#and she manages to get hold of her axe and swing around just as he makes contact - her axe lodged in his chest

[shadowglens]

thinking about siggi getting injured during the battle of beamfleot against haeston makes me 🙃🤡

[stars-and-inkpots]

True Love's Embrace | Gale x Reader

Finding those rings gives you the chance to protect Gale. Sure, he would never agree to you putting yourself in danger for the sake of himself, but he doesn't have to know.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Canon-typical violence, blood and injury, codependency, self-sacrifice, forehead kisses, hurt/comfort

Notes: Inspired by some combat in my playthrough and thinking about the reactions some things may have caused. I simply think that Gale would have an opinion on using those rings, and it wouldn't be a good one (mildly hypocritical, of course).

Ao3 Link: True Love's Embrace

Word Count: 1,785

You know what those rings can do. You know what the wife who gave her husband the matching ring did. What she did was horrible, but you aren’t going to use them like that. 

You know Gale won’t approve of it at all; but the thought of the ring's magic protecting him (even if it was at the expense of yourself) gave you peace of mind. The thought of his safety is enough to drown out the thought of his disappointment if he does manage to find out. 

He didn’t question when you placed the silver ring in his hand. You almost worried that he would know what it was, that he would immediately see through your plan. You gave a relieved sigh when all he did was thank you for the gift and slip the ring on his finger before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. 

When you put your hand on his shoulder later, it was simple to let the magic of the rings flow through you. You feel the invisible thread that connects you to each other. Gale doesn’t seem to notice.

“Is everything alright? You seem distracted,” Gale asks. 

Guilt runs through you once more, urging you to tell him, but you ignore it. You needed every reassurance you could get to keep him safe here. You could take a few extra hits in battle, it wouldn’t matter. As long as he was safe. 

“I’m fine, just have a lot on my mind… and well, in it, I suppose,” you say, hoping the joking tone will hide the real concerns you have about the danger that surrounds you; and despite the distaste you have for the parasite that has made its home in your skull, you aren’t one to give up the opportunity for an admittedly awful joke. 

Gale groans, but huffs out a reluctant laugh all the same. 

“Hold on-” All of you hear Karlach begin to warn the group from her place in the front, but she isn’t quite fast enough. 

Creatures of vines and shadow shamble out of the bushes ahead. The biggest of the group creeps quickly out of the shadows as it towers over all of you. You barely have enough time to dodge the first round of thorns it shoots at you. 

Karlach is quick to start rushing at the nearest monster, axe swinging wildly as it cuts through wooden tendrils. Astarion manages to get himself further back where he can shoot safely. You and Gale, can’t move away quick enough before the ground erupts into a swarming mass of roots that entangle around your feet, trapping you. 

You do your best, blocking most strikes when you can, swiping your blade across the roots and vines that try to reach out, but your lack of movement makes it increasingly difficult. Several hits make it through your defence, thorns cutting through your armour, pinpointing the weak spots. You can feel the ring working its magic when pain blossoms from phantom wounds as Gale is hit behind you. You endure, knowing that Gale’s injuries would be far worse if you didn’t have these rings. 

You can feel the heat from yet another fireball launched into the thick of the trees. Gale is doing his best to avoid catching anyone else in the crossfire of the blaze. 

When the last creature finally falls, you can take the time to untangle yourself from the roots at your feet. You finally notice the sheer amount of blood that coats the ground around you. Despite the lightheadedness you feel, you push on. 

Gale, though still injured, looks far better than he could have been. That makes this worth it , you assure yourself. It’s nothing that Shadowheart’s magic won’t be able to fix. 

---

Hoping for a simple excursion through the Shadow-Cursed Lands is a laughable desire.

The next day is much like the last. You and your companions are walking through the darkness, ready for some new horror to lunge out from the shadows; and are entirely unsurprised when they do. 

You’ll never get used to the shadow creatures. The tall and imposing beings of pure shadow, but still very much physical and capable of hurting you. Their claws are sharp when they dig into your flesh, and there are so many of them that it’s hard to keep track. They suffocate the light around them, plunging anyone nearby into darkness. 

You can feel each time one of them slashes at Gale. You are made painfully aware of each time the wizard isn’t quite fast enough when jumping out of the way. Even though the pain is lessened by the magic of the ring, combined with the strikes that you’re taking yourself, it leaves you struggling. Standing on unsteady feet, hands shaking as you hold your sword out in front of you, you realise that you might not be strong enough to protect him like you wanted after all. 

Exhaustion takes hold of you quickly. It pulls at you; your muscles feel weak. You let yourself collapse to the ground, unable to hold yourself up any longer. Stars dance across your vision, the world blurs and darkens at the edges. You keep your eyes open as long as you can. Distantly, you can hear someone yelling your name, frantic and scared. Sleep overtakes you, and you slip into the oddly comforting darkness of unconsciousness. 

---

The world returns to you in moments. In one, you are held tightly against someone’s chest, their arms wrapped around you, warm and strong. It is Karlach, you recognise vaguely. You drift away again. In the next, you can hear Shadowheart speaking to someone. Her hands are warm on your arm. You can feel her magic seep through your body; the wounds closing steadily. Then darkness once more. 

The next time you wake up, you aren’t sure where you are for a moment. 

You try to sit up, immediately regretting it as your whole body is wracked with pain. You lower yourself back down on the bedroll which has been covered in many plush blankets. It is then that you recognize the blue fabric of the tent and the books around you that are stacked neatly along the walls. 

With a sudden clarity, you feel the absence of the ring on your finger. 

Shit.  

Pushing through the entrance of the tent, is none other than Gale. He looks down at you, relieved, but also clearly upset. 

“Care to explain what these are? And perhaps, if you would be so generous, tell the truth this time?” Gale holds the two rings in his hand. 

You’re quiet for a moment. You feel awful for lying to him. 

“The rings we found. I thought maybe they were just normal rings, but after reading the diaries we found with them, I realised they could cast a one-way warding bond. I just wanted to protect you. It was something I could actually do to help keep you safe. I’m sorry, I know I should have told you, but you wouldn’t have let me if you knew-” 

“Of course I wouldn’t have let you!” Gale cuts you off. “Why would I let you do something like this? It doesn’t matter what the rings do, I’ll have none of it if it hurts you.” He sighs, frustrated, but clearly only because he is worried about you. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is quiet, wavering only slightly. 

Gale kneels down beside you, putting the rings aside and taking your face in his hands instead. “I care about you. I care about you a lot, in fact. When I saw you fall out there, I was terrified. I never want to get that close to losing you again. I know you had only the best intentions, and I am not angry with you; I love you, so very much. I never want you to put yourself in harm's way for the sake of me. Promise me.” He sounds desperate, like the thought of you doing something like this again physically pains him. 

“I promise.” In all honesty, you aren’t sure how much of the truth it is. If there was ever a moment where you would have to make a decision between him and yourself, you can’t promise that you won’t protect him then too. 

But Gale can’t fault you either. He isn’t sure that he wouldn’t do the same for you. In all honesty, if he was in your position, he might have used the rings very similarly, and he can imagine you giving him much the same lecture. 

Both of you are too ready to bleed for the other, for just the chance to keep each other safe. It seems that’s all one can do in this world right now. 

“I love you,” Gale whispers before kissing you, soft and careful not to move you too much while you’re still healing. 

“I love you too,” you answer, covering one of his hands on your cheek with your own. 

“I’ll go and get you some food. You’ve been asleep for a while, I kept near the fire to keep it warm for you.” He presses one more kiss to your forehead before leaving the tent again. 

For now, the rings are forgotten. Your earlier guilt dissipates slowly as you wait for Gale to return. He helps you sit up when he gets back, pain still very much present, but fading the longer you lean against him. He’s quick to wrap an arm around you, letting you put most of your weight against him, which you’re grateful for. 

The entire rest of the night, there isn’t a moment when he’s near you and touching you in some way. While you eat, he’s talking to you about another one of his books, but his arm is around you, hand resting on your hip. After, when you’re laying down again, he’s running his fingers through your hair, or resting his hand on your arm. Guilt returns momentarily when you realise just how much your injuries must have worried him. 

When you finally feel sleep tugging at you again, though less demanding this time, he lays beside you. The pain has subsided for the most part, and you’re able to move yourself to cuddle closer to him. He holds you close to his side, chin resting on the top of your head. 

You can’t promise something like this won’t happen again. Gale can’t promise that he won’t do the same thing. But both of you can promise to try to keep your self-sacrifice to a minimum, at the very least. And you can promise that you’ll always come back to each other at the end of the day. 

[thisisourlovestory]

Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.1k

Please bear in mind that this is my first fanfic. It will be multiple chapters but release dates are uncertain as I am fairly busy and also procrastination is my best friend. I am open to constructive criticism if you have any. Thanks and enjoy!

Prologue:

The moment President Snow said those words I froze. I couldn’t breathe. Because I could be going back in. Back into the arena. My breath came in short gasps and I leaned against the wall. When I finally gathered the courage to go out the others were already there, Annie, Finnick and Mags. Huddled together in the centre of victor's village, Annie’s face red with tears, Mags opening and closing her mouth in what could only be anger. And Finnick holding himself together, just barely but managing it, holding Annie tightly in his arms as if she was the only thing stopping him from breaking. 

I stood on the porch, leaning against the wooden frame of my house, arms crossing my body. None of them noticed me, I was invisible to them. I was the victor they didn't need, I was just a pretty thing for the capitol to put on display every night. Most of the time I stayed away from victor's village and none of them ever made any attempt to get to know me, I guess I just faded into the background for them. It's not really their fault, they didn't expect me to survive my games, no one did, I was just another tiny thirteen year old in the 68th Hunger Games, no allies, no weapons, no food and no hope. Just a pair of worn ballet shoes and a small bag I had nicked to keep them in. I would have died in the bloodbath had a tribute from 10 not stepped in front of an axe meant for me. I remember the blood splattering across my face as he fell onto me, I had pushed him off, grabbed his bag and ran into the forest. 

I barely managed to survive, the frozen wasteland was unforgiving, animals were scarce but there had at least been enough water. At the end of the first day there had been eight cannons, the second three, the third five, the fourth two, the fifth another two. There were four of us left, the others all career tributes who had plentiful supplies and an alliance. I was able to hide from them for five more days before they had found me. Their leader, Arion from district 2, had shot me in the arm as I tried to get away, I fell and my blood painted the crystal white snow red. They weren't smart now that I think about it, they wanted to play with me; that was their mistake. I killed the girl first, hit her over the head with my ballet shoes, the hard box disorienting her long enough for me to slit her throat with her own knife, the cannon sounded and I killed her district partner as well, piercing his heart with the same knife. That had only left Arion.

I avoided him for a few days but he found me again, probably following the trail of blood I left behind. Except this time I was ready for him. I struck first, flinging my shoes through the air, hitting him on the temple, a trickle of blood falling from the cut formed. He reacted quicker than I expected, swinging his sword wildly, but I was small and fast- like a little bird my mother always said- I threw the knife in a practised motion, letting go of the handle, spinning it slightly, my hand following the line as it hit him dead centre in the chest. He had stared at me. In shock and disbelief that I'd been able to best him. The final cannon went off and I had won. I was the victor of the 68th annual Hunger Games.

For a while it was okay, chauffeured around, fussed over and doted on by my stylists, I was living the dream of every child. But it got old, I became used to people cooing over me, patting my hair, asking me questions. And then I discovered that even if you get out of the arena, you never truly win, you always have to give back something of yourself, a repayment of sorts. You get to live and we get you was how it sounded when President Snow made me the offer. Except it wasn't an offer, it was an order; that's how I found myself as a Capitol slave at the age of fourteen, performing night and day for the rich, barely getting a second's rest. Dancing until my toes bled through my shoes, smearing red across the delicate satin. Singing until my throat was raw and I coughed up the same red my shoes now were. 

The only person who ever offered me some comfort was Finnick. About a month after my games had ended I started having nightmares, I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night and he would hear me and come over to make sure I was okay. We formed a kind of friendship, me thirteen and traumatised, him seventeen and still carrying on. He would fall asleep watching over me, reassuring me that I was okay, I got out. We fell into a routine and by the time I was fifteen the nightmares were a rare occurrence. Then Annie won and it all changed. She became the priority for him, the priority for everyone, she had been broken in the arena and her mind never seemed to fully return to her. I thought he would come back to me, but as I woke up screaming one night and there was nobody there to hold me while I cried, as another scream pierced the air; a door slammed open and I saw Finnick running across to Annie's house, I knew I had lost him. I had lost the one person who I had loved and who truly seemed to care about me. 

I watched them grow closer to each other. He built her up again brick by brick, unknowingly tearing me apart again piece by piece until I was nothing but an empty shell. He stopped her nightmares, whispering soothing words to her as I tossed and turned, eventually I would wake up, sweating and screaming, eyes wide and frantic as I clutched the knife I kept by my bedside. But no one ever came. I couldn’t blame Annie, she was the kindest person I knew and it wasn't her fault Finnick loved her, it wasn't her fault he didn't love me. 

So I dealt with it. I swallowed the pain that welled up in me and buried every thought I had ever had about him deep in my memory, never to see the light of day again. And it worked, I got on with life, going about my daily routine, dancing, singing, eating, sleeping, then doing it all again. I attended parties in the Capitol, laughing and smiling at people, agreeing with their every word. I wasn't happy, but I didn't need to be, I just needed to be alive.

So that was how I found myself after the announcement of the Quarter Quell, watching Mags, Annie and Finnick from the sidelines. My face blank as they comforted each other, not sparing me a second glance. They had all but forgotten I existed. I waited for them to go inside before I ran out of the large gates separating us from the rest of District 4. I ran along the cliffs, wind whipping my hair into a tangled mess. I reached the edge and stood still, staring out at the roiling ocean, grey waves crashing against the shoreline, foam spraying the cliff face. My heart was pounding in my ears, drowning out the sound of the sea. The air grew cold around me as my chest constricted and I gasped for breath. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. 

Tears poured down my face as I sank to my knees and cried. Guttural sobs tearing from my throat, my chest heaving with each one as I clutched the grass beneath me. Fingers digging into the wet soil, clenching and unclenching in time with the beating of my heart as I tried to ground myself. Gradually, my heart slowed and I pulled my hands out of the ground. I breathed shakily, dirt trapped under my nails as I scratched at the skin on my wrist. I lifted it up so I could see the mark laying there. Stark black against pale skin. Forever inked on my body. A trident and a flower, interwoven with each other.  

It was a soulmark. It appeared when I turned 17, as they did for every other person. The person with the same mark is my soulmate, they could be anyone. But I already know who it is even if he doesn't. I saw it one night and then when I got mine I knew immediately but by that point it was already too late. He was already in love with Annie. I stared at it, it wasn't very noticeable, easy to hide from people; pretty as well I suppose, then again they say it's the most beautiful things that are the most dangerous. And this mark, this tiny little mark held the power to destroy me if the wrong person so much as caught a glance of it. I let out a soft laugh, how pointless it all seemed now that everything I had could be taken from me again. I had worked so hard to build up this facade, pretending everything was fine and with a few words it had all come crashing down. 

I shook my head and stood up, giving a last look to the sea as I turned and walked back the way I had come. People talking about the announcement anywhere I pass, I paid them no mind, holding my head high as my feet hit the cobblestones with sharp thwacks. 

“Who do you think will be reaped?”

“It's such a shame really.”

“We only have three victors anyway.”

I ignored them all, they pretended I didn't exist and I'd do the same for them, it's not as if they cared. I finally reached the small gathering of houses the victors lived in and stood outside the gate. The metal tarnished from years of standing in the elements, wooden stakes seeming to wilt under my heavy gaze. I reached out a shaky hand and pushed the metal forwards, opening it only slightly so I could slip in without making the usual clanging sound. I slowly walked towards the fountain in the centre of the square and sat down on the edge, trailing my fingers in the water as my gaze focused on the centrepiece. A mermaid, carved from marble, her hair flowing in the current, tail curving up to the sky, each scale distinguishable. A steely expression was painted on her face, that of a commander, a leader. An odd message from the Capitol, to show the mermaid as being powerful, to show us as powerful, and yet hidden in the water below the statue, in the basin of the fountain, laid a golden net. A message that we had won, but we would always be theirs and we could never escape. 

My hand ran through my hair as I hummed quietly to myself, my other hand drifting along the water as I sat cross legged on the edge of the fountain. My eyes wandered across to Mags’ house where they had all decided to go. They were talking amongst themselves, Mags placing a reassuring hand on Finnick's shoulder and him muttering calming words to Annie. I felt sick, all the feelings I had locked away bubbled back to the surface because why could it not be me? Why was it her? What had I done wrong? My eyes watered slightly as I tried to hold back tears at the sight of them being so sickeningly perfect for one another. Not that it should've been me in his arms but it would be nice to know someone cared enough to check up on me, help me through the hard moments in life. Once upon a time I had thought he was that person and look where that got me, in deeper pain than I had been before. 

I sighed deeply, taking in lungfuls of fresh air, and started up the steps to my house, the front porch, a few small plants in ornate pots, wisteria growing up the trellis, light purple blooms adding a little something to the otherwise grey picture. I took a last look at them across the square, smiles on their faces as if they had forgotten the news we received earlier. I guess that's what happens when you have people you can talk to, who understand and try to help. I twisted the doorknob, stepping inside, closing the door behind me, leaning against it for support. I didn't notice the eyes that watched me. Or maybe I just didn't want to. 

[medusapelagia]

11 I have a bad feeling about this

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: Temporary Character Death  ) and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: Joker: everybody lives) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: hospital, injuries, temporary character death, shots Words: 2246

Steve stops before Creel's house, a terrible feeling creeping down on him.

“I have to go back.” He says, staring at Nancy.

“You can’t! We need you! There’s just three of us against a monster that can easily enter our minds.” She protests, holding the modified rifle in her hands.

“Are you saying I’m too stupid to be possessed?” Steve tries to chuckle, but the shiver down his neck makes him feel uneasy, “I know that we had a plan, Nancy. But our plans never worked and I have a bad feeling about this. I have to get back.”

“Dingus, listen, I get it. Ok? You don’t trust Eddie and neither do I. It’s not the man I would have chosen for the job, but if there’s something I’m sure about it's that he’ll keep Dustin safe. He's as fond of him as you are, if not more.” Robin tries to convince him

“Steve, for real, this isn’t the moment to get jealous over something you can’t control. You’ll have time to talk about your jealousy when we get rid of that monster. Now move your ass and come with us.”

“I have to get back, Nance! I have this haunting feeling that they’ll do something stupid.”

“Something you would do?” Robin asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Steve nods and Robin and Nancy share a look. 

“It’s too late, Steve.” Nancy insists, but Steve shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, but if I don’t go back right now I’ll regret it all my life,” he replies, turning back and running toward the trailer while Nancy screams his name but he can’t stay. He remembers too well the feeling he felt that night in November 1983 when he tried to get back to the car and forget about monsters only to end up beating a Demogorgon with a makeshift nailed bat.

He runs as fast as he can, not caring about the vines or the noises, Vecna knows that they are there, and if he can attract any attention to himself and far away from his friend he’ll do it.

The black cloud of demobats has surrounded the trailer and Steve abruptly stops his run when he sees that they are piercing through the trailer’s metal walls. He still has a few Molotovs in his backpack and he might fire them… Steve doesn’t even manage to finish thinking that he sees someone running out of the trailer, grabbing an old bike, and starting to bike as fast as he can.

Someone with a pirate bandanna and dark hair.

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, his eyes pinned on the flock of bats following him.

Where’s Dustin?

Steve gets to the trailer, ripping with his bare hands the metallic protections Eddie and Dustin made around the trailer, and kicks the door open.

“Dustin?! Dustin?!” He calls, looking for the curly-haired boy.

“Steve! Steve! I’m here! Help me get back in the Upside Down! Eddie did something stupid and I have to stop him!”

It takes only a moment for Steve to see that the rope they used to climb in the Upside Down was cut and that Dustin has no way to get back.

“Find Lucas and call for help!” Steve yells, “I’ll try to stop Eddie.”

“Wait! Steve! Steve!” But Steve is already out of the trailer, grabbing Mrs. Wheeler's pink bike and starting to ride following the dark flock of bats until they stop. A swirl of black wings circling around a human figure that’s holding a trash lid has a shield.

“What are they doing?” Steve asks himself, and then he sees Eddie standing alone in the middle of a hurricane of demobats that keep attacking him without giving him the time to take his breath.

“Eddie!” Steve yells, and for a moment their eyes meet, but then Eddie falls on the ground, screaming, and Steve can’t use his Molotov if he doesn’t want to burn Eddie as well.

He grabs the ax and starts to swing it around, getting closer to Eddie while the bats bite him everywhere they can. He falls on his knees, next to Eddie who is covered in blood, while trying to shield him from other attacks.

“Fancy finding you here.” Eddie chuckles, blood pouring from his mouth, “I never thought I was going to die side by side with a jock.” 

“Shut the fuck up. We’re not going to die. Not today.” He says, finally grabbing the Molotov and lighting it up before throwing it. For a moment the flock opens like it was cut open, just to come back even angrier than before and that’s the moment Steve realizes that they are going to die. Like Barb. Like Bobby. Like Billy. But this time it will be worse because they’ll die in that fucking parallel dimension and none will ever find their bodies.

While Steve curls around Eddie’s body he thinks about his mom. She promised her to water the plants and he’s not going to honor that promise.

Closing his eyes he holds Eddie to his chest, praying that their death will be quick.

“Steve. You’re crushing me.” Eddie complains, spitting more blood.

“Shut the fuck up, Eddie. Shut the fuck up!” 

Steve is afraid to die. Even if it’s not the first time he face creatures from another dimension this time he must admit to himself that he’s fucking terrified. For once he can’t fight, all he can do is try to protect Eddie for as long as he can.

“Hey, big boy. We’ll be fine.” Eddie murmurs and Steve nods even if he doesn’t believe it.

A demobat starts to climb Steve’s back while another shrieks so closely to his heart that for a moment all he hears is a loud buzz. And then a demobat falls from the sky, crashing on the ground. And another. And another, until all the demobats are agonizing on the dirty ground.

“Eddie! We made it! We made it!” Steve screams, lifting his head to look around himself with surprise, but when he turns toward Eddie his eyes are closed.

“Eddie? Eddie!” Steve calls, shaking him against any common sense but unable to stop “No! No! No! Wake up! Eddie! Wake up!” 

“Steve? Eddie?”

Limping, Dustin gets closer, “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! He’s… he’s not… he’s…” Steve tries to explain, but Dustin pushes him away with no grace and puts a hand under Eddie’s nose first, and then he searches for a heartbeat that is feeble but still there.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Dustin curses, taking off his jacket and trying to stop the lazy bleeding, “Steve! We can still help him! Listen to me! Listen to me! You attended rescue training, right? We have to try to stop the bleeding.”

“How?!”

“Your jacket. We have to keep the blood inside. If he bleeds out he’s fucked.”

Steve nods quietly, removing his jacket and pushing as hard as he can.

“Your belt. And Eddie’s belt too.”

“What?!”

“Give me the fucking belts!” Dustin insists, using them to tighten their jackets to Eddie’s body, “We have to move him, but we have to keep pressure on the wounds.”

“We can’t move him! He’s hurt! Badly!”

“And what are you suggesting, Steve? Are we waiting for an ambulance here?!” Dustin asks, mockingly, “Come on! Can you lift him?” Steve nods and Dustin smiles, patting on Eddie’s knee “You’re not going anywhere, Eddie!” Dustin says with conviction, while Steve tries to lift Eddie’s body as gently as he can. 

Dustin is limping toward the trailer when Nancy and Robin find them. They are covered in debris and ashes but they both have a big smile on their faces.

“Vecna is dead!” Nancy announces with pride, before taking in the fact that Dustin is limping and that Eddie isn’t next to him but he’s lying in Steve’s arms.

“What happened?” Nancy asks worriedly.

“There’s no time. Can you help me back to the trailer while Robin calls Lucas? We are going to need an ambulance.” Dustin says.

“But Eddie is still a murder suspect.” Nancy objects.

“And he will be a dead suspect if we don’t help him! Come on!” Dustin insists and Steve is surprised that in all this chaos Dustin seems to be the only lucid person in the group. 

Nancy offers Dustin her unloaded rifle to use as a cane while she gets his arm around her shoulders to help him walk toward the trailer and Robin calls Lucas with the radio and tells him that they need an ambulance. Lucas tells her that they are already at the hospital, Carver showed up and things went south for a moment but Lucas, Max, and Erica managed to escape from Carver’s fury and are now receiving medical assistance, but there was a big earthquake and the town is fucked, there’s no way an ambulance will get to the trailer park.

“What do we do?” Robin asks, her eyes wide with worry.

“The only thing we can do: drive Eddie to the hospital,” Nancy replies seriously.

***

Driving toward the hospital isn’t easy, Dustin and Steve are still putting pressure on Eddie’s injuries but the boy is unresponsive.

“Eddie! Come on! Don’t do this to me! Come on! Wake up! Wake up asshole!” Dustin cries, his hands covered in dried blood.

“Help! We need a doctor!” Steve yells as soon as they go through the hospital’s sliding doors, covered in dirt and blood. Nurses and doctors rush toward them, moving Eddie onto the gurney and toward the emergency room.

“There’s no heartbeat.” someone says and both Steve and Dustin freeze.

“What? What does it mean?!” Steve asks, not wanting to accept that they might have been too late, but the doctors are already rushing Eddie’s gurney while a doctor and a nurse wrestle Steve and Dustin into a little side room with a couple of beds and curtains for privacy.

Steve insists that the doctor takes care of Dustin first, but the woman lifts an eyebrow and asks him to strip and lie on the bed.

"What happened?" She asks, looking at the bites, "These bites are really… unusual."

"Stray dogs. Lots of them." Dusting immediately replies and Steve nods in agreement.

"Stray dogs," he murmurs, his eyes still pinned on the closed room where Eddie was taken. 

People are screaming, and an electric sound makes him startle.

"What's happening? Where's Eddie? How's he?" Steve asks, trying to get up, but the doctor and a nurse stop him.

"My colleagues are taking good care of him. Don't worry about it."

But when Steve turns his head toward Dustin he sees his worries mirrored in Dustin's eyes. That electric sound could mean only one thing: that Eddie's heart stopped.

Steve tilts his head toward the door swiftly, and luckily Dustin is a little genius because he immediately catches on it and slowly limps toward the door, trying to eavesdrop on what's happening. Shielded by the doctor and the nurse, Steve can't really see him while the nurse cleans his wounds and the doctor stitches them.

"Gonna give you a couple of shots. You know… rabies."

Steve doesn't even listen, still anxious to have news about Eddie.

The nurse gently pats on his shoulder, "I promise that as soon as I get any info I'll tell you. Now try to rest."

Steve nods, quietly. He doesn’t know if it’s the adrenaline’s effect that’s slowly fading or the meds they gave him, but he never felt so tired in his life, so he closes his eyes to rest just a little.

***

Someone is shaking him.

Steve wakes up with a startle, looking around for a weapon to defend himself, but it's just Robin's mom, Emily.

Somehow the sun has risen while he was asleep, but Robin and her mom are still in the ER with him.

"Hey, Steve. Someone wants to see you," Emily says with a soft smile, and when Steve lifts his eyes, Wayne Munson is standing at the door.

"No, no, no. It's not possible! We did… We did our best! He's ok! He must be ok!" Steve cries, not ashamed at the hot tears that fall from his eyes.

The grumpy man steps closer, putting a warm big hand on Steve's shoulder.

"He's ok. Well. Not ok. He's hurt. Badly. But it would have been worse if it wasn't for you, or so the doctor said. So… thank you."

"I heard… I heard the defibrillator." Steve whispers.

"Yeah. It was touch and go for a moment, but they got him back and I'm not going to let him out of my sight again." 

"No. Definitely not." Steve smiles through the tears.

"Now rest, because I have the feeling the rugrats will all come to visit soon."

Steve wipes his tears with the back of his hand while Mr. Munson stops in front of the door.

"Harrington??"

"Huh?"

"Thank you for saving my kid." He says, and then he leaves.

Steve looks for Robin, who’s immediately at his side, “Everyone ok?” Steve asks.

“Dustin got a sprained ankle, Max broke her arms, Erica, Nancy, Lucas and I are a little bit bruised but we are all good,” she confirms, squeezing his knee, “Oh, and mom said no more camping in the woods.”

The woman nods seriously, crossing her arms in front of her chest, while Steve nods, “I totally agree,” he says. 

That was the last time that they saved the world.

Or so he hopes.

[tf-titania]

Echos of the past??

- @orionpax-arc

[in-vent… ex-vent… in-vent… ex-vent… there’s chatter all around her but she can’t make out any of the words her fellow gladiators are saying. Her spark is too loud in her auditals and her processor too focused on her venting.]

[A single voice echos in her mind. “You’re going to The Championships, Titanium.” She can’t even be bother to be offended that The Manager got her name wrong, she wouldn’t even be able to guess their name. She can’t remember their face, just their voice… and the bolt of dread that ripped through her when they spoke.]

[She had gotten lucky… an Elite Gladiator with no kills. The crowd had been more than happy to see her kick her opponents afts to the point of hospitalization but The Championships are different… The Managers won’t open the gates until one of them is offline. Was this punishment? Probably. They always wanted more energon spilled than the crowd did.]

[Someone taps her shoulder. She looks down at her comrade. “The gate is about to open…” their voice lacks emotion but their optics show empathy. Everyone likes him, and everyone knows how he took Titania under his wing. The Managers must be getting a kick out of this.]

[She can’t bring herself to speak so she gives them a small nod of acknowledgment instead. They nod back and leaves her be. Her optics focus on the gate in front of her. She hears the announcer, he must be introducing her since the gate is lifting. Her steps are sure but her spark sputters as she walks out into the arena. The crowd cheers. Then the announcer speaks again and the gate across from her starts to open.]

[And there he stands… her mentor… her friend… Death Tracks. He smiles and waved to the crowd as the cheering gets louder but his smile doesn’t meet his optics. It never does.]

[They stand across from each other, only a few feet apart. Her servos shake and she clenched them to get it to stop. He holds out one of his. She hesitates, she’s scared that she’ll break down if she touches him in such a friendly matter in this moment. But she can’t deny him, this will be the last time they’ll have the chance to interact in a way that won’t lead to one of their deaths.]

[When their handshake ends the announcers speak for the third time. Again, she can’t make out the words but she does recognize the gong that signals the beginning of the fight.]

[He picks an axe like usual and she picks her shield. Death Tracks is able to get a few good hits in because of her tunnel vision. It should hurt. It doesn’t. It never does until the fight is over. The fight goes on for almost a joor. He takes the offensive for most of it while she takes the defensive. Finally she gets the upper hand and she’s able to twist his axe out of his servo and into hers. He’s on the ground, her knee on his chasis keeping him pinned.]

[She hears what the crowd is saying for the first time. “TEAR OFF HIS HELM” is chanted. Death Tracks looks at her. He nods and closes his optics, ready to be decapitated. She holds his axe above them but she can’t get herself to swing it down towards his neck. She can’t do it. She won’t. But she won’t be able to leave if he breathes and he’s done fighting back.]

[The axe swings down and the crowd becomes louder. Then sparks fly. His helm still attached to his frame. But his spark is split. It’s quick. It’s as quick as she could make it.]

[The announcer cheers with the crowd. A new Champion emerges. Death Tracks, the first bot other than a Manager to greet her lies dead. She whispers a small prayer to Primus that he taught her. She hopes he’s finally found peace.]

[The crowd cares little about her not listening to the chant. The prospect of a new Champion is too exciting for them to really mind. But The Managers… she feels their glares on her back. She will be punished.]

[mother-homunculus]

Wintersun - Chapter 6

Relationship: Cregan Stark x OC

Words: 6558

Summary

A year after the death of his first wife, Arra Norrey, Cregan Stark is practically pressured by other lords from the North to remarry. He finds a suitable candidate in Ylva, a daughter of House Umber, who would much rather stay in her family's remote castle.

Tags/Warnings

Canon-Typical Violence, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Angst, Fluff Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective Cregan Stark, Grief/Mourning

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Token of Time

“Keep your guard up, Ylva!”

Hallis barked from the sidelines, the authority in his deep voice cutting through the sounds of steel hitting steel. He stood with arms crossed, his keen eyes tracking every movement. A few silver strands stood out in his dark beard, bearing testament to both age and experience. Faint scars crisscrossed his visible skin—souvenirs from a lifetime of combat. If he was gruff, it was only because he understood the stakes of real battle—his patience for sloppy technique was thin.

“Your footwork is a mess. You’re giving him too much space. A longsword’s worthless if you’re stumbling around like a drunken fool.”

Beside him, Jeor leaned casually against a wooden post, his expression one of quiet interest. He had lived under the Umbers’ roof long enough to appreciate their fierce nature, even if he did not share their blood.

A wind strong enough to moan against the high battlements whipped across the practice yard, making the banners along the outer walls snap and flutter. The ground itself was little more than hard-packed dirt, scarred with marks from countless training sessions, alive with sound and motion. In the center, Ylva and Torren circled each other, blunted longswords in hand. The siblings engaged in intense sparring, yet it was evident who was in control.

Torren moved with the confidence of someone who had spent countless hours honing his skills, his strikes precise and controlled. He spun his sword in a casual flourish, rolling his shoulders, and offered that irritating smirk he wore whenever he felt in control. A breeze toyed with his dark hair, whipping it across a brow damp with sweat.

Across from him, Ylva struggled to keep up. Her chest rose and fell as she fought to steady her breathing, her muscles burned with exertion. She tightened her grip on the hilt, willing her hands to stop trembling. Each time Ylva swung, Torren either parried with ease or sidestepped gracefully, as though he had been born with the blade in hand. Her blocks came too late or too early that only made her frustration grow.

Torren smirked as he pressed forward, his blade moving in a swift arc toward Ylva’s exposed side. She managed to block it, but the impact jarred her arms, forcing her to step back.

“Getting tired already, sister?”

“Shut up,” Ylva snapped, her cheeks flushing with a mix of exertion and embarrassment. She gripped the longsword tighter, trying to steady her breathing. She hated the longsword— its length, its weight, the way it demanded strength she didn’t have. It was a big, unwieldy thing, far less forgiving than the light short swords or axes she preferred—anything that let her rely on speed and precision rather than strength.

Jeor chuckled softly, earning a sharp glance from Ylva. “What’s so funny?” she demanded, lowering her blade.

“Nothing,” Jeor replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Come on, Ylva,” Torren taunted, his grin widening as he drove her closer to the edge of the practice yard. “You’re not giving up already, are you?”

She took a deep breath and lunged forward, swinging her blade in a wide arc aimed at his shoulder. Torren ducked under the strike easily, stepping inside her guard and tapping her ribs with the flat of his blade.

Ylva sighed, lowering her blade. She felt like a novice.

“Don’t look so miserable,” Jeor gave her an encouraging nod. “It’s just a practice match.”

Hallis stepped between them, gesturing for silence. “Ylva, over here. Stop glaring at him as if he has already won. Ylva trudged over, her sword dragging slightly behind her. Hallis swiftly and efficiently removed the sword from Ylva's hands, demonstrating his skill.

“It’s about balance and timing,” he said, his tone softer but still firm. “It’s not your natural weapon, I know that, but you’re fighting the sword instead of working with it. Look.” He adjusted his grip, showing her how to align her hands for better control. Then, with a smooth, fluid motion, he swung the blade in a controlled arc. He performed a series of quick strikes, the sword moved as if it were an extension of his arm.

“See that? You don’t need to overpower it. Let the sword do the work,” Hallis continued. He handed the weapon back to Ylva and stepped aside. “Now try again.”

Ylva let out a huff, taking the sword back and mimicking his movements. Her annoyance lingered, but she forced herself to focus. She glanced at Torren, who was waiting with his usual air of confidence, his own blade resting on the ground.

“Ready?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Ylva nodded, raising her sword. They squared off once more, and this time Ylva moved with more precision. She still lacked Torren’s fluidity, but her strikes were sharper, and her blocks more controlled. Hallis watched with a nod of approval, occasionally calling out corrections.

Torren advanced again, pressing the attack with a series of quick thrusts, testing her guard. Ylva could feel the muscles in her arms burning as she absorbed each strike. Though she wore a quilted gambeson for warmth, she still felt the cold creeping under her layers. This time, she tried to follow Hallis’s advice. She blocked the first, dodged the second, and swung back with a counterblow. He blocked it easily, but the impact was solid, and it forced him to stumble a step back. Her blade missed him by inches, and she could feel the thrill of nearly landing a hit.

A hiss escaped Torren’s lips, though he quickly turned it into a grin of appreciation. “Sneaky,” he praised. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” A crease of concentration formed between his brows, betraying that he still had to work to keep up with her speed.

“Not bad!” Hallis called out, nodding when Ylva corrected her stance and warded off Torren’s next maneuver. " You’re starting to use your speed. Now keep the pressure. Don't give him time to recover so he can regain control.”

Encouraged by the small success, Ylva pressed forward, forcing Torren to give ground. Torren’s smirk vanished as he concentrated on deflecting her attacks. Though he managed to hold her off, he was visibly more cautious, his relaxed confidence was replaced by tense focus as his eyes scanning for a weakness. In response, he swept in low, trying to hook her leg with a swinging blow. Ylva sprang back on instinct—a smaller hop this time, making sure not to retreat entirely—and slammed her blade down to intercept his. Their swords met in a squeal of metal. Gritting her teeth, she pushed into the bind, attempting to throw him off-balance again. Torren, however, was stronger, and he managed to twist his weapon free and counter with a straight thrust toward her shoulder.

Too late to block properly, she rotated her torso, shifting aside just enough for the blunted edge to pass close to her jacket without hitting. Still, Hallis saw the near miss. He raised his voice. “You let him close too far. Remember—angling your body can save you from a strike, but only if you counter immediately.”

With a growing resolve, Ylva swept her blade defensively, aiming to strike Torren on the side as his arm extended from the thrust. Her timing was almost perfect. He barely dodged before their swords clashed again, the echo ricocheting off the courtyard walls.

From the fence, Jeor let out a low whistle.

A bead of sweat trickled down Ylva’s temple, despite the crisp wind. She could feel her calves and forearms aching, every muscle stretched to its limit.

Then Torren feinted left, drawing Ylva’s sword in that direction and finding an opening.  His final strike slipped under her guard, tapping her shoulder with the flat of his blade, the gentle thump signaled a clear hit. Hallis raised a hand, signaling the end of the match.

“Point to Torren,” he announced. “That’s enough for now.”

Ylva lowered her sword, her breath coming in quick bursts. Sweat dampened her forehead, her arms shaking from the effort, but she refused to let it show. Disappointment churned in her gut, but she forced it aside. She had lasted longer this time, pressed Torren harder, and nearly turned the tables on him more than once.

Jeor, who pushed off the post, approached with a smile and clapped her on the shoulder. “Not bad. A few more weeks of practice, and Torren will be the one nursing bruises.”

Torren snorted. “You keep telling yourself that.” He turned to Ylva. “I’d say you did well—for someone who hates this sword.”

“I hate losing with it,” Ylva corrected him, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of a gloved hand.

Her younger brother rested the blade of his practice sword on his shoulder. He pressed a hand to the spot at his side, where Ylva’s strike had nearly made contact. “I’ll admit, you almost had me a couple of times,” he admitted, his earlier cockiness tempered by genuine admiration. “That last exchange nearly forced me back on my heels.”

Hallis moved to Ylva’s side. He examined the set of her shoulders, the way she still gripped the hilt, knuckles white. “You did well,” he said, his tone softer now, placing a steady hand on her back.

“You are improving. Its not only about winning, but progress. Trust yourself. The longsword might not be your strength, but it’s a tool, just like any other. Learn to use it well, and no one will underestimate you.”

She nodded, forcing her fingers to relax. “I will,” she moaned quietly. “I just… I am used to short blades. A longsword feels so unwieldy.”

He huffed. “Then we’ll keep drilling you until it doesn’t.”

*

A soft glow filled the children’s chamber as Ylva finished tucking her youngest brothers into bed. The room was warm, the crackle of the hearth competing with the muffled howl of the wind outside. She sat at the edge of the bed, her voice low and soothing as she wore her tale of old Northern lore. Her three youngest brothers sat mesmerized—seven-year-old Cedric clutched his tattered blanket tightly, his wide eyes glued to his sister, while six-year-old Ned leaned against her side, his head on her shoulder. The youngest, now two years old, rested in her lap, his tiny hand clutching at her tunic as his heavy-lidded eyes fighting sleep. A few days ago, Mors would have been at their side too, but since he turned ten, he no longer had time for "such childish things". Although Ylva knew that he would not be able to keep up this facade for long. If anyone among them was captivated by these heroic stories of honor and brotherhood, it was him.

“…And so, the giantess strode across the frozen wastes,” Ylva narrates dramatic, her hands gesturing to emphasize the tale. Her axe carved paths through the ice, and her song called the wolves to her side as she stood unbowed against the frozen beast, her axe gleaming with fire and her heart filled with the strength of her people. When the beast struck, she did not falter. When the storm howled, she did not bow.”

The boys gasped, enraptured by their sister’s words. The oldest piped up, clutching his blanket. “Did she fight an ice dragon, Ylva? Did she win?”

Ylva smiled, smoothing the toddler’s curls as she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Of course she won. She was not just any warrior. She was an Umber. For no beast, no storm, no darkness can ever break our spirit.”

The five-year-old clapped his hands, grinning with pride, while the youngest let out a sleepy giggle, curling into Ylva’s lap. She laughed softly and kissed the top of his head, her tough demeanor softening in the warmth of the moment.

“Now,” she said, “it’s time to sleep. Even little giants need their rest.”

With that, she adjusted the youngest in her arms and rose gracefully, lowering him into his crib before tucking the other boys in their shared bed, ensuring their thick woolen blankets were snug against the Northern chill, so no draft could disturb their sleep. One by one she leaned down for a kiss goodnight.

“Sleep well, little giants,” she whispered before extinguishing the bedside candle.

The door to the boys’ chamber creaked softly as Ylva closed it behind her, leaving the warm, faint scent of lavender oil lingering in the dim hallway. Smalljon’s tiny snores and Ned’s soft, sleepy murmurings were muffled but comforting, a reminder of how peaceful the hearth could be after a long day. She lingered for a moment, her hand on the iron handle, letting the stillness settle over her. The day had been long—filled with chasing Ned away from the stables, refereeing an argument between Mors and Cedric, and preparing supplies for winter. Yet, she found a small, fleeting comfort in the nightly ritual of ensuring her younger brothers were safe and sound in their beds.

As she turned to head toward her own chamber, a soft shuffle of footsteps broke the silence. A young servant emerged from the shadows, clutching a shawl tightly around her small shoulders. The girl—a nervous slip of a thing no older than two-and-ten— dipped her head quickly, strands of brown hair falling into her eyes.

"I apologize, my lady!" she calls immediately and bowed again. Ylva chuckled lightly and placed her hands on the girl's upper arms, lifting her up so she could look her in the eyes.

“No need to apologize, Aline. What troubles you?”

A short moment passed before the maid gathered her composure to speak. "My lady, Lord Umber requests your presence in his solar." Aline said, her newfound voice wavering.

Ylva blinked, startled by the summons. Her father rarely sent for her so formally unless there was something of great importance to discuss. By habit, he would simply bellow her name loud enough to shake the rafters or send Osric to fetch her.

"Did he say why?" Ylvas tone edged with curiosity.

The girl shook her head, her hands twisting nervously in her apron. "No, my lady. Only that you are to come straightaway."

"Very well," Ylva replied, nodding. "Thank you. You may go."

The servant bobbed another quick curtsey and scurried off, leaving Ylva to make her way to the solar. She was not concerned, not exactly, but her mind churned with possibilities. She hoped that it would not be about the letters with potential husbands, because her father had not spoken to her about that yet. On the one hand, she was grateful for that. On the other hand, his silence was unusual given the significance of the decision for the family.

When she reached the heavy oak door of the solar, she paused, smoothing her tunic and running a hand over her braid to ensure it was neat. The hinges groaned loudly in protest as warm light spilled into the hall, along with the rich aroma of oiled leather and wood smoke. The ample chamber was filled with shields and axes lined the walls, trophies of battles past—some with newly polished steel, others dulled by time. A wide table at the center bore maps, scraps of notes, and a half-empty jug of ale.

Her father stood near the fireplace, one of his hands resting on the chair before him, his usual place. The firelight accentuated the lines and scars of his rugged features, setting his face in a deep, contemplative frown. Hallis sat at the long oak table, beside him Osric leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against a full iron mug.

"Ylva," her father’s gruff voice cut through the room. He turned toward her, gesturing for her to step further inside. "Come in. Sit."

Before she could move, heavy, hurried footsteps thundered down the hallway behind her, and a voice rang out.

"Wait for me!" Torren’s familiar bark echoed as the door burst open, nearly slamming into her back. Ylva had just enough time to sidestep as her younger brother barreled into the room, nearly knocking her over in the process. The door rattled on its hinges as it thudded against the wall.

"Torren!" Ylva hissed, glaring at him.

“Pardon me, sister.” He shot her a sheepish grin, not looking the least bit apologetic. At fifteen, he was only a year younger than Ylva but far less polished in his manners. He had his hair tousled and his tunic slightly askew, as if he had dressed in a hurry. "Father sent for me too," Torren insisted, his tone smug, as if the shared summons elevated him in some way. Then, he brushed past her and flopped into the nearest chair with all the grace of a bear. His posture, however, betrayed his curiosity, he leaned forward slightly, glancing between their father and the others.

Ylva muttered under her breath, closing the door behind her before taking the seat her father had indicated, folding her hands in her lap.

Jon cleared his throat. “We’ve received another raven from Winterfell.”

The announcement drew all attention to the folded parchment in his hand before he placed it on the table. The seal had already broken, yet the faint impression of the direwolf's head remained unmistakable. Ylva cast a quick glance at her eldest brother, noticing no surprise in Osric’s features. His mouth was set in a tight line—he must have known this was coming. Meanwhile, Torren, always quick to jest, leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, his lips already quirking in a mischievous grin.

“Another letter?” Torren chirped. “Maybe Lord Cregan Stark wants to grace us with another visit or”—he lifted his eyebrows and shot a wry look at his sister— “does he wish to propose marriage to Ylva? After all, she’s had her fair share of those lately. Seems half the North is smitten with her these days.”

Ylva scowled, heat rising to her cheeks. She slammed a palm against the table’s edge, though not too hard.

“Say one more word, Torren,” she warned, “and I’ll ensure your next lesson in the yard leaves you regretting that mouth of yours.”

“Enough”, he warns, “This is no time for banter. Cregan Stark does not send ravens carelessly.” His gaze fixed on Torren, silencing him mid-laugh, and Ylva’s stomach tightened at the solemnity in her father’s voice.

Torren shifted in his seat, his smirk fading. “Of course, Father.”

"He writes of growing unrest beyond the Wall. Wildlings are sighted more frequently, slipping through in smaller bands and pushing farther south into the Gift, vanishing before the Night’s Watch can respond. Stark is concerned they might be gathering strength, perhaps even uniting under a single leader and forming a force too large for the Watch to handle alone. If that’s true, they could pose a threat to all of us. So, he’s calling for a gathering at Winterfell among his bannermen to decide how to respond.”

Silence settled over the solar, the weight of Jon’s words pressing down like a heavy snowfall. Ylva shifted uneasily into her seat and exchanged a look with Osric, recalling the whispered tales of Wildlings she had heard in childhood. She had grown up hearing stories of their raids, but those stories had always seemed distant and rarely troubled Last Hearth in her lifetime. The Free Folk were always a threat in the North, lurking beyond the wall, yet the Night's Watch usually held them at a distance. They often climb over the wall or use small boats to cross the Bay of Seals around it. Her father had often reported that wildlings would lose their footing when climbing the wall and falling into the depths. Now they were slipping through in numbers large enough to concern the Warden of the North, it meant a tangible danger may be looming.

“How many are we talking about?” Ylva questions, her voice subdued.

Jon shook his head. “Hard to say. Cregan’s letter mentions rumors more than confirmed counts. Patrols have reported scattered sightings—small groups, not full raiding parties. But if they’re slipping south in large enough numbers, or uniting under a strong leader, we can’t ignore it.”

“Jeor spoke to the farmers and peddlers today”, Hallis interrupted, “There have been murmurs of stolen livestock, caravans disappearing, farmland plundered. They are afraid of scattered sightings near Queenscrown and even one or two travelers claiming they saw fires at night and strange lights on the edges of the Gift. Folks have started avoiding certain routes out of fear. Most thought it sounds like foolish old wives' tales, but given this letter, perhaps there’s truth to the whispers.”

Osric, who had remained silent so far, cleared his throat. “Father and I have already discussed this matter. If the wildlings are indeed pushing past the Wall more frequently in larger numbers, or worse, assembling under a single leader, we cannot ignore this situation. They could overwhelm smaller keeps and raid deep into our lands before we could respond. Lord Stark hints he may summon his bannermen soon, anyone who might be threatened by raids or sudden attacks. Father, and I believe it’s wise to prepare for that possibility.”

“Why now?” Ylva asked, her voice laced with concern. “What’s driving them south? Wildlings don not move like this without a reason.”

Hallis, ever the pragmatist, crossed his arms as he spoke. “Could be anything. Infighting, a new leader, or something worse driving them out of their lands. Either way, it doesn’t bode well for us.”

“We can’t stand idle”, Jon states grimly. “Hallis, you’ll double the patrols starting tonight. Every road that leads north, every pass, every track from here to the Last River. I want pairs of men, well-armed and rotate them frequently. No one goes alone. If there’s even a hint of wildling movement near our lands, I want ravens sent to me at once. We can’t let them surprise us. Even a small party of raiders can do plenty of damage if they catch us unawares.”

Hallis dipped his head in assent, already running a mental tally of which men could be spared from gate duty, which would be best suited for night patrol, and how to arrange the rosters. “Consider it done, m’lord. I’ll see it done.”

Torren let out a slow breath, raking his fingers through his hair, his earlier levity completely gone. “No betrothal offers, then,” he muttered weakly, earning a glare from Ylva and a smirk from Osric.

Ylva skillfully ignored him and addressed her father. “Should we prepare to ride to Winterfell?”

Jon considered the question for a moment, then handed the letter to Osric. “We’ll send a response to Lord Stark tonight, letting him know we’ve received his message and that we’re already preparing.”

Osric added, “Any travelers passing through will be questioned—discreetly—about anything they might have seen north of the Last River. We must be certain these sightings aren’t just frightened rumors.”

Hallis gave a tight nod. “I tell Jeor to talk to the merchants and travelers to see if there is anything else to report. He knows some people among them who might know fresh gossip from the Gift. They’re quite talkative, especially if offered a warm place to sleep and a bit of hot ale.”

Jon turned his attention to his oldest son and heir. “If word comes that he’s calling forth the council at Winterfell, we’ll ride south.”

Osric inclined his head in agreement. “Aye.”

"Jeor and Ylva shall accompany me as well.", he added.

Ylva blinked, certain she’d misheard. She had assumed she would stay to help manage Last Hearth, as she often did when Jon traveled. “Me?” she echoed, her voice faltering slightly.

Jon met her gaze, his decision settled. “Yes. You’ll ride with us.”

She opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. “Father, shouldn’t I remain here? You will need someone to oversee the keep. Torren can go in my place.” Torren feigned a wounded expression but said nothing, letting his sister speak.

“Torren will stay,” Jon interrupted, cutting her off. “I need him here, working with Hallis to strengthen our defenses. But you, Ylva… you’re coming.”

Her pulse quickened, and she shook her head slightly. “I am not—”

“You’re not what?” Jon challenged, his tone softening slightly but still resolute. “Able? You’re unmatched with a crossbow, and your skill with the axe rivals any grown man I’ve trained.”

“But I can do more here, Father, if you leave me—”

“No,” Jons cutting her off again. “Ylva, listen to me. You’re my daughter. You’ve trained for this, whether you realize it or not. If trouble arises, I’ll need someone beside me who can act without hesitation. Your place is with me.”

For a moment, she was torn between pride in her father’s praise and a nervous flutter of anticipation, the weight of his words pressing against her. She opened her mouth to protest but stopped, she wanted to argue to insist that her role was better served by staying at Last Hearth, but she could see the determination in her father’s eyes. He was not asking. She glimpsed at Hallis, who offered a reassuring nod.

Torren made a show of rolling his eyes, though a faint grin tugged at his lips. “Lucky you, sister. You get to show off your archery to all the high lords of the North.”

Ylva turned to him, half-ready with a retort, but Osric rested a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Father’s right,” he stated quietly. “You are more than ready, Ylva. They can handle things here. Don’t you worry about that.”

She inhaled, her lips pressed into a thin line, wrestling with conflicting impulses in her head: the urge to protect her home from within, and the call to ride out and stand at her father’s side. After a long pause, she nodded reluctantly. “Very well,” she affirms quietly. “I will do as you say.” In the end she knew better than to push her father once he’d made a decision.

A flicker of approval crossed Jon’s face. “We ride together when Stark summons us. Until then, we prepare.”

Osric gently tapped the parchment with a finger. “We will draft our reply tonight—let Stark know we are ready and waiting for word.”

Jon’s nod was brisk. “Then its settled.”

Hallis rose to his feet, his movements smooth and unhurried, a man accustomed to the weight of long nights and hard decisions. “With your leave, my lord,” he said. Jon waved him off, and Hallis gave a curt nod.

Torren, on the other hand, was clearly not eager to leave just yet. He leaned back in his chair, his arms slung casually over the sides. “I’m not even tired,” he muttered under his breath.

Jon’s sharp gaze pinned him in place. “I didn’t ask if you were tired. Move.”

Hallis gave him a sidelong glance as he made his way to the door. “Come on, lad. We’ve work to do before the snow starts falling again.”

Grumbling, Torren stood reluctantly, dragging his feet as if the simple act of leaving were an unbearable burden. He gave her a playful nudge as he walked past, equal parts apology for his earlier joke and a spark of encouragement.

“You’ll do fine,” he assured. “And who knows, maybe you’ll put an arrow through a wildling chieftain’s eye, and the realm will sing ballads about you.”

He earned himself a warning glare from their father. “Torren,” Jon barked just as the boy reached the threshold. “No dawdling. Get to bed.”

As Hallis and Torren disappeared into the corridor, Ylva stood from her seat, the worn wooden chair creaking as she pushed it back. She brushed off her tunic, expecting her to be dismissed as well, but her father’s voice halted her mid-step.

“Ylva,” Jon said, rubbing the stubble along his jawline. His tone was gentle. “Stay a moment.”

Her brows knitting in curiosity, her hand lingering near the back of her chair. Hallis and Torren paused briefly, exchanging a glance, but at a sharp gesture from Jon, they slipped out, closing the heavy door behind them. She turned to see her father settling back into his chair, his expression unreadable.

Only Osric remained, moving to a side desk near a narrow window, positioning himself with deliberate nonchalance. He leaned over the table, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill. Without a word, he dipped the quill into the inkpot and began drafting a reply to the correspondence from Winterfell, his posture relaxed but deliberate—one hand steady on the page, the other guiding his quill. He clearly had no intention of leaving but angled himself in such a way that it suggested he would not intrude, giving Ylva and their father an unspoken semblance of privacy.

“Sit.” He gestured to the chair she had occupied earlier, across from his own. Ylva did as he asked, folding her hands in her lap. She watched her father carefully, noting the faint furrow in his brow and the way his fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his chair. Lord Jon Umber were many things— loud, brash, and straightforward— but rarely hesitant.

For a moment that felt like eternity, he said nothing, the silence stretching out between them, punctuated only by the scratch of Osric’s quill and the occasional pop of the fire. Finally, he sighed und spoke, his tone gentle but direct.

“I’ll not waste time,” he began, “I’ve noticed the letters you’ve been receiving.”

Ylva’s stomach tightened slightly, though she kept her expression neutral. She nodded slowly, unsure where this was going.

Jon continued as if confirming something he already knew. “Proposals of marriage.”

Ah. So, this was it. Ylva let out a quiet breath and leaned back slightly, her fingers tightening around the edge of her chair.

“I want to say this plainly, lass, so there’s no doubt in your mind”, he stated, his voice softening in a way that caught her off guard. “I would never force you to marry anyone you didn’t choose. Not for alliances. Not for coins. Not for anything. I’d sooner fight the man myself than see you wed to someone you don’t want.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a wave of relief through her, though she hadn’t doubted it. Her father was a tough man, but fair, and he had always valued her happiness in his own gruff way.

“That said…” He paused, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. “Since Brynja passed… you’ve shouldered more than your fair share.”

It was a simple statement, but it hit Ylva with quiet force. The mention of her late mother Ylva stiffened. Almost two years had passed since she had died giving birth, leaving behind seven children, one of them only a few days old. Though the pain had dulled with time, the void she’d left behind was still keenly felt.

She opened her mouth to respond, but he raised a hand to stop her.

“Let me speak,” he request, “I should’ve told you this a long time ago. You stepped in without complaint. You kept this place running when I was too consumed with my own grief or duties to notice half the details you handled. You’ve been like a mother to your brothers. You’ve been caretaker of this damned keep, caretaker of me, too, when you think about it.” Jon shook his head, eyes flicking to the dying fire. “I’m a selfish bastard sometimes, and I forget that you didn’t ask for any of it. You just…did it.”

She felt heat rising to her cheeks, as if caught in a vulnerability she’d never meant to show. “Father, you’re not selfish—”

“Perhaps not in the usual way,” he conceded. “You stepped into her place in ways no child your age should ever have to.”

At first, Ylva said nothing. She simply watched her father—this giant of a man who had taught her to ride a horse and shoot a bow, who had roared with laughter in better times… He wasn’t one for sentiment, but in this moment, his eyes shone with something close to sorrow and pride mixed into one.

“I did what needed to be done,” she managed. “And I love them. I had never left the little ones to fend for themselves.”

He gave a small, rueful snort. “You sound like your mother. She always said a person does what must be done, no matter how heavy the burden.”

Ylva glanced at the fire, her thoughts drifting to the woman she remembered so vividly—the light of her smile, the warmth in her eyes, the way her presence had seemed to fill every corner of Last Hearth with a quiet strength. She pictured her humming while brushing Ylva’s hair, kneading dough in the kitchen, and leaving floury handprints on Ylva’s cheeks, gently but firmly telling Osric and Torren off when they fought like wild pups. Her name always brought a rush of memories, tender and painful all at once, still so clear, yet heartbreakingly distant.

“But…” He trailed off, shifting forward, the old chair groaning in response. “Ylva, you’re sixteen now. A woman grown, and a damn fine one at that. And I’m proud of you—I couldn’t be prouder if I tried. However, I'm also aware of the limited time you've dedicated to yourself. mYou’ve spent so many years picking up responsibilities that were never truly yours.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her hands. “I don’t want you to feel… trapped here.”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t feel trapped,” she comments after a moment, startled by the word. “This is my home. And my brothers… they’re my responsibility.”

Jon shook his head. “They’re not yours to raise, lass. They’re mine.” Osric’s quill scratched to a halt, though he kept his head down, pretending not to listen.

“And you shouldn’t feel bound to stay here forever, cleaning up after your brothers and worrying about me. Don’t think that’s your only path just because Brynja isn’t here to do it.” His voice softened. “You deserve more than this. If you want to stay here forever, I won’t stop you. If you want to leave, you can. If you want to wed, or ride off on some grand adventure, or take up a trade—whatever it is—let it be your decision not because you think it’s forced upon you.”

Her heart sank at his words, though she could not argue with them. She clenched her hands in her lap. She rarely talked about her future—there was always some immediate crisis or chore demanding her attention. Sometimes, though, in the quiet hours of night, she would think about the life she could have—maybe with a family of her own, or perhaps traveling beyond the North, seeing the world beyond these bleak, beautiful hills.

She looked away, blinking rapidly to banish the sting in her eyes. “Father, I… I’m not complaining.” Ylva murmered, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know, lass. You’ve never uttered a word of resentment.” Jon leaned back in his chair, as if relieved to have finally put words to his thoughts.

A hush fell over them, Ylva struggled with the sudden swell of emotion. She sensed Osric’s quill had stilled; her brother was listening closely, though he was tactful enough not to intrude. Then Jon laid his large, calloused hand over Ylva’s, dwarfing her slender fingers. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching warm and comfortable in the low firelight. She didn’t trust herself to speak right away, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Ylva’s eyes prickled with the threat of tears. She blinked them away quickly, unwilling to give in to full-blown weeping. Finally, she found her voice.

“I will think about what you have said,” she promised, finding her voice steadier than she felt.

Jon nodded, “That’s all I’m asking, lass.”

Then he cleared his throat in that awkward way he did when emotions ran high, and gave her hand a final pat before pushing himself to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. Ylva followed suit, smoothing her skirt, her heart still pounding. Jon placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, not quite as big or overbearing as it might have seemed a few years ago, but the weight was comforting, nonetheless.

“Right. That’s enough serious talk for one night.” He spoke, his gruffness returning like a familiar shield. “Off with you. Get some rest.”

Ylva rose. “Yes, Father,” she replied softly, dipping her head in respect.

Jon turned to Osric, who had resumed writing. “Make sure that letter’s ready for the raven come morning,” he muttered, though his tone held a subdued warmth.

“Aye,” Osric answered, flicking his gaze briefly toward Ylva as she moved to the door. He offered her a small, knowing smile, one that spoke volumes without a single word.

She managed to smile in return, her mind still spinning with her father’s words as she stepped out of the solar and into the unusually quiet corridor. The cold air of the hallway struck her cheeks. Her footsteps sounded unnervingly loud in the silence, and she paused halfway down to let the emotion of the conversation settle. It left her feeling both raw and lighter at the same time—an odd sensation like stepping outside on a winter morning, confronted by a bracing chill that also wakes you right up. Taking a few more steps, she slowed at an arched window overlooking the courtyard. Moonlight poured in, silvering the worn stones and casting a faint glow on the battered training dummies below. Ylva allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, a world in which she might do more than bear responsibilities passed down by circumstance.

She wondered… Her mother had been her age when she left her own home to marry her father. Ylva had heard the stories countless times: how Brynja had brought light and warmth to the cold, stony halls of Last Hearth; how her laughter had softened even the hardest edges of the fearsome Greatjon. Despite being arranged, their marriage blossomed into something rare and beautiful. But she had also heard whispers of her mother’s quiet struggles, the loneliness she had endured after leaving her family, the burden of raising so many children in such an unforgiving place.

Eventually, she set off again. In the distance, she heard the rattle of pots from the kitchen and the fading laughter of Torren, likely plying Hallis with more questions. The keep felt at once vast and intimate, a fortress steeped in tradition, but also a place filled with personal memories too large to be contained by walls and mortar.

Reaching her chamber at last, Ylva slipped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of pine logs stacked by the small fireplace. Tomorrow, she will wake before dawn and prepare for the upcoming journey to Winterfell. Yet tonight she let herself imagine a future shaped by her own desires rather than obligation alone. She thought of distant lands she had only read about, the idea of forging new friendships, or even discovering a marriage that felt chosen instead of arranged.

[hikariyuushiart]

Elevator Girl and Mr. Hood Part 2

Of course, things were never as easy as they could've been when it came to delivering goods to the Residents of the Ghost Apartments. As safe as Mr. Scarletella and Mr. Hood attempted to make it for the Elevator Girl, there were always hazards that would need to be avoided.

Hostile monsters, murderous rooms, and sometimes straight-up death traps.

This time, as they passed through a hallway into a new room, Mr. Hood and the Elevator Girl would come across one that seemingly had no ceiling, leading up to the endless dark sky above. Peering down from that sky was the eye-less visage of Mr. Hugeface.

As usual, his childish chuckle alerted them both. Mr. Hood quickly stretched out an arm to keep the Elevator Girl behind him. She was still holding the handle of her full red wagon in her right hand, and wielding a crowbar in her left. This was the upteenth time they'd run into him, but she still gasped when she recognized him.

"Oh, come on, not you again!" she huffed, only to yelp when a giant hand seemed to appear out of nowhere. It wasn't even attached to an arm. She wasn't even sure if Mr. Hugeface even had a body. But before she could react, Mr. Hood immediately got between her and the hand, his axe slicing through the palm while his hood stared up at their giant assailant.

"Leave!" he ordered her, hands gripping to his weapon tightly.

The Elevator Girl was quick to nod, yelping when another giant hand phased through the wall to try and catch her. Yet just as she was about to swing her crowbar, Mr. Hood swung his axe, splattering a bit of Mr. Hugeface's blood on her front before quickly getting out of her way.

This would happen a few more times before she'd get past the doorway, glancing back to see that Mr. Hugeface managed to grab Mr. Hood, his arm pinned with his axe. Her eyes widened as she let go of the handle of the wagon to grip her crowbar with both hands, rushing back in just as Mr. Hood held out his free shadowy hand towards her.

"Stop! Leave!" he yelled much more forcefully. It was probably the loudest she'd ever heard him speak. But she just couldn't leave him to be lifted off to who knows where.

Was the hand too far away? It didn't matter. She had to believe that she could reach it. She HAD to.

And just when she jumped, she barely managed to latch onto the top of the hand, smacking it repeatedly with her crowbar.

"Let. Go. Of. Him. You. Over. Grown. Freak!!" she screamed, eyes a blood red as she practically tried stabbing down into the finger to break his bone.

That final stab was enough to force his hand open, making her lose her footing as both she and Mr. Hood were sent tumbling back down towards the floor. But before she could meet the floor, her vision was quickly covered by a heavy cloak. She'd rolled and tumbled while inside Mr. Hood's cloak, feeling herself being wrapped in something warm, slimy, squishy, followed by several pained groans.

Wait, did she just land on all his inner organs? Was he in pain?

She didn't have much time to consider the possibility, as she was forced to roll with him through the doorway before Mr. Hood used a free foot to kick the door closed behind them. It was hard to understand why that would stop Mr. Hugeface, but he always seemed to stop once they left the room he showed up in.

Only after the door was closed did the Elevator Girl feel Mr. Hood's limbs go limp, his axe clanging to the floor. She gasped, red eyes quickly going blue as she hurriedly scrambled to get out of his cloak and get a proper look at him. In the dim lighting, it was hard to discern what the insides of his cloak looked like, but Mr. Hood was already starting to lift himself up to a seated position. His cloak slowly closed around his arms as his back rested against the door.

The Elevator Girl was seated on the floor not too far ahead of him, a worried look in her eyes. He was still making lightly pained grunts, and something that sounded like shallow breathing from beneath his hood. Slowly, she crawled a little closer, trying to look into the darkness of his hood.

"...Mr. Hood--"

"Why. You. Not. Leave?" he asked, his booming voice making her shoulders shudder a bit. 'Intimidating' wasn't the right word for it. 'Disappointed' seemed much more appropriate.

The Elevator Girl's face betrayed how hurt and confused she felt, her brow furrowing at his question.

" 'Why'? Why should I have? They pick up you! You in distress! I help!"

"I not want you to help!" he insisted, followed by a quiet pained grunt as he curled a bit into himself.

"WHY?! You help me, lots of time help me!"

He went quiet at that, his hood looking away. He slowly reached a shadowy hand out from his cloak to drag his axe a little closer to himself. His breathing slowed until he let out a slow, quiet exhale. His hood lowered slightly, as if he was gazing at the floor.

"... I one. Someone else not help me. Lots of time pass. I in distress. Someone else help. They... not recover. I not say 'help me' again. Not... again..."

The limitations of the language always showed themselves whenever something as nuanced as an explanation was being given. But just like any other language, there was tone, context, and body language that added more body to the words than just the words alone could convey.

And because of her experience around these people that she considered her friends, the Elevator Girl felt she'd gotten an even deeper understanding of his words.

"You're... scared of people getting hurt because of you? Scared you not help them?" she asked softly, scooting a bit closer to Mr. Hood's side. She wasn't too concerned for any physical injuries he might have. As painful and unpleasant as it was, she knew he'd eventually recover. She watched him keep his gaze averted, her hand gently coming up to rest on his shoulder.

"I... I understand the feeling, Mr. Hood. I see. I scared I not help you. Scared I not help friendly they. You not weak. I not weak. Together, you I help friendly they," she assured him gently, rubbing what felt like his shoulder. And yet, she knew the inside of his cloak was absolutely hollow. Whatever made it feel like she was touching his shoulder, it was probably something solid against the cloak itself, and no actual shoulder to be found.

She watched as he slowly gazed back at her. She could feel his gaze from beyond the empty blackness inside his hood looking at her, regarding her face. Slowly he gently reached out with his left hand, holding her cheek, which started to give off a gentle warmth in his palm.

" ... you correct. Together, you I not weak. Together, you I help friendly other. Thank you. You..." He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to find the correct words to describe what he wanted to say.

"You learn lots. You change. I... happy. Grateful you friendly. Grateful lots of time together teach you."

Her light blue eyes were wide as she mulled over his soft baritone words.

He thinks I've grown since I first came here? Is he maybe... proud of me?

He seemed to hold her cheek in consideration for a decent amount of time, almost hesitant, like he didn't know what to do now. So, awkwardly, his fingers would slide away. But upon leaving her face, she was quick to gently hold his hand, still looking up into his hood. She had no reasoning for that; it was just a light impulse, and she found her face turning a bit more pink as she glanced down.

"U-um... Thank you, I happy you happy. Grateful you teach me. I possible... teach you again? You want I teach you?" she offered.

His hood tilted for a moment before he gave her a light nod. "Understood."

With that, he opened up his cloak, gently pulling her closer until the left side of his cloak was partially around her. His right hand was gently placed on her waist as she sat next to him while he pointed out his axe.

"Your language, what object name?"

She chuckled softly, quickly realizing that he was going back into his student/teacher mode. They would use this downtime while he recovered to continue teaching him more words in her language.

Axe. Crowbar. Wagon. Cloak. Shirt. Hat.

Just the concept of having so many different names in the Elevator Girl's language was enough to make Mr. Hood be both fascinated and slightly intimidated by what he had just begun to learn.

Still, he would not back down. If the Elevator Girl took the time to learn their language, the least he could do was to try and respect her by learning a little bit of hers.

She deserved that much, after all.

[eriquin]

The Trolley Problem, Part 72

While Hopper, Joyce, Wayne, and Steve head into the Upside Down, there are things going on all around town.

(master post)(also posting to ao3)

As the intruders suited up and went down the elevator to the gate, the rest of the lab emptied out. Dr. Brenner took nearly every soldier and guard assigned to the lab loaded onto trucks and Jeeps. They’d made a bargain with the police chief: passage through the gate in exchange for the location of their escaped subject. They left behind just a couple of guards, including the one whose daughter was friends with that teenage boy. 

Agent Frazier, the senior agent assigned to the lab, questioned his judgement on that deal, but he assured her that no one was going to come back out of the gate. That seemed to annoy her more. She said something about wanting to know where the intruders had gotten their information.

“None of that matters,” Brenner said. “All that matters is getting the girl back. We can figure it all out afterwards.”

The drive over to Hawkins Middle School was silent. It was late at night, and the roads were empty. The only good thing that the police chief had done was scare the people of this town into staying in their houses at night. It made it much easier for them to search for the girl. 

They arrived and drove around to the gym. There were already cars parked there, just like the chief had said. “Now remember,” he said to the armed guards as they fanned out, “we’re dealing with children. Even the teenagers that are in there are seventeen, at the oldest. It doesn’t matter what they think they know. This whole debacle can still be brought under control.”

Agent Frazier snorted in a very unladylike manner. She pointed to a few guards and gestured for them to follow her. She certainly had her favorites. Brenner took another group and prepared to go in right behind her. If they were lucky, they would find all the kids quickly and be able to wrap this up tonight.

---

The three teens waited in the Byers house for what seemed like forever. The blood soaked into the carpet was turning tacky. “It’s not coming,” Tommy said. 

“It has to,” Nancy said. She spun in place, looking for any sign that she might have missed. “Maybe if we bleed more. Or get some meat out of the fridge or something.” 

“Wait,” Jonathan said, holding his hand out. The light just outside the front door had blinked once. Then it blinked again, and the Christmas lights started to follow it. “It’s coming.” 

“Fucking finally,” Tommy muttered. He held the axe up. “Come on, you ugly bitch. Come and get us.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jonathan said. He picked up his baseball bat. “Okay. Where’s it coming from?”

The lights flickered faster and faster until they went out. The three of them pressed their backs together, looking back and forth in the dark, trying to get a glimpse of the monster. Suddenly, Nancy screamed. She fired her gun at a shadow, and it lit up the silhouette of the looming monster. 

Tommy swung at it. He barely missed it, and its great clawed hand swiped just over his head. He ducked back and swung again, but missed a second time. 

“Nancy! Down!” Jonathan yelled. He pushed her towards the ground and swung over her head, batting the claw that was coming towards her. The monster stepped back towards the couch, and Tommy ducked to the side and took another swing. This time, he caught its arm, but it must have hit at an odd angle because the axe bounced off.

“We should’ve made another fucking bat!” Tommy yelled, twisting in place. He managed to whack the monster on the backswing. 

Jonathan stood next to him and swung at the monster, driving it back another step. “Next time!” he yelled. Tommy took another whack at it with the axe and managed to lodge the head in its back. 

It shrieked, splaying its face open, and jumped back towards the hallway. Tommy’s axe went with it. “Fuck!” he yelled. “Fuck! I’m—Shit! I need another weapon!”

“Out of the way!” Nancy yelled. She was on her feet again, gun raised. She fired a shot right in the thing’s mouth, blasting through the side of one of the petals. It reeled back, and she shot it again.

Jonathan ran past her and smacked it again with the bat. “Get it into the hallway,” he yelled at the other two. 

“How!?” Tommy yelled back. “I don’t have any—Fuck!” He had to duck as the monster swiped at him. The first attack whiffed over his head, but its other claw came down and caught his jacket. For a second, he thought he was done for, but it tore through his jacket without scratching him and he rolled out of the way.

He ended up behind the thing. Jonathan was still swinging, trying to hit it. Nancy kept her rifle raised, but she couldn’t get a clear shot at it. 

Tommy scrambled to his feet and grabbed the handle of his axe. It was still stuck in the monster’s back, and as he pulled at it, the monster stumbled back towards him. It was off balance, though, and he yanked at it again, dragging it back another step. “Come on, you big ugly freak!” he yelled, trying to drag it towards the hallway. 

It fought against being dragged back, lurching away at just the right angle that the axe came free. Tommy tumbled to the ground again, but kept it in his hands and managed to roll back to his feet. The lights were still flashing everywhere, but they suddenly stopped. The monster was gone.

Taglist: @neonfruitbowl

[imfluentinfangirlandgay]

A Father's Resolve - Ch 11

Ingo returns after a decade - with two extra cars in tow. Years later, his kids are swallowed up by time in the same way he was. Will he be able to find them? Will they be able to make it out alive?

Word Count ~3100

Irida gazed down at the huge basket of balms. The wicker basket nearly rose to Rei’s knees. She sighed, flexing her hands after so much tying. Lian shook his head and looked up at the twins. “I will summon the mighty Kleavor, if you are ready.” The twins locked eyes. They nodded. “Very well. Prepare yourselves.” He motioned for the three others to step back as he approached the pedestal. “O, mighty Kleavor, Lord of the Woods, benevolent lord who works between heaven and earth, we offer our gratitude. Though it may not be time for the ceremony, we have gathered offerings of your favorite things. We beseech you. Reveal yourself to our eyes…” 

Irida whispered to them, “Dodging will be vital. Try to avoid his attacks. I fear he will not hold back.” Blood was beginning to pulse through Rei’s body. Was this going to be hard? How hard? 

“GRAASHAAAAA!” Rei jolted upright as something loud, large, and heavy screeched just up ahead in the arena. Akari took his hand and they walked together into the Arena. A massive tree stood in the middle of it. Other than that, it was just a deep pit of dirt with walls on all sides, forming a perfect circle. The two glanced around, Rei’s heart rate still picking up. 

A flash of gold. Rei whirled around to see what it was. Something streaked past them, circling them as it watched from the edges of the Arena, running so fast it was a blur, the sound of something slicing and then a thud. Rei watched with wide eyes as a huge golden silhouette with glowing white eyes landed on the ground just a few paces in front of them. It was watching them closely. It lifted the huge axes it had for hands high into the air, sending them crashing down into the packed soil so hard, it sent some flying. A tree behind them fell with a loud crash, making Rei jump. Had this thing cut it down? It had been a full grown tree! The creature had very spindly arms and legs, but its main body seemed to be rather insectoid. It roared at them in challenge. Its eyes glinted a bright yellow-

“Rei, duck!” 

No sooner had it roared than a flurry of activity happened all at once. The thing swung at the speed of light. Rei acted on instinct, rolling away and dodging the attack. He could feel the wind from the swing on his cheek. He managed to get to his feet and just started to run. He ran around the Arena, seeing the golden light in his peripheral. Was it following him? He finally managed to get a look. 

It was charging up an attack. It had its axes planted firmly into the dirt, energy building up around it. Its eyes glinted again.

Rei ducked around the tree as it thrust itself forward, using its axes like a catapult. The space he had just inhabited was met by two large swinging axes. Something smacked its back, spattering pink sparks everywhere. The creature’s head swung around to the spot of the disturbance. As it turned, Rei saw the smatterings of some fibrous vegetation burning away on its golden hide and an aromatic smell wafted into his nostrils. He’d completely forgotten about the balms! The thing was now watching his sister closely, preparing another charged assault on her. It swung its axes, slamming them into the ground, then began to build up energy again. Rei snaked a hand into his waist satchel and fished out a few balms and began chucking them at its back. One hit, then another, and another. They weren’t doing anything! As they hit, the divine aura it exuded would immediately begin to dissolve them off itself, turning the offering balms into pinkish sparks that fell to the ground and disappeared, leaving nothing but the strong stench of vegetables. Rei continued to throw the balms in a blind panic as the thing charged his sister. He saw her roll away in the nick of time, a bit of her hair being chopped clean off in the process. 

Kleavor could not stop his dash, however, and collided directly into the big tree in the center of the Arena. Rei seized this opportunity to throw a pokemon out and into the fray. Any way he could avoid dying, the better. To his surprise, this seemed to pull Kleavor’s attention off him or his sister and instead onto Campfire. Rei’s partner cried out in defiance. 

“GRASHAAAAA!” Kleavor immediately shot off a devastating Stealth Rock. Rei’s heart nearly stopped as Campfire fainted instantly. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. He threw in Spark Plug. It managed to shoot off a Thundershock, but that did next to nothing. Kleavor shrugged it right off and cut down the Luxio with an AIr Slash. The last thing Rei had was his little Eevee. 

“Baby-Doll Eyes!” The Eevee hit the move and even managed to take the bone-curdling Stealth Rock that Kleavor hit it with. “Quick Attack!” It was not near enough, Kleavor didn’t even seem winded as he took out the last of Rei’s small team. He could feel the panic rising up in himself as Kleavor raised its axes, mere paces away from Rei. 

Sparks flew from its back as Akari hit it over and over again with balms. Her face was scrunched up in concentration, a red line oozing liquid onto her face. Was she hurt?! The Noble turned once again to his sister. He raised his axes again and in a single fluid motion swung out several times, cutting out at anything in its path. She rolled out of the way, smacking into the thick tree in the middle with a dull thud. Rei took this opportunity to throw some balms of his own. Was it just him, or was Kleavor looking more sluggish? He threw with a renewed vigor, hoping beyond hope that he wasn’t seeing things as Kleavor swung its attention back to him. It narrowed its eyes as it readied another attack aimed at him. It dashed forward again and he barely managed to dodge in time. He was also growing tired. How long was this going to last? 

Rei could hear balms hitting above him. He peeled himself off the floor with a grunt to see Kleavor locking onto his sister, still trying to get up. He dashed to the basket by the entrance to the Arena to snag an armful of balms and immediately began throwing more at the enraged pokemon. Kleavor roared in frustration as Akari again rolled away from him. There was a small amount of dark liquid on the ground where she had been just moments ago. Rei began to smack him with more balms. He was definitely growing tired, Rei could tell. “Akari! Battle him!” 

Rei dodged an attack from Kleavor - another dash. This one ended up in Kleavor once again hitting a wall and becoming disoriented. This time, Akari tossed out a pokemon for battle. Rei did not watch the battle, but instead threw balms at Kleavor as much as he possibly could during it, knowing he was temporarily ‘safe’. Balm after balm burst apart on Kleavor and sizzled away into dust and Rei prayed to Arceus that it was actually growing weaker and weaker and weaker…

Rei noticed Bonnie going down. Akari tossed out Riptide. Rei shook his head and kept throwing the balms. He needed to keep throwing balms. His elbow ached, beginning to scream with each throw. He needed to keep throwing balms. Rocks slung from the dirt ripped directly into Riptide, making it scream. He needed to keep throwing balms. Akari cried out an order, holding her shoulder awkwardly. He needed to keep throwing balms. He was running out of balms. He needed to-

A huge Water Pulse hit at the same time as Rei’s last balm. A huge shockwave hit Rei, sending him crashing back into the dirt as pure golden light flooded his eyeballs. He threw up a hand to shield himself as a harsh wind picked up and the gold surged up into the sky. Was it finally over? He couldn’t keep back a slight smile. 

Left before them, wobbling a bit, was a dark brown and black pokemon. Its axes were varying shades of gray. It had thick rocky eyebrows and springy ankles and a segmented body seemingly made of stone. It held itself up on its axes as Rei rounded it, running towards his sister. She stood as Kleavor approached them slowly. Its eyes were a dark chocolatey color now. It smacked the side of the tree with its ax, much more feebly than before, this time causing something to fall from the tree’s high branches. Rei picked it up. It was another colored brick like the one Wyrdeer had given them, this one a light green. 

Kleavor huffed at them one more time - assumingly in thanks - and then ran off as quickly as it had arrived, its ax arms trailing behind it. Rei hadn’t even had the chance to say anything. It fell silent in the Arena. No pokemon chirped or buzzed or barked nearby - seemingly startled away by that battle.

“What just happened?” Lian asked as he ran up to them. “What was that light that erupted from Kleavor’s body? Has his frenzy been truly put at ease now?” 

“Does this confirm that the strange lightning was to blame for Kleavor’s unnatural power?” Irida glanced between the twins. 

Rei shrugged. All these questions were making him overwhelmed as the adrenaline began to wear off. “Maybe. I’m really not sure.” He brushed off his bottom where he had fallen. 

“All we know is that the lightning came from the rift the other night. The bolts must have struck Kleavor and driven him into the frenzy after all.” Irida’s eyebrows drew together in the dying light, making her blue irises stand out even more in concern.

“Wait,” Lian said, “If the lightning came from the space-time rift, and almighty Sinnoh lives there then the strange lightning… was it Sinnoh’s power? Were we even right to interfere?” His voice was raising, sounding angrier and angrier by the second. “I went along with the plan happily like a fool!”

“Calm yourself, Lian,” Irida soothed the boy. Akari was already rubbing at a spot on her arm, Rei noticed. She definitely had a cut on her cheek, which was still bleeding. It was also now coated with a fine layer of dirt and forest rot. He’d need to make sure she saw the med bay when they got back home. “Kleavor has protected our people and the forest for generations. Would our almighty Sinnoh truly send him a power that attacks people and pokemon indiscriminately? I doubt it. What Rei and Akari accomplished just now… it needed to be done.” Lian fell silent and suddenly found his shoes to be quite interesting. “I’m glad this is settled without any further strife. If any other pokemon find themselves in the grip of a frenzy… please help them.” Irida flicked her irises between the twins, assessing them. Her gaze lingered on Akari’s shoulder as she cradled it. 

Daytime was giving way to dusk. The trees around them were filled with a duller golden light than the stuff from Kleavor. Lian grumbled. “Fine. I suppose I must concur. I apologize for being briefly incomposed. I am grateful to you both for helping my Lord.” 

“Allow me to heal your beloved pokemon as thanks.” Irida stepped forward, a relieved smile on her face once again. 

—-----------------------

Emmet rubbed his eyes as he stared at his device, occasionally glancing over at his brother. Ingo was still stone-faced, as ever, staring intently at the worn pages of the thirtieth book of the day sprawled out in front of him. He hoped that their company would just arrive soon. They were supposed to be here-

A loud knock sounded at the door. Ingo did not even flinch or pause in his reading as Emmet swiftly stood to get the door. It was still hot outside, summer in full force, even now that evening was settling in. Drayden stood alone at the door, much to Emmet’s surprise. “Where’s Iris? I thought she was coming too?” 

“She got held up. Another challenger at the League.” Drayden stepped over the threshold and removed his boots at Emmet’s gesture inside, moving his bulky form into the dining room. The large man paused and sighed softly seeing his nephew buried in a pile of old literature. “Ingo?” Emmet noted his brother did not move. No reaction at all came from him. 

“Ingo, hey. We have company.” Nothing, again. Emmet strode over to his brother and tapped his shoulder, making him jump so hard he nearly knocked himself over. 

“Wh-what? What’s happening? Drayden? When did you get here?” His eyes darted around between the two of them, in complete shock at being disturbed. 

Drayden stayed silent for a few moments. “We need to talk, Ingo.” 

“Wh- about what?” Ingo continued to watch with wild eyes as Drayden and Emmet each took a seat on either side of him. 

“You.” Their uncle folded his hands, setting them down on the table. “We need to talk about you.”

“What about me?” Ingo snapped. “I’m just fine. Fine as I can be.” 

“See, that makes me think you are extremely not fine,” Emmet quipped. “You haven’t slept in days. You won’t eat. You also won’t talk anymore at all. It’s like sharing a house with a statue.”

“I’ll be fine, as soon as I bring the kids home.” 

“Ingo,” Drayden spoke loudly, pulling both of their attention to him. “There is no ‘I’. There is no ‘just me’, ‘alone’, or ‘by myself’. There is an ‘us’. You are not the only one in this.” 

“But-”

“You are not alone,” Drayden spoke much more loudly, snapping his yellow eyes directly in Ingo’s direction in a way he hadn’t since they’d misbehaved gravely when they were small. Ingo actually shrunk in his chair under the gaze. “Now, I have some requests. You will take care of yourself, at least somewhat. Eat something, even something small, at least twice or even three times a day. You will shower regularly. You will leave the house sometimes. I’m not asking much, just a few times a week. And you will at least lay down to try to sleep, even if you don’t fully get there. Am I clear?” 

“But I need to find them,” Ingo argued. He had found his voice and he fired back at Drayden. “I need to make sure they’re safe. No one else is even looking for them anymore!” Ingo stood from his chair and pointed a finger at Drayden. “I have not seen anyone else still researching or checking around. So who is this ‘we’?” 

Drayden slowly stood. Emmet’s eyes widened. “Uncle Drayden, he’s not-” Emmet was cut off by a large hand held up in his direction. He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen, and showing it to Ingo. 

“Not looking, huh?” Ingo scanned the screen, his eyes losing their fire. Emmet glanced at the screen. 

A wall of texts in a group chat met his gaze. Drayden scrolled his thumb up slowly, allowing them to read some of the texts. The chat was labeled ‘Elite Members’. At least fifty people had to be included in it for how many different names and numbers and profile pictures Emmet was seeing. At regular intervals, it seemed almost daily, one of the numbers would text Drayden a picture of a child with light hair asking if that might be them. Many news articles and headlines were sprinkled through the chat. 

“This is the Champions, Elite Four members, and even Gym Leaders in almost every single region in the world, in one large chat. Iris helped assemble it for me. Any time they see anyone that might even potentially be related to the twins, they ask me immediately. I even flew out once or twice to see for myself without getting your hopes up. This has existed since the first week that I found out about them going missing. Not only am I and Elesa and Emmet and even Iris taking time to scour everything and try to find anything about their whereabouts, we have every single master battler on the face of the planet also on the lookout. And you are the only one looking? It’s just you on your own little personal crusade?” 

Ingo stared at the spot the phone was in, even as Drayden took the device away and pocketed it. His expression softened considerably as Ingo floundered, looking for something to say. He laid two large hands on his nephew’s shoulders, garnering his attention. “Listen. All I want is to see you functional. I understand being worried sick. I understand that it feels pointless and worthless and like it is counterintuitive. I don’t expect you to be back to normal. I just want to know that you won’t collapse at any given moment. If you carry on like this, you might need to be hospitalized.” 

That made Ingo blink a couple times. “I. What?” 

“Trust me, you don’t want that,” Emmet said solemnly. He shook his head. “Not fun. Awful time.” 

“Emmet?” Ingo knit his brow at his brother. “What are you saying?” 

“Did I not tell you about that?” Emmet asked genuinely, cocking his head at Ingo. Surely he’d mentioned that at some point? 

“No?” Ingo sat back down, prompting Drayden to do the same. “What happened?” 

“I kept telling everyone I was fine but refused any type of fuel for months. It wasn’t until I fainted at work that they realized how bad off I actually was and I was hospitalized for a few days. They kept watch on me until I proved I could function again.” Emmet mirrored his brother’s perplexed expression. “I really feel like I’ve mentioned this before now.” 

“Not to my knowledge.” Ingo stared at the table. “I… I had no… I’m so-”

“Hush, Ingo,” Drayden spoke softly, cutting him off. “No apologies. If you feel guilty, show me by eating something. Even just a little snack, but preferably a meal. It is getting close to dinnertime.” 

Ingo sighed. After a few moments, he nodded. He placed a scrap receipt in the book he was reading and closed it, marking his spot for later. “Let’s,” was all he said, his voice small. 

Emmet hated seeing his brother like this. So unsure, so small, almost feeble. Ingo was not supposed to be feeble. Ingo was supposed to be confident and loud and outgoing and boisterous. But right now, he was none of those things. 

Emmet wanted his brother back. 

[First] - [Previous] - [Next]

[amenders93]

A Nugget Nightmare

Right through the sun, our gang sees no summer holiday paradise but a complete nugget nightmare. They slid right down the chute onto a conveyor belt and saw the hundreds of chickens slide down after them, four in a row. Terrified, Molly looked up to see Ginger still looking for the remote control. Ginger glanced down and saw Molly and the gang on the conveyor belt heading for the processor. She then looked behind her to see Mrs. Tweedy still hot on her tail with her axe and a crazed look in her eyes. Rocky, meanwhile, managed to free himself from the cables and managed to climb onto a high girder. Our island king then went to go rescue his wife. Down below, Molly and the others were dangerously close to a bread-crumbed end. Frizzle looked up and pointed Molly to all the buckets they were both once excited about. Our island princess also saw Ginger being cornered by that evil woman - and the remote control hanging in the wires.

Seeing the buckets and the remote, Molly got an idea. She tells Frizzle to get on Bunty's shoulders. Frizzle asks why but Molly just tells her to trust her. Doing as Molly said, Frizzle climbed on Bunty's shoulders, then Molly clambered up the two of them. As the buckets passed overhead, Molly leapt up and swung herself onto a bucket. It carried her up, up, up to the control room overhead and the battle between Tweedy and her mother. The whole gang cheered Molly on as she jumped off the bucket, leapt across a gap onto a beam and headed towards the remote. She began the edge her way across a wire to get to the remote, balancing like an expert tightrope walker. Rocky shouted to Molly in shock - his daughter was in danger! Molly just shouted to her father that she got this and that he should help Ginger.

Ginger, meanwhile, was in big trouble. Mrs. Tweedy was almost upon her with the axe - and our trapped island queen had nowhere left to go. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Molly edging towards the remote, her eyes wide with fear. Tweedy saw the fear in Ginger's eyes and looked towards the hen's eyes pointed to. That's when the evil woman saw Molly reaching the remote. Ginger tried to warn Molly, but Tweedy grabbed our island princess. Looking back and forth from Ginger and Molly, Tweedy made the connection - Molly was Ginger's child. Molly threw the remote to Ginger, who caught in in a second. The young hen cried out to her mom that the gang and the chickens were going over the conveyor belt. Down below, the gang were desperately trying to stop the wave of chickens. Bunty cried out that they can't hold them much longer! They were about to be swallowed up by the nugget processor!

Ginger's hand hovered over the button. Mrs. Tweedy tutted at Ginger, holding an axe over Molly, who shouted to her mom that she can't wait and just push the button. Ginger was in a terrible dilemma. If she pressed the button, she could save all the chickens. But what would Mrs. Tweedy do to Molly? At that moment, Ginger spotted Rocky sneaking up behind Mrs. Tweedy. He grabbed a cable to get ready to swing down to rescue his family. Rocky caught Ginger's eye and nodded to her. Ginger looked back down to the gang below and then back at Rocky, remembered what her husband once said to her, "Sometimes you've just got to take a leap". That's when she hit the big red button. The lights on the collars below flickered out and at once, the chickens woke up, not knowing what had happened.

That's when Rocky the Flying Rooster came to the rescue! He crowed a mighty crow as he swung towards Mrs. Tweedy. He missed her, but used the cable to wrap around the axe and yank it out of her hand. Molly saw her chance to escape and bit Mrs. Tweedy hard on the hand. Tweedy cried out in pain and threw Molly who screamed as she fell into the processor, but Ginger caught her just in time. Now both of them were dangling above its gaping mouth! Mrs. Tweedy, meanwhile, watched all the chickens below realized what was happening and started racing away from the processor as fast as they could. Her fortune was escaping once again! Growling, the wicked witch marched towards Molly and Ginger but Rocky swung at her again. Tweedy dodged him but the axe, still tangled in the cable, sliced off the top of her hairdo.

Rocky dropped from the cable to try to help his wife and daughter, who were slipping into the deadly processor, little by little. Ginger slipped off the edge of the platform she was on, but Rocky managed to grab her leg. Now our island king was hanging on the edge with his queen and princess dangling from his grasp. A very angry Mrs. Tweedy marched over and snarled as she raised her boot to send the Rhodes family to their nugget nightmare. She knew that these three chickens would make a bucketful. Ginger saw the axe, swinging round again. She smiled at Tweedy, echoing the words she had once said before, "Bye-bye - again!" Mrs. Tweedy looked surprised. The axe whizzed up behind her, hitting her in the head. She groggily walked backwards, knocking herself into the processor. The machine shuddered and began to make loud grinding noises. Rocky pulled Ginger up to safety and then they both pulled Molly up to safety as well. They were all safe at last! This would have been a good time for another family hug! However, they still had to escape the building so they made their way to join the others.

Outside, the Sir Eat-a-Lot truck was still waiting for the nuggets to arrive. Smith was starting to grow impatient. Behind him, a door began to rattle on its hinges. Sounds of clucking and flapping could be head from within. As the puzzled man approached it, there was a deafening rumble. Suddenly, the door flew open and a sea of chickens burst out, led by Bunty, Babs and Mac. Smith and a guard were flattened! Bunty, Babs and Mac herded the chickens into the truck while the rest of the gang headed for the front of the truck and jumped into the seats. Rocky, Ginger, Molly and Frizzle took the stirring wheel while Nick and Fetcher took the pedals. Even though Nick told Fetcher he know how the pedals worked, it's clear he may not know entirely. But that doesn't matter now because they had to go! So they started to take off, only going backwards. They tried again, this time going forwards, driving at high speed.

Meanwhile, a giant bread-crumbed heap was coming down the conveyor belt leading to outside. Smith climbed out from the smashed down door and angrily approached the heap. The heap slowly got up and he realized it was Melisha, completely deep-fried in bread crumbs, dressed up like a nugget. Ignoring Smith, a very angry Mrs. Tweedy took off after the truck with her axe in hand. Back in the truck, Ginger happily pointed her family to the exit below. Suddenly they heard a thump above them. It was Mrs. Tweedy, angrily axing her way into the truck through the roof. Rocky, Ginger, Molly and Frizzle swerved the truck, trying to knock Tweedy off while still keeping on course to the moat bridge. A gate guard saw the truck swerving madly down the driveway and rushed to pull up the drawbridge and stop them from escaping.

Now Rocky, Ginger, Molly and Frizzle watched in shock as the drawbridge was staring to close up. And to make matters worse, Mrs. Tweedy managed to open up the roof, snarling at the chickens below her. Frizzle gasped, giving us a legendary reference quote from Jaws, "I think we're going to need a bigger bucket!" Tweedy swung her axe at the Rhodes family and Frizzle as the truck continued to swerve. Just as the wicked witch was about to swing again, along came Fowler whizzing down his zip wire on a coat hanger. As the truck careered over the bridge and landed on the other side of the moat, Fowler smashed into Mrs. Tweedy, sending her head over heels into the water. The old sausage crashed into a tree, bounced down all the branches and somehow landed on his feet. No one was more surprised than him. The truck stopped to pick him up and he saluted to Ginger, Rocky, Molly and Frizzle who were happy to see him. After all, he was T. I. Fowler - Getaway Division, reporting to duty. Ginger saluted him back, telling him, "Where would we be without you, Fowler?" Fowler hopped inside the truck and they all drove off at speed.

Back at the farm, Dr. Fry climbed up the wall looking for his wife. He looked in the moat and saw Mrs. Tweedy in the water, glaring and covered in soggy breadcrumbs. Dr. Fry reported to her that the processor is dangerously overheating. But then he began to notice a small group of robot ducks swimming towards her, their laser eyes flashing. Mrs. Tweedy was starting to get nervous and so was Dr. Fry. He tried to warn her to watch out for the explosion that comes afterwards, but too late. There was a huge KA-BOOM! As the truck continued to drive off, the chicken and rat gang could hear the explosion. The whole of Fun-Land Farms had been blown to smithereens. But at least, they were all safe and sound, and on their way back home. And at this inopportune time, Fetcher realized he had left his umbrella in there.

Well, that was certainly a narrow escape but at least everyone is safely out of Fun-Land Farms and Mrs. Tweedy has once again been defeated. She and her partners will never bother them or any other chicken ever again. Best of all, Rocky and Ginger got Molly back, safe and sound. The Rhodes family are together again and are closer than ever. Now our chicken and rat gang can get back to their normal everyday lives. Or will they?

[mommy-medusa]

nobody asked, but here’s a snippet of Ares being the best brother, and Aphrodite being a badass

However, just before the weapon could lick a slobbering, bloody wound across her neck, something crashed into Zeus, throwing him off-kilter and causing him to stumble backward. His hand released Athena, and she slumped weakly down to the ichor-smeared pavilion. Even with her crushed, gushing nose, she could smell ash and smoke, and when she looked up, she saw none other than Ares grappling through the rain with their father.

Dark streams of smoke were billowing out of Ares’ mouth. He looked like a fire-breathing dragon, his expression all contorted with anger, but he wore a wide smirk, tusks already smudged with a few drops of ichor.

Athena had always looked down on Ares’ fighting style, but watching him now, parrying and striking, she knew she greatly underestimated her brother. As reckless and wild as he was, Ares was strong. Zeus landed several blows against him, but Ares was the type to not care about how many times he was hit, so long as his enemy fell before him.

However, despite his best effort, Zeus would always be stronger.

Zeus was holding back against Athena. He could easily kill her, but he didn’t because she was still useful to him.

But Ares? He would gladly smite Ares. Maybe he’d just been waiting for the perfect opportunity.

So when Zeus managed to blow Ares down onto his back, Athena felt a sharp pang of terror spear itself through her stomach. She tried to get up, but the pain of her wounds made her falter. Her broken arm was slowly reshaping itself, and her smashed nose pieced itself back together, bit by bit.

“Ares,” Athena rasped, reaching for her brother.

“While in this sorry state of hers, Athena is finally beneath you, and yet, you leap to her aid,” Zeus said to Ares. “Disappointing. But not surprising coming from you.” He raised a lightning-infused blade high. “I’m happy to allow you to share her punishment.”

“No— Ares!” Athena cried.

Zeus’ blade came down, and the sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air. The hooked sword went flying across the garden, lodging itself in the mud.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I have been waiting to do that,” said Aphrodite, standing guard before both Ares and Athena, a thorn-coiled battle axe with a blade of rose gold hefted on one of her shoulders.

“You too, Aphrodite?” Zeus said.

Aphrodite gave a dainty shrug. “I couldn’t let these two have all the fun.” Then, she stomped hard on the ground, and thorny tendrils erupted from the earth, whipping madly around Zeus.

“Help Athena,” Aphrodite ordered Ares, who looked extremely starstruck. “I’ll keep him distracted.”

Ares shook himself out of his dazzled stupor and nodded, rushing over to where Athena was still sprawled prone on the ground. He extended a hand to her, and Athena took it, allowing her brother to pull her to her feet.

“Are you alright?” Ares asked her.

“I’ve been better,” Athena grunted, smacking her side firmly and popping a dislocated rib back into place.

Aphrodite’s boisterous laughter caught Athena’s attention, and she looked up to see the goddess dueling with Zeus in the storm. She was handling herself a lot better than Athena expected, effortlessly swinging her battle axe and summoning snarls of rose vines to aid her in combat. Athena often forgot just how powerful Aphrodite truly was; she was practically a primordial, older than even Zeus and his siblings. The only reason why her strength wasn’t commonly exhibited was because she simply chose not to show it off.

Now, that cap to her wellspring of power was removed, and she whooped and hollered in excitement as she contended against the King of Gods.

“What a rush!” Aphrodite boomed. “I haven’t felt like this in forever!”

At Athena’s side, Ares gave a wistful sigh. “Isn’t she incredible?”

“Keep it in your loincloth, Ares,” Athena said.

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Anti-nokoji: Part 2

Alright, everyone else focus on the Monokuma's! Setsuka! Otonokoji-I-I mean Hibiki! You two focus on HER.

Got it!

Let me help too. I'll make you an opening.

Oh, well GOOD LUCK with that!

*WHOOSH!*

*Akane shakes off her pre-fight knuckles and throws herself at Kanade. Feeling understandably irritated, she raises her axe and swings at Akane, who ducks under her blows and stays back to avoid her extended reach. When Kanade stumbles from a swing, she takes advantage of the moment to land a couple kicks. However, because Kanade's weapon is electromagnetic, her swings are quicker and more accurate, so she recovers quickly. She then turns around and tries to use her surroundings.

*BANG!* *BANG!* *BANG!*

UGH!

...

*Kanade's prosthetic leg suddenly receives three bullets, and she turns to see her sister pointing her gun and aiming behind cover.

Oh...Are you afraid to kill me, sweet sister?

You...

YOU COWARD!

HIBIKI, DUCK!

*BANG!*

GAAGH!

*Hibiki quickly ducks as suddenly, Kanade points the end of her axe at her, and bullets shoot out like a shotgun. Hibiki is only just able to duck in time to avoid them.

Hehahahaha! Weren't expecting THAT were you?

Christ, how many weapons have you GOT in those things...!?

Enough to SLAUGHTER you with...!

Oh, but don't worry Hibiki...I won't kill YOU...Maybe I'll rough you up nice and good first, but...

I think I'd rather make you WATCH me kill your friends...!

You've killed too many of her friends, including me once...

*Setsuka cocks a pistol.

I've been looking forward to this actually~

Hrgh!

*WHOOSH!* *SWING!* *SWISH!*

Ugh!

HRAAGGH!

TCH!

*Kanade attempts to strike her with a few blows that she manages to avoid, before cornering Setsuka and hurling her axe at her. Setsuka dives back towards cover after rolling along the wall to dodge the axe.

Hehahahahaha! WOOP!

*PAANG!*

GUGH!

*But Kanade doesn't back down; he remotely controls the axe making it fly in Setsuka's direction. It doesn't cut her, but hits her in the head with its blunt end. After getting the axe, Kanade sprints in her direction and holds it above her head.

DIE!

*SWOOSH!*

*CHONK!*

HRGH!

Phew!

Hah! Missed!~

HRRRGH!

*CRAASSH!*

[rollofleaf]

7 Snippets 7 People

Tagged by @cassynite ! Thank you for thinking of me, it’s good motivation to try and push myself to write more. Sorry it took me a few days to get to.

Tagging @arendaes , @iwoszareba , @bearvanhelsing , and @silversiren1101 !

Snippets are from various things I’m working on, I did a different character for each.

1. (Slight nsfw)

Marazhai lounged on his bed with all the smugness of a content cat, completely unashamed in his nakedness. He still proudly bore bleeding scratches along his chest and bruises on his thigh. Heinrix, on the other hand, was hurriedly donning his clothes, desperately avoiding the mildly amused gaze of the Rogue Trader that had interrupted his heresy.

Arethousa strode up to the psyker and grabbed him by the ear, pulling him close despite his gasp of protest. “Now, Inquisitor. If you ever see fit to question the bond I share with Yrliet again, I will be forced to remind you of what I just witnessed. Perhaps that will stop you from criticizing a Rogue Trader in public?”

He winced. Still, it was a fair request considering his shame. “Y-yes, Lord Captain.”

Arethousa released him with a grin. “Good boy. Or is that the xenos's line?” She promptly turned and walked out the door, in need of some soap to scrub the sight from her eyes.

2.

Grace groaned, furiously rubbing her temples as she pulled herself to her feet. She had slept through the night after her kidnapper’s ship crashed on the beach. And… Her mind was still a blank, impenetrable fog. Some part of her had expected her memories to return after escaping the illithids, but such hopes were dashed. She looked around. This place was wholly unfamiliar, though just about nothing was familiar to her. But she was near the ocean, at least.

Grace walked over to a small tide pool, staring into the water to get a good look at her unknown face. She was a tiefling, she knew that instinctively. Deep red skin, straight horns, short purple hair. She was pretty, all things considered. And her cheeks were stained with blood. Sweet, delicious blood. Enough to lick up, yet she wanted more, wanted enough to bathe in. She was hypnotized by the sight until her reflection began to move on its own and speak in a voice not her own.

“Oh, good, you’re alive! How are you feeling, love?”

3.

“You… You speak true. I am terrified… Will I learn to love you only after I kill you? To struggle so long to regain that joy, only to cast it aside in the process like the petals of a dandelion… But… I would rather love again and mourn you. I must do this. I must trust that this will lift the curse and pursue it. What else can I do?”

You can let me save you. The words hung on Ethyn’s lips, begging to be free. But they would mean nothing to her. She could only act for Nyrissa, not placate her with promises. She simply gazed up at the beautiful nymph that had crushed her heart. “If you’re so resolved, then do it. End me.”

Nyrissa raised the knife. Her tears fell on Ethyn’s innocent skin, blossoming into roses as they touched her. She plunged the knife down, into the bedsheets. She couldn’t do it. Even in a dream, she couldn’t force herself to finish Ethyn off. With a furious groan, she tossed the knife aside and rolled onto her back. “I… I cannot.” She laughed out. “A spider with sympathy for what’s caught in her web. And I cannot even feel sympathy… I do not love you. I cannot love you or anyone! So why do I feel this way? Why do you haunt my dreams, make my hands tremble, why do I trust you in this way? Why does that accursed word still hold sway over me?!”

4.

Hilde roared as she brought her axe up, bringing it down with enough force to decapitate the succubus. Arueshalae darted in front of the demon, barely managing to parry Hilde's swing with her starknife. The succubus's hands were trembling, her eyes squeezed shut as she shook violently. "S-stop. S-stop it!" She shook her head as she settled into a fighting stance, leveling her bow at Hilde. Arueshalae was fighting desperately against the control, her eyes pleading and desperate as they stared into Hilde's.

The other succubus let out a pompous laugh as she darted back and away from the melee. "Oh, darling! You want to be a stupid little mortal, so you'll be controlled like one..." Arueshalae flinched and loosed her arrow, crying out in terror and worry as it nicked Hilde's shoulder.

Hilde looked right past her friend, glaring at the succubus controlling her. "You're going to suffer for that. Arueshalae, don't worry. I know it's not you that's hurting me."

5.

There was a distinct skip in the elf’s step as she strode through the thick trees of the lands known as the Hinterlands. A terrible name, this land was anything but hinter! It was beautiful, nearly unspoiled, a treasure trove of unique life and people that Noriaralyn had spent nearly two weeks exploring with relish. What she did not expect to see or hear in her wanderings was the sound of crying. The elf’s long ears perked and flicked as she stopped still to pinpoint the source. Some nearby bushes… She walked over as the wailing grew louder, carefully tugging aside the leaves as the crying suddenly halted. The kaldorei found herself staring into the eyes of an infant, a baby dwarf. Pudgy fingers reached out curiously at the deep purple skin and bright green hair of the face staring into hers as Nori reached out to gingerly pick up the baby.

“Aww… Hello, little one… Why are you here all alone? Where are your parents?" The infant's wails quieted as Nori lifted her out of the bush, brushing some stray leaves off of her.

6.

Ssathera's vision slowly returned. Faded sunlight dappled the surface of the water above her, in her escape she must have thrown herself into the icy river. The ghouls hissed and growled at the water's edge, peering through the murky depths but unwilling to venture in. She let herself sink deeper to hide from them, the naga's gills happy to breathe water oncemore. Still, the chill only made the pain of her myriad bleeding scratches that much worse. Her scales had been torn away where the abomination's hook had landed, and her blue blood seeped into the water.

She felt fear far more chilling than the frigid depths rise in her breast, a tremble in her tail and fins. She should go back. She had sworn to fight and die with her kin and the blood elves. Her sisters, her allies, her friends. But how many had been cut down? She was one siren, what could she do? No, she had to go back, she couldn’t run! Her tail began to beat, propelling her through the water. Away from the battle. Try as she might, she could not fight her cowardice.

7.

The drow’s gaze flitted between Shadowheart and the imposing form of the Nightsong. The two shared unspoken words and Taliira turned to focus on Shadowheart. “I think you should do as your heart tells you to.”

Shadowheart scoffed. “Come now. You must have thoughts on this, -Selunite-.” She spat out the word with all the contempt she could muster. Her hand trembled. She needed Taliira to try to sway her, to fight her and give her the resolve to do what Lady Shar commanded. She needed the drow to prove her doubts right, to prove that she was just a lapdog for Selune that would try to turn her from her faith. If she wasn’t, then she didn’t know what to do with the doubt that swelled in her. If the doubt wasn’t subterfuge from Taliira, where did it come from?

[risingshine]

Eavesdrop, Andrew talking about Aurora

"You know my policy, Rein - NYFB."

It would take a bit of prying from present company to get him to talk about her - mainly because he didn't want to share any details that might cause her trouble.

"Fine, fine - lets see, what to say about her...she has the patience of a saint for one. And the balls of an orc grunt: I once seen a customer almost swing an axe through her head and she just kept smiling and offering her wares.

And you know how bad of a boyfriend I can be - I'm here 1 out of 3 days of my life, and I'm stuck in bed for another day after that: unless I take vacation days, she's stuck around my shit schedule, and she takes care of me with a smile - and my friends too. How she manages

She's better than I am in most cases - hell, she wipes the floor with me on a game she picked up a week ago! The fact that she decided I was worth dating is something I thank Lathander on every day." And sure enough, he was holding the lathander necklace Aurroa gave him.

"Okay, now you're just bragging."

"Just because you hate your boyfriend doesn't make it bragging."

[warningsine]

A disclaimer: I have always gravitated towards unstable people. Maybe it's because I was bullied as a child. You see, when you get picked on, aren't athletic, and—I don't think I need to add this but will—aren't popular, you come up with ways to compensate. This is how a lot of people develop stunning personalities; I, unfortunately, opted instead to embrace unbridled chaos. My boyfriend promises me, completely voluntarily and without any prompting every single day, that he doesn't mind. (Wait, am I unstable?) And I think that’s why when I sat down to watch Showtime’s Yellowjackets, I felt an immediate kinship with both young and adult Misty (played by Samantha Hanratty and Christina Ricci, respectively). I love mess, almost as much as I love loyalty, and she's got both in spades.

For those not watching 2022’s first breakaway hit, Yellowjackets follows a group of female high school soccer players after their plane crashes in the wilderness on their trip to Nationals. Half the series is a flashback to the past, documenting the immediate trauma that comes with surviving a plane crash and being marooned. The other half of the timeline follows the adult lives of four survivors of the crash. At the core of both groups is Misty: a (fellow) weirdo who serves as the team’s equipment manager. She wasn’t liked in school, and she’s not particularly liked in her adult life. She’s tolerated in the woods, only because she’s a teenager who is strangely adept in the field of trauma medicine.

At the end of Episode Two, when Misty privately smashes the plane’s black box, thus extinguishing any hope that the team will be tracked down, a couple of colleagues told me: Misty is crazy! Misty is a nightmare! And I’ll be honest with you, because you’re reading this, and that makes us really close fucking friends… I don’t think they get it. Like, sure, I guess that Misty is the reason that this group got abandoned in the woods for months longer than they would have been otherwise, but... to quote Vanessa Hudgens from her Instagram Live from the beginning of the pandemic, "Yeah, people are going to die, which is terrible, but like inevitable?" If Misty didn't bust that box, then we wouldn't have a show, people. This is what we like to call, in the biz, a "net positive." And people like Misty? Those are the types who you want around. Smashing that black box was not a violent act. It was a favor (!) because all Misty wants to do is demonstrate how good of a friend she can be. And she needs time to do so.

In the immediate aftermath of the crash, she jumps into action. When the coach’s leg is smashed under a piece of the plane, she is the one brave enough to take an axe and amputate that dangler with one swift swing. She’s out here setting bones, cauterizing open wounds, and stitching faces back together. Sure, did she also later trip the coach with an amputated leg, making him fall to the ground? Yes, okay, that wasn't great. But maybe if he had really appreciated her from the jump, she wouldn’t have to reiterate how important her presence is. Did you think about that, y’all?

In our current timeline, as another mystery unfolds around the four surviving women, it’s Misty who remains one step ahead. When her friend Natalie (played by Juliette Lewis) needs a ride upstate to visit an old friend, Misty is happy to lend her her car and company. Yes, the reason Natalie needed the ride is because Misty ripped her battery wires out, but whomst among us? I ask.��Whomst! When a fixer hired by Tai named "Jessica Roberts" was blackmailing the four survivors into admitting they partook in cannibalism out in the woods, do you know what Misty does? She kidnaps that woman, holds her hostage, and then laces a box of chocolates with fentanyl meant for the woman's ailing father... just to make sure she remains chill.

Now, I know that you’re thinking: I don’t know, Justin, sounds kind of intense. To that, I say 1) I love that we’re on a first name basis and 2) You say intense. I say loyal.

Can you imagine having a friend who, unprompted, would go so far? I once asked my best friend to pick me up from the airport and he laughed at me. I've known this guy for a decade. Do you know where Misty would be in that scenario? She’d be piloting the fucking plane, taxiing directly down the tarmac until we made it directly to the car she arranged to drive me home. And if anyone tried to exit before me, she'd cut their throat with that tiny knife on the thinking end of a wine key. Instead of this Misty judgment and skepticism, maybe we should be asking ourselves how we can be a friend more like her.

I’m not here to say she’s without fault. She keeps her fridge stocked with Coconut La Croix and has a parrot named Caligula, which is the name of a notable Roman emperor whose reign ended in unchecked tyranny and sexual deviancy. I’ve never trusted a bird owner, and much like God does with lukewarm Christians, I spit Coconut La Croix out of my mouth with disdain.

But look at me, already contradicting myself. I am focusing on Misty’s bad qualities as opposed to celebrating her for the loyal, eccentric individual she is. Yellowjackets has awakened something in me that I’ve needed to stir for a long time. How far would I go for my friends? Would I figure out how to, like, find fentanyl and/or steal prescriptions from my workplace? If the answer to that is “no”—and just so we're clear, it is—then it’s me who needs to take a long look in the mirror.

[cindybermanfics1978]

Chapter Twelve

warnings: depictions of injuries, graphic horror violence, strong language throughout

"No! Ev-everyone's headed back to the Mess Hall. I just... Where's Nick?"

Ziggy pauses, trying to find the words when muffled screaming causes her to look at you then at Gary as his brows furrow. The muffled shouting continues as Ziggy steps into one of the stalls, opening the lid and peering down. Behind her, you and Gary watch as the shouting gets louder.

"Cindy?" Ziggy asks, surprised.

A spark of happiness shoots through your body as you too, enter the stall, gently pushing the other female to the side so you can see what's happening.

"Oh, my God! You're still alive!" Cindy shouts.

"Yes, I am. I'm so relieved to see your face again. Is there another way out?"

"You're poking your head through our way out." Alice commented.

Ziggy comes back. "What are you doing down there?"

Cindy and Alice glance at each other before peering back at Ziggy and Bunny.

"It's... It's kinda of a long story. Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah, just hold on a second."

Ziggy rises to her feet as you stays in her spot, smiling at the dirty brunette wishing she could give Cindy a hug... and a kiss, but that clears out when Ziggy tells her to move. Ziggy can step on the toilet as she reaches the bucket, lowering it to you.

"What is going on?" Gary asks.

"My sister's in the toilet."

"What?"

"Gary, just help us!" You shout.

The three of you manage to get the bucket down as Ziggy lowers the rope, further and further down the chute as the bucket sits level with the two females. Gary stands behind you as you and him hold the rope, soon Ziggy joins. In the cavern, Alice sits on the metal bucket as they begin pulling the rope. With enthusiastic laughs and pained grunting as well as tugs, the rope creaks under them right when the door abruptly swings wide open.

Standing there, Tommy enters the outhouse with a large ax in hand before swinging the tool towards Gary, decapitating him in the process. It automatically drag him along since the rope was being tied around his upper arm. You and Ziggy didn't have time to reach as you both watch as the rest of Gary's bloody and headless body flies past, and down the toilet.

Since the swing was strong, it makes both Ziggy and you fall to the ground as Tommy draws the ax before bringing it down. The blade lands between the two females as screams fill the outhouse.

Ziggy gets up, pulling you along with her, exiting the small cabin as Tommy stands in the doorway. Below, Cindy consiynuously shouts for you and her sister, worried Tommy killed you.

You keep up with Ziggy as she lets go of your hand, both gasping when they run into Nick again as he asks them what they are doing.

"He's here,"

In the process, Ziggy can't muster the right words before Nick pushes you and the red head toward the nature and science cabin. The Sunnyvaler closes the door behind you, locking it as Ziggy slides to floor. You join her before Nick approaches the two of you as he makes eye contact with the two females.

"Did we lose him?" You ask.

"I think so. Are you guys okay? You hurt?" He asks.

You and Nick look down at Ziggy's top then yours. "It's not our blood."

"It's Gary's." You add. "And yours?"

"Um... Sean, Jesse, Rod, Stacey."

"Jesus. It's the curse."

Nick then cups Ziggy's face as you felt no emotion towards the act since she was in love with Cindy. although, you had history with Nick Goode and didn't know how to initially react, considering you were very much in love with him at the beginning of your pregnancy. In the moment, you had this time to calm down and think.

You think about Caroline... Cindy... and your daughter. Mostly your daughter because you didn't want her to be raised by your bitchy aunt. You sigh as tears begin to form in your eyes, wanting to hug your precious baby and getting the hell out of here.

You come back to reality when you feel Ziggy's hand rest on your bare thigh. "Are you okay?"

"Y- Yeah,"

Nick continues. "It's, uh, it's just some psycho."

"No, no, it's not some psycho. It's my brother Tommy. Ziggy's sister's boyfriend perfect, virgin, boring boyfriend. She did this."

"Cindy?"

"The witch!"

"That's not real, Amelia."

"That's exactly what a Sunnyvaler would say. I thought you were different." Ziggy commented.

"I know I've let a lot of people die tonight."

"Nick, this isn't your fault."

"Not you! I'm not letting either of you die." Nick sweet talks Ziggy, earning her trust. "Now, come on, we gotta get out of here. We'll call the cops. Your sister's gonna be alright. First, we gotta get on that bus.

You rise to your knees, peeking over the table with Nick and Ziggy when a sudden frantic banging erupts on the door. They continue watching the entrance when suddenly a fist -- Tommy's fist -- breaks through the glass window before his hand rests on the door knob, turning it before entering.

With a slight creak of the door, the three of you duck down as they stay very quiet, swiftly moving beneath the tables, trying to stay out of your brother's sight. Heavy breathing gets closer and a snake hisses in its habitat. You sneak behind a table that is further away right when glass breaks from the impact of the ax, causing you to shut your eyes tight.

You were seated beside Ziggy, glancing over at a yellow-brown snake begins skulking towards you as your eyes grow wide, panicked but stay calm. You gently grab her knee to gain her attention of the snake slithering towards you all. With footsteps approaching and a snake slithering on the girls' bare legs, the air around them was tense and quiet.

They exchange eyes contact with one another before a hand grips you hair, pulling you up as you scream. Tommy slams her body on the table, dragging her across causing many habitats and papers scatter to the floor.

"T-Tommy, it's--it's me. Please," You beg as he lets you go, making you fall off a table as you groan in pain before looking down.

Another glass shard has impaled your stomach, sticking out as you squirm from the pain. Tears form in your eyes before gaining the strength to get away alive, pulling the large shard out. You crawls away as your brother raises the ax before bringing it down as Nick pushes you further away, ax penetrating the back of his leg. Grunting in pain, he shouts for Bunny and Ziggy to leave.

"Run. Aaah! Run!" He shouts.

And that's what they do, exiting the Nature and Science cabin and leave as you hold your side and grabbing Ziggy's hand. Bleeding out, you continue.