#ah yes. the filter behind the slaughter

[linabirb]

lina please stop choosing purple overlays or filters when you're drawing or editing a video i know you can do it you can pick other colors come on you can even go with pink come on NO PURPLE. STOP ALL OF YOUR LAST DRAWINGS AND EDITS ARE PURPLE. STOP OURPLINBG

[scribble-blog]

Black Cats and Robinettes part 3!!!!

Part 1   Part 2

“No.”

Marinette eyed her brother balefully, even as she stuck another pin into the sleeve she was working on. “I don’t see how this is any of your business.”

“You’re my little sister,” Dick lamented. “I feel that it is completely my business to veto your budding love life.”

“The love life you know of,” Marinette muttered, ignoring Dick’s yelp as she stuck him with a pin. “Can you leave it be?”

“Can you leave him be?” Dick mocked her, rubbing the spot where she’d pricked him. 

“We’ve got more important things,” Marinette directed him to move, having him spin as her keen eyes watched. He did some light stretches to test the fabric, and she nodded. “Like, I don’t know, that hero Dad wants us to meet with?” 

“Hero schmero,” Dick grinned. “What are the volatile superhero politics of a different country compared to the love life of Gotham’s sunshine princess? And what are you going to have Alfred cook up to woo him tomorrow night?”

“Had it not been for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you,” She scowled, punching him. He just laughed in return.

———

Damian was not sitting on his bed mooning over Marinette Wayne.

No, Damian was staring out his window and mooning over Marinette Wayne. It was a small difference but it mattered, mostly because if he hadn’t been staring at the cloud cloaked sky and wondering if she had been flirting with him the rest of the day after her masterful takedown of Lila that had left the girl sobbing. She’d invited Adrien and Chloé, and him he supposed, to dine with her family the next night. She’d actually tried to include him in what could clearly have just been time for her to spend with her friends. 

What did it mean??

Staring out the window was nice, a sobering reminder that even if anything could come from this, Marinette Wayne was still the rich, beautiful, girl who was regarded as the Princess of Gotham. And he lived in Paris. 

And speaking of Paris, he caught the familiar movement of a red and a yellow suit, moving over the rooftops.

He couldn’t stop himself from standing up, a small intake of breath his only outward sign of surprise. Ladybug and Queen Bee? He watched them, spots and stripes, dart over a roof break, the streetlight filtering up and leaving them in stark definition. 

“Plagg,” Damian said, and the Kwami looked up from where he had retreated when it seemed clear that he was just going to pine over a girl for the whole evening. “Do you know why Ladybug and Queen Bee are here?”

“Why should I know that?” Plagg snacked on another piece of Camembert. Damian made a face, incredibly glad he’d started putting Camembert in double ziplock bags to keep from smelling like it constantly. “I’m your kwami, not theirs.”

“Claws out, Plagg.”

It was a simple matter to climb out of the window, and throw himself to the rooftops using the staff. 

He spotted them immediately, the familiar joking and banter that Queen Bee and Ladybug exhibited during battles easy to hear. But now, with them here, he honestly would have felt stupid if he hadn’t already known that there was magic that kept any casual comparisons from revealing their identities.

Of course, it was Adrien and Chloe. Of course it was his two friends. Out of all of the idiots in Paris, it had to be his two idiots who ran around in magical spandex fighting monsters with him.

There wasn’t any other explanation for why they would be in Gotham of all places. And if they were using the Horse Miraculous to return to Paris for akumas-

Damian scowled. And now they were going on a joy run around a city they had no business being in? If anyone else was able to make these connections like him-

“So,” a voice behind him interrupted his train of thought. “Are you just an opportunist in a cat costume trying to meddle in the Bat’s affairs? An amateur wannabe hero? Should I let Catwoman know she’s got a copycat running around Gotham?”

Damian spun. Behind him was a girl, shorter than him despite the clear platforms on the boots, dark green mask glinting in the low evening light.

“I thought capelets were out of fashion,” Damian said dumbly. The girl smirked at him.

“Well,” she shrugged, “It’s part of the Robin ensemble. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to deal with a full cape.” Her pose never faltered from battle-ready, despite her easy tone. “Now what’s a boy like you doing in a place like this?”

Damian spluttered. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” She nodded towards where Ladybug and Queen Bee had been, stepping forward, into his space. “You were following the two Parisian heroes. Don’t argue, I caught you at it. What do you want with them, catboy?”

Damian wished very desperately that his mask could keep him from blushing. Was there something wrong with him today? First Marinette Wayne, and now Robin? Batman’s partner? Why was he noticing how cute she was when he’d been pining after Marinette earlier? Was there something wrong with him?

“Well?” Robin challenged.

“I’m Chat Noir,” He started babbling. “I’m their partner too, but I didn’t know they were here in Gotham, and I’d prefer they didn’t-”

“Find out?” Robin grinned, backing away a step. “You scared they’ll be upset for the misunderstanding?”

Damian fought the urge to squirm under the blank white eyes of her mask. What to tell her? “They don’t know who I am, and I’d really rather not have to deal with revealing myself tonight.”

She leaned away, taken aback. “You don’t know who each other are? How do you get anything done?”

Damian laughed. “Honestly, we don’t. I’m thinking that’s probably why they’re here, isn’t it? To ask you and your group for help. That’s how you knew they were Parisian. They’re here to meet you.”

She finally dropped from her fighting-ready pose, tilting her head as she looked at him. “You’re pretty sharp. I wish I could trust you.”

And then she swung, and Damian jumped back automatically. She had a staff, an extendable one, and she knew how to use it. Before she could make another move, Damian swung himself out over the open street, dropping until his staff caught him, carrying him to the next rooftop over. 

“I don’t want to fight you!” He yelled back at her. He could practically see the way she rolled her eyes. Honestly, if this had happened to him back in Paris, he couldn’t say he’d be any less suspicious than she was, but it was still annoying him that she couldn’t just take his word for it.

Which meant that he had three options, he reasoned as they stood off against each other, the river of traffic between and far below them. He could try to fight her and possibly incur the wrath of the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes, which, no. He could try to run away and transform back, and give up this whole outing before making his way back to the hotel. Or he could go after Chloe and Adrien, possibly reveal himself and them to the vigilantes they were meeting with, but prove to Robin that he really wasn’t just some masked asshole making the best of the rooftops that night.

He wanted to groan as he watched her pull out a grappling gun. And he decided that sometimes, retreat really was the better part of valor.

He leapt for the next rooftop, only to have her swing in front of him. He tried to course correct, but she managed to block him, leaving him lunging for the next roof. 

He swerved the second he landed, immediately jumping again. He had super strength! It shouldn’t be hard to out distance her!

Except that whenever he thought he’d managed to get out of her sight, she’d corner him again.

Finally, he realized mid leap that she wasn’t trying to catch him. In fact, she was barey trying to chase him.

No, she was corralling him somewhere. He sprang from the edge, to another, and found out where she’d been forcing him.

“Chat?” 

“Chat?!”

Ladybug and Queen Bee were waiting there, along with two other masked individuals. Damian didn’t scowl when he heard Robin’s landing behind him, but it was a close thing.

“Oh my god,” one of the others whispered. “We have to tell Catwoman. It’s fucking genetic.”

“Shhhh,” the taller hushed. “Robin. I take it this is Chat Noir?”

“Yes,” Ladybug answered for him, green eyes burning into his. “Glad you made it, Chat.”

Ah. Okay. Damian could put off talking to them until later then. Thank god. But he turned back to Robin, one brow raised. “Good enough for you?”

“Oh,” Robin grinned, and despite being named for a bird, she looked like the cat that caught the canary. “What do you think we are? I’ve known you weren’t lying the whole time. Welcome to Gotham, Chat Noir.”

Her teasing smile made his heart stutter. He might honestly have gone a bit weak in the knees.

Gotham was trying to kill him, he realized. And it’s chosen method was flirty dark-haired girls who were out of his league and far more trouble than he thought.

TAGLIST:

@silverwhiteraven

@ash-amg  @vixen-uchiha @redscarlet95 @dramatic-squirrel @athena452 @novaloptr @bee-wrecker @constancetruggle @pr-y-sha

@thestressmademedoit @noirdots @ranger-gothamite @the-fair-maiden-of-fandom @zalladane  @mewwitch @mochegato @justafanwarrior @catcusxx @indecisive-mess-named-me @resignedcatservant @marinettepotterandplagg @myazael @mochinek0 @shizukiryuu @fancandi @fusser90 @loveswifi @gm-nasai @peachedpocky @danielslilangel @whatthefox22 @jardimazul @ladybug-182 @schrodingers25 @karategirl119 @smolplantmum @maribat-is-lifeblood @thebookwormfairy @sassakitty @area51qt @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @amayakans @dast218 @myvividreams @dorkus-minimus @alexandriamw @elmokingkong @tis-i-beanbandit

[words-in-the-wind]

Chapter 4: The One where Tommy and Tubbo meet

Previous: Chapter 3

Word Count: 1,535

Tommy jerked awake in his bed, startled to awareness by the loud clang of a bell. The warning bell. Eyes wide in realization, he rolls of the low mattress, grabbing the hammer sat beside his bed for this very eventuality. The town was rather prone to orc raids, especially in the fall when the harvest had just come in. His mentor, Sam, the person who had saved him from the streets, met him out in the main area of the shop, face grim. “It’s a warband.” Tommy could feel the blood drain from his face, this wasn’t good. Orc warbands were rare, as the infighting between tribes often caused too much strife for two or more to cooperate. But when they did come together to form a warband, the resulting fight was often enough to overwhelm even the guards stationed at smaller cities, much less a smaller town like this one. He grit his teeth, peeking through the slats of the shutters over the windows. The bell had gone silent, and the whole world felt eerily still.

Boom A muffled thud echoed through the buildings, and Tommy tensed. A battering ram, the orcs had a battering ram. Three more thuds came, each louder than the last, until the crack of wood splintering pierced the air and Tommy recoiled. He ducked down into the space below the window, back to the wall, praying to whatever god was listening that the orcs didn’t decide to raid their shop. Selfish, he knew, but in the moment, he didn’t care. Footsteps pounded the cobblestone roads outside of the shop, practically shaking the small shop. The loud clang of metal on metal started up, and soon, a loud scream tore through the air. Tommy didn’t know how long he’d sat there, with Sam, on the floor of the humble shop, before the screams ended and the smell of smoke began to permeate the air. “Do…do you think it’s over?” He could barely push the whisper out of his throat, but Sam heard him anyway. Eyes grim, the older man shook his head, right when a sharp rap began at the door. Tommy froze in horror. Sam gestured frantically for him to move into the back room, and he did, scrambling faster than he ever moved in his life. Before Tommy could get over to the inner room, he heard the door crack and a figure stride in. His world jerked upward, and he found himself caught by the back of his shirt, flailing in a much taller creature’s grasp. The orc growled, face right up in Tommy’s as the boy froze on instinct. “Hey!” A familiar voice filtered through his awareness as the orc’s head whipped around. “Drop him!” It was Sam, who hurled a heavy mallet straight at the orc’s skull. It hit, rebounding off of and hitting the floor with a thud. The orc howled in pain, dropping the gnome boy as he turned, facing the shorter man. “Tommy, run!” Sam shouted, eyes fixed on the imposing, 8 foot tall figure in the middle of the artificer’s shop. Tommy did, sprinting for the back room as he could hear the orc roar, and Sam’s scream of pain before everything went quiet as the door slammed shut. He locked it with shaking fingers and wedged a chair under the doorknob, just like Sam had taught him. Sam, who’d distracted the orc from taking him. Sam who was… Tommy could feel the panic rising in his chest as he pushed it down. Not now. Any time but now. He could hear the orc shuffling around in the main shop, opening cabinets and crates in his search for whatever the creature was looking for. He tried to calm his breaths as he scrambled for his emergency bag with food, clothes, some money, and most importantly, the small music player and two discs that him and Sam -he choked back a sob at the memory- had crafted, right after he’d accepted Sam’s offer. Shaking away the memory, he quickly looked around, trying to come up with an escape plan. Maybe he could get out the back window without anything spotting him. He was small, stealthy, quick. He could do this. He would do this. A crash came as the orc clearly got sick of the front room, and was throwing his weight against the hastily barricaded door. If Tommy wanted to get out, he’d have to do it now. He opened the window, leaping out and shutting it just before the door crashed open, giving away under the orc’s strength. 
He couldn’t freeze, not now of all times. Tommy darted away, using the alleys that he knew like the back of his hand. It wasn’t enough. He rounded the corner to the main gate just as his luck ran out. A trio of orcs spotted him, and were headed straight for his position. Suddenly, the low call of a horn rang out, and thundering hooves filled the gate, bright steel flashing down to strike at the orcs. Two people, one a green-skinned tiefling, horns curling back over his head as he struck at the orcs with a gleaming scimitar, drawing blood onto the sharp edge. The other wasn’t astride a horse, but instead, was a centaur, black hair drifting around his ears as a spear sunk into an orc. A blast of fire came from the rear, impacting another orc as they began to flee away from the new threat. Tommy could only watch in shock as the newly arrived adventurer’s group began to fight against the orcs, slaughtering them through superior tactics and weapons. He didn’t notice an orc had come up behind him, and was lifted into the air for the second time today. 
“Hey!” Tommy shouted, thrashing in his captor’s grasp. The orc grinned widely, turning about to retreat down the street with his prize. The centaur, who had been tied up in combat, clearly heard Tommy’s loud cry, wheeled around and charged towards the unaware orc. It realized, but too late as the spear pinned the orc by the shoulder to the wall, and a cutlass took off its head. “Hey, kid, you alright?” It took Tommy a slow moment to realize the centaur was addressing him. And in that time, he’d been picked up, put on the centaur’s back and brought over the the caravan. “Wait-” Tommy never got to finish his sentence before he was being swung around again, placed on a cart. There was another kid sitting there, a brown hooded shirt pulled over his head, in a meditative position “Tubbo!” The centaur addressed the other kid, “This guy’s a little hurt, think you can do something about that?” The kid startled out of his zoned out state, eyes landing on Tommy. “Oh, yeah! Sure.” He held his hand out to Tommy. Tommy took it, and felt the scrapes and bruises he’d acquired from the past few hours heal and close. “Thanks, big man.” “No problem!” Tubbo tried to guide Tommy into a deeper conversation, explaining to him who everyone was, and he just went along with it. Anything to quiet the screaming inside.

-x-

The group of four that had been charged with protecting the caravan met up, each covering in blood (mostly not their’s) and tired after the long fight. “I’m completely out.” The burnt orange colored humanoid sighed, running a hand over her wands.
“Aren’t you, literally made of the elements, Fire-Fox?” The green tiefling ran his hand through his hair, grimacing at the strands matted with blood. His scimitar hung from the other, coated in the grey-ish blood of orcs. Fire-Fox snarled at the tiefling, “I can still run out of juice, Syndicate.” She reached out, bonking him on the head lightly, “Can still do that, too.” Syndicate winced slightly, rubbing the spot she’d hit, “Captain! Foxy’s being mean!” The centaur, who had just trotted up next to them, shook his head, “Calm down, you two. Where’s Jericho.” “Here!” The other tiefling of the group popped up, healing up the small cuts in his arms, “Don’t worry ‘bout me.” “Let Tubbo take care of those, he’s better at it than you.” Fire-Fox nodded at the cuts that were sluggishly closing. “Oh, right. About that, I found a gnome kid getting kidnapped by an orc, and Tubbo seems to have imprinted on him.” “Ah, right.” They had finally gotten in sight of the cart, and yes, Tubbo and the mystery kid were asleep, curled up next to each other. “Do you even know his name?”
 “Nope, there wasn’t exactly time to ask.” Jordan, fondly nicknamed “The Captain” by his friends, drew up along side the cart, pulling a blanket out and laying it over the two kids, who barely stirred. “I can’t believe you’ve adopted another one.” Jericho’s head fell into his hands as he groaned quietly, jumping onto the front of the cart. The people who paid them to protect the caravan wouldn’t be too happy about the new kid, but they could deal with it. There was no way any of the four adventurers were leaving an obvious orphan in a just-raided town.

Next: Chapter 5

[indiavolowetrust]

THE OBEY ME BOYS AS RPG BOSSES: NEO-OSAKA

LEVEL 1-7

LEVEL 8-10 

FINAL BOSS

ENDINGS (YOU ARE HERE)

You are one of many modified humans in Neo-Osaka. A relic of your brief time in the criminal underbelly. Your adopted little brother, Luke, has been kidnapped by a criminal syndicate known only as The Devil Triad for unknown reasons. Simeon, his upperclassman, is the sole witness of his kidnapping. Armed with your trusty katana, the healing microbots in your blood, and  the information Simeon has given you, you venture back into the underworld of Neo-Osaka to save your brother.

Word Count: 2,621

TW: Blood, Violence, Mention of Drug Use

BAD ENDING

Deal the killing blow to one or more bosses

Reduce Luke’s health to less than 50% while fending him off

Lose the final battle with Simeon

You’ve done plenty of bad things in your life. Plenty of stupid things, too. You’ve dealt Rose behind pharmacies, you’ve taken out more than a few inconveniences as a former triad underling, and you’ve stolen what little belongings the residents of Neo-Osaka have. You’ve intimidated business owners into submission, you’ve aided in various kidnappings, and you’ve killed possibly innocent targets without even questioning your actions. Slaughtering the prominent members of the Devil Triad is only another tick on your long list of misdeeds. Unknowingly killing off the only family of the Devil Triad’s leader – well, you can’t say you expected anything good to come out of this.

Yet the guilt gnaws at you from the inside.

You were sent by loan sharks to kill off two adults, you remember. A no-good father that took debts out in his wife’s name and a wife that simply gambled the money away. You remember it as if it were yesterday: there was a severe thunderstorm that day, forcing your boots to sink in mud, and it had been enough to irritate you. The two targets fell easily beneath your blade. The television played some advertisement for the up-and-coming company, AkumaGen. The lights flickered with the storm. They were just about to sit down for dinner, you gathered, judging by the scene. A simple meal of rice, pickled plums, and steamed fish was on the table.

And then you had realized that the table was set for three. A possible witness was in the house.

You aren’t sure what you had expected that day. A quick search had yielded almost nothing in the way of anyone else, despite your thorough methods. No cowards in the closets. No good-for-nothing underneath the bed. A sound had captured your attention, fumbling and muffled, and you had turned to face it with your katana held before you. Whoever it was would meet a nasty surprise, you had decided. You would behead them before they had the chance to scream.

Then a blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy of maybe two or three years of age had toddled into the hallway, clutching a blanket, and something had changed in you.

The memory is enough to cloud your mind with nostalgia. Almost, anyway. You’re not sure if you can completely remove yourself from the current situation, considering the agony of being dismembered.

There is only the sound of Simeon’s laughter, cruel and mocking. It reverberates in your skull as he tears you limb from limb. As he takes his time with each act. It would appear that he knows more about the microbots in your body than you had expected: while you can heal from most mortal wounds, you can’t exactly grow back an lost finger or two. Arms and legs are certainly out of the question. And so Simeon simply tears off a piece of a limb, allows the microbots to repair it, then repeats the process. Your screams echo in the massive chamber.

You do not know when it is that shock overtakes your body – time has long lost its meaning – but you are glad that it does. You watch the insensate Luke out of the corner of your eye as Simeon continues his torture. Your eyes begin to glaze over.

Luke is breathing, at least. Simeon had never intended to kill him, considering his usefulness in his research. You can only hope that Luke’s mind will fall apart as quickly as possible. If his mind were to remain intact – no, you can’t think about that now. Rather, it’s useless to think of something so depressing. You are at death’s door now, despite the modifications to your body. It’s only matter of time.

You find yourself reaching towards him with your remaining arm. Simeon quickly snaps it.

Raising and protecting Luke as your own little brother is the only good thing you’ve ever done. You can’t even do that right.

GOOD ENDING

Spare all bosses (do not deal the killing blow)

Do not reduce Luke’s health to less than 50%

Win the final battle with Simeon

You’ve asked yourself time and time again if you’re doing the right thing. If what you’re doing is enough to pay for your misdeeds. While the question is completely and utterly stupid – you’ve committed too many murders – you find that the question is an everlasting presence in the back of your mind. A quiet, nagging feeling that tips you in the right direction. And then it is joined by more questions: Is this enough to pay for your sins? Would you forgive yourself if you did this? Would this make Luke happy?

While Diavolo had thought that you had killed off his family – which you had intended to, at first – you can’t say with certainty that they are truly dead. The questions had stopped you from butchering the Sleeping Bull. You had merely rendered him unconscious. They had stopped you from simply tearing open Beelzebub’s stomach and taking the pills for yourself. You had only dealt blunt, heavy strikes to his stomach until he was forced to spit it out. You had left an insensate but alive Asmodeus in the heart of the Pink Scorpion, trusting his employees to take care of him, and you had simply dismembered the non-living parts of that irate librarian’s body. A bit of your modded blood had allowed the dockmaster’s body to patch itself together again, albeit slowly. You had manipulated the force of the plasma gun’s recoil back onto Mammon, using his own brash, unthinking nature against him, and you had left a massive but ultimately non-fatal injury against Lucifer’s abdomen. You had allowed the scientist to pin himself to the floor using his own abilities, the glass shards skewering him by the shoulder and ankle, and you had merely disabled the chip in the head of security’s cybernetic body. You hadn’t attacked Diavolo with murderous intent.

Most of all, you had never meant to hurt Luke. You hadn’t even bothered to raise your sword at him. You had only spoken soft, soothing words towards him, begging him to snap out of his addled state. Even as he had thrown your body against the concrete, cracking your ribs, you hadn’t raised a finger to defend yourself. Even as he left gashes in your flesh, warbling incoherently, you hadn’t allowed yourself to unsheathe your weapon. Luke had left puncture wounds on your body, broken more than a few of your bones, and nearly sliced through one or two of your fingers – and still you hadn’t bothered to defend yourself. Luke was already half-dead and exhausted.

When he finally came to, his mind returning to its former state, you nearly matched him in his condition.

But you won’t die. Not here, and certainly not now. If you’re going to die, then you’ll take down the monstrous bastard in front of you first.

The abomination that Simeon has become holds the stumps of his limbs in pain, howling in agony. Luke uses all six of his wing-like appendages to carve through the flesh of the abomination once more, tossing him to the ground, and you take the opportunity to dash up one mutilated arm. Despite your injuries – more than a few of your fingers are broken, you’ve lost almost too much blood, and you’re sure you’re missing part of an arm – you force yourself forward. You raise your weapon for one final strike, aiming for his neck.

You feel yourself make contact with your target. Darkness overwhelms your vision.

* * *

The world is a pure, rich white when you awaken. Confusion clouds your thoughts. While you hadn’t really believed in an afterlife in the first place, you’re more confused as to why you’ve ended up here. Here being some sort of heaven, that is. You find yourself merely gazing into the pure nothingness for a few moments, allowing yourself to take in the strange sight.

You realize stupidly that there are only bandages in front of your eyes.

Multiple appendages around you before you can tear them off, nearly crushing your bruised organs and cracked ribs, and you let out a gasp of pain. Something warm and wet soaks through your thin clothing and blanket. It drips profusely against your cheek from above as the unknown figure simply takes you into their arms and sobs.

“You’re awake!” Luke cries, hugging you tighter. You let out another squawk of discomfort. “I – I thought you – they told me that there was a chance that you wouldn’t wake up. I never meant – I didn’t mean for any of this to –“

Luke, you force out. Could he get off you for a second? You aren’t trying to die twice.

“Oh! Ah, um, yes.”

Luke pulls away the bandages over your eyes as he does so, taking care not to treat your body so roughly again. Pats down the bit of hair that’s inevitably gotten ruffled by the action. You blink away the harsh lighting of the hospital – at least, you think it’s a hospital – and take the opportunity to take in your surroundings.

Countless tubes are connected to your body. Holo-screens of all kinds surround your plain bed, monitoring your vitals, and there are more than a few chairs scattered about the room. More than one person has sat around to watch your recovery, it seems. A rather expensive-looking skylight allows sunlight to filter into the room, the light itself reflecting off the many pearl-white furnishings within. It’s bright enough to make your head hurt. You raise a hand to rub your temples, only to realize that –

“They said they couldn’t save your arm,” Luke explains with an apologetic tone. His gaze flickers to the stump of your shoulder and away in shame. “That – that was my fault. Your other one is fine, though.”

So it would seem. You flex the fingers of your remaining hand, feeling them move under the white bed sheet, then use it to rub your temples. While there are many, many questions running through your mind, the sudden pang of hunger in your belly preoccupies your thoughts. You feel as if you haven’t eaten in days. If this is a hospital, then shouldn’t they have a cafeteria of some kind?

Luke nods. “Kinda. I’ll go get it for you, if you want. Ah, wait!“

You wave off Luke’s concern as you use your remaining hand to grip the side of the bed, intending to get up. You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, despite your injuries. Only potential blood loss would be a problem. Now, if you can just figure out where your clothes and katana are, then you can two can head back home. You’re not exactly patient enough to be discharged, considering your nearly supernatural ability to heal.

“Oi!” a familiar voice calls out, stopping you momentarily. You blink. “Ya aren’t allowed to leave until ya get all healed up. Boss’ orders.”

You turn to see the greedy treasurer standing in the doorway, one arm casually propped against the frame. He eyes you irritably through orange sunglasses. Despite being unarmed, habit forces your remaining hand to your side. You grit your teeth.

“Y-you!”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Can’t fight here, darlin’,” he says. “I’d prefer  not to, anyway. The damage ya caused was hell to pay, and I ain’t exactly the cheapest person around. They’re still fixin’ the walls right now.”

Yeah? Well, you’ll make sure they have to fix another one after you put his head through –

It takes a few minutes for Luke to stop an all-out war between the both of you. Luke managed to revive the boss of the Devil Triad with his own blood, he explains, which was a risky gamble. Yet it was one that had paid off: Simeon hadn’t exactly been lying when he said that Luke’s blood was a panacea of some sort, despite his own adverse reaction to it, and Diavolo’s body was damaged enough to accept the impromptu blood transfusion with limited problems. Bringing him back from the dead had been enough to incur a debt on his part, as had the miscommunication regarding his underlings. Lucifer and Mammon’s presence had been proof of that.

Despite the positive details of his explanation, there are more that worry you. Simeon’s body had vanished from the scene, as had a number of vials containing the results of his experiment. Diavolo and the Devil Triad aren’t sure if Simeon was working alone, given the ease of his infiltration, or if he was working for another group. Luke’s body will never be quite the same either: despite his roomy jacket and partial mask, you can still see the vestiges of his monstrous form. His wings, while tucked in, will be difficult to conceal amongst the common populace. Your left arm will never grow back, and the presence of your healing microbots would likely present a challenge if you did want a cybernetic limb outfitted.

“I still haven’t forgiven ya for ruining that suit, ya know,” Mammon growls as he escorts you and Luke down the hall. His expensive shoes clack against the marble floors of his mansion. “I don’t expect that yer gonna take it upon yerself to pay for it, either.”

He shot you in the arm, shoulder, and through one of your feet, you point out. There’s no chance in hell that you’re gonna pay to get his suit fixed.

Luke prevents another fight from breaking out between the both of you. As it would turn out, his wings are very, very sufficient in the task of keeping you both separated.

* * *

You stare at Diavolo’s outstretched hand half an hour later, despite the amiable smile that he gives you. Unlike before, you sense that this one is genuine. One that truly expresses gratitude. You’ve done him a great service for preventing such a dangerous drug from being spread amongst his territory, he explains, so it would only be natural that he would give you the freedom of choice. He had nearly beheaded you, after all.

But if you would be so generous as to aid him in tracking down the true perpetrator’s behind Simeon’s actions, he would be eternally grateful.

The questions make themselves known in your thoughts once more, analyzing the choice presented before you. Are you doing the right thing? Is this enough to pay for your sins? Would you forgive yourself if you did this? Would this make Luke happy?

The answer is a full and resounding yes.

His skin is cold when you shake his hand. A side-effect of Luke’s strange, panacea-like blood, you would guess. Mammon huffs somewhere behind you, lingering in the doorway, but he fails to say anything on the matter. Luke’s smiling, half-morphed face only encourages your decision.

Raising and protecting Luke as your own little brother is the only good thing you’ve ever done. You intend to change that.

[renaerys]

All right Anon. Since my blog was hacked and I had to delete and remake it, I know I lost some Tumblr-exclusive posts from back in ye olde Naruto heydays. Here’s a TobiIzu prompt I did for my friend Nicole called “Eclipse” that I managed to dig up in my Google Drive. It is 2013 quality (i.e., without the benefit of 7 years’ additional experience, so I’m sorry about that), but this is how it appeared as originally posted. Hopefully this is what you were looking for! :)

Eclipse (TobiIzu)

Generations later they would talk about Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara, the eternal rivals and fiercest of friends who created a kingdom and nearly destroyed it with their own hands.  They would talk about Uzumaki Mito and how she saved them from themselves for as long as a person can be saved, going so far as to seal Hashirama’s love and Madara’s hatred within herself.  But the sun and the moon have shadows even if no one can see them beyond the blinding light.

Senju Tobirama did not always hate the Uchiha.  Some he even grew to depend upon.  Every yin needs a yang.  

“Suiton: Suishouha!”

At seven years old, Tobirama was well on his way to achieving notoriety as an heir to the illustrious Senju clan.  His prowess with water techniques was unheard of at his age, and his father was more than happy to reap that advantage in any way possible.  In a world where a mother’s protests fall upon deaf ears, Tobirama became more comfortable with the wails of his dying enemies than the sweet songs his mother used to sing at night as he fell asleep.  

“Hhhnnngg!”

Strangled cries of those unlucky enough to be swept away with the deluge gurgled, unintelligible, as water filled lungs and doused fires.  Tobirama drew his short sword and followed the path of his technique, searching for any Uchiha that had survived the flood.  What he did not expect to find was one unharmed and charging straight for him.

“Damn you!”

The clang of steel made his ears ring as a young Uchiha soldier slammed into him with all the might in his small body.  Twin daggers sparked against Tobirama’s own weapon, and he stumbled backwards under the shock force.  Overpowered, he had to roll with his attacker’s momentum to avoid slitting his own throat.  On their feet and panting for air, Tobirama got a look at his opponent and the fury boiling in his red eyes.

Red eyes.

“Sharingan...”

The unnamed Uchiha shook with rage.  “You killed him.  You killed my little brother with that, and now I’m gonna kill you!”

A flurry of hand seals had Tobirama taking a step back, unsure of what was coming until the Uchiha boy inhaled a deep breath and released a great mass of roiling fire.  It careened straight for him at impossible speed, and Tobirama had to turn tail and run.  His boots sloshed in the mud created from his earlier technique and an idea struck.  Channeling his chakra, he called upon the muddy water beneath his feet to rise up behind him in like a shield.  The collision with the great fireball was stunning.  Steam hissed and mud melted, the water mixed in with it barely enough to keep the fire at bay.  

“Tobirama!”

Butsuma’s familiar voice was a welcome sound.  He and a young Itama joined his second son just as fire and water fizzled into a mess of charred mud and the smell of bog.  Tobirama brandished his short sword at his attacker, ready to deliver the killing blow now that his father was watching.

“Izuna, that’s enough.”

Everyone knew Uchiha Tajima, the leader of the Uchiha clan, by face and name.  He placed a hand on the boy’s—Izuna’s—shoulder in silent warning.  

“He killed Kemuri!” Izuna said, taking a step forward with every intention of burning Tobirama alive.

Tajima did nothing to betray whatever he felt about the loss of one of his sons.  It didn’t surprise Tobirama much.  Lives were expendable.  If the leader of a great clan were to break down every time he lost men, he would have no time to fight between the mourning.  Tobirama shifted, thoughts wandering to his younger brother standing next to him.  What if it had been him?

“I suppose I should thank you,” Tajima said, dark eyes fixed on Tobirama and a cruel smirk threatening to bloom.  “Your actions have awakened Izuna’s Sharingan.”

Tears fell from Izuna’s transformed eyes and Tobirama had to wonder.  Had he done this?  Had he given his enemy a better weapon?

“Let’s end this, Butsuma,” Tajima said.  “You’ve lost enough men for one day.”

“I should say the same for you,” Butsuma said, one hand on the hilt of his katana.

Tajima’s smirk widened.  “Until next time, old friend.”

Izuna held Tobirama’s gaze, red on red as a promise of vengeance sealed in brother’s blood passed between them.  Tobirama found himself leaning closer to his own brother, a silent warning.  

“Tobirama,” Butsuma said once the Uchiha had withdrawn.  “The next time we clash with the Uchiha, kill that boy.  Forget about the others.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father.”

“We can’t afford to let that one grow stronger now that he has the Sharingan.”

The battlefield was a wasteland of mud, soot, and maimed corpses.  Uchiha and Senju alike lay in piles, their armor warped with heat and some bloated from drowning.  It was always the same story when they crossed paths, and no one ever seemed to get the upper hand in the long run.  Destined to fight forever, Tobirama sometimes wondered about the point of it all.  But Butsuma was right.  If the stories were true, the Sharingan could mean the difference between a win and a loss for the Senju.  

And so Senju Tobirama resolved to ensure Uchiha Izuna’s death the next time they crossed paths.  

xxx

The day Kawarama died Tobirama was fourteen and still struggling to make good on the promise he’d made his father.  Madara had set the field aflame, and Hashirama’s animate wood had only made it worse.  Ever the faithful right hand, Tobirama shielded the newly christened Senju leader with his body, hands poised in the fortieth and final seal of the water dragon technique.  

“Tobi!” Hashirama said, worry and relief melted together as his little brother bought him precious time to regroup.  

But light never strays far from its faithful shadow.  Tobirama barely had to time to block the knife to his throat, hissing as it nicked the unprotected skin below his chin.  Izuna had a tendency to sneak up on him like this.  It made double-teaming Madara impossible.

“Now we’re even,” Izuna said as he pushed harder, screeching metal hurting Tobirama’s ears as they vied for dominance.

In a dirty move, Tobirama kicked hard, forcing Izuna to leap backwards to avoid a blow to the stomach that could have cost him.  Fire and water, brother for brother.  To say water could douse fire was to underestimate the heat of Izuna’s hatred.  

“We’ll never be even!” Tobirama said, redirecting his water dragon technique.  

Sharingan spiraled red and black, red and black, and a piercing scream filled the area.  Tobirama yelped, hands burning as though the skin were flayed off his palms.  Sparks jumped across the body of his water dragon, the electricity having cut deep welts in his hands that blistered and smoked.  Izuna, drenched from head to toe and panting, crackled with lightning.

“Lightning trumps water,” he said, water dripping from his long ponytail.  

The fighting never stopped.  Senju and Uchiha were doomed to repeat history, of this Tobirama was certain.  Every time they clashed, more and more of their ranks fell under enemy fire and water, lightning and earth.  There was no end to the slaughter and the power, each side becoming stronger only to discover the other catching up.  

It wasn’t until Hashirama called a temporary ceasefire that Tobirama realized he’d never actually had a conversation with Izuna that didn’t involve them trying to kill each other.  Negotiations were a farce when the Uchiha were involved as far as he was concerned.  And yet, while Hashirama and Madara exchanged terms that everyone knew would never be enough to satisfy both sides, Tobirama and Izuna waited outside the chambers, silent and itching to hurt each other out of ingrained habit.

“This will never work, you know,” Tobirama said after nearly a half hour of silent brooding.  “It never has before.”

He didn’t know why he’d decided to comment on something so futile.  It was obvious to both of them without him pointing it out.  Uchiha and Senju would never see eye to eye.  There was too much bad blood between them now to reconcile.  Hashirama was delusional and Madara was perhaps even more insane to hear out this ludicrous negotiation.  Izuna did not respond right away, and Tobirama scowled.  He should have known better.

“...And yet, they never stop trying.”

Izuna kept his dark gaze to the ground ahead, torches lending a soft glow to his angular features as they waited on either side of the door to the chambers.  All around them, crack patterns danced upon carved stone with each flicker of firelight.  There was no one around—Tobirama and Izuna had made sure their brothers would not be disturbed—and yet they spoke in hushed tones.

“It’s useless,” Tobirama said.  “After all the Uchiha have done, there will be no forgiving.”

“Ah, and you’re an innocent bystander in all this.  Hypocrite.”

The hilt of Tobirama’s sword called to him with an almost audible hum.  A part of him wanted nothing more than to drive it through Izuna’s precious eyes right there and now.  And yet, he paused.

“You’ve become more vicious over the years,” he said, finally voicing what he’d long suspected.  “The older we get, the more hateful you are.  Not that I’d expect anything less from an Uchiha.”

Izuna chuckled.  “And you’ve become cantankerous.  You’re just getting older.”

Murmuring filtered through the heavy wooden doors despite the soundproofing.  It did not bode well for their brothers’ talk.  Still, they would not move until summoned.  They had set aside their mutual animosity and bad blood for this, and neither would betray his brother and leader.  If nothing else, they shared that fierce loyalty.

“This will never work,” Tobirama said at last.

“Tell them that.  They’re living in a dream world in there.  But they’ll wake up.  They always do.  Hard to sleep when people are screaming all around you.”

“Is that all it is then?  A dream.”

“What else would it be?  You killed my brother and I killed yours, just like our fathers before us and their fathers before them.  The sooner you accept that the better.”

Tobirama frowned.  He didn’t like agreeing with Izuna, his brother’s murderer and the bane of his existence for as long as he could remember.  He couldn’t help but think that with Izuna out of the way, Madara would stand no chance against Hashirama and himself.  

“Funny, isn’t it,” Tobirama said.  “We hate each other, and yet we understand each other perfectly.  There is no one who knows my sentiments the way you do.”

“You don’t know this hatred,” Izuna said, averting his eyes once more to stare into the gloom.  “...This hatred is a curse.”

“Curses can be broken.”

Izuna bared his teeth in a smile, and when he met Tobirama’s gaze once more it burned like the fire illuminating the room.  This Sharingan was different, and Tobirama half drew his sword upon instinct.  

“There’s no cure for this curse,” Izuna said, making no move to attack.  “It will kill me, and it will kill you, too.  That’s the only certainty in this world.”

Tobirama was about to ask him what he meant by that when the doors burst open.  

“—can’t ever reach a compromise this way!” Hashirama shouted from within.

Madara stormed out.  “Who would take those terms?  You’re as stupid as you look.  Nothing’s changed.”

Izuna and Tobirama exchanged a look before the former tailed after his irritable brother.  Hashirama emerged soon after, youthful features twisted in frustration and a little despair.  It didn’t suit him at all, but Tobirama kept that thought to himself.  

“At least he didn’t attempt to attack you this time,” he said instead.

“I just don’t understand, Tobi.  I know he agrees with me, I just know it.  But he’s so stubborn!  He just won’t give into anything.”

“He’s an Uchiha.”  He’s not your brother.

“You make it sound like they’re another species.”

“They are.”

Hashirama sighed and rubbed his eyes.  “They’re not.  They’re just...  Madara’s just looking out for them, that’s all.  We’re not so different from them in the end.”

Tobirama said nothing to that.  For the first time in his life, he found he could not refute it with complete certainty.

xxx

“What did you mean?”

Blood fell to the ground as Tobirama’s short sword made contact with Izuna’s cheek, so light and delicate.  The Uchiha sneered and pulled back, wiping it with a free hand.  

“About what?”  He fired off a rapid round of hand seals even as he questioned his eternal opponent.

“About the curse that can’t be broken.”  

A searing jet of fire careened toward Tobirama at high speed, and if not for the grueling training he’d forced upon himself he would not have survived it.  With only a single hand seal he created a water dragon from out of thin air to defend him, catching the fire before it could incinerate him where he stood.  The collision birthed a wall of steam, hissing like a brood of angry snakes as fire and water clashed in an age old battle, neither able to overwhelm the other without taking equal damage.  At seventeen, they were still stuck in a stalemate.

Forced to shout over the roar of their attacks Izuna said, “Love and hate aren’t so different.  The more I hate, the stronger I become.  And you make it so easy!”

Tobirama grit his teeth and pushed more chakra into his technique.  The water dragon became engorged, slowly but surely pushing back the fire.  He would have to be careful lest Izuna resort to lightning.  That trick would only work once.  All of a sudden, the air around Tobirama became heavy with heat, drawing sweat and turning his cheeks red.  A low rumble resounded from the other side of the clash until black tongues peeked out from amidst the orange flames.  They grew into thick shadows and slithered into the maw of his dragon, evaporating the water on contact.  Alarmed, Tobirama swore and attempted to up the power.

It was no use.  Stygian flames reared up and consumed his dragon until they forced him to release his technique and leap to safety.  He’d never seen anything like it.  Far hotter than any normal fire, there was something spectral about those flames.  

“Izuna!”

He stood rooted to the spot, gaze slowly shifting.  Tobirama felt a cold chill creep up his spine at the sight of his longtime rival with blood falling from his eyes like tears.  

“There’s no cure for this curse.”

“This is what we are, Tobirama,” he said, drawing his twin daggers and advancing.  “You and I...we’ll never escape it.  Now fight me!”

No one would talk about their battles in the histories.  Hashirama and Madara would change the landscape with their power, and Tobirama and Izuna would be there to pick up the pieces.  Shadows follow their celestial masters, hiding behind the light.

xxx

“There’s something about the Uchiha that I think you need to know.”

Hashirama looked up from the paperwork he was reading by the light of a thick tallow candle outlining the terms of an alliance with the wealthy Uzumaki clan.  He’d insisted on doing it himself even though Tobirama was better with this sort of thing.  In any case, it mattered little.  Uzumaki Mito, their closest contact and the clan representative, would smooth out any kinks Hashirama overlooked.  

“Must we talk about this now?  I know your opinion of them already, and I’m tired—”

“I think there’s a reason they are the way they are.”

Hashirama put down his pen and gave his brother his full attention.  “Of course there is.  We’ve wronged them for generations, as they’ve wronged us.  It’s not like they’re doing this for fun.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Tobirama said, thinking on how best to phrase it.  “They...  It’s like they grow stronger the more they hate.”

“...I would assume so.  Hatred is a powerful motivator.”

“No, I mean, they become physically stronger.  That new Sharingan isn’t normal.  You know it.”

Hashirama smiled a little.  “Well, it’s certainly nothing to sneeze at.”

“Izuna said they were cursed.  That I don’t understand his hatred.”

“You were speaking with Izuna?  I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything to him that didn’t involve a death threat.”

Tobirama stared at the wall of the small tent set up on the outskirts of Uzushiogakure, the Senju’s current outpost.  His shadow flickered under the light of the candles, erratic.  

“You don’t know this hatred.”

Why do you always have to be so stubborn?

“This won’t last forever,” he said.  “One day, it will catch up to us.  That’s what curses do.  They fester.”

Hashirama was silent for a long while, and he wondered if his brother understood.  “Then we’ll break the curse.  That’s what I’ve been trying to do for so long.  We’ll do it, Madara and I together.  We will.”

“There’s no cure for this curse.”

The sun and the moon would always be the stuff of fancy, leaving the ugly truths of the world to the darkness of shadows.  Tobirama left his brother to his dreaming without another word.

xxx

Years later they would talk about how Madara finally came around and made peace with Hashirama.  They would talk about how Mito smoothed relations between the two leaders as a voice of reason and gentle influence.  They would never speak of this day, the total eclipse of shadow over light, the first step into the abyss.  Not until it was too late to turn back.

“Izuna!” Madara screamed in the distance.

His blood was surprisingly warm for someone so coldhearted.  It caressed Tobirama’s hand, loosening the grip about the hilt of his sword.  Even as he plunged it deeper through Izuna’s chest, his free hand came up to push too-long bangs out of his eyes.  Gone was the angry red of the Sharingan.  A cough drew bloody spittle.

“T-Tobirama...”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  They were equals, Senju and Uchiha, yin and yang.  One could not exist without the other.  One had no meaning without the other.  A tight feeling in his throat made it hard to talk without his voice cracking.

“You were supposed to avoid that,” Tobirama said, kneeling them on the ground and supporting Izuna’s weight.  “Any idiot could have avoided that.”

“I’m n-not an idiot.”

He was angry.  So angry.  “Damn you.  Damn you to hell.”

Izuna smirked, blood dribbling down his chin.  “Then I’ll wait for you there.”

Tears burned as Tobirama felt Izuna grip the hilt of his sword, only blood separating them.  That was always how it had been.  They were connected in every way but by blood, and in death he was sure of it.

“I suppose...you do know me...best.”

“Izuna, I—”  I’m sorry.

“I know.  I kn-know.”

Madara and Hashirama were running toward them, coming to their aid for the first time.  The world was upside down.  It should have been Madara, not Izuna.  Shadows are incorporeal.  They cannot die.

I am not my brother.

Izuna pushed the sword deeper and twisted it, dark eyes glazing over with the shock of pain.  And still he smiled.  Tobirama had never seen him smile.  Hot tears dripped onto his hand, mixing with Izuna’s blood.

“Maybe...curses can be b-broken...after all.”

Not like this.

He was gone before their brothers could reach them.

xxx

It was a beautiful day in the Hidden Leaf Village.  The sun was warm and a light breeze carried the scent of wildflowers to Tobirama’s porch where he sat enjoying the lazy afternoon.  It was too hot for his Hokage regalia, so he’d discarded it over the back of his chair.  He sensed her long before she turned the corner onto the street leading to his small abode.

“Mito.”

The redhead smiled and took a seat next to him.  “Contemplating again, Hokage-sama?”

He stiffened.  “Please don’t call me that.”

“It’s your title.”

“It’s my brother’s title.”

Mito’s smile faltered.  “It’s yours now.  He would be proud.”

Tobirama sighed.  After all was said and done, he and Mito were the only ones left.  It made no sense.  How could shadows linger without light to guide them?  He supposed he would lose his mind if not for her.

“How do you do it?” he asked.  “Every day...how do you do it?”

Mito put a hand over her navel, perhaps without thinking, and Tobirama could almost see her eyes run red with the Kyuubi’s hatred as it tried to consume her.  How did one overcome something so potent?

“I remember what it was like to love,” she said.  “But it’s impossible without knowing hatred.  Otherwise, you can’t tell the difference.”  Knowing eyes as verdant as the forests her husband raised for them seemed to look right through him.  “Izuna understood that, and I know you do, as well.”

Tobirama clenched a fist at the memory of his late rival.  His enemy.  The only one who had ever understood him.  Darkness may give light a place to shine, but it can never receive the same courtesy in return.  They’d never needed it, anyway.

“I can’t be Hashirama.  I’ll never be like him.”

“You don’t have to be.  Just don’t forget him.  Any of them.”

How could I?

Mito smiled and rose to leave him in peace, but his voice stopped her.

“He was wrong, you know.  The Uchiha’s curse couldn’t be broken in the end.  That’s why I have to do what I’m doing.”

She watched him with an unreadable look in her eyes.  After all that she’d been through with Madara and Hashirama, he supposed she could understand better than most what it meant to live with a curse.  

“You’re wrong.  You succeeded where Hashirama failed.  Stop blaming yourself for saving him.”

He let her go, too stunned to refute her statement.  He could not, just as he could not bring himself to disdain Uchiha Kagami when he saw so much of his uncle in him.  And he wondered if Izuna had seen Konoha, would he have smiled the way he’d smiled in death?

The sun began its descent toward the horizon.  Soon, the fireflies would be out and children would run through the streets to chase them, their laughter filling the air.  Tobirama would watch from the shadows as he always did.  

“You and I have the best view of the light from where we stand in the shadows.”

He sighed, a smile fighting to spread.  It was easy to imagine Izuna next to him here, his silent companion in the darkness even now.  He never really was alone in the end.

“Yes, we do.”

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 31

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 31 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 31/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

[A/N - We’re moving into the series finale. I think I’m keeping Elise with the Doctor instead of sending her off with River to the TARDIS.]

The Doctor and Elise arrived home as a cat was coming down the stairs.

“Have you been upstairs?” the Doctor asked the cat, “Yes?” He sat down and started petting the cat as he talked to it. “You can do it. Show me what's up there? What's behind that door? Try to show me.”

Elise stroked the cat’s soft fur and smiled, feeling it purr underneath her hand.

“Oh, but that doesn't make sense. Ever see anyone go up there? Lots of people? Good, good. What kind of people?” the Doctor asked.

The cat meowed.

“People who never came back down. Oh, that's bad. That's very bad.”

The door to flat opened and Craig stood there.

“Oh, hello,” the Doctor said.

“I can't take this anymore. I want you to go,” Craig told him.

The Doctor got up, leaving the cat and Elise on the steps.

The cat crawled into Elise’s lap as she scratched it behind the ears.

The cat scurried off as it heard the door open.

It was Sophie. “Oh, hello Elise”, she said.

“Please can you help me?” a voice asked.

Elise turned around and saw a little girl standing at the top of the stairs.

That was weird. Didn’t Craig say a man lived upstairs? Was this his daughter? Niece? Granddaughter?

“Hi,” Sophie said.

“Please, will you help me?”

“What's the matter, my love? Help you?” Sophie walked past Elise to go up the stairs.

“No,” Elise whispered, but Sophie didn’t hear her. Elise got up and followed Sophie.

Downstairs in the Doctor’s room, the Doctor and Craig heard a loud crash come from upstairs.

“People are dying up there? People are dying. People are dying. People are dying,” Craig repeated as another time loop started.

“Amy,” the Doctor said.

“They're being killed.”

“Someone's up there.”

The Doctor and Craig ran into the foyer and started up the stairs. “Hang on.”

Craig turned around and saw Sophie’s keys in the flat door.

“Craig, come on. Someone's dying up there.”

“Sophie. It's Sophie that's dying up there! It's Sophie!” Craig yelled, “Where's Sophie?”

The Doctor stopped at the door. “Wait, wait.” His hearts sped up as he realized Elise was no longer on the stairs or in the flat. “Elise. Where’s Elise? Amy? Just going in. Of course I can be upstairs.” The Doctor soniced the door open and they were standing in a timeship.

“What? What?” Craig asked.

“Oh. Oh, of course. The time engine isn't in the flat, the time engine is the flat. Someone's attempt to build a TARDIS,” the Doctor said.

“No, there's always been an upstairs.”

“Has there? Think about it.”

“Yes. No. I don't…”

“Perception filter. It's more than a disguise. It tricks your memory.”

There was a scream and Sophie was being pulled towards the center console. Elise was holding onto her jacket, trying to pull her away.

“Sophie! Sophie! Oh, my God, Sophie!” Craig yelled.

“Craig,” she said.

“Elise!” the Doctor yelled, finally seeing her.

Craig ran over to Sophie and grabbed her arm, trying to stop her.

“It's controlling her, Sophie. It's willing her to touch the activator,” the Doctor said.

“That's not going to have her,” Craig told him.

Sophie’s hand landed on the circular control.

The Doctor used his sonic screwdriver. “Ah, deadlock seal!”

“You've got to do something!” Craig yelled.

The control let go of Sophie’s hand and she fell back away from it.

“What? Why's it let her go?” the Doctor asked. He walked away from Craig, Sophie, and Elise as a man appeared.

“You will help me,” he said.

“Right. Stop. Crashed ship, let's see. Hello, I'm Captain Troy Handsome of International Rescue. Please state the nature of your emergency,” the Doctor said.

“The ship has crashed. The crew are dead. A pilot is required.”

“You're the emergency crash program. A hologram. What, you've been luring people up here so you can try them out?” The Doctor soniced the hologram and it flickered between the old man, a young man, and the young girl.

“You will help me. You will help me. You will help me.”

“Craig, what is this? Where am I?” Sophie asked, waking up.

“Hush,” the Doctor told her, “Human brains aren't strong enough, they just burn. But you're stupid, though. You just keep trying.”

“Seventeen people have been tried. Six billion four hundred thousand and twenty six remain.”

“Seriously, what is going on?” Sophie asked.

“Oh, for goodness sake. The top floor of Craig's building is in reality an alien space ship intent on slaughtering the population of this planet. Any questions? No, good.”

“Yes, I have questions.”

“The correct pilot has now been found,” the autopilot said.

“Yes, I was a bit worried that you were going to say that.” The Doctor started to be pulled towards the center console.

Elise got up and ran over to him, grabbing him around the waist but it was no use. Both of them were being pulled towards the console. If he was going, she was going with him.

“The correct pilot has been found. The correct pilot has been found. The correct pilot has been found,” the autopilot repeated.

“It's pulling me in. I'm the new pilot. No, I'm way too much for this ship. My hand touches that panel, the planet doesn't blow up, the whole solar system does.” The Doctor’s hand was nearly touching the controls.

“The correct pilot has been found.”

“No. Worst choice ever, I promise you. Stop this. It doesn't want everyone. Craig, it didn't want you.”

“I spoke to him and he said I couldn't help him.”

“It didn't want Sophie before but now it does. What's changed? Argh. No. No, I gave her the idea of leaving. It's a machine that needs to leave. It wants people who want to escape. And you don't want to leave, Craig. You're Mister Sofa Man. Craig, you can shut down the engine. Put your hand on the panel and concentrate on why you want to stay.”

“Craig, no,” Sophie told him.

“Will it work?” Craig asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Is that a lie?”

“Of course it's a lie!”

“It's good enough for me. Geronimo!” Craig slammed his hand down on the control panel.

The Doctor was released and he stumbled back.

Elise let go of him as he ran over Craig, who was now on his knees.

“Craig!” Sophie yelled.

Smoke was rising from Craig’s hand.

“Craig, what's keeping you here? Think about everything that makes you want to stay here. Why don't you want to leave?” the Doctor asked him, slapping him for good measure.

“Sophie. I don't want to leave Sophie. I can't leave Sophie. I love Sophie.”

“I love you, too, Craig, you idiot.” Sophie slammed her hand down on top of Craig’s.

“Honestly, do you mean that?”

“Of course I mean it. Do you mean it?”

“I've always meant it. Seriously though, do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“What about the monkeys?”

“Oh, not now, not again. Craig, the planet's about to burn. For God's sake, kiss the girl!” the Doctor yelled.

Craig and Sophie kissed, the control panel letting go of Craig’s hand.

Elise’s nose wrinkled in disgust as she watched the adults kiss.

“Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me,” the autopilot repeated as it flickered in and out.

“Big no,” the Doctor said.

“Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.”

“Did we switch it off?” Craig asked.

“Emergency shutdown. It's imploding. Everybody out, out, out!” the Doctor yelled.

Sophie, Craig, the Doctor, and Elise ran out of the flat just in time to see the timeship fly away.

A man walked by carrying a child.

“Look at them. Didn't they see that? The whole top floor just vanished,” Craig said.

“Perception filter. There never was a top floor,” the Doctor told him.

They went back inside the flat.

The Doctor cleaned up the room they had been staying in as Elise packed up her stuff into her backpack.

When they came out into the living, Sophie and Craig were kissing on the couch.

The Doctor turned away from them and left his keys on the table by the door.

“Oi,” Craig said, getting up from the couch.

“What, you're trying to sneak off?” Sophie asked.

“Yes, well, you were sort of busy,” the Doctor told them.

Craig picked up the keys and held them out to the Doctor. “I want you to keep these.”

“Thank you. Because I might pop back soon, have another little stay.”

“No, you won't. I've been in your head, remember. I still want you to keep them.”

“Thank you, Craig.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Sophie. Now then. Six billion four hundred thousand and twenty six people in the world. That's the number to beat.”

“Yeah,” Sophie said. She looked down at Elise. “Be good for your father, okay? You’ll have to invite us to your art show when you’re older.”

Elise smiled and nodded.

The Doctor took her hand and they left. They walked back down to the park where the TARDIS had landed.

Elise took off running towards the blue box. She stroked the blue door and smiled, feeling her hum underneath her fingertips.

Amy threw open the door and scooped Elise up. Elise giggled as Amy kissed her cheeks. “Did you have fun?” Amy asked.

Elise nodded. She had enjoyed her alone time with the Doctor, but she had also missed Amy.

Amy put Elise down and she hurried off to her room to unpack. She pulled out a TARDIS shaped diary (courtesy of the TARDIS herself) and went to work documenting their adventure.

[chainofbeing]

A warlord attempts to make a deal.

Narration: David Charles

Shadow-of-Death: Samuel-Alejandro D. Fuentes (who heads laughably dapper)

Hakan Abasiyanik: David Orión (who creates Dos: after you)

Velanedd: Kathryn Stanley (who does acting and sound with dramatically dapper)

Writing and Sound design: Cai Gwilym Pritchard

An Extra Special thanks to our patrons

Theresa Shiban

Anthony Hyde

Zachary Fortais-Gomm

email us at chainofbeingofficial@gmail.com

follow the podcast on twitter @chainofbeing

Subscribe to the patreon for exclusive content and rewards!

and check out Glass Letters! A story about loneliness, connection, and letters in bottles. Brought to you from an island in the middle of nowhere

[the sounds of light chatter, people smoking and drinking, strong winds and birdcalls can be made out faintly]

“I’ve always loved ancient human texts. I find the written languages to be so… beautiful. The spoken languages are hideous. All that splattering and hot air ‘walsh glug bubble bleh’. It pains me to use it now but without it you wouldn’t be able to understand my words” the malgaric stands up from his throne, bright, harsh sunlight from the surrounding desert filters through the slats in the ceiling and onto the bound and gagged face of a human, beaten and bloody, the oval room is filled with thugs, dacoits and bandits, who stand and watch, drinking and muttering inaudibly to each other. “But written down? It’s magical, I’ve always thought so. And One day I read this quote… this is many many years ago mind you: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; I thought it must be fate, I mean, there it was: ‘shadow-of-death’ my name right there in a text that was written long before humans even realised they weren’t the centre of the universe. Well- I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my lights shine a little brighter,” The human’s face does not change, he stares at the Malgaric with a consistent hateful expression. The Malgaric walks down the short set of carpeted stairs and crouches down in front of the human. The walls are lined with various trophies, Veatorian tapestries, human sculptures. Hass jewelry and various flags and cloaks ripped from council forces hang from the rafters and walls, all a messy display of wealth and power. Shadow-of-death leans in so the red lights of his body reflect on the skin of the human. A set of sharp blades hover below each ear, “Now, human. I’ve been told that you-” the Malgaric pushes a finger into the humans shoulder, who winces in pain “-are part of a group who are the direct descendants of some humans who stayed behind in their stellar system. Now I don’t know if you know, but out here? Human artefacts are rarer than a white Berstowe,” the Malgaric laughs to himself but notices the human does not react “Ah of course, you wouldn’t get the reference,” the Malgaric takes one of the blades from his ears and severs the gag that is tied around the humans mouth “your name, I don’t want refer to you just as ‘human’” The human peers into the Malgarics bright wide eyes “my name is Hakan Abasiyanik,” “Well Hakan, the way I see it, your little group of stubborn rebels probably have the best chance of having some of the more... rare texts I covet so highly. So I ask this of you: return to your people and tell them that the great Shadow-of-Death offers a trade, ignore the council's claims of violent warlordism, we are more than peaceful to our partners. I want old earth texts, I offer much in return, I have amassed a great deal of wealth in my time, I am sure we can reach some kind of deal. Will you do this for me?” “I’ll tell you, you metallic fuck, that the Anthronesians would rather be eradicated right down to the last soldier than work with any species other than human, you might as well slaughter me now, we would never let you get your filthy hands on-” Shadow-of-Death draws an antique Malgaric sidearm and fires a centimetre thick cone of an osmium-tungsten alloy into Hakan’s forehead. An incredibly eccentric and expensive way to dispatch someone, but it made for a good story (and even better rumors), all you had to do was plant the seeds and soon enough there’d be myths and legends about you for years to come. Being a warlord took branding more than anything these days, any half cocked jumped up idiot with a rifle and a crew could stake a claim to some planet and shoot at potential visitors. It requires real finesse to be remembered for it. Shadow-of-Death presses a switch and a hatch opens up beneath the still warm Hakan, who tumbles down the side of the mountain that the compound is built into. Shadow peers down as it slowly closes. He looks up to one of his lieutenants. “Shouldn’t there be more bodies down there?” he says in Dŵrian “We’ve, uh- we’ve been disposing of them. Sir,” his lieutenant, a Dŵrian, says “Drop all that ‘sir’ shit,” “Sorry si-, sorry, a habit from the military,” “I don’t care, why have you been removing the bodies?” “The entrance to the compound, is- just around the corner, and the smell can get hard to stomach,” “Did I not watch you disembowel that Nimonean soldier the other day?” “Yeah, but, I didn’t have to live near the mess,” Shadow-of-Death crosses his arms and harrumphs “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you-” “I’m not upset, it's just, I had this trapdoor built and I’m annoyed that- ok so maybe I am upset, more at myself really. I’m not normally this short sighted,” “We could build a slide? Redirect the bodies further away?” “A slide?” “No, you’re right that’s stupid,” “I didn’t say that,” “Really? Could it work?” “No it is stupid I just didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth,” “Yes, sorry,” The warlord looks to a Veatorian, dressed in animal skins with a large machine gun slung at her side “Sapriech, take Velanedd and your forces, find that human’s camp, eradicate it. If they won’t play nice we’ll take what we want by force,” he says in Veatorian The Dŵrian and Veatorian leave and Shadow-of-Death goes over to his throne and slumps down, his old body not moving as gracefully as it once did. He rests an elbow on the throne's armrest and watches his warriors file out of the room. He sits in a room full of trophies, on a mountain that belongs to him, surrounded by scores of people who would die in his name, and feels empty. He leans back and rests his head on a hand. “This place needs a tv,”

[conneko]

Sneak peek at another rk1k hunger games AU

—

They find a cave, crouched low enough in the bushes that people might overlook them when visibility is low, if they're lucky enough. Connor helps Markus lie down, and Markus winces at every step. His movements are stuttered, stiff and staggered. The cut around his face crusts with a mix of dried blood and dirt, and his breathing has gone heavier than the humidity of the forest.

His wound bleeds a raging dark red, torn open like the mouth of the cave itself. Connor finds a broken piece of fabric in Markus's satchel and wraps it around his thigh, careful despite Markus's winces. 

"You should have focused on gaining more sponsors before this," Connor scolds. "Charming the public is good and all, but it doesn't help you in the arena."

Markus tries to lift himself up to sitting position and he flinches. "I doubt... ah, I doubt they'd let the sponsors hand out endless vats of medicine willy-nilly."

"Still," Connor says, pulling on his bandages a little too tightly. "You should have tried."

"Connor." Markus grasps his hands. "I can hear your nerves from here. I’ll be okay. I've had worse."

"That doesn't make it better, Markus."

"We'll figure something out," Markus says, rubbing his thumb back and forth. "We've gotten this far, haven't we?"

Markus is dangerous, Connor knows, Markus is unbelievably dangerous is how persuasive and damn bright he can be in the darkest situations. It’s his stupid resolve and charisma. Bludgeoned by the sheer hope in Markus's eyes, Connor slumps his shoulders, conceding into his touch.

Markus gives a small smile, a small quirk on his lips. He kisses Connor's hand and pull him to lie beside him, holding him close and burying soothing noises into his hair. 

Injured to the literal bone, and Markus is still trying to comfort him. Connor wishes they'd met outside the games. Although, realistically, outside the games, they would have probably never met at all. Here, they're restricted by the cameras; every movement kept under watch; every word filtered in hopes that the Capitol won't find them too offensive. 

Connor wants all of Markus's honesty; all of his thoughts and his memories. He doesn't want the diplomatic Markus that comes out when his eyes pass the brush around them. He wants the Markus that comes out in moment like these—where they can pretend that there's nothing in their bubble but the two of them. 

He won't ask about his family and friends, like Markus won't ask him about his either. Instead, Connor brushes his hands over Markus's chest, and bundles his head closer to where Connor can hear his heartbeat. 

"When did you start painting?" Connor asks. "Do you think you're good at it?"

“I like to think that I am,” Markus says. “Although, I don’t get to do it as often as I liked. And that’s a funny way of asking if I enjoyed it.”

Connor almost pinches him. “You know what I mean. If you’re good at it, then surely you’d enjoy it.”

“Spoken like a true Careers.”

Connor does pinch him this time. Softly, though, and Markus stifles his laughter.

"My adopted father taught me," Markus says. "He taught me how to play the piano too."

I love him very much, Markus doesn't say, but he does squeeze Connor's hand hard enough for the message to come through.

“What about you? What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“As in, hobbies?” Connor frowns. “My brother and I trained often.”

“Oh,” Markus says. “Your twin, right? Do you two get along?”

It’s like a switch has been flipped, and a dam spills open. A flood of despair crashes into him, at the thought that he might never see Nines and Amanda again. This is what he’s been preparing for all his life, and yet, it also isn’t. He loves them and he wants to see them again. Yet, that would mean wining the games, and Markus being dead.  That’s something he doesn’t want to delve any deeper.

Connor can tell that Markus already regrets asking his question, his hands running apologetically down Connor’s back. His silence said too much, but then, the Capitol had already held them for ransom. Connor rubs his hips in an attempt at comfort.

“Yes,” Connor says. “I miss him. And my mother.”

And so time passes, hidden in between silent whispers delivered between private touches. Then, Connor can hear it—the synthetic chirping of a parachute making itself known. 

"I'll get that," Connor says. "Stay here." 

The longer he takes, the more it will attract unwanted attention. Regretfully, he slips Markus's arms off himself and he heads crouches out the cave with his knives drawn. Once Connor has retrieved the parachute from a tree branch, Connor opens the gifts and finds a note tucked in. 

Tell lover boy I said 'hi' - Hank

Connor almost smiles. Markus's charm strikes again and his mentor's right; if they keep this up, they might get more sponsorship later on.

"What you've got there?" Markus says, pushing himself to sit up. 

"Soup," Connor says, twisting the container open and uncapping the spoon. "Stop moving so fast. I've got this."

"Connor." Markus sighs and reaches for the food. "I'm not going to let you feed me." 

Connor stops him with one hand on his chest. "That's exactly what you're going to do. It's the only reason I'm letting you sit up. It's better for digestion, this way."

Markus sighs again, but he does bundle his bag behind his back. The soup is a clear broth which chunks of carrots, chicken, and thin slices of sausages in it. It's on the simpler side in Connor's opinion. It takes Markus effort to chew the substantial bits of the soup down, but from the hunger that folds his face, Connor knows that this is one of the most decadent meal he's had in his life. 

"What are those red thing?" Markus asks between his chewing. 

“What thing?” Connor tilts his head. He spoons up a slice of sausage. "This one?"

"Yeah," Markus says. "They're... It tastes like wild turkey. But it doesn't as well. It’s so… salty."

"Oh," Connor says. "They're Frankfurt sausages. These ones are a little non-traditional and commercialized, since they're only a mixture of pork and beef."

"Amazing," Markus says. "My friends and I would've taken so many tesserae for a piece of those."

Connor hesitates. "Have you taken many of those?" Connor asks, angling the spoon so Markus could have a better bite. "Tesserae?"

Markus thinks on his reply which he chews. "You'd struggle to find anyone who hasn't done it at least twice a year," he says with food still in his mouth. 

Amanda would be appalled at his manners. For some reason, the observation only makes Markus more endearing to Connor. 

“And if you were alone?”

“Then you find people,” Markus says. “You find your family there.”

Markus says it like it’s easy. Like it’s the norm for people to be taking strangers in and treating them like family. 

"I would take one for Carl and Leo," Markus says. "Then when Josh, North and Simon came to live with us, we were fortunate enough to be considered a family. So we could take an extra Tessera for each person."

"That's... quite a lot of odds to be putting in."

"But if everyone's increasing the number of times they're entered, then the probability roughly stays the same. I think was at 39 at the last reaping."

A laugh escapes from Connor. "I'm not sure that's how it exactly works," Connor says. “But I guess you’re right, more or less.”

Markus shrugs. "Math was never my best subject."

Connor is about to ask about what other things they teach in District 12 when a booming voice cuts through their conversation. 

"Attention Tributes. Attention.” 

Markus almost chokes on his soup, and Connor rubs a hand on his back as he bends over coughing.

"Commencing at sunrise. There'll be a feast tomorrow at the Cornucopia."

Connor snaps into attention.

"However, this will be no ordinary occasion," the announcer says, a little slyly. "Each of you need something... desperately and we plan to be generous hosts."

Markus jolts forward catching his elbow before Connor could move. "You're not going," he says. 

"It's your medicine," Connor says. "Of course, I am."

Markus's hold tightens. "Connor, don't. You can't go alone."

"Markus, you can't even stand without flinching."

"Connor, I'm serious," Markus says, and his eyes are pleading. "You can't just--you can't just risk your life for me. I won't let you."

"There's nothing you can't do to stop me."

"I'm not letting you die for me!" 

"Markus—"

"No, Connor," Markus says, jerky and desperate as he’s never been before. "Listen to me. You go out there alone, and you'd get slaughtered. They've made it clear that the Cornucopia's a target, and you don't even have a ranged weapon."

"I can throw my knives."

"Faster than an archer with a bow?”

“If they can spot me. That’s why I need to scout the area and set up traps.”

“You won’t be the only one to think of that strategy.”

“I know,” Connor says. “It’s still the best chance for us to keep track of everyone in the area.”

“Connor, please,” Markus says. “Don’t risk yourself like that. It’s not worth it.”

Connor chews on his lip. "Markus. You haven't even finished your food." 

"And this!" Markus waves up and down. "You don't owe me anything. I saved your life, but you've already more or less saved mine. Why are you doing all this?"

They're locked in a standoff. Markus's eyes are brighter and more demanding in the darkness of their cave than they did in the daylight.

They're not even from the same district. There was already no way both of them could come out of this alive. Markus is wounded and if Connor was smart—if Connor was still playing the game as he should, as someone worthy of his District—he’d slit Markus's throat now and lay out a trap at the Cornucopia. Everyone there would do the same, if they're smart, but Connor can be smarter. He just needs the jumpstart time to plan ahead. 

But he doesn't do any of that. For once, he doesn't want to do what's expected of him. 

“We don’t have a lot of time left,” Connor says carefully.

Markus grimaces. “I know.”

“Why is it so bad, then, that I want to spend what little time I have left with you?”

That seems to stop Markus short.

Connor puts the soup aside, safe in its closed container, and leans over slowly. He hovers, just as his lips is about to touch Markus's. He looks up from Markus's lips, categorizing each freckle which dots his cheeks, and the slashes carved on his temple.

"Can I?" Connor asks quietly. 

Swallowing, Markus nods, and Connor leans in, pressing their lips together. 

Markus tastes like soup, Connor distantly notes, a wave of giddiness and warmth blasting through his bones like the recoil of a force field. He tilts his head, testing for a better angle before softly pulling away.

"Oh," Connor says quietly. He brushes Markus's bottom lip  with the tip of his index finger. "I've never done that before."

Markus laughs, and it's a soft puff of air fluttering on his skin. "Finally," he says. "Something I know more about than you do."

Connor sneaks a quick peck on his lips. "If you did," Connor says, brushing his thumb over Markus’s chin. "You didn't show it."

“That’s not fair,” Markus says. “I’m injured.”

Which reminds Connor all the more of current their situation. His dopey smile drips and he can see Markus mirror him. 

Markus tugs him by his elbow, closer until he can rest his forehead onto Connor’s. He closes his eyes and his presses in, and if Connor doesn’t want to fall back, he has to press in as well. For some reason, Connor finds the balance soothing.

“All the more reason I can’t let you go,” Markus mumbles. “Please stay here. Stay here with me. We’ll work something out. I promise you we will.”

Connor knows Markus isn’t the type to hand out empty promises as assurance. They’re not empty promises, of course, if he wills them into existence, and Markus is stubborn enough to make it a reality. It’s almost as potent as his kindness and courage. Yet he knows himself so well, knows the line tips into the ruthless and practical side of himself. Everything about Markus draws Connor in like a flame. Everything about Markus hits like a drop of dye unfolding in a bed of water.

But with a cut that deep, it’s only a matter of time before infection starts creeping away at his skin. And then Markus will be a sitting duck, shaky with his fever, while the whole arena sniffs at his trail. It’s not like Connor plans to leave Markus if they ever get to that point, but he’ll have to for brief periods of time. Food and water won’t fetch themselves, after all.

“Okay,” Connor lies, running his hands up Markus’s arms. “Okay, I’ll stay. Can you at least finish your food first?”

“I’ve already had a lot,” Markus says. “Have some with me.”

“It’s your food, Markus,” he says. “From a sponsor. Guess I spoke too quickly on that, huh?”

“No reason it can’t be shared. I’ll have some if you have some.”

Markus moves himself back, and even though they’re more colour on his face, the act of eating has taken a lot out of him.  Even still, he looks at Connor expectantly after he takes a spoonful, and he doesn’t stop until Connor sips at the broth himself and almost sighs from how his stomach curls in happiness. 

No sickness can keep Markus and his stubborn will of steel down, it seems. 

He stays awake long enough to tug Connor onto his chest. As soon as Connor arranges his limbs, so that he wouldn’t budge Markus’s wound, Markus’s breathing evens out into long, deep, soothing beats which lulls Connor on the edge as well. 

He’ll doze until just before sunrise, Connor decides. That will give him enough time to slip out, and plan what he’ll be doing at Cornucopia.

—

“Oh, Markus,” Carl says tiredly. “What have you done?”

They had watched in silence and bated breath like the rest of the world. Connor leaned in and Markus leaned in back, and the kiss was terrifying—the kiss was hesitant, and tender, and so unflinchingly real that Carl’s heart already aches for what lies ahead as the number of tributes dwindle down.

“Always said he had more heart than brains,” North says, thinning her lips.

“He’ll have somebody watching his back though,” Simon says. “A Careers, as well. That’s more than what we hoped for.”

“That’s just it, Simon. What’s going to happen when there’s only the two of them left?” Josh asks.

“Then Connor will probably kill himself,” Simon says bluntly. “If his feelings are true, that is. That’s our best bet for getting Markus back. If his feelings are faked then…”

“Markus would never let him do that,” Josh says.

Simon shrugs. “Markus doesn’t need to know.”

“Markus is smarter than you’re giving him credit for, Simon,” North says. “And I don’t think that Connor’s faking it. Else, he would’ve just killed Markus then and there while he’s incapacitated.”

“They’re not faking it,” Carl says, eyes still on the TV. “Trust the eye of an old artist, my child. Even seasoned actors would struggle to replicate what they have.”

Markus is starting to get feverish, shivering and turning in his sleep. Jolted, Connor blinks awake. Then, they watch as, half-asleep, Connor rearranges the jackets Markus kicked away, and falls back into his dozing.

Markus turns into him, seeking the warmth of his body.

“Oh, Markus,” North says, echoing his words from earlier. “What have you done?”

[guccilan]

Dimples Pt. 2

Part 2 of the “Lan Bros with dimples prompt” for @dutchcementmixer from discord

[Part 1]

[On AO3]

I headcanon LXC as a gremlin elder brother (who acts like a poised gentlemen in front of everyone else) who learned how to tease LWJ and cause mischief from their mother, you can’t change my mind.

***** The idea was this:

Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan look very similar + Lan Xichen has a dimple on his right cheek when he smiles a certain way = Lan Zhan has dimples.

The problem, Wei Wuxian realized as he scampered through the grounds in search of his husband, was that Lan Xichen had smiled rather widely before the dimples had appeared. Lan Zhan hardly ever smiled, and when he did so, it was the smallest upturn of his lips, warm and lovely as sunlight, as secret as the sunbeams filtering through the mists of the Cloud Recesses, a small flash just for him, love shining softly through eyes like colored glass and-

Wei Wuxian tripped. 

So, he thought, smiling widely in thanks at a passing disciple who had attempted to help him up, Lan Zhan will have to smile widely. 

Never mind the Xuanyu of Slaughter, his initial fall into the Burial Grounds, the Sunshot Campaign, living in the Burial Grounds or even everything after his rebirth. This was going to be his biggest challenge yet.

Attempt the impossible. 

Oh, this is going to be fun. 

*****

This was not fun.

Wei Wuxian had tried everything under the sun and stars to get Lan Zhan to smile widely. 

He’d made every stupid joke he knew, had rolled around on the ground whining and teasing and had gained, at most, a “ridiculous” paired with a soft, warm gaze. 

He’d even attempted to tickle his husband, but that had quickly led to…Distractions from his Mission. 

At last, desperate and at the edge of losing all hope, Wei Wuxian had recounted every embarrassing story Lan Xichen had told him about Lan Zhan, hoping that such fun stories and his own joyful laughter would allow him a glimpse of the potential treasure he coveted.

Too late, Wei Wuxian remembered that he was rather unique in being able to laugh at himself and brush off most embarrassments shamelessly. Too late, he remembered Lan Zhan was a younger brother.

*****

Lan Wangji did not smile. 

Lan Wangji, being a mature and self-assured adult, did not particularly feel embarrassed at stories of his childhood, recognizing that children are inherently prone to mistakes and silly behavior. However, for all that he was a mature adult, a war veteran, and a senior disciple of one of the great sects, he was also a younger brother, and he did not appreciate teasing from his elder brother, who clearly had too much time on his hands if he was telling embarrassing stories to Wangji’s husband. 

(Nevermind that Wei Ying clearly adored hearing about his childhood antics, rolling around the ground in boisterous laughter. Nevermind that this gave him more fodder for teasing Wangji, which Wangji would deny liking with his last breath, treasuring it all the same.)

Between siblings, this was an act of war.

*****

So here they were. 

Lan Zhan, having taken a break from sect duties, had joined Wei Wuxian and Lan Xichen for their daily tea together. 

Lan Zhan glowered at his brother. His tea sat untouched in front of him.

Lan Xichen hid a smile behind his teacup, eyes twinkling. 

Wei Wuxian fidgeted in his seat, chewing on a sweet.

Surely, this awkward atmosphere between the brothers would break soon?! Wei Wuxian didn’t know how much more he could handle.

Lan Zhan spoke.

“Brother, do you recall when you were ten, you walked into the class covered in mud?” he said, a triumphant light gleaming in his eyes.

Lan Xichen smiled gently, bloodlust gleaming in his.

“Yes,” he agreed, “I’d had to jump down an empty well during a storm after you, because you thought you’d seen a rabbit trapped in there. It turned out to be some fabric blown in by the wind, didn’t it?”

Lan Zhan twitched subtly in his seat.

Lan Xichen smiled and took another sip of tea.

Wei Wuxian slumped down. They’d been going back and forth like this for a good hour now, and Lan Zhan had gained no ground. Lan Xichen clearly held the advantage here.

Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Zhan, begging his husband with his eyes to concede defeat. This was a hopeless battle. Elder siblings always remembered more and had better ammunition. He would know. Jiang Yanli, when she was willing to shed her usual kind and sweet nature, had been a menace.

Lan Zhan stubbornly readied himself for another attempt. 

Wei Wuxian, mouth dry with fear, took his first sip of the tea that had been sitting in front of him – and almost spat it right out. This was the blend from Qinghe? He’d have to send a message to Nie Huaisang – if the sect leader didn’t already know about the tea blend that was, no doubt, currently single-handedly destroying his region’s recovering and fragile reputation, someone had to inform him.

Lan Zhan made his move. “Hmm. Do you recall spending days in the healer’s hall because you consumed poisonous berries we had been taught to recognize?”

“Ah. Yes, that was rather unfortunate, wasn’t it? But how could I have resisted? You hadn’t been taught to recognize them yet, and had spent so long gathering them for me. How could I have resisted when you broke into such pitiful tears when I first refused?”

This was a massacre. 

Lan Zhan could be stubborn, but this situation was beyond saving. Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to break into the battle, when he saw his savior approaching them.

Lan Qiren.

Wei Wuxian had never before felt overwhelming joy at seeing the elder, but today was a very strange day indeed. He smiled widely at his uncle-in-law and was completely ignored. That was alright. The brothers would behave in front of their uncle. He was saved.

They stood up to greet him, bowing in utmost propriety, and then sat back down.

Lan Qiren began asking Lan Zhan about the morning meetings, asking for Lan Xichen’s opinions and recommendations as they poured him a cup of tea. Wei Wuxian, having just tasted the travesty that tried to pass itself as tea, and currently feeling immense gratitude for the elder, opened his mouth to spare Lan Qiren what would surely be intense torture.

Lan Xichen glanced at him. His eyes promised death.

Wei Wuxian snapped his mouth closed and meekly sat back.

“Xichen, this isn’t the… tea that we tasted yesterday, is it?” Lan Qiren asked. 

“No, Uncle,” said Lan Xichen. Wei Wuxian stared at him. Lan Xichen met his eyes and hid a small grin behind his cup of tea, which – Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes as a breeze flowed over them. Lan Xichen’s tea smelled different from what he had served Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan, and now Lan Qiren.

Now, Lan Qiren was by no means a fool. He had not managed to cover up one of the Lan Clan’s biggest scandals, run the sect for years, and raise his nephews to be bright, talented, good, and hardworking men with only luck. Even now, he learned from his mistake, confirming that the tea was the sort safe for consumption, and not the disgusting concoction he’d had the misfortune of partaking in, a few days ago. Lan Qiren was not a fool. But he was ever trusting of his nephews, and therein lay his biggest mistake. He nodded and took a sip.

His eyes bugged out of his face.

His cheeks puffed, torn between spitting out the revolting tea and swallowing it to save face.

His face turned an alarming shade of red as he ceased breathing for a long, long moment.

Wei Wuxian could take it no more. He burst into manic laughter as Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji rushed to aid their uncle, who was slowly turning purple with stupefied horror and lack of air. He laughed as Lan Qiren finally lost the battle and spat out his tea over the front of his robes, Lan Xichen expressing his apologies because he must have mixed up the tea blends, he apologized deeply, Uncle. He laughed until tears streamed from his eyes as Lan Qiren excused himself and hurriedly left, coughing and glaring death at Wei Wuxian.

He was still hiccupping with laughter, coming down from the high, when the Lan brothers sat down and stared at each other. After a moment, Lan Xichen broke into bright laughter, tossing his head back, more carefree than anyone had seen him in many, long years.

Lan Wangji stared at his husband, who was hiccupping and holding his sides. He turned and stared at his brother, who was laughing bright and loud. And Wangji thought, for just a moment, that he could see the figure of a woman sitting by his two beloved people, giving him a teasing smile as his brother, finally quieting his laughter, and turning, gave him the exact same smile–

Wei Wuxian looked up and saw, just to the side of Lan Zhan’s now widely upturned lips, almost hidden in the curve of his right cheek, the smallest indentation he had ever seen. 

Wei Wuxian had just caught his breath before he lost it again, seeing a dimple- a dimple- on his husband’s face, the widest smile that had ever graced Lan Zhan’s jade face nearly blinding him. It was as though the gods themselves, stunned and enamored as he was, had descended from the heavens to press a reverent hand to Lan Zhan’s radiant smile, leaving behind a dimple.

Wei Wuxian choked.

Wei Wuxian choked, and dimly heard Lan Xichen urging him to drink something as a cup was shoved into his hand. Too late, he heard the undercurrent of glee in his brother-in-law’s voice, and nearly choked again as he tasted that revolting drink, his eyes tearing as his body protested the substance. That was alright. He hardly registered the taste. He was stunned by beauty of that dimple, the beaming force of that wide smile that was still—that was still—on Lan Zhan’s face.

Lan Xichen had made him suffer a great many things today, from humiliation to drinking what must surely be poison, but as Wei Wuxian looked over at him, he hoped his eyes conveyed his gratitude. Lan Xichen, teasing smile softening in affection, nodded at him.

“Brother,” Lan Zhan said, getting up to leave, smile gone, but eyes warm and fond.

“Yes, Wangji?” Lan Xichen said cheerfully.

“Lying is forbidden. Please copy the rules once, in handstand.”

Lan Xichen’s laughter followed them all the way down the mountain.

[jjongasarus]

until then

the fourth shinobi war left everlasting scars in the will of fire. the idle, halcyon days of konoha continued, sunshine filled restless streets and sunsets brought about night-lights and fireflies. the peace in konoha had been paved with the blood of fallen comrades, friends, families, and lovers. tranquility was no cure for the nightmares that haunted the veterans who’d cut their nails and gritted their teeth through the grueling months of war. their blood and sweat fertilized the soil that supported the carefree footsteps of the new generation.

other shinobi were able to assimilate well. their footsteps fell in tune with those of the locals, their stories were light and censored in conversation, and their smiles and laughter blended seamlessly into the threshold of new beginnings. other shinobi had successfully crossed the white line into their new lives, leaving behind the memories of the fallen, leaving behind their shades of black and gray for brazenly stitched patches of white. she, however, wasn’t like the other shinobi.

her feet were rooted at the brink of her future tomorrows, at the sunset of her dreams, and every centimeter forward felt like a lifetime of goodbyes and heartache. crossing that line meant abandoning the memories of the fallen, abandoning the shinobi life she’d worked so hard to be a part of. it had engrained itself in her, it was a part of her now; all the limbs she’d severed, all the blood she’d mopped, all the pieces she was able to put back together, and those that fell apart.

her heart ached, her mind was fuzzy, and her eyes were misty with tears stuck between lashes of pink. one heavy sigh and she was out of bed, two more and she was standing beneath a hot stream of water that woke her from her thoughts and prepared her for her day. even if she was standing still, the illusion that she was running forward with an open heart had to be maintained.

she thought of naruto as she walked through the lively streets of konoha. her feet dragged slightly, making lazy stripes in the dirt, but her vision of him was bold and alive. regarded as the hero of the war, the one who’d burdened all the poisons of their cruel shinobi world, consumed them, and made butterflies out of every drop, he mutst’ve been the furthest from the white line. but his smile was brighter than it had ever been, and his hands were steady, and his stride confident and spirited. he breathed new life into their shattered world, and every step he took forward everyone followed in his brilliance. it was blinding for her, she couldn’t keep up, and whenever he glanced back over his shoulder, she’d pretend that her footsteps were in line with his light.

she’d feel guilty sometimes. naruto had endured worlds more than she had, and yet she was the one dragging her feet every morning to the medical ward. she spent the entirety of her days looking after injured civilians and sometimes her hand trembled when administering medication, other times even the smell of blood would churn something unpleasant in her stomach, and sometimes when it was late and silence welcomed the dim halls of the ward, she’d cry for those already months lost.

it was a never-ending cycle that she walked alone. the tail end of the cycle was the most draining; she’d once again drag her feet back down the road, following the pools of light on the ground from the street-lamps like a map, or better yet, like a night light illuminating a peace in the darkness. four more and she’d be at the corner, six more and she’d be at ino’s flower shop, ten more and—

she was abruptly flung out of her thoughts when her downcast head bumped into something hard, but warm. a tiny gasp and clumsy step back later she was lifting her head to apologize to whomever she’d inconvenienced.

“i’m so— oh, sasuke.”

sakura felt a breeze of relief massage away the worry-lines marking her forehead upon realizing it was her teammate that she’d bumped into.

“you should watch where you’re going.”

sakura’s lips picked up into a weary but understanding smile. she sifted a couple fingers back through the strands of pink filtering into her sight of him and laughed out of embarrassment at the situation. her laugh was just as tired as her smile but her embarrassment was genuine, it was an emotion that was practically her twin when dealing with this particular teammate of hers.

“sorry about that. what are you doing out so late anyways?” sakura’s question ended with her eyes flickering up to the sky. thick clouds covered the stars and only through the cracks between them did moonlight manage to peek through. it was certainly late, and she knew sasuke was the type to enjoy the silence of dusk, especially these days when just the mention of the uchiha made people want to shut their windows and lock their doors. it was a filler question, a complete dud at a real conversation, but sakura felt that it was customary.

“i’m taking a walk. do you usually leave the ward so late?”

she shifted most of her weight onto her left foot, leaning into her hip as her hand brushed by the nape of her neck and her eyes distanced themselves from him to the ground. her teeth caught the right corner of her lip and she fiddled with the rosy skin as she pondered her answer. seconds turned to moments and moments turned to memories as she mulled over her response. her body suddenly felt heavy, exhausted, and goosebumps rose on her skin as the feeling of his gaze resting upon her easily unraveled her neatly tied secrets. it felt like the mask she’d been wearing for months, the one that tried so pathetically hard to emulate the happiness of those whose feet moved forward, the one that she’d so shamelessly pitched to naruto as her reality, was crumbling helplessly. she didn’t want to be vulnerable, but she always so predictably and frustratingly fell victim to his presence.

a simple question and yet it had moved her. she didn’t notice when her shoulders slumped or when the silky tresses of her hair fell into her face, strands haphazardly sticking to the wet spots on her cheeks.

“….sakura? you’re—“

“ah, what’s wrong with me these days?” she lifted her head, misty tears marking her face with long stripes that glistened under the warm light of the street lamp. her smile was forced, her teeth were gritted and she was sinking into the nightmares of her past with every second that her eyes remained in contact with his. there was something about that deep eye of his, something that reached into her and like a magnet, attracted everything she’d been trying so desperately hide. it made her sick, disgusted that she was so easily exposed by a simple glance of an eye.

she could feel the stickiness of the blood of strangers connecting her fingers together, making spider-legs of red when pulled apart. she could hear the distant sounds of final breaths, and the staccato of labored ones fizzling out. she could feel the tightness of her muscles, the pounding against her skull as her chakra depleted with everyone she rescued. there was so much blood on her hands; it caked beneath her nails and stained her fingerprints, and she was certain that even the people she’d managed to save could see it too. she envisioned the battlefield; she could smell soot and decay, she could see impressions of battle worn soles and splintering branches promised to the earth with blood, hollow cracks twisting and contorting between debris from broken homes and broken bodies, mapping the earth like veins. she could hear the righteous battle cries of her companions, and the eerie silence when those cries dissipated into the wind and their bodies laid mangled in the dirt. it was all so colorful and so true and every moment she re-stained her consciousness with the memories of old, that white line got further and further away.

sakura rose a hand to her face and brought a knuckle beneath her eye to wipe away her tears. it felt like hours had passed but in reality, only seconds had. he’d remained quiet, watching her with the one eye she’d so helplessly succumbed to. she took a step back and her skin brushed against the cold metal of the street lamp. she glanced up, noticing a triplet of fireflies dancing in the bright of the bulb.

“you feel it too, don’t you?”

her eyes widened a bit at his words. six simple words but they somehow soothed the wound that her memories had recently reopened. he’d always been able to pull something raw from her ever since they were kids. in the past, it was because all her adolescent fantasies and desires were so easily provoked with just a glance in her direction. now, however, there was something about the abyss in his eye, something about that deep, dark shade of nothingness that sent a shiver down her spine, made beads of sweat gather on the back of her neck, and made her fall in deeper. because yes, of course, he was just as pained as she was, if not more.

sasuke knew pain.

no.

he lived it.

every second of every waking moment, he walked within the shadows of his nightmares. the fabric of his reality had been torn apart at the seams in a single, quiet night. he’d walked among slaughtered memories that day, his dreams of forever stained red, laying strewn apart in the dirt and within those pools of glistening blood he’d seen himself; soft skin, healthy cheeks, his breathing making clouds in the crisp, midnight air. he’d seen himself so clearly that night, his reflection bright and full in the crimson sea of everything he’d ever loved. no one could understand his suffering and he’d suffocated in an abyss of loneliness; his lips taut, hands empty, eyes gazing at his peers playing in the threshold of his dreams, past a white line that he’d yet to approach. and even now as the dull light of the streetlamp circled her, its curve neatly avoided him, and there within shades of black and white they stood, so close yet infinities apart.

“y-yeah..” sakura’s lips dipped into a frown and her eyebrows pulled at the middle, as if she was struggling with something difficult. her pains, her anxieties, and her doubts muddled together in her stomach as if it was reacting to him. it was as if the wavelengths of their despair were talking, no, screaming, and everything she was trying to hide was abruptly, violently boiling to the surface. she wanted to cradle her stomach, wince in agony, anything to help soothe herself but she remained still and so did he.

silence.

her vision became blurred with the sea of her tears, pooling in her eyes almost as quickly as they spilled out over her cheeks. she thought of everything the war had taken from her; her innocence, her spirit, her light, and at that very moment it was as if the clouds had parted through her haze of pain and confusion and something clicked. it was subtle, but it was there, a connection she hadn’t noticed before.

it was silent because no words were needed between them, because standing there beneath the flickering light above her head, her green melting into his black, her scars resonating with his, spoke volumes. then suddenly, as if their darkness was too much for the little bulb to handle, the streetlight flickered off and they were left alone with their demons.

“i’m leaving konoha tomorrow.”

their demons danced with each other, hand in hand, twirling and tumbling through the shadows between them. she stepped towards him, her eyes wide and tears flowing freely, caressing the curve of her cheek and puddling into the corner of her mouth. she understood now, she understood why his eye had evoked such a reaction from her.

“at noon i’ll be gone.”

their demons were parading around obnoxiously now, jumping, twirling, dipping and diving between them. she took another step, and then a third, her lips parting just slightly enough for her tongue to peek through and taste the salt on her lower lip. yes, it was all so clear to her now. her stomach stopped churning, her tears stopped flowing, and her wounds were bared raw and naked.

“i don’t know when i’ll be back.”

the demons made way for her, fading into the background tangled in each other’s arms, watching, waiting.

another step and she stood within his own, personal night. it was thick and unbearable, it suffocated her, made her old bruises ache like new and her wounds bleed, but she understood now. her hand rose, fingers trembling and curling inwards slightly before flattening when she pressed her palm against his chest. her head tilted back, tufts of pink hair rolling over her ears, sticking to the cold sweat on her neck as her eyes peered into his. her lips hesitated, her breath hitched, and her lashes fanned over her eyes for a moment. she finally understood that their pain connected them, it connected them on a level she didn’t know existed. it was true, and it was theirs.

“sakura.”

she felt his heart move, like a rock sinking to the bottom of a lake, slow and heavy. she knew he felt it too, that was why when he said her name it was almost strained, fraying at the end into nothing more than a whisper. he was hurt, he’d been hurting, and maybe sakura’s pain could be the company that would medicate his loneliness. perhaps this was the only way for them to connect, through mutual agony, and even if it was bitter at the core, it was a space that only they knew. it was special.

her fingers curled into the stitches of his shirt when she heard her name. his head lowered slightly, the movement briefly exposing the bright purple of his other eye before it was curtained by his hair again. he looked at her, his stare straight and solid while his hand rose to his chest and grasped hers only to lower back to her side. her hand gave in easily, fingers uncurling the moment his hand touched hers, and it rested limply at her side.

“don’t be late.”

sakura felt her pulse quicken a beat and before she could speak, he’d already turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness of the night. he didn’t say goodnight or even goodbye, but that was how they communicated best. silence.

it was just then that the streetlight behind her flickered back on, the fireflies resuming their tapping against the bulb. she looked back over her shoulder and no— they were moths now, crowding around the light hungrily, as if feasting on the only thing that would keep them alive.

it was an invitation that he’d extended to her and she’d agreed without words. she was running away, running away from that white line that marked new beginnings, she was running backwards, backwards towards the pain she’d been trying so hard to forget, away from the exact thing she’d scarred her body trying to achieve, backwards into the shadows of her nightmares.

their grief would dance together again at noon tomorrow, and it would continue to dance through the rivers they’d cross, over mountains they’d climb, and through fields of weeds they’d walk. they would even dance between the shadows of pain and doubt, the very place in which they were born. their screams would be loud, horse, penetrating, but eventually feather out into melodies so soft that even a breeze would drown it out. and it would be then and only then that they’d be able to cross that white line together.

but until then.

[toxickimi]

Ch 3 Day in the Town

After breakfast Azumiral had gathered the four as well as some royal guards to the main entrance. "We will be going to the town square today. Please don't hesitate to purchase anything if you see something you like." "Won't Kimikyo and Kigra join us?" Piper spoke up, causing Azumiral's smile to fade. "Kigra is to be shadowing mother today and..it is forbidden for the young Kimikyo to leave the palace grounds. Now if you'll please." Azumiral turned before Piper spoke back up. "Young? She's twenty years old. She's an adult." Azumiral began to giggle. "Did we not mention this to you? We live thousands of years. She's practically a teenager to us." "Th-thousands...of years?" Piper looked at Azumiral. "We age until we're about twenty-five and then it slows down to an almost halt. Mother is five thousand years old." "What...about you and Kigra?" Preston spoke up, as the group finally began to leave. "Kigra is five hundred and I just turn six hundred and twenty-two not long ago. Kimikyo really is the youngest. Once she turns twenty-one she will be of age. This means she'll be able to marry...if she wants and maybe even unlock her true form." "True form?" Piper walked next to Azumiral. "Yes. What you've seen has been just a training transformation though it is likely she will keep that form there is a small chance it'll change."

As the group walked there was an awkward silence. It dawned on the four visitors they knew nothing of this place. Piper began whispering to Preston, convincing him to get close to Azumiral to learn what he could and Piper would get close to Kimikyo. Soon enough they were at the town square the had shops all around and in the center was a wishing fountain that had a phoenix on the center pillar. "What's with the bird?" Preston walked up to Azumiral as the other wandered around. "That is the phoenix. It's said that it can heal any wound with its tears and antidotes can be made out of its feathers. He breathes this beautiful hue of fire and his wings are powerful enough to put them out. There is only one in the whole world, no one else can turn into the great phoenix." Preston looked up at the statue. "Are there others like him?" Azumiral shook her head. "No just the phoenix...but its been gone for quite some time. No one knows where it is at..." "You called it a him a moment ago...why the sudden pronoun change?" Azumiral looked at the phoenix then at Preston before whispering. "Because he is my brother." She turned walking away to a shop with Preston following behind.

Piper find a book shop that sold note books and pens. She had grabbed a few before going to the check out. "That'd be two silver pieces." "Oh...all I have is this gold piece." The shop keep looked up at her. "That'll do fine." Piper handed the gold to the shop keep who gave her fifteen silver pieces back along with an exchange card. "You're not from around here. This will help you. Each kingdom has different currency and exchange rates. This is ours." "Oh thanks!" Piper took the change and the bag of items with her as she left the shop. She went back to the fountain where Preston and Azumiral were, both having bags in their hands. "Ah, I see you went to the book store." Azumiral smiled at her. "Yea, I got some notebooks and pencils." "If you wanted those, you could have asked. I have plenty extra from the princesses studies." "I'll have to keep that in mind." Piper smiled at Azumiral then looked over to see Danse walking back over to them empty handed. "Did you not find anything?" "There's nothing here that peaked my interest that a single gold piece could buy." Azumiral looked at him curiously. "Oh and what is it that you saw?" "Someone was selling cats but wanted three pieces." Danse led Azumiral over to the person selling the kittens. "I see...Danse, these are lion cubs. Do you truly want one?" Danse had thought for a moment before nodding. "I see. Such a big softy for a serious man." Azumiral pulled out five coins to buy the cub and enough food. "You'll want to speak to Kimikyo when we return. She'll have to show you the animal pens and she'll help you train it." "That would be greatly appreciated."

Maxson had found him self in a weapons shop. He had looked around for some time before seeing a simple knife. He also happened to look over and see a small wolf plush. He placed both on the counter. "That'll be five silvers. Would you like these gift wrapped?" "Just the toy." The shop keep wrapped the plush then placed both in a bag. Maxson soon joined the group. "What's you get?" Piper was trying to take a look in the bag, which annoyed Maxson. "If you need to know, I got a knife." "That makes sense." Piper shrugged it off before the group began walking back to the castle.

Once back at the castle Azumiral excused herself before returning shortly with Kimikyo. "Azumiral said we have a new member to the family?" Danse handed her the cub which caused Maxson to raise his eyebrow at his paladin. "I happen to have a soft spot for cats." "Except this is a lioness, not a simple house cat. You do know this correct?" Kimikyo held the cub while looking at Danse. "I'm aware." "Are you also aware you can't take her back with you?" "You're mother said we were allowed to come and go as we please. If it's alright with you Elder Maxson, may I come back her on my free time?" Maxson stared at Kimikyo though it looked as if he were looking at the cub. "As long as it doesn't interfere with your work soldier." Danse nodded to Maxson before Kimikyo led Danse and anyone else who followed to the animal pen. "This is where we keep the animals. We have seven mythicals and seven normal, well now eight." Kimikyo turned to see only Danse and Maxson. "I'll introduce you guys to the family." She handed Danse back the cub before heading to the animal feeding pen. "This is where we feed them and it looks like Vi and Brohm are here." The brown dire wolf looked up from the carcass it was eating them. "Brohm here is our oldest good boy. He was papa's and is currently going blind. Then there's my good boy. Vi! Come say hi." Creaking could be heard from the rafters as the giant Antilles pinktoe tarantula, the size of a full grown horse, made its way down the walls. "This is Vi and he loves meeting new people." Vi walked over to Danse and Maxson, raising one of its front legs up as if the shake hands.

Maxson hesitated for a long moment before reaching out to the spider. "Very...interesting." Danse tried his best to not show it but he was terrified of what stood before him. "I find him when he was a hatchling, his family was killed by poachers and he was about to die." Vi turned to Kimikyo patting her on the head before climbing back up. "He thinks he's human." She whispered to Maxson, before giggling. "Danse, the cub can come over here for food. It's where all carnivores eat." She led them over to a trough that had bones and meats in it. "You can pull from here while it's a cub but they carnoes do like to just like to dig in. So be careful if there's others here. The food gets refreshed once a day, and is slaughtered fresh daily. The left over meats are cleaned and boiled then sold to the fishermen. It makes great predator bait." She continued walking through the feeding pen. "Over here are for the horses but it looks like they are out for their daily run. Over there is the water hole." She pointed to a large watering tank. "It is filtered and cycled constantly so it's always fresh." The three of them began to leave the feeding pen, Kimikyo remaining silent as she led them to the grounds. "This is the training grounds. You are welcomed to bring the cub here anytime but be careful, Iza does like to be out here at night. He's got a temper and is overly protective. Most of our animals come back at night so over here are the sleeping quarters." She opened the other barn that was on the other end of the grounds. "When the cub gets bigger, you'll have to leave her here. Mama doesn't like large animals in the castle...not after what Rose did..." Kimikyo looked slightly embarrassed before showing Danse to the baby pen. "This is where the babies stay...we haven't had a baby in a while so I'll get it cleaned up for you with new bedding. Any questions?" Kimikyo turned to look at Danse and Maxson. "Who's Rose and what did she do?" Piper had appeared, following them half way through the tour. "Oh she's my black widow. She...she gets excited and chased the captain of the royal guard around wanting to play fetch but all he saw was a giant spider...heh. By the time we found the two Rose had him webbed up and cuddled. Luckily she left his head uncovered." "A...g-giant...sp-spider?" Piper went pale. "Two actually." Kimikyo smiled at Piper before talking to Danse and Maxson. "Currently we house and feed A cobra basilisk, two giant spiders, a griffin, a dragon, three stallions, four mares, and two dire wolves." Kimikyo stepped out of the barn seeing the horses returning with the trainers. "Princess Kimikyo, Ganon has been stubborn today. He really didn't want to listen." Kimikyo sighed, shaking her head. "That's a Friesian for you. I'll take him out riding once I change outfits. You can leave his saddle on." Kimikyo turned to look at the others. "Have you ever rode horses?" "We have none in our land." Kimikyo smiled before nodding. "Can you also leave Ai, Kana and Sky saddled and have a few leads on stand by." Kimikyo turned to the group before bowing. "A moment please. I'll have to change out of this dress. While away Sena will give you instructions on handling if you want to ride a horse."

Kimikyo had left to change into a long sleeve shirt that had loose fitting sleeves and a pair of skin tight pants that were tucked into her boots. "M'Lady only one wished to ride so we had sent the other two to the groomer." "Thank you Sena." Kimikyo looked over to see Piper sitting on Kana's back. "Nervous?" "A little." Kimikyo smiled as she climbed onto Ganon's saddle. "Sena are you leading Kana?" "I am, my lady." Kimikyo nodded and looked at Piper. "You have nothing to worry about our mares, Kana expesially, are gentle. It's are stubborn stallions you need to worry about." Kimikyo ruffled Ganon's mane which made him shake his head. Maxson and Danse stood silently, watching Sena lead Kana out of the barn. Kimikyo pulled back on Ganon's reins before he bolted forward out of the barn. Ganon kept running around the training grounds before looking over at Maxson who was watching closely. Ganon bucked up, neighing aggressively before charging at Maxson. "Ganon! Halt!" Kimikyo pulled the reins back, trying to stop Ganon. "Halt!! Heel!" She kept tugging back finally Ganon stopped, inches in front of Maxson. Ganon stomped his hoof on the ground, watching Maxson closely. Maxson didn't move from his spot only stared back at the stallion. The horse turned to his side, before taking off again. Sena watched the whole thing go down before whistling over to Kimikyo and Ganon. "My lady perhaps Miss Piper would like to go on a run with you two." Sena handed to lead rope over to Kimikyo who tied it to Ganon. "R-run? Kimikyo, Ganon took off way too fast and I'm still pretty nervous." "Don't worry Piper, Ganon loves Kana and listens to her. He won't out run her." Kana looked up at Ganon, neighing at him as if upset at him. Kana turned away from Ganon who followed her every movement. The two horses began to gallop lightly, causing Piper to giggle. "He's love stricken isn't he?" "Oh yes he is. It's his turn to mate with her this year. Normally Kana mates with one of the royal guards stallion but Ganon is finally at that age. So we're going to breed them." Piper and Kimikyo went a few laps around the training ground before taking the horses to the groomers. "So this is how they end their day? Pretty lucky." "No, they get groomed once a week but today just so happened to be that day." Kimikyo smiled at Piper as the two walked back to the castle, the guys already having gone in.

Sena had made his way to Aiko's study room where she was busy signing forms. "My queen Aiko. Sena is here to discuss news with you." Aiko's butler stood at the door waiting for Aiko's word. "If it's about the horses I don't care." "It's about Kimikyo, my queen." Sena bowed before Aiko nodded. "What is it? Did she find another pet?" "No, my queen. She took Ganon for a ride but in the midst of it he charged one of the men visiting." Aiko dropped her quill, placing her head in her hands. "Oh Devine, he's dead isn't he?" "No, my queen. Ganon had stopped and accepted him, while our young princess was riding." Aiko looked up at Sena, awestruck. "Are...are you certain?" "Yes, my queen. As you know Ganon doesn't ever take to new people and most would take cover seeing him charge but not this one. He stayed put while Kimikyo was attempting to stop Ganon." "And what of my daughter? Did she have anything to say?" Sena shook his head. "No but I'm sure she's aware of the approval." "Very well. For now we will keep an eye on the two. This may be very good news for us." Aiko smiled at Sena before dismissing him. Hannah, the butler, looked over at Aiko, smiling. "My queen, do you believe this is a good sign?" "It's a sign but you know how Kimikyo has been with men. Always so serious and uncaring." Hannah had sighed lightly. "Perhaps we shouldn't get our hopes." Aiko remained quiet for a moment before looking at Hannah. "Well...they will be gone soon enough...the portal will be moved in four days and that is when they will leave. Whether they come back or not is up to them. When is your next surgery Hannah?" "O-oh uhm..in two days, my queen." Aiko turned to Hannah. "This is your last one correct? Are you excited to be a full woman?" "I am...I finally feel completed." The two remained silent. "Feeling completed...do you think that is what Kimikyo wants? To feel completed?" "I'm unsure of what are young princess wants. However, I do know she wishes to train. Why not let one of those new comers teach her? Show her their ways. To better our bond with them but also give Kimikyo what she'd like." Aiko thought for a moment. "Very well, Hannah. Ask one of those men if they'd be willing and info Kimikyo once you get an answer."

[paubari]

Brother’s Requiem: Ode to Solidbone (pt.1 of 2)

Tears spilling, the scent of bloodshed, voices calling out to none answering, bodies were strewn about the streets, the walls of buildings that still stood were painted crimson, and in the middle fo the city square I was kneeling. The bodies beside me, may it be friend or foe, stopped moving hours ago while their howls of pain and anguish were replaced with an eerie silence. The walls of the fortress were crumbling like bread soaked in water, what once stood for a thousand years is now reduced to rubble. There was no sunlight peeking through the clouds, a steady overcast protecting the sun from seeing the sins of those it gave life to. We tried fighting them off, our shields caught their arrows, the steel of our swords met theirs, and the barricades we set up were but a temporary guard against their relentless assault. These brutes whos hulking size nearly doubled mine, sellswords who had no problem slaughtering innocents, mages calling forth the very elements against us,  and malevolent casters summoning beasts who don't seem of this world upon us. By the sight of their charge, my knees were quivering because we were not ready for such an attack. Our fortress in the mountains was the last bastion against these forces of infamy, the shield which guards the realms of innocent folk. Then again, how innocent can the citizens further inland be?

While we were still in basic training my brother used to smile warmly and ask me "Norman, have you ever asked yourself what life would be like beyond these walls?" to which I would answer "We were trained to discourage such thoughts Josiah but my heart wishes to become more than a soldier" He would flash me a grin, a jolly grin which would calm me down. Something I've always wanted to see whenever I felt uneasy. He flashed the same grin at me before the attack, reassuring me that we'll be alright.

Well brother, can you tell me that again? As I clutch your lifeless body in my arms, your jolly smile replaced with a pale grimace, and your lower half now missing. I hold you in my arms and I weep, wishing we had chosen to flee instead, don't you remember brother? After they gave us a hard time in the mess hall I walked out and you followed me. Underneath the light of the rising moon, you told me

"Please have patience brother, you know our father would be upset with you if you choose to abandon training now."

I shouted at you then, I wish I hadn't "We don't have to be soldiers brother, we can choose to be who we want to be!  Our last names don't dictate our place in this world, it is for us to decide our path."

You answered me calmly, I remember what you said even if I was seething with rage "It is not our last names that make us soldiers but the responsibility that is tied to our bloodline. Our great ancestor, the first of his name, swore an oath to himself that a Solidbone will always be the shield that stands between the innocent and those who wish to do them harm. That is our family credo, our legacy which us being the last of our name must uphold."

I scoffed at what you told me then, I realized you were right. When we were at father's deathbed he made us swear that we uphold the family oath for we are the last of the Solidbone. Well brother, does family oath worth anything to you now? How many men of our family need to die until we realize we don't always have to lay down of our lives for those in need. There are times when we can choose to become selfish, times when we can choose to protect each other rather than those we don't even have blood relations with. I part the hair from your cold forehead as I move my face closer to your ear. Whispering I say "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, I wasn't strong enough." tears still falling from my eyes, with blurring vision I embrace your lifeless body. Father always told us that I was the weakest of us two, even when we were younger. If caution means cowardice then I revoke my bloodline, I revoke my oath, I revoke my last name. I will choose to forget and forget I did.

A little while after our crushing defeat at the mountain fortress I was called to the mess hall. It's the once lively atmosphere now replaced with a heavy silence. From about fifty to sixty people operating inside every day, the numbers are now cut down to those you can count with your fingers. I was forcing myself to eat some stew when Commander Jacques came in. He had lost an arm and was wearing an eyepatch over his right eye.

I stood up snapping in attention, he sighed heavily before speaking to me "At ease soldier, you'd be pleased to know that I had personally seen through the arrangements of your brother's burial within the Solidbone estate" on the inside I scoff at him, my mood was far from pleased but on the outside, I was nodding in silence. I never broke composure as he continued "I offer my deepest condolences to you, it must hurt knowing your only family has gone and passed but rest assured the army has your back."

I wanted to spit at his face. This was the same commander who insulted me while I was in basic training. He called me a disgrace of a Solidbone and that my father was cursed for having me. Look who's limbs are all intact Commander Jacques, oh wait you'd have a hard time looking. I snicker a bit but snap at myself. It wasn't the time to tell jokes, I scolded myself.

"Out of respect for your father and your recently deceased I have chosen to reassign you further inland. This place hasn't collapsed so most of our inland troops will be stationed here."

Great, more pigs for the slaughter. Who's family will they destroy next? "Aye sir" I answer him as coolly as possible.

"Good, you'll be assigned to guard a small hamlet just beside the main city. Be sure to pack everything of your possession and I expect you to be at the gates by the crack of dawn. A horsedrawn carriage will be waiting for your departure, send my regards to Captain Folley when you get there. Understood?" He stoically told me.

"Aye sir" I answer, this time with less emotion.

After he had left me to myself I quickly ran for the barracks. Entering I hastily pack my things making sure not to shoot a glance at my brother's side of the room. I get dressed and fall asleep rather quickly, having no dreams whatsoever. As my eyes flutter open my body felt heavy like molasses. I slowly stand up and stare at my brother's empty bed, he had fixed it before we were called out for battle. I go to his chest and filter through his belongings. I roll up our family portrait and stuff it in my knapsack along with some trinkets which he owned. I look at his bed one last time before exiting the barracks. At the gates was a horsedrawn carriage which already had three passengers inside when I got there. They shifted about as I entered and when the coachman made a headcount he realized we were all there so he motioned his horse to move. The travel time to my destination took ten hours. The whole ride there was silent, none of us bothered having a conversation. With each passing town, one of the passengers got down until I was the only one left. When we reached the hamlet it was nearing nightfall. I got down an saw a peculiar man dressed in a captain's uniform. He was rotund, seemingly eating too much. He had a relaxed demeanor, something not common among us soldiers. He smiled at me but it looked forced. Behind him stood two other soldiers, they seemed to be new and were eyeing me suspiciously.

"Ah you must be Norman Solidbone, I'm Captain Folleys. I understand Commander Jacques has issued a transfer yes? I hope you pull your weight around here because you will be replacing a very active soldier" he said in a sarcastic tone pointing to a drunk old man passed out in front of the tavern. The old man was wearing the same uniform as mine but he was more unkempt. "Private William can you please escort Seargent Robert to this carriage immediately, thank you" One of the soldiers behind him lifts the drunk old man to the back of the carriage while Captain Folleys motions me to follow him. He leads me to a small barracks where he told me it would be my home for quite some time. Briefing me about the rundown of the hamlet he told me that they rarely have any fuss besides rabble-rousers. Most of the problems are farming related and the hamlet was overall peaceful. I got to choose my guarding rounds and I settled for mornings, I wanted to keep my evenings vacant. So that was my routine; every morning I would walk around the hamlet helping the folk around with their small problems while at night I would drink my senses away at the tavern. I drank so much alcohol there would be times I would pass out by the bar itself but knowing it's such a small place I was one of the regulars. The Army also compensated me by transferring my brother's salary to me. I almost forgot who I was if I'm being honest. After a year a letter came to me about our home estate being reclaimed by the state but I didn't care, I just kept drinking. A lone wolf in the world, I stayed true with my decision to forget who I was until one day I was tasked by Captain Folleys to survey a place near the outskirts of the hamlet. He said that strange noises have been heard there for three straight nights. I started trudging towards that area, kicking away dead leaves and branches wishing I was gulping down mead instead. A loud crying noise broke my trance, I started running towards the source of the sound and within a clearing, I saw a little girl sobbing. I drew my hammer from my side and raise my shield, anticipating an attack at any moment. After a few seconds, I slowly went near her. When I got close to her I asked,

"Ho child, why are you here in the dead of night?" staying alert all the while.

"I'm hungry, my parents don't feed me anymore," she told me in between sobs

"Can you tell me where your parents are little one?" I ask her, eyeing the treeline around us.

"I'm so hungry, I ate them, I keep eating everyone that comes close to me," she told me in a low voice

I felt my stomach clench as I heard her say those words. Slowly backing away from her I can see her form twist and change. Her arms grew longer, her fingernails on each hand looked sharp, she became taller as well almost reaching my size. As I was backing up the heel of my boot hit something soft and I heard a pained grunt moan out. I look down and see a man dressed in a red robe, it had ornate silver etchings, his hood was down and I can see a pained expression painted on his face. What caught my attention, however, was that his legs were missing. What was left were tattered robes caked in blood. He was gasping, looking at me then back at the creature. My blood was boiling, I remember Josiah. I remember the battle a year ago, I remembered everything.

"Will you... be my... food?" This creature exclaimed it's head tilted to the side as it shuffled towards me. I gritted my teeth in anger, this bitch made me remember everything I wanted to forget and I hated it.

"To the nine hells with you!" I shouted charging at the thing. Her claws met my shield as I put it up just in time as she swiped at me. Swinging my hammer I managed to land a few hits on her but it seemed like she wasn't even affected. We exchanged blows before I felt exhaustion creeping over me, my alcoholism has made my body unfit for drawn-out combat. I was trying to catch my breath when she saw an opening and slammed onto me, sending me flying backward landing next to the bleeding stranger. The wind was knocked out of my lungs as I was gasping for air. I was going to die, I told myself, killed by a changeling. It was going to eat me alive. I can finally be with my family, I can finally join them in the afterlife. I close my eyes for a moment embracing death when I heard a voice whisper to me,

"You can't give up now" My eyes flutter open as I see the man in the red robes was staring intently at me. He had in his hands what seemed to be a dagger but it was shining with a silver hue. He tossed it towards me and said: "Use this, please"

(end of part 1)

[theatreodyssey]

petty competition [ michael mell x reader ]

Summary : Michael Mell is a friend of yours, but you've never had much luck with friends of yours. Agreeing to meet Michael, you are nervous at first. You soon warm up and are delighted to find out that what he has planned for your hang out is sitting in his basement playing one of your favorite video games. A friendly competition eventually turns into two teens in a basement both in fits of giggles, and, despite your previous reserves, you end up having most amazing time.

Warning : drug mentions

Disclaimer : I do not own Michael or any characters from Be More Chill. I don’t own you either.

Word Count : 1701

Author’s Notes : It's written in second person because that's my Comfort Zone™. Also, thanks to everyone for waiting so patiently for this. It means a lot to me.

Your body weight shifts as you rock on your feet. It's been a solid minute since you arrived and knocked on the door of Michael Mell’s home, and you were beginning to be overcome with petty anxieties. Maybe this was a joke. Maybe he doesn't actually want to see you.

“(Y/N)!” the door swings open to reveal the beaming ray of sunshine that is Michael Mell. His grin is wide, and his eyes shining behind the frames of his glasses. Happiness radiates off him and infects you. His red-jacket clad arms press the door wider as he steps out of the doorway, inviting you in. Gleaming, you giddy slip past and into the house.

The inside of the house is arranged nicely and very neatly. It definitely doesn't remind you of Michael, but he doesn't spend most time outside of the basement anyways. The basement is his real terrain.

“So, what's up, Mell?” Peering over your shoulder, you watch Michael’s gorgeous brown eyes widen slightly.

“Well, I just wanted to see you! I've got video games and stuff in the basement.” Walking past you, his arm lightly grazes yours. Running his fingers over your forearm, he intertwined his hand into yours and begins to lead you toward a door which you presume leads to the basement. You pray that he doesn't notice the perky goosebumps littering your skin. You understand completely that he's a touchy-feely person, but you doubted that it was to the extent of holding your hand to lead you 10 feet. Nevertheless, you'd be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy the warmth of his hand wrapped within yours.

Approaching the goose egg grey door, Michael uses his free hand to open it. Behind the door is mostly darkness, making you shiver. He muffles a laugh as he walks in first, you trailing closely behind him due to your intertwined hands.

“How is the great zombie slayer, (Y/N), going to help me pass level nine if they're scared of the dark?” Raising his eyebrow at you, you playfully slap his chest. He was definitely annoying sometimes, but you enjoyed your time around him.

“Oh, shut up, Mell!” Reaching the bottom of the creaking, wooden stairway, Michael’s free hand glides over a light switch and illuminates the room with a bright glow. Scattered around the carpeted area are posters from old science fiction films. Collectible figurines of muscular men line the walls, and two beanbag chairs rest in the middle of the carpet in front of his tv and gaming consoles set-up. “What game are we playing anyways?”

Michael releases your hand as he strides over to the center of the room. He turns the tv on and waits as the overly-bloody graphics of a video game title screen appears. “Apocalypse of the Damned!” Michael replies, enthusiasm bursting from his lungs.

“Really? What happened? Is Jeremy busy or something?” You're not unhappy with his choice; you're actually a masterful player of AotD. You just can't help stopping the racing thoughts of why he didn't ask Jeremy. Jeremy Heere is usually Michael’s go-to player 1, and you catch yourself just wondering why he chose you. You didn't want your insecurities to blind you to the fact that Michael valued your company, but it did.

“What? No! I wanted to hang out with you. Not sure what Jeremy's doing today.” Looking at the way his eyebrows furrow, you feel concern in his words. He knows what it feels like to like friends more than they like you, and he never wanted to make you feel like a second choice.

“Oh, cool.” Shrugging, you plop into one of the beanbag chairs with a loud thud accompanying your descent.

Michael walks toward the other chair bearing controllers. “So, can you help me with this level of Apocalypse of the Damned? I can't get off level 9.” He inquires with a false pout of helplessness. You can't deny that the doe-eyes Michael sitting next to you is very cute.

“Sure thing!” You reply, warming up to being here and alone with Michael. You can tell that he feels your resolve as well by the way he relaxes the muscles in his arms that he didn't know were strained as he spoke to you, hoping to make you smile. It worked.

“Weed?” He asks quite politely despite what he's asking about. Clicking through the game’s menu, he opens a previous save file.

“No, thanks, Mell. It’s illegal, and it'll be more efficient if I'm not high when I kick your ass, anyways.” You are aware of the drug laws in your state, and you know that underage smoking isn't legal, but you'd be lying if you said that legality and morality were your main reasons for turning him down. Level 9 was blowing-up-the-Death-Star level difficult, and you need to have your wits about you.

“Ah, alright,” Michael takes a moment to fully process your statement, “Wait. Kick my ass? It's a co-op game!” Dramatically waving his arms, he rejects the strange notion.

“Yeah,” you agree, tilting your head, “but I'll still get at least double your kills.” Laughing, you let your rising competitive nature settle in.

“Oh, really now?” Smirking, you narrows your eyes at him. How dare he question your ability to dominate.

“Yep!” You chime. “Especially if you're trying to slaughter zombies while high.” Skimming through the character selection page, you settle on a rugged survivor that appears to be the spitting image of Abraham Lincoln.

“Fine then! No weed for either of us, then.” Michael selects his custom character before starting the level, a little disappointed that he’d have to give up drugs for the competition.

“Alright,” you chirp.

The level begins with a cutscene of two characters (one of them looking eerily presidential) bursting through the doors of the digital cafetorium. Dirt and blood cover the walls, and the only light entering the school is from the large windows at either side, where the moonlight falls in. The light being filtered through the grime of the towering windows makes the room barely visible. Your and Michael's characters press forward through the empty space, and you both prepare yourself for the chaos that you both know is coming next.

The windows on all sides shatter, leaving bright moonlight to envelope the room. Zombies come flooding in from all sides with loud crashes accompanying them. A yelp escapes you, even though you've already beaten this game twice and you know what will happen. Michael laughs delightfully at your expression of fear, but doesn't let his eyes leave the screen.

“Oh shut up, Mell!” You playfully kick his chair, making him jump. Both of you seem very on edge from the onslaught of zombies, but you are both laughing nonetheless.

Moving through the level efficiently, it finally dawns on Michael how actually skilled at this game you are. Practically choking on your inflated ego, you burst out laughing over the loud sound effects, “Catch up, buddy! Or am I going to have to drag your ass out of the cafetorium?”

“Oh you would love that, wouldn't you?” Michael sneers.

You almost pause the game in confusion, but you resist. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know!” Exasperatedly, Michael kills a few more zombies before deciding that he has had it with your dramatic lead in kills. His leg slides over until it subtly bumps your hands, making you drop the controller. Scrambling to pick it back up before your avatar takes too much damage, you hear Michael giggle.

You crawl back into your chair right as Michael decides to take his foot and poke at your side. Your body tensing up, you can't help but shut your eyes and laugh. You fight him off with your own legs, but he knows now how absurdly ticklish you are, and you know that will certainly be your doom.

He leans closer to you, using one of his hands to dance across your side. Laughing uncontrollably, you drop your controller. Much more interested in the melodic array of notes that is your glorious laughter, Michael abandons his own controller and pounces on you, hoping to make you laugh more.

Curling up, you can't do anything but giggle as Michael looms over you and finds your most sensitive places. “Michael!” You scream out through fits of giggles.

“Yes?” Michael is laughing profusely himself, mostly due to the pure contagiousness of your laughter.

“Get off me, dork!” Tears welling up in your eyes, your body sinks more into your bean bag chair with the weight of Michael on top of you.

“Fine, fine.” He submits, falling back to sit on the carpeted floor. His black hair is sticking up in all directions, and his jacketed chest breathes heavily. A goofy smile mirroring yours adorns his face, and you can't help but smile wider at the sight of the very cute boy behind his now crooked glasses.

“We lost the level because of you.” You jokingly scold him, looking at the fictitiously bloody screen with the text “GAME OVER” across it.

“I'm sorry about that, but look!” Michael animatedly gestures to your kill counts displayed on the screen. To your dismay, Michael had ended but besting you by two kills. Jaw agape, you slide down your chair. You are good, but you underestimated Michael's apparently skilled abilities.

“Nice job, Mells.” You congratulate in a monotone voice, dragging the words to make your statement as sarcastic as possible.

“Thank you very much!” Michael beams, very proud of himself.

“Thanks for inviting me over though, seriously.” Petty competition or not, you’re having a very nice time with Michael. You were sceptical of the meeting before, since you usually seldom hang out with friends, and Michael seldom hangs out with anyone save Jeremy. Nevertheless, you wouldn't trade this day for anything. Having this much fun with a friend seemed like such a foreign concept, but here it is. Here is a great friend sat in front of you with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face because of you. He's happy. You're happy.

“No problem, jelly bean! It's my pleasure, actually.”

“Yours and mine, my friend.”

[guileheroine]

easy touch

Korra gives Asami a haircut!  Taking place in chapter 6 of The Everthere (just something that was behind a throwaway line imagined out) 💇 / ao3

“Sit still!” Korra chided. It wasn’t the kind of thing she thought she’d have to tell Asami’s kind of person.

Asami bowed her shoulders guiltily and laughed. “Sorry, sorry, I’m cold.” She exhaled, straightening on the stool so that her back was parallel to Korra where she stood behind her. “Now you know how I feel when I’m trying to do your makeup! Okay.”

“Good.” Korra smoothed the old scarf around Asami’s shoulders, ensuring it was tucked in place. There was plenty of light here, the stark winter sun filtering in through the square windows of her parents’ massive kitchen. She reached across to the sideboard and picked up the scissors her mother had supplied her with. “Two inches?” She declared more than asked.

“Four,” Asami clarified with a sniff.

“Oh, come on, it’s so pretty…”

“Four,” Asami repeated, this time with a diffident laugh made even cuter by her sick voice. “It’ll grow back. Even faster.”

Korra conceded with a grumble. She set the scissors down and pulled her comb through Asami’s long hair one final time; checking the parting, and that she hadn’t missed a single strand. It was only slightly damp from her shower in the morning, nearly back to its typical volume. Korra surveyed it, roots to tips, somewhat reluctant to pick the scissors up again.

“It’s so thick for its length,” she said wistfully.

Asami snickered.

“Shut up. Seriously. What do you put in it?”

She made a dismissive sound, shrugging enigmatically, before Korra pressed her shoulders down in place again. “Just lucky,” she replied. “Coconut oil is good, though. I can do yours, if you like.”

Korra would more than like. She added this suggestion to her mental list of things to try (with Asami, invariably) this vacation. Before she could voice her enthusiasm, the door creaked open and her dad came in, with Naga on a leash.

“What’s going on here?” He grinned widely as he pulled his gloves off. Quickly, he ushered Naga into the sitting room and closed the door, since she would make a mess of the mess of hair on the floor.

“I think I’m about to commit a crime,” Korra said bluntly, as she watched Asami wave a little ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ in quick succession to Naga before she disappeared. “Butchering this beautiful hair,” she explained, giving her dad a smile. “Thanks for taking Naga out!”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” said her dad, settling beside the sink after he poured himself a pint glass, then another, of cold water. “You girls are here to relax.” He crossed his arms.

“Well, Asami’s relaxing,” Korra said, glancing down at her serene face. “Okay, I’m doing it. Do not move.” She picked the scissors up once again and held the comb straight in the last stretch of Asami’s hair, murmuring “Goodbye…” in a playfully tight voice as she checked her measurement.

Just as she was about to snip, Asami sneezed.

Korra released all her tension and concentration in an irritated exhale. “Damn it, Asami.”

Her dad tsked sympathetically, sparing none of his pity for Korra. “Oh, Asami. Want a drink?”

Asami composed herself as Korra gathered her focus again. “Don’t do that again. Alright, ready?” The waves in her hair rippled as she nodded and Korra decided this time to make short work of the kill.

The first snip snip still felt like slaughter.

She swept the ends through again before cutting. In a matter of seconds Asami’s hair was four inches shorter. Korra combed it carefully for any strays and anomalies; and just when she thought she had found the last one, Asami’s head dipped forward and it slipped through the teeth.

“No, you’re drink- just wait...” she sighed, a little aggrieved. Asami raised her head again and wiped her mouth, about to hand a glass back to Korra’s father. It remained in her hand once Korra’s expression drew her attention.

“Oops… I thought you were done,” Asami said sheepishly. It melted the ire out of Korra. She measured the final strands by eye and sheared them off swiftly.

“It’s alright. I am now.”

A subtle, low cough drew her attention to her dad where he stood with his arms folded. “Could I have a turn after Asami, sweetie?”

Korra narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge if he was serious. A look at his straggly, more than shoulder length hair told her he probably was. “Sure! Gimme a minute.”

“You’re in for a treat,” Asami told him sardonically. Korra gave her hair a retaliatory tug and Asami giggle was cut off by a testy, “Ow.”

Asami’s hair didn’t fit in Korra’s single hand, and it was so silky that if she tried to make it, the strands slipped out - she needed both to properly smooth out the dense, dark mass. Asami sighed contentedly when Korra began it to brush it through with her hands. She smiled knowingly. This would feel wonderful, especially to her heavy head. Korra knew because she been on the receiving end of Asami’s ministrations enough times. It wouldn’t hurt to give back - in fact, she quite appreciated the sensation of her soft hair against her fingers.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Asami didn’t move. “Mm.”

At the back of her neck where the hairs began to wisp her skin was sensitive and warm. “Give me that,” Korra said brusquely, surprised at the quiet of her voice - and held her hand out for Asami’s glass. Asami held it up for her to stick her fingers against, and then Korra pressed those cool pads gently on that spot under her hefty hair.

“Ah,” Asami whispered when she held them there.

“Did you ever have your hair short?” Korra asked, as she resumed with her gentle attention.

Asami took her time replying. “Yeah, once. When I was like fourteen.”

Korra indulged in that mental image for a moment. “Bet it was cute.”

“Hm, I think you might wanna see the pictures before any kind of judgment!” Asami laughed, making Korra laugh again. She was in a particularly frivolous mood today, despite her ailment. The fact that Asami was so at ease here at home with her family infused Korra with a warm, buoyant energy.

“I think you should see me with short hair,” her dad piped up.

“Oh, Dad, weird.”

He chuckled loudly. “There are pictures, but I’d rather you give me the benefit of the doubt.” Korra and Asami exchanged a glance and decided not to.

When her hand brushed the corners of Asami’s ear she felt her twitch slightly. It must have been a shiver. Korra shook the scarf off, and pulled Asami’s sweater tighter around her shoulders.

“So is all this pampering part of the official treatment?” Her dad teased, knowing the answer full well.

“Nice try,” Korra barked, “you’re not sick. And your hair’s not this nice. And I gotta do my bangs, too, before we clean up.”

“Worth a shot,” he smiled, making to leave, “I’ll go get freshened up.”

“You’re gonna cut your own bangs?” Asami said curiously, once he had left. “But there’s no mirror in here.”

Korra deftly retrieved the hair tie on her wrist with the same hand above which it lay, Asami’s crown cupped in her other. “Don’t need one.”

“Daredevil,” Asami said.

Korra smirked at the back of head. She tied her hair in a high ponytail to keep it out of her way. “Did I tell you I cut my own hair?”

“Well,” Asami answered, “this is only like the fifth time.”

The cheek of her. “Actually, Mom did have to fix the back for me,” Korra admitted. She brushed Asami’s shoulders off. “Alright. All done!”

“Thanks. Are you sure I can’t help you with yours?”

Korra knew what Asami was doing, trying to needle out the concession that, yes, it would make things a lot easier if she just did it for her. She wondered whether to give in sooner or later.