#but i will not stoop so low as to save an image of that man’s face

[skatiet]

[scuttlingcrab]

The Great Hunt

An Absolute Waste of Time

Summary: Raphael is MAD. So full of rage and malice he is about to burn down the entire Sword Coast before the Mind Flayers even arrive. What could possibly get the Devil's knickers in such a twist? Tav, oh that cheeky little mouse, sold the Orphic Hammer. And for what? Gold, of all things.

In this second instalment, Raphael tears through Baldur's Gate, from the Circus of the Last days to the Blushing Mermaid, trying to locate it.

He has never stooped so low…

Check out PART 01: In Search of a Hammer here!

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

The Devil stood in an alleyway across from the Beehive General Goods, feasting his eyes on the flames as they devoured that worthless shop whole. The building was destroyed faster than thought, leaving nothing left but a lump of charred scraps. That didn’t stop a throng of mortals from gathering; just like maggots infesting a corpse, they quickly exchanged gossip in a hushed buzz, chewing over theories as to what could’ve possibly caused such a tragedy. 

Muffled squeaks came from below Raphael, the noise grating against his ears. He gazed towards the sound, sending a stabbing look at the creature responsible for creating such an annoying racket. A large rat was confined in a jar, frantically clawing its glass prison in an attempt to escape. Raphael’s smile held a touch of mockery as he picked it up, rocking it only just to cause the rat to fall over. 

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, my dear Oliver.” Raphael whispered, bringing the glass closer to his mouth. He hissed at the rat, briefly showcasing his Devilish fangs before concealing them again. “The next time someone calls upon you, asking for a particular item, it would be in your best interest to show them the utmost respect. That is, if you’ll ever be fortunate enough to walk this earth on two legs again.”

The rat’s beady eyes widened as it recoiled, finding no means of escaping Raphael’s scathing glare. Instead the creature screeched in terror and began running around in circles. Pathetic. Raphael halfheartedly discarded the jar, throwing it over his shoulder as he walked deeper into the alley, further removing himself from the growing chaos in the streets. 

As cathartic as it was admiring his work, and torturing that insufferable shop owner, it would get him nowhere. Time waits for no man, or Devil, and Raphael had to act quickly if he was ever going to succeed in his plights to unite the Hells. 

Raphael nearly shattered Oliver Tefoco’s soul into a million pieces, threatening to simmer his corpse in a cauldron and make jam of his remains. He would sooner have fed that to a stray dog than let his tongue touch such filth, but Oliver was none the wiser. All this effort just to extract what was needed from that worthless creature. The whereabouts of the Orphic Hammer. He got his answer, eventually. These maddening mortals would be the death of him, they had no ounce of intellect, no common sense, throwing around an item as valuable as the Hammer like it was yesterday’s trash.  

The Devil stopped abruptly, resting his hand against his hip. His chest tightened, his breathing growing more erratic as his heart began to convulse. No. His fingers burned, the tips pulsing red, on the verge of erupting into Hellfire at any moment.

Raphael needed to restrain his temper. After all, he was saving it for one person in particular, the very mortal who deserved all his wrath, and all the pain and suffering that would soon come raining down upon them. Tav. The sole fool responsible for these recent inconveniences and his current rampage through Baldur’s Gate. If they hadn’t so gleefully sold the Orphic Hammer for gold, Raphael would be sitting comfortably in his best silks, sampling his most decadent wines, and waiting for the final battle to begin. It’s that same little shit who had somehow lodged themselves straight into his head, becoming his very own parasite. Any other unfortunate mortals who just so happened to get caught in his fiery rage were merely collateral. They could all burn, turn to ash, for all he cared. He wouldn’t stop until he had the Hammer and his Crown.

Snap!

A fiery gateway appeared before him and he stomped through towards his next destination: The Circus of the Last Days. 

--

Popper the Kobold was having the very best day of his entire life. Well, maybe that wasn’t true, he’s had plenty of good days, he could count them all on one hand. Wait, no both hands. He was sure he had more good days than this. To be honest, he couldn’t remember much of what happened yesterday. He was too focused on the juicy prize in front of him as he dragged a fresh corpse through the Circus of the Last Days, leaving a trail of blood behind him. 

He just couldn’t believe his luck, like earlier, buying that hammer for practically nothing! His very first hammer too! What a deal. It was the biggest, prettiest hammer he had ever seen, the top reminded him of blood, tasty blood, that’s why he liked it so much. And it sparkled like a diamond. He was really looking forward to smashing things with it, lots of different things, but then he found that corpse. Oh, yes. Nothing was better than a fresh body stuffed with loot. He practically skipped all the way back to the Circus as he hauled it, so chuffed with his little ol’ self for making such a swap. Probably his bestest swap ever! 

Popper swatted away all the nasty looks from the humans as he pushed through the crowd at the Circus’ entrance. They all stared at him like they knew the dead person he was holding. He even made a few of those smaller, weaker humans cry and run away, but he paid them no mind. Maybe they’ve never seen such a delicious snack before. Maybe they were jealous… that’s right, jealous! He better get straight to business then, the sooner he could pull that body apart, the faster he’d be left alone. It would be no good, absolutely no good, if Lucretious noticed he brought another corpse to the Circus. They’d steal it, just like the others! And experiment on it with their dirty magic. This was his corpse! His! He’d show them!

The Kobold finally reached his tent and threw the corpse in the centre of his living space, quickly scurrying to a large crate stuffed in the back, near the privies. He dug through the crate, packed with all his very favourite toys, pulling out random scissors, broken knives, and even a few odd bits of monster parts, things he definitely forgot were in there… until he finally found it: a large rusted cleaver. It was covered in a thick layer of grime. It had seen lots and lots of bodies, yes it had!

“This is most perfect!” Popper explained, to nobody but himself.

Whack, whack, thump, whack. 

He immediately began slicing at the corpse, hacking off limbs in no particular order or with any care, licking his lips as he pulled apart an arm and ripped up a leg. Before long, he got himself into a rhythm, chopping faster as his stomach growled with excitement. Oh, the treatos he would have!

Popper was nearly finished too, until he stopped, unexpectedly distracted. He scrunched his snout, tilting his head up high as he smelled the air around him. He stuck his tongue out, licking the air like it was an icy treat. Something smelled like burning and tasted rotten, like the Hells. 

Screaming came from the crowd near the stage as Popper watched a thick coat of smoke rise into the air like a huge balloon.

“Maybe they’s be adding some new magics? Or… they’s really be loving Dribbles’ new replacement?” Popper whispered, nodding to himself. He was ready to start again, but he noticed something else, something weird coming towards him.

A tall man, dressed real fancy like, definitely not in normal people's clothes, pushed through the other humans; not even saying ‘scuse me as he did so. The ground at his feet turned black as he came towards him. Oh, this man was mad. His face was all scrunched up, his mouth curling in all sorts of directions. Maybe he ate something that didn’t agree with him? But the oddest thing of all, this man was staring directly at Popper! Giving him a creepy look, meaner than anything he’d ever seen, even from Lucretius. 

“You!” The man shouted, his voice shot through the air like an arrow, making Popper drop his cleaver. 

“Y-you come for me? You must be wanting my treatos!” 

The man was very tall, casting a long shadow over Popper. The Kobold nearly fell over looking up at him. 

“Oooh! You is casting some real fancy magics.” Popper pointed at the ground as flames appeared at the man’s feet, like he was standing in the middle of a campfire. “You is the most perfects human for the stage, sirs, has you—“

“Treato…?” The man began, his face getting more twisted, just like the roots of a tree. Actually, the more Popper stared at the man, the more he realised his eyes were the scariest, most terrifying things he had ever seen. There was definitely fire in those black eyes.

“Uh… yes? Duh! Treatos. I have lots. Is that not why you’s are here? Popper only has the bestest treatos, yes sirs. And magics. If you has any—“

“If I cracked open your skull…” the man continued, “what would I find inside? Hmm? Oh, I know. There would be no brain, that’s for certain. If there was anything, I would imagine it to be the size of a grain of rice. Undetectable to even the most skilled physicians.”

“Yous what? Take your fancy smelly clothes and eat shit, you human bastard! I has the biggest brain and I is…”

Popper had a poor temper. He always got in a lot of trouble for snapping at customers if they said certain things to him. Once or twice, well maybe more than that, he bit someone’s hand clean off. And another time, he nibbled at an elf's toes. All because they said his treatos were mouldy! Nobody makes fun of Popper. Their toes didn’t taste any better. He hasn’t done that for a while though. Lucretious would fire him right out. And he needed this job. But boy, did Popper want to bite this man. Real good. 

The man pointed his long fingers at Popper and he noticed the man’s skin was red, just like his, and he had long black fingernails. All of a sudden, Popper wasn’t very hungry anymore. 

“You will cease this stupidity at once.” The man’s voice was low, as if a growl. “I have wasted enough time already. So we will cut to the chase. Heed carefully what I say, you flaming imbecile. And you will answer me plainly. Else I will take you far away from here and slowly pick your worthless body apart, scale by scale, until nothing remains.”

Popper gulped, his tail curling between his legs. The only thing he could do was nod back at this man, who really wasn’t much of a man, the more Popper thought about it. 

“Good.” The man said, placing his hands on his hips. “Where is my hammer? I know you have it. I spent the last hour torturing a man only for him to cry out your name repeatedly.” There was a long pause as Popper stared up at the man, unsure what to say, confused as to why this man would be torturing anyone, let alone looking for a hammer. “Do I need to spell it out? Perhaps I need to use a simpler language for the likes of you.” 

The man leaned down, within inches of Popper’s face.

“Oh… Oh!” Popper raised his finger in the air as he just realised something. “I in fact, once had a hammer. But not for very long, you sees, it just so happens…” 

Popper continued to tell the man how he came to find the hammer, the one matching his exact description, which Popper found very funny. What were the odds! But he stopped laughing when the man glared at him again, showing some sharp teeth when he grinned. Which wasn’t very gentlemanly. 

At that moment, the Kobold wished he still had that hammer. So this man could go away and he could go back to doing other stuff. Like thinking about what he was going to eat for supper. Actually, the more Popper thought about it… that corpse probably wasn’t worth it. This was turning out to be too much trouble. Maybe it wasn’t his lucky day after all. He even found himself wanting to apologise for all the times he ever wished terrible things on Lucretius. 

They weren’t so bad. Or scary.

Not at all. 

--

Raphael despised the Circus of the Last Days. It was a vile place. Absolutely vile, the lot of it. He couldn’t fathom these mortal buffoons parading around and calling themselves enterainters. And the worst part of all? The clowns. They were a mockery of the stage and its true purpose. There was no art in what they claimed to achieve. He hoped a few of them might perish in the day’s ahead. And by no means a quick death either. Something excruciatingly slow and agonising. Like roasting their bodies over a spit of Hellfire, a thousand times over.

These raging thoughts grew bloodier, more gruesome as he moved on, going from one location to the next. He was certain his heart could sink no further, but he was quickly mistaken as his search for the Orphic Hammer proved to be never-ending. Somehow, the damned thing kept evading him, always missing it by mere moments as it was handed on to the next moron who decided to gamble with their fate. Raphael’s anxiety grew worse, wrapping around him like the tendrils of a Mind Flayer; squeezing his limbs, crawling up his neck as he progressively found it harder to breathe, to concentrate. 

Of course Raphael had no issues getting what he wanted from Popper. But that itself came at a cost. Raphael had received too much information, practically hearing that creature’s entire life story. No detail was spared. It would forever be ingrained in Raphael’s memory, the monotony, the stupidity, of it all. 

In the end, Popper had met a band of mercenaries and traded the Hammer for a corpse. A putrid corpse. Raphael eventually tracked them down, the group lurking about some caves near the Lower City like a bunch of thieves. But did they have the Hammer? Of. Course. Not. It couldn’t have been that easy. They had lost it. Naturally. In the sewers, of all places, abandoning it after they came across some wizard. Or so they said. He was very much looking forward to meeting this ‘supposed’ wizard. Before Raphael left the mercenaries to their business, he viciously snapped his fingers, causing all their precious loot to melt away at their fingertips. The ones who had it on hand screamed in agony as the gold, the necklaces, even some of their armour and swords, merged with their flesh. Served them right.

“Bah!” Raphael screamed, his voice echoing off the slimy sewer walls. When the sound faded, the only thing he could hear was the continuous dripping of water as it leaked from the decaying ceilings above him. 

Raphael was lost, wandering the sewer system beneath Baldur’s Gate for what felt like days, years even. His boots were soiled, completely ruined. He was covered in filth up to his knees as he trudged through the cesspool. He would certainly be burning this entire outfit when he was through. No spell or potion would be able to cause these rancid smells to disappear. A shame, really. This was one of his favourite doublets. 

As he manoeuvred his way through the snaking, narrow pipes, he made a mental note to revise Tav’s current contract; adding in an additional clause, or perhaps two, for every minute he spent searching for the Hammer, and for the ruination of his wardrobe. 

The stench of the sewers progressively worsened as Raphal entered a large chamber, the excrement somehow smelling more bitter. He took a step forward and nearly slipped, holding onto the crate next to him to avoid falling face first in the muck. He looked down, only to discover he was stepping in grease. 

“I will wring their sorry, little, pathetic neck!” Raphael cursed, steadying himself as he began to take careful, calculated steps through the rest of the chamber.

“What’s this cousin?” A squeaky voice spoke as a Drow appeared from behind a corner, revealing themselves rather flamboyantly. He was dripping in the same greasy substance that covered the floor, and surrounded by what seemed like an army of grease elementals and mephits. 

The Drow pointed at Raphael, “Ah! It is but another Absolutist, come to see what we–” 

Raphael took one look at the Drow and rolled his eyes. 

Snap!

The entire room instantly turned into an inferno, every creature within the vicinity of the grease was consumed by flames. Their screams lost against the raging fire. Raphael didn’t even know who that Drow was, nor did he care. There was no more time for talking. 

He continued through the extensive network of sewage pipes, navigating every underground hallway, tearing apart every room as he dug through boxes and discarded chests, but he found no Hammer.

He eventually stumbled upon a man standing alone in a hallway. The mortal was dressed in plain armour, his face riddled with all sorts of interesting scars. Perhaps at another time he would've loved to pry open that mortal and find out how he got those marks. There was no one else around him, and he simply stared at Raphael, with absolutely no care in the world. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen an Orphic Hammer floating around this cesspit? Hmm?” Raphael said as he approached the man, standing in front of him. 

The man held Raphael’s gaze, but he did not respond.

Raphael gritted his teeth, his fists trembling as he raised one hand in the air, preparing his thumb and middle finger for this man’s immediate extermination. The Devil was emotionally exhausted; the weight of it all, his infernal obligations, his hopes, his doomed destiny… it threatened his strength, his resolve. If he sat down, slumping against the grimy walls of the sewer, he would fall into a deep sleep from which he might never awaken. Hammer or not, this charade needed to end, this unfortunate act was going on for far too long. Raphael almost wanted to applaud the entire situation, for whoever was behind the scenes orchestrating his madness. His despair. How many more mortals would he need to obliterate before he found the Hammer? If he found it at all? Flames appeared at his fingertips as he held the pose, his anger building. The mysterious man didn’t even blink.

“Raphael?” Spoke a familiar, low voice. “I never thought I’d see you here.”

He twirled around at the mention of his name, only to find Mol staring at him from the opposite end of the hallway. Her eyes were wide, eyebrows raised as she gaped at him in confusion, holding a small dagger in her hands. 

“A most welcoming sight indeed.” Raphael dropped the flames, clapping his hands together with relief as his temper cooled. 

Mol grinned, sheathing her dagger. 

“That one doesn’t talk, by the way. Which is really annoying, if you ask me.” There was a brief pause as Mol eyed Raphael up and down, “Say, what are you even doing down here? I heard a HUGE explosion and came running out of the Guild. Thought it might’ve been, you know… the end of the world.” Mol spoke the last few words in a hushed whisper. 

A tiny sliver of hope fluttered in Raphael’s heart as he looked down at Mol, she could be the one who got Raphael out of this mess. The Tiefling could have the answers, a lead, something! She was resourceful, had her eyes and ears all over the city. There was a reason he had secured a deal with her in the first place. Mol's soul was one thing, but she had potential, promise, he never doubted her for a second.  

“As much as I’d love to catch-up with my budding protégé, I must act swiftly. I have no time for pleasantries, I’m afraid. I do have but a small favour to ask of you, however.”

Mol’s eyes lit up like fireflies. 

“Anything!” 

Raphael leaned towards Mol, his face growing serious.

“My Orphic Hammer is missing. You know the one. I’ve seen you snooping about my archives, flipping audaciously through some restricted documents.” 

Mol’s cheeks turned red and her eyebrows raised, only for a moment, but she did not look away from Raphael. She was guilty, yes, but not ashamed. A valiant trait.

“Nothing escapes me, but if it was anyone else and I’d have incinerated them on the spot. Now, please, do you know where it could be? Have you heard anything that might be useful? Time, my dear Mol, as you know, is of the essence.” 

“Hmm…” Mol bit her lip, her forehead wrinkling as she thought long and hard.  

“No, I’m sorry Raphael.” 

Raphael deflated into himself, burying his face in his hands. The disappointment was crippling. His skin caught fire without warning as he began to change into his cambion form. His doubts, those treacherous thoughts of failure, crashed down on him from every direction. He massaged his temples, attempting to keep himself calm, collected, especially in front of Mol.

“But… and you might find this interesting, actually…” Mol continued and Raphael stopped short, mid transformation. Devilish horns peeked out of his mortal head, a tail sprouting from his back, but the rest of his human proportions were otherwise the same. “I’ve heard there’s rumblings of a big trade happening at the Blushing Mermaid, and I mean BIG. You might want to stop by. That’s the only thing I could think of. I wish–”

Raphael quickly cleared his throat, rectifying his appearance as he slid back into his mortal disguise. He straightened his posture, smoothing his doublet and trying not to grimace at the filth that still clung to it.

He placed his hand on Mol’s shoulder, giving it an appreciative squeeze in good measure.

“There is a reason I decided to be your mentor, Mol. I knew you’d never disappoint.”

Raphael giddily clapped his hands and a gateway appeared behind him, leading directly to the Blushing Mermaid’s interior. 

“Mol, might I suggest you find a suitable safe house for the time being. These rumblings are only going to get worse. You were right in your thinking earlier, the end is near. It would indeed dampen my spirits to find your soul waiting for me upon my return, or to perhaps learn that you’ve been turned into an Illithid. Prepare yourself, and I will meet you when this business is concluded.”

“Yes, boss!” 

Mol gave Raphael an enthusiastic salute, befitting of an experienced general. That gesture alone made him beam with pride. 

This mentorship would prove to be a wise investment indeed. 

--

“Could you believe Fenris…?” Lissa muttered, resting her head on the table. It was sticky, everything was bloody sticky at the Blushing Mermaid. This place was a dump, but it was more affordable than the Elfsong. Especially on her wages. 

The gnome didn’t care though, all she wanted was for the world to stop spinning. She felt like she would retch up yesterday’s, today’s, and tomorrow’s breakfast at any second. She had too much to drink. Again. She should really stop taking up the bottle, she could only handle one drink with her figure, and she had drunk at least four so far today. It was all Vola's fault, that damned half-elf, she was a bad influence. 

“Dragging that… t-thing…” Lissa carried on, suppressing a burp, “What w-waas it again?” 

“Huh?” Vola groaned awake, her head lolling side-to-side as she tried to focus on Lissa. “Oh… you mean… t-that… hammer? It was a hammer, right? F-fucking huuuuuuge for a hammer, ha!”

“The hammer!” Lissa screamed, “y-yessss, the hammer.” 

Lissa and Vola stared at each other, then burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, slamming their fists on the table like a pair of monkeys.

“Gods, Fenris dragged that hideous thing through the dirt, c-couldn’t even l-lift it. Fell r-right on his f-fat faace.” Lissa struggled to lift her head, hitting it against the back of the booth they shared. She blinked slowly, barely able to keep her eyelids from falling shut. “Ne-never sseeen such a t-tthing in my life.”

Lissa reached too fast for the half-empty glass in front of her and caused it to topple over, the ale cascading in all directions. 

“Oooooops.” Lissa said, still laughing. 

“W-whaat a waste!” Vola proclaimed.  

Lissa turned towards the bar, raising her hand high in the air. She was about to call for the bartender when she noticed a very tall, and extremely handsome man standing at their booth. Oh he was a charming son of a bitch, with a smooth smile, and dark, pretty eyes. His clothes were a bit dirty though, but Lissa had seen worse. 

“Good afternoon, my esteemed drunkards.” The man said, his voice was rich, deep, and dreamy. 

“Would you allow me the pleasure of purchasing a drink for you both?”

“Free b-booze?” Lissa asked.

She looked to Vola for confirmation, but the half-elf was fast asleep, her mouth hanging open. Lissa kicked Vola under the table and she shot awake, her arms flailing in all sorts of directions. 

“Free b-boooooze.” Lissa whispered, tilting her head toward the man at the head of the booth.

“On me.” The man said with a wink. He smiled broadly, showcasing such white, beautiful teeth. 

The man did some sort of magic trick, conjuring sparks by snapping his fingers, or clapping his hands… Whichever it was, he caused two massive glasses of ale to appear on the table.

“W-wooooow.” Lissa and Vola muttered in unison. 

The man slid into the booth, edging closer to Lissa. She sniffed the air, smelling all sorts of lovely, new things. Cherries, and a yummy flowery smell. She ignored the sudden stench of the sewers though, convinced it was from the Blushing Mermaid.

Oh she didn’t want this man to ever leave. 

“I’m very curious about this hammer you’ve been discussing.” The man said, his eyes locking with Lissa’s. “Please, tell me all about it…”

--

The Devil watched over a mortal man as he slept soundlessly in a small bed, his protruding belly slowly rising with each staggered breath. His snores rattled the very walls of Flaygo’s Flophouse, but Raphael paid no attention to the irksome noise around him. His eyes were focused on the Orphic Hammer the man clung to in his slumber, holding it tightly like he was but a babe in a crib.

The sun had already begun its descent, a purple glow leaking in from the open window. He could see the entranceway of Sharess’ Caress from his vantage point in the cramped room; the brothel was as busy as ever, despite him setting the Devil’s Den ablaze mere hours ago. Raphael let out a long, exasperated sigh at that thought alone. An entire day gone to waste, when the Hammer was under his nose this entire time. Fate was cruel, the weaves unpredictable, no matter how hard he tried to control them. 

Raphael couldn’t pull his eyes away from the Hammer, he dared not to. It could be an illusion for all he knew, vanish the moment he reached for it. 

The man turned over in the bed, taking the Orphic Hammer with him as he shifted, groaning in his sleep. 

“Oh, I do hope you’re having a pleasant dream.” Raphael whispered, taking a step closer. 

Raphael was within inches of the man now, so close he could smell the booze reeking from his breath. As he extended his hand towards the Hammer he paused, beginning to chuckle. It started slowly, but grew more ferocious as every second passed, until he was nearly on his knees, roaring with laughter. Fire spurted from Raphael’s mouth like a forge as he wheezed, unable to control his breath, to contain himself any longer. Tears formed out of the corner of his eyes, flooding down his cheeks. They evaporated as soon as they met his scorching skin. Despite Raphael’s raucousness, the man remained undisturbed. 

The Devil had seen it all, tortured just about every miserable soul from the Outer Plane to the Elemental, but he never thought he’d see, let alone experience, anything like this. A lowly creature, clutching on to the future of mortal-kind. A tale worthy of the bards. 

Suddenly, the earth shuddered violently, as if waking up from its own slumber. Paintings flew off the walls, bookshelves toppled over, and the room vibrated continuously as the quake worsened. Mortals screamed from the streets below as some of the buildings in Wyrm's Crossing began to topple from the earth’s constant movements.

Raphael swiftly collected himself, shaking away any remaining bouts of laughter. He clapped his hands to rid his outfit of any evidence from the day's plights. When he was satisfied with his appearance, and found no speck of dirt or grime left, he snapped his fingers, and the Hammer flew into his hands. He squeezed its hilt until his knuckles turned white, feeling the weight of the Hammer in his hands. 

Showtime. 

A reckoning was coming and not the one Tav might’ve expected.

To be continued…

[katerinaaqu]

Continuing from Part 1;

Guilt (P2)

"And no, that was what you feared...not what you knew. There was no way you would know the magnitude of it...you gave them the city just like you promised. What theh did with it was their responsibility"

If only it were that simple, Odysseus thought

Odysseus could feel his head buzzing all the time. He was feeling tired of killing that night. As he had promised they had plundered Troy in just one fateful night. Odysseus had lost counting at how many lives had fallen under his sword. The palace of Troy had fallen. Troy was burning. As he cut his way through with with sword he remembered bodies falling down; armed or not; soldiers who barely had time to rouse themselves from sleep to come to save their city and yet they rushed at him bravely. Odysseus couldn't decide if he admired them or felt sorry for them.

"Odysseus!" The voice of a soldier brought him back to the present

"What is it?"

"Priam is dead!"

"Dead?!"

That piece of information he feared but he hoped he could prevent.

"Where?"

The man bringing the news was way too nervous for comfort.

"Where!" Odysseus demanded again

"T-To the altar of Zeus...he was slain upon the altar!"

Odysseus nearly dropped his sword! Had they stooped so low, then, in anger and hate?

"Who!" Odysseus demanded, "who did such a blasphemous act?!"

"N-Neoptolemous..."

Odysseus could hardly remember rushing to the scene. Perhaps he remembered the hall drenched in blood and there he saw the dead body of the king; neck gushed open and blood all over the floor. The haunting image of the expression of horror to the old man's face as well as the stain of blood upon the altar were a blurry mess in his brain. All he knew was that he saw that child he had brought to this war, with his face smeared with blood, having a self-complacent smirk on his face. He almost seemed possessed. That damn armor seemed to be one with his skin.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND?!" Odysseus bellowed, "How could you do that?! Have you so little respect for the laws of humans that you've stooped to the level of beasts?!"

The way that Neoptolemus looked at him was pure mockery and arrogance gained from victory.

"Now come on, Sacker of Cities...don't pretend that you would have left that man live! He was the king of Troy...just his existence would be a threat. You would have him executed anyways".

Odysseus couldn't remember grabbing the boy by the throat but he was beyond himself. His eyes were two bottomless pools of blackness.

"Do you want to end up like Thersites?!" He threatened in a dangerous whisper, "Do not challenge me, boy!"

"Or what?" Neoptolemus challenged back, "Will you do to me what you did to Palamedes?"

Odysseus was so shocked he could hardly speak. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach. The shock was enough to make him release the threat of the youth and take a few steps back.

"I have no idea what you're talking about" he said

Neoptolemus laughed.

"You are a liar, Odysseus! But then again you always were, weren't you?"

"Palamedes drowned in the sea! It was an accident!"

For a moment the image of ruffling waters had passed through his mind. Palamedes struggling under the surface... Odysseus remembered being frozen. He never tried to jump after him even jf he were an excellent swimmer. He was cold and motionless like a statue. The voice of the arrogant son of Achilles brought him back to reality.

"Yeah, how convenient indeed that he had that small... 'accident' when you and Diomedes were at the same boat with him during that fishing expedition! How convenient indeed!"

"This isn't about me!" Odysseus snapped at him, "This has to do with the hubris you performed here! We do NOT kill those who seek the sanctuary of the gods!"

"Times have changed, old man! You said so yourself! Besides wasn't you the one who implied that the line of the royal family of Troy should be cut? Priam shouldn't live anyways!"

Yes, Odysseus thought,he had said that and by that time he believed jt, however the old man had sought sanctuary. If they waited for him to get exhausted maybe... He could have surrendered. Murder upon sacred place was definitely NOT the way to do it. They could have offered him a nobler death than that! Odysseus didn't have time to reply. He heard a baby cry. He turned around to see in horror a man bringing baby Astyanax and handing him to Neoptolemus. The infant, barely one year of age, was crying woefully as he was handled not at all gently by Neoptolemus, who seemed untouched by the cries. Id anything he seemed to enjoy it

"What about the heir of Troy, Odysseus? What shall happen to him?"

"You can't be serious! It's just a baby!"

"A baby that is almost at the age of walking! Soon at the age of fighting. Will you let him live, Odysseus? You were the one who convinced the council, remember? You said we should all uproot the family of Priam from this earth!".

Yes, once again Odysseus had said that,however he had absolutely forgotten in the heat od the moment how old the heir actually was. The child was barely one. He could hardly speak yet alone walknand fight. Only now had he realized in horror what that promise he partially made would mean. He didn't expect to be brought before the consequences so fast!

"Weren't you the one who persuaded all the Greeks to uproot Priam's long family out of Troy?"

"Yes, but-..."

"So you take your word back? Decide!"

"Decide what?!"

"How he shall die, of course! You can't expect us to raise the son of king Hector, do you? Which will be? Sword or fall?"

The baby...the infant; no older than 1 year of age, was not much older than Telemachus... it was an innocent creature! He watched in terror as Neoptolemus held the baby to the edge of the wall.

"Choose, Odysseus!" Neoptolemus challenged, " or are you taking your words back?"

"This is madness!"

"You said to the council the other night that you would throw all of Priam's line outside these walls!" Neoptolemus insisted, "I believe the phrase you strategically used was 'we can throw them all out of the city of Troy!" I believe everyone agreed with such a sensible idea"

"Odysseus?"

It was the voice of Talthybius. Of course it would be that sleek worm! Odysseus cursed under his teeth. He was supposed to be their messenger and yet he found hik way too compassionate on the Trojan matter. Perhaps he should have gotten rid of him off his position a long time ago!

"Did you really tell the kings to kill this infant? Drag him out of his mother's bosom when she sought sanctuary in her husband's tomb and kill him in such a manner?"

Odysseus pointed his blood-stained sword at the scared messenger.

"Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you!" He threatened, eyes set aflame

He didn't need any more of those throwing accusations at him and he had enough of this for one night! One madman before him was enough; he didn't need a Troy-friendly coward as wellm

"Stay back! This is none of your concern!"

As Talthybius took some steps back, alarmed at this sudden attack from the furious king of Ithaca, Neoptolemus seemed to enjoy this scene more than the idea of throwing the baby off the walls or stabbing him to death.

"Decide, old man!" He urged again, "Do you take your word back? Every person in that hall heard you and agreed with you! Shown in this pilgrim of the night that you have SOME sense of honor!"

Odysseus was frozen in place. His own words that he didn't mean that way were now twisted in such a horrendous manner before him and bound him like chains. He could not take that word back. His brain was also stuck and his usual eloquent tongue could not find an excuse not to do it now...

"So be it..." he said defeated, "But let us choose a more humane method! Not this, Neoptolemus! Not this!"

He needed to buy himself some time. He needed to think of any reason, ANY excuse to keep this baby alive. Neoptolemus, though, being a true son of his father's, wouldn't let him do that either.

"Not on your life, son of Laërtes! This is the child of the man who thought he could kill my father! His bloody uncle actually succeeded! His filthy kin DARED to harm a man whose mother was a goddess! He needs to die and he shall now!"

At that moment he dragged the toddler almost effortlessly with one hand; strength given only by wrath and hatred, he let him hanging on the wall. The child was crying woefully and then Odysseus thought he heard him speak;

"PAPA!"

He froze. In some terrible realization he figured the horrendous truth. Neoptolemousbhad inherited the golden locks of his father's and his light yes that included the sea and sky. He, Odysseus, was dark of hair, black of eyes, lightly olive tanned white skin...he was similar to HIM...to Hector of Troy. The infant was calling HIM to save him! Panic took over him and he forgot all logic, all his attempts to find excuses. Now the child...the baby...someone's SON (Telemachus!)needed HIS assistance.

"Neoptolemus no! It's just a baby! Let the poor creature go!"

"Very poor choice of words, Odysseus!"

And Neoptolemus did exactly what he was told...he let go! The baby fell out of the palace walls, leaving gravity take the body rapidly down.

"NOOOOOOO!" Odysseus yelled helplessly but that's all he could do.

He ran at the edge only to see a tiny bloody dot at the bass kd the wall. The haunting cries had stopped...forever.

"NEOPTOLEMUS!" Odysseus bellowed furiously, "you killed him! You killed an infant!"

"No, Odysseus!" Neoptolemus replied, "You did. Your plan, your advise, your sin."

Odysseus felt dizzy...his stomach twisted dangerously but he did herculean effort to hold himself back. There was so much he wanted to say...so much he wanted to scream but he found it impossible to utter a single sound.

"TROY HAS FALLEN!" the happy cry from the inside of the castle drew them out of this, "WAR IS OVER! HOORAY! HOORAY FOR THE SACKER OF CITIES!"

Odysseus felt like losing strength off his legs. He didn't even know how to feel. However he knew one thing. He was feeling ENRAGED. It was as if the name that was given to him by his grandfather now suddenly made sense! He glared daggers yo Neoptolemus but the arrogant boy only smiled self-complacently...

"Looks like you were right, old man... You DID take the city in one night..."

Odysseus looked beyond the walls. If was true. The sun was rising...although his light was now duller in his eyes; the fires were stronger...

*

The walls of Troy had fallen and the real damage was apparent the next morning following the massacre. The houses had burnt almost to the ground and only the strongest walls were still standing upright; sad reminder of their previous glory. Odysseus was standing there with some of his men, watching the march of wounded or future slaves coming out of the city in chains or ropes. The ways were known. They would be distributed to some of the kings among them and the rest would be given by luck to the rest of the people. After that thy should gather and burn the dead before they would be good to go... Odysseus looked aged almost ten years more. He had dark circles under his eyes and he still didn't have time to wash himself from the blood. The thick liquid had formed a crust upon him by that moment. Helen was secured and brought out of the city to safety by Menelaus. So everything seemed to be in place. Then, why would he feel as if he had to use all his will to endure it and keep a stone calm face? His attention was drawn to the part of the procession. It was Andromache, the queen and widow of Hector. Odysseus grimaced. He had hoped he wouldn't face that woman. She was walking upright with the dignity even the greatest of Queens would be jealous of, as if she were the mighty Hera. Even if she was in chains she was still holding her head high. Odysseus learnt that she was to be given to Neoptolemous. He watched the queen marching to be given to the man that murdered her son... The man they now called Sacker of Cities didn't know which was sadder for her. He had tried to persuade Neoptolemous to take another but all his pleas or even manipulation fell on deaf ears. In the end he wondered if it mattered... At that moment his onyx eyes locked with the eyes of the queen. And then he saw her face transform from purr dignity to pure hatred in a matter of seconds!

"ODYSSEUS!" she yelled at him, pulling the chains with all her strength, "YOU SPAWN OF THIEVES AND RAGGED SCHEMER! THIS IS ALL YOUR DOING! GODS SHALL THROW THEIR RAGE UPON YOU!"

Odysseus didn't have time to defend himself.

"It was all your idea! Your plan! You scheming bastard could not fight with honor! But how could you! HOW COULD YOU!"

Her rage gave her strength anew as she managed to crawl closer. Even Odysseus took half a step back.

"HE WAS JUST ONE YEAR OLD ODYSSEUS!DO YOU HAVE NO HEART?!"

The king of Ithaca froze. He had no idea how she had found out about it but then it hit him. Talthybius! Of course! He must have talked to her.

"HE WAS JUST A BABY! HOW COULD YOU!"

"I didn't..." he whispered more to himself than anything else

"CURSE UPON YOU!" she drew her chains again and even the soldier needed to pull back, "I knew they wouldn't let him live! But this?! THIS?! HE WAS JUST ONE YEAR OLD ODYSSEUS! Just one year-..."

And then there was a heart-wrenching cry. Suddenly her anger turned into outpost pain. Odysseus turned his head and realized the reason. The small wrapped up ball could be nothing else but the remains of her son. One of the Greeks was transferring them to the pyre for the funeral. Odysseus cursed everything he believed in. He had hoped they would be spared at least of that! Both her and him. Andromache fell on her knees trying to release herself and get closer to the wrapped up package.

"MY BOY!" she cried, "AH! MY BOY!"

The soldier was ready to take the package away but Odysseus stopped him.

"No! Let her mourn!"

Unwillingly the man placed the child on the ground as she crawled over it, hands still tied up, not allowing her to wrap her arms around the remains of her son or even scratch her cheeks to mourn... Odysseus watched her kneel almost like an animal mourning her calf, leaning her forehead against the bloodied cloth

"MY BEAUTIFUL BOY!" Andromache's voice rose in an inhuman tone of cries and woe

The king of Ithaca felt his heart pinch. Yes, he has heard that cry before. It was an eternity ago in Ithaca...when Palamedes had come to pick him up...

*

Odysseus was plowing the field, singing an incoherent song. He was moving his head to an unmatched rhythm. He had tied one donkey and one cow to the plow, plowing in a totally messy way. He seemed to pay no mind. Odysseus was very keen upon his disguise as a madman. Palamedes was watching the scene with Penelope from afar as his beloved queen was playing with their son in her arms.

"He has been doing that all day..." Penelope said in her melodious voice, "He listens to no one when they tell him that this is not right. My husband insists that this is the best way to plow the field."

Penelope knew her part very well. They had agreed upon it after all. Part of it was her idea too. She didn't want him to go to war and he didn't want either. Not now that they had their son to take care of. Palamedes looked suspiciously at the scene.

"I find it hard to believe the mighty Odysseus losing his mind like this...it is so fast and so sad to be true..."

He approached closer.

"Come on, Odysseus, son of Laërtes! We have work to do, we have to get ready for the war!"

Odysseus didn't reply and continued his work. Penelope approached.

"My lord, as you see, my husband is a very sick man. He cannot help you in this war. I am afraid you must find someone else..."

Palamedes looked at her sideways before turning his gaze back at Odysseus.

"Such a shame though..." he whispered as if to himself, "Such a brilliant mind...be condemned in such a way... Seems such a waste..."

He eyed Penelope and something inside her heart flattered. She didn't like that look.

"But perhaps..." Palamedes started, "I might have a cure for his...illness..."

Penelope raised a brow.

"My lord?"

No sooner had she voiced that word and Palamedes yanked Telemachus out of her arms.

"NO!" Penelope cried out surprised, "What are you doing?! Stop!"

Telemachus screeched and cried as Palamedes ran towards the field.

"NO! MY BOY!" Penelope cried out

Odysseus barely had time to see with the corner of his eye Palamedes throw his infant son to the front of the two giant animals plowing! His mind did not think twice.

"WOOO BOY! WOO! WOO!" his mighty hands pulled the reigns stopping the plow barely a few inches away from the crying baby

Rushing to the spot he picked up his precious son to his hands, he raised him to his head, he inspected those little limbs and that soft head... He sighed in relief when he found no major injuries to that little body.

"Shh..sh sh...my boy..." he cooed at his son, "It's okay...it's okay..."

His gaze was fiery as he looked up to Palamedes.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMNED MIND?!" he bellowed, "You nearly killed my son!"

Palamedes seemed uninterested at that coy as he smirked.

"Welcome back to the world of sanity, Odysseus. So now I believe we can talk about the preparations of the war, according to the oath you gave. Let us cut this charade and be men..."

Ashamed, humbled but above all ENRAGED, Odysseus looked up from his kneeling position, still cooing his son, trying to calm him.

"That was a low blow, even for you!" He growled at him

"You are the one to talk, son of Laërtes!" Palamedes retorted, "you are the one who always schemes to avoid his responsibilities!"

"Yes but I don't use innocent infants for it! I shall not forget this Palamedes!"

"I seriously hope you won't" Palamedes retorted, "So that we won't add 'oathbreaker' to your list of titles!"

*

Oh how enraged he had been! And yet now he remembered that moment for a totally different reason! Now he was seeing that woman who used to be a mighty queen screaming and crying over that small ball that used to be her son. She was doubling over and over, crying.

"MY BOY! NO NO NO! NO! MY SON!"

At some point she managed to grasp the cloth

"No! Don't-...!"

The cloth revealed a ball of flesh that the face and the little bones were no more recognizable. Odysseus shut his eyes closed for one secondm

"Telemachus!" He thought, "No! Not him...that's not him..."

Andromache screeched in woe as she doubled over at that small ball of flesh that used to play around a few days ago, hitting her chest with the last bits of her hands, pulling on her chains maniacally. Odysseus could take no more. He went close to her. She was a queen, she had to pull it together.

"Get up..." he whispered huskily, "please get up...for your son..."

Andromache shot her head up and spat straight on his face. The saliva from her mouth burnt his cheek like fire; like the fire that now existed in her eyes. Her woe had stopped, apart from those tears that turned her eyes red. Hatred returned...and it was all directed to him... The Man of Many Ways felt his heart turn into marble; hard and cold. He stood up to his full height wiping his cheek with his hand. He felt the dirt and blood smearing in combination with the spit. All of Troy's massacre had fallen upon him...

"Take her out of here!" He ordered in a low, cold voice

If I show weakness...I'm lost...

Andromache struggled only for one minute and that would be so that she wouldn't be separated from her son (the son that now a soldier was picking up again, sparing everyone from the unpleasant task seeing the child). She then followed her captures. She was a queen again. The only thing you could hear was some low cry.

"Odysseus..." Meriones approached him, "Are you alright?"

Odysseus winced in pain. He hadn't realized that he had clenched his fist so hard that it hurt him. He unclenched it.

"Yes..." he whispered, "Yes, I'm fine"

*

Sooo Part 2! Soon the closure will come! Dedication to some hood friends such as @aaronofithaca05 @simugeuge @prompted-wordsmith @loco-bird @jarondont

[voldrinofthenorth]

@vexwerewolf So we played In Golden Flame tonight and damn, I did not expect to show up at the end of somebody else's cowboy movie, only to realize we were g-men.

Now that Blacksmith guy, head of the local worker's union, he hired us to kill a "thief". We find the thief, but let him say his peace. If I'm hired to kill someone, I'd like to know who the target is, and the Blacksmith wouldn't give us any info.

The Thief tells us the Blacksmith is a corpo plant, and he's got evidence. Sends us multiple files. Screenshots, data logs, audio and video. Correspondence between the Blacksmith and SSC. Now, I understand having to work with the corpos in order to get shit done out here. We've got no Blinkgate and Union doesn't give two shits about the Boondocks of the Galaxy. Shit, half of us are piloting SSC chassis. We cut our own deals, even got into their "VIP Pilot Program", or whatever. I get it. But icing somebody to keep your reputation intact? I don't like that. You can say it's for the "greater good" all you want, but the only life anyone has any right to sacrifice is their own damn life. I ain't gonna shoot a man for fucking whistleblowing. No corpo could ever pay me enough to stoop that low.

Now, I'm firm in my beliefs here. The squad as a whole, however, are of differing minds. I voice my opinion. Redline isn't having it.

"We were hired for a job, we should finish it."

Charlie pipes in. "Guys, remember our mission? We're trying to save those people who are literally being enslaved and forced to fight each other to the death by Steele. We need the Blacksmith's transport ships. If we trade one life to save all of them, I think it's reasonable."

Christ the Buddha, did this bastard just bring up the fucking Trolly Problem? But shit... He's making sense. We need those ships for evac. We don't have enough room on the Dragon's Tooth for all of those civilians. Still...

Redline pulls his pistol onnthe Thief. "I'll finish him off if you won't."

In that moment, I make my decision. I draw my blaster and point it at Redline. He looks indignant when he turns to me.

"Really, Al? You'd point your gun at me? Over this?"

"I ain't gonna kill an innocent man, Red."

"Oh, so you get to decide who's innocent, now? Who made you judge and jury!?"

"Who made you executioner!?"

While we're having our shouting match, Lamplight is frozen. He can't decide. We need to save all those people. But, killing this man in cold blood is wrong... Right? Lamplight always wanted to be a hero, like Jessie. This doesn't seem very heroic...

Redline's face is red. He turns to the Thief and I can see his finger squeeze the trigger. I'm faster. My blaster goes off first. (I roll for Assault. 23.) I aim for his hand. The plasma bolt sunders his pistol, sending molten slag flying. Redline can feel the reverberations through his hardsuit. His arm goes numb, and falls limp to his side. He doesn't cry out. He just grits his teeth and pulls out a stim with his good hand.

I just stand there, realizing what I've done. Red looks up at me.

"I always knew you were a coward."

I square my jaw.

"I've got nothing to prove to you."

"Hesitating at the end of a job like this? It's weakness."

"I don't fucking care. I'm not a corpo shill."

Lamplight suddenly realizes something. "I can just do both." He looks to me and communicates though Witness, into my mind. "We can just do both."

I understand what he's communicating in an instant. With the images, I can also hear the old Witch's words. "Now, you may find another way..." With a thought, I activate my dataplate visor and send a message to Charlie. "Make it look like we killed him."

Redline's eyes are wide from the stim. He's shouting louder now.

"You're fucking weak!"

I shout back at him.

"I don't fucking CARE!"

I whip around and aim my blaster at the Thief. (I roll for Assault. Natural 20.) I aim for his head and make eye contact with him. I put the plasma bolt right next to his head. Close enough to singe him, but not enough to kill. Charlie is recording the evidence to send to the Blacksmith. Redline jumps on the Thief, veins pumping with a cocktail of stimulants. He beats down on him with his good hand.

Lamplight opens his slate and, as the video is recording, makes a few minor adjustments. Just enough not to be noticed, to be a bit more convincing. He looks up and shouts "Alright, he's dead already! Templar, pull him off!"

I grab Redline and yank him back. "Christ the Buddha, come on! He's dead, and we aren't fucking savages!" I drag Red off, back to our mechs. Charlie cuts the video feed and Lamplight leans down to the Thief. Into his mind, Lamplight speaks to him. "He won't come for you for a while."

The Thief looks up, bruised and burned and bleeding. His voice is horse. "I... I don't know how to repay you."

Lamplight noded. "Wait to send your broadcast until our mission is complete. That's all we ask. We need those ships.

The Thief closes his eyes. "Al... Alright. I'll wait. I'll wait..."

Lamplight put a a chitinous claw on his shoulder. "Thank you. I believe in you. I think you're a hero."

*Apparently the GM didn't expect our conversation to go the way it did. Since the book only has two outcomes, he had to improvise a bit. We're going to get to use the Blacksmith's ships for the mission, but afterwards we will gain "Enmity of the Blacksmith", but we'll also gain "The Thief's Honor". This session was great. We all gained several points of pilot stress and extra pilot EXP. Love Space Cowboys.

[percontaion-points]

EatMoD chapter 4

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 4

“Fine. We’ll have it out in the open. There’s a new test from the DNI Neuromuscular clinic; they’ve requested permission to begin testing electromyography and nerve conduction to improve muscular diseases such as your sister’s on humans. They’ve been very successful in both mice and chimpanzees.” 

Hunter’s eyes lit up. “It could even save her life.” Hunter rushed forward. “Who is this? Where are they?” 

She raised her eyebrow. “I will sign off on this, and request that your sister be in on the trial.” 

He gripped her arm. “And what do you want in return?” 

She glanced at me, and an uneasiness began to grow in my stomach. I wasn’t going to like what she was going to say next. “You must agree to be my mate.”

So basically: fuck me, or your sister is going to die. 

She subsequently wonders why she ends up unloved and alone by the end of the series.

“Besides, this is our problem and we don’t need to drag you into it.”

When they went out in search of Emma, that’s when they crossed the line of not wanting to drag Liz into their shit and drama. Before that point, she could have walked away. Now she’s been dragged into it. 

I smiled, then slipped into the back to find Avery.

Chapter 4 summary: Liz gets dressed before going back outside to meet up with the boys. Sophia is there, along with a strange older man named Edward. He apparently ALSO knew Robert, and he takes a moment to establish this. 

Sophia then asks about the terrorist, who is now tied up in the kitchen. All of the men, including Edward, think that Sophia herself had something to do with this, and they get really angry. It doesn’t matter that she denies this; they don’t believe her. 

Eventually, Sophia tells Hunter that there’s a clinical trial for his sister’s illness, and she can get Riley in. But the thing she wants in return is to be bound to Hunter as mates, in a ceremony that’ll make him forget about his love for anybody else. Obviously, this is such a non-starter. Liz is quick to call Sophia out on the shit she said in the second book, about being unable to mate with the boys because she was infertile. Sophia doesn’t give a shit, and only wants the boys. If she can’t have them all, then she’ll simply take whatever she can get. Scales and fur start to fly until Riley comes in and basically tells Sophia to get the fuck out. 

After she’s gone, the men and Liz sit down, and Edward asks why Liz is wearing the queen’s ring. She explains what Aria asked of her, but the boys don’t like that. They don’t want to drag her into their political drama, even though as I said, it’s kind of too late for that. 

Then they circle back to the shit Sophia tried to do. Hunter explains that his sister has a debilitating condition that prevents her from shifting, but is also impacting her quality of life immensely. The others are quick to point out that these are only medical trials, so there’s a chance Hunter could throw away all of his happiness now and end up losing his sister in the end. And they go on to say that while the bond might force him to have feelings for Sophia and to forget Liz, it’s not like it’s going to erase his memories. He’ll know how unhappy he is to have been forced into this. But mainly, Liz thinks that they shouldn’t stoop so low as to give into Sophia’s blackmail tactics. 

[harryforvogue]

No but this is so pathetic cuz if ur having to beg him to care and he does post to keep himself clean not bcz he cares .they just do it to justify stanning an ignorant man lmao.like oky he spoke about it hes out of trouble,and im out of trouble for supporting a man that is not ignorant .like hes just an ignorant celeb babe and if you want him to speia uo so you dont feel bad about stanning an ignorant celebriot bcz you wanna save their reputation pls give it up

https://x.com/venusianing/status/1725224876821160294?s=46

Like this is stooping low i dont want celebs speaking about this just to keep their image clean like ughh i feel like you’ll feel me sara but these ppl that are dying are like my people and infeel so protective over them over everything and now instead of caring about what matters they are trying to save or kill their favourite/hated celebs career by debating over whos speaking or not ughh i dont even know why if this makes sense

https://x.com/venusianing/status/1725224876821160294?s=46

it’s literally like with politicians

we dangle our votes and support in order to get them to care — and with celebrities it’s our MONEY and support. i don’t see the difference

[dotcolorful]

No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams from Across the Hall

Read it on AO3 here!

“Last chance, Lord Vader. Two billion credits, or I will blow your boy’s brains out.”

The cold barrel of the blaster pressed against Luke’s temple uncomfortably, and he couldn’t quite keep a gasp from escaping his lips. There was a hand on the other side of his face, covered with a worn-down suede glove, that steadied his head, held it upright so that he could not struggle. It was pointless, really - drugged as he was, with his hands tied behind him and his ankles cuffed to the chair’s legs, there wasn’t much he could do anyway. He suspected immobilizing him wasn’t really the point, though.

What the pirates wanted to achieve was a show.

It was why they had hit his face repeatedly before they had contacted Vader, why they had smeared his own blood over his face to make sure that he looked as vulnerable, as helpless and hurt as possible. This was a ransom call, after all. After learning that Luke was Vader’s son - how they came to that realization, Luke still didn’t know - they decided that Luke’s pain would push Vader to pay the ransom.

Honestly, Luke would have laughed at that if not for the fact that he was about to die. Basing the ransom strategy on Vader’s sense of parental concern for his son was hardly an approach Luke would have taken. There was, after all, no parental concern in the Sith.

Concerned parents would not chop off their child’s hand.

But Luke guessed the pirates didn’t know that.

Now, sitting bound to a chair, with a blaster pointed at his head and a holo-camera recording him, he wished for a father that would care about him.

What he felt from Vader’s side of the bond, however, was not care. It was anger.

“You will pay for this, pirate,” Vader growled. Even the shimmering blue hologram of his figure flickered at the potency of his anger.

“Ah, no,” the pirate laughed playfully. “You will be the one pay - pay me, to be exact. Two billion credits. Now.”

“You,” Vader seethed, “will not get anything from me. You will release the boy now, or I—“

The pirate smacked his lips, face turning into an expression of exaggerated disappointment. “You won’t? Is that your final answer?”

Through bleary, tired eyes, Luke looked at his father’s holo-image. He knew there wasn’t much to hope for - his father had already demonstrated his lack of interest in Luke’s well-being - but he couldn’t help but send his father a begging look, a silent plea to save him.

“Ah, hesitating, are we?” The pirate mocked when Vader remained silent. Then, in one quick move, he grasped a fistful of Luke’s hair and forced his head up. “See that, boy? I don’t think daddy loves you all that much.”

Luke closed his eyes, hurt; the pirate chuckled.

“Whoops, Lord Vader, I think your boy is not too happy about your decision. I mean, just look at those sad eyes.” His voice was filled with such malice, such fake pity and infantilism that Luke felt sick to his stomach. “Tell ya what, Lord Vader. I’ll give you one more chance: two billion credits, or our young…?”

“Luke,” Luke supplied mindlessly, then curses himself for cooperating with the man.

“…Luke, right. So? What’s it gonna be? The credits, or Luke?”

As if to emphasize his threat, the pirate pressed the blaster even harder against Luke's temple, and Luke winced. He was so, so tired already, so hurt from his forced position, his wrists raw from rubbing against the cuffs, the constant pressure of the barrel against his temple. He was exhausted from the constant feeling that he could die any second, that one pull on the trigger could end his life in a flash.

And, most of all, he was exhausted from naively hoping that his father would pay the ransom and save him.

He wouldn’t; Luke knew that. His father would never stoop so low as to accept the demands of a meek pirate. And so, between the life of his own son and his pride, it was pride that Vader would choose.

…which was precisely why Luke felt so hurt.

“Your dad always this indecisive?” The pirate chortled, giving Luke’s hair a sharp tug. Only now did he notice that the man’s hands smelled foul. It was a mix of grease and ship fuel, but rotten, giving off such a pungent smell that Luke wanted to retch. For a second, he felt disgusted at the feeling of the man’s hands in his hair. He’d have to wash it, and soon - those terrible hands probably carried a lot of dirt…

But there would be no dirt to wash off. Soon, he’d be dead.

“For the last time, Lord Vader, what’s it gonna be?”

There was a short pause, as if Vader was thinking, but there wasn’t anything to think about, really. The credits, or Luke. It was his father’s choice, and Luke already knew he was going to choose poorly—

“Pirate,” his father spoke suddenly, and a glimmer of hope passed through Luke’s eyes. “This is your last chance. Free my son, or-„

“Okay, too late,” the pirate interrupted him. “Luke, say goodbye to daddy.”

“…what?”

But before he could finish his sentence, the pirate pulled the trigger and white-hot light filled his skull.

Agony. Excruciating, unimaginable agony filled his eyes and lungs and heart, replaced the blood flowing through his veins and seeped deep into the pores of his skin. For a moment, pain was all he was; it encompassed his whole existence and defined his very essence. He had nothing - no vision, no hearing, no sense of smell, or touch. All had been replaced by that terrible, painful, flashing white.

And then it cleared.

As quickly as it had appeared, the white burst of agony had evaporated, leaving him blissfully numb. Only now did he realize that he was leaning forward, hands still tied behind his back, but head now slumped as his muscles no longer supported it. He was limp, boneless; dead.

What the fuck, was his first thought. The pirate… he’d not even given Vader a chance to finish his sentence! He’d just… shot Luke. Just killed him. Just lost his only bargaining chip.

How strange, was his second thought. How strange that he was even thinking these things now that he was dead…

And then it struck him.

He wasn’t.

He was limp, yes; paralyzed. He could not move a muscle save for the faint beating of his heart. His eyes were stinging - they were wide open, but his eyelids would not blink - and it felt as if someone had immobilized his very pupils so that nothing could be moved.

He could feel the burning pain somewhere near his temple where the pilot had shot him, and could still feel the terrible throbbing of his body that was now slumped in the chair.

He… looked dead. But he wasn’t dead.

And Vader’s side of the bond was oddly silent.

It took Luke a moment to realize it was because he couldn’t feel the Force at all. It was blocked, shimmering at the back of his mind but unattainable. It was frustrating; if only he could reach out with a mental hand, grasp at its tendrils and pull them towards himself…!

But his hands, both real and metaphysical, were paralyzed.

And he didn’t need the Force to tell him that Vader was… withdrawn. Silent.

Upset.

With his head slumped forward, Luke couldn’t see much besides the top of his own shoes, but he could feel the all-encompassing feeling of grief and distress that radiated from where Vader’s holographic figure was.

“You—“ the vocoder spat out. “He— he’s—“

For one, hysterical moment, Luke thought that Vader sounded like the toy robot he used to play with on Tatooine. Whenever its batteries were nearly dead - which happened often, for his family could rarely afford to buy new ones - it would also spurt out static and jarring noises, much like his father’s stuttering now.

That thought, however, was quickly overcome by the realization that his father thought Luke was dead.

And, by the Force, his father was feeling grief because of it.

Luke didn’t want his father to feel that way. But now, paralyzed and Force-less, there was nothing he could do.

There was a sharp tug as two pirates grasped his upper body and threw him off the chair. Luke’s face slammed against the ship’s floor, throat working frantically to scream, but no sound made it past his lips. His whole body ached from the impact, and with his hands still tied behind his back, his spine started to feel like it would soon snap in half.

At least now, with his cheek plastered to the floor, his eyes were set in the general direction of where the shimmering hologram of his father was.

The moment he looked at his father’s face, though, he wished he’d never seen it.

Yes, it was covered by a mask. Yes, there was no face to physically see. But somehow, the hurt that emanated from Vader seemed to transcend the mask, the helmet, the armor, and painted the picture of an expression of such pain, such sorrow, that Luke couldn’t have seen Vader’s face clearer.

“He’s—“ Vader’s broken stuttering continued. “He’s—“

“Dead?” The pirate who’d shot him smiled, picking up the holo-camera and repositioning it so that it would show Luke’s body, crumpled in a heap, lying on the floor. “Well, what can I say. I’m not a patient man.”

“You,” Vader seethed, finally finding his voice, “are not a man at all.”

The pirate had the audacity to actually laugh at that. “Look who’s talking.”

Slowly, deliberately, he walked up to where Luke lay and knelt by his head, before gently tracing a finger over the shot temple. “Such a waste.”

“Don’t touch him!” Vader actually sounded hysterical. “Get away from him!”

“Mmm,” the pirate mused, ignoring Vader’s words and continuing to stroke the side of Luke’s face. “New deal, Lord Vader. Two billion credits in exchange for your son’s body. Pretty thing… deserves a funeral, at least.”

Anger exploded from Vader at those words, so strong that Luke almost flinched despite the paralysis. Why was he feeling his father’s emotions so strongly? Could he really not touch the Force? Or was it there, but Luke just couldn’t feel it? So many questions, and his mind was so numb…

“Actually,” the pilot said after a moment, his hand against Luke’s face stopping, “I’ll make that one billion. Treat it as a nice little father of a dead child discount.”

What escaped Vader at those words was a roar, an animalistic, guttural sound, so loud that the speakers installed in the holo-display started spurting out static, unable to properly process it. This was it, Luke thought. His father’s anger was strong, his pride ruined, and there was no way he was ever going to agree to the pirate’s conditions.

He hadn’t paid for Luke when he was alive. Why would he do so now that he believed Luke dead?

Again, he wanted to recoil as the pirate caressed him once more. The action was sinister, deliberate, offending in a way that was supposed to provoke Vader.

And it did.

Because, impossibly, Luke saw Vader lower his head and say:

“I agree to your conditions, pirate. Transmit your coordinates - I will bring you the credits personally.”

A wide smile graced the pirate’s lips. “Wonderful news, Lord Vader, wonderful news.”

“And now,” Vader seethed. “Stop touching him.”

The pirate laughed. “That’s gonna cost a little extra.”

“He is dead!” Vader cried at that, angrily. “Give him some peace!”

“Alright, alright,” the pirate said, putting his hands up in the air. Relief flooded through Luke; finally, that terrible, gloved hand was away from his face. “I was just messing. See you soon, Lord Vader.”

His father’s helmet moved towards him, giving his a last, long look that radiated sorrow.

And then the transmission was cut off and Vader’s shimmering blue figure disappeared.

***

“...’kay Luke, that went well,” the pirate said, patting Luke’s arm. “I can’t believe your old man really bought this. I knew he was stupid, but this-- I mean, he literally thinks you’re dead!”

Again, Luke tried squirming. Again, he found his muscles would not move.

“You’re not dead, by the way, in case you haven’t figured that out already,” the pirate continued. “You’re paralyzed, though. I got this new blaster from a guy in Correlia and it’s kriffing amazing. This shot that hit that poor head of yours? It was a stun shot, but it looks just like the real thing! It’s amazing - keeps you aware but paralyzed. I mean-” he paused momentarily, regarding Luke’d face as if he was a piece of art. “You look pretty dead to me.”

He gave Luke one final pat before standing up, bruising dust off his thighs. “Alright, boys,” he called out to his comrades. “Get in position. Lord Vader will be here soon and he may freak out a little bit when he sees are young Luke here.”

“Ay, sir.”

There was a clunk of armor, the sound of steps as the pirates moved into position, re-charging their blasters and pointing them at various spots in the room.

The pirate turned back to Luke. “You stay put, boy.” Ah, but that was useless - Luke couldn’t move even if he wanted to. “When Lord Vader comes here, I’m gonna present him with a little resurrection scene. For three billion credits, that is. But, after losing you once, I’m pretty sure he won’t hesitate to pay this time.”

Oh, how Luke wanted to spit at the man. How he wanted to fight him, to hurt him for the torment that he was putting both upon him and his father. But, his lips still refused to move, just like his eyes and the rest of his body, and he could only lie helplessly on the floor, looking completely, utterly dead.

Something wet started trailing down his chin.

“Whoops,” the pirate laughed, kneeling by him. His suede-gloved hand reached towards his chin, swiping at the trail of saliva that had escaped Luke’s lips. Had his body tired to spit, then? He hadn’t really felt it; hadn’t felt anything, in fact, for his body was becoming more and more numb. It felt terrible; he felt trapped. He was conscious, yes, but his body felt as if it was made of steel, drowning in sticky honey sauce.

“Let’s get that from your face,” the pirate said, wiping the spit away. “Dead bodies don’t salivate… I think. Do they?” He turned around, calling out to another pirate. “Haja’a’n! Do dead bodies salivate?”

“The kriff do I know, Jaimar?” Haja’a’n shot back, and again, Luke wanted to laugh hysterically. At least now he knew the name of the man who’d ‘killed’ him.

“Anyway,” Jaimar said, getting back to his feet. “As I said, stay put. Your father will be his shortly.”

Luke only hoped that indeed, his father was going to come.

***

He didn’t know how much time had passed before his father finally arrived. Each second blurred into another, and he felt as if he was swimming in nothingness. His eyes, unable to blink, were stinging so much he wished he could just gauge them out. He was hot; too hot for his liking, and that meant something coming from a boy who had grown up on Tatooine. Was it a fever? A side effect of the stun shot? He didn’t know.

It was hard to think.

At some point, he’d caught his reflection in a metal casing of a navi-computer in front of him. He’d seen his body, deadly still and crumpled on the floor, his face, red from the blood and yet terribly, sickly pale. Saw his own eyes, sightless, dull, dead. His lips, slightly parted, dead. His hands, fingers curled, unmoving, dead.

The Force around him, dead.

And then, amidst that sea of nothingness, he’d heard the sharp snap-hiss of a lightsaber.

What happened next was fast. There were screams as the pirates were cut down, one by one, their blasters falling on the floor, useless. There was the sound of begging, of useless pleading, of choking and growled demands. There was the clank of armor as stormtroopers swarmed into the room; the room had gone dark, Luke realized, the lights going out, and he could see the troopers’ riffle red dot reflectors, searching for their next target.

It was all red. His father’s lightsaber; red. The troopers blaster shots, red.

The blood of the dead pirates, dead.

And then his father crouched before him.

“Luke.”

And Luke had never heard so much pain in someone’s voice.

“Luke, I-” his father paused, turned his helmet away as if it was painful to look at his son’s dead body - Luke guess it was - before turning back and reaching out with a gloved hand. The worn leather caressed Luke’s cheek, but with none of the malice that the pirate’s touch had. The movement was slow, sorrowful, pained. It was meant to bring comfort, even if Luke was dead.

It was as if the troopers behind Vader did not exist. For a moment, it was just them both: Luke’s paralyzed body and Vader’s large, dark, grieving bulk.

Those gloved hands caressed his cheek again, then moved to his hair, fingers trailing through the blood-matted strands. Then, the hands paused as Vader took a strand between his palm and thumb, looking as if he was marveling at the sight.

“Blond,” came the quiet rasp of the vocoder. “Your hair is blond. Like mine.”

The fingers moved back to his face. “And your eyes,” his father continued. “They are blue.”

His eyes did not look blue, though. They looked dead.

And he was alive.

He wished he could tell his father that.

There was, in fact, nothing he wished for more in this world. He’d never felt pain like that, had never seen such grief, such sorrow. His father’s body, kneeling uncomfortably before Luke’s prone form, seemed slumped. He was caressing Luke’s skin, studying his features as if he were a newborn, drinking in the sight of his son. Luke couldn’t stand that thought: that his father believed him dead, and was now caressing what he thought was his son’s corpse.

He didn’t deserve that hurt.

But his lips would not move.

“I’m sorry,” Vader whispered, clasping Luke’s limp hand in his own. “I’m so, so sorry. My child, I- I should have--”

There was a pause, before a burst of static and something akin to a screech left the vocoder. Was his father… Was his father crying?

“My son,” Vader repeated, the words distorted by that awful sound. “My son, my-- my little angel, my child--”

And at that, Luke started to cry.

Big, fat tears streamed down his cheeks, cascading like a river down a hill. He could not control them - could still not control anything - but they kept coming, leaving stinging, salty trails on his skin, pooling on the floor beneath his cheek.

His father loved him. His father was hurt by his death, and was caressing Luke with love and such desire to comfort that Luke had never felt. Not even his Aunt Beru had cuddled him like that. Not even Uncle Owen had ruffled his hair with such affection.

For the first time, he knew what it felt like to be loved by a father.

And so he kept crying. So engrossed in his grief, Vader didn’t even seem to notice.

But someone else did.

“My Lord!” The exclamation resounded in the room, followed by some quick steps, and then an Imperial medic moved into Luke’s field of view. “My Lord, the tears, he’s-- he’s crying!”

Immediately, Vader’s hands flinched away, as if he’d been burned, and the helmet spun to regard the tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Is he alive?”

The medic didn’t respond. Instead, he pushed Vader out of the way - a brave move, Luke had to admit - and brought his hand to Luke’s neck, searching for a pulse. He could feel his heart beating erratically, his blood faintly pulsing against the man’s warm hand, and relief flooded his mind.

They knew. They knew he was--

“Alive!” The medic exclaimed. “The pulse, he has a pulse! He’s alive!”

Vader’s presence exploded.

Joy, immense, impossible joy engulfed Luke like a blanket, and he momentarily lost all sense of anything, bathing in the feeling of his father’s relief. There were voices around him, he realized after a moment, there were words spoken to him and hands on him, and then something sharp pierced his skin.

“I’ve given him a stimulant,” he heard the medic say. “He should be able to move soon.”

And Luke did.

It was like warmth spreading through his body, like a fire melting away the ice that had frozen his muscles and blocked his ability to move. First, his toe fingers, then his legs, and hips, and stomach, and chest. His arms, his palms, every single finger, his neck, his lips, his eyelids.

He could move them all.

So, slowly, he blinked.

Immediately, his father was upon him.

“Luke,” He said, his voice almost begging, as if he wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was true. Gloved hands cradled his body, hands supporting Luke’s hands and back. “My son.”

Slowly, Luke’s lips turned into a smile. He parted them slightly, taking in a breath; it hurt as it went into his lungs. “...aaah…le…sss…” he tried to speak, then paused as the sound hitched in his sore throat. It was difficult to move his muscles, it hurt, but at least he could move them. Vader’s fingers tightened around him frantically.

Luke tried again.

“At le…ast,” he whispered again, stronger this time. He smiled, satisfied, and looked into Vader’s eyes with such love that he’d never thought himself capable of. “...at least…y-you ge to ke…ep…your two b-billion…credits…”

He’d meant the words to be light, but he still sensed a burst of guilt coming from Vader’s side of the bond. Those gloved hands tightened even more around his body, cradling Luke close.

“My son,” his father replied fiercely. “You’re worth so much more.”

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 18

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 18 - This Venerable One has Begged You Before

Tianwen has a deadly killing move. The name was very simple, just one word: "Wind". Once activated, no piece of armor in the surrounding area could withstand it.

Mo Ran was naturally acquainted with the power of "Wind". He also knew Chu Wanning's strength so there was no need to worry. He glanced at the pale man whose robe was dyed red with blood. He threw away the rest of his talismans to buy Chu Wanning some time, then flew away to the edge of the fight. He grabbed Shi Mei with one hand, Madam Chen with the other, and took two unconscious people, hiding a far distance away.

Chu Wanning endured the severe pain and reluctantly moved his other. Suddenly, Tianwen burst out with a dazzling golden light, and Chu Wanning violently jerked it back.

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost went berserk. It jumped up and rushed towards Chu Wanning with a distorted face.

Chu Wanning's robe waved like a flame in a violent wind, billowing and flying. His eyebrows were furious, half of his shoulders soaked in blood. He quickly raised his hand, Tianwen's golden light became more and more intense then it took off by Chu Wanning's flying spin.

The willow vine stretched for several tens of feet and whirled into a golden spiral. Like a whirlpool, it engulfed the surrounding ghosts, dead bodies, golden children, and the roaring and twisting Master of Ceremonies Ghost into the center of "Wind". The fierce image that was created by Tianwen was then shattered in an instant!!!

"Wind" smashed and destroyed. Not even the surrounding grass and trees, being ripped up from the ground, were spared.

The huge storm centered around Chu Wanning let out a dazzling golden light. The sky grew dark, covered by flying sand and rocks. Whether it was a coffin or the dead, they were like grass fluttering in the wind.

She was sucked in and was cut up by the rapidly spinning Tianwen.

Sliced into tens of thousands pieces of debris. . .

When everything calmed down, there was no grass around Chu Wanning, a desolate and empty wasteland.

Other than him standing alone in his bright, auspicious clothes that resembled a blooming red lotus and a begonia blossom, there was only a ground covered in crushed white bones, and the horrible hissing of Tianwen's golden light.

From this point of view, Chu Wanning did the world a favour pumping out so many disciples.

Based on his performance today, if he wanted to, even if every disciple on Life-Death Peak were defeated, it wasn't impossible for him to keep fighting. . .

The golden light faded away.

Tianwen turned into flickering dots like stars, blending into Chu Wanning's palm.

He breathed a deep breath and frowned. Enduring the sharp pain in his shoulder, he slowly walked towards his disciples in the distance.

"How's Shi Mei?"

Coming to their side, Chu Wanning pushed through and asked.

The ink burned down to look at the unconscious beauty in his arms. He still wasn't awake, his breathing was weak, and his cheeks felt cold to the touch. This scene was too familiar, it was a nightmare that Mo Ran couldn't get rid of.

As Shi Mei was lying in his arms like this, as time went on, he wasn't breathing anymore. . .

Chu Wanning placed his hands on Madam Chen's and Shi Mei's necks. He mumbled out: "Hmm? How could the poisoning be so deep?"

Mo Ran's head snapped up: "Poison? Didn't you say they were okay? Didn't you say that they were just being compelled?"

Chu Wanning frowned: "The Master of Ceremonies Ghost relied on the fragrance powder to compel them. That was a kind of poison. I thought it was only superficial, but I didn't expect the poison to be this severe."

". . ."

"Send them back to Chen's house first." Chu Wanning said, "It's not difficult to expel the poison. It's fine as long as they don't die."

His voice was cold and unwavering. Although Chu Wanning normally spoke like this, at this moment, it really made people feel like he was uncaring and downplaying things.

Mo Ran was brought back to that year of heavy snow. He was knelt in the snow and in his arms was Shi Mei whose life was slipping away. With tears on his face, he hoarsely begged Chu Wanning to turn his head, look at his disciple, and pleaded for him to raise his hand to save his disciple's life.

But what did Chu Wanning say back then?

It was also in such a light and calm tone of voice.

Just like that, rejecting Mo Ran the one time he knelt down and begged.

In the heavy snow, the person in his arms gradually became as cold as the snow falling on his shoulders and eyelashes.

That day, Chu Wanning killed two disciples with his own hands.

One was Shi Mingjing, who he could have saved but didn't.

One was Mo Weiyu, kneeling in the snow mourning the death of his heart.

There was a sudden panic in his heart, a brutality, a snake-like flow of resentment, rage and viciousness.

There was a moment when he suddenly wanted to rise up and strangle Chu Wanning. Wanted to shed his kind and pleasant disguise, revealing the hideousness of a malevolent ghost. Like a fierce ghost from a previous life, it viciously tore into him, questioning him and demanding his life.

He claimed the lives of the two helpless disciples in that snowfield.

But when his eyes flicked up, they suddenly fell on Chu Wanning's blood-covered shoulder.

The beast's anger was suddenly cut off.

He didn't say another word, just stared at Chu Wanning's face with poorly-masked hateful eyes. Chu Wanning didn't notice. After a while, he lowered his head again and stared at Shi Mei's haggard face.

His mind gradually went blank.

If something happened to Shi Mei this time, then. . .

"Cough cough cough!!"

The person in his arms abruptly coughed. Mo Ran was stunned and his heart trembled. . . Shi Mei slowly opened his eyes, and his voice was extremely hoarse and weak.

"A-. . . Ran. . .?"

"Yes! It's me!" In his ecstasy, the haze disappeared. Mo Ran's eyes widened. The palms of his hands were pressed against Shi Mei's cool cheeks, and his shining eyes trembled. "Shi Mei, how do you feel? Does anything hurt? "

Shi Mei smiled lightly, his eyebrows still. He turned his head, and looked around: ". . . How are we here. . . How did I faint. . . Ah! Shizun. . . cough cough, this disciple is incompetent. . . this disciple. . ."

"Don't talk," Chu Wanning said.

He gave Shi Mei a pill: "Since you're awake, take this poison dispersing pill. Don't swallow it right away."

Shi Mei took the medicine then was suddenly taken aback, his colourless face appearing even more transparent: "Shizun, how did you get hurt? You're covered in blood. . ."

Chu Wanning still had that faint, calm, irritating voice: "It's nothing."

He got up and glanced at Mo Ran.

"You, find a way to bring both of them back to the Chen's residence."

When Shi Mei woke up, the gloom that was deep in his heart suddenly vanished. He nodded quickly: "Okay!"

"I'll go first. I have something to ask the Chen family."

Chu Wanning said and turned to leave. Facing the vast darkness of the night, the fields covered in decay, he finally couldn't supress a twitch in his eyebrow, revealing a painful expression.

The entire shoulder was pierced by five fingers, the tendons and veins were torn apart, and the Master of Ceremonies Ghost's claws even pierced the bones deep in his flesh and blood. No matter how he pretended to endure it calmly, no matter how he tried to stave the bleeding, he was still be a human being.

It still hurt. . .

But so what if it hurts.

He walked forward one foot after another, the hem of the wedding dress flying around.

For so many years, people respected and feared him, but no one has dared stand by his side. No one cares about him. He has long been used to it.

Yuheng of the Night Sky, the Beidou Immortal.

No one liked him. No one cared whether he lived or died, whether he was sick or suffering.

He seemed to be born without the need for the support of others, no need to rely on anyone, no need for company.

So there was no need to shout out in pain, and crying was even more unnecessary. Just go and dress the wounds, cut off all the festering flesh around the tear and apply ointment on it.

It didn't matter if no one cared about him.

Anyway, that's how he came to be alone. He's survived all these years. He can take care of himself.

When he came to the door of the Chen residence, before he entered the courtyard, he heard an ear-piercing scream.

Chu Wanning didn't care about aggravating his wound and immediately rushed in - only to see the old lady Chen with a disheveled hair, her eyes closed, but chasing her son and husband all over the house, only ignoring the young daughter of the Chen family. She stood beside her in panic, huddled tightly, shaking.

Seeing Chu Wanning enter, Mr. Chen and his eldest son screamed and rushed towards him: "Dao Master! Dao Master, help!"

Chu Wanning held them back. He glanced at Madam Chen's closed eyes, and said angrily: "Didn't I tell you to watch her and keep her from falling asleep?!"

"I can't help it! My wife is unwell. She usually goes to bed early. After you left, she was still holding out at first, then she fell asleep, and then she started to go crazy! She started screaming. . . yelling. . ."

Mr. Chen shivered and ducked behind Chu Wanning. He didn't notice that he was actually wearing an auspicious outfit, nor did he notice the hideous wound on Chu Wanning's shoulder.

Chu Wanning frowned and said: "What was she yelling?"

Before Mr. Chen spoke, the mad woman rushed over with her teeth bared, screaming mournfully. It was actually the voice of a young woman—

"Spineless liar! Pathetically fickle! I want you to pay with your lives! I want you all to die!"

Chu Wanning: ". . . This evil spirit stoops low." He turned back and sternly shouted at Mr. Chen, "Does this voice sound familiar?"

Mr. Chen’s mouth was trembling. He rolled his eyes and swallowed nervously: “I don’t know, I don't recognize it, I don’t know! Please help! Please help!

Just then, Madam Chen rushed over. Chu Wanning raised his uninjured arm, pointing at the sky above Madam Chen, and a lightning bolt slammed down, trapping Madam Chen within a barrier.

Chu Wanning turned his head with an icy gaze: "You really don't know?"

Mr. Chen repeated: "I really don't know! I really don't know!"

Chu Wanning didn't say anything else. He whipped out Tianwen and bound old lady Chen in the barrier.

He should have tied up the rest of the family outside, it would be more convenient and easier to gauge the situation, but Chu Wanning had his own rules of conduct. It wasn't easy using Tianwen to interrogate abnormal individuals. So he abandoned the soft approach and instead questioned the ghost in Madam Chen's body.

Interrogating ghosts wasn't the same as interrogating people.

When Tianwen interrogated people, they couldn't fight it and would speak.

When Tianwen interrogated ghosts, it would form a boundary where only Chu Wanning and the ghost would exist. Ghosts would regain their original appearance in the boundary and pass on their message to Chu Wanning.

A flame ignited on Tianwen. It snaked along the vine, burning from his end straight to old lady Chen.

The old lady let out a scream, and suddenly began to twitch. The original scarlet flame on the willow vine instantly turned into a blue ghost fire and burned back to Chu Wanning's side.

Chu Wanning closed his eyes. The fire burned up the willow vine onto his palm, but the ghost fire couldn't hurt him. It just burned all the way along his arm, down his chest, and then went out.

". . ."

The Chen family looked at the scene in horror. They didn't know what Chu Wanning was doing.

Chu Wanning's eyelashes trembled lightly, his eyes still closed, but a white light gradually appeared in front of his eyes. Immediately afterwards, he saw a small, white, jade-like foot step out of the light, and a girl about seventeen or eighteen years old appeared in his field of vision.

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[nxrthmizu]

Second Place ; Miya Osamu.

fandom | haikyuu!!

pairing | miya osamu x fem!reader

w.c | 2.2k

genre | fluff

warning(s) | slightly suggestive, implied sexual content

author's note | i've been wanting to write this for a while! so here it is <3 it's not beta read and I didn't use a lot of metaphorical filling so it's not that poetic but eh Idc bc ✨ self indulgence ✨

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Once upon a time, Miya Osamu swore that he would never settle for second place again— He was never going to let another Miya score first place while he stood in the shadows. The twins had split paths after graduation, stepping onto stages where they'd never have to compete against each other for the spotlight again.

... Okay, who was he kidding. He'd be compared to Atsumu for his whole life— It wasn't like a different career would change that. Besides, his aunts were way too bored to not spin up something about him and his brother during family gatherings.

"Atsumu's making more money, isn't he?"

Well duh, he was a professional volleyball player, of course he made more money— Osamu wanted to roll his eyes in front of his aunts to make sure they understood that he heard their hushed whispers— But then again, he was an adult now, and he knew better than to stoop that low.

The comforting grip you had on his wrist also helped.

Things did get slightly better for him, though.

"Atsumu, your brother's already married," Osamu overheard his second aunt say to his twin during his wedding reception, "When are you going to settle down?"

The grey-haired Miya couldn't help but have a grin on his face for the entire night. Granted, the fact there was a silver ring on your finger also helped. You were absolutely radiant that night, and Osamu couldn't have been happier to finally be able to introduce you as his spouse.

Osamu's marriage did tilt more pressure towards his twin's way, because not more than half a year later, Atsumu caved in and found a sweet little thing to share his life with. The setter had had a couple flings here and there in his earlier years— But none of them ever lasted that long, and Atsumu had never introduced them to his brother, which is how Osamu knew that his twin really cared about the girl when the golden-haired man visited Onigiri Miya with her hanging on his arms.

If he didn't have the decency to help his brother maintain a good image, Osamu would've straight-up snorted at how tense his twin was when he served onigiri up onto their table, the shop empty with the exception of one table. It was almost like Atsumu was seeking Osamu's approval— Which was hilarious enough without the fact that the setter was nervous about it.

At the end of the night, it was as if the weight of the world was lifted off Atsumu's shoulders. Kaoru— The name of Osamu's potential sister-in-law— Got along wonderfully with you, who kept the shy-but-bright woman entertained as Osamu dragged his twin into the kitchen to make fun of him.

"Oh, go easy on him," You elbowed him lightly as the two of you closed up the shop for the night, wiping down the tables and tucking the chairs in. "Atsumu genuinely cares about her, he's making an effort!"

Osamu let out the snort he had held in for most of the evening. "I wouldn't be his brother if I didn't make fun of him."

"Boys." You muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. You had been around to catch the tail-end of some of Atsumu's previous relationships, so you could tell that Kaoru was different; In a way, Atsumu looked at her the same way Osamu eyed a nice piece of mackerel in the grocery shop.

"I heard that! C'mere," Osamu grinned, tackling you from the back. A smile burst across his lips when a giggle erupted from your lips, a cloth rag smacking him in the face when you tried to wriggle away from his hold. "You aren't getting away, pumpkin. Save your energy for later."

He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, yelping when he was smacked with the rag again.

"There won't be a later if you keep that up." You warned, laughing when horror instantly swept over his expression. His protests echoed in your ears as you thought about how this marriage was something you'd never regret. Yes, it was rough because his business took off on a rocky road, but you knew there was no gain without pain, so you hung on and saw him through to the fruits of his labour.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The next family meeting was graced with the presence of Kaoru, who, in turn, had been graced with your advice.

"Dress decently, do not wear black," You had warned her the night before on the phone, grimacing at the memory of your first Miya family dinner. No one had aunts more judgemental than the Miya twins. "I would suggest going with a dress. Oh, and it might help to bring a gift. A bottle of Ginseng Wine might be a good idea."

"We're here," Osamu parked the car outside the family home, subconsciously wincing at the sight of his aunts' vehicles. "... Ah. They’re here."

"I see they turned up early," You grimaced, "Atsumu and Kaoru-chan are going to have a brilliant night."

"Yup." Your husband grinned slightly at that, earning a smack for smiling at his brother's suffering. "Oh, he'll be fine. We'll mention that when Atsumu really needs saving." The wink he sent your way made your stomach butterflies flutter, but the warm touch of his fingers on your hand made them settle. "We'll be fine," Osamu's eyes softened as he met yours, reassuring you. "You've got me, remember? Worst case scenario, we'll just high-tail out of there and say we need to work tomorrow."

"Right," You released a breath of relief, interlocking your fingers with his. "Ready?"

"To see Atsumu suffer?" Osamu quipped. "Hell yeah."

And suffer did Atsumu. Kaoru wasn’t spared (of course she wasn’t—) and was judged from head-to-toe by the Miya's critical aunts. From the way they were eyeing her, you'd think they were the judges of Miss Universe instead of potential aunt-in-laws. Despite that, Kaoru braved the storm and stood strong through the whole night, her resilience shining with her determination to be with the other Miya twin— Osamu nodded his approval at that.

After dinner, the family gathered in the living room, with the elderly seated on the cushioned couches while the twins were squashed together on a bean bag (that you had to convince them to share, because apparently they were adamant about pushing the other off of it). Kaoru and you managed to snag a small corner of a couch, stifling your laughter at the sour faces of your respective significant others.

"So, Kaoru-san," Four heads collectively flinched when the aunt opened her mouth, "What's your job? Yearly salary?"

"Um, I'm... I'm a newspaper editor," Kaoru fidgeted with the strap of her bag while you resisted the urge to snap at her to look as confident as she could if she didn't want the interrogation to go on for the rest of the night. A shy, nervous thing like her would only make the predator's lick their lips at the sight of easy prey.

"Oh! That makes sense," The woman sneered, Osamu's mother not-so-discreetly turning up the volume of the television in hopes that the conversation would be drowned out. "You definitely dress with the salary of an editor."

Offence flashed across Atsumu's face like lightning, but before he could start a fight to defend his girlfriend's honour, Osamu dragged his brother back onto the bean bag and stood up.

"Excuse me, everyone," Osamu put on his practiced customer-service smile flawlessly, capturing everyone's attention instantly. "Y/N and I have an announcement to make." His eyes met yours, and you nodded, a smile waltzing across your lips.

"Mother, father," You begin, addressing your in-laws like you addressed your own parents. Encouragement swirled in your blood as Osamu interlocked your hands and squeezed your fingers. "You're going to be grandparents."

It took a while for the news to kick in.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Osamu's mother cried out, rushing to envelop you in a hug that you gracefully accepted. "Do you know the gender yet?"

"Of course not, mother." Osamu rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "We're not that far along yet."

"That's amazing! Congratulations!" Kaoru beamed brightly, not having picked up on Osamu's timely intervention.

"Thank you." You replied warmly.

"Well then, are you going to stop working?" The first aunt shot at you, smirking, coy as ever. She knew that you weren't the type to drop your job just because of an incoming child.

"Of course not." You replied easily, "What kind of spouse would I be if I couldn't help carry the financial burdens with my husband?"

She shut her trap instantly, huffing in fury. Osamu had never looked prouder.

The family rejoiced for a little longer, and from the tip of your ears, you heard Osamu gloating slightly about having reached another milestone earlier than his brother.

"I love you," Your husband murmured into the crook of your neck as the two of you cuddled in the warmth of your bed, too far for his aunts' sharp words to hurt you. "And our little boy in there.”

“How do you know it’s a boy?”

“... Father’s instinct.”

Months flew by in a blur, and so did doctor appointments, Sunday shopping trips with Kaoru as you left Atsumu to help Osamu in the restaurant. The pair would drive the half-an-hour trip from Osaka to Hyogo every weekend. This arrangement elicited a couple silly arguments between the twins, of course, but once you taught Kaoru the stern look that would make the two settle like guilty puppies with their tails between their legs— Those arguments became simple matters to handle.

“Have you thought of names yet?” Kaoru asked you while the two of you sipped on coffee.

“I have a couple in mind,” You smiled. “Osamu won’t stop going on about how he was right. The baby’s a boy.”

“Boys will be boys,” Kaoru rolled her eyes. Then, her expression changed to a wistful one. “This might sound odd, but… I just find myself thinking, sometimes… One day, I want what you and Osamu have.”

“... A happy marriage?” You raised an eyebrow, “Honey, you’re already on your way to one. Atsumu looks at you the same way ‘Samu looks at a bowl of gyudon. Or the way I look at a bucket of mint ice cream with peanut butter…”

Kaoru made a concerned look. “The baby sure craves some odd things.”

“You’ll experience this one day.” You returned pointedly. “Logically, I never would’ve thought of eating mint chocolate ice cream with peanut butter slathered on… But cravings are cravings. And it was surprisingly nice.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

After nine long months of waiting, Miya Tomohito was welcomed to the world. Osamu cried (Atsumu made fun of him for it before getting smacked by Kaoru— She was learning a lot from you). Both yours and Osamu’s parents wouldn’t stop gawking at your baby boy, with his little tuff of dark hair, his tightly-fisted hands and the slight cherry-red flush of his cheeks. You never thought you’d fall in love at first sight— But your son was living proof that you were wrong. From the first moment you held him in your arms, you had already given a piece of your heart for him to hold in his tiny little hands.

It quickly became a regular sight for frequent customers of Onigiri Miya to see Osamu walking around the shop, a sleeping baby boy strapped to his back. The two were inseparable. Once, you walked in on your husband having a full conversation with Tomohito, who was sucking on a spoon.

“I’m thinking of adding a twist to my tuna onigiri recipe,” Osamu said, as if he were talking to an adult and not a three-month old baby. “Do you think adding a squeeze of lemon juice will make it taste better?”

“Gwa.” Tomohito replied intelligently.

“Great suggestion, Tomo.”

“Mmm.”

“I see. We could go to the grocery store later to get some tuna and try that recipe tonight.”

“Ba.”

“You’re a genius, Tomo.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“I can’t believe you.” Osamu looked helpless. “You’re not… You’re not seriously doing this to me.”

“I’m completely serious.” You said firmly, having put your foot down with no room for argument.

“You’re really choosing him over me?” Your husband’s jaw dropped when you nodded solemnly. “I’m your husband!”

“And he’s my son.” You shot back instantly.

“You’re kicking me out of our bed for our son?”

“He’s sick!” You refuted. “I need him to be as close as possible to me. His fever hasn’t gone down completely yet and I can’t let him go back into his cot tonight. Besides, you might get sick if we all sleep in the same bed. Who’ll take care of the shop then?”

Osamu drooped visibly. He couldn’t believe what was happening— He had lost to a Miya once again— Now his son instead of his brother. “Fine.” He mumbled sadly. “Make your poor husband sleep on the couch.”

“It’s only for one night, ‘Samu.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomohito's name is written as 智仁. '智' means intelligence and '仁' means compassionate. I have a friend named Tomohito.

Also, when I was writing this I reminded myself to make sure I made the reader gender-neutral. That is, until I realised that I made the reader pregnant. I am an idiot.

haikyuu!! gen taglist: @haru-senji @hikari-writes @whootwhoot @folkloeren @definitely-yours @rirk-ke @animegirlweeb @cemeiia @haikyuushuffle

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Aarakocra Boyfriend: Enzo

This is for 2,000 of you lovely people following me. Thank you all so much! <3 This took more than a week to write, all thanks to writer’s block and burnout, so I’m thankful that I somehow managed to get this out lol. 

Also, may or may not have gotten inspiration from Revali-- anyway, enjoy!

Part 2

Relationship: male monster x female reader

Burning Heart

Fresh snow. Fresh snow that had fallen a hundred-foot deep, cleansing the land for eternity.

"The last time I saw snow this deep, I was just a little boy, still clutched to my mother, unaware of how big the world was." Your companion marvelled. "My father was smart enough to never go further up north—he reminded me. I did not gain his intellect."

Calder was a man who came from the nearby town of Ravensfell, a few days out from Briar, but he had been more of a cold type when it came to first-time introductions. Eventually, you got to open up more of him, little by little. His olive skin, chiselled features and rugged beard made him every female's focus, but the poor man was either too oblivious or polite to acknowledge their flirtations. You couldn't help but laugh at the failed interactions. Poor man, too preoccupied in his own toil.

He became a well-appreciated acquaintance for you on your long travels from town to town, east to west then south to north, but his company was all good experience. After all, he was the best sellsword for the job, merely a guard for you whilst you continued your researches; the sight you needed when you turned your back.

Your team's campaign had led you and your small faction to head further up north, to a small village of Oakendenn full of proud and efficient warriors, the bird folk that had carried the same customs for centuries, evoking both fear and wonder into those who bumped into them. Granted, their seclusion from the world had been brought down quickly when travellers and researchers intent on learning about them came rushing at the chance, ruining their solitude for good.

Stepping foot into their quaint town was certainly a spectacle, having to meet your guide to finding such remains high up in the mountains of Fallde Slopes– if the slopes didn't kill you, the snowstorms could freeze the group within hours if they didn't take the right precautions or clothing.

"You say there is a guide who will help us?" The small dirk in your hand was smooth and unused, still brand new as the day you had gotten it. You were situated in the town itself, in a cramped yet warm inn that was all opened up to the elements, trying to remain unaware of the cold stares of the innkeepers.

"He's one of the finest warriors, apparently. Familiar to the lands and every speck of snow that litters this land," Calder's laugh was hearty. "Must pity us for our lack of feathers and wings."

"The Aarakocras are fierce, brutal they are with fighting as they are as with foreigners." If there was one thing you learnt, it was that not all the people you ran into would be so welcoming. "Careful you don't offend them. We need their apparent aid."

Calder grumbled something as he tended to the flames of the room, poking them occasionally. "Sooner to be done with this job and we can get out of their feathers, huh?"

"That's it, just think of it like that. And soon, you can be back to the warmth of the south."

"Thank the Gods," Calder smiled sadly. "I don't think I could spend another day away from my little Zerlina." You remembered the girl when you were riding out: a sad, tearful girl the spitting image of her father, tight dark hair so wild and knotted. You had remembered the night before the trip you had brushed them out gently for her the way your mother used to do for you. Just to help Calder out.

The poor man is a good father overall. Even if he doesn't see it.

"She'll be so happy to see you again, Calder. She misses her father dearly." You reassured quietly, watching the man again. He was worn and beaten, littered with scars and thick, burly arms. He longed for home too.

"I hope so too." He stretched, saying his goodnights to you and the others before heading to his cot to sleep. You followed, heading to your own bed before you couldn't find sleep, wishing you had someone to wait for you too.

Even when you remained aloof, you still tried to remain somewhat friendly to strangers, even to the guide who had gone out of his way into helping you. But they certainly what you had been expected.

"It seems I have to be a tour guide for your pesky expedition, hmm?"

The smile from nerves of introducing yourself to him had fallen from your face after hearing the words so sourly come from him. It didn't take much for you to build up the walls high again.

Your hand faltered, just in reach for him to shake, awkwardly pulling away. "So, you're the Enzo we were expecting?"

The first thing you noticed about him was how vivid his feathers were: the brightest compared to his countrymen. Many of reds, oranges and yellows, like red sands of the far south of your home; beaten and threaded like a thousand coppers. It made the winter sun far in the north much more lively. By far the prettiest of the others. You admitted, but only could you wish his personality was as lovely as his appearance.

Another thing you noticed about him was his wings: they were separate from his body, large and tucked behind his back, his hands similar to any humans but with long and curled nails for fingers. His bird body was dressed in what looked like traditional garbs: leather and a basic tunic and pants, his taloned feet poking out and tapping against the ground.

"Your boss was the one who called for me, asking if someone capable of knowing their way around these parts, clearly, you humans don't know much about us Aarakocras," he jeered, eyes a lovely golden colour even when they were staring intimidatingly down at you. "So, you're the one they call the Doctor?"

Clearly too prideful, I've noticed. You scoffed. All too stubborn like the snowstorms. "That is correct."

"So I've noticed," Enzo crossed his arms around his broad chest, the amusement was pooled in those eyes as if he was in on the funniest joke around. "Clearly all of your studies have gone to a degree than in common sense."

You pondered whether it would've been ideal to punch the bird square in the face, or whether provoking him would end with your untimely demise.

Instead, you squared your shoulders, straightening your posture as you pointed just behind him. "You see Fallde Slopes over there? Its hills have been receding in the last 100 years, meaning any day now, your village could be woken up buried under layers and layers of snow. The snow stops here, meaning you and your people could be facing the demolition of this region and its inhabitants." You crossed your arms too, copying him. "I'm just trying to help unless you think my studies had gone elsewhere?"

Enzo scoffed, a puff of feathers that ruffled up. "Let's just resume to what we're good at, hmm?"

-

If travelling anywhere had taught you anything, it was that you shouldn't trust any higher-ups, believing everything will be smooth sailing.

The reports and samples scattered across the slopes, dancing dangerously too low to the cliff edges, some succumbing more than others, and those in your group scrambled to save them. Enzo remained arrogant as ever, doing little to help and rather smugly watching the ordeal, complaining often that your group were "walking too slow" and "we were running out of time for sunlight".

You were situated in the corner, silently taking note of what was around of little life preserved, before the beating of wings perked your ears. Snow crunched delicately when the Aarakocra stooped beside you, watching with soundless intent.

"So, this is what you do?" He grazed at a small patch of dirt you had brought up beneath the heavy snow. "Looking at dirt and grass?"

"All of this hold important information for us to understand how the landscape is changing," Enzo couldn't help but to have his attention piqued when he heard how almost automatic your response was, informing rather than belittling him. When you looked up to meet his eyes, it was hard to gauge his reaction: head tilted, seemingly drawn in from how far leant to you he was beside you.

He quickly dismissed it, pulling back from the noticeable closeness, and the burning feeling in your chest fluttered too quickly for your liking. "Whatever keeps us alive, I suppose."

Another presence came over to the two of you, heavier than of the Aarakocra. "You think you could help me with this?" Calder was looking over at Enzo, who, also was staring with narrowed eyes at the bearded man.

"Yeah sure," you gave an awkward glance to both men, realising something was piercing the silent air. "Is something going on?"

"No," Enzo, puffed his chest out, giving Calder little regard as he turned his head. "You go off with your dog, I'm needed elsewhere."

You watched him walk away before turning back to Calder, head tilted. "I'm going to pretend nothing happened there."

"Agreed," Calder affirmed, pointing you towards the deeper parts of the woods where the treelines met and increased in sizes and numbers. "I think I might've found something."

"Lead the way." You gestured for him to take the lead, directing you through the trees. The snow was freshest in these parts, untouched and light, airy. A wonderland was discovered in a small corner forgotten from the world. Beautiful. You marvelled. I will never get bored of seeing this.

"What's wrong, Calder?" He stopped you when the two of you reached the middle of the area, overwatching the large view, the mountains dipped and the view from the top pointed directing to the Oakendenn, situated right in the opening of the valley. "It's right in target," Calder addressed, thick eyebrows knitted. "And that means a direct hit for the snow to collapse in on it all."

"We could have a day, week or years before this region is completely smothered." You noted wretchedly. All these reports, research and hypothesis, yet you felt like it all went to no use. It seemed like everything was too late, that hard work going down the drain. "I wish we could've done more."

"And we have, do not fret," Calder reassured, patting your shoulder that you needed from a comforting friend. "And we will do so much more. Let's head back to the others, keep all together."

Right, but still, I feel useless. You dusted the remaining snow off your warm clothes, trying to remind yourself of the crunching snow below, your foot sinking with every few steps. Like everyone relies on you all the time. The only sounds that were heard were the distinct soft crunches of the two of you heading back, before one wretched and horrid resounded, echoing along with the trees, some birds fleeing from their branches of homes.

You looked back to Calder, who looked back in confusion, listening closely to the cracking of the earth as if it had split open. Your right felt for a second as if it was sinking lower, taking your body with you as all your body weight brought you down so suddenly, snow following too, making your body crash into it with force as you waded chest-deep through it.

Your voice was sudden and nervous, watching the ledge you once stood at grow taller and taller above you, a weightless feeling take over your body, the scream of your name as unknown darkness settled around you before you could hit the ground.

-

The first time you had seen snow, you had been seven, marvelling in wonder with friends at how magical it all seemed. Never did you worry about the eternal cold, of it encasing your entire body and leaving you worthless and alone. You always had the warmth to rely on: warm blankets and hot cocoa and fire to share stories around. The cold was sore and biting, an eternity of nothingness but yourself.

You didn't know how long you had been trapped in darkness: how long you had gone unnoticed or remembered. Maybe this was it... just oblivion and emptiness. You tried to invasion your limbs, your fingers trying to tread through the snow like it was water; too thick to even pass through, but trying and trying to feel your fingers and toes wiggle again.

You clawed and clawed slowly until the darkness lightened and that bleakness turned to hope. You kicked your body out as you breached the surface, coughing and spluttering weakly, an invasion of pure cold and ice felt trapped in your throat.

You laid there with your head against a block of solid ice and snow, trying to steady your breathing, the cold and winds were never-ending, never giving your body a break as all felt numb.

I'm going to die out here. You thought. Will my story be told again? You wanted to laugh, to call for help, but your throat was stinging from its frostiness.

There was a distant, soft sound of tree branches moving and swaying, how the dead leaves swayed and moved with long, drawn moans, wings of small birds flying off from the abrupt noises. The flapping of wings never ceased, ringing in your ears, reminding you didn't have wings yourself to fly off from this nightmare. It was only when you could open your eyes was when you saw the blurred large figure descend in front of you, all feathers and intimidating, you wished to cry out in pain for your misery, but once your eyes focused, did you noticed something familiar about it all.

A rush of feathers, brown and red, as pretty as coppers.

"So, there you are." Enzo's voice was merely a whisper among the howling winds, flapping slowly to the snowy plains in front of you, his body inches from you towering easily over your small frame. You made no noise or voiced your frustration for his words, weakly looking up at him as best as you could.

The blowing winds cast a glow behind his silhouette, watching the Aarakocra bend to kneel in front of you. "Hey," his voice surprised you, a feathered hand on your shoulder, shaking you with almost impatience. "Don't die on me, you hear?"

"Shut up," the words came weakly from you, luring you to sleep, his figure blurring again until you saw three of him, vision dotted. "Enzo..."

"Hush." He wasted no time in collecting you in his arms, cuddling you close to him as he carried you. What shocked you most was how incredibly warm he was, unaffected by the vast cold. You instinctively snuggled closer into his chest, shutting your eyes and shuddering. "Let's get you out of here."

You didn't respond, feeling how there was a surge of air moving around you both, your body growing lighter and head more lightheaded as he flapped his wings, the winds more biting against your exposed face and neck.

The harsh winds or the cold went straight to your head, pulling you in and out of consciousness, wrapped tightly in the arms that allowed you to feel a sense of safety to slip beyond the darkness, to rest your eyes for a moment.

-

There was an aching drive for warmth that slowly spread through you, taking over your body, making you want to drink it in greedily. When your eyes opened once more to a flickering flame, dancing and roaring, filling its beauty in the room. Just opposite you in the small room, knelt Enzo, tending to something he was pouring into a bowl.

"Where are we?" Your voice felt worse with wear, hoarse and not tended to. Enzo flinched, his feathers bright and shimmering against the colour of the flames, making him seem like a risen phoenix, an enigma in your eyes.

In his hands, the bowl was passed to you, his own in hand as he watched you gauge your reaction, before answering, "A cave I found, a few days out from Oakendenn."

"And the others? And Calder-"

"For the love of the Gods, can you for once think about yourself?" His words weren't snappy or aloof, more full of weary and strain. He laughed tiredly. "Honestly, little doctor, do you think before you go out so recklessly?"

Your cheeks rouged at the little nickname, ignoring it for the time being until it would nag the part of your brain for answers. "All in the name of science."

"Yes, well there won't be any science if you're frozen to death." He hesitated momentarily, before slipping a warm blanket around your shoulders, securing it carefully. "You're still a valuable asset."

To who exactly though? You questioned, silently snuggling into the blanket further. There was a strong smell of mint that was strong in your nostrils, pleasant and warm, luring you to tranquillity. It smelt a lot like him somehow, and your heartbeat raced with bashfulness.

You watched from your peripheral, the Aarakocra shuffling to sit beside you properly, his gaze never seeming to leave yours. “You’re doing an awful lot for me, Enzo.” For someone who dislikes me, and I, supposedly too.

But even that seemed like a lie. Enzo scoffed, his laugh light and airy like the frozen air. “Seems to me someone is just enjoying the company.” He shuffled closer to you, awkwardly throwing an arm around you for further comfort. “If you manage to not become a human popsicle, maybe—just maybe, will I show you around my hometown.”

Not only had his soft words thrown you off, but the feeling of his arm around you seemed not to be of great surprise. “What do you mean?” You scrambled for the right words.

“I’ve dealt with a lot of humans in my time, taking them up and down these mountains,” he said. “Not one of them had wildly gone down one of the slopes. You think that can go so smoothly with me and my reputation?”

“Your reputation, huh?” You laughed, spluttering into it when it tickled the back of your throat harshly. Enzo had placed a cup of water on your lips hastily, eyeing you with fake disdain you hoped. “You have a great reputation for the ladies or something?”

“Hmph, if that’s what humans like to think of it, then no.” He snorted, his eyes shifting. In this low, dim light, they seemed to be practically glowing. “Gods, that sounds terrible.”

There was a laugh shared between the two of you for a moment, onlooking the fire soundlessly, an unexpectedly calm atmosphere settling. You sighed, resting against his shoulder, resting your head into the bed of warm feathers, the smell of mint intense. “I’ll take that promise if you’re keeping with it.”

Enzo laughed warmly, shutting his eyes, the body growing slack as he hummed quietly to himself. “That’s good to hear.”

-

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[arrowflier]

Tomato and Basil

Daily Speedwrite.  This wonderful image by @mikcrymilkovich came across my dash again this morning, and I decided it was a nice fluffy topic for the day.

“Mickey, I’m home!” Ian called as he kicked the door shut behind himself.  He hefted a canvas tote in one hand, reaching up with the other to catch his straw hat by the brim as it threatened to slip off.

“Mickey?” he called again, and was met with a crash and a muffled curse from the kitchen.

“Fuck, I ain’t cleaning that up—in here Gallagher!”

Grinning, Ian made his way to the kitchen, dropping his burden on the counter and sneaking up to wrap freckled arms around his husband from behind.  Mickey relaxed back into him, letting his head loll back for a moment against Ian’s shoulder before returning his attention to the pot he was stirring on the stove.

“Mmm,” Ian hummed, running his nose along the skin behind Mickey’s ear before stooping to hook his chin over the other man’s shoulder.  “Smells good,” he commented.

“Yeah?” Mickey asked, stirring counterclockwise with the wooden spoon he had stolen out from the house kitchen right under Debbie’s nose.  “Thought we’d try somethin’ new, it’s this sauce Jill said she swears by.”

“Oh,” Ian responded.  “Yeah, that smells good too.”

Mickey dropped the spoon to rake a hand through Ian’s hair, then shoved him away with a palm on his forehead.

“Fuckin’ sap,” he murmured, but Ian knew how hard his husband was fighting to keep his lips from twitching up.

“Ey, you bring the stuff?” Mickey asked as he picked up the spoon again.

“Of course,” Ian answered, grabbing that canvas tote and pulling out the requested items.  “Got our first round of tomatoes right here,” he said as he revealed the ripe red fruit, “and some oregano from the next plot over.”

Mickey spun around, face bright.  “Ooh, some of that green stuff I liked?  You steal it for me?”

Ian sighed, pretending to be put out.  “No, Mr. Sticky fingers, I asked very nicely if Mrs. Whitman would mind trading me some.”

“Trading?” Mickey’s brow furrowed.  “You givin’ away our vegetables again, man?”

“I’m not giving them away, Mickey, I got something in return,” Ian corrected.  “And tomatoes are a fruit, not a vegetable.”

Mickey snorted.  “Fuck that.  If they were a fruit,” he said, stepping forward to poke a finger into Ian’s chest, “then you could make a smoothie out of ‘em.”

Ian grabbed his finger and used it to tug him closer, until Mickey was effectively pressing him back into the counter.  “I had a tomato smoothie once,” he reminisced.  

Mickey’s voice was low when he responded, eyes on Ian’s lips.  “No you fucking did not.”

“I did,” Ian insisted.  “It had kale too, though,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the memory.  “It wasn’t very good.”

“See?” Mickey murmured.  “That’s ‘cause they’re both vegetables.”  He ran a hand down Ian’s side, leaning in.  “Don’t belong in smoothies.”

“Fine,” Ian gave in.  “Believe your lie.”  He moved his head forward just enough to breathe out against Mickey’s lips as he spoke.  “You know what is good with tomato, though?” he whispered.

“What?” Mickey asked breathlessly.  His eyes fluttered closed, his head tilted in preparation, and then—

“Basil!” Ian yelled, pulling back.

Mickey’s hand left Ian’s waist to make a frantic shushing motion.  “Shut up, you idiot,” he hissed, grabbing at Ian’s arm as the taller man walked away and further into the apartment.  “He just settled down!”

“Oh Basil!” Ian called again, giggling at the way Mickey fell over himself trying to stop him.  He ended up pushed against the back of the sofa, Mickey’s hand over his mouth, when the telltale click of nails on the wooden floor informed them that silence was a moot point.

Mickey groaned, and Ian laughed, licking Mickey’s hand to make him let go.  Mickey turned to lean back with both hands on the frame of the sofa while Ian hurriedly knelt down on the floor.

“There’s my boy!” he announced happily as a tiny grey pup waddled toward him on shaky legs.  It slipped on the smooth floor in its excitement, and he scooped it right up, letting it cover his face in wet puppy kisses as it nearly wriggled out of his hold in glee.

“See what you’ve done now?” Mickey asked plaintively.  “He’s gonna be underfoot while we’re cooking, you moron.”

“Come on, Mick,” Ian said.  “Don’t pretend you don’t sneak him bits of hamburger when I’m not looking.”

“Not the point,” Mickey muttered behind him.  “And what’s with the name, anyway?” he continued, louder.  “You weren’t supposed to name him, we’re just watching him for a few days ‘til they find a place for him, remember?”

“Sure, Mickey,” Ian agreed.

“Just don’t go gettin’ attached,” Mickey told him, “I don’t wanna deal with you pouting when he leaves.”

“Of course, Mickey,” Ian agreed again.

“Now go feed him since he’s up,” Mickey demanded.  “And make sure you put water on it, he gets dehydrated.  And his vitamin is on the table, with his harness, so take him out after.”

“When did we get a harness?” Ian asked as he moved to do as instructed, sharing a secret smile with his canine companion.  Basil just licked his nose and wagged his tail some more, whole body moving with the effort.

“Grabbed it this morning while I was out,” Mickey answered absently.  “He pulls too much, he’ll choke himself with that damn collar.”

“Mmhmm,” Ian hummed.  Then he sniffed the air and made a face.  “Mickey, did you turn the stove off?”

“Shit!” Mickey yelped, pushing himself off the sofa to run back into the kitchen, where the sauce was boiling over and burning against the heating element.

Ian finished taking care of little Basil while Mickey cursed and tried to save their dinner, then grabbed the leash and harness from the counter.  He slipped the dog vitamin into his pocket to use as a bribe to get Basil back inside.

He dropped a kiss on Mickey’s head as he carried Basil toward the door.  “Be back in a minute,” he said, and Mickey nodded distractedly.

“Hey, wait!” he heard as he opened the door to leave, and turned to see Mickey’s head and upper body poking around the kitchen wall.  “Don’t let him near those azalea things, he keeps tryin’ to eat ‘em.”

Ian raised an eyebrow.  “Azaleas?”

Mickey shrugged.  “Yeah, those pinkish flower things,” he explained, scratching at his neck with one hand.  “Looked ‘em up, they’re fuckin’ poisonous.”

“Okay, Mick,” Ian assured.  “I won’t let him pull, and I’ll give him his vitamin, and I won’t let him eat any azaleas.”

Mickey nodded.  “Good,” he said shortly, disappearing into the kitchen again.

Ian left and shut the door behind himself, placing Basil on the ground so he could sniff around as they went down the hall.  Sure, Mickey, he thought.  They’d give Basil back in a few days.  Just like they had given the apartment back.  Or the garden plot.  Or the recipe book from the old lady down the hall.

Stopping to wrestle Basil into his harness before they went outside, Ian decided to stop by the store the next day and get him some new tags for his collar, too.  He was going to need them.

[xxdragonwriterxx]

🔥The Angelus Mortis (2/2)🔥

A/N: Here is part 2 of “The Angelus Mortis”! Part 1 is linked below if you haven’t read that part yet. Thank you for reading!

Part 1

~~~

The next day, Erwin woke up early to visit (Y/N) one last time before he had to hand her over to the MP’s. He sighed in disappointment. He thought he had been getting through to her, especially after she had given him her name, but he was left with nothing but false hope when she remained adamant about not answering any of his questions. He ran one of his large hands through his blonde locks in frustration as he made his way down the stone steps into the gloomy dungeon below.

He had no idea why he felt so conflicted when it came to this woman, why he had a feeling she was a better person than she was letting on. His heart battled with his brain as he walked, causing him to groan when he felt a headache begin to form. Why did he feel like he was missing something? Something important? He knew she would be a valuable asset to the Survey Corps if she cooperated, her strength rivaling that of Levi’s which would give them two vital weapons on the field. And he was sure that under Levi’s supervision she would flourish, maybe even develop a friendship with the sullen man. Maybe that’s why he felt so strange, because it was a missed opportunity?

Erwin shook his head as he finally rounded the corner, pushing away his inner turmoil to mull over on a later date. Immediately upon his arrival, (Y/N) rolled over on the small, filthy cot she had been provided, and met his gaze.

“Here to collect me, already?” (Y/N) asked, her disdain barely veiled by her attempt at a quip.

“No, not yet,” Erwin said as he sat down in the lone metal chair he had used the day before.

(Y/N) sat up slowly and crossed her legs, resting her hands in her lap as she turned to face him completely.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Well, you have spent one whole day here and you’ve been alone for most of that time. I came down here to see if you’re ready to answer my questions now.”

(Y/N) grit her teeth. “I told you, I don’t want to answer any of your shitty questions.”

“What’s the point? You’re going to be heading right for your very painful death in just a few hours, what is keeping you from parting with some information that will likely be unimportant soon anyway?”

“Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean I have to justify my life, to you of all people.”

“I only want to help you, this could save your life.”

“Why the hell do you care so much about me anyway? What am I to you? Do you want me for something? Maybe for your own personal desires?” (Y/N) suddenly bristled. “I didn’t take you as someone who would stoop so low, Commander, but what did I expect? I guess that’s what I get for thinking a murderer could show empathy. And to think, I almost learned to trust you a little.”

Erwin blanched, his face paling and his eyes widening.

“What?” He asked in utter shock. A murderer? What the hell was she going on about?

(Y/N) seethed at him and turned away, her entire body tensed and angry.

“Do whatever the hell you want with me,” (Y/N) said in a low voice. “Beat me, kill me, fuck me, do whatever you want, but I’ll never tell you anything.”

Erwin was quiet for a minute as he fought to process what he had just heard. A killer? Him? He only killed when he really needed to, aside from when he was fighting titans, of course, but he rarely used his weapons on a person, and never with malicious intent.

“What makes you think I’m a murderer?” Erwin asked.

(Y/N) suddenly whirled on him, her teeth bared, showing more of the wolf inside her that she had developed in the Underground. Her eyes flashed with fury and her fists clenched at her sides as she lost control.

“How dare you ask me that question,” (Y/N) snarled. “How dare you after what you took from me? Do you not even remember? Were they really that meaningless to you? You took away my family, the only positive thing I had in this world. You ripped them from me and now you dare ask how you have wronged?”

Erwin was bewildered now but he tried not to let it show on his face. He had to tread carefully. If he didn’t say the right thing, she might end up shutting down completely, and then he would lose any chance of keeping her from getting killed. He also wanted to keep her from hating him. If she was going to join the Corps, he would have to be able to lead his men without fearing for his life every time she was around.

“Did… did they live in the Underground with you?” Erwin asked carefully.

(Y/N) plopped down on her bed, rage still coursing through her veins as she looked at the man she had loathed ever since the fateful day her family had disappeared from her life, but she felt too tired to argue with him. He had won anyway, she was going to be tortured, maybe violated, killed, and then dumped in a trash can somewhere, left to die alone and forgotten. There was no point in trying to fight him anymore, not when he held the strings attached to her back, commanding the show and forcing her to dance. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break, but she knew her fate was sealed the moment she was brought up from the Underground. “Yes,” she said in a small voice, her head hanging low so that her hair covered her eyes.

“Are they the reason why you asked for my name in the Underground? Why you hesitated when you saw my face?”

(Y/N) only nodded.

“Are they why you targeted soldiers? To make us feel the pain you did when you found out they were gone?”

(Y/N) nodded again, more slowly this time and with a single glimmering tear that slid down her cheek and hit the stone floor with a barely audible tap.

Erwin hesitated again and swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry… for your loss.”

(Y/N) scoffed at him, her eyes filled with a smouldering hatred as she met his gaze.

Erwin cringed a little. He knew how apathetic that apology must have sounded, but he was at a loss for words. He just had to keep trying.

“I mean it. If I am responsible for their deaths then it must mean they died in combat, under my command. So, I am sorry for not being able to lead them properly. For not being able to protect them and bring them back home to you. I am so sorry…”

(Y/N) didn’t respond but he did notice that her gaze softened just slightly at his apology. He was starting to get through to her again. He knew that her acceptance of his apology was just a chink in the protective walls surrounding her broken heart, but he would take whatever he could get.

That was when Erwin suddenly realized something, the image of two faces flashing in his mind as he thought about what she had said. There had only been three people he had ever brought up from the Underground to be in the Survey Corps, and only two of them were dead. Farlan and Isabel.

Thinking back on it, Levi had never mentioned anyone other than Isabel and Farlan, and when he had been busted and brought to the surface he had only come with his two friends. Maybe they had never met. Maybe (Y/N) only knew Farlan and Isabel from her childhood and early adulthood while Levi was a mere business partner. Or maybe they did know each other but only through brief business interactions.

His heart jumped a little in his chest when he realized he was on to something. Maybe he could show her to Levi and see what his reaction would be? See if he would be the key to having her cooperate? Besides, it might be good for them, the both of them having lost their two best friends in a horrific manner, giving them the chance to form a bond or close friendship. It might even give Levi some closure. Erwin would be a bad friend if he hadn’t noticed how the loss of Levi’s past friends were still affecting him.

“How… how did they die?”

(Y/N)’s sudden question surprised him but he quickly brought himself back to the moment, not wanting to scare her away from talking to him again. He honestly couldn’t believe this was the same woman who had been bantering back and forth with him the day before, but he now realized she had been using it as a means of protecting herself. To make herself seem more confident in the face of the one person she supposedly hated the most. She had entertained him so he would stop digging, stop trying to dredge up old, painful memories.

“We were on an expedition outside of the walls and it started to storm. We tried to retreat but the rain and open meadows made it difficult to find our way back. Everything looked the same, blurry and gray or green. In the confusion, an abnormal titan snuck up on us and killed the majority of our troops, your family among them.”

(Y/N) was quiet but met his gaze again, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looked so vulnerable at that moment. He could tell she still had that fighting spirit, that unwavering strength; the vulnerability did not make her look weak or pitiable in the slightest. It just made her look more… human.

“What happened to the titan?” She asked.

“One of my Captains, Levi, took care of it.”

(Y/N)’s head suddenly jolted up, her entire body going rigid. “Wha-”

“Erwin!” The Commander turned around to see Hanji standing on the stone steps leading down to the dungeon, clutching a lantern in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other.

Erwin stood and met his girlfriend on the steps, taking the manacles from her. Hanji gazed at him for a minute before her gaze shifted to the woman in the cell. Erwin could tell right away that Hanji felt something similar about the mysterious assassin, that she had the strange feeling that there was something more to her like he did. He could see it in her eyes, in the way they shone even in the darkness of the dungeon.

“Time to go,” Hanji said softly.

Erwin nodded and made his way to the cell, Hanji following close behind with a sword in her grasp, ready to cut the woman down should she try anything.

When Erwin moved to stand behind her, leaning down to lock her wrists into the handcuffs, (Y/N) hung her head again, her mind still spinning with the name that had fallen from the Commander’s lips. 

It was a name she hadn’t heard in years, a name that still haunted her dreams and left her feeling cold and alone. There was no way it was really him. Levi was a common enough name that the Captain could be anyone. Despite this, the fact that there was a chance he was really out there, gave (Y/N) peace of mind. 

If he was dead, then she guessed she was going to see him soon, maybe finally live the life they wanted to, if that was even possible after death. If he was alive, then that would still be satisfactory enough for her. Either way, she hoped she’d get to see him again soon. Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad.

“Commander Erwin,” (Y/N) said.

“Yes?” Erwin said, trying to hide the surprise in his voice when she said his real name rather than mocking his title of Commander or calling him an idiot.

“How is your shoulder?”

Erwin was baffled but answered her honestly.

“Sore but healing well.”

“Good. I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

Erwin swallowed and shook his head to tell her it was alright, his throat refusing to let him speak. Hanji was watching the Angelus Mortis carefully, her eyes filled with confused sorrow. (Y/N) glanced at the bespeckled Squad Leader and nodded once, a tiny smile curving at the corners of her lips.

(Y/N) could do nothing but sit still as they finished clamping her hands behind her back and stood her up, leading her out of the cell and up the stairs to her inevitable death.

_____________________________

Levi strode through the halls, looking for Erwin. He had been told immediately upon his arrival that the Commander had managed to capture a dangerous assassin from the Underground and needed his assistance in transporting them to the Military Police base to be detained and sentenced to death. He had been a bit surprised with the news, he hadn’t known that Erwin was hunting for a killer from the slums, but he had been out for an entire week on that solo mission, so things were bound to happen without his knowledge while he was gone.

Levi only paused by his office to switch out the sword he had for a cleaner, sharper one. The blade he had carried previously was covered in filth and worn from the constant fights he had been forced to break up on his mission.

As soon as he had a better weapon, he set off for the dungeons where Erwin and Hanji were supposedly already bringing the criminal up the stairs. He hadn’t heard much about this assassin, all he knew was that they were exceedingly dangerous, known as the Angelus Mortis, and they were headed for death row. He gripped his sword a bit tighter as he walked, readying his mind to prepare for anything. A criminal this dangerous would be incredibly strong and while he had no doubt in his mind that he could defeat the bastard, he would rather get out of the fight with all of his limbs attached.

“Levi! Over here!”

Levi looked up as he approached the dungeon steps, his silver eyes flickering over to the prisoner in Hanji’s and Erwin’s grasp. His eyes widened a little when he realized the assassin was a woman, her filthy (h/c) hair covering her face as she hung her head.

“Oi, who are you? What’s your name?” Levi asked coldly, his eyes narrowing on her thin form.

He expected her to keep her head down despite his commanding tone. He knew criminals like this, you could yell at them all you wanted, demand things from them, even beat them and they would usually remain stubbornly silent. 

What he did not expect was for her to lift her head sharply, the sound of his voice triggering something in her.

Levi gasped audibly when her (e/c) eyes met his silver ones, his entire world shifting beneath his feet. Her whole body froze when she saw him. For a moment, nobody breathed, Levi’s eyes roving over her constantly as he tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

(Y/N). That was (Y/N). His (Y/N).

The one who had given him so much love and appreciation every day despite their shitty lives in the slums. The one who had comforted him when the world felt too dark; the one who loved him when he couldn’t love himself; the one who patched him up after a fight and fought by his side when she could. It was (Y/N). Undoubtedly (Y/N).

“Levi? What’s the matter?” Hanji asked.

Levi suddenly remembered the reality of their situation. (Y/N) was the goddamn Angelus Mortis. The most dangerous assassin in the world was the love of his life, and she was being sentenced to death.

“Let her go,” Levi said, his voice low.

“What? But Levi-”

“I said let her go!” Levi barked.

Hanji and Erwin exchanged concerned glances but slowly moved to unlock the handcuffs holding her to them.

As soon as she was free, (Y/N) sprinted forward and crashed into Levi, her small frame hitting him like a bullet. 

“LEVI!!!” (Y/N) cried in a strangled voice.

Levi grunted a little at the impact but wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her waist, completely forgetting about the audience that watched them, their mouths dropped open in shock. Hanji and Erwin were no better, their eyes wide.

“Oh my fucking gods, it’s you, it’s really you,” (Y/N) whispered in awe, her arms tightening around him, holding each other in the middle of the hallway.

Levi was about to speak when he looked up and noticed that everyone was staring. Sending a glare in the direction of their audience that promised a painful death to anyone who spoke, Levi reluctantly pulled away from (Y/N) and grabbed her wrist, tugging her along behind him as he made for his office.

“Wait, Levi!”

“Levi! What the hell!?”

Levi heard Erwin and Hanji call out to him but he ignored them, making a beeline for the familiar wooden door to his quarters. He could hear the pounding footsteps of the Commander and the crazy scientist coming up behind him, but he did not stop or slow down, his eyes trained on his destination.

When they had finally reached his office, Levi pulled (Y/N) inside and begrudgingly let Erwin and Hanji join them before slamming the door shut and locking it. (Y/N) barely had enough time to glance around the space before he was on her again, this time sealing their lips in a searing kiss that stole the air from her lungs.

Erwin’s and Hanji’s jaws dropped at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier kissing the Angelus Mortis without a care in the world. Neither one of them had ever known Levi to be interested in love, the sullen man even going so far as to get angry at the mention of it, rolling his eyes when couples kissed in the hallways and gagging when Hanji tried to set him up with someone.

Levi pulled away from the kiss, panting, before he moved his lips to place desperate butterfly kisses all over her face and neck, his body humming at the feeling of her against him for the first time in years.

When they finally broke apart again, both of them ignoring the company they had in the office with them, they stared at each other, their eyes shining as they took the sight of their lost lover. (Y/N) reached up and gently cupped his cheek with her palm, her heart nearly exploding when he nuzzled into her touch, his eyes closing and his own hand coming up to cover her own.

“Gods, I missed you so fucking much,” Levi murmured.

“Me too Levi, I missed you so much, I don’t even have the words to express it.”

“I thought I lost you…,” Levi choked out, a single tear sliding down his cheek to hit her thumb where her hand was still holding his face.

“I thought I lost you,” (Y/N) whispered, her thumb moving to swipe the tear off of his skin. “I was told when I asked around that you were killed in combat with Farlan and Isabel, after being forced to join the military.”

Levi’s eyes opened, his silver hues glassy with unshed tears.

“I tried to get you. Tried to come back for you. But when I got to the Underground, everyone near our old place told me you had been brutally murdered. I even found the inside of our house to be destroyed with blood splattered on the floor.”

Levi’s body began to tremble as he relived the horrendous memory. The time when he thought all hope was lost, all life was meaningless, and that he was destined to be alone. When he had collapsed upon the filthy floor of their old ramshackle home, the blood soaking into his pants and sliding over his palms, he had wanted nothing more than to die. Almost did, until he managed to remind himself that she would’ve never wanted that for him. That she would’ve killed him if he decided to end his life. And so he had hardened his heart and left the scene, making that promise to himself right then and there that he would never love another woman ever again. He would live, for her sake, but he would never love, for his sake.

(Y/N) glanced away from him then, her hand dropping from his face to twist nervously in front of her, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.

“Yeah, well, when I thought you were dead, I knew there was no hope for me left. I was in agony, but I was also furious. Beyond furious at both the Military Police and the Survey Corps for taking you and Isabel and Farlan away from me. Aside from that though, I was also scared. Scared they would find out about our relationship and come looking for me. I knew I had to get out of there, I refused to work for the murderers who had taken away my one happiness in this life. So I trained myself, starting by faking my own death to become untraceable. Then I became stronger, faster. I killed both to remain free and to make them feel the pain I felt when you were ripped away from me.”

Levi’s eyes softened and he reached for her, bringing her into his chest and holding her tightly, his fingers tangling in her hair. Oh gods she was skin and bones, he could feel how malnourished she was through his shirt, her ribs poking him in the chest as he held her.

Suddenly, the Commander’s sharp voice broke the spell in the room, making both Levi and (Y/N) jump a little when he spoke.

“Sorry to interrupt, but what the fuck is going on here?” Erwin asked.

Levi and (Y/N) pulled out of their embrace but Levi kept an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, holding her close to him as if she’d disappear if he let go.

“Sorry, Erwin, Hanji,” Levi said, looking at each of his friends in turn. “I’d like for you to properly meet (Y/N) Ackerman, my wife.”

If Erwin and Hanji thought they were shocked before, nothing could have prepared them for the bombshell that just landed on them. Both of their mouths fell open so they were gaping like fish, their words caught in their throats.

“YOUR WIFE!?” Hanji suddenly screeched, her eyes sparkling with shock and wonder.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile and nod, her expression making the room feel several degrees warmer.

“But, Levi, you’ve never worn a ring!” Erwin pointed out, his mind scrambling for any kind of clues that he had missed that would’ve told him sooner that Levi was married. He came up empty. He knew for a fact that Levi never wore a ring on his hand, knew that if he had, Hanji would’ve never stopped asking him about it.

Levi then flashed a small smile of his own, and reached up to remove the cravat from around his neck. As soon as the pristine white fabric had fallen away, Erwin and Hanji were both able to see the silver chain that was clasped around his neck, a simple gold band hanging from the center.

(Y/N) reached up with her own hands to move the flaps of the old jacket she was wearing, the same silver chain with a gold ring on the end of it sitting against her sternum.

Erwin and Hanji just stood and stared in complete and utter shock for a moment, before Hanji suddenly let out a loud squeal, her eyes shining behind her glasses as she ran right up to (Y/N). Levi stuck an arm out as the energetic woman came running up to them.

“Oi, Four-Eyes, don’t go harassing her.”

“Levi, this is your wife! I can’t not come and say hello!” Hanji said incredulously, pushing his arm away and ignoring his scowl as she bounded around (Y/N) excitedly. “Oh my gods you are so pretty! No wonder Shorty likes you!”

(Y/N) blushed at the comment and sheepishly ducked her head down a little but she was smiling brightly, her fingers moving to gently run down Levi’s arm, telling him she was alright even with this wildly energetic woman in her face.

“T-Thank you,” (Y/N) said. “Are you a friend of Levi’s?”

The  scientist nodded excitedly and stuck out her hand for (Y/N) to shake. “The name’s Hanji.”

(Y/N) shook her hand and tried to force the blush from her cheeks as Hanji continued to fawn over her.

“Levi, how come you never told us you were married?” Erwin asked while his girlfriend continued to blubber away, cooing over (Y/N)’s features and already beginning to set up a meal plan to help her get strong again.

Levi leveled a gaze at his Commander and one of the few people he called his friend. It was hard to tell what the giant blonde was thinking. He obviously knew Hanji’s opinion on everything, but Erwin’s sharp blue eyes remained unreadable but no less intense as they settled on the shorter man, waiting for a response. Levi naturally drifted almost imperceptibly closer to (Y/N) before speaking.

“I thought she was dead, Erwin. I’ve thought that ever since I went back to try to bring her up with me and found that scene at the house. Not only would telling you have been pointless, but also, it hurt too much to talk about her. I never took off my ring, I always wear it under my cravat, but I could never bring her up in conversation, not without feeling like my heart was being ripped out,” Levi said quietly, his voice a low rumble and his cheeks tinted with the palest pink as he admitted his feelings aloud.

Erwin contemplated his Captain’s words, his eyes narrowed on the sharp grey ones that stared right back. After a moment, Erwin could tell there was no deception in his friend’s gaze, nothing to suggest he hadn’t told them about (Y/N) for some unorthodox reason. The Commander nodded once, and he could’ve sworn Levi let out the softest sigh of relief. Hanji’s head suddenly shot up from where she had been examining (Y/N) for injuries.

“So that’s why you never accepted any of the women I tried to set you up with!” She said. “You were always so bothered by it, always so angry, now I know why!”

“Yeah,” Levi grumbled as he glared at the scientist. “Even when I thought she was dead, I just couldn’t love another…” 

Hanji stared at him for a moment before her eyes softened. She knew how hard it was for him to admit all of this, how awkward he must feel right now trying to explain everything. She wasn’t used to seeing her normally blunt, stoic, collected friend so nervous.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I just didn’t want you to be so sad and lonely anymore.”

Levi threw her another glare but it was less harsh this time, and having been friends with the grumpy man for so long, Hanji could read the hidden gratitude in his eyes. She nodded once in response and went back to checking (Y/N) over.

“(Y/N),” Erwin called, suddenly turning to face her after watching Hanji examine her.

“Yes?”

“Now that we’ve found out about your connection to my Captain here, I want to remind you that I am technically still obligated to take you to the Military Police for your crimes.”

Levi let loose an almost animalistic snarl and wrapped his arms around (Y/N), his eyes flashing and his teeth bared as he dared his friend to even try to take her from him. Erwin didn’t even bat an eye, a small smile curving at the corners of his lips.

“Since it is obvious that is not really an option for either of you, I would like to formally ask you to join the Survey Corps. That way, I can discount any charges against you and protect you from being forcibly taken from our custody once the Military Police realize we are not going to arrive.”

(Y/N) looked up at her husband, meeting his gaze and squeezing his hand comfortingly. Gods she had missed him so much, her heart ached with how much she loved this man, how much she never wanted to let him out of her sight ever again. Even though she had hated the military for most of her life, basing her entire career around it in her search for vengeance, there was no debate in her mind. Even if joining the Survey Corps wouldn’t have guaranteed her life, she knew she would’ve always agreed.

“Yes, I will join the Survey Corps, pledge my life to you, and fight for humanity,” (Y/N) said clearly and without hesitation, returning the smile the Commander threw her. Turning to Levi, (Y/N) looked deeply into his gunmetal eyes, marveling at the emotion swirling within them. “I will follow you, wherever you go, no matter what happens, I am never letting you out of my sight ever again.”

Levi let a genuine smile ride across his face as Erwin and Hanji left to go submit the proper paperwork, giving the reunited couple some privacy. Leaning down, Levi pressed his lips to hers in a blazing kiss, gentle and sweet but no less passionate, letting his kisses tell her exactly how he was feeling in that moment.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, (Y/N),” Levi whispered breathlessly when they pulled apart, resting his forehead against hers.

“I will always come back to you, Levi,”  (Y/N) said, her own eyes glazed with unshed tears. “I only ever feel truly alive when I am with you.”

~~~

A/N: I know the ending dialogue is a little cheesy but I had fun writing this anyway. Thank you again for reading and I hope you enjoy! More Levi content coming soon!

[devanksan]

Fundamental Understanding of Body Language

Importance of knowing body language to avoid contradiction between what we say and what we do to increase the credibility

Body language is the first method of contact among humans. Since ancient times the body has been an irreplaceable instrument of communication before speech and written language.

We are permanently communicating and under the scrutiny of other people, even without conversing with them, during walking alone in the park, riding the subway, going to the university, etc. According to the body posture, the way of walking, and the expression of the face and hand movements, we can decipher the inner state of this person.

People observe our body language while communicates to others through gestures and movements, the thoughts, and emotions we are feeling at that moment. The body sends permanent messages to our brain, affecting our mood; therefore, if we assume an upright position, our mood improves immediately; if we take a stooped position, our mood decreases.

Being conscious of the significance of body language for a better coexistence in society improves social relations and helps build a better world; more humanistic, creative, empathetic, productive, where you can live and act in freedom.

Why is body language always a topic of discussion?

Man is a social being who constantly communicates with his environment to satisfy basic needs that allow him to stay alive, such as food, health, clothing, education, etc., and develop in society. It is challenging to live in isolation without communicating with each other.

In recent decades, there has been a significant trend in positive psychology in the study of body language and emotional intelligence. Previously, there are scholars to study negative emotions, now they have focused on the study of positive emotions of the individual, and the results have been surprising.

Scientific research has discovered that the key to human development and growth depends on people's mental state; their levels of satisfaction and happiness are directly related to creativity, production, and performance, based on the ability to communicate and interrelate with their environment.

Experts affirm that 93% of what we communicate, we do it through body language. If we cannot manage our emotions and maintain synchrony between thoughts, feelings, and words, our own body oversees contradicting what we say. This contradiction directly affects our credibility with others, with negative consequences for our personal and professional growth.

Why is body language important in a job interview?

Companies are concerned about choosing a professional with the right profile for what they are looking for, thus saving time, money and improving the company's conditions. The success in the selection of the candidate for a job is the success of the company. Thus, be mindful of every detail when communicating; a small oversight can provide an excellent opportunity for both parties.

An extraordinary resume is not enough; it must be strengthened with skills and personal characteristics, which can only evaluate during the interview. In the job interview, several elements are involved, and the body language adds credibility to the presentation speech.

From the moment you arrive at the company's physical headquarters that will conduct the interview, your evaluation starts from the manner of dress, verbal, and body language. In these moments, special attention and focus on the gestures that accompany the word and express the emotional states that the person experiences in those moments.

With technology, some companies implement strategies that allow you to observe the job candidate online or in the waiting room before the interview. This technique will enable you to observe behaviors that indicate insecurity, stress, or anxiety. The candidate could be monitored and evaluated, his presentation, punctuality, and behavior. The interviewer accomplishes this observation through observation and a practical understanding of body language.

The employer knows your resume, which demonstrates strengths and skills. The interview seeks to discover and evaluate your personal ability to meet the different challenges within the organization successfully.

Inappropriate language can send the wrong signals and impoverish the interviewer's perception of you. You should not only take care of your physical appearance, but it is also essential to take care of the way you carry yourself.

Your verbal answers may be flawless, but if your body language shows signs of nervousness, insecurity, fears, it can negatively affect your chances of getting the job of your dreams.

Through body language, the interviewer discovers your level of security, optimism, and self-control, which, added to your physical presentation and resume, increases your chances of being hired.

It is fundamental to handle the presentation speech, workings on ourselves to control emotions expressed through body language, and while we communicate through speech, our own body can give us away.

Insecurity produces fears; uncontrolled nerves manifest through unconscious and involuntary actions that send signals to our interlocutor (sweating, nervous tics, involuntary body movements, etc.); you can only correct this with the effective management of our emotions.

What to do before going to a job interview?

There is only one chance to make a good impression, first, prepare your image.

Take some time to choose what to wear. Find out what style identifies the company, dress appropriately

Prepare to rehearse, applying self-analysis, following what's in the resume

Get information about the company and the products it offers

Look for information about the job position offered by the company; this practice denotes interest. It is a plus

Decorate the answers to possible questions, turning weak points into strong points, arguing intelligently

Get examples in your career where you demonstrate behaviors that highlight your virtues to convince your interlocutor

Research body language by practicing in front of the mirror or ask a good friend for an opinion on your performance

Evaluate possible questions and possible answers for greater security.

Sleep 8 hours a day and eat properly

How does the interviewer define your personality traits in 30 minutes to 1-hour interview?

In an interview, the language is the protagonist; from the first minute, the evaluation begins. Between 30 minutes and 1 hour, the interviewer will try to discover personality traits that will ensure success in the performance of the position to be filled within the business organization.

The interviewer will ask a sequence of questions to find out if you are qualified for the position within the company.

The answers and your body language will let the interviewer know if you are lying if you are honest and if you feel comfortable in specific elements such as:

Goals in life and work

Expectations about the job

Availability

Commitment

Skills

Defects

Virtues

What would you be willing to do?

Why were you interested in the company?

Most little satisfying moments

Others

Experts say that 90% of communication in an interview is done through body language. Reflect on your thoughts, feelings, fears, and difficulties. Prepare yourself internally and externally for the interview. Believe in yourself, respond naturally, take on new challenges a priori, show confidence and say, yes, I can do it.

5 Negative body language to watch out for

These are some of the body behaviors, which send negative signals to our interlocutors:

Walking posture

Body posture requires a specific body movement. A person who walks hunched does not have agile and energetic steps; a person with an assertive stance does not walk timidly

Walking hunched over, with shoulders forward and chin down, shows low self-esteem, frustration, and motivation

Shuffling feet can be perceived as a sluggish or sick person who is hostile to the company

Arms drooping without balance; shows the attitude of an unmotivated person who does not value himself and does not give value to what surrounds him

Correct posture

Back straight, shoulders back, chin up, this is an assertive posture that covers a larger vital space and increases positive energies. This posture makes us look capable, self-confident, and highly motivated.

Face

To show a face without expressions, with an elusive look, that wanders and cannot remain fixed in front of the interlocutor; generates distrust and disinterest

The cold aspect of facial expressions, the absence of wrinkles on the forehead and eyes that occur when we are surprised or happy, is unfriendly to others and shows anger, dissatisfaction

Lack of smiling; is interpreted as a sign of dissatisfaction and unhappiness, and the person interviewed may be perceived as inaccessible and complicated

Looking over the shoulder of the interlocutor shows arrogance, contempt, unfriendliness to others

Correct facial expression

Maintain eye contact without exaggerating

Smile: it allows open communication. It denotes kindness, understanding, and joy, ideal to start a conversation

The look: it can express different emotions; the most crucial job interview should be interesting. The eyebrows accompany the look. The person, who shows interest, keeps the eyebrows fixed and the gaze, observing the interviewer, taking minor detours to refresh

In the face of emotions of astonishment and surprise, they are raised, and the eyes are enlarged

Pupils open wide

Before emotions of joy, the eyes accompany the smile, closing a little and producing small wrinkles on the sides

Hands

Shaking hands is a good start, but you must know how to do it. It should not be strong, nor so weak; it should be firm and show confidence, looking into the person's eyes doing the interview

A weak handshake projects an unreliable and unenthusiastic impression. Shaking hands that are sweaty and shaky shows insecurity; you don't believe in yourself

Avoid touching only your fingers or squeezing the other person's hand. It can lead to misunderstandings

Fingers wringing during the interview denotes anxiety

Hide your hands; it is the worst idea you can have

Experts in body language recommend in these moments of anxiety, while listening to our interlocutor, to join the tips of the fingers without joining the palms

Keeping your hands inside your pants (men) denotes that you are oblivious and uninterested in the topic of conversation

Putting your arms across is a sign of a blockage, denial in communication

Throwing your hands with force is a sign of a defiant attitude

Avoid pointing fingers; it is a sign of accusation

Positive gestures

Generally used as a technique to order thoughts, establish references, and remember correctly.

Keep hands visible and make firm, confident movements when speaking (without exaggeration)

Open hands upwards; it is a sign of honesty; it means that you are not hiding anything

Open your hands sideways and show an open attitude.

Control involuntary hand movements

Uncontrolled movements

Unconsciously during an interview, presentation, or simply when talking to another person, our body may be making movements that denote nervousness. These movements can be.

Touching the hair

Frequent touching of the face

Twisting hands

Illogical movements in the chair

Tapping your foot on the floor

Twisting your tie

Pulling at the hem of your dress

Scratching your neck, ear, etc

These involuntary movements being extremely distracting and show that you lack confidence.

What can you do to control these behaviors?

Mindfulness concentration and breathing exercises help keep emotions in balance and improve the perception of reality; increasing optimism and positive thoughts help focus on the present time, reducing stress and anxiety levels.

Yoga is also an excellent help for concentration, body stretching, and relaxation.

These exercises facilitate communication with our inner self, helping us get to know ourselves better, removing fears, and removing mental blocks.

Silence and voice

Very long moments of pause show disinterest, boredom, and lack of knowledge of the subject

Speaking in a shallow tone of voice, almost inaudible, is a sign of fear and shyness

Talking with shouting; denotes arrogance and disrespect towards the other person

The appropriate tone of voice

· According to Albert Mehrabian, the tone of voice accentuates 38% of the message to be transmitted. Intonation and paralinguistic elements should continuously feed the harmonious circle of communication.

· Break the silence and try to ask open questions.

· Use a tone of voice according to the emphasis you want to give when speaking. Maintain the rhythm and avoid crutches.

· If for any cause the interviewer raises his voice, use a very soft and low tone of voice, and lean slightly toward him, being careful not to invade his space. "No need to shout..."

Tips for Impressed with your body language.

People who have difficulty communicating fluently and serenely generally convey insecurity and rejection. Some psychological tricks can help you relax and make a good impression.

Here are a few:

Assign yourself the value you have

Boost your self-esteem

Arrive on time to avoid anxiety and stress about being late. Arrive 5 minutes early or more

Dress appropriately for your surroundings; suit and tie (men) and discreet dress (women). Display an image, which reflects good grooming

Try to show a positive image. Our interlocutor consciously and unconsciously interprets the message that our body sends

Maintain eye contact, naturally

Smile from time to time without exaggerating

Wait for an indication to approach; if it is the case, shake hands vertically and firmly; avoid exerting force

Wait to be invited to sit down

If you are carrying an umbrella, raincoat, or another object in your hands, ask permission and place it to one side. Avoid sitting with things on you. Maintain an upright posture

Not to address the interviewer by their first name unless requested by the interviewer

Listen carefully

Highlight positive aspects of your background

Take your time and reflect before answering "dangerous" questions

Be motivated and interested in joining the company

Avoid invading the interviewer's space. Example: Remove your resume to verify a date. Admit that you don't remember it

Show yourself willing to take responsibility

An increase in the number of movements of the interviewer indicates that the interview is about to end

Chair movements and changes of position

Movement of documents

Wait for the interviewer to rise and then extend your hand in farewell

Say goodbye politely and express gratitude

The best strategy for attending a job interview should be based on self-confidence. Act naturally, without forcing the situation, as if you were talking to your best friend. Clarify doubts, empower yourself with knowledge and seek support from people who know the job position within the company and believe in you; that you are capable of successfully performing a task within the organization are the primary tools for success in a job interview.

By: Devan Ksan

You can consider to read short ebook with entry price by Darth Olsson Amazon ebook store: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09B5JDDPW

[loveofafangirl]

A Chance Encounter

[Steve Rogers Masterlist]

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC

Background: Following the events of Endgame, Steve Rogers returned to the future and gives up the mantle of Captain America. Steve moves to a secluded area in the mountains of Upstate New York, near enough the Avengers facility to lend an ear to his friends, but far enough that he had peace, or what passed for peace for him these days. He spends most of his time outside trying to keep his mind active and away from the haunting memories of his past.

Synopsis: One day, while out for a run, Steve runs further than he realizes and makes the unexpected acquaintance of a local school teacher. (Part 1)

Word Count: <1,300

Author’s Note: This only my second attempt at Steve or Marvel. The first was “To Be Held”. That one was written in second person, this one is written in the third person. Since this is new to me, I am seeing what I like best. The reader in that story is the same as the original female character in this story. “To Be Held” is later chronologically. 

Please let me know if you like it and/or if you want to be tagged in any future Steve work I try. No beta. I like to live dangerously.

The thinning leaves on the trees were not more than a mosaic blur of warm colors. His feet pounded against the soft earth as he raced through the forest, kicking up loose bits of dirt. He focused solely on what was up ahead. With every step, he tried to solidify the wall he was building up, not to keep the world out but to protect him from himself.

He had thought returning to the future would save him from the visions that had kept him up at night in the past. He was plagued by the future he knew was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it. They would win in the end, but so much would be lost along the way. The cost of it all was higher than he imagined. He had been willing to die; but, he didn't. They did. He convinced them to help, to try to save the world; and it cost them their lives. They knew the risk, and they followed all the same. Soldiers die, he would remind himself to no avail. However, as far as he was concerned, he let them die on his watch. He should have found another way.

Faster, and faster he ran, pushing further and harder when a smell or lingering image triggered a memory. Dodging low hanging branches and jumping fallen trees, the super-soldier continued weaving a path deeper into the forest and further away from the familiar terrain, hoping to find some relief.

The warm sunlight tickled her skin. She breathed deeply, soaking up the last bits of summer. It was an unseasonably warm day. One of the last warm days before the cool breath of fall would settle on the town, leaving a kiss of frost on the grass every morning. As much as she loved the sun, the promise of cozy sweaters and pumpkin spice was almost just as appealing.

A truck honked, pulling her attention. Quickly, she threw up her hand, waving to Mr. Simmons, the town’s postman, as she crossed the street to the quiet cafe. Ordering a large iced coffee and roasted vegetable panini, she decided it was too nice to spend her lunch period inside. There was an open bench in the small town park. As the weather grew colder, she would need to eat lunch inside, but while the days were warm, she would enjoy being outside.

Everything seemed brighter now. Of course, not everyone felt that way, but she did. There were clearly complications to work out with half the planet returning after half a decade away, but it was nice to see life again.

She had intended to move away—take a job in one of those big cities, work during the day, and have adventures in the evening. She had it planned out. Then, the world turned upside down. Her already small town became smaller. Their stable economy quickly fell. There simply weren’t enough people left to keep the lights on. She saw the despair on the faces of those around her; not only had they lost their loved ones, but their town was now in danger. Her adventure would have to wait; she was needed here. She knew the name of just about everyone around, and they knew hers. Family is forever, and they were hers.

Memories of the last five years and thoughts of unfulfilled adventures lingered in her view as she finished her lunch. It was the sound of the church bells ringing that pulled her back.

She hadn’t been keeping track of her time. She had let it slip away. Swiftly, she started gathering her things, rushing to clean up her area. She lived by the rule, "Always leave a place a little better than you found it". She told her students often that if everyone followed this simple principle, the world would be a brighter, cleaner place. Small actions of change were even more important than bold ones. You didn't need to be a superhero to make a difference; you could be an everyday hero instead. Of course, her students were more interested in the Avengers, but some of them took heed of her words, and that was enough.

Making sure she had left everything as it was, she wasn’t looking when she turned quickly on her heels, colliding with what felt like a brick wall. She bounced backward, dropping her school bag as papers and assorted colored pens scattered to the ground around them.

The man who seemed unfazed by the encounter stood firmly. He glanced around as if trying to figure out where he was. His fists clenched at his sides, and his face filled with uncertainty.

“I’m so sorry.” Her cheeks reddened as she stooped to gather her things. “It was my fault. I should have been looking where I was going. But I’m late, and now I’m even later.” The teacher retrieved her belongings in a sort of haphazard frenzy, her words spilling nervously from her lips. “Are you okay? I mean, I’m sure you are, because...well, look at you.” She took a quick glance up, noting the definition of his muscles under the form-fitting workout shirt. This image only caused the fire in her face to burn hotter. She looked away before her eyes settled on his face. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head in disbelief and hurried off down the street, too embarrassed to look back. She had never been the conversationalist, and five years of minimal practice hadn't help, but even she knew that was excruciating.

As if being awakened from a trance, Steve pushed back the memories and processed what had happened. It was unlike him to be so distracted. However, since returning from the past, he found himself increasingly preoccupied and inattentive. Two things he was not used to being.

His gaze lingered on where she once stood. He turned and raised his hand to offer his own apology, but it was too late. He only caught the last glimpse of the hem of her dress fluttering around the corner.

The charm of the town caught his attention. He had never been there before, and to be fair, he wasn’t sure how he got there now. It was like something out of a made-for-television movie. It was a picturesque small town, with antique architecture, clean streets, and people who still smiled and paused to talk with one another. As he scanned the scene, he didn't see a single person on their phone. The people there truly seemed grateful to just enjoy the day.

The large clock tower in the town square read just past noon. He had been running for almost 4 hours. Could it have really been that long?

A flapping paper ensnared under the bench caught his attention. He retrieved the curious object—a child's drawing. In the middle of the page was a figure with long brown hair, and surrounding her were little stick figures, all wearing what looked like capes. A board on the wall read, "Heroes are born from small acts of kindness." It was addressed "To my favorite teacher" and signed "Emma". He realized the woman from before must have dropped it.

For a moment, his thoughts were quiet. This simple, innocent message had reminded him of what had been saved. His lips curled slightly at the corners. The feeling was short-lived, as a group of people stopped across the street and began looking and pointing in his direction.

Steve sighed heavily; he wasn't that man anymore. He wasn't who they were looking for. He tucked the drawing in his pocket and pulled out his phone to track the best route home, as he began jogging back the way he came.

[Part Two]

Till the end of the line (permatag) @the-soot-sprite​​

[captainsimagines]

Titanic || H.S

Part Six || “The Heart of the Ocean”

Disclaimer: I do not own the pictures I use for title cards. Obviously. 

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

A/N: Sorry for a late update. I do plan on finishing this series lmao, enjoy! 

“Did you… did you break something on the ship? ‘Cause if you did I’m sorry but I’m for sure going to pretend that I don’t know you.”

     The cold wind seemed to nip at your skin harsher than when you were standing over the railing, and perhaps it was because a major red blush was currently tainting your cheeks. A negative one - not pleasurable.

Either you could brush this whole incident off like it hadn’t happened, or you could come up with your best excuse as to why you were so flustered. You knew what the crew was currently wondering, as was your disturbed fiance and his friendly detective, George. For the slightest instant you imagined what Cal would do or say if you revealed the truth of your midnight endeavor, but you quickly erased the images as they were all so tempting to make you climb back over the railing. 

All this time your savior was being dragged onto his two feet, being thrown from crew member to crew member in such a rough manner that it made you uncomfortable. The air was causing a sort of fogginess to your hearing, but you quickly snapped out of it when Cal began insulting him. 

“What makes you think you could put your hands on my fiance?” Cal questioned, stepping towards Harry and grabbing his chin to raise his face. You held the itchy blanket tighter against your shoulders as you stepped forward. “Answer me, you filth!”

“Cal, stop! Stop it!” you begged, quickly transitioning from a tone of hysteria to one of more confidence. “It was an accident!”

Cal stumbled a bit on his heels, wondering if he had processed your proclamation correctly. As did Harry. 

Harry had not spoken during this entire ordeal for the simple truth that if he did, he would be entirely ignored. There was no way to reason with these people, he thought, as it was your word against his. And he had almost wholeheartedly believed you would go along with the ‘assault mishap’, but your sudden intrusion between his body and Cal’s made him rethink this entire night. Harry remembered your expression of pain and loneliness from when you were contemplating jumping - how wretched and unhappy you seemed to be. And for someone to have that look on their face in what could have been their last moments of life, then they had to be good at heart as well. 

Cal cleared his throat, “An accident?”

You forced yourself to giggle as you looked between both confused men. “Yes! Oh my, it’s stupid really.” 

Harry waited patiently, hands handcuffed behind him and with a smug expression on his face. Anything you could possibly invent at this very moment was sure to be impressive. 

“I wasn’t very hungry earlier so I decided to take a stroll on deck. The night was so beautiful and the stars were reflecting off the water! So, I leaned over and I slipped!”

Cal blinked somewhat rapidly, looking between you and Harry. 

“I leaned far over to see the stars and those- uh-uh-”

You knew the word. Of course, you knew the word. But you still milked the lie and mimed the movement of the propellers - this way Cal would honestly believe you were stupid enough to lean over the railing. 

Cal looked up to the sky, annoyed by your ignorance. “Propellers?”

Your voice raised an octave, “Yes!”

Cal shut his eyes at your sudden high voice but maintained his perfect posture.  

Your savior was watching you this whole time, that smirk growing and growing as you continued talking. He was enjoying every second of this, even with a prospective charge of attempted sexual assault in his future. But with your toying of vocabulary and puppy-dog facial expressions, that charge might definitely be removed from the table now.

“I was leaning far over to see the propellers and I slipped! I would have gone overboard but Mr. Styles here saved me. He was only a few feet away enjoying a nightly cigarette.” 

Harry wanted to click his tongue and walk away, but the officer was still squeezing his hands together. It was as if everyone was waiting for Cal’s approval. 

“She wanted to see the propellers! Oh my, she wanted to see the propellers!” Cal laughed, an approval to your story that prompted everyone else to agree with it, too. 

The officer pulled Harry back to whisper in his ear. “Was that the way of it?”

Everyone turned their heads to Harry, who immediately looked to you. You practically pleaded with your eyes for him to agree.

Harry sighed and slightly smiled, “Yeah. That was pretty much it.”

The officer released Harry hands from the handcuffs and made his way over to George for his compensation. Cal’s drinking buddies all rejoiced in the happy accident, patting him on the back as if to say, ‘See! No nonsense was committed! Nothing to worry about!’

“The boy is a hero, then!” one exclaimed, walking over to Harry and shaking his hand. Cal paid no mind, and instead grabbed you by your shoulders and began rubbing your arms up and down. 

“Look at you! You must be freezing! Let’s get you inside.”

Cal turned you around to leave, but you gave one last look over your shoulder at Harry, thanking him quietly under your breath. 

The officer chuckled towards Cal, stopping him with a look of amusement. “Perhaps a little something for the boy?”

Cal raised an eyebrow, looking from the officer, to you, to Harry. “Right, George. I think a twenty should do it.”

Although it confused you to admit any form of love connection between you and Cal, you still pulled him back for such an absurd number. “Oh, is that the going rate for saving the woman you love?”

Cal pursed his lips and smiled at you, enjoying your attitude for once. “My fiance is displeased.”

Everyone shared a round of chuckles. 

“What to do?” Cal pondered. “Oh, I know.”

Cal shoved his thumbs into the tiny pockets of his vest, slowly walking up to Harry while looking at him from top to bottom. He was enjoying this, Harry could tell. Although he somewhat believed the wild story you told, Cal was not one to be taken as a fool. He had heard you speak freely before on a variety of topics, with such an advanced vocabulary and lovely hardened look of determination to always get your word in. Cal knew you weren’t stupid, no, but he would not have made sense of a possible meet-cute situation with a third-class passenger. He believed he knew you better than that - you would not dare stoop so low. And at this moment, with a frightened young man’s future practically in Cal’s hands, he decided to flip a switch and have a little fun for once. 

“Perhaps, you would enjoy joining us for dinner tomorrow night? To regale our group with your heroic tale!” 

Harry squinted his eyes at Cal. Everyone remained quiet, no silent laughs were heard, and Harry realized that he may actually be serious. He looked over at you, watching as you trembled underneath that sad excuse of a blanket, skin blotchy from dry tears but still so elegant. Your hair moved ever so slightly with the tiny burst of winds, and your lips were murmuring quick pleas. 

“Sure, I would love to.”

Cal lightly nodded, turning back to you and guiding you away from your temporary guardian angel. 

Harry watched as you slightly recoiled from the hugs Cal tried to give, but then watched the instance of submission, and wanted to run up to you and guide you instead. As your midnight savior, it only seemed right to pursue that role. But the third class would not be suitable for you, and Harry’s wild hero fantasies were quickly squashed. 

Instead, Harry motioned toward George. “Could you lend me a smoke?”

George looked from Cal to Harry, debating on whether to engage with him or not. But he took out his own pack of smokes anyway, lifting the box for Harry. Harry took one and left it dangling between his incisors for a few seconds, watching George watch him. 

“I find it interesting,” George spoke, tucking his smokes back into his coat pocket. “That you were so quick to remove your jacket as the young lady slipped so suddenly.”

Harry shifted his weight, “I had removed it before she slipped.”

“And where were you standing?” George asked, walking to the railing. “Here?”

Harry only stared as George walked over to the other side of the railing. “Or here?”

George grinned, almost as if a lightbulb came on above his balding head. “Or…”

And he walked over to the lonely bench that had Harry’s drawing book, pencil pouch, and solitary pack of smokes. “Here.”

Harry shifted his weight once again, trying to seem more confident in his face than in his worried body. “Like I said, I removed the coat before she slipped and made my way over as she yelled for help.”

George raised his chin up high, judging Harry with every sudden movement. 

“Perhaps,” George said. “But a sudden slip from leaning would have resulted in her flipping over the railing, and her arms would have been backwards so how could she grab-”

“I would really love to stay and chat and ponder all kinds of possibilities but the rats in third-class need feeding,” Harry announced, grabbing his stuff and giving George a short wave goodbye. 

It wasn’t until he was around the corner and down the stairs that Harry could choke out the sob that was scratching at his throat this whole time. 

He really saved you. 

He really fucking succeeded in doing that. 

He stumbled down to third-class swallowing the massive lump in his throat and blinking away the stinging tears, ready to scarf down whatever food was left at the buffet. 

          “What have you done!?”

You flinched from the volume of your mother’s voice, practically cowering at the edge of your bed as she, Cal, and George walked through your messy stay room. Flower vases shattered, jewelry pinched and pulled from their stands, buttons from your evening gown on the floor, and perfume bottles shattered, their smell intermingling with the expensive fabric of the carpet and wallpaper. 

 “Look at me! What have you done?”

Before you could speak, Cal shushed your own mother and held his own hand up. Your mother blinked rapidly, looking from Cal and back to you, a look of absolute astonishment tainting her pale face. But was she going to respond to that disrespect? She never did and you didn’t count on her starting any time soon. 

“This night has been…” Cal muttered, loud enough for only the four of you to hear. “Peculiar.” 

He picked up the tossed chair by your make-up table, gently turning it back up and messed around with whatever trinkets were in his immediate reach. 

“I’m sure she has a valid explanation for such…” he paused. “Clutter.”

All you wanted to do was open the blankets and hoped they swallowed you whole. This whole situation was beyond embarrassing. Yes, you destroyed parts of your stay room and had no reasonable explanation for it other than ‘jumping into the ocean and ultimately not having to worry about it’. But all eyes were eating away at your awkward demeanor. You sat with your hands intertwined in your shaking lap, staring at little diamond designs in the soiled carpet. 

Cal’s voice rang through your ears again, “Well?”

You looked up and decided to look at George first, the least threatening one of the group. He seemed to be giving you a wholesome look of sympathy, as if he knew Cal was going to handle this whole situation in the worst way possible later. 

“I’ve been really anxious lately.”

“Oh, well, we haven’t noticed!” Your mother’s voice dripped with heavy sarcasm. Instead of collapsing deeper within yourself, you quickly turned your head in her direction, a look of solid outrage etched across your face. You had had such a difficult night, what with wanting to commit suicide and almost falling into the freezing ocean all within the last hour, that a look of pure anger toward your mother was enough to tell her non-verbally that you would indeed fight her if provoked. 

“No, I haven’t. Excuse me for having a breakdown.”

“Yes, excuse you. Now we’ll have to bring the waiting staff up here to clean up your little breakdown, and God knows they’ll gossip about it until the end of time,” Cal groaned, rubbing his temples. 

You shook your heavy head, wanting to say anything to have them leave you in peace. “I’ll clean it. I will simply ask for more towels and an empty box to put the broken items.”

Your mother scoffed, “You? Clean it? How absurd of a-”

“Would you rather I ask four or five servants to help and rant about my day to them?”

Cal stuttered in his stance, surprised by such an outburst. George, poor George, was used to this but still had a tiny smirk on this face. He decided to take his exit and slip out of the room. 

“I will clean it.”

Your mother simply marched from your room. Cal stood silent for a moment, looked at you, and gave you a small smile. 

“Don’t forget to scrub the carpets.”

And with that, he exited as well. Once the door shut and it was quiet for more than ten seconds, you collapsed onto the rug beneath you, your breath unsteady and chest tight. 

          It was as if he walked through the hallways completely lightheaded, still bouncing on the adrenaline spike from almost falling off the ship earlier. The combination of slipping, catching you, and watching your face contort with such a frightened expression was enough to increase the pressure in the middle of his chest. All he could do now was travel through his third-class lounging and take his mind elsewhere. 

Through the happy commotion and drunk third-class passengers, Harry could faintly hear the sound of the band underneath his feet. Dreamy eyes watched him pass by, hungry for a word or two with the confused boy, and drunk pushes from side to side to accompany such a late night. Harry didn’t know if he was heading to his own room or down the stairs for his snack, the music now beginning to become hazy in his ears. 

Without even comprehending the movement of his quick feet, he found himself in line for the last of the dinner soup and freshly baked bread. Once he got his meal, he sat at one of the empty tables and drank his soup, watching everyone lean on each other in sleepy states and finishing their own meals. There were families of all sizes, singles enjoying their time alone, and couples leaning over the railing outside watching the waves swim by. A part of Harry wanted to warn them about leaning over too far, that it was so simple for a sweaty palm to lose its grip, that the water was just so cold that it may just be better to be shot point blank. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair and quickly finished his meal, grabbing his untouched piece of bread and picking at it as he walked back to his cabin. He shoved his sketchbook underneath his armpit like he always did, walking slowly and absentmindedly back to his cabin, small pieces of bread in between his teeth every once in a while. His mind wasn’t entirely absent, obviously, but he still only saw flashes of the dark abyss below your dangling body. A shiver ran up his spine and he was hit was the sudden need to see you - you couldn’t be around the ship’s railings without him. 

Stop. You’re being ridiculous. She’s probably all cozied up with her rich fiance in that massive bed and far, far away from the water-

“Woah, where have you been all night? I had to eat dinner with our roommates, who have no manners by the way-”

Harry just now registered that Drake was steadying his shoulders and speaking to him. He snapped out of his dazed state, wondering just how many of his third-class mates he had ignored as he walked. 

“Drake, I gotta talk to someone. Now.”

“Did you… did you break something on the ship? ‘Cause if you did, I’m sorry but I’m for sure going to pretend that I don’t know you.”

Harry rolled his eyes and continued walking to their cabin, glancing over his shoulder once in a while to make sure his only confidant was still following him. Once they entered their room, Harry locked the door and checked if their roommates weren’t hidden in any crevice of their very tiny room. 

“Spill. I’m curious now.”

Harry breathed slowly, holding in his large breaths and exhaling deeply. This intrigued Drake, who was leaning on the bed post of his roommate with his arms crossed, an amused expression painted across his face. Harry sat on his own bed, hands covering his mouth. But once he could control his rapid breathing, Harry set his hands in his lap and looked up at Drake. 

“I did something good.”

“Oh, thank God! You had me there-”

“And I did something bad.”

“- Fucking Christ, man.”

Drake lowered his head as if to protect against the bad blow, but nonetheless curious to what horrible act Harry committed.

“I saved a woman from falling over the side of the ship.”

“Man that’s-!”

“She was trying to commit suicide.”

“...Man, that’s-”

“I convinced her to come back over the railing-”

Drake interrupted yet again, “She was already over the railing?”

 “And then she slipped and I almost went over, too.”

This time Drake let Harry finish.

“I saw her face. I had convinced her to come over the railing, and she was just this broken soul who didn’t want help. It’s like she didn’t even know the concept of receiving help.”

Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair repeatedly. “Then it was like we were joking with each other, only for a second. She wanted to come back over. Then she slipped and I swear Drake, I saw the regret in her face.”

Drake shifted uncomfortably. The subject matter was too intense, but Drake would have done the same thing. An opportunity to be there for someone else - well, that was Drake’s perfect cup of tea. 

“But you saved her. And saved yourself, luckily, in the process.”

“That’s not the worst part, Drake.”

“You gotta tell me, because right now I’m blank.”

Harry groaned and lay back onto his pillow. “Pretty sure she was fucking royalty.”

Drake’s eyes widened and he puckered his lips in silent astonishment. He didn’t say anything, opting to let Harry continue talking. 

“She had the clothes for it. She was wearing make-up, this dark and glossy red lipstick. And although I could smell the sea below us, I could still smell her fruity perfume.”

Neither man knew what to make of this encounter. For Drake, he was the listener and was to provide some form of broken advice. Because from what he heard so far, there wasn’t any worry unless the woman complained about Harry to someone else. For Harry, all he wanted to do was tell someone about this - he wasn’t craving advice or words of encouragement. He simply needed to tell someone that he saved a life and almost lost his own in the process. At this moment, no matter how much he respected Drake, he really wanted to speak to his mother. 

“After I pulled her back over, we tumbled onto the dock. It was like my ears didn’t register her loud screams as I was pulling her back up because next thing I know, I’m being pulled from on top of her.”

“Fuck, Harry please tell me-”

“She wasn’t wearing a night coat and I wasn’t wearing one either. By pulling her up, her dress had ripped to the middle of her thigh.”

Drake now groaned non-stop and he climbed to his top bunk, slamming himself face first into his own pillow. 

“Then her fiance came out.”

By now, Drake was involuntarily laughing. Loud laughs that shook his whole body, a response to the amazing events that transpired. The pure lack of luck Harry had was too much not to ‘involuntarily’ laugh at it. 

“But she lied. She told them she was leaning over and I simply caught her. She made herself look stupid just to save my ass.”

“Obviously she didn’t want to just announce she almost killed herself,” Drake replied. But still, Drake stared at the ceiling, fingers tapping the top of his other hand. A first-class passenger taking the blame for something major? Unlikely. Unheard of. Unbelievable. 

“Why do you think she saved your ass?”

Harry sighed softly, a small smile forming on his face. “I think it’s because I’m the only one who wanted to pull her back over. No one else came. No one else was around.”

Drake nodded even though Harry couldn’t see him, “I don’t really know what to say, Harry.”

So Harry ranted the rest of the night, subconsciously thinking about possibly seeing you again. Would you look happy and well recovered? Would you nod to him in silent agreement, like a nonverbal statement of truce? Or would ignore him entirely, thank him for what he did, uninviting him from that dinner your fiance mentioned?

“Oh my God!” Harry yelled, hands accidentally tugging some of his hair from their roots. 

Drake’s sleepy eyes flew open and he sat up straight, watching as Harry began pacing around the small room.  “Wha-What?”

“Her fiance invited me to dinner tomorrow night. First-class dinner. I don’t- I said ‘yes’!”

“Why in the world would you say ‘yes’?”

“I panicked! What was I supposed to say to an offer like that after what just happened?”

 “Uh, ‘no’!”

Harry collapsed on his bed, pulling the blanket over his head and shutting his eyes tightly. Drake was somewhat wide awake now, completely amazed at both Harry’s bravery and stupidity combined. 

“We’ll deal with this tomorrow,” Drake started. “For now, we sleep and hope she doesn’t change her story.”

Harry agreed with that logic, no matter how much his mind told him to think of a backup plan. But now wasn’t the time, not when his thoughts were scattered. All he knew for sure was that he would see you again, and he had no idea what he would ultimately say. 

           You absentmindedly pulled stray hair from your hairbrush, rolling the strands and tossing them into the can beside your make-up table. You had cleaned the room the best you could and used so many towels that the staff would definitely wonder what happened this night, but you couldn’t care less. The floor was clean, your bed was made, and only the smell of the perfume you broke lingered in the air. 

You didn’t hear the door to your stay room open as you continued to get ready for bed. You gasped at the sight of Cal, hand instinctively clutching your chest. He chuckled at your reaction, walking slowly to where you were seated. 

“I did not think tonight was going to have so much excitement.”

You gave him a small smile, eyes trained on him through your mirror. “It’s late, Cal. Perhaps we should go to bed.”

“Are you inviting me?”

You cringed inwardly but still kept a steady posture. You shook your head and chuckled nicely at his statement, hands going back to work on your hairbrush. 

“I was hoping to save this for the engagement galla next week,” Cal continued, sweeping the jewelry on your desk to the side and taking the hairbrush from your hand. You accepted the small defeat, hands now resting on your thighs.

“But I think now is the proper time.”

Cal opened a velvet blue box in front of you, a heart-shaped diamond that could fill the palm of your hand inside. 

“Oh my,” you gasped, looking up toward Cal for an explanation. “Cal, this is too much.”

“Nonsense,” he chuckled and picked up the necklace, unclipping the back and bringing it toward your neck. You pulled your hair back and let him clip it on. 

“Look at you.”

And you did. It was heavy, the dark blue tint looking more like a horrid bruise in the middle of your sternum, and you wanted it off immediately. It was beautiful, you thought, but it was not yours. 

“Cal, it’s overwhelming,” you said, somehow trying to convey the very uncomfortable feeling you were being drowned by. But Cal just smiled behind you, kneeling down beside you and looking into your eyes and back to the necklace. You cupped the heart in your hand. 

“It was worn by Louis the XVI, his crown. It was made for royalty,” Cal spoke, now watching you as you held it tightly. “We are royalty. ‘Au coeur de l'océan’, they call it.”

“The heart of the ocean,” you translated at the same time Cal did, a look of shock on his face. You wanted to roll your eyes, disbelief overriding your senses at the fact he assumed you didn’t know French. As if you hadn’t studied it since the age of three. 

“It’s yours now.”

You looked at Cal without the help of the mirror, staring at his dark eyes and trying to read them. He leaned his cheek on his left hand and he gave you a small smile. 

“Oh, open your heart to me, Sweetpea,” he practically begged, waiting only a few more seconds before sighing and unclipping the necklace from your neck. You actually pondered his request, wondering if opening your heart for this man would truly be as bad as you assumed it would be. But all you could do was give him a gentle nod - not one of acceptance, but a promise to at least think about it. He left you alone after saying goodnight, still sitting in front of the mirror, furrowed eyebrows straining your forehead and giving you a headache. 

Because as you thought about succumbing to a possibly loveless marriage with Cal, the soft face of the boy from earlier crept back into your mind, poking and prodding at any common sense left inside the padded confines of your skull.

- xxMoni

[scullydubois]

one-shot: does a scully pee in the woods?

read on ao3 |  msr flirting and fluff | 1.6k | rated t | s6, pre-Field Trip

tagging @today-in-fic

While driving to North Carolina, Scully has to resort to some dubious tactics to convince Mulder to stop so she can use the bathroom. Unfortunately, she doesn't specify where he should stop...

---------

He promised they would stop once they made it out of Virginia. What Scully didn’t realize is that Virginia is five hours worth of highway, and despite his assurance that he is “driving as fast as he can” and his natural tendency to cruise as much over the speed limit as they can go without getting pulled over, they have still not made it out of the state.

“The next exit, Mulder, please,” she begs, squirming in her seat. She is not used to driving this long. Usually they hop on a flight--with a bathroom, thank you very much--and then head just a few miles out to their destination. But of course, the FBI is cutting their budget, and according to Skinner, the only way they could take this case is if they agreed to make the six and a half hour trip to North Carolina by car. Which hadn’t sounded that bad to either of them. I mean, the open road, the radio, and each other for six hours? What could be wrong with that? Then again, they hadn’t stopped to consider how early they would have to leave DC to make their lunchtime meeting, nor the exponential decline in their ability to tolerate one another with each increasing hour.

Mulder drums the steering wheel in time with the beat of the classic rock song playing. “I’m telling you, we’re almost to the state line. If you’ve made it this far, you can make it another twenty minutes.”

“Are you willing to test that theory?” Scully prods, an eyebrow elevating itself. “Because I know you are a man of many theories, but I really don’t think this is one you want to mess with.”

“Oh, I do.” He flashes a quick smile at her, as if to confirm that, yes, he is amused by her suffering, if she hadn’t noticed.

“ Mulder…” she whines, not even bothering to construct a coherent argument. It’s time to play the card she never plays, the one that will catch his attention and show him that she is serious about this. She hates to stoop this low, but at this point, it’s either play the card or pee her pants.

“Mulder,” she makes her voice sound languid and far out, “has anyone ever told you that you bear a great resemblance to Cary Grant in his young and handsome days?”

He is rather unphased by this. Too unphased for Scully’s liking. “No, and I really don’t, do I?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She lets her voice flutter through the confines of the car. “Dreamy, boyish, yet somehow retaining your masculinity. It’s astonishing, really.”

She sneaks a glance at him. He’s stopped tapping along to the song. He turns the radio down to listen to her like a dog’s ears pricking toward their owner’s voice.

She looks through the windshield, continues her reverie. “He looks like such a gentleman, but I can’t imagine that he’s a gentleman in…” She trails off suggestively, waiting for Mulder to raise some objection.

When she looks at him out of the corner of her eye, he is already looking at her. “What?” she offers innocently. “Do you have proof otherwise?” It’s always a contest of right or wrong for them.

“No, but I might have proof of aliens. Bounty Hunter, I know that’s you, what have you done with the real Scully?”

She considers what would happen if the Bounty Hunter had disguised himself as her and was driving alone with Mulder in the middle of a five lane highway with dozens of other cars. “You know, you’d be screwed right now if it were.”

“Yeah, I get that feeling.”

She wets her lips, navigates the next sentence with precision. “But since it’s not, you can get screwed instead.”

Mulder almost swerves into a jeep in the next lane. “Jesus, Scully!”

“I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable…?”

He focuses on the road. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Gee, I wonder what’s that like.” She looks at him with a devilish closed-mouth grin.

Mulder registers this and looks away just as he cracks his own smile. Silly, misbehaving, rebellious Scully has a power over him that would be comparable to religion, if he had one.

“So what I’m hearing is, you want to forsake your opportunity to make it the whole way through Virginia without stopping just so that you’ll actually have some semblance of comfort?” He checks to see if she’s smiling and is happy when she is.

“Something like that, yeah,” she says, imitating his reply from earlier by donning a outlandishly deep voice.

He coughs to hold back a laugh. “Well, the lady’s wish is my command, though I must warn you that the next exit’s not for another seven miles.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, we just passed a sign.”

“Mulder, I don’t know what kind of bladder you think I have, but I’ve drank two cups of coffee since the drive started and one before I left my apartment. I would classify this as an emergency.”

“I’ll pull over, then.” He switches lanes, turns on the emergency lights, and presses the brake slightly as he pulls onto the shoulder, all before she can protest.

“This is humiliating, Mulder,” she laments as he unlocks his door, pulls it open.

“While we’re at it, I’ll go too. Save us a stop in North Carolina.”

He’s way too excited about this, she thinks. She unclicks her seatbelt and climbs out of the car like a child dragged to church by their parents.

They proceed toward the woods at the edge of the highway. Mulder leads the way, a subtle spring in his step about getting to return to nature, so to speak, and to embarrass Scully while doing it.

As they hit the dividing line between grass and trees, Mulder looks back at this partner.

“Have you ever peed in the woods, Scully?” he asks with a smirk. “I’m assuming that’s what’s happening here, since you mentioned the coffee.” Scully winces at the rather disgusting image his implication puts in her mind.

She puts on a scholarly, serious tone as they head deeper into the trees. “You know, Mulder--and I’m glad we’re clearing this up-- I have peed in the woods actually. I seem to remember we were stuck in the woods overnight just last year. In Florida, was it? And contrary to what you may believe, I actually did relieve myself during that period of time. Thanks for asking.”

“Wow, you learn something new everyday,” Mulder jokes.

“Exactly.” Scully can’t help but laugh. What a funny little situation this is. They have shared so many instances when the stakes were much higher, life-threatening even, and this is what feels so grueling.

The vehicle noise having quieted significantly, Mulder gauges that they’re far enough from the roadway now. He stakes out a pine tree and steps up to it.

“Don’t look, Scully!” he teases, as if she needed the reminder, as if he really cared.

As he stands there, pants unzipped and all, he can’t help but wonder how many years this tree stood here before some human just decided to come over and do their business on it. That has to suck, huh? You’re just going about your usual tree life--swaying in the wind, rooting deep into the Earth, maybe providing a home for some critters--and then this creature that’s like, fifty times smaller than you comes over and pulls their pants down. What the hell?

A few yards away, Scully hunts for a place that might preserve an ounce of her dignity. Not that she has any left at this point, but it’s a nice idea. There’s some bushes not far off, or she could take a cue from Mulder and squat against a tree. This process is so much more complicated for a woman--you have to get down low, check the ground around you, not hit your shoes…

She chooses a spot behind a bush and crouches down. She hears Mulder zipping his fly, wonders if he’ll be able to see her when he turns around. She can’t see him, so theoretically he shouldn’t be able to see her,  but he’s so much taller that she’s never sure. Then again, she’s not as objected to being seen by him as she expected herself to be. Still, she waits for him to say something.

“Scully, please tell me this wasn’t just some elaborate plot to abandon me in the woods.”

“I’m over here, Mulder,” she reassures. “But don’t come over.”

“Why, what are you doing?” He laughs at his own joke.

“Very funny,” she says, trying to cover the sound of her faculties. This feeling of release is so desperately needed that it’s almost orgasmic. She finishes, then rezips her pants while staying as crouched as possible. Sated, she stands up, pops into Mulder’s view. She tightens her belt as she walks over to him.

She sighs. “I’m glad that’s over.” Mulder smiles. She’s been through far worse, in far more unpleasant conditions, and this is what bothers her. A complex being, his Scully is. They retrace their steps toward the highway.

“You do know that toilets weren’t invented until like, the Renaissance, right?” he teases.

“Sure, but they weren’t just squatting in the woods!”

He pulls the car keys from his pocket. “I guess we’ve solved another X-file…”

Scully gives him the look she’s been giving him for six years.

“...does a Scully pee in the woods?”

She bites her lip, obscures her smile. That’s her Mulder.