#fortunately i already saved all the other images so I didn’t Lose anything

[the-meme-monarch]

every day an ibispaintx user accidentally backs out to their gallery after cropping a drawing to save to their photos. for just pennies a day you can’t do anything to help i don’t think

[makeste]

BnHA 326: What’s up Kids, It’s Me, Your Old Pal Stain

Previously on BnHA: Ochako shamed the U.A. Clown Mob into letting Deku go back inside his own fucking school by giving them an hour-long speech about how not to be humongous dickheads. Kouta and Gigantic Fox Lady saved the manga by being the only ones brave enough to give Deku a hug. Shouto was all “man, all this togetherness sure does remind me of that promise you made that we would handle Touya together which you immediately bailed on, doesn’t it, Dad.” Aizawa was all, “for the one and a half people out there who thought that my losing an eye and a leg might actually make me less sexy, I’m very happy to prove you wrong.” All Might was all, “[standing outside the U.A. fortress alone in the rain talking to someone or something??].” Like seriously, what was up with that though.

Today on BnHA: All Might is all “here I am in Kamino having a belated mid-life crisis because Deku abandoned me and I’m a terrible mentor and everything sucks and I hate myself.” Stain is all, “don’t make me come over there and give you a ten page speech about why you’re still the goat while menacingly holding you at swordpoint the entire time” because idk if you knew this guys, but Stain is pretty crazy actually. Anyway so he does that, and then All Might gets all emotional, and then the lady from chapter 92 shows up and gives All Might’s statue an encouraging pep talk, and then Horikoshi is all “and it even stopped raining lol can you believe this shit I’m not even a little bit subtle,” and he really isn’t. But I still got emotional anyway, because seeing people reassure All Might that everything he’s struggled for his entire life hasn’t been in vain just got to me okay. Horikoshi knows I am weak to the All Might feels and he just goes for the jugular every time, that bastard.

lmao. “in the neverending downpour, All Might is...” yeah, thank you, glad we’re getting right to that then

“All Might is driving 95 mph in his busted ass car in the pouring rain, is what he’s doing.” huh

so basically a day or two after his adopted child refused to accept the handmade bento that he packed with love, my man is out here acting like he’s got nothing to live for anymore. this sure bodes well for certain prophecies on which the clock is still ominously ticking down

his fucking face though omg. is it weird that I’m kind of hoping more people ambush him just because I think it’d be funny to see them get their asses kicked like the last bunch

(ETA: or maybe he will just stand there openly not giving a fuck and basically daring them to stab him!! get it together please All Might.)

side note, “anti-hero supporters” is such a strange way of saying “people who hate heroes”, which I’m assuming is what they actually wanted to say?? this makes it sound like it’s a group that really loves antiheroes. “these Hannibal stans have been a real menace lately. time to go deal with them”

ha ha ha, fucking ouch

are you really gonna do it Horikoshi you bastard. are you really going to let that be the final encounter between the two characters whose relationship you once described as the vertical axis of the entire fucking story. are you really gonna?? huh??

huh

you’re telling me you were driving 112 mph and you still didn’t get there in time. you’re losing your touch old man. lol Todo’s ice is almost fully melted already, how late were you

(ETA: so apparently this is taking place after the end of chapter 325, meaning he went to U.A., hung out for a bit, saw the kids come back with his bedraggled half-dead protégé in tow, watched as they shamed the civilians into some long-overdue character development, and then was all “welp, time to go argue with the hero-hating faction or something because I’m feeling useless.” and Edge just let him go, just like that. though to be fair I have to imagine it’s pretty hard to say no to All Fucking Might.)

also belated lol at the fact that the kids were all “yeahhhhhhh we are definitely not gonna touch that thing, let’s just leave it here, he doesn’t need it anyway.” probably the right call to make since they couldn’t get a hazmat team on such short notice

fuck. ha ha ha fucking ouch part two

All Might please put that thing down before you get gangrene. also yeah, you dropped the ball, good for you to acknowledge it. nobody’s perfect and you did your best. but yeah you could have handled a lot of things completely differently. but I still love you

is Horikoshi really putting this flashback here. are you serious. what kind of fucking sadist

look, I swear I’m not one of those people that runs up and down the street shouting “DEATH FLAG!!” at every third panel lol. but this shit screamed Death Flag when we originally got it, and it’s screaming DEATH FLAG!!! even more now. like with the capital letters and exclamation marks and all. and that’s just a fact. I don’t like it but that’s how it is

ffkdjslk

“DID YOU READ THE SIGN??!” Horikoshi asks while zooming in maniacally because he thinks we’re blind or something. lol what

-- though actually, it only just occurred to me that this sign is actually written in English. I never really paid attention up until now and had been assuming it was written in Japanese and translated by the scanlators, but the writing here is clearly part of the original image. anyway so maybe that’s why he’s zooming in?? just to make sure everybody pays attention lol

okay fuck this

see, this is the whole problem right here. once again All Might is all on his own. Deku’s self-destructive angst spiral was fortunately brought to a grinding halt because he actually has support from his friends and family and teachers and classmates. but All Might never had that same kind of support, and it’s made all the difference between the two of them, and not in a good way. Katsuki wasn’t wrong when he said All Might and Deku were both cut from the same cloth. but now when it’s All Might’s turn to go all “I WALK A LONELY ROAD~~” once again, there’s nobody in sight

just, after forty plus years of him carrying this torch, I just wish someone would finally come along to let him know he doesn’t have to. all those things that he wanted to say to Deku are also things that he needs and deserves to hear himself. Aizawa was making a little progress there, but now he’s got his sad zombie cloud boyfriend situation to deal with, and we can’t expect him and his perfect hair to solve all our problems. someone else has gotta step up

oh my god

“you rang?” never mind I take it all back sob

omg why am I laughing. shit

this man truly has the best PR game in the series. we were truly convinced he was gonna suddenly become a good guy and defend All Might against the other villains or some nonsense. as if this wasn’t the same man who decided on a whim that Iida Tensei deserved to be paralyzed, and that his fifteen-year-old brother deserved to die for daring to be upset about it

lol even All Might is all “I genuinely never saw this coming” lmao

just want to say, for the record, I have always harbored a very sensible hatred toward Stain. feeling very vindicated right now. good job Past Me

adsfklwkfsdwgkj

ffffwefjslkg. ghsdlkg. dsfkkkslkjldwkjrg

STAIN: heard you talking shit old man

ME: smh that’s what I thought you’d say you dumb fucking Stain

STAIN: how dare you talk about All Might that way

ME: gljfljgk

(ETA: in hindsight I have no idea how I didn’t clue in sooner that he didn’t recognize him -- or, well, ~didn’t recognize~ him, to be more accurate lol. I think it was the whole “is that a slight against the heroes?” thing that threw me. Viz’s translation makes it much clearer that he’s offended on behalf of All Might specifically, not heroes in general. anyways.)

sob. so All Might is all “yeah I don’t blame you for not recognizing me in this sweet leather jacket”

good thing he still knows how to do this party trick

A+ reflexes on Stain’s part presumably pulling the sword back a few inches to keep this dumbass from impaling himself with his whole pufferfish routine. can you imagine if that was the gruesome death Nighteye foresaw. and he was just too embarrassed to say anything

lol anyways guess I was wrong about Stain everyone

way to fucking go, Past Me. you really biffed this one

oh wait

Stain sure is one wacky rollercoaster ride

oh fuck me lol I forgot how much I did not miss this

(ETA: “this here is the sacred ground where All Might gave up the last of his power and turned into a shriveled old man!! please ignore the part where I admit to knowing all about that, and yet pretend not to recognize said man when he’s standing two feet in front of me.”)

Past Me, I know we’ve had our ups and downs these past ninety seconds, but I’m really starting to think you were on to something. this dude has always been kind of insufferable. always acting like his high horse is a fucking giraffe when it’s actually a Shetland pony

dammit now he’s got All Might going off on a depressed monologue

oh my god my heart

shit

why the fuck does that hit so hard. he became a hero because he couldn’t bear to just sit back and let bad things happen to people who didn’t deserve it. I mean that’s basically the same as every hero ever, right? so why does it still hit so fucking hard every single time though. what is it about seeing someone so determined to stand up for other people and fight on their behalf. it just never loses its impact no matter how many times I see that determination mirrored in so many of my favorite characters

“I wanted to make the world a better place.” omg. but you did, though. like seriously, I feel like people are always dogging on him for not being 100% perfect, and fandom really doesn’t give him enough credit for everything he still managed to accomplish. this man came of age at a time when Japan was by all accounts a total shitshow, and singlehandedly managed to bring about an era of peace that lasted for four fucking decades. can you imagine having peace for that long?? that’s longer than I’ve been alive. shit

and he gave people hope. he inspired them and protected them and made them feel safe. and no, he couldn’t save everyone, because he’s only one fucking dude (and also because the whole time AFO was also out there desperately working to undermine him so that he could keep preaching his narrative of “heroes are bad actually”). but you know what he did do, is inspire multiple new generations of heroes who, if they can all manage to work together, will finally be able to accomplish everything he never could

so yeah. forty years of peace, and inspired the “that’s how we all became the greatest heroes” generation -- that’s a fucking win in my book. talk about having a net positive impact on the world. lol anyways now I’m all fired up and ready to fight anyone who tries to talk any shit about you, All Might

“but what if I talk shit about myself” okay listen up All Might I’m gonna need you to try just a little bit harder to work with me here okay. please calm down and stop blaming yourself for every single bad thing that’s ever happened in the world. do you remember that time Bakugou was blaming himself for Kamino, and you gave him a hug and told him it wasn’t his fault, and that he was only a boy, and that even though he was strong, even strong people can struggle with the burdens they place on themselves, and that you were sorry for not seeing that earlier? do you remember all of that? that’s what I want someone to tell you too, dammit. anyway please stop breaking my heart please and thanks

wtf

are you dead All Might

um

I don’t even have the slightest idea what’s happening lol

oh snap did he grab him so they could hide??

hold the fucking phone. don’t tell me this person in the background with the umbrella is here to actually do something decent??

oh my godddd

and here come the feels. oh boy. okay don’t mind me, I’m just gonna sit here sobbing over this fictional lady and her simple act of kindness in this weekly shounen manga that I care about way too much

FUCKING DAMMIT AND HERE’S A SECOND HELPING

DON’T MIND ME, I’M JUST GETTING DISPROPORTIONATELY EMOTIONAL OVER THIS WOMAN’S DETERMINATION TO HONOR A MAN WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING TO SAVE HER AND COUNTLESS OTHERS. I’M JUST HAVING SOME FEELS OVER HERE ABOUT HER HEARTFELT, DOESN’T-EVEN-KNOW-ANYONE-ELSE-IS-WATCHING FEELINGS OF GRATITUDE THAT COMPELLED HER TO COME OUT HERE AND MAKE THIS SMALL BUT POWERFUL GESTURE. I’M JUST OUT HERE GETTING ALL PROFOUNDLY WORKED UP ABOUT STATUE MAINTENANCE AND THE HUMAN RACE. NEVER MIND. JUST IGNORE ME AND CARRY ON

holy shit. I was not even remotely prepared. you can’t just do that to me. you can’t just leave all these death flags on my lawn and then suddenly shift gears to show me the best of humanity in a chapter where I was expecting the worst. that fucks a person up lol

OH ARE WE STILL GOING

my heart. you see that, All Might. your legacy is so much more powerful and meaningful than you think

...has. has Stain actually been giving All Might a pep talk this entire time

I give up lol. this dude is a fucking enigma

YAYYY

it may just be a metaphor panel, but I’ll take it lol. I missed them. nice to see the traffic light trio front and off-center. I know the whole “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes” thing had left some questioning whether certain characters would continue to play a central role in the narrative, and hopefully this will help to ease those concerns just a bit

anyway, so idk if it’s getting a bit chilly down there in hell, but damned if Stain didn’t just give an actual decent fucking speech

I have to say, earlier when I was whining about All Might not having a support squad, I really was not expecting Stain to be the one to come over and pat his head and reassure him that he made the world a better place

-- okay LISTEN

YOU CAN’T JUST COME INTO MY HOUSE AND HIT ME WITH THOSE ALL MIGHT TEARS AGAIN GODDAMMIT THIS ISN’T FAIR. my god. first 317 and now this

holy fucking shit

“I’m just gonna pretend like I haven’t been stalking him for two days and didn’t see the entire Deku bentogate thing go down, and then I’ll give him the whole big speech that I rehearsed, and then I’ll turn around and be all ‘BUT IF YOU’RE A TRUE HERO’, and then I’ll toss him the super-secret AFO wifi password that I stole from Tartarus. god I’m such a badass. fucking give myself chills”

so basically what you’re telling me is that this whole time my “what’s up kids” characterization of Stain from this shitpost has actually been 100% accurate. just want to make sure I’m understanding this right. okay then

“and then I’ll dramatically spin around and be all NOW COME KILL ME BITCH”

it must be so much fun to write Stain. drawing this coked-out maniac who talks like a chatbot that was trained to speak by reading Alan Moore monologues. that must be a trip

anyway so All Might is still crying, the awesome lady from chapter 92 is admiring her handiwork totally oblivious to the batshit insanity going on fifty meters to her right, and it’s finally stopped raining lol

“THE RAIN WAS A METAPHOR YOU SEE” yes, yes, we got it lol. thanks for that Horikoshi. don’t think we needed any help putting the pieces together on that one but I appreciate the effort

so that��s the end! and as I mentioned in another post, I had the count off by one chapter, but next week should be cliffhanger week! so break out your U.A. Traitor bingo cards, friends and fiends. either that or something else happens that I’m completely not expecting at all. which, based on my success rate with Stain predictions, I’d say is more than likely lol

mmm but anyway, so now that the Hug Deku 2021 campaign has finally come to an end, what’s it gonna take to get a hug for my struggling bento-preparing jacket-rocking world-weary death-flag-waving husband who is the worthiest man to ever live and deserves the fucking world, goddammit

[lugialagia]

A curious video

Summary : Peter is now leaving in the compound with the Avengers. One day, Tony finds the boy’s laptop open and as he was curious, he couldn’t help but to sneak around. And what he finds will not leave him indifferent.

Ship/Pairing : Starker (Tony x Peter)

Words : 2,521

TW!: smut, swearing

AN: Peter is +18. This is my first time writing smut in a fic!

It was a fairly normal day for Tony. He didn’t sleep much, stayed in his lab for most of the night to work on several projects. And when the morning came, he prepared himself a cup of coffee. Well, more like three to be honest. Better coffee than alcohol, right?  

Then, he went downstairs to the gym and started his training like any other day. Because after all, he was an Avenger, he needed to stay in shape to save the world. After an hour and half, he stopped and walked back to his bedroom to take a shower to wipe out the sweat from his body.

Now clean, Tony made his way to the lounge where the kitchen was. He needed something in his stomach after his sport. Making his way there, he grabbed something in the fridge to eat and walked toward the couch, plopping down on it and relaxing.  

That's when he noticed the open laptop on the coffee table. It was Peter's. Tony had let him stay at the compound for his studies. It was closer to MIT than May's apartment and when he needed training of improvement on his suit, Tony was right downstairs. And it was better for the man because he secretly liked the youngest male. 

Peter was cute and smart, he loved science and physics, everything interested him and Tony loved to have him around in the lab. That's how he started to develop feelings for Peter. But he never said anything about this. Peter was young and he…wasn’t. It would be weird and he would be considered like a pervert.  

As he was very curious and he liked to know what Peter was working on, he decided to be a little weasel. So he took the laptop on his lap and opened the document with all his files. Some names he recognized since they worked on it already, and some very unknown. He clicked on one file and looked at the document and the images. It was a science project for school. And it looked pretty good to be honest. Tony will let him do this alone, he didn’t need him for that, else he would have come to him already. Then Tony looked at another one. It seemed to be a sort of robot that could do some tasks for disabled people. Such a nice boy...

That’s when his eyes wandered on a file with a curious name ‘xTx’. Yeah, what a strange name. Usually, Peter was very clean with the name of his files, he liked to name them clearly because he often forgot what it was with code name. Clicking on it, the file opened to only a video, no documents. Once again, strange. Tony then decided to watch the video. What was his surprise when he saw the youngest male, naked, on his bed, fucking himself with a toy as he pumped his cock while moaning some sweet ‘sir’ from time to time. “Fuck...” Tony groaned. Oh he couldn’t help but to watch. His gaze couldn’t look at something else and he couldn’t close the video player.  

It had been quite a while since Tony wanted to see this. To see Peter naked, on his bed, with his shaft buried deep inside him. Now that he had the sight in front of his eyes, the billionaire wanted to see it in real life, to touch his smooth skin and to mark him. His cock was already half hard from just that. Fortunately for him, he was all alone in the compound this morning. So he didn’t hesitate to bury his hand into his pant and started to caress his bulge and stroke his length when he was hard enough. ‘Oh please sir, fuck me hard.’ Tony let out a low growl at that, gripping his own cock tight. “I’ll definitely fuck you hard, yes.” A mere moment after, when Peter was close, Tony didn’t expect for him to call his name. ‘Fuck- ah! Tony!’ With that, the genius came in his pants, panting, trying to collect himself and to think about what was in this video.  

Did he really heard his name falling from the boy’s lips? Yes, definitely. Did he just watch a sex tape of Peter? Oh yes. Should he tell him about it? He wasn’t sure. Peter would very much be mad. But...if the boy said his name, it was because he felt the same way? Or at least he was finding him attractive and wanted a good fuck. But who wouldn’t, honestly? Well, Tony had the whole day to think about it while working in the lab.

***  

When Peter was finally back from school, he immediately went in the lab to find Tony. “Hey Tony! You will never know what hap- what's wrong?” The boy interrupted himself when he saw Tony, arms crossed over his chest. “Am I in trouble?” he asked with a slight frown. “Depends.” Tony replied as he stood up to face Peter. “I found something really interesting this morning and I have the whole day to think about it.”  

Peter blinked a few times and grinned widely. “Did you find a way to make a spaceship?!” Tony clicked his tongue and took a step further, standing a few inches away from the boy. “No. I’m talking about you.” he said with a low voice. “M-me?” Peter started to lose his confidence. “What have I done?” he asked, backing away. Tony followed him and when Peter couldn’t go anywhere anymore, he cupped his chin firmly. “Your laptop was opened, so I looked at your project and I found a very naughty video that wasn’t a science project at all.” He purred.

Peter’s brown eyes widened and he gulped loudly. “O-oh shit...fuck I- please don’t be mad!” Tony raised a brow and grinned. “Mad? Oh sweetheart, do you really think I'd be mad for seeing you fucking that cute dildo while moaning my name?” he asked, pressing their crotch together. “Quite the contrary here.” he smirked, Peter letting out a surprised yelp when he felt Tony’s erection against him. “Maybe I do want to hear my name falling from your lips here and now, what to you say?” Tony asked with a devious grin. “Please...” Peter whispered desperately.

The next second, Tony’s lips were on his. Peter melted instantly against the man, wrapping his arms around his neck as Tony kept a hand on his jaw and the other on his waist. When the kiss deepened, the youngest let out a soft content sigh and tried to fight back Tony’s tongue, but it was already a lost battle. The genius was exploring his mouth with passion, grinding his hips against the other who was becoming hard with all the friction.  

Tony pulled away from the kiss and started to kiss and nibble at Peter's neck, leaving trail of little bruises, marking the boy's skin, marking him as his. Peter let out soft moans as the man's lips were traveling on his neck. “Please Tony...I need more.” he pleaded, his cock aching in his pants. Tony chuckled and quickly worked on Peter's pants, freeing his cock and pumping it slowly. “Take off your shirt for me.” Of course, Peter obeyed immediately.  

The young man never thought this could happen for real. It was a dream. He had dreamt about this moment since years. Even before he met Tony. He had always been a fan of his work and when he was a teenager, he often had wet dream about the man. And the crush transformed into love when he started to see him almost everyday. Of course, he didn’t say anything because he thought it would be weird. And he was still minor at that time...

“Perfect.” Tony purred. “Better in real life than on a video.” he smirked. Peter blushed and his cock was leaking on Tony's hand. “T-thank you.” Peter said shyly. “Tell me, do you often touch yourself thinking about me?” The man asked and Peter nodded eagerly. “Yeah, yeah fuck all the time.” he moaned when Tony squeezed him a bit harder. “What a dirty boy.” Tony smirked. Oh he loved this answer, of course. “Get on your knees for me, want to see my cock in your pretty mouth.” Tony said cupping the other’s jaw.  

Immediately, the youngest sank to his knees and worked on his pants, moaning appreciatively when he saw Tony’s large cock. “Like what you see, baby?” Tony asked with a smirk. Peter bit his lower lip and nodded. “Yeah.” he whispered and without wasting any more moment, wrapped his lips around the pink tip. Tony hissed at the sensation, the warm and wet lips surrounding his sensitive cock. “Yeah fuck baby, suck me good and I’ll fuck you like you always dreamt.” the man said sliding a hand into Peter’s soft hair. Loving the praise –and the promise of a good fuck- Peter pushed more of his shaft into his mouth, humming at the taste and bobbing his head at a steady pace.

Tony was enhanced by the sight, to see his cock disappearing into the boy’s mouth was something beautiful. He imagined this scene a lot of time but the reality was ten times better. “Such a good boy. Pleasing me so well.” Tony purred. “Fuck, you’re so pretty down there.” Peter looked up, his innocent brown eyes blown with lust as his tongue teased the large vein under his length. This was mind-blowing for Tony. Sure, he had a lot of sex and partners and experience, but even the simplest things done by Peter were a hundred times better. Gripping his hair tighter, Tony gave him the hint to take more into his mouth. And that’s what Peter did. He took him in the back of his throat –with a bit of struggle and gag- but he still managed to take him whole. His trainings weren’t done for nothing in the end. Because Peter trained to deep-throat his toy just in case the day would come where he would have Tony’s real cock inside his mouth.  

“Ah fuck!” Tony let out a low growl, his head tilted backward. “So good baby. Fuck- you're doing so well.” he praised, lightly bucking his hips up. Peter's cheeks were flushed and tears were prickling in his eyes as he tried not to gag or choke. He was so happy that Tony was loving what he did, that he was pleasured by his mouth and his ministrations. The mam was loving this so much that he was already feeling close. He lightly tugged on the boy's hair to pull him off. “I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop now. I'd like to, but I really want to fuck you.” he purred. Peter looked up at him with glissening eyes and lip. What a sight for the billionaire. “Lay on the couch baby boy.” Tony ordered softly.  

“Yes sir.” Peter replied, immediately standing up and getting rid of his pants and underwear. Then he walked toward the couch and laid on his back, instantly spreading his legs, one propped up on the back of the couch and the other staying in the ground. Tony observed him with dark eyes, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips. “What a beautiful sight.” he purred, watching how Peter's cock was red, leaking and needy. “Please sir, I need you. I have thought about you for so long… I want to feel you.” he pleaded softly.

Obviously, Tony couldn’t help but to comply. He wanted this so much too. Walking toward him, the man pulled off his clothes, letting them fall on the ground. There he stood, in his naked glory, in front of Peter. Tanned skin and muscles well shaped even for his age, the white scar on his chest contrasting with the rest of his skin. He was handsome. So much. And Peter was liking this a lot. Tony was even better that what he ever imagined. Tony then leaned over him, brushing their cocks together. “Are you ready to take me, baby boy?” Tony asked cupping his jaw.  

“Y-yes! Please I want it so much, sir.” Peter whined. Tony grinned and softly pressed the tip of his cock against Peter's rim. Then, he slowly pushed in, stretching his hole until he was completely buried inside of the boy. Peter's breath itched as he was being filled. Tony was bigger than his toy and he loved this so much. When he was finally relaxed, he let out the biggest moan ever, making Tony's skin shivering with excitement. “So tight baby.” the man groaned a little frown forming on his forehead. “And you're so big, sir.” Peter replied with another moan. Feeling overly confident, the older one started to move, slowly thrusting at first to get used to the feeling, he quickly improved his movement when the boy under him was letting out moans over and over again.  

Leaning down, Tony pulled Peter into a heated kissing session, plunging his tongue inside his mouth as one of his hands started to rub and pinch his nipple. Peter’s cock was throbbing hard, leaking on his stomach while Tony pounded into him, hitting his prostate. “Fuck!” Peter screamed, arching his back to put more pressure on the cock inside him. “P-please do that again! Oh fuck, that felt so good!” Tony laughed softly at that, smirking against his lips and pinching his nipple hard. “Don’t worry pretty boy, I’ll make you see stars.” He said in a deep and low voice, thrusting hard and fast into him. Peter was a moaning mess and his legs were shaking, his rim clenching around Tony and his cock ready to spill his seed.  

“Please Tony-” Peter whined, tears prickling in his eyes with the wonderful warm and intense pleasure he was feeling. Of course, Tony was on the edge too, so he gripped the boy’s cock and pumped it hard. “I want you to cum for me, baby boy. Cum and I’ll reward you with mine in your pretty ass.” he ordered in a low voice. Immediately, Peter complied and came hard on his chest, so hard that some even hit his neck, a loud moan of Tony’s name escaping his lips. At the sight, the billionaire couldn’t contain himself anymore and came hard, shooting his seed inside Peter while his teeth sank into the flesh right above his heart.

Taking a bit of time to take their breath after their mind-blowing climax, they stayed in that position, panting. After a moment, Tony gently pulled out with a light hiss and looked up at Peter. “You doing good there baby?” he asked. “Y-yeah.” Peter whispered. “It was...wow... You’re just...wow.” Honestly, he was at loss of words. “Yeah, just like you.” Tony chuckled and pecked his lips softly. “Now, next time I’ll see a porn video on your computer...I’ll use every toy I possess, on you.” he smirked. Peter laughed softly, closing his eyes as he felt tired. “Is that a threat, Tony?” he asked. “It’s a promise.” Tony replied, whispering into his ear.

[maddiwrites]

Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Pogues x OC, Eventually JJ x OC

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister.

Note: Changed my update schedule to two times a week (probably Sunday and Wednesdays) because three days was kind of overwhelming hahah. Again, thank you for all the wonderful reviews and feedback!! I appreciate every single one!!!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Being shot at?

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3

The Pogues come over later to hang out like usual. No one mentions last night's party. I don't know whether its because they don't want to talk about it or we're pretending like it never happened. I'm fine with either.

I sit next to Kie who taps her fingers on a bongo and bobs her head to her own beat. Pope's shuffling a deck of cards to my right and JJ sips on another beer across from me. It's hard to concentrate on what they're talking about. I'm too busy locked in my own head, thinking about what Peterkin said - foster care - what life would be like if we were taken away. Would I ever see my friends again? Would John B and I be in the same foster home? The thought of being separated makes me sick.

"Look, I'm calling it off. All right?" John B pulls me out of my thoughts. JJ rolls his eyes at my brother and glances at me. "Peterkin said if we stay out of the marsh, she'll help us with DCS."

"And you believed her?" JJ asks. "An actual cop, John B. You believed a cop."

John B sighs. "All I gotta do is stay out of the marsh for a couple days, and she'll help me out. It doesn't help that your ass was the one shooting a gun."

Here we go.

"You know what I should have done? Just let Topper drown your ass."

"Topper was gonna drown me?"

"Sure looked like it."

"Funny," John B deadpans.

"Have you looked in a mirror?"

"Tell me some more. Come on." I can tell by the look on John B's face that he's getting annoyed. It's pinched and he keeps rolling his eyes.

JJ steps closer to him. "They always win, don't they, man? Kooks versus Pogues. They always, always win!" He turns around and punches one of the small volleyballs we have tied in a string like a decoration.

"Look, it's okay!" Kie tries to calm him down.

"No, it's not okay! It's not! They don't want us to go down into the marsh." JJ comes back. "That means there's something valuable down there, and you know it." He turns to me and points. "I know you do." Then he looks at Pope. "I know you do. And I understand why you don't wanna go. You're the golden boy. You got way too much to risk. And you -" He turns to Kie. "I mean, you're already rich as fuck anyway. Why would you bother? But you and me, and Marleigh, man, we got nothing to lose! We really don't all right?"

"JJ -" I sigh.

"And I know it didn't use to be that way for you -"

John B shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about it!"

"So that's it?"

John B shoves past JJ. "Just get out of my way, bro."

"John B, listen to me. I have a plan." Well thats never good. "You got the key to Cameron's big boat right?"

"No," John B says, already knowing where JJ's head is at.

"There's scuba gear. We borrow that, and then we go down to the wreck this afternoon, and that is what's gonna save you, man. You don't see rich kids going into foster care, do you?"

Here's the thing about JJ. He can be really convincing, which is usually the reason he and I get into the most trouble. Because I always fall for what he's saying. He gives me hope when I don't think there is any. He can be surprisingly optimistic sometimes. And when he is, I fall for his charm and agree with everything he says. If he told me to jump off a bridge, I probably would.

When he looks at me, my lips tug upwards into a smile. This creates a domino effect, and soon the other Pogues get excited. John B looks at me, trying to look disapproving but I shrug in response. I mean, JJ's right. What do we have to lose?

                                                       ~ ~ ~

I light a match and ignite my gas stove to make myself lunch. A can of chicken noodle soup that's been in my food closet for who knows how long. John B left to grab the tanks from the Cameron's boat, so the rest of us are waiting here until he comes to pick us up.

"You're eating soup? Its like a hundred degrees outside." JJ walks into the kitchen and lifts himself up on the counter next to the stove.

I stir the liquid around with a wooden spoon and smirk. "Do you see any other edible food around here?" JJ chuckles at that. He knows better than anyone how horrible John B and I are at food shopping. "I meant to go to the store today but..." I sigh. "I've been busy."

JJ pauses, causing me to look up at him. He's usually so quick with his wit and humor. Something I admire and love about him. How he always manages to put a smile on my face with some dumb remark or a sarcastic reply. Only now he's staring at me with curiosity. "Are you okay?"

"You mean other than the impending doom that is foster care that's going to hit me and John B in the near future?" I say sarcastically. I turn the stove off and grab two bowls out of the cabinet behind JJ's head. He ducks for me and my waist presses against his thigh. I pour half the soup in each bowl and hand him one with a spoon.

"Yeah, I mean other than that," JJ says. I blow on the liquid on my spoon to cool it down. The steam that comes up from my bowl already makes me feel hot.

"I'm fine," I tell him.

He gives me a look that says he's doesn't believe me, but I ignore it and he doesn't press me on it. Truth is, I am fine. I just have a lot of my mind but I'm going to do my best not to let it ruin my summer. JJ got me excited again. He's promising an adventure and possibly a fortune. He's right. John B and I have nothing to lose. If we don't go on the marsh today, DCS will find another reason to snatch us. So why hold ourselves back?

"Mar, JJ, he's back!" Kie calls out to us from my yard.

JJ sips the last of his broth out of the bowl and I shovel in the last couple of scoops into my mouth. We throw the bowls in the sink and run to the dock where John B and the others are waiting for us.

Pope directs John B to the part of the marsh where we found the wreck. I sit next to Kie in the front of the boat. She's looking at the two tanks that John B was able to snag off the Cameron's boat. Her brows are furrowed in confusion as she studies the gear.

"This is empty," Kie says, looking up at my brother who stops the boat when we find the sunken Grady-White. "You took empty tanks?"

"I..." John B says slowly. He definitely didn't look at it before he took it.

"Okay, this one's a quarter full," Kie says, pulling the tank to her left closer to her. "Its enough for one of us."

"Love it when a plan comes together," I say sarcastically and pass a look to JJ who rolls his eyes.

"Does anybody know how to dive?" Kie asks.

I purse my lips and look around at my friends and brother. None of them speak up.

"Uh..."

"Anybody?" Kie asks.

"It's kind of a Kook sport," I say.

Pope raises his hand. "I...read about it."

"Great, Pope read about it so someone's gonna die," Kie says.

JJ walks towards us and picks up the mouth piece and shrugs his shoulders. "Look, you put the thing in your mouth and breathe. How hard could it be?"

Pope answers, "If you come up too fast, nitrogen gets into your blood, and you get the bends."

JJ glances between Pope and the rest of us. "Bends like..." JJ bends forward, purposely sticking his butt out, "bend over and..."

Pope cuts him off. "The bends kill you."

JJ snaps straight up. "Right."

I roll my eyes and stand up. "I'll do it."

"Uh, I don't think..." JJ starts to say but my brother cuts him off.

"No. I'll do it."

"What, why?" I turn to my brother and send him a glare.

"Because Pope just said it can kill you and you don't listen to instructions very well." My brother glares back at me. I roll my eyes. He does have a point and evidence to prove it. I usually follow my own gut and ignore others' directions. And because I don't want him to bring up past events, I decide not to fight him on it.

"He has a point," JJ says, earning a punch in the bicep from me. He looks at my brother. "You can dive. I'm cool with that."

"Since when can you dive?" Kie says not liking the idea any more than me.

He shrugs. "I'll do it. It's fine."

"Let me do some calculations real quick," Pope says as John B starts putting on the scuba gear.

"You serious?" JJ asks.

"That boat's about thirty feet down. Okay? So it'll take twenty five minutes at that depth. Twenty five. Which means you need to make your safety stop at about...ten feet."

Contrary to popular belief, I do the actual listening to instructions, I just don't always follow through. But I process everything Pope just said and think of a way to make this easier for John B.

I shimmy out of my jean shorts and pull my top over my head, leaving me in a purple and white striped bikini. Without saying anything, I jump into the water with my shirt.

"Uh..." Pope says, looking into the water where I just disappeared. "What was that about?"

"I don't know. But I liked it. A lot," JJ says, staring at the same spot. John B slaps the back JJ's head and glares daggers in his direction. JJ pretends to clear his throat and turns away from John B.  "Uh, so..."

Pope pretends to focus on his calculations again, not wanting to get caught by John B for staring at his sister too. "Yeah. Uh, when you uh, when you're down there, you look for the cargo hold. You stick this thing inside and twist and pull, okay?"

I guesstimate how deep ten feet is and tie my shirt around the chain attached to our anchor. I look one last time at the blurry image of the sunken boat and pull myself back up.

"Hey," I say to grab their attention. They all look at me. "I tied my T-shirt to the anchor chain about ten feet down. It's where you need to do your safety stop."

John B nods. "Cool."

I stay in the water, loving how the water feels around me like a protective blanket. I listen to Pope explain the important parts of diving. There's some kind of meter he has to pay attention to to keep track of time.

"Okay, how much do I need?" John B asks.

"Unclear," Pope answers. "Breathe as little as possible."

JJ slaps John B on the shoulder. "Zen. Think zen, you know?"

John B turns to the water, preparing to jump in next to me.  "Yeah. Got it."

"Hey," Pope says, stopping him. "If we get caught in the marsh, we're basically screwed, so better get a move on."

"No pressure or anything," I add.

"Copy that," John B says.

Kie approaches my brother and stands in front of him. She's really close to him, almost inches away from his face. Then she leans in and kisses his cheek slowly. Way more intimate than usual. My eyes widen in surprise and I look at Pope and JJ to see their reaction. They mirror mine.

"Diver down?" Kie says softly.

"Diver down." John B says just as softly.

"See ya, dude," JJ says.

John B jumps in the water and sinks down below me. I lay on my back in the water and bathe in the warmth of the sun above me. I even close my eyes, letting relaxation overcome me. I could probably sleep here if I wanted too.

"Shit, JJ," Pope curses, catching my attention.

"Guys, that's the police," Kie says.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," JJ says, glancing at me.

My eyes go wide with anxiety. I swim closer to the boat and look up at JJ. "JJ, they can't know I'm here. If they find me-"

"Hey, hey, hey. It's gonna be okay. They're not going to, just stay there."

I nod and press myself tighter against the boat.

"Just act freaking normal," Kie says through clenched teeth.

I can hear the sirens coming closer until I feel their boat bump against ours. I flinch against it and kick my feet faster to stay afloat. I look down at the water, but I can't see John B. My heart races at the thought of him running out of air.

"Evening," I hear one of the cops greet my friends.

"JJ, tie it off," Pope says.

"How you kids doing? You know the marsh is closed?" The officer asks them.

"No."

"No. Wow."

My friends play dumb. I look up, finding comfort in seeing JJ's long hair. I can tell he's trying hard not to look down at me.

"Why - why is it closed?" Pope asks.

"Well, we're conducting a search out here. Boat went down." The officer explains.

"Oh."

"See anything?"

"No." JJ purses his lips and shrugs.  

"No boats," Kie says. "No."

There's a pause and for a split second I think he's gonna call their bluff. But he doesn't. "Where are the other two kids you always hang with? The twins? They here?"

I bite my bottom lip hard in anticipation for what's to come. He knows we're here. He has to. I can tell by how suspicious he sounds. I look back down in the water, John B still invisible to me. I don't know how much time he has left, but he's definitely running out of it.

"They both had to work," I hear Kie answer.

"Hm," The officer hums. "I'm gonna check your little boat out."

Shit, shit, shit, shit. I look around for a place to hide, but the only thing surrounding me is water. I'm going to have to go under.

"Yeah." JJ coughs, risking one last look at me before pretending to help the officer into the boat. "Yeah, hop aboard."

I push myself under the water and swim directly underneath the boat. I open my eyes, ignoring the sting of the salt water. I can see John B's silhouette by my T-shirt and the blurry light of his timer.

Thirty more seconds pass. I swing my arms upwards, pushing myself deeper into the water. The shadow of the cops' boat is still next to ours. My lungs are screaming at me for for air like they're tearing into my chest. Just like John B, I don't know how long I'm going to be able to last down here.

My body reactively gulps for air, forcing myself to swallow the salt water. It feels like a stab in my chest, my throat on fire. I've got to pop back up to the surface or I'm going to drown.

Just as I'm about to reveal myself, the shadow of the boat drives off. I push myself up, coughing up the water I swallowed and gasping for air. Less than a second later, John B pops up next to me.

"Oh, god! Jesus Christ," Kie says with her eyes closed and her head looking up.

"Don't scare us like that!" Pope says.

JJ watches me instead of John B, concern laced into his features. As I feel my heart go back to its normal pace, I smile at him and laugh the anxiety off. "You good?" He asks me. I nod and let him help me back up to the boat. "How'd it go down there?" He asks my brother. "Did you find anything?"

"Did I find anything?" John B scoffs and holds up a dark velvet bag.

"Yeah, there we go!" JJ claps his shoulders. "That's my boy!"

"Jeez, dude," Pope sighs.

"You okay?" Kie asks John B.

John B pants as he swims closer to the boat. "Yeah, I ran out of air."

"You and me both," I tell him.

John B pulls himself up. When he stands, he's met face to face with Kie who shoves him back playfully. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Yeah, the cops were up here, but, uh...we took care of 'em." Pope says, trying to act like he wasn't going to piss his pants the entire time he was talking to them.

"My bad," John B laughs.

"You're all good."

"Yeah, you kinda missed the show, brother," JJ says.

I move to the back of the boat to ring my wet hair out when something catches me eye. Its another boat, but it doesn't look like the one the cops were just using.

"Hey, guys? Guys!" I call louder to grab their attention. "Bogey, two o'clock."

"What?" JJ comes up next to me and eyes the boat that's making its way closer to us.

"Do you recognize the boat?" Pope asks.

"I've never seen it," I answer.

A bad feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I can make out two people, I think men, standing in the front. They keep their eyes straight on us. No laughing or talking like a couple of buds would on a boat day in the marsh.

"What are they doing here? The marsh is closed," Kie says.

"Let's not stick around and find out." JJ places his hands on my bare waist and pulls me to the side so he can pull up the anchor.

"JJ get the bowline," John B says, not realizing that JJ was already on it.

"Yeah."

"Should we wait on 'em?" Pope asks.

"No. No. We should leave now. Right now," Kie says, looking directly at John B.

"Go get the stern," John B tells me. "Go!"

I kneel next to JJ and help him. Similar to how I felt in the water, my heart beats violently against my chest and my breathing becomes static. I try not to think of the fear that creeps through my veins as I help release the boat from it's hold in the marsh.

"Guys, don't wait for us! Go!" JJ yells.

"Go!" Kie says.

"Pull out the stern!" Pope yells at us.

I yank the chain hard, revealing the slimy anchor covered in seaweed and moss.

"I don't like this," I mutter to JJ between clenched teeth.

John B pulls away from the wreck. JJ looks between me and the boat that still driving in our direction. "Are they coming for us?"

"Maybe they're fishing," Pope says.

"Go, go, go, go!"

"Go into the marsh," I tell my brother, constantly glancing between him and the other boat.

"Let's go," Kie says. I can hear fear creep into her voice and her hands shake around the drivers seat she's holding with a death grip.

"I'm going. Act natural!" John B hisses and revs the engine of the boat.

He takes a left turn into the marsh. I watch anxiously for the people in the other boat to make its move.

They turn left.

"Guys, they're following us!" Kie says.

"This can't be good," Pope says.

"Dude, you gotta go faster!" JJ says.

"I'm going!" John B yells back.

"Gun it!"

I look behind the boat. They're getting closer. Too close. Can't say I'm surprised. The HMS Pogue is no match for their boat that looks more expensive than my house. However, something catches my eye. Something long the guy in the passenger seat is holding and pointing right at us.

"Is that..." I mutter before I'm cut off by exactly what I was going to say.

The gun shot rings through my ears as if the person who shot it was standing next to me. Before I can react, JJ pulls me down to the floor of our boat by my waist and covers me with his own body. I gotta say, this isn't how I pictured him being on top of me. His left arm outlines my head, keeping me face down while other bullets pass our boat. The cries of my friends are dull through the blood pounding in my ears and my heart inching its way up my throat.

"Holy shit!" Kie shouts.

"John B, get down!" JJ yells.

I try looking up at my brother but JJ's hold is strong. John B's still behind the wheel, trying his best to duck from bullets without crashing the boat.

"We're gonna die!" Pope yells.

I try looking around the boat for anything we can use against these guys. Of course JJ decides to leave the gun he stole at my house for the day, leaving us practically useless against these two strangers.

My eyes find a net pooling in front of Kie's face as she keeps her head down. I try crawling out of JJ's embrace which only makes him tighten his arms around me.

"Kie!" I shout. She looks up at me with wide eyes. "The net!"

Immediately she understands what I'm trying to tell her. She pulls herself away from Pope and army crawls to the wide net. This only makes my friends yell at her, telling her to get down, but she doesn't listen.

"Get down, Kie!" John B shouts.

Another gun shot echoes through the air, making me flinch closer into JJ.

Kie throws the net overboard towards their boat and drops back down to her knees. The sound of the other boat's engine clanging against the net gets my head to perk up and I watch Kie's reaction. She's surprisingly smiling. When she looks at me, she lets out a breathy laugh and shakes her head in disbelief because that just worked. Their boats gets stuck.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go," Pope says.

One last gun shot rings through my ears before we make our getaway.  I pull myself off the floor and look back at the boat one last time. We severely underestimated how important finding that boat was. Whatever John B found was worth killing us for.

A couple minutes later, John B pulls the boat up to the Chateau and docks it by the wooden slacks that I used as a bed last night. My friends cheer and actually smile after what just happened.

"That was insane!" Kie says.

"Whoo!"

I look at my brother with adrenaline rushing straight to me head. I feel giddy about finding out what JB found - what must be so important. "What do you think it is?"

"Gotta be money, right?" He asks, looking at me.

"That or a couple of keys with street value to the low-to-mid-mills," JJ says, leisurely danglingly his arm around my shoulders.

"Can we please just open the bag?" Pope says loudly, forcing everyone's attention at him who now looks at us sheepishly.

"Wow, Pope," John B laughs. "That's a rare outburst of emotion."

"Okay, you guys are literally killing me with anticipation," He says. "Open the bag!"

"Jeez." JJ whistles.

"We almost died over this," Pope says like its an explanation. But he's right. We did almost die for this, which is why I need to know what's in it now.

John B opens the velvet bag. Something heavier than money falls out of it with a thunk. Its round and metal. Dirty and dented. Physically ugly and maybe priceless, but it looks familiar. I narrow my eyes at it, trying to study it and rack my brain through where I've seen it before.

"Oh, wow. Yup. That's about right," Pope sighs at the sight of our treasure. "Good job, everybody. We found a compass."

The word compass hits me like a train and my body goes slack like my limbs just turned into jell-o. John B is already looking at me, shocked at the real meaning of what we just found. I push myself in front of JJ and look down at the object he's holding. Priceless maybe true to the others but not to me. Not to John B. This means everything.

JJ looks between John B and I and laughs nervously at our reactions. "Dude, what? It's not worth anything."

My brows furrow together in confusion as I try to wrap my head around how we just found our dad's possession on another man's boat. A dead man's boat. But I feel blank. Like someone just wiped all my thoughts and memories.

"This was our father's compass," I say emotionless, keeping my eyes on JB who looks equally as terrified.

Tag List: @notyourcupofteax @acvross-the-universe @jjmaybankzz  @jeeperky​ @realistic-breadstick  @moniamaybank  @urbinoutfiters​ @brebear121​  @x-lulu​

[12timetraveler]

Heyyyy if you’re doing requests could you do a little drabble of Hosea surprising the reader with a gift? 🥺👉👈

If you’re too busy then that’s totally fine, just thought I’d send in the request

Saved this one for when I really needed a pick-me-up so here we are.

Summary: Hosea has been gone on a job for over a week and reader has had the worst week ever without him.

Hosea/reader (I think I kept it pretty gender neutral except for mention of a skirt.)

Cw: hurt and comfort.

~~~~~~~~~

The last ten days had been absolute hell for you. 

Well okay maybe not hell. That was a little dramatic. But a dark storm cloud had been hanging over your head since Hosea left with a few of the other men to run a con out west a ways. You missed your lover desperately. You and Hosea had been officially a couple for nearly two years, and had been flirting coyly for six or seven months before that, starting the moment you’d joined the gang. 

You weren’t the needy sort of partner who needed your beloved’s attention on you all of the time. No it wasn’t just that you missed soft little kisses in the morning to rouse you for the day, or that you missed the feeling of his arms randomly slipping around you throughout the day and pulling you close. Though you did miss all of that terribly. 

But more than that, it was simply his presence that you missed. Seeing him sitting across camp, watching him read to Jack, the way he’d comfort and advise everyone in the gang. Even the little snores he made as he slept beside you. Heaven help you, you even missed the horrible coughing that wracked through his lungs. You just missed HIM. 

On top of missing him, you seemed to be having the worst luck. You burned your hand checking on the stew for Pearson, jabbed a needle so far into your thumb while sewing that Susan had to be the one to pull it out, seemed to trip over your own feet every step you took, stepped on a piece of broken glass barefoot (fortunately the cut hadn’t been too deep, but it stung like hell), and your horse bucked you on the way back from a mail run in town and you’d had to walk back to camp. 

You could hardly remember a worse week, and you just desperately wanted to curl up each night against your lover and whine about everything that was going wrong. But the bedroll next to you was cold and empty, and you found yourself lying awake most nights, not crying exactly. Well not audibly. But tears streamed down your cheeks in those dark hours when you were alone. 

Just when you thought you were about to lose your mind, and that you wouldn’t be able to handle one more second without your sweetheart, Davey called a happy hello from where he stood at the entrance to camp on sentry duty, and you heard a chorus of tired hellos reply. 

You shot to your feet like lightning, dropping the tin plate you were scrubbing back into the tub. You hiked up your skirt and raced toward the hitching posts, where Hosea, along with the three others he’d taken, Charles, Arthur and Lenny, were dismounting. 

Hosea grinned ear-to-ear when he saw you and opened his arms wide. You practically pushed Dutch out of the way as you barreled into Hosea’s arms. Hosea stumbled back a couple steps as his arms enveloped you, falling back against Silver Dollar, who huffed but supported you both without further protest. 

“I missed you,” You whimpered, nuzzling your face against his neck as you clung to him tightly. 

“I missed you too.” He cooed, squeezing you even tighter. "How were things here without me?" 

You didn't respond beyond a soft little noise, somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Hosea pulled back just enough to look at your face. He cupped your cheek in his hand, and his thumb came back wet. Oh shit were you crying? 

"Hosea!" Dutch said cheerfully. "How did it go?"  

Hosea didn't say anything at first, only staring down at you in concern. You leaned your head into his touch and closed your eyes. 

"Just fine," Hosea finally responded to Dutch. "I'll tell you about it all later. Right now I need to hold my darling and rest for a while." He said. 

Dutch let out a chuckle, letting you know exactly what he thought you and Hosea were going to do. Neither of you contradicted him as he went off to greet Arthur. 

Hosea wrapped his arm around you, keeping you close as he loosened Silver Dollar's girth and pulled his saddlebag down from the horse's back. The two of you strode across camp to your tent, unable to let go of each other. 

You closed your tent flaps behind you as Hosea sat down on his bedroll with a tired groan. Your bad week forgotten, you immediately got to work. 

You sat behind him and helped him out of his coat, setting it aside. You could see the tension tight in his shoulders, travel and stress having built there. You immediately began massaging his neck, touch light at first then growing stronger. 

"Dearest..." Hosea murmured, but you just hushed him gently. 

"Let me take care of you. Please." You begged. You desperately wanted to just help him right now, even though your eyes were still damp, though no tears were falling. Hosea seemed to be able to hear the desperation in your voice, that you needed to do this, so he didn't protest further. 

His head began to droop as your hands worked at his muscles, rubbing away the exhaustion from the road. Soon his muscles were soft and pliable under your fingers, and his head was bowed low in relaxation. You pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck, and rested your chin on his shoulder. 

"Thank you, dove," Hosea sighed. "That felt wonderful." You just hummed in response, wrapping your arms around him for a moment and holding him tightly. 

Hosea slowly lay down on his side, pulling you with him, and he rolled over to face you. He gently caressed your cheek with the back of his finger, eyes flickering across your face in that analytical way of his, reading your emotions as easily as he would his newspaper. 

"It's been awful without you here, Hosea." You sighed, tears beginning to brim over and spill down your cheeks once more. 

"How so?" He asked gently. 

So you began venting to him, telling him about your horrible week. When you told him about stepping on the glass, he immediately sat up and removed your boot, checking over your bandaged foot. Thankfully it was healing well. He lay back down and let you continue venting. 

"All this because I was gone?" He asked gently once you were done. "I'm flattered that you think so highly of me, but I'm not sure what I could have done to stop any of that," his tone wasn't judgemental, or taking himself seriously. It was just a normal Hosea quip. 

"No, obviously not. But it just felt like... I don't know, like the universe was taunting me when I already missed you so much. And beyond that, I missed your comfort, your sage counsel." You nuzzled your face into his chest. "I missed having you next to me each night, and talking to you at dinner." You sniffled, trying to push down your tears, and failing. 

"I'm here now," he soothed, stroking your hair back and kissing your forehead. "I'm so sorry you've had such a tough time in my absence. I wish I'd been here for you." 

You said nothing, just clung to him tighter and let your tears wet his shirt as you let yourself cry. 

"How was the job?" You asked once your tears began to subside. 

"It went fine. Nothing too exciting," Hosea said. "I did get you something though," 

"You got me something?" You asked, looking up at him. He smiled and nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little box. The two of you sat up so you were sitting facing each other.  

"Yes. I came across this traveling fortune teller, who collects things from far and wide. She had a variety of trinkets and things. But then I saw this." 

Hosea opened the box to reveal a small cameo-style pendant necklace. Only instead of an image of a person carved out of the little white stone, a fox sat amongst some long grass, staring back at you with a cunning grin. The background color was an enamel in your favorite color. 

"Hosea it's beautiful," you gasped, gently picking up the little pendant and brushing your thumb across the carving. 

"I thought you might like it. You always call me your sly fox." Hosea chuckled. "Also," he held the pendant and slipped his fingernail into a little crack, revealing it to be a locket. Inside was a picture of Hosea. 

It was a younger picture of him, from a couple years before you'd met him. He was your Hosea, not that dashing but wild and untrustworthy young man in the picture by Arthur's cot. But he did have a few less wrinkles on his face. 

"Oh Hosea," you gasped, reverently taking the pendant back from him and studying it. "Thank you so much. I love it." 

"I'm glad." Hosea said, pulling you into his arms. You settled into his lap, sitting with your back to his chest. You couldn't take your eyes off the locket in your hand. 

"It's no replacement for being here with you," Hosea murmured in your ear. "But maybe it'll help keep me close if I ever have to go away again." He kissed you cheek. "Although I doubt I'll be going anywhere anytime soon," he groaned, flopping back on the bedroll dramatically. You giggled and lay down beside him. 

"That's fine by me" 

[calliecat93]

More Empath meta cause GDI I love this episode and it is SOOO much fun to analyze~!

McCoy sacrificing himself is of course the most famous moment, and for good reason. It is, imo, the scene that embodies everything that Leonard McCoy is and always will be. But I don’t see a lot of people talk about after, when it’s just Kirk, Spock, and Gem left. Can you imagine what it had to be like for Kirk and Spock? The cold, awful realization when they see Bones’ medical equipment laying there, but no sign of the man himself?

From how it sounded to me, Spock woke up before Jim did. Which means that when Kirk came to and saw Bones gone, Spock had to confirm that yes, McCoy went with the Vians. It had to be God awful for Kirk when that hit him. Hell you can hear it in his voice when he asks Spock “Why did you let him do it?”. While he’s looking downward He sounds like he just came back down from the realization setting in. Kirk had already had his turn being tortured. He knows EXACTLY what’s in store for Bones and that it’s going to be worst. His best friend, confidant, and emotional stability is going to die and unless Spock gets the Vian device working, he can’t do anything about it. He always finds a way out of everything. He doesn’t believe in the no-win scenario. But he got forced into one by the Vians. He was going to have to send one of his best friends, one of his crewmen, to their death. It’s like in The Immunity Syndrome, except far more cruel.

Worst, Bones took that option away from him. He got spared from the choice, but it didn’t change the fact that Bones is gone and Jim wasn’t allowed to do so much as argue back. So not only did he fail to protect his best friend, he failed to protect one of his crewmen that he’s responsible for. For a Starfleet Captain, this kind of situation would be utterly soul crushing. Fortunately Kirk doesn’t give up as he tries to figure out what the Vians exact intentions are, Gem’s place in it, and he bounces back instantly once Spock DOES get the device operating and confirms that they can teleport to McCoy. It presents the solution that Kirk desperately needed and has him giving the most Kirk-like response that he could ever give. Still in that moment, he must have felt far worst than any of the physical paint hat the Vians out him through. He couldn’t protect Bones (or Spock for that matter). He couldn’t think of a third option. He was utterly powerless.

Then there’s Spock... oh God Spock.

Spock obviously already knew what was going to happen the second he felt that sting in his back. He looks almost betrayed, calling it unethical. Not even illogical, unethical. When he’s up, he’s already back to work on the device though he DOES confirm that he got taken out the same way Kirk did: the good doctor’s hypo. I sensed what almost felt like exasperation. I can only imagine what was going through his mind. He may keep his emotions controlled, but whether he likes it or not he still feels them. The main thing that comes to mind is at a loss on how he allowed McCoy to sneak up on him to begin with. How he hadn’t even considered that a possibility when he’s fully aware of the doctor’s highly illogical nature. Especially when he himself had accused McCoy of having a Martyr Complex again in The Immunity Syndrome. The fact that he witnessed McCoy already do it to Jim should have added to the likelihood. He should have known better, but instead here they are.

I doubt it’s because Spock just forgot any of that. He was both trying to get the device as functional as he could before handing himself over and he was resigning himself to death. Okay, insanity but that’s still him losing himself. You could tell with the way he looked at Jim, this was going to be the final time he ever saw him. You could tell what he was feeling when Gem touched him and just smiled brightly. How much he cares about his captain, and McCoy as well. Simply put, he was more focused on making sure that those two got out alive that the thought that McCoy would take his place simply didn’t occur to him. Did he expect protest? Of course, it briefly happened in the initial talk. But Spock probably assumed that as usual McCoy would gripe and argue with him over it, but that would be the extent of it. Even if McCoy stayed stubborn over it and tried to interfere, Spock would be able to handle it just like, again, in The Immunity Syndrome. He was wrong. His logic was clouded, and thus he was unprepared to stop him.

Then there’s everything when they do reach McCoy. I don’t need to go into depth with this one. Everything that everyone’s feelign is clear as crystal.

Jim’s distressed for obvious reasons, even at first refusing to accept that McCoy’s dying until McCoy himself confirms it. Spock is barely holding back his clear distress snd concern, which... well, we all know the scene:

“You’ve got a.... good bedside manner, Spock.”

And Spock’s reaction.

That expression says it all.

I already posted about how much McCoy cares about these two. So much so that he sacrificed himself with no regard to himself. Not even for a second. He’d made up his mind and there was no room for anything else after. But I also pointed out how due to his disregard for himself, he didn’t take into account how said two people would react. He’d have still done it even fi he had, but still. He’s The Heart to Kirk’s Soul and Spock’s Mind. If so much as one part is lost, the other two may still be able to exist, but they won’t ever be whole again. He’s the one constantly helping Jim through any mental/emotional hangups that are troubling him. He’s the one constantly challenging Spock on his reliance on logic and ignoring his emotions/human half. He’s not always in the right when he does so, but it’s still a way to point out to Spock that that side of him exists and can’t be ignored. McCoy cares so much, sometimes maybe too much... and maybe at times it causes him to forgot how much that they care for him. And had it been them laying there dying even if beyond hope, he’d have fought to save them to the bitter end.

And nothing was going to stop neither Jim nor Spock from doing the same for him.

Or long story short: I just love the Triumvirate a lot and how much they love each other XD

(Image Credit: TrekCore)

[alovesongshewrote]

Almost A Thousand Years - Wizard Underground | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years.  You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years.  And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain.  But somewhere in that time, things changed.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count:  7,579

Warnings: Canonical Character Death!! (and torture) 

A/N:  buckle up kiddos, it’s about to get angsty.  the gif does not match the energy at all, but it’s from the episode so,  yeeeeet

Taglist:  @furblrwurblr @rainningdoom @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458 @sitherin-mxschief @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip @dolphincommander @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05 @justarandomhoman @tales-of-hisirdoux​ @blixeon​​ @yagirlcheesely​

When the green cleared, the sky looked more or less the same.  Dark, stars, clouds.  It was clear you were home though, both from Douxie saying so and the immediate urge you had to murder him.  Well, you couldn’t say you weren’t expecting it, but it still sucked.  The drive to end Douxie’s life was always a real mood killer whether or not you were expecting it.

“Welcome back to the twenty-first century!”

“Ah!  Sweet pollution!  How I missed you!”  Steve choked as he inhaled a lungful of said filthy air.  Normally, that wouldn’t be a great thing, but you were sort of thankful for it this time.  It distracted Douxie from the whimper that left your lips, from the way you sank to the ground, clinging to the railings, struggling against yourself.  This was Not Fun.

Steve, however, was still having a wonderful time, “Heh!  And reception!!  Hot dang!  So many messages.”

From the high-pitched chimes that rang out through the air, you could only guess that Steve was looking at his phone.  You couldn’t really see at the moment due to the sudden and blinding pain in your stomach.  That was new!  You weren’t really sure why that was happening, or how Douxie didn’t feel it, but it probably had to do with the Arcane Order and your lack of homicide!

Across the ship, Jim let out a scream, the shard in his chest glowing red and sinking deeper.  Fucking lovely.  That was two of you in shard related pain.  What was next, you losing control and killing not only Douxie but everyone on this damn ship?  Another wave of pain rolled through you, which brought an end to your sarcastic thinking.  At this rate, that outcome looked less and less insane by the minute.  You bit your lip in a silent prayer that nothing else would go wrong.  Then Camelot fell out of the sky.

“Oh, shit.”

Douxie’s words shocked you enough for you to open your eyes and look at him.

“D-Douxie, you-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m sorry, hang on tight, love!”

You did as instructed as your wizard flew the ship towards the falling castle, pulling up right beside it at what appeared to be the perfect time.

“Need a lift?”

“Douxie!” you could hear Toby’s voice, but you couldn’t see him.  The momentary release granted to you by shock had worn off, and now all you had left was the pain.  You shut your eyes and kept them closed, focusing on not passing out, or committing murder, or passing away.  Actually, that last one might not have been so bad.  At least it would end your suffering and the threat you were to others.  That wasn’t going to happen though.

You could hear Archie now, the familiar’s voice was… well, familiar, and it was comforting to you, in an odd way, “But you’re trapped in the past!”

“Not anymore!”

“Took you long enough.  We have much to talk about.  Like- them?”  you didn’t have to see Merlin to know he was talking about you, and in your current state, you were indeed worthy of conversation.  You were curled into a ball, shoved against the rails of the ship and trying your damnedest not to cry.  You felt like shit, you probably looked like shit, and Merlin didn't even like you in the first place, so yeah, you were something worth mentioning.

“D-don’t worry,” you choked out, “I’m fine.  Focus- on Jim.”

Douxie did not want to focus on Jim.  He didn’t want to focus on anything except for you at that exact moment.  What was happening to you?  Why was the love of his life doubled over and in obvious pain when he barely felt a thing?  More than anything Douxie wanted to help you.  He wanted to make the pain stop, and he wanted to hold you close and make sure you were okay, but Jim, unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the pov, had perfect dramatic timing.  

The poor boy let out a groan, the shard glowing red once again, and causing everyone more concern.  You knew there was no way in hell he could have heard what you said, and the groan was probably because Aarrrgh, Toby and Blinky had all boarded the ship which made it move a bit, but you liked to think he was on your side.  

You could hear Toby scream something that sounded like a question, and you knew that Merlin replied, but there was only one voice that mattered to you.  He said your name, sounding scared and anxious.  It broke your heart, but you said nothing.  You didn’t want him to notice you any more than he already had, because if he did, he would try to help, and that meant getting close to you, and if he did that he’d probably receive a broken neck for his troubles.  Nobody wanted that. Least of all you.

“I-I’m getting everyone home safe, as promised.”

Merlin said something else, and you felt another shift as something, or rather, someone, landed on the ship.  A small squeak left you, you couldn’t help it.  Everything just hurt so bad, and you honestly didn’t know how Douxie wasn’t feeling it.  You were thankful for that, of course, you’d never wish for him to be in pain, ever, but this was just so intense!  You could barely function, you just had to keep breathing, hoping that the next inhale would somehow end the pain.  

Another series of squeaks and gasps escaped you as Douxie maneuvered the ship through a field of castle-shaped debris.  In any other situation, you’d have complimented him, but at that moment, you were trying to avoid causing anyone any bodily harm.  It was difficult while you were flying, but as soon as you landed, things got wayyyy harder.

Douxie approached you cautiously, not wanting to hurt you and not wanting to trigger anything that might make you hurt him.  The rest of the squad had jumped off the ship, so for it was just you and your wizard.  For all intents and purposes, you were alone with the person you’d been sent to kill.  There was nothing stopping you.  His hands were raised in surrender for god’s sake.  Why was he making this so difficult?

“Douxie, you need to go.”

“I- no, I’m not leaving you, we have to go, we have to get somewhere safe-”

“No, you need to- just get off the ship, I’ll join you in a second.”  

That was a total lie, of course, but he didn’t need to know that.  He didn’t seem to register it, either.  He just looked at you sadly before taking a step back.

“We’ll fix this.  I promise you, we’ll fix this.  I’m not going to let anything else hurt you.”

You tried to laugh, but the attempt was pathetic, “I know.”

And then he was gone.  You could hear Jim screaming somewhere in the night.  The sound drowned everything out, submerging you in a sea of guilt.  That kid had suffered through so much, and now this.  You knew his pain.  He didn’t deserve this, and there was nothing you could do to save him.

Douxie was going through the same motions.  You were in pain, you didn’t deserve it, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.  Not yet, anyway.  He was bound and determined to help you, to end the nightmare you were living in.  And it was indeed, your nightmare.  He couldn’t feel a thing, even after centuries of sharing your pain.  Even now, he could still feel the ache of your cracked ribs, but there was nothing beyond that.  He didn’t know what was happening to you, or why, but he knew it terrified him.  If this, whatever it was, took you from him, he didn’t know what he would do.  He couldn’t stand to lose you.  Not after all of this.  Even as he spoke with Merlin, his thoughts never left you.  The image of you curled around yourself, face contorted with pain, lips bleeding as you bit them to stay silent, would haunt him for the rest of his days.

You, however, were haunted by something else.

“Nari, come back to us and finish the work you have begun!”

“You misunderstand our grand vision.”

Oh, fuck.  

You pulled yourself up, desperately clinging to the rail, pausing every time your vision went white.  You weren’t sure yet whether you were going to run away or fight, but the first thing you needed to do was hide.  If you chose to run, they couldn’t see you.  If they did, they would chase you, capture you, and torture you again.  If you chose to fight, you wanted the element of surprise.  So, yeah.  Hiding was a good plan.  

You threw yourself over the edge of the ship.  It was not graceful in the slightest, but no one saw, so it worked out well enough.  Your plan was going according to plan, even if everything hurt and you longed for the sweet release of death.  You let yourself lean on the ship for a second, closing your eyes against the pain.  The cold metal stung where it met your skin.  It sucked.  Everything sucked.  This whole Order ordeal sucked.  You wanted to go home.  But where even was home?  Right, it was the black-haired wizard boy with the shitty dye job who you’d loved for years.  

A green light flashed on the other side of the ship, and you knew you had to make a choice.  Either run, and keep running, the same thing you’d been doing since you escaped your life as a spy, or stay and fight.  Run or go back to the start of your story and change the meaning.  To fight, not for Gunmar and an eternal night, but to protect the people you loved, the town you lived in, and the punk wizard who owned your heart.  Yeah, no.  That choice was already made for you.  It had been for almost a thousand years.

Without a sound, you dragged yourself around the ship and waited for the right moment.  It came faster than you’d expected, but that wasn’t a huge deal.  You snuck behind the green Knight, and when he demanded surrender, you struck him with your sword.  He stumbled forward for a second, and that was it.  The only solid hit you made in that fight.  Ah, the element of surprise, everyone’s favourite element.

You ducked as the Knight's sword sliced at your throat.  Your movements were delayed by a few seconds, but you couldn’t focus on that right now.  You just had to keep going.  

Your sword clashed with his, once, twice, a third time, and on that third, you were sent flying back.  You scrambled to your feet just in time for another attack, this one accompanied by words.  Whether it was a monologue or a taunt you couldn’t tell.  Your brain was focused on not dying.  You heard him call you a traitor, and a servant before he declared that your soul was his.  You didn’t have a smart response for that, so you just kept fighting.

Up, down, side, dodge, sweep the leg, parry, twist left, over and over again.  You were almost on autopilot, one hand still clutching your busted ribs, the other doing its best to keep you alive.  There was no coherent thought, just adrenaline and movement.  Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, select start.  Jeep, dodge, ram him with your face, or whatever the hell else kept you alive.  There was nothing left but basic instinct and training that you’d never forgotten.  This was your fight.  And you weren’t actually that bad for someone who was half-dead.  At least, you weren’t until the Green Knight knocked the sword from your hand and grabbed you by the throat.  

Everything went numb.  Your vision was lighter as if a filter covered the world making everything bright and hard to look at.  You heard everything and nothing at the same time.  It was all… dull.  Like you were hearing the battle from somewhere far away.  Douxie screamed something that you couldn’t make out, there was a muffled guitar riff, another scream, someone calling you a traitor, and- wait.  What in the fresh hell was that?  Did someone just fucking roar?

You were dropped, and you rolled out of the way just in time to see a troll you’d never met charge at the Knight.  You sat still for a minute, struck dumb by this turn of events.  Then you felt yourself freeze, ice creeping into your veins as you realized what was going on.  You couldn’t hear Jim screaming anymore.  You looked back to the ship.  He wasn’t there.  That left one, probably unreasonable explanation.  The new troll was Jim.  Fuck.

Pulling yourself to your knees, you took another look at your friends, gathered by the ship.  It looked, for a moment, like Douxie or Claire would run into the fight.  You couldn’t let that happen.  So, you did the one thing you could think of, the one thing that would keep them out of this.  You stabbed yourself in the leg.  It wasn’t a big stab, just a little one.  Just enough to convince Douxie that you’d lost control and were now out for his blood.  It didn’t work as well as you’d hoped.  You could see your wizard fall to one knee.  His eyes met yours, and for one second, everything was still.  He was there, and you were here, and you were both alive, but on opposite sides of this battle.  That’s how it had always been.  Maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be.  You were back at the start again.  A scared kid on the wrong side, clinging to what little light you had left.  There were tears in your eyes.  You don’t know how they got there.  Maybe it was the stab wound, but you didn’t really believe that.  Taking a deep breath, you shook your head.  He saw you.  He stood.  And then they were gone.

You smiled, for a second, despite the tears streaming down your face.  They were safe, for now.  They had a chance.  Your momentary peace didn’t last long.  Holding his sword above him, the Knight took control of Jim, the red light that ran through his veins turned green, leaving the troll on his hands and knees.  At the same time, the pain in your stomach subsided, allowing you to stand, finally.  You readied your own blade, but before anything could be accomplished, the Knight turned to you.  For once, you could hear what he was saying.

“Attack and the beast dies.”

There was no other choice.  You couldn’t let anything bad happen to Jim.  You lowered your weapon just as Bellroc jumped from the castle and landed in front of you.

“Take them with us,” you flinched back at their voice.  That sound only brought back memories that you would rather forget.  Fear took you, and you allowed the Green Knight to grab your shoulder and guide you back to the castle.  This was not going to be fun.

Speaking of things that weren’t fun, Douxie was having the worst possible time right now.  After hiding in an alley, making his way to Hex Tech, and dealing with a less than pleased Zoe (which involved explaining that he had found you, found out exactly why you left, and lost you again,) he was more than a little bit tired, which was fair.  To make matters worse, his leg stopped hurting somewhere between the field and the alleyway.  You were on the Order’s ship.  They had you, and god knows what they could do to you without him knowing.  Quite honestly, Douxie was beyond terrified at this point.  He wasn’t really sure what he was.  In any other circumstance, he may have been paralyzed by pure fear and anxiety, but someone had to keep Claire from murdering Merlin, so paralysis was a no go.  He was sure he’d have time for a nice mental breakdown later, after you were safe.  For now, he would focus on keeping the peace, making sure nothing got broken, and forming a plan to get you and Jim home.

You were playing the same game with a different set of pieces.  You stayed silent and obedient, making yourself as small as possible to avoid taking up space and pissing off your captors.  No matter how panicked you were, you maintained an aura of calm for both your sake and Jim’s.  You couldn’t let your emotions slip.  Not here, not now.  Not that any of your efforts were doing much good.  You still flinched with every quick movement, bit your lip whenever someone got too loud.  This was not a good situation, and you were straight-up not having a good time.  It only got worse with the resurrection of Morgana.  It was all too loud, too bright, too- too familiar.  This was too close to what happened the last time you were here, and you were terrified.  

Your hands were cold.  You tried to focus on that, but for the life of you, you couldn't stop thinking about every bad thing that happened to you within these walls.  Someone was yelling, someone else screaming, and you couldn’t tell whether it was real, or if it was a memory.  You didn’t even care that the Green Knight was the old king.  You just wanted to leave, but for now, against all odds, you had to stay calm.  It was not working.  At all.  Especially when the room turned on you.

“And as for you, treasonous witch,” y’know, that wasn’t a very original take coming from a primordial ice god.  You were honestly a little disappointed.  In terms of torture, Skrael had always been a bit more creative.  Perhaps, subconsciously, you’d expected that to carry over.  It didn’t.  In any other situation, you would’ve told him to get some new material, but Bellroc swiftly prevented that by throwing you into the center of the room.  You hit the ground hard.  Hard enough to blur your vision and clear your mind, but there was no time to process the pain.

“You have failed us,” the flaming demigod’s voice darted from high tones to low ones, sending a chill down your spine.  If Bellroc was angry enough to lose control of their voice, you were beyond screwed.

Both demigods drew nearer to you, looming over your damaged figure, “You will pay for this.”

You winced, preparing for the burn of ice or fire on your skin, but no impact came.  Instead, you felt a harsh tug on your hair as Bellroc forced you to face them.  Both demigods looked way too calm, though you could feel their anger, a flaming riot beneath their skin despite their icy exteriors.  Their rage alone was almost enough to hurt, but what came next was worse.

“You are much too fond of that wizard apprentice… we will make sure he suffers for all of your mistakes.”

You felt yourself shaking as Skrael rasped out the threat, but you didn’t have much more time to react before you were thrown into a wall.  That was where their fun began.

Douxie was having a significantly better time than you, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying himself. Over the sounds of Blinky cursing autocorrect, Merlin and Claire were having a battle of ideologies right in front of my metaphorical salad.  The audacity.  This, of course, was not easy on your wizard.  His friend wanted to find a way to save her boyfriend.  His mentor wanted to move forward and run away.  Douxie also wanted to save Jim and you, but Merlin made a good argument about the fate of the universe and how if they didn’t leave now everyone would die.  That argument, however, was not enough to erase the memory of your face from his mind.  He still saw that image, you, distorted with pain and struggle every time he closed his eyes.  The fighting only made things worse; especially when Merlin decided to put that face on screens around the room, side by side with Jim’s new troll form.  I don’t know why he thought that was a good idea, but it was Not helping Douxie.

“James Lake and (Y/N) (L/N) are corrupted, gone!  They cannot be brought back!”

“Or you’re just too stubborn to try!”

“Please, you both have solid points!”  he could hear the stress and fear in his own voice.  Good.  Maybe it would make the universe feel bad for him and it would just… throw you through a window at him or something.  He didn’t know or care at that point.  He was too tired for this and too awake for it at the same time.  His eyes hurt.  His jaw hurt.  Everything hurt except his leg which was just another reminder of how much he missed you.  God, he was having an awful day, and it was going to get worse.

“I will not jeopardize the mortal plane for one troll and one wayward witch!”

“It’s what they’d do for us!”

“And look where that got them!” This outburst from his former Master frustrated Douxie enough to make him slam his head into the nearest flat surface and keep it there.

“What!?” Claire exclaimed, the screens around the room went black, your face and Jim’s hidden from view.  It would’ve been a relief if Douxie had looked up to see it. “Come on, back me up here.  Anybody?  Archie?  Douxie?”

He heard the question in her voice.  Will you stand up for your significant other, Casperan?  Or will you fail them again?  He let out a strangled groan to answer the question.

Archie’s answer was more dignified, “Don’t look at me, cats don’t have the right to vote.  Neither do dragons.  Yet.”

The familiar’s body glowed gold for a minute as he changed forms.  It was only a second of shining light, but it was enough to give Douxie an idea.

“Wait a tick.  I know a way we can rescue Jim and (Y/N) without risking the world!”

“Is that so?”

“How?”

“If it works, it will be quite the little magic trick.”

And it would indeed be quite the little magic trick.  Risking life and limb to save you and Jim would be one hell of a feat, but if there was anyone who could pull it off, it was this specific team.  At least, that’s what Douxie told himself.  He had to.  He had to pretend there was hope and focus on the plan.  If he didn’t, his thoughts drifted to you, to what the Order could be doing to you, and that persistent question in his mind, the one that asked if you were alive at all.  You had to be.  You had to.  There wasn’t another option, though Douxie found, as he boarded the small ship, that fear was building in his chest.  A sense of dread surrounding what exactly they would find, lying still on the floor of the Order’s base.

Douxie was shaken from the hell in his head when Merlin spoke, something about being concerned with the plan and heading into a lion’s den.  Your wizard was growing tired of this.

“You gave me a staff because you trusted me, right?  So, trust me.”

“Very well.  I stand by your decision… wizard.”

The comment was shrugged off by its intended audience, “Everyone knows what they need to do.  If we pull this off, we’ll get our friends back.”

In his head, Douxie begged whatever godly forces were out there (that were Not Arcane Order aligned) that they would get their friends back in once piece, safe and sound; though as the lights of the Order’s ship shone in his face, blinding him, he knew that wouldn’t be the case.  Oh well.

“Arcane Order!” the ship shifted to face him, a sign that someone was listening, “We’re here to barter!”

The skull moved down through the air, clicking and groaning as it’s jaw dropped to form an entrance, or at least something close to one.  Douxie cast a glance back to his comrades, “And that means, ‘Come in.’”

“Wait, we’re flying into the bitey devil castle?” Steve asked incredulously, pointing at said bitey devil castle.  Douxie nodded and flew them into the bitey devil castle.  Bitey devil castle.  I want one.

Steve, however, would not agree with that sentiment.  Fear crossed over the teen’s face as their ship drew nearer to the larger craft.  He shook so much while exiting the boat that he just fell over.  Douxie, Merlin and Not-Nari failed to notice or maybe failed to care.  Either way, Steve had an opinion on all of this.  He did not like it, “Uh, this is supes dumb.  Like, even I know it’s dumb and we’re still gonna go inside?”

If you had been in your right mind and entering the skull with them, you would have agreed, 100%.  Unfortunately, you were not that.  Instead, you were deeper inside the horror-show palace, writhing with pain and unable to think clearly.  That sucked for you, but honestly, you were starting to get used to it.

 Douxie, however, was not used to nor prepared for the sudden pain that hit him like a wall of bricks as soon as he entered the Order’s den.  It started off intense, matching the pain you felt exactly, but it faded fast until it was a dull throb in the back of his mind.  They’d hurt you.  They’d hurt and maybe killed you because you didn’t kill him fast enough.  That thought, that fact was going to haunt him for the rest of his days.  He could already feel his breath coming faster, his chest rising and falling rapidly and leading him to disaster if he didn’t control it.  To avoid having a panic attack, your wizard took in his surroundings.  

The lair was, as many good evil lairs are, made of stone and lit light blue with moonlight.  It was quiet, empty, so much so that Douxie had to mention the overwhelming silence just to hear something.  Merlin did not respond.  At least, not to him.

“Good evening, Skrael.”

The ice demigod appeared in a twister of ice and sleet.  If he was anything other than an ice demigod, it would have been very uncomfortable, but alas, Skrael’s gotta Skrael, and that included monologuing in his chilling and creepy voice, “Surrendering already?  I was hoping for a little more cat and mouse.”

Douxie was suddenly very uncomfortable knowing that this was the company you were trapped with during your ten-year absence.  That this was all you’d heard for a decade.  Douxie wondered, for a moment, against his will, what exactly they’d said to you in the past ten years.  What horrors had you heard?  

The wondering only got worse when Bellroc decided to jump in with a threat of their own.  It was a classic, “You will be rewarded with a quick and painful death,” but Bellroc’s intimidating and ever-changing voice added a new level to the threat, something that most other villains lack.  The Green Knight didn’t even make a threat, he just growled like a basic bitch.  

Merlin didn’t care though.  Basic bitches or otherwise, he got straight to business, “A fight here will end poorly for all of us.  We seek a truce,” the old wizard turned to his apprentice and nodded.  It was time for someone who did care about basic bitches.

“Good evening, doers of evil and ancient terrors.  We have a proposal: a trade.  One of yours for one of ours,” Douxie moved forwards and back again, his lanky-ass limbs swishing through the air, trying to illustrate his point.  It was super effective.

“Our missing third in exchange for your troll mongrel?”

“You would give up your only advantage?  What does this gain you?”  both Bellroc and Skrael sounded confused, the perfect conditions for a lengthy explanation that would hopefully buy Claire all the time she needed to get Jim and you out safely. 

Douxie took a short breath, “Yes, well, an excellent question, one that requires a long, thoughtful, time-consuming answer.  Come on, Claire.”

Somewhere above your friends, your pain began to subside.  It wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to stand and make your way over to Jim.  You knew that it wasn’t really your boy, and you knew that he wouldn’t respond, but you made an attempt to speak with him anyway.  You owed him that much.

“Hey there, kid.”

He grunted and moved away from you, retreating into the darkness, “Woah, woah, woah, easy buddy, just- try and stay in one spot for me-” your voice caught in your throat as another wave of agony rolled through you.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the face of your old friend almost looked concerned.

You brought yourself back up, and a little gasp escaped you as the pain subsided.  You were okay for the moment, but you didn’t know how long that would last.  It was time to talk as fast as you could.

“Jim, honey, I need you to listen to me.  I know how hard this is.  I know what it’s like, trust me.  But we- we have to fight this.  You have a life to live, kiddo.  You need to get back to Claire, to Toby and the rest of them, and I-” you cut yourself off before you could say you needed to get home, to get to Douxie.  As much as you loved Jim, he was under the Order’s control.  They’d already threatened your wizard’s life, you didn’t need them knowing exactly how much he meant to you.  However, magic be damned, you had to get through to the boy inside this monstrous shell, “I know it’s hard, Jim, but I’m fighting this with you.  Neither of us are alone.”

He growled at you but didn’t respond outside of that.  It was time to be persistent. 

“I know.  But I need you to come back.  I need-” once again, you couldn’t say what you were thinking.  You couldn’t tell him that you needed proof, something to believe in that could maybe restore the last of your faith.  You needed to know that there was hope, that you could come back from this.  Jim Lake was one of the bravest and strongest kids you knew.  He’d been through so much, and in comparison to your age, he was just a baby.  If anyone could fight this, it would be him, and if he couldn’t, you weren’t sure if you could.  You drew a shaky breath before you continued, “I need you to come back, for Claire, Toby, your mom, for yourself.  You deserve better than this.”

He growled again, burrowing deeper into his hiding place.  You bit your lip, thinking of what to say next, but you were interrupted.  Someone was coming.  Now you needed to hide.

It wasn’t a member of the Order as you’d suspected.  Instead, Claire portaled into the room.  You had no idea how she got in here, but seeing her was better than seeing the alternative.  You stayed hidden while she spoke to Jim, almost feeling like you were intruding.  At least he actually talked to her.  You watched, hidden in shadows while she tried to coax him into leaving with her.  You stayed silent, which became a little more difficult when a sharp pain shot up your side.  You bit your lip to avoid crying out, but nothing could prevent the gasp that escaped you when you realized exactly where that pain had come from.  If it wasn’t yours, then that meant it was Douxie’s.  Douxie was somewhere in the castle.  

That thought drove a deep, unyielding fear straight into your heart.  You had to get to him, to protect him from the Order, curses and shards be damned.  You jumped from your hiding place, causing the briefest of distractions to Claire, Jim, and Morgana, who had joined the fray while you weren’t watching.  You paid them no mind, though.  Claire could portal out of here, Morgana could more than take care of herself, and Jim was Bellroc and Skrael’s new favourite weapon.  They would be okay.  But you?  If the sudden sharp pain in your back meant anything, you had somewhere else to be.

The first thing you saw was Jim, clinging to the ceiling above your wizard, ready to pounce.  You would have attacked him if your vision hadn’t gone green.  At first, you thought it was Merlin, trying in vain to protect Douxie, but then you realized exactly what was happening to you.  And that was much worse. 

Here, in close quarters with both the Green Knight and Douxie, the drive to kill your love had increased exponentially.  Your mind clouded with bloodlust, your hands seized your sword.  Before your eyes, you saw vivid flashes of green and red.  It didn’t take you long to realize that the red was his blood.  Or, it was supposed to be.  At any other time, these visions would have destroyed you, but at the moment they only added fuel to a raging fire; one that had gone out long ago but somehow burned anew in your chest.  For a moment, there was nothing but hate and rage towards the person you loved the most in this world.  For a moment, you feed yourself.

And it only got worse from there.  You leapt clear across the room, grabbing Douxie and putting your blade to his throat.  At the same time, Jim jumped down from the corner of the roof he’d been hiding in and collected Archie and Merlin, holding them at bay.  Out of all the things you’d been through, you decided that this was probably the worst.  You were so close, so close to killing him.  To ending his life, wiping his existence from this earth.  You could see the horror on Archie’s face, and on Merlin’s, for that matter.  You couldn’t see Douxie, but you could feel what he felt.  Betrayal, heartbreak, and fear.  So much fear.   He was afraid of you.  

If you went through with this, no one would ever forgive you, and you couldn’t blame them, but their scorn would be nothing compared to what you’d do to yourself.

You were vaguely aware of your surroundings.  Of Clarie and Steve getting themselves frozen, and of the ultimatum offered to Merlin.

“We propose new terms,” Bellroc said, their voice much calmer now that they were in control.

“Give us Nari, or he dies,” Skrael pointed towards you.  You could hear Archie yowling, Merlin yelling something and Douxie apologizing.  In any other situation, you would wonder what he was apologizing for.  Was it for trusting you?  For what, in his opinion, must've been failing his mentor and Master?  You had so many questions, but the answers didn’t matter.  You weren’t in any other situation.  You were there, in the Order’s castle faced with an ultimatum of your own.  Kill Douxie, the love of your life and the person you trusted more than anything, or fight to save him.  The answer to that question was clear.  You closed your eyes.  

The visions didn’t stop.  You tried to stop everything your body was doing, to drop your sword and free him, but you couldn’t seem to let go.  You bit your lip, tearing your skin with the effort, tears already coming to your eyes.

That’s when it started to hurt.  

Excruciating, agonizing white-hot pain spread across your body from deep inside your core.  You’d been hurt before, hell, you’d been tortured not much earlier, but this was beyond anything you had ever suffered through.  You dug your nails into Douxie’s shoulder, whimpering, slightly.  Your hand was clenched around the hilt of your blade, knuckles white, hands shaking.  It was all you could do to keep from screaming.  Your entire body felt like it was burning and freezing all at once.  The smell of blood and acid hung in the air.  The taste of metal stung your mouth.  Your muscles seized and relaxed in waves.  Tears collected in the corners of your eyes as your poor body battled against itself.  You strained against yourself, whispering apologies into the back of Douxie’s hoodie.  Your words, however, twisted into a mixed groan and scream.  Your mind went blank, and for a moment, you were nothing.  

The world was a void.  A painful, painful void.  You couldn’t focus on anything.  You ignored Merlin, his fight for Douxie’s life and his escape from Jim.  You paid no mind to the blasts of green magic and Bellroc’s frustrated screaming.  You couldn’t give any of it a second thought.  Instead, you kept going, locked in a battle of your own.  You had to keep breathing through the pain, to take back control.  And Douxie noticed.

“(Y/N),” his voice was low, and maybe a little broken, “(Y/N), I know you’re in there.  You don’t want to do this, you won’t- you can fight this.  You have to fight this.  Please, come back to me.” 

A gasp escaped you as the pain heightened, reaching a brand new peak.  You were 90% sure you were about to die.  You dropped your sword, and stumbled back, falling away from your wizard.  

For a second, there was nothing.  Then you opened your eyes.

And you felt everything.

For that second, for that one moment, you felt the world sink into place.  The pain was gone, and you didn’t want to kill any of your loved ones, and you were okay.  All you saw were hazel eyes.  It was all you needed to see.

But it was just a moment.  It didn’t last.  You felt a tug somewhere in you, within your magic, and you turned just in time to watch Merlin get stabbed.  

You’d never been close to the old wizard.  It was just how things turned out.  You were a spy and traitor and he was, well, Merlin.  There weren’t too many opportunities for bonding between you.  But you had to admit to yourself, you did care for the old fool.  He’d taken you on as an apprentice all those years ago, and even if you didn’t count it as a ‘real’ apprenticeship, it was.  He taught you about a side of magic you’d never known before, and for that, you had to be thankful.  And Douxie.  Oh, god, Douxie.  You knew how much the old wizard meant to him.  Merlin was his teacher, his mentor, the man who’d saved his life all those years ago and, in a sense, saved yours.  Almost a thousand years ago, Merlin had bonded you to that boy and given you the best thing in your life.  The two of you had your differences, but you would be forever in his debt.

Which is why you screamed as the blade tore through him.  You found yourself reaching out as he was thrown back to the earth, as if you could do anything to stop it.  You felt yourself go numb.  Douxie had a slightly more emotional reaction.

You braced yourself against a storm of blue magic, radiating from your wizard.  You stood, still as stone, while Jim, the Order, the Knight and Morgana (who’d joined the party at the most dramatic time possible) were blown back.  As soon as they were out of commission, you grabbed Archie, scooping the familiar into your arms.  In any other situation, the cat would have been fine with this, but at that moment, he struggled.  Archie frantically tried to escape your hold, motivated by an intense drive to get to Douxie’s side, to support him in whatever way he could.  You felt the same way.  

You took a step towards your wizard, but before you could get to him, he turned.  His eyes were glowing.  Blue.  He yelled for you to run, to get away from there, but you were frozen in place by a force you couldn’t name.  The difference in his magic, in his soul, could not go unnoticed.  He was stronger, somehow, and it stopped you.  The light behind his eyes sent a shock through your system.  Douxie was never one to use offensive spells on you outside of a full-on fight, but he was out of time and out of options.  He threw you and Archie towards the others, calling out another “Get out of here!” before breaking a window and flying out of it.  You didn’t even have time to process that.  You just did as you were told, jumping through a shadow portal without a second thought. 

Earth was colder than you remembered it.  

But then again, maybe that was just a side-effect of travelling by shadow portal.

The most likely option, though, was that it had something to do with the scene before you.

Merlin was on the ground.  He looked smaller, weaker than you’d ever seen him before.  That thought on its own was horrifying.  Merlin was the definitive master wizard.  He was the strongest of your kind, your leader, in a sense.  He was everything a good wizard was supposed to be.  And you could feel him dying.

You weren’t the only one.

“-Hold still.  I can fix this, I-I-I can fix this-”

I can fix this.

I can fix this.

You’d heard that one before.   

You’d heard that one a lot, actually.  If Douxie had a catchphrase outside of kid-friendly swears, it would probably be “I can fix this.”

He was always so determined to keep everyone safe and to prove himself.  Every mess he found himself in, he’d insist that he could fix it.  He could fix time.  He could fix your broken heart.  He could fix the world one day if he wanted to.

But you weren’t sure he could actually fix this.  

You took a small step forward, releasing Archie from your hold.  Douxie said nothing, at least not to you.  He kept repeating those words, over and over again.  You could hear him start to lose hope.

“Douxie-”

“(Y/N), help me, please.  You have to help me save him- we can fix this.  I can-”

“Stop, Hisirdoux,”  Merlin’s voice brought your attention back to him, “No one can.  Do not blame yourself.”

You took a few more steps forward before kneeling at Merlin’s other side.  The part of you that was trained in medicine, a part of you that you were almost surprised to still possess after today, took in Merlin’s injuries.  You hated to admit it, but he was right.  There was no hope here.  Dread settled in your stomach as you realized these wounds, and therefore this death, were, in some way, your fault.

 “I’m sorry.  I should have listened to-” you stole a quick glance at Douxie.  He was doing as well as one might expect.

“No, no.  I’m sorry,” the old wizard winced and you put a hand on his shoulder, using what little power you had left to ease his pain.  It would not save him, but it might make passing a little more peaceful.  He nodded at you, the most approval you’d ever received from the old man, before he continued, “I spent a lifetime serving the wrong master, trying to save this world.”

“You can’t!  You’re Merlin, the greatest wizard of all time!”  Douxie collapsed onto Merlin, and you could tell from the small tremors that ran through him that he was crying.  The old wizard put a hand on his back, trying to comfort him.  You felt tears spring to your own eyes.  You could feel his pain.  You’d known it yourself, centuries ago.  Merlin offered a hand to you.  You took it.

“Merlin- master, I’m so sorry,”  you were only whispering, but you know he heard.  They both did.

“I saw a glimmer of greatness, of what you could become,” he moved his hand to Douxie’s face, “And the greatest thing I ever accomplished was saving you,” he brought the hand holding yours to hold Douxie’s.  You felt your wizard take a shaky breath.

“I’ll try and make you proud.”

“You already have… son.”

And he was gone.  Merlin was… gone.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until then.

“No, no, no, you can’t go!” you pulled back as your wizard cried out, your hands covering your mouth, catching your tears as he pulled his mentor closer to him.  His voice lowered to a whisper, “No, please.  I’m not ready.”

And then Merlin was ash, dust in the wind, a pattern dispersed.

“Douxie, I’m so sorry,” Claire said as she, Steve and Archie crossed the clearing you’d landed in.  Claire went to Douxie’s side, Steve went to yours.  It wasn’t much, but it was some comfort in this uncertain world.

“I-I can’t believe he’s gone,” Archie nudged a little closer to Douxie as he spoke. 

And he was right.  With a final gust of wind, Merlin left you, leaving behind a thick, leather-bound book.  His grimoire.  Your last hope.

“What is that?”  Steve asked as Douxie picked up the book, clutching it to his chest.

“It’s all we have left to guide us,” he stood, “Other than that… we’re on our own.”

He was right.  You were more alone than you realized.  More than you had been for the last few hundred years.

[omgkatsudonplease]

[ficlet, bagginshield] shock and delight, pt 1 (bridgerton au)

The banks of the Brandywine River are packed with strolling couples on the day of the promenade, their chaperones following shortly behind. Thorin and the Fundinson brothers arrive exactly on time, Thorin carrying a bottle of Old Winyards. According to the sommelier in the shop at Bucklebury, this particular bottle was their last vintage one.

Bilbo and his chaperone Mr Greyhame show up a couple minutes late, the Hobbit fretting and dabbing at his brows with a monogrammed handkerchief. “I’m so terribly sorry for my lateness,” he flusters, hopping on one foot to the other like a nervous rabbit as he peers up at Thorin with a sheepish grin. “I forgot my pocket-handkerchief and had to go back for it.”

Thorin is caught between the absolute adorableness of Bilbo’s contrite pout and the absolute absurdity of the reason for his tardiness. 

“You are forgiven,” he declares instead. Bilbo’s pout smooths into a heart-melting smile.

The two of them begin to head down the path alongside the river, their pace leisurely. Other promenaders pass them by, as well as several open carriages pulled by unprotesting ponies. Thorin finds his gaze oddly drawn to the way the spring sunlight seems to burnish Bilbo’s curls into gold. Probably where Lord Stormcrow got the Golden Hare moniker, he thinks, before forcibly looking away towards a young Hobbit family having a picnic by the river. 

It’s a picture-perfect image of marital bliss. Thorin supposes something like that is what Bilbo is looking for, which Thorin himself obviously could not provide. Though he has yet to hear of any pushback against what must be an odd coupling by both Dwarvish and Hobbit standards, he is sure opposition will make itself known eventually. A marriage of true minds often lacks the productivity factor of a standard marriage, something which would be keenly felt in the family of a gentleman as distinguished as Bilbo Baggins’s. 

He, on the other hand, has already named his sister-children as his heirs. So it didn’t matter whether or not he married at all, nor did it matter whether or not his One (wherever they may be) possessed the physical apparatus or mental inclination for childbearing. 

“I have a question,” says Bilbo after a moment, breaking through Thorin’s thoughts like sunlight through stormclouds. “How do you know Gandalf? He’s an old family friend of mine, and apparently my cousin Fortinbras was the one who suggested he watch over me this season, but I don’t know how he would know you.” He looks thoughtful, hazel eyes peering inquisitively into Thorin’s face. 

In spite of himself, Thorin feels exposed, almost vulnerable. 

“I suppose Gandalf does have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, though,” muses Bilbo after a moment, before laughing and shrugging it off. “So? How do you know Gandalf?”

“To use your phrasing, Mr Greyhame has a finger in Erebor’s pie,” replies Thorin simply, not wanting to discuss how, years upon years ago, the Wizard had found his father in the depths of the Greenwood lost in enchantments and his own memories. King Thráin had, as the story went, finally succumbed to his grief about the deaths of his father and son, and had gotten lost in the Greenwood on his way to Azanulbizar to mourn them. 

He half suspects that telling Bilbo all of that would just make the poor Hobbit run off screaming in the opposite direction. So instead he bites his tongue, folding his hands behind his back. 

“I see,” says Bilbo, fiddling nervously with one of his cuff-links. “I’ve never been to Erebor. I’ve barely even left the Shire as-is.”

Thorin arches an eyebrow, remembering the abundance of maps and walking-sticks in Bag End the first time he’d gone over for dinner. The smial, though grand in size and luxurious in room variety, didn’t have the same cold ostentation as the mansions of Dwarves or Men. It felt homey, well-loved. A testament to lives well-lived.

No wonder Bilbo was so picky about the search for his One. If Thorin were not king, he would have wanted his halls just as cosy and warm, and he would have wanted to share it with only those who would brighten its nooks and crannies. 

“You certainly give the appearance of being well-travelled,” he says neutrally, still thinking of the maps and walking-sticks.

“Within the Shire,” demurs Bilbo. “I have had to go to Annúminas on business, of course, and once I went to Fornost with my parents on holiday, but Hobbits as a rule try to stick within the four farthings of the Shire. After all, why go out to see the rest of the world when the world comes to us every year?” 

His last question is both rhetorical and bitter. Thorin’s heart aches a little just hearing it. 

“So it is a matter of respectability?” he wonders wryly. Bilbo raises an eyebrow, so Thorin explains. “There is not much stopping you from running out of your front door and into the Blue, after all.”

Bilbo chuckles ruefully. “No,” he agrees. “But every time the side of me that craves adventures begins to make plans, the other side of me protests mightily, saying I’ll miss my books and my armchair and having six regular meals a day.”

Thorin has, indeed, noticed that restaurants and tea shops in the Shire have a more constant cycle of meals than anywhere else in Middle-earth. He’s honestly not complaining. 

“Speaking of meals,” he says, nodding towards the basket that Mr Greyhame is carrying, “I brought Old Winyards. Shall we find somewhere to sit?”

Bilbo checks his pocket-watch. “It’s halfway between elevensies and luncheon,” he remarks. 

“Yes,” says Thorin. “Consider it ‘lunchensies’.”

Bilbo bursts out in laughter at that, a bright joyful sound that rings through Thorin like one of the golden bells of Dale. His own stomach flutters a bit, and it takes all of his self-control to simply gesture for Balin and Dwalin to come help them set up their picnic on the banks of the Brandywine River. 

~~

Lunchensies is a success. Bilbo immediately takes a liking to Balin the moment they all sit down on the blanket together, happily chatting with him about books and history in between bites of his sandwich. Thorin watches them, unable to stop the smile on his face as he watches the way his old friend brightens under the Hobbit’s genuine inquisitiveness. 

“Yes, the road between here and Erebor was not as arduous as it used to be,” Balin is saying. “There is, of course, the stray highway robbery within Orc territory, but rumour has it that after the Shadow was broken at the end of the last Age, the majority of the Enemy’s armies have fallen out of its thrall and prefer to keep to themselves within the Mountains.”

“Occupying the ancestral halls of Khazad-dûm,” growls Dwalin. Thorin, too, feels the cold resentment deep in his stomach, but he tempers it by watching Bilbo chew thoughtfully at his sandwich, his nose twitching like a rabbit’s.

“While Durin’s Bane continues to live, Khazad-dûm cannot be retaken,” he reminds Dwalin. 

“If it continues to live,” muses Balin, before hastily switching the topic. “On the other hand, we are fortunate not to have awoken anything similar within Erebor. Though we did almost lose it to the firedrake Smaug.”

Thorin remembers the flames, remembers the lives lost to the dragon. The tragedy had seemed insurmountable at the time, but now he supposes rebuilding a Kingdom within the ashes of dragonfire was not as bad as being forced to flee for a new home like what had happened to his ancestors in Khazad-dûm.

“Almost?” echoes Bilbo, his eyes wide. Dwalin hands him and Thorin both glasses of the Old Winyards. Mr Greyhame, too, is helping himself to a liberal portion of the wine. 

“The Lady Mika, wife of the Lord of Dale, requited her husband’s death upon the dragon by shooting him with a black arrow,” explains Thorin as he pops a strawberry into his mouth. The fruit’s juices spill over his fingers; he hastily licks it off before wiping his fingers with the handkerchief.

Bilbo’s cheeks are dusted light pink when Thorin looks up again, and Thorin can feel his own cheeks heating in response.

“Well,” flounders the Hobbit, “that must have been terrible to go through. We haven’t had anything quite like that in the Shire, save for long and fell winters and the odd plague outbreak. But enough talk of dark and grim things! What is your favourite part of Erebor?”

The question throws Thorin for a moment. “Everything,” he says, but Bilbo raises a doubtful eyebrow at that. “All of Erebor is connected,” explains Thorin. “From the mines to the forges to the crafting halls, every part serves the whole.”

“Cogs in a machine,” muses Bilbo. “But what about a location? If you’ve grown up there all your life, surely you must have a favourite place. Secret hideouts from childhood, all of that.”

Thorin considers the question again, and this time the answer comes almost as if he had always meant to say it: “My mother’s garden,” he replies. “She kept a well-tended terrace beside the Royal apartments. We still take care of it, of course, and in the spring the cherry and apple blossoms blanket the grass like petalled snow.”

Bilbo’s expression lights up. “That sounds incredible,” he says.

“In the summer, the entire terrace is flooded with fireflies. I remember thinking once as a child that they were stars come down to play with us.” 

Bilbo’s hands tighten against the stem of his wineglass. “I should very much like to see that,” he says quietly. Thorin smiles, before noticing the knowing glint in their companions’ eyes.

He glares at them until they subside. 

[inkribbon796]

It’s Not Rabies, It’s . . . Ch. 2

Summary: With yet another demon on the loose in Egoton, King gets a lucky break when Dark finds them first.

A/N: This was a suggestion-request from the anon Nightfall on AO3. Which resulted in this story and since this one was getting a bit long it inspired a bit for the Visitation Day on Sunday which will be a lot less angsty.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Chapter 2: Airing Out Grievances

Lunky was following a specific trail now, the densest aura trail in all of Egoton: the Entity’s.

Fortunately for the entire city Dark was having an early morning. He’d been woken up early by the Host. The seer had warned him that he should be on the lookout for something coming to attack him. So he was braced in his warehouse.

Green noticed something first. His scans picked up something but he couldn’t see it. So Dark came to his location and saw that there was a new aura trail in the center of his territory. It was a new demon.

At first he was furious, the audacity of this vile creature! When Dark found them he would show them no—

Why was Kay’s aura here?

Anger turned to trepidation. At first he thought — was afraid— that Kay had been violently attacked because his aura was all over the place, meshed in a weird way with a new demon aura. He almost attacked it outright before realizing it was an infantile demon, and Kay aura wasn’t on it because it had attacked the young man. Kay’s aura was a part of this demon. Just like Wil’s aura existed inside all of his children’s aura.

In fact there was still a minute trace of Wil’s aura in the mix.

This was Kay’s child!

Dark felt a myriad of emotions. Confusion about how this had happened. When it had happened? Fear for the fact that this spawnling was wandering around a town crawling with demon hunters. And—

The Entity’s racing thoughts were cut off when the spawnling bit down on his aura.

“Hey!” Dark shouted, pinning the spawnling down.

Or at least he tried to. The spawnling had seen Dark teleport in and lunged out to bite his aura. But because Lunky wasn’t three-dimensional, Dark’s hands contacted with nothing. He had to use his aura to do it.

And no sooner did Dark’s aura come into contact with Lunky, did something in Dark recoil. Not because Lunky could do any real damage to him or was repugnant in some way.

But Dark aura naturally stuck to things. Kay would know Dark had been in contact with his child. And Dark couldn’t get his aura on the spawnling . . . he knew how furious that would make Kay.

The young man wanted nothing to do with him, hadn’t for years. Surely this would just be another part of Kay’s life Dark was not allowed to touch.

The Entity’s blue soul was already screaming in frustration and fury. Dark had to get the spawnling back to Kay before his blue soul threw another fit. Those were never fun to manage.

So with a quick spell Dark trapped Lunky into a small area without having to use his aura. He was trying to think of something. He couldn’t just leave the spawnling to their own devices, they were too new, too juvenile to survive in this city on their own.

Fortunately for Dark Illinois came running out and after a sharp order from Dark, Illinois grabbed a piece of printer paper and they trapped the enraged, screaming demon onto the paper.

Illinois cheered in triumph, chuckling, “So this is the new demon in town that everyone’s freaking out about? Seems harmless to me.”

“No, this is Kay’s spawnling,” Dark corrected. “I don’t think this one’s existed long enough. They don’t even have their own independent aura yet.”

“Wait, his what?” Illinois shouted in shock. “How did— When did Kay have a kid?”

“Less than a week ago,” Dark said, looking at the spawnling for a bit.

“Did he tell you he was having a kid?” Illinois demanded, wounded. “He didn’t tell me.”

“No,” Dark told him.

“Why wouldn’t he tell us? Is he seeing someone? There is some partner out there we need to threaten.” Illinois became more resolute by the second.

Dark tried to keep his face emotionless, ordering his red soul to keep her brother from acting out. A slow realization dawning on Dark: Wil’s children were even less human than he suspected. “Demons don’t need a partner to have a spawnling. Kay could have had this child with no outside help if the conditions were right.”

“Oh,” Illinois managed. Then his head started to spin and turn with the implications of that. “What would having other people’s aura in the mix do? Would that work or make something new?”

“Providing the aura was in significant amounts, I would think it would make something new, why?” Dark asked.

Illinois went beet red, “Uhhh, I . . . uh.”

Thankfully Illinois was saved when King came around the warehouses. He was in a warm jacket and gloves, slipping a bit on the ice. Yancy hot in his heels and the Host following at a bit slower pace.

“Hey Kay,” Illinois smiled, holding up the paper. “Lose something?”

King looked relieved when he saw that very familiar image. “You guys did find them.”

Illinois’s smile got more devious, “What happened to being responsible and adult, huh? Maybe you should have worn a condom when you let the forces of nature fuck you over?”

“Hey!” King dove in to take Lunky back. “Don’t teach them those words yet!”

“They got a name?” Illinois asked.

“Lunky,” King said, uncertain. “That’s what the Host told me anyway. They respond to it, which is good because they don’t know how to communicate with me yet.”

Illinois snickered, “Lunky, what kind of name is that?”

“Shut up, it’s their name,” King defended heatedly. “Your name is Illinois, we could stand here and make fun of each other’s names all day.”

Illinois held up his hands in surrender, “Fine, fine.”

Dark had internally balked at the name, but he kept quiet. Whatever the spawnling’s name was, wasn’t really any of his business. Or it shouldn’t have been.

“Is the little fella okay?” Yancy asked concern, before smiling sweetly at the spawnling. “Youse gave us the run around all o’er town, didn’t youse?”[1]

Lunky let out a chittering hiss that Yancy didn’t know how to understand.

“Uhh, Squirrel Whisperer, youse got a word ‘a that?”[2] Yancy asked.

“Yancy should allow the Host to help,” the Host offered, walking forward.

“Sure, why’s[3] the hell not?” Yancy shrugged.

The Host took the paper and with a couple words shook the paper and what appeared to be a human child shot out. King lunged to catch the child, they were heavier than he expected. They looked like an almost exact copy of King when he was about three-years-old. And they were screaming and hissing in rage.

“And voila,” the Host announced, making sure a little bit of his aura extended out so that Lunky could start nibbling at it, calming the spawnling down. “The Host has solved their problem now that Lunky is three dimensional.”

“This solves nothing,” King reminded him. “I have a kid. I haven’t got anything for them. Don’t people usually have like nine months to prepare for one of these?”

“Hey youse[4] got me,” Yancy smiled.

King managed a smile, and a nervous chuckle, “This kid is doomed, you know that though, right?”

“Hey, I’d be a great uncle,” Yancy defended heatedly.

“I know, that’s not what I meant,” King smiled.

While the three adults were talking the spawnling was looking at Dark, and the Entity was staring back at him. The two demons weren’t breaking eye contact; the contact wasn’t hostile, it just wasn’t breaking.

Dark tried to memorize the spawnling’s image, hoping that the next time he saw Kay’s child he would still recognize the aura. His blue soul’s screams were echoing off the inside of his skull, trying to claw his way to Kay’s child. But Dark had made sure that his echo stayed very close by.

King quickly noticed that Dark was staring at Lunky. He felt very defensive. When his and Dark’s eyes met that snapped something inside the animal magnet.

“We need to talk,” King told Dark, the Entity’s eyes slowly rising to meet his son’s eyes.

“Very well,” the Entity sounded disinterested.

“Is there a way we can have this “discussion” without screaming in front of the kid?” King asked the Host sharply.

“Yes the Host, Yancy, and Illinois can take King’s child for a bit,” the Host allowed. “The Entity and the King of the Squirrels should take their discussion inside.”

The Host’s eyes bled a bit and suddenly King and Dark were in Dark’s office, standing on either side of the Entity’s desk.

King finally hit the end of a long fuse that had been burning for a very long time.

“You were elated when you saw them, weren’t you?” King tried to keep his tone civil. “I’m a demon just like the rest of you.”

“Don’t be absurd, I didn’t feel anything,” Dark denied.

That just got King angrier. “I was always too human for you, your little white sheep you couldn’t get to do what you wanted.”

“Why would what you were matter to me?” Dark dismissed. “I didn’t bring you into the Manor to make a demon out of you. I did it because Bim needed siblings. I didn’t have any expectations for any of you except to stay alive.”

The last moment Dark had seen Arthur lingering haunting in his mind. A child he had failed to care for.

“I won’t involve myself,” Dark told King, eager to have the discussion over with. It would take forever to calm his blue soul down. Then he added when he saw the slight confusion on King’s face, “with . . . with Lunky. Besides it’s obvious that you don’t want me in either of your lives.”

“Why wouldn’t I let you near Lunky?” King demanded, angry but not furious enough to not catch what Dark was actually saying. “You’re his grandfather.”

That word punched right through all of Dark’s mental and emotional walls. He had to leave! He should have made himself scarce when Kaylor arrived. But he was too greedy and eager to see the boy again.

“Wil is his grandfather,” Dark bit back, stepping to the side of his desk and throwing open a portal. “Should you need anything, you know where I am.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” King demanded, his anger stoked again. “You always run off when I try to have a real conversation.”

“What else is there to talk about?” Dark demanded, his own frustration getting the better of him. He needed to leave. “You hate me, you don’t want me anywhere near you or your child. There is little to negotiate on the matter. I’ll tell Wil about them, unless you wish to do that yourself, and stay out of the way.”

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! He’s mine! It’s not fair! His blue soul was frantic and furious.

We need to leave! His red soul was no less desperate to be heard but pulling him in the opposite direction.

I know! What do you think I’m trying to do? And Dark was stuck somewhere in the middle of the two of them.

“I don’t hate you,” King snapped in frustration. “You always fucking make this about you. Do I think you’re an egotistical narcissist who would sooner kill himself than be a decent person? Hell yes. But I don’t hate you. I don’t regret being adopted by you, and I know the others don’t regret it either.”

“Don’t patronize me, Kaylor,” Dark scoffed, his tone was calm but the fact that his aura was pitching up and down betrayed the fact that he was furious. “I know the Host still needs me to cooperate with his plans. I’m not going to go back on that. You were always the smart one between all your siblings, you always knew what I was and you left the first chance you got.”

Then Dark felt it, his blue soul trying to shatter off a bit so he could reach out for Kay. Not to hurt him, never to hurt the boy. It had been years since Dark had set his hand on King and his blue soul wanted to hold the boy again and Dark snapped, grabbing his blue aura and slamming him back against the wall behind him.

While King couldn’t see anything he saw Dark’s shadowy aura lash out at something a couple feet in front of him and objects on the far wall rattle a bit when something hit the wall. He instinctively jumped.

I said no! Dark reminded his blue soul.

Dark was quick to subsume Damien’s blue soul back in. Something his soul did kicking and screaming, Dark couldn’t silence all the splintering and echoes, but when it was over Dark turned to King, “Ignore him, he’s been out of sorts all day.”

“What was that?” King asked, his anger cooled significantly.

“Nothing you need to worry about, I have it under control,” Dark told him.

“No, no,” King insisted. “We’re talking about this, were you about to attack me?”

“Don’t be absurd, if I haven’t attacked you even as a threat in almost twenty years I’m not going to start now. Sometimes my aura gets a bit presumptuous and I have to put it back in its place.”

“So what was it going to do?” King demanded.

That clearly got Dark defensive. “Why do you care? It wasn’t going to hurt or attack you?”

“I care because it concerns me,” King told him. “Why is it so bad that you can’t tell me?”

Dark considered just leaving. This wasn’t Kay’s problem, it was his. And he couldn’t just . . . he wasn’t allowed to . . .

With a deep exhale, Dark gave himself another second or two. Then his left hand had more of his light blue aura than his red and he reached out for King’s closest hand. He had his hand in a very loose half-hold where only the pads of his fingers were touching him, giving King more than enough opportunity to take his hand away.

King didn’t take his hand away, watching Dark in confusion a bit before he felt overcome by an emotion. It beckoned a memory in King’s mind, when Dark would hold the young man back when he was still a child. Whenever Kay was spooked or had woken up from a nap . . . but the feeling was reversed. The feeling of warm body heat against his skin and someone who needed him in that moment.

Kay felt his cheeks grow wet and Dark pulled his hand away, no longer looking King in the eye.

“There,” Dark said. “Like I said, I have it under control. I know you don’t like it when you’re touched without permission.”

“You asshole, you were going to hug me,” King told Dark and flew forward to wrap his arms around his chest.

Dark stiffened up completely. His red soul became less frantic and Dark was left alone to fight against his blue soul from returning the touch. But there was no one else to distract either of them and Kay was so warm.

Slowly, as if cautious — afraid — that Kay would push him away, Dark began to move his arms down until they were gently wrapped around King.

The young man’s embrace became a little tighter, a sad chuckle coming from his mouth, “See, you just should have asked.”

His chuckle turned into a sad laugh, “Our whole family is fucked up if neither of us knew you wanted a hug.”

“I didn’t—” Dark started to deny but was cut off. His blue soul was finally silenced, suddenly calm again. Even his red soul felt like she was in a better mood.

Sooner than Dark or his blue soul wanted, Kay slowly began to pull away, and Dark could feel Damien was getting unhappy again but there was little they could do. Kay was done indulging their momentary lapse of control and Dark swore to himself that it would not happen again.

“I’m not going to keep Lunky from seeing you, if I’ve got anything to say on the matter they won’t be joining the network, but I don’t want them not to know who you are.”

“If that’s what you want, they are your child,” Dark tried to act as chill and nonchalant as he always did, desperately trying to regain his composure.

“I meant what I said earlier,” King told him. “Both about not hating you and you being an egotistical narcissist. Both those things are true.”

“Anyways,” Dark ignored the barb. “We should find the Host.”

“Already done,” Yancy was standing at the door with the Host and Illinois. Lunky was in the ex-prisoner’s arms. None of which had been there a couple seconds ago.

Lunky was hissing at them but froze when he saw Dark. They began making some odd sounds as they reached out for Dark, clearly frustrated they couldn’t normally stretch.

King walked over and took Lunky, “Hey buddy, you okay.”

“They’s been cryin’ the whole time fer youse,”[5] Yancy told him. “Set ‘a[6] pipes on this kid.”

Lunky, the second they were placed in King’s arms calmed down for a second or two, before reaching for Dark.

“Oh is that how it is?” King chuckled, and walked back over to Dark. “You want Gramps, huh.”

“I’m going to get my aura all over him,” Dark tried to warn.

“I don’t see a problem with that,” King shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to hold him?”

“No, I can hold him,” Dark allowed, hesitantly taking the spawnling into his arms.

The instant Dark had them in his arms his aura instinctively latched on and the spawnling started just devouring his aura again, their eyes little more than round black circles.

Dark just let his aura wash over the kid, placing clear warning markers that despite not being his direct spawnling, Lunky was his and other demons and mages better not touch them.

“할아버지”[7] King told Lunky, having them look up at Dark. “That’s gonna be one of the first ones we learn, right?”

Dark rolled his eyes, but just soaked in the fact that he got to hold the spawnling. They stayed in the office for a bit until Lunky let themself be passed back to King and Dark opened up a portal right in front the heroes’ base.

It took a long, lengthy discussion to explain how King round up with what looked like a three-year-old but the heroes accepted Lunky into their group. Mini peeked around Bing, cautious as the two children looked at each other.

Before Dark could vanish off without Lunky realizing he was leaving, Silver walked over to him.

“Demon grandkid, huh?” Silver asked with a smile.

“You and your heroes allow the hunters to even come within sight of them, I will murder all of you,” Dark warned.

“Got it, got it,” Silver promised. “We’ll make sure they stay fed and everything.”

“Will you now?” Dark chuckled dryly. “You don’t even know what they eat.”

“It’s not another cannibal is it?” Silver groaned seriously.

“Don’t let them taste human flesh and we’ll see,” Dark suggested. “That’s how Bim started out. I took my eyes off him for five seconds and he started licking dead bodies.”

“You’re joking right?” Silver deadpanned.

Dark flashed him a sadistic smile and walked through a portal.

“Dark! Dark!” Silver called after him. “You’re joking right?”

With Dark gone all the heroes took their new edition inside and King proclaimed that the next time he saw either of the Jims he was going to stab them in return for stabbing him in the heart. Then he went to go and take Lunky to his park to show them what would become the spawnling’s second home.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. You gave us the run around all over town, didn’t you?

2. Uhh, Squirrel Whisperer, you got a word of that?

3. why

4. you

5. They’ve been crying for you the whole time

6. of

7. “Grandfather”; Korean. Specifically the informal way to address your paternal grandfather. Phonically read as halabeoji.

[flydotnet]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

Like blood on a patch of fresh snow.

I'm not sure of where this fic went, but... oh well. I don't want to look at it for much longer, so here y'all go, 1.9K words of whatever this is. I really wanted to write more NaomiLG because I love them, but I realize I'm really not their best writer, so I need to hone my skills. Take this weird-ass oneshot with a very specific and picturesque prompt as an attempt to nail them. It was fun to imagine all of the red-on-white imagery, at least. Title comes from a Rammstein song because it played while I was writing this and I figured, y'know, it means "red rose", so why not make it the title? It at least sounds epic to someone like me who knows shit about German. No correlation to the lyrics, though, far from it lmao.

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Rosenrot

Summary: Naomi's past catches up to her in a street as someone else's blood spills for her.

Fandom: Trauma Team (spoilers for TC:SO and TT) Ship: Naomi/Little Guy

Wordcount: 1.9K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​

AO3 version available here.

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Like a widow who had lost her spouse, Naomi started wearing black after losing her ability to save lives. Back then, she didn’t really know why, probably to remind her of the sins she still had to expiate. It felt weird to her to wear white again, since it kept reminding her of the life she had to leave behind, that of a lifesaver whom people trusted with literally all they had left.

Even now, even as her life has gone back on track (she has a stable job, a daughter and friends who hold her in great esteem – things she thought she’d never have until a year ago), she continues wearing black because it feels more comfortable to be able to fade back into the shadows would she ever need to slip back into the night. She can’t ever live in the broad daylight, not anymore she knows this; but, as long as Alyssa doesn’t mind, then she doesn’t have a reason to complain. The cold and silence have their perks.

 Wearing black, at first, was to hide stains when she was working with Delphi. God knows there was little hygiene there, so blood could easily show on clothing when they weren’t careful. Wearing black robes (or whatever outfit they had given her that looked very little like a robe) allowed them to conceal the dark reds and rusts more easily without having to think about it too much. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposed.

On the other hand, blood is too visible on white. Of course, it is the point of wearing it for surgical procedures, since it’s easier to disinfect – it’s still too visible for people like Delphi or, in a way, her. Even to this day, seeing reddish stains on white fabric makes her uneasy, reminding her of things she’d much rather never think about again. She’s like the black-clad widow staring at the radiant bride with a wine stain on her dress: she knows what she lost and has the feeling of seeing a bad omen.

 There is this one thing about Delphi she has stopped minding, and it’s Little Guy, or whatever his real identity was supposed to be. If he reminded her of their dark past not too long ago, he now represents what they could become: atoners, working for “the right side” for once, working in the shadows to help the living move on like they’ve had to. Unlike her, he didn’t let himself dwell on the past, preferring to get moving.

The moment she understood it the most when he started to wear white more than black, renouncing to the colour she was always used to see him dress. It felt weird, at first, but he knew how to pull it off, and she got used to the new habits. Never dwell on the past, let herself get swiped away by the changing winds. Moreover, Alyssa really liked it whenever he’d drop by the house after driving her home after work or getting Alyssa from school when she couldn’t.

 But now, the past has caught back to them. Ex-Delphi members have found them again, motivated by the recent rise (and fall, but they forgot about that second time) of Adam’s nephew trying to bring the virus back right as PGS cases flare up across the USA. They’re not running away, this time: she did that enough when going to seek amnesty in Europe, so now, she better prepare herself to strike. Little Guy already cocks his FBI-licenced gun out, intending to strike judging by the little tremors in his fingers.

It goes in a flash: a couple bangs, blood spilling on the ground, dirt and smoke and iron fill the air of an urban cul-de-sac. The commotion is such that it’s difficult to follow anything until the stench of violence lifts up and so does the smog it created. For a moment, she believes they may have both gotten killed, and that she’s already passing into the afterlife, in denial of everything, not ready to face death nor discover if there is, indeed, something on the “other side” that isn’t roaming around this world and calling the “voodoo hotline”.

 One thing quickly becomes clear: she is still alive. In fact, everyone is somehow still alive, because she sees their three assailants with their weapons on the floor and wounds in their legs: they were only harmed to disarm them. She pats her own clothes and body to check if she hasn’t been injured, remembering reflexes she had thought long gone coming back to her in a moment’s notice. To her fortune, she seems okay, as she only feels dirt, dry clothing and skin under her fingers’ touch.

 Seeing the men lie on the ground in pain, she already grabs her phone and calls for help, going into not too many details for everyone’s safety and privacy.

“Little Guy,” she starts calling to her partner so they can get away from this place before being brought into this, her finger about to swipe the call off, “let’s go.”

His response is delayed.

“Sure… Sure thing.”

His voice sounds strangled and hesitant, drier than her clothes, and it prompts her to turn around. As soon as she does, however, her own breath gets caught in her throat as her entire body tenses up. Her mind, which was until now fixated on running as far as possible from the scene before they were going to be questioned about the bullets in their pursuers’ limbs, immediately switches to the same sort of panic she felt in Caduceus Europe all those years ago when she witnessed a fellow surgeon collapse in pain.

Little Guy!

 He’s sitting on the ground, back against the wall that cornered them until now, a hand loosely holding onto his gun, the other barely holding onto a striking red stain on his clear, monochrome attire. It’s expanding moment after moment, replacing the immaculate white of his shirt and suit jacket with a much darker colour. If it was only the bloodstained clothes, it’d have been fine, no matter how much this man frets over such things – but it’s not what is scaring her so much about this.

“Little Guy, what happened?!”

As he struggles to get an answer out, she takes his pulse: there, obviously, since he’s breathing, but weakening. His breathing is quick but shuddering, as if fragile like glass.

“One… one of them was armed,” he replies, swallowing every few words. “One bullet hit… my flank, I think?”

Not caring for the nail polish Alyssa put on her fingers last night, Naomi digs under the bloodstained jacket and where the incriminated wound must be. There, she confirms Navel’s suspicions: it’s indeed in his flank.

“If my assumption is correct, it shouldn’t have hurt an organ,” she says, a little bit of relief pulsing through her. “We need to get you into a hospital asap, though, you’re bleeding profusely.”

 She grabs back her phone, which she previously slipped into her pocket, and adds the information on a fourth wounded. She gives more information on their location and the circumstances, merely forgetting to mention this is all because of Delphi’s doings and their smothered shady pasts, and stays on the line, putting the phone in speaker mode so she doesn’t miss crucial information.

“You should go, Dr Kimishima,” Navel whispers, eyes getting glassy and unfocused, the speed at which this happens prompting her to check the wound again. The blood has spread even further, making the fabric stick to the wound. “Don’t… let them catch up to you.”

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you for dead. Plus, I’d rather have to search for amnesty again than get pursued for not helping someone in critical need.”

It’s the pragmatic way to say she’d never handle having his blood on her hands and his death on her conscience. He, however, doesn’t reply, letting uncomfortable silence install itself as they wait for assistance to arrive.

 When they do, the sirens’ shrills muffle Navel’s breathing, lights almost covering the blood stains on his suit and her fingers, slipping under her nails, drying out already.

It could, however, never erase the image from her mind.

  -----------------------

Naomi waits in this bedroom, all alone and in silence, for a little while. She doesn’t know how long exactly (probably around half an hour, although it feels like more than that), all she knows is that the chair she’s sitting on isn’t very comfortable and that she needs to remember when to pick Alyssa from school; two things that, for the moment being, don’t matter much.

The weather is beautiful, today. Even earlier, when they were outside, there was a gentle breeze blowing through their hair. She merely forgot about it due to thinking about literally anything else under the sun, mostly her colleague whom she found out wasn’t just randomly hit during the kerfuffle. To be fair, she should’ve guessed that was what had happened when she suddenly found herself on the ground rather than standing, but…

 She suddenly hears Little Guy stirring and, finally, opening an eye. His injuries were fortunately not as grievous as she was afraid they’d be, even if he’s clearly landed himself for at least a week in the hospital. What an idiot.

“Doc… Doctor Kimishima…?”

“Go back to sleep, Little Guy, you still sound like you’ve pulled a week-long all-nighter.”

As if obeying her (but most likely because losing this much blood tends to leave you weak, and his corpulence isn’t exactly one that’d take kindly to blood loss), his eyelids flutter; but he doesn’t go back to sleep. At least, not yet.

 “Are you okay…?” He asks, voice recovering some clarity, even if it’s unlike his usual swagger.

“I’m pretty sure I should be the one asking you that, you know; but I’m okay. Better off than you, that’s for sure.”

He chuckles once before groaning in pain.

“Urgh, I forgot how sore post-surgery was…”

“You’ll get used to it. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m sure you do, Dr Kimishima.”

 She drops the playful banter for something else altogether.

“Oh, and, Little Guy?”

“Yes…?”

“Never do that again. I don’t want to see you covered in your own blood again.”

His face, which is slowly regaining more colour, distorts a little.

“Even if…”

“Even if it means saving my life.”

He looks aside, in silence. She guesses he’s unable to honestly give her the answer she wants to hear, so he instead prefers not to say anything. Well, that’s something she expected would happen: people have told her he was wrapped around her little finger. Too bad that this man got infatuated with someone like her whom death and misfortune follow her every step. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, considering the number of close calls he found himself in when he was by her side. You sometimes have to wonder what other people even think…

“I’ll… I’ll try,” he eventually replies.

 Naomi can’t stay upset about it forever, especially when she sees how dishevelled and vulnerable he looks with his hair askew, dark rings under his eyes and hospital gown, so far from the sharply-dressed bachelor she’s come to appreciate.

“Good. Just be careful and we’ll be clear.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.”

As long as he doesn’t mind being so close to death, she’ll make sure he doesn’t meet it.

[merryfortune]

Day 9 /Sunflower

Clover and Violets 2021

Ship: Resurrectshipping | Catherine/Cyndia 

Universe: Duel Monsters

Word Count: 1,548

Rating: T

Tags: Pre-Canon, Adultery, Internalised Homophobia, Questioning, Missed Connections, Alcohol & Cigarettes

   The show had been fantastic. A vivacious shower of glitter and sparkly lights. It had completely and utterly taken Cyndia’s breath away. She couldn’t believe it. She was the sole person in the crowd who stood on both her feet, both her little kitty cat high heels, giving the magician and his stagehand a standing ovation.

   “Darling,” Pegasus hissed, “people are staring.” He leaned in hard to his lover.

   Cyndia huffed and she shook off his pet name for her as well as his sudden and unusual care for his - their or maybe just her - image. He had never cared for people staring so why was it an issue now?

   “Let them.” Cyndia told him, firm but under her breath.

   Pegasus shook out the ruffles of his own malcontent and Cyndia continued to applaud the end of the show. She was breathless as the thick, velvet curtains fell close with a swank and a swish. She grinned and she stood still where people were already perhaps a little too quick to leave.

   “We should see if they would let us backstage.” Cyndia excitedly suggested.

   “I do not believe that Pandora man is worth the time.” Pegasus sighed and shrugged.

   Cyndia groaned. “Oh, please, what do we have to lose?” she insisted and she knew damn well it wasn’t the magician man himself whom she was enamoured with. 

   He would never spill the secrets of his magic but there was a possibility someone else would. Someone with long, slender legs and silky, golden hair and luscious lips and wore fishnets and a bunny suit without the ears. Oh, Cyndia was blushing a rose pink just thinking about her. And how she could never tell her fiance about her feelings, as sudden and effervescent as they were. They were too out there but she wouldn't exactly say that she felt paid attention to by Pegasus right now.

   He rolled his eyes. “Anything for my wife to be, I am nothing but a slave to my passion for you, Cyndia.” he declared in his whimsical, airy voice. It seemed contradictory and it was but Cyndia let him be.

   Wearily, Pegasus got up and Cyndia began to sashay out the side of the seating. They trekked down the velour handled steps and with a flash of his cash, Pegasus got Cyndia the little present which she was after. She was so excited to be backstage of the casino with the magician and his assistant. 

   The walls were neater than they thought, a pastel orange with noticeable yellow hues, maybe a sepia. The trims were cream and looked just as frothy in their architecture. The doors were studded with buzzing lights and the like. Coming inside, it was an olfactory attack of chintzy perfumes and hair spray.

   “I’m always happy to meet my fans.” Pandora boasted.

   “How wonderful.” Cyndia said through gritted teeth. She flashed Catherine a look but Catherine looked away from her.

   She tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ear; the glitzy jewel in the stud of her earring caught the fluorescent light and dazzled Cyndia all over again. She wanted to get a little bit closer and to do that, she put her hands on Pegasus’s arm.

   “Say, dearest,” she began saccharine, “I’d love to get some make-up tips from Miss Catherine there, why don’t you and Pandora go take a light outside, hm?”

   Pandora laughed. “Does it really shine through my being that I’m a smoker?” he asked.

   “You reek, darling, of smoke. Anyone could make an educated guess about your bad habits.” Catherine giggled.

   “That I do, that I do. But I didn’t peg you for a smoking man, Crawford.” Pandora said, all too loudly.

   “Only cigars, of which I have a few and some, I’m even happy to share if you feel so inclined.” Pegasus said.

   “I’ll take the ones you don’t like out of your case, if you would be so kind.” Pandora offered.

   With that, the men were conveniently shuffled out of the backroom and now it was just the women and it wasn’t exactly the quiz show live connection that Cyndia had been hoping for it. It was actually a little bit awkward. A terse atmosphere of stolen glances and listening to tinny casino music emanate down from the main of the building. But Cyndia didn’t want to waste her chance with such a beautiful woman.

   She inched closer but Catherine played the role of a fortune teller. She stood tall, in her high heels with red soles, and held onto a chair, keeping her back straight and her diaphragm as tight as a drum.

   “Having relationship problems?” she asked.

   “Only a little.” Cyndia confessed. “You?”

   “Me too.” Catherina professed in equal admittance. “I can’t solve mine so don’t go hoping I can solve yours.”

   “Is it that obvious?” asked Cyndia, cringing at her own naivete. 

   “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Catherine lamented. Her expression, particularly in her eyes which were a honey brown colour and they looked melancholic yet snide. “I just wish he would stop spendin’ money we don’t have on his darts.”

   “I just wish that Pegasus would look at me and see a person. Sometimes, I swear, he looks right past me.” Cyndia said.

   Catherine sighed. She searched the vanity but quickly found what she wanted. A bottle of purebred Tennessee whiskey. It had sunflowers on the label and looping typography for its brand. Catherine didn’t pop the cap on it but she let the drink inside, a gorgeous amber, swirl against the glass.

   “Cheers to terrible men.” Catherine said.

   “And cheers to the women who put up with them.” Cyndia added and Catherine smirked. “I just think your really pretty.” Cyndia kept talking and now she was sounding like she was a child;; she chastised herself for it. “I’ve never felt that way about a girl before, you know?”

   “Mm, it is a bit confusing.” Catherine agreed.

   Finally, she did pop the cap on that whiskey and she turned it over. It would make a fine tumble glass. She’d take a drink and then Cyndia would take a drink. That would be all, or at least that’s what Catherine thought.

   Only, Cyndia came closer. She had such a peculiar way of walking. It was almost like she was floating, like a bubble, like a ghost. She laced her fingers over the bottle of whiskey, over Catherine’s hands and Catherine’s heart did something unexpected. It skipped a beat. She let Cyndia steal a sip straight from the lips. The taste of it singed her mouth, she winced and Catherine hiccupped as a laugh.

   But it wasn’t just the whiskey that Cyndia sampled - and Catherine let her taste it as well. The taste of her own kiss and it was everything that Cyndia had hoped for. It was plasticine and rosy. The only shame was how the taste of that whiskey burned her but she liked it. It was something different and it was something intoxicating. It smudged her nude pink lipstick on the way back. On the not quite retreat because Cyndia wanted to kiss Catherine more but it didn’t seem appropriate. She wanted a taste, a sampling, not to be drunk and especially not drunk with things she couldn’t have forever.

   “Thank you.” Cyndia whispered.

   “No worries.” Catherine replied, taking a swig of whiskey from the rim of the whiskey, unbothered but she thought it sweeter than when she had been drinking with her boyfriend. 

   The moment lingered somewhere far away from saccharine, thank goodness, Catherine thought. She drank a little bit more; Cyndia declined, happy to watch and even envy the whiskey droplets on the cupid’s bow of Catherine’s sublime lips.

   The men respective to their lives returned sooner than they thought. Neither of them noticed how their leading ladies had smudged lipstick. Both lied too expertly, like starlet actresses with a script, about what they had talked about. Already concealing their feelings.and going back to how they had been before. Before they had been imperfect strangers. Stealing glances; barely acknowledging one another save for the indirect.

   But gosh did Catherine savour that whiskey one last time as she and Pandora said goodbye to their impromptu guests. She was chided as rude but Cyndia wanted to disagree. She didn’t. But she did steal one last look and finally, their gazes met and for a moment, it was like starlight. 

   What exactly was stopping them from running away, they could go and join a circus together, it couldn’t be that hard. Catherine was already halfway there as a stagehand to a second rate magician and as a toy company aficionado's human toy, Cyndia wasn’t all that faraway either but they didn’t.

   They just bid each other their ados with the sour knowledge this was it and all they it would be. And they felt like sunflowers trying not to wither. Cyndia had to look at Pegasus; Catherine had to look at Pandora; they were just sunflowers following the suns that their lives already presently revolved around. Because that’s all that sunflowers could do. Stop and stare; steal glances and other longing gazes. But that wouldn’t stop them from being wistful for other stars and flames they might have been able to have kindled in another life. 

[wakaoujisenhime]

Can you make a part 2 on the levi angst? like maybe a few months later and they still haven't reconciled because levi believes the reader doing well without him then the reader gets badly injured and u can decide what happens next :))

A/N: Of course I can! I actually got a second request from @/centerhabit​ and even a third one from @/blancc-bunny to finish it so I hope you guys enjoy this happy and fluffy continuation! ੧(❛▿❛✿)੭  

Tags: Levi x reader ✅  SFW ✅  slight angst ✅  fluff ✅

image/art source: DeviantArt [art by Bev-Nap]

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

By my side - Levi x reader

A few months had passed since you had broken up with Levi and you genuinely felt better. Your small inferiority complex had subsided and thanks to Hanji you felt like everyday was a small adventure on its own. It kinda pained you to admit that you felt much safer by her side than when you were alongside Levi’s squad.

But if you felt that much better...then what was that empty feeling you couldn’t get rid of?

The answer was simple, but you didn’t want to admit it since you felt like you had no right to actually mourn what had happened. You were the one who wanted to end it all after all. Levi begged you not to do it and tried apologizing to you countless of times, but no matter what he did or said, you just shook your head and remained silent.

“(Y/N)! Are you even listening?”

Hanji’s cheerful and loud voice interrupted your train of thoughts, making you realize that as of right now the two of you were sharing a table in the Survey Corps’ lunchroom while having a small meal before starting your day.

“Sorry Hanji, I was just thinking about something. Would you mind running that by me again?“

With a small pout on her lips she obliged and answered: “So, as I was saying...Erwin asked us to go out today and examine a titan they caught a day ago.“

It was hard to not get hyped up for the mission while observing the big grin on her face.Instead of answering, you nodded multiple times, excited to finally be able to go out again which just resulted into you being teased by your comrade ending with the two of you laughing loudly attracting all kind of looks from the cadets.

But there was one look in particular that differed from any other.

Levi...

He looked at you from the corners of his eyes while silently drinking his tea. Seeing you smile like that made him feel relieved, he had always known that a smile suited you way more than anything else, but knowing that you were able to smile like that because he wasn't a part of your life anymore only made him feel worse.

Every time he looked at you, Levi couldn't help but remember the fight you guys had back in his office. The moment you jumped at him and began punching his face, he was quite startled and even if he could have protected himself he decided against it, knowing that you weren't that type of person to randomly throw punches without a good reason.

After you had broken up with him, he himself was quite depressed and even if he tried hiding it it was taking a toll on him. It all started with small mistakes like being slightly late or forgetting to tie his shoelaces, but it all took a turn to the worse when his mistakes began getting in the way of his missions. Erwin had then called him to his office, he didn't ask any questions since he already knew what the reason behind Levi's change was. All he did was promise to tell him everything what happened around and with you in exchange for Levi reverting back to his old self.

That idea seemed good at first and it even motivated him to a degree, but after some weeks he realized that he might have been better off not knowing anything. He was in constant worry for you and gruesome scenarios just kept on entering his head and dominating his thoughts, the worst part of it all was that up until now you've only been on missions inside of the walls, but never outside...not up until now.

Yesterday Erwin had left him a small note on his desk that said Hanji and you would be leaving the walls to examine a titan, he almost fainted then and there but the thought that he'd see at least see you one more time before that made him worry less.

Suddenly Hanji's loud voice interrupted his train of thoughts. She was standing right besides his table, wide grin on her face and next to her was none other than you...smiling. Smiling? Yes, you were smiling. At him no less. Even if this wasn't your most brightest smile, his heart was still thumping hard against his chest, but thanks to his permanent poker face he was able to hide his excitement quite well from the both of you.

"What do you want shitty glasses?"

The woman completely ignored his harsh comment and proceeded telling him about your mission. Not only was your former capitan good in hiding his emotions but he was also pretty good in acting. The whole time Hanji talked he simply nodded and took several glances at you which you failed to notice. She couldn't finish her entire repertoire, thanks to Mike who came over urging you two to get yourselves ready for the departure.

You whispered a quiet 'goodbye' to your former capitan, but before you could follow your superior, Levi suddenly grabbed your wrist. His hold was firm, but also gentle at the same time, it made you unintentionally remember the times he had held you and that only caused your heart rate to quicken.

"(Y/N)...please be careful"

His gentle voice didn't help you with your embarrassment, the only thing it did was worsen it. You refused to look into his face so you just nodded.

Levi sighed, letting go of your wrist as walked past you. The only thing you could do was close your eyes, praying that he didn't see how red your face was.

——

How could this happen?

All you did was turn around in order to look at the countless notes Hanji had thrown on the ground. Who could’ve thought that the Titan would use that short moment to actually grab you?

A small shriek had left your mouth when you felt the enormous hand tightly wrap around your body. Fortunately Erwin had sent you out with some soldiers (just in case) and they didn’t hesitate to come to your aid before the titan squeezed the life out of you. You were saved quickly, but you didn’t come out of that situation unharmed.

——

“What the hell happened?”

Levi was fuming.

The moment he saw Mike and some other soldier carry you on a stretcher, he dropped everything he was working on and was running after them asking question after question, managing to convince Mike to explain everything that had happened.

Seeing humanity’s strongest soldier sitting in front of the nursing room completely hunched over, face buried in his hands was something no one would’ve dared to even dream about so seeing exactly that was beginning to make some soldiers question either their vision or their sanity.

But Levi couldn’t care less about all of that, right now the only thing he cared about was your health. He still had a lot of questions for Mike, but Levi figured that he’d like to hear the rest from the doctors. He didn’t want any motivational lies...all he wished for right now was the hard truth.

“Captain Ackerman, our work’s done.”

Without looking up the captain just let his hands sink and he stood up, eyes still fixated on his shoes. He didn’t utter a single word, but the doctors knew what he wanted so they provided him with exactly that.

“Everything’s fine now. Luckily (Y/N) was brought here quite quickly so we were able to prevent any fatal injury that would’ve resulted from her broken rib.”

The tension immediately left Levi’s body after he took a deep breath, eyes finally facing forward. Once again words weren’t needed, the soldier just walked towards the nursing room’s closed door and opened it as quietly as he could.

——

You slowly came back to your senses due to a sharp pain in your chest, your whole body felt like it had been hit by a gigantic truck and when you recalled what actually got you in this situation in the first place, it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

But there was something else besides pain. You felt a gentle warmth envelop your left hand, making you wonder if that was just your imagination.

So you slowly began opening your eyes and the first thing you saw was the familiar ceiling of the nursery room. With slow movements you turned your head to the left and what you saw stunned you.

The person who was holding your hand and gently circled your knuckles with his fingers was Levi. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts since he still hadn’t noticed you glancing at his profile.

“Levi...”

The sound of your raspy voice immediately made him turn his head and look at you, worry contorting his normally calm facial features.

“(Y/N)...you’re awake. Oh thank god”

Seeing him wrap both of his hands around your own while silently whispering ‘thank you’ multiple times made your heart ache and you could feel how some tears were slowly making your eyes glassy.

“I can’t do this anymore (Y/N). Every single day I’m worried sick when I hear that you’ll be on a mission without having me by your side and today I even warm you to be careful and look what happens! Your broken rib could’ve perforated your lungs or even worse your heart! What would I have done if that happened, huh?!”

Levi raising his voice like that was something you had never seen happening and additionally to that he himself looked like he was about to cry and that made you feel even sadder.

You watched him completely lose his calm composure, watched his poker face being substituted by countless other expressions you had never seen, watched his whole body tremble like a leaf that was being shaken by the wind, watched how his lips moved quicker than ever before and the only thing you could do was slowly get up and embrace him.

Even if your chest still hurt you just ignored the pain and held him tighter against you. His trembling body began calming down until he finally wrapped his arms as carefully as he could around your body to show you that he was now calm enough and that it was fine to let him go, but you refused.

“You’re being unfair (Y/N), embracing me like that and then refusing to let me go. How am I supposed to forget you under these circumstances?”

“Said the person who waited for me to wake up.”

He placed his forehead in the crack of your neck and sighed in defeat, you on the other hand just giggled and gently caressed his back. Somewhere deep inside of you you had missed that warm feeling of his embrace.

“(Y/N)...I love you, I’ve never stopped loving you. Since our fight I’ve been thinking nonstop about you and the things you said to me, made me realize that it was completely wrong of me to use you as my punching bag and I regret it...I really regret it. I even thought that it really might be better for you to not be by my side since I saw how much more cheerful you were compared to back then, but please let me be selfish about one thing. I want you- no...I want us to be back together like before, laugh with each other like before, spend time together like before and most importantly...love each other like before. P-Please...allow me to change everything I did wrong by myself so that I can make you happy again.”

He had no idea just how much it pained you to find out his true feelings, but you were more overjoyed to actually find out that he still loved and wanted you back as much as you wanted him. So you decided to answer him by simply kissing his lips, letting the kiss do all the talking for you, Levi afraid that this would be your last kiss just cupped your face and returned it with the same passion.

When you wanted to separate yourself from him, the man simply whispered a low ‘one more time’ and continued kissing you until his and your lungs gave out.

It was now your turn to answer him, but first you had to catch your breath while he simply continued kissing your face and neck.

“Levi, you have always been on my mind, even after our fight, but I kept on thinking that I had absolutely no right to mourn since I was the one suggesting a breakup. I realized just how lonely I felt without you by my side, but I tried to mask it with fake smiles and laughter, hoping that it would be easier for me to let go of you..but I just couldn’t. And no Levi...I’m not going to allow you to change yourself on your own.”

The man didn’t know if he should be happy or sad since your last statement gave him mixed feelings, but the wide smile you showed him was answer enough.

“You are going to change yourself while standing...by my side.”

[atamascolily]

So I want to talk about one of Luke’s less publicized fails in Legends, namely with Cray Mingla and Nichos Marr in Children of the Jedi by Barbara Hambly. It’s not as flashy and obvious as his failures with Kyp Durron and Kueller, since only two people die, and the New Republic government doesn’t get involved. It’s framed as the result of his students’ choices, rather than their teacher’s, and Luke benefits a great deal from the fallout. But the more I study the backstory for fic purposes, the more convinced I am that Luke Majorly Screwed Up, and I want to call him out on it.

When we first meet Cray and Nichos, the situation is presented as both a tragic love story, and also a Done Deal. Two Force prodigies (and childhood best friends?) fall in love and come to Yavin to train, only for one to be diagnosed with a fatal illness, and the other uses their life’s work to save them. It’s a Nicholas Sparks novel with robots.... except it doesn’t work.

Instead of successfully transferring Nichos’s spirit into a new body, Cray creates a droid replica straight out of the Uncanny Valley, with life-like face and hands. a metallic body, and all of Nichos’s memories. (How she does this is handwaved as techno-wizardry, with a little bit of Ssi-ruuvi techniques thrown in the mix, which is... even more horrific if you start to think about it.) The result isn’t the “real” Nichos--it’s not the man she fell in love with. It’s a construct, a copy, not a human being.

I get where Hambly was trying to go with this meditation on what constitutes personhood, but I feel like dismissing the new Nichos as “just” a droid” is kinda sketchy, given that machines and droids in the Star Wars universe have emotions and personalities and are clearly capable of independent agency not directly contradicted by their programming. Maybe this new Nichos is “another Corellian by the same name”  and not the original, but does that make him any less deserving of autonomy and personhood? I don’t think so.

Droid-Nichos is clearly aware that he’s not human--he pretends because he wants to please Cray (and there’s a not-so-subtle implication she programmed him to do that, which is hella creepy)--but his conversations with Threepio make it equally clear that he sees that as his only function, and he’s not of much ‘use’ for anything else. His very specificity makes him an outlier among droids. He doesn’t fit into either world, which is why he’s so willing to sacrifice himself at the end of the novel--besides the fact that Cray asks him to and he’s not in position to be able to say no.

But Cray is so deep in denial she refuses to admit that this isn’t the original Nichos until droid-Nichos is unable to rescue her from torture because he’s wearing a restraining bolt. Then she breaks down completely, sending droid-Nichos up to shut down the ship and be shot to pieces while she commits suicide by letting Callista’s spirit take over her own body.

So where does Luke fit into all of this? Isn’t it unfair to hold him responsible for Cray’s decisions, given that he was unconscious at the time and determined to sacrifice himself instead? At twenty-six, Cray was a grown-ass adult; if she wanted to create a walking RealDoll with the memories of dead lover, that was her business, right? Right?

The thing is that Hambly makes it clear during Cray’s breakdown that Luke knew all along that Cray hadn’t saved the “real” Nichos.

“Luke …”

He looked up quickly, to meet the blue glass eyes. In the shadowy gloom the face that he’d known so well was almost a stranger’s, affixed monstrously to the silver cowl of the metal skull.

“Am I really Nichos?”

Luke said, “I don’t know.” He had never in his life felt so helpless, because in his heart—in the secret shadows where the truth always lay—he knew that this was a lie.

He knew.

Luke knew exactly what the new Nichos was, and he never sat down with Cray and talked about this or staged an intervention of any kind. He let her deceive herself, even though one of the foremost principles of being a Jedi is self-knowledge and facing grief and failure directly. He knew and he never said anything, because....  I don’t know, exactly.

The Doylist answer is that Callista needed a hot young body to inhabit, and Cray’s entire existence was to provide her with one, more or less guilt-free. (I still think it’s incredibly creepy, and I know I’m not the only one, but most of the characters in-universe let it slide, and I just... can’t even...)

“Am I ‘another Corellian of the same name’?”

“I’d like to tell you one way or the other,” said Luke. The bolt came away from the brushed-steel chest, lay thick and heavy in Luke’s hand. One hand real, one hand mechanical, but both his. “But I … I don’t know. You are who you are. You are the being, the consciousness, that you are at this moment. That’s all I can tell you.” That fact, at least, was true.

The smooth face did not alter, but the blue eyes looked infinitely sad. “I had hoped that, being a Jedi, you would know.”

And Luke had the uncomfortable sensation that, having been a Jedi, Nichos knew perfectly well that he was keeping something back.

It’s worth noting here that Luke is one of the few people in the GFFA who we see treating droids as people. He’s not dismissive of Nichos’s existential angst, and he’s not going to dictate what Nichos is, no matter how much Nichos wants to be reassured one way or the other. I don’t know if other characters who are less sympathetic to droids would react this way.

I also like the juxtaposition between Nichos’s metallic body and Luke’s mechanical hand. Luke is human; Nichos isn’t--where’s the line between them? Isn’t Luke’s point here is that the line is where you define it to be?

Or at least that’s the image Luke wants to project. He’s still holding something back--namely, the real truth, which he shares with Callista:

“Is Nichos all right?”

Luke nodded, then caught himself, and shook his head. “Nichos … is a droid,” he said.

“I know.”

Callista sees right off that Nichos is a droid; she calls him “the droid with the human eyes” and asks if he’s some new creature of Palpatine’s when she and Luke first meet. Luke can admit to her that Nichos is a droid, but not to Nichos or Cray--not even when Nichos directly asks him. So, #TeachingFail there, I think. What the hell was Luke thinking?

This gets even worse as Callista continues:

“Luke,” she said gently. “Sometimes there is nothing you can do.”

He expelled his breath in an angry gust, fist clenched hard; but he did not, after all, speak for a time. Then it was only to say, “I know.” He realized he hadn’t known that, two weeks ago. In some ways, learning about Sith Lords and cloned Emperors had been easier.

So if Luke didn’t know there was nothing to be done but accept the situation as it was, why didn’t he try to do something for Cray before now? Why did he let her coast along in denial with her robot boyfriend for months?

Which makes it all the more ironic that the conversation turns to the role of mistakes in the education of a Jedi, as well as recounting of Luke’s other teaching mistakes.

“I just wish some of those one thousand eighty mistakes didn’t involve teaching students. Teaching Jedi. Transmitting power, or the ability to use the Force. My ignorance—my own inexperience—cost one of my students his life already, and threw another one into the arms of the dark side and caused havoc in the galaxy I don’t even want to think about. The whole thing—the Academy, and bringing back the skills of the Jedi—is too important for … for ‘Learn While You Teach.’"

Luke isn’t responsible for Nichos’s illness or his death, but he is responsible for letting Cray keep her illusions for so long. He isn’t responsible for the dramatic, over-the-top way in which Cray’s fantasies come tumbling down--but why did he let it get to that point in the first place?

Here’s Cray’s reaction when Luke does try to talk to her about Nichos:

“I know he had a scum-eating motherless restraining bolt, you jerk!” She screamed the words, spat them at him, hatred and fury a bitter fire in her eyes; and when the words were out sat staring at him in blind, helpless rage behind which Luke could see the fathomless well of defeat, and grief, and the ending of everything she had ever hoped.

Then silence, as Cray turned her face aside. The nervous thinness that had advanced on her during Nichos’s illness had turned brittle, as if something had been taken, not just from her flesh, but from the marrow of her bones. Over the torn uniform, grimed with blood and oil, the blanket hung on her like a battered shroud.

If they had had this conversation before now--after Nichos’s death, or at any point before that trip to Ithor--would matters have come to this?  Is Luke culpable for all the things he didn’t say to Cray, as well as the things he did say to Gantoris and Kyp (cited above)?

Does Cray fall prey to the Dark Side here? Is that why Callista loses her powers? I don’t know. I love this novel, but so much of its logic is incomprehensible to me, and I don’t understand it. Maybe that’s why I love it so much, because it keeps me thinking about it.

“Don’t hate him for being what he is,” he said, the only thing he could think of to say. “Or for being what he’s not.”

The words sounded puerile in his own ears, like a half-credit computerized fortune-teller at a fair. Ben, he thought, would have had something to say, something healing … Yoda would have known how to deal with the wretched ruin of a friend’s heart and life.

The mightiest Jedi in the universe, he reflected bitterly—that he knew of, anyway—the destroyer of the Sun Crusher, the slayer of evil, who’d defeated the recloned Emperor and the Sith Lord Exar Kun, and all he could offer someone who had been disemboweled was, Gee, I’m sorry you’re not feeling so well …

Luke, you should have had this conversation with her months ago. Or if you didn’t feel up to it, you should have insisted she go to THERAPY as a condition of her continued training at your school, you knew damn well she wasn’t okay, and you just let her go on her way as if nothing was wrong and I just... 

As a result of his screw-ups with Cray and Nichos, Luke survives, his ghost girlfriend gets a body, and the Eye of Palpatine is destroyed, so I guess it works out pretty well for him. Cray and Nichos, not so much, sadly. Does he learn anything from the experience? I don’t know, because nothing quite this weird happens ever again.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m so mad about this one point from a novel published twenty-five years ago that only a handful of people remember, but I can’t read it anymore without wanting to smack Luke here for his part in this whole mess. Even though I think I understand why he holds back, why he’s afraid he’ll make matters worse, and why it’s easier to just to leave Cray alone and hope it all works out, it’s still the wrong decision and Obi-wan and Yoda and I are all shaking our heads at him, because really, Luke, why did you do that--??

[theonetheycallhannah]

A Mage’s Beginning-Part One

Summary: Anathema of Velena is sent by the Brotherhood of Sorcerers to a kingdom already decimated by a mighty beast when she happens upon another. One who saves her life…as she saves his.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena)

Word Count: 5k

Rating/Warnings: M for language, discussion of mature themes and situations, alcohol consumption, violence, and reflection on a particularly shitty childhood that could be triggering. Body image triggers. No smut for now. Also, warning that it’s stupid long and only half done! Wow! I’m super sorry! Anathema is kind of a long winded little witch.

Inspiration: Netflix’s The Witcher, that sweet, sweet Cavill bod, and the chocolatey crunch of his “Geralt voice!” (idk why, but that’s the imagery for me. Lol!) Also, Ana inspired by the badassness of Anya Chalotra as Yen, the powerful vulnerability of Anna Shaffer as Triss, and the poise and grace of MyAnna Brunning as Tissaia…I honestly can’t believe that the name Anathema is a total coincidence now. Especially considering that my name…is Hannah, a version of all of these. It just came to me as a cool name.

Author’s Note: Like most of my OFCs (and honestly, even EFCs), Anathema is loosely based on myself. She reacts how I feel I would (or sometimes hope I would) in her situation. For those of you who read “Shape of Her” you’ll know that I’m chubby. Anathema was, as well, before her transformation, and she talks about what it was like for her as a child and adolescent growing up. For me, this was a deeply personal thing to write about. I don’t usually talk about the effect my weight has always had and continues to have on my mental health. I’m very fortunate that, unlike Anathema, I have loving parents that have never treated me this way. But in an odd way, their “help” and concern for my physical health has created this sort of villainous aspect of them in my mind, and I suppose that comes out in Ana’s mother here. At any rate, I should probably go back to a counselor about it, but that’s tough during a pandemic and with my work hours. So I write about it, and I guess there ends up being a bit of validation for her/me when Geralt shows interest (and maybe takes that further in part two...no spoilers here!). Not that any of it’s completely healthy, but at least it’s kinda cathartic and fun in the moment if you don’t think too hard about it. I hope the monologue doesn’t bog you down and make you lose interest. If it does, just skip it. It won’t hurt my feelings.

Also, I’m sure my spells are total baloney compared to what’s in the books and deffo to what’s in the show. I just wanted to write something down to sort of show the power being expelled by Ana. These are probably way more Hogwarts than Aretuza! Lol!

Tag List: @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy @mstgsmy @lareinedususpense @geekycanuck and @littlefreya (omg it let me tag you this time, Freya!) I didn’t tag some of you that I tagged before in Shape of Her, just because I didn’t know if that was something you wanted. (basically, if I didn’t get a concrete response one way or the other, or I wasn’t fairly sure you’d want a tag, I didn’t tag you. I still love all of you!) Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended! Also, this is not smutty. It’s pre-smut. lol!

Anathema of Velena was a mage of little renown. Powerful enough, but nothing compared to someone such as Yennefer of Vengerberg. She had worked so hard at Aretuza and all Rectoress Tissaia de Vries could manage to tell her most days was “You could not organize a pair of gloves, Ana. How do you expect to be able to control chaos? I’m not even convinced you have any chaos in you.” She turned away, calling the five other girls out of the lightning tower, some of whom had ampules filled with crackling white light. The rest were in various states of injury from singes to limps. Anathema…well, she had nothing. The lightning didn’t come near her. She left the tower without a prize, but filled with shame, uninjured from the typical failed attempt. She didn’t know why it was worse, but it very much was.

It took her years to finally get over that day.

Her first assignment the brotherhood sent her on was, well, it hardly mattered now, because the city, the whole kingdom was now rent by some foul beast. She’d been sent to help. But had arrived too late. She heaved one of her deeper sighs. “Fuck.” She let out audibly. She’d have to make camp. For the third night. At least. Maybe it was the fifth. She wasn’t certain. But it seemed like too long. She dismounted her chestnut mare, Clove, and started to get her supplies down for her modest tent. Modest, meaning that it appeared modest to the casual observer.

Inside, however, when she’d cast her enchantments, it was almost like home, complete with a full bed, soaking tub, fireplace, table, chairs, and a lovely lounge with a settee and chaise. One of her favorite things about Magic was being able to pack heavy while still traveling light. She was even able to bring a small book collection.

She’d just finished setting everything up and was casting the necessary protective enchantments to the perimeter of her site when she heard a rustle in the bushes about twenty yards away. She attempted to remain calm, but was terrified. She carried only a small silver dagger and a steel short sword that she rubbed with a silver infused oil which she made when she came across good silver and decent tallow. It wore off, but the silver oiled blade was a good compromise when you couldn’t carry both silver and steel. What was she, a fucking Witcher? Anyway, she drew her dagger, but conjured a revelatory wall around her so she could see who or what was out there hunting her. She prayed it wasn’t a kikimore. Anything but a kikimore, she thought. Those shits gave her the creeps. Give her an iron toothed wyvern, or the king of dragons, himself. She could conjure in battle against the best of beasts born of magic, but those insects…no.

There came a keening howl unlike anything she’d ever heard. A drowning scream that almost sounded like it was coming from under the water. Then too many pairs of glowing green eyes started appearing from said bushes. They were horrifying lizard-fish people. And they were walking toward her camp. It would be all too soon that they would walk through the invisibility shield as she hadn’t been able to cast any deflective measures yet. They’d breach her camp in minutes if she didn’t act. She prepared to cast a fire spell on them, hoping that would work, when she heard a deep male voice behind her growl an order.

“Get down! Hide!” Pardon me? She thought. This guy didn’t know who he was dealing with.

It appeared though that she didn’t, either.

The voice had come from a very tall and amply muscled horseman. He wore no armor, only a dark linen tunic tucked into leather breeks, and tall black boots. All was weathered and smelled heavily of horse, ale, and sweat. He quickly dismounted in that way that some men do in which they swing their leg over the horse’s head instead of around the rear. This was the way that, even in her terror, made her feel an unfamiliar but pleasant stirring in the pit of her stomach.

His hair, which she had presumed blonde at first, she noted now to be silvery grey, and well past his shoulders. Maybe longer than her own. He grabbed a sword from the large sheath on his saddle and stalked toward the oncoming rabble of sodden predators.  

She thought…she might have been mistaken but she was fairly sure he’d grabbed a steel sword. Steel would not be very effective on these monsters, if she had sized them up right. She looked to his saddle, seeing the hilt of another blade there. She stepped toward it and slid it out to reveal that this was precisely what had happened. He’d grabbed the wrong weapon in his haste. Well. He was dead. She grabbed the silver sword, sheathing her dagger, and marching toward the scrum around the well-meaning muscle head.

“Selectum ignitus!” She chanted as she wrought her hand in the corresponding motion. This spell burned only victims she chose, leaving others unharmed. It had only stunned these creatures, but it was enough time to allow her would-be hero to catch a small break from his blunder. His thick neck was still in the spindly clutches of one of the largest fish men, apparently less susceptible to fire than the others. Ana stepped up behind him, and with the silver sword, sliced his head clean off at the neck.

“Here.” She said as she tossed him the weapon, the steel sword somewhere on the forest floor to be found later. “They’re waking back up.”

“Mmm.” He mumbled. Right. He was welcome. All this gratitude was just making her blush.

They fought well together, surprisingly. She with her magic and dagger, and he with his signs and sword. She could feel it when he cast them. She noticed him using Aard, so she started casting more similar spells herself. The skirmish was over in minutes. All of the beasts had fallen and she looked at her newfound comrade, both of them covered in blood and muck.

“That was…fun!” She said, in earnest.

“Hmm.” He responded. As if to say, sure, whatever, freak. And began hovering over the corpses, rummaging in his satchel.

“So…these handsome fellows. I’ve never come across them.” She waited a beat, hoping he’d just answer her, knowing that’s what she meant for him to do. Oh, okay. This wasn’t the kind of guy he was. Fair. “What are they?”

“Drowners. Bigger ones are called drowned dead. They come out of the nearby bodies of water.”

How nice. Surely she wouldn’t have any nightmares about that. She'd heard of drowners, as a coastal dweller, but had been fortunate enough to never see one. Until tonight.

“And…not that it’s my business, but…you’re doing what exactly?”

He sighed. “These remains have a lot of useful potion ingredients. I never waste a kill if I can help it. Ginatz’s Acid doesn’t grow on trees, does it?”

“No tree I’ve ever seen, no.” She laughed. He didn’t. Well. This guy would just be a barrel of fun, it seemed. But he did just try to save her life. She should attempt to repay him that kindness. Even if he failed a bit at first, she didn’t know what she would have done if he hadn’t been there.

“Hey, I have a few more spells to do before my camp is fortified for the night, but then I was going to have some dinner in my tent. I have plenty, if you’d like to join. As a thank you for helping me tonight.”

“Camp?”

“Tempora Portia.” She swept her arm down to create a window in the cloaking spell so he could see her camp in the clearing.

He saw the small tent, that looked as though barely two people could lie down in it, much less sit for a meal.

He eyed her warily. “I think you’ll be lucky enough to eat in there by yourself with just a bowl and a spoon.”

“Ever heard of not judging a book by its cover?” She asked. “Trust me. I have a plump pheasant, some really delicious herbs I got on the way here from Aretuza, and some lovely wine! I’ve been saving it until I got here to share with the court, but…” she looked sheepishly at the ruined city on the hillside. “You’re clearly the only surviving citizen, Sir….”

“Geralt. Just Geralt. I’m not a citizen. I was commissioned to come here, just as you were. Only I was sent by���the neighbors…to eliminate the threat before it reached them, too.”

“Right. Geralt. I’m Anathema of Velena. Nice to meet you, and thank you for saving my life tonight.”

“Anathema, thanks for saving mine. And I guess, I’ll take you up on dinner.”

~~~~~~

She told him to finish his scavenging, and cast a charm onto him and his horse, Roach, to allow them to enter through her custom enchantments.

When she was finished securing her campsite, she went inside her tent to clean up. She conjured lots of warm fragrant water into her copper tub. It would have been more relaxing had she not been covered in the muck of battle. The drowner guts were slimy like fish entrails on her skin and in her hair. She was fairly certain that she also had blood from both her own wounds and Geralt’s spattered across what skin had been exposed during the fight.

She reached for her sponge and a bar of soap that smelled of lilac, one of her favorites, and scrubbed until all of the muck, mud, and blood was gone from her skin and hair.

She felt a telltale shudder come from the perimeter of her camp, indicating that her would-be rescuer and his steed had stepped through them. She had put up sheer modesty curtains somewhat arbitrarily, but today she was glad for them. She had just stepped out of the tub and was fully naked when Geralt entered.

“Erm.” He cleared his throat simultaneously announcing his presence and asking if he could come in. She must applaud him for his excellent communication skills.

“Come on in, I’ll be right there.”

She donned a simple, modest wrap dress that went well beyond the duty of a bath robe and looked infinitely more chic, and piled her damp, dark hair into a messy coil high on her head.

“So glad you could join me. Did you get everything you wanted from the creatures?”

“Everything they could give me. Yes.”

“Good. Well, I’ve not started dinner yet, but it won’t be very long. Why don’t you have a bath? You look like you’ve been riding for weeks with no sleep and you’re caked in the muck of a dozen battles like the one we were just in. I’ll clean and mend your clothes, too.”

“I’m fine thank you.”

“Oh, please? You’ll enjoy dinner so much more if you’re not concerned with how you smell…plus my table isn’t so big that…I couldn’t smell you too.” She giggled. “So as a courtesy to your cook and table mate?”

She looked at him with her doe eyes. Maybe that would work. She loved helping people and making them feel better. She thought he was restraining a smirk. He complied with a grunt and a nod.

“Splendid. I’ll get you some wine, too. I love wine with a bath! Don’t you!?”

“That and silence.” Point taken. She’d let him relax.

He stood in the corner of the bathing alcove as she conjured bath water for him.

“Agua fragra fieretta.” she spoke, and the tub filled with steamy water that smelled like spearmint, cedar, and a hint of lavender. Her own had smelled so different. She hadn’t realized it seemed to change depending on who you were drawing the bath for, never having done so for anyone but herself.

She dug around for a sandalwood soap and a new sponge and set them out for him on the small side table.

“Here you are. I’ll be right back with your penis! I mean, woah. Sorry.” She had turned around at the wrong moment. She knew he’d been taking off his shirt when she was rummaging. But she assumed modesty would mandate that he wait for her to leave before removing his trousers. She had been mistaken. He stood there as naked as the day the midwife pulled him from his mother, hands on his hips just like it was the most blasé thing to ever happen.

“It’s fine. I don’t really think about being shy anymore. Sorry. My clothes are on that stool if you want them. Thanks.”

“Right, great. I’ll be right back with a towel and wine. That’s what I was going to say before. And yeah, then I’ll see what I can do for those clothes.”

She left, procured the wine and a towel, and hurried back, placing the cup audibly on the table so she didn’t have to speak to him. She was so embarrassed. She grabbed his clothes and sat them on the settee for later. She was somehow both glad and disappointed that he did not acknowledge her.

Now, she needed to work on dinner. She’d gotten a lovely pheasant this afternoon with her bow. She’d been gathering fragrant herbs of all kinds along her journey and had traded some of them at market for potatoes, carrots, garlic and pearl onions. She prepped the pheasant, stuffing it with the vegetables, herbs, and some salt and pepper, and rubbed it down on the outside with some olive oil and seasoning. She placed it in her camp oven to cook in the infused oil and its own juices, basting it every so often.

She magically cleaned and mended Geralt’s clothes and tried unsuccessfully not to think about the body that they covered. His arms were as thick as the average man’s legs and his legs were not unlike tree trunks, albeit much more shapely. His chest was monolithic with two great pecs and six well-defined abs. He was also perfectly hairy. No one would confuse him with a bear, but this was definitely no boy. No boy, at all. And Mother Melitele herself would weep at the sight of the cock on this man. Long. At least halfway down his thigh. She didn’t get that good a look, but she thought it was veiny. And it was definitely thick…although she couldn’t compare it to much. To anything, really. Not even the instruments used on her the day she ascended to her current state of perfection. She'd been given powerful herbs to sedate her until the transformation was complete.

She’d arrived at Aretuza a sluggish and overweight wallflower with tiny breasts. When she went over her desires for her new form with the “miracle worker” as she liked to call him, she asked him to upgrade her in every way he could, but to keep her eyes the same shade of green they’d always been. She’d felt that the eyes were too directly attached to the soul and to change them was going too far. The rest, however, was fair game.

And this was her first assignment since her ascension, so she hadn’t been anywhere but her home, which was an unforgiving place, and Aretuza. Little opportunity for romance had presented itself. And she wasn’t even sure how romance would go for her at this point. Were mages adored for their power? Beauty? Or who they were as people independent of those attributes? Was that all she was now? A beautiful magician? She suddenly felt a small pang of regret.

Her eyes shifted involuntarily now to the bath partition. Must have been the movement she caught out of the corner of her eye. Geralt was taking a drink of wine, a very long drink, and when he set the goblet back down, he leaned his head back with a contented sigh. She took the clothes back to the stool when she’d finished, smiled at the scarred, and incredibly heroic man before her, and popped away to finish dinner.

~~~~~~~

She busied herself setting the table with modest candles, and conjuring an extra setting for Geralt. She filled a pitcher with an “agua potum” spell and put her wine vessel out. As she was tabling the pheasant, her eye caught movement again in the “bath room.” Geralt had gotten out of the tub and was drying off. His back was no less impressive than his front and his ass was like a fresh, crisp apple. She’d always loved apples. In her dreamy haze, she'd come too close to the hot camp oven and burned her hand. She let out a whispered but audible “fuck” and brought her hand quickly to her mouth to cool the fire with saliva.

It helped a little, but not much. She continued to prepare as Geralt got dressed and he was out right as dinner was on, wine goblet in hand.

“Smells nice.” He complemented. She was shocked, but still in a lot of pain from the burn.

“It better be the best fucking thing I’ve eaten in ages to make it worth searing the skin off my finger here!” She put her hand to her mouth again, and brought it out, shaking it.

He sat his goblet on the table and went outside, all without a word. She was confused. Wondering how she could have offended him, but honestly, not really caring. She’d tried. She sat down. Exhausted. He came back in with the satchel he’d been wearing and packing with solutions from those corpses.

He walked around the table to kneel in front of her, held out his hand, and raised his eyebrow expectantly. She gave him her injured hand, extending her index finger to indicate the affected area.

“You know, I’ve seen men lose half their faces to fire. This isn’t so bad.” He rifled through the bag for a vial of clear oil with bits of purple floating in it.

“Did they live?” She asked, amused.

“A few.” He smirked, dabbing a small amount of the oil onto his index finger and applying it to hers.

Her relief was instant and evident on her face.

“Wow, that feels so much better. Thank you! What is that?”

“A simple infusion. Oil of lavender. Here.” He gave her the vial.

“Oh I couldn’t.”

“Take it. I make more all the time. It’s damn near free. I’ll show you how, too, so you're prepared for next time. It’s essential for a healer’s kit. Many uses.” These were more words than she’d heard him speak all together since they’d met. She decided not to remark upon it.

“Well thank you. I hope you’re hungry! I think the pheasant is ready to be torn!”

They filled their plates with juicy, savory sections of the bird and large chunks of the vegetables that had become pleasantly tender inside it. Thyme and rosemary, onion and garlic danced off the tongue, complimented by the salt and a dash of ground peppercorn for zest. For once, a meal tasted even better than it had smelled and she had forgotten the terror of the fight with the drowners, the pain of her burn, even the startling sight of the naked man in her tent, and relaxed into the pleasure of a delicious meal.

This is one of the reasons I was fat before, she told herself. And made sure she stopped eating before she'd filled herself to gluttony.

She noticed that her companion was eating…enthusiastically. She was on the verge of saying ravenously, but there was an element of refinement to it that forbade her from using the more savage descriptor. He seldom drank, and most rarely from his water cup.  He liked the wine, then. She liked this fellow. Quite a lot. He stabbed large portions onto his fork and put them easily into his wide mouth. But even though he took larger bites, he did take his time in chewing, savoring the succulent food. She appreciated this from him.

"You're going to have to finish the poor bird off. I'm stuffed." she patted her tummy, demure now, as it had never been in her recent memory.

"Hmm." he grunted in protest. This one she couldn't quite translate past general disagreement.

"What?" she prodded.

"We both know you didn't need any help taking down this bird alone. Even with the vegetables. It's all incredible, by the way. Best meal I've had in ages."

"First of all, thank you, I quite liked it too, and secondly, it's called restraint. Ever heard of it?" she sassed him back.

"I've heard of it, yes. Can't say we've ever crossed paths, though." he held her gaze as he drank deeply from his goblet. Was it suddenly warmer in the tent?

"Well, it might be a good idea to seek it out here and there." she said, hiding well the feathers he'd just ruffled. "Food and I have a volatile history. I have to show restraint or all of this is gone." she indicated her physical form. She hadn't truly intended to make him look at her, but he was. He was holding her in his gaze in a way that was utterly alien to her.

"Mmm." he grunted, as if to express his understanding.

"But enough about me. What about you? It's not every day I meet a witcher!"

His amber eyes met hers, inscrutable, but not pleased.

"You knew."

"Of course I knew. I have eyes and ears, and all kinds of senses working. And all of them caught wind of what you were the moment you dismounted your horse."

"And yet you helped me. Fought with me. Saved me."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Most people don't want a witcher around. They'd prefer the monsters we kill. Even when we're summoned to communities, invited, we're a pariah until the job is done. We're seen as the…lesser evil."

"Tell me Geralt. Did you make the choice to become a witcher?"

"No."

"Do you think I made the choice to be a conduit?" This question, he didn't answer. She thought he may not know. She decided then to tell him her story. How she came to be a mage, and the hell she went through to get where she was.

"Do you know what my nickname was as a child? It wasn't anything cute, like a vegetable or fruit or a baked good, or even a cuddly little creature, no. No term of endearment would suit me. I was called 'Rat.' Because you see, as I mentioned, I have a complicated past where food is concerned, and this comes from my youth. When I would sneak into the pantries and steal food. My mother and the staff thought at first there was a large rat, or even a raccoon behind the lost inventory, for at first, I left behind traces and made a mess of things. But after a while, I got good. Covered my tracks. Then mother started blaming the staff. Beating them, then firing most of them. No one seemed to notice how fat I was getting. Me being the middle of five girls. Eldest two sisters already married off to wealthy business men from town and bringing the bratty little grandchildren around, the younger girls learning dance and music, and generally being full of charm. I was in the background. Until one night, mother found me. She was searching the pantry for a tonic for indigestion when she saw me burrowing, trying to hide between sacks of potatoes. She hauled me out and dove for a long wooden spoon on the worktop in the kitchen. She beat me bloody with that spoon. I couldn't sit and could hardly walk for days."

She took a drink from her goblet, fortifying her. She didn't tell this story often. In fact, she hadn’t told anyone but her best friend Codrick, the blacksmith's apprentice. And that had taken many years.

"She started giving me smaller portions at dinner. Insisting that I wouldn't find a husband in my current state and threatening to sell me to a brothel if I didn't marry in good time. I was nearly starving, but still not getting thin fast enough to satisfy her. She made me run around the perimeter of our grounds. If I wasn't back in time, she'd set our wild bull out after me. There were a few times I was nearly gored. But I kept sneaking into the cupboards late at night. They were locked now, but once I told Codrick what was happening, he helped me by forging me a spare key. She kept calling me 'Rat' which was interesting. As if the sneaking and stealing was the more deplorable side of me than my actual size. She never called me 'Pig.' Perhaps because at least pigs had a use. Pigs could be sold or slaughtered for food. Rats were just a nuisance. The last time she caught me, she hauled me into the kitchen and reached for her wooden spoon again. But this time, when she reared back to strike at me, the spoon had turned into a vicious raven. It squalled and flailed and she let go of it, shooing it away. But it didn't relent. It clawed and pecked at her head and face until her hair was patchy and ragged and her face was a bloody mess. One eye was completely gone, the other, likely to be lost. But she could see well enough to tell where the raven landed after it had left her alone. Right beside me, as if it was trying to calm my still quivering form."

"So that was your conduit moment?" Geralt asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes. Lady de Vries showed up at our door not a moment too soon. The Madame from the local brothel had just agreed to my mother's price. There was a rather tense moment where the money had already changed hands and Tissaia had to threaten both women with rather unpleasant repercussions. She was having me and there would be no arguments. Actually, though, the whole experience of being fought over gave me the confidence I needed to confess my true feelings to Codrick and kiss him before we left the town. I'd fancied him for years but never had the guts to tell him."

"I'm sure you have a point to telling me this life story of yours." Geralt said, patiently, but clearly ready for her to wrap it up.

"Right. Sorry. My point is, most of us that are born or imbued with magic have some story like this. I'm certain you're no different. I could go on with horrors at Aretuza, too, just like I'm sure you could with stories of…where was it you were trained? Kaer Morhen?"

He looked at her skeptically.

"Wolf amulet around your neck. School of the Wolf. I thought that was Kaer Morhen."

"Mmhmm." oh, a two syllable grunt. His vocabulary was proving vast.

"Why shun you over a life you didn't choose? And if I have a fucked up past too, and I'm still dealing with that trauma, what right would I have to dismiss you or consider you an unworthy brother in arms? Or dinner companion? Or maybe even travel companion? After all, we fought well together and we don't know what's out there laying waste to the countryside."

"Suppose you're right."

"About which part?" this always happened to her as someone who never shut up. She never knew whether "you're right" was a blanket statement covering an entire monologue, or just certain parts that someone wanted to subscribe to.

"The first part. I'm still not sure about traveling companions. Or mages, if I'm honest. No offense."

"None taken. If it makes you feel better, I'm still very new to being a mage. I don't have any bad mage habits. I'm not even that good of a mage. I had to hand assemble this tent before I spelled it."

"Well, you did a fine job." he chuckled. "It looked…sturdy, from the outside."

"That's what I was going for. And why don't you just…try me for this expedition. I'll sign a contract saying that it's not your fault if I die. Not that anyone would care. Plus, we'll live in luxury every night, and I can make anything taste delicious with bare minimum ingredients."

"Tempting, but won't it be a little…cozy with both of us in here?"

She looked at him, incredulous.

"Remember the part where I'm a mage?" she walked over to the sitting area and contorted her hands toward the wall. "Addendum Sanctorum."

She beckoned him through a new flap in the canvas to a modest, but still accommodating room with a large, plush bed, a few sturdy, simple chairs, a small table, and a bathing area of its own, complete with a stash of sponges, soaps, and towels.

"See? It may not be all of the comforts of home, but it's hardly roughing it compared to the alternative, am I wrong?" She turned to look at him, but he was much closer than she'd expected him to be. She looked directly up into that piercing amber gaze that was unlike any she'd seen before. And he looked so…dangerous. And yet she wasn't afraid. At least not primarily. What she was mostly feeling was desire. She wanted those strong, skilled hands to touch her. She wanted to be held. She hadn't been held since she was a child. And a very young one, at that. She could feel something mutual coursing between them. And that was the thing that terrified her. The thought that he might be hungry for her in that way. He ran his hand along the slope of her temple and cheek down to her chin.

"I don't recall saying I'd mind sharing a cozy space with you, Ana."

TBC in Part Two

[itslonzie]

'Kay, I wanna vent.

So for the longest time, I'd always avoid telling people about the bad parts of my parents. Because I believed they were good people and didn't deserve to be seen as bad people/parents by others just because they did a few things wrong. But it's gotten to the point that they aren't changing and it's been years of the same thing. I'm in tears because of them, at least twice a week. I'm fed up of protecting them/their image. They are racist and fatphobic. They are not good parents to me. I'm anorexic and they still talk about diets and how fat they are openly and in front of me. They constantly shout and get stressed over the tiniest of things. Like this morning I got a mad lecture bc one towel was out of place in the airing cupboard. All the lectures victimise herself and/or my step-dad. And make me and my partner and sometimes one of my brother's out to be the villian(s).

I used to harm myself when I was really really depressed and suicidal, but most of those times, I remember I was upset because of them. Sometimes they'd be shouting at me through the door while I was doing it (they don't know that).

And the reason I had to come out and say smth about it (which I really didn't wanna do) is bc they were constantly criticising me, about being lazy etc and they convinced themselves I was addicted to the internet/gaming. No, that's the only thing that caused me joy. Talking and playing with people that didn't know me/my life or them. All the time, I get people asking me "oh are you [my mum's name]'s daughter. And I am proud to be her daughter because she is widely known and bloody good at her job (in the police), she has rised up the ranks and deserves to be where she is. But that makes it harder for me because if I fuck off (which I've been considering), I'm gonna be made out to be a horrible, ungrateful daughter.

And I would've already fucked off to live with my partner's mum, but I can't leave my cat (it probably sounds pathetic to some of you) but she has been the only one to care about me sometimes, she's saved my life, she is my best friend and has been for the longest time. I'm not very fortunate with friends. In fact, I'd only say I have one friend, but I don't see her much bc she's busy and we aren't very local to each other. (Just a ten minute train though).

Back to my parents. Whenever they perceive something as wrong, I get the shit for it (because I'm at home more with studies). My partner is now doing 8-5:30 5 days a week job. So he's not home much, so they can't be mad at him anymore really. And my brother is always out. And my youngest brother is the golden child and gets everything (I'm not spiteful or anything because I do love him and it's not his fault. Plus he is a really sweet boy). But they always say that they're bending over backwards for me to be here with my partner. And that if this or that continues we'll have to move out. And it's just said all the time as an empty threat.

The other day, my mum saw mold on my windows and she was going to help me clean it, as I was going to dust and tidy my room anyways. So she comes to help me and she gets so mad about it she storms out. It took her about 3 days to say sorry to me. And follow that sorry with a 'but' to justify why she got so emotional and then started talking about how she's struggling with works and getting over covid. That's the kinda shit I deal with and have for years.

I was an insomniac since birth to late childhood (I wasn't after being 88lbs bc I slept a lot when I was drastically losing weight bc energy) but I was depressed since about age 8. I hated the school I was in, had a few friends but screwed me over bc apparently it was boring to have the same friend for more than 5 years. and I hated being in class. Didn't do the summer homework bc I did it with that friend and she re did the pages I wrote out, so my teacher didn't believe I did any work. So I fudged off the rest of the homework, acted more dumb than I was bc I couldn't be bothered. And I went to the medical room with a stomachache or headache all the time. I was always late, made my brother late too, because I didn't get up because I didn't want to go. And I stayed in that school for another 2 and a half years. So yeah, I think that was really the start of it all. We weren't too well off at that time and it was quite a posh school, so in plays and stuff they all expected you to provide the costumes and make the wigs and stuff, but we couldn't afford it, so I didn't participate. There's this thing in UK schools at the end of year 6, it's called different things, we called it 4G. But it's basically an outdoors trip, camping for a few days and doing these activities. But I felt bad about money if I went. And if I said I really wanted to go, she would've found the money for me to go, but I would feel guilty about it, so I said I didn't want to go. And now reflecting, I think it could've been something she'd use against me, as an example of all the things she does for us.

[mehenxe]

“ i want to be in love. ” / “ can i be a little nasty?” / “ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” / “ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” / “ terrified of my love for you?” / “ your words felt like sharp knives. ” / “ how did you become like this?” / “ say something nice or don’t speak. ” / “ really? what did you dream about?” / “ we were both afraid, shut up. ” — dealer's choice, have fun.

“ i want to be in love. ” // the grey seer ◌ her best friend.

and the depiction of love upon the laptop screen in front of them, high-definition, remastered in soundtrack, unfolds. black-and-white creases and tears, static in the picture, what could i do if i didn’t have you? where will i go? and the embrace, the hands around the shoulders, the subtle squeezing of the appendages. she watches the scene, & then watches him, enraptured, wanting it. does he even realise he has remarked this aloud to her? spoken it into existence, wished so desperately for its occurrence? “i know,” she whispers. just in case he hadn’t. just in case this is a secret he wished for the walls to swallow. “i know you do. and maybe you already are. and it just hasn’t seen you yet.” perhaps she is thinking of herself. perhaps she is thinking of a woman with dark, short hair and gloss on her lips. perhaps she is thinking about all the things she said. or hadn’t. “it’ll happen. i promise. just be patient.”

“ can i be a little nasty? ” // the french serpent ◌ his beaded shark.

the inquiry interrupts the little song and dance he has happening in front of the stove. two pans on the burners, one sizzling, one being brought up to sizzling after being coated in olive oil. it is a surprise supper, which he framed as cooking for others but, in truth, he planned to cook for the two of them. he glances over his shoulder, arching his brow. breakfast for supper: the staple of french toast, of course, and then some spins on grilled cheese, quick little soup. something sweet bakes in the oven. he meets that little smirk, and realises he must be in a good mood. ( it pleases him greatly to see him smile. ) “a — little nast-ee?” he is dressed in a matching set of black silk pyjamas and bright blue shark slippers. his apron is blush-pink, with the princess is in the castle embroidered in the corner. he shakes his hips as if dancing. “now, i am intrigued? tell me at once what is on your mind, eh? nice kisses in, ah, naughty places?”

“ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” // the god of death ◌ his god of life.

the city stretches out behind them, fog-riddled, dense, encrypted. a myriad of secrets he must discover within its recesses, all of them putrid, stinking of bile. he sits at the desk, crossed one ankle over one knee, elbow propping up his upper body and his neck, erect. his glasses do not disguise the repulsion in his gaze, and he does not bother to save face about it. a sneer, then; a bitter draught to drink from. it wasn’t anyone’s fault. then there is that pause, that label slapped on  their foreheads: not really. judgement passed, recite the sign of the cross, depart the pews. the service is ending. the funeral is over. “not really, hm. is that your defence now?” he rises. he is rolling in his own steam, the own wrath of it. but he cannot bring himself to raise his voice. it is as though there are too many parties listening. “not really. that means it was someone’s fault. and we know exactly who’s fault it was, don’t we?”

“ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” // the bejewelled dragon ◌ his skeleton beast.

“no, you’re not. you’re right here with me.” blood, dripping from the edge of the soul’s sword, and he stows it in his scabbard, the echoing veins of the throbbing hollow, deadening around them. the whole of the battle, muted. soot against their cheeks, and he swipes it off of his thin cheek and it drags, it stains further. “you’re not losing anything. okay? it’s different now.” and it remains to be seen, how much he would do, how much he could do, in order to make sure this pierced his hide and penned itself as the ultimate truth. the bones of their dragon-corpses, how they rise from the stream, water pouring from their nostrils. the errant roar of another from not too far away, the slipping and diving of their siblings. the star-magic pealing through the sky. his heart throbs as he stares at him, watches those eyes, staring, daring them almost to become as soulless as they both feel. “we’re almost done here. it’ll be over soon.”

“ terrified of my love for you? ” // the undying warlord ◌ his ridden battle.

it had been the one confession they both had silently agreed to avoid. what good would it do, for creatures of their respective natures to love? to be such beasts of the literal underworld, for love to be a price that neither of them can afford. what good would it do? and now, the bones revealing themselves, the flesh peeled away. they do not stand far from each other. there are no clothes to separate them. he feels so young, his breath stopping entirely, and how fortunate it is that he does not need it any longer to be alive. ( he is, after all, nothing worse off than dead. ) how can he hope to — what will he — “terrified? perhaps. terrified of what it means. terrified of you. what you mean. how we’re going to — how we’re going to carry on with this. because of what is happening out there, and waking up, discovering you feral in the forest —” he shakes his head. “you love me? even through this, you love me, and how?” 

“ your words felt like sharp knives. ” // the god of chaos ◌ his oceanic song.

he keeps his back to him. the carton of cigarettes, a staple on the counter, perhaps even more so than home-cooked food, and this, this was the person that he had surrendered the remnants of his piss-poor life for. this was the glitter-bomb, the madness unravelling, the toxic and terrible idea that so readily laid itself bare across his lap. getting high together, and regaining feeling in their senses through slotting their hips and moaning into each other’s mouths, this had become his life. he is a sharp knife. left out where he can be touched, he slices, that is the end of it. this is what his lover knew, when he signed up to continue to be with him. when he ignored all of the warning signs, the red flags, the advice from others. the better choices. “the hell you want me to say? i already said sorry. i even meant it.” everything he says, awful, crooked, it has no general direction. as chaotic as he is. “you want me on my knees, princess?”

“ how did you become like this? ” // the final heir ◌ his grey seer.

frothing, flames licking at his arms, he embodied the arson, the tragedy. he could not escape it. he wept tears and all of them tasted like the grief he refused to acknowledge. himself, thorough in how embittered he had become against those he once called friends. and how difficult it made things, in attempting to connect with people of a different time. now, their conversation, hushed and secretive. all could see him, and yet it is as though he cannot exist freely. “i already told y’all the story of what went on. we’re tryna find out the truth of it, yeah? but — i guess that ain’t what you mean.” and he isn’t sure what else there is. what else he has been created from except for his wounds. how the witch managed to sew him together will remain a mystery for as long as he remains a tethered soul. “i became like this ‘cause — i dunno. nobody was around to make me become somethin’ different. that’s all i got, really.”

“ say something nice or don’t speak. ” // the fallen jedi ◌ his lilac princess.

“don’t speak? perish the thought.” he is cross again. look at him, with that pucker across his forehead and the crease in his brow. he’s become offended by something that was said, and to think, he hadn’t the slightest idea what had done it. leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and he pushes away from that surface to approach him. his boots softening each of his steps, and those, slower and deliberate. approaching, stalking perhaps. because he finds him to be stupidly interesting, and he himself is the worst idea, the worst decision that could be made for a princess of this calibre. still, the two of them, refraining from ever touching, and yet, continuing their orbit, their delicious desires licking at their insides. he would like to lick him. down that slim column of a throat. perhaps he should say that. perhaps that would be nice. “we can’t have it both ways. either you want me to speak my mind, or not.”

“ really? what did you dream about? ” // the ripest peach ◌ her stable mountain.

she had not dreamt in quite some time, and therefore, it frightened her. what does it mean, these successions of images, these pictures in frames? of children that she had known, and ones she did not remember, what significance could this have? she presses her back into his chest, his shoulders broad, his arms large; all of him, larger than life, than the world, strong and impermeable as rock, and she melts against it. her nakedness safe with him, her medical scars, her lack of fertility. her darkest secrets, which she has so long tucked beneath her tongue. and he brushes back her hair from her ears, as if coaxing the churning words from her mind. “i had a dream that — that we were all in paradise together. that the creatures had gone. that our family hadn’t separated. i had a dream that none of us had to die in order to find it. there were so many children there. running in the fields amok. all of them — ours.”

“ we were both afraid, shut up. ” // the underground racer ◌ his forsaken son.

“... y-yeah! we were both afraid, sure! or maybe we weren’t!” his lover, climbing over the middle console, grinding his hips down upon his own hips, and he bites back a moan. they’re going to forget about the fear; it doesn’t matter if it’s confessed to the walls of this car. the engine, how it purrs as it stalls, until he turns it off, and then, only their mingling breaths. the sound of a zipper, that hand, it finds him — “oh.” a gasp. “yeah — oh, jesus —” their clothes, sliding down enough to reach each other, to be bare where it matters, where they’re most needed. he clings to those hips, slides that tunic up his lover’s chest, bites down on the skin there. “you shut up.” halfway to teasing. he feels every part of him now, his irises so brown, mundane, attentive. “make me shut up.” he does. hips in tight circles, reducing him to whimpers, his own rocking, frantic, and passioned. “y-you shut up, i — oh, god, i love you — you’re so good, baby —”