jobs than ‘practical’ ones. 

She’s come back to Thorn Haven to celebrate her birthday, go figure.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

the vampire who sired her. would be a female/nb, older than her. turned brenna because a demon asked her to do it. why she followed through with the ask? utp! over the many years, she’s come in and out of brenna’s life, but she’s never involved herself too heavily. 

the demon who had her turned. would be male/nb, older than her. for whatever reason, he kept his eyes on the viking and decided to have her turned. likely to see her wreak havoc on the world for years to come. any other reason is utp!

her two, closest friends. likely one man and woman. they understand how brenna is and somehow love her for it. she knows she can rely on them when the situation gets rough, but she rarely calls on their help in favor of boasting about how she solved the problem on her own. she loves to send them weird gifts from afar. some of them nsfw in nature, just to get a chuckle out of the exchange. she regards them as her second family and would set fire to the world for them, if they asked her to. 

vampires she’s sired. given brenna’s personality, i doubt she’d turn someone for the hell of it. she likely turned them because they could serve a purpose. could have discarded them afterwards, or stayed in touch because they remained loyal to her. 

an enemy of hers. could be for any reason, to be honest. maybe brenna did something horrible to them/their loved ones. or maybe they pulled a quick one on her and she really didn’t like it. maybe both. either way, she probably wants this person dead. 

an annoyance of hers. this person loves to pester brenna. whether it’s teasing, taunting, mocking, pushing her buttons, whatever. perhaps it’s because she can’t kill them, they do it. perhaps they have a crush on her. perhaps they want to see the beauty’s wrath, and haven’t been able to draw it out of her yet. 

someone who tried to kill her. but it didn’t work out and now it’s kinda awkward for them to see her. they were probably hired by someone and failed to best the redheaded vampire, so they dipped. brenna may want them dead, or she may just play with them like a cat does a mouse. out of boredom and entertainment.

a jealous eye. they’re jealous of her for whatever reason. maybe she snatched their lover’s attention, maybe they want her power, maybe they want her for themselves but she’s always danced just outside of their fingertips. 

a past love. would be a woman (probably someone older than her). they ran into each other many, many years ago. the two began to feel things for one another but decided very quickly they shouldn’t go there, or brenna called things off, or they somehow managed to break her heart. whenever brenna is around, she makes a habit of dabbling into their affairs because she ‘just can’t help’ herself. 

a language learner/tutor. since brenna adores languages, she’s either helping this person learn one or they’re teaching her. 

a devoted follower. they’re obsessed with her, and would do anything for her. maybe she seduced them, maybe she manipulates them, maybe they want to be her someday. either way, they’re more a pet to her. 

friends, flings/fwb, a claim she had some time ago she dropped? because things weren’t ideal for her, folks she met in her travels, someone she’s blackmailing because oh boy she would, someone who knew her as brynhildr/a viking/human, a penpal because brenna secretly adores handwritten letters, a work client of hers (she’s building their home/business/etc), a fan of her previous artistic works (maybe novels, sculptures, poetry, paintings, whatever), her walking blood bag because the effort is real, someone she trains/works out with, someone mischievous she’s creating drama with. 

and anything you can come up with! if there’s a connection you have brenna could work for, just message me! i’m horrid at plotting but i’m down to throw her wherever. 

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

Bodyguard III: Avengers Assemble (Chapter 4) (B. Urie x Reader)

Break room. S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier.

Clutching a ceramic coffee mug as if it were the only thing keeping his sanity from slipping away, Brendon sat at the table in the centre of the room, staring into space as he immersed himself into the slew of problems he was currently facing.

First, there was the threat of worldwide destruction looming over everyone's heads.

Second, there was the fact that he had no idea whatsoever about how to deal with the newfound information that he was a mutant, or how it affected him – if at all.

Third, there was the issue of trying to protect you from a literal god, even though you refused to acknowledge that you were at risk, or that he was (and would always be) your bodyguard.

And fourth – the worst problem of all – you were still undisputedly pissed off at him.

Wallowing in self-pity was something that the agent never did, but for the first time in his life, he saw no way to iradicate any of the issues on his own – he had no control, no options, no way out. Wallowing was the only thing he could do.  

And he wasn't the only one who felt powerless amidst the anarchy.

The way you shoved open the door to the break room was strong enough to nearly shatter the glass, and Brendon looked up at you with a furrowed brow. You paid no mind to him, striding over to the kitchenette.

Yanking open the cupboards, you peered into them, searching for coffee beans. There weren't any – in fact, the cupboards were essentially bare – and you cursed as you slammed their doors shut.

With a sigh, you rested your palms flat against the counter and let your head hang down. You were frustrated, that much was pretty clear, and Brendon watched you intently, interested to see what your next move was going to be.

Creating a snowstorm, perhaps?  He'd seen you flip a table over over not having coffee before, so the possibility wasn't too far-fetched.

But no, you simply turned around and strode toward the table. Pulling out a chair, you let yourself fall into it harshly, your body splayed on the piece of furniture rather inelegantly.

You didn't speak, and instead joined the agent in wallowing. Brendon looked at you with a blank face, then slid his coffee across the table. You picked up the mug and took a long sip, exhaling heavily as you set it back down.

There was silence for a little while as the wallowing continued, then Brendon took the initiative and broke it.

"You okay?"

Sniffling, you wiped your hand across your nose and shook your head. "I, uh..." you frowned, looking straight ahead of you, at the kitchenette, "Dallon thought he'd found them, but the lead was a bust."

Brendon frowned too as he realised what you were referring to, and it was only then that his gaze flickered to your hands and he noticed the grazes across your knuckles.

He shot up in his seat, reaching out to grab your hand and pull it towards him so that he could inspect it closer. His jaw clenched as he gently rubbed his thumb over your bruising skin.

"You followed up on the lead alone?" he snapped, voice calm but still characteristically icy, "Are you crazy?"

"I wasn't alone," you growled through clenched teeth, yanking yourself out of his grip, "Natasha was with me."

"Still," he refuted, "You had no idea what you were walking into. It could've been a trap."

You sat up and turned your body so that you were fully facing Brendon and tightened your jaw. "Yes, but I took that risk, because there was a chance. A chance of finding Aaron."

Brendon's eyes darkened, and he leaned back in the chair. "Aaron," he repeated with a soft scoff, "Of course."

You squinted for a moment, observing his reaction. "I know you don't give a shit about what happens to him, but I do, alright? He means a lot to me."

"Yeah, so I've heard."

Recoiling a bit, you stared at him in confusion, taken aback by his comment. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Clearly Brendon had been waiting to have this conversation, since you'd barely even finished your question when he'd hurtled a response at you.

"You let him sing to you?" he asked, voice soft but full of disdain. He shook his head as if attempting to wrap his mind around the concept.

You made a mental note to never tell Dallon anything ever again. Traitor.

Annoyed by Brendon's disapproval – especially since he had no right to disapprove – you shrugged and delivered a snappy reply.

"Yeah. What? It's not like anyone else was jumping at the chance to serenade me."

Brendon said nothing, just stared at you. As usual, you couldn't tell what he was thinking, but you could tell that he was thinking a hell of a lot.

After a couple moments, his lips twitched upwards as he gave a dry chuckle, and he nodded.

"So that's why you're taking stupid risks in trying to find him? You're gonna miss date night?" he snapped, gesturing with his hands, "What, are you sleeping with him now?"

Your body heat up with anger, and you balled your hands up into fists to keep from lunging across the table to strangle the douchebag in front of you.

"You know, every time..." you closed your eyes and took a deep breath to calm yourself, "every time I think that you've changed, that you've finally let go of your fucking ego, you prove me wrong. Every single time."

He didn't say anything in response, but it wasn't necesssary, because you weren't done.

"I care so much about finding Aaron because he cares about me," you spoke slowly and clearly, wanting each and every syllable to penetrate Brendon's thick skull, "He was there for me when I needed him – he always has been – which is more than I can say for most of the people in my life."

You hit a nerve, and Brendon leaned in closer to you. You expected him to match your anger and say something harsh, but when he spoke, it was barely a whisper.

"I... care about you."

You shook your head profusely and leaned forward, too, hitting your fist on the table. "Except you don't. You don't care about anyone but yourself, Brendon. Especially not me. You've proved that countless times. And yeah," you threw your hands up and ran your tongue over your teeth, "maybe I am sleeping with him. But you know what, that's none of your concern."

Brendon's icy demeanour faltered for a couple seconds.

For some godforsaken reason, tears were beginning to well up in your eyes, and you blinked them away as you spoke softly. "You had your chance, Bren. And you lost it. You lost me."

You stood up and walked away.

✧ ✧ ✧

Banner's lab. S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier.

Bruce stood over the sceptre, continuously hovering a gamma ray detection scanner over it in search of some form of radiation. Tony was across the lab, looking at monitors as he shifted and solved various algorithms and equations.

"The gamma readings are definitely consistent with Selvig's reports on the tesseract," Bruce voiced, "But it's gonna take weeks to process."

Tony responded immediately without looking up. "If we bypass their mainframe and direct a reroute to the Homer cluster, we can clock this around six hundred teraflops."

Having not even thought of that solution, Bruce scoffed and gave a tiny smile. "All I packed was a toothbrush."

Letting out a short laugh, Tony made his way over to the doctor, pointing a finger at him.

"You know, you should come by Stark Tower sometime. Top ten floors," he made a sweeping motion with his hands, "all R&D. You'd love it, it's candy land."

"Thanks, but the last time I was in New York I kind of broke... Harlem," Bruce declinend the offer, looking down shamefully as he back to the events of four years ago.

Never one to accept defeat so easily, Tony persisted. "Well, I promise a stress-free environment. No tension. No surprises."

Suddenly, Tony poked Bruce with a miniature electrical prod, narrowing his eyes and leaning in closely in search of any kind of Hulk-ish indications. Nothing.

"Ow!" Bruce winced, pulling back.

Steve walked in on them, then, clearly pissed at Tony. "Hey!" he called to the genius, coming to a halt in front of the two other men, "Are you nuts?"

Ignoring the Captain, Tony spoke to Bruce, looking at him in slight awe. "You really have got a lid on it, haven't you?" he asked in intrigue, referring to the Hulk, "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"

"Is everything a joke to you?" Steve shook his head, glaring at Tony.

"Funny things are," Tony acknowledged the Captain's prescence for the first time since he walked in.

"Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn't funny," Steve reprimanded, then turned to glance at Bruce, "No offense, doctor."

"No, it's alright. I wouldn't have come onboard if I couldn't handle... pointy things."

"You're tiptoeing, big man," Tony pursed his lips and pointed to the doctor, "You need to strut."

"And you need to focus on the problem, Mr Stark," the Captain said agitatedly.

Tony gave a bored look. "You think I'm not?" The genius' face grew serious and he lowered his voice the smallest bit, taking a slight step forward. "Why did Fury call us and why now? Why not before? What isn't he telling us?" He stepped back again and threw his hands up. "I can't do the equation if I don't have all the variables."

Steve straightened up. "You think Fury's hiding something?"

"He's a spy," Tony gawked, as if it couldn't be more obvious that The Director had other intentions, "Captain, he's the spy. His secrets have secrets." Tony once again pointed at Banner. "It's bugging him too, isn't it?"

Bruce looked up apprehensively and when he spoke, he bobbled the words. "Uh... I just wanna finish my work here and..."

"Doctor?" Steve pressed, wanting to know Bruce's stance on the situation.

A beat, then Bruce spoke.

"'A warm light for all mankind', Loki's jab at Fury about the cube."

Steve nodded. "I heard it."

Bruce gestured to Tony, raising his brows. "Well, I think that was meant for you."

The Captain had to restrain himself from scoffing in amusement. "The Stark Tower?" he asked, "That big ugly-"

Tony gave him a look.

"-building... in New York?"

"It's powered by Stark Reactors, self-sustaining energy sources," Bruce explained, "That building will run itself for what, a year?"

"That's just the prototype," Tony said proudly, cockily gesturing to himself, "I'm kind of the only name in clean energy right now."

Agreeing with the statement, Bruce gave a small nod, toying with his glasses as he finished his thought.

"So why didn't S.H.I.E.L.D bring him in on the Tesseract project?" he voiced, in referrence to Tony, "I mean, what are they doing in the energy business in the first place?"

There was a brief silence that fell over the lab for a moment, as all three men considered the facts. Tony broke it.

"I should probabaly look into that once my decryption programmer finishes breaking into all of S.H.I.E.L.D's secure files."

Taken by Tony's words, Steve widened his eyes. "I'm sorry, did you say...?"

"Jarvis has been running it since I hit the bridge. In a few hours we'll know every dirty secret S.H.I.E.L.D has ever tried to hide." Tony held out a bag of blueberries. "Blueberry?"

"Yet you're confused about why they didn't want you around," Steve snarked, annoyed at Tony's complete disregard for boundaries.

"An intelligence organization that fears intelligence?" Tony squinted and tilted his head slightly. "Historically, not possible."

"I think Loki's trying to wind us up," Steve said, not wanting to consider the fact that there were hidden agendas behind it all, "This is a man who means to start a war, and if we don't stay focused, he'll succeed. We have orders, we should follow them."

Tony skewed his mouth. "Following is not really my style."

The Captain scoffed under his breath and smiled sardonically. "And you're all about style, aren't you?"

The remark hit a nerve in Tony, and he turned his body towards the Captain fully, furowing his brow. "I'm sorry, of the people in this room, which one is; A. wearing a spangly outfit, and B. not of use?"

"Steve," Bruce appealed to the Captain, "tell me none of this smells a little funky to you?"

Steve stood there, taking in the possibility. The other two had a good point, but as an obedient soldier, he shook it off.

"Just find the cube," he muttered.

The Capatin turned and walked out of the lab. Still torn apart by the possibility, he stopped in the middle of the walkway. Then, following his gut, he walked towards the hull of the ship.

Back in the lab, Tony was voicing his distaste towards the Captain.

"That's the guy my dad never shut up about?" he snorted. "Wondering if they shouldn't have kept him on ice."

"He's not wrong about Loki," Bruce pointed out, "He does have the jump on us."

"What he's got is an ACME dynamite kit. It's gonna blow up in his face, and I'm gonna be there when it does."

"And I'll read all about it."

Tony looked at the doctor thoughtfully. "Uh-huh. Or you'll be suiting up like the rest of us."

The doctor scrunched up his face and shook his head. "Ah, see – I don't get a suit of armor. I'm exposed," his gaze lowered, as did his self-esteem, "like a nerve. It's a nightmare."

"You know, I've got a cluster of shrapnel, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart. This," Tony tapped the mini-arc reactor in his chest, "stops it. This little circle of light. It's part of me now, not just armor. It's a... terrible privilege."

"But you can control it."

"Because I learned how."

"It's different."

Bruce tried to read the screen in front of him, but Tony slid the data aside with his finger so that the two of them could see face-to-face.

"Hey," Tony's tone became serious, "I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should have killed you."

Bruce nodded once. "So you're saying that the Hulk..." he closed his eyes after speaking that word; the word he all but hated, "...the other guy... saved my life?" He kept quiet for a couple seconds then continued. "That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?"

"I guess we'll find out," Tony shrugged, making his way back to the other side of the lab.

The two got back to work at their respective computers.

"You might not like that," Bruce remarked after a minute.

"You just might."

✧ ✧ ✧

Briefing room. S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier.

In front of a monitor, you and Thor stood side-by-side. On the screen, Jane Foster's photo and record was displayed; Thor looked at her, remembering. With you two was Agent Coulson.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Brendon enter the space, but you blocked him out and refocused on your cousin.

"As soon as Loki took Aaron and Erik, S.H.I.E.L.D moved Jane," you told Thor.

"We've got an excellent observatory in Traunsee. She was asked to consult there very suddenly yesterday," Coulson added, "Handsome fee, private plane, very remote."

You placed a hand on Thor's arm, reassuring him. "She'll be safe."

"Thank you," Thor looked at you and Coulson, then all three of you moved from the monitor, "It's no accident, Loki taking Erik and Aaron."

Inhaling sharply, you nodded. "I know."

"I dread what he plans for them once he's done. They are good men." Thor rubbed the nape of his neck. "We pretend on Asgard that we're more advanced, but we... we come here battling like bilchsteim."

You and Coulson shared a puzzled look. "Like what?"

"Bilchsteim? You know; huge, scaly, big antlers." Thor placed his hands on his head and used his fingers to represent antlers. "You don't have those?"

You stuck your bottom lip out. "Don't think so."

"They are repulsive, and they trample everything in their path." Thor walked over to the side of the ship and looked out the window, lamenting about what has happened and what may come. "When I first came to earth, Loki's rage followed me here and your people paid the price. And now again. In my youth I courted war."

"War hasn't started yet," Fury said, walking in, "You think you can make Loki tell us where the Tesseract is?"

"I do not know," Thor gave a small shrug, "Loki's mind is far afield, it's not just power he craves; it's vengeance upon me. There's no pain that would prize his need from him."

"A lot of guys think that," Brendon piped up, folding his arms, "until the pain starts."

"What are you asking me to do?" Thor queried.

"I'm asking," Fury cocked his brow, "What are you preparedto do?"

"Loki is a prisoner."

Fury's face grew stern. "Then why do I feel like he's the only person on this boat that wants to be here?"

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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[critical-ramblings]

Mind’s Eye (7/n)

Previous chapters start here (also on AO3!)

They were in a field. No, Yasha looked around behind them and saw a lurking behemoth of a house, a broad dirt path leading up to the double-wide front doors. And the grass here was kept trimmed, the trees cut into graceful shapes that looked more like arcane runes than trees. She instantly disliked the place, though she couldn’t have said why.

“Where are we?” Fjord asked, after a minute or so when nothing tried to kill them. No little Caleb came running out to intercept them, though Yasha could hear a rooster crowing around the back of the huge house. Windows gleamed back at her in the early morning sunlight, their arched tops watching the party of motley adventurers gathered outside.

“I don’t know. Didn’t Caleb mention something about being taken out of school?” Beau looked over at Nott, who narrowed her eyes as she looked up at the house and took a drink.

“Are we in his dreams or his memories?” Caduceus asked, crouching down to crumble some of the dirt in his large hand. “Nott, what’d he say about it?”

The little goblin scowled up at the house even as she answered, like she might win a staring contest with the windows. “He said Icky-dick fed him some potion, that whenever he ‘failed’ he woke up in the smoke room. I don’t know. He’s definitely asleep, right? Are we asleep?” she turned to look at Jester. “That’s what your spell does, right?”

“Yeah, totally,” Jester nodded, then narrowed her eyes and looked around. “Although none of my dreams are this boring...” For a moment, the grass and carefully shaped trees shimmered, slid into brightly painted versions of themselves where Jester was looking. The ocean spilled towards their feet, blues and whites and purples in thick brush-strokes that nevertheless smelled of salt.

Yasha caught a glimpse of a horse-fish looking creature not far away, before a door slammed open up at the house. A human girl stood in the doorway, one hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun. With the painted surf still washing over their feet, all of the Nein turned to watch her.

“Astrid,” Jester whispered, hands folded tightly in front of her. Without her attention, the little ocean she’d conjured began to shrink, and within a few moments had vanished with a small ploop.

“Are you here for Master Ikithon?” the girl called out, with a heavy Zemnian accent.

Yasha looked at Fjord, who was looking at Beau, who was still waiting for Nott to take the lead. Nott let out a wordless hiss when she realized that everyone’s attention was on her.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, clutching very tightly at her flask. “He hasn’t told me any more than he told the rest of you!”

Beau gave a disbelieving snort, but she did step out and wave towards the house. “Hey! Yeah, sure, we’re actually looking for...Bren?”

The girl hesitated, might have said something under her breath. Eventually she waved them forward. If this was one of Caleb’s hunt-party, she would know enough magic to be dangerous. And there was no separation between having that thought and holding the Magician’s Judge in her hands. Yasha paused to look at the greatsword, because a moment ago she could have sworn she was unarmed. And she certainly hadn’t drawn the thing.

“Yasha!” Fjord made a frantic shushing gesture with both hands. “Let’s not antagonize the dream-wizards, right?”

“Right.” Yasha sheathed the greatsword without hesitation, but she continued to think as the Nein followed Astrid through an opulent hallway and into a room walled entirely with glass. And as strange as the walls were, they were nothing compared to the plants within them. Yasha was drawn immediately to the flowers; elaborate confections with frills of white and pink and yellow, some of them as wide as her hand. And others, with long orange necks and yellow tips, or bursts of red deeper than blood. The greenery itself was lush and well tended, but it reminded her too much of blades, of the ten-foot tall razor grass of her homeland. Thorns were hidden here, she was sure of it.

There was no sign of Caleb, but a familiar sallow old man stood in the courtyard just beyond the glass room. Astrid went out to him, glancing back when the group hesitated at the doorway.

“Is anyone else getting trap vibes from this?” Beau asked out of the corner of her mouth.

“No, yeah, definitely,” Jester and Fjord and Caduceus were quick to agree. Yasha stayed quiet, and she saw that Nott did too. The goblin was busy scanning the plants and vases around them, more focused on finding Caleb than dealing with his ‘dream-wizards,’ as Fjord had said.

Trap or not, they went out. Yasha brought up the rear, realizing only later that she’d somehow lost sight of Nott.

Ikithon looked exactly the same as the day she’d met him in Zadash. He nodded and smiled at them the same way he had in real life, a half-sneer like he was too good to be talking to such peasants. Yasha had grown very familiar with that look during her time with the circus.

“Welcome to my home,” Ikithon said, his smile vanishing once it’d done its work. “I assume you know why you are here?”

“Uh, no, actually,” Beau straightened her shoulders, puffed out her chest and set her jaw. “Where’s Bren?”

Ikithon only raised an eyebrow and didn’t answer. Instead, he folded his arms and said, as if Beau hadn’t spoken, “Your kind of fickle sellsword is tolerated because of your occasional usefulness to the Empire. You trespass on the goodwill of common folk fearing for their lives from some monster, you carouse and drink at every available opportunity. Bands like yours cause more damage than good, but still, you are tolerated.”

“Hold on just a--” Ikithon spoke louder, drowning out Beau’s protests. Yasha leaned over to Caduceus, whose frown was the most seriously upset she’d ever seen him. “Seems a little harsh,” she muttered, and the cleric shot her a glance.

“He’s not really saying it to us,” Caduceus answered quietly.

But before Yasha could ask what he meant, Ikithon snapped his fingers and said, “Kill them,” and everything happened very quickly.

Ikithon vanished in a cloud of blue-green mist, and a familiar bead of red energy sped towards them from somewhere out on the grounds. It detonated before any of them could react, and everything was a wash of red and roaring flames. Yasha felt them curl around her, sharper than they should be. Hotter than the flames Caleb had conjured before. Was this some trick of his past, something he used to know in the waking world? Or some other facet of the dream?

There was no doubt that it was Caleb. As the smoke cleared, it was Jester who screamed out his name, reaching towards a slight figure in red robes, far away across the lawn. Even as Yasha turned he ducked back behind a tree and disappeared.

From across the way, in a grove of smaller trees, there was a flash of movement and another streak of light. The thunder hit her a moment after the lighting, barely missing Yasha but slamming into Jester, then Fjord. Beau moved faster than the light, ducking out of its spidery path as it spent itself against the brick of the house behind them.

“Fuck!” Fjord said, coughing as his hands spasmed in the aftermath of electricity.

That was when the poisonous cloud rolled over them, obscuring both of the far-away wizards and stinking of tar. The fumes burned her nose and throat, and Yasha lost a few moments trying to hack the acid feeling from her lungs. Jester ran out past her, then Fjord, and then a small darting shape that might have been Nott.

There was a desperate cry of pain nearby, and the cloud began to dissipate. Yasha was able to straighten up, and this time she did mean to draw the Magician’s Judge and bare her teeth. The familiar weight of her rage bubbled up within her; how dare these wizards hurt her friends? And Caleb, who they were only trying to help...she wouldn’t blame him, later. After all, this wasn’t the first time they’d taken damage from him. But she could be angry now.

Yasha looked around the lawn, wrecked now, with fires flickering in the corners of the paved courtyard and black stains from the tar-cloud. Beau was all the way over by the oak tree where Caleb had hidden, the others spread out to where another fireball wouldn’t devastate them so completely. Yasha and Caduceus were the only ones left in the courtyard, actually. Just past them to the right, backed up against the wall of the house, Astrid was clutching the feathered end of crossbow bolt embedded in her chest.

Even as Yasha glanced in the little mage’s direction, Jester’s sparkling energy bolt streaked pasts and lit her up from the inside. For a half-second the bones of her face were visible, outlined in pink, and then she collapsed back against the brick.

“Astrid!” Caleb’s voice was still boyishly high, though it cracked in the middle of her name. Beau had backed him into the open, and even from a hundred feet away Yasha could see him swaying. He had never been the hardiest of them.

In her rage, Yasha’s only thought was to eliminate the threats; their weakness was her gain. The feral part of her trusted Beau to finish what she’d started, so Yasha turned her attention to the other grove. Her boots crunched on burned grass as she ran, failing to drown out Ikithon’s magically enhanced voice as it boomed across the garden. “Kill them first! There will be time for healing later.”

The boy in the grove couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He saw Yasha coming and scrambled back, his face still round with baby fat. And then splattered with blood as her greatsword carved into him, the familiar jolt of breaking bones running up her arms. He was still standing, after, but barely. A very small part of her, under seething rage and satisfaction, wondered what his name was.

“This isn’t how it happened,” the boy whispered, and a screaming wind tore through the trees. It was no spell Yasha had ever heard of, no magic she had ever seen. One moment she was standing over the child with her sword dripping, and the next her skin was burning, her sword was gone, and the wizard another fifty feet away. The expression on his face was hard to read, but Yasha could see the cruel expectation on it when he looked up for Ikithon. The blood in her eyes and hands was her own, now. Something hot and acid twisted in her gut, and Yasha knew just how close to death she was.

But it wasn’t until Jester yelled, “Hey, that’s cheating!” that she realized what must have happened. If they could change the dream, so could Caleb. Caleb, who was trying to kill them.

“Wake up, man!” Beau said, from not-very-far-away. Yasha pushed her way back through the trees, which had grown thicker and tighter together in a moment. Against her back, she felt the itch of an oncoming spell, but managed to shrug it off. She needed to find her party, make sure they were...

The wreckage of the lawn hadn’t changed much in the wind. But Jester was crouched next to Caduceus, unconscious on the stone. Nott was huddled in the shadow of a garden statue, both hands clutched to her chest to hold her ribs together. Astrid was awake, though still bloody, a wickedly curved dagger in one hand. Fjord was using his falchion to stand up from where he’d been blasted onto his knees. Even as Yasha watched he turned to spit blood onto the ground.

Beau was also breathing heavily, clutching her staff in a way that meant she couldn’t stand without it. Caleb stood next to her, both hands pressed to his head looking...almost exactly like the younger version of him had, before the fire came.

Warily, Yasha looked around, tried stepping on one of the flickering remnants of the fireball. It was still there when she lifted her foot, a little more singed than before.

“You’re damn right this isn’t how it happened,” Beau transferred her grip to the front of Caleb’s robes, letting her staff fall to the ground. Yasha, keeping one eye on the fire, thought she saw it flicker a little higher. But the whole scene was slowed, thick with some struggle she could feel in the very air. “Wake up, Caleb,” Beau said again, more gently.

The boy just looked at her. His mouth opened and closed a few times, until finally he said, “If this isn’t...how it goes?”

But it was Astrid who finished the sentence, sliding up behind Jester and slitting her throat. “Then it can go however you want,” the Zemnian girl said viciously. Jester choked, and black smoke poured out with her blood. Beau screamed, shoving Caleb back as she ran to her friend.

Yasha couldn’t beat her there, despite being closer, because this time the tickle of a spell at the back of her neck didn’t dissipate, but grabbed and held her whole. She could hear her joints crack as they froze, the impulse to run still pounding through her. The fires burned no brighter, Caleb in the distance still standing slack as Astrid’s dagger swept dismissively through Caduceus’ chest and darted towards Fjord. Smoke stinking of charred meat and plaster poured in around them, obscuring almost everything--but not before the short sword emerged from her chest, cold as winter, stopping her from breathing.

***

“This isn’t...how it goes?” He turned to Astrid, who wrapped a hand around his upper arm. Behind him, his mother screamed; it was the sound of ice cracking in his mind.

“You can make it better, Bren,” Astrid said, and he could feel Eodwulf’s hand on his shoulder, holding him up. Holding him back. “You can make it right this time.”

He was breathing too fast, he knew. Black dots closed in around his vision, or was that smoke? He could smell his parents burning. Bren buried his face in Astrid’s shoulder and the ice...stopped cracking. He was a spiderweb of fault lines, but he was not broken. He focused on Astrid’s hand in his hair, and began to let go of the truth--that this was not how it happened.

And then someone called his name. “Caleb!” she said, but that was not his name, his name was--

“Caleb! Where the fuck is he?”

And someone else he loved said, “I don’t know, but I’m going to kick his smoky ass for that shit, just wait.”

And Jester sounded worried when she said, “Do you think our Caleb goes somewhere else than we do?” 

Caleb looked back, to where the voices were coming from, and saw the wreck of his home...and the ice broke. He fell, and fell, and he would never stop falling, he would never deserve to stop falling because he killed them, and only then did the smoke swallow him.

[pkmntrainergreyze]

The Apocalypse Suite (Tyler Joseph x Reader)

a/n: My frens know I’m trash for The Umbrella Academy and I suggest you read it. Real amazing comic series and characters. I noticed not a lot of people write an imagine using TUA, so yeah, expect major similarities.

Although I tweaked the plot and characters a bit, there are still spoilers regarding the Apocalypse Suite (or the comics at least, maybe the netflix adaption is different) (best hope it won’t be death note v2).

So yeah, read The Umbrella Academy before it airs on Netflix.

(p.s: there are .cbr files you can download free on getcomics and you can open them with the comic reader app. you didn’t hear it from me)

Warning ⚠: The Umbrella Academy Spoilers (duh)

————–

Tyler sighed and leaned on the plane’s window. The greasy caramel haired boy gripped his small keyboard tight. The child’s goo eyes observed his adopted brothers and sisters fight against France’s morale skyscraper at 6:26 in the morning. He can’t deduce why they have missions everyday. His father— Monocle won’t tell.

The Eiffel Tower’s summit glowed green. Number 3 (Pete/Rumor) twisted reality with his lies so citizens will evacuate. Fortunately every lie he says come true.

Number 1 (Ryan/Moonboy) hollered in command and only Number 6 (Brendon/Panic!)’s stomach tentacles seem to follow his lead. Ryan has super strength and loves playing leader while Brendon had monsters frolicking under his skin that is sometimes under his control.

When the tower ascended, Number 2 ((Y/n)/Kraken) prepared the blades. She’s known to be a knife casting child that can hold her breath for a day— and a brat.

But she’s his first favorite “sibling”. She’s the only one that shared his interests and understood him, together with Number Five. They wrote songs together— hers mostly about cryotic messages on how to utterly destroy Hargreeves with humiliation and his about beliefs and religion. The three of them could make a great band.

Oh, and Tyler has a school boy crush on her.

And now Number 4 (Frank/Séance) floated, aiming to contact the dead engineer for assistance. He’s psychic for a reason.

All those abilities made them equal in strength, aside from Number 7. Unlike his siblings superpowers, he’s a talentless slob with mediocre piano skills babysitted on Hargreeves’s private plane.

Out of 43 children, he was the seventh chosen for the Umbrella Academy. Sir Hargreeves claimed his orphans are gifted with abilities the norm can only imagine, yet he doesn’t seem to exhibit the description.

“Dad— I mean, Sir Monocle, Sir? Why can’t I play with the others?”

“Well Number Seven… There’s just nothing SPECIAL about you”

Tyler bobbed his head.

“Oh”

Inside, Tyler rebuked. But if he dare defy his father, he’ll be a reject in the streets. So he bottled it in, and inquired another instead.

“Where’s J— Number Five, Sir? I don’t see him anywhere” He asked, praying the man won’t reply insultingly.

“The Future, I presume. Ran away from home, no doubt. I can’t be sure, nor be bothered”

Tyler gasped at this— but envied his foster brother. The Kraken and Number Five were his closest friends, and one of them banished without him? Other than that how could a man— a father say that so blandly?

Hargreeves looked down, his monocle glinted him blind.

“Why don’t you go and play your piano?”

TWENTY YEARs LATER

“Does anyone wish to say anything?”

(Y/n) sighed and leaned on the nearest tree. They lost Brendon a few years back— and now Monocle. She discovered it’s better crying over a dirty calamari than a tyrant’s death. She barely casted a gaze down her father’s corpse. She did not like dusting her superhero custome for any occasion.

It obviously took a lot of time and money  polishing this funeral. Hell, it seemed like a wedding.

Everyone took giant leaps to be there. Her brother Ryan literally landed from space, Pete appeared after signing divorce papers from some guy named Patrick, Frank probably floated across the American borders and the most shocking news is their long time missing brother Number 5 came back from the future.

(It’s easy to spot who’s Number Five, considering he hadn’t aged a bit. He’s his seventy year old mind self trapped in his ten year old body)

Thank God the paparazzi met their dead end in front of the gates or else unanswerable questions will drill their heads to sleep.

But back to the present. Pogo, their talking caretaker chimpanzee’s question remained unanswered.

Ryan and Pete, the last of Hargreeves’s favorites inventions wore a grim expression. On the other hand Frank, Number Five, and (Y/n) displayed no sign of remorse. None of them dared to talk, not wanting to piss off one another.

Thankfully, Mrs Hargreeves took the spotlight. She wore a black trench coat to emphasize her husband’s death. She had puffy cheeks and looked like she cried before she arrived. The sight made Pete’s heart ache a bit. She was made to be the best mom. Equally a delicate and nice lady.

She began talking about how Gerard wasn’t the greatest father— and an even worse husband, in which everyone agreed fully. But when she spoke about him caring more about saving the world than personal relationship like a hero…

The Kraken called her words bullshit.

Pete and Ryan tried to warn Mrs Hargreeves, but it was too late.

If it’s barely a human being, how could it be a mother? It’s pathetic, a pathetic waste.

No one can make a mother out of parts and removable limbs. Why did everyone have to live their lives with everything plastered in man made inventions? No, they’re not superheros.

(Y/n) gripped her coat from behind and in one swift motion— she revealed her mother’s true nature.

They were all Sir Gerard-Fucking-Hargreeves’s lab rats.

Mrs Hargreeves’s body bared open organ systems and a stray heart. She cried, humiliated “I’m sorry…”

She sobbed “I shouldn’t have come”

Pete covered her with his jacket and cooed “It’s okay Mom”

Ryan grumbled in (Y/n)’s ear. This turmoil meant nothing in her head, and Mr Fly-Me-To-The-Moon can’t intimidate her.

“I’m warning you Kraken—”

“OR WHAT?!” She screamed and pushed his chest “YOU GONNA BEAT YOUR PROSTHETIC CHEST HARGREEVES CREATED?”

“EVERYTHING’S A LIE, COWBOY! HE LEFT US WITH NOTHING BUT A MAUSOLEUM FULL OF QUESTIONS AND A PIECE OF PLASTIC FOR A MOTHER”

She gazed at her mother’s synthetic black hair “Those tears aren’t even real”

Pete’s head snapped, bawling as he yelled “WELL THESE ARE”

(Y/n) flinched.

“Then too bad Tyler isn’t here” She mumbled. Pogo pressed a button and the casket lowered.

“He could play his piano…”

Not an hour had passed before Ryan and (Y/n) gripped each other’s throat in an almost ordinary fashion. This time, Moon had the upper hand. He pointed a ray gun against her temple, harnessing energy while his finger neared the trigger. And before (Y/n) could vision hanging out beside Bren’s pretty corpse, Number Five intervened.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear on what I saw back in the future!” He yelped.

“The world was destroyed just three days after Gerard’s death!”

Ryan froze.

Number Five looked down his watch “Time is running out”

Rumor scoffed at Moon “You haven’t changed a bit”

And when they thought everything is at peace, Pogo rode Séance’s shoulder as he flew, pointed at the carnival then screamed “Look!”

“The carnival! It’s on FIRE!”

It’s quite far from the mansion, but Ryan’s height and Frank’s psychic abilities let them saw the burning image. Moon’s face solidified. “The Niners” He muttered subconsciously

Séance groaned. Everyone except Number Five— who wasn’t there for the last two decades— hauled in a state of annoyance. Rumor shook his head, this again?

“The what?” Number Five asked.

“When we last fought Dr Nicholas Bourbaki he told us the next time we reform the Terminants will activate…”

Ryan looked down at the child.

“Which means Tyler is in the City”

Everyone headed back to the Mansion. One of the perks of being Sir Hargreeves’s children is the access to the televator— a teleporting elevator. They all thought of it the second they realized one of them is astray.

But Tyler isn’t the only prodigal sibling.

“Moon–” Pogo called out, noting (Y/n)’s lack of presence “The Kraken!”

“Let her get killed, cause according to the terminants…

We’re a team again”

Tyler sat in a taxi cab after rejecting an offer to hypothetically— destroy massive civilization by playing his piano, scavenging his keyboard bag for his pills. After all, how could his “adequate” piano skills help an apocalypse inducing orchestra?

He had enough. He thought being the lamest sibling in the Umbrella Academy will be the last line in his autobiography but it wasn’t. He also happened to cause another villain outbreak.

He can barely see the man in the driver seat, but if it weren’t hallucination then he paid a shadow.

He hoped the shadow, unicorn– whatever the hell is behind the wheel would drive faster so he could warn his family.

“Are you alright man? Y'know you look like—” The driver was cut off when a loud bang erupted.

“The carnival— It’s on fire!”

Tyler looked at the window. The carnival was indeed crackling in flames. He humphed. The rollercoaster looked way cooler morphing ashes.

“I bet it’s my family” He poured pills down his palm “change of plans”

“Drive me there” He glanced back at the amusement park. There are two groups of enemies on the loose.

But he prayed more that one of his siblings in particular will forgive him for what he had done in the past.

“And drive faster”

The Kraken flung another knife at the cloaked robot. The children on the ride’s boat ride hugged each other, chanting their quote on quote last words. Fuck them for thinking anyone else except Moon can’t save them.

God, (Y/n) hated these Niners. Next time Dr Nicholas design something it better look cooler and not look like wannabe cults. Oh wait— He’s dead! She forgot.

(Y/n) punched one down and roundhouse kicked the other. And as the others made their way another blade passed through their brains, splattering oil everywhere.

If only Number Five finished his check-up with Pogo earlier then he might’ve enjoyed fighting alongside her. They both missed each other’s company, most especially Five.

The woman was bleeding from her appendix down her right thigh— yet she determined the appropriate time vocalize they owe her a costume.

While she evacuated the three ungrateful souls, Tyler made his way south the carousel.

As he ran closer, the picture of Moon from afar about to punch a self-destructive robot went clearer.

“My God” He sprinted toward about to warn him “MOON!!”

Behind a trashcan ejected another enemy pointing a ray gun

“PATIENCE IS VIRTUE_! TARGET 00.07 ACQUIRED_!”

Tyler looked back, and saw approximately ten missiles ahead.

Ryan barely heard his scream however, someone else did.

“DAMNIT!”

(Y/n) pushed him down, with her on top. Her face contorted beyond pissed. They laid at the ground, both in pain. Tyler thanked God he stayed alive— but when he saw the look on the her face, he found out the half of the upcoming verbal abuse.

“What the hell are you doing here!” She screamed right at his face “You think you can show your face after all these years?!”

Tyler frowned.

“I… I wanted to help! There’s something I need to tell you, (Y/n)!”

Her chest tightened. It’s been a while since someone called her by her name.(Y/n) scoffed and laughed, repressing the warm feeling pooling inside her with the acidic truth.

“You left.”

He left when (Y/n) needed her the most. Being a teenager in Hargreeves’s manor was the saddest you could be. She shared chunks of her dreams with him— and he left to some pretentious academy because the person she hated the most told him so.

Another robot went boom after Ryan smashed it. Through the smoke he saw the illusion of The Pianist and Kraken together. (Y/n) covered him from Moon’s sight. She’d rather let him leave.

“The only thing you’re helping us is getting killed, and there’s nothing else I want to hear from you”

She towered above him.

“I… used to think I have a brother” At that time, Tyler felt tears roll against his warm cheeks. He avoided her gaze, but doing so does not make the situation easier, just made him seem more in denial.

“But I’ve got nobody”

That had to be the worst thing he heard all day. Much, much worse than hearing a proposal about universal destruction.

“Get lost” (Y/n) commanded.

He did, he scampered as fast as he could. She watch him crawl and trip out of her sight. She thought she might be masochistic for liking the sight of people leaving her… again… and again…

“Kraken” Ryan called out. And with that, (Y/n) Hargreeves transformed back to just Kraken.

“Thanks” She pertained to the broken robot that nearly killed her. Cause there’s no way she’s talking about it.

“Was that Tyler?” Pete asked. Frank wanted to ask the same question but he has to excuse his language to the children around him.

“Just a citizen” She gently grabbed one of the rescued injuired girls to the ambulance.

“No one SPECIAL”

———

a/n: I’ve been thinking about making this as a book, though I’m not sure everyone can understand my writing haha.

anyways, for the people who read the comics or at least saw the trailer: Who’s your favorite hero and enemy? 

Cause mine is the 100% best assassin Five, Klaus and Vanya (can’t choose, I just don’t like Luther, but Diego and Allison is pretty decent). Tho when it comes to enemies the best imo is Hazel and Cha Cha.

(… cause who needs drugs when you have cookies and guns?)

[killjoy-loveit]

Solar World- Part Two

A/N: I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. Also, this is a story I had started writing but completely forgot about and thought I could convert it to fanfic so that I might actually finish it, lol :) This series has an unknown finish date, as I’m still trying to set up the layout of the series. I’m going to try doing something different, I’ll be including links to the other parts in the notes by a reblog (to access the links I think you might need to click on the reblog itself)

Summary: Sunni and her team have learned Valis Havens did not hold the last of humanity as they thought.

Word Count: 2,170

Genre: Post-Apocalyptic AU

Introduction | Part One | Part Two

    Sunlight twists through the branches of trees towering above- at maybe a hundred feet, if I had to guess. The plant life in the area surrounding the hatch seems healthy upon a brief glance, the vibrant foliage leading me to this assumption. It’s so much more beautiful than I imagined, or than anything we have in Valis Haven to give us an idea of what the surface looked like. Nothing could properly give it justice in a mere reproduction, not when it looks like this. I’m even a little short of breath just taking everything in, not because the air is bad but rather my excitement is making it difficult for me to take a deep breath.

      It appears as if the hatch opened up in the middle of a forest, one that wasn’t present three hundred and fifty years ago. As my team climb out of the clean room through the hatch one by one, I have a tough time trying to focus on the questions they’re asking. But it’s apparent I’m not the only one enamored with the environment around us. A breeze rustles the leaves resulting in everyone jumping slightly. Reminding us that while this is an exciting experience, we must be cautious and not let our guard down.

     “Sunni, it’s… It’s beautiful.” Jae murmured beside me.

     His words break me free from the trance I’d been in, and I nod in response. “Yes, it most definitely is beautiful... We can’t just stand around here though, we need to look for a place to set up camp.”

     “Sure thing, Sunni. Just lead the way.” Gil replies giddily, his feet bouncing with energy.

     I step off the platform that leads to the hatch after sliding it closed. Twigs snap under my feet as I move forward, determining which direction we should go. Based off the fact that a forest wasn’t present before, I’m going to assume that the maps I studied are inaccurate and useless now. Our camp should be near a water source, and if we can find animal tracks they could lead us to the closest body of water.

      “Look for animal tracks, shout if you find anything.” I say calmly, wandering farther from the group.

     At this we split up, some going in pairs or solo, like myself. I walked to the left of the hatch, going past a few trees to look for tracks. As I searched the ground something in the dirt seemed odd, I crouched to get a better look at it. It was a track, that much I was aware of, but it was unlike any animal I’ve studied. Instead, as I moved leaves to the side to analyze it, the track appeared human. But that can’t be, nobody could have survived those disasters. Could they? I mean, is it possible that somehow people managed to survive and their descendants have been roaming the surface while we’ve been stuck underground?

     Shooting to my feet from my crouched position, I move to yell out for the team but a movement in the corner of my eye makes me freeze. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to bring me pause. Breath frozen in my lungs, I turn my head to where I saw the movement. I scan the trees carefully, and to my disappointment or relief I’m not sure, nothing’s there. Shaking my head to rid myself of intrusive thoughts screaming that I’m not alone, rather, we’re not alone.

      These thoughts are proved correct though as a body presses into me from behind, an arm wrapping around my waist to restrain me and a hand moving to cover my mouth. Even knowing it won’t be of much use I try to scream, and as expected the sound is muffled by my assailant’s hand. Twisting and yanking my body in a futile attempt to free myself only results in being held tighter, the arm constricting painfully around my waist. Hot tears start to build in my eyes, threatening to burn their way down my cheeks. I’ve only just made it to the surface and now I’m probably going to be killed by someone we had no clue existed.

     Words were spoken into my ear by a low voice in a language I didn’t recognize and the hand was removed from my mouth. A minute passed in silence as the person waited, I assumed it was a male at this point based off the voice. Maybe he was waiting for me to respond. I chew at my lip trying to determine if it’d matter if I told him that I didn’t understand him if he couldn’t understand me either. Screw it, it’s worth a shot.

     “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” I whisper softly.

     A huff of breath hits my neck, sending chills down my spine. “Do you understand me now?” My eyes go wide at his words and I nod frantically. “Good. Where did you come from? Why are you here? What are your plans?”

     “U-Um, well, I’m from Valis Havens. I’ve been sent up here with a small team to solve a problem. The plan is to find the problem and a solution.”

      “What is Valis Havens?”

     “It’s an underground facility that houses what we thought was the last of humanity.”

     “You said you have a team? All of you are unknown threats on our land, I have to take you to the Superior.”

     “Superior? Will-will we be killed?” I stutter out, heart pounding.

     “Only if you’re deemed a threat.”

     Surely that shouldn’t have comforted me, but for some peculiar reason it did. While, yes, there were those on my team that could pose significant threat for the people that lived here, none of them would do anything unless I gave the go ahead. I wasn’t about to give permission to go to war with people we had no clue existed until now.

      “Call your people here.” He demanded.

     “Are you sure?” I question. “If I call them here with you holding me hostage, they won’t listen first, they’ll attack. I promise I won’t try to escape, it’s no use when I know nothing about the terrain.”

     “Fine.”

      With that single word the arms holding me in place released me. Before calling out to my team, I figured I deserved to see the face of the man that had been holding me as leverage. What I saw was not what I was expecting. Although, I’m not really sure what I was expecting, just that this was not it. The man standing before me is handsome, with a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and rounded lips. His tanned skin shone in the sunlight, and his dark almond shaped eyes held a dimmed fire within them.

      “Call them, now.” He ordered, eyes narrowing.

     I pause a second longer to regain my composure. “Guys! I need you to come over here.”

     In the following minute countless shouts ring out into the air, confirming they’re moving my way, joined by sounds of leaves crunching underfoot. Gil and Nia appear first, followed shortly by Bo and Bren, next comes Jae and Vera, then finally Ves shows up. As each group finds me, they pause in place upon seeing the man standing beside me. Bo’s mouth keeps opening and closing, giving him the appearance of a dumbfounded fish. Ves is the only one to speak up amidst the dead silence surrounding my team.

     “There were survivors. Interesting.” She murmurs, a calculating look taking form on her face.

     “Yes, and apparently we’re on their territory.” I sigh lightly, glancing at the man beside me. “Now we have to go with him to meet his Superior.”

     “Sunni…” Vera draws my name out, her tone showing that she’s uncomfortable with the situation.

     I grit my teeth. “We don’t have another option, either we go with him or we start a war. I would prefer not to go to war.”

     With these words, any protests that my team had been forming died on their lips. It was evident in their eyes, how they widened in realization and fear, that initiating a war was to be avoided at all costs. None of us had ever lived through anything similar to that, the only wars we knew of were in history books. Each war in those books was devastating, with body counts higher than our population, it was difficult to imagine being okay with such loss.

      “We must move out now, so that we aren’t out when the sun sets.” The man beside me spoke up.

     A quick head count and we were on our way, following the mysterious guy through the forest. He never really spoke, except for telling us to avoid certain plants. One plant in question being a deep purple, almost black color, with large heart shaped leaves harboring small spikes that contained a deadly poison. If I’m being honest, I truly wanted to take a sample of one and examine it, potentially run a few tests. Maybe if I could figure out it’s genetic makeup, an antidote could be made for the poison, if one already hasn’t been developed that is.

     Though it wasn’t just the plant life I was curious of. I mean, how could anybody possibly survive the massive solar flares and tsunamis that happened three hundred and fifty years ago? There’s the potential that maybe if they had a bunker people could survive for a few years before facing the surface again. Except I don’t understand how the radiation wouldn’t have killed them upon surfacing, it certainly should have been deadly at that point. Everything I’ve been taught goes to say that nobody should have been able to survive. Thus, it’s mystifying to find out that people somehow managed to make it through the calamity.

     Surely the Earth would have been a mixture of scorched grounds and raised sea levels, which makes it even harder for my brain to comprehend. Quite honestly I would love to learn of their history, what they’ve been taught and how they’ve progressed. Has their society regressed in terms of development? Or has it gone beyond any expectations we may have down in Valis Havens? While I have one member of the society leading us, he is remaining quiet and elusive regarding sharing any information. I do know one thing, they must speak multiple languages, seeing as how he didn’t speak English to me at first. Scratch that, make it two things, because I am certain that the language he spoke first is new or a derivative at the least.

      Granted, I am not well versed in linguistics, I only ever managed to learn two other languages fluently. Though I do know basics of a few others, most of which were spread out regionally. Ves and Nia are the best with languages in the team, both speaking upwards of five different languages, not including English. One of them could potentially identify the origins of the language he spoke, if it was a derivative that is. It wouldn’t be surprising if Ves was the one who could identify it, seeing as she is a bit of a wild card.

      See, there’s no telling what Ves knows. She’s the type that values secrecy and never shows the world anything but a face of stone. If I’m honest, Ves scares me just a little bit. Not because I feel that she would ever go against the team or harm us, but mainly for the sole fact that you can never guess where her thoughts are. And since she rarely talks, everyone goes quiet when she does.

      Everyone else on the team is a bit easier, well, a lot easier, to read in comparison to Ves. Gil’s emotions are always plain as day on his face, he’s probably most like Ves’ polar opposite in that regard. Most of the others tend to have control over their expressions and body language, though there are times when they have an extreme reaction to something and that control slips.

      Sometimes I get so lost in thought that I lose track of my surroundings, this was one of those times. I slammed right into the back of the guy- I really should learn his name- that was leading us as a result. Yeah, I’m quite aware that I should’ve been paying attention so that incidents, such as this, wouldn’t occur. Well, it’s too late to remedy the situation. He turns slowly to face me, a blank look on his face. All I manage to do is smile sheepishly and whisper a quick apology.

     He shakes head lightly, a small smile appearing briefly. “We have arrived. Stay quiet and try not to attract too much attention. There’s no telling how the others will react, so it’s important to get you to the Superior as quickly as possible.”

     I stop him as he turns back to lead us further. “Wait, what’s your name?”

     “Minho.” And with that he turned on his heel and continued forth.

     At least now I know his name.

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

POI - Growing Pains

Alternate title; Frenchy Cannot Fucking Write About The Twins Without Expressing Her Need To Bring Them Properly Into The Idiots Fold. But its @themilokin‘s birthday!!!!! And as usual, I’m running right up to the wire jdkajfl;ajf. I hope you can forgive me Milo, I usually have my shit more together than this. But I hope you enjoy more of your sad boy with a sort of spiritual sequel to this!

1,450 words, set whenever the idiots get a break. 

“That looks like a good way to get yourself killed.”

Bren looked up as Val stepped out from the back door of the estate, dressed in simple sailor's garb that was clearly not meant for the frigid autumn wind that blew her hair in a halo behind her horns. What little of her face he could see from behind the mane was amused though, not bothered by the cold, and when he followed her gaze, he realized why: Amon was still standing at the end of the range, lingering by the target he had righted and staring quizzically at the holes that had been riddled in it. His right hand twitched as he did some kind of mental calculations that Bren could only begin to guess at.

“It would be really cool, though,” he called back, gaze still fixated on the target. Val snorted.

“Sure, if you don’t mind having a hole in your hand,” she replied. “I feel like catching an arrow is just a bit different than swatting a chunk of lead out of the air.”

Amon gave a conciliatory shrug that said he clearly didn’t agree, and Bren had to stifle a grin. He would never fire anywhere near his sister, not for all the gold in Sendra, but he knew Cavvery had probably had the same thought once or twice.

Rolling her eyes, Val turned back towards Bren and nodded down the range.

“What’re the odds you think I could convince him not to try catching a bullet?”

Bren shrugged. “Five gold says you can’t?”

“I’ll take that.”

As she tugged her shirt closer around herself and stepped down into the grass, Bren heard a snort behind him. Ianry’s grip on the rifle had loosened slightly, but his hands had pointedly not moved from the positions that Bren had been showing him a moment earlier.

“She should just let him try it,” he said, nodding towards where Amon was inspecting the target again. “Either he’d do it, and it’d be awesome, or he wouldn’t and we’d have to call Sarula.”

“Maybe,” said Bren, “but I’m sure as shit not going to fire at him. Not if it involves a Sarula lecture.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “I wouldn’t even have Cav to help me; they’re friends.”

Ianry grinned. “You’d be fine. Amon would back you up!”

“Yeah, great. ‘Don’t worry, Sarula. It was awesome! I missed, fell on my face and got shot in the ass, but at least now we know that catching bullets is a bad idea!’”

Ianry snickered. The particular way he did it – low, conspiratorial, familiar – nearly coaxed a smile onto Bren’s face. He stifled it quickly.

“Well,” Ianry went on when he had righted himself, “if you don’t wanna do it, you could always just show me how.”

Bren raised an eyebrow. “You wanna try shooting your friends?”

“No, I wanna try shooting near them. That’s why I need you to show me how to aim.”

This time, the grin came too quickly to hide. He managed to cover the last of it with a sigh as he carefully picked his way back to Ianry’s side.

“This is a horrible idea,” he said, with feigned resignation, “but a worse idea is to let you wave that gun around without at least knowing trigger discipline.”

Ianry turned to let Bren make adjustments to the placement of his hands. “And that is…?”

“That’s not putting your finger on the trigger around anything you don’t wanna shoot.”

He moved the butt of the rifle against Ianry’s shoulder so that it was aimed down the range, and watched out of the corner of his eye as he grinned and pointedly moved his finger back towards the trigger again. Bren just rolled his eyes. He had already removed the rifle’s charges and set them well away from Ianry and Amon and anyone else marginally prone to fire after all, so the flagrant disregard didn’t quite move him to protest. He did jostle Ianry’s hand further down the length of the barrel as a warning though, then turned his attention back towards the target that Val had managed to maneuver Amon slightly more away from.

“You’ll have to aim lower,” he said as he slipped into position along Ianry’s eyeline. “You’re used to longbows, but this is gonna move a lot faster than an arrow. At this distance, you can pretty well assume it’s gonna hit whatever the bottom is lined up with.”

He stuck a hand out along the bottom of the barrel in a line to demonstrate, aimed across the field...right towards where Val and Amon were both staring in his direction, wearing matching grins of sharp white teeth. Whatever argument they had been embroiled in a second earlier had apparently been forgotten in favor of staring down the range towards him. Towards them, Bren realized after a moment, with a stab of panic; their looks made it suddenly, painfully obvious how much of Ianry was pressed against his shoulder, his side, his cheek.

He sputtered and staggered away, his hand tightening around the barrel of the gun as if to take it with him.

“That’s, ahh, the gist of it anyway, so we can just -”

“What?” Ianry’s hands also tightened on the rifle, reluctant more than possessive. “But you haven’t shown me anything! Except that I’m gonna be aiming at the dirt apparently, since your magic bullets don’t have the common decency to even fall properly…”

“It’s not magic,” Bren interrupted, fighting down the embarrassment with annoyance instead. “And besides, you don’t need to know much more unless you’re gonna fire it.”

“Am I not going to fire it?”

“Not unless you want to actually kill your friends.” He paused as Ianry tipped his head, considering. “...Do you want to actually kill your friends?”

“I mean, don’t you sometimes?”

Bren stared at him for a long moment, quiet and still latched onto the rifle between them. Then his hand flew up to his mouth, trying in vain to smother the little bout of laughter he felt threatening from behind his teeth. It still snuck out - a huff of a breath too heavy here, a snort there - but he managed to stifle the worst of it before Ianry’s grin grew too unbearably smug.

“Tell you what,” he said, once it felt less like he was choking back a river. “If you can find a way to get both of those two idiots off of the range, I’ll let you fire one shot.”

Ianry’s eyes narrowed. “Ten.”

“Five, or none.”

The rifle was shoved unceremoniously back into his hands.

“Deal,” said Ianry, then wheeled around towards the length of the range. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, pointedly ignored the fact that they immediately slid down to his wrists again, and began marching off towards the two tieflings who had returned to bickering at the end of he range.

“Hey!” Bren heard him call as he stormed their way. “We’re actually trying to do something over here. Move or be moved!”

“Ohhhh, ‘or be moved,’ he says,” Val drawled, sharing a skeptical look with Amon over her shoulder. She turned as Ianry got into shoving distance, folding her arms over her chest. “Alright then mate, c’mon. Let’s see you try it.”

Even across the field, Bren could see the futility in the way Ianry fisted his hands into her shirt, in the way he dug his boots into the grass and shoved hard enough to make her lean, but not enough to get her anywhere close to stepping back. That wasn’t the point, of course; the point was just to make the joke, to yell at Amon over his shoulder until he joined in too, and Val actually had to step back, lashing her tail as a counterbalance.

He chuckled as he watched Amon slip out of the way and nearly send Val sprawling into the dirt, leaning back on his rifle and trying to ignore the little whisper of an ache in his heart that said he was sick of just watching. The sensible part of him knew better. Getting mixed up with this lot was more than just a terrible idea; it was suicide. He’d seen the scars they had come away with. He had heard about the arguments, the boredom, the long, hard travel they endured just to get from one conflict to the next. Despite their very enthusiastic invitations to both him and Cavvery, the survivalist in him knew that he shouldn’t want to be anywhere near these idiots at all.

And yet, he thought, looking over to where Ianry was slumped against Val’s side, laughing.

And yet.

[iwriteficsnottragediesladies]

Search and Seizure pt 9

Request from @x-justtheletter-x: For Search and Seizure, could you do a part where Brendon is in the studio and the reader is inside their house reading/watching TV they don't have enough time to call Brendon or Zach to help, but then Brendon walks after the seizure or something like that please and thank you.

Pre-read Epilepsy Disclaimer

Brendon was having a dry spell in his songwriting. It’s happened before, it usually just takes a few weeks and he’s back at it. Today he woke up ready to go and you love the little glint in his eye when he’s excited. He went out back to the studio.

You didn’t feel great, still sleepy and groggy, so you decided to flick on the tv. You drift back off to sleep.

You woke up and your stomach was tied in knots, being pulled tighter.

Fuck fuck fuck

Your arm started to disappear.

“Bren?!” you tried and your voice weakened, “Bren?”

He’s still in the studio. You struggled and got your phone from the coffee table, fumbling to get to Brendon’s number. He doesn’t usually bring his phone into the studio, but it was worth a try.

You hear his phone ringing in the next room.

Fuck

Your panic spins out of control. You get down on the floor, stepping on poor Bogart in the process. You know you’re way too close to the coffee table but you don’t have the strength to push it out of the way. You were too weak to get anywhere else, so you resigned yourself to this dangerous spot, laying on your side.

Your thoughts were becoming progressively less clear. You have a last minute thought to call Zack but it’s too late. The world dropped away.

It turns out Brendon was not as successful as he had hoped. Everything he recorded just sounded wrong. He decided to take a break, get some water and clear his head.

He walked out of the studio and saw Bogart inside the house, clawing at the glass door, anxiously awaiting his arrival.

“Jesus bud, you gotta go that bad?” Brendon laughed as he opened the door, expecting Bogart to run out into the grass, but he didn’t go anywhere. He just stayed at Brendon’s feet, looking up at him. “Okay, suit yourself,” Brendon shrugged and closed the door.

Brendon walked into the living room and saw the tv on, but the couch unoccupied. He wondered where you were. Probably in the bathroom or getting changed. Bogart jumped up on Brendon, scratching him down his legs.

“Ow, what is your problem?” He said, shaking him off. He strolled towards the kitchen and did a double take.

He saw you on the floor, flat on your back.

“Y/n?” Brendon said in shock as he ran over to you. “Shit shit shit,” he muttered as he threw the coffee table aside to get next to you.

“Y/n?!” he called to you, dropping to his knees. Your body was relaxed and your eyes were open but looking nowhere in particular. He saw blood and spit dripping from each corner of your mouth and quickly rolled you onto your side. Barely anything came out. Something felt wrong to him, like you were barely even breathing at all.

He followed his instincts and places a hand on your chin, gently opening your mouth. Brendon’s glad he did--you were then able to gag and clear the significant amount of blood from your mouth. Your breathing sounded muffled and labored, but at least you were breathing.

“Fuck,” he said quietly. He saw your phone next to you and snatched it up, quickly dialing 911, smudging blood across the screen. He wiped your mouth so it could remain clear as he waited for someone to pick up. None of the blood on your face was dried, so he was hopeful that you hadn’t been lying there long. Why were you on your back? he cursed himself. 

A calm voice answered. Brendon rattles off the answers to all the questions the dispatcher asks, never taking his eyes off of you.

He can’t tell if you’re not waking up as quickly as usual or if time was moving in slow motion. He puts the phone on speaker and texts Zack:

Sos home seizure

That’s the unspoken code of how the band members talk to Zack when they were in a bad situation: importance, where you are, and what’s happening.

Within 10 seconds, he replied:

On my way

Your breathing starts to change and you cough a little.

You concentrate on your surroundings and see that you’re laying on a soft rug. You feel like you need to cough, like you had swallowed water the wrong way. Why? A few feet away you saw a small blob... a figure... a creature... Bogart? Your eyes focus on what’s directly in front of you--there is a person just inches from you. It’s so difficult to move, but you just want to get away. God, why was it so hard to breathe?

You feel a hand on you and you can’t stand lying there defenseless anymore. You do your absolute best to move away, barely able to breathe.

You start to struggle on the ground and Brendon tries to comfort you.

“Y/n, you’re okay,” he says quickly, “It’s okay, baby.”

You end up coughing and gagging, trying to get air in between.

“It’s alright,” he said, “get it all out.”

It finally ends but you are still quietly gasping. You hear a voice.

“Just breathe,” the voice sings, “It’s okay.”

You try to follow the sound of the voice.

Brendon notices, getting lower and putting himself in your line of sight so you can see him.

“Y/n, it’s Brendon,” He informs you sweetly, “I’m right here, you’re safe.”

Your eyes find his face and his expression softens a bit.

“Hi Y/n,” He coos. You are momentarily comforted before being interrupted by a choking sensation that you swallow down. He notices that you are much drowsier than usual. You can barely keep your eyes open.

“C’breathe,” you tried to say. You were so confused that you weren’t sure if Brendon could tell or not. Brendon nodded in understanding.

“I know it’s hard to breathe,” he replied, taking the child-like tone you needed, “The paramedics are coming so they can help you breathe better, okay?”

Normally you’d be pissed that he called 911, but you were too out of it and scared to care.

“Bren,” you gasp.

“I’m right here, Y/n,” He strokes your shoulder.

You notice his hand is covered in blood and so is the phone beside you. You cough out some foamy spit and Brendon wipes it away. The weakness you felt was overwhelming.

“Hey, Y/n, look at me baby,” He said slowly.

You realized you were starting to close your eyes so you open them and do as you’re told. There was something so calming about his eyes.

“Hi Y/n,” he said as he pushed some hair from your face, “Keep looking right at me, baby.”

There’s a loud knock at the door and a voice called out: “Paramedics”

“In here!” Brendon yelled back. The door opened and the team of medics came in, navigating to the living room. You could hear the loud steps of heavy boots entering and the rustling of bags.

“Scared,” you looked at Brendon and squeaked simply. His heart ached.

“I know darlin, I know,” he reassured you as he moved down to your feet, out of the way, “But I’ll be right here, okay?” He places his hand gently on your leg so you know he is there. You nodded.

The medics were obviously concerned with how you’re breathing and quickly began to treat you with an amount of urgency that worried Brendon.

Zack had just pulled up to the house. He saw the ambulance in the driveway and knew it must be bad. He hustled to the door and was stopped.

“Sir, you can’t--”

“That’s my sister!” He asserted and they let him through. He lied about being related to you in medical emergencies--it was easier that way.

You were panicking on the floor as the paramedics put an oxygen mask on you.

“You’re okay,” Brendon reminded you as he rubbed your leg from where he was sitting. Brendon realizes your legs were covered in fresh bruises, probably from hitting the table during your seizure. He felt so guilty that he wasn’t there to protect you.

You hear another pair of footsteps enter the room and make an attempt to look. Brendon looks up as well, feeling relieved to see it’s Zack who gives him a little nod.

“That’s Zack,” Brendon told you sweetly, “He’s here too, okay?”

Zack took note of your difficulty breathing and the sizeable amount of blood on the floor. Fuck. This definitely was not good.

The medics made quick work of getting you loaded into the ambulance.

As they started driving, the paramedic was saying things to his partner, words Brendon had never even heard before.

Tachycardic. Satting. Tachypnea. Stridor.

It heightened his anxiety but he tried to remain focused on you.

Halfway through the ride, you pick your head up to lean over more and start gagging again. The paramedics quickly jump into action, one pulling the oxygen mask to the side while the other is ready with a suction device, pulling the fluid away from you. Brendon makes sure he is out of their way and holds your hair.

“There you go,” one of the paramedics said kindly, “You’re doing great, Y/n.”

Brendon stroked your arm in agreement. It was over relatively quickly and you rest your head back down, returning to your quiet gasps. Your eyes wander over to Brendon in defeat.

“It’s okay, darlin,” Brendon said softly, “It’s okay.”

Once you arrived at the hospital, the medical team continued to treat you hastily. You remained on the oxygen and medication was given to you. It was getting so much easier to breathe, no longer a need to cough and gasp for air.

As Brendon was guessing, you had aspirated on your blood--because you were on your back during the seizure, the blood had nowhere to go and you inhaled it instead. Having that much fluid in your lungs can be incredibly dangerous, even after the fact. The doctor admitted you to the hospital for 24 hours.

Now that you were stable and staying the night, Zack went back to the house to pick up things for you and Brendon.

“Thanks man,” Brendon says as Zack hands over the bag.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Zack replied with a nod, “Do you guys need anything else?”

You looked to Brendon and he shook his head.

“No, I think we’re all set,” You replied with a tired smile.

“Alright,” Zack said, “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks Zack,” you coughed and he left.

Brendon turned back to you and your eyes were already heavy with sleep.

“Wanna sleep for a little while?” He suggested.

You just nod and curl up.

“Okay,” he agreed softly.

He sits there just watching you sleep for a few minutes. It brought a smile to his face, feeling so grateful to see you at peace. After a while, he reached into the backpack Zack had dropped off and retrieved his phone. He looked at the screen.

1 missed call Y/n

He felt like he had been punched in the stomach. Guilt sat so deeply in his stomach it made him sick. He should have had his phone. He should have been there for you. He should have prevented all of this.

Instead, you were all alone, terrified and in danger. He sees that your arm strewn over the pillow is covered in bruises. You could have died if he hadn’t found you when he did. God, what if he lost you? It would have been all his fault.

His throat was being held in a vice grip by the sobs he was trying to withhold. Tears streamed down his face as he sniffled, putting his head in his hands. He tried to keep it together, but he started to choke on silent sobs.

He could have lost you and it would have been all his fault.

He’s pulled from his thoughts.

“Bren?” you question in a small voice.

He quickly wiped his tears and smiled, trying to laugh off being caught.

“Hi baby,” he said sweetly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“‘s okay,” you replied, rolling over. You reached out to him so he sat down on the bed. You happily cuddle up to him and he holds you, endlessly grateful that you were in his arms, safe. You feel him starting to shake and he finally can’t hold in the sob anymore.

“I’m so sorry baby,” he sputtered.

“Brendon--” You try.

“I should have been there,” he continued, “I’m so, so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” you reassured him, “This was completely unexpected. You did nothing wrong. ”

“I could have lost you,” He sobbed, “I can’t--I don’t--”

“I know, I know,” you reply, beginning to cry too, “It was so scary, but now we’re right here. Together. We’re okay. That’s all that matters now, okay?”

He nodded and you buried your face into his side as you both cried.

“I’m so glad you found me when you did,” you whispered with solemn gratitude.

“Wish it was sooner,” He shook his head in disappointment.

“Doesn’t matter, remember?” you reminded him, “We’re here and safe. That’s what matters.”

He sighed with a nod, pulling you closer.

“I love you Bren,” You said softly.

“I love you too, Y/n,” He replied, “So much.”

Gees reader, way to scare the shit out of Brendon! lol. In the comments I will explain each medical term in case you’re curious. Hopefully, you liked this chapter. I have another in the works. Like/reblog if you’re feelin’ it!

@ray—-toro @charliecynthiaa @msbeliever-prettyweeper @darkmoon707 @marine482 @ladevoteeshirts @itsdangerousblues @kenziepayne33 @lizzrossstories @un-surpassable @lolisded @itsdangerousblues @kyky9103 @lizzrossstories @j2minion @graceaudreyjudy

@savannah-m-99

[vicious-mockerer]

glader hc location: arcade

WOOHOO Y’ALL KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS (time to distract myself with the fact that my physics exam was r o u g h with some nice fluffy hc’s!!!)

and chloe your ask deserves to go first after how long it took me to answer your safe haven hc request oops 

AAAAND HERE WE GO :’)

side note: i’m keeping all details consistent between asks, so if something happens here, it might show up again later in another ask!! 

-it’s a weekly tradition for all of the gladers and their families to get together every other saturday, and today was newt’s pick: the local arcade down the street. he’d grown up in this town, and used to go there every weekend to play games with his friends. 

-thomas never really had an interest in arcades until the first time they’d all met there together. the entire time, thomas and gally went head-to-head in every game they could find, making sure someone was following them around to keep score (usually frypan)

-thomas has to practically beg newt to get there early so thomas could get ahead start on some of the games before gally got there 

-everyone shows up, and they always end up waiting on minho and brenda’s family. “i couldn’t get him out of the bathroom!” brenda would say, “i’m pretty sure he used half of his hair gel in one sitting...”

-after everyone arrives, people start to split up. gally almost immediately drags thomas over to the basketball game. “you got lucky last time, shank. let’s see how you do this time.” frypan, winston, and zart all share an amused glance before following them over to keep score and watch the competition. 

-sonya and harriet happily volunteer to look after gally’s daughter while her dad plays against thomas. they love taking the small girl to the dance dance revolution board, and taking turns dancing and singing karaoke. they looooove singing spice girls 

-teresa loves to join newt in watching his son and daughter play each other in car-racing games. sometimes, when his daughter is falling behind in a race, newt slyly reaches around her and helps steer the wheel without his son noticing. teresa always cheers for both teams and gives the winner of the race a big hug. 

-minho and brenda prefer to take their three sons over to the skeeball lanes. aris helps keep all of the kids wrangled in the same area, and he sometimes helps the kids with their aim. minho always tries to impress brenda, but whenever she looks, minho manages to miss every time. “bren, i swear i got it last time!!!” “sure you did, babe.” it makes winning an endless number of tickets for brenda a little more difficult. 

-after a quick lunch break and ice cream, everyone heads back inside the arcade for the rest of the afternoon.  

-zart and aris steal thomas and newt’s kids to go play a four-person game of mario kart. thanks to many helpful practice sessions with newt in racing games, the kids are actually some serious competition for zart and aris, much to their embarrassment. but they dont mind, because the kids always smiled so big after winning a game. 

-thomas and newt sneak off to play one of the first and third-person shooter games on the other side of the arcade. these kind of games are newt’s favorite, he’s very good. his favorite is a star wars game where you can fly ships in space and attack the enemy. newt plays with very small and precise movements, while thomas practically flails his gun with every shot and ends up missing over half of the time. thomas always tries to distract newt by sneaking a surprise kiss on newt’s forehead, on his hair, on his neck, on his nose...newt tries to keep a straight face but always succumbs in the end. “nice try, tommy....but i still won.”

-frypan and winston are big fans of some of the classic carnival games. they always take brenda and minho’s kids over to play. all three boys are very active and athletically fit, just like their parents, and love to play the game where you throw balls to knock down clowns. 

-”min min!!” gally’s daughter would always shout when she wanted to play games with minho. gally would roll his eyes as minho burst out laughing, giving his daughter a big high five before asking what she wants to play. she absolutely loves games that involve riding and balancing on a motorcycle or snow mobile, and she always wants to be on a team with minho so she can play against her dad. whenever gally loses minho gives him a wink and laughs. gally groans in annoyance but it always fades when his daughter screams “daddy!!!! we beat you!!!!!! i did it!!!!” “yeah you did, sweet pea, good job!” 

-sonya, harriet, teresa, and brenda always tend to sneak off together at one point of the day. their favorite thing to do is a nice, competitive, 4-person game of air hockey. they always play sonya and harriet versus brenda and teresa, and their games always get so intense that they tend to draw a crowd. there’s always plenty of light-hearted jokes and laughter, and despite the competitive tone none of them really care who wins. 

-in all honestly, their favorite part is when the boys start to gather and start taking sides. “THAT’S MY GIRL!!!!” Minho would always shout whenever brenda scored a goal. gally hoists his daughter up on his shoulders to give her a better view, and her cheers are always the loudest. newt, thomas, frypan, and aris, like to make bets on who is gonna win. thomas and frypan always manage to bet wrong, making newt and aris very rich in pocket change. 

-at the end of the day, everyone heads over to the counter to turn in their tickets and get their prizes!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

-minho always tries to have the most to get something fun for brenda  or his kids, and he sometimes convinces the others to give him some extra tickets on the DL. thomas doesn’t really win very many tickets most of the time, so he always gets a bunch of the super cheap prizes like bubbles, candy, and rubber poppers. much to newt’s entertainment, thomas actually enjoys playing with all of them with the kids!! frypan gets a pair of those giant sunglasses, and zart gets fake flowers and rings that squirt water on people. teresa always donates her tickets to the kids, and winston and aris usually do the same. gally doesn’t really care how many tickets he has in the end, as long as he gets more than thomas. sonya and harriet like to get a bunch of those cheap bead necklaces in all colors. 

-newt smiles at everyone at the ticket counter as they collect their prizes, old memories of his own childhood coming back. he smiles, seeing the same happiness in everyone elses’ eyes that he felt way back then. 

WOOO THE FIRST HC IS DONE :’)

now...only 21 more to go lololol

[crepeycrepeyspacewizard]

Father's Day prompt- 'Galaxy's #1 Dad' mug

[Wow this got out of hand! Nonny please accept 2,008 words of kid fic. BB is the nonbinary child of Hux & Hux in Modern Emperors while JakJak is the dimension hopping monster son of Kylux from Laeti Vescimur Nos Subacturis & To Sleep, Perchance.]

JakJak liked this world. It was simple. Just humans, low tech, and - apart from the language - it was easy to navigate.

The language made no sense. He’d heard people speaking multiple tongues here while the trade language seemed to be Basic. But the writing didn’t tally up.

For example, his friend BB spoke Basic, though they called it English. They kept trying to teach him the letters, but the nature of his travel made it hard to follow. He didn’t always find himself here sequentially. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he moved between universes at all.  

Once, a few years ago to him but three months in the future for them, BB had shown him some weirdly two dimensional holos that they thought would explain matters. But the ‘movies’ had just confused him. He didn’t travel at 88 miles an hour. Nor was he a human-looking droid. He just went and there he was, nothing more to it.

He’d work it all out one day he knew, but right now he was more interested in learning about the places he visited and the things he saw.

Today they were out with the babysitter, not on any particular mission just ‘out of the house before they drove them out of their mind’.

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing with a hand that was mostly human right now.

BB rolled their eyes. They were the only child of the local rulers - two copies of his own father offset by a few years - and they never seemed to take his questions seriously.

“It’s a book shop.” They said, then continued when his expression didn’t change- “where you buy books. And all kinds of silly things because people don’t buy books any more.”

“What’s a book?”

Pinching the bridge of the nose and wearily closing golden eyelashes was such a father gesture that JakJak actually feared he’d get reprimanded. BB had insisted they weren’t a clone, but at times like this JakJak really didn’t believe them.

“Paper, with writing on it. To record and dis-trib-ute knowledge.”

“You sound just like father,” JakJak said. “Wow. I can’t believe you still have those, I’ve never seen one in real life. Papa has one but he’s says it’s full of ancient Sith secrets so we’re not allowed to see. I thought you had datapads?”

“Yes, but some people still like paper.”

“Huh.” JakJak crinkled his brow. “Why is the window all full of blue cards and balloons?”

“Oh.” They looked at the signs. “It must be Father’s Day soon. Dad says I ‘shouldn’t fill the house with junk’ but I know for a fact he’s kept every macaroni and paste picture I’ve made in my entire life, and I’m pretty sure he still has the travel mug Dad had made the year I was born. So I’ll still get something.”

JakJak could feel his frown deepening as it always did when BB talked about their fathers  as singular ‘Dad’. It was hard to follow which one they meant, though the few times he’d seen them he hadn’t been able to tell them apart either.

Except that one time at a picnic when they’d taken their shirts off to play some sport or other. JakJak had been surprised to see that one of them had almost the exact same shoulder scars as his own father, though he lacked the ones one his belly and back.

That had been disorientating. JakJak was used to seeing copies of his father in every universe, but until then he’d thought only his father and Papa Carolus had those scars. He’d wondered how many others had them too, but he’d yet to work out an unwierd way to ask.

“Your fathers set up a day just so that people would buy them gifts?” He asked, mildly appalled. “I thought Empire Day was bad, but at least that wasn’t father’s idea.”

BB shoved him none too gently. He had the strength to resist but that usually worried people, so he let himself fall into the wall instead.

“What?! No!” They cried. “It’s like a hundred year old holiday or something! People had been celebrating Mother’s Day for years and they decided to make a Father’s Day to balance it out. So everyone buys their parents gifts. Well. Not everyone. Some people have awful parents… Dad gets a lot of work on those holidays.”

For some reason BB’s fathers still laboured under the misapprehension that their child didn’t know they were assassins. Of course JakJak’s Papa Kylo killed people all the time, but he was the Emperor’s Lord Protector. For some reason that seemed more honourable than assassination.

JakJak didn’t say that though. Last time he’d said that outloud BB had pushed him into the Puget Sound. He hadn’t liked that.

“Oh. Okay.” That seemed safe.

“Hah! Look at this!” BB called excitedly from the window. “You should get two of these! Oh, I might get two for Dad too.”

He really hadn’t understood the sentence but JakJak dutifully peered at the object indicated by BB’s finger. It was a white mug with incomprehensible local scrawl across the side.

“Uh, what does it say?”

BB sighed and looked ready to tell him off when they suddenly stopped mid-breathe. “Oh. If you can’t read it then they won’t be able to either, will they?”

JakJak shook his head.

“I wonder if they sell any kits?” They said thoughtfully.

JakJak liked sitting at the table in Dex’ apartment. There was cookie jar in the shape of a cat in the middle, and Dex never complained about him eating them all. Or about serving him raw meat. That was nice. A lot of people didn’t like to handle it.

He liked this Dex. This Dex laughed a lot more than his own. But then this Dex still had their Mitaka. In his universe Papa Kylo had killed Mitaka by accident long before JakJak was even born. That was a strange thing to think about. It made his chest feel funny, so he stopped.

BB had spread paper all over the surface of the table and arranged the four mugs so they could show him how to use the kit.

“Write on the surface with the pens. If you go wrong wipe it off with the alcohol wipes. When we’re done Dex can put them in the oven to cure before Dad gets here to pick me up, when you have to go home.”

“Ok.” He nodded and picked up a purple coloured pen. “What should I write?”

“The mug I saw said ‘Galaxy’s Number 1 Dad’.” BB said, writing the words on the paper as they spoke. “I thought that was funny since you said your father was Galactic Emperor.”

At the sink Dex snorted but didn’t turn around. JakJak put his tongue out at them anyway. It was a very long tongue, and forked today, so he felt it made his point.

Writing on the shiny surface took a lot of concentration and it was only when he’d finished that JakJak realised he still had his tongue sticking out between his teeth. BB didn’t notice- they were too busy staring at his writing with their mouth open.

“That’s Basic?!” They asked, apparently stunned but something as simple as writing.

JakJak laughed. “No, the letters are called Aurebesh.”

“Oh my god, that’s what Dad writes in when he wants to make notes no one can read!”

The last part was a conspiratorial whisper, like it was some kind of secret Dex shouldn’t know about. JakJak didn’t really understand why.

“Can you show me how do it?” Now that would be easy.

The Emperor kept a clear desk. It was a point of pride. It was also a point of keeping his Force damned sanity in the face of a horribly complicated galaxy.

Which made the pair of white cylinders sitting in the middle of the desk a source of irritation.

Who the pfassk had dared to leave… oh.

They were mugs. Very primitive stoneware mugs, exactly the opposite of the opulence that surrounded them.

A child had written on them.

He picked up the closest mug.

One side read- ‘GALAxY’s #1 fATHeR’ while the other bore the words ‘JAkJAK LoVEs YoU’.

Hux stared at it in confusion.

The other was the same but read ‘PApA’ instead of father. No, not the same. The writing was raised. It seemed like multiple layers of paint had been applied so fingers could detect the words.

With slightly trembling hands Hux carried them gingerly through the palace, opening doors with his elbows, until he reached the nursery.

Alia was standing on a box next to JakJak’s crib and clinging to her blind father’s robes as the pair watched the infant sleep. He was almost a month old but it didn’t look like the novelty would wear off anytime soon.

“Kylo?” He whispered, desperate not to wake the child he’d only persuaded to sleep an hour ago. “I found these in my office. Any idea what it means?”

Kylo studied them for a moment, borrowing Hux’ eyes to see what his fingers and the Force couldn’t show him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it means we’re the best fathers in the Galaxy?” He said with a grin.

The stare Hux gave him should have caused him to combust on the spot, but he just let his grin widen.

“Who left them there?! I know it wasn’t Alia, her handwriting is much better than this!”

Without looking away from the baby their daughter gave a prim, “thank you!”

“The clue is on the mug, Bren. JakJak did this.”

“He’s only 27 days old!”

“And he saved me from Snoke a month after he was conceived!” Kylo snapped back. In his crib JakJak stirred. Kylo reduced his volume as he continued, “this is just the way he is. We always knew he was different. We should expect… different things.”

Yes, perhaps they should. But in the scheme of things, time travelling just to make sure they knew they were loved should not count as a cause for concern.

The bed shook at the sudden assault.

“We’re being boarded, all hands to battlestations!” A sleepy voice said from under its pillow.

“Dad!” BB squealed when the other man-shaped lump in the bed reared up to envelope her in the sheets.

“I’ve captured the interloper Lieutenant General Hair Dye, what shall I do with…”

There was more screaming as the other figure sat up and hurled its pillow at the first. “Lieutenant General Hair Dye! How dare you?!”

“DAD!!”

“I apologise, let us make peace and defeat the invader... with tickling!!”

“DAAAAD nooooooo….”

“What do you think Auren? No mercy?”

“Of course!”

It was another ten minutes, and one of their fathers literally falling out of the bed, before BB admitted defeat.

“I surrender! Also, your coffee is going cold!” That, at least, was enough to force Auren to accept the surrender while the coffee would still be drinkable.

BB sat on Eamon’s knee to watch as Auren reached for his own mug. He turned white when he saw the text, which was impressive for a man as pale as a Hux.

“Auren? Are you okay?” Eamon asked, concerned.

Auren’s weaker left hand was shaking and threatened to spill the beverage on the sheets.

“Did you write this, BB?”

They nodded. “Yes, Dad, I made one for both of you.”

Eamon glanced at the mug on his side of the bed. The writing on that one was in English, not the angular but oddly familiar text on Auren’s mug.

There was silence for a moment as Auren seemed to weigh his options. Finally he put the mug carefully back in its place and turned to hug them both.

“One day you’re going to tell me where you learned that, okay?”

BB didn’t entirely understand, but they knew enough to take the out when it was offered. “Of course, Dad, but I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

“No, no I think I will.”

[tokengeekgirl]

March Prompt 1: Garden

The secret garden was not secret because it was hidden, though its wall was high and strong. Though the door was kept locked and guarded always, it was not a secret garden because only some could enter. Any who came to the gate and spoke their question were free to enter.

I wish.

Rather, the garden was secret because it contained all the secrets of the world. Root and branch and twig, flower and leaf and seed, anywhere a plant grew, there too the knowledge of that plant grew in the garden. It heard the proclamations of kings and the first laughs of babes in arms. It heard the secret whispers of maidens and the midnight revelations of healers.

I need.

From the highest peak to the depths of the sea, the garden gathered its knowledge. A traveler, seeking wisdom, seeking the fulfillment of their desire, could face the challenge and enter the garden. Once past its walls, one question could be answered, one wish fulfilled.

Please.

Over the ages long, the garden grew bored, and impatient with humanity. Always, they had the same desires. Always, they had the same demands. 

I am poor, grant me wealth. I am powerless, give me strength over those who pursue me. I am lonely, I wish for love. 

Age after age they came, seeking power and wisdom and might.

My family is ill, grant me healing. I am uncertain, show me the way.  I do not know, give me the knowledge.

Always and again, the garden would grant their desires. Always and again, they would come with the same questions.

“Excuse me?”

Always, they would come with the same wishes.

“Is any one there? Only, I don’t know the proper way.”

A rustle, and a boy tumbled out into the clearing at the heart of the garden. It rustled its branches in interest, for this was a younger one than it had seen in many a long age.

“The guard said I supposed to just say something. That seems rude.”

His head was a riot of red, untamed and reaching for the sun. He was barely taller than some of its smaller bushes, and he did not seem adequately covered for the weather. The cold was coming on. The garden spread the branches of the willow closest to the boy. He startled back, then saw the soft moss at its base.

“You want me to sit there?”

The garden waved, and the boy sat. He gazed around in wonder at the moving trees. The garden shivered in pleasure. It had been so long since it had seen wonder.

When the boy seemed to be unable to start, the garden brushed him with the tip of one branch. 

He straightened, then shifted to kneel formally at the base of the willow. Again, the garden felt something that it hadn’t felt in an age. Amusement.

“Thank you for granting me a hearing. I, uh. Well, I’m here because, you see, no, better start earlier. My family is poor. Very poor.”

The wind rushed through the tops of the trees in an echo of the garden’s sigh. Wealth. It had been fun while it lasted.

“I’m the oldest, you see, and of a ‘prenticing age or nearly there. But Ma’s sick. The last babe came hard for her, and she hasn’t been able to care for us proper since.”

Health? The garden prepared another plant.

“And Da works hard, but there are eight of us, not counting the babe. He can barely make enough to feed all of us. There’s none left for a ‘prentice price, and anyway, no masters in our village that want a ‘prentice from outside their own families. I’d have to go to another village, and you know that ups the price something awful.”

What did this boy want? The garden poked him, hard, in the side.

“Oh! Sorry. You don’t need to know all that. I’ll be no good in Da’s work, we’ve known that for a while. Bren, my next oldest, is set to follow Da. But I am needed for something. I’m a mouth to feed, even if I care for Ma.”

Food?

“The Bard told me of the garden, and I decided to come. You grant wishes. They’ll have more food with me gone, and with Bren Da’ll earn twice the money. Lyna can care for Ma. I thought, maybe, since I wasn’t needed at home, you could use a gardener?”

Everything within the garden fell still. No one, in all the long ages of the garden’s knowledge, had every wanted to serve the plants. Always, it was a request for self. It wrapped a branch of the willow around the boy’s shoulders. A smile flashed lightning quick across a young face. 

And so the garden got someone to care for it. It taught the boy when to pull, and when to plant. It showed where the sharp stones were, and where and when and how to prune. The boy ran all over the garden, watering and harvesting and weeding. His clothes grew ever more threadbare, until they fell apart, and he roamed naked among the bushes and grasses.

I wish. Grant me love. Health.

Still the people came. The boy hid himself, but he listened to all the answers. He grew wise in the ways of the garden, in the knowledge brought up from the roots of the world. And he grew.

I need. Gold. Power. Strength.

Everyone who came received what they asked for. Everyone went away satisfied. The boy watched, and learned. He learned the languages spoken throughout the world, and the tales told in far off lands. At times, when a group came all at once, he saw the interactions, man to man, and learned.

Grant me knowledge.

The garden rejoiced in the boy, even as he grew tall, the fronds on the top of his head falling down his back. When the red was joined with a gold flecked bronze on his face, the garden knew that it was time for the boy to go. Even the worst of apprentices became journeymen, and the boy was hardly the worst. The garden led him to the door, thick and barred. 

Yet the boy did not understand, and the garden learned a selfishness all its own. Another season went by, another blooming, another dying, before the garden tried again. Again, the boy refused to leave, and again, the garden let a season pass. Once more it led the boy to the garden gate. This time, it would not be turned aside, no matter how the boy pointed out the weeding and watering needed.

Finally, the boy stood pressed to the door to the world. He was more wild creature than man, naked and browned and un-pruned.

“I don’t know what’s out there.”

Foolishness. Hadn’t he learned everything the garden knew?

“Yes, but you will not be there.”

It was everywhere.

“Fine, true. But I won’t be able to hear you.”

Nonsense. Time to go.

“Not nonsense. I never talked to plants before I came here. I did not know their names, their feelings.”

It would be with its boy everywhere.

“You don’t even know my name. I hardly have one any more.”

Final gift, then. Pick a name before you leave, and the garden will know you with every plant you pass.

Its boy stood to a long time, searching the garden with his eyes. A hawk screamed overhead.

The boy smiled his lightning smile. “That will be my name then. Myrddin Wylt. The wild merlin.”