#because they’re all ripped and torn and covered in blood and it’s just generally a bad memory

[phantasm-echo]

Fives undeath real not clickbait???

(disclaimer: I am not a writer, I got bored, i havent edited any of this)

He’s barely registered the fact that he’s reaching for Rex’s discarded blaster before he feels a sharp pain in his chest and suddenly he’s laying on his back, staring at the crossing beams under the decrepit warehouse ceiling. He’s still disoriented from whatever osik Nala Se had injected him with, so he can’t help but flinch when his blurry vision focuses just enough for him to make out blond hair and worried eyes hovering close to him.

Rex, he thinks distantly.

There’s yelling all around him, but it’s drowned out by his ori’vod desperately pleading nononono Fives not you too you were meant to live I was meant to keep you safe how could I let this happen Fives nonono keep your eyes open it’s gonna be alright- and all he can think about is how wrong it is to hear his brother reduced to this mess when he’s meant to be the best of them, the strongest, the one always in control.

Rex is now clutching at his face and shoulders, shaking him, trying to get his attention or something but all it does is jolt him and suddenly the pain in his chest is unbearable and he chokes out a garbled cry as the world sharpens around him and the events of the past few days floods back to him.

Right. Tup. The chips. The plot…

As the pain in his chest numbs over and spreads gradually to the rest of his body, all Fives can think about is how he’d failed. Getting Kix to contact Rex and General Skywalker was meant to fix things, it was meant to free his brothers, it was meant to help-

He’s slowly dying and he knows it.

Well, Fives thinks distantly, I got my message to them, just thought I’d be there with them when they fixed everything.

His vision blurs again and focuses back onto Rex, who looks even more frantic than before and for the life of him Fives can’t figure out why until he feels that sting again and registers that everything sounds as if he’s underwater and then it feels like he’s underwater too as it becomes more and more difficult to take a breath in and darkness starts to creep up the edges of his vision and all part of him can think of is finally.

He can barely see Rex anymore, he’s nothing but a shaking blonde blur but he can still feel the devastation surrounding him and woah those aren’t his own feelings what the fuck but it’s alright because the darkness around him is pulling him closer, deeper, until he feels like he’s wrapped in the warmest, heaviest blanket in existence and it’s so comfortable and oh is this what it’s like to feel home? 

All Fives can feel is relief as he whispers “the mission, the nightmares, they’re finally over…” and his last thought as he’s pulled under is hey since the mission is over maybe he could finally see echo and tup and hardcase and HevyDroidbaitCutup and alltherestofhislostbrothers again and and

He’s at peace as he drifts off.

Because everything is over, and he can rest now.

Right?

A gasp is torn from his throat as his eyes snap open only to immediately be blinded by the overhead lights. It feels like his chest has been torn open and he desperately scrabbles at it and looks down, only to see that oh yeah maybe that’s the reason everything hurts.

His hands are covered in blood, and it looks like one of the staples barely holding the deep Y-shaped incision on his chest closed was ripped out by his scratching. Some part of him must register that holding it closed would be optimal for his organs to actually stay in him, but all pressing his hand to the still bleeding would does is make him hyperventilate as he looks around.

For the first time since he woke up, Fives registers that there are people in the room with him. There’s at least three of them, all humanoid and wearing pristine white lab coats. They’re all staring at him in horror, except for the one closest to him, who is holding a scalpel and is leaned up against a tray of surgical tools, who stares at him in utter wonder and an excited look in their eye.

The overhead light buzzes in a way that makes the pounding in his head unbearable, and as he looks down again he registers the bloodied sheet thrown over his legs and the cold metal table he is sat on. 

What the fuck.

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck

He could have sworn he was d- 

But.

But.

Clearly he can’t be.

If he were dead then his chest wouldn’t be heaving like he’d just run a hundred laps with no water, his heart wouldn’t feel like it was trying to tear its way out of his chest through force of will alone and all he can see is red, red that is still flowing from the incisions in his chest, that is leaking through his fingers and further soaking the sheet covering his lower half and- 

The humanoid with the scalpel shifts to grab what looks like a hypo and all Fives can think of in the moment is of a different table he was strapped to and the long-neck with a deceptively gentle voice injecting him with something that made his thoughts so sluggish he could barely remember his mission to help Tup and oh god Tup and that made him feel like he was just a skin suit filled with unresponsive flesh-mush and it’s only instinct that he lashes his free arm out at them and suddenly they’re sliding down the far wall in front of him with a trail of blood coming from the back of their head and there’s screaming and he turns to the others in white coats and all he can feel is terror and he’s lashing out again and suddenly blood sprays over him as one’s head implodes and the other is lifted into the air scrabbling at their neck like some invisible force is choking them.

Wait- is there a Jedi? Are they here to get him out? Why is his hand thrust out towards them and and squeezing like he’s the one choking them when wait no that can’t be right what the fuck is happening-

Someone is banging on what sounds like duraglass and yelling for god knows what and it’s making his head feel like someone’s taken a pipe to his brain and lodged it in as deep as it would go but is still pushing so he twists around and watches as they break their head open on the glass and fucking finally shut up.

The yelling doesn’t stop though and he registers that it’s coming from himself but he can’t stop because what the fuck is going on he should be dead he should be seeing all his lost brothers and finally be at peace after the horrors of the joke war he wasted his life on and where is that comforting darkness when he wants it so bad-

He doesn’t realise that the hand still clutching at the wound in his chest has actually gone and ripped into the wound until fire so hot burns through him it feels like he’s being incinerated alive except he can’t be because if he was he would be dead already and fuck but he wants that mercy right now but no he’s still on this metal table, still covered in blood, and he doesn’t know when he closed his eyes but when he opens them again he looks through the blood splattered across the glass and into sickly yellow eyes.

He freezes despite the desperate urge to run as the choking feel of cloying oil surrounds his throat and still heaving lungs, and his head hurts even more and how is that even possible- a darkness overwhelms all his sense except this darkness isn’t comforting at all instead it’s invading his mind and he can’t think anymore of except for the words spoken to him

He hears a muttered “you may yet prove useful” before he is no longer himself and all is Dark.

He wakes up to sickly yellow eyes staring right through him.

He is strapped to a table (again? Nononoonononono) but this time it’s reclined so he’s perpendicular to the ground.

He pauses. This time? He doesn’t seem to remember a previous time, and wonders where the thought came from.

His master (noononononoo not master not ever traitor traitor TRAITOR) is observing him, as if waiting for a reaction of some sort.

He wonders about that. Should he be reacting? Should he say anything? (yes yes YES RIP FREE KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMSITHTRAITORBROTHERKILLERBROTHERABUSER) 

He hasn’t been ordered to do anything, so he will do nothing. He stares back neutrally and waits despite the ache in his chest and the feel of something trickling down his skin and the growing pain behind his eyes and the feeling that something is wrong he shouldn’t be here why isn’t he doing anything-

He tries not to frown? Why would anything be wrong? He is just waiting for his orders from master.

(NONONOONONONSNAPOUTOFITWHATTHEFUCKAREYIUDOINGYOUREANARCTROOPERGUTHIM)

His master says something, and all is dark again.

This time (this time?) when he opens his eyes it’s because he feels as if he’s been struck by lightning and oh maybe it’s because he has because why else would he be convulsing in his restraints like that, why else would each of his nerves feel as if it’s been set aflame, why else would he see ice blue electricity dancing across his skin?

It’s too much, and he passes out again.

Master still hasn’t given him any orders, so he still lays perfectly immobile when he is stabbed in the leg with some sort of vibroblade but all he can do is hold his screams because he hasn’t been ordered to say anything and watch in fascinated horror as his muscles stitch back together once the blade is removed.

His master is muttering something about how fascinating this is and how of all the creatures the Force would bestow immortality to of course it had to be a clone and how how howhowhowhowhow is he doing that and he doesn’t realise he’s finally being addressed until he chokes on his breath and oily, cloying darkness feels like it’s seeping down the back of his throat and through his nostrils and ears and right into his brain and all he can think about is how he doesn’t know and oh master will be disappointed if he can’t answer and good soldiers follow orders he needs to ANSWERNONONONONONO-

Air flows into his lungs again as his master is thrown back violently before he catches himself in midair, and he doesn’t even have time to take a second breath in before he’s being electrocuted and his vision goes dark again.

[the-last-kenobi]

Hi! I love your writing and was excited to see you're taking requests! Could you do 10 with majorly hurt Obi-Wan and the 212th like trying not to completely freak out?

Aww, thank you! <3 Happy to oblige darling. And ooooh, the underrated 212th! I’m so happy to write them. I hope this does them justice.

From this various prompts list.

_

“Cody! No! Pull the men back!”

“What?”

“There!”

A burst of flame that lit the world up in blinding heat. A strange echoing noise.

A scream.

Cody thought that he would see that moment burned behind his eyelids for the rest of his life.

It was still swimming before his eyes even as he frantically tried to deal with the aftermath, as he tried to force his brain to engage with the present moment.

Right now, right here, Obi-Wan was gasping for air, his whole body twitching and writhing beneath Cody’s hands, blood staining his face, his chest, everything. Everything was painted with hot, metallic red and Cody for the first time wanted to vomit at the sight of blood.

“Hold him still!” the medic beside him barked. Cody didn’t even know his name. He always knew their names, but right now nothing was lodging in his brain except General Kenobi and his ragged screams.

“I’m trying,” he snapped back. “Help him!”

The medic gave him a strained look and then returned his focus to the man bleeding out on their watch.

“Does he need bacta?” Cody asked desperately. This time the medic didn’t glance up at him at all absorbed in pressing down forcefully on one of the darkest red stains pooling across the pale tunics, his other hand searching far more gently along the other side of the torso.

The General groaned, his feet kicking involuntarily, scraping the dust.

“No,” the medic said brusquely. “Bacta is for repairing clean injuries and accelerating healing. The General has internal injuries that need to be patched before we dunk him in bacta.”

Dunk him in bacta? Cody had never heard of such a thing. Bacta came on swabs and patches and ointment jars, not tubs to throw a whole person in.

He pinned the Jedi’s shoulders more firmly in an effort to keep him — both of them — as calm and still as possible.

Leading his men up the gorge, with its dry soil and faded patches of grass, hoping to make it over the crest and down into the ravine before dawn.

Cody walked a little ahead of the others, taking point.

He heard the clankers first.

The Commander gestured back to his men, silently ordering them to take whatever cover they could while he crept onwards, keeping low. The enemy sounded few in number, maybe twenty, outnumbering them by only 2 to 1. That was easy. His men could take two droids each without breaking a sweat. The real issue would be keeping the fight as quiet as possible. Their approach still needed to go unnoticed.

Cody hesitated a moment, then shot forwards and flung himself behind an enormous old tree with withered leaves, pressing himself against the trunk.

Nobody had seen him.

Taking a deep breath, he peered around the edge and took in the oncoming droids. He had been right. There were only fifteen, in reality, even better than he had hoped.

Their behavior was odd, though.

They all walked close together, not in their typical line formation, but centered around one droid in the middle of the pack that he couldn’t make out clearly. It was a different model from the others, but not one he was familiar with.

Cody zeroed in on it. Whatever this was, that droid needed to be dealt with.

He retreated back to the other vode, who were awaiting his word. “Fifteen clankers,” he hissed. “One of them is different from the others. Leave that one to me.”

They all murmured assent, a few of them tossing a salute in his direction, and at his signals began placing themselves strategically along the path, concealed behind bushes and stones.

All fell silent except for the sound of the oncoming droids.

A dry breeze rattled in the sun-dried branches like a tired sigh.

“Cody! No!” the sudden shout shattered the silence, shattered the oncoming ambush, ruined Cody’s plans — but he looked around sharply, searching for the owner of that familiar voice.

“General?”

“Pull the men back!” Kenobi roared out over the comm line, and still he was nowhere to be seen. “It’s a trap!”

“Where the fuck is that evac?” the medic muttered. Then he turned his head and screamed, “Where the fuck is that evac?!”

“Five minutes out!” a brother replied.

Cody looked to his medic companion for a reaction, waiting to see. Was five minutes good? Bad? Salvation? ...A death sentence?

The medic closed his eyes briefly.

“Keep him steady,” he said, “and either give him something to bite on or gag him. I need to remove some of this shrapnel before it penetrates too deeply.” He reached behind him for his bag. “And I may need to cauterize the wound to his thigh.”

Cody looked down at his Jedi, watching the blue eyes flutter open and closed, shockingly bright in the midst of all the red. Blood, and dirt, and burns.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem to be coherent enough to understand what was being said, but he was trying to speak, still writhing on the ground as much as his Commander tried to hold him still.

“It’s okay, sir, we’ve got you,” Cody said. He bent down lower to bring himself closer to the General, hoping to make himself understood. “We’ve got you, General, it’s going to be okay.”

“No,” Kenobi protested weakly, the words coming up with a cough and a hoarse sob. “No — it’s — have you — what —”

He dissolved into a fit of coughing. Tears sprang up in those blue eyes that had only ever smiled for them, and leaked down over the grime on his face, glistening in the blood, clinging to his eyelashes.

“Shhhh,” Cody hissed out in desperation. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

General Kenobi was a magnet for trouble, but he always survived, always managed to keep a level head, to smile for his men. And they, in turn, protected him as best they could so that he could do all those things.

He was untouchable because he was a Jedi.

He was untouchable because he was their Jedi.

...He was bleeding out in their arms.

“Cody,” his General choked out, eyes fixing on his face, a look of relief dawning in them that Cody didn’t understand. “Cody?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” his Commander said earnestly. “I’m here. We’ve got you.”

“But — I...” the General’s face pinched with pain, but his eyes remained wide and desperate and so, so blue as he stared up at Cody, fighting to speak. “The others? I... trap...my men?”

“They’re all right, you — you saved them,” Cody told him, his voice breaking.

His General’s face looked confused, uncertain. Uncomprehending. “...I... where... the plan. The men. The... we...” More blood seeped between his teeth, and Cody wondered slightly hysterically if his reassuring smile would ever be the same after this. “My men,” whispered the General. “The plan. I have to, I have to—!”

“No!” Cody cried, and he saw his Jedi flinch. “No,” he repeated, a little softer, leaning forward to make sure those blue eyes were looking into his own. “Don’t worry about that right now, just hold on. Hold on.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak again, and then the coherency in his eyes was ripped away at the same time as his back arched off the ground; his shoulders strained against Cody’s restraining hands.

“Hold him!” the medic barked.

Cody tried desperately to comply, but the General was shaking so hard it felt as if he were about break.

And then Obi-Wan screamed — a ragged, uncontrolled wail of agony.

The Commander searched the area for his General, but there was no sign of him except the voice yelling in his ears.

“Stay back, Cody! They have a new weapon!”

“What?” Cody asked.

Obi-Wan’s voice was strained. “There! It’s— go! Get back, all of you, get back!”

Cody scanned the droids through the trees but saw nothing. His General wasn’t making much sense.

But Cody was trained to obey his Jedi, and more than that, much more, he knew he wanted to. He trusted Kenobi, more than almost anyone.

Or maybe it was just that he trusted his General more than anyone else, full stop, because he didn’t protest when the Jedi came hurtling out of nowhere, dropping from a nearby ridge, and put himself directly between his men and the droids.

And he didn’t protest as he kept shepherding his men back down the way, while Obi-Wan ignited his saber just as the droids created the slope.

And he didn’t protest as Kenobi let go of his lightsaber, his weapon, and used the Force to guide it through the air, cutting down fourteen droids in a matter of seconds.

Cody trusted his General implicitly right up until the point where he flung out his arms, standing still, like a human shield between himself and his troops, as the last droid, the strange droid with the odd markings, erupted in a surge of flame that swallowed the world.

Even as Cody was thrown backwards, he saw, as if burned into his vision, a glimpse of Obi-Wan standing with his arms outstretched like a sacrifice, holding the hellfire at bay as if by some unseen wall, his expression serene.

And then, as Cody hit the ground and struggled to regain his feet, that invisible wall broke, and Obi-Wan took the impact of the bomb.

His General’s scream went on and on for what felt like an eternity but which could only have been seconds, and there was blood on his lips and his side was torn open and there was shrapnel everywhere, and—

More hands joined Cody’s, gently but firmly taking hold of the General’s wrists and elbows, clutching his ankles, cradling his head and keeping it still.

Cody looked up.

There was Waxer, and Boil, Barlex, and Longshot.

He could see others framed in the background, shielding the General from view and from the dust and debris stirred up by the relief team. Wooley had crouched next to the medic and was handing him items from his bag as soon as they were requested.

Waxer had tossed his bucket aside and was looking Cody dead in the eyes.

“We’ve got him,” he said reassuringly. “We’ve got him.”

Cody chose to believe him.

To trust his brothers and his Jedi.

Obi-Wan’s gaze was unfocused, but he looked at each of his men in turn, studying their faces, searching for something. Bloodied lips formed their names, faint beneath his unsteady breathing and periodic coughs, the moans of pain triggered by the medic’s steady hands.

Each trooper murmured a response, something soothing, something far, far calmer than the worry in their eyes allowed for.

Lastly, General Kenobi looked at Cody.

“Evac is here!” a trooper nearby shouted. “Sticker, prepare him for a lift! Med team is prepped for emergency surgery during the flight!”

The medic — Sticker, Cody registered, relieved that his panicked unrecognition earlier was gone — breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing his eye. With his wrist, because the fingers were stained deep red.

“You’ll be all right now, sir,” said Longshot.

“Oh, I know,” the General breathed, a smile peeking through the blood. “I have all of you, don’t I?”

_

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 114

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,310ish

Summary: Where is Y/N?

Notes: Sorry if this chapter sucks. The next one should be longer with more about how Y/N’s dealing with everything.

Previously on Out Of Time…

Y/N woke up, already knowing where she was. Her hand immediately went to her stomach as her eyes replayed the fighting she had witnessed. Her heart beat quickened as she relived those terrible moments. The monitors she was connected to warned the medical staff outside. Helen and her nurses rushed in.

“Y/N,” Helen called. “I need you to breathe.”

“My… I… the baby…” Y/n stammered through the struggle. “Is my baby…. It is okay?”

“You came in sweating and trembling,” Helen explained carefully. “It was obvious to me that you had been struggling to keep food down and that there was blood loss. You were immediately brought into—“

“Just tell me,” Y/N begged, voice small and cracking. “Just get it over with and tell me…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. The baby was lost due to a miscarriage.”

A sob ripped through Y/N’s throat and out her mouth. She leaned her head back against her pillows and cover her mouth with a hand as tears began to cascade down her cheeks. Her heart began to beat rapidly, causing the monitors around her to freak. 

“Y/N, I need you to calm down,” Helen coaxed. “You’re body has been through a traumatic experience and needs rest. You need to try and calm.” The sobs and strangled breathing only escalated. “I need something to help calm her down. Now!”

A nurse quickly handed Helen a syringe. Helen rushed to insert it into Y/N’s IV. It almost immediately helped, but didn’t put her to sleep.

“I’m going to go inform Tony,” Helen stated. “We’ll be right back.”

Then Y/N was left alone to her thoughts. The blame and the guilt that she was feeling, all for herself. Her baby was lost because of her. Because, if she would have just told Steve and Tony, they might have stopped fighting. If she would have just told them, they wouldn’t have let her anywhere near the stress. If she had just been a little more focused on the health of her baby instead of the chaos around her, her baby still might be safely inside of her.

But instead, she didn’t do any of those things. And she tried to stop things she couldn’t control and saw things she wishes she could unsee. Y/N’s hands rested above her belly as she let the tears flow. Nothing mattered now. How could it? Her family was torn apart. Her child was gone. 

She could feel Tony’s thoughts as he came towards her room. He was feeling all the guilt and blame as well, putting it on himself. Y/N didn’t want him to feel that way, but she had no energy to stop it. There was nothing left inside her to help him feel better, especially when she felt that way too. She quickly decided that she couldn’t be there anymore. She couldn’t face him, watch him slowly turn to hate her because she had killed their child. It would break her more than she was currently broken. 

So, with a deep breath, she focused on the one place that she felt she might be safe for a minute. She ripped off her IV as she opened a portal. Y/N hurried through it the best she could in her weakened state, falling onto the ground on the other side of it. Turning around, she caught a glimpse of the door opening, but the portal was shut before Y/N saw anything else. She curled up on the floor where she was, not caring to look at her surroundings, and let herself go.

~~~

May and Coulson were in a bar. Coulson was reading the newspaper as the news played on a TV above them. While Y/N had been away, their troubles didn’t stop. They now were facing a new threat by the name of Hive, with the face of Grant Ward. He was trying to control all Inhumans and even create them. Hive was currently in control of Daisy.

“Still no word one the whereabout of Steve Rogers after his public feud with Tony Stark and the Avengers over the controversial Sokovia Accords,” the news anchor stated. “Ratified by 117 countries, the Accords place the Avengers under UN authority and provide a framework for the registration and monitoring of all enhanced individuals.”

“We knew this was gonna happen sooner or later,” May said.

“Cap, Agent Carter…” Coulson started, glancing down at the newspaper that held an article on Peggy’s death. “They were my heroes growing up. Both of them were there at the beginning of SHIELD. Now we may be there when it ends.”

“The last thing we need right now is the government hamstringing us with the Accords. We need to stop Hive, by any means necessary.”

“I’ll deal with the government. You do whatever it takes to end this.”

“All options on the table?”

“Desperate times, desperate measures.”

May nodded, glancing back down at the newspaper in Coulson’s hands. There was a picture of Steve, Y/N, Peggy, and Howard with the article.

“Have you heard from her?” May asked, not looking away from the newspaper. “She can’t be taking this well.”

“No,” Coulson sighed. “I haven’t. Which honestly terrifies me.” 

“Y/N can hold her own.”

“Yes, but this is against her family. I can’t imagine her choosing a side.” 

“She didn’t sign. She must have chosen Cap’s.”

“Her not signing doesn’t mean anything. You should no that, you know Y/N.” He glanced down at his wrist watch. “You might want to go out the back. He’s coming in.”

May left out the back as General Talbot entered the bar.

“General Talbot,” Coulson greeted, getting out of his seat. “Right on time.”

“What in the Knievel happened to you?” Talbot wondered, noticing that Coulson was sporting a cane. 

“Little fender bender. No big deal.”

“You sure you should be in the driver’s seat? I thought we agreed on full disclosure.”

“You want to see my x-rays? I’ll put them in a nice frame for ya.”

“I’m talking about this gin joint out in the middle of no man’s land. You promised me you’d show me the base without any three hour fly arounds this time.”

“We need to talk first.” Coulson turned and headed to sit in a booth, Talbot following.

“I’ll talk. You listen… I’m here because the President sent me. The Sokovia Accords are law of the land now. He’s concerned you may have some undocumented enhanced assets working for you.”

“And why would they think that?”

“Cause he’s not a moron. Come on, Phil. It’s time for SHIELD to come in from the cold, relegitimize.”

“In exchange for revealing and registering any Inhumans we may have? Not gonna happen.”

Talbot scoffed. “Why are you so pigheaded? It’s good enough for the Avengers.”

“Not all of them. And the Avengers operate in the spotlight. We work in the shadows.”

“First, how can you even say that? You have an enhanced Avenger on your team.”

“Y/N hasn’t been with SHIELD in months. You know that.”

“Second, what’s going on in those shadows, Phil? That’s what I want to know. You better start opening some doors, or I promise ya, I’m gonna start kicking them down.”

“Alright. Let’s go for a ride.”

“No blindfold?”

“No blindfold, but you might want to buckle up.” Coulson lifted a seat belt from the seat, buckling himself in.

“What?”

Coulson nodded to the bar tender. The bar tender pressed some buttons on the cash register which caused the booth they were seated in to lower into the ground.

~~~

May was walking from requesting that Fitz-Simmons focus on stopping Hive instead of stopping Daisy from breaking in. As she walked, she heard whimpers coming from a side room of the base. She pulled out her gun and slowly made her way into the room. With her gun held up, May turned the corner, surprised to find Y/N laying on the floor.

“Y/N,” she gasped, hurrying to her side. As May turned Y/N to face her, she could tell she was running a fever. “Y/N, look at me.” Y/N’s eyes keeping fluttering, unable to focus on anything, as whimpers left her mouth. “I need to get Simmons. Stay here.”

May knew she needed to be careful with Talbot in the building, but it was obvious Y/N needed medical help ASAP. She rushed to the lab, where Fitz-Simmons was working.

“Simmons,” May called from the doorway, “I need you.”

“What is it?” Simmons asked. “Is someone—“

“Just follow me. And Fitz, I may need you too.”

Fitz and Simmons looked at each other before quickly following May.

“May, what is going—“ Fitz questioned was halted when he saw Y/N on the floor. “Oh my—“

“We need to get her to the lab, now,” Simmons ordered, already taking over. “She needs an IV and to be heavily monitored.”

“Not with Talbot here,” May stated. “We have to find a safer place. Who knows if they’re looking for her, she didn’t sign the Accords.”

“My bedroom it is then. Fitz, I need you to go grab supplies and maybe Mack.”

“On it,” Fitz hurried away with a nod.

“May, help me get her to the room.”

May and Simmons hurried Y/N to Simmons room before May rushed to get Coulson. Fitz came back with Mack and a new Inhuman on the team they called, Yo-Yo.

“What’s going on?” Mack asked.

“I don’t know,” Simmons answered, her and Fitz getting set up. “May found her in a closet.”

“How can we help?”

~~~

May got roped into helping Coulson with Talbot’s tour before she was able to tell him. It was getting on her nerves that she couldn’t get Talbot out of their hair fast enough. They ended up having to tell Talbot the truth about Daisy and Hive on their way to the lab.

“Where’s Simmons?” Coulson asked, looking around. “I need her to talk to Talbot about the Inhumans Hive tried to make.”

“I think she’s in her room, why don’t we go get her,” May suggested. “And the lab techs can start going over the research.”

Coulson looked at May, confused to why they both needed to go. Studying her face, he realized that she was serious. Something was going on that she needed to tell him about, and Talbot couldn’t get involved.

“Right,” Coulson agreed. “Collins.” A lab tech came running over. “Let General Talbot have access to all our research on Hive, start walk him through it while he go get Simmons.”

Coulson and May exited the lab before Talbot could question them.

“What the hell is going on May?” Coulson whispered.

“It’s Y/N,” May answered.

Coulson face grew worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. But I found her in a closet, whimpering and burning up.”

“Where is she now?”

“Simmons, Fitz, Mack, and Yo-Yo have her in Simmons’ bedroom.”

“Okay.”

When they entered the bedroom, Coulson took Y/N in. She was under the covers, her hands resting at her sides on top. IV’s and monitors where hooked up to her.

“How is she?” Coulson asked.

Simmons shook her head. “She’s not fully conscious, so I haven’t been able to get anything from her,” she explained. “But it seems that Y/N’s been through a traumatic experience.”

“If she came here then that must mean—”

“I couldn’t…” Y/N interrupted softly. “I couldn’t be there right now…”

“Y/N.” Everyone took a step closer. “What happened?” Before Y/N could answer, Coulson’s phone rang. He looked at it, holding it up for her to see. “It’s Stark. Does he—“

“I can’t,” Y/N shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t. But I have to answer or he won’t stop, you know that.” Coulson pressed answer and held the phone up to his ear. “Stark, I really don’t have time for you—“

“Coulson, I need you to be honest with me…” Tony’s worried voice could be heard over the phone throughout the room, causing Y/N to cry more. “Is Y/N with you?”

“I really don’t think that—“

“Is. Y/N. With. You?”

Coulson paused with a sigh. He looked at Y/N. She had turned her head away, clenching her eyes shut as the tears rolled down. It hurt him to see her like this. He longed to tell Tony the truth but he also knew that Y/N wouldn’t have come back her unless if was for a good reason.

“No,” Coulson finally spoke up. “I haven’t seen her. But I’ll let you know if I do.”

“You better not be lying to me, Phil. I…. I need to find her. She shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’ll send a search out for her and let you know as soon as I see or hear anything… Mind telling me, what happened?”

“No,” Y/N begged, so quietly everyone in the room almost missed it.

Tony sighed shakily, covering his eyes with his free hand. “Everything fell apart…. and…. She lost a lot today. Her family… her child…”

“Her child?” Coulson gasped. Everyone’s eyes widened, looking at Coulson before snapping back to look at Y/N.

“Now you know why it’s important that I find her.”

“Yeah… I do… I’ll keep you updated.” He hung up. “Y/N…”

“No,” she whimpered. “I don’t want your pity… It’s m-my fault my baby’s gone… my baby’s gone…. My brother’s gone… my Bucky’s gone… and, if I’d stayed, I would have lost Tony too…. I don’t have anyone…”

“Sshhh,” May cooed, moving to sit on the bed beside Y/N. “You have us. It’s going to be okay.”

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[imagine-darksiders]

Could I request something super fluffy and light if you have time? Just lost my fur baby 5 days after getting back to college.

I’m so sorry to hear that. Losing pets is heartbreaking. 

I’ve had this fluff in my drafts for a while now, seems an appropriate time to break it out. XXXX

----

There are very few things in the world that can stop a Trauma. And bullets – you're sad to discover – are not one of them.

The hulking mass of flesh and muscle advances slowly, pressing you further back against an overturned lorry that blocks your path, as though the universe itself has decided to punish you for sneaking out of the Maker Tree – alone - to hunt for supplies. 

One thought breaks through the panic. 

Your best friend, Jones, is going to kill you if you make it back alive. 

Of all the demons whose attention you could have drawn, it would be one of the largest and deadliest variety. The tusks jutting from its jaw gleam with copious amounts of stinking, viscous drool and when it opens its mouth to roar, flecks of the vile spittle manage to spatter onto your face and arms as you raise the meagre revolver you'd brought with you for defence.

Another round explodes from the chamber and like the others, sinks no more than an inch into the demon's head before its momentum is brought to an abrupt halt by the toughened hide. Helpless, you can only watch as the Trauma gives its skull a rough shake and the bullet wiggles loose.

Your eyes follow the tiny projectile down to where it lands, tinkling softly on the tarmac and rolling to a stop near your feet.

There it lays, innocent, devoid of even the slightest inkling that it's done anything wrong by you.

Reality hits you like a sack of bricks. This is it.

You can't run...

You certainly can't fight. And there's no way Ulthane will hear you from the tree if you scream. Even if he could, he'd never be able to reach you before the Trauma gets its jaws around your neck.

Like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, you remain frozen to the spot, but there's just enough fight left in you to try raising your head up in a final show of defiance. If you're to die, you don't want the demon to know you're afraid. Although, the fear rolling off you in palpable waves is liable to be picked up by those flaring nostrils.

“Come on then!” you holler, scrubbing furiously at the river of tears that stream from your eyes, “W~what are you waiting for!?” The shape of its jaw doesn't allow for much expression, but somehow, you just know the demon is smiling, as if enjoying this terrifying game of cat and mouse, and if there's anything worse than knowing you're going to die, it's waiting for it to happen.

Before the Trauma strikes, a fat, bulging tongue lolls out of its mouth and it drags the slimy muscle slowly through the saliva coating its jagged fangs, savouring the taste of your fear.

And then suddenly, faster than you thought it could, the demon lunges.

An enormous, meaty paw swipes at you from the left and you let out a scream as it connects, knocking you sideways and onto the hard ground. Your jaw is the first thing that cracks against tarmac and immediately, your vision turns white before little spots of colour start to bleed into view, crawling about like bugs on the insides of your eyelids.

Gasping for air, you heave yourself onto your back and bring your hands up to brush gingerly over your throbbing chin. Teeth grit through the shrill ringing in your ears, you have all of a second to register what had just happened when the Trauma's palm suddenly appears above you and drops down heavily onto your midsection.

Another scream tries to leap out, but you hadn't had the time to draw in a breath. What comes out instead is a pathetic wheeze that you wish you could take back when the demon starts to press down, hard, crushing the air out of your lungs until you aren't sure what will break first. The road beneath you, or your bones.

Two claws, each longer than you are tall, sprout from the Trauma's knuckles and you peer up through the gap between them, frantically scrabbling at the ground to try and find any sort of purchase that might help you dislodge yourself from beneath the ten-tonne goliath. Alas, you know there's about as much hope of that as there is of a mouse fending off a hungry tiger.

The Trauma's bulbous head looms down towards you and you'd swear the grunts and chuffs that roll from its throat are some, twisted form of laughter. You can't help it. A scream rips out of your mouth before you can swallow it back down and your captor responds by revelling in the sound, its nostrils flaring excitedly.

With an agonising slowness only meant to torment you further, the demon pries its jaws apart and your ears are abruptly met with a tumultuous, infuriated roar.

Only....

The roar doesn't come from the monster above you.

You barely have time to contemplate the pounding footsteps that rattle your teeth and amalgamate with your heartbeat before something big slams into the Trauma's side and the weight that had been slowly flattening you against the pavement is suddenly gone.

With one, tremendous gulp of air, your lungs are once again filled to burst.

Overhead, the Trauma bellows, and this time, it receives an answering howl of outrage.

Squinting through the haze of dust kicked up by the newcomer, you see your former assailant wrestling valiently with another creature, one that's equal in size.

You've seen all manner of demon since the world ended. Big and small, fat, thin, ugly and some, even arguably beautiful.

But never have you seen one quite like this.

A silver titan stands between you and the Trauma on a pair of long, graceful legs with plates of armour strapped to almost every inch of its body. Even the tail that sprouts from the middle of the creature's back has plates of metal affixed to the tip. The entire appendage curls up and over its head like the tail of a scorpion, poised and ready to strike at the Trauma, whose yellow eyes are still bulging out of their sockets.

With a hiss, the newcomer grabs its opponant by a tusk and gives it a brutal shove, effectively forcing the Trauma to stagger back several metres, teetering on its disproportionately small feet as its weight is thrown off balance.

You swiftly decide you don't want to stick around and find out if it wins the fight.

Aware that this may be your only chance of escaping to see another day, you scramble up onto your feet and make a run for it, barrelling clumsily past the armoured giant.

The blood in your ears is pounding so fiercely, you don't even notice that behind you, there's a screech, and before you know it, you're jerked to a sudden halt when a long tail darts out and curls around your waist.

Crying out a frantic, “NO!” you begin to struggle, slapping your palms on the warm metal and grunting with the effort of trying to wriggle free from the strangely gentle grip. Your new captor lets out a sharp bark that sounds more avian than canine before it deposits you on the ground right behind its heel, your back to the upturned lorry once more.

As its tail unwinds from your torso, you roll your gaze up the monstrous body standing protectively between you and the Trauma and wonder what the Hell its motivation is. Why would it stop you from trying to leave?

Whilst the demon shakes itself and paces agitatedly, assessing this tall, lanky threat, the silver giant turns its head to glance briefly down at you, and for the first time, you meet its luminous, golden gaze. The eyes burn into you for what feels like an eternity, unblinking, devoid of any pupil or iris and your throat turns dry as you realise something chilling.

They're the eyes of a predator.

Suddenly, you can't seem to swallow. Only when it turns to face the Trauma once more do you realise you'd been holding your breath and you gasp, sucking in a deep lungful of oxygen.

Perhaps if you move slowly and quietly, you could escape its notice and make a break for the nearest alleyway, one that's too narrow for either demon to slip down. Steadying your nerves, you begin to edge your way along the lorry, never once taking your eyes of the creature in front of you.

Glancing back at you, the beast's mechanical jaw parts and out slips a growl as it lowers its tail again and uses the rounded edge to block your retreat, nudging you back into place behind its legs, all the while ignoring your squawks of protest.

You can't help but feel somewhat like a bone that's being guarded by a ravenous dog. Because that's all this is, isn't it? This silver titan is doing nothing more than defending its next meal from a contender.

A gutteral snarl snatches your attention and you glance through a pair of towering legs to see the Trauma.

Apparently, it has grown tired of sizing up the newcomer and lumbers towards you with its arms spread to its sides, the claws protruding from its knuckles pointed forwards like the tusks of a charging elephant, ready to gore.

Heart booming, you blurt, “Look out!” though why you would ever warn the silver giant is beyond even your own comprehension.

Still, it hurls its gaze forward again and raises its left arm, and you only then notice that what sprouts from its sinewy shoulders is less of an arm and more of a long, daunting rifle, as though someone had sawn the appendage off at the elbow and welded a gun in its place.

The Trauma is almost upon you as the strange appendage lifts to meet the demon's chest and before you can clap your hands over your ears, an explosion of gunfire erupts from the barrels. Round after round, the silver titan fires on the Trauma, who now seems far less incensed and tries to spin itself around mid charge, its flesh torn to pieces before it can get too far.

You have to wonder where the bullets keep generating from because they leave their chambers with no sign of slowing or running dry. When the lumbering demon turns to cover its head, it instead finds its back shredded to ribbons by the neverending hail of ammunition and in just seconds, the Trauma crashes heavily to its knees. Even when it crumples, dragging itself away on its belly, the second creature doesn't relent. It takes a few, long strides to the downed demon and swings its gun up, emptying dozens of rounds into the thick skull.

You're so perturbed by such a display, the prospect of getting out of there yourself slips your mind and by the time you realise you should be moving, the gunfire abruptly cuts off.

Smoke trails lazily from the barrels of that terrible weapon as its wielder's silver helm slowly swivels in your direction.

“No, no! Stay back! G-Get away from me!” you half shout, half plead with the angular beast when it tilts its head to one side and treads over to you, and though its weaponised arm is lowered, you're all too aware that this thing poses a sizeable threat.

It stops in front of you, still regarding you with wide, almost curious eyes. Then, gradually, it lowers itself down into a crouch, legs bending at the knee and ankles until it rests back onto its haunches.

After a few more moments of silence, the silver head drops down close, far too close for your liking. You'd need only reach a hand out and you could touch its chin. The horns sweeping forwards from the sides of its face hover to your left and right and it feels very much like being surrounded by the bars of an impenetrable cage. 

Licking your lips, you stammer out, “Wh-what do you want?”

Predictably, it doesn't reply. It instead continues to stare, the slitted nostrils winking open and closed, sniffing. 

Then, without warning, its jaws part and you let out a squeak, slamming your eyes shut so you won't have to see the grey, pointed teeth that sit behind its metallic lips. A slow second ticks by in which you wait for the inevitable and painful bite that’ll end your pathetically short life, and then...

Your fear is momentarily thrust aside to make room for disgust.

Something rough and warm and wet smacks against your bloodied chin and suddenly, your whole face is engulfed in the sticky softness of what you're almost certain is the creature's sandpapery tongue. It drags up over your features in one, long swipe before flicking off your forehead and a throaty rumble fills the air around you.

“EUGH! Gross!”

Spitting an unthinkable globule of your lower lip, you wipe frantically at the stuff coating your eyes, coughing and spluttering like you'd just survived drowning.

Once your vision is no longer obscured, you blink rapidly and find that, as you'd expected, the beast is retracting a dark, slimy tongue.

It occurs to you that it might be having a preliminary taste but before you can ponder too long on whether or not it finds you appetising, the creature begins to...

Well... shrink.

Metal plates slide over one another as its body collapses in on itself and the purple mane billowing from its head shortens and is swiftly replaced by spiked, black hair. The tail that had scooped you up retreats between a pair of shoulder blades and in just seconds, you're no longer staring up at a colossal beast. Instead, you're looking at a man, dressed from head to foot in a full suit of bizarre and alien armour. 

Although he's still heads and shoulders your superior in height, he's nowhere near his previous stature. An ounce of dread fades from your chest.

The man rolls his neck, a hand pressed to the back of it for a moment before he seems to remember where he is and he suddenly snaps his gaze down to you again, a soft huff drifting out from beneath his mask.

You simply gape back, speechless. If you hadn't just seen the transformation with your own two eyes, you'd never believe it had happened at all. Hell, part of you is still in denial.

Gradually, you feel words start to form on your tongue. “What the he~EEY!” 

In the blink of an eye, the stranger cuts you off mid sentence by throwing himself at you, arms wide. You try to dodge him, failing miserably when he swiftly scoops you up into his thick, metallic arms and promptly buries the front of his mask into your hair. The action is so far from what you'd been expecting, you stop putting up a fight altogether and merely dangle limply from his grasp with your feet hanging just below his knees.

Clearing an awkward lump from your throat, you sputter, “Uh... I'm sorry. Have... have we met?”

For a moment, you feel the man's hard chin rub against your hair as he nods and you're about to ask where on Earth you'd met him when he suddenly stiffens and drops you back to the ground, stepping away to frantically shake his head. A sound starts up in his throat, like he's about to speak, but seems to reconsider a second later and you hear the distinct snap of his jaw as it falls shut. 

While the behaviour is odd, you decide it best not to provoke a man who can turn into a twenty five foot monster at the flip of a switch. So instead, you gesture to the Trauma behind him and offer what you hope is a genuine smile, despite the edges of your mouth quivering in protest.

“Um.... Thank you?” you whisper feebly, “I-I'm assuming you meant to save my life?”

The man's chest jerks as he snorts and nods again, but otherwise remains silent.

Curious as to his wordlessness, you cock your head and ask, “What's the matter? Can't you talk?”

He hesitates, hands clenching into fists and a look of uncertainty flashing across his amber eyes. Then, following several, awkward seconds, he shakes his head.

“Oh... Bummer.” You purse your lips, at a loss until you start to wonder if he's expecting some kind of repayment. “I'm sorry.” You anxiously begin to tug at the hem of your shirt. “I really am grateful, but I don't have anything I can give you to say a proper thanks.”

It's as if you'd dealt him a physical blow. Immediately, he backs up and throws his arms forwards, hands waving hastily as if he were appalled by the very idea.

Inwardly, you sag with relief. “Oh, well. In that case, I guess we'd... better be on our separate ways.” Turning to walk away, you’re stopped when the man suddenly leaps into action, striding in front of you and blocking your path. 

“What!?” you blurt, startled, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling, “What’s wrong”

He points insistently down the street you'd emerged from in your attempt to flee the Trauma. Glancing after his hand, you realise he's indicating the Maker tree's uppermost branches that are poking out from behind some of the distant skyscrapers. Blinking, you pause and watch as he points to you, then the tree, then back to you once more.

“You're... asking me why I'm not going back to the tree?” you guess.

Huffing, the man simply folds his arms across a broad, silver chest and stares at you expectantly.

Just then, you're struck by a thought and a slow frown creeps across your forehead. How would this stranger know that you came from the maker tree?

He hasn't done anything wrong, so far. But something about him doesn't sit quite right with you.

“I... I can't go back. Not yet.” You edge around him, never once turning your back. “You don't understand, I need to get more supplies before I return.”

Your unusual rescuer doesn't seem to like that response one bit. His eyes suddenly flash white-hot and he takes a single stride towards you, reaching out to grip your shoulder and only holding it tighter when you try to pull away. This time, he raises his other hand slowly and jabs a finger right in your face, centimetres from the tip of your nose before the appendage swings in a wide arc towards the maker tree.

Ah. He wasn't asking you why you weren't going straight back to the maker tree.

In fact, you don't think he was asking anything at all.

As though he'd read your mind, the armoured brute suddenly swivels you towards the tree and moves his hand down to give you a gentle yet direct nudge in the small of your back.

Apparently, this is nonnegotiable.

“Okay, okay! No need to push. I'm going.”

Beneath his mask, you don't see the man's frown ease, nor the way his lips part to release a small sigh of relief.

---

At the risk of sounding like his eldest brother, Strife reminds himself to give you the sternest talking to you've likely ever received once he delivers you back to the safety of Ulthane's tree. 

As Jones, of course. 

As Jones. 

[crystalessenceswrites]

Shadows- Chapter Three

Shadows

A modern monster AU Pairings: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: Dark themes, canon-typical violence, descriptions of a dead body, desecration and disposal of a dead body. Summary: Crypto- concealed; secret. You have always lived your life in the shadows; after all, you’re one of the creatures who go bump in the night. He has sworn his life to a creed that aims to protect the world from monsters like you.

[Masterlist] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] Cross-posted on AO3

Satisfaction was not the right word, but it was the closest you could put your finger on as you watched the Mandalorian walk away. You had escaped his clutches twice now. While that was two more times that you would ever want to have a run-in with one of his kind there was still a sense of pride in being able to outmaneuver him. He dedicated his life to killing your kind but here you were, alive, while he was leaving without his target. A victory for you and Kira, no matter how small a success. Though that victory came with a bit of a mess. You and Kira needed to get the hell out of dodge. The gunshots and shouting would have already drawn attention from folks in the pub or out on the street. Which is exactly why you did not carry firearms for most jobs. Too messy.

“Hold this tight.” You’d had a spare scarf in your bag which was coming in handy. It would help staunch Kira’s bleeding long enough to get her into the clinic, so long as you had it tight enough.

Kira waves you off, “stop hovering. Take care of the body.”

As much as you didn’t need your partner bleeding out, she had a point. You had a body to dispose of.

There’s a routine to it. Stripping the outer layers, shoes, valuables and identifiers. The office had people who properly disposed of identification and could make nearly anyone disappear from any record or database. One less hassle you had to deal with.

You spread out the man’s coat and roll the cooling body onto it before ripping off the bottom of his shirt. Next comes the hand. Every slayer seems to have a preferred limb of extremity for proof of death. Some liked ears, fingers and toes, a tongue or an eyeball. You never could find the will to get that up close and personal with a corpse. A whole hand or foot was your preferred token. Easy enough to sever at the joint and it left plenty to identify the bounty with, keeping confusion to a minimum when you handed it over. In comparison it was just a bit harder to carry around and hide.

The man is only a few minutes dead, so the chop-job at the wrist makes a mess all over the bounty’s jacket. How you wished you had your clean up kit with you. Or more time. This was too rushed to be a proper job. The only upside to your location was its convenience-one dumpster at the ready. You toss the body, jacket and shoes before wrapping the hand up in the torn shirt. The last place you want to put the limb is in your purse but you’re out of options. Gross. Normally you had a proper bag prepared for this.

At least the bounty money would pay for a new bag.

Destruction was the last step. Fire was not your preferred method, it left too much behind, but you kept a lighter on your person at all times. Just in case. Though just a little zippo wasn’t going to cut it for a dumpster fire. Alcohol made a pretty decent accelerant and you were standing just outside a bar.

“You done yet?”

“Shove off,” you roll your eyes at the blonde. “You’re not exactly being much help.”

“Uh, bullet wound?”

“Excuses, excuses…”

Rummaging around the loading dock doesn’t help much, there’s no booze left out, which was probably smart on the pubs account. Most of what they had stored in the back looked like kitchen supplies and extra gas canisters for the bar. Those would provide more fire power than you were looking for and draw more attention than was good for such a rushed job. They would have to be your last resort.

“Hey Kira, what’s the flash point of cooking oil?”

“Average to low, I think.”

“Perfect.” You feel a little bad stealing the barrel but you’re in too much of a rush to dwell on it. “Drape my coat over your shoulders and take my purse, head back in and wait for me by the entrance. I’ll be there in a sec’.”

Kira winces a bit as she situates herself. Your coat just covers the blood stain blossoming across her shirt. Hopefully, no one in the pub looks too closely. Or checks the bag. “Got it.”

It’s not as easy as you’d like to hoist the plastic barrel into the dumpster, but you manage, albeit with very little grace. Popping the seal quickly covers the corpse and the rest of the dumpster’s contents in oil. All it takes is you dropping you lit zippo in for it to all go up in flames. Works almost a little too well.

.

“Why am I not surprised it was you two to run into the Mandalorian.” Rosalyn clicks her tongue as she goes about fixing Kira’s arm up with ever steady hands.

“(Y/N)’s a Mandalorian magnet, apparently.”

“Please don’t say that,” you groan. That was the last thing you needed. Mando had cornered you twice now and you did not want to see if the third time was charm for him. You wanted nothing more to do with the mysterious dark-haired man.

“But also an escape artist!” Kira grins despite Rosalyn’s ministrations.

The healer frowns, “she shouldn’t have to be. None of you should have to be. You’ve all got enough to worry about.”

Rosalyn, ever the worrier. Her big heart was the reason she became a nurse instead of a slayer in the first place. You’re not sure where you and the others would be without her. Scratch that, you knew Kira would be dead in a ditch without Rosalyn. She’d patched her up more times than either of you could count.

“We choose this life, Ros. We know the risks- Mandalorians and hunters are part of that risk.”

“None of us chose to be born into this life, to live in hiding from humans who want to kill us because we’re different,” Rosalyn’s voice cracks at the end, her eyes downcast.

She’s not wrong. None of you asked to be half-bloods, to be stuck in the in-between. There were few paths in life for your kind, all full of their own risks. But that was how your cards had fallen. You tried not to dwell on it, but it was not always easy. Some of the things you saw brought your circumstances to the forefront, the cruel indiscriminate nature of hunters being one of them. That had always been the biggest thorn in Kira’s side. Why she was so abrasive and hostile towards them.

“ ’M sorry, Ros. I didn’t mean it like that.”

The nurse forces a smile, “I know…I guess we’re all a little on edge lately.”

“That’s an understatement.” Kira gestures to her now properly bandaged arm, “think I will be now too.”

Rosalyn rolls her eyes, “just pay more attention. Or I’m not fixing you up next time you get shot.”

.

The compound was nearly up and running at full capacity. Families were settling in, supply stores were filling up, the armory stocked and so on. Din allowed himself a moment of pride watching the foundlings training in the yard- the next generation of Mandalorian hunters. It felt like lifetimes ago that he was one of them, day after day of drilling and sparring next to his brothers and sisters. Now Paz leads the training, passing on the wisdom and skills that had been passed to them by the warriors that came before. Passing on the knowledge of the monsters that stalk the world around them.

Monsters like her.

(Y/N)

That was what the blonde had called her.

Slayers, they had called themselves. None of what they had been taught mentioned slayers. There was nothing about monsters killing other monsters. Yet they’d called it their job. Were they some sort of twisted police force?

She certainly did not appear the type. But that’s how they all were. Appearing like something they’re not. Walking around in human skin, the monster swimming just below the surface. Din just had yet to figure what monster was lurking behind her sharp eyes.

“Din Djarin.”

If there was one person in the compound who knew more then he did, more than Paz did, it was the Armorer. Their coverts alor.

“Another successful hunt.”

The words taste like acid on his tongue, “no… I was interrupted.”

“Interrupted?”

“The woman who aided in the escape of the club owner showed up again.”

Armorer pauses, her face pensive, an expression Din does not see her wear often. “Is she tracking you?”

“No.” There was no way (Y/N) had managed to follow him. She’d fled after their first encounter anyways. “She said she was not our enemy.”

“Oh? You’re sure she’s one of them?”

Din nods, “I’ve seen her magic. And she called herself a slayer.”

Armorer’s eyebrows shoot up, “slayer?”

“Is that familiar to you?”

“Only in very old stories,” she muses. “They mimic us in some ways. They rid their kind of nuisances, ones who threaten to expose them, if the old stories are to be believed. I have never seen or heard of their kind otherwise.”

Nuisances. That seems to be what (Y/N) had been doing last night. Attempting to remove a sick criminal whose actions threatened to expose humans to the truth. So why had he never run into one of them until now? He was not new to hunting monsters. Din had a number of years under his belt now -that’s why he was the best in the covert- and he’d never seen or heard of them until he collided with her. Where exactly had they come from and why?

There always seems to be more mysteries with her involved.

“We will need to be vigilant for her and any others on future hunts.”

Din agrees. There could be no more surprises and no more escaped targets. He would not allow it.

.

“It is rather concerning on both accounts.”

You almost felt as if you and Kira were sitting in the principal’s office, about to be scolded for some dumb prank you’d pulled. Not that you’d ever pulled any pranks in school, or gotten in trouble for that matter. The circumstances of your identity meant you did everything in your power to stay under the radar. Quiet, polite, kept your head down. Your principal probably would not have recognized you back then. Yet you still couldn’t shake the odd sense of déjà vu you felt sitting Boss’s office.

“We’ll pass on the information about the bartender to the knights but if he’s gone this long without detection, it won’t be long before he comes back to us on the bounty list.”

“He’ll have a harder time hiding without his partner around to help.” It’s not much but at least even Kira was trying to be optimistic.

“We can hope,” Boss nods. “As for this Mandalorian… it appears your original concerns have been realized, (Y/N). We may need to be more proactive in monitoring the hunter, lest we have another Fett situation on our hands.”

Boba Fett had been a thorn in your office’s side for years before he’d died. Some of his targets had been known criminals with outstanding bounties, much like this new Mando, but others had been innocents, cryptos just going about their lives alongside humans. The community had been up in arms but there was not anything the office was allowed to do. Fett was human. It was the unfortunate circumstances you all had to navigate in your line of work. Your job was to catch criminal bounties, slayers had no power to protect other cryptos. Despite knowing that, locals had become rather upset with the inaction. There was a number of gathering places slayers had been banned from at the time in retribution. Time had smoothed over relations but the new Mando threatened to dredge everything back up again.

“Any luck on tracking down his informant?” If you could take his contact out of the mix maybe the Mando would skip town. There were plenty of other communities for him to terrorize. Other slayer’s bounties for him to steal.

Boss’s frown deepens, “nothing yet. The knights have been notified and we’ve got a few local leaders keeping their ears open. Someone will hear something soon.”

It had been over a month, if no one had heard anything by now you did not have much hope of anything new coming to light. You didn’t have it in you to contradict the old man though. No one wanted to admit they had hit a dead end.

“Is that all we can do? Pass it over to the knights and wait until someone else gets hurt?” Kira’s frustrations mirror your own. You both had trained for years before being allowed your three-year apprentice ship. To put everything you had into protecting your kind and taking down criminals and then to not have the power to deal with a Mandalorian was maddening. Just waiting on someone else made you want to tear your hair out.

[swedisheek]

@morfiplier gave me a lovely ficlet idea earlier and i ran with it, and @doctordiscord123 is generally a cool person and an inspiration so i’m tagging her as well :)

also dark uses he/they interchangeably because i want him to :3

(tw: violence and blood)

one day, wilford snaps.

not a quick, clean break, but an agonizing tearing apart, the sort of wounding that leaves a bad scar and a worse story behind it.

when he comes home from work, eyes burning with frustrated tears and gripping a not unused knife in his white-knuckled, shaking hands, dark stands from their reading spot on the couch, preparing to ask him soothingly about his day, but he stops cold in his tracks when his husband gives them a silent, wild-eyed look, breath trembling. the two stand there for a tense, quiet moment before wilford stalks off into their shared room.

dark has just enough apathy to be able to ignore the yells and crashes and thumps coming from the master bedroom, but by the time dinner rolls around, the other egos are a bit anxious, to say the least.

erik is shaking as he practically tiptoes to the table, bing is quiet for once as he squeezes google’s hand tightly, yancy’s head is bowed low as he shuffles around the kitchen, and even the host looks uncomfortable, muttering a stream of nervous narrations under his breath as he swishes around the corner into the dining room. his bandages are stained with blood, a sure sign that he’s had a vision recently, and an unpleasant one.

dark is the only one that dares go near the master bedroom.

there’s a broken vase scattered in shards all across the floor next to the knocked-over bedside table, and dark winces at the sight of it. it’s a relic from a dig that illinois had managed to squirrel away in his bag, and he’d given it to the heads of the household as a one-year-of-living-together present. the pillows have been thrown off of the bed, and several have been torn apart, split precisely down the middle by someone with a very sharp blade that had quite a lot of experience using it. the curtains are ripped at the base, and the tears almost look like the claw marks of some desperate, furious animal.

and among the feathers and pottery and thrown furniture, there is wilford, knees pulled up to his chest, flicking a pink switchblade open and shut, open and shut. there are tear tracks on his half-covered face, and his eyes, which have reverted to a pinwheel of yellow and pink with pinprick-sized pupils in the middle, are focused solely on the knife in his hands. the spiraling eyes and still-bloodied arms don’t ease dark much as to how easy this will be, but he steps forward, modulating his aura’s ringing into a quiet, calming hum.

this is their husband. blood and strange, supernatural traits are nothing new to the two of them.

open and shut, open and shut, and the soft thud of dark’s shoes join in with the rhythm of the clicking blade. wilford still doesn’t look up, even when dark is standing right next to him.

“love, dinner’s almost ready. you need to stand up and wash off your hands, please.”

open, shut, open, shut. wilford mumbles something like “don’wanna” into his arm, eyes still blankly following the switchblade. dark tuts, sitting down on a near-empty pillowcase and propping their head in their hand.

“i understand that you had a bad day, wil, but you’ll feel better once you see everyone and you talk about it, alright?”

they reach out, squeezing wilford’s arm.

“don’t TOUCH ME!”

in a flash, he bolts up, backing away and holding out the knife in front of him, and there’s a strange disconnect for a moment as dark stares at the smear of near-black rotten blood along the edge of the blade. they can hardly hear their husband’s breathed continuation through the sudden feeling of their head being submerged underwater.

“please.”

they’ve known each other for nearly a century and wilford has never, never, laid a hand on them.

so perhaps it’s appropriate that, as dark watches the trickle of blackness down their wrist, at the decayed muscles wrapped in the black energy that makes up their soul, he feels a little bit like he’s just been hit by a tsunami.

judging by wilford’s shocked, pained expression, he feels a bit similar.

“i- oh god, dami- dark- wait, fuck, fuck, no no no, i’m so- so goddamn sorry, i-“

“wil, it’s okay.“

the words feel like lies, even to their own ears, and they know tears are beginning to slip out of their eyes, but he hopes his husband will believe it enough for the both of them.

they take a step forward, extending their hands the barest amount, and wilford collapses into them, chest heaving as he cries quietly. dark knows his suit is getting bloody, but he doesn’t mind.

wil’s okay now, or at least, he’s going to be. that’s all that matters.

and if the other egos pile into the doorway a few minutes later, each giving wilford a more aggressive hug than the last until he’s giggling uncontrollably and throwing handfuls of feathers at everyone and dark is laughing as they’re dragged into the fight until he nearly forgets about the cut, well that’s no one’s business but theirs.

(this turned out significantly fluffier than it was supposed to but darkstache is like. the biggest comfort ship for me i cant have it end on angst :( )

[greatsagestonemonkey]

A Game of Cat and Monkey (Part 1)

So @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off, @neonross, and @purble-turble... this is mostly all your faults.

I was taking a nap a few days ago while suffering from a bad migraine, and I had a dream about the Monkie Kid Pirate AU that’s been going on for awhile here that was a sort of crossover with my mainstream pirate OC and it was... honestly too epic to not write down and throw out there, so here it is! (the first part of it, anyway.)

It was supposed to be easy, not get complicated in a matter of five minutes or less. In and out. Not in, run around, then out with a spray of musket balls in his wake.

Wukong had sent him in the Monkey King get-up to fetch an astrolabe that was supposed to be magic, or enchanted, or something. Whatever. It did something special and he was supposed to get it. And it was supposed to be easy.

Breaking into the mansion of the collector was easy enough, most everyone had gone to bed and what guards there were seemed confident that no one would dare to try to break in that they were easy to slip past.

It wasn’t until MK reached the study, where the astrolabe was supposed to be, that the evening went hard about faster than a sloop catching a good wind.

He stopped dead in his tracks only seconds after closing the large doors behind him at the sight of a silhouette against the large, double-paned windows. He was half ready to relax after going tense at seeing it, expecting it to be a decorative suit of armor, or statue, or something, but that feeling never came as the glimmer of very real, deep, sea blue eyes glinted in surprise at his presence in the moonlight.

They tensed, crouched almost at seeing him as if hoping to shrink back into the shadows unnoticed, and MK reached for the rapier on his belt, drawing it out only maybe a quarter of an inch, just in case. His eyes traveled down the figure’s form, landing and locking onto the astrolabe clutched tightly in their fingers like the claws of an oriental dragon around a pearl. Even with his mask on, he gave his best, charming smile and raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that the figure could likely see his expression with the moonlight pouring into the room. 

“Don’t suppose I can just ask you to hand that over nicely, can I?” he asked.

WHOOSSSSHH-CRACK!

He barely--barely--had time to register that something long, fluid in its motion, and metal from the way it was glinting, was flying straight at his head; like a blue serpent gliding through the air at lightning speed. He leaned back instinctively to dodge, back and neck arching back at a practically impossible angle to spare him the blow. His breath caught in his throat as the long object snagged the fabric of his mask, hearing it tear very near to the arch his nose made beneath it. He whipped out his sword, using the blade to smack the object away as it continued to stretch outwards in his direction dangerously and rolled back to safety, free hand flying to his mask to check just how much of it had been torn; and sighed discreetly in relief at feeling only a slight rip in the material while his eyes followed the object as it flew back to its owner.

A whip. It was a whip! As if the sound of the crack ringing through his ears wasn’t telling enough he had to nearly get his nose snapped off by it!

“Hey!” he protested, louder than he had intended. Not that it mattered, since the sound of that whip alone was enough to wake the dead! He was still so stunned by the brazen act that he couldn’t even think of something witty and whip related to say! Nor would he have the time to after completely recovering, either.

The owner of the whip reared it back again, cracking it a second time; but not at him. At the window behind them. The odd, blue metal shattered the glass like a heavy and well aimed club swing, sending it showering over the room and the courtyard below. To anyone who hadn’t seen the action itself, it might have seemed like the window just exploded! MK held up an arm to cover himself as some of the glass showered a little too close, then watched in astonishment as the figure lept right through the now apparent gap in the window ledge. He let out a choked sound of surprise and darted to the edge to watch their fall, flinching as he heard the whip crack again, and was just able to catch sight of it catching on the limb of a tree in the courtyard below, allowing the owner to swing--with almost supernatural ease--up onto the outside wall of the mansion.

MK could only blink and continue to watch in awe as they briefly glanced back at him before disappearing over the wall and vanishing from sight. 

“Um… okay then…?” he murmured to himself, taking a moment to move his hat aside just enough to scratch his head in confusion.

He only had that moment though; the sound of running footfalls in the hall outside the room he was in snapped him back into reality and sent him out the window himself. Nice of that stranger to at least give him an escape route after stealing his mark right out from under him!

Now he just had to get back to the ship.

And explain everything to Wukong and the others.

Great…

~~~

Back at the Flowerfruit, MK couldn’t help but feel like a bug under a magnifying glass when he first climbed aboard, empty handed. It was only when he was taking off the Monkey King outfit that he was able to get enough of a word in as the crew bombarded him with questions on how it went, and all that. It stung having to explain when he didn’t know quite how to explain it himself, since he was still largely processing the situation, but he did his best.

“And they used a whip!” he exclaimed, pacing back and forth in the galley as the others sat and listened, watching him walk. “But it wasn’t like a cat o’ ninetails kind of whip, it was like a legit, long whip! Made of metal!”

“A metal whip?” Wukong asked, voice sounding skeptical as he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” MK snatched up his mask and held it out for the others to see. “Look what it did to my mask!”

Tang took the cloth from MK before Wukong could, adjusting his glasses and squinting at the tear with a great deal of scrutiny.

“Hm… He’s right. This is a clean cut. A rawhide whip would have left more jagged tearing,” he said, finally passing the cloth to Wukong. “It had to have been made of metal. Sharp metal.”

“Sharp and strong enough to shatter glass even…” Wukong mused, sighing as he put the mask aside and crossed his arms. “And they got the astrolabe…?”

MK frowned, gaze falling to the floor. “I’m sorry…” 

A weight on his shoulder made him look up at Wukong, who shrugged and was smiling at him.

“Relax, it’s not like we’ve lost it for good,” he said. “Chances are, whoever this character is, they’re still on the island somewhere. If it was me, I sure wouldn’t risk skipping port right away. I’d lay low, wait until the heat dies down and until the local constabulary isn’t searching everyone’s person for an astrolabe.”

“Yeah, something like that sticks out way too much to just pass off as usual luggage.” Mei said with a nod. “Like who even uses those anymore…?”

“Point is, we still have a chance of getting it back.” Wukong said, hand slipping off a now smiling MK’s shoulder. “We’ll sweep the town and ask around for a pirate who uses a whip. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Yeah!” MK nodded, fists pumping towards his chest excitedly.

“In the meantime, let’s get some shut eye. It’s only a few hours until sunrise, and we’ll start our search then.”

~~~

Morning couldn’t come soon enough. He was able to get a few winks at least, but he was itching to get back out there and find this mysterious whip wielding pirate.

It was kind of fun having a new player in the game; new blood to run up against, and he was eager to test his metal against them.

Even if the first time didn’t pan out so well… but that was only because he had been caught off guard! He could do better the next time around! He would do better.

They split up around the port, some of them on their own, some in pairs, to cover more ground. There wouldn’t be much need to go to the richer, or more high end districts in town, since it wasn’t very likely that the noblemen and their ilk would pay too much attention to a seaman wearing a whip. Or to a seaman in general. Taverns and boarding houses would be their best bet.

That didn’t mean it would be easy though. Wukong had been right; soldiers were searching the outgoing ships and any passengers on them. If they weren’t careful they’d likely be recognized, but thankfully their line of questioning wouldn’t likely tie in with the theft of the astrolabe. Even so, part of him was very tempted to just ask one of the soldiers what they knew at least to make this go faster…

He kept going over the previous night in his head. From the moment he entered the study to the moment he had to jump through the window to get away.

He tried to remember everything he could about the figure he encountered; not just the whip they held. Their stance, the way they tried to shrink into the shadows like that. They obviously knew how to sneak around, if they got into the mansion, so finding them might not be all that easy. But then there were the eyes. Blue eyes. Not all that common around these parts. At least not the shade he caught a brief glimpse of. Someone would have had to notice a blue eyes, whip-toting pirate around here at some point… or at least that’s what he would think.

MK snapped out of his thoughts long enough to look up and jog over to Pigsy as he saw him round a corner ahead of him.

“Anything?” he asked, somewhat hopeful sounding.

“Nada.” Pigsy shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “Either they haven’t seen anything period or won’t say whether or not they have.”

MK sighed. “Maybe they really did skip port already,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

“Maybe…” Pigsy said with a shrug.

A sound pierced the air that made MK practically jump. Pierced… no, cracked.

The same sound he heard last night.

Followed by a loud crash and a shout.

MK and Pigsy both turned around to see what was causing the commotion, as did a small crowd that gathered outside what looked like the back entrance to an inn. From what they could see, a large, bulky pirate had been thrown hard into a few supply crates and barrels, their contents now scattered over and around him as he laid dazed in a pile of splinters; but what caught MK’s attention completely was the sight of a long, blue, metal whip-like cord being coiled back up into the hands of its owner, and from where he was he could just barely see the same glint of sea blue eyes from last night.

“Maybe that’ll teach ya t’ keep your hands to yourself,” the voice, thick with an Irish accent, and that of a woman’s. “Especially when you’ve already been told t’ do so once, ya scut!”

She turned on her heel and marched off, kicking a broken plank out of her path, and attaching the strange weapon back to a holster on her sash-like belt as she went. Pigsy let out a whistle, which in turn snapped MK out of his state of shock.

“She’s got some gumption!” Pigsy said with a chuckle, grunting loudly in shock as MK grabbed and turned him so they were facing each other.

“Pigsy, that’s them! Her! The whip! It’s the same one! I’d swear on it!” MK blurted out, head turning rapidly between Pigsy and the direction the woman was headed off in.

Pigsy tore MK’s hands off him. “Okay, okay, I get it! So now what?”

“Uh…” MK shook his head, scratching his head a few times before looking back at the other. “You get back to the others and tell them we found her, and I’ll follow her and find out where she’s going!”

MK took off without another word, despite protest from Pigsy. He had to push through the crowd a little bit in order to follow the woman down the same road without losing her, his fear of doing so almost making him miss a deep, red gash on the chest of the poor soul who had angered her earlier. He grimaced a bit, mind flashing back to the night before and how that could have been his face… not that he was afraid of a good scar, he already had a handful of them, but still… just… Ouch.

He shook it off and continued to follow her, making sure to keep enough distance between the two of them that he could. She didn’t seem to be too concerned about being followed though, and with that whip of hers he could definitely understand why at least in some respect. Still, he couldn’t believe how easy this was turning out; and if his luck held he might be able to get the astrolabe back himself and redeem himself for last night.

She was heading for the jungle that surrounded the port town. A bit odd. There was nothing out here except… well, jungle. Maybe she had a camp out here someplace? Or was planning to meet someone out here? It didn’t really matter, either way he’d have to make sure to leave a trail for the rest of the crew to follow if they came along to try and find him. He kept the distance between himself and the pirate woman, making sure to duck behind trees and bushes large enough to hide him from her sight, snapping a few small branches in the direction they were heading; and stopping only occasionally to use his knife to leave relevant markings on a tree or two.

MK ducked behind a tree, holding his breath as she came to a sudden stop and turned back. He stayed stock still, only breathing again once he was sure he could avoid gasping from the initial startle, and only dared to peek around the tree he hid behind when he heard the foliage ahead of them rustle. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that her moving on meant she didn’t see him, which meant he just had to keep following--

He froze at seeing that she had disappeared entirely. 

“What the…?” he looked around, even behind him, to see where she had gone. But there was no sign, nor trace, not even in the dirt where she’d been standing. The tracks just stopped! So where did she…?

Another crack that made him jump, the feeling of something tightening sharply around his ankle, followed by a sharp yank, one that sent him crashing to the ground before pulling him upwards into the air by that same ankle. He yelped aloud, unable to keep the sound from erupting from his mouth as he was hoisted into the air and left swinging like a pinata by one leg.

“Hey!” MK yelped arms flailing out around him before reaching up and attempting to free his leg from the whip coiled around it. 

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” 

MK froze again temporarily when he felt cold steel stretch across his throat, letting himself fall backward enough to look at the woman; who stood, whip tight in one hand to hold him up and a blade in the other, glaring at him. MK glared back, unable to keep from making an aggravated, almost pouting sound at her.

“Seriously?! You use a metal whip and a knife?! Oh come on, that’s just cheating!” he whined.

“All’s fair when you’re a pirate, lad,” she said. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, we make our own rules, the code is more guidelines, all that stuff…” MK said with a roll of his eyes. 

She let out a sigh. “How about we skip past the banter and get to the point; who are you and why are you following me?”

Shoot. MK had to think fast. Typically he had at least one of three go-to answers to a question like this… they usually worked really well on Red, but this wasn’t Red. This was someone with a blade at his throat and a crazy looking blue, metal whip around his leg, hanging him from a tree. He would have to come up with something else to save his neck… literally.

“I, uh… I-It’s nothing, really! I saw the way you handled yourself in the town back there and I… well, it was really cool! I wanted to ask if you could… you know, teach me how you… did that thing you did!” MK said, putting on as genuine a smile as he could.

“Oh really? Which thing was that?” she asked, lowering the blade only so she could crouch down and look at him at the same level. MK began to sweat. “For someone who wanted to learn a simple wrist flick, you sure were intent on not being seen back there…”

“...Okay, okay!” MK sighed, letting himself sag in the hold of the whip. “It was my friend who was watching you, he thought you were cute, but he’s pants at talking to girls so he asked me to do it for him! Happy!?”

She choked down what was undoubtedly a laugh. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not, but he was willing to take what he got. 

“Can you let me down now? All my blood is rushing to my head!” he whined. Unbeknownst to her, he had one last trick up his sleeve, but it all relied on her letting him down, and hopefully she bought his second excuse so he could pull it.

After a pause, she spoke again, and he felt slack on his ankle. “Fine.”

“Thanks, I--” his expression of gratitude was cut off by a painful grunt as he fell to the ground beneath him with a hard thud. He rolled himself over and onto his knees as she stood back to full height, coiling up the whip again.

Go time.

“Ouch! Did you really have to just drop me!?” he asked, starting to stand, only to bite back a cry of pain and fall backwards again, this time clutching his leg where the whip had been coiled around it. “Oh come on!”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, an annoyed, but surprised tone in her voice.

MK grumbled to make it sound like he was swearing under his breath. “Your whip must have dislocated something…” he growled at her.

She sighed, rolling her eyes and reaching down to offer him a hand up, the same hand that should have been resting on her whip. 

Just what he was waiting for.

MK took her hand firmly, typical of someone preparing to hoist themselves up with another’s aid, but instead he pulled as hard as he could, prankly yanking on her arm while his “injured” leg shot out forward at hers, knocking her feet out from under her. She fell with a startled cry, MK using her initial shock from the fall to twist and roll the both of them so that she was pinned beneath him; arm above her head so that she couldn’t reach for her whip again. He reached behind him and pulled out the small dagger he kept with him, intending to put it to her throat only as a means to keep her still, but to his surprise it was met with her own before he could set it in place. He’d been so focused on the whip, and just keeping her from using it again that he forgot about the knife entirely. But with how they were locked together now, it wasn’t like it was that big of a problem.

“You little sneak…!” she hissed, accent flaring with the anger in her voice.

“Easy, I don’t want to hurt you! I just want the astrolabe you stole!” MK hissed back, arm straining to hold her down as she struggled. “Hand it over and I’ll let you alone!”

“Pirate’s honor?”

“Of course!”

“Then no deal!” she growled, giving one hard, last effort shove to push him off of her. But MK was ready for it; all his training with Wukong hadn’t been for naught, after all.

He leaned back, using his weight to drag her up and off balance, still keeping his grip on her wrist so she couldn’t go for the whip. He briefly tucked the knife he held into his teeth, using the sudden momentum from their roll to flip her up and over him in a way that he had complete control of her movement. With another twist of his arm, and making sure to sweep his legs the right way, he flipped her onto her stomach, with her arm twisted behind her and him now sitting on her back. He heard her swear in what he assumed was Irish Gaelic repeatedly as he took the knife out of his teeth again.

“Phew! Good thing Wukong’s training paid off,” he said to himself, before pressing the blade to her cheek to still her as she struggled. “Look, I really don’t want to hurt you! If I did, I would have by now, so just, let me have the astrolabe and we can both just walk away without any bad feelings, alright?”

He paused as she arched her head to look at him with a skeptical look, and he felt himself blush a bit sheepishly.

“...Okay, maybe some bad feelings, but hey, give me credit, I’m trying here!” he said.

She sighed heavily and with agitation lacing her voice, letting her head flop forward slightly into the dirt and grass beneath them. “I don’t have it.”

“What?”

“I said I don’t have it!” she snapped back at him. “Do you really think I’d be dense enough to have it one me with soldiers searching almost everyone in town?!”

“Well then what did you do with it?” MK asked, pulling the blade of the knife back just enough to avoid cutting into her cheek. She grumbled under her breath and he sighed, pressing it back to her cheek with just the slightest bit more pressure. “Come on, I meant it when I said I don’t want to hurt you…”

“There’s a mile long beach south of here that’s right littered with rocky crags and tidal pools. That’s where I stashed it.”

“Hm… that’s actually pretty smart.” MK said, though he couldn’t deny the annoyance he felt. “It just means I’m gonna have to have you lead me to it yourself, rather than letting you go right away like I was hoping to.”

“So it would seem,” the woman hissed up at him.

MK sighed, briefly looking over his shoulder, half hoping someone from the crew would show up by now, thanks to the trail he left, but he couldn’t count on Pigsy finding them right away and filling them all in. He was probably on his own for now. Not that he couldn’t handle it… just so long as he kept his wits about him with this one.

“Okay, I’m going to let you up, and you’re going to lead me to the astrolabe,” he said, sheathing the knife but keeping his grip on her arm and staying on top of her. “But!” he added, using his now free hand to detach the whip from the holster on her belt. “I’m going to be keeping this with me so you can’t use it!”

With that, he got up off of her, quickly, and stepped back to let her up. He kept his hands tightly around the whip, examining it carefully and briefly as she pulled herself up onto her feet again and brushed the dirt off her vest.

It was like nothing he’d ever seen before; a light metal that felt way less durable than it probably was, segmented to allow the whip itself to stretch when swung the right way, and probably allowing it to cut all the more cleanly too. But what struck him the most was the color of the metal. It was a deep, blue-green color, veined with lighter colors that almost glowed and flashed like the surface of water under direct sunlight. He couldn’t help but whistle at the unique object before turning his attention back to the woman as she faced him, a scowl plastered onto her face.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure that you get some sort of reward to compensate, alright?”

“Keep talking like that and people will think you’re too soft to be a real pirate, lad. Now are we gonna move on or do you intend to make me chat with you for the rest of the afternoon?” she asked.

“Fine.” MK said with a sigh, gesturing her forward with his free hand. “Let’s go.”

He followed her through the jungle, keeping a tight grip on the whip in hand, an eye on her, and another eye behind them as they walked. He was still making sure to leave a trail so his crew could find them, but the fact that they hadn’t yet was really making him nervous. He tried not to show it, though. He tried his best to make it look like he was doing his best to memorize their surroundings, or something, just in case she pulled any tricks.

He glanced down at the whip in his hand again curiously, then back at her, clearing his throat a bit.

“So… what crew are you from?” he asked, the extended, awkward silence making him even more nervous, so he decided to try and break it. She wasn’t cooperating though, remaining silent. “Or do you work alone? Solo pirate, or just the treasure hunter type?”

He heard her sigh and could swear by the way her head tilted back slightly that she just rolled her eyes at him. He huffed in annoyance, rolling his own eyes for a moment before propping his arms behind his head casually.

“You’re from Ireland, right?” he asked, deciding to change tactics. “I can tell from your accent. From what part?”

“...My kin originally hailed from Louth, but my grandfather was born in Galway,” she finally replied, causing MK to perk up a little.

“Ah, I’ve heard of Galway, but not Louth… where’s that?”

“Further East. It was once known as Ulster...” she said, then clicked her tongue and looked back at him. “Is there a point to these questions of yours?”

MK shrugged. “Not really… just curious,” he replied. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re an odd fish, you know that?”

MK shrugged again, continuing to follow her. “And you’re not? I mean… don’t take it the wrong way but I’ve never heard of a pirate using a whip before,” he said, glancing at the whip in his hands again briefly. “And what the heck is it made of? I’ve never seen metal like this before...”

“That’s what makes it so advantageous,” she said, looking back at him with a proud smirk. “No one who knows as much as they think they do about pirates would ever see it coming.”

“Can’t really argue with that…” MK said quietly, mind flashing back to the previous night, when she first caught him off guard, then looking at her again. “But you didn’t answer my last question.”

“And I don’t intend to. It wouldn’t be professional if I gave away all my trade secrets,” she said, smirking at him again and tapping a finger to her nose.

“Fair enough… but if you won’t tell me what it’s made of, then will you at least tell me where you got it?” he asked.

She shrugged, stopping to turn and face him, eyes falling on the whip itself. “I stole it from another pirate on my first venture as one, a long, long time ago. It’s got plenty of sentimental value for me…”

MK squinted at her and clutched the whip tightly. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “You’re not getting this back until I have the astrolabe!”

“Worth a try,” she said with a defeated sigh, starting to turn back around, when she stopped, looking beyond MK and scowling slightly.

“What?”

“Your friends found us at last, it seems,” she said.

MK tightened his grip on the whip, making sure she wouldn’t make a grab for it as he turned around to look and see for himself. It was about time that they caught up! He had this well in hand, but he sure could use the extra help if he needed it…

A shadow darted behind a tree, and another behind a large stone, a bit too slow for him to not notice them, and to not ascertain that they were not members of his crew.

But he unfortunately did know who they were.

“Down!” he whispered loudly, turning and tackling the woman to the ground as gently as he could, while still trying to keep the whip out of her reach.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re--?!” she almost snapped aloud, if not for MK slapping his free hand over her mouth.

“Sssh!” he whispered harshly, looking over his shoulder briefly before crawling off her enough to drag her behind a tree. “Those buccaneers are no friends of mine!” he whispered again, then looked at her, letting go of her mouth. “Unless they’re yours?”

She shook her head, a surprising look of alarm crossing her features. “But if they’re not yours, then whose are they?” she asked, voice hushed now.

“It’s a long story.” MK said, swallowing. “But basically their captain is… and old “friend” of my captain’s, and they…” he paused and sighed. “They know I’m important to him… so they’re likely here for me.”

“Well, if I’d known I was being held hostage by a celebrity I would have been more polite,” she actually joked, craning her neck to peer around the tree they were hidden behind.

MK bit his lip and chewed nervously, fist clenching around the whip in his hand, also craning his neck to look around the tree and watch as what looked like nearly a dozen different shapes and shadows seemed to be lurking just a cable’s length away. It wasn’t hard to imagine what would happen if they caught up with them, and that was where his brain did that thing where he started to think up all the different scenarios that he didn’t like to think about…

Firstly, he wasn’t sure if he could trust this woman to fight by his side if they were caught. For all he knew, she was actually part of Macaque’s crew and was leading him into a trap all along… but then again she didn’t seem the type. And another thing that bothered him was that if she wasn’t part of Macaque’s crew, he would be convinced she was with him, and there would be absolutely no way he’d be able to convince Macaque to spare her or just let her go. And if she wasn’t really part of this then he didn’t want to get her involved… even if she was his only key to getting the astrolabe back.

Stupid conscience…

He shoved the whip back into her hands quietly, crouching in a way that prepared him to jump up and run in another second. He watched her eyes go wide in confusion at his action, looking at him in further confusion as he took this stance.

“What are you…?”

“Look, they’re after me, not you.” MK said, past bared teeth. “So I’ll draw them off, and you make a run for it.”

“Don’t be foolish there’s at least a dozen of them!” she whispered back, but made no move to stop him. MK shrugged with what--to her shock--appeared to be a genuine smile.

“Heh, being foolish is kind of one of my better qualities!” he said, taking off before she could protest on his behalf again.

He didn’t really think as to which direction he was running in, just so long as he was gaining as much distance as he could. He didn’t really have a plan at this point, but he knew the coast was nearby. If he could make it there he had a good chance of being able to double back towards town and either losing his pursuers in the crowds or getting the attention of his crewmates. But of course, he had to actually make it without getting caught first… Pigsy was right, he should have probably waited for the others, but there was no time to worry about that now; he had to keep moving!

A shot rang out and he heard a branch he ducked beneath snap as he ran. He bit back a yelp and changed direction, sliding down a ditch in his path before continuing to run. That was way too close for comfort! But he liked to imagine that Macaque wanted him alive for whatever reason and was now either scolding the pirate whose shot came too close or cutting him down in some way…

And then the thought of actually being taken alive by one of Wukong’s greatest enemies made his stomach lurch. As did the thought of whatever the outcome of being captured alive would eventually be! That thought alone spurred him onward, pumping him with adrenaline that gave him a burst of speed that was just enough for his pursuers to lose sight of him…

But at a cost that he realized only too late.

It wasn’t until he was tumbling off the edge of the cliff that he even realized that it was there. The fall itself wasn’t fatal, just by the distance, but he hit the rocky ground beneath hard. Hard enough for something in his bones to crack, painfully. He cried out loudly and abruptly in pain, though manage to strangle the remaining sound by slapping his hand over his mouth, body curling on itself as his free hand shot to his now--quite clearly broken--leg.

No. No, no, no, not like this!

With some difficulty and still strangling any pain filled screams that tried to escape his vocal cords, he managed to sit himself up and drag himself to the base of the cliff. Tears of agony and frustration stung the corners of his eyes as he pressed himself against the rock, looking up and praying to whatever god was listening that none of his pursuers saw or heard him fall. Especially now that he couldn’t run anymore. Not with a freshly busted leg!

He chanced a glance away from the top of the cliff above to look at the leg, grimacing a bit at seeing it twisted in a way it… really shouldn’t have been. He’d had broken bones before… but usually from stupid stuff. Stupid mistakes or antics on his part, things he could laugh about later with his friends, or even be scolded by them for, but this was different. Serious. His friends weren’t here to help him set this, or to help him limp to safety, he was on his own.

On his own with a least half a dozen pirates led by one who would probably use him to get to his friends now that he was an easy capture with this stupid, broken leg!

A shadow briefly graced the top of the cliff, vanishing before he could get a good look, or hide himself against the rock better, and he felt his heart stop.

They’d seen him.

They would be down here any second.

This was it…

MK hesitantly reached for the dagger he had with him, hands still shaking from the pain in his leg. He wasn’t going to possibly meet his maker and say he didn’t go down without a fight, even if it was going to be a brief one…

“That looks bad, lad.”

The way she had snuck up on him was so quiet he began to wonder if she wasn’t some sort of ghost. He gasped aloud, catching his breath so he didn’t scream from surprise, his own held silence further helped by her placing a hand gently over his mouth, two fingers over her own with a whisper of “shush”, to him. MK set down the dagger as she pulled her hand away, sniffling and choking back a pained sob as the woman with the whip knelt beside him.

“Wh-What… are you doing here…?” he asked, wincing as she--as tenderly as possible--examined his leg.

“Irish stubbornness,” she replied. “I wouldn’t be a good daughter of Eireann if I just let you face such odds on your own.”

MK couldn’t fight a smile and a single, happy sob that escaped him. “H-Heh… thanks…” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, pulling one of his arms over her shoulders to help him up. “Now let’s get under some cover and take care of that leg…”

The way the high tides had beaten the shore in past years left the cliff face jagged, full of holes and crags, plenty of places to hide, if you could get to them easily. Which, without help, there was no way he could have. The woman managed to help him under a ledge that would be just enough to hide them both, laying him out flat carefully, so as not to agitate his leg further. Once he was set down as comfortably as possible, she left his side briefly to pick up some pieces of driftwood they had passed on their way there. After that, she returned to his side, sitting in front of him, hands hovering over his leg.

“I have to set this,” she said seriously. “Brace yourself.”

MK nodded, bracing himself as instructed, fists clenching at his sides and gritting his teeth together. She nodded back, carefully taking him by his injured leg, and twisting it abruptly with a “snap” that he felt shoot up his whole body. He didn’t scream, though. He didn’t make a peep. It wasn’t the first time he’d broken something, after all. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, of course. It hurt a lot! He had to squeeze his eyes shut to fight a few tears that threatened to leak out, but he kept quiet, fists finally unclenching as the pain subsided to a more bearable level.

“You’re a brave one,” the woman said, an impressed tone to her voice as she undid the sash around her waist, tearing some of it off, which she then wrapped around his leg.

“Thought I was foolish?” MK asked, voice a bit cracked, but still managing a smile.

“Aye, that too. Still, not bad.”

MK chuckled softly as he watched her use the pieces of driftwood she’d gathered, and the torn parts of her sash to make a sturdy splint for his leg. He felt a few twinges of pain as she tightened the knots, making sure they would hold, but he was grateful that the worst was over at least. She seemed to be too as she sighed and brushed her hands together.

“There, that’ll hold for a while,” she said matter of factly. 

“Thank you,” said MK, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m… sorry, about earlier. With the whole… taking you hostage, thing...”

She shrugged. “Eh, pirate’s life.” MK managed a chuckle.

“Fair enough,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But seriously, thank you for the help… um... I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Matilda,” she said, extending her hand to him. “But my friends call me Sea Cat.”

“Xiaotian.” MK replied as he took her hand and shook it. “But my friends just call me MK.”

“Cute.” Sea Cat said with a chuckle as they released hands. MK coughed down a blush he felt coming on. 

“So, um… now what? I won’t be able to run with his leg…”

“Best thing to do is to just lie low until it starts to get dark.” Sea Cat said, settling herself down opposite MK. “Easier to slip past them that way.”

“Not if they find us before then.” MK said.

“Who said anything about finding us?” Sea Cat asked with a shrug, making him tilt his head in confusion at her. “Once I’m done catching my breath, I’m headed back up the cliffs.”

“You’re just going to leave me here?” MK asked, a bit horrified.

“With that leg? Don’t insult my honor!” Sea Cat said, winking at him. “What I’m going to do is try to leave a false trail for them to follow so they don’t find this little hideaway. Once it’s clear again, I’ll come back for you and help you back into town.”

MK sighed a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he had been holding in. “Oh,” he said. 

“You’ll have to stay put until I get back though. And stay quiet.”

“Don’t worry, I will. But…” MK paused as she started to get up, crawling past him carefully so as to not accidentally jossle his leg. “What if your plan doesn’t work?”

She turned back to look at him. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said, giving him a smile and another wink before vanishing from sight simply by stepping round the bend. MK opened his mouth to shout after her in protest, but decided against it, instead sighing loudly and leaning against the side of the small alcove.

“Bloody Irish she-pirate…” he murmured to himself.

End of Part 1

[mimosaeyes]

Jon still gets nightmares.

Set in a post-canon ‘verse where they save the world, build a life together, and adopt a cat. It’s a series now! This fic (2.7k) works standalone, but is best read after the others, especially I Was Found (13.2k of softness). Everything below the cut will spoil you for the end of that fic.

Beta-ed by @emberidzae. Thank you for telling me it’s probably fine.

There is a special kind of quiet that occupies a room near two in the morning. The refrigerator hums, the water pipes whine, sirens go off in the distance — this is London, after all. But beneath that lies stillness, elusive like the space between breaths.

Jon sits on the sofa, rocking ever so slightly and waiting for... he doesn’t even know what. For peace to slip into his lungs. Be carried along in his blood, spread throughout his brain. Every time he blinks, he thinks he sees horrific afterimages on the backs of his eyelids. Tonight, his dreams have been full of bodies: burning, running, festering, falling, twisting, crying, choking. Closing in on all sides of him, until his sight was completely obscured.

Out of that apparent void, a single, all-encompassing eye mired in spiderwebs had opened, and looked directly at him. Under its scrutiny, it was as if he and Martin had never fixed the world he’d broken. Never torn themselves out of the Mother of Puppets’ plots, or away from the Ceaseless Watcher.

He exhales slowly, burying his face in his hands. Surely he should be used to nightmares by now. He’s had a long history with them, between statement givers and his own encounters with entities and avatars. The dreams were always vivid and hallucinatory, clinging to him as he struggled toward consciousness and woke gasping, often clutching the arms of the office chair he’d dozed off in. Later, after he ended the world, he’d stopped sleeping entirely. Slumber no longer carried the promise of rest.

No one remembers clearly what happened to them in the domains during the apocalypse. That collective, polyphonic torment now lives on only in Jon’s mind. He may not be affiliated with the Beholding anymore, but some part of him will always be the Archive.

The frustrating thing is that over the last year and a bit, the nightmares have been happening less and less frequently. He’d actually thought they were going away, but all week now, Jon’s been waking up screaming or sobbing, tangled in the sheets, his pyjamas soaked through with cold sweat. Martin hasn’t gotten through a night undisturbed, either. They’re both exhausted; that’s probably why he managed to slip out of bed without alerting him initially.

Just then, a slight sound makes him look to his left. What he sees is so incongruous to his mood that he begins huffing in silent laughter.

Boo, the smaller of their two cats, is using one front paw to bat at his ear, on which a large dust bunny appears to be stuck. It’s a slightly lighter grey than his fur, else Jon may not have even seen it. 

Jon knows the exact moment Boo notices him looking, because he stiffens for a second. He’s been with them for a little over a month now, and while their efforts to make him feel at ease in their home have paid off somewhat, he remains jumpy.

Jon holds perfectly still. After a few seconds, Boo returns to his scratching, but to no avail. The dust bunny somehow ends up entangled in his whiskers, stretching between them and the tip of his ear. Boo shakes his head once, twice. Then he sneezes — and arches his back, his fur standing on end. 

He had actually startled himself with his own sneeze. Jon can’t help cracking a smile, endeared and grateful for the distraction, inadvertent though it may be. 

Clearing his throat quietly, he asks, “Would you like some help with that?”

Boo ignores him, which is ideal. It takes a certain amount of trust on this cat’s part to be considered beneath notice — meaning, not a threat. When Jon gets off the sofa and tries to approach, though, Boo freezes and watches him warily. So he sits down on the floor instead, thinking.

After a while, he begins softly singing the alphabet.

Immediately, Boo’s look changes from alert to curious. Whenever Jon has had the opportunity to do so, he’s been reading aloud to get Boo used to hearing his voice. Assembly instructions for a new shelf, dubious job listings he finds online, the weekly shopping list. At first, this strategy had been very successful. Boo learned to stop diving for cover every time Jon or Martin called for each other from another room. Then came the day Jon paused midway through washing up after dinner, to find Boo sitting not two metres away from his feet. It had been a crowning moment of triumph until Martin said, “You hum songs when you do the dishes, did you know? I think he likes it.”

Jon had somehow not been aware of this habit. He was instantly embarrassed.

Not that he’s stopped since it was pointed out to him. He’s actually been experimenting. Boo may have a certain fondness for ‘90s power ballads.

Which he is hardly going to attempt at this time of night. Instead, Jon cycles through the rainbow song and that one about the teapot, making no move as Boo cautiously approaches, blue eyes huge and unblinking. When he’s within an arm’s length, Jon stops singing and offers his hand for Boo to sniff at.

Purring now, Boo lets himself be pet. Jon seizes his chance and gently pulls off the dust bunny. “Now where did you even get this?” he wonders aloud. They’re generally diligent about household chores, especially keeping the place clean. Martin has allergies, and Jon likes the routine.

Boo nudges up into his fingers and leaves a smudge of fine dust on them.

A sneaking suspicion enters Jon’s mind. He narrows his eyes at the cat. “You’ve been in the study all day,” he says. “I saw you go in. And the desk has that jammed drawer, doesn’t it?” 

They’ve been meaning to fix that. The drawer is stuck just wide open enough for dust to collect on the inside. And apparently, for a skinny, timid cat to make his hiding place.

“Well, that’s one mystery solved,” Jon muses, continuing to pet Boo despite the dirt. “Filthy boy,” he says affectionately. “Scruffy. Crumpet will refuse to cuddle with you.”

Mrow, Boo protests in his low, bullfrog-like way. He’s much less vocal than his calico counterpart, so Jon doesn’t get to hear this often.

“I suppose you’re right. She’ll probably just try to clean all this off you. She dotes on you, doesn’t she?”

He falls silent for a while, until Boo indicates with a flick of his tail that he’s had enough. Jon lets him wander some distance off and begin grooming.

In the lull of activity, the memory of his nightmare comes back with a vengeance, screaming in his brain and making him suck a breath in through his teeth. He had known their names as they struggled in their personal hells at the end of the world, had drunk his fill of their suffering and felt sated in that most inhuman side of himself. 

It’s since been ripped away, of course, taking with it the voyeuristic detachment that had, in a perverse way, protected him from the distress his nightmares now cause him. Yet it scares Jon that that had ever been a part of him. Ever found suitable soil and taken root.

He’s fine, though. Or so he keeps telling himself. These aren’t the worst dreams, after all. No, those are the ones where he loses Martin. In the Panopticon. In the house on Hill Top Road. To the call of the Lonely. To the slip of a knife in the Hunt. There were so many ways one or both of them could have not survived. Not gotten to have everything they now have together.

Jon swallows and massages his temples. “Boo,” he says, “you’re afraid of everything. Any tips?”

Boo looks at him for a long moment, then yawns.

“I see,” Jon starts to say, just as a strangled cry comes from the street below. One of London’s many foxes, probably. Jon has learned to tune out this sort of thing, but the sound sends Boo scrambling for shelter.

And he runs to Jon.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Jon murmurs. “Just a fox. It’s over now. It’s okay.” After hesitating a moment, he picks Boo up and deposits him on his lap, then encircles the cat loosely with his arms. He doesn’t squish him — it’s Crumpet who likes to be bundled up and snuggled. He just sort of surrounds Boo, letting him mash his face into the crook of Jon’s elbow.

It takes a long time for Boo’s fur to settle back down. Jon starts stroking him after a minute, keeping his movements soothingly slow. “You’re safe here,” he tells him. 

Then he sighs and repeats quietly, to himself, “You’re safe. You’re here. It’s over.”

Boo leaps off his lap, rumbles at him, then darts back into the study. Jon watches him go, shaking his head. A problem for tomorrow.

He sighs, then pauses and deliberately takes a deep breath. He holds it for a count of five before releasing the air. He imagines tension bleeding away as he does.

Martin had taught him this technique back in the safehouse in Scotland — far from the first time Jon had had nightmares, but certainly the first time anyone had been there to comfort him when he woke up. Progressive muscle relaxation, Martin said it was called. He’d used it himself during his stay in the Archives, whenever those thirteen days he spent trapped in his flat by Jane Prentiss came back to haunt him. 

“Breathe in, tense? Okay, now hold,” he murmured, sitting up in bed next to Jon, his silhouette familiar and comforting against the yellow glow cast by the bedside light. It had been on by the time Jon surfaced into consciousness, still panting and crying.

“One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three, four, five,” Martin counted for him. “Release, breathe out.” His hands ran over Jon’s shoulders, warm and soothing. “Better?”

Jon nodded. “A bit,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. He must have yelled in his sleep before Martin managed to rouse him. “Listen, you... you don’t have to do this. I can go sleep on the couch.”

Martin went silent for a moment. “The other day, when I dreamt I was back in the Lonely. Did it cross your mind to kick me out, even for a second?”

“No,” Jon said at once, shocked. “Of course not.”

“Then that’s settled,” Martin said firmly. “You’re not okay, and I can help. That’s all there is to it. On to your arms next, ready? Breathe in, tense...”

Alone in their living room, but following Martin’s instructions from before, Jon works his way through various muscle groups until he gets to his hands, at which point he clenches his fists and presses his knuckles down against the floor on either side of his thighs. That probably isn’t recommended. He hasn’t done it hard enough to hurt, though, and he needs the sensation, he thinks, to ground himself in reality. To remind himself that he’s here in their tiny apartment, and if he goes to peer out the window, the sky will not look back at him. 

He’s here and it’s long past midnight, but if he texts Daisy, she will grouse good-naturedly, then call him to ramble about how the new podcast she’s started listening to is pretty good, but could never measure up to The Archers. If he goes back to the bedroom and tells his husband he needs him, Martin will rub his eyes and get up to make Jon some tea. He’ll put in milk and sugar, which always seems too indulgent for Jon to do himself, and they’ll cuddle up with a book, or in front of the telly with the volume turned way down.

The people he loves, who love him in return, are within reach. Even when they’re not there next to him. Jon knows this in a way that has nothing to do with the Beholding. It’s just hard to remember sometimes.

He exhales one final time, and that’s when Martin appears in the doorway to their bedroom.

“Hey,” he says quietly, looking soft and rumpled in his pyjamas. His voice is rough with sleep, low with concern. “I woke up and you weren’t there. Is this a bad night?”

Another one, you mean? Jon wants to say bitterly. He bites it back; it’s only the sleep deprivation talking. “I just needed a moment to clear my head,” he says, clambering to his feet. “Let’s go back to bed.”

He honestly feels a lot better, and he thinks he’s done a decent job of sounding normal. He must still look like a mess, though, because Martin frowns and stops him from squeezing past. “Wait. Do you want to talk about it?”

Jon’s already shaking his head. “No. It was just... more of the same.” The first few times, Martin had stayed up with him while Jon stammered out the things he’d seen in his dreams. He listened and tried to reassure him, and it had helped to an extent. But the more Jon spoke, the harder Martin’s lips pressed together in that way that meant he was horrified and trying to hide it. Jon had grown all too familiar with that expression during their walk through the domains.

He clears his throat. “Really, Martin. Everything’s fine.”

“Then why’d you come out here by yourself? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Well, I thought one of us should get some sleep,” Jon says drily, only he’s tired, so it comes out rather snappy.

Martin cants his head at him, his brows pinching together. Jon can practically hear the gears whirring in his mind. He shifts uncomfortably.

“I know it’s been a bad week,” Martin says at last, softly, “but please don’t shut me out.”

As soon as he says it, Jon knows that that’s what he’d been trying to do tonight. Keep his nightmares and guilt to himself, protect Martin from the horrors he knows about anyway. At least, that was his excuse. It’s not that Jon didn’t want his help; he did. It had simply felt too selfish to ask for it.

Jon watches him for a long moment. He thinks about fear, and love, and self-isolation. He thinks about Martin waking up in the safehouse smelling like sea spray; about telling him to Breathe, just breathe. You’re not alone. Not anymore. He thinks about a little grey scaredy-cat who feels safe with Jon, of all people.

“I won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

Martin gives him a small smile. “Okay. How can I help?”

Jon bites his lip. “Would you... would you just hold me, please?”

“Oh, Jon.” Weary though he is, Martin’s look is full of sympathy. “Of course.”

Jon follows him back to bed. As he lifts his side of the covers, Martin says, “Ah, careful. I think Crumpet’s settled in the warm spot you left.”

He peers in the darkness. Indeed she has. “Your Royal Highness,” he greets her, bowing slightly. That’s the appropriate form of address for a princess. It doesn’t roll off the tongue very easily, but Martin groans and rolls his eyes whenever Jon says it, so he keeps doing the bit.

He can never bear to move either of their cats if they look comfy, so he gets into bed gingerly and ends up pressed close to Martin, who loops an arm over him. They’re face to face, with mere inches separating them.

“Hi,” Jon says, somewhere between shy and pleased.

“Hi,” Martin says back at him, his smile colouring the word. Jon thinks they could be seventy years old and still greet each other like that, bashful and sweet as teenagers with a crush.

Jon tucks his face against Martin’s shoulder, humming in contentment at the warmth and solidity of him. After a while, he mumbles, “By the way. Boo needs a bath.”

Martin laughs. “That’ll be an adventure. Why?”

His voice is light, but betrays how tired he is. Jon shifts and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Tell you in the morning. Go to sleep.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Jon says slowly. “I think I will be.”

[my TMA fic on AO3]

[bubble-tea-bunny]

nosce te ipsum 

[akira fudo x reader]

author’s note: i just watched this anime and was so inspired i wrote this in a day. anyway i would like to write something bigger for akira sometime, like more expansive, but we’ll seeeee

word count: 5,207

Nighttime drives are your favorite.

There are hardly any other cars on the roads, and your eyes are spared the ugly glare of headlights flashing in your mirrors or from cars in the opposite lanes, headed the opposite direction. Lamp posts leave spots of light to illuminate the asphalt roads in addition to your own car lights, and you’re driving into the blackness, the glittering city skyscrapers getting farther and farther away.

You bask in the silence afforded by moments like these, the radio having been switched off as soon as you got in. In the daytime, you typically have it on to mask the sound of passing cars, the whoosh which begins as a low thrum during the approach, then a quick burst of noise as they drive by, before the sound fades again. You’ve been hunched over your work all day, so to be here now, mindlessly zooming down the street, is welcome stress relief.

Your stomach growls and you wince slightly. It’s the first noise to permeate the cabin besides your occasional deep breaths, steady inhales and exhales to relax after a long day. You hadn’t bothered to eat prior to hopping in the car. The thought of food had slipped from your mind since you hadn’t been hungry, and you were too eager for quiet time to yourself to have a snack. You’ll have to grab something to eat on your way back.

Eventually the smooth asphalt roads are traded for bumpy, uneven terrain, and while this is considerably less relaxing, you’re not bothered because it means you’ll soon arrive at your destination. Instead of lamp posts to light the way, you rely solely on your car headlights and the moon above. The latter isn’t helping much at all, unable to touch the ground and only strong enough to shine on the leaves of the trees to your left and right. For any other person, coming through here might prove to be difficult at this time of night, but you have no such problems. You’ve memorized the route.

Once the car is parked and the headlights switched off, you exit and push the door shut behind you. The chirps of crickets echo in every direction. They sound nearby, the volume growing still as you pop open the trunk, as if they have come to see what you are up to. No one comes out here, much less past midnight. It wouldn’t be safe, considering the animals who might roam in the tall grass and behind thick tree trunks. But even as the chirps and the hoots of owls and the scurrying of small creatures in the bushes grow louder, like they are closing in, you’re not afraid. Would you come as often as you do if you were?

There’s only one bag in the trunk tonight. Sometimes you have as many as five. One is a nice break for your back, and it only takes a single trip to carry it out to the middle of the small clearing. It lands with a heavy thud and kicks up a small cloud of dust. The movement has disturbed the contents inside, and you recoil in disgust as the smell reaches your nose. You nudge at the garbage bag with the toe of your boot, like you’re expecting it to twitch, and with a shudder and shake of your head, you take a few steps back and reach into your jacket pocket.

The matchbox is feeling light. Okay, add that to the checklist. Buy food and a new box of matches. You strike a fresh match and briefly revel in the quiet hiss of the fire which bursts forth, eating away at the head and down the wood. Before it reaches your fingers, you toss the match onto the garbage bag and watch as it burns, tendrils of smoke trailing higher and dissipating to nothing. The stench worsens as the bag is engulfed in flames and your repulsion increases. You have to cover your nose with your hand and this might seem like good reason to leave, but you need to stay to make sure the fire is strong enough that it doesn’t accidentally go out due to any gusts of wind.

Come on, you berate yourself. You’ve done this before. Seconds of waiting are like hours and it’s ironic, you can’t help but think as you stand there, willing yourself not to be sick. You have seen and smelled and felt much worse.

When the fire is sufficiently strong enough that you’re confident it won’t go out before its job is done, you turn away and speed walk back to the car, yearning for fresh air. You slam the trunk closed. Coming out here was fun and all, but you’re now ready to leave. As if on cue, your phone dings with a text message. After sliding into the driver’s seat and getting situated, you open it to find two street names. They’re familiar to you. You’ve driven past this intersection in the past, though that had been in the day. You continue to stare down at the succinct message while mentally mapping your way there from here, and blink curiously at the three dots at the bottom of the conversation.

A new chat bubble pops up: Don’t be late.

You roll your eyes and toss your phone onto the passenger seat, not bothering to reply. Since when are you ever late? The engine roars to life and you leave the nocturnal animals to their own devices, until next time, whenever that should be. Perhaps soon. The spot of orange flames in your rearview mirror shrinks the farther you drive and there comes a point where you aren’t sure if you have driven far enough for it to be too small to see any longer, or if it has finally fizzled out.

Though you’re back in the city, you’re back in a part of it that lacks functioning lamp posts. It’s pitch black in the alleyway, and if not for your night vision, you’d be left clawing at the walls to guide yourself along. Walking with a sense of ease that doesn’t entirely fit the context, given the time and the nonexistent lighting and your generally unassuming and nonthreatening figure, you traipse down the long path between the two buildings. You hear the scuffle before you see it.

Heavy fists swinging through the air; loud roars; claws sinking into flesh with a squelch; spurts of blood. It sounds ugly. You peek around the corner. The monsters fighting have no trouble sensing each other in the darkness, yellow liquid painting the ground and walls. If you didn’t know any better, and if you didn’t pick up on the scent, it might look like paint. You appear to have arrived in the middle of the fight, but it’s soon over, and the only demon left is heaving with labored breaths, long wings outstretched and his back to you. He straightens to his full height, having been bent into a fighting stance previously, and twists around.

Glowing white eyes find you effortlessly, and a sinister smile curls at his mouth, sharp teeth menacing. You’re not frightened by the predatory leer as you reveal yourself fully from behind your hiding spot. He watches you walk closer, but your gaze isn’t on him—rather, it’s on the corpses littering the ground.

You hum in thought as you survey the scene, stepping over limbs and guts, the only bits of demon gore you can avoid because the blood is everywhere, and it covers the soles of your boots. “Well, you didn’t tear all of them to shreds at least.”

“It’s easy to get carried away.” The devilman’s voice is deep, and there’s a flanging to it, as though he’s speaking with two voices instead of just one. You shrug as though to say I guess and you’re not looking but can tell he’s shifting back, tendrils of black smoke shrouding the beast. It fades gradually and Akira now stands before you, back in human form and flanging distinctly absent from his voice.

“Do you have enough?” he asks.

You flip over a demon that looks to be in reasonable shape onto its back, and you’re satisfied to see its stomach hasn’t been cut open. One of the legs is missing and the arms are bent at strange angles, but you’ll make do. This is better than nothing.

“I do,” you confirm.

With hands tucked into your pockets, you turn to look at Akira. Blood stains his clothes and his hair and he tries to wipe off what sticks to his skin, but he isn’t entirely successful as some of it has dried.

“Hey, uh, I parked my motorcycle farther down the block,” he begins. “I don’t suppose you could give me a lift there?”

You did park closer than that, having left your car at the end of the alleyway for a short and easy walk. But you shake your head, brow raised as you motion to his bloodied form. “With you like that? You’ll stain the leather.”

Akira isn’t bothered by your refusal and merely chuckles, nodding his acquiescence. “Yeah… I figured.” He sighs heavily, the fatigue of the fight seeming to finally catch up to him. “I’ll see  you later then.”

After he has made his leave, you stay to pack up the most intact demon body you had found. It really is simple for Akira to get carried away. You’re lucky there’s even one body to take back with you, for there have been times in the past he has torn them all limb from limb, ripped apart their torsos until entrails splattered on the ground, the squelch as he trampled them underfoot music to his ears. This sense of euphoria from slaying demons he had detailed to you a while ago, and though you understood the blood thirst and the satisfaction to sate it even slightly, you did have to keep reminding him to try leaving some in suitable condition.

I don’t get it, he’d said once before. If you want them in one piece, why don’t you do it?

The answer had been a simple one to you. The fighting’s dirty. I don’t like to be a bloody mess at the end of it. If that meant you had to wait until Akira left decently unmarked corpses, you would deal with it. Though to his credit, he’d been better about it lately. There’s at least one viable body each time he goes out on the hunt for bands of demons, and once there had even been three.

This demon is much heavier than the last. Granted, you don’t have any trouble pulling this one along in a bag and tossing it into the car, but you can still detect the vast differences in weight. The car sinks slightly under the added burden, and the trunk nearly doesn’t close due to the protrusions on this particular demon, with its large curled horns and spiked scales down the length of its back. Luckily you’re able to force it closed. You didn’t want to spend extra time tying a rope around the trunk to keep it shut. You’re tired, it’s been a long night, and you’d like to go home now.

———

Akira’s always been bad about keeping quiet.

He lets himself into your house with the spare key beneath the rug, and he closes the front door a little harder than necessary with the strength he sometimes forgets stays with him in human form. You hear it slam even from downstairs and flinch at the sudden interruption, but luckily you aren’t occupied with anything that requires a steady hand. He calls out your name but you don’t reply. He already knows where you are.

His footsteps coming down the staircase are loud, and you sigh. How he can get the drop on the demons he hunts is beyond you, when he makes so much noise as it is. Once he reaches the bottom and spots you, he flashes you a boyish grin.

“That the body from last night?”

You nod, your gaze dropping back down to the table where you set the demon corpse. You’ve cut open the torso, a neat slice across the chest and down the sternum. The thick, rough skin is pinned down with needles, several more than what a human cadaver would require. A bowl of viscous membrane you have peeled away to reveal the organs sits in a silver bowl, but that’s the most you have done so far. You stopped to wash your hands and take notes.

Akira stands on the other side of the table and glances down into the depths of the demon he killed. He likes to watch you work. At first, you’d asked him to stop, becoming unnerved to be scrutinized so closely. But he didn’t really listen. He’d leave for five minutes to scavenge your kitchen for food, and then he’d be back. You have since given up telling him to entertain himself elsewhere.

Eventually he goes from standing by the table to sitting in one of the sofa chairs you have placed down here. He lounges on it sideways, back against one arm and legs bent over the other. You’re completely absorbed in your task, sawing at bones to open up room to reach in. Blood covers your hands and the sleeves of the lab coat you wear. He doesn’t know exactly what part you’re searching for, but it apparently takes some time, as you make little cuts here and incisions there. You dip your hand in, and the torso is so large almost your entire forearm disappears as you lower it.

Aha! you exclaim quietly in victory. Akira’s brows furrow as you pull out… whatever organ that is. He’s not sure. But whatever it is, you’re happy to have found it, and you set it on a silver tray for further study with some of the finer tools.

“Why are you so interested in dissecting demons?” It’s a question he has had for a while, and he had never bothered to ask it until now. Perhaps it was the fascination inherent on your face as you scanned over your tools for the appropriate one, the excitement to dive further into the innards of the demon laying across the cold table, which pushed him to speak.

You don’t respond right away, picking up a scalpel and evaluating it before you seem to decide it’s a good choice. Nosce te ipsum, you then recite.

Akira tilts his head. He’s uncertain if that was a reply to his inquiry or if you’re just muttering to yourself. “Huh?”

“Know thyself,” you explain. “In Europe in the sixteenth century, the phrase was used to defend the necessity of human dissection, which was illegal at the time. It’s important to learn the mechanisms of one’s own body, and that’s best done by delving into a body like your own.” You punctuate your anecdote with a careful slice of the organ on the tray, and a thick black liquid oozes from the cut. Your eyes brighten in delight.

Akira nods slowly, putting together the pieces. “So you dissect demons to learn more about your demon side.”

You hum in affirmation. “Correct. I’ve long wondered what arrangement of organs lies beneath the surface when I take on that form.”

The way you handle each body part as you work is elegant. You separate each one slowly, making sure you don’t accidentally rupture or put undue pressure on other organs you have yet to take out. It’s a stark contrast to the brutal ravaging Akira gives the demons he kills. He can’t help it. He lives for the blood on his claws and the rip and tear of flesh. It makes perfect sense why you’re opposed to the idea of getting your hands dirty. It’s not in your nature to be messy—it hadn’t been before you merged with a demon, and it still remains as such. If there were cleaner methods to exterminating demons, you might be more open to the idea of killing them yourself. But who knows, maybe you’re already working on that as a small side project.

Some time passes. Akira doesn’t keep track, but he does fall asleep briefly at one point. He wakes back up and his stomach growls, but you’re not paying attention. A glance at the clock tells him it’s early evening, so he suggests the two of you get food.

You don’t always accept, wanting instead to remain in your lab, poring over demon guts. On those days, you settle for eating whenever you decide to call it quits, or you might not even eat at all. Every time he asks if you’d like to tag along, he hopes you’ll say okay. He likes your company.

It may be reasonable to assume that as of the current moment, you have no appetite. You’ve been working with a corpse for the last couple of hours, and the smell isn’t pleasant. But the assumption is wrong, for the thought of getting some food in your stomach sounds like a wonderful idea.

“What’d you have in mind?”

Akira smiles widely. “How about ramen?”

———

You return home alone. Akira had left after dinner, intent to hunt for the remainder of the evening. Once you arrive and set your keys in the bowl by the door, you contemplate returning to your work, but you don’t think you’ll be able to concentrate. The warm food made you sleepy, and you’ve been running low all day after the late night you had.

Instead, you settle for changing into comfortable clothes and relaxing. Your phone is left face-down on the coffee table as you walk into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. You're not expecting any calls or messages. At this time of night, it would usually only be cross streets from Akira, to let you know where you could find more demons to take back to the lab. But you had already told him before you parted earlier that he didn’t need to do that tonight. You’re still working away at the most recent corpse.

Since your mind still drifts to thoughts of said body downstairs, you decide to at least review the notes you’ve taken today. You sit on the couch, mug in one hand and notebook in the other. The pages are incredibly immaculate despite its proximity to all the demon offal, but you do consider yourself quite the neat freak. You wouldn’t stand for a drop of blood anywhere on your journal. Besides, you sometimes bring this with you when you go out, in case you should have any new thoughts on what you have researched, and dark red splotches would seem suspicious.

Once you catch up on everything you’ve written, you glance at the clock. It’s sufficiently late enough that you can shower and head to bed and it wouldn’t be too early. But it’s still earlier than usual, and you welcome the idea of a full night’s rest. You’ll resume your work first thing in the morning.

You always clean your hands thoroughly in the lab, but you never feel as though you have truly washed away the blood and sinew until you step into the shower, the hot water, entirely too hot for most but the perfect temperature for you, stinging your skin and turning it pink. Steam rises and fogs up the mirror and the bathroom smells like peaches. With the weather steadily growing colder, hot showers are all the more a comfort.

The towel you wrap around yourself is white and fluffy. Your wet hair clings to bare skin, tendrils gently curling as they stick to your shoulders and collarbones. You’re rifling through the closet for pajamas when the door opens and closes loudly.

Your brows furrow and you look towards your open bedroom door. You know who’s here, but unless he’d texted you while you were in the shower, you weren’t expecting to see him for the rest of the night. Unless…

Once more the heavy thud of his shoes pounding on the stairs echo throughout the house, and as he stomps down the hallway. He comes to a stop in the middle of the doorframe, and you see Akira standing before you, but you know it isn’t him entirely. The demon side of him is peeking through despite his human form, too strong and too desperate for indulgence to be contained. He’s snarling, eyes wild, fists clenched tightly and heaving hard as if he’s attempting to hold back. His gaze is predatory as he stares at you, the prey in his sights. But you are not at all helpless, you both understand that.  

However, you also understand what it is Akira needs, why he’s here, and so you play your part, waiting there for him to sink his teeth in. You hear him inhale deeply, taking in your smell, not only the smell of your peach shampoo but the smell of you, the nuances of the scent which unmistakably make up who you are. And though you find yourselves cut from the same cloth, find yourselves to be kindred beasts of hell, even he moves too fast for you to track.

He doesn’t give you room to breath. His lips are on yours and his tongue shoves its way into your mouth and his hands are everywhere. Your muffled whimpers and weak squeezes at his biceps to slow down are only half an act. He doesn’t listen, and maybe it’s the lack of oxygen to your head or the fact you get it, you get what it feels like to lose control, that doesn’t leave you genuinely angered that he fails to let up.

You pant loudly when he finally gives your mouth a break, now focusing on the tender skin of your neck. He bites down, sharp teeth sinking in, and you scream because fuck, it genuinely hurts. His chuckle is dark as his hand trails up to untuck the towel around your body.

Come on, you can take it… he murmurs, licking up the blood pooling from the wounds.

And it’s true, you can take it. That was the whole point, how any of this began in the first place. It had been merely transactional, the relationship you had. Akira would provide demon corpses for you to study, and you’d provide him the space to release his baser urges when they became too much to ignore or handle himself. You were spared the trouble of messy fights, and he the possibility of harming a human. There was no worry about harming you. You’re half human but also half demon, and like him, you have far greater strength than your fully human counterparts.

Akira tosses you onto the bed and you bounce slightly on the mattress. He crawls over you and toys with your breasts, squeezing and pinching and nipping. Your fingers curl in his mane of black hair, relaxed for the most part but occasionally digging in if he bites too hard. Through hazy vision you notice he’s still fully clothed, and you tug weakly at the collar of his shirt.

“You’re overdressed,” you force out hoarsely. Sometimes you’re uncertain if Akira can even hear you in his lust-fueled hazes.

But it seems, at least tonight, he can, as he momentarily sits up to pull off his shirt. He takes the opportunity to also rid himself of his pants. Then he returns his attention to you, and the spot between your legs. His fingers firmly slide along the length of your slit and apply pressure on your swollen clit and you squeal, attempting in vain to close your legs to get away from the pleasure which is quickly sliding from just right to too much.

Akira laughs and pulls his hand away, holding it up so you can see how it glistens in the soft light of your bedroom. “Such a good girl, getting so wet for me…”

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach and gropes harshly at your hips to position you the way he wants. You feel the head of his cock nudging at your folds and you bite your lip, but even for the anticipation as you rest your cheek on the blankets, staring at the far wall, you aren’t prepared when he pushes all the way in, giving you no time to adjust. Your teeth sink deeper and you taste blood on your tongue and you can’t keep the noise down, you never can (not that Akira would let you), and you scream at the deep intrusion. Akira is big, and though you have taken him before, you don’t think you’ll ever adjust completely.

His fingers dig into the supple flesh of your ass so tightly that his nails leave crescent moon marks, and he watches, enraptured, at the spot where you’re joined, watches as his cock slides in and out, smoothly, easily, due to your arousal. The squelch as he pushes in and the slap of skin against skin is vulgar and filthy and he thinks he could eat you whole. Would you let him, he wonders?

A particularly hard thrust prompts you to let out a shocked yelp, and your hips lower, like you’re trying to get away, in search of a reprieve from the overstimulation. He doesn’t let you (Where do you think you’re going?), one arm wrapping around your torso to pull you up against his chest. His free hand he trails up your stomach, past your breasts (your breath hitches as he passes over a nipple, sensitive and swollen) and he slides his fingers into your mouth.

You’re tired from being fucked so hard and you think you might pass out and you nearly gag when he presses down on your tongue. Akira! you mumble around his fingers. Drool dribbles out of the corner of your mouth and you wrap your hands around each of his wrists as a way to ground yourself since at this angle, you can’t reach the blankets. His grunts are loud and low in your ear as his thrusts grow sloppier.

You mewl and call his name again, goading him closer and closer to the edge. You’re almost there too, and evidently he can tell, as the arm around your waist moves down and his hand finds your clit. He rubs at it quickly and you snap, screaming as you cum. With your mouth open, he retracts his fingers and crosses that arm over your chest to keep you against him, for your body is trying to curl in on itself from the force of your orgasm.

“Fuck.”

The feeling of you squeezing around his cock nearly makes him cum, but this angle isn’t quite good enough, not deep enough. He pushes you forward and you fall limply on the bed, and he bends over you, chest pressed to your back and arms on either side of your head. You only have labored pants to give in response to the last few hard thrusts, exhausted as you are, and he orgasms with a growl.

You moan lowly at the feel of hot cum gushing deep into your belly. As a devilman, the amount Akira releases is a lot more than usual, and you never have room for it all. This is proven by the white liquid seeping out around his cock, and he smirks when he notices it. My cum too much for you, baby? he teases.

But you don’t have the energy to talk, and it seems he doesn’t mind your lack of an answer. He pulls out and you wince, oversensitive and sleepy. So sleepy…

So much for that shower.

———

You sigh deeply.

Dark purple splotches litter your body, in places that would be hidden from view when you wear clothes but also in places where they would be fully on display. You press a finger gingerly into one by your collarbone, and it throbs slightly in response to the added pressure. Man… And just when the last set of bites marks Akira had given you had faded.

You hear the rustle of bedsheets and step away from the bathroom mirror to peek your head out. Akira’s brows are furrowed and he turns away from the sunlight pouring in from the window. His breathing isn’t as deep so you know he’s at least slightly awake, but his eyes remain closed like he’s trying to fall asleep again, not quite ready to face the day.

The blankets are a mess and you’ll have to wash them today, but that can wait until after Akira wakes up. However, you don’t end up waiting as long as you think you’ll have to, for he’s given up his efforts to fall back to sleep, and his eyes slide open while you’re bent over to dig out panties from the bottom drawer.

“Not a bad sight to wake up to.”

With a roll of your eyes he can’t see, you stand back up straight and look at him over you shoulder. “Good morning to you too.”

Akira smiles, but it fades as his attention trails lower once you turn around. He doesn’t ask if he really did all that. He’d had full consciousness, full control, last night, and he was aware of every mark he left. To voice the question would be a waste of breath, so he skips over it. “Sorry. I hope it didn’t hurt too much.”

The boy in your bed is drastically different from the one who’d been there last night. His gaze is apologetic even for his lighthearted teasing and it makes you smile softly.

“It did a little bit,” you state truthfully as you drop an oversized shirt over your head. “But it’s okay. I can take it after all.”

Akira chuckles to hear his words repeated from the night before. He throws back the blankets, standing up and finding his own clothes. “Well let me buy you breakfast. To treat you for taking it so well.”

Breakfast does sound nice, and you’re not about to argue over who pays, not if Akira’s offering. Still, you can’t help playing around, as you hum in mock thought. “Hm… I guess, if you insist.”

It’s Akira’s turn to roll his eyes and you laugh. “Hey, don’t push it.” But he’s just playing around too, judging by his grin.

The relationship you share had at the beginning been transactional, nothing more than business, but it can’t be confidently said whether either of you was sure it would remain that way. Spend enough time in each other’s presence and you were bound to grow closer. Neither of you had shied away from this development. In fact, both of you like it this way better. Maybe you’re made for each other. Maybe the devils inside you are.

Each morning brings with it the falling away of dark, carnal desires and thoughts of the demons in need of eradication or of close studying. It ushers in a chance to forget, even for just a few hours. And if you don’t read between the lines, life almost seems normal. That’s more than good enough.

[tuwam]

the beginning.

@urianius [ x. ]

as all days have, it starts with a routine.

the end and the beginning starts with midday. it starts with heroes-to-be going about their days, training, learning and living. it starts with the bliss that’s in ignorance and the innocence of dreams and the unknown.

as the days go by the boys continue their routines. it finds junsu continuing his studies underneath the cover of a tree, torn between duties and responsibilities that no young man should have to suffer through. it finds jaejin and minjae, however locked in conflict they are, sparring in that same field with myungsoo and hyuck watching them, teaching and learning respectively. it finds june and jaehyun close by, tending to their horses, learning to embrace the calm, with foreboding but a few seconds away. 

the days find the academy bustling, its own recruits going about with dreams of serving the kingdom in their failures and in their triumphs. 

'you’re not using your size to your advantage jaejin.’ myungsoo’s words are gentle, though they come as quick as the parry that jaejin serves. 

jaejin isn’t that much shorter than minjae, rather minjae’s bulk makes up a significant part of their difference in strength. the comparison is as follows, jaejin is to minjae as minjae is to myungsoo. despite how the words come out, there’s no desperation in jaejin’s eyes, just determination. he’s been sparring with myungsoo and june recently and has decided to take his training up a notch, to fight where his emotions could get the best of him. minjae took him up on the offer. where myungsoo is encouraging and june is patient, minjae is the exact foil to both, and jaejin felt ready to adapt, hence the battle that’s starting to become equal footing between the two of them.

they’ve been sparring since the onslaught of lunch, afternoon studies cut short for knights to take on personal tasks. very rarely do they get days like this but recently staff at the academy has been running low, for reasons that only rumors and whispers can account for. people have whispered with theories in letters and gossip passed at dinner tables.

the war’s getting worse, academy professors, once generals, captains, lieutenants are called out to the fields for the very skills they’re meant to be teaching and graduates are graduating early and sent to what’s supposed to be their purpose on the front lines. 

it’s the truth but it’s still on the outskirts of their mind, just how the academy is supposedly on the outskirts of any real danger. after all, that had been the promise to families ready to send their boys here, that any real danger would not befall them until it was supposed to. until the’d had their years worth and all their training and skill up to par with those out on the lines. 

even now, only qualified recruits are allowed to spar with swords, minjae always the troublemaker having taken two for their convenience and jaejin who is adept at making sure the steel will only tell a tale of how hard he fought to finally bring down his rival. myungsoo is watching them and taking the day to check on the skills of all his friends. hyuck, jaehyun and june know they’ve only got a few more sessions before it’s their turn again. it’s a little sneaky to practice this way but myungsoo was insistent, insistent in a way that no one dared ignore the demand. insistent that he turned a blind eye to the presence of real swords during their sparring. 

there’s a few scrapes and bruises, a couple cuts and grazes but just surface wounds to brag about. it’s nothing serious, but something about their group has always made something out of nothing and something about the way myungsoo watches and coaches, makes it more than just nothing. so jaejin listens to the words, and steels himself to try harder. minjae is waiting, sword in hand and the usual grin on his face. his stance is trained, immediate and jaejin’s is no different.

‘be patient, and minjae don’t be sloppy, enemies exist that are bigger than you, you know.’

that’s not meant to be the words that set it off. that’s because minjae’s often heard it, and he always gives the same grin afterward as if to challenge it. the only knight he has yet to really bring down is myungsoo and a few others in their final years, other than that he’s got a good record. he’s confident, cocky even but myungsoo’s look is nothing short of intentional.

before the words can echo out, all the bravado and the youth - the sound rings in their ears. it causes junsu and myungsoo to look up first and it startles june and jaehyun’s horses immediately. the boys don’t recognize it, the sound of a horn blaring through the air, but in its unfamiliarity comes the reality of the danger and the concern. there’s the horn and then there’s the sound of the academy bells, the warning bells. the bells that are orders to find cover and find it immediately, the bells they’ve only heard in drills and in lecture sessions. 

then there’s the sound of hollering and all at once the world around them erupts into chaos. and the unfamiliarity in that chaos. 

howls rip through the air, the trees rustle and before anyone can react myungsoo and junsu are on their feet.

‘get to your barracks.’ ‘but----’ minjae’s protest is cut short by myungsoo’s hand, eyes still cast in the direction of the noise, that gut-wrenching horn.  ‘get. to. your barracks, recruit.’

myungsoo is up and on his horse in a split second, sword in hand. he gives them one look and and then the final one is given to junsu who nods in the silent agreement they’ve always seemed to have. it’s minjae on june’s horse, jaejin on junsu’s and hyuck on jaehyun’s, heading in the opposite direction towards the barracks and the bells, while myungsoo rides towards the trees. 

and the horns.

'we can’t just let him go alone!’ minjae’s protests ride on the wind, carry to each boy. june doesn’t spare him a look, rather he and jaehyun look at each other, and then they all look to junsu who smacks the reigns once more. it’s a silent order, and the determination in the male’s eyes leave minjae’s words to the wind.

once they’re out the clearing and the academy walls are in sight they see it all. the see the scurrying of feet, of bodies heading towards the safe area, where they all gather for musters and meals. their classmates, the same level of confusion and curiosity on their faces. 

there’s something else, and the boys have tried to swallow it down but as they near the clearing they can taste it, smell it.

it’s fear.

it’s in some faces that are muddied, some scrapes that are fresh and those who no swords but eyes wide, like something’s unlocked.

‘what’s going on?!’ minjae is the first to ask, on the first recruit who looks like he’s seen a ghost. everyone is shuffling, scurrying and he’s shaking the boy for answers, for something. beside him in a flurry of motions he gets his answers, with bodies being brought in, ran in on makeshift stretchers. as the clearing behind the academy walls becomes clear, as they move further in they see it, classmates, friends, teammates, all laid out on stretchers, and women running about tending to them. tending to wounds, bigger than scrapes, bigger than bruises to tell tales about.

gashes, ripped through skin clean, arrows sticking from chests, multiple arrows.

and screaming, so much screaming. it hits them almost instantly. the smells, the sound, soot, burned flesh, ash and wood. with every makeshift bed on the floor there’s another, and another. and there’s blood, so much blood. staining the clothes, the stone pavement, the gauze and the skirts of the nurses. the same nurses who’d smile when minjae would brandish another scrape.

 it’s the scouting class, no doubt about it, minjae doesn’t see their teacher, but from the wounds he doesn’t need to. jaehyun covers his nose, jaejin turns away to heave anything he can from his stomach. hyuck is by his side instantly and june takes to calming his and jaehyun’s horses down. the recruit minjae had accosted starts to slip from his fingers, and the boy crawls into a ball on himself. on the cold cobblestone of the clearing as if it’s his only solace. 

‘what the hell----’

‘so - so many.’ ‘so big....b---the---they’re so big.’ ‘blood.’

everywhere. everywhere.

‘we’re being attacked.’ junsu says it and though it seems obvious, it’s saying it that brings it to light. it snaps them back. minjae and hyuck turn to him, realize he’s saddling back on his horse and june is fastening his sword.

‘wait----- where are you going?’ the look june gives minjae, for some reason lights an anger, a fire he didn’t think he could have and one he can’t quite explain. ‘you’re going out there?’ it’s the silence in the look and the way june doesn’t regard him and looks to junsu instead. casual, like the world around them isn’t crashing down.

‘upperclassmen are required in a state of emergency.' is all he says as he slips his sword into it’s sheath. 

‘you don’t even know what’s out there!’ hyuck’s words are quick, desperate even. minjae knows exactly what it’s desperate for. he feels the bristles of his friend’s energy beside him, as easily as he can feel the goosebumps, the subtle shake. the creeping fear of what’s unknown.

‘we’re coming with you.’ minjae moves to fasten his sheath, giving june the look that he’s about to hop back on the horse when junsu whips towards him, the look in his eyes as hot as the fire around them.

‘you’re staying here.’ minjae’s been around junsu his entire life at the academy, been around junsu in many facets of his personality, but he’s never seen this look, never felt the shiver that runs up his spine. he does’t move, and neither does hyuck, he knows the words are directed to both of them.

‘you guys can’t go out there alone.’  ‘and what are you two going to do?’

minjae stiffens at that, visibly. for multiple reasons, one because there’s words unsaid in that. because there’s june up there looking like he would say the same thing, june whose looking like he knows better, like minjae should know better.

like he and hyuck would get in the way. like they can’t help.

‘we’re coming.’ minjae tries to say it with the same steel that junsu does. he knows he’s trying to make himself bigger and it’s strange to him. junsu and june share a look, hyuck turns to minjae and when they share a look, they both nod and hold their ground. everything around them still goes, orders being screamed across the courtyard, screams of pain, the smell of ash reaching their settlement and that horn. that goddamned horn. they stand still as if everything around them depended on it.

‘fine. you’ve got five minutes to grab your horses and meet us. jaehyun - jaejin.’ junsu begins to say something but both boys are already saddled with all four horses with them, gear and all. minjae’s grin starts to return as he hops on his steed and junsu’s demeanor starts to wane out with a sigh. ‘stay behind us.’

yeah right.

so they take off towards the sound of the horn, towards the direction they saw myungsoo go, and in all the commotion no one is there to stop them.

[kriffingunlucky]

Commander Wolffe x mute! reader

A pretty long one I’d been working on for ages. Hope you enjoy! :’)

The seemingly endless battle continues, blaster fire and explosions erupt in the once peaceful village, destruction following the noise. Running as fast as your legs could carry you, you stay down low and crouched against a wall, eyes set on your destination. It was a cage of your people, trapped and imprisoned by the Separtists. Jumping and grabbing onto a ledge of a crumbled home, you pull yourself up and walk along the thin wall, bending down before you leap onto one of the droids guarding the cell, the one nearest to you. Arms wrapping around it’s neck piece, feet steadied against it’s back, you grab it’s head in attempts to rip it off before it yells. But,

“AHHHH!!”

That didn’t work too well. It’s friend turns and shoots at you, one of the lazer bolts skimming your shoulder but you don’t let go, you jerk your body to move the clanker with you. The other shoots the one you’re on, blasting it’s head off of it’s shoulders and making you fly backwards. You tumble, with the disabled droid’s head in hand, you sit up enough to pitch the thing at the last droids head with all your might. You knock it’s block off as well.

No time to rest. You tell yourself as you get up off of the ground, your brown robes dirty and torn from past encounters, placing a firm foot on the droid you grab its arm and rip it off with a large yank. Sparks fly.

Walking up to the entrance you wave the people back, then swing and smash the controls, setting off an alarm but opening it. You wave them forward, summoning them to follow you, they all mummer and thank you, expressing how grateful or scared they are. Running and stopping at the end of a hallway, you lift a slab of stone up, jerking your head for them to go inside and quickly.

They do.

They all file inside and crouch down, it wasn’t much, but they were away from captivity and danger for the most part. It was an old basement of a destroyed house that you’d noticed running over there, smiling softly and putting a finger to your lips before you close the entrance for good. You’d caught smiles, thank yous and tears before the hole was covered again. Your hands were bloody, as well as your legs and shoulder now, but you couldn’t stop. You climb the building and scout the best way to the next capture point. But something catches your eye.

It was a clone.

One single clone, standing in front of a small girl, defending her from waves of droids. Your eyes dart everywhere, when you see a nearby building with some supplies. Your feet start to carry you before you could even react, leaping the large cracks of the different structures and when you land, you snatch a grenade. Pulling the pin and pitching it as hard as you could to the flood of droids, it explodes and does two things.

One, is that it gives him a moment to breathe because it took down many droids. And two is that it caught the attention of fellow clones nearby, so he’s getting reinforcements right now. His brothers skillfully shooting down the enemy forces and assisting him.

Smiling in satisfaction, you turn away and gather the newly found stuff into your empty satchel. Sliding down a pole from the top of a building, you adjust your robes and begin progressing into more dangerous territory. Your hands grip the staff that you’d found tightly as you turn a corner, coming across another prison, but also more droids. You slide against the walls and duck, when they turn your way, checking before dashing to a closer spot.

They should walk directly beside me, then I can take them down and free my people before more of them come. I can lead them back to where I left the others.

Gripping the staff and steadying out your trembling hands, you can hear their clanking footsteps.

One.

Two.

THREE!

Swinging around the corner and smashing the one, you jump sideways to avoid the shot, then destroy the other one. Panting and hurrying to the door of the cell, not having to wave them backwards because they were already huddled together in a corner, you swing relentlessly and shatter the control panel. This cell being the biggest you’ve ever penetrated, you were worried something would go wrong, so you hurry. Ripping open the door and waving them to follow, the reluctantly do so, you check if the coast is clear then you lead them back to the previous hiding place you’d found. Struggling to move the slab again, you hear strained gasps and choked sobs, but you pop into the doorway and smile to reassure them.

Waving at them to make room. They don’t understand, so you mouth to them to move. Still not understanding you grunt and move backwards, just continuing to show the others inside, they’ll readjust. You don’t have time for this.

After all of them crawl in, you are barely able to move the slab back, your body shaking madly. You’d lost too much blood and exerted yourself in many ways, but you push yourself to walk from that position. You couldn’t be caught, having them found as well. Swaying as you speed walk to a small spot you see across the way, you get knocked off of your feet by a Commando Droid.

Your mouth moves to cry out in pain, for help, but you couldn’t. The strain of it’s metal foot pressed against your chest makes you gasp for air, beating on it’s leg in an attempt to move it, but you couldn’t. Looking to the side and seeing two more of them stalking towards where you were, you panic, moving your arm far enough back to dig in your bag. You pull you a detonator and activate it, struggling to roll it across the ground, you throw it towards the enemy forces.

Somehow, out of sheer luck, it knocks them off of their feet. And when they stand back up they storm towards you. Clacking in their robotic language the one stepping on you presses hard, making you wheeze, tears prick your eyes as the world goes black slowly. Pointing the gun at you, you flinch, but nothing happens.

A loud bang is heard as the pressure is released, your eyes snapping open as you attempt to scurry away. Gunfire is heard from behind you, which makes you jump. Looking backwards and seeing a force of clones invading, you almost cry. You were safe. They were safe.

Once they shoot down all of the commando’s and secured the area, one of them kneels beside you. On his helmet, under his visor had a smeared looking design. “You okay, ma’am?” He asks, touching the singed clothes around your shoulder wound.

You nod slowly, your body trembling. Mouthing to him frantically and pointing towards where your people were, he tilted his head in a puzzled way. His hand retracting and body freezing.

Your face drops as you attempt to stand, knowing you’d have to show them, but your knees gave out which made you fall back down on your ass. Making your shoulders drop, your eyes darting downwards.

“Don’t try to get up, you’re hurt pretty badly. Erm, just stay here, m’kay?” He asks as he stands, declaring as he walks away. “I’ll be back in a sec!”

You watch him walk towards another clone, placing his hands on his hips as they talk. Both looking back at you, the one he walked up to nods before starting towards you, the other following behind. Taking his helmet off when he reaches you, he kneels down, looking you in the eye.

You blink a couple times, cheeks gaining a pink hue as you look at his handsome face. He had strong, sharp features; his jawline could probably cut a diamond. His skin was a dark shade, a lighter colored scar running through his left eye, which you take note that it was a cybernetic eye. But his other eye was a natural, deep brown. His ears were big, lips were big and hands were big as he reached forward and touched your arm to inspect your burn.

Looking away from him in a shy way you let out a large breath, continuing to tell yourself mentally that you’re okay and they’re okay. You’re okay and they’re okay. It was hard to believe that you didn’t die due to the risks that you took.

Jerking your arm away quickly because of the sudden pain that was caused, you look at him wide eyed. Shaking slightly and trying to steady your breath, you look down apologetically.

“So you’re mute?” He asks sort of awkwardly as he takes your arm again, more gently.

You nod and glance at him, not meaning to stare a bit too long as he was focused on your arm. He’d wrapped it up and was now tying off the bandage. His brows creased and lips pressed together, he glances to you and meets your (e/c) eyes. “Is there a problem, miss?” He raises a brow. The fact that you think he’s hot totally flying by his head and making him think you’re just trying to gain his attention.

Caught off guard, you shake your head with a blush. Lifting your arms to ask him to help you up he understands and does so, but doesn’t let you stray from him. He lets you use him as a crutch as he walks with you. You lead him and his men to the spot that you’d lead the people to, your heart hammering when you see that the building beside it had been completely demolished, leaping away from the Commander you fall to your knees as you move the rubble with much problem. Your eyes were watering and you could barely move a few pieces, looking back to the clone with a panicked expression.

Wolffe took action off of that and ordered his men to start moving the slabs of stone, him helping after comming his General and informing him of his status, he grunts once him and his men carry away a large piece. Dropping it with a thud you scamper to the now exposed entrance. Tugging on it with much resistance, you manage to move it.

Looking into the not so big space, you narrow your eyes. You couldn’t really see anything but you began crying once you saw that they were all there.

They really are safe.

Your shoulders slouch and you look back to the Commander with a huge smile, who had a puzzled look on his face, but when he squatted down and saw those people he realized.

“Did you save them?” Wolffe looked at you, eyebrows raised.

Your tears didn’t stop as you nodded. Your emotions all hitting you at once you couldn’t function properly, you couldn’t bring yourself to your feet or to move. So he scooped you up carefully, allowing his men to start helping the civilians out. Cradling you in his arms as your wiped your tears, he didn’t seem to mind holding you either.

All of them are safe, they’re all okay. You think and that only makes you sob harder, curling up in his arms. Closer to him as you whimper.

Wolffe carries you to the Medic that had just arrived with Master Plo Koon, explaining to him the extent of your injures, which weren’t too bad but he still wanted to get you fixed up. At least he thought they weren’t.

The medic made him lay you down on a mat he’d rolled out, which made you whine slightly, flinching. Looking up at Wolffe who did the same, they exchange a look then the medic begins looking over your form. You didn’t break your legs nor arms, but you did sprain your wrist and bruise your ribs. Your adrenaline had worn off by now and you were very obviously in pain, so he gave you strong pain killers.

Eyes half lidded as you blink and look around frantically, startled by the numbness, you meet the medic’s kind eyes. “Take a hold of his hand.”

He softly directs you to hold Wolffe’s large hand, in which you do, and smile at him as he nods down at you. Not noticing that the large clone had glared at the medic because of this.

You finally fall unconscious and the medic finishes his job, bandaging up your bangs and nicks. He re-bandages your shoulder wound after applying bacta, sighing. “She lost a good bit of blood and when she wakes up she’ll be quite weak. I’m assuming she did all of that destruction that we couldn’t track?”

“She did.” The Commander grunts in reply. “Surprisingly enough she took out a couple posts, where they were using her people as human shields, and brought them to that building. Saving them.”

“She must be very tired then.” The medic smiles and smooths your hair out gently, wiping some dirt off of your face, before standing to leave. “I’m assuming you’ll be taking care of her until she’s well?” He smirks.

Wolffe was dazed, only slightly, as he ran his fingers through your hair. It was so soft. He’s never touched something he’s liked so much. Such a beautiful (h/c), even if it was dirty. He didn’t even hear the medic’s remark, and then the click of his tongue as he walked away. He kept your hand as he moved you, setting your head on his thigh and for more comfort he folded a blanket to tuck it under your head.

He kept your hand until you woke, actually. His large fingers playing with your hair the entire time. And when you opened your eyes, you were met with his deep brown ones and a smile.

You could definitely get used to this.

[we-justhere]

So imagine a world where Britain never met America. I’m talking a Hetalia of course ~ The two chance upon one another in a war torn place or something similar. The Brit has his rations and stumbled upon this young boy, not used to war who looks rather worse for wear. Arthur is puzzled to see the teenager stumble into his hiding spot but none the less allows his entry upon realising he is no enemy. I revel in the idea of the starved Brit giving his rations away to his younger~

This one is very exciting~ War prompts are some of my favorites because they’re naturally easy to write-And I just have a soft spot for them in general. This probably isn’t going to be super accurate to any particular war, so I apologize if that’s what you’re looking for. We’re just here to starve some characters~.

Exhaustion sapped away at every muscle in Arthur’s body. His lungs ached with adrenaline as his breathing turned into little more than panting despite the burning pain it brought to his chest. He couldn’t remember how long he had been out here, but the scene of a quick escape that just barely left him alive stuck in his head like ringing in his ears that just wouldn’t go away. He huffed, hugging his arm to his middle where he had stashed a bit of food. That was the only thing on his mind right now, keeping his food safe. Time wasn’t on his side out here and it never was. There was always something to get away from, someone to avoid, someplace to run to if you valued your freedom any. 

Arthur was starving. He had faced attack after attack and had little time to do much other than getting away and assisting with evacuations. So many counted on him that he had neglected his own flesh.

He bunkered down once he couldn't stand to look for people anymore, mostly by demand of the headache he was suffering from and the low growling of his stomach. He found an old building and tucked into it, relief flooding his system as soon as he sat up against one of the cold walls. Sleep crossed his mind. He hadn’t gotten much of that either, as not many places were safe and he could only get a few minutes in before he had to get up again. Never before had frigid, stone walls and dead silence felt so soothing to the Brit. 

He opened up his jacket and took his meal out from where it was against his chest. He was grateful to see it, even if he knew it hadn’t gone anywhere. It wasn’t much. It was all he had out here, and he had no idea when or where he would find something new to eat. He lay everything in front of him to see what he had, and was pleased to see that he had enough bread and meat to at least last for a day or two. 

His stomach clenched up at the sight of food. It had at least been three days since he had eaten something, or perhaps even longer. He lifted the bread to his face so he could savor the smell, though in any other situation he would have been repulsed by it. It was dry and old, something Arthur would have thrown away. Never again

No sooner than he had broken up a bit of the bread did he hear footsteps outside. Sluggish, irregular footsteps, but still footsteps all the same. His blood ran cold under his skin. He was sure he had checked, sure that he was alone and was safe. He held his breath and cupped his hand over his mouth, anything to keep himself quiet. Who could even be out here..? There wasn’t anything for miles, and the area had already been attacked. There was nothing to salvage from these ruins, and everyone had been evacuated prior. Immediately Arthur’s mind went to someone that was sticking around to find anyone who had stuck around, to get rid of stragglers. People like Arthur. 

But those footsteps. They were fatigued. It almost sounded like a limp. 

Arthur reached for his gun. He might have had a bullet left if he was lucky. The most he could use it for was intimidation, but he doubted anyone was walking around out here without a gun. His mind was racing with thoughts-Go out there and see who it was, stay and look for cover, get out of the building and look for another-each with their own problems, but he couldn’t stand to wait anymore. He inched toward a hole in the wall of his refuge and looked outside, emerald eyes scanning the ground for any sign of any movement at all, but there was nothing. There was hardly even a breeze out here. He leaned closer to the hole so he could look around more, but the sound of something falling behind him stole all of his attention.

Arthur felt as though he had been shot with how hard he jumped, and as quickly as he could he turned around and aimed his empty handgun at what had fallen. 

It was a boy. Rather, a teenager-Couldn’t be any older than seventeen or eighteen. He was blond and his hair was a mess, to say nothing of the rest of him. He was on his hands and knees and didn’t seem to notice that Arthur was even there. He looked tired, ready to collapse. There was no way this wasn’t his first war. He trusted his environment, at least until he looked up and saw Arthur’s gun pointed at him.

He was wearing glasses, and based on the smudges pushing dirt to the sides of the lenses, he had been trying and failing to keep them clean.

His eyes went wide and he fell back, holding his hands up. “I..I don’t have anything..!” He pleaded, the fear in his voice unknowingly finding the sympathy that was left in Arthur’s heart. The Brit couldn’t, and wouldn’t, lower his gun, and this kid seemed to know that. “I got left behind..! I don’t know where I am..Please.”

 “Show me your gun.” Arthur stated plainly, to which the teenager fumbled to get his gun out and slid it to the older man. 

“My name is Alfred.” He half-whined, especially nervous now that he wasn’t armed. 

Arthur pushed the gun further away from Alfred and slowly lowered his own. “You were left behind?”

“I don’t think they noticed.” Alfred let his hands slide back onto the ground beside him. “I’m trying to find them again, but..” He paused and winced as his stomach gave a noisy grumble, one that he couldn’t conceal even as he raised his palm to push at his middle. “..No luck so far.” 

Arthur was stunned, but understood why he might have been stranded. He was reckless, defenseless, and it was easy for soldiers to move on when they thought someone was beyond help. He would just ignore the growling he had heard, mostly because it was embarrassing to do anything else. “Were you injured?” 

“My leg.” Alfred grunted and pulled his pant leg up, revealing a wound. The blood had dried, but the wound hadn’t been dressed. It might have been infected. He must have collapsed, and by the look of how frightened he was, he might have been so shocked he fainted. Arthur put the pieces together and assumed everyone thought Alfred was dead and moved on. 

“Why didn’t you take care of it?” Arthur murmured, looking from the wound to the teenager’s hopeless eyes. Alfred didn’t respond, which told him all he needed to know.

Arthur grumbled with frustration and tore at his shirt, ripping a strip of the fabric off (it looked effortless for the most part, but with what little energy he had left it was rather draining) so he could at least dress it. He approached Alfred, who flinched and pulled away a bit, something the Brit found rather annoying.

“Would you rather it get infected?” He snapped, making it easier for Alfred to let him do what was necessary out of fear of making him mad. 

There was a bit of silence between the two, sans their rough breathing, but it was eventually broken again by another noisy whine from Alfred’s stomach. His cheeks went red and he turned his head away from Arthur, knowing the Brit had to have heard that one with how close he was to the organ.

“Are you hungry?” Arthur asked, his face just as flushed. Alfred didn’t respond out of guilt, but Arthur didn’t take it this time, and simply asked the question again with more force. 

“Yes.” The younger man finally answered, though quietly.

Arthur tied off the cloth, earning a whimper from Alfred. “Do you have something to eat?” The Brit asked rather hopefully. He didn’t have quite enough for both of them.

“No.” Of course. This kid was a lost cause. 

The terrible, terrible hunger in Arthur’s belly begged him to keep the food for himself. To send Alfred on his way. It was the survival of the fittest out here, and he felt so hollow, so painfully empty. But Alfred was so young, he couldn’t possibly make it far by himself. 

Arthur furrowed his brow, knowing he couldn’t keep anything to himself now that he had been found. He forked over both the meat and the bread, not even getting the chance to tell him to be sparing with their food before Alfred started scarfing everything down. Arthur hated watching him eat their only food with such greed and couldn’t help but scowl at him, not that Alfred was paying any sort of attention. It must have been a while since he had eaten as well.

Arthur rested against the wall, letting go of his choppy breath. They were both damned now, but at least they had company. 

In reality, Arthur didn’t mind feeling needed. This boy would surely die on his own, but Arthur refused to believe he was more trouble than he was worth.

~~

This one was super long, oops. It also doesn’t focus as much on their hunger as much as it does their relationship. Maybe I’ll change it so their hunger takes center stage. Hopefully you like it anyway <3

[world-of-socks]

Note: Alrighty, so here’s an old one. (I don’t HATE it, but I apologize in advance if it’s cringe) This was written about exactly a year ago and I wrote it cause I felt like writing and because we had just recently read Fahrenheit 451 in class and I liked how Beatty was written so I based a character’s personality around his. Anyway it’s pretty edgy so tread... with caution? I dunno. Anyways I just copied and pasted this from google docs and I’m not sure if any of the bold or italicized words translated.

The Seventh Battle: The First Loss

This was certainly the most fearsome battle she had ever led.

The air was rife with screams. The entire atmosphere felt warm with blood and sweat. She looked around in a calm form of panic that comes when you need to logically scan a battlefield. Most of my generals shattered. Fair amount of foot soldiers shattered. Waiting on artillery. She made her mental notes. This is bad.

She had never lost a battle this important before. What would White do to her if she had? She feared she would have to find out. The organics were huge on this planet, almost the size of her. Her soldiers had to fuse to even try to measure up to the tall beings. She cut and slashed into the strange things coming at her at all sides as she thought about what would happen if she lost. Blood spattered all over her form, it was warm and sticky. It stunk of guilt and iron. She hated it.

Screams. So much screaming. It was so hard to think. She had never really felt exhausted of energy before, but it felt like her form was faltering. Had her sword somehow gotten heavier? Her troops were being overwhelmed. Yellow didn’t know how much longer she could hold them off. She heard a loud scream from far off. A jasper? She thought, having not heard closely. A sudden thought. Blue!

In the chaos she had forgotten that Blue was a part of this battle. She had asked her to accompany her on the mission, telling her that she would play a vital role on the battlefield. Yellow turned only to her being taken down by an enemy soldier. No.

Yellow tried to run to her aid, or at least to make sure that her gem wasn’t cracked, but was suddenly overwhelmed, surrounded. The soldiers made a tight circle around her, confused in her panic, she noticed that one of the strange organics emerged from the tight circle. It was a strange creature, quite hideous in her eyes. It spoke, which surprised her since she thought that all organic life was unintelligent and incapable of speech.

“Yellow Diamond.” the words were spoken slowly and deliberately, “I have waited for this moment.”

There was a pause. Everything was so loud. Blue, Blue, she had to get to Blue. She took a moment to organize her thoughts. She couldn’t do anything until this organic was eliminated or at least out of her path. Frustrated, confused, and angry Yellow spoke:

“Who are you?” she snarled.

There was a cold laugh, “Nevermind that. I am much more interested in you. My soldiers have long told me of you and your tactics. You are ruthless and intelligent. Both of which are qualities I like.”

She flexed her hand, the smell of electricity masked the scent of blood, she laughed, coldy, “You’re right about one thing,” she aimed a blast at the organics feet, “but you have no idea of the power you’re messing with.”

Yellow felt strangely confident in her abilities to take the being down, it was one organic, and she was a diamond. Yes, a whole army of organics can be difficult, and taking out the rest of the circle might be a task, but one measly being: Pathetic.

The organic dodged easily, using some strange hover device, it, to, laughed, “I’m afraid we do.”

Her eyes widened slightly, it dodged...how did it…? Different tactic she thought. She aimed a blast at the ground, blasting her into the air, and momentarily breaking the circle, she aimed a couple blasts from the sky, most missing. She was tired. She fell to the ground which cracked beneath her weight.

The strange organic walked forward, Yellow tried to get to her feet, but she was too weak. The organic kicked her face into the dark ground. She could hear it speaking:

“There is a foolishness in being cocky, your highness. It’s a shame you didn’t know better.” it mocked.

There was a pressure on her form, she winced slightly and clenched her teeth to keep herself from crying out. She knew what was coming. There was a blinding pain, and then….. Nothing.

She was gone.

……………

Blinking.

Blurry.

Awake.

She had reformed, but where? She looked around. It was much quieter. Homeworld? No. she noted Where am I? Suddenly her answer presented itself to her.

“Finally awake, are you?” it was the organic, “Well, welcome to lab 74xQ9! The best lab in the galaxy!”

“Would you like a tour?” the organic asked, “Please, guards, stand her up.”

Two burly guards pulled her roughly to her feet, she was still weak. She noticed as she stood up that there was some sort of device on her hands. She tried to use her abilities but an even more powerful electric jolt was shot through her form, she fell, once again to her knees.

The organic turned around, either having heard her fall, scream, or had seen it coming, “Trying to leave so soon? Don’t worry that won’t be happening. You see, you’ve discovered my amplifying device! Isn’t it incredible? It can amplify any power or energy that is run through it!”

Yellow’s cheeks flushed at the loud shriek she had let out as she crashed to the ground, but her pride wasn’t nearly as hurt as she was. Her breathing was heavy and ragged. How are they so advanced? They’re almost as technologically advanced as u-....

“Wondering how I got my hands on such a powerful device? Easy! Stealing from your soldiers was like taking candy from a baby. Then my colleagues and I just modified your own technology! Isn’t that ironic? Something you made to keep your own kind prisoner is now holding you captive!” it laughed. “It’s genius!”

Yellow had recovered from the shock, still shaking slightly. She spat on the ground.

“Kind like you doesn’t deserve-”

She was interrupted as the guards who held her slammed her face to the ground, having not taken well to the defiant insult.

“Kind like us? And what does that mean?” the organic spoke in a cold voice, having not been insulted at all. It spoke only with the intention of leading her astray, catch her in her own words.

“Disgusting, impure sediment! Imperfect-” she started listing the synonyms to the word, whilst also throwing insults.

The organic approached her from behind in the middle of her ranting and thrust off her helmet. It clattered to the floor, revealing her short curly hair. She cursed in ancient gem under her breath.

“You were saying?” it laughed. A few of the others in the room joined.

It, without warning, pulled her up from the ground by her hair, “What’s this?!” it ripped one of her gloves off, deep scars and cracks covered her arms.

“Imperfect, you said?!” it laughed again, “Hah! I bet you came out early didn’t you?! Slightly shorter than your height requirement?! That does explain the boots now doesn’t it?!”

“Come now, your highness you must admit that beings like you and I are not so different.”

The organic lifted her head, looking for a response. Nothing.

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

More nothing.

“Hm. Disappointing, I do enjoy an intelligent conversation.”

“Why would I even dream of speaking with an organic that is insistent upon humiliating me!?”

“You make a fair point, now don’t you?” it paused, a cruel smile leaking onto it’s already hideous face, “Why, I have just the thing!”

It grabbed the device that was keeping her in bondage and lugged her up by it. It walked her into the opposite room, and thrust her back onto the ground. As she looked up in horror it spoke,

“The presence of another diamond will surely make for a more pleasant atmosphere, don’t you think?”

“Blue!” she groaned knowingly, they had Blue of course they had Blue!

Blue! In all of this time she had forgotten! She had forgotten again! And now, there she was dangling from cords and mechanical devices, her face and eyes were sunken. She must not have destabilized because there was still blood spattered over her, her dress torn and dirty. Yellow wanted to cry out, to run to her side and fix the horrible mess she made. She wanted so badly to be on homeworld. Even in front of White. She would take any punishment from her over this.

“Oh! I’ve really struck a bullseye with this!” it’s voice was like a sword scraping against a metal floor, terrible and cold, “Companionship?! You?!” It laughed again.

“I never thought that would be in your nature! We beings or war know how unhelpful it is to have attachment to anyone on the battlefield! You are far more stupid than I thought, oh great, Yellow diamond.” it called mockingly.

“What have you done to her?” she choked out the words.

“We’ve simply hooked her up to a device which I call, The Extractor. Not very creative, but I like to keep things simple when keeping my lab space organized. Anyway, as the name suggests, it extracts her aura, which will make a very useful gas on the battlefield, the enemy will drop like flies from sheer grief, and it extracts her essence, which allows us to create our own gem warriors! She will be most useful.”

Yellow could only look at the ground, a small croak of fear and horror left her unwillingly.

“What’s that? You want me to demonstrate how it works?! Why, of course, my diamond.”

It bowed and then pressed a few buttons on a keypad near where Blue was dangling, lifelessly. Her limp form was suddenly reanimated unnaturally with the force of the machine. She was awoken from her numb sleep, with her own screams of pain.

“Stop! Stop it! Stop! Stop!” Yellow tried to stand up, but fell to the ground, sobbing without tears.

“If you insist.” the machine whirred to a halt, Blue resumed her numb form. Lifeless. Empty.

“What do you want from me?” she sobbed.

“What do I want? Allow me to explain.” it walked a few paces across the room and picked up a beaker, “Do you know what this is?”

Yellow remained silent, slightly confused to how this answered her question.

“Of course you don’t. This is a serum which can turn any gem into a programmable weapon. A machine with death at its heels. Merciless. Powerful, entirely obedient. Perfect.”

It continued to monologue, “If injected into the form of a gem they instantly become our weapon of death and destruction. Imagine the power we could hold if we-”

“Used it on a diamond. You want to-” she interrupted.

“Yes, but I would prefer not to. A programmable machine cannot think freely, someone must be behind it. You have war strategy skills, that I begrudgingly admit, exceed my own. If you were to join my forces willingly…..” it sighed, “The victories would be endless!”

“Why would I join you?”

“Well, for one, you don’t have a choice. You either join willingly or I will use my serum on you. With all of my serum used up on you, if you refuse, I have no use for your… uh…. Friend here, her essence and aura will run out eventually. And though I hate to waste the entire batch of my serum on you…. I’m willing to make that sacrifice… But the real question is...,” its fingers drifted to the keypad, “Are you?”

The organic, more hideous to Yellow than before, strode to the doorway, “I’ll give you a moment to think this all over…” It laughed for a moment, it seemed to be fond of doing so, “This is so much fun! Willingly or Unwillingly? Free or Enslaved? To be or not To be? Hah! Good luck, your majesty!”

The thing bowed mockingly which seemed to be for the millionth time and promptly made it’s exit. And then she was left with her thoughts. They seemed to have stopped for the moments of dialogue and humiliation, everything having happened too quickly to have reacted. Now she was left with only her. Panic.

The room seemed to spin. Everything was suddenly so huge and so tiny at the same time. Her breath grew incredibly fast and heavy. Breath in, out. In. Out. In. Out. In… Faster and faster. Eyes. Tears. Dear stars, why were there tears. Her hands and cheeks were wet with hot tears which were spilling down her face, and down her nose. She had really messed up this time.

“I’m so sorry!” she cried into the ground, for she could do nothing else. Looking at Blue was like trying to face what a terrible mess she had gotten herself and everyone else into.

So many shattered.

What have you done?

Tortured.

They tortured her.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

All of this is your fault!

You’ve failed everyone!!!

A thought suddenly broke through everything else. White. White. What is White going to do to you for this? White. White! Your communicator!

Do I have enough strength left to-? She used all her strength to attempt to summon the communicator from her gem. After what felt like a lifetime ticking by in only a minute, the communicator fell to the floor. Relieved, she took a moment to try and use her elbows to turn the panels to white. A glow. A hum.

“Ahh, so that’s why you’re late.”

“White!” she cried excitedly, having been never so relieved to have heard the passive-aggressive, cold voice, “I-I mean, my diamond.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Blue and I have been captured, the mission has been compromised. I’m so sorry for my failure, but we need a rescue team. Could you send someone?”

“You’re lucky I have an army stationed on a nearby planet. I’ll send them right away.”

White must have noticed Yellow’s grateful and relieved expression.

“This doesn’t mean I like you.” Yellow thought she heard a touch of kindness from somewhere inside the voice.

“Thank you, White,” she said quietly.

She simply rolls her eyes, “We’re discussing you’re failure when you arrive back on Homeworld.”

White moved to discommunicate when Yellow stopped her, “One more thing!”

She raised an eyebrow again.

“Can you detonate the communicator? It would really help-”

“Yes, yes, fine. Don’t get yourself exploded, it would be a waste of resources.”

She clicked a button. The hum died. The communicator glowed from red to white and back to red again.

Yellow kicked it into the control panel and keypad that controlled The Extractor. In an attempt to shield Blue from the blast, she stood near where she hung, lifelessly. Yellow winced slightly as the blast went off and she and Blue were flung across the room into a heap of rubble.

Alarms. Commands. The door burst open.

“What did you-” the organic was flustered, “Ahh, a communicator. I really am stupid. Who did you contact? Your armies?”

She said nothing.

After a moment of contemplation it laughed, “Well then, that wasn’t too terrible of a mistake on my part. Your armies have been exhausted. Calling them was pointless!”

It looked, slightly weary, around, the sounds of war going on outside. It yelled words in a language Yellow didn’t know, in frustration.

“Guards!” It summoned it’s soldiers, “Take them both to the holding cells. Separate ones!”

As the guards stood her up, it looked into her face, “Don’t think I’m done with you! You still have a decision to make.”

She and Blue, who was still unconscious, were lugged into gem-holding cells and thrown into them violently. The sound of the war raging outside. They wouldn’t stand a chance, poor fools. Yellow almost felt bad for them. Almost. White’s army was the most ruthless and strong force in the entire galaxy.

After waiting an excruciatingly long time, two white and grey bubbles appeared at the cell doors. They drifted in mechanically and collected the contents. Yellow tried to look through the bubble’s opaque glassy shell, to be completely certain that the other bubble had actually collected the opposite cell’s contents. She could barely make out the rest of the world outside of her capsule.

When the bubbles spilled their contents onto the floor of the rescue ship a few gems rushed forwards to take care of their monarchs. One snapped Yellows bonds. Another examined Blue’s condition with a worried expression.

“Will she be alright?” Yellow asked, trying to mask her intense worry in front of her subjects.

It simply nodded and held up a needle to Yellow’s hand, “My diamond, would you like to peacefully destabilize? Your stats are uneven, and your form is exhausted. It would help.”

Yellow nodded, “Could you make sure Blue gets one, to?”

“Of course, my diamond.”

A couple of other gems gathered around her, “Relax.” they said. Needle. Prick. The pain was quick. A warmth spread across her body, it didn’t hurt. And then she was gone.

She was gone.

Thank the stars.

……….

Awake.

Yellow. Yellow. Gold. Blue. Yellow. Grey. Yellow. Yellow. White. Yellow. Grey. Grey. Yellow. Grey. Grey. Grey. Grey…

She sat up, “Gerroff.” she grumbled absent-mindedly. The tiny things tending to her fell to the ground with squeals of nervousness. Pebbles were not supposed to be seen. Yellow didn’t care enough to swish them away, she was just grateful to be in her quarters.

“Pearl?” she muttered, still not fully awake, the process of reforming ebbing away slowly.

“Ah! My diamond, you’re back!” her pearl rushed forward, saluted, and bowed.

Yellow pressed the bridge of her nose and rubbed her eyes, “I assume White Diamond wishes to speak to me?”

“Yes, my diamond, she wanted to meet with you as soon as you reformed.”

“Great,” she muttered sarcastically. “Well, then I would probably do well to do so.”

Yellow heaved a great sigh, “Well… I’m off. I’ll be back soon enough, Pearl.”

The pearl simply bowed as she exited the room.

Yellow fidgeted nervously, the yellow halls turning to silver. Back on that blasted planet, she wished desperately to be on Homeworld, and now that she was actually here…. An audience with White seemed so much more terrifying now that she was actually in the hall toward her quarters.

She reached the door. She pressed her hand to the pad next to it. She took a deep breath. The doors opened.

“Enter.” came the dangerously calm voice.

She walked in briskly, afraid of looking cowardly. She bowed.

“My Diamond.”

“Yellow Diamond… Back from the dead. Hopefully, I have a good reason to have used my armies to fetch you...”

Yellow gulped.

…………….

She left the silver and white chambers with a sinking feeling in her form. White had a way of making anyone and anything feel like worthless sediment even by just being in her presence. Though, this meeting went far better than most of her meetings. Yellow only left the room with bruised pride instead of a bruised arm, too. It was a slight change, but a change nonetheless.

After she reentered her chambers, she fell heavily into her throne and sighed. She opened up a screen and stared at it. She tried to make her hands do work, her eyes to scan the reports, but nothing came. She wanted so badly to avoid the fear that was slowly taking over her. A shaky breath.

“Pearl?”

“Yes, my Diamond?”

“Contact Blue pearl.”

The pearl gulped, “... Blue pearl, my diamond?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “Inquire about Blue diamond.”

“Inquire about …. what, my Diamond?” pearl asked timidly.

Yellow grew irritated, “Well, ask her if Blue Diamond has reformed yet or not!” she burst out angrily.

“Y- Yes my diamond, r-right away.”

There was a pause as the tiny pearl did as her diamond commanded. Yellow knew she should be working, but her mind was so uneasy that working would not be an option. She tapped her fingers impatiently. There was a small beep from the tiny device the pearl held.

“Well?” she asked.

“Blue pearl says that Blue diamond reformed three days ago.”

A sigh, “Thank you, pearl… That’s all I needed.”

She got up from her chair, if she couldn’t avoid her dread by working, she would have to face it. Dear stars! She thought Why is this harder than facing White?

She walked down the hallway, wringing her hands. When she finally reached the door, she debated on whether she was going to actually open it. She actually thought about turning back to her quarters… She lay a hand on the door, Blue must have heard her walking down the hall from inside her quarters.

“You may enter.” she called politely.

The door hissed open. Blue was sitting on a windowsill overlooking homeworld, she jumped slightly, surprised to see another diamond. The footsteps she had heard did not sound like the ones she was used to from Yellow.

Yellow stood in the doorway. She suddenly forgot what she was to say, or even how to speak. When she looked at the beautiful Blue gem on the windowsill, all she could see was the one who had been limp and broken back in the lab on that wretched planet.

“You’re back.” she croaked, a voice from deep inside her form somehow finding a way to escape.

“I’m back.” she whispered with a sad smile.

With that Yellow laughed quietly, tears springing to her eyes, the laughter quickly turning to violent sobs. She pressed her hand to the wall to try and steady herself, when that failed, she slid down the wall to her knees.

“Yellow?!” Blue rushed to her side, concerned.

Yellow curled into herself, unable to breathe properly, everything seemed so overwhelming again. Suddenly, everything was her fault and everything weighed more and her tears were painful to cry. Everything was so everything.

“Yellow?” Blue’s voice faded in, more concerned then before, “Yellow, are you alright?”

She wanted to respond, but she didn’t know what words to say, or if she could even say them. She couldn’t breath. She wanted space, but wanted to be with someone. She wanted to be held, without feeling suffocated.

“Is your gem cracked? What- what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Just-...give me...a minute.” she choked between sharp breaths.

“O-... ok.” Blue backed away.

There was a long few minute pause as the golden gem started collecting herself and was finally able to breathe fairly steadily again.

“Are you-....are you alright?” Blue started, frightened.

Yellow’s face finally emerged, after she dropped her hands from her face. It was tired and looked much older than it should’ve.

Her whole form still shook from the past few minutes, she looked like she could fall apart again at any moment.

“I don’t-... can’t-... we couldn’t b- beat them!” she spoke broken sentences as tears poured down her face, “This is-... is all my fault! I shoul-... should’ve been strong enough… but then everyone got-.... They hurt you-.... I shouldn’t-... I-...”

And then she fell apart again, blubbering nonsense as she tried to make sense of everything that ran through her head. Yellow was only 3,000 some years old, and this, the first battle she had ever lost, and had she not have been more careful, she could’ve lost everything.

She hated the feeling of tears, tears were like liquid weakness in her mind. She shouldn’t be this way, she was made to be strong, powerful, cunning, and …. Perfect. Now,... she wasn’t sure if she was capable of any of those things.

As she fell apart Blue rushed back to her side, she raised a hand to wipe away Yellow’s tears, but faltered. She looked into Yellow’s eyes as if to ask permission, unsure if it was ok to comfort her openly now. The eyes were deeper and sadder, not yet hardened and tired as they would become in the next few thousand years, they seemed to accept the Blue pair of eyes staring back.

Hesitant still, Blue gently wiped away the tears with her thumb, the palm of her hand resting on Yellow’s cheek. With the other hand she ran her delicate fingers through Yellow’s short, curly, yellow-orange hair, after quietly removing her helmet.

“Since when did you start wearing this all of the time?” she murmured, referring to the tall, pointy helmet that she used to only wear during battles.

It took her a moment to respond, “Since always.” she replied like an indignant young gem. Though, she was incredibly thankful Blue didn’t mention her gloves, she wasn’t ready to have that conversation.

“Liar.” she laughed and gently kissed her forehead.

“I started wearing it after White told me to hide my hair…” she muttered, ashamed, “.... and it makes me look as tall as I’m supposed to be.”

“Well, I think your hair is perfect.” Blue replied.

“Yeah, well…” she wanted to say something more, but a more pressing thought blocked out the rest of the sentence.

Yellow shook her head realizing that she had been doing this whole thing wrong…. This should be the other way around.

“I came to apologize to you! You’re the real victim of this whole thing! Why-... why’re you-...?” Yellow didn’t understand.

“I wasn’t the only victim, Yellow…” she was still very intent on comforting her.

Yellow struggled away, not feeling deserving of the affection, “B-But, they tortured you!”

“And they clearly tortured you too.” Blue looked back up at her, “No offense Yellow, but you’re a mess.”

“I-... but-.. But I-...” she stammered, “But that’s just me! “

Blue stood up, “Exactly, this whole ordeal has tortured you. They got under your skin, didn’t they?”

“I-...” Yellow tried to protest, “Yes…”

Blue took her hand, “Just let me help you.”

Yellow’s cheeks flushed, “But-... that’s my job. I came here to help you…”

“You already did.”

“And how the stars did I do that?!”

“You came to visit me of your own accord, and were open with me about your feelings. It’s not everyday that Yellow Diamond does something like that!” Blue smiled, “And then after all of that, you let me help you. I like helping you, it makes me feel… useful... in a way… After getting captured and losing the battle, I felt- felt pretty-... pretty weak… and worthless and-...”

Her voice grew small, a few tears flickered in her eyes.

“Hah… sorry.” she laughed them away, “What I mean to say is…. You simply being here with me is the best I’ve felt in a long while.”

She reached up her arms and hugged her golden companion, “I love you.” she whispered.

Yellow’s eyes grew wide, she felt more tears spring to her eyes, but this time she didn’t hate them. She returned the embrace and buried her face in Blue’s silvery hair.

“You… are the strongest gem I’ve ever met…” she whispered just loud enough for Blue to hear,

“Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

[linkspooky]

he flies he lies  hawks realizes that he has been telling the truth to the villains and lying to the heroes / For @villainmonth /edit by @inumaqi fic by @linkspooky

“Listen I want you to trust what I’m about to say.” “Those are some pretty serious words you’re saying…” 

♘

If you have wings, you should fly. That is what Hawks always believed. Feathers were designed by god to catch the air, they did not fall, they floated down. He could pluck one of his feathers, throw it into the sky and watch it dance. 

That was what freedom looked like. But looks were deceiving. His quirk manifested at four years old. He still remembered, terrified of the bulges that had formed on his back, but they could not afford a doctor. Trash that littered the floor, and parents that did not look his way because they considered himself like the garbage that piled up, something that needed to be thrown out. Hawks remembered thinking several times as he looked up at the sky, if he could escape to the sea or the sky, he would have flown away from here in an instant. His pain was prolonged for an entire month as something budded from his back. It felt like vines were growing out from him, and he felt every single thorn as they snaked out in the layers between his skin, and wrapped around his spine. He was cut, again and again, inside and out. Then one day, the skin on his back broke. He woke up with two long rivulets of blood streaming down from both sides of his back, an injury that made him look like an angel who had both wings ripped away from his flesh. Then at his upper backs, two large bones had emerged covered in feathers. 

On that first day he pulled those feathers old with a pair of rusty gardening shears out of fear because he did not know what was happening. A mess of blood, and feathers, and two wings plucked raw, but they grew back. It was when he spread his wings for the first time, that he realized he could not leave the ground. There was nowhere for him to fly. Nowhere he could escape to. 

♘

Hawks always had a feeling that he was lighter than air. That there was not enough of himself to fill up his own body. Birds needed to be that way in order to fly, their bones were hollow, and their lungs took up most of their body mass filling them with air. He had the same feeling, nothing inside of him, deep down to his bones. 

Wherever he walked his feet didn’t touch the ground. He was not flying so much as floating, transparent, hollow, he simply hovered there like a ghost with no substance. It was easy for him to smile, because there was no feeling behind the gesture to him. 

When he was younger he never smiled, he found no reason to, and one day he noticed the adults around him were a bit softer on him if he forced the muscles in his face to pull back his lips. Whatever was inside of him, he was sure it was not a hero. Not like All Might, never like him. He was hair, feathers, talons, scars, and bones. He was all of that, and he was still nothing. He was the blood in his body, but maybe only air flowed through his veins. There were holes in his bones. No, there were holes in Hawks. The air simply passed right through him. He was someone who was simply there. He was there and yet not there. But Hawks used this quality of his. Useless children were like trash piling up in the Takami Household, they were knocked down to the floor, and then they were eventually thrown away. He could smile when he did not feel like smiling. He could always continue to smile, even when there was no reason. He just needed to keep flying. Fly up, up, and up. And forget about crashing down back to earth. 

He just had to keep smiling, even now. That was what he told himself, as Jeanist turned his head back to look at him. “It’s rare for you to come visit me like this.” “How are you feeling?” Hawks, dressed like a model, his hair combed back and feathered, his wings stretching to relax. He took nothing seriously, he never had so much as a heavy thought cross his mind. Burdened by nothing, carefree, that was the “Hawks” that he showed to Jeanist. “Much better than before!” “Didn’t you ask that old lady over at UA for help?” “Unfortunately, she can’t recover something that has already been lost.” 

Hawks knew that already. For example if you sever a limb, an arm, a leg, or maybe your own heart. It’s impossible to recover, the only thing left is the phantom pain from something that is no longer there, and a feeling of missing something. 

Nothing held any weight for him. Not even a human life held that much in his hands. What he was about to do did not show on his face at all, not even a twitch of regret and Hawks wondered for a moment if he could do this and feel nothing if he was someone really worthy of being called a hero. 

Heroes saved other people. Hawks could not save anyone, not even himself. 

“Even with a missing lung, we humans can continue to live. I’ll probably go public with this soon. There are many awaiting my reformation.” “I see!” 

Liar. Humans could not continue to live. They were so fragile. They died so easily. That always weighed on his mind. The more weight he had, the harder it was to fly. When he saw butterflies, all he thought of was their fragility. He could let a butterfly land on his hands, and at any moment, tear both of his wings from his body and rip them to pieces, then scatter them like a flower. The faint beating of a butterfly’s wings. The paper thing wings, the fragile line between life and death, so easily torn up and full of holes. It moved in time with the quiet murmur of his heart. His wings flexed and spread behind his back. 

He always wondered when his feathers grew, why they turned from white to red. His feathers were bleeding, red with streaming blood. His feathers were burning, red as the flames. 

Like a white flower. Spilled blood would dye it red. It would glow red with flames. 

“That’s quite unfortunate.” Hawks wore, a predatory smile, a bird about to devour carrion. He held his sharpened feather in his hand cutting his fingers on the edges. He was killing someone already as good as dead. He felt nothing, but also he felt -fragile.

More scared than the butterfly. His bones were hollow and soon they would shatter like glass. 

He was not flying, not at all. His feet did not touch the ground because he was hanging in suspension. The rope tightened around his neck, but he took a step forward off the chair to fall. The wind whipped him back and forth. All he could do was sway, and hope when this was all over someone would take his body down. He died by slow suffocation. He was free, surrounded entirely by air, and he could not breathe.

Hawks knew, killing Jeanist would be as good as killing himself. In that moment he would die. But, he would not be allowed to die either. Even after sacrificing his life there was more he could sacrifice, more the hero commission could take from him. Hawks thought it was funny, he never thought he had much to begin with, no connection to his name, no nest to roost in, and nothing inside of him but hollow bones and yet somehow the hero commission always took more. Being a hero was all he had. He brought the feather up, and slashed it behind Jeanist’s back, killing him like a coward. But, he could not call himself a hero anymore.

♘

The only piece that matters on the board is the king, the rest are all considered disposable. In shogi a player could still win as long as their king remained. Hawks was a useful knight, even a general, but he was someone who could never become king. A king had worth, and he was damaged goods, recycled and put to use by the hero commission after his parents threw him away. He flew through the air, trying to forget the body he had stuffed in a bag. If Jeanist was still here, if he could hear him, Hawks could only say that whatever happened to him in the end would be far worse. 

He saw this image in his dreams so many times. His feathers burning up in front of him, he watched them combust. They fell away from him like glittering stars. Sparkling, sparkling, sparkling. His wings melted and he realized he could no longer fly. Without wings he would just be a broken thing, a damaged kid. When would it be his turn to fall apart? When would it be his turn to crash back down to earth? It was as inevitable as gravity. 

Then, there was no flying. There was only falling. Maybe he never once flew. Maybe he was just falling slowly. Dabi’s skin is torn up and sewn together from pieces,  and he smiles even though it rips his lip. Hawks wonders if it’s painful for that man to smile too, his eyes linger on the lips as he tihnks of his own. His every smile was a lie. To live here, he needed to breathe lies. “I’m curious why this guy? You could have picked someone lower on the list.” 

Hawks just needs to tell another lie. The Hawks in front of Dabi right now, is someone who sympathizes with the cause of the villains, an unwitting pawn, but also too valuable a piece to throw away. 

He smiles and realizes nothing. He knows nothing. He does not know who his real enemies are. 

“Because he was useless.” 

That was his own voice. “Useless heroes get thrown out.” He heard the sound of his own voice. Why was he... “They’re only worth the results they can produce for the commision.Despite everything he’s done for them, the second he became a burden they would have let him take the fall anyway.” 

Why was he telling the truth? Lie to the villains, deceive the villains, report back to the heroes. The mission was so simple, except for this one complicating factor. A knot in the rope he tied around his neck. Dabi will laugh at him. Just like in front of Endeavor, just like with the hero he killed, he will play it all like one big joke. Dabi is just a murderer. To kill people he must have felt nothing at all.

Just like me.

Hawks feels himself grinding his own teeth when he did not mean to. His mask is cracked, and Dabi was going to see him for what he really was. He was going to die now, burned up in Dabi’s sun. He saw Dabi reach his hand forward and closed his eyes in anticipation. A hand. On his shoulder. Someone holding him, touching him. He was touched and he did not break, even though he was fragile. Heavy, far too heavy. “We don’t do that here.” Dabi said, his fingers clasping, tightening around him. His hands are, so unbelievably warm and birds are cold blooded animals. “Don’t worry so much, you look like the kind of useless guy that’s always worrying.” “No way, you’ve got to have brains to have the headspace to be worrying. I’mlike a chicken with his head cutoff.” “Yeah, whatever.” Dabi said, not believing him. “You’re such a shitty liar.”

♘

He was a bad liar. Those words remained in his head, even after he left Deika city. Back on his home turf, he took up roost in a high place. Whenever Dabi asked him to meet he always picked somewhere up high if he got the choice. So idiots prefer high places, huh? Dabi would mock him. His head was empty now. He wanted to cut his head off and throw it into the sky. Maybe then he would finally become a bird. He was thinking of that, and he was thinking that they sky in front of his eyes seemed endless. But there was nothing to see. He jumped down and wondered what would happen if he did not spread his wings. He would fall, obviously. And then he would splat. But after that he would be free. He just needed to let go and fall. He had been waiting his whole life for the rope to snap.

He was born with wings. He had no idea why. There was nothing in the sky. 

He spread his wings out to catch himself at the last minute, and the people around him clapped and cheered. As he landed on a stop sign, a child asked him. “Hawks-san, what’s it like to be a hero?” “You save other people.” “I bet you can save anyone! I’ve always wanted to be a hero, is it fun? Are you happy?”  His hands. Bright red. Jeanist’s blood. He shoved them in his pockets. “Mm, being a hero is all I ever really wanted -” His mouth moved. He was the one talking. And somebody else’s voice came out. He could not hear his own voice anymore. A lie.  “I’m really happy like this.” You’re such a shitty liar. 

[hokkaidossoul12]

This is another showdown Bandit oc, she has two forms, her normal cute form (the form she has now), and her dark demon form. Her name is Elsie Smith and she is about 5 years old. She doesn't have a weapon but she does have powers, like being able to levitate objects (including objects heavier than her like other puppets or maybe heavy materials), she has two forms (her normal cute five year old form and her dark demon form), she can also put other puppets into a hypnotic spell (www.pinterest.nz/pin/568368415… her eyes are like that but are purple and blue, well...it doesn't work on puppets who don't have eyes), and she also turns puppets in plushies whom she takes a certain interest in (like an animal, cute creature and a cute character in general). She is waaaaaaaaaay too young to be in a relationship, but...she does get along with Mother Dove (she had looked after her since she was a tiny baby) and she also does get along with the grieves and frenzy, she also attached herself to Dorothy (because she looked exactly like a little dog plushy she had grown up with until it was torn to bits by somebody).  She's just taller than Showdown's waist but just under where his chest is.

Backstory: When Elsie was born, she had half demon half puppet parents who didn't want her so they ended up dumping her in the middle of Showdown Valley, she was all wrapped up in a green fluffy blanket with a purple pacifier in her tiny mouth along with a note attached to her. Baby Elsie was left on the ground for a few hours, she was getting hungry and very cold, causing her to cry loudly as her pacifier fell from her mouth and tears dripped down the soft little face. But, it wasn't long before her cries were heard. A young dove lady in her mid 20's walked through the area, she was searching for where the cries had come from, then...she finally found her. "o-oh my goodness!" the dove exclaimed, rushing over to baby Elsie and going down on her knees, she gently put her feathery arm around the small baby and cradled baby Elsie, her warm feathers bringing comfort to the small baby as her cries turned to soft hiccups and a few tears to drip down her soft cheeks, "shh...shh, little one..., you'll be safe with me" the young dove's voice was soft and loving as she held baby Elsie like she was a treasure to the world. Elsie eyes looked up at the dove lady, a happy little sound came from the small baby as a soft smile slowly formed on Elsie's little face. After a few seconds, the dove lady had stood up with Elsie in her arms before walking back to her home, making sure she had a nice gently hold on baby Elsie as to not drop her. It was when the young dove got home that she noticed the note attached to Elsie, she took the not off of her, holding Elsie gently she read the note which stated...

        To anyone who finds this baby girl,

Her name is Elsie Smith, she is about a week old, this little baby needs a caregiver to look after her, please don't try returning her, we don't want this baby, but...we'd rather have somebody looking after her.

                       Thank you. A year or so passed (Elsie would be about three years old) and since the young dove found Elsie she had treated little Elsie like her own daughter, she fed her, bathed her and dressed her into comfortable clothing, soon...Elsie had learned how to say a few small words but...not really full sentences of words. It was somewhat hard to young Elsie to say her words clearly, but... two words that were easy to hear was "Mother Dove", being the first two words she knew (and because mother dove was the dove who was looking after her). One day, Elsie had seen Mother Dove making something, she had no idea what it was at first until the young dove had finished it, it was a plushy. Mother Dove then bent down to Elsie's level, giving her the small plushy, little Elsie looked up the young dove. "What...dis?" little Elsie asked, tilting her head to the side, the young dove smile and put her hands together, "it's a little dog plushy, I made her just for you", little Elsie looked down the plushy, she smiled and giggled, " I...wove...I....wove!" Elsie whooped as cuddled the dog plushy. Everywhere and anywhere little Elsie went she'd always carry her small plushy around, she grew extremely attached to the dog plushy and wouldn't let anyone take her(the dog plushy) away from her, even eating and sleeping with the little plushy in her hand. But, one day, little Elsie was out with Mother Dove when they encountered a bandit who had got them cornered, with the bandit trying to rob them of their belongings. They only thing the two of them had on them was Elsie's little dog plushy to which the bandit tore at poor Elsie's arm for, little Elsie cried and tried to grab for her plush but... the bandit just laughed and tore the plushy to bits, she(the plushy) was then thrown to the ground, stuffing and fabric going everywhere. Elsie's eyes widened, she dropped to the ground and let out a loud high-pitched shriek, causing the whole area to echo and the bandit to cover his ears. Then...something completely snapped inside Elsie and suddenly...her eyes went completely black before they formed into purple and blue spirals, she quickly stared up at the bandit who had looked eyes with her, the minute the bandit did they were put in some hypnotic spell as Elsie suddenly had full control over the bandit. Little Elsie then forced the bandit to face a wall before making him do something that horrified Mother Dove, the bandit smashed his head against the wall harshly, over and over and over, then...after one finally blow with the bandit's head and they're head split open like an egg, blood gushed from the bandit's head as they dropped to the ground, it killed them instantly as Elsie wasn't able to control them anymore. A couple years went by since what had happened (Elsie is about five years old), Elsie had become miserable from losing her little dog plushy, Mother Dove did try making her a new one but...it wasn't the same as the first dog plushy she had and ended up giving it back to the young dove as she didn't want it. But, that all changed when Dorothy came to the valley, after Dorothy met Mother Dove she was introduced to Elsie, Elsie took one long look at Dorothy, her eyes glimmered, it was like the dog plushy she loved but was made into a puppet-sized version of her(the plushy), and suddenly...Elsie clung to Dorothy, hugging and cuddling her and wouldn't let go. Mother Dove had realized this and explained to Dorothy why she grew so attached to Dorothy, her fluffy ears peaked up and she smiled down at Elsie. It was when Dorothy was about to leave that...Elsie wasn't happy, Elsie tried dragging Dorothy back, desperate for her not to leave, but Mother Dove had pulled Elsie away, Dorothy then promised Elsie she'd come back to visit soon, even pinky promised with Elsie, which meant Dorothy wouldn't dare break her promise, then...Dorothy went out the door. Then, every once in a while Dorothy would visit Mother Dove to see Elsie, but...that was when Dorothy had started looking after Cashmere who was also very clingy with her, this caused a big jealousy with both Cashmere and Elsie of who gets Dorothy's attention, causing them to completely hate each other and get into fights all the time. But..., once that started there was a whole change in Elsie's behavior, if Dorothy was with Cashmere she'd constantly stalk Dorothy and try to take every opportunity to take Dorothy back with her, then...Elsie thought of something that would mean Dorothy would be with her forever, turning Dorothy into a plushy for herself..., she hasn't been able to do it yet but...one day...she would finally do it and make Dorothy hers and hers only.  

She likes: Collecting animal plushies (especially dog, cat, pony and rabbit plushies), wearing cute dresses, sweets and sweet foods, playing with children's toys, getting lots of attention from certain puppets, staying around Mother Dove and Dorothy, and lurking around where Dorothy is.

She Dislikes: Cashmere (he and her hate each other), Getting all the attention taken away from her (like if there is another little kid who tries getting all the attention), her plushies getting ripped or tore apart, when Dorothy or Mother Dove gets hurt, puppets who are mean to her and when something doesn't go her way.

[bang-to-the-tan]

Vessel Euphoria Chapter 4

► SciFi!AU

Thriller

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mind Control, Upsetting Themes Throughout, Alien Parasitism

↳ Summary: 6 months ago, the crew of the space vessel “Euphoria”—destined for a scientific study on a distant planet—dropped out of all communication. You and your fellow crewmates are inbound to reestablish communication with home base, but things are not as they seem and the fate of the mission is placed in grave danger.

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It’s always exciting to step onto an alien planet. Always something new, to feel the local gravity pull at your knees, urge you closer. To watch alien moons and suns dance in strangely-colored skies. As you pull on the suit, zipping it up, sealing yourself away from this world and all its intentions, you can’t help but wonder what its personality will be like. What will it say to you?

The exit lights flash, the door behind you sealing the room for a spray of decontamination, depressurizing, the robotic voice overhead warning of the door to the outside opening. Your stomach always lurches when it hisses, detaches, begins to lower. Something inside you is never unsurprised. You’re never left unexcited by the possibilities.

Slowly, Orul-82’s horizon is bared to you past the metal doorway of the ship. The sky is yellow, tinged for the miniature suns it orbits, soon to reach its version of twilight. It casts rich light and deep shadows, bathing everything you see in warmth. The ground beneath is flat, reaching miles, so many miles, into the distance past the secondary tower that shines, looms ahead like a child’s toy placed among posies. Those red flowers are everywhere, waving in the breeze that you can’t feel past the suit, burnt away near you, shriveled by whatever it is that attacked them. This close, you can see the green roots beginning to sprout up from where they’ve died. Orul, taking back her surface from the invaders. From you.

“Come on,” says Jimin through the radio inside his helmet. “I want to be back before dark.”

You bite back a quip, still riding the adrenaline, the euphoria, of being so close to something so foreign. It’s not his fault that this is your favorite part.

When your boot makes contact with the soil--firm, but moist, almost spongy--a shiver runs through your frame and you can’t repress the grin that curls your mouth upwards. Jimin obviously is less interested in greeting this new planet, already making a direct line for the entrance to the secondary tower.

“These flowers are huge,” you settle for instead, absently reaching out as you walk to caress a nearby petal from an adolescent plant that even in its youth still reaches your waist. “I wonder what feeds them.”

“Don’t fuck with the flowers,” your compatriot bites, pulling up to the door and beginning to key in the passcode. “Or have you forgotten what happened on DW?”

“That was not my fault.” You step up beside him, casting a glance around the front of the base. It all looks secure, there’s no pieces missing, no outward damage. Seems good. “How was I supposed to know the rats could open their jaws like that?”

Jimin turns to you, eyes wide, head cocked. “By not fucking with the local wildlife.”

“It was cute.”

“Before it tried to eat us.”

“Operative word being tried.”

 “Door 1A, opening.” The robotic voice overhead interrupts. Inside is another chamber like the one on the ship, lights flashing. The two of you step inside, still arguing. You sidle up to the small window to the inside, eager to get a first look, but it’s too dark to see much of anything. Main power supply must be off, though tertiary is still running, judging by a lamp you can see from here that’s been thrown onto the ground. There’s papers scattered on the floor in front of it and the shadows of some furniture in the back.

“Which is why we need weapons.”

“We needed them for DW because there were snake-wolves that roamed the base at night, Jimin.”

“Door 1A, closing.”

“How do you know there’s no snake-wolves on Orul?”

“The scans?”

“Bay 1, beginning decontamination process.”

“Scans can be wrong. Just look at Yoongi.”

You turn away from the peephole at his tone. Jimin is frowning at the ground, nose scrunching. The spray nozzles hiss above him, making him look vaguely like some tortured protagonist in a romance movie with the droplets running down his visor. The sanitization fluid evaporates quickly, leaving behind faint streaks. Like second nature, your arm reaches out to grip his arm, sending him a gentle grin when he finally, stubbornly, meets your eye.

“He’s fine. Jung isn’t going to send him home, he’s just gonna sleep off his bruises and then everything’ll be back to normal. Don’t—“

“Door 1B, opening.”

His attention is pulled from you to the door sliding open behind you. His eyes widen in shock, mouth going agape.

“Uh.” He interrupts, leaning to crane a little ways past you.

You spin around just in time to watch a table topple from its position atop a stack revealed by the door opening, tumbling to the ground with a deafening clatter just a foot away. It’s a veritable pyramid, built up of chairs and tables and lamps, research equipment. There’s an unplugged mini fridge on the bottom and a waste basket holding up a wheely chair. Some of it shudders and collapses as you stare, incredulous, throwing random parts in every direction.

After reassuring yourself that none of it will fall onto you, recollecting your heartbeat, you step forward, tailed closely by Jimin, who’s expression is just as confused as yours must be.

“A barricade?” you ask after a second of silence.

“From the inside. Not to keep someone in.”

“To keep someone out…?”

The papers in front of the lamp catch your eye next, now unobscured by the protective glass of the tiny window, and you’re shocked to realize they’re drawings. You move to pick one up, fumbling with it a little for how thick the suit makes your fingers. It’s a complaint sheet. Or at least, it was. Someone has written all over it, drawn all over it. Red marker, black, green…A portrait of a face that you almost recognize with all the artistic care put into the rendition, but it’s been violently scribbled over. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Written again and again, squeezed into margins. The edges are half-torn, as if someone had a mind to rip the whole thing apart, and couldn’t go through with it.

The whirr of the generators powering up makes you jump and you cast a surprised look about the room when the overhead lights flicker and groan, finally illuminating the entire opening area.

It’s a mess.

Someone has really done a number on the place. You can’t imagine there’s much furniture left in the entire base. Most of it is stacked up behind you, presumably against the door, but there’s also what you could only describe as a makeshift lean-to in the corner, covered with ripped-up seat cushions. There’s a small pile of something, burnt black, that smolders in front of it. Table and chair legs litter the floor, papers, everywhere. Cans, of what you can positively identify as the flash-frozen food left over from a space voyage. Empty. Stacked, some, thrown about the place. Paint, the bright red intended for landmarks, splashes violently up one side of the wall, a clear handprint dragging through it as if clawing in desperation.

 “What the fuck,” you hiss, taking it all in.

“Shh.” Jimin’s voice comes through your remote radio, making you jump again. He appears beside you, body angled protectively towards you, staring at the lean-to. It must have been him who flipped the main power. He cocks his head at you, then back to the corner, miming a finger against his lips as best he can. It takes a moment, but you finally get what he’s thinking. It’s still smoking.

Whoever tore the base to pieces is still here. Was right here. Recently.

Jimin starts moving first, his footsteps silent, avoiding the trash all over the floor. He glides towards the far door leading into the hallway, eyes sharp. You can taste your heartbeat as you follow. It’s quiet, too quiet, muffled by the walls and further by the suit, and even so you’re straining for anything, any sound, any movement. The door ahead should open into a hallway that in turn leads to the maintenance room, stock room, and finally the tower control. You’ve seen the blueprints. Even though the hallway illuminated through the port window on the door seems average, long and narrow, emptying into a four-way intersection, you can’t help the sense of foreboding coiling in your stomach.

The two of you reach the door, and Jimin immediately ducks to avoid the porthole. You follow suit on instinct. His arm rises, signaling you to stay put and you stop in your tracks, holding your breath. He steps forward. Triggerd by motion sensors, the door hisses open, sliding soundlessly into the wall. Nothing. The hallway peers back brightly, but still you don’t move. The blood rushing in your head is deafening. Your companion hesitates, then begins creeping again, slowly straightening into an upright walk. Somehow, he manages to make no noise at all, even wearing the suit. You watch him. He walks forward, slowing when he reaches the intersection and craning his head to the right, down the adjoining hallway.

The door in front of you hisses warningly, beginning to glide shut again.

 Movement, ahead, a dark shape from the left darting with a feral war cry that cuts off when it makes contact, catching Jimin in a tackle, and they both fly down the right hallway with the impact, Jimin shouting in answer.

You’re moving before you can think. The door tries to accommodate you as you suddenly burst through it, but you catch your shoulders, your legs, struggling to dislodge enough to reach your teammate, taking the length of the hallway in what feels like two strides, skittering at the end to try and redirect, slamming yourself into the wall. You’re already changing position, shifting gears, towards where they’d disappeared.

It’s a man, with black hair so long and shaggy it hides his face. Wearing a black jumpsuit intended for mechanic work that has definitely seen better days. He’s straddling Jimin, long hands straining to curl around his throat, his breath puffing through his teeth with exertion. Jimin’s helmet has been knocked off, laying now by the hallway north. Instinctively, you’re stepping forward, intending to throw yourself at the new threat, but in a swift movement, Jimin locks his leg around the stranger, throwing him to the side violently and rolling on top. He rears back before you can get any closer and slams his fist into the other man’s jaw, snapping his head back into the floor with a sick sound.

“Jimin!” You’re flying to his side, wrapping your arm around his chest, trying to heave him off, watching cautiously as the stranger makes a choked noise of pain, scrabbling upwards. After a moment, Jimin finally relents, standing with you, allowing you to pull him back, seething through his teeth and breathing hard.

“Fucker,” he spits, threatening to lunge again, but you jerk him towards you instead, eyes trained on the other man as he finally gets on shaking legs and stumbles down the hall a short ways before nearly tripping and whirling around, leaning against the wall for support. He digs into his pocket and retrieves a taser, pointing it at the two of you with an unsteady hand. His eyes are wild beneath the straggling strands of hair, breathing harder even than Jimin, chest heaving in panic.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” Jimin shouts again, but you pull him behind yourself, casting him a quick glance.

“Calm down,” you begin, placating. “Okay, nobody here wants to hurt anyone else.”

“Tell that to fuckin’ samurai ninja asshole over there,” Jimin snaps, drawing his arm underneath his nose. He checks the back of his head where he must have landed on it, wincing.

“He’s not an asshole, we startled him,” you correct, looking to the other man. Making sure you move deliberately, slowly, you remove your own helmet, setting it gently on the ground. When you start walking slowly towards him, he jerks, retraining the taser to point more directly at you. “Right?”

“I’m fucking bleeding, the asshole.”

The stranger shifts again when you pass the six foot line, his free hand feeling behind himself at the wall, body weight moving as if tempted to throw himself down that hallway, away from you. His eyes are painfully wide. They’re almost pretty, soft chocolatey doe eyes, but ringed with red and sunken in from too many sleepless nights.

“I’m the communications technician from the vessel Epiphany.” You say calmly, enunciating clearly. “This is Jimin, he’s our navigations tech. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his eyes twitch from you to Jimin, then back. Good, he’s listening. Not in any shape to retain, perhaps, but aware enough to reason with.

“We’re looking for the crew members of the vessel Euphoria. Is that you?”

“Eu-euphoria.” The man mumbles, a hollow echo. His brows pull together in confusion, searching your face desperately.

“Is that you?” you repeat, looking to the nametag sewn into his suit. Your heart sinks. “…Jungkook?”

It’s him. Suddenly, you recognize that face, as bedraggled, wild as it is. You’ve seen him countless times. Clean, happy. His soft voice, lisping occasionally through his maintenance logs when he’s deep in thought. Running those long fingers through jet hair nervously. Spinning, swiveling in his chair as he mumbles shyly through lists of things he’s accomplished as if they weren’t anything to be proud of. The youngest mechanic to go straight from the academy into a mission. Jeon Jungkook. The “golden boy”—rumored to have aced every class no matter the subject. Panting like a wild animal in front of you, cowering in a half-crouch, every limb shaking, staring at you he’s never heard his name before.

Jungkook gapes openly, as though about to speak, but whatever leagues and leagues of emotion are threatening to spill out from his eyes are so unspeakable he only trembles. You take another step and again he thrusts the taser at you, but now he’s unsure of his own actions; there’s a delay between your foot meeting ground and his arm moving.

“Jungkook, we both know,” you begin again, voice low, meeting his gaze patiently. “Both of us know, that the lack of a light on that thing means it doesn’t work anymore. Right?”

He looks from you to the device in his hand. It hasn’t been recharged; the light that usually shines green for good and red for low is completely dark. As he stares, trying so hard to comprehend, it slips from his fingers and to the ground, clattering, bouncing to land by you.

You kick it away with a subtle motion, down the hallway to your left. His arm falls limply to his side, and he continues to watch the space where it was with an empty expression.

“And you don’t want to hurt us, right? We don’t want to hurt you. We want to help.”

“Don’t get too close.” Jimin warns bitterly from behind you. “He might jump you.”

“It’s okay.” You reply, soothing. You pull off one of your gloves, baring your skin to him in a show of being unarmed. You reach with your hand palm-out, when Jungkook flinches at Jimin’s voice. “It’s okay. Jungkook isn’t going to hurt me.”

You’re close enough now that you can smell him. It’s not pleasant. The last time he bathed must be a distant memory. It’s taking a lot of self-control not to make a childish face of disgust at the strong scent of body odor.

You hold your hand out closer, twisting so that your palm is up, moving at a snail’s pace. Something sparks in Jungkook’s expression, some familiarity, and it breaks a dam inside of him. Suddenly, there are tears spilling from his eyes, coasting down his cheeks, forcing his breath into shuddering intakes. He raises his own hand, as though afraid, bewitched, and slowly stretches his fingers to your palm. He doesn’t take your hand. Instead, he trails his fingertips across your palm, the meat of your thumb, the inside of your wrist, watching mesmerized as he cries.

“You’re real,” he croaks, sniffles, choking into a sob. “You’re real.”

“I’m real.” You affirm. “It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook.”

“You’re really here.” His long fingers curl easily over your hand, catching your wrist. You can hear Jimin bristle, but you raise your other arm slightly, enough to stay him. Jungkook isn’t even holding you tightly, just enough to feel the solidness of you. He’s clammy, but feverish against your skin.

“I am.”

“I—I’m…“ he chokes again, brows pulling forward, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m sorry.” He suddenly, violently, retracts, sinking to the ground, still leaning his weight against the wall, curling in on himself until he has his knees pulled in front of his face, his hands shaking against his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He starts babbling apologies under his breath, hiding his face.

“Okay. It’s okay.” You reassure, taking a deep breath. That’ll be all you can get out of him for now, you think. You straighten, turning to Jimin. “We’re going to get him into quarantine, and then we’ll see if there’s anyone else up here.”

“You think they’re all holed up here…?”

“Not really. There’s no reason for him to react like that if there were other people up here. Plus, there was only the one hut.” You cast another glance at Jungkook, but he’s clearly busy.

Jimin pauses. “…You mean we’re looking for corpses.” He says finally, hollow.

Your stomach flips and you swallow hard past the lump that forms in your throat. “It’s a possibility.”

“If you stay here, I’ll check the other rooms.”

“You don’t—“

“It’s okay. You stay with him.” Jimin reaches forward, catches your forearm in a comforting grip, just like you’d done earlier. When your eyes meet, you can feel the reassurance he’s trying to offer. “I’ll…I’ll go look. Just really quick.”

You hesitate. Exhaustion, the aftermath of the adrenaline, sinks warningly into your limbs and you suddenly feel so tired. After a beat, you nod. Jungkook doesn’t move, not even when Jimin jogs past him, headed down to the tower control. He’s back within a few minutes, nodding his head, casting a quick, almost warning look down at your new companion.

“Clear.” He says, turning down to the stock room.

“Roger.” You return. You keep an eye on Jungkook, but he’s lost in whatever’s going on in his head. What could have even happened to him? It’s been half a year since communications cut out—there’s no feasible way that whatever happened here isn’t connected to the radio silence. If Jungkook’s here, then are the rest at the main tower? Your stomach flips again and you pray that Jimin doesn’t find anything of note. You aren’t ready to consider what it means if he finds bodies.

You’re so caught up thinking that you jolt a little when he jogs past you for a second time, shaking his head.

“Clear. One more.”

“One more, hurry it up,” you urge. “This kid needs fed. And a bath.”

He doesn’t try to snap back with anything witty. Surely it’s impossible to be mad at something so obviously pitiful. It probably took everything Jungkook had to tackle him like that anyways. A single burst of terrified adrenaline. You doubt there’s any malice in him to begin with.

“That sound good, Jungkook?”

No answer.

“Get you washed up, some food in you? Nice and safe on the Epiphany?”

He only shakes, whispering hoarse apologies as if it could dispel the very shadows in the hallway with the vehemence of his prayer.

“No bodies,” Jimin pulls back up, stopping, hands going to his thighs. In this hallway, his voice feels oddly loud, taking up space otherwise occupied only by Jungkook’s muttering. He catches his breath, inhaling deeply, and you realize he has something in one hand, a strap wrapped about his palm, cradling something dark. “No bodies, no more huts. He’s left the rest of the rooms alone for the most part, except for the furniture. Look what I found instead, plugged into a screen in maintenance.”

“It’s a camera,” you pipe up, automatic. Confusion sinks in immediately after the words leave your mouth. Why would Jimin—

“Biology grade.”

Ah.

“The acquisition that Kim Taehyung put in just before touchdown.” You blink at it as Jimin nods, handing it over to you. He sniffs once, drawing his forearm under his nose again and gesturing at it as you look it over curiously. It’s in good condition, strangely enough. Fully charged, screen uncracked, no scuffs or scratches, even. You tuck it into your chest, feeling strangely hopeful at this fragile little object.

“The tower being down doesn’t mean they stopped recording—it just means that it stopped broadcasting.”

“You think maybe this’ll have something important on it?”

“A fight, maybe.” He nods again, straightening. Suddenly he twitches forward, but you register the feeling of a hand brushing your arm before he has the chance to react. You turn, holding your free arm out as a brace towards Jimin, looking at Jungkook again. He’s stood up now, on shaking legs, brow furrowed, eyes laser focused on the camera as if it were the center of his universe.

“N-no.” he says quietly. His hands inch forward, hesitant to touch you but persistent in some unspoken need.

“The camera?” you prompt, surprised. “Is it the camera?”

He nods, sniffs, sending raggedy hair flying. Briefly he meets your eyes with his own, red, puffy ones. Your heart shatters and you repress the desire to cry with him.

“Okay. Okay, Jungkook. I’ll give it back.”

He nods. Licks his painfully chapped lips as though nervous.

“But you have to come with us.”

His face contorts, knees buckling for a moment before he catches himself on the wall.

“No,” he mumbles. He’s oddly firm of tone with that one—perhaps there’s some fight left in him. Maybe the camera can solve more than one mystery after all.

“That’s the deal, okay? We leave here, we take you on board, and I’ll give it back. Okay?”

“N-no, no.” His chest starts heaving. His fingers are shaky where they’re clutching the camera strap. He’s more than capable of physically taking it from you, you’re sure. If you had to guess, you’d say he doesn’t want to risk harming it. He’s taken care of it all this time. Slow, deliberate, you slip your own fingers over his. Initially, he flinches at the contact, but eases into a mindless stare after a beat, eyes still fixed on the device.

“I promise. I promise it’s safe. We’ll go as slow as you need.”

He doesn’t reply.

But when you take a testing step forward, he hobbles quickly after you, scuffing his bare feet like a toddler chasing a promised sweet, swaying to a halt when you do, still sniffling intermittently.

“What do you think Hoseok’ll have to say about him?” Jimin asks quietly.

“I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it. Can you find him a suit?...And maybe call Hoseok while you’re at it—I feel like this is going to take a while.”  

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