#Star Trek bound in blood

[savameh]

Smile or laugh for the wip meme?

Pulling out the beginning of an old WIP I’ll probably never publish for this one

Here we have actual shoujo/magical girl protagonist Nora Garak-Bashir

Lunch was the only part of Nora’s day that was decent so far. Everything else was a disaster.

First, she slept through her alarm. This led her to have to rush through getting ready and eating breakfast. Well, it wasn’t much of a breakfast, just a piece of toast with egg on it.

One of her fathers was in the kitchen, the other having retreated to his office for the day. When Nora interrogated him on why he didn’t wake her up, he simply shrugged, smiled, and said, “I thought you needed the extra sleep.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, Nora didn’t sleep well last night, but come on now, she had school!

[hyuuukais]

⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆˚.⋆ ͙͘͡★ LOOK UP TO THE STARS

pairing ▪︎ han jisung x fem reader

synopsis ▪︎ sent out on a mission to a neighbouring QZ that's gone radio silent, y/n falls into the hands of a post-rebellion group after things go terribly wrong. giving up on rejoining her squad, she joins the group on a trek to find a missing member, the group leader's sister. what's supposed to be a not-so-simple trip out and back to their base becomes a one-way ticket to the end of everything they know.

warnings ▪︎ general, cannibalism kind of, reader gets beaten up roughly, generally a pretty heavy chapter overall 🥲

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER SIX ▪︎EAT OR BE EATEN (8.3k)

"You think they'll put up a good fight? One satisfying enough?" The woman asks, her silver hair shining in the moonlight. "Last few we found were pretty disappointing."

"Eh, I'm sure they'll be good enough," The man shrugs, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. You quickly shut your eyes fully so he thinks you're still knocked out. "Besides, even if they don't last long at least we won't have to worry about feeding people for a while longer."

"I guess," She sighs. "Kinda wish we got that pretty boy you were talking about."

"This one's alright."

You hear her snort and feel a bit offended for Han; he's way more than 'alright'. Who said that? A blush creeps up your neck at the sudden question of Han's attractiveness, so you push it out of your mind.

The van jerks and comes to a sudden stop, the man clearing his throat roughly as he steps out, and you dare to open an eye. In front of you is a kind of side-of-the-road type diner crawling with people. Although the building is in rough shape, you can almost picture how it must have looked pre-apocalypse with people stopping from all over for a quick bite to eat. Your mouth waters at the thought of all the types of fried foods they likely had, not having realized how long it had been since you ate last, and your stomach growled. Han looks over at you, no longer pretending to be out cold, and you spot where he was hit in the eyebrow. The skin is split from just under his brow bone to just above the short hairs. Without much medical attention, it'll scar noticeably for sure. Dried blood covers most of his eyelid and under his eye, coming to a stop just short of his mouth.

Han is pulled out of the van before you, a pair of hands reaching in and yanking him by the collar. He stumbles, falling into the gravel driveway at someone's feet. While you're distracted, another pair of hands come for you the same way, but you're somehow able to stay upright. Balance is one of your stronger suits, along with your excellent aim that leads to a swift and accurate kick behind you, landing right between the man's legs. You smirk as you hear him grunt, but it drops from your face when you're met with another rough pair of hands pushing you against the van, hot breath on your neck and body covering your own.

"Wanna try that again?" Silence. "Didn't think so."

In your peripheral vision, you can see Han being led to the diner, but he's fighting the woman holding him and keeps trying to look in your direction. The way she's got him makes this difficult, but he keeps trying and you can hear him call out your name with a slight edge to it. You think back to when you first left town, sitting in the back of the truck and watching Han silently panic on the far end. You remember trying to distract him and the way you comforted each other. All you can see from here is his struggle, but you're sure he's experiencing something very similar now.

"Let me calm him down!" You plead, desperate. "Please, I know I can and we'll both be much more compliant after, okay?"

You feel the grip on you loosen, letting you fall to your knees. He signals for the woman to bring him over and she obliges reluctantly, shoving him in front of you. Having your hands bound makes it difficult for you, knowing that if you could just touch him, remind him he's real, it would be so much easier. But you can't, so words will have to do.

"Han?" You try. He's looking at you, but his eyes are unfocused. "Jisung?"

This seems to bring him back, eyes snapping to yours. "Y/n."

"Listen to me." You talk low. "We are going to get out of this. Even if they separate us, I'll find my way back to you. Don't lose hope, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Han takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "We'll be okay."

You're about to say something else when a crackling noise comes from his back pocket- the walkie-talkie. How is it even working this far out?

"Crrk-- Han? You there? Over." It sounds, barely audible.

"What's this?" The man walks away from you and behind Han, reaching into the pocket and bringing out the device.

"Crrk-- Han? It's Seungmin. Did you find Y/n yet? You've been gone for hours, we're starting to get really worried, but you didn't hear that from me. Over --crrk."

"Seungmin?" The man speaks into the device.

"Who is this? And say 'over' when you're done, asshat --crrk."

"Who I am isn't important, but who I've got might be... to you." Even with his back facing you, you can still picture the smirk on his face as he speaks. "Over."

"You can have them." It's a new voice that takes you a moment to place- Hyunjin. Dread pools in your belly. "Crrk-- we don't --crrk-- anyway. Do what you --crrk-- want. Over."

"Sounds like your end is dying, too bad. Not for me, I was gonna destroy this thing anyway. Here's a sign your people are still alive before I cut the line." The man shoves the walkie-talkie in your face. "Talk."

Part of you doesn't want to and the other part straight up can't, voice stuck in your throat. Speaking would prove what he wants, leading the others to you if they're able to find out where you are. With both Seungmin and Jeongin's map skills combined, they'd be here in no time and it'd be all your fault when you watch each of them die one by one at the hands of these people. Why kill others when the infected are already doing it for you? You don't understand. In an act of defiance, which you'll surely later regret, you spit at his feet.

"You don't want to talk? Fine, have it your way. Niko?" The woman yanks your head back by your hair, pressing the tip of a blade to your throat. As he thumbs over the button, 'Niko' digs deeper, running it down from your jaw to your collarbone. She makes it down an inch or so before you cry out in pain. This is what they want, and the knife is taken away.

"Y/n?" It's Hyunjin again. "Y/n! You're okay- you scared the shit out of us and-"

His voice dies out with a crunch, bits of plastic ground up under the man's boot, the little bit of hope you had in the back of your throat dying with it. Not that you want them to find you, not here where the people are more dangerous than the zombies and where your small group would be severely outnumbered and overpowered. There's a tinge of guilt sitting inside you for that small part that did want to be found, wanting to be rescued and taken away from the horrors of this place so far.

With another pull of your hair, the dread is beginning to overflow. Stray hairs fly into your face as you're marched inside the diner. To the left are about five or six trailers parked with people lounging around, seemingly unaware of the apocalypse. They drink and they laugh and someone's barbequing- your stomach growls again at the smell.

"Hungry?" The man asks, but you don't answer, keeping your eyes ahead as you walk inside. "Don't worry, you'll be eating good soon. We feed our guests, need you strong."

Surprisingly gently, you're placed on a stool by the counter of the diner, two stools between you and Han. Glancing over, you catch his eye and don't let go until there's a plate in front of you with meat steaming fresh from the grill, a couple of small, chopped-up vegetable on the side. Your hands are unbound for you to eat, given a plastic fork and knife. Obviously, they don't trust you with anything else, but you're also so used to eating with your fingers that you forgot utensils were a thing in the first place, putting the piece of meat down and picking up the fork. The meat leaves a strange aftertaste in your throat, and your stomach turns as you swallow the last piece. Something isn't right, but you don't even want to ask.

"Put 'em away in the empty trailer. Tonight they can stay together under supervision before we start our fun in the morning." The woman's words worry you, but you don't think about them too long, drowsiness settling in.

God knows how long it's been since you last slept, too preoccupied with taking care of Chan after the hospital. Even when you weren't the one keeping watch, you were too on edge because of everything that happened with Hyunjin, tossing and turning for the hour you were supposed to be resting. The trailer they put you in is on the smaller side, counters bare and only one pull-out couch still folded into itself. Neither the man nor the woman who abducted you were watching over for the night, but another shorter woman with a large gun. She picks at her teeth with a wooden toothpick, leaning against the counter after pulling the couch out. She gestures you to step forward and you do, her hands quickly unbounding yours for the second time. Next, she unties Han and pushes both of you to the couch.

"Sleep." She says.

"But- it's kind of small..." Han's voice turns quiet, the woman glaring at him. "I mean, it's perfect. Um, Y/n? I can sleep on the floor if you want instead."

"No, no, don't." You shake your head. "I will."

"Both of you shut up and sleep on the bed," She snaps. "We need you ready for tomorrow."

"What exactly is happening tomorrow?" You ask, rubbing your wrists. They sting from where the rope sliced into the skin.

"No one told you?" Her eyebrows raise at your blank expressions. "You're going to be fighting in the arena."

"Arena?" Han tilts his head in confusion.

"With zombies. They really didn't tell you?" She scoffs, taking a seat on top of the counter. "Whatever, not my job to say anything, so just go to bed." With a smirk, she adds, "And maybe say a prayer."

Nothing else would have been less comforting to hear.

-

Sleep doesn't come easy, restless turning and maneuvering your body so as to not wake Han, if he was even asleep. His back is turned to you when your eyes settle on him, giving up on sleep entirely. The window above the pull-out couch is covered by blinds, but a piece is chipped and you can see into the starry night sky, fingers coming up to fiddle with your necklace. For the first time that night, Han stirs. Suddenly you're face to face with him, looking at each other with sad eyes.

"Can't sleep?" He whispers, barely audible to avoid being heard by the woman watching over you. You're sure she's stopped paying attention hours ago.

"No," You whisper back, turning fully on your side.

There's a lack of space between you, noses almost touching and breath mingling. Despite the apocalypse, Han still manages to have a tinge of mint in his breath, and you know it's from the mint leaves he collects in a tin. The scent is faded, probably from one he was chewing when he found you, but it brings a little comfort from before.

"C'mere," He stretches an arm out. "You look cold."

And you are, you realize, goosebumps prickling at your skin as you shuffle closer in the dark. His body is warm, enveloping you in a hug and burying your face into his neck. From here, you can hear and feel his heartbeat, the steady rhythm present in your cheek. You sigh, taking in this one normal moment between you two. Neither of you know what will happen in the morning, only that whatever it is, it's not going to be good. Hell, you might not live past the 'event'. As long as you can somehow get Han out of here, you don't think you care.

-

Morning comes quicker than expected, having managed to find sleep in Han's arms. Rough hands drag you from not-so-sweet dreams, tying your hands back up and leading you out toward the diner. Once again, you're separated from Han as he's led off in a different direction around the back of the building. You catch a glimpse when you're shoved through the diner doors, pushed behind the counter, and brought to the kitchen. Right before you enter the kitchen, you take a look through the back windows and spot what must be the arena; a wooden oval built by this group, or so you assume. There are bleachers with spectators already sitting on them, and you spot Han. The man who has him opens a door on one end of the oval, shoving him inside, and you can only hope he'll be okay.

The kitchen tiles are cold, and you're being bound to metal shelving closer to the back. You have no idea what's to come, but the man who brought you here comes into view, grabbing your face and bringing it up to meet his eyes. He says nothing, just moves your head from left to right, making a noise of approval. With a pat to the cheek, he straightens his back and stretches, cracks loud in the otherwise silent room.

"You ever wonder what it's like to turn? To lose control of your body and senses, lose sense of yourself in every meaning?" He kneels to eye level with you. "Because you're about to find out once your little friend is done in there. Unless you want to join us?"

"And why would I do that?" You spit.

"We know how to be immune." He says, voice shallow. Your eyes widen; there's no way to become immune, you know that. "Ah, you don't believe me? Well, you see here, there was a time me and my crew weren't as big, as powerful. We became desperate, and you know what they say." He lifts his hands in air quotations. "'Desperate times call for desperate measures'. It's true, but then we discovered something huge."

"Are you going to tell me what it is, or are you going to sit here and spew bullshit about how amazing you are?" You roll your eyes.

His eyes narrow at your words. "Feisty."

"Whatever." You mumble.

"The trick is to eat or be eaten." He says, standing back to his full height. "It's like building an immunity to an allergy. Eat enough of it, it'll stop affecting you." He starts to walk away, pausing at the swinging door with a look over his shoulder. "Makes you wonder what you've eaten."

About an hour or so later, Han is harshly thrown into your sight line. There's a new rip in the shoulder of his light green t-shirt over his chest, and you catch a glimpse of the shallow wound underneath, no doubt from the zombies the woman mentioned to you. Before you can say anything to him, you're pulled away, everything happening too quickly. Fresh air hits you with a chill, although not from the temperature. Han didn't look too bad, only a little beat up, and he wasn't expected to make it out either, so the challenge must not be so hard? Right?

As you circle to the side of the arena with the door for challengers, you notice other locked doors blending into the wooden sides. You're placed in complete darkness as the door is shut behind you, left to wonder what you'll face on the other side. It takes a few moments, but the door leading to the inside is lifted upward, sun burning your eyes temporarily. Holding a hand up to block the sudden light, you step out and people cheer loudly. You look up to see someone holding the door up from the bleachers by a long rope, noticing matching doors lined up the inner walls of the arena. There's no guessing what lies behind them, obviously the zombies as the grass field is clear of threats. Inside the arena is bigger than it looks from the outside, a wide stretch of patchy grass ahead of you. One door on the far end opens, and your suspicions are confirmed as a zombie comes tumbling out. It spots you instantly, darting toward you with a surprisingly quick pace.

No weapons, no backup- all you have are your fists. With a wide stance, you prepare to take it down, thinking back to fighting Seungmin on the mats. Sweat drips down your back; you were never as good as him in a fistfight. The infected rapidly approaches, but when it swings for you, the movement is sluggish and tired, a low groan emitting from the being.

"That all you got?" You dodge another attack, landing a kick in it's back and knocking it down.

Wrapping an arm around its neck, you pull back and hear it choke. The arms twist behind to grab you, but you step down on each limb, effectively straddling the infected. Too distracted by killing this one, you don't notice another zombie has been released behind you until the whiny moan that erupts from its throat signals its approach. At the last second you can be sure the one you're on is dead, you push yourself forward and somersault, creating room between you and the second one as it swings for you. It lands on top of the other body; this is too easy. Two are released at the same time now, easy enough to take down on your own. The problem is when the last four are brought out.

When you were alone taking down groups of three or four at the house, you had your knives to help you, but here? And, of course, they're the doors closest to you, taking even less time to reach you than the previous ones. The problem- you're getting tired. The rough night of sleep, the lack of food in your belly, the emotional drainage; it's all catching up to you now.

You run to the opposite side of the arena, testing the wood at the base. It doesn't break, ruining your plan to take the jagged piece and stick it through their skulls. Turning around, you're faced with two out of four hungry faces, eager to taste you. Taking the one on the left first, you circle around and let it come to you. It stumbles, limps, drool runs down its face. But you notice it hasn't moved its arms at all, not once since following you- they don't work. You knew paralyzation was possible with the zombie virus, you just had yet to see it in person. When it gets close enough, you grab the arms and use them as support as you kick up to its chest, successfully breaking the weak ribs and hollowing it out with your foot. The zombie falls to the ground; your foot still in its chest, and you take it out with a squelch. Reaching into the gooey blood, you pull a sharpened rib out.

The second and third are closer now, but you're more than prepared to take them on now. You grab another two broken ribs, hoping they're strong enough to pierce skin. The right one lurches forward with sudden force, but you're quicker and use the advantage of its awkward movements to drive one rib into the back of its neck- the crowd boos. The other takes a hold of your arm, but you pull away and out of its grip, leaving you with an angry, red scratch mark. Without much thought, you dig another rib into its eye.

As you're getting ready to kill the last one, a whistle blows over the crowd. You look around confused, wondering why the bleachers are being emptied. Someone comes out onto the field with a metal claw type thing, attempting to wrangle the last remaining infected. They've thoroughly pissed you off, so you decide it's time for a small taste of payback. Before the claw can wrap around the neck of the zombie, you run up and stick the last rib into the side of the throat. When it drops, you spot the guy with the claw's shoulders dropping with a heavy sigh.

-

"Tonight, we are celebrating our first ever champions of the arena!" The man who kidnapped you stands on the counter in the diner, holding up an unlabeled bottle containing a dark liquid. "No one has made it past that little event, but these two sure put up a fight. To- shit, what are your names again?" You open your mouth to answer, but he speaks again. "Ehh, who cares? To them!"

Everyone in the diner cheers, or almost everyone. Niko is in a booth in the corner staring daggers into his back as he steps down with some help from two others. He's walking over to your booth by the front door to hand you both a bottle, each matching his, and a hard hit on the back. Nearly choking on your drink, you put a hand against the table and swallow the bitter taste as he watches, giving him a weak smile and a thumbs up.

"That's homemade," He says, sticking his chest out with pride. "My own recipe, in fact. Listen, tonight you can stay in that same trailer, but we won't watch you. Of course, we have to take precautions and lock you in, but hey! A bit more privacy to do whatever you want!"

With a wink directed at Han, he leaves to sit at the table with Niko. You see her lean back and cross her arms as he approaches, huffing as he starts to talk. Their conversation is drowned out by the chatter happening around you; you're surprised no infected are swarming the place with how loud it is. Han takes a swig of his drink, making a face as he swallows, and you can't help but laugh.

"It's bad-" You say as he puts down the drink.

"It's really bad-" He agrees, sliding the bottle to the edge of the table.

There's a moment of normality between you, the absurd situation you're in running to the furthest corner of your brain as you share a laugh and a bad drink with someone whom you might dare to call a friend. No one bats an eye when you drop your bottle, only having a broom handed over by a gruff man who was previously sitting behind the counter serving people. After cleaning up the shards of broken glass, you decide maybe that's enough excitement for tonight when you stumble walking to the trash can sitting next to a broken jukebox on the wall opposite from you.

A hand comes up to hold you up as your own hits the wall, taking a second before moving away to see Han looking down at you. He's close, closer than you think you've ever been with him, and his hands are warm on your body. There's a small smile creeping onto your face that you can't hide when his arm wraps around your shoulders and guides you out into the chilly air. You didn't realize how cold it was getting recently, crisp air seizing your lungs for a brief moment. The trailers seem to get both closer and further away with each step, sounds of the diner becoming more muffled as you go. Once inside the trailer, you kick your boots off and flop onto the bed stomach first while Han clicks the door shut behind you. Old springs digging into your every body part has never felt so good.

You survived another day! Tomorrow feels light years away as you burrow your head into a limp pillow, sighing happily. Maybe this is what you needed- something to wake you back up from the defeat that's been consuming you, something to sharpen your brain and your instincts like training did. You can picture yourself here now, fighting more pet zombies if they'll let you, belly full with the never-ending supply of food they seem to have, thirst quenched by the homemade alcohol you're sure will kill you if you have too much. Here, you aren't a burden anymore. You're a champion, a warrior, someone to look up to and fear. No more worrying the others and having them think you'll get them all killed.

"I think I could get used to this." You talk into the night, forgetting about the man sitting by the foot of the bed.

Han looks over your weary body, hand hovering over your head as he debates moving the stray hairs away and examining your now near sleeping face. Pulling away, he places his hands in his lap. The scrape on his chest burns slightly, but the buzz of the drinks dulls the pain both physically and mentally.

"They're gonna make us fight again tomorrow," He says quietly.

You sit up, his words instantly sobering you up. "They are? How do you know that?"

"Niko told me after dragging my ass out of the arena. Didn't give any details though." Han takes his place next to you, stretching his sore body. "Don't die."

"You have so little faith in me." You scoff, but lie next to him with a smile on your face.

-

Morning arrives sooner than you would have liked, sunbeams shining through the cracks of the broken blinds above the pull-out couch you lie on next to Han. At some point during the night, your limbs became entangled in each other, one of his legs between yours, your own hugging his tightly. His arm is thrown across your shoulders, holding you against his chest, and your left hand is holding his wrist. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing against your back, and for a moment it feels like everything is fine. What's the apocalypse when you have someone you trust holding you like he's scared you'll be gone when he opens his eyes?

When did you start trusting Han Jisung?

The moment of serenity is broken by Niko banging on the side of your trailer, entering with no warning, and dragging you both out of bed. You want to laugh at the way Han's hair is sticking up and the way his cheeks are puffed out in annoyance, but you know better than to do that in her presence. There's a chill in the air as you step out and walk toward the diner, goosebumps rising all over your skin. Winter is coming soon, and you hope you'll be somewhere warm when it hits full force.

"You, take him to the back. You know the drill." Niko hands Han off to the shorter woman who watched over you the night before and she nods, shoving Han through the doorway.

Niko leads you around to the arena and you see people are already starting to gather. Excitement is palpable, making you nervous to see what's in store today. Yesterday wasn't like this; there wasn't the same kind of anticipation, but today is something new. You assumed last night that people don't tend to live past the first round, a reason for the celebration, and now they have to be creative when trying to kill you.

The door shuts behind you loudly. You start giving yourself a bit of a pep talk, expecting to be met with a large group of zombies once the gate is lifted, but instead, you see a large wall. Standing up straighter, you notice there's a fork, you can head either left or right. You let a hand trail against the wall as you turn right, met with more twists and turns the deeper you go. You're in some kind of homemade labyrinth. After a few more turns, you stumble into a zombie, right into a zombie. It has you pinned against the ground and you're starting to understand how this round is going to go as you flip over and grip its neck. Something about this zombie is oddly familiar, and then the recognition hits you. He's someone you saw in the audience during the first round.

When you glanced up nearing the end to see people leave, you noticed one pair of people stay put. An older man with a boy younger than you, the boy's eyes wide with fear as he watched you rip the rib bones out of an infected. How many more rounds did these people set up after you and Han? And how many others survived? Considering they only celebrated you and Han, you're guessing the answer is none. Including the boy under you, now lying still as you pant above him. There's something tucked into his waistband glinting in the sun, revealed to you as you stand and his flannel is pushed off his side. A knife.

"Holy fuck!" You squeal, ripping it out of his pants.

It's a basic steak knife, but way better than having nothing, and you've always been better with weapons than with your bare hands, as proven by Seungmin time and time again on the training mats. An aching pang hits you as you reminisce, missing Seungmin more than you thought you did. There's been a whole day since you last saw or heard from him, longer than you've ever gone without him. You imagine he's doing much better than you right now, still having Jeongin and the others to keep him occupied. They must still be at the country house, Chan too wounded to move. Hyunjin's adrenaline has probably worn off by now, weary and in need of medication and care provided by your resident doctors. Or, in Felix's case, resident doctors in training.

Continuing on through the labyrinth, you slaughter more zombies you come across, groups varying in size. Some are alone like the first boy, and others are clustered in duos or trios. After what feels like forever, you collapse at the entrance of what looks to be the middle of the maze. Your mouth is dry, begging for water, and your stomach rumbles as you lean against the wall and wipe sweat from your forehead. It's been hours, you think, hours since they locked you in this maze to be tortured by infected, and by your own mind as well. Thinking of Seungmin unlocked all kinds of feelings you've been trying to shove away. Missing him, missing Minho, feelings of hurt and sadness from what Hyunjn said to you. Regret for not letting Seungmin bring you back and for causing Han to be caught up in all of this with you. You're fighting back tears as you crawl toward a podium in the centre of the circle you've entered.

The podium is simple, solid dark wood splintering along the edges with a key lying on top. You figure you're supposed to take this, tucking it into your pants pocket. Where the key goes, you'll find out. There are four exits out of the circle of grass you stand in, the one you're facing leading back to where you came from. You turn around, assuming this must be the way to go, but are stopped by zombies shuffling out. You're feeling weak, using the podium to keep you up as they come closer and closer. As one reaches you, you fling yourself to the side and let it hit the piece of wood, hard enough you hear a crack, and roll around to see a split in the side where the worse of the splintering is. A jagged piece comes out on an angle, stabbing the infected in the leg. The other four are approaching quickly, and you barely escape one about to pin you to the ground. Using the force of the roll to push up, you slip your knife into your hand and stab the closest one in the neck, blood spilling onto you and soaking the dark material of your t-shirt.

With one zombie seemingly stuck on the podium and another crawling around on the ground disoriented, you're at an advantage now. There are only two actively after you, you can take them down easily, but the ache in your stomach has you hesitant. You're close enough to the exit you want to run, but once you're through, you won't know where to go and they could easily catch up and surprise you. If you take out two now, you only risk the others following you if they can, and whatever else lies in the remaining corridors. Taking up your knife again, you decide killing two now will be more beneficial, even if your body is protesting every step you make. One lashes out, catching you in the arm, but it barely scrapes you and you're able to grab the arm and twist, breaking the bone. The zombie makes a strangled groan kind of noise as you yank it toward you, pulling the same move you did with the first one. This time, you back away before the majority of its blood showers you, the body dropping down to its knees and then to its stomach, a pool of red created in the grass. Chest heaving, you're about to face the other when it grabs your sides, and you only just grasp the back of its head by the hair before its head descends on your neck, muscles in your shoulder aching.

Nails dig into your side and you cry out in pain, feeling a warm, wet sensation wash down your body. Your knife falls out of your hand and you're starting to think this is it, you're going to die in this arena built by sadists, all watching as teeth get closer and closer to your most vulnerable spot. Trying to kick behind you, it only causes its mouth to get closer and soon enough you can feel them on your neck, waiting eagerly to be able to push down and take the perfect bite out of fresh meat.

By a stroke of luck, you manage to land a kick hard enough onto its knee to make it sink down, grip releasing your bleeding side. The hand previously holding the zombie's head flies down, pressing into the wound and limping closer to the exit without looking back. You hope the kick was enough to incapacitate it, not daring to delay another second of getting out of here. Without the steak knife, you feel naked, defenseless. Any infected you run into going forward will have the upper hand now that you're injured too, leaving the occasional bloody handprint on the wall as you wander through the twists and turns specially created for you. You're starting to lose hope of getting out when you see one of your handprints, taking the other corridor left instead of right like you did previously. The wall you hit is a dead end, but you can tell it's the arena wall instead of part of the maze. Using the hand not holding your blood in, you brush your fingers over the painted wood and feel a ridge in the otherwise smooth wall, about the size of a lock.

You bring out the key and match it up to the indent, pushing it in and turning. When you hear a click, you use the key to help open the door out. On the other side is Han, waiting to enter the maze.

-

Han returns hours later when the sun has already set, entering your trailer and leaning against the closed door. You're on the pull-out couch under a rough, worn blanket, trying not to move too much and cause your stitches to rip. After you'd gotten out, you were brought inside the diner to be assessed, Niko making quick work of your injury before sending you off with a paper plate of meat and rice. The paper plate sits abandoned on the counter by the door, only half of the food eaten. You were in too much pain to finish the meal.

Sliding down the door, Han puts his head in his hands, fingertips reaching past his hairline and rubbing his scalp. When his body starts shaking, first his shoulders, then the rest follow, you know he thinks you're already asleep as he lets himself break. You've never seen him so vulnerable, so weary, and it feels wrong to watch him cry and cry and cry. So you close your eyes, allowing the heaviness in your own chest to bring you to sleep.

When you wake, Han is tucked under a different holey blanket on the opposite side of the couch, his back facing you. As much as you want to reach out and comfort him, tell him everything will be okay, you don't want him to know you witnessed him in the flesh last night, and you don't want to lie to him either. You don't know that everything will be okay, you can't tell the future. Staring at his back, you want to reach out and trace a finger down his spine, rub circles into his shoulder blades, anything just to touch him. Maybe you're deprived, maybe you're starting to like him.

Late morning is when they take you back to the arena, but they don't separate you from Han this time. He gives you one last look over his shoulder as they lead him to the other side, and you can't help but wonder what they're going to make you do today. You weren't celebrated again last night, feeling the growing impatience within the group about how you and Han keep winning the challenges they've thrown at you despite the odds. Are they going to make you fight each other? Finally force one of you to die? Or will this be an execution of sorts?

"What's on the menu today?" You try a light tone, giving the man behind you a small smirk.

"You are." And you're hit by something hard, effectively knocking you out.

-

You come to with blurry vision, the side of your head pounding from the force of whatever he hit you with. Blinking, your vision returns slowly and you spot Han on the other side, not too far from where you sit- fuck. You're chained to a metal post, handcuffs rubbing at the skin on your wrists that have only just recovered from your trip to the hospital. Han is in the same situation, but he hasn't regained consciousness yet. There's a drip of blood going down his cheek, nothing too major, but the wound on his eyebrow from his rescue attempt has opened back up. In between you are two zombies, each with collars around their necks connecting to a chain held by someone behind them. At first, you're unsure why they aren't trying to feast on the ones closer to them, why they're so focused on you and Han specifically, then you notice the blood and guts drenching the two people holding the infected back.

Smart, I guess, you think. They can't smell the difference between you and themselves.

The chains loosen ever so slightly, causing the zombie to get closer to you. Upon further examination, you can see a key dangling around its neck; it has to be for the handcuffs you're wearing. The chains around your ankles are looser, and you try to kick them off as the zombie continues to slowly be released. At this point, Han has woken up and seems to be struggling with unbounding his wrists, but you already knew that was a lost cause from how tightly the cuffs are digging into you. After more struggling, you figure out how they've encased your legs, realizing they didn't tie anything down, only wrapping them around several times. You can see the loose ends hanging down if you lift your legs. If only you could just...

"There!" You kick the chains off, the space between you and the zombie smaller than ever. "Han! Go for the-"

"No helping!" One of the guys in the middle bark at you.

Rolling your eyes, you lift your legs and make eye contact with Han. He seems to understand, frantically trying to wriggle his legs free. You're not sure there's enough time for him to get them untied before his zombie gets to him, less space between them than you and your own personal zombie. You wait patiently for it to get closer to execute your plan, the crowd starting to boo, thinking you've given up. You haven't, but they don't need to know that. Once close enough, you twist your legs around it, kicking it as it falls, and sitting up flat against the pole that holds you to avoid its head falling near any body parts. It lands near your feet, exactly where you want it, and you place a foot on either side of its head and- crunch. Break its neck. Using the lower half of your body, you bring it up and lean forward as much as you can. It's difficult, and the pull on your wrists hurts like hell, already feeling the new slices deepening with every centimetre. Sweat runs down your nose in the hot sun, dripping down onto the body between your legs as you use your teeth to bite down on the necklace holding your key, ripping it off with every bit of force you can muster.

Now, the even more difficult part. If you fuck up throwing this behind your shoulder, it's over, for you and Han. Looking up for a brief moment, you can see he's gotten his feet and legs loose, but his zombie is gaining on him, mouth snapping at him as he backs up.

"Come on, Y/n," You mumble, mouth full with the necklace. "Do this right. Don't mess anything else up for once."

A leap of faith, a stroke of luck, a well-directed toss, whatever, the key lands right beside your hands when you sit back, taking only a second to be blinded by pain, forcing yourself to feel for the metal. Once you've grabbed it with bloody fingers, you bend your hand almost unnaturally to unlock yourself. A rush tingles your hands and fingers, curling them in and out to regain any lost feeling before standing on shaky legs. Han is holding his zombie back with his legs on its chest, kicking outward, and it slips on the grass. As you jog over, he starts kicking its head as it continues to crawl toward him.

"Oh no you don't!" You shout, giving a swift kick to the head of the zombie, and it rolls onto its back.

Someone is yelling, but you're too focused on Han to notice. He's breathing heavily, obviously tired from holding his legs up for so long. You manage to get the key into the lock before you're yanked back by the neck of your t-shirt, Han doing the rest and pushing whoever grabbed you away in seconds. This earns him a punch to the jaw and he falls, hand holding his face. You turn around to see one of the guys covered in guts, and he looks angry.

"What was the one thing I said, bitch?" He grabs you by the neck, but not too tightly and you grin.

"I don't know, bitch, couldn't really hear over the zombie trying to eat me." You say, not thinking.

Oh, you've done it now. His grip on your neck gets tighter, constricting your breathing to nearly nothing, but lets go as his eyes focus on something behind you.

"No hurting the contestants unless I say so." The man, who you still don't know the name of, places a hand on his shoulder. "That is... unless you want a spot in the show?"

"N-no, sir," He stutters, shaking his head.

You rub your neck with one hand, kneeling next to Han who's still half on the ground. Reaching up, you pull his hand away and check his jaw. There's a bruise forming already as you gently thumb over the mark, making eye contact with him as you do. Your breathing hitches, thumb stopping and heart racing.

"Little lady." A hand comes to grab you under the arm, bringing you back to a standing position. You're getting real sick of that nickname. "Come with me." He leads you to the end with the exit, face close to your ear. "You heard the man, you weren't supposed to help your boy. Do you know what we do to rule breakers here?"

"No," You whisper, unsure if you want to hear the answer.

"First, we make sure you understand what you did wrong," He chuckles, and a feeling of unease settles in your stomach. "Then, you get to meet our undead friends." He pushes you through the doors of the diner, bringing you to a small room you haven't seen with a barren desk and broken chair. "Last is the best part." He lets go of you harshly, sending you into the desk with a cough. "Then, we eat you. Now, allow me to start the process."

Before you can register, he's landing a hard kick with the heel of his boot straight into your nose, effectively breaking it and causing your head to hit back against the wood you're sitting against. Immediately, your vision blurs, and the taste of copper fills your mouth, and the scent, your nose. He picks you up by the throat, slamming you face down against the top of the desk and you feel the bottom of your shirt lift. A cold, metal blade traces what's exposed of your spine, as if choosing the perfect spot to stab you. It trails to the side and digs in slowly, agonizingly, but you're thankful he chose somewhere non-lethal. You're not at the stage of getting killed yet, only tortured. Not that that's good either, but hey, you still have a chance of getting out of this. The blade is all the way in now, and he pulls it out just as slowly. Once it's out, you take the opportunity to flip over and push away from the desk, forehead making contact with his own.

With a groan, he stumbles back and rubs his forehead. "You little shit. I'm gonna-"

He cuts himself off, head snapping toward the door behind him and the noise behind it. There's shouting, gunfire, you name it. He makes his way to the door, pausing and walking back to you before stepping out.

"We're not done here." He shoves you onto the ground again, landing a swift kick to your ribs and you feel something crack. "Got it?"

When you don't answer, he kicks you again, this time under the chin. "I asked you a question."

"G...got it." You cough out.

He scoffs, giving you a dirty look as he leaves the room. Everything is fading for you, the sounds of chaos, the taste of your own blood in your mouth. A trembling hand comes up to touch the charm on your necklace lying under your shirt, eyes fluttering shut. You know you shouldn't give in to the feeling of oncoming sleep, but it would be so very peaceful.

A door opens in the distance hard enough to hit the wall. Next thing you feel are hands on your body, on your face. Hands that shake you awake and bring you into someone's lap. Someone who wipes the blood from your face despite the fact it won't stop anytime soon, someone who picks you up bridal style and whispers; I've got you.

All is going well until Han is tackled outside the diner, and you roll away from the two fighting bodies. Your eyes are open slightly, watching Han get punched by the same man who was going to kill you, but he's stronger than you were in the moment and flips their positions. Han still has no weapon, so you watch as he uses his fists to repeatedly hit the man until he's no longer moving. Even then, he doesn't stop, and that's when you notice the tears streaming down his face. Arms reach out and pull Han away, holding him close as his hands are held in front of him, blood running down from the knuckle, a mixture of his own and from the body he's straddling. A flash of blond hair and you can tell it's Felix holding him, comforting him in the midst of fighting around you. It's hard to make out who everyone is, but you vaguely see Seungmin using his new baseball bat to beat anyone who comes near you three, and Chaeryeong must be shooting from somewhere behind you because bodies are dropping like it's nobody's business. They all found you. They all came to rescue you.

One hand touches your cheek, turning you to face the owner and you lock eyes with Hyunjin. You can't speak, but you give him a weak smile. The moment doesn't last long as Hyunjin is gently pushed away and you're being carried again. This time, you can look up at Han and admire the determination on his face as he lies you down in the backseat of the pickup truck, closing the door and circling around to sit on the other side with your head in his lap. You can kind of feel the car start, but mostly, you're focused on Han's warm fingers brushing through the loose parts of your hair.

You might die in this truck, but at least you'll die in the lap of someone you care for, and who cares for you. You won't die alone like you thought you would in that room, at the hands of that vicious man. You're bleeding out onto the seat, but you can't find it in you to care anymore. You just want it all to be over.

---

notes ▪︎ i forgor how heavy this chapter was

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green means i can't tag you

[throneofsmut]

Bound In Flames - Part 11

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister-Reader || WC: 7.5k || Warnings: Pretty gruesome descriptions of violence and injury and lots of killing.

Summary: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

****

“How long has Wesley been in Summer?” You ask Raihn as you shift, settling into his side since he was curled up behind you. 

Not long. I’ve been tracking him for the past month—

You whirled, your eyes narrowed into slits, “Month!? He’s been here a whole month?”

Yes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Because I wanted to track his movements, his habits before we did anything—before you did anything. Before you did anything reckless.

Crossing your arms, huffing, “Fine. But, tomorrow night I’m going to Summer. With or without you.”

All right, tomorrow night. Raihn agreed, knowing you would leave him behind if you had to. 

Settling further into him, titling your face up at the stars—at the night sky. “Raihn, let’s stay here for the night?”

As you wish, Sunshine. He moved, coiling himself closer around you, keeping you warm—safe. Why don’t you want to go back to the manor?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

His body tensed, Who do I have to kill? 

“No one.” You sighed, “me probably.” 

What happened? His voice was calm, demanding, the way it always was before he killed someone. Which he had to do a few times when you were growing up, you’ve been hunted by Amarantha since you were in your mother’s womb. 

You turned to look at him, “It was my fault. I started it, I—“

I don’t care about what you did. What did the other one do? His blue eyes glinted with the promise of violence.

“Raihn, please… let it go. I’ve had a long day and I just want to rest.” 

He didn’t say anything for a long time, he just kept watching you. Fine, he relented. Sleep, you’re safe with me.

“Always am.”

You drifted off not long after, his steady breaths lulling you to sleep. 

**** 

The next morning, you made your trek back to the manor. Content to just listen to the birds and trees singing. It was almost as if in greeting as you walked through the Spring Court. Raihn said that they were happy you were walking among them as the heir of Spring. 

You were close enough to the garden that you heard Feyre’s tins and brushes clatter to the gravel. Close enough for you to scent her fear. 

Without a second thought you ran to her side, Raihn trailing close behind, as she stared at the fountain. 

No, not the fountain, but the head spiked to it. 

A bleeding High Fae male head—spiked atop the fountain statue of a great heron flapping its wings. The stone was soaked in enough blood to suggest that the head had been fresh when someone had impaled it on the heron’s upraised bill.

Instantly, your eyes scanned the area around you, taking in every detail, looking for any signs of movement. Nothing. Even when you tried scenting who had put the head on the fountain, nothing.

“Feyre,” You said softly so as not to startle her, her hand immediately clamped around your arm so tight you thought she’d break her fingers. 

You didn’t need to ask Raihn to check the perimeter—he was already gone as Feyre and you continued to stare at that still-screaming head, the brown eyes bulging, the teeth broken and bloody. No mask—so he wasn’t part of the Spring Court. Anything else about him, you couldn’t discern.

His blood was so bright on the gray stone—his mouth open so vulgarly. You took a step forward and Feyre tried pulling you back, but slammed into something—someone.

She whirled, hands rising out of instinct, but Tamlin’s voice said, “It’s me,” and she stopped cold. Lucien stood beside him, pale and grim.

“Not Autumn Court,” Lucien said. “I don’t recognize him at all.”

Tamlin’s hands clamped on her shoulders as you turned back toward the head. “Neither do I.” A soft, vicious growl laced his words, but no claws pricked her skin as he kept gripping her. His hands tightened, though, while Lucien stepped into the small pool in which the statue stood—striding through the red water until he peered up at the anguished face.

“They branded him behind the ear with a sigil,” Lucien said, swearing. “A mountain with three stars—”

“Night Court,” Tamlin said too quietly. 

You tensed. Fuck. 

“Why. . . why would they do this?” Feyre asked.

Tamlin let go of her shoulder, coming to stand between you as Lucien climbed the statue to remove the head.

“The Night Court does what it wants,” Tamlin said.“They live by their own codes, their own corrupt morals.”

Your hands curled into fists as you fought to keep your temper in check. 

“They’re all sadistic killers,” Lucien added. “They delight in torture of every kind—and would find this sort of stunt to be amusing.”

You dared a step forward, body moving on its own, but Raihn stopped you. Don’t. 

You blew out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Willing yourself to relax.

“Amusing, but not a message?” Feyre asked as she scanned the garden.

“Oh, it’s a message,” Lucien said, and she cringed at the thick, wet sounds of flesh and bone on stone as he yanked the head off. You’d both skinned enough animals, but this. . . Tamlin put another hand on her shoulder. “To get in and out of our defenses, to possibly commit the crime nearby, with the blood this fresh. . . ” A splash as Lucien landed in the water again. “It’s exactly what the High Lord of the Night Court would find amusing. The bastard.”

Rhysand. Your uncle. 

You gauged the distance between the pool and the house. Sixty, maybe seventy feet. That’s how close they’d come to them. To Feyre. Tamlin brushed a thumb against her shoulder. “You’re still safe here. This was just their idea of a prank.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

“This isn’t connected to the blight?” Feyre asked.

“Only in that they know the blight is again awakening—and want us to know they’re circling the Spring Court like vultures, should our wards fall further.” Feyre looked as sick as you all felt, because Tamlin added, “I won’t let that happen.”

You scoffed. 

He pinned you with a glare, “Do you not believe me, Y/n?” 

Turning your body to face him straight on, you pointed at his mask, “The mask on your face makes it fairly clear that you can’t do a fucking thing against the blight.” He stared at you—fighting to keep his temper in check to not upset Feyre more than she already was—you stared right back. Unflinching. Even as his claws slid free. 

Lucien splashed out of the fountain, “They’ll get what’s coming to them soon enough. Hopefully the blight will wreck them, too.” Tamlin growled at Lucien to take care of the head, and the gravel crunched as Lucien departed. 

Tamlin’s eyes didn’t leave yours until Feyre crouched to pick up her paints and brushes. He knelt next to her, his hands closed around hers, squeezing. “You’re still safe,” he promised to her again. And you rolled your eyes. 

Feyre didn’t say anything, her eyes flicked to you and then back down to her brushes—to her hands that were still shaking. 

“It’s court posturing,” Tamlin explained. “The Night Court is deadly, but this was only their lord’s idea of a joke. Attacking anyone here—attacking you—would cause more trouble than it’s worth for him. If the blight truly does harm these lands, and the Night Court enters our borders, we’ll be ready.”

“No you won’t.” You muttered as you turned to leave, following the way Lucien went. He stopped as he heard you approaching. The gravel crunching beneath your feet, giving you away.

“What?”

Nodding at the head in his hands, “Let me see it again.” 

“Why?”

“Lucien.” He lifted it so you could get a good look at it, he didn’t look familiar, your nostrils flared slightly once. Twice. “He’s from the Winter Court.” You said matter-of-factly.

Lucien’s brows furrowed as he looked at the head closer—examining it. “How do you know?” 

You stared at him, incredulous, “You can’t scent the faint hint of crisp snow on him? It’s barely there but it’s there.”

He sniffed once, twice, then he sighed, shaking his head, “No.” Then he turned his focus on you, his head cocked to the side, sizing you up. “Who-what are you?”

“Nobody important.” Certainly not the “Sun of the Night Court.” Certainly not the heir that was promised to save Prythian—to kill Amarantha. Certainly not Tamlin’s daughter. . . his heir. 

Lucien prowled closer until you were nearly chest to chest. “You are so full of shit,” he spat. “Are you a bloodhound or something?”

“Or something,” You shrugged—feigning nonchalance.

“You’re a bad friend.”

“I know.” Your voice came out quieter than you meant as you withstood his withering gaze. He stared at you for a few moments longer before turning on his heel going to get rid of the head as Tamlin asked. You just stood there, watching his figure disappear into the Western Woods.

Whoever was here is gone now and they covered their tracks. There’s not even a scent. Raihn said from wherever he was on the grounds. I can go out further if you want me to. 

No, I need you to do something else. Go to the Summer Court and watch Wesley. Don’t do anything, just watch him and the others, and I’ll meet you at the border of Spring and Summer after the sun goes down and we’ll go back together. 

All right, don’t do anything stupid till I get back. 

You mentally rolled your eyes at him. 

****

Making your way to the kitchen that was bustling with fae getting lunch ready. They all murmured greetings when they saw you. A fae male with a bird mask asked if you wanted something to eat before lunch was served or if you wanted something in particular for dessert. 

“No, thank you sir. But I’m actually looking for Alis.”

He flushed, bowing his head, “I am no sir, Lady Y/n. I am merely a humble servant—”

Shaking your head, “Doesn’t matter. At least, not to me. You treated me with respect so I did the same, sir.”

“Ben.” He said, a shy smile gracing his lips, “My name is Ben.”

You stuck your hand out, “Y/n—just Y/n. I hate being called Lady.”

Ben laughed but hesitated when he saw your hand, “La— I mean Y/n,” he corrected himself, “my hands are dirty.” And they were in fact covered in blood from a buck he was preparing for lunch.

“A little blood doesn’t bother me,” your hand was still outstretched towards him. Ben’s eyes flickered between your hand and his as if in a silent battle with himself. Then he shook your hand, laughing and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, “What?” You asked him.

He shook his head, “You’re nothing like I thought you’d be, Princess.” You stiffened at the title—Princess. You don’t know what he must’ve read on your face because he quickly reassured you, “Don’t worry only Alis and I know. We knew your mother. . . she was always kind to us, as are you.” He whispered. 

You only nodded. 

“Alis is in her room. In the servants quarters in the East Wing of the manor.” 

“Thank you, Ben.” 

****

As you made your way to Alis’s room, more servants greeted you. Some with a nod, others with a smile. Once you got to the East Wing, you realized you didn’t know which room was hers. You stood in the middle of the hall, trying to listen for her voice, trying to scent her, shaking your head in frustration when you couldn’t. 

Then a sentry came out of a room, he had tan skin, tawny eyes and deep rich brown hair. He looked back into the room like he was speaking to someone and a couple seconds later a female’s laugh echoed into the hallway. His face broke out in a grin but when he saw me his brows knitted together and he whispered something too low for you to hear to the female inside the room. 

He shut the door and strode towards you. “Are you lost Lady Y/n? Your rooms are located in the—“ He stood less than a foot away from you now.

You were still looking around or trying to at least since the sentry towered over you and his brawny build seemed somehow bulkier in his armor. “West Wing—I know. Where’s Alis’s room?”

He turned and pointed, “Down the hall, take a left, first door on the right.”

You nodded. “Thank you. . .”

“Emmett.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Emmett.”

He bowed his head, “At your service, my lady.” Then he left. You followed his directions, finally finding Alis’s room and knocking. 

A few seconds later you heard movement behind her door before she swung it open. She blinked in surprise, “Y/n.”

“I need you to do something for me.” She stepped aside letting you in. “I need you to cover for me.” 

Her brows pinched together, her lips pressing into a tight line. “For how long?”

“Just until tonight.” 

“Tonight? What are—where are you going?”

“Out.”

She sighed, tilting her head back looking up at the ceiling as she shook her head, “Please don’t tell me you’re going to do something stupid.” 

“Of course not,” You grinned. 

“Reckless? Dangerous?”

“Well that’s still up for debate.”

“Y/n—“

“Alis, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have another choice.” 

She was looking at you now. “At least tell me you’re not going alone.”

You shook your head, “Raihn’s coming with me.”

She didn’t say anything for a few minutes before sighing again and rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “All right, fine.” 

“Thank you, Alis.” 

“You never have to thank me, Princ—Y/n. I’ll always help you. . . Now do you need anything else?”

“From you? No. From the armory? Yes.”

She looked up at the ceiling again, “Cauldron, save me.” 

You laughed as you made your way to the door, looking back at her, “Thank you, Alis.” You drawled. “I appreciate you.” She muttered something you chose to ignore. 

****

It didn’t take you long to find the armory. It was located near the training grounds, not far from the manor. 

You just needed to find some fighting leathers, daggers, boots and anything else you might need. Yet, none of it would feel as familiar as the Illyrian fighting leathers or blades you’d been trained with when you were a child. But you’ve done more with less. At least you still had the two ash daggers that your fathers gifted you on the last solstice you all shared. 

There were no other sentries near or in the armory that you could detect except for two High Fae males that were currently sparring on the training grounds. They were too focused on each other to see you slip in through the door. It was bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, probably due to a glamour one of the past High Lords placed. 

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face as you took in the entire armory. The wall directly opposite to the door had a small bench pushed up against it with shelves a couple feet above it. Fully stocked with different sized boots, fighting and training leathers. 

One of the other walls was full of different weapons: swords, daggers, knives, battle axes, bows, arrows and shields. The last wall had floor to ceiling shelves that held different types of armor: breastplates, helmets, gauntlets, belts and other accessories. 

You made quick work of filling an empty crate that was left near the bench with fighting leathers and boots closest to your size. Two leather gauntlets, a bandolier that could hold several daggers and a sword in the back, and a belt that could hold a battle axe. 

Both hands were braced on your hips as you looked at the wall with weapons, trying to pick which ones would be the best. You definitely weren’t going to pick a bow and arrow—it’s not your favorite for close combat. So that left only swords, daggers and battle axes. 

A simple battle axe caught your eye. The hilt was wrapped with black leather, there wasn’t anything special about the blade itself but it seemed to gleam brighter than any of the others. You picked it up, feeling the balance of it and its weight as you swung it. 

The Illyrian part of you so at peace that you hadn’t even realized you closed your eyes. Until you whipped around, throwing it, so close past two sentries heads that were walking in. The same two sentries that you saw sparring. 

They both chuckled and then one in the front spoke.“You missed,” he teased. 

You gave them a wicked smirk that always put others on edge and they visibly tensed. “Did I?” Your eyes flicked to the sides of their faces, closest to the door frame, where the axe was embedded. 

Both sentries reached a hand up to their faces in unison. To the matching slashes on the left sides of their faces—on their cheeks—that was bleeding. Their eyes widening before they let out amused chuckles. “Not bad, Lady Y/n.” The other one said. 

Still smirking, you dipped your chin and made your way towards the door, pulling the axe free before dropping it into the crate. And went right back to picking a few daggers. Some straight bladed ones and some curved all the while feeling the sentries eyes on you. Glancing over your shoulder at them, “Do you two need something?”

“N-no.” They said at the same time. 

“All right then.” You went on trying to find the right sword. They were all simple but finely crafted and well taken care of. Reaching for one when one of the sentries cleared his throat, making you stop. Turning around to face them fully. “Yes?”

The taller one of the two cleared his throat again, “We think we know the perfect sword for you.” 

You tilted your head taking them both in and you realize they both had the same warm brown eyes and gold hair. Cousins? Maybe even brothers. They seemed familiar and not just because you’ve seen them around the manor, but from before. “Why would you two want to give me a sword?” 

“It is yours by right.” The other one said. 

You didn’t respond, brows pinching together as you nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. 

Wordlessly the taller one of the two reached down and picked up the crated you had filled and walked toward the door. Only looking back to make sure that the other sentry and you were following him. You followed him back toward the barracks—where all the sentries stayed while on the grounds. Far apart enough that you didn’t look like you were all walking together. 

Once inside the barracks, a few other sentries greeted them, calling them “Bron” and “Hart”. Some simply nodded while others ignored them completely and perked up when they saw you. Walking all the way to the end of the hall and Bron—the taller one—opened the door on the right and you all entered a room. His room. 

He set the crate in his hands down on the bed that was pushed into the corner and got down on his knees, pulling out a trunk from beneath it. Hart went to his side and they both pulled several cloaks from it before finally pulling out a sword—your mother’s sword. 

You let out a shuddered breath as Bron held it with both hands. “Why do you have that?” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“We were both there that day. . . we tried to help but we were too late. We looked for you for days to no avail. This”—he looked down at your mother’s sword—“was the only thing we found.” He explained. 

Hart’s voice was tight as he added, “Princess Rhaenyra was kind to us—a friend to us. . . Your fathers too.”

As if in a daze you took a step forward and grabbed her sword. You couldn’t stop the tears that fell down my cheeks as you held it. It was a beautiful sword. Slender and elegant made from Illyrian steel, with a black hilt, a gold cross-guard that was shaped as dragon wings with an amethyst the size of a chicken egg in the pommel. The entire sword had Illyrian runes carved into it for luck and glory. 

You looked at them both with a sad smile, “Thank you. Y-you have no idea how much this means to me.” 

They both nodded their heads and then placed their right hands over their hearts and kneeled. Then at the same time they spoke. “I swear myself to you. To ward you, Princess Y/n. I shall guard your secrets. Obey your commands. Fight at your side and defend your name and honor. With all my strength and give my blood for yours.” 

Confused, you shook your head, “Neither of you have to swear oaths to me. Giving me this sword—my mother’s sword is more than enough.” 

“Princess Y/n, it would be the greatest honor of our lives to serve you. The heir that was promised—the “Sun of the Night court.” Hart Replied. 

“Please, Princess, allow us this honor.” Bron insisted. 

“All right. But, never forget it is also my honor to have you serve me.” They nodded. “Now rise.” They did. And you gently laid your mother’s—your sword in the crate and went to pick it up but Bron’s voice stopped you.”

“Princess—“

“Please don’t call me Princess. The less people that know who I really am the better.” They both nodded again. 

“Y/n?”

“Yes, Bron?”

“Why do you need all of this?” He asked, gesturing to the crate.

“Because there’s something I need to do in the Summer Court.” 

“Would you like us to accompany you?” asked Hart.”

“No. No, it’s better if you both stay here. This is something I need to do alone.” 

They bowed their heads, “Of course.” 

**** 

By the time you made it back to your bedroom in the Manor it was mid afternoon and you didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep. 

Alis woke you up with a tray of cured meats, cheese and bread for you to eat. With a goblet of fresh water. 

“What time is it?” You croaked, your voice still thick with sleep.

 

“Late afternoon. The sun is going to set soon.” She said after glancing at the windows. 

You nodded. Raihn? Even your mental voice sounded thick with sleep. 

Yes, sunshine? He answered instantly. 

I’ll meet you at the border of the Spring and Summer court after the sun sets. 

Be careful. He said. 

You too. 

You ate in silence while watching Alis lay out the fighting leathers and weapons on your bed. She shook her head, “I don’t like this one bit.”

“What?”

“The idea of you going out. What if you get hurt?”

“I’ll be fine, Alis.” You reassured her. “I always am.” 

She grumbled her agreement under her breath making you laugh as she took the empty tray from you. She left, taking the tray back to the kitchen and with a sigh you got up to get dressed. 

Sliding on the supple yet tough fighting leathers, designed to provide flexibility and protection during combat. The boots following after. Next was the gauntlets, bandolier and then the belt. 

Alis came back in after you had already sheathed your sword on your back and the battle axe on your hip. Now you were sheathing your daggers into the bandolier—three curved ones and three straight ones. 

You were going to secure your two ash daggers into your boots when Alis stepped towards you, halting you mid movement.  She held two leather thigh sheaths that could connect to a belt, “I had planned to gift this to you on your birthday but it’s in a few days anyway.” 

You took it from her hands, taking it in. 

There wasn’t anything special about it—except that it was a gift from her—but you could tell it was high quality. 

She fidgeted, “I had it made for you—“ You cut off her rambling with a hug. She let out a surprised laugh before wrapping her arms around you too. 

“Thank you, Alis.” You pulled away, moving to strap them on and secure them to your belt before sheathing an ash dagger to each thigh. 

She tipped her chin and led you to the vanity where she braided your hair back away from your face. When she finished she met your gaze in the mirror and gave you an unsure. “It’s time.” 

And surely enough through the reflection of the mirror you could just barely see the curtain drawn window and see that the sun had set. You turned around in the seat, facing her, “What did you tell Feyre?”

“That you weren’t feeling well and that you were going to sleep through the rest of the evening.” 

“Good. Where’s Tamlin?”

“He was called to the border while you were sleeping. He’ll likely come back early in the morning while it’s still dark.”

You nod. “And Lucien?”

“Patrolling the grounds, he’ll be back in a couple hours,” she answers.

“All right.” You make your way to the balcony doors and open them, Alis follows closely behind but stops in the doorway. Your hands resting on the railing and without you looking back you say, “Don’t wait up for me.” Then without another word you leap from the balcony, slip past the sentries and made your way through the Western Woods. I’m heading to the border now, you tell Raihn mentally.

I’m already here. Be safe, sunshine. He answered. 

You jogged into the woods before stopping in a clearing. Waiting, listening in case anyone was around  or following you. Once you were satisfied you inhaled a deep breath and when you exhaled you shot through the trees. 

Even though the blood spell dulled your senses and blocked your magic, you were still more fae than mortal. In your fae form your senses were sharper—keener than a normal fae’s. More so than a High Lord’s according to your mother. 

Your clothed figure was a black streak through the dark and your blades gleaming like stars when they caught in the moonlight. The ground easy beneath my boots. Your immortal body gracefully leaping over rocks, fallen trees and branches, and dodging trees without even thinking. Without a doubt you let your senses guide you. 

The smell of oak and moss and living things, the open coolness of the mist passing like a path that you followed. Until you finally made it to the border where the courts of Spring and Summer met not even fifteen minutes later. 

Raihn stalked out of the shadows, moving towards you. “Tell me what you know.” A command not a question. 

He held your gaze, blue eyes glowing bright in the dark. They set up camp between Adriata and the border. Six soldiers are on watch a mile out from the camp and six other soldiers are sitting out around the fire in front of the tent. 

You nodded. “And Wesley?”

In the tent. 

“All right.” You only took one step forward before Raihn stopped you, blocking your path with his massive body. “You’re not gonna stop me.” And you went to side step him but he only got in your way again. “What?” You growled. 

There’s something else you need to know.

“What?”

I heard Wesley saying he got word that the “Son of the Night Court” was in spring and he was going to send scouts within the hour. 

Your face paled. “Fuck. They might not find me but if he finds Feyre they’ll take her.” Amarantha’s going to take her. Kill her. You shook your head, your blood now roaring in your ears. “Raihn, get back to Spring. If anything happens to her—“

It’ll have to happen to me. 

Without another word he nuzzled his head into your shoulder and took off back towards Spring. A white blur through the night, through the trees. You took a deep breath willing your head to clear, you needed to focus, Raihn would protect her. It took a couple more deep breaths before your nerves settled and your blood was roaring for different reasons. 

Even though you were only quarter Illyrian it was a dominant part of you. Powerful and intense like a storm gathering within you.  Before a fight everyone always feels a mix of anticipation and adrenaline wash over them—some embrace it and others fight it, either willingly or unwillingly. You always welcomed it. Instead of it clouding your senses it heightened them allowing you to focus in fights. Allowing you to fight with lethal skill and precision, excelling in every fight. 

You let the promise of revenge, bloodshed and death wash over you. Relax you. Letting your parents training take over as you unsheathed two daggers from your bandolier, the feeling of them as familiar as the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. On silent feet you made your way to the camp's perimeter—to the first soldier on watch and faster than anything had the right to be you stuck the dagger into his throat and twisted. 

He died before his body even hit the ground. 

You did the same to the five other soldiers—four females and one male— that were on watch. Their blood dripped from your fingertips as you stalked closer to the camp. Standing on the edge of the tree line, you saw five more soldiers sitting around a fire—two females and three males—talking. They still hadn’t noticed you and you scented the air. Nostrils flaring slightly once, twice and you knew Wesley was inside the tent. 

Reaching behind your back you unsheathed your sword and moved. Prowling towards them, holding your drawn sword behind your back, the point upwards.

Sunshine. Raihn reached out to you, mind to mind. The manor is secure. Feyre was safe. You hummed your agreement mentally and closed off the bond on your side. 

You purposefully let leaves crunch beneath your feet as you neared them and they stopped talking. “Where’s Wesley?” You asked, your voice deathly soft.

One of the Hybern soldiers—a high fae female—tensed. “What do you want with Wes?” She asked as she looked around, no doubt wondering how you got through the soldiers that were supposed to be on watch. 

“Where is he?” You growled.

“What. Do. You. Want. With. Him.” She growled right back. 

“I heard he’s looking for the Sun of the Night court?”

Another Hybern soldier—a high fae male—flanked her, “You know where he is.”

“She is right here. Looking for him.”

Another soldier—male. “You’re not the son of the Night Court. You’re a mortal girl.” He spat, drawing his sword.

You shrugged, lowering your eyes, jaw clenching. “Semantics.”

They subtly shifted, giving another male soldier with deep brown skin that was holding a crossbow a clear shot at you. In one quick movement he raises it and lets the bolt fly. 

You knock aside the bolt with your sword. 

Then another soldier—the other female—rushes towards you and you parry her sword, stabbing her straight through the neck. 

You parry a second soldier's attack and slice his stomach. 

Whirling you stab a third soldier that tried rushing you from behind in the leg. He falls and the second soldier comes at you again, blocking his attack, with the blade of your sword pointed down. Your swords clash and then you twist your wrist and slice his throat. So deep his head is barely attached to his body. 

A fourth soldier charges at you and you block his blow and with your left hand you clamp down on his right forearm and bring your sword down on it. Severing his arm from his body. Grabbing his sword from his right hand before it even hits the ground and stabbing it into the chest of the soldier with the crossbow before he can reload it. 

Another soldier comes at you with his sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He spreads his arms as he raises his left, bringing down his sword in a wide arc and you duck. Then before he can bash you with his shield you spin and switch your grip on your sword so it’s horizontal and stab through the side of his neck. 

You prowl forward, right as the third soldier you had stabbed in the leg charges at you. With his arms raised and you drop to a knee and angle your sword upwards stabbing him through his ribs and into his heart and take his swords. 

The female soldier that you spoke to first snarls at you as your swords clash and you spin before striking another blow. She blocks it but with the other sword you stab her through her chest. Impaling her and pinning her to the ground. You take a step back and twist, decapitating her with one swing. 

You hear, heavy, sure foot falls as Wesley prowls towards you. Too caught up in slaughtering his soldiers to notice him till now.

He points his sword at you as he charges. You dodge two thrusts and then parry several slashes. You exchange several more blows. Then land a punch to his jaw and drive him back, pinning him to a tree with your sword pressed against his neck. His nostrils flaring—he’s scenting you. 

His eyes widened and then narrowed into slits.

“You remember me. Don’t you?” You growl. 

He only growls back and stabs you in the stomach with a dagger you didn’t realize he had. He knocks aside your sword. Then he spins and swipes dodging your blows, then he slashes at your back and you bring your own sword behind your back just in time to block it. 

You knock his sword away and bring your own down on his shoulder. He spins on his knee and slices your thigh with his dagger. You glare at each other. Then you side step him as he charges, dodging a horizontal swipe, he puts the dagger in his sword hand. 

The blades facing in opposite directions. You grab the blade of his dagger as it moves towards your hip and then in one quick motion he pulls it out of your grip. slicing your palm in the process. 

You surge forward raining down blows. Wesley blocks a blow with both blades. You rip the sword from his grasp and aim your own sword at his throat. He stands rigid, staring at you with nothing but hate. You toss his sword behind you and lower your sword. 

He lunges forward with the dagger and you knock it from his grasp with the pommel of your sword. And with your free hand you grab both his hands and in one fell swoop you bring down your sword in a brutal cut—severing both hands at the wrist. His blood, spraying your boots.

His blood curdling screams fill your ears and the forest around as he falls to his knees. Doubling over in pain. You laugh as his body obviously begins going into shock if the telltale sign of his hyperventilating is anything to go by. You circle around him—a predator about to make the killing blow to their prey. 

He whimpers as you force his head up with the blade of your sword under his chin. “Look. At. Me.” You say deathly soft. 

Wesley forces his eyes to meet yours. “W-we killed you. All of you.” His voice quivering from pain. 

You shook your head, a feral grin on your lips as you loomed over him making him flinch. “You slaughtered a mother and two fathers. . . but you didn't slaughter every one of the Blackfyre’s.” His face pale from blood loss seemed to pale further. “No. That was your mistake.” You taunted. “You should have ripped them all out, root and stem. Leave one dragon alive and the sheep are never safe.“ 

His body began to shake even more as he took in the murderous look in your eyes. The rage. 

“Do you remember what you said to me all those years ago?” 

He whimpered, shaking his head. 

You gripped his hair, tilting his head back, “I want words,” you snarled. 

“N-no.” He stuttered between sobs. 

“It was after you took a whip to my back. I could barely stand but I still tried slitting your throat and you dislocated my shoulder disarming me.” You let out a cold bitter humorless laugh. “You said,” leaning down to whisper into his ear, “you lack conviction” and then you tied me back onto the post and whipped me some more.” 

“I am so sorry. . . I was just a soldier following orders.” 

“And now you’ll die because you were a soldier just following orders.” 

You lifted your sword up in a high arc and Wesley squeezed his eyes shut, murmuring some type of prayer under his breath. Your sword's blade glinted in the moonlight before descending in a swift clean death blow. There was a devastating elegance to the motion but right as it was about land true—

“Y/n!” Lucien called. 

You pulled back the blow, barely a hair's breadth away from Wesley’s neck.  

He appeared from behind the tent, stopping a couple feet away from Wesley and you. He sounded terrified. It took you a moment to realize he was terrified of you. 

“Stop. . .” He pleaded, his voice hoarse. 

You didn’t want to stop. Not until Wesley was dead. Not until all of Amarantha’s lieutenants were dead. Not until Amarantha was dead. 

“Please, Y/n.”

 You looked up and saw his remaining eye was wide, his metal one whirring softly as he looked around. At all the soldiers you slaughter and at Wesley with your sword at his neck. You blinked once and you were in his head, seeing yourself through his eyes. 

Your eyes were clear but filled with feral satisfaction. There was still a hint of a wicked feral grin on your lips. And you were covered in blood from head to toe; some of it yours and most of it theirs. You blinked again now seeing through your own eyes. 

“We can take him back to spring. Let Tamlin deal with him.” Lucien tried reasoning and Wesley face shone with relief—hope—at the chance of mercy.

“No. Not good enough.” You raised your sword again. 

The emissary took a step forward. “This isn’t going to change what happened.” 

“I don’t care. He slaughtered my family.” You half growled—half whispered. 

“Can you forgive your enemies?” He tried reasoning again.

“The gods will forgive. My task is to arrange their meeting.”

And this time when your sword arced through the air, the blade struck true. And Wesley’s head fell to the ground near his severed hands before his body did too. 

You tilted your face up at the night sky—the stars, a small smile on your lips when you felt a soft warm breeze caress your face. Your eyes closed and it was as if your mother was doing it. You could’ve sworn you heard your parent’s voices in the wind. 

Just two more, Sunshine. Your mother said. Only Cahir and Amarantha are left, Sunshine. Your father Declan seemed to say. My brave sweet girl you’re almost done. Your father Callum reassured you. 

Just two more. 

“Two more what?” Lucien asked cautiously. 

You realize you must’ve said it out loud. “Go back to the manor, Lucien.” 

Distantly you heard leaves crunching beneath light footfalls in the trees behind you. You didn’t spare him another glance before silently making your way towards the noise. Scenting the air, you smelled a female. Her scent, a crisp and refreshing winter breeze, with hints of frost and pine needles.

It was familiar but you couldn’t place it, so you pulled your battle axe free. The weight of it was a comfort in your hand as you silently continued further into the woods. 

But it was almost too quiet so you waited for a minute to just listen. You could hear leaves rustling, a distant river, animals and then a heart beating rapidly. Not an animal's heart but fae. And it was all you could to grab the female by her throat with your free hand and slam her into the ground. 

Her hands clawed at the one you wrapped around her neck as she thrashed beneath you. But she stilled when she felt the cool metal of your axe press into her skin. It was dark but the moonlight let you glimpse pale skin, white hair and blue eyes. 

Your brows knitting together. “Viviane?”

“Princess?” 

“Why were you watching me?”

“I wasn’t.” 

Your hand tightened around her throat and you dug your axe deeper drawing a drop of blood. “Bullshit.” 

“I didn’t know it was you.” 

You slammed her head into the ground. 

“I swear I didn’t know,” she grounded out through clenched teeth.

“Liar.” 

“Fine. . . I needed to ask you something.” 

You stared at her for a couple more seconds before slowly letting go of her throat and getting off of her. “You needed to ask me something,” you repeat. 

“Yes.”

You cross your arms. “Well?”

“A high fae male from Winter was found in Spring territory earlier today.” The one spiked to the fountain. 

“What about it?” 

“Did he have a note on his person?”

“No.” 

“Are you sure it wasn’t hidden anywhere on his body?”

You suppress a shudder. “Yes.” 

“Y/n did you check? He could have hid—“

“There was no way, no place for him to hide a note. They spiked his head to the fountain.” She visibly flinched. “I don’t know where his body is.” I whispered and she put a hand up to her mouth, stifling a sob. “I’m sorry, Viviane.” 

She shook her head. “No. No. No.” Then she reached for me, her hands gripping my shoulders, “This is your fault.” 

Your eyes shuttered. “I know.” 

“No you don’t know!” 

You wrenched her hands from your shoulders, spinning and pinning her against a tree with your forearm. “Trust me. . . I know. I lost people too.” You say with lethal softness and she blinked, seeming to remember that was true. 

“I-I’m sorry Princess. . . about your mother and fathers.” 

You waved your hand dismissively, “I don’t need to hear this right now,” you only made it a step back towards the Spring Court before she stopped you. “What?” you spat. 

“Here.” she placed a silver dagger into your hand. It was elegantly made with a bright sapphire in the pommel. “For besting me,” she explained. 

You stared at it and before you could say something she winnowed. 

****

The trek back to the manor was miserable. You were sore, tired, thirsty and hungry. Not to mention covered in blood, it was dry and sticky, and you were still bleeding from Wesley stabbing you in the stomach. Your body was probably littered in bruises and minor cuts. 

Thankfully, none of the sentries said anything as you strode by with your chin held high, slightly limping. 

Bron was by the doors when he saw you and he took a single step before you halted him with a raised hand. Giving him a tight nod as you passed him. And you hoped Feyre was asleep by now.

You barely made it up the steps when you heard her. 

Feyre.

“Y/n!” She tried running to you but Lucien stopped her with a hand on her arm. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure her.

She scanned you from head to toe, her blue-grey eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “Are you sure? You don’t look fine”. 

You nodded. “I’m fine. I swear.”

“Please tell me that isn’t your blood.” 

“Not all of it. . . Most of it isn’t anyways.”

You felt him before you heard him—saw him. Raihn. His claws clicked against the marble floors as he made his way to you. Nuzzling his head against you, causing you to let out a hiss of pain from the wound in your stomach. You opened the bond on your side and felt his relief to see you were alive. 

I’m all right. You reassured him. 

He only let out a soft whine. 

You heard a loud, startled gasp from behind you atop the stairs. “Y/n?” 

Alis. 

Heaving a breath. “I’m fine, Alis.”

Her hands hovered over your body, her lips pursing, “You are certainly not fine.” 

You grinned at her. “I need another favor.” 

She placed her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed into slits, “What?”

“Can you get me something to eat and some water and bring it up to my room please.” 

She huffed. “Fine.” 

“Thank you, Alis.”

“But first let me help you up to your room.” 

No. I’ll take you. Raihn said. 

You waved her off. “Raihn will take me.” 

“Fine but let me draw you a bath first.”

“All right.”

Raihn lowered himself all the way down to the marble floors and you stepped over him so a leg was on each side and then he stood. Earning another hiss of pain out of you. 

“Y/n?” Feyre called again. 

Turning to look at her. “What?”

“What happened?” 

You looked at her before your eyes flicked to Lucien then back to her. “I can’t tell you. Not yet.” 

“Y/n.” 

“Soon, Fey.” You promised. 

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 12

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[astro-b-o-y-d]

Triangulum - Chapter 6 - Strife of the Party

(Content warning; contains blood, gun violence and other potentially-upsetting themes. Reader discretion is advised)

— — — — — — —

Calling the walk to the bunker uncomfortable would be the understatement of the—Century? Millennia? Googolplex? Going off previous experiences that might rival it, Bill could vaguely recall a memory about five-thousand years back where he had dared Keyhole to ask Pyronica out on a date, despite them both knowing about 8-Ball's insatiable crush on her. A dare that Keyhole had responded to with a hesitant “I dunno, Boss, that seems kinda dangerous…” before reluctantly attempting it anyway.

Regardless of the exaggerated length of time—or any hypothetical superior understatements that might’ve left Keyhole with burn marks around his keyspot and Bill a giggling mess of schadenfreude—it was still an uncomfortable walk. Not only was Bill once again bound by unicorn-hair rope, but he didn’t even have the luxury of being tied to a chair this time. He simply dangled in Ford’s grasp like some kind of cheap luggage bag as the two of them trekked deeper through the woods towards their destination.

Bill tensed against the binds that restrained him. Speaking of which—

The bunker had been one of Ford’s more interesting projects, brought on by Bill’s own half-truth of a Dimension of Weirdness that lay parallel to the current one. His so-called assistant—Bill thought with as much metaphorical venom as he could muster—had suggested the idea, as a means of keeping themselves safe from any strange beings from said parallel dimension, while also granting them the ability to study such beings at a safe distance.

Clearly it had all been for naught; there was no way some half-baked hole in the ground and a few dozen gallons of liquid nitrogen would be enough to restrain anything that might’ve poured out of the Nightmare Realm—whether it was one of the lesser creatures, any of the Henchmaniacs, or even Bill himself.

Although the idea of someone like Zanthar being squeezed into one of those tubes was humorous enough to get an internal chuckle out of Bill. He sure would’ve at least let them try, if for no other reason than giving the big guy some enrichment—

“We’re here.”

Ford’s words pried Bill from his thoughts as the two of them came to a stop before a tall oak tree. To the uninitiated, it would appear to be an ordinary tree without any special characteristics to differentiate it from the rest of the surrounding forest.

To those who knew better—

“So tell me, Poindexter—” Bill began, his gaze traveling up and down the trunk. “How do you plan on reaching the lever with me in your hand?”

Ford didn’t respond, a hand pressed to his chin as he also stared at the tree in studious thought. After a few seconds passed without any answer, Bill let out a cackle. “Haha, you didn’t even think of that, did you?”

Despite Ford’s expression souring further from the mockery, he kept his attention fixed solely in front of him as he silently contemplated his options—

“Grunkle Ford!”

—until the sound of another voice spun him around, just in time to see Mabel stepping out from between a pair of trees. “Woah, you got here fast!” she said, breathing heavily as she slowed to a stop before them. “I mean, I guess you built the bunker, so it makes sense that you know all the best shortcuts to get here super quick—”

“Oh heeeeey, Shooting Star!” Bill interrupted cheerfully. “Thought you were busy prepping for the big party tonight?”

Upon being addressed by Bill, Mabel’s initial excitement vanished in an instant—a twisted glare in his direction taking its place. “Wendy and Dipper are prepping for it in my place!” she insisted, arms folded squarely across her chest. “And it’s gonna be so cool and awesome and amazing and you’re not invited!”

“Color me wounded,” Bill said with playful sarcasm. “Also wow, you really left Pine Tree to take care of party preparations? That’s like dropping a blobfish in the Sahara and expecting it to do anything else but shrivel up and die!” He tilted his head with a grin. “But hey, watching him flop around helplessly in the scorching desert sand would probably be twice as funny! Haha!”

Much like he had done with Bill’s previous tauntings, Ford kept his gaze fixed on what was in front of him—or in this instance; who—with the only reply he could muster up for a few minutes being several blinks of sheer confusion. “Mabel,” he finally managed to vocalize. “What are you doing here?”

Despite the ire she had directed at Bill, her smile was genuine as she turned back to Ford. “Oh! I’m here to help you get into the bunker!” she explained, tilting her own head to one side to peer around him towards the waiting tree. “I figured you’d need an extra hand to reach the lever, so you could keep yours on Bill!”

“He~ey, just what we were talking about!” Bill piped up, flashing his teeth at Ford. “Wow, can’t believe she thought about that before you did! You must feel pretty dumb right now, huh?”

Mabel shook a finger at him. “You shut up, it’s an easy mistake to make! And…and since I did think of it, that just means he actually has someone to help him do it!”

Ford continued to stare at her in wordless bewilderment, his emotions darting in as many different directions as his thoughts. Anger and irritation towards Bill’s…well, general existence, concern over Mabel interacting with him—terrible idea all around, he had to put a stop to it as soon as possible—

“Anyway yeah, like I said: I’m here to help you get into the bunker!” Mabel’s voice continued through Ford’s internal struggles. “Or just generally help you in any way I can, since Dipper, Wendy and I also thought you could use someone else to keep an eye on Bill while you work on all the techy-tech stuff in the security room.”

She gave a casual shrug. “I mean, it’ll be hard to keep an eye on him AND dismantle all the dangerous walls that wanna squish you at the same time, right?”

“Hey now, that’s a good point!” Bill said. “I didn’t even think of that second one, which probably means Sixer didn’t either~!”

He shifted his gaze back towards Ford with a delighted little wriggle against his restraints. “And I know I wouldn’t mind the company~! I’ll bet she’d be a lot more talkative than you were last night!"

“Nuh-uh!” Mabel insisted. “If you think I’m gonna talk to you or listen to anything you say, you’ve got another thing coming, you…you—”

A huff as she crinkled her brow. “Well, I could say the word I wanna say, but I don’t want to overuse it! But the point is you’re a massive jerk and a dummy and I’m not gonna listen to you or talk to you!”

While she stuck her tongue out in Bill’s direction—to which he responded with a sarcastic “That’ll show me.”—Ford’s grip on the rope tightened. Okay, enough thinking; he had to speak up. “Mabel, I appreciate you wanting to help me, but this isn’t a game,” he said, tone rigid. “Dealing with Bill is—”

Ford’s voice hitched in his throat as he forced himself to not make eye contact with the bundle in his fist, one whose wicked grin was assuredly widening further by the second. “—I think it would best for the best if you returned to the Shack.”

At Ford’s answer, Mabel’s tongue slid back into her mouth with a quick little ‘thwip’. “I know it’s not a game,” she insisted. “That’s why I want to help! Having someone around to help you will make things so much easier!”

“Psh, do you realize who you’re talkin’ to, kid?” Bill asked. “Pretty sure you’ve gotten several up-close-and-personal looks at the last guy who tried to help him! Haha, pretty sure that hillbilly jerk regretted getting his memory back when he remembered why he tried to get rid of it in the first place!”

He tilted his head. “Oh, no—wait, forgot about your pathetic brother and all the ‘help’ he provided last year! Sorry, he’s just soooo unmemorable that his presence always slips my mind—”

As Bill droned on—followed by a passionate scolding from Mabel in return—Ford forced his attention from them and back towards the waiting lever near the top of the tree.

As much as he hated to admit it, Bill had been right about him not thinking ahead and planning out a way to reach the lever once they’d arrived at the bunker. How could something that important have slipped his mind? He was lucky that Mabel had shown up when she did, otherwise he would’ve had to come up with another solution.

But that brought him to the main question—would it be wise to accept her help at all?

The last thing he needed was for her, or anyone else in the household to interact with Bill too closely. But she had raised an excellent point—if he let her take care of reaching the lever, then he would be able to keep a hand on Bill. She wouldn’t have to go near him or interact with him, which veered him closer to the side of approval.

Plus, Mabel was a strong girl for her age. A thought that sparked a warmth in Ford’s chest, one comforting enough to alleviate his concerns for a brief, few seconds. She was a Pines, after all—strength was practically baked into their DNA. And such strength, such heart, it was near identical to—

“Hey, you know, if the cat’s outta the bag on that bunker plan, I might have somethin’ that—”

“ No , Stanley.”

His shoulders tensed as a familiar Stanley-shaped cloud of guilt began to overtake his thoughts, one with an even-more-familiar Bill-shaped cloud baring its fangs closely behind. Fangs as menacing as the teeth that the real Bill continued to flash up at him with threatening delight. “You’ve gone awfully quiet there, Sixer. Got something you’d like to share with the class?”

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel added with a look of concern.

With an exhale to banish such thoughts for the time being, Ford looked back at her again. Mabel was offering assistance, assistance that he—unfortunately—required. There was still the issue of her second request to address, but overall the pros seemed to outweigh the cons when it came to accepting her help for at least getting him into the bunker.

Help that she might’ve not had to offer at all if he had simply taken up Stanley’s earlier offer instead but—

“Alright, Mabel,” he finally said aloud, interrupting his own thoughts before they could fully take shape. “If you can get me into the bunker, it would be very appreciated.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bill chimed in with flat look, one that quickly morphed back into a look of amusement. “And notice how he didn’t actually confirm if you could come down to the bunker with us~! Guess he doesn’t appreciate you that strongly, Shooting Star!”

Mabel glared at him, before casting a hesitant look to Ford. “Do I have to go back after I’m done? I mean, don’t you still need someone to keep an eye on Bill after that?”

“We can discuss any further involvement on your end once the bunker’s open,” Ford said with a firm tone.

“Translation: he’s already decided that the answer is ‘no’, but he doesn’t want you to keep asking,” Bill piped up.

His remark earned another glare before Mabel turned back to Ford. “You promise we can talk about it afterwards?”

After a brief moment of hesitation—one too short for either of them to comment on—Ford finally responded with a nod of his head and a reassuring: “I promise we’ll talk about it. But in return, you have to respect whatever decision I make in the end. Is that fair?”

Mabel’s features scrunched with consideration, before her smile returned. “Alright, well, I guess that’s better than nothing,” she said, before snapping a glare at Bill. “And don’t you say anything else, or I will use that word I wanna use against you!”

Bill rolled his eyes. “I add an addendum to my earlier statement; color me wounded and threatened.”

An exaggerated huff was her reply as she turned to face the tree, tilting her head upwards. “Alright, the lever was that one branch waaaaay up there, right?” she asked, keeping her gaze lifted as she approached the trunk.

“That’s it,” Ford confirmed. “Do you think you can reach it without issue?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t help but notice that in all of Shooting Star’s braggadocio-ing, she has yet to mention how she actually plans to get to the lever in the first place,” Bill pointed out, followed by a wink in her direction. “Of course knowing her, I’ll bet she’s got some brilliant idea up her brightly-colored sleeves. Am I right~?”

Mabel crossed her arms with a sour look, but it was only a moment later that her features brightened again. “Actually, yeah, I do! Literally!”

With a grin, she reached inside her sweater sleeves and pulled out the rolls of streamers she’d stashed there earlier. “Ba-boom! Three rolls of Pink Mab-urple!”

Both Ford and Bill stared at her—varying levels of confusion present in their features—until their silence was broken by a cackle from Bill. “Haha, wow, she’s actually lost it!” he said, then corrected himself with a condescending look: “Oh, I mean—yes, Shooting Star! Please feel free to use paper-thin streamers to try and scale a tree! By the way, when you fall, be sure to aim for the nearest sharp rock you can find as a landing zone!”

“I’m not gonna use them by themselves!” Mabel insisted, and began to unravel them in her hand. “I’m gonna use them at the same time by braiding them together, ‘cause they’re stronger that way!”

“Braiding rope together does in fact increase its strength and durability,” Ford mused thoughtfully. “I suppose the same could possibly be applied to something as flimsy as paper streamers, if you use enough of them. Where did you learn that, Mabel?”

“Oh, I’ve been braiding hair since I was, like, five,” she said proudly, hands working away at weaving the streamers together. “Sometimes it was a braid train, sometimes I was just bored in class and messing with my hair for fun, sometimes it was with a braiding kit I got one year for my birthday…”

“Seventh one, right?” Bill guessed. “Gift from one of the girls in your class—said she got it for you in the hopes of ‘helping you fix that rat’s nest you call hair?’” 

He rolled his eyes. “Pretty rude of her to say when Mommy Dearest was paying out of house and home to take her to the fanciest salon in town every month to get her pretty blonde hair curled and rebleached.”

“I knew she wasn’t a natural blonde!” Mabel said with a look of vindication—

—one that vanished in an instant as she cast a nasty look towards Bill, before promptly turning her attention back to the streamers in her hand. And after a few moments, she finally held up her efforts for Ford to see; a decently-length braid of the streamers combined. “Ta-da! Streamer braid!”

She gave both ends a firm tug, to confirm that the braid would hold. “With this, I can get up the tree and to the lever!”

“How quaint,” Bill taunted. “Now why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and give it a go? Just remember; aim zone, sharp rock!”

“Go ahead, Mabel,” Ford said in a more encouraging tone. “Just be careful, alright?”

With a nod to Ford—and another irritated raspberry at Bill—Mabel approached the tree and looked up towards the waiting lever. It wasn’t too high—probably about halfway up the tree’s actual length—and a fall from that height wouldn’t cause much more harm than a few bruises. Maybe even less if she aimed for one of the nearby bushes—and not towards any rocks, Bill!

Despite all that, Mabel couldn’t pretend she wasn’t a teensy bit nervous.

Taking great care to focus more on how smug she could be to Bill about her success and less on the task itself, she wrapped the braided streamers around the tree and began her ascent up with slow, careful steps up the side. 

It was a struggle at some points, supporting her own body weight against the force of gravity. But hauling a heavy pig around for almost a year seemed to have paid off in Mabel’s favor, for it wasn’t long before she was in reaching distance of the lever. Despite how close she was, however, she kept her hands firmly on the ends of the braided streamers. She couldn’t exactly let go of them, otherwise she’d just fall back to the ground. Not a huge issue if she aimed for a bush, but she was pretty sure that Wendy had pushed the lever up with her axe last year. And how was she supposed to push the lever up if she couldn’t—

Oh, wait!

She shifted herself to cast a look back down at Ford—

—nope, bad idea! Way too high and she was suddenly remembering the brief period of time last year when she had a fear of heights!

She snapped her gaze upwards again with a deep, shuddery breath. Alright, this was fine—she could just talk to him without looking down! “Grunkle Ford?” she called, keeping her attention focused squarely on the branches above. “Does the lever only work if you push it up?”

“No, it should activate the stairs regardless of whether you push or pull it,” Ford called in return. “The lever was specifically designed in such a way that we would be able to either trigger the mechanism from the ground with a well-aimed shot of a crossbow, or simply climb up and pull it if we happened to leave said crossbow back at the house.”

“‘We’, he says,” Bill piped up. “And yet I have no memory of being included in that conversation.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

While they continued to bicker—or rather, Bill replied with some annoying remark while Ford fell silent again—Mabel turned back to the lever with a look of determination. Her initial theory confirmed, she bent her knees and launched herself upwards, grasping hold of the lever with one hand while the braided streamers fluttered off with the wind.

Sure enough, the weight of her body was enough to pull the lever completely downwards, and a rumbling noise suddenly echoed throughout the wood as the tree began to follow suit and descend down into the earth.

Luckily for Mabel, it eventually descended far enough for her to drop back to the ground without issue or injury, and both her and Ford—still clutching Bill tightly—stepped back in time for the tree to reveal the stairwell down to the bunker’s entrance. “Good work, Mabel,” Ford said with a proud grin in her direction.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all so impressed,” Bill said sarcastically, before he batted his eyelashes at her. “Now hows’about you scurry on back to the shack while ol' Fordsy and I spent some more quality time together~?”

Ignoring him completely, Mabel cast a hopeful look to Ford. “Since I did such a good job, can I stay to help you with Bill?”

“That’s right, Sixer, you did promise her you’d talk about it after she was done,” Bill reminded him. “Don’t tell me you were actually trying to trick her into doing your dirty work and planned on sending her back to the shack with her tail between her legs this whole time!”

Ford had barely processed Mabel’s sharp reply of “Stop pressuring him!” before the concerns from before engulfed his mind once again, thoughts once again dancing around wildly as he attempted to figure out the best course of action.

He had promised Mabel, and he had no intention of breaking that promise. But Bill’s constant poking and prodding about the issue had raised a completely new concern in Ford’s head—was Bill deliberately trying to get him to turn down Mabel’s request?

Bill was a master at manipulation, and one of the many tools at his disposal in that regard was his ability to isolate someone. To convince them in any way he could to cut off any outside help, whether it be a lab partner, a family member, or anyone else who might potentially help them poke holes in his plans.

Maybe Bill was either trying to torment Mabel to the point of making her give up and return to the Shack, or annoy Ford to the point of sending her back himself—in the hopes of being trapped down in the bunker alone. 

Or perhaps the opposite was true and he was actually attempting reverse psychology—pushing hard in one direction to the point where it looked suspicious, forcing them to veer in the opposite direction. Another cherished tool to one skilled in the art of manipulation.

But why? Either way, what was his goal?

The answer to the former theory was obvious; Ford would have to keep Bill in the first room while he deactivated the security system. And with no one to keep an eye on him during the long stretches of time while he worked, Bill would be granted a large window of opportunity to escape his binds. A task that would probably be easy to accomplish for someone with Bill’s omniscience—Ford could vaguely recall one of Bill’s older stories about assisting Harry Houdini during his golden days.

As for the latter—with how little Ford had budged on giving him information throughout the past day, perhaps he was turning his efforts to someone more willing to talk. And while Ford loved and cherished Mabel dearly, even her mere presence here had already revealed more to Bill than he needed to know.

Sure, Bill’s jabs towards her could simply be chalked up to his usual Bill behavior. Perhaps he was simply bored and desperate to stir up trouble with the only method available to him at the moment; his words. 

But naturally, such observation was simply that—observation. And Ford could observe and theorize all he wanted, but he wouldn’t get anywhere unless he addressed the concern that had hoped to ignore in favor of focusing on the task at hand. The major concern that had loomed over his thoughts since the second they had found that strange, cackling child between the birch trees the previous evening.

What was Bill planning now that he was back?

The obvious answer was another attempt at Weirdmageddon, with ‘revenge on Ford and his family’ following closely behind. Outside of that, Ford had mostly focused his efforts into finding some way to get Bill out of their hair first rather than coming up with any clear answers. If he had succeeded in getting rid of Bill, finding those answers would no longer be necessary.

But his failed attempts across the past day and current interactions Mabel had unfortunately brought Ford to an inevitable conclusion—he had fallen right into a trap by not considering further possibilities sooner and was now forced to make a choice with two concerning, unpredictable outcomes.

Granted, such outcomes could always have minor and otherwise harmless results. But at the same time, he was dealing with Bill Cipher. A master of making fire-and-eyeball-spitting mountains out of molehills, whether they be literal mountains or metaphorical ones in the form of a person’s mind.

Regardless of his choice here, there was a good chance that he would not favor the outcome while Bill could twist it to his own advantage—

“Uh, hello? Earth to Ford? Thought you were gonna have a talk with her?”

Bill’s voice and the shrill laugh that followed pulled Ford back to the conversation, just as he continued with: “Like I said before, I’m all for the idea of letting her stick around.” He raised an eyebrow at Mabel. “But the real question is; are you willing to miss that big party of yours, Shooting Star?”

“I’ll miss a hundred parties if it means helping Grunkle Ford stop you!” Mabel said, shaking a fist at him before turning to Ford. “I’ll miss a hundred parties if it means helping you stop him!”

“Let me help you put that pointy jerk twenty feet back under the ground, and make it stick this time!”

His grip on the rope tensed as Stanley’s words washed over him once again. Whether or not this was truly a trap on Bill’s end was still uncertain. Perhaps Bill actually wanted him to let Mabel stick around and keep watch. Or perhaps he wanted Mabel to return to the Shack, and hoped his taunting would be effective enough to push Ford to that decision.

Regardless of whatever choice Bill actually wanted Ford to make, Ford knew which one he was going to make.

“I did promise we would talk about it,” he finally said aloud, mostly to Mabel. “I am impressed with how you managed to reach the lever all on your own. That was very impressive.”

Mabel waved him away with a humble smile. “Psh, I don’t deserve all the credit,” she said, once again holding up the rolls of streamers in her hands. “Pink Mab-urple did all the hard work! Although I guess it was named after me, so maybe I deserve MOST of the credit—”

“Regardless of how grateful I am, I still think it’d be best if you went back to the Shack. I can handle everything else from here.”

The words escaped Ford’s mouth as he spun back to face the entrance of the bunker.

“Wh—but Grunkle Ford!”

He could hear the sad faltering in her tone, one that gripped his heart tight. He was grateful he had turned around, he knew she’d have more of a chance to sway his answer if he had kept looking at her. “I said we could talk,” he continued, keeping his eyes forward. “And you agreed to respect my decision.”

“But—”

“I’ve given you my answer, Mabel,” he said, more firmly this time. “Please listen to me.”

Even with his back to her, he could clearly visualize the heartbreak in Mabel’s expression. Heartbreak so similar to the way Stanley had looked at him earlier when he had turned him down as well. Heartbreak he could—he would—apologize for later.

But for now…

Without another word, he disappeared into the depths of the bunker stairwell, leaving Mabel to stare at the tree alone.

— — — — — — —

The wooden steps creaked beneath Ford’s feet as the duo descended further underground, the sliver of light from the entrance eventually fading into darkness behind them.

At any other point, it would’ve been a great opportunity for Bill to crack a joke at Ford’s expense. In his current situation, however, one major concern had been lingering at the back of his mind throughout the entire trek to the bunker, interrupted by both their arrival and Mabel's sudden appearance.

In a matter of hours, he’d be stuck in one of the cryogenic tubes with no way out.

Put on ice, left to rot—and unable to play Birdbrain’s dumb game.

“You mean you haven’t figured out what’s happening yet?”

His brow furrowed as his thoughts drifted back to Tangy, and their visit in the Mindscape during Ford’s little fairy dust stunt. Oh, buddy, was he gonna need some time to sit and unpack all of that!

First of all, that sneaky jerk was clearly keeping tabs on his progress from wherever they were now. And much like invading someone's personal space, omniscience was only fun when he was the one behind the metaphorical screen. 

Bill Cipher wasn’t supposed to be the one to be on guard from an unseen entity behind the scenes. He was supposed to be the one to bring panic to others! To strike paranoia into their hearts and send chills down their spines. To make them glance worriedly over their shoulders—out of fear of being watched—as they trudged through the dark woods alone.

Barring that, Tangy had started to tell him something about his current vessel before Ford’s transfer spell had cut the conversation short. Something about his wrist?

He gave his arms a light tug against the rope that kept them bound at his sides. Welp—not like he could investigate that further at the moment, but it was definitely good to keep in mind.

In the meantime, he had to keep his focus on the matter at hand—getting out of Ford’s grasp before he was reduced to nothing more than a fleshy popsicle. 

A goal that would’ve been far easier to accomplish if Ford had actually let Shooting Star keep watch over him.

As tempting as it was to be left alone for hours on end—maybe with the occasional check-in from Ford at most—Mabel serving herself up on a silver platter had just been too good an opportunity for Bill to resist.

And it had taken all of his self-control to bite back his anger at Ford’s decision to actually send her back to the Shack. Come on, he had practically giftwrapped that bit of bait for Ford and had had the gall to go and turn it down?!

Granted, even he knew it was a stretch to outright ask Mabel to free him—heck, the only way he had gotten anything out of her last year had literally been through someone else. But that motor-mouth of hers was a liar’s goldmine; a treasure trove of information to exploit. It was one of her best qualities if Bill had to come up with a list—maybe second only to her overwhelming love of fun and her high levels of selfishness that resembled his own.

Even if she had no desire to cut his ropes herself, there would��ve still been plenty of ways for Bill to guide her hand towards the goal anyway.

But nope, Ford had to go and ruin that for him. Yeesh, either he was losing his touch or the old man was getting too wise to his tricks. Probably the latter.

He winced as the faint light of the overnight room finally came into view, shortly before Ford reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped inside. He lingered in the doorway for a moment—sadly Bill was clutched in Ford’s left hand, making it impossible to get a subtle glimpse at his expression and gauge his thoughts—before he continued onwards towards the old, dilapidated mattress near the wall.

So Sixer planned on leaving him there, huh? Alright, fine, Bill could work with that—no, wait, he was heading for the weapons locker first.

The possibility of torture crossed Bill’s mind for a fleeting moment; he definitely wouldn’t put it above Ford, and would—admittedly—almost respect him for resorting to such levels of cruel revenge. But the thought was dashed almost as quickly as it had appeared when Ford reached for another rope instead.

Nope, he was once again going for the excessive rope route. Ugh, just when Bill thought Ford had completely sunk to the bottom of the disappointment hole, he had pulled out a metaphorical shovel and was determined to dig lower.

Rope in hand, Ford moved to the mattress and let Bill’s body drop to it with a light thump—his free arm immediately wrapping around his legs before Bill had time to react, while the other hand quickly tied the rope around them. It was pointless to struggle, but that didn’t stop Bill from attempting it anyway until his legs were properly bound in place. And once Ford was satisfied, he rose to full height again and moved back to the weapons cabinet.

Oh, maybe this time he would fetch a weapon of sorts—wrong again, he was simply setting a moonstone on the shelf before slamming the cabinet door shut and moving to the opposite side of the room with a vial of mercury in hand.

At this rate, Sixer would hit the other side of the disappointment Earth with how deep he kept digging.

While Bill slouched unhappily against his restraints, Ford finished placing all the necessary ingredients before heading towards the large, red button near the door to the stairwell. And after a press—one that cause the entire main room to rumble as the above-ground entryway likely ascended back into place over their heads—he crossed the room to the tunnel entrance without so much as a look back at Bill.

“So you’re just gonna tie me up and leave me here for hours on end while you play mechanic in the next room, huh?” Bill asked aloud. “Better hope I don’t yell at the worst moment possible and scare you! One wrong step and it’s kersplats-ville!”

His remark did give Ford some pause, but after a moment, he climbed into the tunnel and pulled the latch shut behind him. Leaving Bill to lean back against the wall in a silent huff as his eyes scanned his dimly-lit surroundings.

Well, if he only had a few, precious hours to come up with an escape plan, then he needed to cherish every second of it and start brainstorming. Sure, maybe he didn’t have an easily-exploitable chump on hand to help in his endeavors.

But if the events of the last day had taught him anything, it was that no matter how dire the situation and no matter how hard Sixer tried to fight against it—lady luck always had a hand at the ready for Bill Cipher.

That, and maybe he could bust out a few of those tricks he’d taught ol’ Erik back in the day.

— — — — — — —

Despite Ford’s insistence to return home, Mabel remained where she stood for a few seconds longer. And after those few seconds of staring down at the darkened entryway where her great-uncle had gone, she turned away, took a couple of steps towards the direction of the shack—

—before she changed course for a nearby stump.

Hey, Ford had told her to go back to the shack—he hadn’t specified when she should go back. Not that she wanted to go back anyway, especially after Ford hadn’t actually kept up his end of the deal! Okay, yes, they’d kinda-sorta talked about it like he’d promised. But that wasn’t the same thing as talk-talking about it! Just because she still wanted to help him didn’t mean she couldn’t be a little annoyed about that!

After seating herself upon it with a stubborn harrumph, she fished her phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. Once her screen brightened, she brought up her list of text messages, gaze bouncing between the two most recent conversations.

The first was Dev—with a series of new texts he had sent while Mabel had been occupied with cleanup and decoration planning:

[ET Cutie <3: Hey, Mabel! Sorry I had to dash so quick for breakfast, hope you guys are having fun!] [ET Cutie <3: Also hope your Great-Uncle Stanford’s also not too busy with his work stuff to hang out!] [ET Cutie <3: I don’t care if he’s one of the most influential scientists in the field of supernatural and paranormal study, I’ll fight him for not spending time with the spe-] [ET Cutie <3: -cialest, prettiest, most amazing girl in the world!] [ET Cutie <3: Sorry, ran out of room in my first text.] [ET Cutie <3: …Please don’t actually make me fight him, you know I can’t fight.] [ET Cutie <3: …Please don’t actually make me fight him, you know I can’t fight.] [ET Cutie <3: Shoot, why did that send twice?] [ET Cutie <3: Whatever, you get my point. Love you! <3 <3 <3]

Mabel’s mouth curled into a smile—albeit one not entirely happy—as she hugged her phone to her cheek, before moving her attention down to the next group of texts. This one had been between her Dipper, their most recent exchange about two days old:

[Bro-Bro: Mom says we’re gonna be leaving for Gravity Falls around seven, so we’ve gotta go to bed early tonight in order to catch our bus.] Dipper had messaged to kickstart the conversation.

[Mabel: Is that code for ‘Time to leave Dev’s and come home?’] She had asked in return.

[Bro-Bro: You know it is.]

[Mabel: No prob, I was about to head out anyway!]

The conversation had been paused for a minute or two before she had sent her next text:

[Mabel: Actually, they also wanted to walk me home and talk to you about something.] [Mabel: One of your nerd club-type somethings.]

[Bro-Bro: It’s probably about their plans to try and snap some sky whale pics while they’re down at the coast.] [Bro-Bro: They mentioned wanting to borrow my camera last week.]

[Mabel: Or maybe they wanna just say goodbye to both of us at the same time before we’re gone for three months.]

[Bro-Bro: Either or!]

The thread had ended there, likely due to Mabel having tucked her phone into her pocket at the time to head home, hand-in-hand with Dev as she’d promised. Another smile tugged at her lips again—one that was unable to truly mask the wistfulness that was starting to overtake her features—as she typed out a new message:

[Mabel: Hey, Bro-Bro! So some good news!] [Mabel: I managed to get Grunkle Ford into the bunker, and he actually seemed pretty happy about it!!] [Mabel: Plus I did it by using streamers to scale a tree, which I think is a-PRETTY cool, if I do say so myself!!] [Mabel: Speaking of which, please send me pics of the Shack covered in streamers once you’re done!! I wanna see that beautiful mess of color that looks like a rainbow just died on the roof!!!!]

Before she could type out another reply, her phone buzzed as a text from Dipper came through:

[Bro-Bro: Morbid, but yeah, sure, I’ll send you some pics once we’re done.] [Bro-Bro: Does this mean Ford let you stay and help with Bill?]

[Mabel: Yeah, see…that’s the bad news.] [Mabel: He let me open up the bunker, but he didn’t let me go down with him.] [Mabel: I even pulled out the ‘he can’t watch Bill if he’s busy with the security room’ card and everything!]

[Bro-Bro: Aw man...] [Bro-Bro: So what’re you going to do then? Come back to the shack?]

[Mabel: I dunno, I still don’t want to leave him here all by himself.] [Mabel: Plus TECHNICALLY, he told me to return to the shack.] [Mabel: He never said I had to go back to the shack NOW!!! >:)]

There was a beat or two before Dipper’s next text:

[Bro-Bro: …You’re gonna sit outside the bunker and wait for him, aren’t you?]

[Mabel: Yeh-huh!] [Mabel: Now THAT’S a loophole dodge!]

[Bro-Bro: Cool, cool, so we should just go ahead and do the streamers for you then?]

[Mabel: You have my full permission! Again, dead rainbows! Morbid and horrible, but it gets my point across!] [Mabel: And I’ll let you know if anything changes out here.]

[Bro-Bro: Alright, keep me posted.]

[Mabel: Only if YOU keep me pic…ed. Send me pics is what I mean.]

[Bro-Bro: …I mean, I already said I would, didn’t I?]

[Mabel: Yeah, but I couldn’t resist the pun!]

Mabel lowered her phone to her lap again, but it was at least half a minute before Dipper sent another reply and she raised it again to investigate:

[Bro-Bro: Wendy also said to let us know if you need anything else.] [Bro-Bro: She knows sitting out in the middle of the woods without something to do can get SUPER boring.] [Bro-Bro: Plus the food situation’s kinda nonexistent unless you’re willing to kill something.]

Barely ten seconds had passed before another pair of additional texts followed:

[Bro-Bro: And while I know you are…just PLEASE let us bring you some chips or a sandwich or something.] [Bro-Bro: We can do that, Mabel. We can bring you actual food.]

Mabel’s laugh echoed through the woods as she typed:

[Mabel: No need to worry there! I got my Sneaking-Snacks-Into-A-Movie-Theater outfit on!] [Mabel: Complete with twelve hidden pockets full of snacks AND my licorice hair tie!] [Mabel: I’m set for HOURS!]

She lowered her phone again to reach up for one end of said hair tie, giving it some slack so she could pull it towards her mouth. The tip had barely passed her teeth when another text came through:

[Bro-Bro: PLEASE tell me you’re not going to chew on it again.] [Bro-Bro: Mabel, your hair is going to get SO gross!]

Keeping the end in her mouth, she mashed out a reply:

[Mabel: It’s fine! I’ve got extras in one of my pockets, so I’ll just eat this one and replace it with a new one instead of sticking it back in my hair!] [Mabel: Problem solved.]

[Bro-Bro: Alright, but if you want something other than pocket snacks and hair-flavored licorice ropes, let us know, alright?]

[Mabel: You got it, Bro-bro!]

With that, she let her phone rest on her lap again, her smile from before all but gone as she looked towards the bunker entrance again.

The tree was still half-submerged—and from her spot, she could just barely make out the top step of the staircase that lead down into the earth.

Hmm.

After tucking her phone back into her pocket and pulling more of the licorice rope into her mouth, Mabel stood up and hurried back towards the tree to peer down into the stairwell again. As she’d expected the door was still wide open, leading down into the waiting darkness.

And leading down to a jerky triangle and a Dr. Grunkle in need of assistance.

She nibbled on the end further with a thoughtful look. Once again, Ford had told her that she should go back to the Shack but he hadn’t specified when she should go back.

Nor had he said that she wasn’t allowed to go down into the bunker at all. Or—as a completely random, hypothetical example—sit in the stairwell and wait for him to be done with his work while doubling as a guard for the exit, in case Bill tried to make another escape.

…Hypothetically, of course!

The rumbling from before started again, causing her to take a few wobbly steps back from the edge while her gaze snapped up to the tree. Sure enough, it was shaking with a loud, creaking sound, a likely indicator that it would shortly be rising back to full height.

Her attention fell back to the doorway and staircase, the latter of which was beginning to retract back into the earth from the bottom upwards, while the doorway began to lower at a much slower speed than when it had originally opened.

Slow enough for someone to perform a pretty cool action stunt and dive inside just before it closed, if they moved quickly enough!

Shoving the end of the licorice further into her mouth with a look of determination, Mabel bounded down the remaining steps that had yet to retract and leapt down the rest of the way into the pit when she reached the last one. Keeping her momentum going, she barreled towards the waiting doorway that was lowering more and more by the second.  

And just before it could slam completely shut, she rushed though with all her might and landed hard against the concrete platform inside. Leaving the door to lock in place behind her, taking the last bit of light from the outside with it and leaving her completely shrouded in darkness.

While the room continued to rumble around her—the tree likely rising back into place outside—Mabel pulled herself to her feet with a sneeze from the kicked-up dust, causing the licorice to fall back against her hair and stick in place. With a grimace, she reached up to remove it completely and tossed the uneaten part to the floor before reaching into her pocket for a fresh one.

As she wrapped it in place around her hair and the rumbling around her finally stopped, she cast a look down the stairs towards the waiting bunker below.

The waiting bunker, aforementioned great-uncle in need of assistance, and that jerky—

—aw, heck with it—dumbass triangle.

She chuckled to herself as she silently creeped further down the steps, hand slipping back into her pocket to retrieve her phone. Mmm, no that still didn’t feel right. Oh well, she could always try again later!

— — — — — — —

“‘Change of plans, Bro-Bro, I’m gonna get a closer look at the situation.’”

“What does that mean? New roll.”

From his side of the roof platform, Dipper reached into the nearby bag of streamers for a fresh roll. “I dunno,” he said, tossing it at her. “Probably that she’s going to—oh, no wait, she sent a pic.”

He held up his phone for Wendy to see, and she peered closely at the screen. “Looks like a whole lotta nothing…”

“According to her, it’s the bunker stairwell,” Dipper explained, pulling his phone back to type out a reply. “Guess she raced inside before it could close, so now she’s gonna spend the whole day in there waiting for Ford.”

“Wow, she’s actually in it for the long haul, huh?” Wendy said. “I know the two of you have grown a bit since last year, but spending an entire day waiting for Dr. Pines out in some dusty old bunker seems more like a you thing, doesn’t it? Unless I’ve missed something across the past nine months or whatever…” 

She arched her arm back and swung it forward again, keeping a tight grip on the end of the streamer as the rest went sailing over the roof to the other side. “Oh, niiiiice,” she said proudly as she let her end gently flutter down to the tiles in front of them. “Bet that one flew clear into the woods—new roll.”

On request, Dipper tossed a new roll of streamers over to her before setting his phone down. “No, you didn’t miss anything,” he said. “It’s kinda weird to me too. But like she said earlier, one of her big things this summer was to spend more time with Ford. So I guess that counts as quality time, in the Mabel-est definition of the word.”

He shrugged to punctuate his sentence while Wendy unfurled the roll and repeated her previous action of tossing it over to the side of the roof. “Still…can’t believe she’s really going to miss out on a party like this,” she said.

“You don’t know if she will,” Dipper pointed out. “Ford could finish dismantling the security room, deal with Bill, and come back with Mabel before the party even dreams of starting.”

“Pretty optimistic theory for a guy who doesn’t believe a house can be lifted away by balloons,” Wendy said. “New roll.”

“Once again, never said I didn’t believe it could happen,” Dipper reminded her as he tossed her a roll. “I just said it’s gotta prove itself first!”

With a laugh, Wendy started unfurling the roll before taking aim at the chimney. “Hey, maybe we should try that will Bill instead? Tie a bunch of balloons to him until he flies up and out of our lives forever?”

“I mean, there are actual balloons designed to carry people,” Dipper pointed out. “But I guess with how small he is now, the right number of party balloons could probably get the job done.”

His words trailed off with a lingering discomfort, one he feebly attempted to mask by reaching for the tree-bearing journal he had set beside him on the platform. An action that gave Wendy pause mid-throw—the end of the streamer slipping from her hand and causing the entire thing to miss the chimney completely and sail onwards over the top of the house. “So, uh, you wanna talk about all that mess?” she asked. “Mainly the whole ‘him looking like you’ thing?”

“Not in the slightest,” Dipper said, flipping to the page he’d been working on. “With Stan and Ford being how they are, and Mabel being how she is, someone’s gotta keep a clear head about all this Bill stuff.”

“Mabel being how she is?” Wendy questioned.

“I mean, you saw how she was acting earlier,” Dipper explained. “All stressed out about Bill and Ford and Stan. Plus she’s been acting kinda weird about Bill in general, even before we got back to town.”

He lightly tapped the edge of the pencil against the page. “Did you know she hasn’t even told Dev about what happened? Like not just about Bill coming back, but about Weirdmageddon in general? She even asked me not to say anything about it, and like…that’s fair, I don’t feel like getting into that mess with him either.”

Another shrug. “But I dunno, it feels like there’s more there than just her being worried about Mayor Tyler’s Never Mind All That Act.”

“Psh, if that’s all she’s worried about, she shouldn’t be,” Wendy assured him. “It took all of two weeks for Tyler to give up trying to keep that act in effect before people started planning out Bill costumes and decorations for Halloween.”

Her smile felt into a look of annoyance. “He does get really uppity about is people getting too close to the statue, though. So naturally a lot of my classmates started daring each other to sneak off and go shake its hand.”

“Did you do that?”

Her smile returned. “Kinda wanted to, but after the convenience store thing last year, I wasn’t in the mood to test my luck with ghosts. And with Bill actually being back now, I stand further by that choice.”

Dipper let out a weak laugh. “Well, like I said, I feel like there’s more to Mabel acting how she is than that,” he continued. “Which circles back to the whole ‘With her, Ford and Stan acting how they are, somebody’s gotta keep a clear head about this Bill stuff’ thing.”

He began to scribble something down in the journal as he spoke further: “Plus hey, it’s not the first time he’s piloted around a body that looks like me. Like I was telling Stan and Ford earlier, I don’t think he’s gonna top what happened last year—”

“Last year? What happened last year?”

The two of them exchanged a look. “Oh, did we not tell you about that?” Dipper asked. “Yeah, he possessed my body last year on the day of Mabel’s big puppet show. Stuck forks in my arms, poured soda in my eyes, said a bunch of creepy, ominous things as me—”

“Ugh, seriously? That was him?” Wendy asked with a grimace. “No wonder you were acting so weird that day! I thought something was screwy when you started cackling wildly to yourself in the car, but I also kinda figured you were just super sleep-deprived.”

“Yeah, it was a whole thing,” Dipper said, waving her away. “But the point is, I’m no stranger to him looking like me. It’s weird, but…I’ll be fine.”

The scribbling stopped for a moment, his trembling hand around the pencil a clear contradiction to his words. One that Wendy met with an unconvinced look before she moved her gaze towards the bag of streamers.

After a moment in thought, she cast him another grin and flicked her thumb towards the large sign that read MYSTERY [S]HACK. “Hey, you wanna see who can get a streamer inside the A on the sign first?”

She winked at him. “We can always pretend it’s Bill’s big, stupid eye and that the streamers are…I dunno, something that’ll really hurt if it gets caught in a big, stupid eye?”

A small smile of his own tugged at the corners of Dipper’s mouth, before he set his journal aside again and pulled himself to his feet. “I mean, I guess if he was still the size of a building, streamers would probably be enough to cause some serious irritation to that fucker’s cornea.”

“Heyyyy, nice f-bomb drop,” Wendy said encouragingly. “How’d it feel?”

“Honestly, solid six-out-of-ten,” Dipper added as he followed suit. “Felt good, but kinda unnatural putting it right next to the word ‘cornea’."

“Eh, you’ve got all summer to smooth it out. TWO rolls!”

— — — — — — —

Every twist of a wrench or disconnecting of a wire helped to keep Ford grounded as he toiled away at the intricate mechanisms behind the security room.

He’d stated it plenty of times in the past, but Fiddleford had really outdone himself with the bunker’s construction. Such brilliant craftsmanship had always been the man’s forte when it came to inventing; it was one of the reasons Ford had sought his help in the portal’s creation.

His grip on the wrench in his hand tightened as he twisted it a bit too hard, resulting in the current screw he’d been unscrewing to fall out of its socket and to the floor with a light clatter.

With a sigh, he reached down to pick it up before rotating the small metal object over in his hand. Yes, Fiddleford back then had possessed such a brilliant mind, one with so much hope and potential.

“Haha, pretty sure that hillbilly jerk regretted getting his memory back when he remembered why he tried to get rid of it in the first place!”

And what had Ford done to repay him for all that help? 

Insulted him, belittled him, disregarded his warnings about Bill, and left him to burn countless holes into that brilliant mind. All with the same gun that he had used to burn a hole in Stanley’s mind.

Frowning lower, he stuffed the screw into the jacket pocket where he’d stored the others and moved on to the next one. If it wasn’t Fiddleford coming under fire as a result of his actions, it was Stanley. And if it wasn’t Stanley, it was—

“I think I’m gonna kill one of ‘em, just for the heck of it!”

The threatening memory echoed through Ford’s mind, stilling him out of sheer instinct as his gaze moved to the tunnel. Mabel’s surprise appearance had admittedly been such a bright beacon of relief after the past day’s agonies, and his appreciation for her help had been genuine.

But any concerns he might’ve had regarding Fiddleford or Stanley were increased tenfold when applied to the kids. 

As he’d initially stated before, Mabel was strong. Strong as Stanley, strong as those Pines genetics coursing through her body. But she was also Mabel. Spirited, bright, wonderful Mabel, who wore such a vulnerable heart on her brightly-colored sweater sleeves. 

A heart that Bill was desperate to plunge a knife into just as soon as the opportunity was at his fingertips.

With another sigh, he once again pocketed the removed screw and moved to the next one. No, it was for the best that he’d turned down Mabel’s help. What if he’d actually agreed to her offer and she somehow got hurt while attempting to guard Bill, like so many others who had helped him in the past?

Sure, he had waxed several pages of poetic retrospective in his old journal about how important it had been to seek help from others, but at what cost? The compromisation of his loved ones’ well-beings? Was it truly worth extending a hand in his time of need if it meant any one of them would be caught in the crossfire again? Especially since he still had no idea what kind of tricks Bill had tucked up his sleeve this time around. 

Clatter clatter, went another screw to the floor.

Nor did he have a clue as to whether or not his current plan to restrain Bill would actually succeed.

Clatter clatter.

And what if his current plan did succeed but he failed to come up with anything better? What if his family had to spend the rest of their days with a ticking time bomb hidden down here, with only a thin layer of liquid nitrogen to keep the danger at bay?

Clatter clatter. Clatter clatter.

Not to mention, there was still Bill’s current appearance to take into account. Why did he look so much like Dipper? Had the resemblance been intentional, or had he been telling the truth the previous day when he claimed to not be aware? Did it actually matter in the long run, or was it just a random happenstance?

Clatter clatter. Clatter clatter. Clatter clatter.

Question after question, theory after theory, concern after concern piling on to of him and dragging him further down—

BANG!

The end of the wrench was slammed hard against the wall, and Ford exhaled as much stress with the impact as he could possibly release. 

He had to stop spiraling, to remain focused on the task at hand. Whether his current plan was a temporary solution or not, it would still keep Bill out of the way long enough for him to think of something more permanent. As far as he could tell—and as much as he had deduced as much earlier with his fairy dust stunt—Bill had no actual means of leaving his current body.

Regardless of how powerful Bill was, he couldn’t do anything while trapped inside a weak, human body, one with no clear immunity to being flash-frozen.

And as for the vessel’s appearance…

His gaze shifted over to the tunnel again for a brief second, before he lifted his wrench again and moved on to the next screw.

No, it didn’t matter who Bill looked like or what he had planned. Once this was over, none of it wouldn’t matter.

Once this was over, Ford could breathe again. The kids would be safe again. Stanley would be safe again, everyone would be safe again.

Clatter clatter…

He just had to stay focused for a little bit longer…

— — — — — — —

The morning gradually shifted into afternoon, late afternoon, and eventually the bright, blue sky faded to the deep pinks and oranges of sunset.

“Good evening, Gravity Falls! This is Shandra Jimenez reporting to you live from the Mystery Shack, where we’re only a short while away from the biggest party of the year!”

And with the end of day came the beginning of the party, along with nearly everyone from town.

Behind Shandra and her broadcast, Lazy Susan came ambling up the pathway with a fresh pie in each hand and a delighted wink to the cameraman filming everyone’s arrival. A wink that unfortunately made her drop one of the pies as she reached up to manually wink her bad eye for dramatic effect—

—only for a small gnome to grab it just before it hit the ground, and hurry back towards a suspiciously-lumpy guest in a trench coat.

From further up the driveway, Manly Dan came charging towards the Shack with the Manotaur herd—all of whom were carrying large kegs of meat beneath their bulging, muscular arms. Behind them trailed a group of various other residents of recognizable nature. And perched above the party atop the old MYSTERY [S]HACK sign were the flocks of Eyebats and Woodpeckers from the previous day, all settled comfortably to watch the festivities below. The irises of the eyebats shifted about as they eyed each new guest come up the driveway, while one of the woodpeckers—the petrified Woodpeckerpecker from the day before still settled on its back—pecked curiously at the streamers that now decorated the roof.

And that was only a small percentage of the guests who soon crowded the grounds of the Shack. A crowd that Dipper peered out over from his spot atop the porch railing, pencil and journal clutched tightly in hand. “Let’s see, gnomes are here,” he mused, the scribbled words following his speech. “Lazy Susan…Shandra and her cameraman whose name I don’t know…”

He cast a smile to his left. “Wow, Soos, you and Melody really invited everyone, huh?”

From beside him on the porch itself, Soos let out a laugh. “Right? I mean, I guess we kinda overdid it with the invitations. But we couldn’t help it, dude! Everyone was just that excited to see the Pines family again!”

“As they should be,” Wendy added from his right. “You guys are, like, heroes and stuff.”

Dipper smiled wide at this remark, but his expression slowly sank as he turned his attention towards both the boat and the forest itself at the edge of the yard. “Ugh, if only I wasn’t the only member of the family actually at the party for us…”

The sound of the door opening behind them turned all heads to Melody, who had just stepped out onto the porch with a tall stack of paper plates in hand. “Is Mr. Pines still out on the boat?” she asked, kicking the door shut behind her. “He’s been out there all day! Has he even eaten anything?”

“I brought him some food and a change of clothes earlier,” Soos assured her. “But he just grabbed both from my hands and slammed the door shut behind him. Didn’t even give me a chance to see whatever big, secret project he was working on!”

“Secret project?” Wendy asked.

“I dunno if that’s actually what he’s doing,” Soos explained with a shrug. “But y’know…spending all your time somewhere isolated for hours on end, and not telling anyone what you’re doing? Seems kinda secret project-y to me.”

“Speaking of projects, although this one’s not really secret,” Melody said. “Could you help me carry these to the table, Soos?”

“Oh yeah, no problem!” Soos said, and rushed to assist her. “Although if we want it to be a secret project, you could always ask me in a secret language next time! Like maybe write it out in the alien goblin from Housebound!”

“Not a bad idea,” Melody agreed. “Although you said the name of the franchise out loud, and now anyone who heard you—” She tilted her head towards Wendy and Dipper with a smile. “—would be able to turn to the source material for ways to decipher our code.”

Soos slapped a hand to his forehead. “Aww, you’re so right, babe! Didn’t even think of that!” he said, then looked back at the teens as well. “Hey dudes, don’t even think about looking up Housebound and the well-crafted, original language the creator made for it!”

“Not my ballpark, Soos,” Dipper assured him.

“I will immediately forget the name of the show once this conversation ends,” Wendy added.

“It’s actually an online comic,” Soos corrected. “Although it’s more of an experience than a—”

“Soos?”

“Haha, right, plate time.”

Both Soos and Melody let out a laugh as they divided the stack of plates between them two of them and made their way towards the tables in the yard. Leaving Wendy and Dipper free to turn their attention back towards the edge of the property. “So, what do you think the old man’s been up to all day?” Wendy asked.

“Not sure,” Dipper replied. “Wonder if he’s even aware that the party’s started. I doubt the boat’s soundproof, so he can probably hear everyone outside.”

With a chuckle, Wendy leaned closer and gave him a light nudge with her elbow. “Yeah, unless he pulled his whole ‘switch off my hearing aids’ stunt to try and ignore ‘em. Again.”

Her amusement was only met with a light knock of wood to skull as Dipper sadly propped himself against the nearest support beam, causing her to raise an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, dude?”

“Ugh, I dunno,” Dipper said. “I wanted to be excited for tonight, but that Stan thing’s just kinda reminding me how he’s still out there on the boat with no sign of stopping—”

After straightening himself out again, he moved his journal and pencil to one hand so he could pull out his phone. “And how I haven’t gotten any new messages from Mabel in a while. Which probably means her and Ford are still stuck at the bunker, also with no signs of stopping…”

He sighed. “It’s just kinda hard to really get into the spirit of a party for our family when a whole three-quarters of us aren’t even here, you know?”

With a frown, Wendy propped her arms further over the porch railing. “Hey, come on, what happened to the optimistic attitude from earlier?“ she asked. “The one that said maybe they’d get back in time?”

She gave his arm another nudge, this time with her fist. “And the one that managed to get a whole roll of streamers stuck up in the letter A?”

A smile teased the corners of Dipper’s mouth, but disappeared before it could fully form. “I dunno, earlier we still had hours until the party started,” he explained. “And now it’s here and—as far as we know—nothing’s happened and Bill’s still around. “

He cast a look out at the crowd of party-goers again. “But I guess you’ve got a point: the impending stress of the guy who tried to destroy our entire dimension isn’t anything that can’t be dealt with through the old-fashioned method of pencil to paper as I take attendance of everyone arriving,” Dipper assured her. “Well, that and—”

He snapped a few, quick pictures of the scene with his phone. “Pictures for Mabel,” he explained to Wendy, readjusting the items in his hands so that the journal was situated back on his outstretched legs. “One that doubles as a reference for a later sketch, since I promised I’d add some to my journal for Dev to look at once we're back home! I’ve already started w—WOAH!”

With neither hand available to balance out his weight and his legs kicked out in front of him, Dipper wobbled atop the railing for a split second before his entire body tumbled backwards. Wendy moved to try and catch him, but her efforts only resulted in her snagging his journal out of mid-air—leaving its writer to fall to the wooden porch with a hard thud.

Despite the fall leaving him flat on his back, Dipper stared up at her with an embarrassed smile. “Nice catch...”

“Maybe limit things to pics now and journal later?” Wendy suggested, half of the journal clutched in one hand as she reached to help him up with the other. “Or maybe don’t do it while you’re sitting on a railing?”

“Heh, good call,” Dipper said, pulling himself to his feet before holding out his own free hand. “Maybe I’ll save it for the couch that we just have sitting out here, for some reason.”

She held out the journal for him to take back, although the page that she had accidentally opened to while haphazardly grabbing it gave her pause. A pause that made her pull the book back from him and hold up to her face to investigate further.

“Wh—hey, Wendy, come on,” Dipper said, reaching for it with more urgency. “Give it to me!”

Despite his insistence, she continued to stare for a few seconds before turning it for him to see: “Hey, Dip, what’s this?”

It was a recent page, one he had written earlier in the day. The beginning paragraph implied that he had been writing it while they had decorated the roof, but the main part she was addressing was a picture scribbled down beneath his words.

Not a picture of the decorated rooftop or any small pieces of streamers taped to the inside of the book, but an eerie sketch of Bill in his current vessel.

Dipper stared, his body language shrinking a bit. “You know, just…keeping track of what’s happened since we got here…”

She raised an eyebrow and flipped through the next few pages, most of which revealed more uncomfortable feelings about the events of the past day. “You sure you don’t wanna, like…talk about this stuff with someone?”

“Positive,” Dipper said, quickly snatching the journal back from her hands. “Like I said earlier, I’m fine and it wouldn’t be the first time I had to deal with Bill looking exactly like me. Or someone else in general looking like me!”

He flipped to a new page. “We’ve already covered all the puppet show stuff, but that wasn’t the only time! There was also the Dippy Fresh thing, and all those paper clones I made at Stan’s party to try and dance with you—”

“...Yeah, don’t think we covered that last one, dude.”

The journal was snapped shut again as a look of horrified realization overtook Dipper’s features. Before he could come up with any sort of believable explanation, however—

“Dipper! Wendy!”

The two of them looked over to see Tyler waving at them from across the yard as he hurried towards the porch. An action that made Wendy wince in disgust as she turned back to Dipper. “Okay, so listen: I know you’re having a time dealing with all this Bill stuff and family stuff—just stuff,” she said. “But—”

“You wanna get away from Mayor Tyler for reasons you don’t wanna talk about?” Dipper guessed. “And you want me to keep him distracted?”

“You do that and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last thing you said, nor will I question you about it later,” she assured him. “And I’ll also drop the Bill stuff that you clearly don’t want to talk about either.”

“Deal.”

After an exchanged thumbs-up and their trademark ‘zip-the-lip’ sign, she leapt over the far railing and onto the other side, disappearing out of sight just as Tyler came strolling up the steps. “Good evening, Dipper~!” he said with a laugh. “Do you know where Wendy went?”

“Not a clue,” Dipper said loyally. “Why, did you need to talk to her?”

“Oh, I just wanted to say hi,” Tyler said in his usual-cheery tone, before his features sank. “It’s so rare for us to cross paths these days, except when old Danny Man sends her with one of the Manotaurs on an errand to my office~!”

“Is that right?” Dipper said, casting a glance back towards the direction where Wendy had gone. “Well, uh—I mean, she never said she was leaving, so maybe you’ll catch her around the party at some point.”

“Oh, very true~!” Tyler said, the delight in his expression returning. “Maybe she’s just gone off to shoot the breeze with the rest of your family?” 

He pressed a hand to his chin. “Come to think of it, though I haven’t really seen either of those handsome great-uncles of yours since I got here!” he said with a wink. “I know one of them’s spent the past few decades doing some fancy footwork around all those other dimensions or something, so don’t try and tell me he’s afraid of an old-fashioned Gravity Falls shindig!”

“Uh…”

While he’d anticipated that the topic of his other family members would be brought up in conversation—especially at a party about them—Dipper hadn’t had a chance to come up with a proper excuse about their absence—

“Hey, Mayor Tyler!”

Both Tyler and Dipper turned to see Soos approaching from the direction of the tables. “Glad you could make it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world~!” he said delightedly. “Dipper and I were just talking about Stan and that brother of his, and how I’ve yet to see either of them here!”

Soos opened his mouth to reply, but upon seeing the silent desperation in Dipper’s features, he instead hurried up the porch steps to drape an arm around Tyler’s shoulders. “Oh, Mr. Pines? Uh, yeah—he’s not here at the moment,” he said quickly. “He’s working on some, uh…big, fancy surprise for the party! And Dr. Pines is helping him out with it~!”

Dipper’s eyes widened as he pulled Soos away from Tyler for a hushed conversation: “Soos, what are you doing?” he whispered. “Not only is Ford not doing that, but he’s not even letting Stan help him!”

“Uh, I don’t know, dude!” Soos whispered back. “You weren’t saying anything, I panicked!”

“Yeah, well, now he’s going to expect a big surprise from them later!” Dipper pointed out. “Are we don’t even know if Ford’s going to make it back in time for the party!”

“Woo-hoo, the way you two are whispering, it must be quite the surprise!” Tyler said brightly. “Either that or something’s gone terribly wrong, and you’re about to make an excuse so you can leave and go take care of it~!”

He let out a giddy chuckle. “Haha, I’m just kidding! But either way, I just wanted to pop by and say hello, give my howdy-dos and all that! Can’t wait for this night to really start kicking off~!”

“Haha, right,” Dipper said with a nervous chuckle. “But uh, speaking of leaving, I actually do have to go find Mabel about something—”

“Oh, Mabel!” Tyler said happily. “That’s another face I’ve yet to see! Heh, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say all you Pineses are hiding from your own welcome-back party!”

“Psh, yeah, that’d be silly!” Dipper said, before hurrying to the porch steps. “I’ll be back!”

With that, he hurried down the steps and rushed off into the crowd, leaving Tyler alone with Soos on the porch. He shot Soos a wide grin of his own, accompanied by a thumbs up. “Great party so far! Can’t wait to see more of it!”

“Aw, thanks, Mayor Tyler!” Soos said. “Uh, we’re not like…breaking any noise rules or anything so far, are we? Not bein’ too loud or too…I dunno, party-ful?”

With an amused chuckle, Tyler reached over to pat his shoulder. “Soos, I’m the Mayor of the town, at a party to celebrate some of the most important people in town! I’d be more upset if anyone tried to come to me to complain about the noise! Heck, I'd probably have them arrested for being a giant party pooper!”

He pressed a hand to his mouth with a giggle before turning back to the crowd. “Oh, but you didn’t hear that from me~!”

With a wave, he disappeared amongst the partygoers and left Soos standing by the porch with a content smile. “Good to know!”

— — — — — — —

It was only once the last few screws had been pocketed that Ford allowed himself to lean back against the wall with an exhale of relief. It had taken almost an entire day’s effort, but he’d successfully deactivated the parts of the room that would activate the security system.

And just for good measure—

With the toe of his boot, he gingerly pressed one of the buttons on the floor and waited. When it was clear that the walls weren’t going to crush him into a fine paste, he let out another breath and finished gathering up his tools.

The difficult part was over for now. All he needed to do was get Bill to the other side of the bunker, and it’d all be over.

— — — — — — —

Okay, so maybe the tricks he had tossed Houdini’s way were easier said than done.

In his usual form, such escape attempts would’ve been mere child’s play for Bill. Just a snap of his fingers and the ropes would’ve turned into something like snakes, overcooked spaghetti noodles, or even something as simple as a pile of hair. Hey, not all of his tricks had to go the extra mile in terms of wackiness; sometimes all you needed was a pile of hair from an unknown—probably unwilling—participant.

In a powerless vessel he was still inexperienced in piloting, however—he was left with nothing more than several wasted hours of failed attempts to wriggle free of his rope binds.

Yeesh, maybe he should add ‘rope’ to the list of things he had plans to snap out of existence once he was out of this stupid vessel and back in his own body. Right behind ‘ears’ and potentially above ‘ruddy shelducks’, depending on whether or not Birdbrain was actually just stringing him along further.

He gave up on his most recent attempt to free his limbs and slumped against the wall with an irritated sigh, while the creeping realization that had plagued him throughout the day began to overtake him once him again. It was only a matter of time before Ford finished deactivating the security room.

Once he got him to the main chamber, escape would be near impossible by that point. At this point he had to cut his losses with the uncut ropes and come up with another idea, or at least a way to get Ford to postpone his little ice queen stunt.

Well, when all else failed, there was always his usual method to fall back on; his words. 

No matter how hard Ford had tried to hide it, Bill had done a pretty successful job at getting under his skin. Sure, while it had been Stanley’s fist to leave what was likely a visible shiner around his right eye, Bill had a feeling that Ford would’ve gladly swung that fist in his place. And while it hadn't been a fist, Ford had sure been happy enough to wave his precious little gun around every time Bill so much as breathed at him wrong.

Point was, even someone with only one functional eye could tell that Ford’s patience was paper-thin by this point.

Such anger could be useful to Bill to some degree if he could find the perfect way to take hold of it and steer it in the right direction. But his silver tongue would only get him so far if he didn’t know the right thing to say. Just the right thing that would allow him to further burrow himself under Ford’s skin like a parasite.

Maybe he needed to approach the topic in another sense. Alright, what did he need Ford to do right now? Keep him out of the cryogenic tubes? It was a start, but he also needed a way to—

A faint creak in the staircase corridor drew his attention to the darkened doorway, a spark of hopeful curiosity flickering in his eyes. While his attention had been mostly drawn to trying to free himself, he hadn’t missed the occasional sound of light footsteps or the faint crinkle of a wrapper in the darkness that waited just outside of the room.

Once was a happenstance, twice a coincidence that could probably be chalked up to rats or mole men—

But three times pointed to the idea that little Shooting Star had disobeyed her beloved Great-Uncle’s orders and had spent the whole day lingering around in the bunker stairwell.

Okay, enough with the party tricks—time to shift courses back to his original plan.

“If you’re trying to go unnoticed,” he called, “I’d recommend gluing giraffes to your shoes! Did you know those suckers are actually pretty quiet? Haha, maybe you can go the extra route and use horse glue to get the job done! Because they're...they both anima-you get it!”

Sure enough, a sharp gasp could be heard from just beyond the doorway, followed by the slapping sound of a hand to skin. “Wo~ow, you’re really bad at this,” Bill called again with a laugh. “Come on, Shooting Star, you might as well show yourself if you’re not going to be sneaky.”

The silence lingered for a few seconds, and Bill rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, you can’t just not make any sounds now,” he said. “You know I know you’re there. You can try all you want to trick me, but we both know who’s superior in that line of work—”

“You’re superior in the line of work of being a jerkface!” a voice finally muttered from the stairwell.

“There she is,” Bill said smugly. “Lemme guess, you’ve been here since ol’ Sixer turned down your offer to help? That’s a long time to wait, isn’t it?”

“I’m not talking to you!” Mabel insisted with a vocal ‘harrumph’. “I’m just gonna sit and wait for Grunkle Ford to freeze you! And…and then we’re gonna go back to the party together and he’s never gonna have to deal with you ever again!”

“Thought you said you weren’t talking to me.”

“I’m not!” she said, then after a pause. “...Starting now!”

Bill rolled his eyes again with amusement. Just as he’d initially predicted, Mabel was such an open book when it came to spilling more information than she should. Which would work very well in his favor if he could keep her talking. “Guess we’ll both have to keep sitting in complete and utter silence then,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Surprised you of all people managed to do so for the past few hours, actually. If memory serves, you’re quite the little chatterbox of the family, aren’t you?”

“I’m not listening to you,” Mabel insisted. “And just because you can’t see me, I’ll at least tell you that I’m keeping my eyes on my phone! Which I’m told is very rude to do when you’re talking to someone else!”

“Ah, so we are talking,” Bill said with a grin.

“No, we’re not! You’re talking while I’m ignoring you!”

“If you say so,” Bill said. “So…you’ve got a cellphone now? Bit of an upgrade from last year, huh? Who’ve you been texting on it for this whole time? Your dweeby brother?”

He tilted his head in thought. “Or perhaps the latest boy in your long line of romantic interests? Did you write and produce a whole rock opera to ask this one out, too?”

“No! He asked me out first—”

Another sound of a gasp, followed by the slap of a hand to skin. “Uh, I mean—”

“Ah, so there is another boy in the picture, hmm~?” Bill taunted.

“Uh, no—I mean, he’s not a boy all the time, but—! No, I—”

With a frustrated groan, Mabel stepped fully into the bunker room. “Ugh, why are you such a jerkface?!” she asked irritably, glaring at him. “Why do you have to always stick your nose in places where it doesn’t belong, huh?!

“Well, for fun mostly,” Bill said with a nonchalant smile. “Not to mention it’s just so easy to get the answers I want outta people.” 

The smile widened into something more sinister, once again revealing far too much of his gums. “Especially when they’re just sooooo willing to give them~!”

Mabel simply scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Ugh, you’re the worst!” she said, then added as an afterthought. “And stop smiling like that! It’s just as bad as when you did it last year!”

Bill’s smile faltered for just a moment out of curiosity. A remark about his vessel’s appearance? Oh, he could physically feel the lightbulb going off in his head at the idea, which doubled as a blaring alarm in his head that practically screamed at him to probe further. “Smile like what?” he asked with another wide grin. “This~?”

Mabel turned away from him with a shudder. “Ugh, stop it! Stop making him smile like that!”

Her hands were slapped over her mouth in an instant—likely the culprit of the slapping skin noises from before—and Bill’s eyebrows shot far up his forehead. Him, she says? So his vessel ran male, did it?

A stereotypical choice on Birdbrain’s part—they must’ve been from a universe with a similar gender binary as humans if they’d taken a look at someone with the name Bill and just stuck him into a male body.

Not that he was complaining—it was all the same shade of gender to him. Still, get a little creative with it, Birdbrain!

Now the real question was; what did his male vessel look like? Did he dare risk another attempt to prod for more information? After all, she was initially the one to pick up on the fact that he didn’t know what he looked like back at the shack. Luckily he’d been able to play it off in such a way that left everyone’s brains nice and scrambled—but he could only get away with the trick so many times before they started growing more suspicious about what he did and didn’t actually know.

Lies were like the seasoning of a conversation—you use just the right amount and you’ve crafted something beautiful and delicious. Use too little and the dish is under-flavored and dull; too many and you end up with a mouthful of garlic powder every time you take a bite of your macaroni.

Hmm, his metaphors weren’t quite as clever today. He’d put a pin in that one for later.

In any case, he needed to tread carefully with what he said next. But on the flip side, so did Shooting Star. She had dropped two hints already and was aware of her blunders, anything further and she might as well hold up a mirror for him—

Hang on.

A mirror…

“Stop making him smile like that!”

“It’s just as bad as when you did it last year!”

His vessel’s height. Ford’s cryptic observations during his examination. The discomfort Pine Tree had experienced at breakfast upon seeing him—heck, the discomfort that all of the Pines had felt whenever they looked at him. 

Discomfort that was so clear in Mabel’s own expression now, as she stared at him with a mix of hatred, fear, and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint—much like the looks he couldn’t quite decipher. Heh, de-cipher.

Puns aside, if his vessel looked like someone she had never seen before, such an expression should’ve only contained that original hatred and fear. There would be no sign of contradiction behind her eyes, a clear desperation to hate the being before her but one could never truly come to form so long as that being was him.

It was strange, familiar. As if she were staring at somebody who wasn’t actually him, but—

“You…don’t know what you look like?”

Oh.

Oh.

…Oh, that tacky orange idiot had a real sense of humor, huh?! Thought they were SO FUNNY to have— “—plopped me down in a body like this—!”

“You really didn’t know?”

…Wait, had he been saying that out loud?

His gaze snapped back to Mabel, hands now lowered from her mouth as she stared at him curiously. 

Well, shoot.

Before he could drum up a further remark or think up an excuse to explain away his outburst, a loud clanging of metal echoed through the tunnel on the other side of the hatch. Loud clanging that sent Mabel rushing back towards the safety of the dark staircase, just in time for the hatch to swing open and reveal Ford.

Despite letting his gaze follow Mabel towards the staircase, Bill snapped his gaze back to Ford as he climbed out into the room. “Oh, is it finally time to put me on ice?”

As he’d initially expected, Ford didn’t reply to his remark. Instead, he simply turned to stare at Bill for a moment with that same violent, piercing glare that Bill had grown used to receiving across the past twenty-four hours.

Such a strong wall of malice, so desperate to mask all that fear behind his eyes. Fear just as strong as it had been the first time Bill’s eyes had met his the day before. 

Fear, malice, confusion—

Originally Bill had chalked it up to Ford’s uncertainty about how he’d made his grand return from the brink of death. And while that was definitely still a possibility, the information that Shooting Star had unwillingly provided him with about his appearance added another interesting layer to all of those feelings.

If Bill’s theory was correct, then Ford was being forced to stare down at a vessel that resembled his own great-nephew. 

A thought that brought an experimental grin to Bill’s face. Well, if he really wanted to test said theory out for himself… “Come on, Fordsy, didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to stare at someone?”

The grin widened to once again reveal as much of his teeth as possible. “Although I guess I’m quite the looker, aren’t I?”

Despite his best attempt to remain composed, Bill didn’t miss the way Ford’s eyes widened the tiniest amount before he grabbed Bill in one hand and turned back to the tunnel entrance before crawling inside.

The sensation of being awkwardly dragged through a small tunnel by his back was even more uncomfortable than being carried like a suitcase through the woods, but even such discomfort couldn’t wipe the grin off of Bill’s face. Sure, he still had no actual means of freeing himself, and still faced the looming threat of being flash-frozen. But as he’d initially suspected, Mabel had provided more than enough information he could use to his advantage—information that Ford had all but confirmed.

Was he still furious about the fact that his vessel apparently resembled some anxiety-riddled twerp who couldn’t tell a goat man from a coat man (a man made of coats)? Sure, but none of that was important at the moment.

What was important was the appearance itself, and how he could tie it back to the information he already had on hand.

His thoughts drifted back to his original remarks after he’d awakened to the end of Ford’s gun. How that violence in Ford’s eyes had only ignited further at even just a mere offhanded remark about Stan.

And not just the violence in his eyes, but the violence in Stan’s eyes, body language, everything. The threats, his hair-trigger temper, the fact that both of them couldn’t go an entire conversation without fighting—

A common occurrence for the two of them, but there was definitely more to it than their usual brand of bickering from the previous year. 

The aforementioned discomfort in both Dipper and Mabel’s expressions at the sight of him, with the added contradicting emotions behind both Mabel and Ford's eyes—

And of course, the recently-received news about his vessel’s appearance.

Stir all that together, and he had a beautiful stew of manipulation that he could force down Ford’s throat, long enough to distract him while he found a way to free himself. 

Still, the latter was absolutely key to confirm before everything else. While Mabel’s words combined with Ford’s faltering expression had been pretty strong evidence, he still needed to make sure he was right before he tried anything.

Not that he had any doubts—he was always right. But hey, using Ford’s family as leverage had worked the year before!

Up until the betrayal, at least.

His expression twisted into that wicked grin as they finally stepped out of the tunnel. And he was always happy to provide Ford with more reminders when it came to who he thought he could get away with betraying.

“You must feel so proud of yourself, Sixer,” he said aloud, as he was dragged across the dark, deactivated buttons of the security room floor. “The whole town’s off having a party, and here you are. Stuck down in some worn-out bunker as you prepare to disappoint me yet again.”

He felt the fist at his back tighten. “Stop talking.”

“Aw, but I’m gonna be flash-frozen in a couple of minutes,” Bill pointed out. “This’ll be the last time we get to talk in a while, won’t it?”

His grin widened as they reached the main lab. “Well, I say a while because let’s be real, you’re never gonna be able to get rid of me! I mean, your zapped your brother’s mind to kingdom come and I’m still here. If that wasn’t enough to get rid of me, what makes you think anything will be good enough?”

“I said stop.”

Ooh, he was getting steamed. Good, good, just what Bill needed. He just had to push him a little bit more, just a little further— “So, what’re you gonna do once I’m gone, Fordsy? Spend more of your time poring through one piece of research after another, trying desperately to find a solution that isn’t just locking me inside someone else’s head and pulling the trigger?”

His voice grew low, serious. “...And what happens if that’s the only option you have? Ooh, what if you’ve gotta trap me in one of the kids’ heads this time around? I know I already said that wouldn’t fool me again, but I’d LOVE to watch their feeble little minds burn to ash—”

“I said STOP!”

The clanging of metal echoed through the bunker as the back of Bill’s body was slammed against the control panel—one of Ford’s hands keeping him in place while the other was wrapped tightly around his gun, with the tip of the barrel pressed against Bill’s temple. “If you don’t stop running that damn mouth of yours—”

“You’ll what, Stanford?” Bill asked, expression neutral. “Put a bullet in my brain? I think we already know by now that you’re not going to do that.”

His mouth spread into a grin—that awful, delighted grin with too many teeth. “And I think we already know why you’re not going to do that, don’t we? Not while I look like this, right?”

He could feel Ford’s grip on the gun tremble, despite the tip being pressed further against his temple. “What, Ford?” Bill continued. “Can’t bear to aim a gun at another family member? Especially not your little paranormal protege?”

Even the dim light of the lab couldn’t mask how pale Ford’s expression grew at such a remark, a reaction that only twitched Bill’s smile wider. Oh, buddy—he got him. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” he continued. “You really thought I’d just be walking around with a body like this for funsies? Come now, Fordsy, you know me better than that and I know you better than that. So let’s not waste our time with this and just skip to the part where you put the gun down.”

Despite Ford desperately trying to keep the gun in place, Bill could feel the barrel trembling against his temple—

—before the tip was pulled away completely as Ford lowered the gun and turned from him in defeat.

Bill’s smirk only widened further as he gave a triumphant little wiggle against the control panel at his back. A movement that came with a light tug of the ropes as they snagged on something behind him—perhaps a switch or a dent in the worn metal casing.

Would it be sharp enough to fully cut through them? From this angle, he couldn’t tell for sure. Was he going to try anyway as he took another Ford victory lap?

As if anyone needed to ask. Why stop now while he had the upper hand?

“Hey, come on, don’t look so down,” he said, taking care to hide his movements as he tried to saw through the ropes. “Gotta hand it to you, IQ, it takes a lot of guts for someone to point a gun at a family member twice.”

He let out a cackle. “Guess the end result here would be waaaay more gruesome than whatever happened to Goldfish, though! I mean, trading a metaphorical hole in the head for a physical one? Yeesh, the cleanup alone would be a nightmare!”

Another cackle escaped him, one that slowly faded into a dry, deadpan laugh. “But I guess it wouldn’t be that difficult for you, would it? After all, you are the expert in destroying those who are just trying to help you, aren’t you~?”

He paused his attempts to free himself and slumped back against the control panel with a groan. “Aww, see—now look what you made me do!” he griped. “I went and did the one thing I said was super lazy last night; repeating a joke within the same millennia! I swear, Sixer, sometimes you bring out the worst in me—”

BANG!

The bloodcurdling sound of a gunshot echoed through the bunker as a bullet met the spot right between Bill’s eyes. 

As quick as it had happened, the few seconds that followed were an eternity. An eternity of pain, pain that only blossomed in strength with each passing second.

And despite the smile that remained on his face, there was nothing but genuine shock in Bill’s slitted pupil, as it shakily moved from the barrel of the gun to Ford’s hand, then up to Ford’s face—

Before eventually falling against its will to the control panel beneath him—deep red from somewhere he could no longer process slowly trickling down into the spaces between the buttons and paneling.

Another second passed. Then another. And another.

And Bill died.

[mcuamerica]

The Shadowsinger | Epilogue

Warnings: ACOTAR series spoilers, mentions of past miscarriages, mention of canon level violence,

Summary: Much time has passed. You and Azriel are finally starting a family.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Graphics are my own. If you use, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

You stood on top of the hill as you watched the camp's lively movements, hand resting lazily on your swollen stomach.

You were eight months pregnant, two months from giving birth to your and Azriel's little girl. Much to Azriel's protests, you were still overseeing your camp.

After your official mating with Azriel, you took to creating an all female unit of Illyrian warriors. And Cassian had the perfect space to do it, the camp he burned down after his mother died. He thought it fitting that females would get to reclaim it, and you agreed. So, you were the war camp Lady of Beornwynn, meaning joyful warrior. Even after 50 years of running the camp, you were still baffled at people coming to you for advice on fighting techniques or for settling disputes.

Just 25 years ago you and the other camp Lords, along with the IC of the Night Court, decided it was time to end the Blood Rite. While tradition still lived on with qualifying courses comprised of three levels, and determining rank, the Blood Rite was too bloody a ritual. Too many potential warriors died in it, and too many sons and daughters were victim to cruel acts or vicious creatures. So, instead, there was a week of qualifying courses that rotated from camp to camp each year. The first set of courses were competed at a team level, the second as smaller units, and the finals were individuals. The winners for each round were determined by time, skill, and ability. If one made it passed the first round, they were named Arktosian. The second round winners were named Oristian. The third and final winners were named Carynthian. At the end of the week, when the stars were lined up perfectly with Ramiel, there was an induction ceremony where the warriors names Carynthian would climb the final trek of the mountain to touch the top. Wings bound and magic temporarily taken from them, but supervised. If they didn't make it, they would be demoted to Oristian. It was a good middle ground, and the ranks held out just as they had centuries before.

The ending of the Rite came after Nyx had participated, as part of your camp. You started allowing males to join the Illyrian units 10 years after it was established, just in time for Nyx to truly start learning. He, along with a group of friends, made it to the top of the mountain and were named Carynthian, just like his father. It nearly killed him, and he had a nasty scar that ran down his arm because of it. But he survived and he was an incredible warrior that made his entire family proud. Especially when he chose to continue his training and ended up taking a position as one of your commanders.

You watched as he trained the females and males alike, all moving as a unit. You couldn't wait for your little girl to be apart of it, hopefully trained by Nyx and his younger sister, Nera.

The Valkyries had a place at your camp too, it was a mix of Illyrains and them. When a warrior reached a certain level, they could choose between the two. While Nyx was an Illyrian through and through, Nera was a Valkyrie. There was a ground unit of Illyrian females (and males) that couldn't use their wings, if the females didn't join the Valkyries. And you would be happy with whatever your daughter chose. Even if she decided to not participate at all.

You felt Azriel's presence as he appeared next to you, his arm snaking over your shoulder. You glanced up at him, smiling at the faint stubble that graced his jaw. After all these years, you still admired his beauty. "Hi." You whispered. "Spying go well?" You asked.

Azriel hummed in acknowledgement, leaning down to kiss your neck and take in your scent, something he hadn't stopped doing since he scented that you were pregnant. "Everything okay here?" He asked, eyes glancing over to the camp below.

"As always.. though I did have to break up a fight earlier." You said, a teasing smirk on your lips as you felt him tighten his grip.

"You shouldn't be-"

"Nyx was the one who got in between them. You think him or Nera are going to let me break up a fight myself?" You teased, smiling at the look on your niece and nephews faces when they found you watching the fight. They immediately jumped in as you scolded the two warriors.

Azriel still let out a growl. "You should be resting. Not worrying about fights." He said, hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You knew his worry. You'd lost babes in the past, but always early on in you pregnancy. It took a while for you to really start trying again, and even longer to actually get pregnant. But when you did, you were overjoyed. Azriel was even more excited. Especially when you made it past the crucial months.

"We're going back to Velaris tomorrow, remember? That was part of the deal." In which you made with him when you first got pregnant. When you were officially 8 weeks away from giving birth, you would go back to Velaris and let him dote on you. As long as he took a break too.

"I still regret agreeing to it." He said, hand trailing to rest on top of your belly. You smiled as he knelt down and pressed a soft kiss to it, muttering a hello to your daughter.

"Help me to our cabin?" You asked as he stood up.

He winked at you, taking your arm and walking with you down the hill to your cabin. He gave Nyx a wave when the young Illyrian noticed him and Azriel nodded to the cabin. Nyx gave him a nod back and went back to training his unit.

"You know, Feyre is still very upset Nyx chose to spend all his time here." Azriel teased.

You laughed softly. "I can't help it if he loves his aunt and uncle more than his parents." You joked. In all honesty, Nyx spent his time between here and Velaris. And the other war camps. But this was Nyx's home base, where his friends and family were. Nera, on the other hand, spent more time with her parents, learning everything there was to know about running the Night Court. She presented with much more power than Nyx, and he quickly stepped aside for his younger sister. Being a warrior was much easier than being a courtier for him.

You soon were sat on the couch, letting Azriel rub your swollen ankles and feet as you sipped on some steaming tea. It was autumn, and while being in the Illyrian mountains meant having early snows most times, it didn't mean that currently. Autumn leaves fell from the trees planted around the camp, the shrubs and grass descended into browns. Still, it wasn't quite as cold as it normally was and you were happy for it. Even if you were hot because of the hormones all the time.

You looked out the window, smiling as you got a glimpse of Nyx training some of the younger recruits on how to fly in a unit. He truly never stopped working. Your smile faltered as you began to think about how you'd have to navigate teaching your own daughter how to fly.

Azriel caught your gaze, sensing the shift in your demeanor. "You will be able to fly with her. Just like you fly with me." He said, squeezing your calf.

You glanced down to his hands and then back up at him. "Not as well as I could." You said, shifting your wings behind you. You still woke at night from the lingering pain of your snapped tendon. While it was repaired and you could fly, it never lasted long without your muscles having a spasm and then you needing to land. Trying to teach your daughter to fly with the pain made you wince while you thought about it.

"She'll see her mom flying and that will be enough." He said, moving to sit closer to you and pull you towards his side. "You know you're amazing in more ways than one and she will see that. Especially when she sees you flying with your scars." Azriel said.

Tears had welled in your eyes, from what you really didn't know. It could've been Azriel's words or the prospect of teaching your daughter to fly. You knew for certain your emotion was increased because of the hormones coursing through your body.

"Oh.. sweetheart." Azriel whispered and cupped your cheek, wiping the tears from your eyes.

"Stupid pregnancy. Makes me all weepy." You muttered, a smile coming to your face. "Thanks, Az." You said and kissed his cheek, sniffing slightly. "Maybe we can go back to Velaris tonight... I'd honestly like to make the family dinner today." If only to rub it in Rhys's face that Nyx spent an extra week with you all instead of going to the Day Court's official High Lords meeting. You knew his parents would scold him for it, but you also understood not going to go to the meeting. They were boring most of the time, and the other times normally ended with someone being restrained from a fight. You were glad you were never required to go to those anymore, instead sitting in on the occasional war meeting with Azriel, Cassian, and the other commanders of Prythian. While you hadn't had war in quite a few years, it was still good to keep prepared. Which is exactly why you spent most of your time at Beornwynn.

"Only if you want, I know you've been getting drained more often as the sun goes down." He said, rubbing your shoulders.

You hummed and nodded, smiling a bit. "I'm up for it, Az. I want to see our family." Which would be increased by two within the next year. While you were close to bringing your little girl into the world, Nesta was only 6 months pregnant at this point, but excited as ever to have a baby. Lucien and Elain already had two of their own, though they were now ruling in the Day Court after the unfortunate passing of Helion. Your family was growing by the day, it seemed, and you couldn't wait for your daughter to be apart of it.

It didn't take long for you to settle into a routine back in Velaris, happy to see your family and have them close to help with chores when you were too tired. Azriel was always by your side, but even he was getting restless. Which is why you sent him and Cassian to train some of the Valkyries at the House of Wind while Nesta and you relaxed in your house. You watched as Azriel's shadows swirled under your feet, sipping more tea as Nesta went on about the book she was reading.

"Are you listening?" She asked, waving her hand in front of your face. "I just said the main character of the book almost died from getting fucked too hard and you don't react?" She asked.

"With the books you read, isn't that par for the course?" You asked, a teasing smirk forming on your lips.

She nudged you with a scoff, but a small smile graced her lips. "How are you doing? Did your headaches go away?" You asked, nodding towards her growing belly.

She hummed, smiling faintly. "Yes, thankfully." She said and hummed, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back. "It was so bad one week I just stayed inside and laid in bed. I couldn't even open my eyes." She said.

You scrunched your nose, shaking your head. "Get ready for a constant aching back next. I can't wait to lay down on my back for more than five minutes." You said, smiling as she laughed along with you.

"Is Elain going to be here closer to when you're due?" You asked.

She nodded, smiling. "She also can't wait to see your little girl." She said. "But she can't make it in when you're due."

You nodded, giving her a gentle shrug. "With the rest of our family, I think I will survive." You said.

Nesta nodded and rested a hand on her belly. “Madja says we’re having a boy,” she whispered. “Honestly, I think I’m relieved.” She said.

You tilted your head. “Why’s that?” You asked.

“I don’t think I would be a very good mother to a girl.” She said.

You shook your head. “Nesta, you’re going to be an incredible mom either way.” You said. “And if you ever have a girl later, you’re going to be amazing. Because you worry about being a bad mom.” You said. “That’s why you’ll be good.”

She nodded and looked at you. “Are you ready?” She asked.

You smiled happily and hummed as you set your mug down. “Yes, very.” You said. “I can’t wait to see Azriel with our little girl. He’s been wanting it for so long… and I remember him with Nera when she was young. He was so sweet… and I just can’t wait for that to be him with our little one.”

Pretty soon, it was time for your babe to be born. It took hours with the labor, but finally, you had a little baby girl in your arms. Her wings would flutter every now and then when she would coo at you.

Azriel stood above you, his hand resting on your shoulder as he peered down at your daughter. “She’s beautiful.” He whispered, smiling at her.

“Can you take her?” You asked, smiling as he nodded. His eyes were slightly wide as he took your babe in his arms, smiling at her as she reached up.

You settled back into the now clean bed, leaning your head against the pillow. “Did you settle on a name?” You asked him. You both had come up with a lot and you were way too indecisive to choose, so you gave Azriel the role of choosing one from the list.

Azriel smiled down at his daughter, rocking back and forth with his hips. “Sorin.” He said.

You smiled and looked at him as he swayed back and forth. “Perfect name for a perfect baby girl." You said, admiring your mate and your babe.

You drifted off to sleep to Azriel's quiet soothing, "Hi little one.. I'm your daddy.. I love you so much. I'm going to protect you and keep you safe... and warm.. and no harm is every going to come to you. I love you."

A/N: I didn't think I was going to continue this series on, but I just had to write an epilogue (esp after I saw how close it came to my Eris fic in the poll). Annnddd I've wanted to give them a longer conclusion.. though honestly I might still write some drabbles if any of you have reuqests...

Tagging: @cherry-cin @cleverzonkwombatsludge @nickishadow139 @complete-randomness2 @lilah-asteria @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @6v6babycheese @secretsthathauntus @krowiathemythologynerd @fightmedraco @he6rtshaker @kayla-rose15 @aelincaddel @mfri06 @hauntedstudentobservationus @brieflyclassymortal @read-write-sleep-startover @krowiathemythologynerd @ialwayscryatendings @chxosangxl @tanyaherondale @randombibitch @plants-w0rld @etsukomoonbeam @riorgail @herondale-lightworm @panther-girl-124

[gerec]

could you rec the bests space AU?

The X-Men fandom is absolutely a goldmine for amazing aus, and space aus are some of the best on offer! There are so many great ones that I have to split this into 2 parts, Anon - hope you enjoy:

SPACE AUS - PART 1

Space Jam by Pangea (series)

Prince Charles Xavier is Deputy Commander of the TEF Heartsteel and the newest mission they've been assigned starts out less than desirable and quickly goes downhill from there. It's alright, though, he'll cope.

It doesn't help, though, that he's in unrequited love with his best friend and Commander of the Heartsteel, War-Prince Erik Lehnsherr.

The stars incline us, they do not bind us by ikeracity, Pangea

Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he's settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

A Curious Carriage of Crystal and Cold by Etharei

Charles, a miner from a poor village in the countryside, saves the life of Erik Lehnsherr, scion of a successful business family and the richest man on the planet Eisen. Charles is a telepath and somewhat anxious about it, while Erik abstains from relationships because the lights flicker and doors open and electronics vibrate when he gets too excited.

Also featuring a long-suffering sister, a foul-mouthed bodyguard, and a best friend with a heart that is definitely not gold.

In which there are princes, spaceships, long journeys, and old secrets uncovered. (An AU sci-fi fairytale)

The Trouble with Telepaths by endingthemes

“Are you shy about me meeting your family?” Erik asks with a huge smile. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s not funny,” Charles says, his hands firmly planted on his hips, and it’s honestly hilarious so Erik laughs right in his face.

(Or a Star Trek AU in which Captain Erik Lehnsherr pays a visit to First Officer Charles Xavier's home planet and encounters a few surprises.)

To Rattle the Stars by GQD, Pangea

All his life Charles has chafed at the bonds of gravity that hold him bound to tiny and backwater Montressor, more at home in the sky on his solar surfer than on the ground, where he's stuck working at his stepfather's inn. His heart and soul yearn for the stars, and it's his dream to one day be a spacer and sail across the cosmos on adventure.

The opportunity comes sooner than he ever imagined one night when a ship crash-lands on the inn's front doorstep, carrying a dying pirate with a mysterious map and a dire warning: beware the cyborg.

[A Disney's Treasure Planet AU]

From Rim Space With Love by manic_intent

"Captain Logan! Captain Logan!"

The skinny cadet skitters to a halt next to Logan in the rec room, red-faced and a little out of breath. Logan eyes him with a faint frown, sunk deep into a stimm couch, thumbing up the rim of his captain's hat. He's just come off a torturous fifteen-hour shift, and healing factor or not, Logan's starting to feel it. Warp space is hell on his nerves.

"Settle down, bub. What burned your tail... eh..." Logan concentrates briefly. "Cadet McCoy? Hey. Your blue's showing. Settle down."

McCoy takes in several deep breaths, and the blue fur starting to thread out of his skin sinks back in. "Sir, yes sir. Message from X-Command, sir."

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours by madneto, Pangea

Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

Programming by TurtleTotem

Erik is not programmed to feel affection. There's no logical reason for Charles's death to affect him like this. ((Inspired by certain elements of Prometheus, but not a direct crossover.))

Fallen from the Stars by madmalina

Erik’s only purpose in life is to find and kill the man who had his parents executed—Sebastian Shaw, Captain of the Emperor’s fleet. When Erik gets assigned to a job under Shaw’s command—on the spaceship supposed to take the Crown Prince across the galaxy—he’s sure he’s closer to fulfilling his destiny than he has ever been before.

Charles is apprehensively awaiting the day of his twenty-fifth birthday, when he’ll be crowned Emperor, because not only does he have high doubts about his own suitability for the job, he fears the crushing responsibilities it will bring, and ultimately wants nothing more than to live a quiet and peaceful life.

However, the trip across the planets of Charles’ future Empire turns out differently than they both expected, shedding light on intrigues reaching back decades into the past, and forcing both men to put their lives into each other’s hands, even though their differences are seemingly infinite.

 To Catch a Thief by lachatblanche

Charles Xavier, heir to the Xavier Corp billlions, is a wealthy, carefree socialite by day, and a skilled and renowned catburglar by night.

It was, he supposes, inevitable that someday someone would find this out.

fly me to the moon (To Catch a Thief Remix) by ikeracity 

Charles is a wealthy noble who moonlights as notorious intergalactic art thief X in his spare time. Erik is the bounty hunter hot on his tail (who also happens to have a massive crush on him). A fateful encounter on the luxury resort moon Prioria changes things between them forever.

Stardust by JackyJango

When Charles Xavier, Erik's long-suffering-total opposite- best friend gets dumped by his boyfriend, Erik makes a pact with him, that he'll marry Charles if he's still single even after a decade.

I, Charles Francis Xavier, agree to marry Erik Magnus Lehnsherr if I'm not otherwise married or in a committed relationship as of ten years from today, star-dated- 2020:08:007

Nearly a decade later, Erik will do anything to see Charles with a man who's worthy of him.

Some Forgotten Corner of the Universe by Black_Betty

Erik remembers the boy he met on Osiris. Charles is no longer that boy, but that doesn't mean Erik loves him any less...

Ghost in the Shell by MonstrousRegiment

Out in the black of space, where the only creatures whose company you can always count on are violence and death, making a living is a wager. Erik’s crew of mismatched social misfits scrapes by, toeing the line between law and crime. Normally, they prefer to stay out of the Alliance’s way, but when it comes to defending the very freedom they fought for a decade ago, they only follow one principle: when someone tries to kill you, you kill them right back.

The Persistent Traveller by candycandy (telltail_heart) 

Erik is the Chief of Engineering aboard the starship Poseidon, where he’s spent the last 10 years of his life dedicated to his job above all other desires. That is until he receives his newest crew member, Lieutenant Commander Charles Xavier, who proves to be more persistent than a black hole at getting what he wants, which to Erik’s utter confusion appears to be him...

SPACE AUS - PART 2

[neptuneunworthy]

Devour

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Durge

Synopsis: It is so early in your adventures, you've yet to even infiltrate the goblin camp and save The Grove; there are so many things you don't know about your companions...and so many things they don't know about you. At least you don't go around and bite people awake however, like certain bloodthirsty rogues.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Injury

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Stars always shine brightest when away from the hustle and bustle of the large cities like Baldur’s Gate or Neverwinter. The sky is not scarily illuminated by a gross cacophony of embers aching for more. It is when they shine so bright, when they twinkle just perfectly, that hope is born.

You were born without Hope. 

You were created without Hope.

This is not an odd thought, though as quickly as you register it not to be odd you also register you are unaware of how you know this fact about yourself. How can you be so sure? Because, if you were honest, you cannot for the life of you recall anything.

His smile is small and gentle as the boy crouches beside you with a ladybug on his finger, a leather-bound journal loosely folded in his lap. He’s small, like you, and just a kid, also like you. Though he could not be more different than you.

“What’s your name?” Your voice is squeaky, yet cracks from dehydration clawing its way up your throat.

The boy looks at you with a grin and worried eyes. Very few have looked at you before like that. Then again, you’re only eight years old.

“I’m-“

“Tav!” 

Your hands tightened around the thin linen, wringing it out a last time as your name was shouted by a certain wizard. Of course this likely meant supper was ready, hells even all the way out here by the lake you could smell the sweet aroma of spiced and juiced meat; the burning wood mixing with the scent in a way that made you truly realize you had been starving

You tossed the tunic over a rock with the other clothing and armour to dry and dust the mixture of sand and dirt from your legs, before turning on your heel and going to join the others. Their voices had already begun to mix with each other in chatter around the fire, Gale the loudest of them as he explained in detail what part of Faerun he would be feeding everyone tonight. 

Of course, only Wyll and Karlach seemed interested. Maybe that wasn’t wholly true. Lae’zel was interested, after all she was a woman of respect and even admitted Gale’s cooking to be “suitable.” However, she still will voice her very loud complaints against Faerun and it’s cooking even so.

Gale didn’t seem to mind, though in your humble opinion you think that’s just because he’s a mixture of too kind, but also Lae’zel even finding his cooking “suitable” should be considered a victory.

You took your seat next to Shadowheart, admittedly she was the person you had found yourself the most comfortable around thus far. That was putting it lightly of course. But she was open and honest about her loss of memories, though she seemed to understand exactly why. Whereas you were not aware of anything. Save for certain…feelings when it comes to violence.

Still, there was a nice and quiet camaraderie formed over this; though you opted to not mention to her or anyone much about certain urges. Save for when you first inquired most everyone about them and they all gave you unsatisfactory answers.

You still had yet to confess it was you who killed Alfira. Though there was plenty of time to say as such, right? After all, the whole past day was spent fighting goblins at a windmill and spiders before you resume your trek toward the goblin camp once more. You were just busy and focused on other things that didn’t include confessing maiming an annoying bard only after just meeting her.

Ah.

Has it truly only been five days so far?

Everyone was such chums already.

Well, save for…

“It seems our white-haired friend has disappeared off to gods knows where again,” you mumbled. You weren’t an idiot, you had seen him stalk off the past few nights. “Where do you think he’s gone to?”

Shadowheart hummed in thought, biting down on a tender piece of pork before sipping from her goblet. “I pray somewhere won’t require me to heal him again. ”

She followed this by also side-eyeing yourself, which resulted in a quiet chuckle from you. It would be correct that both the pale elf and yourself had already made a pattern of needing frequent healing from her after battles.

“I mean it,” Shadowheart continued, though there was an ounce of teasing in her tone, “you would think for someone as sneaky as him he would be able to dodge out of harm's way. I suppose I should be glad he doesn’t beg me to heal him like you do--”

“-I do not beg-”

“-and instead he feigns ignorance to his wounds. Acting all annoyed and like a cornered cat when I manage to finally cast a spell on him. You can be thankful but him? You would think he would at least try to be cooperative since he is on a team…”

Her words now had taken a turn to actual complaining, which you listened to, and even admittedly agreed with. 

You looked down at the food, picking at it with your fingers. “I think he shows thanks in uncanny ways. He’s disarmed more traps and swiped more gold for us than any of us ever could--not without being caught or killed at least.”

As you ate, finally, she seemed to ponder these words. Even if you agreed with her rant over the man, you had to be tactful and give him the benefit of the doubt as much as you have given her. Hells, as much as you have given everyone else. There is a part of you that calls you stupid for it, a tremor in your hand wishing to claw its way around your companions throats. 

However, if you are to survive, if you are to hopefully eventually understand that supposed butler , then you need to ensure everyone gets along. 

“You may be correct Tav,” she said after taking another sip of wine (which had been stolen from The Grove), “but it would be nice to feel recognized.”

You understood, though for several reasons that felt lost to you. So you simply agreed with a nod. Recognition could mean a lot of things to both of you, but that was the unspoken truth in the statement, wasn’t it?

People eventually returned to their tents, save for yourself and Gale, whom you had offered your help to when it came to cleanup. He appreciated the offer. Despite your reservations about Gale, mostly as he insulted your knowledge as a fellow wizard…and perhaps guilt (why do you feel guilt?) from almost ripping and eating his arm unbeknownst to him, you find his companionship affable. 

It’s a type of acquaintanceship you can appreciate because you both can prattle on about the arcane to someone who actually understands it. 

“A shame Astarion did not make it to dinner tonight,” Gale bemoaned as he changed the topic away from cantrips. “I set a portion aside from him and everything.”

You eye’d at the plate of sauteed pork, likely a bit cold by now.

“I can wait for him. Make sure he gets it.”

Gale looked at you with a soft smile. “Truly that would be wonderful. I must admit I have grown a bit worried about our friend. At first I thought it was maybe my food smelled as foul as the Owlbears nest, but I have not seen the roguish man eat anything thus far.”

“I promise you he will eat your very delish and not putrid smelling meal.”

That gained a chuckle from both him and yourself, but you additionally also said, “I will finish up here. You already have done more than enough in cooking the whole camp a delicious meal, go get some rest.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave a squeeze, “thank you, Tav.”

This is what Shadowheart means by wishing people (Astarion) said thank you, or that people (also Astarion) gave proper recognition where proper recognition is due.

You understand that the elf is probably just a very secretive person, which made sense considering his role in your camp after all. Honestly, you were pretty certain that he simply reads his books as he dines lavishly in the woods by himself with whatever tasty foods he swiped during the day. He is here for the reason everyone else is, and that’s to find out more about the pesky parasites burrowed in your brains.

Which perhaps is why Shadowheart is right; he needs to be more cooperative with the group. Though you can also understand the reasoning for keeping distance.

You cleaned off the plates from everyone else, leaving the one for Astarion untouched. Scratch, the dog that you had met crying over his dead owner, seemed more than happy to eat and lick any crumbs or residue left on the plates before you washed them by the lake. At least before he made his rounds to everyone’s tents; a ritual the dog performed each night to decide whose tent he shall sleep in.

When you settled back down by the now dwindling fire, you leaned back on the palm of your hands and looked up to the sky, taking it all in as you waited for the man of the hour to return. The stars did shine bright. They winked and kissed at you from afar. Whispering soft nothings in their twinkles and glimmers. A feeling swells in your chest as you look up at them. A profound loneliness overtaking your being. It didn’t feel right to be sitting here under the sky with the dim fire all alone. 

Obviously you weren’t actually alone. You had the aforementioned tadpoles to make sure of that. But it was different. You could feel yourself actually begin to relax as you looked at the gleaming night sky, but at the same time your chest swelled for something your mind believes was once real. Yet you had no name to place it to. No person to place it toward.

You slumped down onto the bedroll, one spare you brought out so you hadn’t been waiting patiently on the hard dirt ground, and laid on your back. Your hands rested over your stomach, your chest rising and falling gently, as your eyes stayed trained up above. 

It was horrible to miss something you didn’t know. 

Against your better judgement, and your word to Gale, you felt the mistress of sleep had called as your eyelids had grown heavy, and they had begun to shut. 

You had caught yourself, your eyes opening wide and body slightly jumping awake. Of course, you were thankful. Because for some odd reason your luck had kicked in, and you now lay face to face with Astarion loomed over you, his mouth slightly ajar. 

It took a lot for you to not cast thunderwave and send him flying, but his own surprise drew him back instantly, an unusual look of horror painting his face like he was a child being caught.

“Shit.” 

Even despite the fact he pulled back, your instincts send you standing up and engulfing your hand in flames as you glare at him.

His breath hitches and he steps back, shoulders and neck arching while he throws his hands up. His eyes are wide and feral. Shadowheart was right. He does act like a cat always trapped in a corner. This time though, he actually was.

“No—no it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” His voice is fill of an uncanny desperation for what you once thought to be a dashing rogue. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed…well, blood.”

You felt a pit in your stomach as you damned yourself for not recognizing this sooner. How stupid and oblivious had you been? Really? It should have been clear as day with his overly sharp canines and the scarring on his neck. You should have been able to smell it; the blood. Yet Astarion had’t smelled of anything rotten and iron. He smelled of—no that didn’t quite matter.

You gritted your teeth and spat, “I can’t believe I didn’t see it—we even found the boar * you * snacked on!” 

“It’s not what you think!” His hands fall down slightly with an almost sad and hesitant tone in his voice, “I’m not some monster . I feed on animals…boars, dear, kobolds—whatever I can get. I’m…just too slow right now—too weak.”

His gaze fell on you, almost pleading. “If I could just have a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At best I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No…I needed you to trust me.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “And you can trust me.”

You frowned, quiet as you studied him. Your hands shook at your sides, your head thumping; urging you to—

“You tried to bite me. How can I trust you?”

“Because we don’t have a choice! Not if we’re going to save ourselves from these worms. I need you alive. You need me strong.”

He took a breath, sighing and stepping toward you slightly. “Please. Only a taste, I swear. I’ll be well, you’ll be fine, and everything can go back to normal.”

Normal. What a load of crap. Even if you understood what he meant by it…though he was right. Astarion had been one of the best in terms of fighting and safely manoeuvring the party through traps. He was a natural born killer, with instincts not unlike your own. You needed him, the whole party did; and now he needed you and the beautiful scarlet that pumped through your veins.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, then let your shoulders relax finally, willing The Urges deep down.

“Fine.” Your eyes meet his own, “but not a drop more than you need.”

He seemed stunned by this response, not that you blame him, you are sure if you had been in his shoes you would have fully expected—and embraced—a stake to the gushing heart.

“Really? I—of course.” A charming but warm smile fell on his lips, “not one drop more.” His eyes then fell down to the makeshift cot on the ground before falling back on you, “let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

You hesitate, just for a moment, before nodding and slowly sitting back down. You look back up at Astarion now, who lowered himself over you as you then slid your back against the cot—head comfortable on the pillow. 

Astarion is quick to bite into your neck, your body immediately tenses; knees folding up and hands gripping onto the sides of his loose poet shirt. It’s searing, it hurts, just for a moment. Then it’s just surprise at the feeling of your own blood being sucked out of you that keeps you held tightly onto him.

There is something familiar about someone so dangerous being so close, hands on either side of your head. Was pain and blood involved as well? 

Your brain fogs at the thought, and you only realize it’s from the pure dizziness you are being to feel. You are reeling now. Shaky breaths leaving your mouth as your hands press against his abdomen. He doesn’t move. So a moment later you try again. “Stop! It’s—it’s too much-“ your voice is small but pleading; something hates how pathetic you sound.

Thankfully, Astarion is quick to stop, and he pulls away, licking his blood stained lips and wiping gently at his chin with his thumb. “That—that was amazing. My mind is finally clear. I feel strong—I feel…happy!”

He peers at you, before quickly then helps you sit up, and you almost immediately lean your head into his shoulder. He tenses, but you pay no mind to this. Your breathing is shallow; mind still reeling from moments prior. 

“I—“ you chuckle weakly, “—I look forward to seeing you fight.”

Astarion is quiet as he brings the plate of now-cold food close, careful to not move you except to force it close. A clear sign that you should eat. That he is suggesting as such.

“Shouldn’t take so long. So many people need killing.” He hums as you finally pull your head back, and slowly begin to devour the plate. 

Your hands rip apart the meat, it’s cold by now, but you don’t mind it that much; though it’s tougher, the spices from Gale still make it a worthy meal. Astarion watches you, you can feel his gaze still on your neck, though truly all you can think about is the pork as your jaw clamps down on it. A part of you knows you  have chomped down onto much more sturdy meat before; flesh, maybe? 

Would that make you a hypocrite for your judgement of Astarion just moments ago?

You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, grease and grime painting your skin while you finally catch your breath. Sated. Dizzy still, even a bit cold, but sated . Your eyes fall back on him, his gaze doesn’t reach your eyes; he’s hungry still. There is something tempting about offering more blood to him. Just offering more to him.

“Now,” he says in his usual sing-song voice, now rising to his feet, “if you’ll excuse me. You’re invigorating, but I need something more…filling.” He doesn’t offer you any help as he turns on the heel of his foot to leave. Though, he does hesitate, just for a moment before slightly turning his head toward you.

“This is a gift, you know, I won’t forget it.”

You bring your hand up to your neck, wobbling slightly when you stand; from both the wet feeling on your neck and his face just before he left, you understand he is a messy eater. Similar to yourself. As he disappears into the woods, you can’t help but wonder if he will devour the next creature with such greed. You dislike how you can relate.

Perhaps Shadowheart’s comment about Astarion acting like a cornered cat makes more sense now. If you were a vampire, or perhaps a monster in a similar fashion, you think that you would view the world as your enemy; trust no one, even clerics. Who are you kidding? Especially clerics.

[twwings]

Big Festivids Recs Post!

Last weekend was the big Festivids GoLive, which meant the release into the wild of 160 brand new small fandom vids (aka fanvids, edits, etc.) Right now the collection's anonymous, but tomorrow is vidder reveals, so I wanted to write up a recs post for some of my absolute favourites from this year's collection. If you know Yuletide, well, Festivids is like Yuletide, celebrating small/weird/underappreciated fandoms! It's an exchange fest, so people ask for the small fandom vids of their heart and, then, receive one.

Honestly the collection this year is SO high quality, you should really go and browse the works yourself in their entirety; there are so many vids that I absolutely loved that I didn't put on this recs list, because I was trying not to get carried away (and also trying to get it done). But just to get you started, here are a smattering of my favourites. I tried to represent a bunch of vid genres and source types here, but ultimately it's just my taste.

RECS RECS RECS!

Andor: Level Up

AHHHH this is a vid about Andor and fascism and collective action and One Way Out and it's so gorgeously done. Perfect song choice, perfect vid, makes me cry and I will rewatch it many times.

Andor: be ready and be brave

Focusing on Ferrix, its history, its people, and its revolution. Absolute chills. Also I'm SO happy whenever I get to watch a vid to a Mountain Goats song.

Mosquita y Mari: como siempre soñé

Such a sweet, soft, slow romance vid. I ACHED for these two. Like reading a 300k slowburn but in three and a half minutes.

Dropout TV: Nothing in my Head

The Dropout TV vid of my DREAAAAAMS! (largely Game Changer but with lots of stuff in there!)

Taskmaster UK: Blood in the Cut

UHHHH. IT'S AMAZING??? It's hot and raw and kinky and hardcore. the vidder has the delicate, precise touch of a bloody scalpel. Yes, this is a vid for Taskmaster, the UK show where comedians do silly tasks. Because yeah, it's that show, but it's also this show.

Slash/Back: Uja

This vidder KNOWS how to vid horror. The way this vid cuts the most terrible images to make them barely-there, more horrifying for being rough slaps against my consciousness . . . yikes. Amazing vidding, super cool and scary, while also maintaining the uplifting, kickass, hopeful tone you want from a collective-action horror movie.

Janelle Monae: I Like That

Glorious, joyful, sexy celebration of being a free-ass motherfucker.

Star Trek: Lower Decks: Hard Times

Boimler vid about how he's essentially a redshirt who is just slightly too sweet to actually die. Absolutely adorable and hilarious.

Woman King: Upside Down

Absolute BANGER of a vid, great cuts, great movement, great character arc and great Dahomey women being amazing.

Romeo + Juliet: Magnetic

We all agree Harold Perrineau is the best Mercutio, SO, with that in mind, here is a flawless celebration of the best Mercutio.

Knives Out/Glass Onion: 'Til You Hit a Nerve

Brilliant comparison vid putting Marta from the first film together with Helen and Andi from the second one, drawing out the similarities and dissimilarities in a visual feast and with a badass powerwalk. Nothing not to love!

David Cronenberg's Films: body

This one is phenomenal. It takes David Cronenberg's entire filmography and condenses it into a vid about all the sexualized body horror. It is deeply horny and deeply disturbing and deeply fascinated by every single finger going into a hole in a body that shouldn't be there. It's soft and tentative and it's very graphic and violent, all at once.

The Wheel of Time: Velodrome

Tower politics and circularity and being bound to one another in every good way and every bad way; what a beautiful vid. I love how this is about a place, and about how that place draws these people together over and over in their shared experience and love and trauma.

The Midnight Sky: The Laughing Heart

Absolutely gorgeous vid of the film to a spoken word + music rendition of Charles Bukowski's "The Laughing Heart" (there is a light somewhere). I have not seen this film but I found this vid deeply moving.

Moby Dick: Queequeg and I

There are four (FOUR!!!) Moby Dick vids at Festivids this year, and they are all amazing combinations of a huge smorgasboard of sources, I heartily recommend them all, but I'll specifically rec two. This one is Queequeg and Ishmael to "Wouldn't It Be Nice" and it is the sweetest queerest thing ever. Queequeg and Ishmael get a happy ending shhhhh they do shhhhh yes this is how it happened they came out of the water they're fine

Moby Dick: a vulture feeds upon the heart forever

This vid is a fucking masterpiece. It is a huge archival multisource Moby Dick vid that weaves all these incredibly different visual together to make a coherent, tragic narrative. And like. The BOOK is not a coherent narrative! This is such gorgeous and amazing fanwork. Don't miss out on it.

Women's 100m Sprinting: Didn't Come to Play

This is GORGEOUS, I don't know anything about sprinting but I know I love these beautiful joyful powerful women running really fast and hugging each other and being amazing. The editing on this is so tight; the vid never stops for a second. Like a sprint?!?!?!

The Golem and the Jinni: סיפור הגולם

This is another book vid, but since this book doesn't have any adaptations, it's using entirely archival source and probably some documentaries and films to construct the story - or, really, construct the vibe of the book, construct the metaphors of the book, and the result is beautiful and powerful and meditative. It's about survival, and making life.

Jesus Christ Superstar: Hope on Fire

This is another umbrella vid, where the vidder is taking a bunch of different productions of the play and mashing them together. This vid focuses on Judas and Jesus/Judas, and it all feels so inevitable and tragic and real and cruel. I really loved it.

Jordan Peele's Films: Goodbye, Honey, You Call That Gone

This is such a wonderful mashup of Jordan Peele's three films, exploring all the parallels and differences and just the rich tapestry of his imagery.

猎罪图鉴 | Under the Skin: Put It On Me

I don't know this source but this was just so gorgeously put together; there's a focus on art and art objects, on hands moving and creating, that's just mesmerizing.

[trillscienceofficer]

from Cinefantastique Volume 27 #4-5, January 1996

Engineer B'Elanna Torres

From the VOYAGER bible: The Chief Engineer has a facade that's worked well for her: tough knowledgeable, able to take care of herself, bothered by nothing. In fact, beneath the surface there dwells a person confused and at war with herself. B'Elanna has a mixed heritage—Klingon and human—that she deplores. Her Klingon side is disturbing to her; she makes every effort to suppress it, preferring to develop her human side. She distrusts the feelings her Klingon blood produces, and wishes that, like Tuvok, she could achieve total control of them. B'Elanna has grown into a fetching young beauty with an incandescent sexuality. She turns many heads, but the person she has designs on is Tom Paris, who won't clutter their professional relationship by having an affair with another officer.

Mindful of the fact that VOYAGER's premise takes away much of the known STAR TREK universe, the creators sought to place at least a few familiar aliens in the crew's ranks. Considering how many dramatic possibilities the brooding Worf brought to TNG, it's little surprise they chose a Klingon. "We always felt Klingons gave us such wonderfully rich stories, because they are such an interesting, complex kind of culture, said [Jeri] Taylor. "But how could we do something that wasn't repeating Worf? We finally came up with the notion of doing someone a little more like K'Ehleyr and having a female who was half human and at war with her Klingon side which gives a nice arc for her to explore."

They found their combination of Klingon spit-fire and human sensuality in Roxann Biggs-Dawson, who was one of the first to read for the part. Although the producers read other actresses, none came close to Biggs-Dawson, the first actor taken to the studio for approval and the first to sign on the starship Voyager. In addition to lead roles in such features as DARKMAN II and BOUND BY HONOR, Biggs-Dawson has also appeared in GUILTY BY SUSPICION. Her television credits include NBC's ROUND TABLE and NIGHTINGALES, USA Network's MORTAL SINS and DIRTY WORK, and Paramount's THE UNTOUCHABLES. —Dale Kutzera

[alatabouleau]

Yesterday night I dreamed that I watched a very different version of the Star Trek reboot of 2009. Well, actually it was the sequel, I guess, but anyway: In this timeline, the death of George Kirk somehow led to James Tiberius Kirk now being Jane Tiberia Kirk who was played by Jodie Whittaker, actress of the 13th doctor. And she kinda was the 13th doctor, characterwise...?

So in this universe, Kirk grew up on another planet for a while on which the Enterprise and her crew take shore leave in the beginning of the movie. Spock is still together with Uhura at this point, however, you realise that Kirk is unhappy with it. ( I remember thinking something like "Oh, of course, now that Kirk is a woman, K/S becomes canon!" )What the folks on the Enterprise didn't realise, however, is two Aliens having infiltrated the ship who want to destroy the planet below to take revenge on Kirk for something she did in the last movie.

Forgotten some plot here, but somehow, Bones and Scotty figure out the Aliens's plan and do some sci-fi-mumbo-jumbo to let the bomb explode on space, however, they don't get it high enough before the timer ends and somehow, Uhura dies during the explosion, or she sacrifies herself for the people on the planet, I don't remember. This leads to Spock absolutely loosing his sh*t and Kirk runs after him, but Spock tells her off because she could never understand his pain, for she never let herself be bound to anyone. After that, Jane lets him go and goes to her quarters where she looks at a picture that shows her, but younger, in a romantic embrace with another woman, in the background the scenery of the planet below. Kirk sheds a tear while looking at it.

Anway, Spock starts to wreak havoc on the planet but hasn't hit anyone yet. (?) Jane beams down the moment he draws his phaser and throws herself in front of a child to save it from the shot. This leads to Spock getting sort of "anti-blood-lust" so that he becomes normal again and he takes the injured Kirk to sickbay where Bones heals her. Spock and Kirk confess their feelings for each other and Kirk is like " what, but I thought you went crazy because of Nyota" and Spock is like "Not out of love but out of guilt, for my Katra had long since belonged to another one" and they kiss. I think. I remember my last line of thoughts before waking up were something like "Yeah, this feels like a movie from the early 2010s...."

Anyway, after this I do not feel that giving up fanfictions for lent had the desired effect...

[egonkula]

as a jew and a star trek fan, draw spock as green as you like. vulcans have green blood! it’s literally their biology. there’s plenty of antisemitism in media to be upset about we don’t have to read into everything and make leaps and bounds to find it. i love green blushy spock and everytime i see him it brings me joy!

i love your art so so much, have a great day gonk!

okay thank you! I figured this was a bit of a reach but still wanted to ask around and this seems to be the consensus. I fear the green blooded alien is going to be a little green! thank you so much and I hope your day treats you well 🫶 mwah mwah !

[dira333]

Fic Rec (from the Archive) - November 2019

Voltron, Legendary Defender

Early Morning Proposals - Shiro x Reader - by @avengerdragoness

Snuggles - Shiro x Reader - by @nerd--writing

Shiro x Pidge - Quench, verb - by @keylimepidge-blog

Shiro x Pidge - videogames - by @keylimepidge-blog

Lance and Pidge - first kiss - by @mistyhollowpro

Avengers/Marvel

Five Minutes with Steve - by @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse

A Quiet Place - Steve Rogers x Reader - by @avengerscompound

"You should sleep" - Bucky x Reader - by @heli0s-writes

"Do you believe in soulmates?" - Bucky x Reader - by @heli0s-writes

Weak - Bucky x Reader - by @barnesandco

Star Trek Enterprise

I don't fit in - Malcolm Reed x Reader - by @starfleetimagines

Star Trek AOS

Equally Matched - Spock x Reader - by @mybullshitsensesaretingling

A Different Reaction - Chekov x Reader by @mybullshitsensesaretingling

Call Waiting - Chekov x Reader - by @mybullshitsensesaretingling

Notorious - Jim Kirk x Reader - @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse

Considering - Jim Kirk x Reader - by @imamotherfuckingstar-lord

Failure to Set-Up - Jim Kirk x Reader - by @samingtonwilson

Cheers - McCoy x Reader - by @imamotherfuckingstar-lord

Whats a Few Lightyears Between Friends - McCoy x Reader - by @mybullshitsensesaretingling

White Knight - McCoy x Reader - by @annathewitch

Bound together - McCoy x Reader - by @below-average-fangirl

Soulmates - McCoy x Reader - by @youre-on-a-starship

I Found - McCoy x Reader - by @samingtonwilson

Scaredy Cat - McCoy x Reader - by @samingtonwilson

An Apple A Day - McCoy x Reader - by @annathewitch

Long Days in Med Bay - McCoy x Reader - by @marvelouslytrekking

Universe - McCoy x Reader - by @triptuckers

Things that go bump in the night - McCoy x Reader - by @annathewitch

Standard procedure part 1, part 2, part 3 - McCoy X Reader - by @eufeme

The Fencing Incident part 1, part 2 - McCoy x Reader - by @eufeme

This Could Be the Start of a Plant-less Relationship - McCoy x Reader by @goingknowherewastaken

Bad Attitude - McCoy x Reader - by @imamotherfuckingstar-lord

Green-Blooded Matchmaker - McCoy x Reader - by @musikat18

Rescuing Bones - McCoy x Reader - by @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse

The Wooing Of Leonard McCoy 1 - McCoy x Reader - by @janeykath318

Almost Human

Explosion - John Kennex x Reader - by @firemedicdiaz

[drippingheart]

PATHETIC. Weak, weak, everyone is dead because of me. When lashes marred with tears and dirt pried apart with difficulty, it was the face of Ieri Shōko which first filled with vision, and somehow that was more painful than if he was greeted with the path to the afterlife. The overwhelming ache in his heart had notified Getō Suguru that he was alive even before he reached consciousness, and having not heard the assassin's final words, he had hoped his circumstances would have been different. Why should I live when an innocent child and my best friend are dead.

There was a tension aging Shōko's face beyond her teenage years . . a pain which only worsened when the gazes of their eyes connected. Suguru had to dig his blunt fingernails into his palm to prevent eyes from unleashing a torrential rain of agony. She said it all without saying anything. He pushed forward with a body free of physical wounds yet heavily burdened with that of the soul, ignored his friend's shouts, and rushed out of the Tombs of the Star. The long trek outside the massive underground facility only punished his wounded heart further. SATORU, SATORU. He needed to see Satoru.

Don't look — yet he looked, only to find a puddle of blood and brain matter where Riko Amanai's body had once been. Blood burst from his bottom lip with the force in which teeth abused the meat' every and all tactic was employed to prevent the eruption of tears. He was shaking with tremendous loss and rage on the lift ride back to the surface of the school. Holding back his sorrow only made him feel worse, and his back was bowed over by the time the sun hit his face. Suguru was shaking and breathing so harshly consciousness was once again threatening to slip between his fingers. Just a little more.

A little more and then what? What would happen if Suguru actually saw his best friend's dead body. The thought petrified him, suddenly ceasing the quivering of body as though he had been doused in icy waters. It was so bright outside, and the sun's brilliance only served to make the scene of decimated ground and blood splatter all the more horrific. It was bound to happen. They were child soldiers trained to fight to the death; premature death was the only fate which awaited sorcerers. Yet . . yet . . he needed more time . . wanted more time. Suguru had experienced an all too long shitty life until he joined Tokyo's Jujutsu Technical school.

It wasn't fucking fair! He wanted more ridiculous sleep overs, competitive training sessions, dango fueled arcade trips — he needed more Gojō Satoru @limitlessscion in his life. When he finally saw the mess of carnage that became his greatest friend in his entire life, acidic stomach contents threatened to spill out of his body while his knees completely gave out. Warm air temperature made the pool of crimson so grotesquely sticky. Flesh flies and carrion beetles already began gathering, hungry for the taste of decay, and Suguru angrily summoned his weakest curses to deter the fiends. How dare they touch his blood, touch his body!

── ❛ Satoru . . ❜

Knees slipped against the massive amount of coagulating blood as hands reached for his friend's corpse with heart-wrenching desperation. Tremulous hands ghosted over Satoru's torso to his shoulders, where he then gathered the still warm body into his arms and onto his lap. The smell of death was absolutely horrible, yet not as horrid as his guilt. At the very least, Suguru could have protected Riko Amanai, could have killed the shameless assassin . . but he failed. PATHETIC. Onyx hair fell out of its bun and covered both of their faces like a mourning veil. Suguru held him close, so very close. What a worthless friend; incapable of avenging his friend's untimely death.

── ❛ I'm sorry. I'M SORRY. ❜

. . . and then he felt it — a pulse.

[gaeasun]

16 + Dogma! it's my lucky number :) I've never watched star trek but that's such a fun idea

You actually picked such a good number. Have some Coruscant Guard Dogma as a treat (@kkrazy256 i have mentioned your boy)

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Dogma took off his helmet. Commander Fox liked to see their faces during the reports. 

“Yes. Stone’s already back on duty, but I heard there were some… interesting details on this mission. Besides,” Fox didn’t- smile exactly, but the side of his face quirked up. “It will be good experience for when you get a promotion.”

Dogma still didn’t understand why Commander Fox liked him. Not that he could tell, but Commander Thorn once found Dogma to tease him about it. 

Dogma didn’t think he deserved a promotion. But he could still give a report without worrying about that. 

“Yes sir. We were ordered to escort Admiral Jameson for a hostage negotiation. As far as I can tell, the trip there was uneventful. Until…” 

Fox leaned forward. In the sharp lighting of his office the lines, the scars, the bruises under his eyes stood out. “Until?” Dogma’s eyes, against his will, darted to the gray locks on Fox’s temple. “Until the Admiral collapsed. Croissant ran an analysis on his blood, and found, in his words, ‘a karking mess of a drug cocktail.’ The Admiral said its purpose was to turn him into a young man again.”

“And did it work?”

Dogma thought about how the Admirals wrinkles had disappeared in days, how he had gone from a hoverchair-bound geriatric with a hunchback to walking around as he pleased. How he had seizures of pain. How he had died in his wife’s arms as his organs ‘karking imploded’ (Croissant liked to swear a lot. His dislike of escort trips hadn’t helped).

“It made him younger, sir. But it didn’t save his life.”

Fox scoffed. A low, dirty noise of disgust endemic to Coruscant. “Natborns. He had a full eight-five years, and that wasn’t enough for him.” 

There were so many ads on Coruscant. Sixteen point three percent of all of the ones Dogma had seen were for some sort of anti-aging product.

Dogma didn’t even know how to respond. So he just didn’t. 

Fox tapped his fingers on his desk. “Did Croissant get a blood sample?”

“Yes sir.” “Does he still have it?”

“I believe so.”

Fox closed his eyes. “Dogma. If anyone asks you about that report who is not a member of the Coruscant Guard, Croissant disposed of it. Am I clear?” Maybe in the 501st, Dogma would have gaped at being asked to lie in such a way.

But he was in the Coruscant Guard now. The only people who helped them were themselves.

“Yes sir.” As he left, he heard Fox in the beginning of a comm: “Remedy? I’d like you to have a look at something…” Dogma put that out of his mind too. 

[thegeminisage]

oh boy it's star trek update time. friday night we did ds9's "the begotten" (ohio edition) and voy's "coda" (ohio edition), and last night we did voy's "blood fever" (ohio edition) and ds9's "for the uniform" (ohio edition). (ohio edition is when i watch the episodes like normal but i'm in ohio.)

the begotten (ds9) (ohio edition):

BOOOOOO dr mora BOOOOO

i dislike that both plots with dr mora have involved with odo forgiving him in some small way...it's especially silly since the first dr mora episode had odo semi-forgive him and then in this episode go right back to hating him and then. forgive him again. ok.

it also rings false when dr mora is like yeah it WAS shady but i was under pressure from the cardassians and it was for your own good! vs damn when i realized you were a real person i felt bad about shocking you. like he literally SAID "spoil the rod spare the child" and odo was like "yeah good point" fuck off?? that's different from what he said and how he felt five minutes ago???

that said, i thought the ending was extremely touching. odo's child loving him enough to give him back his abilities WAH. AND!!! i loved how odo got to talk about how much he liked being a changeling and what it meant to him and how he would have liked to have been treated

i also liked the b-plot, aside from shakaar, who i felt was pretty petty and jealous for no reason?? i almost forget kira is seeing him bc we see and hear so little about him. but her missing the baby even though it's not hers is the complex kind of thing i love from ds9

coda (voy) (ohio edition):

so, this was billed to me by imdb as "janeway and chakotay are in a timeloop where she always dies at the end." and the first...15 minutes? was kinda that. and i enjoyed what we got of that immensely. mystery spot but it's your lover who you made a bathtub for once. except they only looped like 3 times

i loved the cpr. chakotay holding janeway's body and sobbing. mwah. immensely rewarding for the me community. what the hell was the rest of that

honestly? tng kinda did this concept better. the like "what if the afterlife is real" concept and then it wasn't that they were dead. like i hate to say that but ro laren did kinda do this better

i like janeway better as a CHARACTER but the PLOT was totally nonsensical. i still don't even know how much of that really happened and how much was her hallucinations. i'm choosing to believe the cpr was real though. and the crying

it was nice getting her dead dad backstory i guess but the whole episode felt very like...sloppily written? thrown together? unfollowable? i really want a timeloop episode :( add "jc timeloop but for real" to the list of fic i'll never write

blood fever (voy) (ohio edition):

I LOOOOVED THIS ONE

i was so nervous bc ive loved vorik since he was in tng and him giving b'elanna his pon farr sounded sexist and bad for both of them. ADDED TO THE FACT that tom paris my beloathed was bound to be involved

but you know what. rights for tom paris i think. i really hope this is a trend and not a fluke because i actually very deeply enjoyed tom paris in this episode

i would have never forgiven him if he fucked her BUT HE DIDN'T FUCK HER. i read there was a lot of improvisation involved in this ep and also that garak's actor directed which probably has something to do with like. how good it was. like i was so worried the whole timje tom paris would fuck her because i was worried about HER and then by the end i was also WORRIED ABOUT TOM PARIS. like was this consensual for HIM (no)

equally, i love how uncomfortable vorik and tuvok were with each other. i would have thought it was just the opposite but then when it happened that was i was like wow of COURSE thats how itd be. like just so masterful all the way around

i even liked their little talk at the end. i thought tom paris was very respectful and tactful which is normally not his forte. like. tom paris good. can he be good all the time please

for the uniform (ds9) (ohio edition):

this one was...fine? i didn't like the constant "javier" coming from eddington and i like even less that sisko played into it with only a few weird looks from worf and kira and zero "what the fuck"s from dax.

i also don't understand the point of the holophone. i would never use one of those

i did like nog doing the relays - i like him so much. and even though leaving on a busted ship was silly i thought it was impressive how they made it work on even less than the bare minimum

i just think sisko going darkside wasn't given enough weight, or they acted like it was fake, when he really did poison that planet? and i thought the constant book comparisons were a little silly and tng like. we literally did get lily calling picard ahab in first contact, and i liked that better than i liked this

NEXT TIME: voy's "unity" (ohio edition) and ds9's "in purgatory's shadow" (ohio edition)

[holycorrupt]

I wrote a silly little dabble about my Tav x Astarian and debated posting it but ah .. you live once lol

I did not proof read this lol

600~ words /General/ Fluff (?)

When you spend the majority of your days trekking through deep forests and scrambling up steep rocky Cliffsides, you're bound to get a scrape or two in your time.

Minor cuts and bruises that a potion or healing spell would be wasted on fixing. It's good to let the body do its own healing sometimes! Or at least that was Helios' excuse when he stumbled straight into a thick bramble of inch long thorned black berries. He had been trying to gather a couple of handfuls to share amongst his companions as a late afternoon snack. It was rather embrassing actually for the paladin! The nerve of the vines for slicing up his arm!

So he ignored Shadowheart and Gales kind offers to patch him up real quick with their magic and decided he shouldn't waste his own spells on himself just in case of a sudden ambush or more major injury comes along.

At least the berries were sweet and plump.

However, there was someone else who had an issue with his decision to simply allow his blood to leak freely down his forearm.

"That's it! I can't walk behind you any longer, you big oaf!"

Astarian's strides came to a complete halt, his lithe hands reaching out to grab Helios by the arm.

Helios pauses as well, looking down at the much shorter man.

"Oh... are you hungry, love?" He tilts his head, the sunlight catching his eyes just right that you could tell the ever slight difference in color between his eyes.

Gale's eyebrows shoot up, and he opens his mouth like he's about to make a snide joke but quickly shuts his trap at the pointed look that Shadowheart gives him. They not so subtlety easedrop instead.

Astarian snorts and rolls his free hand flippantly.

"Oh yes, you are so sweet, darling! but I'm not that desperate for blood that I'm going to start licking your arm like some dog...who knows where it's been" He feins a disgusted shiver. Instead, he reaches into his pack and pulls out a small jar and a rag.

Red eyes intently work on their task of cleaning away the blood from the wound, giving special care to even mop away all the blood that was slowly drying down by Helios' wrist.

After the arm was clean, he swiped a finger in the jar and spread a thick gelly like layer over the wound. Whatever was in the jar seemed to do the trick in creating a barrier, and Helios was bleeding no longer.

"Oh my Star, thank you!"

Helios beams as bright as the sun, chuckling at the way Astarian rolls his eyes warmly at the silly pet name. He was good at dishing them out himself but not so good at having them shot back at him.

"Yes, yes, now you can stop smelling so delicious and distracting..." The vampire smirks glancing over at their other party members doing a terrible job if looking like they weren't watching the couple.

"OK shows over, come on chop, chop we have places to be"

Astarian steps quickly ahead, long legs making fast work of the path ahead of them, forcing everyone else to rush to catch up. It's not a good idea to split up the party after all.

Helios still ends up taking the rear, glancing at his arm. He takes a finger to the edge of some of the healing substance and brings it to his nose.

Ah! It smelled exactly the same as when he would awake in the morning after telling Astarian he could feed off of him... hm... that might explain why the bite marks never seemed that prominent. He smiles to himself.

It smells like Astarian.