#at some point i am going to replace his lungs. they have been through so much and i really don't think they can survive the story

[revivisection]

drew this for a school thing lmaooo does anyone want to see cosmas again

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Harmony || CL16

Summary: Being a musician isn't the easiest way to make ends meet. Aside from being in the local orchestra, you balance being a tutor and a tuner - one Charles hires to tune his piano. Warnings: none, fluffy WC: 1.2k F1 Masterlist

Of course the city would be busy when you were running late. As much as you might have tried to run, or at least power walk, you didn’t want to damage the precious cargo you were carrying. You managed to make up some time at the sacrifice of your lungs and you were still recovering when you reached the address of your last appointment.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr Leclerc, my violin lesson ran over.”

“That’s okay, and it’s just Charles,” he corrected as he opened his door wider for you to enter his home. It was easy to see where you were going to be working so you headed straight to the upright piano in the light and airy living room. After placing your violin case on the floor beside his coffee table you shrugged off your backpack and opened your tool kit.

“May I?” you asked as you reached for the memorabilia balanced on the top you needed access to.

“Oh, right, sorry.” He rolled his eyes at himself for not preparing the piano for your arrival and helped you clear it off. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you, Mr- I mean Charles.” You opened the top lid before removing the front panel and sat down on the bench. First you tested the keys and pedals to see if any were sticky but they were in good condition, and you listened to each key to determine how much work was needed. 

“How long have you been learning to play the violin?”

You looked away from the keys as Charles took a seat on the sofa near your instrument. “Oh, no, I teach it. Well, I suppose I am still learning, because there is always room to improve, but my lesson was with a student.”

“So violin tutor and piano tuner,” he said with an impressed nod. “That is quite the niche market.”

“Not as niche as yours,” you pointed out as you pulled a tuning fork out of your tool kit. “There are certainly more than 20 of us in the world.”

The racer cracked a smile that was quite disarming and you had to return to your work as your cheeks warned. “When was she last tuned?”

He chuckled nervously and you winced before he even answered. “When I bought it, two and a half years ago.”

You suppressed the sigh that built and grabbed the adjuster to start moving all the keys up in pitch. “Without regular tuning, you’ll likely find she needs fine tuning again in a few weeks.”

Charles smiled sheepishly and nodded. A comfortable silence fell as you continued your work, moving with confidence through the motions until you were satisfied the piano sounded perfect. Replacing the front panel and closing the top, you took a seat again for the final test. There was already a page of sheet music on the stand so you placed your tablet next to it and opened the app that picked up notes and confirmed if they were in tune or not.

Your eyes scanned the sheet and you heard the melody in your head before you let it flow into your fingers that started their graceful dance across the keys. One page was more than enough to check your work was done but you were a little disappointed that you weren’t able to hear the remainder of the song as you closed the lid.

“I haven’t heard this before,” you said as you picked up the sheet but it had no markings on it. “Who is the artist?”

Charles rose from the sofa and took the page with pink cheeks. “I, uh, I wrote it.”

“It’s beautiful, and sad.” He frowned at the strange compliment and looked away before you placed your hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with sad music. It is meant to be a way of expressing oneself so it doesn’t fester inside. I tell my students it is a good thing.”

His frown softened and his grip on the paper eased before he reached past you to place it back on the stand. “I wanted to add some other instruments once I recorded it, but I wasn’t sure which ones.”

You nodded to yourself as you replayed the sonata in your head, your fingers drawing invisible notes that could accompany the melody. “Hmm, I think I can help…if you want?”

“Please,” he said as he watched you grab your violin case and unlock it. The lid opened with a creak and his eyes widened as he saw the logo for the Monegasque Royal Orchestra in the velvet lining. “You play for the orchestra?”

“Second chair,” you hummed with a proud smile. “We are playing for Prince Albert’s birthday this weekend.”

“I guess I will see you there.”

Of course he would have an invitation to the Prince’s birthday, all the important people in the principality would be there. “That’s one way to make me nervous. I’ll try not to mess up for you.”

“I think you’ll be great,” he said with a grin as he sat at the edge of the bench and watched you raise the delicate violin to your neck.

“Do you want to play and I will join you?”

“Uh, sure.” He was the one who seemed nervous now and he cleared his throat as he turned on the bench seat, his toes hovering over the pedals. “Here we go, I guess.”

His long fingers were elegant and his wrists remained loose as he began to play. You let the first eight bars open before you closed your eyes and drew your bow across the strings in harmony to him. Charles stumbled over the key as the higher octave caught him by surprise but he recovered with a quiet apology and soon the piece rose into an emotive crescendo that had your chest aching before the last note died out.

You let your arm relax and the warmth from the rosewood rest cooled on your skin as you lowered the bow and violin to your sides.

“That was…incredible,” he said as he turned in his seat.

“You are a very talented man, Mr Leclerc,” you said as you carefully laid the violin back into the bracket and locked it up. “A lot of people can play the piano but very few have the creativity to write their own music.”

His blush spread from his cheeks to his neck and he fidgeted with the ring on his finger. “Thank you, for tuning my piano and playing with me.”

“It was a pleasure.” You packed up your tools and shoved them into your backpack before picking up the violin case and looking at the door. “I hope you enjoy the concert.”

“I’m sure I will,” he said with a genuine smile as he walked with you to the entrance way. “Maybe we can have a drink together afterwards?”

You clutched the handle of the case tighter and tried to control your excitement with a small nod, but your smile was uncontrollable and bright. “I would like that.”

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

[nuumbie]

KARMA’S A DOG.

Prompt: You’re a prized worker at the IPC Marketing Department. You spend your days waiting for that flash of black.

Trigger Warning: Reader is mentally ill and a little shit head. Curse Words. General Violent Terms and Reader Gets Ragdolled. Boothill is NOT into you!!! He actually hates you! Guilt! Etc, etc… it’s just all hurt no comfort.

Author’s Note: Written to celebrate his trailer. Save a horse. Ride a cowboy. Contains spoilers regarding his character story.

He’s resting peacefully. This should still count as sleep. You pose the question in your head if you replace the pieces of something, how far until the thing is something else entirely. But he’s still alive. You find relish in that. There’s something in him that still lives.

He still has his head. Maybe, that’s all he has left of his old self. You wonder how the surgery must have gone. Of course you’ve met people who’ve changed themselves so drastically with robotics that you couldn’t recognize them after the surgeries. It’s a rebirth in ways. When you change so dramatically that you’re a different person by the end. His body’s 90% metal. 10% flesh. So, wouldn’t it be the cybernetics that win?

Despite everything. You don’t think so. Perhaps, that’s all that he needs. I think therefore I am. There’s no doubt he’s alive. Not to you, anyway. He’s brimming with human life. He’s more alive than you. Not in the same way where the question poses in your mind with other beings or creatures that change themselves so drastically. Boothill is obstinately simple.

You like that. He’s simple. The Hunt and those that follow it is straight forward. A single path. A single road. You like that you don’t have to read his intentions. You know what he wants and why.

Boothill. Galaxy Ranger. IPC Hunter. The Man who just tried to sneak into your office and put a bullet through your head like he has with many of your employees, those who’ve worked directly under you no less. You know. Most criminals don’t get this far. Not far at all past Pier Point. Oswaldo will have a riot.

If he knew he would. You’re not going to tell him.

Boothill is special.

The cowboy opens his eyes. Your personal grim reaper.

“I see you’re awake.” You smile in a loving way. If you can even manage that. People who can control their expressions make it seem so easy. Laying across his chest. You’ve opened up his core to play with his inner circuits. He must not like that though considering there’s a burning hatred in his eyes which threatens to scorch you. You glance up towards his face and sigh and ignoring the lingering, simmering, resentment. His body is heating up beneath your touch. So, maybe it resonates with his feelings, you wonder if his body steams. “We need to stop meeting like this. You’re going to make me think you’re obsessed with me.”

It’s the opposite way around. You know that. But the very idea that it isn’t causes him to lunge at you. The cowboy turns into nothing more than a blur, all the wires connected to the body collecting samples that took at least a good thirty minutes pulled from him. Some ripped from the walls, and in instants he’s on you.

“You dang—“ his hands make its way to your shoulders, you’re flipped without hesitation. his hands grasping you down, he lays on top of you. breath heavy. robots don’t breathe, though, so you try to think of another word as he catches himself and tries to make it so he’s the one on top. “— you again!?”

“I’ve been meaning to get my hands on you… you oughta’… you ANGEL!” He screeches. Music to your ears as he shakes you more like you’re more ragdoll than person. “AEONS, it’s so freaking annoying! You absolute delight! How did I lose to…”

“Thank you so much for the compliment.” You smile back. Probably the only one getting anything out of this arrangement. Pinned against the floor hand pressed tightly against your waist so you can’t struggle. He should’ve pressed it against your mouth. But it isn’t like you’re going to scream. You’re certain. Lots of women would love to be in this position you’re currently in. But it’s you. And this is far from some sweet, pure, little romantic story. You’re not delusional. You act like you are purely because it annoys him. It’s good for him to build up his rage, his discontentment because it keeps him on his toes. “I was just looking over your upgrades since the last time you invaded Pier Point. As for asking how I beat you~…”

“The electronic upgrade was not the best idea.” You smile. “If we can control your language… your body isn’t hard especially for a renowned genius like me. Have to talk to your doctor about that. You’re lucky I’m the one that found you. Where’s my thanks? If it was anyone else. They’d have torn you asunder.”

“Aeons of COURSE you Market-Phonies have something to annoy the DANGNATION out of me.” he grinds his teeth, looking around for his pistol. making a point about how dead he wants you. you can feel his grip loosen and tighten. he’s likely processing which one would get you to be quieter. “Where’d you put it? My gun. I’ve decided. I’m killing you now. Puttin’ ya out of your misery, sweet-face! You think this is rough? Think of a 9mm lead in your skull will be?”

“Cabinet.” You put on your best smile. “Is it for me?”

“Of course for you. Love you.” You didn’t take away his ability to say hate. So, he must have said something worse like an insult. You just know it’s bad because he says it in a way that’s so vitriolic it almost hurts. “You knew this was coming. I’m not going to miss my shot again. You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

You did know it was coming. You wished he would get the one person above you first so you could witness your boss with his brains blown out, the outcries that an Emanator of Qlipoth killed. You could have gotten wine with Diamond and laughed about it and died happy knowing the world was washed clean forever of Oswaldo Schneider.

But you can’t be so lucky. You’ll have to wish him luck. If he actually manages to kill you that is. With how things are going? You’re not making it hard.

He grabs you by the neck so you can’t struggle away to call help. The iron hands encased over your neck like a shackle isn’t a bad feeling. You almost quote as such so he might grab you a little tighter. Sadly, it seems his finger is directly over your windpipe— making talking an impossibility. He really doesn’t want you to run. Not like you would. Dragging you as he goes towards the cabinet. He presses you against the wall one-handed.

Using his other hand to peruse through your belongings. Even if you struggled. You doubt you could make a dent against the material. You’ve always been more of a pen instead of a sword guy.

It seems he’s smarter than you thought. Since, he checks the bullets in the gun. Rather show-offishly, too. He clicks the trigger against your head and nothing comes out. He counts them out, too. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

You already knew that none of the shots would ring. But here’s a certain heart-pounding feeling even if you know it’s empty. He clutches the gun even tighter till it threatens to break between his metal appendages.

Obviously, you’ve cleaned them out. He glares at you. Of course you’re the one at fault. Of course you were smart enough to know the first thing he’d do when he woke up was try to kill you. Of course you wanted to see the look on his face when he got his gun back when he realized it was empty. “Don’t you have spares? You eat them, don’t you? Just shit them out.” You smile. It’s hard to talk with his hand on your throat.

The floor hits you. Hard.

Or maybe you hit the floor.

Either way. It hurts. Your head spins. But, you collect yourself. Maybe. Dizzy people often can’t tell they’re dizzy. “You going to kill me right? You don’t need a gun to do that. To make it painful. To get your little revenge.” You’re sputtering. Aeons. It be embarrassing if you didn’t say that. If you’re slurring. Though who are you to ask for a clean death? Innocent have died in uglier ways.

“I don’t get you.” Boothil’s boot presses against your chest and juts against your lungs— “make up your mind you wanna die or not? You’re seriously flip-flopping.”

You smile back at him from the floor. “I’d rather my employees not go down with me when you’ve got to escape. Jeremy just got a promotion. You won’t die here… will you space cowboy? So, you’ll have to make your way out.”

“Might as well limit the casualties.”

“You took everything from me.” Robots don’t stumble over their words. Robots are more precise. Everything about him is human. The way he’s so sentimental, emotional at your lap, while you can do nothing but watch. “What right do you have? You have way more blood on your hands than I do.”

“You’re not wrong.” you repeat, quietly. “It’s karma. It’s justice. I’m so happy you exist. So people like me get that just-dessert.”

“I could never ever dream of it. I could never do it with my own hands.” You smile remembering where you work. Your boss. The things you never had the confidence or strength to do yourself. “So I’m glad that you did. Thank you.”

He looks down at you.

He steps back.

You already know.

Too self-aware for your own good.

Maybe you should have shut up. You already know you’ve messed it all up. The way he looks at you is a look of disgust.

“Everyone here’s so fluffed up.” he grimaces. rubbing his shoe against the floor like he’s snuffing a cigarette out. so lowly. “Anyone the IPC touches get’s gosh-dang ruined.”

You know why he did. You ruined his life. You did. So, it was only fair he did the same in return—

Reaching out— before you realize it. “Hey, wait.”

“You’re not dragging me down with you! I want you to pay I’m not letting you off easy. When we meet again. I’ll have changed this place forever. And you’ll be forced to live with yourself…!”

He doesn’t even look back at you. You wish he did.

He lets you go and he runs out the door. You hear the sounds of loud screams. Shooting guns. It turns into a blur after a few seconds. They’re going to fail to apprehend him. You hope.

On the messy floor. Your lab a wreak. You’re sure. They’ll come here. They’ll question you.

And your life will continue as always.

You’ll lie. Jade can tell. But she won’t tell on you. You hope Oswaldo doesn’t notice. He’s the tricker. If he knew. He’d laugh.

“Fuck you, too.”

You put your hands over your eyes and you just ignore everything until someone comes and gets you. You’d use the word save. But, that’s what he was meant to do.

You’ll meet him again. You can wait. It’s all you ever do.

[justiceforvillains]

I'm almost back which means ✨SKZ Hybrid AUs✨

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

So imagine you work with a hybrid shelter who finds stray hybrids and gives them a new home and a family, you are one of the best people there and you had worked with many tough and complicated cases, so whenever they have trouble with a hybrid they call you to deal with it.

It isn't new to you, to get a call at 3 am because your coworkers can't deal with a difficult hybrid, it was almost a daily occurrence

And tonight was no exception, you got a call about a really, really, really injured but violent hybrid, so you did your normal routine packed a bag full of meat, put on some scent blockers to not smell threatening even put on a soft fluffy oversized sweater to look even less threatening

You went over there and your breath hitched there he was with blood all over him growling and snapping his Teath at anyone who dared get too close to him

At this point everyone were staying back too afraid of the "violent" hybrid

One guy got too close and ended up on the ground with his arm gushing blood, after that everyone backed away but still surrounded the Hybrid so he wouldn't be able to escape, they meant well but all it did was scare the hybrid even more

But you noticed it

You noticed it when the Hybrid hurt the guy, when they snapped their Teath and bite down on that guy's arm

You noticed how his eyes widened, you noticed how he pulled back and put his back flat against the wall, you noticed how he regretted it and how his ears went flat on his head.

But then he got angry again, or more like scared? So you stepped in, and as soon as the hybrid noticed, he glared and growled at you, but you didn't move, never breaking eye contact, your colleagues started yelling at you to get away before you ended up dead.

And just then, the hybrid lunged, but stopped just inches away from your face, the large male looking puzzled that you didn't flinch or back away or make a sound

Instead you just sat down you sat down right in front of the hybrid, who backed away, planting himself on the wall again

"Look at you, then look at me, do you really think I could hurt you?" you whispered in the softest of voices. The hybrid scowl never left his face, but he looked curious.

"Even though you're terribly injured, you hurt a perfectly healthy man because you're too strong," the glare was immediately replaced by regret as he caught the eyes of the man he'd hurt.

"No one here blames you, you've probably been through terrible things, you have every right to lash out and not trust anyone," you started to comfort him, now the big scary hybrid looked even more broken.

Eyes looking confused a pretty frown on his bloody face looking around ears flat on his head tail between his legs

"Listen, I know you won't believe me, but I'm not here to hurt you, no one here is" "So listen, I know you're smart, you're badly injured, so how about you come with me to the hospital to get help - or if you really think you can manage on your own, I'll tell everyone to leave you alone"

The Hybrid's eyes widened and you could feel your colleagues disagreeing with what you were saying.

"It's your choice, either you come with us to help you recover, or we leave and come back when we get a call about you again" The Hybrid looked at you, then at the men, and held up two fingers, and your heart broke.

the Hybrid was telling you that he had decided that you should leave him alone instead of going to the hospital, so you nodded and told everyone to get back in their car, some started to shout at you but then they did as they were told and it was only you and the Hybrid who were left.

The Hybrid looked hella confused, but immediately retreated in fear as you reached back into your bag and handed him a bag of meat, "If you're going to stay on the streets, you need to eat first".

With that you put the bag on the ground in front of the Hybrid and turned your back, you heard the bag being grabbed, when you turned around the Hybrid was closer now and looking at you

You tilted your head "you need something pretty boy" the reaction was almost immediately eyes widen comically before a blush made his way to his face, he took out one hamburger you packed and put it infront of you before dashing away.

You smiled you truly believe that there were no evil or "violent" hybrids out there, they were only like that because of the humans that treated them like toys for their enjoyment

You hope that when you get the next call about a certain "violent hybrid" It wouldn't be too late...

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

✦ Masterlist ✦

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ Good Luck, Babe! - [Part 1]

♥ next | ao3 link | masterlist

♥ pairing: oscar piastri/carlos sainz jr 

♥ ballet au - enemies to lovers

♥ PLEASE READ THIS AUTHORS NOTE (none of the pictures are mine)

♥ warnings: this fic has swearing and uses some ballet terminology

♥ taglist; @liamlawsonlesbian 

♥ a/n: I’m finishing the folklore series I SWEAR I just really wanted to start this as well lol

No one has ever gotten under Oscar’s skin the way that Carlos does. Since the beginning of time there’s been competitiveness in ballet, but as two of the very few men at their company, their rivalry became a little more personal. 

Carlos took his spot at the barre, a few people lunging out of his way. He practiced a few relevé’s to get his feet moving until he heard a group of girls whispering. 

“He talks so much shit about Carlos…” one of them said as he reached down and fixed the elastic on his ballet flats. 

“I guess Oscar really does hate him.” another mumbled with a shrug. 

“You can tell him it’s mutual.” Carlos pipes up, staring at them directly. 

The group quiets down, turning away from the man and pretending to stretch. 

“Who are we waiting on?” Toto, their instructor said, strutting into the room. 

A few people mumbled Oscar’s name in response. Everyone knew it was a dangerous game pissing off Toto. He never forgave tardiness.

Oscar showed up a few minutes late, sneaking through the crack in the door with his head ducked. Toto had his back turned to the class, adjusting the speaker. 

“Piastri,” he said, turning around. Oscar dropped his bag and lightly placed his hand on the barre beside him. 

“You’re late.” Toto crossed his arms. 

“I suppose I am,” Oscar smiled and a few girls around him giggled. 

“Get out of my class.” Toto nodded towards the door. 

“Sorry?” he questioned. 

“You heard me. Out. Late students do not dance.” 

“You’re joking,” Oscar grabbed the barre tightly. “I’m the leading man, you can’t practice this dance without me.” 

“Carlos will take your place today,” Toto stated. Carlos met Oscar’s eyes, smirking at him deviously. This did nothing but inflate Carlos’ ego. 

“This is a fucking joke,” Oscar mumbled, grabbing his bag. 

“Watch your mouth before I replace you completely.”

“Let that be a lesson to all of you.” Toto sighed, watching Oscar leave the class. “We’re going to start with some simple grande plié’s, tendu’s, and penché's. Then the girls will put on their pointe shoes, we'll do a few across the floor combos, and then work on the pas de deux. Carlos, thank you for filling in today.” 

Carlos nodded in response. 

“Looks like Oscar fucked around and found out.” A girl in the class whispered, eliciting a few laughs. 

-

Oscar was first in class the next day, stealing Carlos’ sacred barre spot. It was ballet etiquette to let the older and more experienced dancers take their position first. A couple of people eyed him while he warmed up. Carlos arrived just a few minutes before class started as always and immediately noticed the man in his place. He took the spot behind Oscar and whispered: 

“You’re petty.” 

“You took something of mine, now I take something of yours.” he referred to the incident yesterday. 

“Still mad that you showed up late? That was your own fault.” 

Oscar rolled his eyes. 

Toto entered the room, a group of women following behind him. The last person through the door was Susie Wolff, prima ballerina. The girls sat on the floor with their pointé shoes, hitting them on the floor to bang the noise out of them. No one wanted to have them clomping around the stage during their graceful variations. 

“Abbi and Oscar, you’re up.” Susie said, gesturing for them to come to the center of the room. Oscar snuck a few glances at Carlos as the other dancers watched from the sidelines. Everyone stood with a complete poker-face, watching intensely for a misstep that never came. At the end of their performance all the students clapped and stared blankly.

"Abbi that was truly amazing." Susie praised her. "Try to get your leg a little bit higher during your développé's and I think it will be perfect."

Oscar was too busy watching Carlos to hear Toto’s critiques. “Piastri, are you with us?”

“Huh?” he snapped out of his stare. “Yea, yes I am, sorry.”

Toto sighed, “Alright, you two go stretch while Amna practices her solo.” As they made room for her, Oscar could hear his phone buzzing in his back. This caught the attention of both him and Carlos. He snuck over to it pretending to get water, hoping his instructors were too preoccupied watching Amna to notice. He checked the notification on his phone reading:

Lando 

party tonight @ Charles’ be there at 10

Oscar 

sounds good i'll be there

“Too bored to be paying attention to your fellow dancers?” Carlos asked.

Oscar flinched, not expecting a voice to come from behind him. He quickly shut off his phone and hid it in a pocket.

“I just had to check something,” Oscar muttered.

“Well, try to stay off your phone before you get in trouble again.”

Another hour passed and class ended.

Oscar

Is there anyone at your company you just despise?

Lando

no…?

Oscar

no one, really?

Lando

should I? lol my company is contemp, jazz, and hip hop so the vibes are pretty good over here 🤷‍♂️

-

Oscar pushed himself through the crowded party, spotting Lando and Charles laughing and drinking.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, noticing another person with them. It was Carlos.

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

The Final Sunset

Previous | First | Next

TW: Violence, Unreality (poll)

You dodged. It's almost instinctual with how quickly your body moved. You flinged your body as far as you could, landing in a pile of snow near a tree. You quickly scrambled up. "Caramel Arrow Cookie-!"

You had no time to react, as the infected Cookie let out a noise that sounded like both a hiss and a snarl before it lunged forward. It trapped Caramel Arrow Cookie's arm in it's maw, and bit down.

A sickening CRUNCH filled the air as your friend screamed from the pain. You stood there, frozen, watching as your friend tried to yank herself free, but to no avail.

A blazing hot chain whipped past your face, a flame burning fiercely from it. Mala Sauce Cookie's voice could barely pierce the ringing in your ears. You could only watch as the chain of her weapon wrapped around the infected and burst into flame.

It let go of Caramel Arrow Cookie, who fell to the ground, wailing from the agony. The infected Cookie began to shriek and roar from both pain and rage, writhing around as Mala Sauce Cookie tightened the chain.

Rye Cookie called your name multiple times, but her voice still did not pierce the ringing in your ears. You could see in the corner of your eye that she had one of her guns pointed towards the infected Cookie, but the other hand was gently gripping you and shaking you. Trying to break you from your stupor.

You couldn't. You could only stare. Stare at Caramel Arrow Cookie bleeding on the snow, and the blue liquid that was dripping from the wounds on her.

Pure Vanilla Cookie,

We've learned that the first signs of infection tend to be a blue type of liquid dripping down from the wound. This happens when the infected either bites down on the victim, or in some way, manages to get the blue liquid in another way. I theorize that this blue liquid replaces the jam in a Cookie once they turned.

In unfortunate news, Caramel Arrow Cookie has become infected and Black Raisin Cookie has succumbed to the infection. While Caramel Arrow Cookie is being kept on strict lockdown, it was found that, somehow, Black Raisin Cookie was managing to escape from the quarantine zone.

Before she succumbed, she spoke of how guilty she felt to not be able rescue Pancake Cookie sooner. As such, she was sneaking out to try and get him acorn jellies. I suspect she is the reason why they have frozen over. Unfortunately, this is all we managed to get out of her before she turned into an infected right before our eyes.

I luckily had Chili Pepper Cookie and Capsaicin Cookie nearby, so they were able to subdue her. I am waiting for a response from our ruler on what to do.

On the subject of them, I have been told that they are in quite a bit of shock, unable to process what has happened. As such, I am recommending that Orchid Mantis Cookie and Mala Sauce Cookie be assigned as their personal guards. I also request Pink Velvet Cookie join Chili Pepper Cookie in guard duties, and Buddha's Hand Cookie help our ruler work through what has happened.

Respectfully,

Espresso Cookie

Pure Vanilla Cookie sighed heavily as he rested the piece of paper down on the table. Even with his eyes closed, he looked down at the letter with uncertainty. He tapped his fingers against the wood before he turned his head. The air in the office was cold, as everything was now, but it seemed colder than usual.

He thought back to you, and how out of it you were when you were brought back. You merely stared blankly, not responding to anything. Practically catatonic.

The healer hung his head. He wished his friends would be here soon..

taglist: @speadrunner / @haveneulalie / @queensharotto / @imaginarydreams / @luv-sorrow

Orchid Mantis Cookie - @valioz

Pink Velvet Cookie - @kousaka-ayumu  

Buddha's Hand Cookie - speadrunner

[foolforharrry]

Aches

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: April comes home to find Harry asleep and not feeling the greatest.

Sickrry

To be fully honest this is like 90% fluff

I really hope you like it. And if you do. If you wanna check out more of my writings, my masterlist is here

No matter how much shit I talk about living in Los Angeles, the one thing that I’m never going to even entertain badmouthing is the ocean.

Even though my favourite colour is green, there isn’t much that beats being able to sit outside with a glass of wine as company to admire the masses of blue that stretch over the horizon.

My adoration for the view had been a fairly big selling point in Harry’s speech when he listed all the reasons why my moving in with him would be a no-brainer.

The speech had honestly been completely unnecessary. I would have said yes to moving into a hole in the ground right next to an airport if that mean living with him.

Lucky for me, I get to live with the love of my life and a view of the sea that sucks the air out of my lungs.

Taking a deep breath, I tear my eyes away from the water. The mesmerizing reflection of the afternoon sun riding the higher points of the waves had me in a spell the same way it always does.

After a rather stressful day, I somehow always end up wandering around the house instead of through the front door when I get home, needing some of that calming blue before I do anything else.

Today had been one of those days. Job interviews will do that do you.

Before Harry had gone to the studio, he had sat me down to have a ‘serious conversation’ with him. He needed to make sure I knew that he was expecting a full report on how the interview goes.

A full report is what I’m prepared to give him as I finally step into our shared home, giddy with pride. Harry had called me to tell me that he would be there when I got home while I was getting a well-needed manicure to destress after the interview.

Home he is.

The first thing I notice when I get into the living room is that the TV is on. An episode of friends filling the silence.

Second thing is that the back of a head of curls is rested on the back of the couch, face out of view.

“Hi, love. How was your day?”, I ask as I put my purse down by the bottom of the staircase before padding across the light wooden floors.

Realisation dawns on me when Harry doesn’t even lift his head at the sound of my voice, but it stays in the exact same position. He’s asleep.

His body lays horizontally across the comfy, grey furniture, his upper back and head propped up with the edge of the sofa and an arrangement of colourful throw pillows. His laptop is open in his lap, but the screen is black, one of his hands splayed over the keyboard and the other one draped across his stomach.

His eyes are closed and his pillowy, pink lips are barely parted. Mocha brown, curly strands of hair fall across his forehead so delicately.

Trying to be as careful as possible so I don’t wake him from his slumber, I reach for the TV remote on the coffee table to shut it off, silence replacing the noise.

Just as I start to retrace my steps back to the stairs to let him sleep in peace, a groggy, “Hi.”, has me stopping in my tracks completely and twisting my head.

Great job, April.

“Am I still dreaming? Or is an angel standing in my living room?”

My eyes widen in surprise momentarily before I burst out laughing. “That’s horrible, H.”, I tell him through tears of laughter, hand over my heart to calm my breathing down again.

“Meanie.” Even though Harry offers me a sad pout at the insult to his horrible attempt at a pickup line, he’s still got that bright glint in his eyes I love so much.

Setting his laptop on the coffee table next to the remote, Harry throws his legs off the sofa and pats the space on his left as a silent request for me to sit down next to him. That’s something I do happily, giving Harry a peck on the lips as I make myself comfortable.

Tucking my legs up on the sofa, I lean into Harry, basking in the feeling of being close to him again. The familiar scent of him has a warm and fuzzy feeling wrapping around my heart as he curves his arm around my back. His fingertips brush comfortingly up and down my side, allowing me to relax further into him.

I take his free hand between mine, absentmindedly playing with his rings as we sit in comfortable silence. Hands in his jean-clad lap. My head rested on his shoulder, the side of his face against the top of my head.

He’s probably got a nose full of hair by now.

“How did it go today?”, Harry asks, his voice courser than normal. “Did she have common sense and realise what a genius my fiancé is?”

A small smile decorates my face when I take my attention away from the hole that’s ripped through the course material of his dark jeans, exposing the tanned skin of his knees and a small part of his thigh.

“Yeah. She’s gonna call me back in to discuss some further details next week.”, I tell him bashfully.

There’s a beat of silence. And then before I even realise what’s happened Harry’s manoeuvred me so I’m fully on my back. A knee planted firmly on either side of my body as Harry peppers my face with kisses, mumbling praises in between them.

His silly, playful mood is infectious, and I can’t help the laughter that falls from my lips as he reaffirms every kind word with a kiss.

After peppering another round of adorable kisses on my flushed skin, I return one to each of his soft cheeks. “Thank you, pretty boy.”

Harry shakes his head, “No need for that. You know I’m always proud of you, right?” His words have a cheesy smile crinkling the corners of my eyes. “And I you”, I return with a tap on his nose. He matches my expression, stars in his eyes as he kisses the tip of my finger.

“Now go get changed before you start complaining about your jeans being uncomfortable.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, I lie through my teeth as Harry removes his body from mine completely. He hums, seeing right through my lie, “Whatever you say.”

Striding away from him and the sofa and up the stairs, I refuse to acknowledge the shit-eating grin I know that Harry is probably sporting right now from being right. For whatever reason, he’s comfortable lounging around in jeans. How the man does it, I genuinely have no idea. I however am the kind of person who can’t get them off quickly enough.

He knows me too well

Once I’m rid of the uncomfortable jeans, I slide a pair of grey sweats up my legs before trading the top I’ve worn all day for one of Harry’s graphic tees.

“So. I was thinking we could watch a movie while we eat?”, is what I hear when I descend the stairs again. Much more comfortable than I was two minutes ago.

My heart swells in my chest as I spot Harry in the kitchen, looking at me expectantly with a plate in his hand and the sound of the microwave telling me what he’s up to. “Are we doing Me Before You or I Feel Pretty?”

Harry takes a moment to ponder over our two options before he shares his decision. “Me Before You.”

Nodding in approval, I take a seat at the kitchen island, resting my chin on my hands folded on the countertop. “How did it go at the studio today? Did you guys figure out that song you told me about the other day?”

“It actually went really well. I think we’re set on pretty much everything. All that was left really when I left was recording the guitar solo. Mitch and Tyler were about to get started on it when i went home. It’s gonna be good.” The pride is obvious in his smile as he switches out the plates in the microwave, crossing his arms above his chest and leaning against the fridge.

I hum approvingly. “You land on a title yet?”

Having a habit of keeping me on my toes and never spilling anything about his new projects, I’m taken by surprise when Harry smirks at me and gives me the answer I was looking for, “She.”

From what he has told me about She, and now the title, I’m fairly certain that this might end up being the death of me. Much like everything else the man does.

“I can’t wait to hear it.”, I tell him seriously. Harry’s cheeks gain a pinker shade, a sheepish smile as he thanks me.

Tutting and shuffling over to him, I tilt my head back to keep eye contact with him to make sure he knows I’m serious. “You are freaking amazing, H. You inspire me every day by just being yourself. I know you’ve been a little bit anxious about experimenting more with your sound and everything. And I am so fucking proud of you for not letting your fears dim your light.”

Seeming at a loss for words, eyes glossy with emotion, Harry wordlessly wraps me up in his tight embrace, burying his face in my neck. I hug him back just as tightly. He doesn't need to say anything and neither do I.

It’s the beep signalling that the food is finished heating that makes us break apart, a soft kiss exchanged before we take one plate of leftover lasagnes each and make ourselves comfortable on the sofa again.

Harry is in the chaise, legs stretched out while I sit cross-legged next to him. We balance our food in our laps, he uses my thigh and knee as a second armrest.

Pressing play on the movie, we make quick work of our meal. I hadn’t even realised just how hungry I was until the first piece of lasagne touches my tongue.

It’s fucking delicious is what it is.

Once we’re done with our dinner, Harry tugs me towards him, letting me cuddle into him.

It’s not really a secret that movie night is a favourite for both Harry and me. We have a rather long list of movies we want to watch, even though more often than not, we circle back to our favourites.

Whenever we’re watching one of our usuals, Harry can never seem to keep from reciting the lines along with the characters with the same emotion and conviction the actor playing has.

No matter what’s on the TV, he’s always needing to have some part of his body touch mine. Whether it’s just a simple hand on a thigh or tangled together the way my hair gets if I don’t brush it out the second I get out of the shower.

There is no need to even have a conversation about what his love language is. Touch.

So who am I to deny him?

I’m shaken out of my thoughts when I feel Harry remove his cheek from the top of my head, tapping my hip to get my attention.

“I’ve gotta get up for a minute, love.”, he explains when he’s got it. I nod, frowning when I notice how pale he looks. Maybe it’s just the reflection from the television that’s making his complexion sickly. “Sure. You feeling ok, Dimples?”

“I’m good. Don’t worry.” He kisses the space between my eyebrow I know is creased right now before he makes a move to get up. But it doesn’t do much to ease the concern as I take over the spot Harry just left.

He shuffles his feet to the drawer next to the sink where we keep our medicine. Observing as he places not just one but two pills from the Advil bottle on his tongue before chugging it down with water. He rubs the side of his temple as he puts the medicine back in its rightful place.

When it comes to Advil, harry barely ever takes two at a time, hating the drowsiness that comes from the pain reliever enough with just one. So the fact that he chooses to swallow two and has kept rubbing his temple, tells me that he’s got a headache worse than he can deal with on his own.

Not that he would admit to it voluntarily.

Opening my arms as an invitation, Harry lays down on his side, putting his head in my lap. The light from the TV highlights the closest points of his face, long eyelashes fanning across the tops of his cheeks as he lets his eyes fall shut.

Just as I redirect my attention back to the movie I had nearly forgotten was playing, Harry nudges the top of my thigh with his nose, “Play with my hair, please.” His eyes are still closed as he lays completely still, arms tucked into his chest.

And so I do. But not before taking the blanket that was folded across the arm of the sofa and draping it over his body. As well as I can, seeing that I can’t do much more than throw the end.

The satisfied hum Harry lets out once I run my freshly manicured fingers through his curls has me suppressing a giggle.

I bet all that I own that having his hair played with is very high on the list of his favourite things from the way he always seems to turn to putty when I do just that.

Before I know it the end credits are rolling along with the tears. My hands are still absentmindedly making little braids only to undo them in his growing hair.

His breathing is deep and even, his body completely relaxed and his nose is buried in the fabric of my sweats as if my lap was a pillow. I don’t even want to try to wake him up. The thought had crossed my mind when I’d first noticed him starting to fall asleep. Just shut the TV off and get his ass in bed. But I decided to just let him doze off completely since it was obvious that he needs it.

Knowing Harry, if he sleeps on the sofa through the night, he’ll be bothered by his neck the whole day.

I take a minute to admire him in awe. He looks so peaceful like this. Like there isn’t a thing in the world that could ever interrupt him and his peace.

Apart from me apparently.

Being as careful as I possibly can, I slide myself further away from him while lowering his head to the cushion, freeing myself so I can get up. After shutting off the TV, the living room now nearly pitch black from the lack of light, I rid Harry of the blanket and fold back over the sofa arm.

“Darling, you gotta wake up.” I caress his cheek tenderly, watching as his eyelids slowly but surely flutter open. “There he is.”

“I wanna sleep.” His pout thankfully melts into a small smile when I kiss his nose.

Before he actually does let himself fall asleep, I take his hand in mine as I get off my knees, a reluctant Harry actually sitting up in the process. His fingers are back to soothing his table and it has an instant feeling of guilt settling in the pit of my stomach.

Pulling him the rest of the way up, I don’t even question it when Harry leans most of his weight on me, arms looping around my waist and his face settling in the crook of my neck.

“Would it make you feel better if I pamper your face how you like?”, I offer. He hums and nods but makes no move to take a step in any direction.

So I remove his arms for him, slinging the closest one around my shoulders as I wrap my own around his waist so he can keep using me as his own personal crutch. Which he does all the way up the stairs, down the hallway, through our bedroom and into our bathroom where he lets go and seats himself on top of the closed toilet seat.

Thankfully the lights were already dimmed, and it doesn’t look like he’s too bothered by them either.

As I’m setting up the products I know are his favourites, I glance over at him every few seconds. He looks like he could sleep for a week and still not be fully rested.

Dark circles and heavy under eyebags are more visible from how dull and pale his skin is. It’s lacking that glow and shine of life that’s always adorned his features as if he was an angel sent from heaven.

I wash my hands before getting his hair out of his face with the use of his fluffy, baby-blue headband.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s bothering you?”, I ask him as I start to cleanse his dampened skin, taking my time to get all that funk out of his pores, careful to keep the product out of his closed eyes. The way he has his head slightly tilted back makes it a lot easier.

“Head hurts.”

It actually feels like someone just took a tug at my heart. And not in a good way. “I’m so sorry, my love.”, I murmur, kissing the top of his head.

Keeping his hands comfortably at my hips as I stand between his legs, Harry just shrugs his shoulders as if it wasn’t a big deal. “S’fine.”

He’s full of shit and we both know it.

But knowing him I don’t try to argue and just continue with the task at hand in silence. With the exception of the hums of appreciation every now and then.

Doing his skincare routine for him isn’t going to magically take away his troubles. But if it can put a little bit of pleasure and comfort into the mix, I would happily stand and pamper him for hours on end.

Once he’s all done, I take his headband off for him and with a giggle, I give him the kiss he’s silently asking for by puckering his lips.

Harry watches me with tired eyes and his toothbrush slowly cleaning his teeth as I make quick work of my own nighttime routine.

Even though it’s way earlier than we normally even think about going to sleep, Harry is obviously about ready to throw in the towel where he sits judging by how slowly he’s brushing his teeth. The events and stress of the day have tired me out as well, to be honest.

His mumbled, “I love you”, through a mouthful of toothpaste had me giggling as I returned the sentiment.

Harry tries to help me put everything in its rightful place again, pouting when I tell him to sit his pretty little sick ass right back down again and let me take care of it. If he’d been his usual, not sick, self, he never would’ve listened.

“C’mon, Dimples. Time for bed.” “Yes, ma’am.”

I shake my head at the poor attempt at a smirk the man makes that quickly morphs into a grimace from his headache as I help him back onto his feet.

As if his body knew how close he was to finally be able to lie down and sleep again, the second his eyes lands on his final destination for today, he releases a yawn that makes his eyes all but disappear.

He plops down on top of the duvet, getting to work on shedding off his pink mickey mouse sweater as I slide my sweatpants off my legs and drop all the decorative pillows on the floor with them. Since neither of us bothered with turning on the light when we entered the room, there’s no need to make the short walk to the switch by the door.

“Do you need anything else?”, I ask as I fold back the duvet. I jump in surprise when I feel something hard meet my back the second I stand up only to realise that it’s just Harry when he hugs me to his chest and kisses the top of my head.

Swaying us slowly from side to side, he murmurs against my hair, “All I need is you.”

The butterflies that are going crazy from just how much I love this man in my stomach, stay there.

They keep buzzing around long after the warmth of the duvet envelops our bodies. The kiss goodnight Harry laid on my lips didn’t make them go away. They only increase when Harry nestles his face into my chest with his arm slung across my stomach. As if those little creatures could feel just how close he was.

I’m pretty sure they kept floating around long after I drifted off to sleep.

-

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine you survive the Order 66 because of Lord Vader.

Warnings: angst, drama. Not recommended for minors or those who have sensibility to these themes.

Warnings 2: unburnt Vader + fluffy endings.

Warnings 3: younglings are not killed in any of my stories.

Recommendations: Lorde’s version “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”. “We Remain” by Christina Aguilera.

***

Intro.

The sky is heavy with the darkest shade of grey that paints the clouds. As they tumble against the other, a tempest begins to form. You don’t seem to notice how all of a sudden the light of the sun is eclipsed by the appearance of darkness.

You are weary due to your last mission at the planet Y/C. You carry many frustrations to yourself because it feels as if whatever you do it’s never enough, whether for the Order, whether for your master.

How many times you’ve been fighting this war, at times boldly so, earning the epithet of “reckless Jedi”, and how many times you felt as if each mission battle defeats you? Victory comes at a higher cost every single time.

You are closer to the edge.

As you stand under the heavy rain that starts to pour over the temple Jedi, your knees go weak. You collapse right there. No one is there to help you to stand. You are by yourself.

He is not there either. And to miss him, to miss the one responsible for you to get where you are now only breaks through you.

Where are you, Anakin? I don’t feel you. Where did you go to?

The hood continues to absorve the impact of the rain. The sensation doesn’t soothe the sensation that the higher you get, the higher your fall will be. To be embraced by this storm only seems to reinforce the feeling that you are drowning to the core of suffering.

To whom are you enough? It takes a lot of criticism to knock down one’s self esteem and with time, with losses to face, with the delusion to wipe away the duty perception to a fragile Order, what is there to remain?

You have nothing else to think about. You raise your head and let a scream out of your lungs. A bittersweet mix of salty tears that roll over your cheeks and the tasteless rain that comes to your face is felt. You are soaked. You are hurting.

Immersed in what seems to be a longing for healing, you don’t realize the hologram that a clone nearby you opens it. You barely listen to a mechanical, evil voice giving the order 66. You don’t see the moment this clone complains about a strange migraine before saying something about executing the Jedis.

However, you do hear the sound of blasters. The sound of despair. You smell death. You rise instantly and the next thing you know a blaster is pointed at you.

“Jedi, you are about to die.”

That’s what you are told before he shoots at you.

***

Two years ago.

Anakin senses your disturbance the moment your ship lands. He comes right after you, concerned for your safety. You have only recently replaced Ahsoka as his Padawan and quickly earned his affection—though not exactly the way you wanted to be because, unlike his, yours was a different fondness that installed in your chest the moment you started the trains, but you always hid it away because you soon realized his heart belonged to someone else.

It is only fair you are greeted properly by your Master after such a difficult mission in Mustafar, a planet that only got to your nerves. And you also come back deeply wounded, though nothing hurts more than a broken pride—you were this close to knock Dooku down, but he was faster and wiser and here was when your inexperience left you.

“Hey Y/nickname.” He is frowning at you, seeing the scar you got in your shoulder and the signs of burnt in some parts of your skin. “What the hell happened?”

“I am fine”, you hear yourself saying but not even you believe in that. You look a mess and your words don’t match your state.

“Are you really going to lie to me?” Anakin asks you with ferocious eyes.

You regret instantly what you said.

“Apologies, Master. I feel better, truthfully.”

Anakin sees how you struggle to look composed. A sight he does not approve.

“You are shielding yourself behind your pride. I am not asking twice: what the hell happened?”

It takes a good deal of you to aquiesce with what he asks of you. Simple as it may seem to admit a failure from an outsider, it blows your self-esteem doing so. Yet, here you are. And when staring into his blue eyes, you tell him how Dooku overpowered you.

Anakin soon soothes in his treatment towards you. He places a hand over your shoulder and as he draws you closer, he says:

“You almost got me worried for a moment, Y/nickname. What on earth were you thinking about facing Dooku in such a planet?”

“I thought I could. After defeating Ventress and one of the Sith agents, I…” You sigh again.

“This is not a helpless case”, Anakin assures you. “Come now. You need to take care of yourself. Otherwise what use will you be to me?”

He offers you a soft smile before heading to meet Rex and the other clones. You don’t respond him, watching him go as you are left with your growing frustrations.

A few days later, though, you amend your pride. However, stubborn as you may be, you have clues about an agent to Dooku in the planet Y/C. Much to your dismay, Anakin refuses you.

“What? Why?!”, you cannot keep the good-girl posture much longer. Anakin raises his eyebrows, never before seeing you act like this. “I mean… What reason does my Master have for not granting me permission to get this mission? Have I not proved my worth?”

It’s only then that Anakin realizes you are both the same. And that he’s being to you what Obi-Wan was to him: hard, proud and stubborn. The result of his former frustration stands right before him, embodied in your person.

So he softens.

“I am sorry. It’s not about that. Things are escalating, Y/N. You are really good, you know that. Otherwise I wouldn’t take you under my wing”, he is pleased to seeing you smile. “Feeling better now?”

“Yes, thank you.” Calmer this time, you add: “When will my trials begin?”

“I have to check with the Council, but I believe it soon. And for someone who overpowered the Ventress, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

Anakin seems to notice you for the very first time when you smile at his compliment. And what a nice smile you have, Y/N. But instead of voicing his thought, life happens and such never got to his tongue.

***

A year ago.

Your hair is loose and longer than the last two years, dropping right to your waist. There is something sensual about how you always wear your y/c locks wild and untied, how you opt to wear bandages to protect your chest in the same color of your pants.

Such are Anakin’s perceptions. But he shouldn’t notice you. Not when he and Padmé broke up because of her ex boyfriend, not when he is in pain. Not to add the amount of issues he’s been having with the Council.

But when you flash him a overconfident smile, Anakin’s mind goes blank.

“Anakin, hi! Have you been there for some time?”, you ask him, always careful to shield your heart and thoughts.

You are now a Jedi like him, and though there is no need to be under his guidance anymore, the bond one has with the other is too tight to break.

“What’s the point of practicing by yourself?”, says he in a defiance tone. “Go on. Get your saber, Y/N. Let’s see how good you are.”

A year can change everything, how odd is to perceive it. But as you and Anakin practice, as twilight paints in orange the skies above you, no change is perceived.

Yet.

Because where you start dressing blue, he begins to dress black. Where you are growing patient, his moves start to be more aggressive. This is a contrast a good observer could have noticed, but one is so intricate with the other that neither of you sees it.

“Good”, Anakin laughs arrogantly. “But you can still do better, Y/N.”

Your smile starts to fade, but you are quick to omit your insecurity from his eyes. Those are now set on you like of a hunter, but you will not be his prey.

It doesn’t help your moves that wind starts to get colder. One shiver, but you resist it. One blow, you resist it. But then one cramp…and here’s where you meet your fall.

“Well done, Y/N”, he tells you softly after offering you his hand to grab it.

As you take it, you unintentionally fall over him. Anakin has to hold you, otherwise you’d get some bruises by dropping to the floor. And it’s right where his eyes meet yours.

And he knows. Because he knocks your shield down.

“Y/N…”

You get instantly red, freezing as you stare back into those blue eyes, aware that he found out. But…

But he leaves you there. And you watch as he turns his back at you, leaving you there, pretending nothing happened.

You put a smile and decide there is nothing to investigate. Absolutely nothing. So you go straight to your quarters.

***

You hear from Rex that he and Padmé Amidala are getting back together.

“I didn’t even know they broke up”, you tell him, baffled. “But good for them.”

Good for them indeed, but not for you. You sense Anakin has been avoiding you, and if these rumors are true, it may be wise to avoid the Senator’s presence as well.

Fuck. All my efforts to keep this unseen and unknown… all of these were for nothing.

So you decide to have a good and honest conversation with Anakin again. It takes some time but when you find him, you notice there is something wrong by how he turns at you.

“What?”

You clear your throat.

“Uh. It’s me, Y/N.”

Awkward.

Anakin sighs before turning at you. He softens and it’s only when you see that there’s been something going on. You leave your concerns aside and say:

“Anakin… What’s wrong? Please talk to me. Was it something that I did? I…”

“On the contrary, Y/nickname”, Anakin smiles at you and there is gentleness in his voice, contrasting it, however, to the sadness in his eyes. “You could never do anything to stress me out. There is nothing for you to worry about.”

You take his hand almost unconsciously, a gesture that does not go unnoticed by him.

“I want you to trust in me. I could be of help somehow. You don’t have to go through all of this by yourself.” You know he is about to protest, so you squeeze his hand and proceed: “Don’t shush me. You know you don’t have to carry this weight upon your shoulders.”

He does not realize he locks his fingers with yours.

“You don’t know what it is like…” And then he breaks down.

You hold him close, then pull him against you. One barrier has been knocked down. There is little need to speak, so you stay like this for some long time.

***

Six months ago.

You are assigned to a very difficult mission regarding the chase of Darth Maul in Mandalore. You don’t know yet, but this will be the last time you see Anakin before some catastrophic events happen.

And it’s just right at the time that you are preparing to leave that your former Master comes after you.

“Y/N”, he calls you, sounding somewhat reluctant.

You turn your head. Today your hair is tied in one long elaborated braid. And you are dressing red. A color that, according to Anakin’s opinion, suits you well.

“Yes, Anakin?”, you greet him cheerfully.

Whatever it was that happened that day changed every dynamics of your relationship. But at the same time… Neither of you dares to make the first move.

“I must tell you something”, he finally decides to quit the battle against his heart.

You smile at him, warmly so. Anakin smiles back. Both of you know what’s to be finally said. He extends his mechanic hand for you and you are about to take it when Master Windu comes up.

“Greetings, General Y/LN.” He bows his head at you first. “I believe General Rex is waiting for your command. General Skywalker, may I have a word?”

You and Anakin are forced to struggle with disappointment when this awkwardness hangs between you two. He carefully casts you a painful look, though something about your eyes relieves the anxiety in his soul.

“Of course”, you are quick to answer the older male. “I appreciate your kindness, Master Windu. Have a great day. Master Skywalker.”

“Take care, Master Y/LN”, Anakin says nonchalantly.

But as his eyes follow your moves, his heart is plagued by a bad feeling concerning your mission. Worst, however, is his remorse for never telling you how he came to love you.

***

The mission & The Order 66.

All the whilst the clone wars are coming to an end and Palpatine are orchestrating his coup, bringing Anakin to his side, you are flying after Maul. To the point that you find him in a Sith planet, long forgotten even by the Jedis. And it’s right there that you are forced to deal with something bigger.

“Join me, Y/N”, you hear Maul’s voice. “You can be my apprentice, together we will be greater than any Jedi or Sith.”

“No”, you clench your jaw. “Quit with the bullshit, Maul. I will never be by your side.”

Yet, in the midst of a dark mist that confuses your vision, you hear his laughter, full of disdain and deprived of joy.

“There is darkness in you, sweet Y/N. Fight it as you wish, but you cannot deny there is in you.”

And for some reason the certainty in his speech annoys you to the point you struck rightly so. A violent battle follows, there is only so much you can take, however, and he manages to escape you.

So close, yet so far.

Maul laughs as he hears your screams. But it’s not over yet. You pursuit him. You forget about clone wars and politics. Good sense dissipates as you start a chase that dries your energies.

This whole process only ends when you get back to Coruscant, months later. You succeed in bringing Maul to justice after all. But…

What have you done?

Vengeance is not the Jedi way, you could hear him admonish you. And you feel exhausted, drained out, so tired of all this Jedi thing. There is no taste of victory as what feeds your soul is a huge frustration.

Under a heavy rain, you let a cry out of your lungs. Under a heavy rain, you barely notice the presence of a troop, his migraine and words about the order 66.

“…destroy the Jedis.”

When you turn, it’s too late. The blaster would have knocked you down, had Anakin Skywalker not lifted the clone and sent him away. What would’ve been of you had he not rescued you?

“Oh Anakin!”, you basically tumble and fall onto him. “You came!”

He gives you a half way smile at you.

“I did, Y/Nickname. For you did.”

But his yellows are different.

***

The Rise of Lord Vader.

You are both alone in what used to be the council room, used for general meetings. Anakin is waiting for your reaction as he told you what happened. For some strange reason, however, you remain an enigma for him.

“You saved me”, it’s all you can say.

“What?”, Anakin turns from the window and stares at you, puzzled by your statement. “I told you all the wrongs I’ve done and you focused in this?”

“Yes”, you are firm in what you believe. You move to where he is, noticing he is still reluctant at what your next moves will be, you lock your hands together. “If you were truly this evil being, you’d have me killed. You care for me, don’t you? Say it, Anakin. Because I do too. More than that, in fact…”

You are interrupted by the urge of his lips clashing against yours. You gasp, forgetting how to breathe as his hands involve your frame, pulling it against his. Yours tangle within his curly hair, before resting over his face, holding it so dear, so gently.

When you part the kiss to catch your breathes, you rest your forehead against his as he does the same against yours, staying like this for quite a while. Chaos seems part of another world, distant from your private universe.

“You took too long for this, Anakin”, you whisper against his lips. “I’ve always thought your heart belonged to somebody else.”

“No, princess”, he caresses your cheek. “My heart has always been yours. It will remain so. Let me provide you the best for us, you deserve every recognition. I sensed your pain, there is no need for further suffering.”

“You bring me peace, Ani”, you admit it in a whisper. “I am tired of fighting.”

He wipes away your tears with his thumb. Gently, he says:

“There is no need to fighting anymore, my angel. I’m here for you. But I must know what will be of us.”

You rest your hands over his shoulders, not willing to separate from him. There had been too much time spent apart of each other. As you cast him a look, you come to realize what had there always been within you. The truth before announced by Darth Maul himself. So you say:

“In the end, I guess we had to fall, but I would gladly fall a thousand times more with you.”

Anakin smiles broadly at you. He embraces you, knowing that the love one feels for the other remains above all.

***

Epilogue.

Most times the war one wages is against what truly resides within oneself. Accepting that you are not entirely bad for having flaws helps you understand Anakin’s. Helps you both overcome issues that had been severely repressed by the Jedis.

Palpatine is now dead. Power lies in the hands of you both. But behind the scenes, balance prospers. Anakin pulls you against him every morning, every moment, to remind you the love he has for you only grows intense.

And you respond him with the same way. You never cease to defend him, to justify his doings. He’s been too misunderstood and one of the moments where you found your voice was defending your husband.

Oh yes. The two of you got married in a discreet ceremony at planet Y/C. Only two witnesses were present to attend: C3-P0 and R2-D2.

As time starts to pass, however, rumors begin to spread that where Lord Vader rules the Empire, it’s his Lady Y/N who rules him in bed. There might be some truth in it.

But neither of you seems to care. It’s all good. It’s perfect and happy as it should be.

[youngpettyqueen]

for prompts, might I suggest a number 14 with Julian takin care of Kira, and a ‘it feels worse than it looks—no wait-‘ with Julian being a bad patient?

oh my god I finally fucking finished it.

I am SO SORRY this took so long I got hit with. the most violent writer's block ive had in a HOT minute and this had me fighting for my life. I dont even know how many times I wrote and rewrote this. I went through so many different ideas it was actually ridiculous. at one point I had something finished but it Was Not Good and I dont believe in posting writing I dont like so I scrapped it and started again

I keep waffling on whether or not I like this, but thats entirely because ive spent way too long staring at it. im sure in a few days ill actually really like it, cause I really like the dialogue, which was what I wrote out first. pulling myself out of my perfectionism, I do think I like this, and at the very least im proud of getting it down when it gave me so much trouble

again, im so sorry it took so long, but writer's block is a bitch and ive had a lot going on lately, so I hope you understand <3

for the readers- 14 on the list is "Stop pretending that any of this is ok. It's not." I did adjust that one a bit cause I was having trouble making it flow. but, without further ado, here's what I've got! 

Kira slides down with her back against the wall, grinding her teeth as she clutches at her wounded shoulder. The pain is still hot, the hole burned into her skin practically still smoking. She hisses as her palm makes contact with the sticky, raw flesh, but she still clamps down. 

“Anytime you wanna get over here, Julian!” She calls, her voice strained. 

“Doing my best, Major!” Julian calls from where he is, hunkered down behind some debris as a makeshift shield against the barrage of disruptor fire. 

This is, in eloquent terms, a right fucking mess. Getting into a fight with a bunch of Jem’Hadar soldiers is never a good thing, even when they’re prepared. When they’re not prepared, it’s even worse. And this time, they weren’t prepared. Because there weren’t supposed to be any Jem’Hadar on this planet. This was supposed to be a quick pit stop for the Defiant, replacing some whatsit that O’Brien said was damaged in their last firefight, but then there were Jem’Hadar soldiers and they’ve managed to land themselves in a whole different firefight. 

It really just hasn’t been a great week. 

Kira inches closer to the wall’s edge. Her grip on her phaser isn’t stable, but it’ll have to do. She takes a deep, steadying breath, and then she twists over so that she’s peering out from behind the corner. She spots the Jem’Hadar pinning them down, quick count tells here there’s 3 of them, and she snaps her phaser up to hit them with some fire of her own. The motion pulls at her injured shoulder in a way that makes her want to scream, but she bites down on it. 

Julian, bless him, takes the opportunity to lunge out from behind the debris. He scrambles across the gap, barely dodging the returning fire from the Jem’Hadar, and manages to throw himself down behind the security of the wall. He plasters himself up against the wall beside Kira, right as she ducks back behind cover as the Jem’Hadar’s fire intensifies. 

Kira looks at him. He looks at her. He’s breathing hard and heavy, his hair a mess and dirt and blood staining his face. She musters up a grin to tell him, “You’re late.”

Julian gives her a flat look as he turns to her. “Forgive me, it’s a bit difficult to make house calls in the middle of a battlefield,” He replies, sounding very, very tired. But then his eyes flick to her bloody hand, still clamped over her wounded shoulder, and she watches his expression shift as he clicks back into what’s affectionately referred to as doctor mode, “Let’s see that shoulder, then.” 

Kira moves her hand, letting Julian get a look at the wound. She winces as he pulls aside the burnt fabric, taking a deep breath in through her nose and resisting the reflex to jerk away. “How’s it look?” She asks, mostly just to distract herself. 

“Like it needs more than what I’ve got,” Julian replies, frowning, “The dermal regenerator I have will do for now, but this is deep. I’ll need to immobilize your arm,” He tells her, giving her an apologetic look, “If you move it too much, you’ll risk tearing it open again.”

“Just do what you have to,” Kira tells him, “Won’t be the first time I’ve had to shoot myself out with only one arm.” 

Julian nods, and returns his attention to her wound. “Right,” He pulls his kit up and rifles through it for a second. The first thing he pulls out is a hypospray, which he quickly sticks into her neck. Kira relaxes fractionally as the painkillers immediately start to work, dulling some of the burning in her shoulder. Then he’s pulling out the dermal regenerator, and bracing his hand against her shoulder again, “Try to hold still.” He advises.

Kira just gives a tight nod, already gritting her teeth and bracing herself. She feels the dermal regenerator start to work. The hypo helps, but it doesn’t take away that burning, itchy sort of feeling of muscle and nerves and skin stitching itself back together inch by inch. She clenches her fists tight, breathing hard through her nose as Julian works. 

“Sorry, I know this stings,” Julian says, “I’m doing the best I can. This regenerator wasn’t meant for a wound like this.” 

Kira grunts a wordless acknowledgement. If she says anything, it’s just going to be a string of curses. Instead, she focuses on keeping her ear on the sound of disruptor fire, making sure it isn’t getting closer. If the Jem’Hadar decide to come after them, she wants to be ready. 

“Done,” Julian pipes up. She looks over as he puts the regenerator back in his kit, taking the worst of the pain with it and leaving her with a dull ache, “That’s the hard part done. I’m going to move your arm now,” His hands are gentle, taking her arm and carefully easing it away from her side, “There we go. Alright, hold it there, please.” 

Kira does. Julian sits back, and unzips his jacket to get at his undershirt. “This will have to do,” He tells her, tearing a couple of strips from his undershirt, “These won’t be the most comfortable, but they’ll have to do. I’m out of bandages.” He leans back in, starting to bind her arm with the torn fabric.

“Sorry about your shirt.” She cracks weakly.

“I’ll get a new one.” He replies, without so much as a smile.

She hates how flat his voice is. Hates how… unlike him, it is. Quiet, with no bite. “C’mon, Julian, where’s that boyish optimism of yours?” She asks, “I could really use a hit of it right about now.”

Julian secures the bandage around her arm. “I must’ve dropped it when they started shooting at us,” He says, not meeting her eyes, “Do me a favour, Major. Don’t pretend any of this is ok,” He sits back again, still not meeting her eyes, all caught up in taking in his work, “Cause it’s really not.” He does look her in the eye, then. And he looks so… tired.

But then, he’s looked like that for a while, hasn’t he?

Kira gives him a smile. A sad, quiet little smile. “I never said any of this was ok,” She corrects, “I’m just… used to it, at this point.” Very, very used to it. Used to it in a way she hopes he never is. 

Julian considers that for a moment. His expression is hard to read- sad, maybe. Sympathetic. Then he sighs, and breaks eye contact. “Well, I suppose I’m getting used to it, too,” He scrubs a bloody hand through his hair, “We should get going. Can you walk?” He asks.

No time for sentiment, then. Kira nods. “It’s just the arm,” She assures him, “I can do a hell of a lot more than walk.”

“Good,” Julian starts to push himself up to stand, “Let’s-“ He doesn’t get far. He wobbles suddenly, his eyes widening slightly as he nearly topples right over. He barely manages to catch himself, bracing a hand against the wall before he can fall against it.

Kira quickly reaches out to steady him. “Julian?” She sits up, frowning, “What’s wrong?”

Julian frowns, confused. “I… don’t know,” He says, looking down, “I can’t feel my-“ He cuts off, suddenly, his eyes fixing on something, “Ah.”

Kira’s brow furrows. “Ah? What’s-“ She follows his gaze, and comes to the same abrupt halt as she sees just what he’s found, “Ah.” 

Julian has a substantial wound in his thigh. A chunk of his pant leg has been burned away, revealing a raw, painful-looking burn that’s steadily oozing blood down his leg. Kira’s eyes widen at the sight of it. That doesn’t look good. That really doesn’t look good.

“Well,” Julian says, “That’s not ideal.” And then he sways alarmingly, nearly crumpling right to the ground.

“Julian!” Kira lurches forward, manages to catch him by the arms. He grimaces as he eases himself down, taking his weight off his injured leg, “Damnit, Julian, what were you thinking ignoring this? Gimme that tricorder-“ She reaches for his medkit, not waiting for him as she rummages through it herself.

“I wasn’t ignoring it!” He exclaims, “I couldn’t feel it! Honest!” 

Kira finds the tricorder and pulls it out. “Don’t tell me they augmented the ability to feel pain out of you,” He shifts again, adjusting his position to give her a better angle to scan him, and it draws a painful hiss out of him, “Guess not.” She hums.

Julian manages a weak chuckle, the first one she’s gotten out of him all day. “Not as such,” He confirms, “I’ve just been- gah!” He grinds his molars as she pulls the burnt fabric away from the wound, “Preoccupied.” He growls.

Kira huffs softly as she reads the results on the tricorder. It’s not a fun wound. “So busy trying not to get shot that you didn’t realize you got shot?” She asks, arching a brow at him, “I’m almost impressed.”

“Only almost?” Julian asks, all mock indignation, “I’d hate to see what I’d have to do to actually impress you,” He mutters. His eyes drift down, then back up at her. He looks worried, “How bad is it?”

Kira puts the tricorder down. “How bad does it feel?” She dodges. 

“Pfft, this little thing?” He scoffs, gives a weak little wave that’s probably went to ‘wave off’ the pain, “It’s nothing. Just a scratch. It feels worse than it… no. No, wait, that’s not right,” He blinks, and she can almost see the gears in his head turning as he tries to figure out the order of the words, “I don’t mean to alarm you, Major, but I think the shock might be setting in.” He tells her.

Kira can’t help but roll her eyes. “No kidding,” She says, “This isn’t my first time, Julian. Hand me the regenerator, I’ll do what I can with it.” She holds her hand out expectantly.

Julian hands it over. “Now who’s being serious?” He asks.

Kira adjusts how she’s holding him, making sure she’s holding the burnt edges of his uniform away from his skin so that she doesn’t accidentally fuse any fabric to him. “Oh, so you can make jokes,” She takes the dermal regenerator and adjusts her hold on it, making sure it won’t slide out of her hand, which is slick with blood, “I thought you dropped that along with your optimism.” She gets the regenerator going, doing what she can with the wound.

Julian chuckles again, grins at her. “I told you, the shock’s setting in,” He replies, all charm, “I’ll say anything just to say anything. Apologies, but I’m going to be talking your ear off until we get out of here.” He warns.

Kira keeps her eyes on her work, keeps her hand braced on his thigh to hold him still. “As opposed to when you don’t talk my ear off.” She counters. After a few seconds, she can see that the burn’s healed as much as it’s going to. She switches the regenerator off and hands it back to him.

“Rude,” Julian huffs, taking the regenerator and putting it back in his medkit, “How’d the regenerator do? I don’t want to look.” He’s looking even as he says it, like he can’t help himself. 

“It’ll hold,” She tells him, not seeing any point in sugar-coating it. He would see right through her in a second, “For now. I’m gonna bandage it, just in case,” She adds. Now it’s her turn to get at her undershirt, tear it up for strips of fabric, “I liked this shirt, you know.” She informs him as she does.

“I suppose we’re even, then,” Julian cracks weakly, “Have I ever told you you’d make a great medic?” He asks.

There’s the Julian she knows. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” She tells him. Satisfied with her bandages, she gets them ready, “I do have one question for you, Doctor.” 

Julian frowns, confused. Yeah, the shock really has set in if he can’t see what she’s doing. “Go ahead.” He invites.

Kira starts wrapping his leg. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” She asks.

He looks even more confused. “What are my-“ She yanks the bandages tight before he can finish, and he cuts off with a pitched yelp, “Fuck!”

Maybe it’s a bit mean to chuckle, but Kira can’t help it. She doesn’t often get to hear him curse. “Oh, language,” She tuts as she finishes tying the bandages off, “There. Nice and tight. That oughta hold you together till we get out of here.” She gives his knee a pat. 

Julian pouts at her. “You enjoyed that.” He accuses. 

“I did no such thing,” Kira replies smoothly as she pulls his medkit closer to her and starts rifling through it, not bothering to ask him, “Want a hypo?” She offers.

“No,” Julian shakes his head, making her stop short and give him an incredulous look, “I’ve only got the one left. Save it for someone who needs it.” He reasons. 

Her look quickly flattens. “Don’t start with the heroics, Julian,” She advises, “You’re not gonna be treating any patients until after you’ve been treated. On the Defiant.” She doubts he can even stand on his own, let alone treat people.

“I can hold out till then,” He insists, “Someone else might-“

“Julian,” Kira cuts in, not giving him any room to argue, “Take the fucking hypo.” 

Julian’s brows shoot up and he looks a little stunned. Just for a moment, though, before he huffs a bit of a laugh. “Now who needs to watch their language,” He says, his tone light and teasing, “Alright, go ahead.” He nods.

Kira takes the hypo out of his kit. “Oh, thank you,” She replies, making sure her own tone savours strongly of sarcasm, “You’re a terrible patient, you know that?” 

There’s that grin again. All charm. “So Nurse Jabara keeps telling me.” He replies, like the pain in the ass he is.

“You should listen to her. She’s always right,” Kira sticks the hypo in his neck, and watches his shoulders instantly sink down a notch. She didn’t even realize how tense he was, “Better?” She asks. 

Julian takes a deep breath. Probably the first one he’s taken all day. “…Much,” He admits, with the decency to look a little sheepish, “Thank you, Major.” His smile’s a bit less charm now, a bit more sincere.

Kira finds herself smiling back. “Anytime,” She says. She shoots a quick look around, regaining her bearings a bit now that they’re both taken care of. She can still hear blasters firing, but not as close. They might’ve moved off somewhere else. Or they could be waiting, “We should probably get moving.” She suggests.

“Probably,” Julian agrees, “Just one problem, though. I don’t think I can walk.” He tells her.

Kira figured. “Can you limp?” She asks, “I’ve still got two good shoulders, both perfectly good for leaning on.” She offers, patting her shoulder for emphasis.

There’s that glint in his eye. First time she’s seen it today- stubborn determination, or, in another word, cocky. “I think I can manage that.” He says.

Kira grins. “Great,” She ducks in and gets her arm around his waist, pulling him in snug against her as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, “Alright, lean on me. Steady. And…” She pushes herself up, and brings him with her. He leans heavy into her side, and she tightens her hold on him to keep him steady, “Up we go. Ready?” She asks.

Julian takes a moment to find his balance, shifting most of his weight off of his injured leg and compensating on Kira’s shoulder. “As I can be,” He tells her with a nod, “Let’s go.”

And they’re off. Making quite the sight as they hobble back into the action, pressed hip to hip and clinging tight to each other. But, hey, they’re still kicking, and they’ve still got their phasers, so they’ll make do. They always do. 

[ghost-proofbaby]

WIP word game

rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

this game literally had me bouncing in my seat!!! thank you so much to @the-unforgivenn and @hellfire--cult for the tags!!! i'm gonna knock both out on the same post here (also both your words are delicious)

my words are: BITE and PRESSURE

possible spoilers for so mordor it is, so scarlet (it was maroon), and the moon will sing (i loved you like the sun) below the read more <3

also for this game, i'm not entirely sure who's already been tagged and who hasn't, so i'm just gonna tag anyone i think would enjoy this! also tagging up here so there's no pressure to scroll all the way through my snippets if you don't want to haha

no pressure tags: @corroded-hellfire @jo-harrington @andvys @take-everything-you-can @littlesubbyflower @eddiesxangel and honestly anyone else who wants to take a go at this!! <3

your word (if you wanna join) is: HAUNT.

But the girl deserves her honesty, and so she whispers, “I thought it was just PTSD.” 

Something about it is easy – there’s a relief when the whispers of truth trickle a bit louder, rising until Willow finally pours out everything that only one other person could possibly understand. Steve wouldn’t understand, Robin couldn’t possibly understand, Eddie would only try desperately to understand – but Max? Max gets it. Max doesn’t look at her like she’s crazy when words fall from her lips about the nightmares, sparing as many details as possible while still communicating the point.

...

“I don’t understand why the front cover of some stupid ass magazine is so important,” Eddie grumbles as he follows you now, both of you deciding to stand and not yet sit in the empty chairs on the closest side of what must be Matt’s massive desk, “The tabloids run rumors about my dating life all the time-”

“Exactly.”

...

There’s no more quick remarks for her to add. With his unnecessary permission and subtle reassurance of his protection, she’s taking off around the wall of shrubbery, heart pounding out of her chest. 

I don’t have my weapons.

...

Even after all that the two of you have been through, you can’t resist that inherent urge to protect him. 

You can’t quiet the voice that whispers that you still care for him, and you still want to be there for him, even at your own destruction. 

Paler knuckles, tightening fist. The invisible leash is practically choking Wyll now.

...

Really, after Astarion’s feasting on her, she may be more magic than blood at this moment.

And that magic serves as a security blanket, a layer of armor to hopefully replace all the physical leather she’s left behind on the beach, as she hears the sound of an unfamiliar woman in camp.

...

Eddie had kept you a secret. 

Especially now that I know the truth.

Or spun you into a blatant lie. You don’t know which one is worse.

...

She’d tore her way through the process of grief in record time. She’d clawed herself out of those depths in order to be there for her mom, to return to being a daughter worthy of having survived that night with Parker. Nightmares, the gnawing hole in her chest, the way she still couldn’t meet her mom’s gaze when Parker became a topic of conversation – that was just residual shock waves. They would pass one day. These symptoms would pass one day. She had been so sure of it. 

...

She knows somewhere in the shadows, Astarion’s daggers have been drawn. 

“You’ve caused quite the commotion amongst gods and devils alike, if I’ve heard correctly from the whispers of the Hells.”

Time stops. Aruna’s blood freezes. All the magic dies beneath her skin, right along with the air in her lungs.

...

Until the space behind your eyes aches. “The headline went viral online, right?”

“Yeah,” guilt seeps into Matt’s words, “It did.” 

“Have they figured out who I am?” 

...

“Room. Now.” 

Of course, you don’t. 

The game was never one-sided. It was never you, a merciful victim of Astarion, always trapped in his shadows. It’s a game for two – and you’ve earned your blame in it all, the same as Astarion. 

...

Eddie scoffs as he shifts uncomfortably, “Maybe I’m just inspired.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Matt readily agrees, “By her.” 

what have we learned, you ask? that i do not like starting sentences with the letter R, apparently.

[deputy-buck]

Well now you gotta let us know your thoughts on Hawk/Tim puppyplay

!!! love you anon, so much !!! here's Tim's lamb + some other items and photos

Is it a way for Hawk to take more control? yeah, a bit. But is it more so about Tim letting go and being more comfortable with himself? Abso-fuckin-lutely.

I project a little onto Tim, and I HC him being very unsure and over-conscious of his movements, like his physical bodily movements, he's over-aware of anyone's eyes on him to the point he thinks "Am I walking normal? what do I do with my hands? is this a weird way to stand?" It's super fun- I've settled on "Skip" being Tim's pup name :3

Also I'd like to say a super special THANK YOU to @lispenard-street for beta-reading this fic for me!!! Literally every piece of input you had was gold and the absolute correct thing to do, not to mention all the super kind words you had for me even though the draft was in shambles when you first saw it lmfao- So thank you, Gem💚

-

Fetch

Hawk was consumed in drafting a small speech for a function Senator Smith had organized —something about acknowledging McCarthy's threat to the State Department but encouraging diplomacy— when Tim showed up on his doorstep looking like a kicked puppy. His boy promised that he would be quiet and that all he needed was to be somewhere safe while he felt this way. With a beat of hesitance, Hawk let him in, slightly worried no work would get done. Hawk really has no clue how telling a bunch of grown men and women to essentially stand down will do any good for the department, but he'd rather chop off his own hand than go against Senator Smith. 

Tim’s head feels light and full of syrup-damp cotton. He’s quite familiar with this feeling, having been experiencing it for some years; the swirling, strangling, suffocating need to serve and submit. But it’s all different now, knowing that he has someone he can relinquish himself to. Knowing he can let his mind float away and still be safe regardless of whatever may happen around him.

His tongue is wet and heavy behind his teeth, forcing him to swallow the excess spit before it drips past his stress-chewed lips. A warm buzz tingles across every inch of his skin and radiates through his insides; the feeling settles somewhere in his hips and weakens his knees, joints threatening to buckle beneath his weight. The urge to sink to the floor right on Hawk’s doorstep nearly wins but he has just enough sense left in him to know that it would get the door shut in his face.

Instead, he takes a couple wobbly steps across the threshold and into the foyer before giving in to the downward pull and sinking to his knees on the hearth rug that poses as a welcome mat. Tim struggles with bumbling, pawing hands to strip himself of his clothes, only managing to shake out of his coat and claw at the already loose knot of his tie before he lets his hands drop to his lap in defeat. Head swimming, lungs unable to draw in enough air, he looks up to the man standing in front of him, asking —begging— for help with watery eyes, throat resistant to form any sound other than a pitiful whine. 

Hawk smiles and gently peels away the layers of Tim’s human facade: tweed, cotton, tortoiseshell, and gold all in turn. Replacing it with leather and brass, unbinding his pup from responsibility and expectation, letting him be raw and sensitive here where Hawk can protect him—can be the soothing balm to all his scrapes and burns caused by the world.

With a finger hooked in the D-ring of Tim’s collar, Hawk leads his pup into the living room. A little bit of fussing over Tim’s blanket, a brief pitstop at his desk to fetch Tim’s little white lamb, and a soft yet firm command of “Down. Settle, Skip,” later; Hawk redirects his attention back to his speech —leaving his little pup to play at his feet—  intent on making good progress tonight. So he's got a pencil in his hand and three sheets of paper —two already full of his scrawling, thankfully— on an old book in his lap. He's not sitting at his desk for this —his back hurts too damn much— but instead is reclining on the low couch on the opposite wall. 

                                                          ===

Tim nudges his little white lamb into Hawk's lap, propping his chin on the older man's robe-covered knee, huffing and whining when his handler doesn't immediately look at him. The sweet noise catches Hawk's attention immediately, quickly switching his focus to Tim's pouting lips and glimmering eyes instead of the stark white pages.

Those big doe eyes shine with a playfulness that has Hawk's heart seized with warmth and affection for the young man. 

He’s just a boy, Hawk marvels.

Tim had been quietly playing by himself on his rust orange tartan blanket at his handler's socked feet, manipulating the soft toy with his hands and rubbing his cheek against the fluff of its fur, nipping at the tiny ears and tail. But that gets boring after a while, and Hawk hasn’t so much as reached down to pet him in the last twenty minutes. 

A break might do Hawk some good— his eyes are starting to sting anyway.

"Wanna play, huh?" Hawk sets the pencil and makeshift writing pad aside, picking up the small plush and shaking it in front of Tim's face. A laugh bubbles up from his chest as Tim presses his chest forward against Hawk's shin and snaps at the toy, teeth clacking together when a soft, felt hoof gets close to his nose. Maybe he'll catch it one day but today isn't that day.

"Get it, boy." With one last flick of the toy in Tim's face, Hawk tosses the cotton-stuffed lamb across the living room and into the kitchen hall; he had moved the chair that usually sits in the center of the room over, giving his pup room to play while he worked. Hawk is thinking of making this furniture configuration permanent, always allowing Tim to slip down to the floor and be 'Skip' with nothing in his way when his boy’s mind starts to shift and slide to one more canid.

This is a fairly new addition to their play, fetch. It still feels odd to crawl on the floor in nothing but his briefs and collar; bright sconces of the kitchen hall leaving him nowhere to hide. Tim feels a bit exposed, as though his most vulnerable parts are bared for Hawk to scrutinize from his comfortable perch. The skin of his face, chest, and back flush a rosy shade of pink knowing Hawk is watching him.

Hawk rakes his eyes down Tim's body, a ball of heat beginning to wind and coil low in his belly. With a slight readjustment of his robe and briefs, Hawk makes sure to conceal his growing erection, knowing that's not what his puppy needs right now.

Tim clambers his way across the living room, palms and knees softly thumping on the hardwood floor as he chases his lamb. The nickel tag clipped to his collar jingles with each plodding step. He's not going to humiliate himself by trying to trot after it —he knows he'll fall flat on his face— but he's learned that Hawk wants him to crawl instead of get up and walk. Dogs don't walk upright, Skip. Down, boy. 

Once Tim reaches his beloved lamb, he dips down to grab it between blunt teeth. Jaws clamped down on the soft fabric, Tim shakes it side to side like a terrier with a rat or a Beagle with a rabbit: mauling it before bringing it back to his owner for a reward. His hair falls into his eyes as he does so, obscuring his glasses-less vision even more when he turns his attention to Hawk, panting softly, searching for that warm smile he's always trying to draw out of his handler. The one that lets Tim know he's doing good.

He gets it, a sharp show of teeth, the highest value reward Hawk could ever give.

"Bring it here, Skip. Come on." Hawk encourages, patting the top of his thigh to beckon his pup back to him. He loves when his boy turns into his pup, the thorns of defiance and questioning stripped away to sweet, silent submission. Hawk wouldn't change Tim's inquisitive mind and crashing emotions for anything, but it's nice not having to be on his toes, waiting to be thrown off-kilter by a question he hasn't allowed himself to think about. 

Tim ducks his head as he crawls back to Hawk, still a bit too aware of the position his body is in. Hawk had said he likes the way Tim's shoulders flex and strain as he lumbers across the floor on all fours. The memory of Hawk growling those words in his ear while the older man's hands squeezed and kneaded the muscle in Tim's arms prompts Tim to pause once his hands hit the scratchy circular rug. He slides them forward to stretch out in front of himself, chest nearly brushing the floor, fingers clawing at the rug, intentionally tensing his shoulders to make the muscles ripple and cord beneath his skin. Arching his back like a dog who just woke up. His collar tightens around his throat as he does so, biting into his skin, leaving the faintest mark for later.

Satisfied with the shaky sigh and chuckle Hawk lets out, Tim straightens back up to finally bring the toy back to his handler, a little more confidence in his stride. His tag jingles a little louder now. Depositing the lamb in Hawk's open palm, Tim sits back on his haunches, ready to chase and retrieve the toy again, willing to bare himself for as long as Hawk will grant.

"Good boy, Skip." Hawk praises, free hand ruffling through Tim's hair, pausing to gently scratch behind his pup's ear the way Tim loves. "Always such a good puppy for me." 

-

Again thank you so SO much for beta-reading this for me, Gem, you're the best!!

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 14 - Fever

The fever hit without warning. One moment, Dean was perspiring lightly from the exertion of pursuing the witch. In the next, beads of sweat dotted his brow and he began to shiver uncontrollably. His steps slowed, and he stumbled to a complete stop: hands braced on knees, head hanging low. He sensed more than he saw his brother run past him, machete in one hand, gun in the other.

“Way to go, Sam,” he wheezed, the breath leaving his lungs in one long, shaky exhale. Replacing the lost air proved to be quite the challenge. He coughed, coughed again, and finally managed to inhale. Dizzy and decidedly weak in the knees, Dean decided the ground was a prudent place to be. He sank to a kneeling position, wavered there a second, then toppled over to land in a crumpled heap.

He lay there, gasping like a fish too long out of water, his face flushed an alarming shade of red.

And that was how Castiel found him.

“Dean!” he cried, dropping to one knee and placing a hand on Dean's forehead. “You're burning up!” he declared, worry evident in his voice. “But there's no trace of a virus... Was it something you ate?”

“Don't think so.” Dean moaned, and pushed his face further into the deliciously cool hand. “Sam had the same thing for lunch, and he's okay.”

Castiel's free hand travelled slowly across Dean's chest, trailed lower to his rib cage, down to his stomach, and lingered there. “It's not your appendix,” the angel murmured. “I can't find any root cause for a fever.”

“I feel better when you touch me,” Dean said, surprise evident in his voice.

“Touch you where?”

“Here.” Dean tapped his head. “And here.” He pointed to his chest.

Castiel felt the pit-pat of the hunter's heart increase in tempo when he laid a hand over it.

“Lower,” Dean moaned.

Castiel moved his hand down to Dean's belly.

“Lower.” Dean clasped the angel's hand in his both of his own and dragged it towards his crotch.

“Uh, Dean...” “Lower,” Dean begged. “Please, Cas? Please...”

“Dean!” Castiel pulled free and backed away. Instantly, Dean curled into the fetal position and emitted a wail of sheer misery.

“Dean!” Sam echoed, arriving just in time to witness this odd exchange. He rested a hand on Dean's shoulder. “You okay, man?” he asked.

Dean reacted as if he'd been poked with a firebrand. “Don't touch me!” he screamed. “It burns! It burns!”

“What the hell?” Sam sputtered, watching in amazement as Castiel rested a hand on the same shoulder and Dean quieted immediately.

“I believe he is suffering from a spell,” Castiel said, allowing Dean to link their fingers together. “Before she fled, did the witch have time to say anything, Sam?”

“Not a word.” Sam frowned, thinking. “There was a dusting of grey powder on the table. It swirled into the air when we burst through the door. Dean ran through it, chasing after the witch. The wind was behind me, it blew the dust away before I entered the room... Didn't Dean bump into you as he followed her out the back door? Maybe that's why he's so fixated on you.”

“That's very possible, Sam.” Castiel cast a bemused look at Dean. “No nibbling on my fingers, Dean.”

Sam snorted a laugh, quickly turning it into a cough as Castiel turned a disapproving stare his way.

“Sorry,” Sam offered. “I know it's not funny, but you have to admit it's pretty weird. Who leaves sex pollen lying around the house? And leave it to Dean to stumble into it.” He shook his head. “Well, we'll just have to muddle though somehow, and hope the effects wear off. The witch is dead, so she's can't revoke the spell. Maybe Rowena can offer some advice? I'll look into that... do a little research. In the meantime, let's get you two back to the motel. Maybe a warm bath – or a cold shower – will make Dean feel better. I'll book another room so I don't accidentally bump into him.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Castiel said, more than a trace of desperation in his voice.

“Whatever you feel comfortable doing.” Sam grinned.

Sam was seated in the diner located across the road from their motel when the bell over the door jingled and Dean appeared.

“Morning, Sam,” Dean chirped, slapping his brother on the back. Easing himself into a chair, he picked up a menu and studied it.” “Mmmm, pancakes,” he murmured. “Or bacon, sausage and eggs with home fries and baked beans? Why not both? Ooh! They have pie!”

“I see you're back to normal,” Sam said wryly.

“Never felt better, Sammy. The spell ended shortly after midnight.”

“And you waited until now to tell me?”

“”Uh, sorry. It kinda slipped my mind. I was – We were – ”

The bell over the door sounded again, and a distinctly rumpled-looking angel entered. His coat hung off one shoulder; his tie was missing, his dark hair a tousled mess. A pink blush tinged his cheeks, and a purple bruise peeked out from under the collar of his crookedly buttoned shirt. A satisfied smile graced his lips; a matching smile lit Dean's face as Castiel seated himself beside him.

“Never mind, I get the picture,” Sam said, and hid his own smile in his coffee.

[rivangel]

Share - PT.1/4

pairing: Erwin/Levi

summary: At no particular place or time, Erwin and Levi were together, and now in ways both beyond Levi's most hopeful dreams and anxious nightmares. What does it mean to be together? There is no rulebook for this.

They'll make their own.

content/warnings: fluffy, hurt/comfort, canonverse, established relationship, Levi needs a hug so bad, DC (cutting/sh), low self-esteem, Levi has ocd, intimacy, lack of communication | 5.4k

note: here i am posting a longfic on my tumblr after many centuries of not👍 why not? even though it’s ship content on tumblr.com? well i’m bored also, there is a graphic scene of sh which can be skipped by passing the *******

ohhh and for the uninitiated, this series is a part of a bigger series on my ao3 about my favorite ships being virgins😌this is the final one, with this ch serving as a prologue.

| next chapter |

Just speak. Just ask, ‘Hey, Erwin.’ 'Hey, Blondie. Serious question.’ Speak. You won’t have this type of privacy again for the rest of the day, and then you’ll be too weak yet again to just ask.

“Is there anything you wanted to add to your report, Levi?”

Erwin had been sifting through files on the shelves, but his head is turned to look at him now. Levi just submitted recommendations for two new potential squad leaders to replace the dead. He could elaborate to cover up the fact he stood there for too long, ask, or just say no, and seem suspicious.

What he has been trying to do for a week is to ask Erwin on a date—it’s not like it’s a crazy leap. They’ve been together in this way for a while, known each other much longer, and it’s not the first time they’ve had a date. Only, Erwin has ever asked.

He has poured over all the different ways and settings Erwin has asked: slipping the question into whatever conversation effortlessly with an almost boyish hopefulness… his voice containing a charming lilt to get Levi’s attention. His eyes are impossible to look away from, excited and yet subdued to play off that excitement. And he’s so romantic… it’s impossible not to get flustered. That’s the way Erwin is.

And anyway, Erwin wouldn’t laugh in his face like Levi almost did straight after the first time they kissed, but.

Levi isn’t a people person, or charismatic, or that suave unless you count being a smartass. He can’t express himself like Erwin does, even when he genuinely feels hopeful and excited at the prospect of asking Erwin on a date himself.

Plus, he has an idea in mind already. It took a while to think up, wanting to be original, which excluded horseback-riding in the country, reading together, and so on, because Erwin is too good at dating. Of course he is, having committed to a woman for quite some time in his past (who is now Nile’s wife).

'I’ve gotten tired of sleeping in that chair. For once, we should share the bed.’

To be even more fair, Levi sleeps near Erwin most nights, but never in his bed. A chair sits near a small round table at the window. In the beginning, sleeping there meant creeping in at the middle of the night. Levi won’t think of himself as a brat that needs coddling after a nightmare, but… the proximity to Erwin helps. And those mornings, neither of them mentions it.

For not the first time, he wonders if sleeping in the same bed even qualifies as a date idea. And that question saps the rest of the wind from his sails.

“…No,” he answers. He wants to slip out in the next two seconds, but he’s forced to leave as casually as he came in to save face. He reserves his weak knees and closed lungs for the hallway.

A groan of frustration gets lodged in his throat as his fists curl by his sides. He failed again.

His feet begin to walk without any command or goal. He decides to go back to his own quarters just downstairs to rein his thoughts and feelings in so they aren’t overwhelming when he can’t afford them to be. Case in point, when he and Erwin have dinner this evening, like they do most evenings.

A fresh rush of anxiety plunges into the pit in his stomach. He walks faster.

He deserves another punishment for his cowardice. He planned that in advance—if he failed again, he’d do it again. The same way he always punishes himself.

Adjacent to his office, inside his personal quarters and his bathroom, he kneels, and slides out the false bottom of a bathroom drawers. Contained in it are three closed switchblades, from small and relatively dull to a switchblade Levi would and has brought to a major fight; plus one razor.

He plucks out the razor blade. Familiar. Damning.

The only reason he keeps all these supplies, and needs a hiding place, is because he fails at expectations, set by himself or otherwise.

It’d be considered stupid to do it, knowing how much damage just one cut can do. But he of course knows how to keep it clean. Very few have ever gotten infected, and not since leaving the Underground.

It’s true that since he lost… his friends, that punishments accelerated over the months. It’s been a few years, and he hasn’t gone back to his plain method as a teenager.

Like when he was learning to read and write, and on a day he didn’t improve, he would then slip into a place he wouldn’t be found and punish himself, before he became Captain.

Getting reprimanded by superior officers never bothered him. He was then surprised when it began to, as it bothered Erwin somewhere around the time he was sworn in as Commander. After all, Levi was promoted the same day from nothing. Failing Erwin became a grievous offense in his mind.

(It was considered favoritism to skip ranks, but Erwin argued that it was a long time coming. Levi’s skill spoke for itself, but Shadis always held a grudge against him for being himself, which was fair enough.)

Ironically, Erwin would hate if he knew he harmed himself, no matter the reason. That’s why he won’t understand that he deserves this.

He tells himself that. And he tells himself he will stop when he stops failing. An impossible goal, but a goal.

An excuse. If he didn’t get some sick satisfaction out of this, he should dread it more and think about it less. With an ensuing wave of nausea, he knows that.

Well, he deserves punishment for wallowing in his own self-pity too. The cycle continues.

**********

He rolls up his sleeve. Sitting on the edge of the tub, a cloth pinned between his thigh and the top of his arm, and drags the razor idly down below his wrist, out of the way of his veins.

His skin opens in the blade’s wake, flashing white before blood floods the surface and rapidly rolls down. Vicious stinging shoots like a star, searing the wound. He sighs to himself.

It would hurt worse over his ankles or collarbones, or the undersides of his thighs, but it’s not worth his error in this case. Scars of different severity and immense number litter those places, less elsewhere, but they exist just about everywhere. Sometimes, they can be passed off among ones he didn’t cause.

And besides, he wants three together. This is the third time he failed.

He brings the sharp edge down again, evenly spacing the wounds apart. He’s bleeding quite a bit.

With a grueling start, he realizes there isn’t enough unmarred room for the third.

Too bad. Maybe if you weren’t so careless, like you’re careless with him.

It’s fine. He cuts into the scar tissue, applying more force to do so, and inhales sharply as the tough skin opens. His hand doesn’t shake.

The perfect parallel lines get muddled under the streams of blood, which quickly bleed into the washcloth.

He washes off quickly to make sure. It’s acceptable.

**********

That’s three times, three times, three times he’s chickened out on asking Erwin on a stupid date. He just can’t reciprocate like he wants badly to—and he doesn’t know why. He’s so underqualified for a relationship, let alone this one, he can’t help but think. He’s not good enough.

But that’s not an option. Erwin sees something in him, something worthy of his companionship.

Maybe Erwin just hasn’t seen enough of his soul to change his mind.

But… Erwin doesn’t make flippant decisions—in fact he has perfect judgment. Besides, the fact that they are involved like this at all will destroy whoever dies first, and one of them will. That sacrifice can’t be understated. Erwin can’t be wrong about him.

But he doesn’t understand. He can’t understand.

He tapes on a roll of bandage and secures it with a clip. The punishment is done. It feels like enough. It’s fucking deluded, but he can’t ignore the inner tranquility he feels from fulfilling the pattern, the push to do it right next time.

The sunset is turning orange when he walks down to the mess hall and grabs a tray of dinner (two tender rolls and a watery vegetable soup), plus Erwin’s. His comes with a few thick cuts of smoked ham on the side because he’s the Commander. As he deserves.

Levi retrieves it himself both to take some of the load off Erwin’s busy days and so the meat actually gets to him. He often refuses, being too humble; he dislikes special treatment, but as far as Levi’s concerned, it’s his, so he should take it.

Levi feels optimistic after the woman at the counter who hands him the food wishes him a good night, as he inhales the smoky smell of summer in the brisk breeze, but he should attest part of that to the fading rush of what he did earlier.

It isn’t adrenaline. There’s something inherently wrong with him, he’s pretty sure.

Come on. Show him you care already.

With the two trays perfectly balanced in his hand and on his arm, he briskly knocks and comes in without announcing himself like usual. Erwin is still at his desk unsurprisingly, working on papers he looks up from when the door closes behind him.

He spots the tray of food at the same time Levi does the steaming cups of tea he made in advance, and blushes.

“Thank you, Levi.”

Erwin promptly sets his things aside, clearing space so that Levi can set down the tray. Sitting next to him in his own chair (except this one doesn’t swivel), Levi slides his tea over.

“Back at you.”

They eat in tranquil silence, mostly. Erwin does most of the chatting about his day while Levi listens, sometimes giving his own input, and glaring whenever Erwin covertly slides the small plate of ham in his direction.

“Come, Levi. Maybe the extra protein will help you grow.”

He hums sarcastically. “Only stilts will help me now. Don’t bother.”

Erwin laughs. “Perhaps I’ll invest in stilts.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Something about that laugh makes him remember what he wanted to ask. Suddenly he loses his appetite, with only a little left on his plate. He finishes eating anyway.

Somehow Erwin notices his shift in mood. Supported maybe by that awkward moment earlier.

Finally, Levi sits back in his chair, holding his hands over his lap as he stares pensively out at nothing. Erwin pretends he doesn’t notice as he groups their dirty dishes together.

“Erwin,” he manages. Fortunately it doesn’t come out in a croak. “Serious question.”

Someone knocks on the door. A woman’s voice calls out, “Trays?”

Levi inwardly cringes at the way he startled by the sudden noise. Erwin makes an impatient sound, and tells him ‘one moment’ before picking them up and crossing the room.

Levi doesn’t pay much attention. But he still pick up on how flustered the Scout sounds that the Commander himself would bring the dirty food tray to her, as if he didn’t do the bare minimum. Taking it in stride as always, Erwin is polite when he tells her it’s no problem.

It’s almost like fate wants him to fail. Levi taps his forearm three times, hidden under the desk. He probably only looks mildly irritated, but inside, he’s a nervous wreck.

Erwin comes back too soon and yet not soon enough, now turned in his chair to face him. Levi forces himself to look him in the eye.

“What was your question?”

“Date,” he blurts out. “We should… date. Make one happen.”

Not exactly a question. His cheeks instantly feel fiery hot as soon as he manages that much. Erwin begins to smile, then more, and hides it behind his hand.

He narrows his eyes. “What.”

“You’re…” A chuckle escapes him. “It’s nothing. You're—just cute. Don’t glare, Levi!—You’re making it worse!” he laughs.

Levi rubs his fist across his mouth as if to erase the blush stretching to his ears. Cute. His mind goes blank.

“What did you have in mind?” Erwin asks, still smiling, but openly now.

For a moment Levi doesn’t even remember the idea he had, before it dawns on him. He repeats it the way he planned: “It’s nothing groundbreaking. I’ve gotten tired of sleeping in that chair. So for once, we should share the bed.”

Erwin’s eyes go a little wide, clearly enthused. “Good idea.”

He crosses his arms. “Sure it is,“ he retorts. "Still. I really put my blood sweat and tears into coming up with it.”

“It’s a great idea,” he amends. “Would this date be only for one night?”

He’s teasing him. Levi pouts. “That depends on if I have to ask every time.”

“That’s tempting… but no.”

“Good answer. If it still qualifies as a date at that point.”

Erwin chuckles, still looking at him with those stars in his eyes. Levi fails to see what’s funny.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that time planned to spend together qualifies.”

He blinks. “Even slumped at your desk working?”

“Even then.”

“I see.”

That changes everything. Not for the first time, he wishes there was a handbook for this. If he knew he didn’t have to agonize over this so much, well, he could’ve spent less time in agony.

Well it worked out. The question that’s left is whether he’s a bad bedmate, if he does sleep. When he was young, he was both taught and learned the hard way that there’s no other time you’re most vulnerable than asleep, especially laying down and confined under covers. But he will be next to Erwin, which is a variable to consider.

He feels giddy.

“Do you have anything comfortable to wear?” Erwin asks. His raised brow lets him know that they both know the answer to that.

“What’re you implying?”

“A solution.”

Levi crosses his arms, following Erwin with his eyes as he crosses his office, to his personal quarters. When he looks back, he stands and follows.

For some reason, a wave of peace follows closing the door. It’s not because his quarters are nice (although they very much are, but just as decorated as Levi’s, which is hardly), or even because it’s familiar. It’s a unique air, unique only to Erwin. He feels comfortable within the smells of trimmed pine needles, laundry, and a scent relative to fresh cinnamon.

Feeling comfortable is a conflicting concept to him. Everyone likes feeling comfortable, but it’s alien to him. Unknown. And the unknown is dangerous.

He lets it go. If any emergency could possibly come up, he’ll take care of it.

A walk-in closet is attached to Erwin’s large bedroom. Levi always thought that his bed looks too big for even him, and the last time Levi slept on a mattress like that must’ve been when he was very young. For no reason he can define, nervousness pricks him again.

“I doubt any of my pants could fit you.” Erwin gestures with his hand to shirts hanging up. “What about those?”

He has worn Erwin’s clothes before. The only reason it’s not reciprocated is because it’s impossible.

He pretends to spend a minute rifling through them and deciding. Contrary to what most may believe, most of Erwin’s casual clothes are soft to the touch. Cardigans, tunic sweaters, simple loose shirts with minimal buttons, woolen things.

Levi has no taste in fashion, really. There’s his uniform, and whatever works that presents the image he wants to present while hiding his body. With or without the self-inflicted scars, his body being looked at by most, just in concept, makes him uncomfortable.

He stops that tumultuous train of thought before it can fall into a ravine, and picks out a simple long-sleeved shirt, almost painfully soft to the touch, and looks up at him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Levi.”

Levi worries the inside of his cheek, and then tips his chin up. Smiling softly, Erwin leans down and kisses him.

He changes in the bathroom, and inspects himself in the mirror just long enough and with enough attention to detail to gauge that he has nothing to straighten out.

The obvious is his lack of pants. He wouldn’t mind wearing just boxer briefs in front of Erwin if it weren’t for his scars. The most line the undersides of his thighs, but there are thick scars on his thighs in general; the tops of his feet too, and the bony parts of his ankles. Visible for their milky color when they aren’t severe. A few sloppily ripped into his skin as a relic of blind violence.

But luckily, the shirt’s thin material sways around his mid-thighs like a summer dress. You wouldn’t be able to tell that he’s wearing underwear at all.

The sleeves swallow his hands if he lets them, so he rolls them up just enough to cover his wrists, and checks himself in the mirror a final time. He chose a shirt with a snug collar on purpose to hide the scars on his collarbones and neck, but it still just manages not to slide off his shoulder. Well, they won’t be seen in the dark.

It’s good. It’s Erwin’s.

He notices his heart is pounding, a thick and foreboding drumbeat in his chest, and he’s a little short of breath. He should enjoy himself—but there’s so much that could go wrong. Waking up Erwin with a nightmare, or…

Enough. He spreads his fingers and taps them together three times, and does the same to his bandaged forearm. Like a sturdy shield being constructed in his mind from what-if’s. That makes him feel better.

He kills the lantern with a twist of the knob, and turns the brass doorknob that feeds into the bedroom. It’s dimly lit by a candle on the bedside, which smells strongly of lavender. Erwin looks up when he does so.

He sits on the edge of the bed, also in boxers and a shirt, which makes his heart flutter. Did he do that because of the summer heat, or to make Levi feel less awkward? He doesn’t want to think about it.

He stands, the door not even opened all the way so as to hide his legs.

He looks pointedly at the tall candle, and back to Erwin. He obediently pinches it out without question.

It’s darker, but by light of the waxing moon piercing faintly through the curtains, he can still see his way to Erwin’s bed. He wants to lay closest to the door, where Erwin is sitting.

He doesn’t move at all, though. Not until Levi is near enough to take his hand. Erwin brings it to his lips, and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

The lump in his throat appears again with a vengeance.

“What’re you doing…?” he murmurs.

“Kissing you, my love,” he softly replies.

His heart leaps, his breathing stammers.

He pushes Erwin down to the bed and plants himself on top, seizing his collar with both hands and kissing him hard.

He’s straddling Erwin’s waist. They gravitate to each other as naturally as rain to the earth, with Erwin matching his passion breath for breath, and his arms thrown around him to bring him down closer. Like he wanted this just as badly as Levi didn’t know he did.

Doesn’t he? Levi has made fantasies out of desires plenty of times; being underneath Erwin in bed or below him in his office, with his warm hands completely encompassing his upper thighs, no mind paid to the battlefield his body is. But those fantasies always cut themselves off after a certain point, when they begin to hurt. They sour.

One more aspect of their intimate relationship that has troubled him immensely is being hurt when the time comes.

He has no qualms about pleasuring Erwin when at the cost of his own pain, but the pain is the reason the fantasies end—when Erwin finishes undressing him or pushes him down. It’s easy to imagine the shame, and on the outside, the aches, pains, and bruises after the fact, and hates his imagining. In the mirror, he’ll see his mother’s face.

But it’s a fact he should accept soon. It’s going to hurt, and Erwin will be the one to inflict it on him. Pain changes nothing, because he knows that Erwin feels about Levi the same way he does him.

It’s normal. And it makes him abnormal for thinking so, but he could never imagine himself in Erwin’s position.

The way his daydreams about Erwin—the beginnings of them—turned him on cemented that decision. He should get over it. Erwin is so good to him, better than Levi could ever have dreamed of being treated. He will get over it.

At the top of his chest, turmoil twists his insides as Erwin lovingly strokes his waist, under his shirt. That, and his belly roiling with heat is a distressing and strange combination.

He hears himself whine as their tongues slide together, tasting mint and his warm mouth. Erwin, grasping at his shirt like Levi is the only thing he ever wanted. It feels good.

That isn’t right.

But he’s not allowed to stop him.

After what feels like forever, Erwin rolls them over so he’s finally underneath him. The shift has Levi’s shirt ride up his middle.

He cards his fingers through soft blond hair, opening his legs and hooking his teeth in Erwin’s bottom lip to play off the terror creeping inside and making a home in his blood.

Erwin groans. Levi hates that he wants to cry, like a pathetic brat.

At least his scars can’t be noticed in the dark. And Erwin will be happy. He simply grips Erwin’s shirtsleeves and focuses on obeying.

Levi gasps down his throat when Erwin pushes his hips down against his own. The front of his boxers is hard, much bigger and a little harder than his own.

The lash of amazing friction makes him grip tighter, and moan, and that lump in his throat grow even heavier. This is moving so fast it’s hard to keep up. He wants to roll over and curl into a ball.

He lets it happen and makes no effort to move one way or the other. He should just be grateful that it hasn’t sunk in yet.

Their joined hands slide his shirt up more. It’s dark in this room, but not so dark that Erwin won’t spot the bandage. He doesn’t want him to see, but maybe he can just lie and brush it off. If he noticed an injury on Levi he didn’t know about, he wouldn’t let it go until he knew what happened.

That’s too much right now. He wants to get this over with so it can be over. Even though there will be a next time, he always knew the first time would be the most difficult to get through. After, he’ll find ways to get used to it, but he will always enjoy giving Erwin pleasure. There is nothing Levi wouldn’t go through for him.

Their lips part for a moment so Levi’s shirt can come off. In their haste, their hands touch again, and even through the darkness, veiled in shadows, it’s clear to feel how badly Levi is shaking.

Erwin makes his worst fear come true by pausing. They’re both breathing hard. Erwin faintly squeezes his hand and gazes down at him encouragingly.

“You’re not the only one who’s nervous.”

Levi opens his mouth to say he’s not, but the words can’t come out. Does Erwin want to get this over with like he does? That hurts, so much worse than if Erwin didn’t feel anything.

He’s shaking like a leaf, and it’s hard to breathe now. He feels his control unraveling, like a roof collapsing. That’s not even the most distressing thing of all, but it’s close.

Erwin unhands his shirt, bringing their hands down over Levi’s wildly racing heart.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head in attempts to be dismissive. It’s one thing to ruin something, but another to feel it happening as you do it.

“I’m fine,” he grits out. “Just do it.”

“Do… Do what?”

“Why do you sound so confused?” he sneers. It’s much, much easier to be angry than… whatever this is. “I’m not going to resent you. Hurry up.”

Erwin does the exact opposite of hurry up. He leans back. “…I think we’re both confused. The only reason you’d resent me is if… I hurt you. Do you think that’s what I want to do?”

Levi stares at him through the darkness. The more he does, the clearer is the outline of Erwin’s perplexed and troubled look, and especially his eyes. They’re bright in the dark.

His silence is answer enough.

“This isn’t supposed to be painful,” Erwin says, intentionally even. An honest, logical statement. Levi keeps staring, eyes growing wider.

Erwin leans back more so he’s sitting up and climbs off of him, while he’s more or less frozen still.

“You know that you can tell me to stop, don’t you?”

The answer is no. But that’s when the answer to his ongoing discomfort clicks. The biggest reason he resented those fantasies is because Erwin wouldn’t put him through pain.

He is suddenly crushed by guilt.

“What made you think you couldn’t?” he asks softly. Levi tenses up. Even now, Erwin is being kind and thoughtful towards him.

What is the answer?—because he has to muster one. Living his life? He’s never had true experience, but he has experiences. And they teach.

“…I was born in the Underground,” he states. Like the cold conciseness of silence, that should be answer enough.

Erwin knows of some details. Their pasts in general never come up on purpose, but when they sometimes do, they do talk. Even though Levi willingly expands on his past less than 'sometimes’, and he remembers very little about his childhood, Erwin knows what that answer means.

Levi finally, and slowly, sits up. “…Don’t even wonder if it’s your fault.”

Erwin nods in the dark. He sighs, like a weight has been lifted. “Levi… It will never hurt. And we’ll always want to, the entire time. If that changes, we’ll stop. I need you to know that.”

A little voice wants him to believe that Erwin is exaggerating, or that those rules apply only to themselves because Levi is too weak to go through actual sex.

Maybe that’s that problem. He keeps thinking of it like ‘going through’ it. If it’s like he says and everyone involved is supposed to ‘enjoy’ it, then that shouldn’t be the case.

“…Even when… it’s being done to you?” he asks.

Erwin innocently places his hand on his knee. “Nothing is being done to anyone. It’s equal. Sometimes that intentionally doesn’t seem like the case, but in the end it always will be. Anything else… is an attack.”

“…I see.”

Levi thinks through what he’s just learned. What she went through then… was just pain.

While on the other side of the bed, Erwin turns on a lantern as low as it can light, to avoid the abrasive brightness of a candle. Erwin, always thinking of him.

He sits beside him. Levi sits up a little straighter so they resemble more of an equal height.

“Were those your intentions from the start?” Erwin asks.

He scoffs. “No. My lame idea was real. But when you did what you did earlier, I just… wanted…”

He struggles. What did he want? What he can never have?

“…I wanted to ease the burden for you. You couldn’t have predicted it would be like this.”

“The burden of what?”

It’s one of those very rare moments when Erwin sounds downright confused. Levi meets his eye intently then pointedly looks down at himself with a vague gesture between them.

“Not in general. Just,” he scoffs again. He takes Erwin’s limp hand. “About this.”

“…L-evi.”

He’s shocked again. Erwin’s voice breaks in one word. He hopes he’s mishearing. There is so much they experience to be depressed about. He can’t be another cause.

Levi lets him go and folds his knees to his chest, taking a shivering breath in. “I’m not good at this. I’m not even passing at it. For you. I can’t seem to be…”

Erwin turns towards him to compensate for the distance he created. “Levi, who ever said I needed you to be anything?”

It’s frankly impossible to see what face he’s making in the dark until he leans in closer, and he can feel Erwin’s presence close to his leg, and listen to his words more clearly.

“You have your own mind. That’s not a detriment. This…” He squeezes his knee. “…is not a challenge. It’s nothing you need to train for. When I don’t understand something new, it’s easy to see it as such.

"Whether something is a challenge or not, learning is always at the root. You’re not a burden because you’re learning. If you ever have any doubts, you are not a burden to me.”

It dawns on him when of course Erwin explains it. He… still doesn’t understand how he can be good enough just by being, but it’s not his responsibility to pick apart Erwin’s feelings.

No mastering this? No general technique? He needs several moments to process.

Feelings and what to do with them have never presented any technique or mastery. They’re fluid, sometimes complex, and often enough messy. And intrinsically connected to sex.

He doesn’t know his feelings, what to do with them, how to pick them apart or even name them.

But he would do anything to see Erwin smile. He doesn’t want Erwin to leave him behind. He wants to kiss Erwin, be held in such a deep and warm embrace, and listen to him talk. Levi won’t touch that feeling with a thirty-foot pole.

But Erwin would do those things for him. Including help him learn about this.

Levi sighs silently. “I didn’t know there was anything you don’t understand,” he retorts.

Erwin chuckles to himself, but there’s little humor in it. “As people, I think that’s always the case. But if you want proof, I haven’t done what you proposed earlier either.”

Oh.

Levi practically gawks, mostly unseen, but Erwin can read his shocked silence.

“Is that surprising?”

He sounds satisfied with himself. Levi scoffs. “It’s surprising you felt any need to spell it out.”

“I do know some things. But the learning has yet to happen.”

He huffs, reaching and playfully flicking his ear.

He snickers and tries to snag Levi’s wrist. Levi’s faster, though, and takes his hand, then both his hands. Erwin playfully struggles, knowing he can’t win. Eventually Levi gets fed-up and hugs his arms. At that point, his laughter has become infectious, and the sensation of his lips stretching into a smile is odd-feeling.

Levi brews some calming tea to soothe their woes, and as usual, in silence that’s comfortable. It warms his belly. At around midnight, it’s time for their date.

Going back to bed is easy, just something that he gets used to. The silky sheets feel like just as much of an embrace as Erwin, curled up behind him does. The pillow under his head is plush like a cloud, and although it’s summer, it’s not uncomfortably warm.

Sleep is difficult to reach, but he didn’t expect much different. After Erwin’s breathing becomes slow and even, Levi’s mind continues to race, but he can’t pinpoint what he’s even thinking.

He thinks… that he likes not liking feeling comfortable next to Erwin. Something to learn.

It felt good, earlier. His weight pressing him down, or the drag against his cock right as he throbbed. He would like to try it again. Soon.

Thoughts and wonderings blur more and more until his mind is subdued and quiet. He falls asleep long before dawn, which is saying something.

When dawn does break, in some odd turn of events, he slept like a rock, not having moved an inch. Erwin however is more intertwined with him than before, legs tangled and his breath soft and slow at the back of his neck. His arm is Levi’s pillow..

To none of his surprise, he likes waking up next to Erwin.

main masterlist | eruri masterlist

[m4gp13]

Day 1: Love Language / Crush

Ethabaster (Ethan x Alabaster)

Word count - 1321

@them-awesome-rarepairs

-

Ethan flopped down onto his bed with a long, low groan. How long had he been in the Mt Othrys training rooms? Two hours? Three? He hadn't noticed his body's protest against the gruelling workout regimen until he had to adjust his place in the room due to the decreased visibility through the window when the sun started to set. And now his body was determined to pay him back for the hell he put it through. Served him right. He was a Nemesis kid through and through. Every single fibre of muscle he contained burned as if he’d been swimming laps in the Phlegethon.

He'd just toed off his loafers and dropped them to the floor when his door burst open; eliciting another groan from him. He dragged a pillow to him from further up the bed and slammed his face into it.

"Good evening, my favourite lieutenant," Alabaster said as he strutted inside. The door clicked shut behind him.

"Your only lieutenant," Ethan corrected, murmuring against the pillow.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Al shuffled over to the bed but Ethan stopped him from going any further with an outstretched arm pointing a finger in his vague direction.

"No shoes on the bed," he warned and relaxed when he heard his general sigh and undo the velcro on his sneakers. The mattress creaked and sagged under Al's weight; making an indent that caused Ethan to droop towards him. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Alabaster shifted on the bed so he was leaning over Ethan’s back and combed his fingers through his hair. “Just wanted to make sure you’re still alive after your little romp through boot camp today,” he said, his voice softened to a melodious purr so at odds with his smart-ass answer.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Ethan groaned into the pillow under his face. “I just lost track of time.” Al pressed down on a spot on his head that made him half melt into the comforter. “You should be grateful, anyhow,” he said after getting some more air in his limp lungs. “It’ll be your battles I’m training for.”

“I know,” Al chimed. His hands worked their way down the back of Ethan’s head, his neck and his shoulders until Al’s thumbs were rubbing circles into a knot of tension between his shoulder blades. “And I am grateful, for your information. But if you want to fight my battles you’ll need to make sure your body still works when we come to them.”

“My body works fine,” Ethan said, half expecting Al to ignore him due to the muffling effect of the bedding obscuring his words.

“It works fine now,” Al said. “Or it did three hours. Or it will when I’m done with you forty-eight hours later.” He punctuated his point with a deep prod of his thumbs into a muscle that may as well have been bone with how firm it was. The intense relief spilling out of Ethan’s mouth in a broken groan silenced any protest he might have made. “But not when you spend hours running yourself ragged until you’re a limp noodle on the bed.”

“Limp noodle, huh?” Ethan managed to wrench an arm out from under himself to elbow Al in the ribs. He remained undeterred in his pursuit.

“Oh,” he said, his smug grin audible in his voice, “We’re playing dirty now, are we?” He swung his leg over so he was straddling the small of Ethan’s back and pulled his hands free. Replacing them was Alabaster’s entire body weight pressing down against him while his arms came around to hug Ethan’s chest.

“Hey!” he huffed out; bouncing Al on top of him with his spasming laughs. “You’re crushing me!”

“Pretend I’m a weighted blanket,” Al said as he propped his chin up on the back of Ethan’s head.

“No. You feel like a boulder. I’ve already done weights in the gym.”

“Which is why you need this.”

“More weights?”

“No.” Al wrapped his arms tighter around Ethan’s chest and an infuriatingly comforting warmth bloomed along his back. “I’m just wringing all the tension out of your muscles. Like water out of a towel.”

“So I’m a wet towel now? Don’t I feel loved.”

“Come on,” Al whined. “You can’t keep working yourself to the bone like this! And if I need to flatten you to keep that from happening, then so be it!” He pressed his body further onto Ethan’s and worked some more tension out of his muscles.

“Stop yelling,” he groaned. “The whole army will hear you.”

“Good. They’ll know not to let you in the training rooms anymore tonight.” Ethan glared up over his shoulder but all the ire he’d mustered up was a weak defense against the face he was met with. Al wore a familiar sheepish smile that dimpled his cheeks and narrowed his gleaming eyes, which seemed to sparkle even brighter against his tawny face. The colour of it deepened from the warm pink undertone overtaking it. The heat rising in Ethan’s own face told him he’d soon have an embarrassingly deep blush to match and he turned around to rest his head back down on the bed.

“Whatever,” he huffed, burying his burning face in his forearms and relishing the cooling effect it had on him. “Just get it out of your system.”

Grinning, Al buried his face in the crook of Ethan’s neck and murmured against his furiously hot skin, “You know I love you, don’t you?”

In spite of himself, Ethan leaned into the touch and even reached his hand back to card his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. “I know.”

“And you know how much you worry me, don’t you?”

Ethan sighed. “I know.” It was the only reason he hadn’t shoved him off and kicked him out of the room already. For all his persistence, if Ethan seriously told Al to get lost he would have begrudgingly agreed and left him alone. And then Al would have been sitting in his room all night with a bouncing leg and a wandering mind.

“You know I don’t mean to worry you,” Ethan said. “Just trying to help out.” The two of them rarely told the other they loved them, not in so many words, but they knew how to express it. Al had a lot of anxiety about his role as general, Ethan knew this very well, and there was little he could do to alleviate the burden on his shoulders. The only real power he had was over himself and he intended to use that power to give his boyfriend the best damn lieutenant an army could use. Which, of course, involved putting himself through his paces in the training room until he physically couldn’t.

Al’s only response was to murmur a little, “Uh-huh,” and start kneading the overworked muscles of Ethan’s biceps. The press of his body was firm, insistent, and yet as gentle as ever. His thumbs dug into the tight knots Ethan had wound up in himself, nudging them until they loosened and fell away, while the rest of his body pressed all the tension out of him to leave him lying limp under his boyfriend’s weight. It was this that told Ethan his efforts did not go unnoticed and his feelings did not go unreciprocated. Ethan’s ‘I love you’s were etched into his actions. Al said his ‘I love you’s with his hands.

Ethan responded by leaning back to press a light kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. “Just so you know,” Ethan told him, “You’ll never be able to stop me from helping you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Al said, a smile audible in his voice. “Just like how you’ll never be able to stop me from helping you.”

With Al’s weight crushing him in the most gentle way and his warmth seeping into the very air around him, Ethan wasn’t very inclined to stop him.

[supersaiyanjedi14]

RWBY COMBAT ANALYSIS: MERCURY BLACK

“I'm sorry you didn't have a mommy that loved you, but I had a father who hated me! He never went easy on me! Every day of training was a beating. And when I unlocked my Semblance, he stole it with his! ‘This is a crutch!’ ‘This makes you weak!’ He told me I could have it back when I was strong. So I got strong, but I never got it back! I've had to work harder than anyone to get where I am. You may not like it here without Cinder, but I think I'm right where I'm supposed to be!”

PHYSICAL

Aged in his early 20s, Mercury Black is a human male hailing from the kingdom of Vale, the son of the noted assassin Marcus Black.  The young Mercury lived a life of violence and abuse, his early combat training colored by physical beatings and verbal beratement.  In the Black household, natural strength and personal achievement were all that mattered, with Marcus going so far as to strip his son of his Semblance to force him to develop the hard way.  Despite his utter failure as a parent, Marcus did succeed in crafting Mercury into a highly capable and ruthless combatant, making it only appropriate that he fought and killed his father roughly a year before the Fall of Beacon.  Immediately afterwards, Mercury was approached by Cinder Fall, who recruited him as one of her primary agents in service to Salem.  Though born as a typical human specimen, Mercury’s legs were amputated right above the knees at some point prior to the attack on Amber, necessitating a pair of cybernetic replacements.  The legs were strong enough to endure a sustained blast of fire from Amber’s staff and likely possessed superhuman striking strength, which his fighting style fully leveraged.  Given that he was able to attack Amber at range despite clearly not having his weapon attached, it is entirely possible that the legs were outfitted with wind Dust cannons, reinforcing his combat evasions.

Above the knees, Mercury was a baseline humanoid, standing at 6’2” and distinguished by his gray hair and eyes, pale skin, and slim athletic build.  An exceptional athlete, his primary physical attribute was his remarkable agility, leveraged through his dynamic fighting style and intense yet nimble acrobatic jumps and lunges.  He has dodged lighting strikes from Amber, evaded gunfire from Coco Adel, tagged Ruby Rose while she was using her Petal Burst (head-on I might add), and has casually kept pace with the likes of Pyrrha Nikos and Yang Xiao Long.  Though seemingly excessive and flashy, Mercury was nimble enough to perform intricate contortions and spins while balanced on his hands alongside his parkour amid his combat sequences, fighting as a bizarre mix of freerunner and breakdancer.  Though he favored kick-based martial arts, rarely employing punches, Mercury possessed sufficient dexterity and reflexes to leverage his hands for close-quarters defense, redirecting Yang’s punches during the Vytal Festival and holding off Emerald Sustrai in a fist fight.  The only time Mercury’s mobility failed him was when Tyrian Callows pounced on him in Salem’s castle, and even this example was because he was caught off-guard.  Mercury’s physical strength varied depending on which of his appendages he is hitting with.  With his legs, he has staggered even heavily armored opponents with the force of his kicks and was able to shatter the arena floor with a single strike during his battle with Yang.  With his arms, however, he had nothing to write home about, and in fact has been overpowered on several occasions, albeit only from dedicated heavyweights like Yatsuhashi Dachi and Yang.

Hardened by years of physical abuse, Mercury was all too familiar with pain and injury and knew better than most how to take a hit.  Despite his laid-back sarcastic attitude, he possessed the martial discipline to roll with the punches and would break before he ever bent.  Against Amber, he soaked up several elemental attacks that forced him to his knees, yet still maintained his composure and was still vital enough to escape from Qrow Branwen after the fight.  Though he was manhandled by Yatsuhashi during the Vytal Festival, Mercury recovered quickly and continued to fight with no visible drain on his performance, digging deep and managing to overcome Team CFVY’s juggernaut.  In his subsequent battle with Yang Xiao Long, Mercury had to be pounded into submission, taking the full brunt of Yang’s Burn-enhanced onslaught before going down.  Even after his Aura was broken, Mercury was able to regain his feet and trick Yang into seemingly attacking a defenseless opponent, enduring the pain of her point-blank Ember Celica into his right leg and only needing cosmetic repairs before getting back on his feet the following evening.  At Haven Academy, Mercury worked through a rematch with Yang and endured a headbutt from Ruby, and by the end of the lengthy battle was spry enough to retreat with only minor signs of fatigue.  At the end of the day, I think we can agree that there is a reason why Salem paired Mercury up with the only one of her lieutenants able to reliably overcome him quickly when she dispatched him and Tyrian to Vacuo.

As he operated primarily as an assassin and infiltrator, Mercury’s MO was to be inconspicuous rather than imposing, blending in and striking unexpectedly.  Accordingly, he favored simple clothing that minimized encumbrance and allowed for casual appearance. When he was dispatched to Vacuo with Tyrian Callows, he wore an orange trimmed blue shirt underneath a double-breasted gray leather jacket, accessorizing with gray vambraces with fingerless gloves, black cargo pants, and an orange keychain. Though they were typically concealed beneath his clothing, the durability of Mercury’s legs allowed them to function as built-in armor, providing a margin for error for his fancy feet.

RANKING: Tier 1.5, Partially Augmented Human

Mercury’s youthful athleticism is easily equal to or greater than the most capable human Huntsmen, and even though he only specializes in a single arena, he is still well-rounded enough to function in any role required of him, balancing forceful aggression with dynamic flexibility.  His capabilities are further augmented by his cybernetics, his legs providing extremely durable bludgeons in combat and functioning as natural armor.  Where Yang Xiao Long’s prosthetic was limited to only her right arm, Mercury’s paired set offers him greater protection and more leverageable options in combat. Though not enough to classify him as truly superhuman, he still has a literal leg up on your standard human.

MARTIAL

Mercury Black was armed with Talaria, a set of black metallic greaves outfitted with built-in firearms.  Approximately 15 inches long, each greave was equipped with a circular drum of ammunition, while the metal plating extended to about halfway between his ankles and knees. The weapons appeared to be based around similar technology to the Ember Celica wielded by his rival Yang Xiao Long, with the obvious difference being that the triggering and reload mechanism was built to accommodate kicks rather than punches.  By the time Salem’s forces arrived in Atlas, Mercury had added a set of sharpened metal wings to the heels, though whether these held combative purposes or were purely cosmetic is unconfirmed.

With every day of training being a beating in practice, Marcus Black taught his son how to be a fighter at a very early age, emphasizing physical conditioning and hand to hand combat.  Despite amounting to an alcoholic thug of a human being, Marcus’s reputation as a combatant was well-known, and Mercury clearly benefitted from his father’s training, demonstrated when he narrowly defeated him in the burning ruin of their house.  It was there that Cinder Fall found him, recruiting him as her primary enforcer and assassin in the leadup to the Fall of Beacon.  Mercury served Cinder faithfully during that year, where he cut his teeth against the Fall Maiden Amber, acquitted himself well in a sparring match with Pyrrha Nikos, and fought evenly with Yang Xiao Long during the Vytal Festival.  Despite his young age, Mercury was a hardened killer and utterly ruthless, his skill gaining the appreciation of his peers and even Salem herself.  Like his rival Yang, Mercury was an unarmed martial artist first and foremost, his weapons being a literal extension of his body.  His physical moveset was powerful yet fluid, alternating between an array of kicks and leg sweeps to trip up, stagger, and bludgeon the opponent. Highly mobile, Mercury often employed flying acrobatics to add power to his strikes, best seen when he slammed into Fulcrum at full force during his battle with Yatsuhashi Dachi and later an overhead scissor-kick when squaring off with Yang, in addition to nimble evasions to avoid injury.  Despite this brutal offensive stance, Mercury also utilized his flexibility for disorientation and defense. He favored breakdancing-like spins and gyrations to distract the opponent while he slipped in counters, executing his kicks with great precision when necessary.  When he adopted more grounded stances, Mercury used these same maneuvers in the form of sweeping roundhouse kicks, staggering the opponent and setting up for a powerful follow-up.  His control and finesse was further expressed in his marksmanship, turning his upright hammer kicks into projectile volleys that he has used for both focused takedowns and to create his Dust whirlwinds.  This sophisticated yet vicious style was reinforced with hand-based defensive parries, intercepting upper body attacks with deft deflections and light punches, setting up for counters while their attention was taken up.

“Raised” by a murderous assassin, Mercury Black had little regard for honorable conduct or the well-being of others, a callousness that was reflected in his tactics.  He favored ambush and surprise, catching the opponent with their pants down and hitting them where it hurt most. His use of psychological warfare was emphasized by his tendency to interrupt the opponent and kick them while they were down, messing with their concentration and preventing them from bringing their full might to bear.  In pitched combat, he used his erratic fighting style to blindside the enemy and keep them guessing while giving himself an opportunity to bypass their defenses.  When the situation allowed for hit, he employed verbal taunts to distract and provoke, keeping you off balance by being a sketchy asshole.  Subvert and overwhelm.  Though he was silent during the attack on Amber, Mercury still kept the Fall Maiden on her toes by rushing in to blitz her when she least expected it, forcing Amber to lean heavily on her Maiden powers to compensate.  When sparring with Pyrrha Nikos, Mercury’s stronger core technique allowed him to bully through her standard sword-and-board technique and disarm her, though Pyrrha turned the tables by leveraging her Semblance to deflect and repel him, prompting a forfeit after he took her measure.  During the Vytal Festival, he and Emerald Sustrai went up against Coco Adel and Yatsuhashi Dachi in the Doubles Round, and they proceeded to turn the battle into a guerrilla ambush.  They opened by slipping into the grasses and goading Coco into focusing on that while they slipped away.  They followed this up with Mercury blindsiding their opponents from the sky, expertly pinballing between the two in close quarters while leaving Coco vulnerable to Emerald’s BFR yank.  Though Yatsu managed to gain ground and nearly overpower him, Mercury recovered his momentum and squared off evenly with the giant before kicking him into an environmental hazard, leaving him open to a finishing kick.  Arguably Mercury’s greatest display of skill as a martial artist was his duel with Yang Xiao Long in the Singles, fighting evenly with RWBY’s heavyweight and overbearing her several times, only losing when she used her Semblance to brutalize him.  While it is true that Mercury threw the fight as part of Cinder’s plans, this does not change the fact that the two were clearly on equal footing and pressuring such a talented up-and-coming fighter is no mean feat.

Mercury was devious and tricky, but he was often afflicted by his own cocky attitude.  He tended to go too far with his taunts and get careless, which has given many of his opponents chances to rally from setbacks and fight back before he wised up. Though Yang’s Semblance may have granted her the win regardless, Mercury let his guard down immediately after kicking her to the ground, making their final bout a series of hits he didn’t need to take.  During their rematch at Haven Academy several months later, Mercury pressed his advantage, exploiting Yang’s shock of Weiss Schnee’s impalement, but his and Emerald’s attempt to encircle her was interrupted by Ruby Rose, who rushed in to defend her sister.  In the ensuing melee, Mercury managed to disarm Ruby, but chose the moment to mock her for her supposed helplessness, leaving him exposed to a retaliatory headbutt, a failing made even more egregious given Ruby’s middling unarmed combat skills.  While Mercury continued to acquit himself well, fighting through the eventually arrival of Blake Belladonna and escaping with the others, this incident demonstrated how careless Mercury could become when his success went to his head, especially against opponents ostensibly below his own level.  Furthermore, he himself was vulnerable to psychological taunting, especially when the comments were directed towards his deep-seeded issues regarding his father.  His brief exchange with Emerald saw him angrily berating her for her blind loyalty to Cinder, yet a few choice words from Tyrian Callows were enough to set him off and leave him flat on his back.  Mercury preferred to keep things close to the chest, preventing his opponents from digging their psychological hooks into him even as he tried to hook them himself.  In his fights with Yang, Mercury drew a fine line between messing with Yang’s head and actively provoking her, the anger he stoked in her putting him on the hot seat against a level of force he wasn’t prepared for.  Mercury was at his best when in his comfort zone, his fighting style and tactics allowing him to off-balance the opponent while dismantling their defenses.  If the opponent refuses to be provoked or can work through his interference, he can get in trouble very quickly, the leg Yang blasted at the Vytal Festival being an uncomfortable reminder of his oversights.

RANKING: Tier 3, Standard Mastery

Mercury’s training, technique, and feats speak to a highly skilled martial artist who is, at worst, still comparable to the great masters of his day.  His core fighting style balances out dynamic energy with deft flexibility, while his tactical outlook tempers his vicious aggression with ruthless pragmatism. Mercury Black’s priority is always to come out ahead, without a thought to being elegant or nice.  He will take you down however he has to and if he doesn’t have to fight fair, he won’t.  However, his success is predicated on his control, and if he is confronted by an opponent who he can’t overpower or undercut, he can get into trouble very quickly, while his arrogant posturing makes him prone to tactical blunders.  Though given his parity with the likes of Yang and Pyrrha, getting Merc into that kind of trouble will still be an uphill battle.

SPECIAL

The day his son unlocked his Semblance, Marcus Black used his own to steal it, telling the young Mercury that it was a crutch that interfered in the way of obtaining true strength.  Regardless of whether Marcus was expressing his personal philosophy or simply being a manipulative bastard, these words would be taken to their natural extreme when Mercury killed his father before he had a chance to restore his powers.  As a result, Mercury Black spent his entire career without a Semblance, a factor that made him extremely unique among his peers.  Though his lack of special abilities left him somewhat handicapped, Mercury was not helpless and had learned, or rather been forced to learn, to work within him limits.  Like his former associate Roman Torchwick, Mercury primarily compensated for his lack of a Semblance by dedicating himself wholly to his mastery of physical combat, to the point where he was able to contend with more powerful adepts by dominating them and preventing them from bringing their full power to bear.  Against Amber, he simply evaded her lightning strikes, powered through her flame burst, and endured the flurry of frozen leaves she threw.  Against more conventional Huntsmen, he dialed up his precision and control, aiming for critical strikes that would screw with their attempts to use their Semblances.  When confronted by Ruby Rose during the Vytal Festival, he intercepted her Petal Burst and kicked her back, delaying her long enough to allow Pyrrha and Penny Polendina’s duel to escalate.  Ruby only got around Mercury by dodging around and generating an exceptionally powerful burst of speed, but by then it was too late.

Though Mercury lacked a Semblance, he was not completely lacking in the supernatural plane.  Like many of his contemporaries, Mercury readily incorporated Dust into his primary loadout, using elemental gunpowder to weaponize nature itself.  In his case, steam Dust, crafted by mixing fire and water, was his weapon of choice, outfitted into Talaria to create instantaneous smokescreens with just a pump of his foot.  When choosing to resort to a more direct approach, his preferred tactic was to fire a volley of Dust projectiles into the air, often used in conjunction with grounded gymnastics, to create a whirlwind of area-effect power.  Furthermore, I believe that wind Dust was also a component in Mercury’s arsenal, enabling his fine control over his storms by directing the air currents.  This extended to being able to direct his shots to specific targets, a possibility glimpsed when two shots against Yatsu and Coco took on almost heat-seeking properties.  Also seen in the Doubles Round of the Vytal Festival, Mercury closed the distance by unleashing a contained tornado before condensing it into a dense fog, using the cover to ambush his targets and providing Emerald an opening to ensnare Coco.  Additionally, this Dust-augmented attack could be used for offensive purposes as well, concentrating the blasts into a steamy blitzkrieg.  During his fight with Yang, Mercury encompassed the brawler with his storm, distracting her and leaving her open to a surprise kick before immediately directing the bursts to target her once she hit the ground, briefly pummeling her into submission.  Otherwise, Mercury has been seen using his Dust for tactical support and improving his acrobatics, using the bursts to propel himself around the battlefield.  The best example of this was in his battle with Yang, where he used a burst of air to save himself from falling out of the ring, turning a flying takeoff into an acrobatic recovery.

Despite his limited special abilities, Mercury was intelligent enough to utilize what he had effectively, working around his lack of personal powers by overbearing the enemy in physical combat and blindsiding them with elemental force to enable his treacherous ambushes.  However, much like his general tactical outlook, Mercury was at his best when he had the element of surprise, and his tendency to let success go to his head had sometimes prevented him from utilizing his tools effectively.  Despite their distraction, Coco and Yatsu were still able to maintain their composure and intercept his follow up strike, and it was only Emerald’s sneak attack that properly separated them.  Furthermore, even though Dust is incredibly powerful, it does not always bring the exact power needed to overcome the enemy.  When Mercury threw that storm at Yang, she was briefly disabled but unimpeded, using the hits to power up her Semblance and pound Mercury into the mat.

RANKING: Tier 5, Limited Combat

Mercury Black’s special abilities are wholly tied to his use of Dust, his lack of a Semblance meaning that he has nothing to bring to the table in turn.  Like Roman Torchwick, Mercury owes his success to mundane countermeasures and external forces he can manipulate, though his regular Dust armament means that he has a step above the crime lord.  As visually spectacular as Mercury’s Dust storms are, they clearly aren’t powerful enough to decisively end the conflict, instead owing more to tactical support and just another way to shoot a gun.  Dust Ammunition is easily the most limited combative application of Dust, with Mercury’s success determined by his creative uses rather than his destructive might.

OVERALL RANKING: TIER 4, EXPERT HUNTSMAN

Mercury Black’s final placement is determined by his exceptional performance levels as well as his practical shortcomings.  Mercury has all the trappings of a great master-level fighter, his combat feats and elevation within Salem’s inner circle speaking for themselves, but he is severely limited by what his father stole from him.  Physically, his cyborg legs put him a cut above most adversaries, but his athleticism can still be challenged by normal humans with similar training.  His martial skills are versatile and deadly, more than enough to contend with the best of the best, but his arrogance and pessimism have on occasion undercut his otherwise capable tactical skills and gotten him in over his head.  And with his Semblance stolen, all he is bringing to the table is Dust ammunition, an exhaustible resource with limited capabilities.  To be fair Mercury’s use of his Dust is very creative and flexible, making it a very valid tool in his arsenal, but its ability to decisively end the conflict is restricted.  Due to his Semblance being stripped away, Mercury’s success in combat is tied to his supremacy as a physical combatant and the mundane countermeasures he has adopted.  While he deserves a great deal of credit for what he has been able to accomplish despite his disability, he does have significant limits.

Despite his similarities to his rival Yang, I actually find Mercury’s more direct analogue to be his late contemporary, Roman Torchwick.  His cyborg legs provide him with a similar anatomical edge to Roman’s physical hardiness, both are high-performance and treacherous martial artists who can operate well in both general and single combat, and both get around their lack of ethereal powers by undercutting and countering the powers of others.  Even their tactical outlooks are superficially similar, teaching them that the best way to score a win is to fight dirty.  However, where Roman’s loftiness led to him growing complacent and simply being good enough, Mercury’s drive to prove himself and rise above what his father thrust upon him allowed him to stack the building blocks of greatness, coming into his own as one of Salem’s direct subordinates and even casually walking away from Cinder Fall’s direct orders.  Mercury Black has more than escaped from the shadow of Marcus Black as a warrior.  All that remains is to see if he can do the same for his soul.

*originally posted on RoosterTeeth Community page on 05-31-21*

*all images taken from RWBY Wiki *

RWBY Combat Analysis

[365partygirl305]

Chapter II: Who Was That Girl? Into Deep

Warnings: angst, mention of near death incident, mention of drugs, repetition of past trauma/near death incident, and nightmare

A/n: The following content may be unsuitable for younger readers. Reader���s discretion is strongly advised.

Matty’s pov

I could have sworn someone rescued me. That girl. Her beautiful voice. That familiar melody. Her touch was so soft.

My mates and I are on the couch again in the aftermath of my near death. I am so fucked for this.

“Mate, you could have died. We’ve been worried about you,” George begins. “And you’re telling us some saint saved you?”

“Yes,” I reply. “A girl saved me. I can’t describe how beautiful her voice is, her touch, that melody. I can’t get it out of my head even if I try.”

“Are you in your delulu era?”

“I’m not delusional!”

My frustration grows more like a balloon that is about to burst. I swear she’s real. I just need to find her.

“Are you seriously going to that beach again?” Adam asks We don’t want you to get hurt or killed.”

“I’m serious. I need to see her again.”

“Jesus Christ, mate. You do realize that you’re gonna repeat that again.” Ross noted, his tone annoyed at this point.

I’ve had enough. “So what if it repeats? Will it stop me from finding her? This is nothing like my heroin addiction! It’s a girl I keep seeing in my dreams for fuck’s sake! It’s been haunting me for days!”

The silence rings so loud in my ears. Everyone is stunned. Why did I bring up my heroin addiction and my cocaine addiction I had back then? Have I gone mad?

Ashamed of myself, I bolt out the door, ignoring the pleas and apologetic demands.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

The sand in my hand falls in a neat pile as if it is an hourglass. The shores of the sea is where I calm down. The melody in my head plays again. I feel like I’m haunted by some ghost or something. My mind is plagued of her. She’s everywhere I go. Her eyes, her soft skin, her voice echoing in my ear.

I walk to the water, trying to see if she’s there. The haunting sounds push me further. The water rises up to my chest at this point. If I go under again, will she be there? Will it all stop? Will I end the madness for good? Will the world be better off without me?

I take a deep breath and go under. Her voice still echoes, the melody staying in my mind. Curious, I swim farther and farther into the blue. Deeper and deeper I go, the water temperature starts dropping. It is so cold, yet peaceful, but I am running out of air. So I swim up to the surface.

I break the waves with a huge gasp. Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe. You have all the time in the world to search for her. She’s still out there. So, I take another chest full of air and dive again.

Adrenaline rushes through my body as I swim deeper to the bottom, seeing if there is any sign of her. Nothing. Only the haunting sounds of her voice in my head. Are my mates right? Am I delusional? No! I’m not giving up on this yet!

Deeper and deeper I swim, ignoring the fire in my body, my mind counting the seconds of breath holding while at the same time I feel the fire again. My lungs burn once more to the point of resurface.

I float to breathe a moment. Relax, I think. Relax. You’re okay. You’ll find her. I’m sure she’s out there somewhere. That saint who saved you from your doom. One deep breath more and I’m back searching.

The ambience of the ocean calms me down a bit despite the loud sound of her voice. My head feels dizzy, but my gut says I must continue my search. The longer I hold my breath, the longer I can last underwater. I continue to swim further, ignoring the familiar flame in my body and the burning of my lungs.

I find myself in a similar spot where my car was. Where she found me. The past replaced what was in my mind and it is the night I almost died. Fear of death and almost about to die, I swim up to the surface, my hand reaching out to the light. Everything turns black for a split second before a pair of hands hoist me up to the surface. Was that her?

I look under face down. It is her. She’s wearing a dress that shimmers in the sunlight beneath the waves. She must be the one. She must be. I am then betrayed by claws instead and was pulled under.

“What have we here?” A voice says in a menacing tone. My body is still shaking from the grip.

“A human I see. Looking for someone who saved you? She’s not here. She’s away. Sure, she can be the one who saved you-“ I am slammed to the bottom again. “But she’s not going back. Long gone. Give up. Accept your fate.”

I want to speak, but only bubbles fly out my mouth as I accidentally breathe the saltwater. I want to go home. My mates need me now. They’re not ready to lose me. I get myself free from the invisible grasp and swim higher. Once again, my body stop working. I smile. The world fades to black…

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

I gasp for air, not realizing I was dreaming again. The girl was there. But something is forcing her back. What was it?

I have no time for analyzing. I try to take deep breaths, just like how my therapist taught me. But the panic stays. The same dream has been haunting me for days. The water felt like it’s human. Being slammed into the bottom. I look at the time.

1:02.

“Fuck me,” I whisper to myself.

“What has gotten into you, mate?” George grumbles after I began the call. I had already drank 5 bottles of wine at this point.

“I see her in my dreams. The death of my girlfriend is so bad,” I’m rambling again about what’s going on in my mind right now. “That girl I saw. The one who saved me. I see her everywhere.”

“Hey, relax. I see you’re not delusional now.”

“I still miss Amia.”

“I miss her too. She was a good one.”

I start shaking again, tears streaming down my face. The pain of losing her in the car accident has been haunting me. So is the mystery girl.

“It’s gonna be alright,” George coos on the other end. “Y’know, we’re all here for you. I know you’re grieving harder than ever. We got you.”

“I’m sorry I blew up at you guys. I’ve been an absolute mess since the incident and Amia’s death.”

“It’s alright, mate. Do you want me to keep you company for the night?”

Through recovering sniffles, I say, “I would love that. I love you, man.”

“I love you too, mate.”