#and i hope that this arc will allow them to finally shook the masks off

[ikamigami]

Y'all know what?

I shouldn't be too hursh towards Lunar when he killed Eclipse.. but I just don't think that he should kill him - y'all can disagree..

I think that killing is wrong.. but I understand how Lunar felt.. it wasn't only that Eclipse was abusing him but that he didn't care about him..

I'm not surprised why Lunar is so depressed because his lack of self-care is a clear sign of depression alongside with not being able to show emotions or even not feeling them at all at times..

Lunar probably feels like he's worthless cause let's not forget that he still feels the attachment to Eclipse.. he said that himself that he can't fully let go of Eclipse..

And I think that what frustrates Lunar and also why he distances himself from others is the fact that no one seems to get it..

I think that it's a bit different with Sun because Lunar looks up to him and I think that because he's so used to seeing Sun being able to pull through pretty much every awful thing that happened to them.. he was surprised that this time Sun can't do anything..

And surprise isn't the best word cause I think that Lunar was genuinely shocked.. he didn't expect to see Sun ever be like that cause Sun never was like that when he was around..

Lunar was still dead when Sun was in awful state with hallucinations and all that stuff..

Lunar didn't see the worst.. for him Sun always was invincible..

I understand why it might be upsetting to others how Lunar is acting.. but I'm not surprised..

And I feel bad about Lunar..

I wish that he'd talk with Sun heart to heart..

They have a lot to talk about tbh..

Imagine you're Lunar, and you see your "abuser" of a brother being docile and kind to other people while you got a whole different person from him

The hurt I would feel would be tremendous 🥲 Like was I the problem from the start?

[uponrightful]

So, I love possessive, jealous Crosshair 🥵 Tell me about this scene (please?):

“Trouble doesn’t suit you, doll.” He murmured lowly, soft voice contrasting the slight pressure over her pulse point and the swell of her hip. Crosshair was all-consuming and Dutch was weak to do anything but try to stay silent under his pressing weight and commanding presence at her back.

Also, I’d love to know what Echo was thinking once Cross went to the fresher after Dutch.

You’re the best! 😘

Commentary Track for Coriolis Effect

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I'll give you my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character's- when I wrote it!

*send one in here anytime!*

My oh my! 😍 What spicy scene we have here. I'll start with what's going on with Crosshair first, then I'll come back for Echo and the rest of the Batch. haha

***

Crosshair is fuming with rage during his conversation with Echo: It's that kind of bodily energy you get after watching a action-movie, where your whole body feels tired, but it's twitching with adrenaline that can't be spent or released. That kind of feeling you can't get rid of no matter what you do to ignore it, or work through it. Your mind feels like it working so fast that it's in slow-motion, overanalyzing the smallest details until your grinding your teeth because there's nothing else that helps relieve the pressure.

But the second he enters the refresher all of that energy snaps from anger and fear for Duchess, into dead calm. His inner voice stops screaming and evens out in tone and his hands stop shaking. His breathing slows and the second Cross sees her standing there, it's like he's been meditating deeply for hours. This kind of concentration is only present in Crosshair one other time... And you guessed it. When he's shooting.

Note: This is the epitome of Crosshair's ability to manage impulse-control in unfamiliar -and stressful- situations. Key-word here being "unfamiliar." I firmly believe that Cross is painfully terrible at monitoring and expressing his emotions. He has so many of them all the time that from a young age he had to learn how to turn them off in a moments notice, simply so he could survive. Think about it... How can a sniper worry about his brothers dying right before his eyes and still make clean shots? Not even Crosshair can do that. So the second he's certain Dutch is safe -by visually proving her health- that well-trained nature takes over to protect him like it always does.

Crosshair -at this point- isn't sure what he wants. He needs to touch her though, remind himself that she's tangible and within reach. Not that he isn't aware of his effect on her, but this moment isn't about sexual appeal or attraction. This is desperation, and Crosshair knows that; He's just banking on the hope that she'll let him, because she's always done so. He feels safe with Duchess, and even though this feels/looks sexy, Crosshair feels completely vulnerable right now.

Note: I will say it now; Once and for all. I have never subscribed to the idea that Crosshair is a typical Dominant/BDSM/Sadisim kind of guy. And the distinction is all to do with motivation. I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out why he acts the way he does, and how that manifests itself. So when I planned this scene, I wanted to focus on just how strong his desire to have security is. Not prowess, or control. It's all to do with the desperate need he has to prove how he feels about her. That kind of vulnerability just comes easier to him physically than it does emotionally. Duchess gives him a sense of stability -in and out of the sexual sense- that makes his characterization insanely complex and difficult to balance.

The moment he finds his words, it's a compulsory need to cover his own jealousy. Crosshair is undoubtedly unhappy knowing she went out with Regs... but what's really bothering him is how easy it is to feel so strongly for Duchess. Every time he speaks, it's intentionally driving attention towards someone else, and away from his own desire to be the focus of her attention. Cross uses his fear of her being unsafe to mask the jealousy that constantly compares himself to the others who can give her attention more freely than he can personally. Duchess sees his calm nature as patience and precision, but it's really Crosshair planning out what he's going to say because he knows one wrong move will reveal just how desperate he is to have her acceptance of him.

Note: I've never struggled to balance possessiveness and love like I have with Crosshair. He's so intense that if I'm not careful, he comes off like a walking red-flag. Word choice is essential when getting Cross' character and reactions right. Whether it be the way he talks to her, or the way he naturally falls into a protector role. That's why when I'm writing for him, it takes double the time it does to write anything else. Every movement, every word he says, needs to be written like he says it in the moment. That's the only way to show his softness... because the love that he gives is best felt in person. You can't describe Crosshair's love with words easily.

Now for sweet, sweet, Echo.

Let me preface this by saying: Echo is his brother's keeper. There is a relationship there that goes far deeper than the ones Crosshair holds for his other brothers. It happened slowly, but it wasn't until the two of them were too far into it that either recognized what had happened. Their personalities are something that wouldn't really mix on first glance, but for some reason or another, they just get each other. It's natural, and they gravitate towards each other.

That being said, Duchess and Echo are their own kind of dynamic. I see them as the "platonic-soulmate" kind. She has an intensity that Echo marvels at, and Dutch knows she could take any problem to him and he would do anything to help her. They both see something in the other that they wish they still had, or could develop. It's probably the purest friendship Duchess has ever had, and Echo can't help but harken back to Fives when he sees her attitude -in future chapters.

Note: From the first moment I created Duchess, I just knew in my heart she was meant to be something special to Echo. To me, it was only right that Crosshair's doll would feel strongly connected to Echo as well. Add in their common feeling of loss for brothers, and that just made their relationship that much stronger. She's such a force, and the ARC trooper can't help but find a enamorment with people who have such a strong will and fiery personality. (See Fives)

The moment Echo sees Crosshair, he's already preparing to do anything necessary to protect Duchess from incurring another possible hit to her bruised emotions. Echo trusts Crosshair, but he's highly attentive to Cross and how raw his emotions are. Their interaction is based in Echo's desire to save the couple from losing the chance to do things the right way. Intuition and experience guide Echo through the whole conversation; He really is flying by the seat of his blacks here... But he's so well-versed in reading Crosshair that none of the other Batcher's even think about offering to be the first one Crosshair faces when he comes in the bunk hall. Echo has unmatched faith in Cross, and this was something both of them knew would happen.

Note: Writing this scene was challenging for a number of reasons. For one, neither Echo or Crosshair really talk a whole lot. They say what they need to, and that's the end of it. So I spent days watching Echo and Crosshair's interactions. Trying to figure out what I could based off the -very little- examples I was given. In that, I found that the two of them hardly ever stand next to each other, but they're constantly sharing glances and looking at each other. Echo and Crosshair have silent conversations all. the. time.

Had Echo not allowed Crosshair to go and see Duchess, their sexy scene would have never happened. (And I played around with that idea very seriously...) Ultimately, Echo's intuition was the deciding factor. That conversation, and Crosshair's attempt at honesty was the reason Echo felt confident in letting him speak to her. And although Echo could sense Crosshair's patience running thin, he'd already told the rest of the Batch to be prepared for any fight. Echo wouldn't put it past Cross to stun him, but a gut-feeling kept him from mentally preparing to do the same thing.

Additionally, it was Echo who made everyone leave the bunk hall. The second Crosshair and himself reached an agreement, Echo was the first to step away. His next move was to shove the rest of the Batch out the doors and give Duchess and Crosshair the privacy needed to work through their shit. And although he expected it to end in sex, the desire to keep their business between them alone was Echo's main motivation to empty the bunk room. Neither Crosshair or Duchess really trust the Batch at this moment -in Echo's mind at least- and risking their privacy wasn't something the ARC would stand for. In the back of his mind though, Echo was terrified that Crosshair would fuck her and leave it at that. He's seen the sniper at his best and his worst, and although his best is wonderful, his worst can be miserable to endure. Echo was praying that Crosshair wouldn't be too harsh -physically and mentally- on Duchess.

When Hunter finally decided enough time had passed, Echo was on edge to see just where the two of them would be. The image of them sleeping in separate bunks: Crosshair pretending to sleep -like always- and Duchess laying quietly and pretending like nothing happened shook Echo to his core. But the second he saw her bunk in a disarray, and her not in it, Echo couldn't help but fucking grin. He was proud of his brother for doing the right thing. For doing something for himself, and not worrying about how it would make him look for once. Add in the way Crosshair reprimanded Tech, and how deathly serious he looked with her sleeping peacefully against him...?

That was the moment Echo knew for certain that Crosshair was never coming back from this. He saw a visible change in his brother, in the way his attitude changed. The way Crosshair wasn't worried about himself, or attempting to hide behind sneers and sarcastic comments. Echo noticed how attuned he was to her in that moment, putting her comfort above all else. For a man who pretended to not care about anything, Crosshair did a terrible job of hiding his true personality when Duchess was curled up into him. And Echo couldn't be happier, knowing that his trust in Crosshair hadn't been for nothing. Not only was his brother experiencing love in a way that all of them desired, but Duchess was never going to live with the question of whether or not someone truly cared for her.

***

I hope this was what you were looking for in-terms of answers 😅. I had a great time writing this for you, and I hope you'll feel comfortable doing this again whenever you feel like it! I love sharing the behind-the-scenes stuff with you! It makes the cuts and editing feel a little less sad knowing I might be able to share some of it with you anyways!

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Heyo! I was wondering if you could do a scenario during the uprising arc where the reader starts to realize she has feelings for Levi but at first he rejects her? Then during the night before Shiganshina he realizes about her feelings and ends up returning them knowing he doesn't want her to get hurt or die? Some angst fluff please and thank you!

Okay anon you have no idea how much I enjoyed writing this. It's super long and I love how it came to me so naturally. I hope you enjoy

Warnings: a little angst!?

Tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Promise

It all started at the sight of his wet fingertips grazing the broken rim of a teacup. A flutter, a feisty spark in your heart that seemed to drown it in full might had made its presence known to you in a very particular, unwanted moment. The flicker of a tiny flame danced before your eyes, sat at the frame of the window near the sink where you proceeded to rinse through washed dishes.

Levi's pale, chapped skin pulled on his knuckles leaving an unnatural yellowish white tone behind, indicating his involvement with excessive amounts of cleaning products. And for the first time, the sight really pulled a string in your poor heart in a way that was enough to convince you to break the dense silence in the room.

But maybe, you thought, Levi wouldn't want to talk to you.

With an unforgiving steel gaze he stared at your face, blinking in soft, yet erratical paces as you stopped plumping the water from running. In response your tongue was forced to slip inside your mouth and push any unspoken word back to its source, in the depths of your brain. All of a sudden you felt so afraid to talk, so petrified by the general idea of a three syllabus word that wouldn't ever spare the misery off of anyone.

Rejection

Captain seemed to be on the rejective side nevertheless so nothing regarding your newly discovered feelings would matter to him anyway, so in a way you blamed yourself for getting overwhelmed with this whole situation. A dark cloud of doubt shadowed your mind with the intention of interrogating your heart's intentions; perhaps you were mistaken. How on earth could you have been in love with the short man, you didn't know. There were far too many differences between the two of you, be it in appearance, mannerism or even -and more importantly- experiences. Supposing you had lived through similar occurances in battles outside the walls was enough for anyone to consider the two of you to be very alike, it was at least dishonorable to compare your childhood or teenage years to his.

"Nice hands" Of course you had managed to utter the most embarrassing choice of words to him, your mind could never cooperate with you when it came to such serious situations, something you hated so very much. The obnoxious dryness of your eyes was slowly migrating in the caves under your tongue, you could feel your mouth drying more and more by each passing second, yet you did nothing to prevent it.

Judging by Levi's puzzled expression which included his head slightly tilting forward as if to hear you better you knew he was as awestruck as you were at your own words. "I don't really understand where you're coming from but thank you, I guess." He spoke, the usual monotone tint staining his voice. You whipped your head back to a fixed position -on your hands this time- to stare down at the sink. The awkward glances you would throw at him went seemingly unnoticed and as time passed by you felt your tention overwhelming you, this time, completely.

Levi wasn't dense to any body language thrown at him and you were painfully aware. His cold eyes never spared you not even a half cornered look as he rubbed the little sponge on the soap bar next to him. His fingers danced on the ceramic plate, cleansing it in fast and very effective movements, leaving you staring in awe. Whether he was ignoring you on purpose or not you didn't know and you didn't want to seek an answer as to why but at this rate he would probably be the one to inquire why you were burning holes in his hands with your gaze. Again.

"I'm so sorry I'm fixated on your hands" Your mouth run, ignoring your mind's orders to stay shut "It's just-" Dammit think quick for once "You have nice nail beds."

There it was. The evidence that your words had actual brains and that they formed the most improper sentences on their own, just to torture you and push you deeper into piles of goowey, mushy shit. If Levi was anyone else he would have been laughing his ass of at the stupidness of your speech, you knew you would be laughing too if this wasn't as serious. Just as you were sure you heard a chuckle Levi placed the sponge on the bar of soap carefully and extended his arm, fully displaying his hand.

He seemed to study it like it was the first time he had ever even noticed it. The slick, long fingers, the oval shaped nails, his torn open knuckles. Perhaps you were kidding him for the lack of hair on the base of fingers he used to hold his blades with, those were burnt with years of being worn out by the steel triggers of the blades. He speculated this was common among most soldiers, so it didn't seem like a reason to be kidded for and in addition you never were the person to just spit senseless insults as jokes to your comrades.

"Is there even a point to talk about my hands? They're normal hands to me."

You bit your lip as your eyes widened in shock. Realisation hit you that this was probably more that absurd to Levi as it was to you, seeing you had started to talk about his hands out of nowhere. Your mind, in a state of panic, was in the midst of attempting to process every idiotic sentence you had the audacity to blurb out, but it never seemed to find an answer. Boiling with embarrassed, you wiped the water of your hands to your pants, an act that caught Levi's eye, and went to grab the first wooden chair that was in your path. You needed to sit down, to process whatever this was.

Yet, the only explanation you could find was that there was a raging wildfire in the pits of your stomach everytime your thoughts wandered on Levi. Yes, it was possible that what had started as an admiration, a tiny spec of a crush for the slender featured man had been growing on you since forever, but you had always burried it deep, in any hellhole that should accommodate such emotions as this was war and not the plot of sappy romance novel.

The air was cut down short in the room when Levi sat at a chair beside you, watching you over in such demanding manner that only he could master. He proceeded to light the only candle that stood at the middle of the table, possibly in hopes of flaring a conversation or causing a sane sequence of sentences to finally fall from your tongue. It was still unbeknownst to him what had caused you to trip over words as if you were a learning toddler and he yearned to find out, as a sole friend, not as the stern corporal he presented himself to be.

"(y/n)" His voice was tender as he spoke either much mindful to the teens who were sleeping in the next room or unwilling to let a private conversation between the two of you be heard. "If you think I can help with whatever is going on quit acting like a brat and tell me what's on your mind."

Momentarily, you wondered whether he'd stick to his words in case you spilled your heart's infatuating agony but you felt unable to think of a possible dominating scenario in the chaos of your mind. As self destructive as it sounded, you'd prefer to be the one to break your own heart rather than having to stand back and be a martyr to him tearing it off your chest and tearing it. Knowing Levi, this wasn't anything physically impossible, but you doubt that he could ever be as harsh with you.

"I'm just stressed. I have a lot on my mind."

"Erwin's trial and the future of the scouts, huh? Or is it that Hange works your ass off with those experiments?" You scoffed in denial to all of his inquiries, knowing full well that you could have used them as excuses. Levi's sharp hand began a short trip with sole purpose to land at the top of your head, through your loose locks, in an affectionate manner, a little something you had picked up he would do when he really cared for someone. Everyone knew he wasn't particularly touchy, except for some emotional moments with his closest people; a hand on a shoulder and a pat in the head were mostly what you had witnessed him indulging. His hand ruffling with your hair wasn't profound and new at all, he had done so many times after the two of you would strongly disagree over formations and orders, showing you how much he appreciated your strong wits and your clever ideas. What was new was that the lone touch burned your sculp like hot iron and made your insides twitch.

"I'll make us some tea" the screeching creak of the chair being pushed back shook of your train of thoughts enough to form a reaction to his hand that still rested on your head. Almost as if he didn't want to take it off "We can discuss your problem in a-"

"Sit down" you demanded, voice stern, masked with seriousness that caught him off guard. "Take your hand off my hair, it hurts." You pleaded with your eyes to stay as dry as they were before but you were certainly unsure of whether they'd listen. "Can't you see?"

What was there not to see really. Levi probably knew of your fondness of him way before you managed to realise, as in second thought every move you had ever made in his presence betrayed you. He would have never tried to provoke a confession just to laugh at you, that you were sure of, but he had never made a move in reciprocation either, that alone made you sure of your confessions future's end and caused your gut to spit even more fire to the rest of your insides.

Levi was not perplexed, not even for a single moment, at your words that seeked to stab like daggers, he wouldn't allow himself to be toyed by his own emotions just this once. This is an erratical reaction to his touch, a rejection of his affections towards you and he feared he knew the reason. For someone as bright and emotional as you he never would have thought that you could have hid such tormentous emotions so well inside you, only to end up at this moment of snapping.

As much as he'd like not to be hurt in the slightest by your demeanor he couldn't help but feel a tiny string of his heart being pulled. Suddenly it was evident to him why you couldn't take part in normal conversations around him or why you acted so tense in his presence, why you were so rejective of his touches and he wondered if he should have done anything besides unknownably torture you for so long. Whether his heart wanted to hear a confirmation out of your mouth to it's pained pleading for reciprocation, his mind ignored. The time would never be right and as egoistical as it seemed he couldn't bear to lose someone else that close to him, let alone a significant other. From his experience feelings of love and adoration should never be spoken out loud in this cruel world, amongst soldiers, especially. It wouldn't lead to any good.

When you proceeded to speak the pit in his stomach was already welling in frustration and denial. "Levi we've known each other for years and whatever's forcing me to much on my words should stop."

None can do, this couldn't happen here, now, while being on the run by military police as collective criminal. Levi wouldn't allow you to speak those earth shuttering words, even if wanted for them to chaste kiss his ears and echo through his head. "Not like you haven't figured anyways. I'm so pathetic. To fall for my Capt-"

"Don't you dare utter any other word of that sentence. I won't forgive you if you do." His hand reached out to grab yours by the wrist, tightly, as if he didn't know you couldn't stand the intensity of the grip. The silence that towed over the room was freezing, irrational even; it made you want to puke your intestines right onto Levi's shoes. Your heartbeat was so fast, so unrhythmic that you felt like the vital blood red organ would burst out of your chest in a massive mess.

Τhere was an excessive amount of agony emitting from your eyes, slicing through Levi's chest, searching despairately for a sign he had a heart, just to remind you that it didn't belong to you. Your mind traveled through every possible scenario to find a reason as to why you had to endure this, did his affections belong to someone you didn't know of? Hange? Erwin? Nifa seemed to be close to him lately as well. Was he heartbroken before and swore to never love again? You hated that there was not a tiny little space in his heart for you.

Just as this tense moment began, it came to an end when Sasha burst into the room, shotgun on her shoulder and chestnut eyes as sleepy as they could be. Fatigue was overpowering her whole form and it was as evident as ever before your eyes. With a quick, exhausted salute she announced her self, unsure of if you and the captain could see her face under the shadows of the night.

"It's guard change sir!" She spoke.

"I'm coming sweetheart." You got up from the chair you were sat at, breaking your wrist away from Levi's grip in a harsh manner. You didn't spare him a second look as you took another deep breath and locked it in your chest in hopes of seeming a little more mighty. "Go take some rest. You deserve it."

With increasingly fast steps you storm outside the little cottage trying your best not to look back. You wouldn't bear to check if there was still light coming from the kitchen that should indicate Levi's persistent presence. Your knees trembled at the imagery but you wouldn't let your eyes rest behind you not even for a second. He would probably be drinking his tea, unbothered, thinking of anything but you and you would be lying if you were to day that it didn't hurt you. It hurt so much that it sent you on your ass, on the stone tile pattern under your feet. Your heart forced suffocating waves of pain through your whole body only to push out of your eyes in the form of hot, salty tears. As your sobs grew louder and your heartache became unbearable to the point you though you could feel your heart break in two, you pushed the ends of your palms into your eyes sockets to squeeze the pain and itchiness of the tears away. You promised to yourself this was the first and last time you would cry for him.

____

After that night you barely speak with Levi. Aside from following his orders with the eventual 'yessir' as a reply, you have managed to successfully establish a thick barrier between him end you. Your nights of accompanying him in his late hour tea sessions, or teaching him how to knit and embroider were no more. The times you would share your food with him after you'd hear his stomach growl from the small portion he would get were also no more. You had made sure to claim your small acts of affection back to yourself, how could you move on from him if you were trying to be nice.

You would profoundly ignore his gazes, his calls for you at his office at late hours of the night by random cadets. You wouldn't answer to him if it wasn't for something military related and you intended it to keep it that way until the announcements of the feast that would take place before the attempt of retaking wall Maria.

As you passed by a narrow street heading to anywhere away from the crowd of cadets with your drink in your hand, you bumped lousy into the onyx haired male. It was the first time in days or even weeks that you had spared him a glance but your eyes averted his upon impact. You couldn't stand this. It was suffocating you. The clicking of your ankle boots colliding with the ground might have been heard as you turned on your heels to flee the scene but Levi's stern clearing of the throat overshadowed it.

He wasn't having it anymore.

"Oi, wait! Stop on your tracks, this is an order!" He spoke, eliciting a groan out of you as you turned to face him. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Captain, I seek to relax before a very hard mission, spare me with your punishments, I beg of you."

His blood boiled with your every word "Cut the damn crap (y/n) and talk to me like normal." It probably sounded more harsh than he intended but he couldn't find himself in a position to turn back time and rephrase those words. The drained look in your eyes tolled him as well. The fact that you were both so tired by this game of cat and mouse was profound and everywhere in the air around you and Levi didn't know if he could take it anymore.

At first he thought that it was for the best. If you both forgot about your feelings or found ways to distract yourselves by this distance then it would be so much easier for him to push through the upcoming events of Shiganshina, but he was surprised to know he was mistaken. Masking his feelings must have seemed easy when it came to grieve and loss; he'd spent hours in his room, with you, letting everything out and occupying himself with trying to improve his handwriting while doing paperwork, but infatuation, love, was different. Instead of fading by each passing day like anger and grief it only ever became stronger, fonder and more agressive, chewing on his insides in despair. He really did hate that he had allowed himself to feel that way but it was way too late by now. There was nothing he could do and the fact that you ignored him after almost squeezing out that much, much wanted confession was only making him feel more hollow and in pain.

But Levi knew how to control himself, he trusted his ability on that.

"What is there to talk about? Let me live my last day in peace." You barked, your eyes starting to dance towards his direction, landing on his chin, then at the curve of his unfairly full bottom lip, on his button upwards nose.

"Look." He paused, unsure of how to put his words into non hurtful sentences. "If you could just tell me why or share a few words with me. We could damn die tomorrow and I'd regret not ever talking you out of this unfair treatment you're giving me."

You wondered if you should open up your heart to him completely, without accepting any interruption from him just to cleanse your coincidence off of this weight. Upon deciding that there was truly nothing holding you back except for a silly fear of another rejection that could die with you tomorrow you opened your mouth to speak any words that came to your mind.

"Levi, I'm in pain. You rejected me. Plain and simple. I've spent so many nights wondering why I am unworthy of your affections but I can't wrap my head around you anymore."

"Is that the way you feel about me? That you're the one who's unworthy of me?"

"You always think so lowly of yourself. Makes me wonder how you trust your own abilities in battlefield. But yes. So I just want to know who is it for you? Who do you feel you're unworthy of?"

He paused for a moment, to regain any shattered piece of his heart you had thrown back to him with your statement. You didn't hate him, be always knew that, but hearing those words fall out of your mouth engulfed the matter into reality unlike before. He was ready to face it. Even if he was unsure of tomorrow he knew that if he was to stay alive while you were dead he would have torn his own brain out as to avoid overthinking this particular moment.

"You want the truth honestly, brat? I happen to think I'm the one unworthy of you. You've taught me how to write and read, you came into my office to check up on an underground scum like me to see if I was asleep. Dammit you even gave me portions of your food to help me withstand the long nights of sleeping in my chair. What have I done for you? Boss you around? Or is it my looks you're after?"

Your eyes widened at his last statement, momentarily preventing the tears that had gathered in the corners from falling. This wasn't a time to misunderstand his words and act foolish, this was the closest out of a confession you would get from the man and you were awestruck, amazed. If he wanted to know a reason you would give him one.

"I'll admit, you might have the face of an angel Levi and maybe that would initial draw anyone to you, including me but I didn't fall in love with you for that." You could tell he was taken aback by the raw nature of your words only by the small whimper that escaped his throat.

"Over the course of this relationship between us you have been there for me when I couldn't be there for myself, you've helped me improve, your hands are stained with blood and so are mine, but you've knitted with me, you've stitched my wounds, you've let me sleep in your bed when I found a giant cockroach in mine, you're so much more than what you paint yourself to be."

He stared at you with ogling, soft eyes. Had he looked at you like that before you were oblivious but there was something in those steel eyes that magnetised your own gaze, something you couldn't let go off. It was calming the knot in your chest with reassurance, bearing promises of the future but he didn't dare speak on them to ruin the moment. His head closed the distance between the two of you in sharp shiftings and now your lips were brushing his in the most suggestive manner possible. It had all happened so fast that you didn't have a chance to react.

"You realised" he whispered, voice soft as the melancholy of the theme of his words captured your breath "that if you happen to die tomorrow, I, myself will hunt you down, resecure you and then proceed to beat the living shit out of you every single day of your shitty life, right?"

He was so beautiful panting with desire under the moonlight and you would never forget. Out of all times this could have taken place it happened now, hours before a deadly expedition. The feeling of regret flooded your form, his as well for not acting upon your feelings sooner and Levi fought an internal battle as to whether he should kiss you or not. He desired to keep that kiss as a reward that you stayed alive for him but on the other hand he feared that this could well be his last chance to taste you for the first time.

"That's a weird way to say I love you" as his lips brushed closer to yours his heart felt like it would explode, he had pained to claim your lips, just once, just to know the taste of a beloved and he was sure he would be more pained to lose you.

As he pleaded that you came to him tomorrow he pressed his lips on yours, sealing the promise he demanded you to make to him. Your heart melted under the soft lights of a thousand stars.

____

As his arms wrapped around you, tears run down his eyes. That was it. You had fought to keep your promise nail and tooth. You had never managed let him down and to see that you were among the tiny amount of survivors lifted his soul to heaven. The touch of your skin, the salty taste of your neck, it all was real, you were indeed alive and safe in his arms. He wouldn't have to go insane over that fact that he would never get to look into your eyes again.

"I will always keep my promises to you." You hitched with tears running down cheeks, the shock in your core still trembling as ever.

"I know" He panted

"Besides, have you seen yourself in action, I wouldn't want you to hunt me down, oh Lord."

I am. In tears. Also I'm sorry (?) for such in depth descriptions of Levi's hands?

[peterrparrkerr]

Genderbend - read on ao3

Its a good thing I write too much. I'm backed up in stories to post so I can focus a little more on this tort claim than writing. Anywho, here you guys are. Its short 😕

*-*

When Peter first fell through a rip in reality, he hadn't noticed right away. Everything looked and seemed normal.

But it had quickly become not normal when Peter returned to the tower.

He was heading for the shower after a long night of patrolling for other potential danger spots for rifts in the universe, when someone walked out of his and Tony's bathroom in nothing but a towel.

"Ah!" She yelped. Peter did too, quickly covering his eyes with one hand while the other jutted out in front of him.

"What- what, wait who- what are you doing?!" Peter stumbled, backing up until he hit the wall.

"What am I doing?" The girl demanded incredulously. "What are you doing? This is my room! Wait! Who even are you? Why are you wearing my suit?"

Peter -out of shock- drops his hand. "Your room?" He demands, staring at her before realizing she's naked under that towel. He quickly covers his eyes again. "This is my room! And my suit! Who are you?"

"Listen bucko, I don't know who you are but you've got five seconds to get out of here or I'm calling Toni."

"Yes, call Tony!" Peter agrees. "This is our room. How did you even get in here?"

"Thats what I want to fucking know," the girl grumbled. Peter hears her walking over to the dresser. Peter's about to tell her not to go through his clothes, but he bites his tongue.

He'd rather her wear his clothes than them have this conversation while she's in nothing but a towel.

"Okay, you can stop covering your eyes, I'm dressed."

Peter slowly pulls his hand down, glancing over and blinking. The girl is wearing -well, she's wearing something neither Tony nor himself would wear.

Its purple and floral. "What-"

"Who the hell are you?" the girl demanded, crossing her arms. She's short, a little shorter than Peter, with curly brown hair and dark eyes.

"Uh, I'm Peter. I live here."

"No you don't," the girl shook her head. "I live here. With Toni."

Peter's about to retort when the door opens again. Both of them snap their heads over to see another woman Peter's never met before.

"Toni," the girl sighs in relief. Peter gapes.

"Who the fuck are you?!" He asked incredulously.

The girl sets Peter with a familiar scowl.

"I was just about to ask the same thing," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing in our room, kid."

Peter's eyes widen as he finally connects the dots. He feels his pulse rising and unsteady takes a step back. Hes got to hold onto the dresser to keep from falling to his ass.

"Oh my God," he exhales before sucking in a quick breath. "Oh my God."

The girls rush forward, and any other time Peter would run off -he doesn't know these people- but he's having a hard time catching his breath.

"Hey, hey, just breathe," the curly haired girl urges. The two have Peter down on his knees and are knelt down beside him. It takes Peter a moment to find his voice.

"I'm-I'm not supposed to be here," he says.

"Uh, yeah, I think we've gone over that," the smaller of the two huffs.

Peter only shakes his head. "No, I mean in this universe. I-I must've fallen through one of the rifts without knowing."

Suddenly Peter climbs back to his feet, nearly knocking the girls off balance. "I have to go back. I gotta get back home."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, kid," the second girl demanded, jumping up and grabbing Peter by the arm. They're both the same height, and Peter could overpower her easily, but he stops when she tugs on his arm.

"We don't know if that's actually what happened," she says.

"Yes we do," Peter shakes his head. "You're name is Toni, right? Toni Stark?"

"Antonia, yeah," Toni nods, looking skeptical.

"Okay, well, my Tony is Anthony Stark," Peter said. He turns to the smaller girl. "And I'm assuming you're a female version of me, seeing as you think I'm wearing your suit."

"I'm Petra Parker," she said. "You know, like, Spiderwoman."

"I'm Peter Parker," Peter said. "I'm not supposed to be here. Theres so many variables I don't know about, I could be dying or- or-"

He's worked himself up again and he takes a moment to take a couple deep breaths. He's got to think.

"Okay, Peter, we'll figure this out," Toni says, settling a hand on Peter's shoulder. Its a familiar gesture, but the hand is not.

It takes them a long time. A long time to work through what could happen if Peter jumped through the wrong rift. Two all-nighters and enough redbull to kick start the arc reactor, and Toni finds a rift she thinks might send him back to his own reality.

"Are you sure about this?" Petra asked, wringing her hands together nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

Peter notices he's doing the same thing and instantly stops, shaking his hands out by his sides before taking a breath.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Peter said. He bounces on his heels, then turns to look at Petra and Toni. "Thanks, you guys. It was really nice to meet you. Or me. Myself?"

Toni huffs a laugh in that familiar way.

"Go on kid, I'm sure my male counterpart is missing you and going out of his mind."

Peter grins at the thought. Its been three days. He's not sure if time passes differently, but he really hopes Tony's not too worried.

"See you guys around," Peter grins, giving a little wave before pulling his mask down and taking off in a sprint to the edge of the building.

He leaps off, allowing himself to freefall.

Now that he's paying attention to it, its easier to tell when he falls through the rift.

Everything is still the same. Its still daylight, the sun still in the same spot, the buildings around him not changing.

Peter's seconds away from shooting a web to catch himself when something else catches him first.

Peter yelps at being bodyslammed for a second time out of the sky.

"I gotcha."

Peter feels relief course through his body at hearing Tony's voice. "Oh, thank God, Tony," he breathed, body sagging in Tony's arms.

"You have no idea where I've been..."

His words taper off in confusion when he glances up. Tony's suit is different. All silver and the faceplate is missing.

Peter blinks up at Tony in confusion, taking in his strange blue eyes.

Fuck.

[soapsoappp]

I am new to this app so have a bedrock bros fic that I wrote a couple months ago!! This takes place after the final fight with Dream but before the prison arc. None of this is canon I just miss them <\3

Tw for suicidal implications

It’s late at night when they find each other in the woods. It was probably just a coincidence, Techno had gone out hunting for blood, and Tommy, well Tommy was just wandering.

Wandering is one word to describe it. Some days when Tommy finds the voices too much to bear, and his head feels like it will split open and the pathetic contents of his pathetic mind will spill out onto the ground...he walks through the forest to clear his thoughts.

It’s something Wilbur taught him. He has a memory, so faint it might have been a dream, of walking through the forest holding his big brother’s hand.

“Tommy,” Wilbur said, his dark eyes serious, “Sometimes you’re gonna get overwhelmed, but you have to promise me to..to never listen to them. Don’t give in.”

“Who is them?” Tommy had asked, his brow furrowed in confusion

Wilbur squeezed Tommy’s hand as he murmured, “Toms, I hope you’ll never have to find out.”

But as he got older, he met them. The voices in his head, telling him he’s a failure, telling him to just give up, that he should end it all in a fiery blaze and bring the world down with him.

So Tommy made a promise with Wilbur, that they would never give in to the voices.

Wilbur broke his end of the promise the same day he shook his hands with Dream.

So there Tommy is, wandering blindly through the forest. Feeling panicked because of the voices in his head, and feeling cold and alone because Wilbur is no longer there to hold his hand.

By some strange twist of fate, Techno finds himself standing on the same path as Tommy, his cold eyes staring into the boy’s shocked expression.

Technoblade looks at the boy before him, and sees the sword strapped to his waist and the flames in his eyes. He does not see the red swollen rim around the flaming eyes, nor how small the frame that carries the sword has become. He does not see his brother, he sees an enemy.

Technoblade is annoyed. The last thing he wants right now is to hear Tommy’s stupid laugh.

(Techno tries not to think about how much he misses Tommy’s stupid laugh.)

The voices demand blood, and once again this pathetic child is in his way.

Expecting the usual rude and obnoxious remarks from Tommy, Techno starts before Tommy can get a word in, “Tommy what are you doing in the middle of the forest? Are you an idiot? It’s the middle of the night! You’re so stupid, I don’t know why I didn’t just hand you off to Dream myself. It wouldn’t have made a difference since you’re just going to get yourself killed anyway.”

Techno does not see the way Tommy’s hands start to shake. He continues.

“Really you are just such a stupid child. And don’t forget that these are my woods, and I haven’t forgotten those gapples you stole from me. Give me one reason I shouldn’t take your worthless life right now.

Tommy’s whole body is shaking now. Techno can no longer pretend he doesn’t see it.

Tommy’s face remains as blank and emotionless as a mask, but his eyes are filled with tears. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to stop the shaking.

He begins to sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says over and over through panicked breaths.

Then suddenly he wipes his eyes and recomposes his anguished features into a blank expression.

Techno watches in horror as Tommy sinks to the ground, dull eyes locked onto techno’s.

“Just do it.” Tommy says flatly, with a voice far too calm for the tears that continue to spill from his eyes. “I deserve it.”

“Tommy?” Techno’s voice is small.

For the first time in what feels like centuries, technoblade is shocked. He had expected to be insulted, maybe even attacked. He expected hatred. The last thing in the world he expected was...this.

But there Tommy is, shivering in his tattered t-shirt, arms wrapped around a shaking frame, and the flames in his eyes doused by his tears. He sits in the snow, looking expectantly up at techno through frost covered lashes.

Techno leans forward, and Tommy smiles. This is it, he thinks. But the blow never comes.

Instead, Techno scoops tommy up like a bride, ignoring the teenager’s screams of protest.

All the way home, Techno carries a thrashing tommy. He pays no attention to Tommy’s insults, and he doesn’t bat an eye when Tommy threatens him. Tommy screams and cries and hits,but techno holds himself together. But when tommy begs, begs to be killed, begs to die, Techno shatters.

It is only when Tommy falls asleep in Techno’s arms, exhaustion trumping anger, that Techno allows himself to cry. Tears fall silently as he looks down at the broken boy in his arms. He looks so small, so pale, so helpless. Techno wonders how he never noticed these things before.

He told himself he didn’t care about Tommy, but as he carries Tommy through the door of his cabin and gently tucks him into bed, Techno vows to never let anyone lay a hand on this boy ever again.

Techno shakes with anger as he thinks of the way Tommy shook, the helpless look in his eyes... and the smile.. the smile when he thought his life was ending.

Techno knows he holds blame for Tommy’s current state, but he also knows that he is not the main reason Tommy has become this way. A smiling mask fills Techno’s vision and he sees red.

He’ll talk to Tommy later, make amends for the things he’s done, but that can wait. Techno isn’t good at talking, but there is one thing he can do without fail. He wraps his fingers solidly around his axe, gives the blade a swing, and heads back out into the forest.

The voices be will getting their blood tonight.

[mishasminion360]

Space Age Love Song, Ch. 1

A Mandalorian x O/C Fic

Warning: Language

Notes: I’ve had this idea for awhile now and decided “why the hell not?” It’s been quite some time since I’ve written a full fledged fic, but I’m going to try to remain committed and complete this one. I already have a good idea of where I want it to go, so that’s a plus. Readers, you’re in for plenty of Mando romance, fluff, angst, action, and suspense. I hope you enjoy!

He crashed into her life like a falling star. The brightest star in the cosmos.

Ch. 1: Crash Into Me

The world was always a lonelier place at night. Rural Kansas appeared much more desolate in the dark; the roads and the land seemed to stretch on forever, both leading to nothing. The whistling of the evening breeze was the only voice to be heard for miles.

A half-drunk glass of whiskey in hand, Sara craned her head skyward to gaze at the stars. At most times, it seemed, they were her only friends. At least there were plenty of them to go around.

Her shift at the Hillsboro Community Hospital had been a grueling one this evening. She had just managed to drag her weary bones home a little more than an hour ago and already the night was creeping into day. Though exhausted, she’d suddenly found herself wired the second she’d pulled into her driveway at nearly 3 a.m. Now coming up on 4 in the morning, she downed the rest of her whiskey in hopes of calming herself long enough to drop into dreamland.

She had no reason to be awake so late, or early, rather. Sara had no one to pass the wakefulness with. The last of the only family she’d ever known had vanished from her life nearly a decade ago, leaving her with nothing but an old country house in the middle of nowhere that was far too big for a solitary woman such as herself. That house and memories.

There shouldn’t be any joy in the thought of coming home to an empty house. No happiness at the thought of eating alone, sleeping alone, living alone. But, as it began to happen more frequently, Sara came to realize that this rush of adrenaline she felt upon returning to her solitary homestead night after night was from the hope that she wouldn’t be lonely for long. One night she’d come home and there’d be someone worth coming home to. Someone waiting for her.

For now, though, Sara pulled herself to her feet, blinked the stars from her eyes, and prepared to head inside where she’d climb the stairs to her room and finally sleep the sleep of the dead.

She had just yanked open the finicky screen door when she heard a peculiar thoom! Her tired eyes returned to the sky to see that it was ablaze with light. A star, like a white hot ember, arced through the night, tumbling, tumbling down. So bright. So fast. So BIG.

That is not a star, she thought.

Sara watched the object’s decent with her heart in her throat. What if it was a meteor? Or a guided missile gone astray? Should she take cover? Would there be enough time? Would it even matter? The time she could’ve spent moving was lost to an endless string of “what if’s” playing on a loop inside her head, and by the time her brain managed to squeeze a logical thought about running into the mix, the object was crashing to earth in the field behind her barn.

She felt the impact from her porch; wobbled unsteadily on her feet as a tremor passed through the ground below. She could see the glow of flames in the distance. With the threat of a wildfire from space igniting the field beyond, with her house and all its memories in danger, she sprang into action.

Sara darted inside and made a beeline for the kitchen, retrieving the fire extinguisher from under the sink. Then, opting to take the back door, she darted back out into the chilly pre-dawn and ran as fast as her legs would carry her toward what she could only assume was Fox Mulder’s wet dream.

***

So, it definitely wasn’t a star. It wasn’t a meteor or a missile either. Nothing in her wildest dreams could have prepared her for what she was seeing. It was in pieces and it was on fire, but even partially destroyed Sara could positively identify (having watched enough cheesy sci-fi movies with her gramps to do so) an alien ship when she saw one.

“What kind of Superman origin story bullshit is this?” she wondered out loud.

The flames licking at the wreckage weren’t too big, and the small extinguisher did the trick for the most part. The dented silver exterior was still smoldering in some places by the time the canister was empty. Tossing the empty red cylinder aside, she stood and stared at the UFO in a mix of wonder and fear as another round of incessant questions bombarded her brain. Should she call someone about this? Who the hell was she supposed to call anyway: the cops, a scientist, the news, or all of the above?

With a startling groan of metal and a hiss of pressurized air, a large door at the rear of the ship (or was it the front? She had no fucking clue) descended, assuming a new role as a ramp, or so it appeared. It was almost as if the ship were inviting her inside.

Sara took a moment to peer into the vessel’s dark innards, then shook her head. She’d seen enough Ridley Scott movies to know that going inside was a terrible idea. Blindly investigating a mysterious extraterrestrial ship is how people ended up dead or, at the very least, pregnant with an alien baby. She wanted no part in either one of those scenarios if she could help it.

The rationalist inside of Sara urged her not to take another step farther; practically shouted at her to turn around and run the other way. But the nurse in her wouldn’t, couldn’t allow her to abandon someone who might be aboard and may be hurt, human or...otherwise. Damn. Sometimes she felt like she’d chosen the wrong profession.

Taking a cautious step up onto the ramp, jumping a bit at the echoing of her own footsteps, Sara called out to the darkness.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?”

When she got only silence for a response, she decided to forge on ahead into the belly of the great metal beast.

“Okay, I’m coming in so please just...don’t eat me and keep your tentacles to yourself.”

The cavernous ship was as black as night. In the distance she could see lights blinking, like stars in the night guiding her way. Sara felt along the walls blindly and inched forward with small, cautious steps.

“If anyone is in here be warned. I do not like surprises and, so help me, if you jump out at me here in the dark I will punch first and ask questions later.”

As she drew closer to the flashing lights, she began to hear noise. What sounded like about five different alarms were blaring, but still nothing resembling a voice.

Suddenly, the floor seemed to rise by a foot and she stumbled at the sudden change in elevation. Her arms flailed dramatically as she desperately reached for something, anything to grab onto. Sara hit the ground hard and loud, her cry of surprise cut short as her head thumped against the cold floor.

Disoriented from the blow, she looked up and took in her surroundings with blurred vision. The alarms screamed at her from every direction, which was doing absolutely nothing to help her gradually building headache, and the lights blinked furiously in sync with the shrieking sirens. She could make out other objects now, what looked like buttons and knobs and levers and screens all illuminated by the incessant flashing of the warning lights. Damn her shit luck. Alone on this alien ship and she’d managed to stumble (literally) into the freaking cockpit. But where was the pilot?

Okay, maybe whatever had been flying this saucer never heard her, had no idea she was here. Maybe it was an unmanned craft. There was still a chance she’d make it out of this incredibly foolhardy endeavor alive. Stiffly and carefully Sara rolled onto her back, glanced up, and immediately screamed.

A face, or at least what she assumed was a face, more like a mask of some sort, peered down at her from above. Stifling another cry, she scrambled up to a sitting position and shinnied away until she felt her back hit wall. Even with that outburst, the creature didn’t appear to stir. After a few minutes of heavy breathing and vigilant observation, it didn’t appear that the alien was conscious.

Before she even realized she was doing it, Sara was on her hands and knees, creeping closer to where the sleeping being was collapsed heavily in what she figured to be the captain’s chair. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like a man than a monster. A man (or a woman) encased from head to toe in a suit of shimmering silver armor. Hell, it could have been a robot.

Through the small t-shaped visor in the dome-like helmet Sara could see no traces of a face. She had no definitive way of knowing if the spaceman was truly slumbering or just waiting for her to get close enough to grab, and for a moment she hesitated to move any closer. But when she saw the small trickle of blood leaking from beneath the helmet and onto the right pauldron, her fear instantly vanished. Definitely not a robot; a living, bleeding person. RN powers activate!

“Hey! Hey, can you hear me?” Sara gave the shiny helmet a light tap, trying to conjure a response. “Come on spaceman, spacewoman, are you with me? Wake up!”

His or her head rolled limply to the side as the blood continued to run. Unconsciousness following a vehicular (or spacecraftular) crash was never a good sign, but Sara couldn’t know for certain until she saw the source of the blood how bad the damage was. Gripping the helmet between her sweating palms she began to slide it upward carefully. Before she could even get it past the wearer’s chin, a hand reached up and wrapped around her wrist, stopping her instantly. She flinched, in surprise rather than pain; their grip was unexpectedly gentle.

“Don’t-don’t take it off,” a very male voice stammered weakly. “You can’t...”

Sara was momentarily stunned. The alien spoke perfect English, and in a voice as soft as their grasp. She shook her head to reorganize her thoughts. This situation called for the utmost professionalism. When you’re a nurse, first impressions are everything. And she wasn’t representing just herself at this moment, but potentially the entire human race.

“Sir, I...it’s going to be alright, sir. I’m a nurse. I can help you, but I’ll need to assess the injury. I need to remove your helmet in order to-“

“Please...”

Sara had entered this ship expecting to find a monster ready to frighten her. What she’d never anticipated was that the monster could be just as frightened as she was. And that’s what she heard in the spaceman’s voice: fear. He was scared. Of her. And that’s when any remaining trace of her own fear vanished. She reached down and found one of his gloved hands and squeezed it gently in her own.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be alright. I’m going to help you. You’re safe.” With her other hand she caressed one side of his helmet and tried to imagine that she were stroking his own cheek. “You’re safe.”

He seemed to relax a bit under her touch, but that may have been from the second wave of sleep overtaking him. Sara released his hand, took a step back, took a deep breath, and began mentally preparing herself for the task ahead.

Dragging a snoozing spaceman all the way to the house was not going to be an easy task, but it was one that had to be done. As a nurse, she’d be damned if she’d let a patient, even an extraterrestrial one, die on her watch.

Sara slid her arms around the limp man’s chest and began the first chore: hoisting him out of the chair.

“Welcome to Earth.”

[gloamingdawn]

Chapter 2

Prologue

Chapter 1

Lyn realized in an instant how much she stuck out against the black and gray rock; it had meant a lot to her that Eyir had turned the original dark armor that she’d been made by the other women in Skold Ashil, a joke about her ‘black sheep’ nature among them, golden. But now it seemed a disadvantage.

A subtle shift in the air to her right drew her attention as an almost imperceptible hum filled the space nearby. Ve’nari’s projection flickered into life and didn’t even wait a beat, “How fortuitous! You just happened to be transferred to a location in which I have a certain... interest. Place the aural sequencers I gave you and I will attempt to establish a functional signal. Such a perilous location will require the utmost discretion. You will want to use your ethereal cloak to avoid being seen.”

Right. The cloak and the sequencers. She felt the keyhole eye of the Broker’s face fixated on her as she pulled the item out of the equipment pouch on her bag and slung it back around her shoulders, hoping that it worked. With luck, placing the sequencers would help her scout the place out and find living Val’kyr — if any remained. Having an idea of how to get around the winding paths would help out the mercenary group later if they were ever sent there at any rate.

Lyn found a few stable handholds in the rocks she’d materialized on and wound her way down the small cliff-side, careful to keep an eye on the Maldraxxi patrols that wandered past her on the road. None of them paid a single lick of attention to her and she let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding as her boots touched the ground with the quiet rattle of metal on stone.

Slipping past potential threats unknown made the chore pass by with surprising swiftness; Each of the sequencers was placed in what felt like the correct spot before Lyn slipped off again, doing her best to stay conveniently hidden from view. It was the fourth and final drop that literally struck gold.

A trail of brilliant feathers littered the ground, heading toward what looked like the edge of the place. Southeast, if she had to slap an Azerothian direction on it. The projection of Ve’nari crackled into the space next to her again, the Broker’s lilting voice cutting in. Whatever it was she said, Lyn hadn’t heard. She had to save whoever was left here, if anyone. That was her task, not whatever this stranded, inter-dimensional trader wanted. She took off again, following the fallen feathers down a winding path as quick as she could.

It was hard to miss the glowing, golden Sunborne Val’kyr suspended above the ground like a bird in a cage, just past the dais littered with the corpses of their sisters and her — Helya — presiding over whatever ceremony. They’d all had names, a purpose in death, and now they’d been snuffed out for eternity. Not this one, not if she could help it.

Lyn wound her way past supplicant Mawsworn Val’kyr and Vyraz’ chosen; As she stepped in behind the cage, trying to get cover before dropping the cloak, the Sunborne’s visor tipped in her direction and a bright smile — perhaps the first she’d worn in this place — dawned across the trapped woman, “My heart rejoices to see a noble face in this realm of nightmare!”

There was palpable hope in the trapped Val’kyr’s voice, and Lyn couldn’t help but smile back, “Eyir sent me to free you and whoever else remained… Who keeps the keys, Danica?” They had never met, but Lyn knew her name. It sifted up through her memory as if she’d always known; but why wouldn’t she? They were sisters, connected by death and their great Lady’s design.

Danica pressed down toward the bottom of the cage, bringing herself closer to her would-be rescuer to keep her from having to speak too loudly, “You are the Alvilda... Keeper Odyn must be warned of this foul betrayal! The Mawsworn called Kjellrun holds the seal that can free me. You can find her gloating in the nearby hall.”

Lyn glanced back over her shoulder toward the arched metal passage that led down into the dark below before looking back to her sister with a sharp nod, summoning her spear to her hand with purpose, “I’ll be back before she takes you, I promise.” She turned and ran, traversing the stairs two at a time. The ethereal cloak’s magic allowed her to skirt past the guards as unseen as before.

Kjellrun stood at the back of the room, surrounded by the bodies of other dead Val’kyr. If she could get behind the towering, twisted facsimile of the Maw’s dark version this would be over quickly. The Light would still answer her call here, she could feel it warm in her chest — waiting. As soon as she got into a favorable position she lunged forward, ramming the spear directly through the center of the Mawsworn’s chest armor with a blaze of golden magic.

Helya’s Val’kyr clamped a gauntleted hand down on the spear’s blade and turned her head to glance back at the now visible paladin, the hollow eyes of the mask locking with Lyn’s own. The weapon disappeared before her adversary could snap the shaft, sent away with another pass of magic before Lyn summoned it back into her hand again to focus a gout of holy flame in a sweeping arc from the tip in a frantic frenzy. These were dead creatures, and a slight miscalculation could be covered up by dumping retribution and fury into every strike.

It wasn’t a subtle light show, and she heard the panicked shouts of the Maldraxxi posted as guards further up the corridor. Kjellrun swiped at Lyn, raking the sharpened black metal fingertips of her gauntlet across the smaller woman’s face and spattering blood across the wall and floor. She’d feel it later — for now, she had an opening and Lyn pressed it. There wasn’t time to fuck around.

Lyn threw her body weight behind ramming her weapon up and into the skeletal visor with a howl of challenge, pitching Kjellrun’s head back. The dark Val’kyr twitched and shuddered, clawing at the spear with futility before dying again, abruptly. Lyn grabbed the seal hanging around her neck and pulled, severing the chain and pulling the taller creature further onto her spear for good measure.

The guards' footfalls were getting closer still, she could hear them over the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears and the throbbing across her forehead, nose and cheek. She had to go. Lyn snatched the ethereal cloak up off the ground where it had fallen off her shoulders in the scuffle and threw it back on hastily, the magic immediately taking hold. Vyraz’s men didn’t even notice her as she ducked past them, their realization of failure echoing off the walls as she ran.

As soon as she was within reach of Danica’s cage she tossed the seal up onto the floor, and her sister’s spectral hand closed around it with triumph. The metal groaned and shifted, the door opening as the seal made contact with the magical lock. As soon as the Sunborne Val’kyr was free she unfurled her wings, stretching them out for what must’ve been the first time in a while. Lyn let the cloak slide down to the dusty ground, there was no point for subtly anymore, and if they were going to make a stand it might as well be—

“I mourn the loss of my sisters and desire nothing more than to avenge them. Yet I know that I am no match for the witch's magics or her army of Mawsworn. We must let wisdom guide us and fly from here. Though I am weak from my captivity, I have the strength to leave this place if you fly with me. Let us go, sister,” Danica kept her voice hushed as she cut off Lyn's train of thought, but she was right.

Not that Lyn thought she could fly, but stranger things had happened. Helya turned her gaze on them both with one of her harsh cackles, another dark Mawsworn taking point in the sky as the body of a spent Sunborne fell to the ground. Lyn grit her teeth and dug deep, activating Ashildir’s gift as Danica’s hand clamped around her arm.

The transition was always odd back on Azeroth, but here it was worse. As golden wings sprouted from her back and the token visor appeared in place on her own spectral Val’kyr form, she could see them all — hundreds of thousands of flickering souls, scattered across the Maw. Trapped, bound to this hellish plane where so many of them weren’t meant to be. If she had breath in this body, she knew it would’ve hitched in her chest at the horror of it all, but all Lyn felt was a terrible sorrow.

Danica pulled her up with a sharp tug, and it shook her out of her thoughts long enough to remember that they had to go. Helya snarled a message at them both and cast the scroll toward them with a magic that flickered an unsettling blue-black. Poison to deliver to Odyn. The first of them, the cursed sea witch, Lyn felt sorrow for her, too.

“Skyja! See them out.”

It wasn’t to be a friendly escort. Danica’s wings start to beat and Lyn focused. She’d never used her own wings in this form before, it had always been a measure to stave off death just a little longer, but wasn’t that what this was, too?

As the Mawsworn dove toward them, she and her sister flew out and away — the pair of them supporting each other as they tore through the Maw, into the In Between, and then toward Skyhold.

[asknerdizzy]

Sirens Call Arc 1/3

“You remember the plan right.”

Shard just nods, having heard it multiple times from the airplane ride to Italy, and the many meetings from the past month.

The plan was simple. Izzy was going to bid at the Siren's Cove secret auction, (with the SPW footing the bill of course) in the hopes to purchase the Stand Bow. It’s unknown what the bow can really do, but it’s speculated that it's just as powerful as the Stand Arrows. So, of course, the Foundation doesn’t want that kind of power in the wrong hands.

So they sent out Izzy, (and some other disguised SPW agents to the casino, as backup), and Shard (who was hired by Izzy to be her bodyguard). To retrieve it.

If the auction were to go wrong in any way, then they had permission to take action as they saw fit. He was hoping that this job would be simple. Oh how wrong he was.

The two approach Siren’s Cove Casino. A fitting name for the famous casino that’s known for dragging people into debt. Leading many of the guests who enter, to become prey to the many unsavory individuals inside. Making it a perfect feeding ground for the loan sharks lurking inside.

“Alrighty then, let’s do this! I think the entrance is over here. Maybe afterwords we could gamble. I’ve never done that before!” Izzy cheerfully exclaims, as she drags the larger man inside. Shard still baffles at how such a small woman could have such enthusiasm.

Still he couldn’t stop worrying about one thing.

There was the problem of a certain vampire not being with them. The SPW was very adamant about Ardram not being able to join this mission in particular, and were somehow able to separate the two for long enough, that Izzy was able to get on a plane without him.

Shard grimaced under his mask just thinking about it. Adram ought to be furious, and would probably find his way here soon enough. If anything were to happen to Izzy on his watch-

He shook his head, this wasn’t the time to start thinking about that now. He had to be focused to make sure that nothing happens.

Looking around, he saw that the casino was teeming with excited gamblers. With the whole floor being themed as if one was under the sea. Vibrant blues and greens flashing all about from the machines. With a large aquarium in the center. Even the members of staff were dressed to the theme of the casino, them either being pirates, fishermen or mermaids

The two soon found themselves at the highest floor available to the average gambler. Where Izzy spotted a door off to the side that was almost hidden from view, and gestured for Shard to do his thing. Rolling his eyes he knocked on the door in a strange pattern, and said in practiced fashion, “The pull of the sea was too much for two.”

The door creaks open allowing the two to step inside to a spiral staircase leading up to the next floor. At the very top floor, the two are greeted to the sight of a large theater that would host the auction. With other guests already inside ambling about.

Izzy walks over to one of the staff, awkwardly smiling. “Excuse me, but how long until the auction begins? It’s my first time doing this”

“Not long Miss. it’ll be a few minutes at best. You’ll need this.”

She thanks him giving him a tip, as he hands her a cue card. “We’re all set. Now all we got to do is find a seat.” Shard was already eyeing a row, and with a nudge they settled down in their seats.

A few minutes later, a young woman sat next to them, and nervously started a conversation with them. “H-hello. Umm what was it again, oh right. Do you like frogs with top hats?”

That question itself was a code by the foundation for this mission to figure out who were spw members without explicitly saying it aloud, and Izzy immediately replied with the code phrase to affirm her status. “Oh yes! I really enjoy it when they wear a tiny mustache too. It’s so adorable. I’m Izzy by the way.” Izzy extends her hand in greeting with a large smile on her face.

Haven’s tense posture visibly relaxed at her response, and tentatively shook Izzys extended hand with her gloved one. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and uh is he with you?”

Shard nods curtly answering “Yes, I’m Shard.”

“I’m Haven. I’m new to all this, so please be patient with me.”

While the two began to chat as they waited for the auction to begin. Shard looked over the woman, and couldn’t help but find her…strange. Especially her gold necklace that appeared to have eyes engraved on it. He’s certain that he’s seen that before, but couldn’t remember where at that moment.

When he was about to ask her, most of the lights turned off and the lights on the stage brightened.

The auction finally begins.

[fantasyoverreality98]

Prince of Shadow

Pairing: Aerin x F! MC

Summary: Aerin reflects on why he chose a path of darkness and receives a visit while imprisoned in the dungeons.

Author’s Note: I’m back at it again with the clownery! Can’t help myself but write about some villains. I will not rest until I get redemption arcs. Anyway, this takes place after the finale of Blades Book 1, and the only warning I have is that it is angst and contains talk of abuse. Thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it, I really appreciate you.

Word Count: 2,671

-----

Water splashed against the hard stone, the sound echoing in the silent dungeon.

Prince Aerin Valleros sat in the corner, listening to the scurrying rats on the other side of his cell. One ventured closer and withdrew when it felt the dark energy radiating off him. His lips curved up in a smile as he watched the creature disappear into the shadows.

With a sigh, Aerin cast his gaze to the cell door.

“What are you looking at, prince?” the guard sneered.

The prince shook his head and looked away. Two weeks had passed since he woke up in this cell. Only once had his father bothered to visit; first to beg that his precious son come back to him, and then to curse him for killing Baldur. As if his father had ever cared about him.

No, he had never felt loved by his family.

They were weak. Pathetic. Worthless.

All his life, Aerin had been abused by his brother, while his father stood by and watched. Life as a prince meant nothing when he spent every moment wishing that someone, anyone would care for him. Love him.

He’d thought he may have found that in the adventurer. Raine had convinced him that she cared. But like everyone else, she had deceived him and let him down.

And now you are alone.

Foolishly, he briefly allowed himself to believe that she would visit him in the dungeons. Perhaps those feelings were mutual.

But she had never appeared.

“Have you heard word from my father?” Aerin asked, tired of spending his days wondering what came next.

The guard took a moment to respond, and even then, refused to look at the prince. “No. King Arlan has been trying to—”

“And just what do you think you’re doing? Our orders were to watch Prince Aerin. Not engage in a conversation with him.” Another guard sauntered up to the cell, sneering when he glanced at Aerin. “Ignore this traitor.”

Someday, he would make that guard pay for all the mistreatment he had faced in this cell.

Footsteps filled the air, and for a brief moment, hope flared in Aerin’s chest. The excitement vanished when he saw that it was simply another guard. Of course it wasn’t Raine. He was foolish to believe even for a moment it might be.

“But why, Aerin? Why would you do this?”

“What life did I have before? Forever trapped in the shadow of my fool of a brother, doomed to a life of pathetic obscurity? Bullied. Doubted. Mocked. I hated it here. My only reprieve was in my dreams.”

No one understood how it felt to live life as a constant afterthought. Baldur had spent every possible moment torturing him, making him feel insignificant, while their father stood by and encouraged it.

Aerin may regret some of his decisions now that the Dreadlord had been defeated, but he would never regret ending his brother’s life. Baldur got what he deserved. He had been the truly evil one.

“Have you heard word of the heroes?” Aerin’s voice echoed in the cell, and he tried to mask the desperation he felt.

If Raine would appear, just once, he might allow himself to believe that things could change. Despite all that happened, he still wanted her. He wanted to be with her. If she would have him.

“Who said you could speak?” The guard who had arrived last glanced at him with a look of disgust. “King Arlan has been inconsolable these past two weeks. The crown prince’s death has devastated the kingdom.”

Unable to help himself, Aerin snorted. “Of course.” Bitterness wrapped around his heart once more. “Poor, poor Baldur.”

Pain burned throughout his body, the Nerada Stone still fused to his chest. It had grown worse since he awoke here, in this dark cell, his only companions the rats that shrank back in fear whenever they wandered too close.

“How dare you speak his name. You tarnish the good reputation of Morella through your very existence.”

Those words may have hurt once, but Aerin no longer cared. Morella was not a great kingdom. Humans, elves, orcs, they were all weak. Any goodness that may have remained had long been corrupted, and the world didn’t need his help for that to happen.

“Please, do tell me more of how much of a traitor I am.” He was growing tired of this daily routine. It seemed many of the guards felt it necessary to remind Aerin of his sins, as if he wasn’t already aware.

The guards ignored him, chatting amongst themselves while Aerin stared at the wall across from him. It was damp, water gliding down the stones, staining them a dark gray. Outside, the sounds of life raged on.

This was the way things had always been. For as long as he could remember, he had been cast aside. Forgotten. Treated like a foolish child. No one pitied the younger prince.

Resentment bloomed inside his chest.

“Some of the heroes left, but others remain.” The whisper was so low, he believe he may have imagined it.

Aerin looked up, locking eyes with the one guard who often gave him snippets of information. To his surprise, the guard gave him a smile, even if it was a weak one.

Perhaps kindness wasn’t completely lost in this cursed world.

“Do you know who remains?” he whispered back, directing his attention on the two other guards, who were engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion.

The guard glanced at his companions briefly before turning back to Aerin. “The two siblings, I believe. And the priestess.”

The two siblings. Those were the only three words he needed to hear.

Raine was still here. She had not yet left. Maybe—

“Alright, let’s go! I doubt the little prince can do much anyway. Someone can stand guard nearby.” The rudest of the men walked past the cell, pounding a fist against the bars before he disappeared from sight.

Not much later, the other two followed, leaving Aerin in silence once more.

Tears started to well in his eyes, and he wiped them before they could fall. Crying wouldn’t fix anything. He had failed. The Shadow Court was in pieces. Now, he would spend the rest of whatever life he may have left trapped in this cell.

Alone. Hated. Abandoned.

Memories of his first encounter with Raine and her friends in the Deadwood haunted him. He remembered their first kiss. In those fleeting moments, he had allowed himself to believe that people might value him more than Baldur. For the first time in his life, he had been shown kindness.

---

Everything about the situation felt like magic. The air came alive, and Aerin could forget for a moment about the pain that burned throughout his body when Raine looked at him.

She gave his hands a tight squeeze, shifting closer until her lips brushed against his.

Wow. He was sure he said something without realizing it, a flicker of joy igniting deep within as she kissed him again. Aerin never wanted it to end.

When Raine said that she was glad they understood each other, even more hope worked its way into his heart. Perhaps he was not as alone as he had thought. Perhaps someone truly could understand him. The thoughts stayed with him until they parted ways. Then, the pain returned.

Do not forget the objective. The words hissed inside his mind, and he glanced back at Raine’s tent, narrowing his eyes.

How was it that this young woman could cast doubt on him?

“Growing quite fond of the peasant, are you, pipsqueak?” Baldur’s voice induced rage that Aerin had to try his best to ignore. “Can’t say it surprises me. Of course you would associate with those scum.”

Aerin tried to walk away, but Baldur grabbed him by the back of his tunic and yanked him backward.

“When your future king speaks to you, you are expected to answer. Or shall we visit the good old days, brother?” Baldur stared into his eyes, malice reflected in them.

One day, Aerin would make Baldur pay. But today was not that day.

He tried not to retaliate when his brother shoved him so hard, he fell to the ground. Ever since childhood, things had always been this way. And no one cared.

No one cared that the younger prince was bullied by the crown prince. King Arlan even encouraged Baldur at times, brushing the abuse off as child’s play. No one could see him for what he truly was. A coward. An imbecile. A fool.

“They saved our lives,” Aerin said, brushing the dirt off his tunic as he rose to his feet. “How else should I treat them?”

Baldur started to approach, his face twisted into a sneer. “Just you wait until we return home. I—”

“Is there a problem here?”

Both princes turned their heads in the direction of the voice. The orc watched them, a scowl on her face when she looked at Baldur.

“N-no—” His brother fumbled over his words, his eyes wide.

Aerin hid a smirk when Baldur scurried away, the terror giving him amusement. “Thank you,” he said to Imtura, who grunted in response and focused her attention elsewhere.

Once he was alone, the smile dropped, and he leaned against a tree, trying to steady his breathing. The Stone fused to his chest caused constant pain. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it would not go away.

But it was a price he was willing to pay to become the King of Shadow.

The Dreadlord was his one friend. Before this, Aerin had no purpose. He’d been little more than his older brother’s punching bag, forever ignored by the rest of the court.

Soon enough, he would have all he needed. The shards would help him to return the Shadow Court to glory. Finally, people would bow to him. He would no longer live in his brother’s shadow, forced to endure endless torment and abuse.

His time was coming.

---

The people above ground continued going on with their lives while Aerin sat in darkness.

Time lost all meaning in the dungeons. Sunlight could no longer reach him here.

“You have a visitor.”

Aerin looked up at the sound of the guard’s voice, trying to conceal the surprise he felt at that statement. “Who?”

Without answering the question, the guard craned his neck back and called out down the dark hallway. “He’s ready to see you!”

“What? You didn’t answer my question! I—” Aerin paused mid-sentence when a familiar figure emerged from the shadows, her lips set in a hard line. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, speaking her name in a breathy tone. “Raine.”

Her hair was in its usual low bun, parted down the middle. The last signs of her injuries from the fight were fading, the bruises just visible in the dim lighting.

“Aerin.” For a moment, emotion flickered across her face, but she composed herself so fast he may have imagined it. “How are you?”

He grinned, looking around the cell. “Well, I’m alive. How are you?”

“Listen, I—” There it was again. The conflict. Raine cleared her throat, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “It is not too late to change. The Dreadlord is gone. You don’t have to worry about your brother anymore. We—”

“You have five minutes. That is all we can give you.” Aerin focused his attention on the guard, sending him a glare that was enough to make the man retreat. “Ten minutes,” he said as he hurried down the hallway.

As soon as they were alone, he looked at Raine again. “You lied to me. You said you’d still have me, even as I am. And you lied.”

She uncrossed her arms, and the stony expression fell away. “I didn’t lie. Aerin, I do care about you. That moment we shared in the forest was real. But what you were doing was wrong. We couldn’t let you win.”

“You’re just like the rest of them. No one understands me.” He turned away, regretting that he had spent the past two weeks awaiting her visit.

Raine watched him without speaking a word. The water continued to drip onto the stone floor, creating a quiet melody.

“I know that the Aerin I fell for is still in there.”

The words made him inhale sharply, and he turned to look at her. Had they crossed paths sooner, perhaps everything would be different.

She made him forget about his terrible childhood, of the abuse he’d faced at the hands of Baldur. Only Raine had shown him true affection. She almost made him want to believe in the Light. That things could get better, if only he had the courage to fight off the fragments of corruption and evil that were intertwined with his soul.

“That Aerin wasn’t real. I stopped believing in the goodness of the world a long time ago.” He wanted her to leave. To let him live out what little time he had left in silence.

Raine stepped closer, wrapping her hands around the cell bars. “Your father sent me here to try and talk some sense into you. He told me that none of what happened was your fault, that the Onyx Shard—”

“Do you have any idea how it felt to spend my entire childhood beaten by my brother as my father stood by and did nothing?” Aerin refused to look her in the eye. “All I ever dreamt about was having someone who loved me. I found that in the Dreadlord. He promised me power. He told me that I would no longer be weak, that I could find a family who cared about me when the people of Morella did not. How could you possibly understand how that feels?”

“I—” Raine shook her head, chewing on her bottom lip as she searched for the words to say. She remained just outside the cell, watching him. After some time had passed, she opened her mouth to answer. “I don’t understand how that feels, you’re right. But you’re wrong when you say no one loves you. Or that the Shadow Court was a family that cared about you. I’m here to help you. You don’t have to live in fear anymore.”

They both tensed when footsteps pounded on the stone toward them. Raine turned to look, frowning as the guard approached.

He spared Aerin a quick glance before returning his attention to Raine. “Time’s up. Let’s get you out of here.”

“Wait! Just—hey!” The guard grabbed her by the arm and started to drag her away, but she elbowed him in the side, flinging herself against the cell door. “Aerin, I believe in you, okay? I know that—”

The guard grabbed her again, and she once more fought him off.

“I’ll come back to see you again. You aren’t alone. I—”

This time, the guard grabbed her around the waist and heaved her back. Raine tried to fight him some more, but he called for backup. Together, three guards dragged her away from the cell, all the while she continued to yell promises.

“I’ll return!” Her final words echoed throughout the dungeon, followed by the sounds of a struggle as the guards carried her off.

Once silence rushed back in, Aerin struggled to his feet, crossing the cell to the door. He peeked outside, unsurprised to see the dungeon empty. If he listened close enough, he thought he might hear the sounds of a continuing fight overhead.

You aren’t alone.

It was too good to be true. Part of him didn’t believe her words. And yet, he wanted to take consolation in that statement. Perhaps Raine really did mean it when she said she cared.

Aerin shook his head and started to laugh. His laughter rang out in the cell, and for the first time in years, he felt hopeful.

[2manyfandoms2count]

#LadynoirJuly Days 20&21

Today I discovered there’s a limit to how many characters you can type into a note on your phone (if you’re wondering, it’s around 15,000). Anyway, it’s already August and I still have 10 days worth of prompts to write, everything is fine XD

I hope you’ll enjoy this double prompt, it’s a long one! I had a lot of fun writing it :D Ladybug finally gives her umbrella back to its rightful owner... It’ll be continued in the next prompt!

@ladynoirjuly2020

Next

---

Days 20&21: Déjà vu and Reveal

The skies had been threatening all day. Ominous black clouds hung low over Paris, ready to burst at any moment, charging the air with electricity. Paris anxiously awaited the release, which would bring back the temperature to bearable levels.

Marinette was prepared for any situation. Her bright yellow summer dress allowed her to be comfortable in the heat, while the umbrella at her side guaranteed protection if she was caught in the rain. And also, she hoped, attention from a certain blond-haired boy. 

Indeed, she hadn’t picked just any umbrella as she left her place, going for the large black one that had been sitting in the holder for more than a year, instead of her small, practical one. Surely he’d notice. She wasn’t sure she was ready to give what she had come to believe was a symbol of whatever it was that united her and Adrien back to its rightful owner, but she doubted it would come to that. 

Walking home at the end of the day, she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or glad it hadn’t. In fact, the boy hadn’t even noticed her unusually large accessory. The thought that perhaps he didn’t remember their fateful conversation in the rain had crossed her mind, but she’d promptly shut it up. Even if he believed it was only the beginning of their friendship, she couldn’t bear to think it had been an inconsequential interaction.

Thus, it was with a feeling of melancholy that the young girl had made it to patrol, her umbrella safely stored inside her yoyo. Chat Noir’s punning and messing around had done little to cheer up his partner.

“You’re claw-fully quiet today, m’lady. What’s bugging you?” He nudged her as they surveilled the city from the top of the Arc de Triomphe. He kept his tone light, but was troubled by her sullenness. 

Ladybug sighed profoundly, her hands cupping her face as she leaned against the railing. “Heart troubles.” She pouted. She wished she had Chat Noir’s confidence when it came to love, and his resilience. 

“I’m sorry.” He patted her lightly on the back. 

“No you’re not.” She snorted, turning around to face him. He was glad he’d gotten at least a smile from her.

“You know me so well, it’s like we’re made for each other.” He smiled, holding himself back from stroking her pigtail. “I just can’t believe there’s someone stupid enough to pass by you, when you’re claw-ly the most amazing person out there.” Marinette came very close. But Ladybug would always be the top of the amazingness scale. He wouldn’t resist her. She had her flaws, but who didn’t?

“He’s far from being stupid.” She sighed again, recalling the perfect Brevet Blanc grades she’d caught him promptly shove in his bag as Madame Bustier distributed them. “Besides, I’m not sure you’d say that if you knew me as a civilian.”

“Bugaboo, the mask is but an accessory.” He said with flourish, earning himself another smile. “Really, it doesn’t change who you are, deep inside. It might give you a boost in confidence, but that’s it. Master Fu wouldn’t have chosen you, otherwise.”

“Thanks, Chaton.” He was right. Of course he was. She knew she was great most of the time, but sometimes, doubt invaded her mind. Mostly when she was trying to start a conversation with Adrien. Why was it so hard for her to keep her cool in those cases? She inched closer to Chat and laid her head upon his shoulder instead of delving into an answer. 

She let herself close her eyes for a second. Just then, raindrops started to land on her face. Lightly, at first, almost inconspicuous, making her nose crinkle at the slight inconvenience. Then the rate picked up, and suddenly her eyes were open and she was sprinting with Chat, vaulting themselves off the Parisian monument and onto a nearby rooftop. They ran, their suits preventing them from slipping on the slick slates, and slid down under a parabola for temporary protection, laughing at the thick curtain of rain that surrounded them. It almost concealed their surroundings. A small stream gathering at their feet had them huddle closer under their makeshift shelter to stay dry.

“Want to join your friends?” Ladybug quipped, lightly nudging her partner with her elbow as she eyed the pouring rain.

“Huh?” Chat looked at her inquisitively.

“You know… It’s raining cats and dogs, you’re a cat, all that jazz…” She trailed.

Chat let out a small laugh and shook his head. He loved that Ladybug was trying to joke around more, but she still had a good way to go before reaching his level of ultimate pun king.

He was about to reply wittingly when a nearby church rang 7pm. His face paled.

“I need to get home.” He was expected at the dinner table in fifteen minutes, sharp, in perfect state. His father was gracing him with his presence, for once. 

The rain around them was relentless, the clouds somehow darker than they’d been up until then. They had ventured further from his place than usual. It seemed like everything was teaming up to prevent him from getting back on time. He flinched a little as he got ready to pounce out in the rain.

“See you later, m’lady!” He jogged out with an arm held out over his head, which did a poor job protecting his blond mane.

Ladybug watched him run, his hair almost instantly getting soaked. She thought about the contents of her bag. Well, of her yoyo.

“Chaton, wait!” She raced after him as she opened her multifunction weapon. Chat Noir turned in time to see her pull out a large umbrella. He stopped in his tracks as she approached.

“Have this, I’m in no hurry.” She panted slightly as she came to a halt near him.

“You’re a regular Mary Poppins, you know that?” 

She laughed as she opened the umbrella and handed it to him.

A flash of lightning illuminated her face as their hands touched on the handle, her mask paling in the bright light.

Chat felt an odd feeling of déjà vu as he received the accessory, although it felt like he was reliving a past scene from another perspective. Aside from the stronger rain, the way they were both standing reminded him of another umbrella handover, one he’d thought about all day. He hadn’t known how to bring it up with Marinette earlier; she probably hadn’t thought twice about what umbrella she’d picked in the morning, and if she did, he definitely didn’t want it to seem like he wanted her to give it back. He liked to think she had something of his, and secretly hoped she did think about him when she saw or used it.

Standing like this, her arm extended towards him so as to protect him from the heavens, he felt like he was in Marinette’s shoes. Over a year ago, the situation had been reversed, the blond boy handing shelter to a girl in pigtails. The umbrella closed upon his head, and Ladybug laughed freely at the sight, just like he had when it had happened.

He laughed along and tried to shake the feeling away, to concentrate on the matter at hand - the clock was ticking - but as he reopened the umbrella, a very familiar logo on the handle caught his eye. It was discreet enough that an untrained eye would miss it. To a common mortal, what he was holding was the most basic black piece of rain equipment one could find. Well, purr-haps not the most basic, but there wasn’t anything particularly exceptional about it. For the son of a designer, though, and more precisely, of the person who’d designed this particular accessory, there was.

Had it been any other piece of clothing from Gabriel designs, Adrien wouldn’t have questioned how Ladybug had come to own it. Although on the expensive side, it wasn’t rare for him to spot Gabriel sneakers like his own, or even jewellery. The prime example was his classmate Sabrina, who wore the same broach his father had designed for his mother.

The umbrella, though, was a different matter. They weren’t sold anywhere, his father deeming their commercialisation was not worth the manufacturing price. They kept the few prototypes at the mansion for their personal use, and if one of the rare clients his father received in person got caught in the rain on his way back. The number of people who owned one could probably be counted on the fingers of a hand.

Since Ladybug was clearly not one of his father’s clients, who were all at least in their early fifties, there were two other options: either she was one of their daughters, or…

Another flash of lightning lit her face up again, and this time it took all of his will not to drop the umbrella, as her mask almost disappeared in the light. If what he saw was real, he truly was the luckiest boy in the world.

“Bugaboo, where did you get this?” He asked slowly.

She frowned in response. “A friend gave it to me, why?” It was just a black umbrella. Apart from Adrien, Chat was the only person she felt confident lending it to. She’d want it back, though.

“Which friend?” He insisted.

“You know I can’t answer that, Chaton.” She pursed her lips. “Also, weren’t you in a hurry?” She inched closer to him to be within the protection perimeter. Her pigtails were already drenched.

He dismissed her question with a wave. “My father can wait. Can I answer how you got it for you?”

“You can try, but I doubt you’ll get the right answer.” She wondered what the big deal was, but listened expectantly. There was no way he could know.

“My guess is that you stood up for yourself and confronted Adrien Agreste on his first day of class, and this was his version of an olive branch. I didn’t peg you as someone who’d give it away to the first alley cat, though… Marinette.” He kept a straight face, but his heart was beating way faster than the healthy range in his chest. Please Kwami, let me be right…

“Ma- ma- Marinette? Me? No. What?” She stuttered, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson shade. “I- er, well, if you do need to know, she’s the one who gave it to me!” She added hastily.

“Are you lying?” Chat leaned towards her with a smirk, and she hated the sense of déjà vu that overcome her. What was it with blond boys questioning her lies by getting in her personal space?

“N- no?” She slapped herself internally for her answer coming out as a question. She usually was more confident than this. She was Marinette, for Kwami’s sake. The chosen Ladybug. The only person she got nervous around was Adrien Agreste. Who, she noted, sometimes acted exactly like her partner was acting right now.

Chat Noir took a step back, his smirk still plastered on his face. “You know, I would believe you, if it weren’t for the fact Marinette was carrying this particular umbrella all day, and then went home to work on our History essay that’s due tomorrow. Not sure there would have been any time for you to swing by.”

Ladybug gaped. “How… You can’t…” 

His smiled widely seeing she’d given up on denying her identity. “Possibly know that? Think again, m’lady.” He winked and strolled towards the edge of the building. “Thanks for giving this back to me, I purr-omise I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

“Adrien?” Her eyes went wide as she realised the implications of his words.

He gave her a salute as he jumped off, his heart still singing at the reveal.

“Wait!” Ladybug yelled out in the night. “You can’t just drop a bomb like this and just leave!”

Her partner had already disappeared behind a building, though. 

Ladybug stood helplessly under the rain, thoughts racing through her head. Blasted cat, what am I supposed to do now?

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Summary:  He just needed to know if Ladybug needed Chat Noir. He didn't expect to learn just how much she wanted Adrien.

This would be the best five minutes of his life, if he didn't expect her to forget it.

(Ladrien, reveal fic, set during Desperada.)

Rating:  T

Word Count:   3716

Notes:  Time is an illusion so they’re both 17 and each season lasted 1 year.  I do what I want.  Also it starts out angst but it’s actually shameless fluff and humor trust me

XXX

“We now have five—” 

“This isn’t working.”  Adrien tried to claw at his hair, but was met with the scaly material of his new suit.  It itched, like the tight hood held in all the sweat and dandruff of the—weeks?  Months?—he’d spent rewinding the past five minutes.

25,912 times.  That was months, wasn’t it?  Not that it mattered; time had lost meaning by the thousandth try.  

And yet he kept counting.  Couldn’t stop counting, couldn’t forget, not when she evaporated to golden dust over and over again, a thousand different ways, a thousand different wide eyes and shocked gasps— 

How was she still so surprised, every time?  How could she continue to trust him?

(She didn’t remember, of course, but surely she could feel it. He would only disappoint her.)

“Adrien…?  Did we not make it?”

“No, we didn’t,” he muttered, digging his nails into his arms through the suit, missing the claws of his usual transformation.  “Not this time, not the last thousand times…”

“Thousand…?”  Ladybug gasped.

He turned his back to keep her from seeing the tears rolling down his cheeks.  It wasn’t the first time he’d cried.  That had been attempt 213.  Her fingers had felt like silk as she brushed away the water clinging to his lashes.

He couldn’t afford to let her do that again.  Couldn’t afford to be putty in her hands, when he needed all his willpower to escape this loop—to free them both.

His arms wrapped tightly around himself.  This suit was so much colder than Chat Noir’s.  He missed the black leather; he missed Plagg; he missed when his job was to run into danger for his Lady, when she wasn’t the one vanishing over and over and over and over and over and over and—

“Adrien!”  

Suddenly Ladybug was in front of him, catching him as he collapsed to his knees, body shaking.  

“You—you’re—what’s wrong?  What happened?  Have you really been…?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, but with all of his strength, he managed not to look up into those soft blue eyes, eyes that had never looked at Chat Noir with the same kind of affection she directed at Aspik.  When all else failed, when he vowed only one more try, those eyes were the ambrosia that sustained him, kept him coming back for another taste.

“You can take a break, as much time as you need,” she assured him in one rushed breath.

As much time as you need.  She had no idea.  She didn’t remember the hundred rest breaks he’d already taken, eight of which he’d spent wrapped in her arms.  

He’d been held more in the past month of the time loop than he had in the past year of his regular life.  Would it really be such a problem if he let her, one more time…?

No, Adrien, focus!  You have to ask her before you do something stupid again!

“Or… you can stop, if it’s too much,” she whispered, her fingertips just a breath away from where he clutched his knees to his chest.  “I never meant to hurt you, Adrien.”

There was no point in telling her his superhero name would’ve been Aspik.  She’d just forget in moments. And hearing his real name from her lips… that was one treasure he couldn’t deny himself.

His shoulders shook as he released a deep breath.  Could he stop?  No, he could never leave his Lady, especially when he knew she really would be gone without Aspik’s power.  Chat could take one hit for her, but that wouldn’t be enough without Second Chance.

But still, he had to be sure.

“Do you… do you really think we don’t need Chat Noir?”  His voice cracked pathetically.

It was the only variable he could think of to change their fate.  He’d tried everything—and after 25912 times, he really meant everything—except for attempting the mission as Chat.  Maybe he should’ve thought of it sooner, but her Lucky Charm had led her to Adrien.  And it wasn’t like he had a good excuse for why Adrien and Chat Noir couldn’t be in the same place at the same time.

Her mouth hung open for a moment before she answered.  

“Why—do you think we don’t need him?”

Of course.  She didn’t remember the first time, when she’d decided Aspik was good enough.  That they’d make an awesome team.

(If he had to listen to Plagg say that again, he would scream.)

(Then again, he’d thought that the last two hundred forty-two times, and he’d only cracked twice.)

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Adrien said, searching for her answer in the narrow arc of her brows.  “Do you think we need Chat Noir for this mission?”

She bit her lip, eyes darting away guiltily before she sighed.  “I know we need Chat Noir.  I… didn’t make us start without him, did I?  Our team would be lost without him.”

The breath finally returned to his lungs.  She needed him.  She needed Chat.  He wasn’t replaceable after all—not even by himself.

“No, it was my fault,” he explained, because aside from that first time, it had always been his suggestion to go ahead.  Five minutes didn’t leave time to wait on a hero who would never show.  “I was… overeager.  I might have wanted to impress you…”

She wouldn’t remember his admission, but it still took a weight off of his shoulders to be honest with her.

She giggled at that.  “You? Wanted to impress me?”

“Heh… pretty embarrassing, huh?”  He scratched at the side of his head where the itchiness was flaring up again.  

He knew what he needed to do now.  Ladybug needed Chat Noir; they’d just have to find someone else to use the snake miraculous.  Luka, maybe; he was hiding nearby and would probably take well to the lyre weapon.  He should use Second Chance one more time, so she wouldn’t remember this conversation and potentially put the pieces of his identity together.

“No no, it’s not!”  Ladybug waved her hands quickly.  “I’m just—it’s funny.  Usually I’m the one trying to impress you… I mean!  I have to be impressive, I mean, I’m a superhero, right?”

He blinked at the flush peeking out from under her mask.  For all the times he’d Second Chanced, he didn’t remember seeing her so flustered.

(Granted, any time she might have been, she’d gone up in gold dust too quickly to tell.)

His gaze flickered upwards at that thought, but Desperada never found them in the sewers.  That, at least, was one constant he could rely on.

He wiped the back of his hand across his damp eyes and smiled.  

“You never stop impressing me, Ladybug.”

Her blush only deepened.  “I… thank you, Adrien.”

Her smile could’ve melted him on the spot.  How was he supposed to reset time while she looked at him like he’d hung the stars in her sky?

(He couldn’t, obviously.  But he still had four minutes.)

This was his time before he convinced her to take back the miraculous.  For as traumatizing as it had been to watch her disappear again, again, again, he was going to miss constantly being by her side.  It had been so long since he’d had to be alone…

“Is there anything else worrying you?”  She asked, still crouched in front of him.  “Chat will be back soon, I’m sure of it.  But in the meantime, whatever you need… you’ve been here for me for so long, even if I don’t remember it.  Let me be here for you.”

“You already have,” he smiled, allowing himself the extra bit of transparency he could only afford when he knew it would soon be erased.  “You’re here for me every day… my Lady.”

She giggled, leaning a fraction closer to him.   “Maybe that’s why Chat never came around to help us.  He was probably jealous of you stealing his lines.”

If he leaned into her space too, well, she smelled better than the surrounding sewer.

“It’s not stealing if I mean it.”

Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you? He could almost hear Plagg say. 

But Ladybug didn’t laugh, or push him back by the nose, or put any distance between them at all.  She just stared, stunned—maybe too shocked that he appropriated a moment usually shared between her and her real partner.

“A-and I really don’t think Chat Noir has any reason to be jealous of me,” he mumbled in embarrassment.

Chat Noir didn’t let Ladybug down 25,912 times. Sure, he made plenty of mistakes, but never like this.  Maybe Plagg was the real hero behind Chat Noir.  Or maybe it was the fact that Ladybug knew his identity, had chosen him, that never allowed him to be completely professional.

(Okay, so he was never completely professional, but normally he kept his head on straighter than this.)

For once, though, Ladybug wasn’t calling for him to keep his distance.  A laugh escaped her as she said, “Besides the fact that your lines actually work?”

There was a moment of silence before she processed what she’d said.  Her hands flew to cover her mouth, but by then he was already beaming brighter than the sun.

“My lines work?  On you?”

If it wasn’t for the black spots on her mask, it might have blended in with her face.  “I—I wasn’t supposed to tell you that!”

“But I call you my Lady all the time!  Why would…” he trailed off, the cogs in his brain turning.  It was probably nothing but a naive, optimistic hope, but—well, she had chosen him.  Adrien him.  And Ladybug never blushed so much around Chat Noir…

“There’s no way I’m that lucky,” he whispered, tentatively reaching for her hand.  “Is there?”

But while he’d been putting those pieces together, she had apparently come to a conclusion of her own.

“Chat?”  She whispered back.

“Oh—crap,” he muttered, instinctively reaching for his wrist.  She didn’t want to know his identity, he wasn’t supposed to tell; he’d broken that rule once during this eternal time loop but he hadn’t meant to do it again— 

What if she was disappointed?  Or mad he hadn’t told her sooner?  What if she realized she didn’t like him after all, now that she knew he was her partner?

Ladybug slid her grip down his wrist, covering the miraculous.  “You’re him.  You’re—no wonder Chat never showed.”

“You said you needed me,” he tried to explain, his voice pleading please don’t hate me.  “Adrien me.  I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you down.”

But I did anyway.  So just let go, and I’ll fix this, I swear, I’ll convince you to pick someone else, I just need— 

Her hand cradling his head.  Her fingers tightening around his hand.

Her lips, suddenly pressing against his mouth.

He gasped, leaving her room to take his bottom lip with hers, and— 

He was dreaming.  The time loop had finally driven him mad.  That was the only explanation.

It didn’t stop from pouring everything he had into that two-second kiss.  Too short, way too short.  If this was a hallucination wouldn’t it at least continue a little longer?

“I’ve always needed you.”  She stared right through his core, and he couldn’t help but believe it.  “Adrien and Chat.”

“Uh,” he said eloquently.  His brain might as well be slush between his ears.  Ladybug had kissed him, Ladybug had kissed him—on purpose—! 

“Oh my gosh—did I really just do that?”  She smacked her hands to her flaming cheeks, worrying him.  Was the kiss just a heat-of-the-moment impulse to make him feel better?  She wouldn’t go that far just to cheer him up, right?  

“I just meant—I’ve always needed you, Chat and Adrien, and I probably should’ve just said that instead of jumping you—bad M—Ladybug!  You’re supposed to be catching the akuma, not kissing Adrien!  OhmygoshIkissedAdrien and Adrien’s Chat Noir and—you did want to kiss me, right?”  

She stared at him with something on the verge of panic.

“I still want to kiss you,” he blurted.

She squeaked.  Kissing her was probably not the best thing to do right after bombing her with his identity—but she’d kissed him!  A lovesick smile broke out on his face just thinking about it.  He could’ve died and gone to heaven right then, if he hadn’t realized—

“But you won’t remember it.”  He sat back, knees curling up to his chest.  “I’ve got to use my Second Chance.  I should’ve been more careful.  You didn’t want to know my identity.”

“But what if I did?  If we could tell each other…”

He shook his head.  He might be naturally optimistic, but he knew better than to get his hopes that high.  

“You know I’ve always wanted to tell you, LB.  Now more than ever.  But you’ve always said we can’t.  You don’t have to take it back just because we kissed.”

“Then you’re just going to—I’m going to forget this?”  She looked up, and his heart shattered at the despair in her eyes.  But then she shook her head.  “I guess I know how you felt after Dark Cupid and Oblivio now…”

Oblivio!  Now he understood why she must have kissed him then—she must have found out who he was!  So—this wasn’t a one time thing!  She really did like Adrien Agreste—she liked him!

“...But you won’t forget this time.”  She tapped her lips thoughtfully—oh don’t make him look there, it was hard enough not to kiss her again already—before slaying him with a smirk.  “It would be fair, since I remember Dark Cupid…”

His heart skipped.  What she saying—?

She said it with her mouth on his.  With her fingers threading through his, only to press him back onto the concrete, his hands pinned near his head as she leaned over his hips.  For half a second he realized that meant he was lying on the ground in a sewer, but all he could smell and taste was Ladybug and they could’ve been in a dumpster or in front of his father or even on the moon for all he cared. It wasn’t like he was using the oxygen anyway. 

“Ladybug…” he murmured against her lips, his hands squeezing hers tighter as she practically straddled him. They should probably talk. But that thought slipped away as her lips slanted against his again.  Again, again, again; he’d go through another thousand time loops for the taste of her, for how her breath filled his lungs.

It was distracting enough that he barely noticed the beeping of his bracelet.  The bracelet that, conveniently, was still pinned by Ladybug’s hand.

Her lips pulled back, and he thought she was about to let him go, to tell him it was time.  Longing already pooled in the pit of his stomach.  How was he going to live with this memory when she didn’t share it?  She’d never believe him.  He’d never be able to taste her breath again— 

But she didn’t move off of him.  Instead, with one silk whisper, she spun his whole world off its axis.

“I love you, Kitty.”

“You— you do?”  He stared up into her eyes, their noses still close enough to brush.  “Does that mean… I’m the boy…?”

Maybe he should’ve pieced that together already, but in his defense, making out with Ladybug kind of interfered with his critical thinking.

“Yes, Adrien.  It was you. It was always you.”  

Right.  Definitely dreaming.

She leaned down like she was about to claim his lips again—but at that moment, a white flash tingled over him.

Oh.

Oh.

Crap.

The sensation of Ladybug’s suit against his now-bare hands consumed him like wildfire.  He gulped and tried to focus on something that wouldn’t make him spontaneously combust.

Sass was breathing hard, and if he was anything like Plagg, he’d want some food—he certainly deserved it.  Speaking of Plagg, the other kwami flew out from his hiding place around the corner, took one look at Adrien and Ladybug’s position, and retched.

“Come on, Sass.  These two are gonna be useless for a while.  I think I smelled some cheese in the locker room back there.”

Not immediately demanding the Camembert in Adrien’s shirt pocket was probably the nicest thing Plagg had ever done for him.  He would’ve thanked his kwami then, but Ladybug’s face demanded his attention.  After a brief blink of surprise, she just smiled and untangled her hand from his to stroke his cheek.

“Nice to see your face again, handsome boy.”

His jaw dropped.  Every time he thought he couldn’t fall any more head over heels, she found another way to completely wreck him.

How did she have the brainpower to flirt?  Shouldn’t she be freaking out?  It was too late, he couldn’t go back now, she was going to remember this forever— 

And unless he was imagining things, she looked a little smug about it.

“Wait.”  His eyes narrowed.  “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Whaaaat?”  She sat up—well, as much as she could while still straddling him, he realized with a blush—and crossed her arms.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You did!  You totally did!”  He pushed himself up too, so she ended up sitting in his lap.  To his eternal glee, she made no move to rectify that situation.  “You couldn’t bear to forget kissing me, could you?”

He waggled his eyebrows, and she flushed furiously.

“I—no, absolutely not, that would be completely irresponsible.”

“As irresponsible as giving a miraculous to the boy you love?”

She groaned and dropped her head into her hands.  “I’m a mess, Kitty.  You have no idea.”

“I promise I’m not much better, LB.”  He nuzzled the side of her head over her shoulder as his arms squeezed her middle.  How did he get this lucky?  “Now you can be my mess.”

She froze, and he backpedalled quickly.  “I mean, if you want to be—I thought considering the uh, making out, and love confession…”

“Yes!”  She burst.  “Sorry.  I’m just.  Trying very very hard not to scream right now. Ohmygoshthisishappening—!”

He laughed; he couldn’t help it.  He knew his Lady was amazing, and strong, and smart, and not perfect but close enough for him—but he’d never seen her this adorable.

“Don’t laugh!”  She glared and punched his arm.  “I’ve been trying to ask you out for two years now!”

“Two—years!?”  He nearly choked.  “But that’s—I’ve been trying to get you to date me that long too!  I think I would’ve noticed if you were in love with me!”

He’d always thought he’d know his Lady on sight—but she apparently knew him well enough to spend two years trying to get him to notice her.  Of course, it could’ve been a celebrity crush, but he doubted Ladybug of all people would fall for him just because he was pretty.

She laughed so hard she nearly fell out of his lap.  Probably would have, if he hadn’t been holding on to her so tightly.

“Bugaboooooo,” he pouted.  “Now you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” she said between gasping breaths.  “Okay, maybe I am a little.”

“You wound me,” he whispered near her ear.  “At least tell me why so I can decide if I deserve it.”

She twisted so they were nose-to-nose again, but she bit her lip nervously.

“How do you feel about dating Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

If he’d thought her kisses had stolen the breath from his lungs—man.  At this rate, he was never going to breathe again.  They’d put on his obituary: Adrien Agreste.  Died from overexposure to Ladybug.  Who was Marinette Dupain-Cheng—!

Okay, maybe he did deserve the laughter.  So that was why Plagg had wanted him to go out with Marinette when she confessed her love to Chat... though he had a feeling there was more to that story, now that he knew who she was.

She was Ladybug.  She was Marinette.  

And now that he knew he wasn’t betraying his first love, he could admit that Marinette hadn’t been “just a friend” in a very long time.

“Amazing.”  He kissed her cheek.  “Ten out of ten.”  Her nose.  “Would date again.”

She laughed, making it a little hard to kiss her lips, but he managed.

“You can’t date me again.  We haven’t dated a first time.”

“A tragedy that must be fixed immediately,” he said, nuzzling her again.  “Date me?  Please?”

“How was I ever too nervous to form a complete sentence around you?  You’re such a dork.”  

“Your dork, if you say yes.”

“I already said yes!”

“Then why did you say we weren’t dating!?”

“Because we… ugh.  I still hate it when you’re right,” she grumbled, only looking more adorable, and the way her lower lip stuck out was entirely too kissable.

So, of course, he kissed her.

Time had become meaningless twenty thousand Second Chances ago, but now he fully appreciated every second they spent sharing breaths.  The fact that they weren’t on a five-minute timer was definitely a plus too.  He would be perfectly content to cradle her here forever.

“Uh,” a vaguely bewildered voice startled Marinette into pulling back.  Adrien’s lips trailed after her for a second before he looked up.

Luka was standing a few meters away.  Staring at them.  At Ladybug in Adrien’s lap, her fingers still tangled in his hair, his hands gripping her hips.

Oops.

“...Did I miss something?”

XXX

“Pound it!”  Ladybug and Chat Noir said in unison.  

Luka, who was panting with one hand braced against his knee, almost missed the three-way fistbump.  

Twenty tries.  Twenty tries, before they finally succeeded.  How did Paris’s two heroes normally defeat the akumas?  Their hearts had practically been blasting the Jonas Brothers’ Lovebug the whole battle as they traded breathless stares.  

But they’d pulled it off.  And Luka had come out of it with a somewhat… good?  Bad?  Some kind of revelation:

Adrien Agreste must be Chat Noir.  Marinette’s heart would be playing Boulevard of Broken Dreams when she found out he was dating Ladybug.

But, well, Luka guessed he might have a chance with her now.

[evoedbd]

She’s not Broken Part 2

SUMMERY - As Helena processes the fact that sex doesn't have to hurt, or be a powergame, Kya explains her views on Rape Survivors and Helena. She also reveals her choice title for the Witch Queen.(This can stand apart from She's Not Broken, if baby smut isn't your thing) *************************** “Helena!?” Kya yelped, pausing to untangle herself from her lover’s limbs before rushing up to her side. The graceful heights of Helena’s cheeks were flushed, glistening with the same sweat covering her body. Moonlight locks stuck across her forehead, squiggly lines like seaweed cast on the beach. Her brow was relaxed, no longer lowered over sharp, cautious eyes. Her lips were lightly parted, caressing each soft puff of air to escape them. War and death didn’t drag on Helena’s smile, didn’t stiffen her limbs. In her unconscious state Helena appeared content, peaceful in a way Kya had never seen her before... even if she was the colour of a ripe tomato. “Helena, babe? Did I make you blackout? Is this a magic thing, or am I just a vagician?” Kya joked. Of course she joked. She needed to make light of this development. Needed to forget every painful detail Helena had told her about the Queen’s abuse. Forget the evidence still lingering in every stroke of Helena’s being. Kya tried to shake it all away as she reached out to touch the Mage’s cheek. The flesh was blistering, sending off small prickles against Kya’s palm. Still, she persisted, gently stroking any erratic strand of hair she could tame behind Helena’s delicate ear. “How do you feel? Cause I feel incredible. I mean, we didn’t even break the bed or use magic rope. We can build up to all the kinky stuff... if you want! I’m just as content with snuggles instead of spankings.” When Helena didn’t instantly stir, concern struck Kya. Had she pushed too hard? Was this a blissful blackout, or something far darker? Was Helena crying behind her peaceful mask? “Helena, you’re scaring me. Are you alright? Did I hurt you? Where are you, Babe?” Kya pleaded gently, keeping her voice as light as she could as concern continued to avalanche down on her. Had this been too much? Had she triggered Helena? Had Helena just agreed to satisfy her? But how did Helena have that impression? Helena had initiated.  Helena had asked, had confirmed every step. Had pleaded for every touch. “-Just like the Bitch Queen taught her... oh god... did I just rape my girlfriend? No. No, no, no!-“ Kya was going to be sick. “It did not hurt.” Helena’s voice was small, so unlike the powerful Sorceress. It was the voice of a young woman robbed of her life. Robbed of her maidenhood and dignity for unspeakable years. A woman robbed of even her humanity. It was the voice of a victim finally realising the magnitude of what she had endured. “It’s not meant to hurt, babe. Not the way you’re thinking. I could never do that to you. I love you. Not your usefulness to me. I wanted to love your body, just as much as I love your mind and heart. I wanted you to feel loved. That’s what it’s about. Not twisted games and power plays. Just love.” Kya explained carefully yet sincerely. She continued to stroke Helena’s cheek, allowing her fingers to whisper across the cooling flesh in slow arcs. “I felt as though I was adrift in delight, with only you tethering me to this world. I feel you in my heart. Is that why it is called making love?” Helena sighed, slowly opening her eyes. They were no longer black with warring lust and magic, but a clear, contemplative sapphire. She was once again able to put all of Kya’s feelings into words effortlessly, causing the otherworldly woman’s eyes to sting with unshed tears of joy. Helena’s head naturally tilted into Kya’s affection, even as she rolled to face the younger woman with a timid, hopeful smile. “-She’s still afraid I won’t feel the same. Oh, Helena.-“ “Yeah... I think so. Helena, I’ve never felt this intensely about anyone. When I think about all you've endured, your suffering, I... just needed to make you feel how much I love you. You mean more to me than the world. Both worlds.” Kya confessed, unable to keep the words from pouring out as she snuggled into Helena. At Kya’s words, a blush formed across Helena’s cheeks, setting them aflame once more. Kya waited patiently, allowing Helena to process the moment as her fingers ran through a wild lock of white gold hair, detangling the strands as best she could before tucking them out of Helena’s face. A soft, satisfied sigh escaped the Sorceress as she allowed to sink deeper into mattress. Helena was sated, every limb tingling and heavy. Occasionally she felt a ripple through her muscles, small shivers as she recounted the tenderness. Kya had taken her somewhere she never comprehended. Had led her through the darkness with such sincerity that merely contemplating the emotions had tears forming in her eyes. Why couldn’t it have been Kya who first claimed her? Why had she endured such suffering when this pure bliss had always existed? “I was terrified of this for so long... I would die before I allow any hands on you as hers were on me! I will not allow you to fall prey to her evils, not as so many have.” Helena’s confession was soft, a whisper into the darkness. “Helena. In my world, we would call you a Rape Survivor, not prey. You are a brave, brave woman who managed to survive a horrible, horrible thing. What the Queen did to you, for so long. It was Rape. Even though you complied, it was under duress. It was an abuse of her power.” It was a risk, talking so openly when Helena was still vulnerable. Kya knew the wrong thing might cut Helena deeper than the Queen could. Might create scars that couldn’t heal. Yet, she needed Helena to know. Selfishly, she needed Helena to know how much she admired her strength. “I thought I desired it. I pleaded for her affections.” Helena’s smile faded, becoming haunted as she stared into Kya’s eyes. The Sorceress did not hide the shame in her expression. The fragments were sharp enough to cut Kya’s heart, slamming into her with a force no physical blow could match. “Because she manipulated you. It was the only time you felt anything remotely positive, and she poisoned it. It was survival instinct, Helena. You did what you thought you had to, made yourself believe what you needed in order to protect yourself, mentally, physically and emotionally. If you had said no, would she have stopped? Would she have listened?” Kya pushed. Her heart pounded in her chest, rebelling against the very idea that the Queen had once more found her way into their relationship. Helena braved her emotions, grinding her teeth for a moment as her mind drifted. Even as tears began to fall, she held Kya’s gaze, shaking her head as way of answer. “-I won’t stop if I get the chance to murderise her ass. Nobody hurts my Helena!-“ Kya mentally rampaged, taking a moment to tuck another strand of hair behind Helena’s ear. The Mage’s hair was amazing, though its length often led it to be a hazard. “I was taught a little about this. Survivors often develop sexual and mental disorders, even from a single encounter. You survived the constant abuse for years. She was your mentor, Helena. Everyone around you didn’t care. Even held you responsible. You were in the most toxic, oppressive environment possible for years, alone and repeatedly assaulted. When we met, a single touch had you acting defensive. You kept your gaze away, flinched whenever I looked unhappy, shut everything away. Couldn’t let me see you undressed in the light. You were afraid of letting me touch you at all,” Kya continued, her voice filled with the ferocity of her conviction. Her thumb brushed away the tears streaming down Helena’s cheek, flicking them to the confines of the linens. Carefully, Kya leaned closer, closing her eyes as she pressed her lips softly to the Helena’s. The Mage whimpered, pressing back as if it was her last chance to do so. Cautiously Kya’s free hand grasped one of Helena’s, who held their joined fingers to her chest like a lifeline. “You couldn’t even cry. Now, we’re laying here after you initiated intimacy, still naked, in the light. I can see all of you, Helena Klein. You’re radiant. You’re strong. The strongest, sexiest woman I have ever met. That’s all in spite of the Bitch Queen.” “I doubt she would appreciate the adaptation of her title, My love.” Helena finally responded. Her voice wavered, hitching on the small sobs that escaped. Despite the tears, Helena’s smile shone. Her expression was filled with silent awe, partnering with a fresh blush at the sincerity of Kya’s words. “Well. I don’t appreciate her going all cliché villain on the world. Or hitchhiking in my head. She can tolerate me saying it how it is.” Kya huffed, shuffling closer to Helena. The Sorceress chuckled, softly at first. Her hand lifted to her lips, almost as if to hold the sounds inside.  At this, Kya shook her head. Gentle fingers brushed under Helena’s chin, guiding her head closer. Kya leaned into Helena’s hand, pressing her lips to the knuckles as her nose tenderly booped Helena’s. “I spent long enough with her in my head to know her tolerance is so low she should come with an allergy warning. She’s clearly allergic to everything except herself. Every time I thought of you, she did her best to convince me you were not worth it. She threw a tantrum whenever you stepped beyond her ideas for you. And even with the craziness and headaches, I wasn’t scared away. The Queen can go eat something inappropriate, hopefully choke on it as well. I am irreversibly in love with you, Helena. Nothing she did to you is going to change that.” “She abused me. When I wasn’t a weapon in her games, I was her plaything.” Helena’s mouth clung to the words, barely letting them escape. Something dawned in her eyes, raiding them of their amused shine. For several heart wrenching moments, the silence hung between them, its weight pulling down like chains. Then, clarity like a sunrise. Helena’s eyes brightened, even as she pulled Kya into her chest. Soft, near silent sobs escaped the Sorceress, coming in waves with her breath as she burrowed her face into Kya’s hair. With every sob she tried to inhale, seeking the scent of home and safety. “And you survived. She cannot break you. If she tries, I’ll be here to remind you. Helena. You’re safe.” Kya’s lips moved against Helena’s collar, where she had been pulled to. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around Helena, almost expecting a flinch in the heat of the moment. Helena’s muscles twitched, accompanied by a soft sigh of delight as the Mage simply held tighter. She wouldn’t let this beautiful woman go. Not now when her world was shattering around her, or ever. Through quiet and storm, Helena had no intentions of letting Kya drift away. No intentions of losing the light of her heart. Her love for Kya was powerful, pure and reciprocated. It made her devotion to the Queen seem hollow and worthless in comparison. The intensity of how she felt about Kya was matched by clarity. There were no shadows and murky corners she had to avoid to believe. No line she had to repeat again and again to the brink of insanity. “I should have fought back, Kya.” “You did. In so many ways, you stuck it to her. You stood up to her directly. Even now, every day that you live freely, you are giving her the biggest bird.” Kya’s voice was gentle, muffled into Helena’s collar as she cuddled closer. Helena’s tears didn’t hurt, instead they brought relief. Each droplet was years of condensed sorrow, cultivated into glistening liquid diamonds that fell into the sheets. The tears were freeing, sliding down Helena’s cheeks as joy became their motivation. She was holding the love of her life. The only love she wanted for the rest of her life, however long that would be. The Mage held Kya like a teddy bear, sinking deeper into relaxation as her tears flowed. Kya’s hand drifted to Helena’s back, which she cautiously rubbed. Her touch was firm, steady circles meant to comfort. Ridges of scar tissue and smooth textures like silk met her fingertips. For once, Kya ignored her urge to map them out, passing by them like ships in the night. Slowly, Helena’s tears began to dry, lost in the inky layers of Kya’s hair. “My love, I have a question.” the Sorceress began, earning the softest hum of acknowledgement from Kya before she continued. “What is a... vagician?”

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Stab Wound

This was supposed to be a different fic because I already have a stab wound entry for another thing, but that thing is not ready and this turned into a knife fight. Anyway, please enjoy! 

Warnings: blood, stabbing, broken bones

AO3 Link

~

“Stick close, Robin.” Nightwing said, a moment before he leapt off the roof to soar down to the street below.

“As if I wouldn’t.” Damian said, to the wind and followed.

Damian would not say he was delighted to have the chance to patrol with Nightwing, but he was certainly happy about it. He let that happiness translate into a smile across his face as he allowed himself to fall freely through the air, then shoot his grapple to catch himself in a neat arc.

“Having fun?” Dick asked, as Damian landed beside him.

Damian shrugged, but didn’t bother wiping his smile away, “It has been a productive night, and we are almost through.”

“Thinking of bed then?”

He shook his head, “I believe I was promised sweet potato fries and milkshakes to dunk them in.”

At that, Dick grinned, “That you were. Alright, one more block then we’ll pay old Frankie a visit. He’ll be delighted to see Robin again, he keeps asking when you’ll come to visit again.”

Damian hid a light blush with a scoff. It was still a strange feeling, having people who were not his family or close friends excited to see him, or happy to have him around. Especially people Damian had done little to help. He had not saved Frankie’s 24 Hour Diner from any great catastrophe, only spent a long night helping him care for his dog Alice as she gave birth to a litter of puppies in the store.

Frankie had kept him up to date on how the puppies and Alice were faring, whenever Damian managed to visit so he could learn who adopted which once they were old enough to go to families. Frankie had kept the runt of the litter for his own, a little scampering pup Damian was excited to see when he visited again.

“A good plan.” Damian agreed.

The block they were patrolling was broken up with a high pitched scream of terror. Damian and Dick both bolted in the direction of the sound, searching until they found a woman, swinging her bag wildly at an approaching duo in masks, both carrying knives.

Damian took the attacker closest to him, while Dick grabbed the one still advancing on the woman. Damian barreled into the back of the man, using surprise and the other guy’s weight against him to throw him against the brick of a nearby building.

He aimed a kick at the man’s middle, hoping to knock out his wind and move in for an incapacitating blow, but instead found his foot grabbed. The attacker pulled, yanking Damian off his feet. As he fell, he twisted, kicking again to try and lose the guy’s grip and free his leg. Instead of succeeding, the guy took a cue from Damian and jerked his foot to the opposite side until it popped and cracked, eliciting a sharp yelp from Damian a moment before his cheek slammed against the concrete with bruising force.

The attacker didn’t let up, dragging Damian closer by his ankle, scratching his face on the tiny rivets of stone and coarse pebbles making up the ground beneath him. He slipped a batarang out of his belt and flung it forward at the guy, satisfied when he heard a cry and his leg was finally dropped.

He scrambled back, his ankle throbbing from being pulled and twisted as it had, and fumbled for another batarang to protect himself with. The man had a hand clasped to his shoulder, red seeping out from under his palm. Damian’s first batarang was caught in the wall behind them, having nicked the guy’s skin as it flew past.

In his injured hand, he still carried the knife he’d been holding when Nightwing and Robin had crashed in, and he held it high as he charged. Damian rolled out of the way. He stood, wobbling for a moment on his screaming ankle before it gave out and he dropped to a knee.

Damian looked up just in time to see the knife descend, he tried to move out of the way, but his ankle caught under him again, freezing him with a shock of pain shooting up his leg. The knife bit into his shoulder and dug deep. Damian didn’t give him the satisfaction of a scream, instead he grabbed the guy’s hand and flipped him over his back, adrenaline pumping extra strength into his throw.

A flash of blue and black darted past Damian, and he heard more than saw Dick take the guy out. Damian’s attention turned to where Dick had been fighting, and found one unconscious thug on the ground and the woman running from the scene.

He fell back against the wall and let out a shaky breath, tilting his head to watch his brother zip tie Damian’s thug, yanking the tie with a little more force than was necessary before he moved to restrain the first.

His cheek stung, which was weird to focus on when his shoulder felt like it was on fire, and his ankle kept sending little sharp reminders that it was not happy and he needed to tend to it. But the stinging in his cheek is what Damian was focused on, and what made the back of his eyelids hot with frustrated tears. It was probably red and scratched, with less blood than Damian had when his nose bleed, but for some reason it was all he really cared about.

“Hey.” Dick was kneeling before him now, “Man that looks rough.”

His statement was directed at the blade still stuck in Damian’s shoulder, and helped align things a little better. Damian sniffed, blinking back the tears he’d almost let spill over.

“It’s fine, nothing I haven’t felt before.”

Those words made Dick flinch, and Damian felt guilt pool in his stomach over it. He hated reminding his brother of his past injuries because he always seemed to blame himself. As if it were his fault he hadn’t known of Damian’s existence.

Damian pressed his lips together and huffed, “I allowed him to get too many moves in. I’m sorry.”

“We all have bad nights.” Dick said, “But that’s definitely going to need looking at. I don’t think we’ll make it to Frankie’s tonight.”

He nodded, and Dick stood, holding a hand out to Damian. When Damian didn’t take it right away he frowned.

“I do not believe I can walk.” Damian admitted, “My ankle may be broken.”

The corners of Dick’s eyes tightened, and Damian caught him glance just for a moment over at the guy Damian had been fighting as if he wished he’d given him an extra kick. Then he was smiles at Damian, and nodding.

“Alright, piggyback then? Or is that too much for your arm? I can just pick you up?”

Damian appreciated that his brother was giving him the option. It was something he wished more of his family would do. Too often Father would simply scoop him up or Todd would hoist him over a shoulder and putting Damian in the most embarrassing of situations that left him feeling like a child.

Right now he did not think he’d mind feeling like a child. The pain of his shoulder really was starting to overtake everything, even the stinging in his cheek. He held his arms open as an answer and allowed Richard to lift him and tuck him close to his chest.

“To Leslie we go. You want to call her or should I?”

Damian made the call and let his brother drive distraction free. Well, as distraction free as he could be glancing over at Damian every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t bled out or fallen unconscious.

When they arrived, Damian was so distracted by Leslie’s tutting over his injuries he missed when his brother disappeared. He only noticed when everything was quiet, his foot propped up and in a cast, and the fire in his shoulder finally ebbing as medicine numbed it. Leslie was tucking him in.

“Where is Richard?” Damian asked, his absence hitting Damian almost as hard as the knife had.

“He promised he’d be right back, said something urgent came up, but that it wouldn’t take long.”

“Oh.” Damian said, deflating, “Thank you, and thank you for this.” Damian waved at himself, “I am sorry to be such trouble.”

“I’m always happy to help.” she said, and stepped out.

Leslie had said that Damian didn’t have long to wait for his brother to return, but those few minutes felt like an eternity. Richard didn’t leave Damian when he was hurt. He just didn’t. He was a worrywart (Drakes term) and had to be pried away most of the time.

What had caused him to leave this time? Had it been Damian’s fault? Damian had worked hard to stop taking blame on himself for things, and he had gotten much better at not assuming something was because he had failed, but this was too strange to be a coincidence. Few things pulled Richard away from a hurt family member, and they were typically another injured person.

But Damian would have been told. His brother would not have left him with no idea of what was going on. Meaning whatever the reason was, it was Damian’s fault. It was highly embarrassing to end up as injured as he was taking down muggers, perhaps Richard had finally realized Damian was not up to par. That he had grown soft living in Gotham and he was no longer a good partner.

Perhaps he was not planning to return at all.

That thought sunk like a stone in Damian’s stomach. He was being foolish of course, Richard was sure to have a perfectly reasonable explanation when he returned. That bit of rational thought did not stop the wave of fear fueled ones from building in Damian’s mind until his chest hitched, short of breath, and his hands gripped at the sheets under him like it was all that was holding him together.

The tension in his arm spread up, sparking a return of the pain in his stab wound and Damian bit back new frustrated tears. He just wished Richard would come back and explain everything.

He jumped when the door to his room opened, then swung wildly, crashing into the doorstop and making the spring vibrate wildly.

“Oops.” Dick said, stepping in, “It’s hard to open a door with no hands.”

Damian blinked over at him and caught his meaning immediately. He was carrying a white box with the label Frankie's plastered on it in one hand, and two cups in the other. He grinned at Damian.

“I figured the night’s plans couldn’t be all lost by a little knife wound.”

A choked laugh escaped Damian’s throat that turned into a full series of giggles that shook him so hard his shoulder protested. Of course his brother had left to surprise him. Damian really was an idiot sometimes.

“What’s so funny?” his brother asked.

“Nothing.” Damian said, “I was simply not expecting this.”

His brother grinned at him, “Good, I wanted to surprise you. Move over so I can sit down with you.”

Damian made room for his brother, and together they set into the box of fries and milkshakes.

[bobasheebaby]

Windows- Behind Closed Doors chapter 1

Pairing: Bastien Lykel; Garrett Byrne (OC); Queen Elora Rhys; Duchess Adelaide of Krona

Word count: 1,994

Warnings: sexy light (stealing from the wonderful @sirbeepsalot), angst

Summary: A chat with Adelaide ends with unforeseen revelations. Midday rendezvous for one couple.

A/N: We are picking up a few months after the prologue. Thanks for putting up with me and giving me your insight @sirbeepsalot you and DoE rock! And thank you for the chapter name!

Series warnings: mentioned character death, potential threats, referenced (past) adultery, potential violence, NSFW content, orgies. By asking to be tagged you acknowledge that you are at least 18 years old.  

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from my taglist.

Disclaimer: I only own my OC’s, the rest I’m borrowing from PB.

“Elora dear, just how long are you going to mope over your dead husband?” Adelaide tilted her head as though she was appraising the other woman. “Oh so sad, he died.” She pushed her plush lips out in a mock pout. “If you are going to get over him, you need to get under someone new. Stop frittering your life away pining over a dead man.”

Elora stared unblinking at Adelaide, unsure how to respond. She had put up a front, one of sadness over the death over her husband, only a few knowing the truth of what happened on the boat, how Constantine really died, and she intended to keep it that way for the sake of the children. She couldn’t tarnish their image of their father, no matter what he did to hurt her, she refused to have her children bare the weight of knowing the truth. She was determined to try to keep things as normal as possible for her children, refusing to upheave their lives more if she didn’t have to, all while running a country on her own. “Adelaide, what are you doing here?” She drummed her fingers against the mahogany desk, his, no her desk, anxious to get to the point so the other woman could leave. “And don’t tell me you brought Madeline to see Leo, I know she went with Godfrey to Karlington.” She found the Duchess to be tiring and wanted to finish her day so she could attempt to try to keep some semblance of normalcy for the kids. She’d been thrown into a more hands on role as queen but she refused to allow that to mean the children had to lose out on time with her. Just spit it out already woman so I can leave.

Adelaide threw her head back, golden blonde hair flying in an arc as she let out a shrill laugh. “Oh no dear.” She looked around the study as if she were trying to conceal a secret. “The new guard are training, and you know how much I love looking at a strong, muscular, sweaty man.” She dropped her jaw, sea green eyes rolling to the back of her head as she pretended to fan herself with her hand.

“Adelaide aren’t you married?” Elora questioned half heartedly. She was tired, tired of talking to Adelaide, tired of pretending, tired of being alone, tired of stretching herself thin to be both a good queen and continue to be a good mother.

Adelaide let out a mock gasp. “Oh Elora, I’m married, not dead!” She missed Elora wincing at her word choice. “There is no harm in looking.” She lowered her voice. “Or touching.”

Elora arched her brow in question.

Adelaide shook her head. “Please tell me you heard of a Cordonian arrangement!”

Cordonian arrangement. The words pricked at her heart like fiery hot pokers. She knew all about the understanding some spouses seemed to have when it came to lovers, she was well aware her husband had taken it upon himself to keep her out of the conversation, choosing to make an arrangement without her consent. She nodded her head in response.

“Well then, what’s the harm in looking and touching?” She leaned forward in her seat. “I normally would just watch the guard train, flirt a little and leave, but I’m having a party, or some acquaintances are having a party at the duchy this weekend. You should come, shake off the cobwebs.”

“What kind of party?” She was afraid she already knew the answer, she wasn’t even sure why she asked, it wasn’t like she had any intention of attending.

“Let’s just say it’s the kind of party you can get under someone new at, and leave it at that.”

“Well, thank you for the invite, but I don’t think I’ll be attending.” Was she out of her mind? How could she think it was appropriate for the queen to be seen at a party like that?

“If you’re worried about being recognized, don’t be. The hosts are very discreet, they kind of have to be. They host parties frequently and I finally managed to convince them to have one in Krona.” She leaned in closer. “I’m hoping with the home turf advantage I can finally have a little fun with them.” She sat back in her seat. “Anyway, with it being at my duchy, more of a reason for discretion. It’s a masked party, you only have to reveal yourself if you want to.”

Well at least she thought about her reputation. Who are these friends she keeps mentioning that they need discretion themselves? Nope, don’t want to know. “I still think I’ll sit it out Adelaide, but thank you.”

Adelaide frowned. “Boo! Oh well, more hot sweaty guards for me!” She feigned a gasp. “I forgot the best part! Don’t tell anyone, but.” She lowered her voice. “I think they are together, not that it stops them from getting around with the ladies, and they are members of the guard! Could you imagine if that got out?!” She stood from her seat. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time, time for me to go check out the guard.” She turned with a whirl of green silk.

Members of the guard?! “Who?” She asked before she could stop her curiosity. A nagging feeling gnawed at the pit of her stomach, surely it wasn’t him. He wouldn’t show interest in me if he’s with someone else would he?

Adelaide turned, wide smile on her cherry red lips. “I knew that would get your attention! They are both young members, but extremely yummy!” She glanced around the empty room. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Bastien Lykel and Garrett Byrne. Ta!” She turned and left the room in a swirl of colorful silk.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He teased as he felt his lovers arms slip around his waist, hot breath fanning against his neck as his lovers lips pressed fiery kisses along his tanned skin.

A deep rumbling chuckle reverberated through a hard chest. “Isn’t that usually my line?”

“Only because I’m usually the one catching you by surprise.” He turned in his lovers arms, steely eyes locking on blue so deep they rivaled the depths of the ocean. He leaned forward, claiming his lips in a kiss full of need and longing. His hand wound around his lover gripping the base of his head pulling him closer, fingers gripping short rust colored hairs, tugging gently. His lover moaned into his mouth before pulling away abruptly, quickly glancing around the hedge maze to ensure they hadn’t been seen.

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t do that in public anymore.”

“I’m not the one who started it.” He pulled their hips flush, his pants only growing tighter as he felt his lovers hardening length pressing against his. “It’s not likely someone will stumble upon us this far into the maze.” He ground his pelvis against his lovers. “Besides, if you were really worried you wouldn’t have kissed me in the first place.” The words said into his lovers neck as he trailed his lips along it, gently nipping at his ear.

Elora leaned back in her chair, digesting the information she just heard. Two members of the KingsGuard, or her Guard were in a relationship together? Not only that they held parties at Adelaide’s duchy, she had trouble processing what it meant. She now understood the reason they would want discretion too, if it were uncovered that they were in a relationship both would lose their jobs. Her heart had sunk as she had heard his name, he was the only one who she had thought about since Constantine’s passing, she now saw that would never be a possibility, and not only because she was queen. Had every interaction been completely one sided? Was the intensity of his gaze all in her head, or was there something there? Surely she couldn’t have made up how kind he was to her, even before Constantine’s death. The way she’d catch him glancing at her, the way he made her feel couldn’t simply all be in her head. Had her need to feel desired embellished innocent interactions to make them seem more than they really were?

She stood, crossing to the window overlooking her gardens. She pulled back the thick curtain. I wish I could go take a walk to clear my head. So much had changed since Constantine’s death, the gardens she designed as a little place of calm for her and her children she no longer got to enjoy.

His lover gave one last cursory glance over his shoulder. Fuck it. His lover pushed him backward, his back pressed against the hedge, his grey eyes going wide in surprise as a growl escaped his lips. He lunged forward, their mouths coming together in a clash of tongues and teeth, their hands roaming over the familiar plains of their bodies. His heart hammered in his chest in need as his hands drifted over the sculpted plains of his lovers chest. He pulled back, drawing his lover’s lower lip between his teeth. “Fuck I need you.” He groaned as he ground his length against his lovers.

His lover leaned back in capturing his lips once more in a heated kiss, his hands drifting down to his waistband.

Rustle. Rustle.

His lover froze, pulling away, his eyes wide with fear as he looked for the cause of the sound. His deep blue eyes drifted around the dead end, finally landing on a bird hopping in and out of the base of the hedges.

“It was just a bird Garrett.”

Garrett ran his hand through his rust colored hair. “This time, we can’t be this out in the open Bas.”

Bastien nodded, allowing Garrett to take his hand leading them out of the complicated maze.

What was I thinking, of course it was nothing, he was just being kind like all of the staff. She stared out over the rows of perfectly trimmed hedges, days spent chasing Liam and Olivia through the maze or reading by the fountain becoming a distant memory. Why would anyone want a widowed queen anyway? I heard some of the staff calling me a black widow, who would want that? She moved to turn when movement at the entrance to the maze caught her eye. She watched as the two gentleman dropped hands before turning away from each other. Of course she was right! She let out a gasp as he looked upward. Oh shoot. She ducked away from the window, allowing the curtain to flutter back in place. I think they are together, not that it stops them from getting around with the ladies. Adelaide’s gossip pinged around in her brain, maybe she could make an appearance, it’s not like anyone would ever know it was her. I just need to be sure.

Bastien released Garrett’s hand as they reached the entrance to the hedge maze. They broke off in different directions as to not draw attention to their activities. Movement in the study window drew his grey eyes up. He eyes went wide as he watched her jump backwards to conceal herself. Did she see? His heart hammered in his chest. He feared what it would mean for him and Garrett if she had seen them holding hands. Would she support the current rule and fire us? He sighed shaking his head. He’d been allowing himself to read more into her kind behavior, the idea sparked in him that she might understand, but that spark. It doesn’t matter, she’s the queen, her job comes first, and so should mine. They were worlds apart, she’d never understand or allow their relationship to continue, no matter how kind they were to each other. Is that the only reason you’re kind to her? It doesn’t matter, it can and will never be more.

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment or reblog to let me know how much you like it. I can handle the screams, so scream away.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

Taglist will be reblogged.

[chainofbeing]

Something has gone wrong with the Avian Ark. Adam goes to investigate, hoping to find some evidence of whatever it was that destroyed the Gorlan

Narration: David M. Sledge

Old Man: David Charles

PAGAA: Nathan James

Adam Delta 5 and, Sound Design: Cai Gwylim Pritchard

Follow the podcast on twitter @/chainofbeing

Email us at chainofbeingofficial@gmail.com for enquiries and stuff

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[a deep voiced narrator speaks over clicking pipes and a deep low rumble]

A soft gurgling can be heard in the pipes buried within the bowels of the AEN avian ark. Surrounded by a thousand other pipes with a thousand other jobs; this gurgling would go unnoticed by a crew of humans. Which is why the Alliance of Earth Nations felt it necessary to design and construct one of the largest self sustaining systems of AI controlled maintenance drones ever conceived of. It's not long before a circular drone scatters along and begins to scan the pipe for blockages. All of a sudden the whole station falls silent as a large and indescribable presence drifts by. The complexity of this presence supersedes all code written into this drone and it stops. Proximity alone to this thing that occupied every aspect of existence, even beyond those of the physical and logical realms, this oppressive force beyond forces, causes the entities within the avian ark to shift internally, even down to the code that drives them. This indescribable, incomprehensible pressure emanates something which moves the station to behave in a way so vastly different to how the multitude of coders and engineers intended for it to behave, one might be driven to call it possession.

[Adam is now narrating]

I’m sat in a carrier, it’s hurtling through space at speeds which cause the ship to shake and rumble lightly but with total surety. Back in the old days speeds like this were impossible to achieve, but since the discovery of the widening field; travelling across the universe became easy as- well it's still extremely expensive and difficult to achieve but still possible. Sat across from me is an old Veatorian man. Strapped into the economy class seats and surrounded by luggage, his skin has faded into a light blue with age and he stares at me with the look of a man who was not expecting to see or experience anything new until death, but has been rudely ripped from his resignation into the haze of old age.

“Hello! Nice to meet you, my name is Adam. As in capital ‘A’ Adam” I say to him, masking my discomfort with friendliness in the hopes that he’ll at least give me attention in a nicer way

“Isn’t every Adam ‘capital A’ Adam?” He replies, maintaining his demeanour

“Well- uh-“ I start,

“And I can tell who you are. The glass horns give it away”

I reach up and touch the glass protrusions coming from my forehead. At least he didn’t zero in on any of my other features that differentiate me from regular humans. The two of us are the last passengers on this 400 seat, 50 year old well worn and slightly dingy carrier. I stand up and move to the cockpit of the carrier in order to avoid the old man's gaze. The two pilots are making their final preparations to land and drop me off. The ships jolts and docks with the orbital station, the ships AI doing most of the work.

[the sounds of a creaking and broken station can be heard]

The Hangar for the Avian Arc looks like shit, space stations are usually built to deal with a minor problem, if they’re designed well enough and nothing interferes with them. I had heard stories of Demons materialising inside space stations fusing with them in the orbit of planets, at which point the punished such as myself have to get involved. It sounds strange but I’m hoping it is that. Seeing that symbol shook me, something about being reminded of Eden has given me this pit in my stomach I can’t seem to shake, for a few reasons, unfortunately. In terms of cold hard facts All that I know is that the Avian Arc sat along the predicted course of whatever it was that destroyed the Gorlan and that every warning was set off at once. The data received was completely unreadable and seemed...panicked. At least to me. When I said that to the investigators they looked at me like I’d insulted them personally, but being alive for as long as I have teaches you a lot of things, chief among them being that science and logic don't explain everything. Regardless, it seemed like the two were related. The avian arc was designed to house all manner of species of birds. One of many other preservation centres, it was meant to preserve and propagate in the face of the loss of Earth. There's no engineering department on stations like this, The whole station is fully automated making it somewhat vulnerable to attack and looting. The station does have some defence capabilities but it's mostly reliant on outside, human security that is stationed on the nearby planet.

Currently the blast doors of the hangar are shut, they very rarely get opened unless it's to accommodate large craft delivering supplies or ships that don’t have normal docking capabilities. The hangar is barren, save for a few empty boxes. The unusual thing is that it seems like it’s being dismantled. The lights in the ceiling are mostly off and there are great swathes of exposed wiring hanging loose from the walls and ceilings. The surfaces are built up with grease and dust and the whole room just seethes with dilapidation. I see three decontamination chambers at the end of the room, two of them are still lit up but the last one is dark, and as I walk closer, carefully avoiding missing floor panels and debris, I see that the interior has been completely and meticulously stripped clean. Panelling, wires and the tubing that spray the visitor with an anti bacterial solution. Essentially all that was left was just a hole in the wall. Not being one to let anything get in the way of proper procedure I decide to use a working chamber

As I enter I hear a depressing spurt as a few drops of cleaning fluid trickle out of the sprinkler overhead and onto my horns. I step over the gap where the seal used to be and I'm in a long corridor. it's curved slightly around the main column of the "avian arc". this particular station is a large core surrounded by 3 rings. At the centre column are the habitats, dozens of artificial biomes designed to replicate earth's atmosphere as close as possible to the real thing. It's not though. No amount of machinery could replicate that.

At either end of the corridor there's 2 staircases, one going up and one going down. There's a terminal in front of me with a touch screen, I press the activation button, nothing comes on. I press the button above labelled “help”. A red light flickers on and a voice comes seemingly out of nowhere.

[the voice is natural sounding, with a slight robotic quality]

"hi! I'm PAGAA the protector and guide to the avian arc! How can I help you today?"

An AI, thank gods, that makes things far easier

"PAGAA, can I port you to my visu-link?

"Absolutely, I am a state of the art AI"

"Not anymore"

"I didn't catch that, sorry"

"Nothing, What has happened to the avian arc?"

"I'm afraid that information can not be accessed at a public terminal"

"Ok, how do i get access to this information?"

"You would have to converse directly with the overseer, would you like me to schedule a meeting? It usually takes 3-5 days for them to get here"

"I’m in a bit of a hurry, on which floor is the overseers office located?"

“allow me to escort you, please follow the markers on your HUD”

I begin making my way up the stairs, the curve around the central column is very slight, almost i unnoticeable, the notice boards on the walls flicker on and off, some missing the internal circuitry entirely

"Can you tell me why the Avian Arc is missing so many components?"

"Station protocol states that under certain circumstances resources can be re-appropriated for use in repair and upgrade of the maintenance drones"

"Which circumstances were met?"

"I'm afraid that's restricted information"

As I'm following the path highlighted on my visu-link, I see to my right Where there is usually a set of double doors only one remains. Out of curiosity I shuffle past and step through.

[transition from station ambience to the sounds of a savanna, wind, water and insects]

The room is large, it's more of a hall then anything, the pressure feels almost immediately different that, along with the humidity and heat, knocks the breath out of my lungs, the whole space is done out like a savanna, large acacias, tall grass waving gently in the artificial wind. At the sides of the room where there should be a wide sweeping unbroken facsimile of the sky there are large chunks absent, ruining the illusion.

"This is a restricted area, please leave immediately or I will be forced to call security"

"What? Am I gonna be waiting a week to get arrested?”

"no, security is on board currently"

"That can't be right, automated security was banned long before this station was constructed"

"Due to certain circum-"

"Certain circumstances bla bla. But if there’s no onboard defence, and the security team aren’t here, then you must mean self-constructed security right?"

“Please leave the area,”

I don’t want to wait and find out what sort of machine a station creates to protect itself after being shocked into emergency shutdown and so I make my way out, but before I reach the door a thought strikes me

"Wait a minute, where are all the birds?"

The whole room is silent, there are a few insects buzzing lazily through the air as well as the rustle of leaves and flowing of water.

"Station protocol states that under certain circumstances resources can be re-appropriated for use in repair and upgrade of the maintenance drones"

"You've already said that but, what does that mean? What does that have to do with the birds?

"please leave the area,"

I pace out of the room, as I leave the artificial savanna and step back into the staircase I spot a maintenance drone, it's a wide flat thing designed to be as unnoticeable as possible without being a tripping hazard. A series of arms suddenly pop out from underneath the metal carapace and begin to dismantle something within the walls, it removes the panelling and I see it pull components and wires out. It doesn't move or act like any sort of typical automated drone would, it's sloppy and almost seems organic, the fervour with which it pulls the walls apart almost seems hungry.

"Let's take a look at you,"

As I reach out to pick it up it turns and hisses at me and an appendage pops out from underneath. What I thought was mechanical seems more like bone, muscle and sinew. I pull my hand back and it scurries away.

“Weird,”

I follow the drone along the course set for me by PAGAA, picking up my pace slightly to keep up. Suddenly it veers off to the left down a long corridor that leads to the first of the three rings. I see that the path on my visu-link is bringing me up further along the edge of the main column.

“Thanks for the help PAGAA but I’m going to take a little look around on my own,”

“Please stick to the set path”

Ignoring PAGAAs request. I follow the trail of the drone, I can see it in the distance as it races to the entrance of the ring. On either side of me are long uninterrupted windows which give a glimpse into the vastness of space, I can just about make out the other corridors that connect the detached 1st ring to the rest of the station.

“Please turn back, you are about to enter a restricted area”

“Don't worry about me, I'm just going to have a look,”

“Please state your business on the Avian Ark”

“Restricted information unfortunately, I'm sure you understand”

the security doors on either end of the corridor suddenly close and I am left trapped.

“PAGAA what’s going on?”

[PAGAA says something but it is completely corrupted and sounds like static]

I hear the clunking of machinery and the panel above me detach. With a deadly immediacy I feel my body pulled out into the cold and unforgiving vastness of space.

[puttingfingerstokeys]

junkenstein’s revenge prologue

Nanowrimo day 14 Featuring McCree, Hanzo, 76 and Zenyatta Ye olde Sci-Fi/horror  Overwatch, violence, gore, ZOMBLES, death Unfinished and unedited

“Hail!” The gunslinger’s voice echoed off the stone walls of Adlersbrunn’s gatehouse. His horse shifted nervously, her hooves adding to the mild cacophony. The gates were closed and the quietude which reigned over it all unsettled the man, if only a little. A storm was brewing and the pregnant silence before it always charged him in a way nothing else could. He adjusted his hat, tipping it back, to peer upward, wanting to be inside before the maelstrom broke upon him.

He knew darn well no one would be opening those gates before sunrise, but the least they could offer was a place in the guard house. He was an honest hunter, plying his trade. His quarry was not stag or boar, however, but something much more sinister. Whispers of such prey had summoned him to this part of the world, in fact. 

“Who goes there?” A voice shouted down with sharp, menacing volume, almost like a bark. 

“A gunslinger, lookin’ for lodging for the night… an’ maybe some work.” 

The face which peered over the wall spared him only a glance before retreating. “We’re full! Come back when the sun is up!”

As if on cue, thunder rumbled in the distance and the low-hanging clouds which had been threatening all day seemed to move. “Have mercy on a traveler,” he pled calmly with the now-disembodied voice. “Ain’t it the custom in these parts to give aid and succor to weary pilgrims?”

“So you’re on a spiritual journey now, eh?” The voice sounded skeptical, but a little guilty for leaving the man outside. 

“In a manner, I s’pose I am,” he tossed back, a toothy grin on his handsome face. He could almost hear the conflict which raged within the gate guard. How many had come seeking shelter this evening? Was the place really full, or did the guard simply not want to admit anyone? He had not long to wait, however. A golden sliver of light made itself known where the door creaked open a little ways, just enough for the occupant to see who was outside. 

The gunslinger dismounted, holding his beast’s reins in one hand and touching the brim of his hat with the other. “Hail,” he repeated. The door opened slowly and the guard stepped out, armored and tired-looking. 

“You’re the fourth one tonight,” he groaned. “Forgive my impoliteness, won’t you?”

“Long as ya let me an’ my mare in, I’ll let ya drink straight outta my flask, stranger,” promised the gunslinger. The guard seemed to brighten at the sound of the word and he eagerly reached out for the mare’s reins. The beast stood calmly as the hunter of dark things passed them over to the guard, who gestured that the traveler should head right inside. 

“It won’t be but a moment. Your bunk mates are inside.”

The gunslinger doffed his hat and moved into that warm, golden light just as the first droplets of rain began to hit the ground. From within, the sound was a cleansing, gentle sort of thing; outside, he was sure it would have been droning and monotonous. 

A merry fire crackled further in the gatehouse and three individuals sat dispersed about the room, conversing in low tones. These conversations pulled up short as the man entered, spurs jingling, buckles clinking and leather creaking as he moved. “Hail,” he repeated for the third time that evening. “Well met, I hope?”

“Well met, indeed,” came the serene, almost jovial intonation of a strange-looking man whom the gunslinger now realized was hovering a few feet off the ground. His proportions were difficult to gauge, given his posture, but he gave the impression of being quite tall, should he have decided to stand. “Welcome to Adlersbrunn, Mr….”

“McCree,” said McCree, “an’ you?”

“Zenyatta,” replied the doll-like man. In the light of the fire, his beauty was haunting, his face a gentle mask of calm knowledge. The name was as unique as his appearance. 

“There’s usually a last name attached, though I’m guessing that is your last name, isn’t it?” The surly voice did not surprise McCree, given that it came from a white-haired gentleman who looked to be in his sixties. His build was something altogether else. He stood and offered a hand and the two were about eye-to-eye. “Good to hear those drawling consonants, though,” admitted the man with a similar accent that marked him as a countryman, but which was sharp enough to differentiate the region of his origin. “John Morrison, friends call me Jack.”

“Jesse,” supplied McCree, shaking the man’s hand with firm vigor. Their camaraderie was evident already, which brought a sigh of relief and a draining of tension from the gunslinger. The fourth and final occupant of the room had, however, not volunteered his name or hand. McCree’s eyes settled upon him. 

The man was watching the exchange with sharp, dark eyes. His beard and mustache were manicured to perfection and the scar-like quality of his mouth told McCree that he would be the tough nut to crack. “Howdy,” said the gunslinger disarmingly. He noted the weapon propped nearby, a fearsome recurve bow that did not look like it was from these parts. In fact, the entirety of the man’s presentation, from his carriage to the incredibly elaborate tattoo on his arm suggested to Jesse McCree that this stranger, too, was from far, far away. 

“Hmm,” came the man’s response as he looked McCree up and down. His eyes alone settled on the gunslinger’s left arm. He tucked it back a little, resting it more thoroughly beneath his cloak. “How do you do?” 

The stranger’s voice was accented as well, but as McCree had first assumed, not in the way the gate guard’s had been. They were possibly the most diverse group that poor man had seen in his entire time of service. It was probably jarring, but McCree was intrigued. 

“Glad t’be outta the rain, Mr…” He would allow the stranger to fill his name in as Zenyatta had done to him. The stranger did not. He looked hard at the gunslinger, as if evaluating him. “That’d be the part where ya tell me yer name,” suggested McCree, not without humor. The other two seemed entertained by this, but did not engage, preferring to watch. Morrison returned to his seat at a small table and Zenyatta remained where he was. 

“It would,” admitted the stranger, “if I cared to give it. I do not.”

“Well ain’t that just a kick in the ol’ hindquarters!” McCree was not put off by this. If anything, he was more intrigued than ever before. It was only presently that he realized how long the guardsman was taking with his horse and his suspicion as a hunter which drew him away from the bow-wielding stranger to wonder after the guard. 

“Johann is taking quite a long time with your mount, Mr. McCree,” observed Zenyatta, doing exactly what McCree thought he might and hovering over, his feet never touching the ground. Fortunately for Zenyatta and all assembled, Jesse McCree had seen many strange things in his lifetime. Pretty, hovering monks were not the strangest. 

“I’m gunna check it out,” said McCree. “You fellas stay put; that rain sounds bad.”

Morrison shifted, not liking to be told what to do, but liking the pain in his joints from the change in pressure even less, and liking to admit it least of all. He stayed where he was. The stranger in the corner, too, did not move. Only Zenyatta refused.

“Rain is an act of cleansing sent by the heavens,” he said, gesturing upward with one long, uncomfortably perfect finger. “It will do me no harm.”

McCree noticed the rosary about his neck and wondered of what those beads were made. They were large and appeared heavy. He thought that if he wore something like that, he would bruise. The monk did not seem bothered in the least by their presence, or McCree’s glance. His hands remained folded before him. 

“‘Preciate the comp’ny,” admitted the gunslinger, ducking out into the downpour. 

Lightning arced overhead and split the night, followed by a violent peal of thunder. McCree heard his horse squeal over the din and caught the sound of clattering hooves at the last moment before she nearly ran him down in her effort to escape. He tossed himself aside, rolling through the mud to avoid her mad dash. As she passed, McCree caught the whites of the poor beast’s eyes and sent up a prayer that she would get far enough away from whatever was scaring her like that. 

It was only after seeing her flee this way that McCree remembered he was not alone. “Zenyatta!” He called out to the monk over the roaring storm, turning to see if the monk was behind him or if he had been trampled by the mad beast. He was quite unharmed, but seemed to have frozen to the spot, gentle eyes wide, serene expression all but gone. 

McCree turned to see what had caught the monk’s attention and was horrified to witness a shambling, twitching thing coming at him. It was not quick, but it also was not alone. The baleful light in its eyes was joined by others and, despite the downpour, gore was still stuck to faces, chests, and hands. Johann, he thought, dear god.

Energy arced from them, mimicking the lightning overhead, but holding an ugly, supernatural quality that made a shiver run down McCree’s stout spine. He felt on his belt for a flash powder ampoule, determined to drive these things back. His fingers shook, however, and he could not grasp what he sought. One of the creatures raised an arm to strike him. 

Something whizzed past the gunslinger’s head, narrowly missing his ear but taking the shambling thing full in the face and near knocking its head off. The blow did enough damage that the monster fell back, twitched once, and lay still. This shocked McCree back into action and he found and tossed the ampoule he’d sought and fanned the hammer of his six-shooter, bringing down two more of the inexorably marching things before retreating back to Zenyatta. 

“What are they?” McCree heard himself shouting this over the storm, which seemed determined not to allow conversation. Zenyatta shook his head, a strange expression passing over his features before the passive mask returned. He lifted a hand and, to McCree’s wonder and astonishment, one of the gigantic beads of the monk’s rosary lifted with it. A subtle gesture, barely more than a twitch sent the ball hurtling toward its next target, hitting it dead center in the head and snapping it back. 

It fell, but was replaced by another and another. Zenyatta sent two, three more balls into the throng. These projectiles returned somehow, though McCree could not ascertain the method. He was fascinated but understood what little time they had should be spent in retreat, rather than conversation about weaponry and the practical use of psychokinetic magic, for that was surely what this was. McCree was not well schooled in that branch, but he had heard of it and had even witnessed it a time or two. Never, in all his days, however, had he seen it weaponized to such deadly effect.

He was suddenly grateful for the previously observed size and weight of them now. “Thanks,” he grunted, “now let’s git ourselves inside an’ barricade the door.” 

They would not be safe until they were within the town proper, but the risk of allowing those things in was too great. The citizens of Adlersbrunn would not be ready for the onslaught which McCree had begun to realize was much, much larger than first anticipated. Well, he thought, ya came here t’hunt dark things; git huntin’.