#and maybe... i did get distracted on an original in the process. maybe

[dismalflo]

how did it end?

Remus Lupin x fem!reader who see each other for the first time after the breakup ✩ 5.5k words

summary: After remus broke up with you, you decided to move away and distance yourself from your friends. What happens when you move back and run into each other again?

Read part 2 to this fic here.

cw: exes to ???, slightly angsty, little bit of fluff, everyone is lowkey rooting for remus and reader to get back together, reader is insecure about friendships.

an: this is so much longer than I originally planned

It's strange being in a new place, full of uncomfortable new experiences. When your last tenancy ended you'd been strong armed into moving here to be closer to your friends. Those friends being Regulus and Barty. Barty had told you in no uncertain terms that you were ‘boring and lonely now’ and that ‘being closer to us can fix that, treasure’. So here you are. 

You scouted out a new favourite cafe to work in, they make the most delicious latte ever. It's quiet enough that you don't get distracted but busy enough to not feel awkward about spending hours there. The rhythmic clicking of keys drums like a metronome as you type, engrossed in what you're doing, unaware of your surroundings. 

“Oh, hello.” The voice is shocked and tinged with confusion. You recognise it, of course you do, it's Remus. You want to cringe in on yourself because why the fuck is he here? Instead, you put a polite smile on your face, hoping it looks sincere, and look up at him.

He looks the same as always—warm, soft. You're a bit startled at how little he’s changed in the time you’ve been apart—handsome as ever, hair a bit longer and maybe a little older. An awkward smile plays on his lips, but his eyes are wide, as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Hi, Remus. How are you?” you ask, stumbling over your words, caught off guard by his presence.

“I—uh, I’m good, thanks. What are you... doing here?” His voice is hesitant, unsure if he has the right to ask.

“I’ve just m—” you begin, but then you’re interrupted by Sirius’ sudden arrival. The moment you spot him, the weight of avoidance hits you. You've been actively steering clear of all of them for so long. If there was ever a time for the earth to swallow you whole, it’s now.

“Hello, sunshine. Reg told me you’d moved in just around the corner.” He greets you with an easy smile, and you immediately notice that he’s not surprised in the slightest to see you here. A frown creases your brow as you try to process this—Regulus never mentioned either of them living nearby. But then, you suppose, if he had, you never would’ve come here.

“He did?” you ask, focusing on Sirius—he’s easier to look at than Remus, who still seems stunned.

“Oh yeah, he was more enthusiastic about it than I’ve ever heard him be, honestly.” Sirius pauses, then smirks. “But I suppose if you get any positive inflection out of him, you'd think that.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that—Sirius is right.

Your gaze flicks over to Remus, still frozen in shock, and something inside you flips. You can’t stand it. You need to leave, and you need to leave now.

“It was really nice to see you both, but I’ve got to go,” you say quickly, gathering your things, offering a strained smile in their direction. As soon as you stand, Sirius’s hand lands gently on your shoulder, anchoring you, ensuring you hear him out

“Listen, maybe you could think about not dodging everyones texts now and come to dinner at James and Lily’s?” there's a soft smile on his face, it looks like he really means it but you're almost confident he’s saying it to be polite. “Even Junior comes, weird bloke that one.” He huffs.

“I’ll think about it,” you reply, offering a tight smile. “I’ll see you guys around.”

You risk one last glance at Remus before turning to leave.

As soon as you’re out the door, Sirius lightly slaps the back of Remus’s head, snapping him out of the reverie he’s been in since the start of the conversation.

“What was that for?” Remus asks, rubbing the back of his head to soothe the sting.

“You’re a fucking idiot, mate” Sirius responds, shaking his head.

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“Regulus Arcturus Black,” you snap as you storm through the door to his flat. “I am going to kill you.”

On the walk over, the confusion you'd felt after running into Remus and Sirius quickly spiraled into something far darker—rage. You were almost certain the ‘chance’ encounter had been carefully orchestrated by the Black brothers. You’d been content living in a world where Remus didn’t really exist for you anymore. He’d become a distant echo, like a pleasant memory you occasionally revisited—until today.

“Oh, middle name too? You’re in trouble now, Reggie,” Barty drawls, feigning sympathy from his spot on the couch, sprawled out like he couldn’t care less.

You don’t even glance at him, your glare locked onto the culprit in front of you. “Care to explain why I just ran into your brother at the café?” you demand, arms crossed tight over your chest, radiating annoyance.

“Because he likes coffee, I’d assume,” Regulus replies with a casual shrug, as if the answer is self-evident.

“Remus was there,” you deadpan, unwilling to let this go.

“Oh, did I forget to mention that he lives nearby? Must’ve slipped my mind,” Regulus says, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, clearly enjoying your frustration.

You feel your fists clench at your sides, your teeth gritted. Regulus knows exactly what he's doing—pushing your buttons just because he can. The worst part is that it’s working.

“Reg, you didn’t forget to mention it,” you seethe, narrowing your eyes at him.

When he saw the anger radiating from you, Regulus’ smirk faltered slightly. For a fleeting moment, his usual aloofness cracked, and he softened. “Look, I’m sorry. But I didn’t know how else to handle this,” he said, his shoulders lifting slightly in a half-hearted shrug. “You’ve turned into a hermit, and I think you should talk to your friends. You can’t keep shutting them out.”

“I am talking to my friends,” you shot back, gesturing vaguely between the three of you. “Besides, I don’t even think they really want to be friends with me.”

Barty, who had been silently watching the exchange, groaned and pushed himself off the couch, his movements slow and deliberate as he approached you. Without warning, his hands found your shoulders, giving them a rough shake as if to snap you out of your stupor.

“Treasure, who the hell wouldn’t want to be friends with you?” His voice was half-mocking, half-sincere. His hands shook you harder, as though trying to force some sense into you. “Not that I particularly approve of any of them,” he added with a sharp glance at Regulus, but his touch remained on you, firm and insistent.

“Shut up, Barty. You loved it when we went for dinner —don’t pretend otherwise, you liar.” Regulus stands from his spot, stepping in between you and Barty with a look of mild exasperation. “Stop shaking her, you’re going to break her in half.” He tried to pry Barty’s hands off you, but his voice softened as he added, “He’s right, though, you know?

“No,” you said flatly, each word heavy with finality. “They were only friends with me because I was Remus’ girlfriend. And that’s all it was.”

“All I’m saying is, maybe you should just try speaking to them.” 

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Since your encounter with Remus and the conversation with Reg, you’ve done exactly the opposite of what he suggested. Instead of moving forward, you’ve retreated into your flat, alone with your thoughts. The memories swirl, the pain and the joy, the highs and the lows. But mostly, it’s Remus that lingers—his image impossible to shake.

You can’t stop replaying every moment with him: his smile, his words, the way he laughed so effortlessly even when life felt heavy. There was a quiet strength in him, hidden beneath his gentleness. And those eyes—warm, knowing, full of secrets and pain. It felt as if he understood you in ways no one else could, even without you speaking a word.

The moments you shared with him seem so distant now, like they belong to another lifetime. And more than once, you’ve found yourself wondering if he’s thinking of you too. Does he feel that same ache in his chest, that pull that refuses to fade? Remus has left his mark on you—one you can’t scrub away, one that’ll linger far longer than you're ready to admit. The fondness you feel for him is unshakable, no matter how much it hurts.

When you realize you’re stuck in an endless loop of thoughts, you stand up. Dressed in your coziest clothes, you step outside. The cold wind cuts through the streets, but the fresh air is oddly comforting. You walk, letting the rhythm of your steps clear your mind, until you reach the store. It feels like the right moment to restock, to do something, anything, other than be trapped in your head.

Halfway down the cereal aisle, surrounded by the hum of the fluorescent lights, you hear a gasp. You turn, and there she is: Lily Evans, fiery red hair unmistakable, a tired but loving smile on her face as she balances her baby on her hip. For the first time in days, a wide, genuine smile spreads across your face. She’s the person you were closest to all that time ago, your confidante, and here she is—storming down the aisle toward you, her eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

She's quick to wrap her free arm around you, and you do the same to her. “Hello lovely, I heard you were lurking somewhere near here.” she exclaims brightly, “can’t believe you didn't tell me.”

The guilt rises in your chest, and you hesitate, flushing at the unspoken question. Did she really care about you that much? “I’m sorry, Lils. I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me…” you murmur, sheepish.

She laughs, a sound that fills the space between you both, and brushes it off with the ease of someone who knows you better than you know yourself. “Don’t be silly. Of course, I do." She says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and for the first time in a long while, you begin to believe it. Maybe you really are friends, with or without Remus.

"Is this Harry?" you ask, nodding toward the little bundle in her arms. At the sound of his name, he perks up, offering you a shy wave, which you return with a warm smile.

“God, he looks just like James," you say, unable to hide the fondness in your voice.

“I know," Lily replies, a dreamy tone filling her voice. "Acts like him too.”

You laugh at that, teasing, "How do you deal with them? You must be a saint."

She shrugs, the exhaustion of motherhood evident in her smile, but there’s a playfulness in her eyes. “I have no idea. It’s a madhouse 24/7.”

“Well, what did you expect?" you reply, your tone lighthearted, and the two of you fall into easy conversation, catching up on the details of each other's lives. Time seems to slow in that moment. 

After a while, Lily grows quiet, her gaze softening as she looks at you with something like concern in her eyes. She hesitates for a moment before speaking again, her voice gentler now, almost like a secret is being shared between the two of you. "Listen, no pressure, but I really think you should come for dinner. You know, just for fun. I promise, it'll be a good time."

You look away, avoiding her gaze as a wave of doubt rushes over you. “I don’t want to intrude…” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

But Lily isn’t deterred. She places a firm hand on your upper arm, her touch warm and reassuring. “We’re your friends, Y/N. You wouldn’t be intruding.” Her words are simple, but there’s a weight to them.

Still, there’s something holding you back. "You were Remus’ friends first," you say, almost apologetically. "I don’t want to make it awkward or uncomfortable by being there. You should've seen him when we saw each other in the cafe.”

Lily lets out a soft chuckle, the sound light and knowing. “I did hear about that," she says, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "But he's a big boy, I'm sure he'll be alright." She winks at you, a playful glint in her eyes. 

Before you can respond, James Potter is walking down the aisle. 

“There you are! Been looking for you all over, angel.” His eyes focused on Lily, when his gaze shifts, to see who she’s been speaking to, his grin brightens even more. Genuinely happy to see you. 

"Y/N!" he exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug that lifts you off your feet for a moment. “It’s so lovely to see you.”

His enthusiasm is infectious, and you can’t help but smile up at him as he pulls away. “You too, James,” you reply, the weight in your chest easing just a little.

Lily hands Harry to James before turning to you with a sly smile. “I was just saying that she should come to dinner at ours, Jamie. What do you think?”

James’ grin widens even more, head nodding vigorously. "Oh, yes! Please do. I’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to."

 You laugh, the sound light and free, before shaking your head at his theatrics. "You really don’t have to go that far," you tease, though the warmth in your chest is undeniable. The genuine kindness in both of their eyes, the way they both seem to have picked up right where you left off, makes something inside you stir. You can’t remember the last time you felt like you belonged somewhere.

Lily’s gaze softens, her voice quieting as she adds, "We miss you, you know." Her words hang in the air for a moment, a subtle weight that makes your heart ache just a little.

James, noticing the shift, places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, Y/N. But dinner’s on us, no pressure. Just... come, yeah? We could all use a little bit of good company.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words feel heavy on your tongue, like they’ve been trapped inside you for so long. Your instincts scream at you to run, to retreat back into your shell, but the warmth, the offer of real, honest connection, tugs at something inside you. Maybe this is what you need. Maybe it’s what you’ve always needed.

"Alright," you say, surprising even yourself with the calmness in your voice. "I’ll come."

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“Why the fuck did I say yes?” you groan, your feet dragging as you approach Lily and James’ house, Regulus and Barty walking beside you, their fingers intertwined. A tight knot of anxiety is building inside you, one that feels like it might snap any second.

“Chill the fuck out, Tres. You’re gonna make me snap if you keep this up,” Barty whines, his voice heavy with exaggerated drama as he slouches beside you.

“What he said,” Regulus agrees, pressing a soft kiss to Barty’s cheek. He glances at you, brow furrowed. “I don’t get why you’re so worked up. It sounds like they actually want to be your friends, which is what I told you.”

“I know, but I feel like it’ll be different once everyone’s together. It’s just gonna be… weird,” you mutter, staring down at the ground, kicking aimlessly at the rocks scattered in your path. “I could always just bail—tell them I’m not feeling well.”

Barty’s enthusiastic "Yes, let’s do that" is drowned out by Regulus, who smirks and shakes his head. “No, if you do that, I’ll tell them you chickened out. Which is exactly what you’d be doing.”

You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms. “You’re a right sod, Black.”

Regulus smirks, unfazed. “Would you look at that, we’re here.”

You glance up and realize with a start that you've arrived at Lily and James’ house. The warm glow from the windows spills out onto the porch, and you can hear faint laughter from inside. Your nerves spike again, but you take a deep breath, steeling yourself.

Regulus watches you with an unreadable expression, but you catch the glint of concern in his eyes. “You’ll be fine,” he says quietly, his tone softer than usual. “Remember, they invited you because they want you there, not because they feel obligated.”

Before you can respond, the door swings open, and there stands Lily, her expression lighting up even more when she sees you. “You made it!” she exclaims, pulling you into a quick hug. "Come in, come in. Everyone’s just getting settled."

You step inside, immediately greeted by the warmth of the house and the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. Harry’s running around with a toy in his hand playing with Sirius, and James is perched on the couch, looking absolutely delighted to see you.

Then your eyes flick over the rest of the room and settle on Remus, as if drawn to him like magnets. He offers you a small, friendly smile and a nod of his head which you return.

"Hey, hey!" James grins, raising his glass in a mock toast. "I’m glad you made it. We were starting to think you’d bail."

“Thanks for the warm welcome,” you reply dryly, but you can’t help the small laugh that slips out.

As you make your way toward the couch, you can’t stop your gaze from drifting back to where Remus is standing near the fireplace, quietly observing the room. When Remus catches your eye, his smile is faint, almost hesitant. His gaze flickers away for a moment before he meets yours again, his expression neutral but not unfriendly.

You swallow hard, heart beating a little faster. The silence between you both is thick with tension, the remnants of a relationship that was once close—too close to ignore, too delicate to heal completely.

"Hey," you say, your voice steady, though you feel everything inside you twist.

"Hey," he replies, his voice quiet but warm. There's a slight tilt of his head, as if he's not entirely sure what to do with himself at this moment. He looks like he wants to say more, but the words don’t come, and for a long, uncomfortable beat, neither of you speaks.

Lily is talking about something with James, her voice fading in the background as you remain locked in this strange standoff with Remus. You tell yourself to just breathe, to focus on the room, the warmth of the fire crackling in the corner. But then, just as you're about to force yourself to look away, he shifts, taking a small step toward you.

"I—" Remus begins, but the words stop again, his hands running through his hair in a familiar gesture that makes your heart ache. "I’m glad you came tonight. I wasn’t sure if… well, if you’d want to be here with everything between us."

“I wanted to be here,” you say, your voice low, trying to keep the honesty in your words without letting the pain of it all seep through.

There’s a long pause, and then Remus looks at you, his eyes searching yours for something, anything. “Good… you – you look good by the way.” Before you can respond, hands are roughly placed on both your shoulders, Sirius, all energy and excitement. 

“Let's get you a drink, Sunshine,” with that, you’re whisked away towards the kitchen. 

As Sirius drags you toward the kitchen, you can’t help but chuckle. The whole thing feels a little surreal—this weird in-between space where the past and present collide, but you’re trying not to think too hard about it. If you do, you might spiral.

"Come on, you look like you need it." Sirius grins at you, and it’s one of those smiles that has the ability to make you forget your nerves for a second.

“Yeah, definitely,” you mutter, glancing back over your shoulder at Remus. He’s still standing by the fireplace, looking distant, his eyes trained on the conversation happening at the couch.

The laughter from the living room seeps into the kitchen as you look away, reminding you that you’re still expected to be a part of this—expected to be okay. You swallow hard. "I need a breath of fresh air," you blurt before you can stop yourself.

Sirius looks up from where he's poured the drink, his eyes softening with concern. “You sure? I mean, there’s a lot going on out there, but you don’t have to stay if it’s too much.” His voice drops to a more serious tone.

You nod quickly, unable to explain what’s suffocating you. “Yeah, I just need a minute.” You don’t wait for another word from him, slipping past him and through the kitchen door, stepping out into the cool evening air.

The back garden is quieter than the house, with only the sounds of bugs and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. You lean against the porch railing, inhaling deeply as you try to clear the weight from your chest. The coolness of the night feels like a balm against the fire inside you, but it doesn’t take long for the tightness in your throat to return. The silence is comforting, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts of Remus—his smile, the way his eyes lingered on you earlier.

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly, but the moment is fleeting. The knot in your stomach tightens again, and you feel like you're drowning in all of it. What am I doing here? you wonder, pressing your palms against your eyes.

The sound of the door opening behind you startles you, and you whirl around to see Remus standing there, fiddling nervously with the cigarette box in his hands. His posture is hesitant, shy, and beneath the dim light, he looks bone tired.

He glances up at you, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the words.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words hanging awkwardly between you. Your brow furrows in confusion, and he must see it because he adds, “I didn’t think that when I broke up with you, you’d think that meant they wouldn’t want to be friends with you anymore.” He gestures vaguely toward the door he’d just come through.

“That’s not your fault, Remus,” you say quietly, shrugging and turning your gaze away from him, toward the garden. “It’s just how breakups go.”

He moves closer, but keeps his distance, leaning against the railing. “I should’ve made it clearer.”

You inhale sharply, your voice sharper than intended. “It wasn’t your job anymore. It’s fine.” The words taste bitter on your tongue.

He’s silent for a long moment, studying you—your words, your tone, the way you hold yourself. He sees the changes, but also the parts of you that are still the same, and something about it seems to weigh on him.

He shifts uncomfortably, then finally speaks again. “I wish you’d shout at me, y’know?” His voice is softer, almost pleading.

You turn to look at him, incredulous. “Why?” you ask, pausing. “So you can feel better? So you can say you left me because I was some raging bitch who’s impossible to deal with?” A weak chuckle escapes your lips, hollow and bitter.

“No,” he shakes his head quickly, his gaze softening. “Because I deserve it. I left because I was a coward.” His voice drops to a near whisper, vulnerable and raw, barely audible over the sound of the wind.

You both fall into a heavy silence, the air thick with everything left unsaid. Neither of you knows how to fill the space between you, unsure of whether you even want to. The quiet feels too loud now, and all the unspoken words hang like a weight between you both, heavy and unresolved.

“Why–” the words get stuck in your throat, “why did you break up with me?” your voice sounds weak even to your own ears.

Remus shifts slightly, his hands still nervously fidgeting with the cigarette box. He exhales a slow breath, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to turn away again—like he’s too scared to face the weight of your question. But he doesn’t. His eyes lock with yours, and you can see the storm of emotions behind them.

"I didn’t know how to be what you needed," he admits finally, his voice tinged with regret. "I—" He pauses, shaking his head, trying to find the right words, as if they're all tangled up in his chest. "I couldn’t give you what you deserved. I thought... maybe if I let you go, you’d be better off without me, because I couldn’t give you the kind of love you needed."

You feel the sting of his words, a dull ache that spreads through your ribs. You turn away slightly, trying to steady yourself, but your hands grip the railing tightly. “I didn’t need perfect, Remus,” you say quietly, almost to yourself. “I just needed you to be here, to try.”

He winces at that, and you can see the way his jaw clenches. "I know.” 

You're both standing there, pensive, the stillness of the moment heavy in the air. The garden before you stretches out in a quiet, almost forgotten beauty. The sun, low in the sky, casts long shadows across the path, while the fading light tints the flowers with a soft, golden glow.

You wrap your arms around yourself, pulling your body in as though trying to gather the pieces of yourself that feel scattered, lost. It's an instinctive action, one that’s meant to soothe, to offer a small measure of comfort. But it doesn’t quite work. The tightness in your chest remains, the ache of unsaid words, of things left unresolved. The warmth of your own touch feels distant, like a quiet echo that doesn't quite reach you.

Just as you're about to let yourself walk away, Remus speaks up again. “They all really missed you.” He turns to face you, offering a half-smile, half-grimace that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"I missed them too... I missed my friends," you reply, but before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, "Did you miss me?" You immediately look away, wishing you could take them back. You feel vulnerable, uncertain. It’s a moment you immediately regret—and you can see the same hesitation reflected in Remus’s face.

His heart aches at your question, and he feels it crack in his chest.

“Of course I did,” he says, his voice wavering like he’s on the edge of tears. When you finally turn to meet his gaze, you notice the shimmer of it in his eyes.

"Maybe we could try being friends again?" you ask, the words tentative, fragile.

"Yeah... I’d like that," he nods, his voice soft but sincere. His answer feels like it came too quickly, like a reflex.

You give a small, uncertain smile, but hesitate before speaking again. “Do you really want to be friends?”

Remus glances upward, his posture stiffening. For a moment, there's an unbearable silence. Then, with a sigh, he looks back at you. “God, no.” He says it like it’s devastating, like the situation you're both in is causing him physical pain. He just looks at you for a second, “I don’t think I can be friends with you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his confession, the weight of his words hanging between you both. The air feels heavy, and the silence stretches for what feels like an eternity. You open your mouth, but no words come out. For a moment, you simply stare at him, your mind racing, trying to process what he’s just said.

Remus shifts uncomfortably, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he’s battling with himself. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that,” he adds, his voice softer now, more tentative. “I just... after everything, I don’t know if I can pretend it’s just nothing. You mean too much to me.”

“I—” you begin, but your voice falters. You swallow hard, the knot in your throat thick and tight again. It’s like everything you’ve been trying to suppress, to ignore, has come rushing back all at once. “I don’t know what to do with that,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

Remus shifts closer, but there’s still a careful distance between you, like he’s waiting for you to make the next move, for you to decide if this is something you both want to untangle. His eyes are wide, searching yours, as if waiting for a sign, some clue that this isn’t too much to bear.

“I don’t either,” he admits, his voice breaking slightly. “But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t still care about you. Not when it’s this obvious. Not when all I think about is you. Not when I’m standing here, hoping you’ll look at me and say that maybe we can try again.”

The air feels thick, and you take a shaky breath, wondering if you’ve made a mistake, if it would be easier to walk away now, before anything else is said. But the truth is, you’ve never been able to just walk away from Remus, no matter how hard you tried. Your heart knows it too well—maybe better than your mind ever could.

“You hurt me,” you say, the words raw and unfiltered. “And I’m scared. I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

“I know,” he says quickly, his voice trembling with an honesty that cuts deep. “I know I hurt you. And I’m not asking you to forget, not even for a second. I just want to... I don’t know... I just want to figure out if there’s something left between us. If we can try to fix this.”

The thought of trying again, of reopening those old wounds to see if they could heal, fills you with both hope and fear. You stare at him, searching for any hint of the person you used to love, and yet there’s something different now. Something older. Wiser, perhaps. But the weight of what he’s asking hangs in the balance, and it’s hard to imagine letting go of the hurt, of the walls you’ve built around yourself since everything ended.

“Maybe we can start over,” you say quietly, your voice shaky but steady. “Maybe we can take it slow. And see what happens.”

Remus nods, his face softening, though you can see the weight in his eyes. “Yeah. Slow. I’d like that. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You look away for a moment, the thoughts swirling in your head. This isn’t an easy choice. It’s messy, and there are pieces of both of you scattered everywhere. But there’s also something raw, something real, in the space between you. It’s terrifying, but it’s also... maybe it’s worth it.

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his gaze again. “We can try.”

The words hang in the air between you, tentative, like a promise you’re not sure you’re ready to keep. You swallow, trying to steady the tremble in your chest. The silence stretches again, but this time, it feels different. It feels like there’s something more, something unsaid, lingering.

Remus shifts just slightly closer, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for permission—permission to close the gap between you, to bridge the distance that’s always seemed too wide to cross. And then, without quite thinking, you step forward.

The movement is slow, hesitant, but the moment you’re within arm’s reach, he exhales, his body language softening. His hands, still nervously fumbling, stop, and he takes a breath like he’s steeling himself for something. The space between you is still charged, and yet, when he finally closes the gap with a cautious, but warm embrace, you freeze for a brief moment, before the weight of everything else settles in.

His arms wrap around you gently, carefully, like he’s worried you might break if he holds you too tightly. You stand there, unsure of everything, but something deep inside you tells you this feels right—his touch, the quiet connection between you both.

For a moment, you don’t speak. You don’t need to. It’s enough just to be there, together in this moment. You let out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispers into your hair, his voice barely audible.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his presence fill the spaces where doubt and fear once lingered. And despite the ache in your chest, despite the confusion and the fear of what this might mean, you find yourself clinging to the moment. It’s not perfect. Nothing ever is. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper back, your voice barely more than a breath. “It’s okay.”

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let me know what you think of this! <3 i appreciate all feedback

[deadbeat-motel]

ᐯᗩGGIE ᗩᑎᗪ ᑕᕼᗩᖇᒪIE ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ

These two are simpler than the angel dust design I did since I didn't have a lot to go off of. Posted on Valentine's Day because yes I can.

I don't think Charlie is significantly different from her Pilot design because I genuinely think it was the best design from the cast (before the redesign).

Thoughts below, though TW for the creepy charlie image at the end:

My issues with their Original designs:

Vaggie:

The giant "X" over her eye is really distracting and even world-breaking because

1. Why had no one put 2 and 2 together that the only character in Hell who has a visible 'X' mark on her face might be related to the angels who also sport that X mark on their faces.

2. Why is it shaped like an X? Her eye was taken out via a single slash.

3. If the hair's purpose was to cover it, why would it show through it? What's the point of the hair then?

The hair that was supposed to cover that wounded eye looked so ugly and confused as to what it should be doing. I mean every shot that showed that thing in a sideview shot of Vaggie felt like the animators had to make their own guesses as to how that was supposed to look like. It was distracting for me personally and I hated it so much.

It's been said over and over again, but her clothes look like she works at McDonalds. I get needing to change her outfit so that she looks like she works at the hotel, but it's just been poorly designed.

Why change her clothes' colors from white to red? the white helped her stand out from Hell and the Hotel's majority red background. (In the finale, she at least has a non-red attire)

She's also one of the very few women in HH and she falls under the skinny stick side of it despite being an angel exterminator.

Her hair is kind of hard to visualize looking at in any way other than what it is when it's static. However, when it changed into a ponytail or a bob, it's actually really nice to look at.

Unsure of what that bow's purpose is for the design.

Charlie:

Charlie is a simple but very confused design. The pilot design was a lot more coherent than the current show design

It's disappointing to see the bouncy Pilot hair go and be replaced by that boring bubble braid of all things.

Her undershirt peaks out of her tuxedo.... why???? to separate the top jacket and the pants? You wouldn't need to do that if her pants were a different color like the pilot design.

Thought about it and was confused, as a demon with an angelic father, why didn't she have wings as well? She didn't need the 6 wings like Lucifer but maybe a pair of one would appear?

Out of all the characters for the show's redesign, Her's was by far the MOST infuriating to me. Her pilot design wasn't perfect but it was good, they had to downgrade her for some reason.

I didn't have much to say about Charlie. it basically sums up to "the Pilot design was better".

On to the thought process for these two:

Valerie the fallen:

Yes, she got a rename. Sue me.

I had to remove the moth aspect of her design because it doesn't seem like it makes sense for a heaven-born to follow the sinner's rule of "gaining features based on the life you lived" since she basically never lived right?

In this redesign (and eventual rewrite), Valerie is not ashamed of her exterminator background. In fact, she was known as the most recent "fallen" in hell. her short stature doesn't make her less of a threat to the demons.

She's also visually thick with muscle because why not let one of the show's women have a body type that isn't stick-thin?

She's using the wings that were torn off of her as both an interesting article of clothing and as a way to remind others and her that she is (or more accurately 'was') an angel who could kill them if she wanted to.

Her clothes are pure black underneath the pale feathers to show that while she is an "angel", deep down, she is far from a good person.

She's also getting an actual skin color because from what I gathered myself from the show's heaven. Most of the souls there still retain a human appearance (Adam, Lute, St. Peter, and the other random human angels up there still look human..... but just don't mind the fact that most of them are white.)

Her hair is that ponytail she had in the finale because as much as I didn't like that episode, some designs looked actually decent.

Also, her hair actually covers the eye scar properly.

I wanted to keep her ribbon as a splash of brightness on her design but the OG ribbon looks a little out of place on a warrior so It became that (Plus it pays homage to her OG moth influence with its shape looking like the fluffy antennas of the moth)

Gave the spearhead a little bit of detail on it plus a chipped side so that it has a bit of charm as an old weapon she still decides to keep around.

A note about Valerie's design is that I haven't tackled the armor of angels yet so I was unsure of what pieces of the undesigned armor to give Valerie as of now.

Charlie:

I honestly actually enjoyed her Pilot hair, so I tried to put it back and also simplify it a bit so there are not a lot of strands for me to keep track of. Plus it was a genuinely cute design for her. (There's a reason that version was used in the Verbalase video.) <- I'M JOKING

Replaced her button nose with a goat's because a friend has commented how it looked like the noses of the women in a Goofy Movie and I will never be able to unsee that.

Her hair is also a lot brighter compared to her washed-out blonde color.

She has the same design thought process as Valerie, Covering the darkness of her true nature with white fluffy fur which is stylized like feathers at its ends. She has pitch-black skin underneath and looks like a proper nightmarish demon like the image below.

I ditched the tuxedo look, since almost all the cast has a similar outfit already, and gave her a jumpersuit instead. (Idk what it's really called but that's what I think it is). It's a light grey because she's a mix of bad and good (though a bright grey because she prefers to be on the good side)

Her horns are there and visible because yeah it's cute but also helps her read as the half-angel/half-demon character she is.

Tiny goat tail because can you imagine every time Valerie holds the rare angel smile of approval, her tail is visibly wagging in glee and excitement???? My heart would die. I love these lesbians with my life.

Has wings from her father.

Anyways, those are my thoughts and redesigns... I wanted to add more details to them but I didn't really know what to add that didn't feel unnecessary.

Also bonus! Concept art of Charlie's true form:

[honeytonedhottie]

cultivating creativity and a deeper understanding of self⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍰

PROMPTED JOURNALING ; 

shadow work and prompted journaling is a rly helpful way to get to know urself better. it cultivates not only creativity and a sense of identity, but also healing.

journal therapy is literally everything and i cannot recommend it enough. some shadow work prompts that you can use to start off are listed below.  

what part of myself do i feel disconnected to and why 

how do i let others invade my boundaries 

what beliefs and behaviors did u adopt from ur family that you now question 

what easily triggers sadness or anger from you. and what might be the deeper reason for this sensitivity

are there desires and ambitions that you feel embarrassed or scared to admit? and why?

journaling mainly involves self expression without fear of judgement. it’s like expressing urself without feeling ashamed so i highly recommend it for anyone who feels like they struggle with self expression. 

SELF EXPRESSION ; 

working on ur self expression also helps to kind of cultivate a sense of identity and knowledge of who you are and what u value. like i mentioned earlier you can express yourself in so many different ways. i’ll get deeper into the self expression aspect in the post. 

PASSION ; 

what are you passionate about? what drives u everyday? is it money? academic validation or academic research? maybe it’s romance or a strong desire for something. 

it’s okay. everyone’s answer might be different but there’s no wrong answer. identify what motivates you and what ur working towards. 

BEING BORED ; 

give yourself the privilege to do nothing. give yourself the luxury of being bored. when ur not doing anything, this frees up ur mind to think and cultivate ideas and concepts, most of the epiphanies that i have are a result of my alone time. 

when there’s nothing to do, you’re forced to think. and most ppl look for distractions and excuses to not spend time by themselves bcuz they don’t wanna spend time in their thoughts. they don’t wanna just be in their mind and i understand cuz at one point i was also in that position. 

to break this habit and be comfortable in ur own mind you must first be uncomfortable. start small, dedicate a small amount time to just lay and think, let ur mind wander as far as you want. and the next day let ur mind wander for a longer amount of time and so on until you can do this comfortably. 

CREATIVE OUTLETS ; 

something that i’ve learned on my journey is that having a creative outlet was rly important for me to be able to cultivate who i wanted to be and to be authentic and original. 

a creative outlet is a way that u can express yourself and your ideas some examples of a creative outlet could be 

pinterest accounts - i have so many pinterest accounts and on those accounts i turn my boards to art. lately i’ve been interested in photography and photos in general so this was rly good for me. 

a blog - starting ur own blog about something that ur passionate about/know a lot about or something that ur learning about is a great way to track progress and document ur journey

a journal - like i’ve mentioned earlier on in the post a journal is the simplest one to do in my opinion and i love it so so much

creating art - whether it’s pinterest boards, paintings, sketches, music, poetry, stories WHATEVER YOU WANT. 

DEEPER UNDERSTANDING ; 

process ur emotions in a thoughtful and efficient way and try looking deeper into ur behavioral patterns and habits. why are you the way you are? 

what are you passionate about? etc etc. cultivate a relationship with yourself through self care and healing work. remember that healing isn’t a linear process and in no case will it be, but i think that u owe it to yourself to know and cultivate urself. 

[hellish-sunsets]

Lucifer red string of fate soulmate au? Like, maybe he and Lilith originally got together despite the strings because Lucifers was Grey or something at the time; but eventually his turns bright red because turns out his soulmate was mortal and is now a sinner so they can actually be together? I think it would be cute since he's so depressed with Lilith leaving him; now he has the sparkle of hope that he can find the missing piece to his puzzle 😊 if you do end up writing this request could it be super fluffy??? (Also bonus points if Sinner Reader is not only shorter then him but also super kind hearted and sweet!)

I'm a sucker for soulmate AU's! This one got a bit away from me, I'll probably have to make a part two, but for now here's what I got!

Gray Dyed Red

Word Count: 1,912

-------------------------

The strings existed since the beginning of… well, existence. Every being had one tied to their middle finger, or the closest they had to one for the more animalistic ones. No one could see them but the owner of the string, thin things that could never tangle or be broken, either red or gray. And at the end of that string was supposed to be your soulmate. Well, as long as it was red. 

Lucifer’s had always been gray. 

And yeah, it bothered him at first, but he was quick to push aside and keep himself busy with creating with the other angels. He would lose himself in his work. But then, none of his ideas were good enough. They were too… different. He just wanted to make something he could be proud of. 

He was only allowed to watch when Adam and Lillith were made. 

Watching wasn’t as much fun, but he could still keep himself distracted. He smiled down at them as they started their lives on the earth they were given. 

Then they fell apart. He didn’t understand why. Surely the first man and woman would be soulmates, right? But no, they didn’t fit well at all. They’re relationship was a constant fight of who was in charge. He decided he had to help somehow, and in the process fell in love with Lillith. She told him her string was gray, and he thought that maybe they could make it work. They loved and supported each other! What did it matter if they weren’t soulmates?

Even after their fall to hell, they spent thousands of years in each other's arms. 

Then she left.

No word, no note, just an empty bed and an empty castle. 

And he knew he was falling apart, shunning the rest of the world, not even reaching out to Charlie anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted a distraction, something to put his mind on that wasn’t his own failures. 

The gray string of his was just a reminder that there was no one for him, not even the woman he gave all his existence to. 

But it was strange. All these thousands of years, it had never changed color before. 

He didn’t even notice at first, couldn’t pinpoint when exactly it happened. He was in bed, had probably been there far too long. He physically couldn’t sleep anymore, so he needed to distract himself with something else. Maybe he could make an actually good rubber duck today. He should probably shower first, or clean himself in some way. Showers were faster so they usually won out. Though, they didn’t usually end up being faster once he gets in there. 

Whatever, he just needed to get up, right?

With a groan, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, stretching his arms over his head. He avoided staring at the empty side of the bed, shoving the covers off to head for the bathroom, the wood floors cold against his feet. 

He yawned as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror. That’s when he saw it, a glint of red. He frowned and lowered his hand to stare, wondering what he had seen. It couldn’t have been his eyes, the shade wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t his cheeks. He went to scratch his chin but froze with his hand halfway up. 

The string was red, deep and bright and unlike anything he had seen before. He looked down at his hand with wide eyes, not quite comprehending what it meant, but for some reason his heart seemed to flip in his chest. That was strange…

So… he had a soulmate now? How? When? Were they just made, or perhaps they were born somewhere? Were they from Earth? Heaven? Hell? Could he find them now? Maybe it turned because they just entered hell. But then, how good of a person could they be if they were down here with the sinners, perhaps a sinner themself? Was that even the type of person he wanted to interact with? But he had seen so many find their soulmates on the other end of their string and, good person or not, they were always perfect for eachother.

His heart does another flip in his chest.

He forces himself to undress and get in the shower, but his mind kept racing, going over the same questions over and over again.

His shower was much shorter than usual. He wanted to get out as soon as possible.

It had been a very long time since he bothered walking or flying through the city. He didn’t much like the sights or the people. Lilith was the one who dealt with them. Every single one of those sinners was just a reminder of what he had done, a never ending punishment. He preferred avoiding it all together. The last thing he ever wanted was to see how his gift of free will was abused by so many.

But that didn’t matter now. As much as he hated the people and the crowds, he was going to follow this stupid string until he found it’s end. 

—-------------------------

A few days passed. 

Pentagram city couldn’t be that big, and yet here he was, still searching. He did rest. Occasionally. Sometimes. Probably not enough. The only reason he did rest as much as he did was… well, he wanted to be at his best when he did finally find the end of his string. He wanted to make a good impression!

He narrowed it down to the edge of the city, a more rundown section where new sinners tended to congregate.

So they had to be new to hell. That's why his string suddenly changed color. They must have been a human who recently died and manifested here. He… wasn’t sure how he felt about it. What if she was just as awful as every other sinner? He feared that the most, that he was destined for some terrible person, that he didn’t deserve someone actually nice…

His string went straight down to an alley below. He could avoid the crowd, thank God. He swept down into the alley, feet landing with a quiet clack against the cracked concrete. He withdrew his wings, glancing around his filthy surroundings with a scowl of disgust. Surely there wasn’t anyone lounging in the muck here, right. But no, there was someone here, a sinner in tattered clothes, standing with their back pressed against the brick wall, head bowed as they took deep breaths, like they were calming themself down from something. 

A frown tugged at his lips. He glanced down at his hand, eyes tracing the vibrant red string towards this sinner, the other end tied around their finger.

It was them. 

He wasn’t entirely sure when he started walking towards them, just knew when his hand clasped around theirs. They jumped, trying to pull away at the sudden contact until their eyes met. They almost immediately relaxed, eyes widening with understanding as they gazed down at their clasped hands, then back up into his eyes. It was odd. No one had looked up at him since Charlie was still young.

He was usually better with words. They would normally come so easily to him, even if they may not always be the best or a bit rambling. But for once in his life, he wasn't sure what to say.

“Hi.” They said, smiling up at him ever so sweetly.

“Hey.” He smiled back, a flush rising in his cheeks. “What, um, brings you… here.” He motioned vaguely to the filthy alley with a slight frown, but the smile returned when he looked down at them.

“Ah, you know, just trying to collect myself and not freak out.” They said with her cheery voice, chuckling a little at themself. “I, uh, I never really thought I'd end up down here. I guess I thought sometimes I'd end up in hell, but honestly I just didn't think about it. But it's okay! I think I get it now.”

He tilted his head slightly in confusion, but that giddy smile never did leave his face. “What do you mean? You know why you’re down here?”

They nodded.

“Yep! I'm here to be with you! That must be it!”

Warmth didn’t bloom in his chest like he's felt in other circumstances. No, it was more like being hit by a freight train face first. In an instant he had them in his arms, savoring their surprised giggle as he squeezed them tight, burying his face in their hair. They happily hugged back. 

It could have been only a moment, it could have been hours, but he didn’t care. He didn’t dare let them go until he was sure this wasn't some sort of trick or dream. Only when he was satisfied did he pull away, eyes looking over them intently, committing every contour of their face to memory, every scratch, every scar, those sparkling eyes, that smile sweeter than apple pie. Shit, they really were perfect for him, weren't they? They could confess to murder and he would forgive them instantly.

“My name's Y/N, by the way.” 

Even their name was perfect.

“Lucifer.”

“Like the devil Lucifer?” They didn't even look that perturbed, just curious. He chuckled and gave a little bow. 

“The one and only. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”

‐—-------------------

It was strange, having someone in his quarters again, sitting in bed with the sound of the shower running in the back. It felt… right. It was proper he wasn’t alone anymore. How things were meant to be. Nice.

He sat up straighter when he heard the shower turn off. A few long minutes passed before she came out, dressed in a simple white sundress he provided. He wasn’t very good at making clothes, he preferred creating animals and things similar, but at the very least it looked like it fit, accentuating her sweet smile. 

He could feel his cheeks heating up, but he ignored it in favor of exaggerating the smile she brought to his face.

She sat on the edge of the bed next to him, running her fingers through the damp strands of her hair.

“Well…” She started, but wasn't really sure what to say, voice drifting off. She stared at her feet, unsure what else to do. 

He tilted his head to the side, just watching her for a moment. He reached out for her, hesitating for a moment before cupping her cheek, guiding her head to turn towards him. He just… he needed to see her eyes again. He needed to be sure she's real and in front of him and this wasn't some sort of trick. 

She smiled at him and leaned into his hand. His heart melted.

“I didn't think I'd ever find my soulmate.” She admitted in a whisper. “My string was always gray before, so I thought…” She trailed off and shrugged. He nodded his understanding.

“Yeah, me too. ‘Sorta assumed I just didn't have one since I wasn't human. I think it's more common for demons and angels to have gray strings.” His brows furrowed in thought, but whatever was running through his mind vanished as she turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand.

“... what do we do now?” She asked.

He gulped and shook his head, gathering his thoughts.

“I suppose I should introduce you to my daughter.”

[timaeusresponds]

Everyday I think at length about Dirk all alone in the ocean by himself. Surviving. There’s a lack of conversation in the greater fandom about that part and so many people jump on Dirk for being a socially inept nightmare, but can you imagine??

Your entire life has been a fight to survive. Your entire life was predestined, and your predetermined destiny is marked with isolation and suffering. You have one friend on the same planet at the same time as you, she is so far away even your most expert transportation would die before reaching her(you’ve imagined dying, alone, drowning in the ocean for your hubris and desperation so many times). She is the only one who understands your situation, and even she has ‘people,’ or something like it.

You are fighting as far back as you remember, not just the environment but literal entities— the only other ‘living��� thing besides fish and birds. They are massive, loud, and they want to kill you, it is their only directive. You spend every day a little anxious they will come and you will have to defend yourself again. You cannot get sick, injured, tired, distracted— they will kill you if you do.

You spend time alone, cradled in the nest of your apartment on stilts, and it rocks in the storms in a way that makes you wonder what happens if severe structural damage takes place.

You do not have the comfort of constant access to food. You do not have the comfort of access to medicine. You do not have the comfort of people. You do not have the comfort of not just friends but strangers. You do not have family.

You talk across time with people who do not know and would not understand your circumstances.

Can you fucking imagine.

They’ve noted extreme geographic isolation can cause health problems, immune system issues, and that’s not touching the mental state. Dirk is in extreme survival settings that the comic never really pokes into, but it’s really not hard to imagine given what Dirk says and what we see? An isolated oceanic apartment, the Imperial Drones, he references fishing, it’s. Not hard to fill in the large blank spot of ‘guy alone in the ocean all by himself and two robots.’

And the two robots are not expressly alive, and he knows that. I’m sure he bonded with them, I’m sure he loved them, but they need to be maintained and they’re as much a weight as they are an aid. Yeah, having Sawtooth around has saved his life probably a huge number of times, but Sawtooth also requires repairs, resources, time, energy.

I’m not excusing everything Dirk did, I think his actions are bad and we see him harken with that fact, we see him face it when talking with Dave, we seem him make changes. But when talking about Dirk as this ‘all bad, monster’ we need to remember he spent his formative developmental years absolutely scraping out the ability to live and likely learned social interaction from movies and the internet. Yes, he needs to be the one to make those changes himself. Yes, he needs to learn how to talk to people. Yes, he is controlling and overbearing. Those are not ignored just because he suffered, but finding the origin to why is so important.

Control is probably the number one thing he had to worry about. What can he control in his situation. What can he change. He can’t control when the drones come, but he can prepare. He can train, he can build, he can prep first aid supplies, beef up Saw, he can cover his bases and make sure he’s not only ready but ready for failure. He can’t control the lack of reliable food, but he can try and prepare better. Cold storage, nets not rods, see if he can make the process mechanical so he doesn’t need to spend time physically out fishing. He can’t control getting sick, but if he keeps Sawtooth properly equipped, maybe makes extra bots, he can have defenses while out of commission— the extra food stores come in handy here, too. Control every aspect of his life that he can to survive, and it worked until the game, so he keeps using it. Control his friend’s entry, control their actions, control their feelings, because interpersonal relationships aren’t life or death but that’s all he knows at this point. It’s not good, but we can see how he got there.

Idk I just think the greater fandom likes to jump Dirk for being an unsociable, difficult, controlling person while ignoring everything pre-entry.

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

Tourniquet

DUNCAN VIZLA X READER

⚠️ Warnings: Uhhh kinda extreme gore, I mean I definitely go into intense detail about some of the way these people die so probably don't read this if you're squeamish, blood, death, murder, language, mentions of drugs and alcohol, I think that's it but yeah ⚠️

Duncan comes to save you and risks his life in the process.

Duncan had originally wanted nothing more than to retire from this god-forsaken line of work he'd been in for over thirty years. To succumb fully to the relaxation that was unemployed bliss, somewhere far off in the lost woods with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Maybe he'd try for another dog again, although he wasn't too lucky with his PTSD responses around Rusty. Wherever in the world he may be or whomever he'd be with, he just wanted some goddamn peace and quiet, thankyouverymuch.

Today, he was not so lucky. Of course, he had to take the one job offer to end his career with a bang and to coagulate all of the money he'd originally been promised to begin with. One job after another, one shot fired towards a man's head and a stapler gun to his ankles, all led him here. At the front of this house. On a rescue mission. Which would then lead to a hitman mission. Obviously. Unfortunately.

Duncan sighed and took in the landscape with his one good eye, courtesy of the copious amount of torture he'd pushed through over the past month. Although his wounds were still healing and he felt their burn underneath the folds of his fabric coat, he had to act fast as there was no time to waste. He needed to put his life on the line once again; as he had for so many years working as a hitman. But now, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. A reward to his revenge. Nothing that was false promises of money or strippers or nights out at the bar that would only situate him for a week before he grew bored. No, at the end of this mission was the promise of your safety and the potential of the two of you living this retired life he'd dreamt of for so long.

He only had to kill 30+ men and his former "mission mates" before getting to you and fleeing this Damocles shit for good.

Easy, in theory. In actuality, he was probably going to end up dead. Unless he could control himself through his rage and use it as an adrenalin boost rather than a distraction to his plan.

The mansion was huge and lavish in comparison to the wood houses Duncan had come to love in Montana. It was almost entirely frivolous; the magnitude of Blut's weath, all gained from those who did his dirty work and never out of his own aspirations.

Seeing the coast was fairly clear, he crafted a plan in his head as to how he was going to make it in and out of the place unscathed. Two guards to his left on the rooftop, facing outwards. Meaning that there must be at least another two on the other side, not knowing from which direction he'd come. Another one in the upper right window that could easily be taken out with a sniper. A few fifteen or so on the ground in hidden positions, all of which he knew considering he used to work for the damn place. Assuming Blut's usual stupidity would mean that the plans for an attack on Damocles would be unchanged, minus those who were inside of the place itself.

Time for action. He took off his heavy coat and draped it on the tree nearest to him so as not to be weighed down by the material. His thick wool sweater would be more than enough to keep him warm, alongside his steel-toed boots. Underneath his coat and concealed by his initial wardrobe was a now visible belt with two loaded guns on either side. His hand was clad with brass knuckles and he had a knife in his boot, only for an extreme situation. Worse comes to worse, he still had that piece of shrapnel under the second layer of his skin from one of his older missions he could cut out if he really had to. Eyepatch in place and hair tied in an up-do, he was ready to start shooting people.

Hey, maybe if they were all dead he'd finally get his $8 million he'd been promised.

It happened as quickly as the next snowflake hit the ground; Blut's mansion was under attack. They'd been expecting him, but as he was called The Black Kaiser, he was the best of the best. He knew their ins and outs and was now thankful he kept a friendly but protective distance from everyone while he was in the org so that they wouldn't know the specificities for his own attack. One skillful shot to the top left roof was enough to pierce through the necks of both the men standing atop it, one falling off after the other and landing on the ground with a thick thud. Blasted through arteries and a fuckton of blood pooled out the edges from where they'd fallen, creating intricate patterns on the wintery terrain and leaving giant stains on the sides of the building.

Now understanding their mission was a go, the man from the window received the hint and withdrew himself from the window, racing back inside most likely to tell Blut about the outside commotion. No matter. He'd take his time to paint the entirety of the green estate red with the fallen victims of Damocles.

He'd been right about the guards from the top of the building being on the other side, except there were three instead of two. They rushed around looking for the potential places Duncan could be hiding, so as to scope him out first and be the ones to receive the praise from their fat ass nepo-baby boss. They must all be younger and have no idea the amount of years and experience he'd had in this industry because Duncan was in plain fucking sight with his guns readied in both hands.

"Bye." He said, and shot them at the same time, making two of the guards meet the same tragic fate as their friends. One, two, they hit the ground with more thuds and guts, spreading their entrails further out than most people would think the human body could reach. One of their intestines had wrapped around the edges of the window panes, a man still alive wishing he wasn't. He was screaming from the upper floor awaiting his fall as he was held up by the gaping wound in his stomach where Duncan had shot him once more. The last guard at the top of the roof looked down in horror and jumped himself, taking his own life and going limp once his neck made a loud snap against the pavement under the soft snow.

PTSD flashbacks edged the corners of Duncan's one-eyed vision, trying their best to stop him as he witnessed the horror of human death via his hands. He was used to this feeling, of wanting to curl up and revert into himself, to never see anyone or anything again and be tortured as payment for his crimes. He was just a man, not a deity. Why should he choose- or rather- listen to who chooses who should meet an untimely death? What makes him above the others within his species?

Because of their frequent visits, he shut his visions down and went soulless. That was the only way to truly do his job and to continue to do it well within the moment and not fight with the side that was desperate to live in peace and an understanding of humanity. He was a pacifist at heart, truly. And even though it went against his psychological beliefs of the world, he had to pretend that intentions outweighed his actions in the sense of his killing and this mission; that getting to you was worth the rampant murderous spree of all these people, paid by their boss just as he was to do the same tasks he's doing.

Burrowing into himself, he rolls to the nearest icicle filled tree, grabbing the man who was hidden here with the gun and twisting his neck until he heard the sounds of life escaping his throat. He discarded his now empty gun for the one in the holster of the other man, making sure it was fully loaded before proceeding to also extract the menthols from the upper part of the stranger's jacket.

"Mange Tak." He said, Danish for thank you. He could have a little class while he was at it.

Noticing the tree he was under and the man whom he'd just killed, Blut was either following their Five-Ten plan or the Outskirts plan, both of which were effective in combat. The Five-Ten plan was created by Vivian herself meaning that there would be five on the perimeter of the compound, five on the rooftop, and ten within the building before whomever was entering made it inside. Then, after getting through the frontlines of security (if they made it that far), whomever was infiltrating would meet the guards who allowed their cohorts to be killed as preparation time for the main show.

The Outskirts plan, however, would mean that every man who wasn't directly appointed as an assassin to Blut's side would be out in the fields which were now covered in snow, using the trapdoors hidden in the earth to prepare their weapons for combat and kill the intruder as he (or she) approached the compound.

He was going to take his bets with the Five-Ten.

Heart barely going over an easy 65bpm, he calmly readied his guns for the next part of the infiltration where a few other guards would pop up and flock to his sides, hoping that they might catch him off-guard. Which they wouldn't. Another few shots took care of those and as he wiped the blood off his face from the splatter of one of them, he lit a cigarette and started walking towards the front of the compound, taking his chances that he knew which plan they had chosen considering he'd killed most of the other ones when he'd killed Vivian during their surprise attack not even hours before he got here.

Stepping over the walkway and opening the doors to the inside, he'd been proven correct in his intuition and flanked to the wall, keeping himself out of sight to those in the building. There were three open entryways leading from the main hall to the upstairs where the pig himself resided. Which meant around six of those corners could be another guard and he'd have to take his shots carefully, unless he wanted to engage in hand-to-hand combat which didn't always end well when your opponent had a firearm. He checked his inventory quickly.

Six bullets left. He'd have to be stingy about it.

Holding the trigger and aiming the barrel towards his right, he took a shot through the ornate pillars holding up the entryway's corbel arch, a bullet forcing itself through the small opening in which the wall met the pillar. He heard an "oomph!" which he gathered triumphantly signified his tactic of approach was also correct.

Can't teach an old dog new tricks.

Rolling to the floor into the room from whence the sound came, he staggered over to the next wall and shot through the entryway, shooting the man in the room in the leg. Fuck. Slight misstep on his account (or the other guy's considering he no longer had the bottom half of his leg). He dodged the man's bullets and lifted one of the cylindrical vases decorating the hallway and bashed it into the man's skull, once, twice, and then dropping it as he watched blood ooze from his nose. A sound from behind him meant another and he was met with hands wrapping around his throat and a gun being pressed to his temple.

This man was much bigger in stature than Duncan, but it was no matter. He swiftly acted as though he were aiming for his opponent's side as they would have practiced for upon initiation training. Seeing the man respond confidently to where he'd presumed Duncan would strike meant he'd left his nuts unguarded to which Duncan kicked in with precision. The man screamed, letting go of his counterpart and went to hold himself in anguish. Duncan mercilessly grabbed the weapon from his hands and shot through the one holding his injured manhood, shooting off his limb and probably the area underneath.

A few more men appeared from the entryways, and, after killing them all with a few more bullets than needed considering he had two guns now and maybe a hit to the face with his brass knuckles; he made his way to the top of the stairs, ready for whatever else would come. He could take on twenty more of them before expressing any ounce of fatigue as he'd trained his whole life for missions like this.

However, it was just you in the room.

Almost entirely taken aback by the slumped position you were in bound to that chair in the middle of the room, Duncan froze in his advances. He didn't let his guard down, no, but he took careful detail to the contortions of your face and the state of your being from which he could make out from this distance. Your long hair fell from the roots of your head which seemed to still be intact (thank god), but your skin was an ashy grey and blood had littered your hands and chest area. It was deep and dark and so red, redder than he'd felt he'd ever seen before and the PTSD was back, clawing at his chest and vision through his one good eye, all of his labors seemingly returning to dust. If you were dead, it would be the death of all deaths despite having only known you for a short period of time.

It had been the way you'd entered his house for the first time that caught him winded, hands tucked into the pockets of your long coat that kept you warm and smelling like the vanilla candles that littered your house. Your flushed cheeks from being out in the cold. Your smile as he'd offered you a sip of his hot chocolate, only to find out it had an added hint of whiskey. Your face when he'd kissed you for the first time. The hug you'd given him after.

It took fifty years of his life to finally admit it to himself and to anyone else who'd listen to the raspy notches in his throat as he exclaimed that he was, indeed, in love. And it was, indeed, with you.

"Something caught your eye, Kaiser?" Blut's agonizing and cruel voice caught the echos of the marble flooring and flooded the room, signaling his emergence from the darkness. He was wearing his stupid, douchebaggy jacket with a shit eating grin nearly reaching the corners of his eyes. This was the man whom he'd worked for all these years, pledged his loyalty to despite having no ounce of previous companionship with him. The one who owed him $8 million and the one who'd sent out his own personal hitman army to kill Duncan and get away with it so he would no longer be a liability to the company.

"She'd better be alive, or I'll skewer your head on that fucking Damocles sword you have above the mantle." He nearly spat out, taking his time to enunciate the weight of every word that escaped his lips, forcing them out in such an anger that anyone would feel in the depths of their bones. Blut, however, could care less.

"Oh she's alive." Made sure to keep her that way for you." He said, sauntering towards her seemingly lifeless body and tilting her chin upwards to finally reveal her face. "Thought she could use some plastic surgery though, don't you think Duncan?"

It was as if a knife had pierced his chest then and there. Your face, which had been absolutely perfect upon anyone's first glance, now was missing an eye on the opposite side of his own. Flesh had been carved out around it, which meant it would leave a scar possibly even nastier than his. He wanted to throw up at the idea someone could've taken something so important to you and destroy a piece of your life forever. He then thought maybe that was how his victims' families felt, learning that their fathers or brothers had passed due to the brutality of murder.

But you were still beautiful. And he had to save you still.

"Duncan... you're not responding?" Blut taunted with his awful voice, ringing the question in his ears and twisting the metaphorical knife even further into his chest. Duncan knew he'd need to snap out of the hold of his traumas and force himself to swallow anything else other than the situation at hand in order to save you...and himself.

"You're fucking dead. Don't you fucking touch her." Duncan said, grabbing the hefty sword of the supposed Damocles mansion from the mantle near him, letting the blade drag on the floor before discarding his gun entirely and picking up the sword. It had to have been at least four feet long with a shiny hilt and an even shinier blade which would be stained with the blood of the man before him in the time it'd take to say the sword's name. He would avenge this piece of your life that had been wrongfully taken from you.

A little less smug now, Blut reached into his pocket and withdrew a gun. "Y-y-you fucking stay back Kaiser! I won't hesitate to blow your head off!!"

"Where are your other men? Or are you truly so out of options that you're here alone?" Duncan growled, his discarded gun going into the fireplace, and, with a loud boom, caught the floor and curtains surrounding it on fire. The flames twisted and danced against in the reflection of his newfound weapon, a proper visual to the fire that licked his veins with the rage he felt. He continued his progression to your chair, sparing you a softer glance, before focusing everything onto the man before him who was now cowering by the window on the wall.

It was as if he were a child who'd been told hiding under a blanket would save him from the monsters under his bed and in his closet. He shrunk into the glass and tried his best to aim his gun with a shaking hand at Duncan's head. Duncan was now eye-to-eye with the man whom he'd fucking rip to shreds faster than any job he'd done as a hitman in his life.

"Blut...you're not responding?" He sneered, dodging the bullet that flew from his opponent's barrel. He lifted the sword and thrust it from the nape of his neck to the back of his skull, brains flying out against the widow he was in front of. Blood spurt from the open wound like a the lake outside of Duncan's house in Montana, where he'd resided before all this madness. Eyes bulged out of his skull with the optic nerves sliding down the forefront of his face and falling just above his mouth. Duncan dismantled the head from his torso still attached to the blade and spear tossed the sword of Damocles out the window and onto the grounds below, the sharp end getting stuck in the ground and displaying Blut's upside down head like a totem pole.

"'Suck my fucking dick."

Duncan freed you from the chair, taking you outside and down the winding trail, mansion burning to the ground in the distance. Back to Montana where now, at last, he would fucking retire.

[susie-dreemurr]

CH3 Theory: Kris shared the ”Roaring Knight” title with this chapter’s final boss

I’ve made a poll saying I might make a short theory video on this before playing chapter 4, in order to properly process all this new information first, but just in case I decide to give up, here’s the script I just wrote for the video:

Playing chapter 3, one of the things that drew me in the most were the S-Class gaming scenes. They provided a significant amount of material for theories, especially on what’s up with Kris.

Às I played, one of the things that drew me in the most were the S-Class gaming scenes. They seem to provide a lot of potential for theories, especially regarding what’s up with Kris.

Ramb talks of how, as a child, they and “that girl” brought the library laptop home, therefore letting darkner characters like Queen, Spamtom and Tenna meet, seemingly to play pretend in the light world. Ramb acts overly familiar with Kris and their mentality, claiming to know them, and throughout the S-class quest, questions them on what they want. Could this really get you what you want? Your poor mother is in grave danger because of this. Your knife is getting dull. While on its own these dialogues coud just reference only the third fountain, they do not exist in à vaccum

Eventually, Kris meets the S-class game version of Tenna. He starts talking about his past with Spamtom, which is a whole other can of worms, and says “they never should have brought that laptop.” He then notices Kris and is startled, dropping the bombshell of:

Later on the game, Tenna says he was alone until the Knight came. While showing an image of Tenna similar to how ch2 ended, we hear him say how he struck a deal with the Knight to “keep the trio busy” só he could be watched again. This instantly reminded me of this dialogue.

I had already thought Kris was the knight after ch2 but this had made me all the more certain. Kris was the knight, and wanted Tenna to pretend they weren’t in front of their team, wanted Tenna to distract and keep them in this for some time, something that among other things, called back to the theme of escapism prominent in this chapter.

I was so certain, and yet… at the ending, we meet a mysterious character named the Roaring Knight. I was confused, thinking maybe I interpreted it all wrong, but… maybe not.

Às Queen said, the “knight” could be any lightner with the will to create a fountain. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume “The Roaring Knight” is just a title, and not necessarily a person. It is not impossible for that Kris and this mysterious character (who I’ll be calling “Cavaliera” for simplicity’s sake) are working together, both *sharing* this title. Not just in a “Kris opened à fountain once” way, but they’re specifically working together às partners, maybe even taking turns on opening fountains.

In S-Class, mini-Kris enters the bunker and specifically stabs (and kills) Tenna’s character after he anxiously mentions their deal, reminding me of the phrase “stab in the back.” This obviously foreshadows Cavaleira literally striking Tenna in the back (possibly killing him) and kidnapping Undyne to the bunker. I am sure Toby Fox didn’t choose this specific form of foreshadowing for nothing, and believe it’s also meant to signal these two at LEAST working together.

There’s also the fact that Ramb chastises Kris over the situation they put their mother in by intentionally opening the fountain with her inside the room, questioning if this would “get them what they want.” After chapter 2, many speculated on why they did so, and after watching how Cavaleira original kidnapping target was Toriel, i think Kris did this as part of this plan they had together.

Às à bonus, We know the dark worlds are shaped by where the objects are in the light world. Kris and “that girl” got darkners like Queen, Tenna and Spamtom to meet by bringing their light world equivalents together to “play pretend.” They could have either done this intentionally, or genuinely been innocent back then and only later found out they could alter dark worlds like this, but regardless it doesn’t hurt to keep note of this.

If both of them share the “Roaring Knight” title, it’s possible Kris struck the deal with Tenna (às they were the one who opened the fountain [which Tenna knows] and dó not have an alibi from then to Susie waking up) while Cavaleira watched over the show to keep Tenna from breaking the deal for whatever reason. Tenna certainly wouldn’t have reason to mention the identity of the KNIGHT, especially if Kris was involved, it goes against his goal to stay on and have an audience!

I believe I’ve made myself clear on why I think they share thte title, but who IS Cavaleira? Às I want to keep this vídeo short (bc i do want to play ch4 soon, plus this has less evidence) I don’t want to go in depth on it, but I think it is either Mayor Holliday or December, leaning more towards the latter.

Dess’s current absence feels more haunting than the Mayor’s ever did, because it doesn’t have the explanation of “work.” People talk of her às if she was gone. Her connection with Kris and Noelle, how she explored the forest near the bunker (which might have gaster connections) with them, the DECEMBER spelling bee, this… weirdness surrounding her made fans agree she‘s important long ago.

Cavaleira’s design includes horns almost identical to the Hollidays, gaster-like hands and a sword that sometimes looks like a bat. Thsi cant be a coincidence toby Fox pls pls pls

TL;DR: Kris and Dess are working together and share the title of roaring knight (real)

I want to end this off saying I don’t think Kris or Dess are evil or even want to hurt anyone. They could do all this for the sake of some greater good, an objective I just have no way of knowing yet. Regardless of ch4 denying this or not, I enjoyed this little (rushed) thought experiment.

[tantei-chan01]

Did you know Branch was originally going to be the one Velvet and Veneer had kidnapped? That would be extremely traumatic for him in the mute au since he had just gotten to the point he felt comfortable even singing in front of other people and not running for cover whenever Bridget or Gristle comes by and suddenly MORE giants are kidnapping him and trying to use his talents specifically because he started singing again.

I like to think in that circumstance, Bridget and Gristle would postpone the wedding to support Poppy, but John Dory would somehow still crash some important even they were a part of, that Poppy would still insist on going with John to save Branch and probably be joined by more than a few guests, maybe even Bridget while Gristle stays back (someone has to watch the kingdom and while he may be bros with Branch, he also knows his first Troll friend is justifiably nervous around Bergans and probably gonna have a bad time if he sees him), and the group would not have as many jokes about Brozone still thinking Branch is a baby because A) he isn't there and B) his friends are and while they are all there for teasing their most introverted friend and learning about his past they cannot get over the fact Branch had been left alone for over 20 years with no family and suddenly they discover he had 4 older brothers who all presumably had jeut up and left

I did know about that and agree it would have gone much differently. Mr. Dinkles would have sent some critters to Mount Rageous to delay the performance for as long as possible.

Poppy would enlist the bounty hunters to help them track down the brothers. First, finding John Dory thanks to Delta's help. Him being horrified at the fact of his brother's kidnapping just as he was packing up to go see him and at the fact that he was also traumatized into losing his voice and turning gray and now this will just make it worse. Luckily he has clues that helps the group find the others.

Floyd would be performing in a small town when they find him. He immediately agrees to go with and feels guilty on what he's been informed about.

Bruce immediately jumps to save the baby of the family, which Brandy encourages and beats himself up for not thinking of going back for Branch after he found Vacay Island.

Clay can immediately tell what's going on after a few words and immediately packed a rescue bag, refusing to leave his brotherbehind again. Viva tries to keep them from leaving, but Poppy, who's already stressed with worry, shuts that down and tells her that sometimes you have to do scary things if it means protecting someone.

They make it to Mount Rageous, where the critters successfully delay the performance for another day, they find out where they live and sneak into the bedroom to find Branch. He's already lost a large amount of talent and can barely pull himself up. The brothers immediately hug the prison and express worry.

Crimp walks into the room and tries to tell Velvet and Veneer when the bounty hunters restrain her. They convince her to help them expose the two fakes of their crime. The brothers try harmonizing again, but it fails due to unresolved issues. Then Cooper asks if it really was necessary for them to be perfect?

He explains that it was something Branch always told Poppy and others trolls when they stressed out about it. He always says that perfection doesn't exist and that being yourself is enough. Velvet and Veneer walk in and immediately try to capture the trolls. The bounty hunters and critters distract them long enough for Poppy to start singing.

Everyone starts singing together and manages to break the prison, Branch landing in Floyd's arms, clearly exhausted and in bad shape but alive. Bridget bursts in the room with the authorities, Velvet tries to argue that they have no proof only for Crimp to reveal that she had livestreamed the entire thing. Veneer willingly gives himself up to the police while his sister fights the entire process.

They head back to Pop Village to get Branch checked out. Along the way, the brothers finally have a much needed talk with each other and agree that being separated for so long affected them in many ways and decided to work on their family relationship. With the help of licensed professionals.

[spaceunderscorecowboyy]

More RvB posting because I have 10 goddamn years of opinions on this shit I haven’t been able to voice to anyone that listens but you all understand me!

Today’s topic on the wheel of tragedy; Agent Maine, because holy shit for a character with like maybe 2 spoken lines there’s a LOT to unpack with this guy.

(Speaking of the wheel, maybe I should actually make one if I keep this up, or do requests or something)

From the bat, Maine’s physical size by comparison to the other freelancers already sets him apart as a bad motherfucker, which both sets up his later threat as the Meta, but also gives potentially some insight as to his origins.

Going off the concept that RvB is an alt universe connected to the original Halo timeline, I think Maine’s size and his voice hint at him being a Spartan-II, and one of the “rejects” at that due to damage to his vocal cords. Even before his injuries in the program, his voice is inherently growly and hard to understand, hinting at something going wrong during the experimental process? And we know from later lore that Project Freelancer was often a “last-chance” position, accepting those who did not fit in with the rest of the UNSC.

So already, we can see Maine as being an outsider, but this doesn’t make him dangerous. If anything, Maine is an excellent team player with communication issues, if a slightly looser grasp on morality, the primary examples being his willingness to use his terrifying presence as a distraction tactic during the Skyscraper heist, but also his live-fire attack on Tex during the training mission. Unlike Wyoming, who is inherently a bastard and/or tricky, I think Maine was following orders, and his time as a Spartan-II already made him primed for dangerous training methods.

As for the team player part, we do see he has good camaraderie with Wash, and even banters with Carolina a bit about his dislike of heights. We also see him taking multiple bullets to protect her and his other teammates during that same heist.

It’s only after his ability to speak is taken from him that he starts to truly give in to Sigma and the Meta, becoming less “himself” and more of a puppet for the AI, who feeds on his bitterness and potential isolation in the wake of his injury to get what he wants. While it’s easy to conflate the two, I think “Meta” Maine is practically an entirely new character, no longer who he once was despite similar behaviors.

From a certain point of view, Maine is very much like Carolina and Tex as being the closest thing Project Freelancer had to a success; a perfect merge of AI and Agent, a super soldier with the best equipment and the unstoppability of a Spartan. However, in typical Freelancer fashion, they yet again failed to acknowledge the humanity of their agent, in this case Sigma moreso than Maine, leading to losing control over them.

Project Freelancer wanted a weapon, and Maine, most likely, wanted a place to belong. And unfortunately, the Meta was more than happy to offer him what his employers could not.

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

For the February 2025 prompt on the TF creatives server! A song of love <3

First Aid just can't seem to let that tall, handsome soldier go <3

Song prompt (approached as if it’s Every Breath You Take by The Police);

It only happened once a vorn, and every time First Aid would set it up so he was guaranteed the evening off. Trading shifts, cashing in favours - whatever it took, he’d do it. His colleagues always responded with bemusement, completely perplexed as to why he went to such lengths to secure that slot of free time.

It was quite simple, really. Vortex was around.

The festival was the one time of vorn that he was guaranteed shore leave. He’d explained that it was an ancestral right, that the festival originated in his citystate and it was a requirement that he could attend, if feasible, and he always managed to tip the scales in his favour. Missions far out in the depths of the galaxy miraculously finished ahead of schedule. Chases after adversaries always ended up swinging within spitting distance of Cybertron. That kind of thing. There had been one worrying vorn where he’d almost missed it - Vortex had quite literally sprinted over to him still pockmarked from a fight to not miss the final song.

“I’m off now!” He called out as he tapped his badge on the scanner. “Don’t call me if anything comes up - I won’t answer!”

“Enjoy your date!”

First Aid scoffed at them and quickly left, hoping he didn’t seem too eager to leave. His flat wasn’t far - he’d quickly stop off there and freshen up before heading over to the festival. Vortex had been in touch - he was going to be around earlier than usual. His commander was feeling generous that cycle and had released him early.

Giddiness overtook him as he examined his finish in the mirror. He’d got a new wax recently – would Vortex notice? Would he like it?

The walk to the festival seemed to take forever. There was no point in driving – the streets were so crowded you’d be getting nowhere. He could feel the music pulsing through the floor, he could smell the stalls and the vendors and hear singing and laughter.

Vortex was already there waiting for him. He picked up the pace.

He spotted Vortex before the helicopter had noticed he was there. He was talking to someone, tall and green with turrets on his back. He looked mean. Did they know each other? Suddenly, they were looking at him – they nodded their head towards him, and Vortex turned.

“Aid!” He was waving at him, rotors happily spinning. First Aid waved back, looking for a break in the crowd to make his way over to him.

Vortex was taller and broader and found much less issue in making his way through to him.

“You got a new wax!” Vortex immediately commented, bounding over. “Here, let me take a look at you.” He stepped back and looked him up and down appreciatively, rotors clicking together on his back. Gesturing for First Aid to spin, the medic rolled his optics and obliged. “Very nice.” He purred.

“I’m surprised you even noticed.”

“When it comes to you, I always do.”

“Who’s your friend?” He curiously asked, nodding behind him to where the tall green mech had been.

“Nobody important.” Vortex easily replied, waving him off. “Come on, lets dance.”

It was easy to fall into the routine with him, as practised at it as they were. Hands fell into place on hips, on palms. The movements were second nature, using the beat of the music guide them as they felt it pulse through the floor.

It gave First Aid time to think, for his mind to wander a little. He didn’t want it to, he was trying and he was fighting it – he wanted to spend time with Vortex and enjoy his company, not think about work – but he couldn’t help it. Seeing the soldier in front of him was trigger enough for the thought process and he chewed his bottom lip.

“You’re distracted.” The helicopter lead them into a spin. “Something bothering you?”

It took him a moment to answer.

“What’s going to happen? With the riots, I mean.”

He laughed. “I can’t tell you that. Who knows? Maybe it will die down before it catches and becomes something bigger.”

“I hope so.” He frowned. “The injuries coming from them are awful.”

“Don’t think about that right now, yeah?” Another turn, a calculated spin that took them to the edge of the crowd. “Here, you’ll like this - we’re back in range of Cybertron again in three groons. Why don’t I pay you a visit then?”

“Really?!” First Aid gave an excited bounce. “You never get to come back so soon!”

“I know. Lucky me.”

Usually, if Vortex was coming back to Cybertron it meant either someone was injured or there was something they needed to be on the planet for. Their most frequent rendezvous happened because someone got hurt - usually Vortex, now that he thought about it - and they’d had to seek medical attention. He’d never met the rest of his team, but if it was ever Vortex who was hurt he was always the one treating him. Apparently he just preferred his bedside manner, but First Aid wasn’t entirely convinced.

The night slowly drew to a close. Three groons was both no time at all and an age. The tips of his digits danced up thick armoured plating, up a broad chest and to his shoulder. Vortex watched them dance, rotors twitching in time.

“My flat’s free. If you’ve got time.”

Vortex seemed to be seriously considering it, mulling it through in his head, weighing up the pros and the cons.

“Ah, fuck it. They can miss me for the night.”

------------------------------------------------------------------ The riots had set the flames of war. The last festival they’d managed to attend was tense, and ended early. Not long after, Vortex had started crashing into his flat injured and bleeding and dying more times than he could count, gaining in rapid frequency until he suddenly just stopped. Their comm channel died down too - too dangerous, Vortex had said. Not secure. They couldn’t lay themselves so bare when optics were on them.

Eventually, First Aid only saw him on the skyline, a distant blur that could easily be anyone else but was far more comforting to think of as Vortex. And then, he saw him in reports that wound up in his servos as he stood in the middle of Autobot medical bays.

He hadn’t known he was so violent. How could a mech who’d only ever been so gentle with him be capable of what he was seeing?

Trouble came with an archivist. Unbeknownst to First Aid, they also attended the festival - each and every vorn. And they’d seen them together. They had proof of it. Apparently they’d caught his attention because of how unseeming they were - what was a mercenary doing with a doctor? The helicopter had already been on the radar of law enforcement. The medic was completely unknown to them, his record squeaky clean. In the interests of safety, he’d made some recordings that focused on them. Just in case.

They hadn’t thought about it again until they’d seen him in the medical bay and instantly recognised him – they’d been invited by pure chance to film a thinly veiled propaganda piece, and First Aid just so happened to be on shift when they came to the medical bay.

First Aid awkwardly squirmed under the faint glow of the screen, feeling like his dirty laundry was being aired. He didn’t realise they’d looked that strange together, that Vortex had to stoop that much to kiss him, that he’d gone that red when he picked him up to twirl him. Prowl was very still next to him, arms folded under his chest. Not even his doorwings twitched.

“The last time I saw him was vorns ago, not even a decacycle before I enlisted.” First Aid wanted to turn his armour inside out. Maybe that would help with the feeling that crawled under it. “His spark was guttering.” The truth. “I thought he died.” A lie. He’d stabilised him, he’d begged him to stay, to go to a bigger hospital that had the proper equipment. He’d left, saying something about Brawl, sharp digits leaving holes in the wall as he gripped it for support. His comm link was still active, was still pinging, telling him he was alive. Every cycle, like clockwork.

“I didn’t know he was like this.” The truth. The absolute truth. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, a paragon of virtue; it was obvious he had seen some things and was already slightly jaded. He was possessive in a way that made him feel giddy and had a quick temper, but he’d never done or said anything that made him feel like he was in any danger. He’d always been the first to warn him of any trouble, to keep him out of harms way. It just didn’t make any sense.

Unless it was all just an act, a lie. It twisted awkwardly in his tanks. Had he been played for a fool?

They believed him. His persona as the staunch pacifist had worked in his favour – it was clear that he did not condone the mechs actions, that if he were to be put in front of him now, that he wouldn’t ever engage with him. That he was disgusted and dismayed. He left the room with trembling legs and weak knees.

The next time he saw him, that awkward conversation was a distant memory. They weren’t even on Cybertron any more, the war having moved to foreign galaxies. The planet they found themselves on was red and oxidised, the organic life sparse and clinging on at the edge of the vast single continent. An energon source had been identified; the endless fight for resources continued.

Defensor had been blown apart by something. First Aid didn’t remember what - he just remembered falling into the water and being ripped away by a strong current.

Salt water burned at his sensitive circuitry, and he coughed and choked as he crawled up the slope to dry land. Hauling himself over the ridge the waves had created, he sagged down into the baking hot sand and fought to catch his breath.

God damn it. He hated it when that happened – it was so disorientating and painful, and it just added insult to injury that he’d ended up in the sea after. He’d need to take care to clean himself thoroughly after – he was sure to rust.

He wasn’t alone.

A lone Decepticon slipped down the sand, wheezing as they caught their breath. They cursed and kicked at the sand in annoyance, quietly muttering to themselves as they made a scouting report. First Aid held himself as still as he possibly could, hoping that they couldn’t hear the sound of his plating popping and pinging or the sound of his internals hissing as the last of the water boiled off.

He didn’t have his gun. He’d lost it when they had formed Defensor - he didn’t have anything to defend himself with.

The scout turned and they locked optics. A grin slowly spread on their face as they saw the Autobot symbol on his chest.

“I’m a medic!” First Aid quickly shouted. Their laws still applied on foreign soil. Medics weren’t to be considered combatants, they weren’t to be harmed. Their skills were precious and in demand, and easy to exploit, their spark-deep coding to protect and save a boon to an army without any of their own.

“And?” The Decepticon replied. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Uh oh.

“Y-you’re not supposed to hurt me?”

“I can hurt you just a little bit.”

No, you can’t! First Aid tried to push himself up, back slamming into a red sandstone block. He gasped, his spark thudding in his chest sounding suspiciously like the whirring of helicopter blades.

Something big and grey hit the sand. First Aid winced as granules scratched over his plating. He dared to take his optics from the Decepticon to see who the newcomer was, his spark leaping in his chest when he recognised them. Vortex. He suddenly felt breathless, everything he’d felt for the past vorns threatening to spill out at once. He cast a dark shadow, stalking towards them. His visor was bright and narrowed in on the other Decepticon, rotors trembling as he aimed a gun directly at their shocked face.

“I don’t think so, sweet cheeks.” He squeezed the trigger, and First Aid flinched as he was splattered with the internal workings of the mech’s head.

Vents working hard, he slowly turned to watch them slump down, a gap where their head used to be. His processor couldn’t make sense of it. It should be there. Vortex wouldn’t shoot one of his own. Would he? He wouldn’t. What kind of maniac engaged in friendly fire to save the enemy?

He jumped when he realised Vortex was knelt down next to him, far too close for comfort. Oh, no. When did he start thinking about him like this? That wasn’t right. Hesitantly, he reached forwards to wipe energon from his faceplate. He ended up smearing it around instead, but Vortex didn’t seem to mind - he leaned into his hand, visor dimming and engine purring. Was this allowed? Was this okay? Were they going to get into trouble for this?

“You’ve gotten taller.” Was all he could think to say.

“You’ve gotten shorter.” The war frame looked him up and down. “Or maybe it just looks that way.”

“What-“ he swallowed and tried again, not trusting his vocal cords to comply. “What’re you doing here?”

A distant deep rumble from an explosion reached them, and even through the visor his raised brow was obvious.

“Uh. Fighting?” He tapped his chest. “Soldier. Remember?”

First Aid swatted his shoulder. “You know what I meant!”

“Careful.” His facemask snapped back, revealing sharp teeth and heavy scars. The hand that wasn’t tightly holding his gun reached up to hold his jaw, pressing his thumb into First Aid’s mask where his chin would be. “I’m not as nice as I used to be.”

“Me neither.” He retracted his own mask, ignoring the scrape of metal fragments inside the mechanism. He chewed his bottom lip, eyeing the bright purple insignia on his chest. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

“Depends how nicely you ask me to.”

“I won’t be doing that.” First Aid frowned. “I don’t like being in pain.”

“Shame. Your face looks good when you’re screaming.” Vortex pressed his thumb against his bottom lip, gently rubbing it along it, mapping out its surface. His helm was tilted, his visor dim. “Real shame, that.”

“How do you even-“ he gasped in realisation, pushing Vortex’s hand away from his face. “You’ve been watching me! And you didn’t come and say hi?! Vortex!” He whined. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you? You’re so cruel!”

His laugh was loud and frame rattling.

“Babe, it’s not like I can just drop down next to you!” He cupped his cheeks in his hands, visor glistening. “Fuck, you’re so cute. You missed me? Really? Truthfully?”

“Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He didn’t sound particularly apologetic, but First Aid was willing to overlook it. Just this once.

“What made you decide to make yourself known?” He leaned into his hands. They were rough but warm, strong and steady. His visor dimmed in comfort.

“Little mister dead over there got too close, and there’s nobody around for miles. Couldn’t have anyone getting their hands on you, could I?”

“You’re too kind.” First Aid reached up to knot his fingers together with Vortex’s. “Any injuries you want me to take a look at?”

“Nah. Got better at dodging strays.”

“Guess you don’t need me anymore, huh?”

Vortex’s hand twisted around, pushing First Aid down into the sand with his frame as he pinned his hand above his helm. “I want you for the rest of my life, First Aid. Of course I’ll always need you.”

His engine loudly stalled as Vortex leaned down.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Coincidence or not, after the encounter on the prehistoric beach Vortex wasn’t shy about making himself known. Every available opportunity, he was there, like his shadow. If First Aid ever found himself captured, Vortex was miraculously tasked with his interrogation. It was almost like the Decepticons were turning a blind optic to it – that they were accepting it as a quirk of Vortex. That he’d found a fun toy to play with and they were happy to let him indulge so long as it got him out of their hair. Other Autobots were starting to notice, and rumours were spreading. First Aid had clamped his hands down over his audials, not wanting to hear any of it.

What would he even say? Could he even deny any of it? He didn’t think that he could, he’d lied enough about it already.

It had been a groon after he’d last seen him – he’d managed to corner him on the battlefield and steal five kliks alone with him before Hot Spot noticed First Aid was gone – when First Aid saw him again. Only this time, he was going to him. He’d seen a helicopter get shot down from the sky, and with a sinking feeling in his tanks and a tightness in his throat, he realised that he recognised the helicopter.

Vortex wasn’t moving. He was smoking, his visor flickering as he tried to stay online. His engine was misfiring, and the ground around them was slowly being stained by leaking fuel, coolant, and oil.

First Aid panicked, quickly breaking into a sprint.

“Well, well.” Vortex coughed, energon wetly bubbling in his throat. “We just can’t help but bump into each other, can we?”

“Jesus Christ – don-don’t talk, okay? Please?” First Aid skidded to his knees next to him, hands hovering over him as he remotely scanned and assessed the damage. Everything was leaking and coming back red on his scans and screaming at him for attention now now now- he swallowed and mentally triaged.

Bleeding. He was haemorrhaging energon from a cable in his midsection. He needed to stop that in the next thirty seconds, or he’d lose enough pressure that his pump wouldn’t work anymore. The cable had been clamped before he’d finished the thought, hands coated and glowing a faint pink.

“What did you do?!” First Aid demanded. “Why- why aren’t you with your gestalt?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Vortex’s voice was staticky. “They’re somewhere.” He gestured vaguely in the direction First Aid assumed he could feel them in. “They’re fine though. Thanks for asking.”

There was a thick fragment of metal sticking out of his midsection that was keeping a lot of energon inside. He’d leave it for now – wait until they were in a brick and mortar medical bay with the proper equipment and more than just his two pairs of hands to remove it. It wasn’t causing him any harm.

“Did you get blown up again?”

“I did! How wonderful you noticed.”

“I am begging you to take care of yourself.” His hands shook a little as he tried to soak up the energon that had pooled in the gaping wound in his chest. He could hear his spark, could see faint whisps of light from the cracked casing. This was where his scans had indicated the most damage – and he couldn’t repair it. Not here, not without the help of Ratchet or the proper tools. His were too big, too clumsy – sparks needed refined, specialist care. Delicate instruments for delicate parts. If he went in gung-ho with his tools now, he’d kill him, he was sure of it.

But his spark was failing. Again. He was always having to keep his spark going, it was if its owner didn’t want it to, as if Vortex were always trying to find new and interesting ways to snuff himself out. It had been okay when he had his place on Cybertron. It wasn’t okay when they were on a planet 70 million lightyears away.

He needed to think of something before his spark gave out. What would keep it going? Could he jump start it? He’d done it before. He needed something to act like a battery, he needed jumper cables. He didn’t have either, and he felt dizzy when he realised what he could use instead.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No.” First Aid’s fingers gently traced over the gaping wound in his chest, dragging the tips of them over shorn and twisted metal. “I’m a pacifist, so I’m going to do something much worse.”

His visor flashed in excitement. “Oh? Watch as my spark splutters out? Oh, Aid, you tease. You should have shown me this side of you earlier.” He sighed and his visor briefly flickered offline. “Such a shame. All the things we could have done together.”

“Don’t be too eager to die, you’ll take me with you.”

“Wh-?”

He was cut off by First Aid roughly forcing open his chest plates. He gasped and choked on the energon gathering in his intake, fresh glowing energon splashing down his cheek as his ankles dug into the ground and his sharp digits left deep grooves in their wake. They had one shot at this, one chance, and First Aid wasn’t leaving any of it up to fate. Ignoring the voices in his head screaming at him – the ones telling him this was an awful idea, the ones insisting that there had to be another way, the ones decrying his unsanitised hands, he reached in and manually overrode the lock on Vortex’s spark case whilst he sent the command for his own to open, and leaned down to press their chests together. Sharp metal scratched against the delicate inner workings of his chest, energon beading along the surface, the pain sharp but a background sensation in the face of the pure panic that was bubbling underneath the surface.

Vortex could die. He was going to die if this didn’t work, and he couldn’t let that happen. What was he supposed to do if he died? It felt unnatural to consider a world that he did not exist in, he couldn’t even remember what his had been like before they first met. Dark, lonely, not worth remembering.

“Woah, woah, woah-” Vortex was in a state of conflict, fighting against two sides of himself that First Aid could see quite clearly as their sparks reached out towards each other and tangled together, his stronger one supporting Vortex’s weakened one. One side of him was rejecting it, wanting to shove him away and bury him in the dirt, to kill him for even thinking of doing something so stupid, so dangerous, so Autobot. The other side of him was on cloud 9, eager to get under his skin and have their sparks nestle against each other forever, whatever it took. To make First Aid carry a piece of him forever, just as much as he would be forced to do the same – the kind of agony that you never got used to, that you would constantly feel scratching against your very being – that a claim had been staked, and there was no going back now. That he had just as much claim over him as his gestalt did, that his commanding officers did, if not more, for when they were gone he’d be all that he had left.

First Aid leaned into the side that was trying to cling onto him, feeling their sparks latch onto each other firmly.

“Careful, you’re still bleeding a lot.” First Aid’s hand reached up to cup his cheek. “If you die whilst we’re connected, I’ll die too.”

He was essentially an oversized life support machine in that moment. He could feel the strain on his systems, the dull ache in his chest and the awkward pull in his spark. Vortex was mentally leaning heavily on him, piggybacking off of him. His legs started to go numb, his arms weak – or was that Vortex? He didn’t know any more, their psyches were mashing together, wires were crossing and-

Chest plates suddenly snapped shut, and First Aid fell back with a gasp. Vents working overtime, his frame suddenly exhausted, he reached up and placed a hand over still-warm metal.

His spark whirred aggressively. It felt heavier.

“Wooooooow~.” Vortex drawled. “Aid. You’ve got something sinister in you.”

“Does it hurt?” First Aid fretted. He could feel pain that wasn’t his radiating from his spark, tingling down his limbs.

“Just where I got blown up.”

“Oh, thank Primus.” He sagged down in relief. “I didn’t know what I’d do if I caused more damage. Okay, okay, stay still.”

“You should have taken the chance to kill me whilst you had it.”

“That’s nonsense and you know it.” First Aid was fast at work, hands flying over his frame to finish up the rest of the damage. Critical fuel lines were sealed, the clamps removed and adjusted. Exposed circuits and cables were covered over and hastily welded – he’d have better materials on base, so he just had to make sure he was stable enough to make it. Vortex watched him silently, hands twitching. He felt the fresh bond ache with each movement.

“Bonds are permanent, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because.” First Aid patiently began. “You said that you wanted me for the rest of your life, didn’t you? Well, I’m the same. So it’s obscene to even consider letting you die. Because you would have otherwise – you know that, right? So don’t go doing anything else stupid.”

A bubbling sense of pride and affection came through the bond. Vortex obediently stayed very, very still while First aid finished, waiting for his command to move again. The moment First Aid sat back to wipe his hands, he glanced up on the ridge and a smirk pulled on the corner of his lips. The medic blinked as he was suddenly slammed onto his back, arms pinned above his head whilst another hand ran sharp claws across his chest plates.

“Thank you, honey. My turn.”

Rotors twitched on his back, flicking towards the ridge. First Aid followed them and saw the outlines of figures stood there and felt his tanks drop. They had an audience.

“Make it look like it wasn’t me?”

“I’ll get off so much lighter than you will if they knew otherwise. I couldn’t have my sweet, sweet little medic kept away from me, could I?”

“Together forever?”

“Together forever.” His engine purred, and his hands forced their way into his chest.

[liillyliilly]

The Herpetologist

daishou suguru x reader words; 4456 synopsis; daishou suguru goes crazy for one (1) girl and it's the same girl who tells him that she hasn't had her first kiss.

It was always those damn Nohebi afterparties.

The kind that made her face burn in embarrassment. It was cruel really, trying to not hamper the mood of all her friends by declining to play any of the games. For once, she wished that the Nohebi third years would just play Uno. Or maybe, she should ask her friends to stop dragging her to the 18+ parties.

If she was at a normal party, maybe she wouldn’t be sipping a Coke-A-Cola in the corner while her best friend was essentially getting mauled by one of the basketball players. Or maybe this was what actual parties were. What happened to parties where everyone wanted to hit pinatas and watch the newest Jurassic Park movie? What was once popcorn and the Hot Billboard Pop 100 had gradually shifted into jello shots and music that made her toes curl.

To contemplate this shocking discovery longer than needed was distracting her from the original reason she was standing in the cold corner. Her designated corner. She hadn’t kissed anyone yet. It just didn’t feel right to waste a kiss on some stupid high school boy who probably didn’t brush his teeth enough. It also didn’t feel right to waste a first kiss during some ridiculous game only designed by the horniest of teenage desires.

She would go window shopping during times like these. Scanning around the room for a potential option that she could possibly be okay with giving her first kiss to. She never took the first jump into that pool.

It was always those damn Nohebi afterparties.

Daishou Suguru sat on an empty loveseat, arms resting on the length of the back of the couch. His legs were comfortably spread out, leaning back deeply into his seat.

He couldn't care less for the flitting around, drinking, and ridiculous games. Where was all the honest, genuine human connection? Not that he wanted that either. He just wanted something cunning to observe, entertainment at others' expense was his true forte.

Unfortunately, manipulation of people didn’t fly at a party the same way that it did on the volleyball court. He wished he could call Mika, at least so she could tell him an interesting story about college life. Despite their romance not turning out the way he had hoped, they stayed good friends. She was someone who he could rely on. Her new boyfriend was nice, and let Daishou drive his motorcycle around one time for kicks and giggles.

Drinking during the volleyball season was an illogical decision, but drinking when the season was over seemed appealing. Daishou just couldn’t drag himself over to the mixing table.

His thoughts were processing the music. Someone should’ve banned the person who had AUX. It was the third time that “The Color Violet” by Tory Lanez had played.

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Daishou got up and slithered over to the kitchen. In the corner was the girl. She was the one that his buddies had talked about. They complained that she never joined in on any of the games. They had said she refused to take body shots or give body shots. When they scoffed about her antics during the discussion in the locker room, Daishou just kept quiet.

He poured himself a glass of Sprite, threw an ice cube in his cup for good measure, and leaned against the kitchen island facing her.

They both just sipped from their drinks, analyzing the situation. Daishou had entered her territory wordlessly and had claimed a section of it for himself. She wasn’t going to speak first. Why should she have to speak to this prick? She knew him from class, class 6. She had wanted to test into class 7 but it was already full.

“L/N right?” Oh, goody.

“Daishou Suguru, right?”

He raised an eyebrow at the bite she had inserted. He felt like he was going to have a great time with her.

And he did. They had talked all night.

“That’s when I knew I loved volleyball.” Daishou spun around in the office chair. The two of them had migrated to the bougiest office either of them had ever seen. Some of the non-scholarship kids who attended Nohebi Academy were all set for life, including inheriting whatever kind of job provided for an office this expansive.

She was sitting on the window sill, tracing the various shapes on the seat cushions.

Daishou decided to investigate a little.

“You never play the games. You know, the intellectually stimulating game of Spin the Bottle. Or the ever-richly academic Suck and Blow. Or, or my buddy's personal favorite, Marathon Kissing.”

Maybe she felt like she wouldn’t be judged. Maybe she felt like this was a potential opportunity for an actual friendship. Was he lulling her into a false sense of security, or was that earnest tone of voice an actual curiosity?

“I don’t want my first kiss to be for some silly game.”

She got him hook, line, and sinker.

Or maybe he got her.

“How about lessons with a teacher?”

“Kissing lessons? That has to be some form of dubious prostitution schtick.”

“I don’t know, maybe if you had someone to teach you, or at least someone low-pressure that you don’t care about as your first kiss then you could become less of a social pariah at these things.”

“A social pariah, how kind of you to let me down gently.” She stood up from her spot on the window sill and rested her hands on the huge dark oak table. The black mat likely was used to hold a MacBook Pro, and the pen holder contained an expensive German fountain pen, both paragons of the wealth that was held by the owner of this home.

Daishou stood up as well and shrugged.

Her dad used to be really into the whole survivalist thing. She remembers all the stories and rules about snakes. Red touching yellow kills a fellow. The Japanese Mamushi snake was known for literally liquefying the tissue of the victims who got bitten. The Habu snake, found in Okinawa, was naturally aggressive, attacking before even getting provoked. But there was always the Japanese Keelback, a naturally calm, non-poisonous snake that was so small it liked to hide in rivers and streams.

Would he be the Keelback or the Habu? Only time would tell for her.

They kissed for the first time that night, her sitting on the desk, him shoving the ornamental decorations off the table. He held her face in his hands. He leaned so far forward that she was lying on the desk instead of sitting. Hands went from her face to her back, trying to push her up against him.

She wondered if she was a good kisser, or if that was all Daishou’s doing. If he made kissing seem so simple and natural like this. Was that a moan or was she just hearing things? His hands were behind her now, resting on the desk. He didn’t know why but he was keeping his face close to hers, letting his breath hit her neck. Was he panting from a simple kiss, or was the room just hot?

“Are you a liar?” Daishou used his hand to lift her chin, moving her face so he could pretend he was a detective, searching for clues to his hypothesis.

“I, uh, no. I’m not a liar.”

As much as they both wanted to pretend the kiss hadn’t affected either of them. Their share of tension, like a tightly strung cello string, meant they spent way more time together on a day-to-day basis.

He wishes that he didn’t seek her out as often as he did. Suddenly every test score was being placed on her desk to compare. Every essay was scrutinized not just by his eyes, but by hers as well. Lunches with the volleyball team talking about plans and games turned into sitting in Daishou’s car trading fruit cups for pieces of chocolate he had his mom import from Europe because he begged.

The question in both their minds was when they would kiss again. Tomorrow? Next week? Daishou prayed it wouldn’t be more than an entire month. She put her stupid feelings on the line when she asked for another lesson.

They weren’t at a party, they were at his house. He told his mom that they were studying because they were studying something. Instead of classic literature, or calculus, it was the art of the hickey.

Daishou realized he would have to articulate what little he knew about hickies. At least he brushed his teeth four times before she came over.

“Suguru, that’s the third time you’ve brushed your teeth, do we need to go to the dentist again? Want to borrow my waterpick?” His mom had called from the dining room, she was looking through university options for him. Trying to find one in Tokyo that would both challenge him and be close enough to home so she could see her son more often than a blue moon.

“I’m good. Thanks though.”

She came to his house earlier than expected, still wearing the Academy uniform. The girl’s uniform consisted of a pleated yellow skirt, a white button-up, and a green sweater vest. The emblem of a snake wrapped around a shield was carefully stitched onto the left breast pocket. Daishou was still in the bathroom, brushing away while listening to his playlist, he was nodding his head to the beat of “Snooze” by SZA.

When all music suddenly became all about her, he wondered if he still had brain cells that weren’t occupied by his favorite academic competition.

She knocked on the door and Daishou’s mom opened it. She had the same dark, slanted eyes that he did. Her black hair was shoulder-length and curled, she had the same dimples when she smirked at her son’s study companion for the evening. So this was the girl Suguru wanted chocolates for.

“Come in, come in.” Daishou’s mom ushered. “Suguru will be down in a minute.”

Looking around at photos was a good way to pass the time, there was one of Daishou on a soccer team, one on a baseball team, basketball, swimming, and all the other sports. When he appeared to be around middle school, everything was volleyball. There was a certificate of academic achievement resulting in a scholarship award.

“I was so proud when he got into Nohebi. His dad would’ve loved to see him at his alma mater.” Daishou’s mom opened a wooden box on the mantle place, flipping through some pictures before telling Y/n to come and look at the select few.

Daishou was younger in this picture, his mom looked younger too, and there was a man too. His dad. He had his arm around Daishou’s mom and a hand on Daishou’s head. An unreal smile was on everyone’s faces.

Daishou’s mom kept scanning through photos, she landed on one and froze for a moment. It was Daishou in a formal suit, his mother in a black long-sleeve dress, and a memorial picture of his father surrounded by white flowers and green shrubs. Their eyes were red, and his mom was managing a neutral expression, but Daishou looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in that photo.

“Suguru adored his father.” She sniffled, mouth quivering, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to damper your mood. I just thought a few cute photos of Suguru would sell you a little on my son. It's been so long since he had a girl over, especially one who’s smart. He just talks about you endlessly, I almost thought my ear would fall off.”

They didn’t have a lesson on hickies that night. Instead, they ate dinner with his mom and watched a movie. She was curled up with a blanket, watching the screen intently wondering what was going to happen to the main character.

He said he needed to go and get a glass of water. The college brochures were strewn across the kitchen island. He remembered what university she was planning on going to, so he picked up the information booklet for that same university. Grabbing a black marker, he bit the cap off and circled the application deadline several times. Using a thumb tack he put the paper right in the center of the corkboard.

Graduation was great, a blast even. It was three hours long, and the first fifteen felt like they lasted forever. Suddenly, the top students were giving their speeches, she got her diploma and she remembers cheering for Daishou to accept his. And then it was over.

And then he was pulling her aside, shoving a paper into her hands.

“Read it.” She nodded. “Now I mean.”

She skimmed the paper, looked up at him, and then looked back down to the paper.

“Suguru this is great! They gave you the Secondary Academic Merit award!”

“There’s more,” He pointed a finger at something he had highlighted green.

“They compounded it with a volleyball scholarship too? You get to play for the school and your education is free.”

In a moment she was picked up and gently spun around. His tongue peeked out to wet his lips, she could hear him swallowing. He mumbles. She cups his face with a hand, making him look at her. It's a short kiss, first on the corner of the mouth, then straight on.

“I still think you’re a liar.” He recalls the first-ever kiss they shared.

Then it dawns on him.

“The school? Don’t you mean our school?”

Some other school gave her a full tuition scholarship. The universities were approximately 3.38 hours away from each other by car. By train, the time was shaved by 0.14 hours. Daishou knows because he spent his graduation night calculating distances and adding up costs for tickets.

His mom tried to get him to eat the seaweed soup she had made, but he was busy writing everything down in his notebook.

He saved up all his frustrations, worries, and joy and then planned a weekend trip to her university. He liked to spend at least an hour or so chomping on her neck leaving teeth marks and arrangements of soft bruises from the remnant kisses.

When she asked him about it, he just shrugged. When she asked him about it again, he seemed to brush the topic away and offered to go get lunch together. The third time she asked was the time she got an answer from him.

“Because it’s to show that you’re mine.” He said it with a calm face. Almost as if he was asking her to ask him about it further. So she entertained him.

“And why exactly do you feel the need to show people that I’m yours?” She tilted her head, accidentally exposing a fresh canvas of skin. In an instant, his mouth was on her neck, biting it as he continued to explain.

“Because then I’m actively claiming you as mine. Despite my lack of physical presence, I’m still there somehow. That way no one will try anything funny.” He nipped at her skin, his sharp canine stabbing into her neck. “Do you know how tough it is being in class sometimes, wondering if there’s another dude in one of your classes who’s eying you up? Especially when you wear that cream-colored cardigan over your yellow sundress?”

When she lets out a short yelp at a bite, Daishou smiles against her skin.

“Plus, you make really pretty noises.”

While Daishou may have initially been a Keelback snake, he evolved into a Habu over time.

He felt like volleyball was going nowhere, each practice felt longer and more exhausting. Each game felt dull. Same plays, same tricks, same result. He wondered why winning so often felt like winning nothing at all. Did he love volleyball?

His dad sure loved volleyball. Each game that was on TV became all that his dad would talk about sometimes. Wearing jerseys and eating huge plates of yakitori on Sunday nights. Daishou’s father always would point at the screen, right when an outside hitter got a deep unreceivable kill spike, saying that's what should be plastered as a true athletic feat. To jump so high, to hit so hard that you became practically a bird.

A bird. His dad was like a bird. Not a crow, or an eagle, not even an owl. But a falcon, a peregrine falcon. One time, at the zoo, when Daishou was still small enough to sit on his dad’s shoulders, his dad whispered and told him to look at the leftmost tree branch within the cage. There it sat, the falcon. Preening at its wings and looking around one head movement at a time.

The fascination with birds was lost on Daishou. He preferred to watch the snakes, the way they slithered around, leaving no trails in the dirt. Wrapping around and around on branches. Even the way their tongues flitted out when they hissed. Sharp fangs get down into the meat of its prey.

“Stay with me for summer break.” He was picking at the orange peel, phone resting between his shoulder and his ear.

“I can’t.” She was lying in bed, typing away on one of her final essays for the year. The first year of university was almost over, and she was killing it.

“Yes, you can stop saying you can’t.” Daishou put a segment of the orange in his mouth, throwing away the peel. He sat down on his couch. His school year had finished a few weeks ago. His mom was out of the country for a case she had to investigate in Hong Kong. Having a hot-shot lawyer mother was nice, but it also meant long durations of staying in an empty house by himself.

There were only so many things to do alone. Tokyo was vibrant and perfect, but without her it was boring. No interesting conversations, no teasing, and no warmth.

She hesitated. She was hesitant. Hesitance was what all animals went through before going right into fight or flight. Daishou didn’t know what to do to bring her over from her school and back to his home. He remembered what his mom said about her trip.

“How about we go to Hong Kong, just for a month?”

“A trip like that is way too expensive.”

“Mom’s there already, her employer gave her a very large, very spacious penthouse to stay in while the lawsuit is still going on.” She was listening, and so he kept going. “I have some money saved for tickets.”

He had just attacked first, without provocation. Adding a new depth to their relationship.

Hong Kong was beautiful. The first night there, despite being riddled with sleep deprivation and jet lag, they went to a food market, trying everything they could get their hands on. Wonton noodles, dim sum, egg tarts.

The smoke from the grills floated around, mixing with the smoke from all the uncles' chain smoking and yelling at each other in Cantonese. Bright neon signs shouted at people to come into the stores. They sat in the open air outside, tightly packed into a table meant for one person. She was sipping some broth, and he was playing with her hair.

The company penthouse was probably worth more than Daishou’s school campus. High ceilings, marble floors. It reminded him of the house from Parasite, just without all the murder. His mom was on her laptop on a huge white couch in the main living area. When they entered, she exclaimed.

“Ru, you should’ve told me when your plane got in! I would’ve picked you both up.” Daishou’s mom was kissing his face and he was leaning away, but he let his mom smooth down his hair while she clicked her tongue against the roof of her disapprovingly.

“It's all good, we went and did a little exploring.” Daishou rubbed Y/n’s back, his thumb moving back and forth on her shoulder.

“Well, you must be tired. Your room is to the left, down that hall.”

She had begun unpacking, putting clothes in the chest of drawers. Daishou was taking a cold shower, scrubbing his hair with the shampoo she bought. She folded his clothes and put them away too. She flung herself onto the bed and soaked into the covers, a huge foam mattress with some bounce.

Her phone binged, a message from a friend back at school. Her friend talked about how jealous she was that she was out of the country with her boyfriend. Then her friend complained about her boyfriend, saying he never did anything out of the ordinary or interesting. She said that she knew too much about her boyfriend.

Did she know too much about her boyfriend? Daishou was open enough, telling her all the important details, except for the stories and memories from his last year in primary school before entering middle school. She knew he liked volleyball because of a story he told about his dad, but that was the only time Daishou had mentioned his dad. You had seen more photos as time passed, but it didn’t feel like enough. She shook the thought, if he wanted to share he would. No need to bring up things that weren’t relevant at the moment.

When he came out of the bathroom he had a towel around his waist and wet hair. He had cut it recently, so his bangs were no longer swept to the left side of his face, instead it was a short fringe across his forehead. His dimples were on full display.

“Hi, pretty lady.” He picked out some clothes, hanging them over his arm. “You look beautiful.”

He sweet talked too much and she was too tired to be clever in turn, “I’m sweaty, dirty, and have been wearing these sweatpants for over twenty-four hours.”

“Exactly, beautiful. If the pants really are bothering you I can take them off, you know, as a favor.” He slowly made his way to her, for a second she thought she saw a pair of rattlesnake fangs appear on his smile.

She scrambled out of bed and grabbed the pajamas she had set on the side table, going to the bathroom.

“Aw c’mon, let me live a little.”

“Not today Satan.”

“It’s Suguru.”

One moment they were holding hands in the Kowloon Walled City Park, the next, they were ducking for cover from the heavy rain. Daishou used his jacket to cover their heads, tucking her under his arm so that she would stay dry. He looked around and found a structure they could stand under, at least until they had a plan for what to do next.

Shaking off the jacket, grateful for the waterproof coating, he wrapped it around her. Rubbing her arms to try and generate some warmth.

“Try not to think too much about the cold, it’ll make it worse.” His teeth were slightly chattering, but he put on a grin, scrolling through his phone to check the weather and nearby restaurants they could escape to.

“That’s all pseudoscience. You should know that.”

“I’m not a science major.” Daishou found his money shot, calling for a ride using the extremely broken Cantonese that he had learned.

When they got into the taxi, she put Daishou’s jacket back on him, rubbing his arms the same way that he had done for her earlier.

The driver looked at the two of them in the rearview mirror, said some things in a language that was most definitely not Cantonese, and handed Daishou the GPS ready for him to enter their desired location.

“ภรรยาของคุณดูจะรักคุณมาก.” The driver smiles, turning on the meter in the car after taking the GPS back.

“ขอบคุณ.”

She elbowed him lightly, “What the heck?”

“Half-Thai right here,” Daishou raised his hand, “My dad immigrated to Japan with my grandparents when he was young though, so I don’t know much else besides a kindergarten understanding. My speaking ability is even worse.”

“How come I never knew this?

“You never asked.” Is that really what their relationship had come to? She didn’t ask so the information was never given?

The rest of the trip flew by, and then they were back on the plane.

“Tell me about your dad.” She wanted to know. And if he wasn’t going to give answers, she was going to ask for them.

“My dad was amazing.” Daishou smiled. One of those bright smiles that made you want to drop everything and only look at him. He talked about his dad for the rest of the flight home, even when she was fighting sleep, she kept listening to him. Daishou held her hand in his.

Graduations came and went.

Birthdays came and a pet snake stayed.

He remembered when she finally had gotten used to kissing, he did teach her about hickeys, and she was a fast learner. Almost too fast.

“Suguru, my turn.” She pushes him away lightly, leaning up on her forearms as the two of them laid on his bed.

“What?” He stutters out. Suddenly very self aware he folds his arms over his bare chest.

“Let me leave a hickey this time. C’mon, my turn Suguru.” It was as if he had melted, his face red and his ears burning. She flipped them over as she straddled his waist, before leaning down and softly brushing her lips over his jaw. Before trailing down and ghosting her tongue over a spot on his neck.

She keeps testing around, looking for the sweet spot. When she nips at a junction between his shoulder and neck he sucks in a deep breath. Pressing another kiss to the spot she opens her mouth and starts to suck at the skin, circling her tongue around the area.

When she pulls away, a small hickey starts to show on his neck. When she looks back to Daishou, he is covering his face and muttering incomprehensibly.

“Aw, I got you all mushy over a kiss.”

“It wasn’t just a kiss! It was a hickey!”

“You’re right, it was just one hickey, but I can do more if you want?”

“No! One is fine! I like one! One, um, one is a good number for today.”

Daishou felt like he found his person. Looking at her cooing at the snake through the glass terrarium was definitely something that made him glad that he had picked her that night. Those damn Nohebi afterparties, making him find his forever person.

[amrcnnightmre]

Hi I see you take requests. Would you write a CM Punk x wrestler!fm!reader? Maybe one where him and Drew McIntyre are in the height of their feud, and Drew gets the reader hurt during a match. Angst, love, you know lol

I’ve got you - C.M Punk

All fics posted are my original work, feel free to reblog but DO NOT repost thank you!! I haven’t thoroughly edited this so apologies if there’s any errors! All rights are reserved for my writing and any ocs that may be included, please don’t steal and as always.. happy reading!

My Masterlist

CM Punk x wrestler!fm!reader!

( tw: angst, fluff, injury, slight worry & panic )

Word count: 1,9K !

requested.

A feud between Punk and McIntyre had gotten to an all time high, both at each others throats constantly and the person in the middle of it all — y/n. Drew found just about all the ways he could to get under CM Punks skin but dragging y/n into the mix brought a whole other level of anger out of Punk, she was his long time partner after all.

Punk and y/n have been together almost 11 years now, their relationship Is as strong as ever. There is nobody who has supported him more then she has, you see him and you know y/n is never far behind — she always had his back.

The action of Monday night was in full effect— bright lights, loud pumped up crowd members and eager superstars ready to take to the ring for each of their scheduled matches. Y/n stood backstage with a furrowed expression as her gaze remained fixated on one of the many screens showcasing the action currently taking place beyond the curtain. Drew was getting the upper hand on his opponent Jey Uso while Punk sat ringside at the commentary desk, saying just about anything to distract the Scots man — a smug expression laced effortlessly on his face as he spoke to the two men next to him.

Y/n had been warming up for her own match that would take place later that night when her attention was caught by the screen closest to her, she wasn’t suppose to get involved in this match but watching drew get in Punks face and yell all sorts of insults the way he did just set her off. It took her no time at all to reach the gorilla, quickly asking one of the backstage tech crew to hit her music before she slipped out of the curtain towards the ring.

A sly smile graced y/n’s lips as she innocently skipped her way down the isle, her hands interlocked behind her back. Punk’s expression twitching slightly in confusion but he quickly hid it with a smile. “ladies and gentleman that is Cm Punks longtime partner y/n heading towards the ring, what is she doing out here during this match” Michael Cole exclaimed as he looked toward punk who responded almost immediately — “your guess is as good as mine Cole, you can’t tame a woman like her” he chuckled lightly to hide any concern in his tone.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think y/n could handle herself but Drew was on a ruthless streak of aggression lately that Punk just didn’t trust. Y/n’s smile didn’t fade once as she locked eyes with Drew, Anger flashing across his face as he almost became distracted for a moment. She waved at him mischievously from ringside, the match continued until Drew began to get the upper hand, y/n was not going to let that happen on her watch — not after everything he had put her family through. Y/n climbed up on the ring apron with ease, immediately getting the referees attention in order to cause a distraction and as if on cue Punk slipped away from his spot on commentary and into the ring, a steel chair in hand.

Jey Uso was sprawled out on the mat from prior attack curtesy of Drew, Punk smirking at the Scots man across from him as he rose the chair above his head preparing to slam it down on Drews back that was turned away from him. The next few moments were a blur, happening quicker than anyone could even process, Drew turned and grabbed the chair in the process — nailing Punk in the face with a hard blow from his right hand, it caused such an impact that the man tumbled to the mat and it would now be the Scottish warrior holding the chair above his head.

Drew reeled the chair back as if preparing to strike Cm Punk with the cold steel, turning to his left instead and shocking everyone in attendance — he hit Y/n. The chair nailed Y/n right in the head before she had time to process it, the impact so loud you could’ve sworn it cracked her skull. The refs eyes were wide as Y/n tumbled off the apron and hit the floor with a rough thud. “should’ve kept your girlfriend at home where she belongs!” Drew growled at Punk with a sly grin, The rage that surged through Cm punks veins was unlike any other the moment he realised what had just transpired and within seconds he snapped.

An all out brawl ensued between the two men until Adam Pierce the Raw general manager came storming out to the ring, he signalled for back up and before long the ring was filled with superstars and backstage talent prying the two away from one another. The chaos all happening as medics checked on Y/n who was out cold, they worked quickly to get her on a stretcher and brought to the trainers room.

A few minutes later things began to calm down and that was when Punk realised Y/n was nowhere in sight, a panic washing over him immediately — where was she? Was she okay? Why didn’t he check on her first ? The second these thoughts flooded his mind he was out of the ring and sprinting to the back, pushing his way through the curtain yelling at everyone around him as he asked for y/n’s whereabouts. “Where is she?! Where is Y/N?!” He barked at Paul Levesque aka Triple H, “Phil she’s in the trainers office, they’re checking her out to see if she needs to be transported to the local medical facility” he replied in a soft tone, that was all Punk needed to hear before giving the man a nod and heading straight to the office.

The expression on Punks face immediately softening as he opened the door and saw Y/n sitting up slowly with a groan, their eyes immediately meeting as he walked to her side. “Fuck.. I’m so sorry.. I should’ve looked after you and went straight over-” his ramble was cut off by Y/n placing a gentle kiss to his lips as she held his face in her hands. “Hey, hey I’m okay I promise.. just a little sore” she smiled sweetly at him, Punks eyes rapidly scanned over her body checking for any obvious injuries — the bruising already forming only made him seethe with anger. “I’m gonna kill him I swear” he grumbled under his breathe as his eyes met hers again, “mm later” she smiled wrapping her arms around his neck loosely.

“Im going to go get ready for my match” y/n whispered knowing he would be disapproving given her current state, “to hell you are darlin” he shook his head, “hmm too late?” She giggled before getting up off the table and running out the door down the hall. “Hey don’t you dare!” He laughed chasing her, y/n’s loud giggles echoing through the halls as he chased her.

After a few moments she arrived at her locker room and quickly ran in while closing the door behind her, “y/n” Punk laughed, “y/n i know you’re in there, let me in” he spoke softly. “mm only if you don’t get mad that i’m still planning to do my match later tonight” she smiled as if he could see it through the door, “y/n y/m/n y/l/n.. you’ll be the death of me” he sighed with a gentle laugh after speaking her full name. “Okay fine, but you have to get medically cleared by the trainer first.. deal?” he spoke while standing back waiting for the door to open.

After a few seconds the door opened and revealed Y/n with a little grin on her face, “how can I say no to that?” she whispered before pulling him into the room by his shirt and locking the door behind her. “exactly” he replied before picking her up effortlessly and carrying her to the small couch that took up a space in the room. If there was one thing people probably didn’t know about Phil, it’s that behind closed doors he was a big softy, especially to y/n.

“I hope you know I really am sorry, I had no idea that was going to happen” he mumbled as one hand rested on her hip and the other slowly moved to her lower back. “hey it’s okay, it’s part of the job” she smiled softly, her hands roaming his body ever so gently. “I know but you shouldn’t of gotten hit like that, it could of caused serious damage and I just.. I don’t know what i would’ve done-” his voice almost shaking as he thought about what could of happened if things had gone worse. Y/n carefully moved her hands to his face, carefully resting on both his cheeks, “phil.. love.. i’m okay, i’m right here and that’s all that matters” she hummed looking at him solemnly - her heart speeding up just looking at him.

“alright.. I trust you, but i will get drew back for what he did, that’s a promise”. A smile grew on y/ns face hearing his words, she could not get over how much Phil loved her, that he’d do just about anything for her even though he knew damn well she could stand up for herself. “I appreciate that babe, you’re the best” she laughed lightly, “i have no doubt in my mind you’ll get him back and I simply cannot wait to see it”.

The tension in the room slowly rising as y/n moved her hands to Punks Hair, running her fingers through it softly before tightening her grip on it slightly to tug on it. This action earning a slight groan from the heavily tattooed superstar, “However, your pay back can wait.. I think I know what will make us both feel better, hm?” she whispered as she placed gentle kisses to his neck and up towards his jaw.

Soft groans continued to leave Punks lips as his eyes remained locked on hers, “oh yeah you want to show me exactly what that is?” he smirked running his hands up her body stopping right under her breasts. “I think that could be arranged” she shifted so she was properly straddling him, “You only get a preview though, and then the full thing comes after i win my match tonight” she grinned running her thumb across his jaw, both their eyes locked on one another full of lust.

“mm I can agree to that, IF you get cleared.. but either way i’m taking good care of you love” he hummed running his hands under her shirt while keeping his gaze fixed on her, “oh yeah? that’s if I don’t care for you first” she challenged with with a bright smile. A few seconds passed and Punk picked the smaller woman up and smoothly flipped her over so he was now hovering over her gently, a loud squeal followed by sweet laughter erupting from her lips at the sudden action. I think we can all guess that probably wasnt the only noise coming from the room that night.

“I’ve got you” he whispered lovingly, “in and outside of the ring.. i’ve got you, nobody gets away with hurting you like that” their foreheads pressed gently against one another.

[whisker-biscuit]

Separation Anxiety

Fandom: Critical Role, Legend of Vox Machina verse

Rating: T for Near Death Experiences, Canon-Typical Violence, Non-Descriptive Nudity, Scanlan Being Scanlan

Summary: A stray spell in the midst of battle separates Pike, Grog and Scanlan from the rest of the team and deep into a frozen wasteland. It's no big deal for a trio of tried and tested travelers such as them, but things can turn in an instant, and the cold is a harsh mistress…

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Chapter 1

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Pike didn’t see the spell coming.

She saw Scanlan see it coming, because he had looked over her shoulder as she was healing him mid-battle and his eyes changed from squinting in pain to widening in horror. He had thrown his hand out with the familiar words of Counterspell on his tongue, but either the assault was too powerful or he was too drained of magic, or both. It had fizzled out just past Pike’s ear, barely enough of a wisp to blow her hair sideways, and then he had grabbed her in an effort to brace for impact.

The impact they hadn’t expected was Grog, barreling down to scoop them both up in his arms and turn away as if to shield them, to take the hit himself instead. It happened so fast that Pike hadn’t even processed being picked up before the enemy spell hit him – hit all three of them.

And now they were…here. Elsewhere in the frozen wastelands where the team had originally been traveling and the battle with the mages had begun. With none of the others – friends or foes – in sight.

Grog was the first to recover his bearings.

“That fuckin’ witch disappeared everybody!” He jumped to his feet in a rage, still clutching both gnomes. “Where’d they go?”

“Opposite, actually,” Scanlan said as he none-too-subtly looked Pike over from the corner of his eye. Probably making sure whatever magic had hit them was only meant to displace and nothing more. “She threw our asses somewhere else.”

Grog’s nose scrunched up. He bent over so they could hop down onto snowy ground. “How’d she do that? She didn’t grab us or nothin’. Didn’t even use a big glowy hand like yours.”

“Hell if I know. I sure wouldn’t mind learning a spell like that, though.”

“More importantly,” Pike cut in before they could get too distracted, “we need to find our way back. I don’t recognize this area at all.”

The boys fell silent and did simultaneous circles to really take in their surroundings alongside her. It was white as far as the eye could see; snowy hills, snowy valleys, distant snowy bluffs. Vox Machina had been in a similar terrain during the fight, but Pike couldn’t remember seeing those bluffs when they were all together. Either her memory was still scrambled by battle adrenaline, or that displacement spell had even more range than they’d first thought. The distance between them and the rest of the team could be hours or even days apart, and that was a generous estimate.

Scanlan seemed to be having similar thoughts by the way his mouth was twisted downward on his right side, eyes shielded from the glare of the glistening snow by his hand as he continued turning around in place. His free hand was pressed snugly inside the folds of his purple fuzzy coat. Grog, meanwhile, seemed satisfied with what he saw, because he turned towards the two of them with his hands on his hips.

“Well, no use standing around,” he declared confidently. “Let’s go find them and then kick that witch's ass.”

Scanlan grimaced. “Is that really a good idea?”

“Wot? I’m not just gonna let her get away after what she did!”

“Not that – the ‘walking around aimlessly’ part. What if we pick the wrong direction and never find them? Or worse! What if no one ever finds us?”

“It’s a big risk, but Grog’s right. We can’t just stay put. How about…” Pike worried her bottom lip, then looked at the far-away bluffs. They couldn’t be further than a few hours of walking. Hopefully. “How about we start by getting to higher ground? Maybe we’ll see something from up there. We’ll also be more visible that way, too.”

“Good plan, Pikey! Let’s do it.”

With a bright grin and no other thought to things, Grog turned on his heel and began marching. His stride was unhindered by the heavy snow and his body showed no signs of being affected by the freezing air. Pike couldn’t help the fond yet mildly envious laugh as she and Scanlan followed suit.

It started out alright. The terrain was hard to keep a strong pace in, but the two gnomes found it easier when they walked directly behind Grog, literally tracing his steps in the flattened snow. There wasn’t any wind to make the cold temperature feel even worse. The bluffs were steadily approaching and looked like they wouldn’t be all too difficult to scale once they reached them.

The actual walk was alright. It was also just…very boring. Scanlan was humming under his breath and Grog was swinging his arms wide with every step, but Pike didn’t have quick or easy ways to entertain herself that didn’t involve another person. It didn’t feel right to join in on the quiet singing or dangle from Grog’s arms while he flapped them; not when they were so lost and the rest of Vox Machina could very well still be in trouble with the group of mages they’d all been fighting. She hadn’t had to use much of her healing magic – the only member of the team who’d gotten hit hard enough to need it before the separation happened was Scanlan, thank the Everlight – but she couldn’t stop herself from worrying.

Best case scenario, they took care of the threat without much more effort and would be searching for the trio soon if not already. More realistically, there would be injuries involved, but hopefully nothing a few potions or basic healing spells couldn’t handle. But if things ended up as badly as it tended to for them, then Pike needed to get back as soon as possible.

And that was all banking on the idea that Vox Machina won the fight. What if they didn’t? What if they were all incapacitated and left to die by those mages, and every second wasted searching was a second lost of the time they had until things turned fatal? What if things were already fatal?

Her friends could be dying, could be dead, and unless they crossed paths soon (before another snowfall buried crucial traces to follow) then she might never even know.

Pike must’ve been frowning hard, because there was a soft nudge at her shoulder that didn’t slow down either of their paces. Scanlan gave her a lopsided smile when she looked at him.

“We’ll find them in time, Pike.”

“Am I that obvious?” She asked, cheeks going warm.

The smile grew even more crooked; less concerned and more teasing. “Just for now. I can only ever read you that well when you’re real worried.”

“Good to know. I’ll be sure to work on that.”

He laughed, and for a moment she could see what he was about to say – that he’d look forward to it, that he’d test her skills, that they should make a date of it. But then his expression slipped into something that was probably very similar to what she had looked like a minute ago.

“I, uh, I’m pretty low on magic, actually. Those fuckfaces really knew how to neuter a guy.”

Pike stopped walking, but Scanlan didn’t. She had to jog a bit to catch up, and by then he had already wiped the uncertainty from his face. All that remained was an almost naive lackadaisy. If one didn’t know him all that well, they’d probably think they’d imagined it.

She knew him that well, but even she wondered, sometimes.

“How low do you mean?”

He rolled his head side to side as if trying to crack his neck. If his hands weren’t stuffed inside his coat, she’d probably see them twitching as well.

“I’ve got like…two spells left in me? Maybe three?”

“What?!” She said it so loud that Grog turned around in confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not like you could’ve done anything about it. Besides, I’ve gotten out of worse corners with worse odds. Kickin’ me outta the fight like that was the best thing that could’ve happened to me – otherwise I would’ve been dead weight real fast. Sucks you two got caught up in it too, though.”

“Oh, Scanlan…” Pike rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know where to even begin with all of that.”

This time, the grin he flashed was not quite as fun to look at despite it being just as wide as the first. “Then don’t! Let’s talk about more important things instead. How much juice do you have left?”

She gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing, but his expression didn’t waver and eventually she let out a sigh of resignation. This was something they could return to when things weren’t so pressing.

“I have more than enough to keep us safe, but nothing consistently flashy except my shield. Maybe I could reflect light off of it to make us more visible?”

“Anything’s worth a shot at this point.”

A shadow fell over the two of them.

“What are we talkin’ about?” Grog whispered, squinting back and forth between them like they had some great big secret. There was a suspicious edge to it as well, which made Pike’s gut squirm for bizarre, unplaceable reasons.

“We’re talkin’ about whether magic will help us out in our current predicament,” Scanlan said as he readjusted his coat even tighter around himself. “And the answer is: probably maybe if we’re lucky.”

Grog’s eyebrows jumped up, then knitted together, then smoothed out – all in the span of a single moment. Whatever conclusion he was reaching in his mind seemed to ease his odd suspicion, at least, because he stopped looking like he was about to ask the kinds of questions that only made sense if he’d been speaking his thought process aloud the entire time.

“Percy always says that Miss Lady Luck is stupid for bein’ on our side so much, so we don’t gotta worry none,” he announced instead. “As long as she’s stupid then she’ll help us.”

Pike couldn’t help herself from snorting very loudly. Scanlan grinned and lightly smacked the goliath’s knee.

“That is the greatest proverb I’ve ever heard in my life, Big Guy. You’ll have to repeat that to Percy when we find him.”

Grog looked positively pleased as punch at that, but just as he opened his mouth to respond, there was a loud inhuman screech in the distance.

All three of them were on guard immediately, swiveling in a circle in search of whatever had made the noise. There was no sign of anything – no dark specks on the horizon or in the sky – but that didn’t mean much in an unknown landscape potentially full of unknown creatures. Time suddenly felt even more precious than it had five minutes ago.

Pike glanced up at the bluffs. At the rate they’d been walking, with Grog carving a path through the worst of the snow for them to walk through, it would still be a long while to reach them; maybe not even before sundown. She had miscalculated the distance. If they didn’t find a faster way to reach that higher ground, they’d be easy targets in this open area for whatever might be lurking about. And things were always more deadly at night.

She ran a quick mental check of the spells she knew off the top of her head, then pushed past Grog to take the lead on their makeshift trail.

“We need to keep moving.” She summoned her holy mace and began pouring as much energy as she could into it. It glowed brighter and brighter; the handle was practically vibrating beneath her glove. “I’m going to try to blow away the snow ahead so we don’t waste any more time.”

Before either of them could say anything, Pike slammed the mace down in the direction of the bluffs. A beam of spiritual light shot forward in a shockwave, and when the proverbial smoke cleared, there was a flattened trail of snow about thirty or forty feet ahead of them. It had cut deep enough in the terrain that walls of hardened ice barricaded either side of the trail about a foot high.

Not ideal for stealth and easy to be followed by man or beast or otherwise, but it got the job done and that was what mattered. Pike wiped sweat from her brow – the charge drained more of her magic reserves than expected, but not enough to be a concern for a while – then gestured the other two to follow as she began marching in front.

The second leg of their trek was a lot quieter than the first. Scanlan still made plenty of sounds to himself, because it would be more of a problem if he didn’t, and she could hear Grog taking up the rear with axe in hand to cover their backs, but they all felt the pressure of finding the others even more, now. Suddenly it wasn’t just about whether the rest of the team would be alright without them; it was also about whether they would be alright without the rest of the team.

At the end of every stretch of weapon-carved path, Pike whispered more energy into her mace to create another shockwave. The effort was tiring her out slowly but surely, and she could feel the chill of the air creeping in past her armor and clothing, making her shiver as it clung to the sweat accumulating across her whole body. But she refused to let up, especially with the progress they were making in half the time as before.

Nothing attacked them as they walked. Nothing came bursting out of the ground or plummeting from the air or leaping from the snow. It was a small mercy, especially as Pike could feel her magical resources dwindling with each additional mace swing. She wouldn’t have much more than the most basic of healing spells available after this.

They had nearly reached the foot of the nearest bluff when it happened. The ground didn’t quite feel the same under their boots, more ice than snow, but it didn’t catch their attention at first in wake of the dropping sun and lowering temperatures. Scanlan was all but pressed up against her back, half seeking warmth and half helping her stay upright as every step she took was starting to threaten to stagger her. Grog was several feet behind them, back turned with axe brandished and facing the way they’d come as he’d claimed he heard something again.

So it was just her and Scanlan, halfway down the latest Pike-made trail, when things went terribly, terribly wrong.

A harsh crack and something shifting under her feet were the only warning she got. Pike pivoted and shoved Scanlan as hard as she could, sending him sprawling a full gnome-sized distance backwards.

The ground gave out beneath her.

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This entire fic is all @belphegor1982's fault. She said "hey check out this idea I have but I don't have time to write it" and then put it in my line of sight. I cannot be held responsible for what happens when a juicy angst idea is made known to me lmao

Hope you enjoy! Chapter 2

[girlbloggerbae13]

Against Better Judgement - Part 1

I have re-entered my hyperfixation of The Boys due to season 4's release. Unfortunately I am a maladaptive daydreamer and can insert an original character into any given piece of media. So this is a Butcher x OC story, where OC is Hughie's big sister...so it does fit the story of the show pretty much to a tee (that is just how my brain cooks it up, sorry) - but there will be more details, side stories, etc to make it more fun for the Butcher storyline! And of course, it's written in OC's pov, so you get to know her backstory and thought process quite a bit. Please let me know what you think!

At 2 o’clock in the afternoon, Mickey should have been awake. A functioning, stable, put-together 29 year-old would be. Not Mickey. She was passed out in bed (a full size mattress resting on the floor in her room), her body still trying to process all the alcohol she had consumed the night before. And the morning before. As well as the few consecutive days before that. That’s how it had been for as long as she could remember, at least since – 

The phone rang. Mickey groggily lifted her head from the pillow, reaching for her cell phone. She had apparently neglected to plug it in before she fell asleep last night. Hughie? She stumbled over to the corner, where her charger was plugged in, not quite able to reach the bed. I’ve been meaning to call him.

“Hughie? I’m sorry, I really have–,” she started, already guiltily rambling, but she was cut off by her brother’s wails. “Hughie?” He wasn’t stopping. “Hugh? Hugh? Hey, what happened? Hughie?” Mickey was already standing up and putting her shoes on, despite the hangover-induced migraine that was making her ears ring. 

Hughie sniffled, gasping, then went silent. His breath was shaky. “Hughie?” Mickey warily said to her brother.

“She, she was j-just standing there,” he started.

“Who was? Hugh. I’m on my way, but I need you to tell me what happened.”

“We were just…I was leaving work, and she…,” his voice cracked as Mickey grabbed her keys, wallet, and flask. Empty. She’d grab something on the way to fix whatever had ruffled her little brother’s feathers. He was a sensitive kid, always had been. It was probably just some car accident he had seen while going on lunch, or even worse, he had been riding his bike and, distracted by the great Billy Joel, accidentally hit a kid. That had happened before. That would make sense. Everything is okay. The bad stuff happens to me, not him. 

“Robin.” He was gasping for air now. Mickey’s heart dropped. “She was one step off the fucking…and he just came out of nowhere…she– I, I didn’t have time to…God, Mick, oh my God, Mickey…Robin, she’s gone.”

Mickey was about to open the door, but she turned around and threw up in the kitchen sink.

—

“The service was beautiful,” Dad said. Mickey had to stifle her laughter. She always did during times like these. Funerals, memorials, the like. The drinking helped, for a little bit at least. When it stops helping, it just means you need to drink more. 

Mickey took a sip of her drink – some shitty wine her dad had likely bought to assuage the “divorcee blues” – and took a look at her brother. He was staring forward, scowling, with blank eyes. She knew what he was thinking. Hughie was asking himself what he could have done differently. What he could have said, or in his instance, where he could have stood differently. He’s wishing it was him instead of Robin. Maybe he’s thinking about joining Robin in death, or maybe that had just been Mickey when her husband died.

She had stood, motionless, next to Liam’s casket, as friends and family came up to her and gave their condolences. Mickey had sat with her head down, avoiding eye contact with Liam’s mother and father. He had been an only child. Perfect Liam. Hughie had nudged her to signal that it was the part of the funeral where she was supposed to stand for the family honors. Had they never married, the “honors” would have gone to his parents. She was the one that wanted a big, white wedding. 

Mickey’s eyes had been squeezed shut as the rifle volleys were fired. Why do they fire blanks at a military funeral? The loud noises can’t be good for attendees suffering from PTSD. Like Liam had been. Mickey counted the shots.

One. Liam's face flashed in her mind.

Two. She squeezed her eyes tighter.

Three. Everything Mickey had ever wanted. Gone.

One of the other soldiers started playing Taps. She didn’t even have tears left, just rage. Mickey wanted to grab the stupid fucking bugle and slam it on her husband’s casket until it split open. She wanted to pick Liam up by the collar of his stupid fucking uniform and shake him back to life. She wanted to scream at him for leaving her a stupid fucking mess. For leaving her alone. All alone. She wanted to smash his head into the pavement until he died. Again.

They handed her – the next of kin – the neatly folded American flag. Mickey didn’t want it; she would have happily given it to her in-laws. She didn’t need another reminder of the mess he had gotten himself, or herself into, for that matter. Liam and his stupid patriotism. He had worshiped Supes, but unlucky for him, wasn’t gifted with any super ability. So he joined the military. For what? A couple years overseas firing at whatever your commanding officer told you to, a shitty government job where you’re just another cog in the wheel of the “Great Big American Dream” (the military industrial complex), and a never ending B-roll of whatever tragedies you had bore witness to. Mickey’s superiority complex had gotten her into psychology, then into the FBI’s training program to be a special agent. But this happened. And when you fire a gun at your officer’s foot – it was the ground next to him…it was never going to actually hit him…she had fantastic aim, and he was pissing her off – you can’t be a special agent. 

That left her a widow at 26. Jobless. And an escalating alcoholic. 

That wouldn’t happen to Hughie, though. Mickey wouldn’t let it. 

She was brought back to reality by her dad. “Michaela, please make sure your brother signs the papers today. It’s what Robin would have wanted” She waved off her dad, scoffing.

The Vought attorney? Paralegal? PR motherfucker. Had some sense of entitlement coming in and asking Hugh to keep his mouth shut. And for only $45,000, as if that could immediately fix his grief. Obviously, it would work in Vought’s favor. No one would ever know that A-Train had run right through Robin, leaving only her hands, still holding on to Hughie’s. And the TV “apology” the asshole had given was disingenuous, to say the least, and a cover-up, to tell the truth. In the middle of the road? Yeah, right. 

“Can I think on it?” Hughie asked the suit. Mickey breathed out a sigh of relief. It’s not like she hated Supes in general, but they reminded her of the military – especially Homelander – so each day her distaste for Vought, The Seven, and any asshole with super-strength grew exponentially. 

“Good choice,” Mickey told her brother after she hastily escorted the suit out the door. “I know the money seems nice, but in my experience, it only pisses you off more. Plus, you’ll probably blow it on something stupid.”

“Like booze?” Hughie gave a half-smile to his sister for the first time since the accident.

“Ha-ha, asshole. Exactly like booze. I’ll stop when I’m ready to come back to real life.”

“Well while you continue to bury yourself in liquor, I’m going to bury myself in work.”

“Not any time soon, though, right?” Mickey asked, standing up.

“Why not? It’ll be a good distraction.” Hughie shrugged. This behavior wasn’t like Hughie at all, granted she had never witnessed him after he lost a significant other before, not like this. Maybe it will be beneficial, at least more beneficial than the coping mechanisms she chose. Everyone handles grief differently, right?

—

“Sorry, we’re closing–” Hughie turned to see Mickey walking through the tech store door. “Oh. We are getting ready to close.”

“I know, I know. I’m not here to shop. Now that you’re back at work, stupidly, might I add, I wanted to offer my free labor. I figured we could do the opposite of what we did when we were little and had chores. You get to sit and boss me around, and tell me what to do,” Mickey dropped the Tupperware of funeral food on the checkout counter. “Plus, I brought you dinner.”

“Really? Funeral leftovers?”

Mickey rolled her eyes. “Look, dude, it was already made. Now will you tell me what wires I need to put where so we can go home and–”

Both the Campbell siblings turned to the door. The bell rang, and the door was open, but neither of them could see a customer.

“Who are you?” A voice said.

“What the fuck?” The siblings said in unison.

“Right in front of you, pricks.” They were staring at the voice when whoever it was held up a small disc, waving it in Hughie’s face. “You think I wouldn’t find this thing?”

“What did you do, Hugh?” Mickey asked her brother, gritting her teeth. Wanting revenge on A-Train was one thing, but if her hunch was correct, this invisible guy was none other than Translucent. How did he get tangled up with one of the other Seven?

The Supe grabbed Hugh’s badge. “Hughie,” he jeered, then without warning, slammed Hugh face down into the counter, cracking the glass case. Hugh was launched over the counter. “Pussy! I followed you from the fucking tower,” Translucent said, lifting Hughie up again.

“The fucking tower?” Mickey was now yelling, but still frozen. “What the fuck, Hugh?”

Hughie was then launched into one of the store’s windows, cracking it. She had to do something. “Oh, and who’s this, Hughie? Your little accomplice?” The voice got closer, and Mickey could hear footsteps making their way towards her. 

An invisible hand grabbed her by the hair, and she instinctively raised her knee, hard, hoping to hit Translucent where it mattered. He groaned, releasing her hair. Mickey tried to dash over to her brother, but was yanked up by her hair again and thrown backwards into a shelf of routers. Now her and Hughie were both on the ground, coughing, and Mickey still had no fucking clue what was going on. She propped herself up against what was left of the shelf, blinking and trying to reset her eyes. 

“Who’s that guy you were with? In the car?” Translucent asked a panting Hughie. “Who was he? He put you up to this?” Now he was screaming, Hughie trying to escape, and Mickey was trying to get herself on her feet. 

“I, I don’t know! He was just some Uber driver, okay?” Hughie’s voice cracked as he pleaded with the Supe. 

Mickey grabbed an extension cord from the ground and slowly prepared to blindly wrangle their attacker, but unable to see the Supe, she didn’t see him making his way over to the wall closest to her, and in one fell swoop, Translucent grabbed the extension cord and threw it, and Mickey still holding on, to the opposite side of the store. She landed behind the shattered glass counter, still faintly able to understand what was transpiring through the ringing the blow had left in her ears.

“Oh don’t give me some bullshit! Uber driver?” Translucent mocked Hughie. Mickey could see a TV being lifted off its wall mount. “What, you think I’m some fucking idiot?” Translucent was walking over to Hugh, the flat-screen lifted high. “Why’d you plant the bug?”

“Please, please. Please, please, no. Please,” Hughie pleaded.

“We’re The Seven. Earth’s most mighty.”

Mickey had to do something. She propped herself up and took position to leap onto the invisible asshole. 

“Champions of the innocent, motherfuc–”

A car drove right into the shop, shattering the windows, knocking down merchandise, and just barely missing Hughie. “Sorry about the mess,” a bearded man said as he exited the vehicle. “You should fuck off, Hughie.”

Mickey stood up shakily. Now she was really confused. “Who the fu–”

The Cockney-accented man turned towards her. “You must be the sister. Sorry to meet’cha under these circumstances, but you two need to scram.”

Holding a tire-iron, the man slowly walked towards where Translucent had landed, smirking. “Well if it ain’t the invisible cunt,” he chuckled to himself, then began swinging blindly around the TV wall. Moments later, he was launched into a rack of pagers.

“Hughie, Hughie, you heard him, we need to go,” Mickey said, trying to usher her brother onto his feet and away from the store.

“No, no,” Hughie stood up, brushing her off. “We can’t leave him here.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Yes, we can!” Mickey was practically pulling Hughie to the emergency exit when he stopped in his tracks. “Hugh. Hugh! No, don’t even–”

Hughie stepped back into the floor of the store with such force that he yanked her back with him. Mickey huffed and ran her hands through her hair. She inhaled and blood ran down her throat, greeting her with the familiar metallic taste.

Brit was attempting – and failing – to wrestle Translucent to the ground. Looked like he was tasting that red metal too, because with an erratic grin, he spat blood all over the Supe, revealing Translucent’s position. Smart. The bearded man then had the upper hand after headbutting the “invisible cunt” and landing a few punches, whilst slowly covering more of the Supe’s body outline with more bloody spit. 

Though England put up a good fight, Translucent got one good lick in, and the man was down on the ground. Translucent looked up at Mickey, who, overcome with agitation and confusion, had not moved her feet, and she was now standing directly behind the groaning Brit. She swallowed a mouthful of blood. She was trained for this at one point in time, right? She at least had the pent-up anger for this. Mickey stepped over the Brit’s body.

“Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you just come back to the Tower with me, and I’ll make sure you don’t ever have to see these assholes ever ag–”

Mickey cut him off with a punch, slugging Translucent right across his face. Predatorial asshole. “Fuck,” she hissed, shaking her hand. She forgot how much she hated hand-to-hand combat.

Translucent stumbled a little, but popped back up, rubbing the side of his jaw. “Look, lady, I’ll give you that one, but let’s just–”

Mickey hit him again, this time with an uppercut. He charged back at her, grabbing her hair – again? – and landing a few blows to her stomach. Mickey snapped back into it, grabbing his forearm and pulling herself around so that her back was against the Supe’s chest. She flung her head back. Hard.

The Supe instinctively launched her into the wall. Now she could really taste the blood. But before she could steady herself, Translucent kicked her in the stomach, knocking her through the wall of TVs.

Thankfully, this had given England enough time to regain his strength, and he stood up, ready to attack, when Translucent gave him the same swift kick he had just given Mickey. 

“So who are you?” Translucent asked. “Fucking spy?! For who, huh? You’re gonna fucking tell me!” Translucent picked up the Brit’s tire iron from the ground. “Or I’m gonna smash your fucking scalp off! Who the fuck are you?”

Through the Mickey-sized hole in the wall, she could see Brit propped up on one of his elbows, smirking. “I’ll tell you who you are,” he said. “A fucking moron. Translucent doesn’t even mean invisible. It means semi-transparent.” England made a quick glance to the other side of the store, where Mickey was able to faintly see Hughie holding an exposed wire. Hughie’s wire couldn’t reach, so England quickly kicked the Supe, sending him backwards where he waltzed right into the wire.

Translucent screamed as he got electrocuted, lighting up the store. Hughie kept screaming until Translucent’s limp body fell backwards onto the ground.

England stood up with a groan, and through shaky breaths, Hughie asked, “Is he…is he dead?”

The bearded man kicked the Supe. “Well he ain’t movin’.”

Mickey, limping, emerged from the wall she had been kicked through, and ignoring the mystery man and the Supe, yelled at Hughie, “I’m gonna need some answers, Hugh. What the fuck have you gotten into?” She gestured back at England. “And who the fuck is he?”

England put up a hand to silence her. “Whoa, whoa, darlin’, don’t fret. Name’s Butcher, and I’m just a friendly neighbor helpin’ out’ya brother here, alright?” He turned to Hughie. “Now, kid, how’d you know the electric could do the job?”

Hughie was still sitting against the TV wall. “Skin’s carbon…highly conductive. I saw it on, uh, Jimmy Fallon…”

Butcher raised an eyebrow, “Would have taken me forever to work that one out. Good job.” One thing about Hughie is that he knows the most random shit. This time it might have just saved them. Butcher made his way to Translucent’s lifeless body, and against her better judgment, Mickey followed his lead. Hughie wasn’t going to go down for this. “Let’s get ‘em in the boot.”

Hughie brought his hands up to his head. “W-wait, wait what?”

“The trunk,” Mickey and Butcher said in unison.

“See, your sister knows the lingo,” Butcher said while trying to get a grip on the Supe’s upper half.

Hughie looked at his sister, then at Butcher. “No, no, I mean, what are we doing with him?” Hughie was panicking now.

Butcher looked up at Hughie. “Well, Hughie, you just offed one of The Seven, mate.”

Mickey let out a mix of a scoff and a laugh, much to Hughie’s dismay. “Me? I…I…,” He turned his gaze to Mickey. “You’re okay with this, Mick?”

“Well no, but…I mean, he has a point, and I’m not getting in trouble for this.”

“What?! I…I…Butcher, you hit him with a fucking car!” Hughie shouted.

Butcher dropped Translucent’s torso. “Look, potato fucking potahto, we’re all in a shitload of trouble–”

“No, no! No, no, we’re not. He attacked us, and you’re…you’re a federal officer, you know?” Hughie argued, and Mickey dropped the Supe’s legs, standing up to cross her arms. This smug, sloppy, arrogant asshole is not a federal officer. “Just…just call the fucking FBI!”

The hesitation in Butcher’s voice confirmed Mickey’s suspicions. “Yeah, o-okay, so look…technically I’m not a fed,” he said, shrugging, as if this wasn’t just the atomic bomb of all bombs to drop on Hughie right now, let alone a less-than-awesome first impression to have on Mickey. 

“Jesus, fuck,” Mickey started, holding her head in her hands, shaking it.

“WHAT?!” Hughie practically screeched. “Then who the fuck are you?”

[bokettochild]

Bit of a weird question, but how do you think Legend (or any of the Links, really) would handle getting separated once the quest is over?

I'm personally of the opinion that he and Warriors would be the ones to figure out a way to visit afterwards, but that's mostly because I hate found families breaking apart to go home after the plot ends. I also like seeing takes where one of them doesn't return to their original time for one reason or another.

Time is used to this sort of thing; losing everyone after it's all over and not able to go back. If anything, I think he drifts into a short depression but eventually moves on. He doesn't try to get back to them because none of his efforts with similar incidents ever did any good, so he really doesn't see the point in trying this time. Instead, he tries to make sure to take care of the world he has to pass to them.

I think Four would be a bit broken up about it, but he's also used to saying goodbye to brothers once the adventure ends. He might dabble a bit with trying to find a way back to them, but he;s very cautious for fear of bringing back anything else, so eventually gives up and/or get's distracted with a way to bring back Shadow instead.

I think Sky would probably consider trying to use the time gates to visit the others, maybe he succeeds, maybe he get's lost for a bit and Zelda has to pull him back to their time so they can fix the gates to do what they want, maybe it works. I think he'd try though.

I think Wind and Hyrule would be broken up about losing their brothers, but they have too many responsibilities in their worlds (rebuilding their Hyrules) to really get to dabble with ways to meet the others again. I think they'd handle the loss well though, as they're bright souls and still young enough that change isn't as shattering for them. Not knowing any horrible future fates also makes letting go of the others easier, and they help themselves process it by trying to remind themselves that the others can now be at rest and at home.

Twilight and Legend would take the loss terribly. The vet keeps losing people so I think it'll really break him, and Twilight's fear for Time, for Wild, for all his brothers who he can no longer protect 100% gives him constant anxiety. Depression and a need to find a way back to the others probably take them over until either they do make it back to see the others again or they give up in despair (hence why Twilight's spirit lingers beside Wild as the Old Wolf)

Wild, obviously, is so busy rebuilding Hyrule and going through TotK that he doesn't really have much chance to do much more than miss his brothers. Post TotK though, he and Zelda probably do look into time traveling around if/when they find out Zelda's time powers.

Warriors though, Warriors probably confronts Cia and demands visitation rights as recompense for the war, Zelda backs him up. Cia is willing and the heroes get established visiting times so they ca keep up with each other. I will take no discussion on this, Warriors refuses to leave his brothers alone and sad, he will visit them even if he has to beg Cia for it.

(And if Cia doesn't agree, Nayru sort of owes Legend her life, and she's definitely got a soft spot for him, so I can see her allowing him to visit his brothers as long as he promises to not screw up the timeline.)

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 6

It's my birthday, so here is my gift to all you lovely people :)

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: brief mentions of HYDRA approved "science", insecurities

Word Count: idk ill look later

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5]

Meeting with the contact goes down without a hitch. You’re surrounded by scraggly trees and evergreens, snow heavy on bare branches and pine needles alike. You’re briefed on all the important information: who’s who, ongoing projects, expectations for your work. You nod along as you write down shorthand notes – really only intelligible to you, but you’ll burn them once you memorize the information regardless.

The rendezvous is short, but you’ll be seeing them again soon at your new ‘job’. You flip your notebook closed and dip your head briefly to acknowledge the end of the meeting. Olaf (not his real name) returns the gesture and stalks off, presumably heading back to the HYDRA facility.

You take your time getting back to the house – you want to give Bucky his privacy and time by himself to prepare for the workday ahead. You envy the monotony of working on vehicles all day: scouring the engine, finding the necessary parts, sliding under the metal frame and lying on your back for hours… 

Come to think of it, maybe you shouldn’t imagine lying on your back for hours in the same thought process that involves Bucky. Too many memories and too much pain.

Regardless, anything is better than working for HYDRA, even if you are actively working to sabotage them while you’re there. Yeah, Bucky is here to keep an eye on you and provide backup and know-how, but you’re the one that is pivotal to this mission. The one that needs to get in, get out, and get gone before HYDRA realizes how big of a mess they’re in.

You begin fine-tuning the personality and mannerisms that will serve you best here. Olaf had explained the specific work culture of the HYDRA facility during the meeting, so you’re now better able to imagine your life for the foreseeable future: work, work, work, kidnapping, torture, experiments, exhaustion. 

And going home to Bucky every night, your brain supplies. You mentally swat the words away. Of course you’re going ‘home’ to Bucky. He’s your immediate backup in case something goes wrong – he has to be close. Even if it’s not the intimate kind of close. Not the kind of close you used to be when this mission was first given to you last year. Not the close that originally had you posing as husband and wife, but the kind that now has Bucky as your brother.

A shiver courses through you at the thought, and you wrap your arms tighter around your snuggly bundled self. Bucky as your brother is the worst scenario you could possibly imagine, but everyone agreed that with the new tension between you and Bucky, romance wouldn’t be the wisest play up here.

A soft groan leaves your lips and you dip your head quickly in disappointment before popping back up and looking ahead. There’s no point in yearning for something that will never happen again. You need to actually move on, not just lie about it and pretend like you did. Bucky deserves that much. You deserve that much.

Taking a deep breath, you shift your focus back to the mission. It’s time to embrace the role, leaving behind the echoes of a love that was now confined to memories. You couldn't afford distractions or longing. HYDRA's demise depended on your unwavering commitment, even if it meant burying your heart's desires in the depths of your being.

***

You arrive home a short while later, the creaks and groans of the old house underlying the silence of the empty rooms. It seems that Bucky had left for work while you were out. Glancing over to the clock atop the fireplace mantel, you're taken aback to see how much time has passed. You must have been lost in your thoughts far longer than you had initially realized. 

You close the door softly behind you and shuffle out of your coat. You hang it on a peg beside the door where your and Bucky’s other coats reside, noticing how well the colors reflect both of your personalities. You can’t help but laugh at the blacks, grays, and dark blues of Bucky’s jackets that contrast sharply with the whites, pinks, and pastels of your own. The smile lingers until you kick off your boots and walk further into the quiet house.

The echoing silence pulses in your ears and makes you uncomfortable. You hadn’t been alone like this in a very long time – there was always at least one person in the next room or house or building that you could reach out to. But with Bucky at his ‘new job’ and no neighbors knocking on the door to welcome you to the neighborhood, you feel totally isolated.

With nothing else to do besides wallow in loneliness, you decide to throw on some music and dive into all the information the team has gathered on this HYDRA location. You’d skimmed the files on the way here yesterday, but now you had the time to really peruse. You run upstairs to change into comfortable clothes and throw your hair up and away from your face. You return downstairs and pull out your laptop, setting up camp at the kitchen table. You open your favorite music streaming app and hit play, starting up your ‘get shit done’ playlist. You bop your head to the beat and dig in.

***

Hours later, you hear the door creak open and Bucky steps inside, his face smudged with grease and a tired smile on his lips. You rise from your hunched position and stretch your aching muscles. The pain in your upper back and neck eases slightly as you greet him, "Hey, Bucky. Welcome back. How was your day at the garage?"

Bucky wipes his hands on a rag, glancing at you with a mix of exhaustion and genuine warmth. "Oh, you know, the usual. Fixing engines, tinkering with parts. It's a nice change of pace from our usual gigs."

You nod, attempting to keep the conversation light. "Well, at least you get to put your mechanical skills to good use. It must feel good to work with your hands again."

A brief moment of silence hangs between you as you both glance down to Bucky’s hands. His metal arm is covered by Stark tech that makes it appear as if he’d never lost it in the first place. You can tell how uncomfortable he is with the sight after working so hard and so long on learning to accept himself the way he is now. He picks at the fake skin, pulling it slightly away and letting it snap back into place. Bucky clears his throat, his voice a touch hesitant, "It doesn’t quite feel right, ya know?"

You shift in your chair, tucking your leg up under you. "No, I get it, Bucky," you say. “Doesn’t feel like you, does it?” You give him a smile and a small shrug of your shoulders, as if what you’re saying is common knowledge and an opinion that everyone shares, “If you ask me, I prefer the metal.”

Bucky's eyes soften and he stops fidgeting with the skin, letting his arms drop down to his sides. “Yeah,” he agrees, “me too.”

You nod, trying to hide the warmth swelling in your chest. "Anyway," you begin. “I’ve been going over the data that you guys have gathered in the last few months. There’s a lot here, huh?”

“Yeah.” Bucky sighs and walks over to you, taking the chair opposite and stretching out his legs underneath the table. His feet encroach on your space and nearly rest underneath your chair, the table not really accommodating for his size. You pick up the one leg you still have dangling off the chair and tuck it under you with the other one. Bucky places his hands behind his head and leans back. “All of my memories of this place are hazy, but this place was a real piece of work.” A grimace mars his face and his eyes start to cloud over.

Wanting to shift the conversation away from the discomfort he may be remembering, you change the subject, "So, did anything noteworthy happen at the garage today? Any signs of HYDRA activity in the town?"

Bucky's eyes shift with a sense of purpose, grateful for the chance to discuss something less complicated. "Actually, there was something unusual. I overheard a couple of guys mentioning some military-grade vehicles arriving tomorrow for inspection. Might be worth investigating to see if they’re HYDRA."

As you delve into mission-related details, a sense of normalcy descends upon the conversation. The awkwardness and unspoken emotions linger in the background of your mind, but for now, the focus is on the task at hand. You understand that the mission takes precedence over personal matters, and you commit again to putting aside your feelings for the sake of success and Bucky’s peace of mind.

With a renewed determination, you delve into strategizing and planning, resolute in your shared mission to dismantle HYDRA's operations. 

Part 7

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