#gratitude or terror. throws up and dies

[heavensickness]

the scene of all fucking time

[charliedawn]

Hi Charlie, your stories are good and I wanted to ask you without bothering you what would happen if the reader who took care of the slashers would take care of the children of the Laika studio Coraline, Norman, Eggs, Kubo and Prue (it would be nice to see the reaction of Kevin or Brahms)

(Thank you for the idea ! I had to change a few things, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it !)

Agatha Prenderghast and the Penny Brothers:

It was not long after Penny was born. The witches trials were still common and a lot of people suffered from the unfairness of the world controlled by fear. Many people died, but the Penny Brothers didn’t care about any of them. They could eat their fill while enjoying the show with malicious satisfaction…until one day.

"AGATHA PRENDERGHAST ! YOU HAVE BEEN ACCUSED OF WITCHCRAFT AND HAVE BEEN THEREBY SENTENCED TO DEATH BY HANGING !"

Both the Penny Brothers looked up at the gallows—grinning at the familiar scent of fear and impeding death. But then…they saw a small child advance forth. Her eyes were filled with tears and she was shaking as the people of the town pushed her forward with nothing but loathing and contempt in their eyes as a cord was bound around her neck. She looked up at the dark sky above and started praying.

"…Please, god. I do not want to die." Her prayer echoed across the merciless assembly who started throwing rotten vegetables and eggs at her. But, she stood straight with her eyes fixed towards the sky. If she was to die, she found consolation about soon being with her mother. However, both Penny Brothers could feel that the child was different—special. They could sense the power emanating from her in waves.

Such a powerful child was sure to be a feast for them both once ripe…They looked at each other and grinned in silent understanding. They agreed. That child was to live. Aggie closed her eyes just as she was about to be hung…But reopened them almost immediately as she heard loud screams and desperate pleading and prayers unanswered as the townspeople were devoured by two horrifying monsters who ripped them to shreds in a matter of seconds. They tear through flesh like mere butter and drank their blood as if it was of the most exquisite wine—their eyes gleaming ominously in the darkness.

…And then, there was nothing but dead silence.

Agatha saw the two…beasts…approach her. They stood in front of her and Agatha’s breath hitched. Was it her turn ? She closed her eyes and prayed for a quick and painless death.

But…

She was shocked when one of the monsters cut the cord that held her in place and she fell onto her knees before them. She looked up at them and her lips trembled as she uttered a pitiful thank you. But both clowns only laughed mockingly at her misplaced expression of gratitude. Her eyes widened at their hellish laughters and she fell back—terror gripping her heart. She could now see that it wasn’t their mercy who had saved her…

"W-Who are you ?" She finally asked—terrified.

They both offered her a bloody smile who spoke for themselves of dark and terrible intentions.

"We have many names, Aggie. But you—child—will call us…god."

Eggs and Winnie/Bo and Freddy:

Freddy and Bo didn’t know how they had ended up in this weird town on top of a mountain, but they had nonetheless suddenly found themselves falling from the sky straight into piles of garbage. Bo was impaled by two old and rusty poles while Freddy landed on a pile of nailed wooden boxes. Both got stuck.

Freddy: "Get me outta those damn boxes, bitch !"

Bo *groans in annoyance* : "I’ve got a stick up my shoulder and another shoved up my ass—wait a damn second."

Freddy: "Hurry the fuck up and come help me then, you dumbass !"

Bo: "I said hold the fuck up, or I’m leavin’ ya here !"

They started bickering loudly and Eggs as well as his friend Winnie found them.

Winnie: "Who are those two ?"

Eggs: "Hum…I don’t know."

Winnie: "Isn’t that one a boxtroll ?"

Eggs: "Which one ?"

Winnie: "The short, red and angry-looking one ?"

Eggs *shakes his head negatively*: "Nuh-huh. Boxtrolls don’t swear that much."

Winnie *hesitates* : "…Should we help them ?"

Eggs *looks at the two men* : "I…am not sure."

Finally, they heard people coming and had no choice but to help the two men to get out of the garbage. Then the both of them who followed the kids—pursued by an angry mob who started throwing stones at them. But then, an infernal machine came out of nowhere with a man riding it—Snatcher as the kids called him. Snatcher started laughing before capturing the box trolls and the two kids who had helped Freddy and Bo.

Bo: "A’right ! Enough of this shit ! Release the kids, or am gonna pierce ya with so many holes that they gonna call ya swiss cheese, ugly !"

Snatcher *laughs harder* : "Try it ! I dare you !"

Bo—who had had enough of all this and couldn’t stand the guy—grabbed his rifle and started shooting at him while Freddy used his sharp blades to free the box trolls and the kids who had helped them.

Freddy *grabs the kids and runs away with the boxtrolls* : "I HATE THIS FUCKIN’ TOWN !"

Jason and Brahms/Kubo:

Both Jason and Brahms appeared during Kubo’s long journey to find a way to stop the Moon King. They followed him and helped him as well as protected him along his long and perilous journey with Kubo’s parents in exchange for something that both Jason and Brahms loved most—stories.

In the middle of the battle of Kubo with his grandfather the Moon King and his aunts, they saw the boy fighting and had no choice but to help him. They didn’t have the time to think too much about what to do. They saw the kid facing monsters and Brahms acted first. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to Kubo and immediately thought *new friend* and *must protect*. He grabbed the boy and ran away with him. The aunts of Kubo tried to follow them, but Jason took the two of them by the legs and threw them to the ground and before either of them could protest or fight back, he brought down his machete mercilessly on them until they were but two piles of mush on the ground.

Kubo who had witnessed the massacre gulped and didn’t know if he should thank the giant or be terrified of him. Surely both.

Finally, the Moon King arrived and Kubo managed to defeat him. At the end, he thanked Brahms and Jason before the village threw a feast in their honour. Kubo then started telling a story…about two giants who helped the hero defeat the Moon King and bring back peace throughout the land.

Michael Myers and Coraline:

Coraline was walking around the Other House in search of the ghost children’s eyes when she found something that didn’t seem to belong…a pair of legs sticking out of a bush. She didn’t know what it was and thought it was a scarecrow at first. She decided to get it upright and was surprised to find that it was a man. A large, tall and very strong man.

They both seemed as surprised as each other as to this rather odd encounter and Coraline narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

"Who are you ? Are you one of the Other Mother’s goons ?"

Michael didn’t answer and only tilted his head questioningly at her.

"…Are you a mute ?" Coraline asked and Michael nodded. She sighed before looking around the garden with a triangular green stone in her hand to keep searching for the ghost children’s eyes. Michael—who had nothing better to do—followed her. They started looking around together and Michael decided to protect Coraline as murderous plants and other crazy creatures tried to kill her.

And when they had collected the ghost children’s eyes, Michael saw the Other Mother about to attack Coraline and didn’t think twice before grabbing her and tearing her limb from limb—literally. He started pulling apart her arms and numerous legs as if she was nothing but a weak spider. He was covered with dark blood while the Other Mother was screaming, screeching and wailing in agonising pain in her own spiderweb…When he was finished, he started climbing up the spiderweb—but the Other Mother managed to bite his leg as he was climbing up. He groaned in pain before the Other Mother pulled him back down. He then proceeded to tear the Other Mother’s head off and crush it.

When he looked up, he expected the girl to have already left and closed the door behind her…but his eyes widened as he saw Coraline waiting for him. She held out a hand towards him and smiled.

"Come on. Let’s get out of here."

He grabbed her hand and they proceeded to get out of the Other World together. (Even though Michael had trouble going through the small door…)

[artsycervidae]

Moksha: Chapter 22

Summary: After a night of terrorizing the district, both sides withdraw to tend to their injured.

Word Count: 5.7 k

Double check with the chapter and trigger list!

     Gyutaro felt something creeping between his brain and his skull. His body dropped into the house like a rock into a pond, and the impact struck him immobile. This had never happened before. He raised himself up, realizing falteringly that the stabs of pain were debris being pushed out of him, flesh mending itself, which was good at least. He was out of his own body, but it was still working with no more harm done than a near-decapitation. The intruding sensation was far more unnerving. All his thought processes-- a possible ambush, a poisonous injection, a new hypothesis-- were wiped clean, leaving behind a fresh, stark amnesia. Affixing his head took all the willpower he could muster, his hands and thoughts struggled to comprehend the task. 'What the hell. What the hell?!' Gyutaro floundered for understanding, but all that came was the onslaught of stimulation: the dark was too rich, the floorboards too old, the stench of mildew and disease too prevalent. The sharp and burning agony of his physical form ached deeper than his core. It was so familiar but foreign. He had known pain like this once.

     He wanted to reach into his cranium and scratch right through, to reach for something that kept evading him. But he just sat there, shocked still and too sore to do anything about it.

     Hinata's landing was equally rough-- their left knee crunched softly under their weight, and they gasped, grimacing with relief. Concentration broken, the starving pains made their presence known amd made Hinata retch, seizing them by the stomach. Nothing regurgitated, which was good news. How embarrassing would it be to throw up right in front of a Kizuki? But the bad news... they flexed their left leg, then observed the blood seeping through their left side. 'Huh.' The obi flashed in their mind. They were letting too much slide. They were still too eager--

     They were lucky Recovery Breathing could stop the bleeding. Their situation was already unfavorable. How much damage could this body take before it gave out altogether? Would they last another two days, or would Gyutaro discard their pact? They didn't mind knowing he would gouge them for all they had. Surely he knew they had the same intentions for him. Either way, they both would benefit if Nobu died first. Once Nobu was dead, Hinata would devote their mind and body toward the final step. And if they lost anyway, Gyutaro could have whatever was left of Hinata as payment-- a gesture of their selfish gratitude.

     "Hey, did you survive?" They called out, playfully sheepish, adjusting the kimono on their shoulders. They scanned the demolished hallway and its rooms, seeking their fellow murderer. "It'll seem insincere if I apologize, so I won't. But I'll admit that was a dirty trick, taking advantage of the fog. You ate during our fight though, so maybe we can call it even."

     There he was! Oh, the way Hinata's ethereal kubijakiri swept his head back onto his shoulders, tilting his neck this way and that-- testing his connections, surely. A little worse for wear, but he was as lovely and whole as ever. And though they adored the way he shrugged and tested his regenerated tendons, he seemed... different...

     Gyutaro's fingers flexed. He breathed consciously. The involuntary fear was subsiding but the brain-crawler left him dazed. Time was moving slow enough that he could see everything: the soft puffs of dirt as the house resettled, the feather-like drop of splinters... and through the heat and haze, the waning swordsman parted their lips in open admiration, tongue tapping at the tip of a canine, running along their front teeth in consideration.

     "Don't trick me," Hinata teased. "Demons don't get concussions. I know it wasn't the fairest test, but you passed beautifully. I suspected you would." Gyutaro's glassy eyes turned up to them, irradiated lanterns burning holes into them. They paused and asked "... Who are you?" with their voice small but intrigued.

     Because the person looking at Hinata through Gyutaro's eyes was not the Upper Six Kizuki that they knew. They couldn't help the chills that ran up and down their spine, looking into a familiar face and seeing a stranger looking back.

     Then it was gone. Gyutaro felt the world fall into place, time caught up, and colors desaturated. The pain disappeared with a snap. He would have gasped if it weren't for Hinata standing there, looking as if they'd seen someone get their head cut off and stand back up. "What?!" He shouted, for lack of anything else to say.

     Hinata's skin jumped at the outburst. "Are you okay?"

     The question grated Gyutaro. "Do you have time to worry about that now?" he asked, his fury palpable, his fascination steady. "You seem to have bigger problems. And I'm not just talking about me."

     "Oh," they looked to the red stains in their clothing. "This?" An interesting point... there were too many coincidences lined up. "I'll live for now. Besides," they tilted their head to him in consideration, "You know you're my biggest priority at the moment." Gyutaro's jab had arrogance and energy, but the toothy smile was absent. He wasn't even scowling with that much vigor, more distracted than angry, ruining the whole tormenting situation. Hinata would rather Gyutaro tear them into pieces than lose interest in them. "But if you insist--"

     They rushed him, the net writhing and puffing with impatience. The demon recovered and met the nichirin katana head-on with his kama-- a trading of blows, net barbs slashing easy-access routes for his counterattack blood sickles, some of which carved shallow divots into Hinata's skin now and again, whipping through their flowing clothes with steadier accuracy. The human was getting slower; they were tired. Without the benefit of eating flesh for power, they focused instead on the rhythm of their heart, applauding and cheering for blood to be shed. Pain, their constant companion, kept their mind sharp with mouthwatering anticipation.

     Meanwhile, Daki was running for her life. Her muscles had begun to slough off, and her feet left bloodprints as a smoking trail. The tracks sizzled into ash, but not before leading the Mist Breather right to her. She could sense him somewhere behind her-- stalking.

     'It'll be okay! Gyutaro is right over there! He's okay! Get to him!' But no matter what turn she took, she felt the fibers of her muscles atrophying quicker than she could regrow them. Her eyes wept down her cheeks literally, so her obi grazed over the world around her to keep her path clear. She heard the hissing through teeth as the boy suddenly swung in, swift and savage. Reflexively, her obi limbs took to the air and she pumped her legs, running on air in the direction she came-- or, was it that way? The fabric tentacles clambered over roofs and balconies and her sandals went clack! as she found footing. Was she going the right way? She got turned around somehow.

     The young Slayer was upon her immediately: she heard his flowing uniform behind her and her Blood Demon Art reared itself like a shield, too late. He was already in formation. "Foliage Breathing, Fourth Form: Lotus Rot."

     Tetsuya could feel everything, and no longer was his brain stuck or floating surreally above the clouds. This sensation could be directed anywhere in his domain, and he guided his attention to the creature before him. He molded the petals of a lotus flower around her, the strokes of his sword slicing the obi strands away from its vulnerable core. Even from so far away, he could feel the squelching and tremoring of her organs caught in an endless torment of death. His sword pinned the most vital ones as easily as seeing through her skin: Heart. Lungs. Liver. Kidneys. Each puncture left a massive hole in her body, though these were merely to weaken the demon. Before he could deliver the killing strike-- a piercing plunge into her throat, a swift twist of the blade, a vicious swipe into the brain-- she emitted a high pitched squeal.

     In a series of slices, in a matter of seconds, Daki had been utterly destroyed... she knew it too, and couldn't help but burst into tears. She was furious, devastated, hideous. She had been so close to arriving at the nick of time, to saving her brother and sweeping into the spotlight, gorgeous and incredible, awing the sibling whom she had hurt. A future of praise, respect, and forgiveness, stolen! After all this struggle, this was how she was going to be treated by this-- this-- this gremlin! This horrible little brat! He was the worst, the absolute worst! She despised him!

     The obi burst from her back in a torrent, ten fabric limbs whipping at the boy; at the last minute he abandoned his assault and guarded against them, but one of them made it past his sword and slit through his uniform. It constricted around him-- and though she could have snapped him into pieces or plucked his body apart like pulling petals off a flower-- she hurled him away as hard as she could in a tantrum.

     "Go away! I hate you! Just die! Die die die die diediediediedie!" She poured all her hate into her words, all her energy into her attacks. But the boy had vanished into the mist. She turned on her heel and ran blindly, stumbling into walls and hoping she would find some sanctuary to heal, or better yet, her brother.

     Tetsuya knew the value of discipline. He took advantage of the demoness's decision to disengage, backtracking to assist the final remaining hostage-- he had finally cut the fabric free of her during the Fourth Form. She must not have noticed. As the pink cloth fluttered to the ground, a solid object had fallen from it like fruit from a tree. The unconscious young man lay in the open, tangled in the disintegrating silk, seemingly unharmed. Tetsuya dragged that body to the side of the road and propped him against a building. It brought a faint sense of pride, but it was short-lived when he took for the demon's trail. The bloodied footprints had already dissipated, all biological evidence of her existence fading. This did not discourage him, though-- the tendrils of his mind traced the wind and vibrations of the buildings around him, walking slowly and steadily through the dark. She would turn up eventually... he only needed to catch up.

     Daki blindly broke through a door, preparing for a shout or holler to announce her arrival. But no shout came, and so there was nobody to kill and feed on. The injured girl moved through the room and found a corner to sink into. She couldn't stop wheezing, no matter how she breathed and groaned. A blubbery sob stifled itself in her chest as she sniffled.

     She wanted to go home. She wanted to be cured, cleaned, and tucked into her bed safely. She wanted Kazuko there, combing her hair and showering her in compliments until Daki learned how to sleep.

     She wanted her brother.

     Weeping, the demon girl gasped the air like a fish and allowed herself this one respite. Only one of her lungs was operable, but she drew breath into it regardless before plunging her mind back into Gyutaro's mind.

     His fully-attached head was stooped mere centimeters over his prey, holding the ghost back, but the Slayer had him restrained likewise. The twin kama sandwiched the katana blade, the nightmarish net tangled the scythes clinging to her brother's hands viciously. The human jerked with their arms and kicked with their legs, but her brother was vicious at every opening as he stomped and yanked with bone-breaking force. With a particularly brutal heave, he had swung the human up into the air before slamming them into the ground, but the human pulled him along-- bouncing off the floor, bringing the demon down with them into a grapple. Gyutaro snarled--or laughed-- as their combined weight snapped his femur in two, throwing off their weight and neutralizing the Slayer's advantage.

     Like a grotesque bug with three heads, they fought to get back up. Even when he blasted them with the half-circles that liquefied from his shredded flesh, they rudely swung him into his own attacks, and the broken-sword gauntlet would jerk out from the fray (luxuriating in the freedom, limited as it was) to crush stray projectiles. He moved, they moved-- the tug-of-war remained taut.

     The mere suggestion of her brother being in a stalemate made her feel sick. She forcibly reminded herself that this was no specter from hell-- demons were the only things to be feared here. 'Kill them!' she thought, cheering him on like he had for her once. 'Get them, big brother!'

"Da--?!" Gyutaro felt it again-- that invader creeping through his brainstem. Only this time, he recognized its accompanying 'voice.' Gyutaro never experienced telepathy in his own body, within his own skull. Was this how it felt for him to peer out from Daki's eyes? He hated it-- hated the possibility that she could push her way into his personal life at such an awkward, inconvenient time.

What made the situation all the more harrowing was how Hinata perked with curiosity, their quartz eyes alight. "What is it?" They wondered, and their tone wasn't what he expected. They pulled on the knot between them, and lowered their voice conspiratorially. "... Does he know? Are you safe, or are you cornered like me?" Gyutaro ground his teeth hard enough they cracked, nearly crumbling like his battle tactics-- and though he had grit his jaw countless times before, this time was different.

     It hurt. He had never hurt so exquisitely, to the point his bones encumbered him and lights blinded him-- it was all Daki! With a growl, Gyutaro shook Hinata like a wild dog would shake its victim, so brutally that it broke both his arms. It wasn't hard to do: the Slayer refused to release him, so all it took was twisting his elbows the wrong way, the bone puncturing through skin and allowing him to bleed freely. He jolted back and out of the grapple with a harsh gasp, fresh limbs bursting forth in a hurry, his blood rushing and solidifying in his hands. "Get lost!" With Hinata's anchor freed, he cast them off with a wave of flying blood sickles. Slayer and all, it crashed through the house and out of sight. Hinata reeled from the power that Gyutaro displayed-- in that brief moment of panic, lacerations etched into their arms as the speeding slices careened and collided. There was enough power in them that they rebounded off the last few structures of the house. The roof collapsed. Gyutaro was pummeled with debris. Hinata scrambled and took cover between support pillars-- avoiding death for the second time in a matter of seconds.

     What are you doing here?! In Daki's mind, these unspoken words were a familiar tone of voice if in a different quality of derision. She hadn't expected him to be grateful, but Gyutaro's apparent annoyance was like salt! She wanted to insist her aid, to find him and turn the tides like she had always planned... but the dam broke, and all she could do was plead. Big brother, help, she cried. Help me. My healing stopped, I don't know what to do! That boy is here somewhere, and he won't leave me alone!

     Even now she knew, that horrible kid was lurking and looking. Hunting her down, like the deplorable brat he was!

     Gyutaro didn't bother asking where she was-- she had obviously followed him, which they would discuss later. He needed to find her, first and foremost. And now that he knew they could interact from remote places...

     He planted his nails at his temple, then tore half his own cheek off. It smarted, but got the job done: it calmed him enough that he could discern the boundary between her suffering and his. He felt back down the invisible tether that tied him to his sister, the ruins around him blurring. Daki tried to focus at the same time but when he pushed back, it was was like having a heavy burden taken from her hands. She dropped into her own body, limbs going soft as the dark room closed in on her with sudden detail: not with vision, but with smell, taste, touch, and sound. Gyutaro could smell rice, alcohol, and dust. She sniffed and snorted out blood, hardly gathering the energy to wipe at her skinless face with the back of her hand.

     Stay where you are, I'm coming. Gyutaro knew exactly where she was-- he had passed that particular storeroom in the earlier chase. She wasn't far. With no time to waste, he left Hinata to whatever fate had in store for them, plunging out of the devastated business and into the road.

     Hinata's head ached-- like a pressure was building up behind their nose and between their eyes, or a pin being forced through their cranium. The scene replayed in their mind: Gyutaro's eyes had shifted, and Hinata recognized the new dance partner again. The same steps, the same performance, but a new inspiration. And when he called out to this influence...

     Jealousy seared their mind, recalling how immediate the change was. Hinata had been seeking Gyutaro's weaknesses, the bruises to press on and make him work harder than he already was. They had rather hoped they could get under his skin, but it seemed something-- or someone-- beat them to it. Someone who, once introduced, made Gyutaro significantly more of a threat.

     This was someone he wouldn't hesitate to burn the world down for.

     It was ironic, and utterly unfair, that a demon like Gyutaro had someone who loved him dearly, while Hinata had nothing and nobody. But if Gyutaro had someone like that... it meant he was vulnerable. There was a chance to put him in danger. Which meant they had to find this 'Da' before Nobutoshi could, and determine if Muzan knew about this weakness. Their teeth clacked together with silent envy and intrigue. Then they burst from the rubble, shrugging off the infrastructure and pain before sprinting after their target. They wouldn't stop him-- they knew better than to corner something deadly, but they also couldn't allow the demon to keep all his secrets to himself.

     Gyutaro felt something hot on his trail. He could hear them cut through the air like a thrown knife and halted in place to turn on them-- but it wasn't Hinata. He had taken advantage of the fog to predict the tiny Slayer's arrival.

     Hinata watched in horror when a certain disobedient soldier flew into the demon's path and struck a perfect Heat Refraction Form, his sheath in his other hand to serve as his second weapon. Gyutaro's kama snapped out at the oncoming Tetsuya-- but the boy shimmered like an optical illusion. The reach of his sword carved a perfect arc, the brutality of its touch burning anything in reach. The thought 'How in the hell--?' was cut off by 'He's going to rupture something!' Hinata knew Tetsuya had eaten too much today. His body wasn't trained for Flame Breathing. He had only a rudimentary understanding of Foliage Breathing. Couldn't he recognize the danger inside him, if not before him?

     Gyutaro felt the sword slash into his shoulder at an angle before it caught. Naturally. The kid wasn't strong enough to behead the likes of him. His kama rose. A single directive took hold of Hinata, and they recognized the feeling. Like sand shifting out from under their weight. Their control slipped; their hypnotic directive frizzled their perspective like burning hair.

     They drew in an unconscious breath, like one about to be plunged underwater. Then, their mind cut to a discordant flood of sheer feelings: The bite of icicle teeth. Watching the sun rise with Kosuke. Being pulled along by Kenzou. Kai and Shiori glancing to them uncertainly. Kabuto laughing roarously. Nobutoshi holding them as they returned to him from death. Junko's everpresent company at their left side. At least the darkness was preceded by anyone Hinata'd ever had the audacity to love: and then there was only the beat of their heart in time with Tetsuya's. 

     If it was a matter of going toe-to-toe against the child alone, the fight would have been settled long ago with Gyutaro having pierced the Slayer's underchin. But before the demon landed his strike, the boy's shadow separated itself from him-- it was Hinata, materializing from nowhere as an unspoken danger, though this deterred Gyutaro no less.

     Hinata grabbed him midmotion, seizing his elbow with that grotesquely barbed hand and digging its nichirin claws into his joint. Gyutaro snarled in their strangely placid face; their eyes were nearly entirely white, as if rolled back in their sockets, but he could still see the pinprick of a pupil staring back out at him. This bought Tetsuya the time to dislodge his sword and strike again. Gyutaro ripped himself from the grip, degloving himself down his wrist to catch the knife-sword with his bony, bleeding forearm. Before Tetsuya's blade could get stuck this time, Hinata threw their form against his, body-checking him out of harm's way. Their net pulverized Gyutaro's blood whorls before the attack could gain traction. The kid didn't even fall over. He wobbled, turning with his makeshift shield into the path of oncoming blood sickles, and struck at the demon again. Like a choreographed plan, the Slayers came at Gyutaro with rotary blades: they parried and he hit and they blocked. Gyutaro defended again and again and again. His scythes obliterated the kid's forms and threw off his weight, but every misstep was covered by Hinata, the traitorous asshole. Each blow sent throttles up Gyutaro's shoulders until he was the one advancing, chest heaving with anger.

     He fought back hard, ignoring everything else that stood between him and his sister. The tingle of pain, the noise, the fear-- all of it was secondary. His arms were a flurry as he swung and pushed his blood scythes out, forcing them to shred through layers of muscle and pre-flayed dermis; he regenerated over the self-mutilation, then tore through it all over again. Demon Blood Art: Rampant Arc Rampage protected him, spewing woven semi-circles as he charged the oncoming attacks. But in that push for ground, Hinata's sword dropped from their hand.

     Before Tetsuya could be obliterated by an unstoppable hell bullet, Hinata twisted and snatched the younger Slayer by his uniform, seizing him to their chest in possessive protection. They fled from Gyutaro's bloodsoaked path.

     Tetsuya couldn't tell what had happened: one moment, he was connected to everything and everyone, all five senses submerged in the wild kinetic overlap of motion and blood. But it was all lost to him now: Hinata's katana had been struck airborne in the fray, where it spun out of control. Only now did it land, piercing the ground with a high note. This reached his ears-- Tetsuya was ripped from his fugue state, coming back to his body to find it in someone's hold. "Let me go!" He hollered, struggling against the person pinning him to their side.

     Gyutaro only stole one look back: the boy thrashing his limbs from under an arm, Hinata staring onward. Or at least... it was Hinata's body. The lights were on, but whether Hinata was home or not was debatable, and he didn't have time for debates. He left them in his dust. He felt around in his head for that intangible connection again and found his sister there.

     Daki's head swam, focus cutting in and out between the aching of her stomach, teeth, brain, and skin. She was still weeping cloudy liquid from her deformed eye holes, but she felt him coming and crawled out from her hidey hole. Gyutaro found the broken door. The sight within was enough to make his blood boil-- he regretted not killing the boy the first chance he had... he even regretted that Hinata survived to protect the punk. His poison-skinned sibling was on all fours, the bloodied handprints ashing off the floor. When her protector appeared in the doorway, she couldn't help the pathetic whine that slipped out of her, "Big brother," as she raised her hands to him, pleading him to make it all go away.

     "Hey," he was quick to squat next to her, slouching to such a severe degree that his scapula jutted out. Daki threw her arms over his shoulders and clung. He held her in return and his palm moved in small, careful circles on her tender back, the rotten layers of his heart peeling away at the soft sound of her crying. He hadn't seen her this upset in a while. "Oh, sweet Daki. It'll be okay. Look at you-- you've gotten yourself into some mess, huh? Dummy, you went running around in the mist," he cooed, babying her. She could only swallow, hiccup, and nod her head. "Don't worry. I'm with you. You don't have to work so hard anymore. Here, let me."

     He pulled away and cupped both sides of her face. Daki sniffled as her nasal canals were remade. Her makeup was a mess-- half-melted across her skin, though the newly grown patches were clean. Gyutaro used his thumbs and her tears to smudge away the worst of the mess, tilting her face and examining, confirming he did a proper healing job. It was then he realized how minimal the damage had really been-- she only looked worse than she was left off. The righteous fury softened to exasperated relief. Daki had simply played with her food too hard. Still, that boy made his sister cry... that wasn't something he could let slide. "There you go. That wasn't so hard, was it? You scaredy-cat. We'll get you back home, I've got it all taken care of. But you have to be strong, okay? You'll need to run the rest of the way, or the Slayers will notice me." He couldn't take risks with Hinata's ability to track him-- and if they still found Daki, he could ambush them if they got close.

     "I'm scared," she whimpered as her fresh green eyes misted, testing the new tear ducts.

     "Don't be. They're only alive because I want them to be, for now. I'll tell you later." He had said it with such confidence that his sister swallowed and nodded fervently, her hands dropping back into her still-regenerating lap. She didn't question or argue.

     "Are you ready?"

     "I'm ready."

     He scooped her up, ferrying her to the door before he swung her legs-- fresh and whole-- to the ground. Run! Let's go. He pushed her, hands on her shoulders as he briefly piggybacked the momentum and merged into her trapezius muscles.

     Daki did as she was told-- she bundled her destroyed costume to her body and fled. Gyutaro took his rightful place behind her eyes, a passive passenger guiding her speed and regeneration. She took to the rooftops before he could dissuade her otherwise, but she surprised him by moving faster. She catapulted herself over the more populated streets silently. Her multiple obi limbs swam through air, propelling her far from the devastation they had caused. The Slayers still did not follow them.

     On the other side of the district, life carried on as usual, perfectly undisrupted by the chaos elsewhere. The dissonance wasn't new to Gyutaro, but Daki kept glancing around as if they were children sneaking back home, and she couldn't believe they were getting away with it. She slipped into her quiet, dark room. It had been tidied, and what a relief it was to return home to a clean living space. She incredulously closed the window, and the confidence came easier to her from the safety of their lair. She caught her breath, then laughed and tossed her hair. "Those Slayers sure are pathetic," she declared. "They relied so much on all that perfume to try and trap us. We showed them."

     As if she hadn't been the one beaten down. Rather than indulge her good mood, Gyutaro burst her bubble.

     I told you to stay home.

     She could not believe what she was hearing! Gyutaro went on, What is this get-up? Aren't these work clothes? I don't recognize them.

     It's a disguise, Daki argued stupidly, trying to wrap her head around the criticism. I came because--

     A disguise? Why? Were you seen?!

     Not really, she lied. She waited for him to call her on it. He didn't. Gyutaro's silence scared her; being an older sibling seemed to give him the uncanny ability to sense her bullshit in particular.

     What about the Slayer? he interrogated. The one whose mist hurt you so bad.

     She repressed the memory of the cloth-swaddled boy and his attention to detail, who made off with her other eye witnesses. No! she seethed, Neither of them saw me! And if they did, how would they recognize me? These aren't my clothes, and if you hadn't noticed, my skin was falling off. Gyutaro, who had regrown that skin for her, seemed more irate with her being right than having caused him trouble, which only added fuel to her fire. Besides, I saved you.

     I wasn't beheaded, Gyutaro muttered. As if my neck could be cut.

     I stopped them, she preened, Did you see? My obi reached further than before, and that's not all I can do--

      Right, Gyutaro cut her off, suddenly reminded of another grievance, you interrupted my fight.

     Not on purpose! I was testing my new power.

     Our power.

     No, she asserted, my power. I was seeing and feeling through your eyes, brother.

     I've been doing that for years now. How do you think I found you before the Slayers could? he asked patronizingly, but then laughed when she couldn't say anything in return. I guess now we don't have to be in the same body to talk, or even transmit information. This is useful to know.

     That's not fair! Her fist punched the floor, her belated petulance shining through. You're already so much stronger than me! Why do you get to see what I see too?

     Well, Gyutaro added begrudgingly, I just didn't know it was an option when we were apart.

     She appreciated the crumbful of humility. That's not all, she announced, reaching for the obi and smoothing out its pattern to seek out the splash of cooler, earthy tones. But there were only the geometric patterns, the floral decals... "No... no!"

     Stop shouting, her brother scolded. Calm down. Tell me what you're so upset about now.

     "I'm sorry, big brother," she wailed, lamenting her own awful luck. Her arms fell back to her sides limply. "I wanted to show you-- that stupid kid ruined everything! I worked so hard to impress you, after finding out I can preserve humans in my obi!"

     Preserve?

     Daki nodded, her lower lip warbling. I caught so many humans for us. I was going to surprise you with a feast... as an apology.

      It surprised him. Not that his little sister was kind or considerate-- he knew that she was too good to help it. Just that... she felt the need to apologize and make amends. She must have known he would forgive her anyway. He would always be angry, but he loved her too much to count it as a debt.

      Well, he conceded, warming up as he spoke on, that's a neat trick. In fact... this tips things in our favor. Good job, Daki! He may as well have sprouted from her back and pat her on the head.

     She hiccuped. Really? And when he hummed his affirmation, she positively glowed. Should we go back out? I can still catch us all the humans we need.

     No, and before she could take offense, it occurred to her that she didn't feel up to it either. They were both exhausted, stamina drained from an unexpected night out. Lie low. They'll keep looking for us all night and wear themselves out. And we caused enough havoc that the other humans will be looking for suspicious people. They'll either get themselves caught or wear themselves out... don't do anything outrageous until I'm back. I have a lot to think over.

     Hinata had described the plan as a siege-- but Daki had swiftly presented Gyutaro with an easy, effective solution. As stupid as she was, Daki had her ways of surprising him still. He couldn't wait for the Slayer to find out all their hard work had been for nothing: that he and his sister held all the cards in the game they played, and that it took no effort at all. I told you that your powers would get better, Daki... you keep this up, and you'll be as strong as me, I bet. She grinned. The sweetness of a well-earned victory couldn't compare to his sincere praise. He repeated himself, Good job... but next time I tell you to hang back--

     I will, she greedily accepted.

     And go back to work, he said, utterly ruining her moment. You need an alibi, if you're going to insist on playing with your food.

     Fine. She folded her arms.

     And with a murmur, Gyutaro slunk into the darkness. Daki, thoroughly satisfied, turned to her mirror and cleaned her face. Tsubakihime was believed to be ill and resting, therefore it made sense that she be well within her right to lock the world out and sleep in, as their most prized jewel ought. She was content-- not full, not powerful, but feeling hardier. Satisfied. With the sun coming up soon, she determined to do better-- to make Gyutaro's approval a regular occurrence.

     This brought forth the issue of clothes, ruined by body fluids and wisteria moisture. Typically, Daki left this work to the old woman, but surely she would recognize Kazuko's things and make a fuss over it. Perhaps she ought to ask her brother about his process; she wasn't sure if he made a fire, dug a hole, or simply found a river to throw leftover belongings into... and the work sounded stupid and exhausting. She would rather make the old biddy take care of it, like she had with Sayako's belongings. Daki had handled the woman's stubbornness soundly, hadn't she? Until then, she needed to make sure Kazuko never found out--

     As she was shedding the destroyed articles, she found a stray sheet of paper hidden in the kimono. Already, Daki had forgotten its importance-- it was Kazuko's letter, but it had been nasty and not very interesting. Now, it was barely legible, drenched then dried in demon blood, holes punched into it where the Slayer's sword cut through Daki. Oh well. She stashed her victims' belongings in a lacquered chest. The box was meant to hold vast amounts of jewelry among its many drawers, but removing the casings made some extra room. With unmarred skin and clean linens, Daki prepared for a bath. As she gathered up her sundries, she hummed a little with no concern for the things that had slipped her mind.

[marsofaries]

The Itsy Bitsy Spider {Katsuki Bakugou x Reader}

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Assault

Summary: Your grumpy (and ridiculously attractive) neighbor helps you rid of the spider in your new apartment. Things grow from there.

Notes: fem!Reader, ProHero!Bakugou, Bakugou hates feelings

That’s it. You were moving out.

So what, that you just managed to unpack the last box in your new apartment? One look at that eight-legged... creature, and it was their apartment now. You weren’t trying to be dramatic, but spiders were the absolute bane of your existence.

This led to you shakily standing over the said arachnid, a large All Might mug trembling faintly in your hands. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck-- FUCK!” You shrieked as the spider took a quick dart to its left. Nope. No way.

It had taken about an hour before the spider was successfully captive. Another hour to finally figure out what to do next. 

And now there you were, pacing back and forth in front of your neighbor’s front door, mumbling failed greetings to yourself like a desperate prayer.

“Hi, I’m-- that’s not right. How about ‘I just moved in and--.’ God, I sound like an idiot.” Gathering all of your courage, you rapped three quick knocks on the front of the wood. The urge to bolt was suddenly very powerful.

“I swear to God, Shitty Hair, if you-- Oh.” The door was suddenly swung open to reveal the most gorgeous person you had ever seen in your whole life. With biceps the size of your head, the man completely dwarfed you in size. He almost took up the entire space of the door, his spikey blond locks brushing the top the frame. Vermillion eyes stared at you cautiously as you forgot everything you were about to say. “The fuck you want?”

As you made no move to answer, the Greek god of a man pulled his lips into a scowl. 

“What are you, a fucking stalker or somethin’?”

That definitely brought you out of your reverence.

“W-What? No!”

A scoff left the man’s lips, and you suddenly wanted nothing more that to kick him straight in the jewels. However, you were on a mission. A mission to rid a tiny eight-eyed demon from your living room.

“There was a, uh...spider.” You slowly trailed off, waving weakly in the direction of your apartment across the hall.

 “A spider? Really?” The blond questioned condescendingly, rolling his stupidly-perfect crimson eyes.

A light flush brushed your cheeks in embarrassment as you stared down at your shoes. You were sure he was going to slam the door right in your face. But he didn’t.

The man brushed right past you, marching right though your open door-- making sure to loudly mumble as many complaints as he could. You stumbled after the tall blond, failing to keep up with his abnormally long strides.

You watched in silence as he crouched by the downturned mug, raising a single perfectly-sculpted brow. However, your silence was quickly turned into a squeak of horror when your neighbor dumped the spider into his bare-hand. 

For a moment of absolute terror, you thought the stranger was going to throw it at you.

Wide-eyed, you watched as he pushed open the nearest window and placed the spider on the railing of your fire-escape. Having pushed the window back down, the man turned back to leave your apartment. As he walked past, he shoved the now (thankfully) empty mug to your chest.

“W-wait!”

He paused, sliding his crimson gaze to yours.

“M-My name is (Y/L/N)… (Y/L/N) (Y/N).”

You weren’t quite sure why you felt the need to give him your name. Maybe it was because he helped you when you were absolutely sure he wouldn’t. Or maybe how he decided to let the bug free instead of kill it. Maybe it was the amused huff he let out when he heard your terrified squeak. Perhaps it was all three. You didn’t know.

His striking red eyes suddenly raked your frame before a smirk settled confidently on his all-too-attractive lips.

“Bakugou Katsuki.”

~~~

“HOLD THE FUCKING DOOR!” 

You let out a squeak at the sudden yell, sticking the toe of your nude-colored pumps between the sliding elevator doors. A muscled arm wedged itself between the doors, pulling them back open.

“You.” You breathed as none other than your extremely hot neighbor was revealed. The blond was clad in a loose black V-neck and sweatpants-- a large duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. His hair was slightly damp, as small beads of water dropped off the edge of his spikes every couple of seconds.

“Stalker.” He acknowledged with a grunt. The corner of Bakugou’s lips shot up at your protests.

The ride down to the lobby was relatively silent and slightly awkward. You kept switching your weight on both legs as you struggled to find something to say.

“The fuck you dressed so fancy for?” The explosive blond finally said. You couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief at the break in silence.

“I got a new job at All Might Bank!” You were pretty excited, as it was your first day. The bank itself was pretty fancy, and you were cheery that it was named after the old symbol of peace. All Might had been your favorite hero growing up but you grew out of your hero phase as you had gotten older. Nowadays you couldn’t tell one hero from the other.

You turned to Bakugou with a smile, content that he even cared about your life. It was quite a surprise when compared with the vibes he gave off.

“What about you?” You asked cheerily. 

“... Agency.” He grunted.

“Oh! Are you a model or something?” You knew it! There was no way that a man as attractive as Bakugou Katsuki was not the cover of every magazine. He was, just not for the reasons you thought. You watched in confusion as the explosive blond emitted a loud snort.

“Or something...”

DING!

You were almost sad as the elevator dinged, signaling the end of the ride. Although it was short, and mostly awkward, you found yourself enjoying his company. You walked side by side until you reached the doors to outside, pausing slightly when he went to part.

“Thank you.”

Bakugou froze at your expressed gratitude, studying your figure with renewed interest.

“You know... for the spider?” You seemed to lose all cognitive brain function when he looked at you with those frustratingly gorgeous vermillion eyes. Bakugou scoffed and turned away, muttering a quiet response. Little did you know that he was trying to hide a light blush.

“Whatever...”

~~~

You were happy to say that these shared elevator rides became a daily ritual, to the point where Bakugou started to bring you his delicious leftovers for your lunch (he made the meals especially for you, but would die before he ever admitted that). Before you knew it, you were quite smitten with the blond.

You couldn’t help but replay this morning’s occurrence in your head as you filed checking account after checking account.

 “Good morning, Bakugou-kun!” You called as you exited your apartment. You didn’t even have to look anymore. Bakugou had a habit of waiting for you outside your door to give you his most current dish. 

“Morning.” He grunted in response, hating the way his heart skipped a beat.

His eyes scanned over your form, (longer than considered friendly) as he checked your outfit. Bakugou always seemed to have some sort of fashion-ready advice on the tip of his tongue, and with you still thinking he was a model-- you were more that happy to comply. And also for the fact that he really did have a good eye for it.

“Undo the top two buttons… you look like a nerd.”

Your eyes quickly flashed to your white button-up, pulling at the two buttons with one hand.

“Better?”

Bakugou only grunted in approval. He was trying to act like he wasn’t on the verge of kissing the ever-lasting life out of you.

~~~

“Hey, Newbie! Get me a coffee, will ya?” You were quickly pulled out of your daydream by one of your (slightly arrogant) bosses.

“Of course, sir.” You answered as you hurried to the other side of the bank. You’ve been at your new job (and apartment) for about a month, and they still won’t let up on the whole “newbie” stuff. 

You sighed as you waited by the coffee maker, situated right to the left of the big glass entrance. Oh, how you would have loved to pour that coffee right over your boss’ head. Too lost in your own head, you failed to notice the suspicious group of men heading straight for the vault until one of them grabbed your arm.

“What the fu--”

“EVERYBODY DOWN OR SHE DIES!” 

Oh shit! Oh fuck! Your mind was reeling at a million miles per hour. The man had pulled you to where your back was to his front, and had a blade pressed against your throat. It seemed to come out of the inside of his wrist, being a relatively deadly quirk if handled correctly.

Everyone within the pristine building froze but quickly dropped to the floor after some warning shots from one of the robbers. Another suddenly morphed into some sort of beast and marched to the steel vault door.

You suddenly wished that you had a more physical quirk, cursing it for being so useless in this situation. Yeah, you knew basic self-defense, but it would be futile with three other villains in your midst.

Minutes felt like hours, and you could only hope that someone had alerted the police and nearby heroes. You winced as the blade dug into the delicate skin of your throat.

A sudden explosion burst through the skylight of the building, raining glass shards on the hostages. All at once, people were screaming, running, and blast after blast started ringing in your ears. You let out a sigh of relief.

The heroes were here.

Using the distraction, you quickly gripped the man’s arm tight below the base of the blade. You pulled it away from your neck ever so slightly, ducking your head to pull yourself through the gateway you had created. Keeping your hands locked at the base of the robber’s wrist, you twisted his arm and shoved up-- forcing it to pop from its socket.

A sudden bump to your shoulder from a running hostage caused you to slip up on your little self-defense sequence, allowing the man to break from your grip. He whipped around to face you, holding his dislocated arm. You panicked, so... you socked him in the face.

He let out an enraged cry, thick blood gushing from his nose. You were a bit surprised with how easy it was to land a hit on him. You thought that villains would have been more prepared before robbing a bank named after All Might.

Oh, well.

You punched him again in the nose for good measure, and he was out like a light. His hot red blood coated your knuckles, and you gagged in disgust. Ew. You wiped the back of your dominant hand on you button-up absentmindedly, before being shoved to the floor by your panicking boss. Wow. Your limbs felt like mush now that the adrenaline was wearing off, and you suddenly couldn’t find the strength to pick yourself off of the floor.

A final explosion went off, followed by the most desperate and wretched call you had ever heard in your entire life. And the call... sounded suspiciously like your name.

Your eyes shot up at the scream, searching frantically for the owner of that voice. You knew that voice, you only ever heard it in grunts and light-hearted mocking sentences, but you knew that voice.

“Katsuki.” You breathed, eyes suddenly locked on familiar crimson irises. 

Relief flooded his features as he saw you, and was at your side in seconds-- dropping quickly to his knees. 

“Oh my god.” Bakugou breathed, grabbing your head and cradling it tight to his chest and-- what the fuck was he wearing? Wait, there was no way... he was the explosion hero you saw on the news! Holy fuck!

“You scared the shit out of me! Do you know how terrified I was when I heard there was trouble at your work?! And you didn’t answer your goddamn phone? Jesus Christ, (Y/N).” Worried rambles fell rapidly out of Bakugou’s lips, seemingly void of any filter. You would have been ecstatic by his cute little worrying if your mind wasn’t reeling by the fact that your crush neighbor was one of the top ten heroes in Japan.

He suddenly grasped both sides of your face and pulled back so you were eye to eye.

“Are you hurt? I swear to God, if someone hurt you-- I’ll fucking kill them.” Bakugou’s eyes were frantically scanning your face, looking for any sign of injury.

“...Katsuki?” You mumbled softly, and he immediately froze. He felt his heart lurch in his throat as his name tumbled from your lips. You, on the other hand, were completely, and utterly lost. “You’re a pro-hero?”

“....What?” Bakugou questioned dumbly. “You could have been seriously hurt and that’s the first thing you think about?”

“What? I thought you were a model.” You whined, lightly smacking his chest.

At this, Bakugou let out a loud laugh, and you just watched in awe. You had never seen him laugh before. Even though half his face was smeared in black makeup and little injuries littered his skin-- it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life. He pulled back to look at you, but suddenly froze.

“You’re hurt! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!” Bakugou shouted, spotting bright red stains on the front of your blouse. You quickly grabbed his hand, hoping to soothe his panicking.

“Hey, hey!” You yelped, gaining his attention. “It’s not mine.” 

You gestured over to the villain knocked out next to you.

“Holy shit.” Katsuki breathed, before turning his vermillion gaze back to yours. A quiet, amused huff escaped his lips. “So you’re afraid of a spider, but can knock out a villain?” He questioned teasingly.

A light blush covered your cheeks, causing you to force your eyes down. You suddenly noticed just how close you two were. You were situated about half way onto Bakugou’s lap, as one of his large hands softly held your waist. The other was still trapped between your own. This caused your blush to only darken.

“Hey, eyes up here.” Bakugou muttered, lifting his hand from your waist and to the base of your chin. You force your eyes back up to his, but couldn’t help but sneak a quick glance to his lips. However, Bakugou saw it, and that was all it took.

Bakugou crashed his lips onto yours, and you were quick to respond. You tangled your hands within his soft blond locks, allowing him to completely dominate the kiss. His hands held you tightly to his body, refusing to give even an inch of space between you two. He didn’t let go even as you pulled back for air, his lips chasing after yours.

Time seemed to stop while he was kissing you, and every one was distressed with the thought of losing you. It was soft and sweet, and then rough and desperate-- the sweet smell of caramel, of Bakugou, invading all of your senses. 

You finally broke for air, breaths mingling shamelessly. Bakugou rested his forehead on yours, wanting nothing more than to never let you go.

“I’m so glad I found you, Stalker.”

Bonus:

A low whistle dragged out across bank, turning the couples’ gazes over to a certain hardening hero.

“SHITTY HAIR, I SWEAR TO--”

The End.

Notes:  This was my first imagine! I hope you guys liked it!

The police watching the final scene like: 👁👄👁 can we go home?

[diamondcamefromhell]

Cane

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

A/N: play “guess whos back” on me because ayee, i am back, this time not with jaskier fic [sorry bby] but with... kaz brekker? whaa? so i am super late to the fandom but i read six of crows a couple of weeks ago and wanted to write an imagine with kaz x reader so.... vuioula?

oh and also HAVENT read crooked kingdom yet so no spoilers plz <333

Summary: y/n is part of the dregs, on good terms with kaz but when kaz gets a bit hurt things take a turn 

Warnings: swearing and leg injury [not grpahic at all]

word count:

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED AND REQUESTS ARE OPEN BUT I MIGHT TAKE AWHILE TO GET TO THEM [open for all witcher and six of crows characters btw]

Kaz slipped on his gloves looking at me like I was a disgrace, but I began to wonder if that was is resting face. He seemed to look like that at nearly everyone. I flashed him my teeth in return.

“No need to glare, pretty boy.” He clicked his tongue at my nickname, which I knew for a fact he hated. Or pretended to hate.

“Get off my fucking wardrobe, Y/N.” I lift by brows in question, laying back down, or trying to do so as much as I could in the small space.

“I like it here.” I shoot a glance at Kaz, who just rolls his eyes, but I see a small curl forming on his lips. “I may be no Inej, but I like small spaces.”

“I know.” Kaz says almost softly, before he picks up his cane and pokes me in the legs. “But terrorize someone else, please.”

“Oh did our great Kaz Brekker just said please?” I tease, but however jump off his wardrobe. Kaz towers over me slightly, looking down now, leaning on his cane.

“Next time I will beat you with my cane.” I narrow my eyes, grinning.

“Ooh, scary.” I pat him on the shoulder, moving away before he actually beats me with his cane. His expression grows cold at the touch, but I ignore it. “Where are we headed?”

“I am going to see some friends.” Kaz says through his teeth, making it pretty clear I am not welcome.

“You don’t have friends, but alright, pretty boy.” I wink, heading for the door, but I stop for a moment before leaving. I shoot a glance at him and he raises his eyebrows. “Be careful, please.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” He says nonchalantly.

“You know I always will.” I whisper, leaving the room and slamming the door.

I decide to make my way to Jasper, jumping down the stairs to catch him gambling at the table. I glance at the group, already guessing he will lose. He sees me approaching and flashes me a smile. I wink in turn, looking around the room for more familiar faces.

I wish Nina were here. We got along great, even if she was relentless and insisted I have a crush on Kaz.

She may be right. But it wasn’t about that. It was about respect. Gratitude. It was about family.

Kaz makes his way downstairs, limping more than usual. Inej appears from nowhere and they exchange a few whispers before he leaves and the Suli girl looks at me.

“He’ll be fine, you know.” She says, approaching me. I believe her, but still feel uneasy.

“Do you think he would kill me if I followed him?” Inej laughs because the answer is blaringly obvious. I flush red.

“He would one thousand percent catch you. And be angry.” Inej takes my hand in hers. “And he will be fine. You don’t have to worry. It’s Kaz.”

“Bastard of the Barrel.” I mutter, pulling away. Inej’s face shadows but she forces a smile. I don’t respond. “I’m going to sleep.”

“It’s early.” I glance at Inej, already walking away.

“I’m tired.” I respond, stepping two steps at a time, rushing into a room they got let me stay in, falling face down on my bed.

Moments later I roll down off it, in the small tight space between the bed and the wall. Tight places make me feel safe. Not exposed. Hidden.

I had to hide too much as a child. It’s now forever in me.

You only wont get hurt if they don’t find you. If they don’t see you. If you make yourself so small, you disappear.

I slip into sleep, not sure for how long, until my door flies open. I instinctively lower myself underneath my bed, until I recognize that the voice.

“Y/N!” Jasper. I roll from under the bed, meeting his gaze as he gets startled. Our eyes lock and he opens his mouth to speak. “It’s Kaz…”

I don’t wait for him to finish. I am on my feet, practically flying out of my room, my heart a few steps behind, lungs on fire, I go to his room, but he is not there. I slam the door behind me, sending myself flying down the stairs.

I lose my footing, falling ungracefully on my knees. My ankle seemingly catches fire but I don’t care, jumping on my feet, looking around, white noise ringing in my ears.

Kaz. Where is he?

I see Inej rush from the furthest corner of the room. Our eyes meet.

“Here.” She points, but as I try to rush past her into the other room, she catches me. “You need to calm down first.”

“Let me go.” I practically growl, but she holds me. I feel Jasper approach too.

“Breathe, for fucks sake.” Jasper says, shaking my shoulders from behind, and I let out a breathe that I didn’t even realize I was holding in.

“Kaz is fine.” Inej says, forcing me to look at her. “Just his leg got busted a little bit more. He will be fine. Nina is on her way.”

“Let me in.” I hiss, freeing myself from her grip, but she stands in front of the door.

“He said-“ I slam my hand next to her face. She doesn’t flinch and doesn’t move. We lock eyes.

“I don’t care.” I know she understands. I know she knows why I have to see him. She moves out of the way.

“Knock yourself out.” She says coldly. I give her a nod, before I twist the handle, pushing the door.

The room is lit up and I see Kaz in a chair, his leg lifted on another one. He has his eyes closed, holding his cane over his midriff. He doesn’t look at me when I close the door.

“I thought I made it clear I don’t want you hear.” Ouch. I cross my arms, glaring at him, even if he cant see.

“I thought you said you will be fine.” I respond and he looks at me, cold faced.

“I am fine.” I shake my head, approaching him. I sit on the ground, pulling knees to my chest. A comfortable distance away, so he doesn’t kick me if I piss him off.

“That scared the shit out of me.” I whisper, closing my eyes. “When Jasper came in my room and just said your name and when Inej stopped me. I thought you died.”

“Why should it matter if I died? It doesn’t change your debt. Your life.” I snicker at his words.

“Yeah. My life would totally be the same if you died, Kaz.” I hate that I cant hide the shaking. I hate that he probably sees me as a weak woman. As a weak person. Someone childish and immature. But I cant stop acting like that. Even now, when he is hurt.

“People would still take care of you.” I glance up at him just as he looks down to me. “If that’s what you worried about. The Dregs have your back.”

“There are no Dregs without you.” I say, but he scoffs.

“Whatever.” I sigh, standing up. My ankle kills me suddenly, and I grab his chair to steady myself. “Are you alright?”

“Whatever.” I say, looking at him. “Why should it matter if I am hurt? Your life is the same.”

“Not if you don’t pay your debt.” He says and I am taken back. I stare at him, stone faced, sitting there without a care of the world. Only kruge. All he needs is kruge.

“Fuck you, Kaz.” I breathe out, stepping back, limping.

“You too, Y/N.” Doors behind my back open and I can only assume it’s Nina.

I don’t say a word. I turn around, not even saying hi, I leave the room. I limp past Inej and Jasper. They don’t try to stop me. I limp out of the building into the dark streets of Ketterdam.

I breathe in the air, not sure where to go. I needed to air out my emotions. To be away from everyone.

I wanted to be alone. To hide. Make myself feel small. Invisible.

Seemed that is what I will always be. Only seen for what people need of me, not who I am.

But then again, who am I?

I go to the Fifth Harbour. I know its not safe. I know its dumb. But I don’t care.

Luckily, I get there without any trouble. I go behind some crates and fishing nets stacked against one of the buildings. I squeeze myself in, make myself invisible between two crates. I throw the net over the top.

Sky looks like its made from puzzle pieces now. Nothing is connected. All scattered, all a mess.

I close my eyes.

“Im such a fucking child.” I say to myself, quietly. “I cant handle rejection like an adult.”

I lean back breathing in the salty air. I can barely move. It makes me feel safe. I focus on that. How I am squeezed in. How I feel.

How it proves I am alive. I am real. I matter.

I don’t realize how I fall asleep, softly crying, but when I wake, the sun is already high in the sky. My entire body is stiff from being squeezed in one position all night. Everything hurts and I can barely open my eyes.

I try to stand, but the pain in the ankle stabs me and send me back to the ground, with the net tangling around me. A wave of panic rushes over me as I try to get it off, only making matters worse.

I stop and breathe, trying to calm down, until I hear someone knocking on a crate nearby. Something towers over me, blocking the sun.

I open my eyes to see Kaz looking down to me. A smallest hint of relief runs past his face for a moment, but then he is back to being cold.

“Need a hand?” He asks, tapping the cane on the crate again. I glare at him, tears burning my eyes. I shake my head. “Alright.”

He moves away, the sun blinding me again. I don’t hear him walk away, so I know he is still standing there. Probably mocking me. Great.

I get the net off myself this time. Lift myself despite my body screaming at me. Just a moment later I am standing in front of him and our eyes meet again.

I limp past him, he silently walks behind.

“Told you I am fine.” He speaks, and I hear him double tap his cane. “As good as I was before.”

“Good.” I say, not slowing down. “Glad to hear that.”

“Nina is back at Crow Club to help you.” Kaz says again and this time I glance back. He isn’t looking at me, but more at the people passing us.

“Okay.” I slow down as my ankle is killing me now, limping even more. I don’t want Kaz to see me like this. Everything hurt. “I know the way.”

“Just keeping you safe.” He says calmly, and I know he expected me to protest.

“I don’t need you to keep me safe.” I say quietly and the man just sighs.

I stop for a moment, next to some other crates, leaning against them. Kaz catches up to me, blocking the sun again. I look at him.

“Am I really just walking kruge for you?” I ask, breathing heavily. “Not a walking, breathing and feeling human being?”

“You are barely walking.” He says, glancing at my ankle.

“Don’t ignore my question.” I say harshly.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” We glare at each other, and I push myself up and walk again, though visibly way more slowly than before. This time Kaz stays by my side.

“At least I wont bother you anymore. I wont be able to climb that fucking wardrobe anytime soon.”

“Nina will patch you up and you will be there in no time, Y/N.” Kaz doesn’t sound fazed yet again, as if he thought all of this out already.

“I’m clearly not welcome.” I whisper, looking ahead. Tears prick my eyes but I will break another ankle before I let Kaz see me cry over him. “And I need to work harder to pay my debt off.”

“Not being welcome never stopped you before.” I glare at him.

“Thanks.”

We walk in silence. Or move at a snails speed. I try to fasten myself, but it seems like I will eat dirt before that happens. Kaz doesn’t seem fazed.

He also doesn’t seem to be limping as much.

We make it away from the docks, and he stops, and I follow suit. I sit down on the ground, breathing heavily. He stares seemingly into the abyss.

“Why do you care about me?” He asks and I scoff.

“Not here to boost your ego, pretty boy.” I say, rolling my eyes.

“It’s not about that.” He responds with sadness in his voice.

“Because you are the first person who cared about me. Even if it was out of kruge. You are the first person who made me feel not small.” I say in one breath as he looks at me, his expression unreadable. “I want you to do that for yourself too. You wont allow anyone else to help you, I want you to help yourself. I want to be here when that happens. I want to make sure you are here to see that happen.”

“Thank you.” He says so quietly I almost don’t catch that.

I smile to the ground until his gloved hand reaches out to me. I take it, standing up. Then the unexpected happens.

Kaz gives me his cane. I stare at it as if it’s a bomb.

“You need it.” I say, but Kaz shakes his head.

“You need it more, Y/N.” When I don’t move, he shoves it in my hand anyway. “I insist.”

I use his cane, wondering if this is the closest I will ever get to him. His cane feels like an extension of him. And he lend it to me.

We make the rest of the way without stopping or talking, once we enter the building a few pairs of eyes shoot to the cane in my hands and to the empty handed Kaz next to me.

Everyone is smarter than to say something, though.

Nina rushes to me, getting me to sit. Then she proceeds to scold me for walking on my hurt ankle. I sit there, apologising and nodding and thanking her as everyone watches us.

I glance at Kaz who is grinning at the sight.

He leaves though, going back to his room. Nina finishes and only then I realize I am still clutching his cane. I excuse myself from her and go up the stairs while grisha stares at me.

My ankle is way better but I’m still limping and she told me to rest.

I don’t bother knocking, I just limp in and he lifts his head from the table, looking at me.

“Your cane.” I say, putting it on the table.

“Oh right.” He says, looking at it. “How’s your leg?”

“Better now. Thank you.” I say, smiling. “And sorry for being a child.”

“I am glad you are like that. Means you are more than just kruge.” I flush. “You are a person.”

“Does that mean when I get better I can climb your wardrobe?” He rolls his eyes, though smiling.

“Fuck off.” I laugh.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

[wrenhyperfixates]

Arachnophobia

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Living in the Tower surrounded by superheroes can make you think your own fears don’t matter. Luckily, Loki is there to save you, both from yourself and the spiders invading your room. Warnings: one very disgusting run-in with a spider; fluff A/N: Shoutout to that one very weird looking spider in my backyard that inspired this.

“Aaaaaahhhhh!”

Peter was walking by your room when you screamed. He burst through the door, ready to web up whoever was attacking you.

“Where’s the bad guy, (y/n)?” he questioned frantically.

You pointed toward the wall opposite the bed you were standing on. He turned and quizzically raised an eyebrow. Finally, he saw the spider and walked over to it. He put his finger out and it crawled onto him. “You mean this little guy?” he chuckled. “But it’s so cute.”

“No. No, it most definitely is not,” you quickly countered. “And it’s, like, the fifth one this week. Please, just take it out of here.”

Peter shrugged and waved goodbye, walking out with the spider. You would have preferred he killed it, but you weren’t going to ask him to do that. He was Spiderman, after all. You were glad it was him who rescued you, though. Truth is, you were embarrassed of how terrified spiders made you. You would have been mortified if Tony or Nat or Thor walked in on you. And oh god, if it had been Loki you might have died. You didn’t want to appear weak or helpless to your crush. He teases you all the time as it is; you didn’t need to give him any more ammunition. Thankfully, he and most of the team were out, and you were able to avoid any questions. You hoped that that would be the last spider you saw for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One sleepless week later, you were about to cave and ask for help. The spider sightings were, unfortunately, becoming more frequent. You’d started having nightmares about spiders crawling all over your skin, leaving you with a disturbing tingly sensation when you woke up. If that wasn’t enough to keep you up at night, that old urban legend about swallowing eight spiders in your sleep each year kept finding it’s way to the forefront of your mind.

Determined to get some sleep, you made your way to one of the Tower’s numerous common areas. So far, the spiders were only in your room, but you hadn’t mentioned the problem to anyone yet. You spread the cozy blanket from your bed over yourself and got comfortable on the plushy couch. You’d brought a book too, just to have an excuse for why you were sleeping on the couch in case of a run-in with one of the team’s resident insomniacs.Not that you had to worry about that. You were so tired that you were out cold the second your head hit the cushion.

What could have been hours but felt like minutes later, you were awoken by a very familiar prickly sensation on your arm. Assuming it was just the product of one of your nightmares, you tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. Much to your dismay, the feeling only became more prominent the longer you were awake. Cracking an eye open, you barely managed to stifle a scream. Sure enough, there was a spider crawling up your arm, nearly under your sleeve now. In an adrenaline-induced rush of courage, you brushed it off and smashed it with your book. Unfortunately, the encounter unearthed the deeply repressed memory that was the reason you had arachnophobia in the first place.

You’d only been five years old at the time, but incredibly outgoing and brave for your age. Alone in your family room, you were playing with some dolls while your mom got you a snack. A large black dot on the floor caught your eye, and you walked up to it. You quickly identified the mystery spot as a spider. Some part of your brain told you to wait for your mother to come back, but it seemed dead. You’d figured it would do no harm to make sure, so you decided to squash it. You quickly grabbed your doll and brought its oversized head down on the arachnid. Then disaster struck.

You were rendered a screaming mess as baby spiders came rushing forth from the mother’s body. Your mom ran down in a panic and scooped you up, rushing away from the horrific scene. She quickly brushed any of the tiny arachnids off your small frame and hugged your sobbing body to her chest. After that incident, the house was fumigated, but you were left with a crippling case of arachnophobia. Not to mention you lost your interest in playing with dolls.

It was the strength of that memory, coupled with the fear of the moment, that left you a shaking wreck on the common room’s sofa. As salty tears trailed down your face, you heard a voice call your name, but it was distant as if you were underwater. The person called out to you a few more times, but you were still too shaken to say anything, let alone comprehend who’s voice it was.

They made their way to you in the dark and pressed your mess of a self to their body. A cold hand stroked your arm as their melodic voice whispered in your ear.

“It’s ok. I’m here now, darling,” they said. “Go back to sleep.”

You don’t know if it was from the crying or the sheer terror running through your veins, but somehow you managed to fall back into a dreamless slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, your mystery hero was gone and hadn’t left the slightest clue as to who they were. Sure, you technically could’ve asked around and figured it out, but you were too ashamed for that. Everyone had their own demons, and you were sure that comparatively yours would be nothing but childish fears. It wasn’t even that you necessarily thought anyone would be mean about it, but your mind always warped your thoughts until you believed your feelings were insignificant. You knew it was a bad way to be, but you couldn’t help it. Thus, you went about your day hoping your savior would reveal themself.

The rest of the day went by in a flash, and you were almost convinced that you’d dreamt the whole thing. No one had dropped any subtle hints that they were your shoulder to cry on, so you decided to make some passing remarks of your own. No one seemed to pick up on them, leaving you more confused than ever. At least you hadn’t seen any more spiders today, so that was good news. You even dared to hope you were done with the problem altogether.

Of course, nothing ever goes your way. You’d just finished your shower and there was another eight-legged menace waiting for you. This time, you weren’t able to stop the shriek from escaping your lips. Throwing on a robe, you walked backwards to where your shoes were, making sure the spider couldn’t run off. Unfortunately, a knock at the door drew your attention away, and when you looked back, the arachnid was nowhere to be found. Great, you thought, now there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep in this room tonight.

“(Y/n) are you alright,” the person at the door questioned, and you immediately recognized the voice as Loki’s. You stayed silent and debated the best course of action. Before you could say anything, he spoke again. “If you don’t respond I will have to come in to make sure you’re ok.”

You finally went over to the door and opened it a crack. “Hi Loki. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just, uh, slipped a little.”

“I see,” he said, a slight blush crawling up his cheeks when he noticed your attire. Realizing this, you felt your face mirror his.

“Right. Well, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. You’re quite certain you’re fine? You didn’t injure yourself at all, did you?”

You figured it would be best if you just dealt with the spider on your own. Better than telling the god standing before you, right? You shook your head no, but jumped when you saw a dark spot scurrying across your peripheral vision. Alas, when you turned your head, it was already gone. Maybe you were just paranoid.

“(Y/n) what is it,” Loki said, concern lacing his voice. You tried to assure him you were fine and close the door, but he pushed it open all the way and stepped in. He gave you a stern look and said, “Don’t hide from me. Tell me what the problem is.”

Tears brimmed your eyes and your lower lip started trembling. You were determined to not look like a fool in front of Loki, though, so you put on the bravest face you could muster and once again said you were fine. Then you thought you saw another spider and your weak facade slipped completely. You were now fully crying from the stress of it all.

Loki hesitated a moment before capturing you in a gentle embrace. In a fit of embarrassment, you tried to pull away, but he was having none of that. He only held you tighter as he whispered calming words in your ear. After who knows how long, your tears subsided and you hiccoughed a few times, adding to the shame you felt.

“Darling, you needn’t keep it a secret from me any longer,” Loki said once you fully calmed down. “I already know.”

Then something clicked in your mind. Darling. It was what the person last night had called you. The cold hands still holding your body suddenly felt all too familiar. You hadn’t even entertained the idea for a second that Loki had been the one to comfort you last night. Though, it would make sense if some magic was involved in you falling back asleep so easily.

“You-you,” you stuttered, only to be cut off by a gentle shush from Loki.

“Yes, dear, it was me last night. I’m sorry I ignored your hints, but I didn’t think you actually wanted to discuss it. And, quite frankly, I don’t always now how to respond to gratitude.”

One thing still wasn’t adding up for you. You asked, “But how do you know what’s bothering me.”

“You kept saying ‘spiders’ last night. You were so shaken, it didn’t seem appropriate to press for more information,” he said, finally releasing you, but only enough to see your face.

“Oh,” was all you managed to reply, having been so out of it that you had no memory of speaking at all.

He fully let go of you and walked with purpose to one of your walls. He pressed his hands to it and they started to emit a greenish glow.

“Whatcha doing?” you questioned, still sniffling a little.

“Sensing for spiders. What, did you forget I have magic?” he teased, bringing a smile back to your face.

“What?” you questioned when his face fell. “What is it?”

Sensing his hesitation to fill you in, you reassured him that you could handle it. Deep down, you were aware that you probably didn’t want to know whatever news he felt pertinent to hide from you. The suspense was killing you, though, so you pestered Loki until he gave in.

“Darling, I’m sorry to tell you this,” he said, leading you to sit on the bed, “but there’s a spider nest in your walls.”

Your eyes widened in fear. No wonder you’d been seeing so many. Your mind threw you back into that moment from your youth. All you could imagine was the tiny spiders crawling all over your body. The way they felt on your arms, near your mouth, and in your hair. Shivers racked your body as Loki kneeled before you. He took your hands in his and moved his head so he could look into your eyes, which were currently locked on the floor.

“Stay with me now. It’s going to be ok. I’m right here.”

You couldn’t manage to choke out a response, so instead you focused on synching your breathing with the pace of his thumbs rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. You felt lightheaded, but Loki’s eyes kept you grounded in reality. Finally, you regained control of your senses.

“Th-thank you,” you said, shaking out the remaining bits of paralysis.

“You don’t need to thank me for this, dear.” Before you could protest, he continued, “Now, I can take care of the nest with my seidr, but any spiders that are scurrying about will escape my wrath. We can talk to Stark about getting an exterminator in here.”

You nodded meekly, still not able to do much else. A familiar green glow came from Loki as he worked his magic. Once he was done, he turned and smiled at you. With the threat mainly neutralized, you suddenly became very self-conscious of your attire, remembering you were still only in a robe. To be honest, you’d pictured a scenario like this before; you barely clothed and alone with Loki. Of course, it was never in a situation quite like this. You thanked him profusely and shepherded him towards the door before your mind could wander any further. Unfortunately, one of the remaining arachnids decided to make an appearance, sending you scrambling into Loki’s arms.

“There’s no way you can spend the night in here. Will you come to my room?”

Even though he’d phrased it like a question, you knew he wouldn’t let you refuse the offer. Even so, whatever scrap of pride you still possessed begged you to brave it out. Mainly though, you just wanted a good night’s sleep.

“Ok. Yeah. I think I’d like that. But, uh, do you think I could maybe change first?”

He let go of you again and nodded his head, obviously having also forgotten you were only dressed in a robe. Once you were in some more suitable sleepwear, Loki took your hand and led you to his bedroom. You’d hoped that he would cuddle you again like he had the night prior and were disappointed when he laid as far away as possible from you on the large mattress.

“Hey, Loki,” you said, bashfully. “Remember last night? Well I’m still kinda scared and was wondering if-”

“Say no more, darling.”

Loki wrapped you in his arms and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. As his melodic voice coaxed you to sleep, you decided that, spiders or not, this would not be the last time you got to snuggle with the god of mischief. Lucky for you, Loki was thinking the exact same thing.

[kmomof4]

Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates Ch. 8 The Battle Ends

Oh my goodness!!! I can’t believe we’re here!!! It’s the last chapter, y’all!!! Y’all have been screaming at me for seven weeks about how much you hate Rumplestiltskin, and I promised that he would get what was coming to him!! I hope y’all like it!!! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for coming along on this journey with me!!! I’m in tears right now typing this thinking of all the love and comments that y’all have sent my way. Please know that I reread them often and they all mean so SOOOOO much!!!

For the last time for this fic, I’m sending heaps and mounds of love, hugs, and gratitude to @profdanglaisstuff and @hollyethecurious for everything they did to help me bring this story to life. Saira was a fount of knowledge and an endless source of encouragement that was absolutely ESSENTIAL to my perseverance when the going got REALLY tough. Hollye, as one of my very best friends, was always there to discuss plot points, brainstorm, and push, drag, and pull to get me to keep going when I wanted to quit. Thank you both, ladies! This fic wouldn’t be here without either of you!

The ladies of the CSSNS and CSMM discords were there to sprint and encourage and also helped with the title. Thank you so much, ladies!!!

And finally, to @spartanguard, my OUTSTANDING artist for this fic!!! Kaitlyn, I know I say this every week, but it’s so true, you are SOOO talented and the words I know are not adequate to express the depth of my gratitude for all the work you’ve put in to your art that just made the story that much more REAL!!! 

‘Thank you’ is so inadequate, but it’s all I’ve got for all of you that had a hand in bringing this fic to life. So THANK YOU ALL, from the bottom of my heart!!!

Chapter summary: Chapter title says it all, I think. Rumplestiltskin FINALLY gets what’s coming to him!

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: 2050 of 41.5K total

Tags: Vampires, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Prophecy, Black Death, French Revolution, Magic, True Loves Kiss

Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @branlovestowrite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @nikkiemms​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless tumblr ate it.

The young woman with long red hair and her blonde headed companion pushed a stroller through the front door of the Como Park Zoo and Conservatory. Rumplestiltskin stood on the green lawn outside as a malevolent smile took over his face. He pulled a phone from his pocket, dialed and hissed when the call connected, “Your sister is in danger. Come home. Come alone. Or she dies.”

~*~*~

Emma was frantically throwing clothes into a suitcase when Killian came into their bedroom concerned alarm coloring his features.

“What’s going on, Emma?”

“He’s got her,” she choked out, turning back to her closet again. “I don’t even know who he has. He just said ‘your sister.’ I don’t even know who he has!” she exclaimed, turning again and throwing herself into his arms, her sobs breaking through. “Oh god, what if he has both of them?”

“Shhh, shhhh,” he crooned, stroking her back, “You’re not making any sense, love. Who has who?”

“Rumplestiltskin!” she cried, looking up at him, tears streaking down her face. “He CALLED me! How did he have my number? How did he get to her? I knew his voice! He said my sister was in danger, to come home, alone, or she dies. How did he find her? How did he know who she is? Who does he have?” She dissolved into tears again as he held her close.

“Well, you are not going alone, my love,” he asserted, vehemently. “That is absolutely not happening. He’s trying to draw you out, separate us so that we can’t destroy him. Blue can transport us to your home so that we can take him by surprise. He can’t really expect that I’d willingly let you face him alone.” He pulled back from her and cradled her face in his hands. “I’ll be right there with you, Swan,” he affirmed, “and we will defeat him.”

She smiled through her tears, eyes so full of hope that he wanted to promise her the world and everything in it. He drew her back into his arms, murmuring assurances into the crown of her head before letting her go to make preparations to leave.

~*~*~

Emma entered her childhood home, hoping against hope that she’d find one or both of her sisters inside. The churning fear in her gut since she received Rumplestiltskin’s  summons had only dissipated when Killian held her in his arms. But he was now outside trying to gain some intelligence about his sire’s presence inside her home. The Blue Fairy had created a magical shield to keep his presence hidden from Rumplestiltskin until he showed himself to Emma.

Their conversation before they had left home continued to plague her mind.

“We’ll save her, Emma. Don’t worry. She’ll be safe.”

“How do you know?

“He wants you, darling,” he promised her. “He wants to inflict as much pain on you, and me by extension, as possible. Which means that whatever he plans to do to harm her, he’ll want to do it in your presence.”

“Anna? Elsa?” she called, “Anyone here?” She walked further into the quietness of her home until she came into the family room. What she found sent her heartbeat into overdrive.

Anna sat on the sofa, unnaturally still, eyes wide with terror, mouth open in a silent scream. Emma took a deep breath, knowing that she had to keep her head about her if they were all going to get out of here safely. She scanned over her sister for any evidence of injury beyond being frozen. Emma’s supernatural hearing could perceive Anna’s small amount of blood loss at the hands of the monster that sat reclined in the chair opposite his captive.

A rage the likes of which she had never felt before came over her before she could blink. She saw red and flew for the demon, hands outstretched and a scream like a banshee ripping out of her open mouth. Before she could reach him, however, Killian burst through the front door situated behind the chair.

Not expecting the attack on two fronts, Rumplestiltskin was momentarily startled giving Killian all the time he needed to grab the cane that he always carried when he was masquerading as a human. The creature howled with fury as he reached out for the crutch just as Emma launched herself at him and landed on his back. She grasped him around the shoulders and hauled herself up until she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. Fangs exposed she drove them into his neck as screams poured out of her prey. She continued feasting as she watched Killian attack.

Killian meantime had taken the cane and broken it over his raised knee, dissolving the glamour spell that had disguised the dagger that the Blue Fairy had made over a millennium before.

Raising it in his hand, he plunged it into Rumplestiltskin’s chest, being careful to angle it so that it wouldn’t come out his back and stab Emma who was still holding on to him for dear life as he thrashed about under their dual assault. Withdrawing the deadly implement, a dark, viscous substance poured from the hole in the creature’s chest and was drawn toward the blade. Killian felt a drag, a pull stronger than he had ever known as the same substance pulled out of himself as well. He was dimly aware of Emma releasing her victim and falling to the floor as the Darkness exited his love. His own scream of pain completely drowned out the weakening screams of their adversary and the increasingly loud keening cries coming from Anna as the enchantment holding her captive weakened.

With the pain finally subsiding and his faculties returning to him, Killian became aware of several things all at once. The Darkness drawn from the three vampires hovered over the dagger. Once emptied of the foul substance, Rumplestiltskin collapsed face down to the ground in front of him. Anna rocked back and forth on the sofa holding herself tightly as she sobbed uncontrollably, and a deathly pale Emma lay lifeless on the floor behind his sire. Rumplestilskin’s blood stained her mouth and her eyes remained open and trained on the ceiling. She had not survived the uprooting of the vile stuff that made her, made them, vampires. Killian rushed to her side and gathered her in his arms.

“No, no, no, no, nooooo!” he cried. “Not again! Please! Emma,” he begged, “don’t leave me. Please,” he cried, trying to shake her awake. “I can’t live without you, Emma. Come back to me, please…” he trailed away, tear filled eyes meeting Anna’s who still sat on the sofa, in a stupor.

“You know what you have to do, Killian,” a soft voice intoned, behind him.

He turned frantic eyes upon the Blue Fairy, who stood on the threshold.

The Dark’s minion’s downfall is foretold

When True Love’s Kiss doth unfold

Between soulmates unbound by time

The blue eyed prince and his golden haired Swan

Their True Love will break the hold

And Dark magic will be no more.

The prophecy ran through his mind. True Love’s Kiss. True Love’s Kiss. True Love’s Kiss will destroy the Darkness! Killian looked down on his peaceful, so still Swan. Begging one last time, he whispered in her ear, “Come back to me, Swan.” His lips met hers in a cascade of rainbow light pulsing outward throughout the house. He pulled away to see the Darkness, the dagger, and even Rumplestiltskin himself dissolve in the presence of magic that was able to break any curse. The magic of True Love.

He looked down into the face of his beloved just as she began to stir. She blinked and looked up at him. “Killian!”

He couldn’t hold back his joyful grin if he tried. He hugged her tightly to himself, murmuring into her neck, “My Swan, my Swan. My darling, Swan...”

She pulled back from him before pulling him back down to capture his lips with her own in a passionate kiss that made him completely forget about their audience. Until the clearing of a throat behind him penetrated his lustful haze.

They pulled apart and looked over to where the Blue Fairy was sitting and holding Anna close, comforting her. Emma cried out and scrambled away from him to get to her sister who was starting to recover from her ordeal.

“What was THAT?!” she cried, gathering Emma in her arms. “Who… What… Uh… How?” she stammered, looking back and forth between Emma, himself, and the Blue Fairy.

After taking a few more moments to sufficiently recuperate from her shock, Anna launched herself into Killian’s arms. Her sobs renewed as her emotional pendulum swung from unbridled joy at being reunited with Killian to indignation at never knowing the truth about him. And Emma, for that matter.

Pulling back from where he finally set her down after spinning her in a bone crushing hug, she slapped his shoulder.

“How could you not tell me? Did Mom know?”

Killian chuckled with a smirk. “I think that’s a tale that’s better told over dinner and a lot of alcohol, my lamb.”

~*~*~

The Blue Fairy used her magic to resolve all the complications created by Anna’s disappearance before they reunited with the others at Elsa’s boyfriend’s restaurant.

If Anna and Killian’s reunion and the conference call they had enjoyed a month ago was thrilling, there was no measuring of the excitement when Killian and Elsa met again. He picked her up and spun her around before gathering her to him in a bear hug that was years in the making. Elsa hugged him back just as tightly.

Over the course of the evening, Killian revealed everything about the curse and how it came about, the prophecy, meeting Emma so many times over the years…

“But, wait a minute,” Anna asked, “You’ve lived three other lives, Emma? Do you remember any of them?”

Emma shrugged. “Can’t say as I do.”

They reminisced about their early years in Massachusetts before moving to Minnesota and learned about how he met Ingrid. Elsa hugged Emma close when they got to the end of the tale of destroying Rumplestiltskin and the Darkness that made them vampires.

“But how do you know,” Anna asked. “How do you know you’re no longer vampires?”

Emma and Killian turned and looked at each other. “It feels different, for one,” Emma said, still looking at Killian. “The fangs and bloodlust are gone, and my heart rate is back to normal.”

Killian continued, “That’s the biggest difference, for sure. We’d obviously gotten pretty good at controlling the thirst, in order to be around anyone else without it taking over, but the hearing and sight are also back to normal. It’s been so long for me, I could barely remember.”

“Wow,” Elsa breathed. She turned then to Killian, eyes brimming with tears before gathering him in for a hug.

“This is all fascinating and hard to believe, even with the evidence before me, but thank you for saving my family,” she whispered. “All of them.”

He pulled back from her with a bashful smile and scratched behind his ear. He was a little surprised that Anna and Elsa didn’t have nearly the problems believing him that he expected. They were very much Ingrid’s daughters.

From there, Emma and Killian returned home to Massachusetts, while Anna and her family and Elsa remained in Minnesota. Emma applied to and began law school at Harvard that fall, after a hastily put together, but still altogether beautiful wedding at their estate about a month after destroying Rumplestiltskin. Killian continued in his occupation of captaining the Jolly Roger throughout the spring and summer months for pleasure cruises along the New England coastline, pirate tours, and renting out his beloved vessel for special events. Elsa won election to the mayor's office in a landslide and was sporting a 1 ½ carat diamond on her left hand that Christmas. Anna and Kristoff continued living in domestic bliss raising their little boy, before finding out they were expecting again right after Thanksgiving. The future before all of them was bright and they walked into that future hand in hand with the ones they loved beside them.

And they all lived Happily Ever After.

The End

~*~*~

Thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me!! It means more than I can possibly say!!! I hope you enjoyed the ride!!!

[chibistarlyte]

some days

Most days, Shouto is fine.

But some days...

Some days, Shouto falls apart.

my eternal thanks and gratitude for kat @sunshineijirou for betaing this for me. <3

tw: suicidal thoughts/ideation, depression, dissociation, references to ptsd, unintentional self-harm

(also available here on ao3)

.

Most days, Shouto is fine.

He goes about his daily routines, attends school, pays attention in class, executes practical exercises with focus and expertise, hangs out and studies with his friends in the evenings, maintains a decent sleep schedule, visits his mother on Sundays.

He texts and video chats more with Fuyumi and Natsuo, trying to repair the threads between them that had been destroyed as soon as his Quirk manifested. They both love and support him in their own ways, and he's grateful to have his siblings back in his life. 

His Quirk training is going well, for the most part. Shouto works on his endurance during their individualized lessons and steadily builds up his tolerance to extreme and fluctuating temperatures so that he may use both halves of his Quirk at once. He hones his skills with precision attacks, betters his close-quarters combat techniques, and receives great marks for his efforts. 

He makes a point to spend time with his friends. Even when he's feeling less than social, he still curls up in the corner of a couch in the common room and allows himself to bask in the comforting sound of conversation around him. He asks Midoriya to help him practice his English by posting on popular pro hero forums and makes sure he doesn't forget to lend Sero the next volume of their favorite manga. Sometimes he goes on runs with Iida in the morning, or spars with Kirishima when they both have the free time. Shouto enjoys Yaoyorozu's company while they drink tea and chat about their days, and even finds peace sitting quietly at a table while Bakugou flits around the kitchen making various meals and largely ignoring Shouto's presence. 

All in all, Shouto is fine. A well-adjusted, studious, friendly, if not reserved, kid who has a good head on his shoulders and a bright future ahead of him.

But, some days…

Some days, Shouto falls apart.

.

Shouto wakes to the smell of burnt sheets and wet cotton. 

His chest rises and falls at much too quick a pace, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm against his ribcage almost hard enough to bruise. His left arm is littered with small-degree burns that have already begun to scab. Crystals of ice cling to snow-white eyelashes and trail down his cheek, some of them already having melted away and dripped down to soak through his pillow and his sleep shirt. The taste of ash clings to his tongue, his throat dry and scratchy when he tries to swallow it down.

Another nightmare, Shouto realizes as he flops back down on the futon with a tired sigh that runs deep into his bones.

He hates nights like these. He can never quite get back to sleep after jolting awake in terror, often spending the rest of the night watching shadows dance across his ceiling until the bleak dawn seeps through his curtains and coats the darkness in the cold light of day.

Shouto hears things in the silence of his dorm room, hears his father's booming voice in the darkened corners, and hears his mother's cries in the still night air. He hears Fuyumi's muttered reassurances on the other side of the walls where he knows his classmates are sleeping. He hears the deafening whistle of a boiling kettle as if he's lying right next to the stove. He hears the cracking of his own bones as he drops to the floor after a beating, hears his own retches in his ears as he vomits on the tatami floor of the training room.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Shouto throws the covers off and stumbles to a stand. He drags his feet to the sliding doors leading to his balcony, roughly tossing the curtains open and sliding the door with just as much careless force. The cool, late autumn breeze greets him immediately, bringing him back to himself for only a few moments. He steps outside, and the shock of cold concrete soles of his bare feet grounds him in a way nothing else ever could.

Shouto steps forward to the railing, crossing his arms and propping his chin on them and watching the city lights shine and twinkle down the hill. A gust of wind kicks up and blows his hair back from his face, stinging his skin, and for a moment, Shouto closes his eyes and imagines he's falling. Flying.

When he opens his eyes again, his head is angled downwards and his sight is trained on the ground five stories below. 

Shouto wonders, not for the first time, what it would feel like to jump.

A sigh blows past his lips, the warm puff of air lost to the chilly wind that caresses him fondly, making him shiver.

A sound from below pulls Shouto back to earth—the sound of a door sliding open then closed once again. Following that is the sound of footsteps, just a few scrapes of shoes against concrete until the noise stops again. The wind dies down just enough for Shouto to hear the static sound of music coming through a pair of headphones, though he's too far away to determine any specific tune.

His heterochromatic gaze shifts just a bit lower until the balcony below his own comes into his sight, and he sees the ash blond poof of hair that could only belong to one person. 

Oh, right. Bakugou's room is just below his. 

Shouto watches Bakugou from above, watches as his classmate goes through what seems to be a familiar routine of stretches—he pulls his arms across his chest one at a time, rolling his shoulders as he switches to the other arm. He then kicks his feet up behind him, one at a time, holding them close to stretch out his leg muscles. He does some lunges, some wrist stretches, some neck exercises, and it's all very normal and mundane, but Shouto can't stop watching. Bakugou looks good in his hoodie and joggers, and it suddenly hits Shouto that he's still in pajama pants and short sleeves despite the frigid temperature. 

Yet...he can't feel a thing. Which is fine by him. Sometimes Shouto would rather be numb than deal with the sensations of living. It's how he survived for so long, after all.

He blows out another sigh and lets the wind carry it far away. 

It's when Bakugou stretches his arms straight up and tilts his head to the sky that the blond freezes, his ruby eyes catching Shouto's own mismatched stare. Cold seeps through his veins, and Shouto can feel the icy hand of dread reach into his chest and start frosting over his skin.

A scowl immediately darkens Bakugou's handsome face and he yanks one of his earbuds out with more force than necessary. "Oi, the fuck you starin' at me for, half-n-half?" Bakugou demands in his usual grumpy tone, his eyebrows creased in irritation. "Stop being a fucking creep, jesus."

"S-sorry," Shouto stammers, though he stays completely still, like prey caught in the eyes of a predator. Bakugou just scoffs and resumes his stretches, though he leaves his earbud out for some reason. The action—or non-action, he supposes—perplexes Shouto.

He doesn't know what possesses him to start talking, but before Shouto can stop himself, the words come tumbling out. "What are you doing?"

Bakugou pauses his shoulder rotations and shoots a glare up at Shouto. "The fuck does it look like I'm doing?"

"Uh…" Shouto says eloquently, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. "I mean...that's not…"

"Spit it out, I don't have all goddamn day," Bakugou says as he lowers himself to the concrete for some pushups.

Shouto rolls the words around on his tongue before simply saying, "You're up early." It's then that Shouto realizes that he actually has no idea what time it is. He has no clue whatsoever how long he's been awake, how long he's been standing out here in the cold. He hasn't even thought about the inevitable and unstoppable passage of time until this very moment when it becomes startlingly clear that he's lost a good chunk of it to his mind being far away from his body.

Bakugou grunts out as he lowers himself as far as his muscles will allow before pushing himself back up. "I'm up this early every morning, dipshit." He does a couple more pushups before continuing, "You, however, usually aren't."

The observation catches Shouto by surprise, enough that his eyes widen, and his heart stutters in his chest. He's usually flat-out ignored by Bakugou when the other teen isn't screaming in his face about rival-this and rematch-that. So the fact that Bakugou has at least paid attention to Shouto's sleeping habits has him feeling some kind of way.

Shouto should brush it off, should keep to himself, and let Bakugou think whatever he wants. But perhaps it's the unrealness, the liminal space in which early mornings exist, that prompts Shouto to confide in Bakugou. Just this once. 

"Mhm," Shouto hums in agreement, and the small noise is almost lost to the wind. "I...couldn't sleep. Nightmares."

Bakugou makes some sort of noise in acknowledgement but says nothing else.

Shouto's chest still feels heavy, and his muscles ache, though, from the cold or staying in the same position for so long, he isn't sure. He pulls himself fully upright, gripping the railing tight with his numbed hands. Sucking in a deep breath that freezes his lungs, he hoists himself up onto the railing and maneuvers to sit. His legs dangle on the outer side of the railing and looking at the ground from this high up, Shouto almost feels weightless. As if he really would fly if he just let go.

Still, he holds onto the railing as the cold metal bites into his palms.

"The fuck are you doing?" Bakugou asks, and when Shouto looks down, his eyes meet red. His classmate is standing with his arms crossed, glaring daggers up at Shouto. "You're gonna fall if you're not careful, and don't expect me to catch your sorry ass."

Shouto lets out a breath of a chuckle despite himself, noting how much the exhalation makes his body shake. "Would it be such a bad thing? If I fell," he says easily, tipping his head up to look at the sky. The city lights are too bright to see the stars, but it must be nearing dawn because he can see tiny wisps of blue spread like smoke into the inky black of the night sky.

"Of course it would be a bad thing. I can't kick your ass if you're not here," Bakugou says with a growl, and Shouto would find it heartwarming if hearing such a thing from Bakugou didn't shock him enough for his grip to falter.

"Bakugou?" he asks, wanting confirmation that what he'd just heard isn't a trick of his addled mind.

"Shut the hell up and get down from there." Bakugou's glare softens, and though a frown is still pulling at his mouth, he almost looks...concerned.

Huh. Maybe Shouto really is still dreaming.

He doesn't move, and Bakugou growls again from the floor below.

"Seriously, half-n-half, get down. No way you can hold yourself up on those shaky ass twig arms of yours."

Shouto then looks down at his arms, which are, in fact, trembling. The notion strikes him as odd because he would have been able to feel the contraction of his muscles, right? But his arms have gone numb so long ago that Shouto finds it remarkable he still has limbs left.

The logical part of his brain tells him to use his left side, to warm himself up before he freezes to death. 

But the other half of his brain asks him if such an end would be so terrible.

Shouto sighs again and his breath turns to frost in the air.

"I'm gonna fuckin’ come up there and get you myself if you don't get down," Bakugou threatens, his glare renewed, his tone brooking no argument. 

The urge to be defiant rises up in Shouto, the same kind of defiance he shows his father. But he reels himself back before anything comes of it. Bakugou is not his father. Bakugou is not asking anything unreasonable of him. Bakugou is not trying to hurt him. If anything, Bakugou is trying to help him...in his own Bakugou way.

But...Shouto doesn’t really feel like he deserves to be helped. 

In any case, he doesn’t have the energy to start a fight this early in the morning—even though he still doesn’t know what time it is—and does what Bakugou says. He curls his legs up to his chest and slowly, shakily, turns until he’s facing his balcony door. He gingerly extends his legs down, and his feet find purchase on the concrete again. Shouto almost feels disappointed.

He peers over the railing, leaning forward enough to make eye contact with Bakugou. “Happy?” he asks in a voice that sounds more petulant than he intends.

Bakugou just rolls his eyes and waves Shouto off. “Better not catch you sleeping in class, you stubborn bastard,” he says before putting his earbud in again. Shouto watches Bakugou head for his own door, and once the blond disappears, Shouto allows himself back into his room.

He lies down on the futon, watching the sun chase away the shadows on his ceiling until his alarm goes off.

.

It’s hard to focus in class.

The blank notebook page stares up at him almost mockingly, teasing him about the notes that should be there. Shouto chews on the inside of his lip and taps the tip of his pencil against the paper, not actually writing anything. He couldn’t write anything if he tried, anyway—he hasn’t heard a word of what Cementoss has said this entire class period. His gaze keeps tearing away to the window, where the dull grey clouds have blown in to cover the sun that had only shown its face for a short time that morning. He hopes for snow, but it’s not quite late enough in the season for that yet. If he’s lucky, though, maybe it’ll rain.

The lunch bell rings, and Shouto very nearly jumps in his seat, his attention snapping back to the present fast enough to give him whiplash. He looks up to see Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka standing in a half-circle around his desk. Midoriya is the first one to speak.

"Are you okay, Todoroki-kun?" the broccoli boy asks, and Todoroki looks blearily up at his friend. He blinks his eyes a few times to get Midoriya to come into focus.

"You don't look so good," Uraraka points out, reaching her hand out to touch Shouto's forehead. Against his will, Shouto flinches away and immediately feels guilty at the hurt in Uraraka's soft brown eyes.

"I'm fine," he lies, then backpedals, because he feels awful lying to his friends, and adds, "Just...not feeling well, I suppose…"

"I can escort you to Recovery Girl if you are feeling unwell," Iida offers in that earnest way of his, and it hurts Shouto to hear his friends being so concerned for him when he really, really doesn't feel like he deserves it.

"Thank you, but I'll be okay," Shouto says and forces a smile that he knows looks fake as hell and that his friends, especially Midoriya, can see right through his ruse. "I think I might nap a little during lunch."

Midoriya looks like he's about to argue, but the boy bites his tongue and nods. "If you're sure...but, please, let us know if you need anything, okay, Todoroki-kun? We're here for you."

Normally, this would be the time when the group closes around Shouto for a hug, but the three of them hesitate to touch him. Shouto's thankful they hold back, because he's afraid he might break if they actually hug him.

"Thank you," he says again, packing up his things as he watches his friends leave the classroom. They all shoot him small smiles and waves as they depart, and Shouto manages a half-wave in return. He slides his notebooks in between the textbooks and other supplies in his bag, narrowly missing bending the cover of Sero’s manga he still has to return.

His vision swims as he stands, then zooms in and out as if he's looking at the world through a fisheye lens. He wrenches his eyes shut and takes a deep breath to steady himself before shouldering his bag.

He hears the scraping of chair legs on linoleum as he makes to leave the classroom, and against his better judgment, Shouto turns around toward the source of the noise. 

Bakugou levels him with a glare, still sitting at his desk with his chair reclined back on its two hind legs. Silence stretches between them, heated and tense, until Shouto turns the cold shoulder on Bakugou and exits the classroom. 

He finds himself up on the roof of the school, a seating area that is often used during the summer but now sits vacated as late autumn prepares to give way to winter. Shouto is grateful that he's alone, grateful he doesn't have to put up a facade and pretend he's okay today when he's really anything but. 

He allows his bag to fall off his shoulders and drop to the concrete, but the weight on his shoulders doesn't ease. He lets his feet guide him to the edge of the roof, where he sits on the stone parapet and dangles his legs over the outer side, just like he did on the railing this morning. 

The wind isn't as harsh as it was in the early hours of dawn, but it still brings a comforting and familiar chill as it blows right through him. Shouto feels empty, as if he could be carried off by too strong of a gust. He feels a few stray raindrops on his face as he tilts it toward the sky, eyes as stormy and grey as the clouds above him watching as they churn and swirl with the promise of a downpour. Shouto hopes for one—anything to help cleanse this apathy out of his system. 

He spends his entire lunch hour up on the roof and returns to class soaked to the bone and shivering.

.

Shouto is well aware of the looks he's getting from his classmates as he peels his drenched uniform off his frigid skin to change into his winter hero costume. He's aware of the hushed whispers traded back and forth behind his back, and though he can't quite make out what's being said, he knows they're talking about him. Shouto chooses to ignore it, chooses to pretend not to notice the concerned looks Midoriya and Iida throw his way, acts like he doesn't see the way Bakugou won't stop glaring at him the same way he was when Shouto left class earlier.

He shrugs his shoulders into his thermal harness, clicks the temperature regulator at his collar, pulls his sleeves down to hide the burns on his arm, and puts his wristbands on and tightens them almost enough to cut off his circulation. He slides his feet into his boots, tucking the fabric of his jumpsuit pants into the top until it’s mostly seamless. He adjusts his belt, hooking the notches into the holes and attaching his emergency canisters. Everything is done methodically, and Shouto focuses on these small, mundane actions to keep his thoughts from spiraling into much darker territory.

When Aizawa tells them the exercise for the day is going to be civilian rescue, and that Shouto is going to be one of the students acting as a victim, Shouto wants to sink into the ground right then and there. He had been hoping to be able to blow off some steam, whether it be sparring or Quirk training or something else besides this, but his teacher’s word is final and Shouto does as he’s told.

The class makes their way to Ground Beta and splits off into their separate roles. Aizawa ushers those on the hero team away so that those on the victim team can find places to hide themselves and await rescue. It’s still raining and cold, which Aizawa says will help them build up some endurance to the elements.

Shouto makes himself at home in a partially collapsed building, hiding amongst the rubble and structural damage. He lies flat on his back, feels the sharp edges of broken concrete digging into his lower back, his legs, his arms, and the discomfort grounds him. It keeps him from drifting too far off the face of the earth, keeps him from separating too far from himself. The icy raindrops falling through the gaps where the ceiling has caved in feel almost comforting as they pelt against his face.

He feels cold, but the regulator on his back prevents his body temperature from dropping too much. He feels the heat seeping through his jumpsuit as the device activates, keeping him warm. For some reason, the heat puts him on edge. 

Time suspends itself in a cloud around him. Shouto has no idea how long he stays there, letting the rain soak through his previously dampened hair when he hears the distant sounds of his classmates communicating with one another. He can make out neither individual voices nor what’s being said, but he hopes they take a while to find him. He hopes he can fade away unnoticed if only to get away from all of these ugly thoughts and feelings plaguing him today.

Shouto just wants it all to stop.

The rescue team finds him eventually, totally soaked through and shivering. He blows out a shaky sigh, his breath condensing into a white cloud as it escapes his tightening lungs. Yaoyorozu leans down next to him, placing her fingertips delicately on his forehead.

“Can you move?” she asks, as they were trained to do upon finding a civilian who needs help.

“Don’t think so,” Shouto answers, his voice raspy from cold and disuse. “Hypothermia, maybe.” He may seem like he’s playing his part well, but he really can’t feel his limbs very much. He can’t remember how long ago they started to go numb. He tries to move his fingers, but they’re almost frozen in place. They ache.

Yaoyorozu nods and lowers her head in concentration for a moment, pulling a thermal blanket out of her arm. “Why didn’t you use your Quirk?” she whispers to him as she tucks the blanket around him, concern knitting her dark brows together. “Your lips are practically blue.”

“Didn’t think of it,” Shouto answers weakly.

Yaoyorozu sighs and looks behind her to their other classmates in the rescue group. “Kirishima-san, can you carry Todoroki-san?” she asks the strong redhead. “He’s immobilized.”

“Sure thing!” Kirishima agrees readily, coming over to Shouto and Yaoyorozu. He pauses, his mouth tilting into a frown. “Uh...Todoroki?”

Shouto sighs. “I’m fine, Kirishima, just get on with the exercise,” he says a bit impatiently, wanting this whole thing to be over so he can just have five goddamn seconds to himself.

The guilt starts seeping in the second he’s propped against Kirishima’s back, as he lays his head against the rubber shoulder pauldron. Shouto’s such a piece of shit that he can’t even treat his friends right. Kirishima doesn’t deserve to be snapped at like that. Yaoyorozu doesn’t deserve to be brushed off. Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida don’t deserve to be lied to the way Shouto did earlier.

Shouto doesn’t deserve such wonderful friends.

At the end of class, he’s the first one to leave. He says a word to no one and convinces himself the red eyes following him out the door are just an illusion.

.

“Oi! Asshole!”

Shouto looks down from where he’s sitting on the railing of his balcony, legs hanging over the outer side once again, and sees Bakugou seething at him from the balcony below. He shrugs, looking back up to the grey evening skies still spitting out sprinkles of rain. 

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou yells, pointing an angry finger up at Shouto. The blond’s hands begin sparking in his ire. “Wanna tell me what the fuck is up with you today?”

Shouto shrugs again, still not looking at Bakugou. The magic of the morning has well worn off by this point, and he no longer feels like spilling his troubles to his classmate. What’s the point? It’s not like Bakugou can help him. It’s not like Bakugou even wants to help him.

It’s not like Shouto deserves help, anyway.

“It’s nothing,” he says simply.

“Bullshit,” Bakugou fires back immediately. “You’ve been acting like a goddamn zombie all day, and your fucking friends are worried sick about you, you fucking dickhead!”

“Why do you care?” Shouto spits, sending a heated glare down at Bakugou. The heat surging in his veins chases away the cold in his bones way too quickly, causes his grip on the railing to falter from the shock of the change in temperature. 

“...I don’t,” Bakugou says after way too long of a pause, crossing his arms in a defensive stance. “It’s just fucking annoying watching everyone mope over your moping ass!”

Shouto rolls his eyes so hard, he’s certain they’ll get stuck in the back of his head. “You wouldn’t understand,” he says dismissively, averting his gaze from Bakugou again but this time keeping the ground in his sight.

The wet concrete looks a little too enticing at the moment.

“Fucking try me,” Bakugou says, his voice dangerously low. “You think you’re the only one that struggles with shit? That carries a bunch of fucking baggage that’s a bitch to unpack?”

“Why don’t you try and unpack your own before rifling through mine?” Shouto says, and immediately regrets it when he sees the shadows descend over Bakugou’s face.

“The fuck did you just say? You wanna go, half-n-half?”

Shouto just shakes his head. “It’s not worth it…” he says. “I’m not worth it.”

“Fucking—cut that shit out! You’re pissing me off,” Bakugou snaps, then lets out a mix between a growl and a sigh. “Just...get down from there. Stop being an idiot.”

“Stop acting like you care when you don’t,” Shouto says without thinking, though he considers Bakugou’s words. Considers not throwing himself off the balcony, considers barfing up everything he’s been keeping bottled inside since the sound of his mother’s screams woke him up in the middle of the night, considers daring to think that maybe, maybe, he isn’t so worthless after all.

He and Bakugou hold a staring contest for what feels like forever and Shouto finally gives in with a sigh.

“Fine,” he says with resignation, shifting on shaking arms to turn himself around to face the sliding door back into his room. Shouto pauses for a moment, gripping tight enough on the railing that the metal indents his skin. He slowly slides his legs down, his bare toes touching the bottom rung of the railing. 

“Oi...what the fuck are you—”

Shouto releases a breath at the same time he releases his hands.

For a few blissful seconds, Shouto floats down towards the earth below them. But instead of allowing himself to plummet down into oblivion, he reaches his hands out and grips the rail of the balcony below his own. The metal sings as his numbed skin slaps down on its slippery surface, and he curls his fingers around the top to tighten his grip.

Suddenly, sweaty hands are gripping his arms and pulling him up.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what in the goddamn fucking hell was that?!” Bakugou yells at him as he drags Shouto over the railing none-too-gently, stumbling backward himself until he lands right on his ass with a listless Shouto in his arms.

“You told me to get down,” Shouto says, curling against Bakugou’s chest. He tucks his head in the crook of Bakugou’s neck, noting the way the other boy stiffens at the contact but can’t bring himself to do anything about it. “So I got down.”

Bakugou huffs and, surprisingly, wraps his strong arms around Shouto. It’s then that Shouto realizes just how cold he is, how cold he’s been all damn day, and how warm Bakugou is.

He realizes that warmth could be comforting, too.

“That’s not what I fucking meant and you know it,” Bakugou says, and there’s a strange softness to his usually gruff voice that Shouto can’t place.

They sit in silence for a little while, the rain coming down steadily around them. The sound of the raindrops is almost enough to lull Shouto into the sleep he’s been chasing since before dawn. Bakugou’s hand somehow ends up at the back of Shouto’s head, his rough and calloused fingers combing through Shouto’s wet, matted hair. 

“You are worth it, half-n-half,” Bakugou finally says, so quietly that Shouto can’t be sure if the other boy actually said anything. He squeezes Shouto tighter, enveloping the taller boy with his natural warmth that’s usually hidden behind a cold, barbed wire fence. “Don’t fucking let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even yourself.”

Shouto blinks his eyes open half-mast, letting Bakugou’s words sink in, past the freezing rain that has  soaked into his skin, allowing the reassurance to melt the ice in his veins and bring warmth back to his blood. His tingling fingers curl into the soft fabric of Bakugou’s hoodie, and he buries his nose against Bakugou’s neck until he can feel the other boy’s pulse fluttering against the tip.

“You’re worth it, too, Bakugou,” he says on a contented sigh.

Bakugou’s chest rumbles with a deep chuckle that barely makes it to his vocal cords. “Shut the fuck up, you idiot.” Nevertheless, his grip on Shouto tightens just the same. “Now will you let me take you inside so you don’t fucking freeze to death?”

Shouto contemplates the offer for a moment, has half a mind to decline, but. Well. He’d still have to go inside to get back to his own room, since he foolishly and impulsively jumped down to Bakugou’s balcony.

“Okay,” he agrees tiredly.

“Can you stand?” Bakugou asks, the softness of his voice still sounding out of place to Shouto’s ears.

Instead of replying verbally, Shouto reluctantly pulls himself away from Bakugou’s warmth and immediately starts shivering. He tries to force his muscles to cooperate, but the moment he attempts to stand, his legs buckle beneath him.

Luckily, Bakugou has quick reflexes and catches Shouto before he can fall.

Shouto allows Bakugou to lead him into his dorm room and doesn’t fight when the other boy forces him to sit on his bed. Mismatched eyes clouded with exhaustion watch as Bakugou digs through one of the drawers of his wardrobe. The blond lets out a little noise of success and steps over to the bed, holding out a bundle of fabric to Shouto.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Bakugou says, not meeting Shouto’s gaze. Shouto can swear he sees pink tinting Bakugou’s cheeks. 

Gingerly, Shouto reaches out for the clothes—an oversized t-shirt with a skull on it and a pair of sweatpants—and just sits there, holding them in his lap. This all feels so...unreal to him. Maybe he really did jump off his balcony and now he’s stuck in some weird, coma-induced dream where Bakugou’s being...nice to him.

The thought also strikes him that his own room is just a floor up, and he could easily go upstairs and change into clothes of his own. But the idea of even standing up, let alone going all the way up to his room, feels like some insurmountable task and right now all Shouto wants to do is sleep.

“Well, don’t just sit there like a moron, fucking change,” Bakugou says impatiently, shoving Shouto’s foot none-too-gently with his own.

The action jolts Shouto out of his reverie and he gives Bakugou a disengaged nod. Seemingly satisfied with Shouto’s wordless answer, Bakugou busies himself with searching for something else as Shouto removes his soaked shirt. He tosses the heavy article onto the floor with little care and slips into Bakugou’s t-shirt. It hangs off his narrower shoulders but it’s warm and Shouto almost hunches down into it to chase the comfort it brings him.

Shouto’s only a few centimeters taller than Bakugou, but it’s enough of a difference that the other’s sweatpants sit high on Shouto’s ankles when he puts them on. Shouto stares blankly down at his own legs before a tiny, almost nonexistent smile makes itself known and he lets out a breath of a laugh. 

“Something funny?” Bakugou asks from the other side of the room, head tilted and one eyebrow raised as red eyes bore into him. The usual cutting edge to his voice isn’t there and Shouto blinks dumbly at him for a few moments before shaking his head.

“It’s just...your sweatpants are too short on me.”

“Well, no shit, you’re taller than me,” Bakugou says as he steps over to the bed once more, this time holding a towel. He unceremoniously drops it atop Shouto’s head. “Dry your hair,” he commands before disappearing into his bathroom, presumably to change his own clothes.

Shouto reaches up hesitantly, rubbing the towel over his drenched locks and trying to coax the moisture out. His movements feel slow, delayed, like he’s crawling through molasses and burdened down with weights attached to his limbs. He lets out a heavy sigh. He’s so tired.

Suddenly there are hands batting his own away, and Bakugou furiously scrubs at Shouto’s scalp with the towel. “Fuck’s sake, icyhot, stop dripping water all over my goddamn bed,” he chides, though once again, any kind of sharpness is absent from his tone.

With another sigh, Shouto leans toward Bakugou and finds some strange sort of comfort in his hair being pulled and twisted and roughed up.

By the time Bakugou pulls the towel away and drops it to the floor with Shouto’s discarded clothes, Shouto’s hair is a right mess. The naturally split colors of his hair blend together in a tangled amalgamation of crimson and white, almost looking pink where the strands are mixed, and Bakugou puffs out his cheeks to try and hold in a laugh.

“You look fucking ridiculous,” the blond chortles.

Despite himself, Shouto smiles a bit. “Your fault,” he accuses without any real heat, flopping down on the bed and exhaling every bit of oxygen from his body. He sinks into the comforter and whereas all day Shouto’s felt flimsier and emptier than a plastic bag, now he feels heavier than the barbells Kirishima and Midoriya deadlift during their workouts. If he’s not careful, he’ll fall asleep right here and now and he really doesn’t want to burden Bakugou any more than he already has.

The thought causes his lips to pull into a frown, guilt already creeping into his chest.

“Oi, whatever your stupid brain is thinking, stop it right the fuck now,” Bakugou says, nudging Shouto over to make room for himself on the bed. Shouto complies, rolling over onto his side and curling into himself just a bit. He has a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“How about you get under the covers instead of stupidly lying on top of them?” Bakugou asks, already pulling his comforter out from under Shouto’s deadweight and throwing it over the shivering boy.

Oh. Shouto hadn’t noticed he was shivering again. He wills his Quirk to activate, to up his body temperature and allow the warmth of his fire side to bring him back to the world of the living.

Bakugou sidles up behind Shouto and Shouto stiffens, his muscles taut and aching.

“Why are you doing this?” Shouto asks, his tongue thick in his mouth. He’s surprised he sounds anything remotely close to coherent. The care and consideration Bakugou is showing him is almost too much for Shouto to handle. Sure, Shouto thinks of them as friends, has thought of them as friends for a while, but Bakugou always makes it astoundingly clear that he sees Shouto as a rival and nothing else. The fact that Bakugou is going to all this trouble for him is...strange. Humbling. Leaving him completely floundering.

Bakugou sighs, and Shouto’s surprised to feel the puff of warm air against the back of his neck. “Do I need a reason to?” he deflects, settling his arms around Shouto and pulling the taller boy close. Shockingly, Shouto doesn’t flinch away from the touch. Rather he welcomes it, sinks into it, loses himself in it the way he’s been losing himself to his darkened thoughts all day.

“I guess not,” Shouto sighs, too tired to press the issue for now. He’ll bug Bakugou about it some other time. But for now, all Shouto can do is close his eyes and allow the comfort of the boy behind him, holding him close, to lull him into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

Shouto hides his smile and allows himself these few precious, unexpected moments of peace in Bakugou’s arms.

[writer-k-pop]

Five Petal Flower - Pt. 2

미지의 길을 나와 함께 가시오. Take the unknown path with me. 

Description: [Set in old Korea, think Joseon era} After an attack makes (y/n) do something she never thought she’d have to do, she must be more careful of where she walks at night. But when her best friend, the 5th Prince Tae, gets tangled up in the aftermath of an attack, she has no choice to reveal secrets she wanted to keep secret. Warnings: Swearing, nothing too gory, Genre: Action, Angst, Romance Word Count: 2.9k

BTS Masterlist | Masterlists

"I want to know what the 5th Prince was doing outside the palace WALLS!!" The Crown Prince, Jin, screams at the counselors who have gathered in the throne room.

(y/n) waits outside the throne room, still in her outing wear and cloth mask. Her hands wring together, nervous that she will have to reveal herself to the Crown Prince.

"Your Highness, the civilian who saved the 5th Prince is here." The servant in front of you announces your arrival.

"Let them in." Crown Prince Jin allows the entrance.

The doors swing open and eyes of the counselors, military generals, and princes in the throne room whip their heads to take in the appearance of the 5th Prince's savior.

"Your Highness." (y/n) bows to 90 degrees, hands securely against her stomach.

"So you are the one who saved my brother." Crown Prince Jin inquires.

"Yes." She answer, properly.

"I would like to thank you, first of all, for saving him." The Crown Prince nods his head.

"We," The 3rd Prince, Seok, steps forward, "would also like to thank you for saving our brother." The other princes step forward and bow their heads in gratitude. The rest of the counselor's take note and copy the motion of the princes.

"I was only protecting the royal family. It is but a duty of ours." (y/n) answers. 6th Prince, Ji, cocks his head to the side before shaking away whatever thought he had.

"I understand you already gave information about the assailants to the Royal Investigation Bureau." Crown Prince Jin states, "But I was wondering if there was anything else you could tell us and the military generals that may help us figure this situation out."

(y/n) chews on the inside of her cheek.

"Psst." One of the military generals whispers, "You should probably take off your mask."

(y/n)'s eyes widen, having completely forgotten about the piece of cloth that hangs from her face.

Reaching behind her, she unties the cloth and pulls it off as she explains what she heard that she kept from the Royal Investigation Bureau in hopes to have this chance.

"They said that they were tasked to kill a servant of the fifth counselor's residence along with the family of the servant." (y/n) reports, avoiding analyzing the shocked expressions written on the princes' faces. "The servant was a fraud and the family was to be taken out as well. They were to leave everyone else and get in and get out with no witnesses."

Crown Prince Jin slowly rises to his feet, "(y/n), how-"

"I was out for some night practice with my bow and arrow." She interrupts him, "I had no intention of fighting, killing, or saving anyone. I just wanted some peace and quiet, some time with my own thoughts, your Highness." (y/n) raises her head and meets the crown prince's gaze, "But I do not regret being in the right time at the right place. Rather me there than anyone else."

A servant walks in with a cloth wrapped item. They bow and quickly walk to the first counselor, whispering something in his ear before handing over the item and leaving.

"This is one of the arrows pulled from the assailants." The first counselor announces, unwraps the arrow, and holds it out for Crown Prince Jin to take.

As Crown Prince Jin holds the arrow gingerly, the first counselor continues. "This arrow, along with its brother, were pulled from the bodies of the two assailants who attacked the fifth counselor's residence and the 5th Prince Tae tonight." The counselor turns to (y/n), "Do you claim this arrow as yours?"

(y/n) nods, hesitantly. "They are mine."

The 4th Prince, Joon, points towards a side of the arrow. "We've seen that mark before, haven't we?"

The arrow turns over in the crown prince's hands until the engraved flower is on full display. "The killings from two nights ago. These arrows had the same marking on them."

(y/n) swallows hard, knowing that her gig is up.

"You, you were there two nights ago?" The 7th and youngest prince, Kook, sputters out.

Taking a deep breath, (y/n) stands straighter, "Two nights ago, the attack on the fifth counselor's residence had the same goal as tonight. However, what the assailants didn't know was that the counselor was having a celebration that night that ran late. When they attacked, there were too many people so they aborted." She explains the events she saw that night. "I was traveling along the roofs when the screams turned from joyful to terror. I waited and when they exited the residence, I did what I did." As she continues, tears line the bottom of her eyes with the fear and worry she'd been holding in for the past two days, "I didn't know Prince Tae had snuck out. I didn't know he'd been on his way towards the screams. When I agreed to learn archery, I made an oath to the King. An oath to protect the royal family, the palace, and the country, no matter where I was. Two nights ago, I had no intensions of breaking that oath and protected the counselor's family."

"I am afraid we will have to take away your arrows. You must know that, don't you?" The First Counselor says apologetically, while the princes try to soak in the information thrown at them. (y/n) feels a bit bad for them, learning that their brother's best friend has an oath with their father is not an easy pill to swallow. Especially not after what their brother has been through.

(y/n) nods, "I understand."

"You are dismissed." The First Counselor announces.

Bowing towards the princes, she backs towards the door. Just before she steps out, Crown Prince Jin stops her.

"Does the 5th Prince know?" He asks.

Her hand grips the cloth still in her hand tighter as she turns back around. With a tight jaw, she answers, "No, he does not. And I ask the princes that they not say anything. I will tell him when he wakes up. I need to be the one to tell him. Please, your Highness."

The crown prince sets his jaw and nods in agreement. She walks out of the throne room and heads towards her residence for some sleep that will probably never arrive.

Footsteps rapidly following her make her slow down so they can catch up, whoever they are.

"Were you ever going to tell us?" 7th Prince Kook asks once he reaches her side. 3th Prince Seok appears on her other side.

Not knowing how to answer, (y/n) keeps her mouth shut for the time being.

"Come on, (y/n)." Prince Seok pleads.

(y/n) takes a deep breath before answer, "No. I wasn't." She says honestly, "It was only supposed to be the one night. I was never going to use my arrows again to kill anyone. But Tae, Tae," Her voice starts to tremble and the princes immediately stop her walking to support her, "He shouldn't have been out at all."

"I'm glad that you were there." Prince Seok gives her a side hug.

"Lady (y/n)!" Min comes running into the courtroom, "Lady (y/n)!" Once she notices the princes, she quickly bows in greeting.

Wiping away her tears, (y/n) addresses her servant. "What is it, Min?"

"The 5th Prince is awake," Min informs her breathlessly, "He's asking for you."

"We'll wait out here." Prince Kook says, putting a hand on her shoulder as they stand outside of his room, "We'll see him after you."

"Unless, hyung comes barging in." Prince Seok attempts to make a joke.

(y/n) gives them a small smile before turning to enter the room.

The candles flicker in the night, giving the room a low orange glow. Tae lays on his mattress, eyes clothes and breathing deeply as a nurse wipes his hands clean. The cut on his throat from the knife is covered by a gauze patch.

"Your Highness." (y/n) says softly and bows. "You asked for me."

Tae attempts to sit up but the nurse tries prevent him doing so. Unfortunately, Prince Tae has always been stubborn and tonight's events did not falter that stubbornness one inch. Knowing the nurse will not win against him, (y/n) shuffles over to assist.

"Tae, lay down." She instructs, using his real name, "You're hurt." Her hands gingerly push down on his shoulders and his body obeys her commands. The nurse throws her a questioning look but (y/n) quickly dismisses the nurse before she could ask any questions.

In the silence of the room, (y/n) dips the towel back into the water basin and wrings it out before dabbing at Tae's forehead.

"Say something." Tae whispers, his gaze following her every movement, "Please."

"What do you want me to say, Tae?" (y/n) asks in return. "You snuck out again. After you promised me you wouldn't."

"I know." Tae sighs, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" (Y/n) repeats incredulously, "Tae that's all you can- You could've died out there. I mean, look at you!" She practically screams at him.

"But you were there." Tae mumbles quietly with a small smile, "You weren't going to let me die."

"Of course I wasn't going to let you die! Do you know the kind of fear that ran throu- wait, what?" (y/n) stops abruptly, pulling back and sitting on her heels. "You, you knew?" She asks, meeting his knowing gaze.

Tae nods, "It took me a little while to figure it out." He sits up but (y/n) makes no move to stop him, her eyes glued on the towel clutched in her hand. "I asked Soon about the arrows but he was a dead end. Then I was thinking because the flower seemed familiar to me somehow. Like I've seen it all my life but I couldn't remember where I had seen it."

(y/n) closes her eyes, realizing she'd given herself away to him her entire life, the shock of the reveal quickly taking a back seat.

"And then it hit me." Tae continues, "You were always drawing that exact flower everywhere. In your notebooks, in your letters, in your study books."

"That doesn't explain why you snuck out tonight." (y/n) finally looks at him with a scolding look.

"I was following you." Tae lowers his eyes in shame, "I wanted to talk to you because of the engravings but I saw you sneaking out with your bow and quiver full of arrows so I followed you. I didn't know they would be attacking again."

As the tears build in (y/n)'s eyes, her mind races to find the next step.

"I just wanted to see where you usually go out to to shoot at night." Tae explains, "You always talk about how you go there at night to think and practice and I wanted to actually see what it was like out there."

"And you decided that quietly following me was better than letting me know of your presence so we could go there together?" (y/n) questions, the next step still unclear in her mind.

"By the time I realized I should probably say something, you were already up on the roof and the shouts were rising in volume." Tae reasons. "I'm sorry." He apologizes again.

"Tae," (y/n) sighs, "I don't know if sorry is enough, Tae. You risked your life for something you could've spoken to me about. You broke the promise you made, too. You ran straight into harms way. I had to watch my best friend be dragged away and have his life threatened."

The first tear falls onto her cheek. It burns a trail down her face. "The momentary doubt I had that I could successfully save you. The fear that held my breath, the- And you know the most screwed up part?" She looks directly at him, his eyes following every tear falling from her eyes, his own heart breaking with every tear that hits the ground. "In the moment I shot those men, I wasn't even thinking about the oath I made to your father. The oath to protect the palace, the country, and the royal family. The only thing that was running through my mind was saving my best friend. Not the 5th Prince. My best friend. The man I couldn't bear to live life without."

Tae reaches to wipe the tears from her cheek but she backs away.

Rising to her feet, she folds her hands in front of her, "Tae, in every situation, an archer has two choices. Stay to shoot, or run." She tries her best to control the shaking in her voice.

Tae's eyes flood with tears as he realizes what she's about to do. "Please, don't."

(y/n) sniffles and wipes her tears, "Rest well, your Highness." She bows and quickly leaves the room. As the doors close behind her, she hears the crashing and splashing of the water bin against the floor. Along with the sobs of 5th Prince. She keeps her eyes glued to the ground, avoiding the faces of the 3rd and 7th princes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun beats down on (y/n)'s back as she roams the palace grounds. After not getting a minute of sleep last night, she thought staying cooped up in her room wasn't the best idea. Her heart still aches from last night's conversation. Walking away was difficult, but she knew it was the only choice she had, at the time. Between the anger, the worry, the fear, and the doubt, she needed to clear her head but she couldn't do it with him in the room. She had to leave.

"It was my only option." (y/n) reminds herself and kicks the dirt at her feet.

"You said you couldn't bear to live life without me." Tae's voice stops her in her tracks.

She clenches her hands together but doesn't move to face him.

"What did you mean by that?" He asks, quieter.

"You shouldn't be out of bed, and we aren't to be seen together, your Highness." (y/n) reminds him and moves to continue walking but Tae blocks her path. She lowers her gaze to the ground, not wanting to appear rude towards the royal in front of her.

"Do you know why we were told not to be seen together?" Tae questions, waving off her concern.

When (y/n) doesn't answer, he answers his own question. "Because I begged my father to not arrange my marriage, to let me only have one wife. He agreed on one condition. I was not to see the person I wanted to marry for 8 years. And if I still loved her, I would be able to marry her and only her."

(y/n) doesn't hide the tears or the sniffles, "That was a terrible deal." She comments.

Tae chuckles, "In hind sight, yeah, it was kind of terrible deal. But I was determined to marry the girl I love so I took it."

When Tae grabs her hands, (y/n) tries to pull away but Tae's grip only tightens. "You, (y/n), are the person I couldn't bear to live life without." He gives her words back to her. "If I know you as well as I think I do, I know you're scared and angry but you're not sure if you have the right to feel that way."

(y/n) raises her head to meet his gaze. The understanding gaze that always could comfort her even when her thoughts were in the deepest grave. It always surprises her how well Tae could decipher her emotions without her ever saying a word.

"You have every right to feel those emotions, (y/n)." Tae reassures her, daring to wipe a tear off of her cheek. "You admitted something last night that you weren't intending on admitting. You're angry at yourself for saying it but you're also scared of what comes next because you can't prepare for it."

Feeling cornered, but cornered by the right person who won't let her fall, (y/n) admits to what she's been holding in.

"I always thought it was because of the oath I took with your father. That the oath was the reason we weren't to be seen together in public." She explains, "You're right, I didn't want to admit it, but it just slipped out in all the confusion. I was going to tell you. I wanted to. But now that I have, I can't see my available next steps because the answer is in your hands. That scares me. It scares me that this is the one thing I've spent years trying to find the right path for and I still haven't found anything. Once I practically said 'I love you,' I took the first step into the unknown path and-"

Tae presses his lips against hers, stopping her from saying any more. His arms slowly wrap around her waist, pulling her closer and she responds. Finally letting her inner feelings emerge and show themselves after years of hiding.

Pulling away, Tae rests his forehead against hers.

"Tae, we still need to talk about last night." (y/n) declares, "A confession and a kiss aren't going to fix everything that happened."

Tae rolls his eyes, "I'm sorry for sneaking out."

(y/n) shakes her head, "You have to promise me that you'll never to it again."

Tae opens his mouth to answer but (y/n) places a finger on his mouth, quieting his response. "And that you'll never leave my side."

When Tae's boxy smile breaks out onto his features, (y/n) can't help but mirror his expression. "I promise." He promises and pulls her in for a hug.

"I have one more question, (y/n)." Tae holds her at arms length.

(y/n) nods and waits to answer his unknown question.

"Take the unknown path with me," Tae starts, "Will you marry me?"

[abhailiu]

@copiesofme​ asked: "You make me curious in a way I never have been before." Wan to Win

        She knows that she should be afraid of him. It was hard-wired into her that the moment she saw those horses gathering outside her cottage, that there would be a little light switch going off in her head that tells her that she’s in danger. Winifred doesn’t know that most of the time she does run, and she has a hundred times before, only to be gathered up with her wrists bound and taken off into the hills. Most of the time she works as intended. Plays the part of the perfect damsel in distress, the newcomers show up and open fire like they’re supposed to. She offers her gratitude in fake kisses and gushing about her heroes the way she’s supposed to. There were always other times where things didn’t go according to plan like the time the bandits came down from the hills. She could have let them kill him, and she would have been free to return home to do and go as she pleased again. 

       The compassionate part of her had recognised that he was kind enough to have kept her fed, kept her watered and had made no move to hurt her, told her to run when they came howling from the hills, followed by the rattle of gunfire. When he’d hit the floor, she grabbed the rock without thinking. As a woman who was coded to piece people back together, it had felt horrible to be the one to take them apart. She’d felt sick to her stomach when the stone first connected with the bandit’s skull, and the hands immediately trying to get at Wanhaton had flown to his head. She hit him again. Again. Again. Again. He didn’t move after the sixth, and Winifred had flung the stone off to one side, pointed a finger at him and said: We’re even now. I’m going home. 

       Then came the dreams. 

       There were some nights where she dreams of him. Sometimes it’s fuzzy, like an approaching shadow in a badly lit room that reminds her of a spectre coming to claim her. Others she is holding a knife and feeling the warmth of his blood sinking into her fingers. She vividly remembers the confusion, then the horror seeping into his expression and she is completely unsure if he knows of the screaming she does in her own head as she begs her body to comply. Winifred doesn’t like those nightmares. She never has. The memories she has of her parents had taught her that all living beings, mortal or animal were something to be treasured and even the most frightening of spiders must be put outside no matter how much they terrified her. Very little truly frightened her, apparently - but enough nights of waking up in a cold sweat and wondering who he was had been enough to throw her into turmoil. 

      It wasn’t always her who died in these nightmares. Sometimes it was her, too. Winifred remembers it in the way one might remember those moving pictures in the next city over; slow, quiet- save for the gurgle and splutter when she tries to speak again. He doesn’t go for her stomach, but slits her throat, and she never goes quietly. She remembers that he throws the knife away like it’s burned him, and the distinct tremble of his hands as they tried to stop the blood. She isn’t scared of him in these moments because she understands, somewhere, deep down that they weren’t his choice in the same way that they weren’t her own. 

        Sometimes, they die together in these nightmares. She remembers feeling everything and nothing all at once, like there was a gaping chasm splitting her heart in two and with it the last shred of lucidity. They both die in this dream, with her crawling to him and using the last of her strength to brush her fingers from the middle of his brow, down the slope of his nose, over the crest of his lips to his jaw. Black edges her vision and when her hand falls slack, it always does at his throat. Then she wakes up.

       As Winifred watches him now, she wonders if everything is going to go like it had her dreams a few nights ago. Everything else has followed it to the letter outside of a few things. She hadn’t run, and he hadn’t bound her hands but asked him to come with him so she would be safe. The familiarity she feels with him is completely unlike the terror she’d felt in slumber, but something a lot warmer and a lot more comfortable. His lips brush against the tip of her nose and one of his hands settle against her hip. She can feel the heat of his breath across her cheeks, right over his brow before they settle on her forehead. It’s as light as a whisper but it’s enough to make her heart race and her cheeks warm. Winifred has never been this close to anyone before, yet she takes comfort in it and in the heat radiating from his skin. Despite being a woman armed with many long and useless words, nothing comes. 

      Blue eyes try to pick out his expression in the dark of the evening, but struggles. It was now or never. She is surprised to find that as she leans in, so does he. As their lips meet, things feel like they finally make sense. Wanhaton is the one she has found herself waiting for all those days where she’d felt scattered and out of sorts, like they were supposed to be around one another in one way, shape or form. Whether that was like now, with the softest of kisses that linger, or drowning in their own blood. Her path, regardless of any mishaps that happened along the way, always led her to him. Just as she sinks into him, he pulls away and she finds that she is lightheaded and breathless. His lips are close enough to hers that she can feel the heaviness of his breath. 

      “Do I?” she breathes, and Winifred hates how heavy her voice sounds. “Were I thinking clearly, I would ask what makes you so curious.” It’s an attempt at playfulness. Lighten the air around them, even as she moves to brush the tip of her nose against his. “You make sense to me in ways I can’t fathom. Like everything in my life was leading up to this moment.”

[author-morgan]

Phobia ☤ Alexios

sixteen - fire and flames

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

THE NEXT TWO days pass in a blur. Irene isn't sure how she'd found herself fighting rogues in a burning warehouse with Alexios and a Spartan after chasing Phoibe through the streets, but the flames lick at her skin and fire rages in her blood. She ducks beneath the swing of a two-handed axe and lurches forward, cutting deep into the man's thigh. The howls of pain are silenced when Alexios drags the point of his kopis across the man's throat in a tight slash.

She rises with blood spattered across her face -chest heaving, eyes wrought with harsh obduracy. Alexios' gaze lingers on the princess for just a second too long and he doesn't notice the assailant approaching him from behind -sword raised. Irene darts forward, uses the dead man's body as leverage, launching herself into the air over the Eagle Bearer's shoulder. She bears down upon the man with the broken spear, driving it through his neck. Lidless eyes reflect the glow of the inferno.

Something slams into her side before she can rise -sending her backward into a burning post. Scrambling to her hands and knees, Irene sees a discarded shield and rolls toward it. Bones rattle at the impact of a heavy sword against the metal. She drives her attacker back and regains her footing -wielding both sword and shield.

The second blow to the shield reverberates through her arm. She sweeps the shield wide, opening her foe's defenses and plunges her sword deep into the man's belly, wrenching it free in a spray of blood. She snarls, kicking the collapsing corpse away and tossing the shield aside. It only slowed her down.

Smoke begins to burn her eyes and scratch her throat. Through the flames, she sees the Spartan -fending off two men. He doesn't see the third. Irene recovers her broken spear from a corpse and throws it with all her might. As the Spartan turns to face the man, he is already falling backward -the hilt of a broken spear rising from his eye.

The Spartan gives her a curt nod, before turning his focus to the last rogue. Alexios already as his attention on the same man. The princess retrieves the spear. It comes free from the corpse's skull with a soft squelch and pulls his burst eye out of socket, too. Planks creak above, it won't be much longer before the half-rotten wood collapses and the roof caves in on them.

Night air floods the warehouse. It is cool by comparison -but only for a moment before it makes the flames grow larger and hotter. Irene returns to one of the civilians that'd been too weak to leave of his own volition. He drapes his arm over her shoulders and tries his best to push forward as she pulls him from the burning warehouse.

Alexios and the Spartan are dispatching the rogues that'd been waiting outside the flames. Irene eases the elderly man to the ground against a stack of crates. His gaze is empty and unfocused -eyes fogged over. He raises a withered hand, trembling, and reaches toward the princess. The tips of his fingers brush her bloodied cheek. "The gods will bless you," he cries and it almost sounds prophetic.

IRENE SHAKES THE water from her hands and looks up at the Eagle Bearer. There's a fresh cut above his left eye that hadn't been there when she'd last looked at him in the flames. "Why are you bleeding?" The question doesn't come out the way she'd intended, but a mix of what happened and you're bleeding.

Alexios lowers himself onto the dock after sheathing his sword with a dry chuckle. "Misstep on my part," he says, brushing two fingers over the cut above his brow. Blood trickles down his face in a rivulet and comes away on his fingertips, but he isn't concerned. It's minor -a scratch compared to injuries he's had in the past.

The Spartan, Brasidas, has already left to return to his camp. Much like Anthousa, he has plans for the Monger too, though they differ from the hetaeras. Brasidas wishes to lure the brute into the sacred cave and do away him without spectacle to spare civilians from the anarchy that could follow a public execution.

Either way, Korinth would be free of his reign of terror. Her gaze lingers on Alexios as he washes away the blood. "What do you think should be done about the Monger?" Irene asks -she's already made her choice but is curious who he will side with.

His jaw clenches. "If I were in Anthousa's place I'd want the satisfaction of seeing his head mounted outside the theater, but I think Brasidas is right," Alexios announces,  "the less bloodshed the better." Irene nods, it is good to know they both agree on the task at hand.

IRENE GLARES AT him from across the fire. Alexios is sharpening the blade of a newly acquired labrys. She isn't so lucky to have come across treasure, only a room full of soldiers. "Sneak into the fort, you said," she grouses, trying to reach the bloody scratch on the back of her shoulder. "It'll be fun," she mocks.

He smiles a small smile. His lips twitch like he's trying not to laugh. The Eagle Bearer sets aside the labrys and whetstone, his eyes soften as they trail over her. "Come here, princess."

She offers him a harsh glare. "Princess?"

Alexios shrugs, going to her instead. "Well, you are a princess," he reminds her. She only scowls. He pushes her hair away and unclasps another pin on her shoulder, baring the full length of the slim cut. The blade must have slipped beneath her linothorax cuirass. Taking the damp cloth from Irene, he lays it over the scratch and finds his attention drawn to the scar running upward beneath her left arm.

His fingertips brush over the raised scar of their own accord. Irene's breath hitches and tiny sparks emanate from his touch, racing all over her body. She shifts -not fully turning to face him, though she can see the silent question in his gaze. Lifting her arm, she exposes the full length of the scar curving around from her back to just below her breast. "A mercenary intended to collect the bounty on my head while I slept," Irene explains.

She'd been in Argolis delivering news to Hippokrates and taking care of a group of bandits causing trouble for one of Alkibiades' friends. The blade had been quick, but the princess was quicker. Euterpe the Snake's dagger had missed its true mark and Irene had buried her spear deep into the mercenary's neck. By the time she arrived at the clinic in Argos to find the physician, she was drenched in blood and sweat. It's the closest she's come to meeting Hades.

A look of deep contemplation furrows Alexios' brows as he wipes away the dried blood on her back. He offers to wrap the slim cut, but it no longer bleeds and Irene wishes to save the bandages for more pressing needs and grievous injuries. Righting her chiton, the princess turns toward the fire.

"Alexios." Irene takes his hand and traces over the pale scar running across his palm -it's more recent than the ones wrapping around his arm. She'd felt the raised mark against her skin while he tended her minor injuries. "This scar," she begins, "how'd you get it?"

He looks down at the scar -and how small Irene's hand is in comparison to his own. "When I snuck into the Cult's meeting in Delphi, one of the Cultist was collecting offerings for the bloodline," Alexios pauses, "I offered my blood so it wouldn't raise suspicions."

Since meeting the Persian princess on the shores of Samos, Alexios has slowly begun learning her many expressions and what they mean. For instance, the way her lips are pursed and dipping downward and the soft wrinkle in her brow are a good indicator she is deep in thought about something. "What is it?" He asks.

"Hermippos bears the same scar," she tells him, "I've seen him with his hand wrapped many times too." Far too often for a just playwright and given his disposition against Perikles, part of her doubts it is merely a coincidence.

Before the morning comes the fire turns into a pile of ash and the chill of autumn lingers in the air. Alexios pokes the pile of ash with a stick and a flame jumps up then dies out. The brief flash of light is enough for him to see Irene curled into herself, shuddering. He rises, moving his thin bedroll next to hers. The princess shifts, rolling toward him -his warmth a magnet.

WORD PASSES AROUND the streets quickly of what had occurred at the Monger's warehouse in the Port of Lechaion. Whispers rise that he is making his way back to Korinth from Epidauros to face whoever had disrupted his dealings. Even with haste, it is a two-day journey and until the Monger arrives, Alexios wears the moniker of a misthios again.

By the day's end, he's secured two small pouches of drachmae and Irene has given away twice that much of her coin to those in need on the streets. Korinth is not a kind city and such help does not come often, but when it does -the people are indebted with gratitude.

Stars are veiled by thick, low hanging clouds shroud the countryside just outside the city walls in darkness. Flames cast long shadows in the ruins of an old temple next to a spring -bubbling with fresh water.

"Honestly, how do you even find a helmet to fit your inflated head?" The princess inquires, wringing water from her pitch hair. Alexios won't admit it, but he enjoys their banter. Some things he does just to get a rise out of her. Most of the time it works well enough -though he had not meant to provoke her scrutiny earlier in the day. "Well, luckily for you I am one," Irene says, puffing out her chest and trying her best to imitate the timbre of his voice. "I mean who says that?"

Alexios leans back against the felled stone column, trying his best to hide a smile as Irene paces back-and-forth. "Just because you have the body of a god doesn't make you one," she snaps without thinking -her cheeks turn burn bright red upon realizing what she'd said aloud.

He sits up straighter and has the audacity to smirk. "You think I have the body of a god?"

Irene grumbles and turns her back to him and the fire. "Forget I said that," she says over her shoulder, wrapping herself in a pale yellow wool blanket, "good night." Alexios shakes his head, smiling, then glances up and finds Ikaros hovering above them, keeping vigilance.

[justjessame]

A Little Ass and A Lotta Sass Chapter 17:  Gobsmacked... Spelled C-A-L-L-I-E

I might not like mornings, but you know what I do like? Hearing a knock on the door signifying that Negan’s about to be interrupted while attempting to coax out a new noise out of me. Not the interruption itself, trust me, I’d MUCH rather not be left dangling over the precipice, but that look in his eyes that says ‘I am about to go on a fucking tear the likes of these assholes have never seen.”

Guess I’m going to have to add the absolute terror that he can put in to the hearts and minds of others as a kink too, because fuck if it isn’t extremely hot to see. It was our breakfast of course. And hearing him growl at the poor sucker who pulled delivery duty was pretty fucking sexy. I got out of bed reluctantly, and threw on Negan’s discarded t-shirt and pulled on a pair of panties from my drawer.

I walked barefoot to where he was setting up the table, and leaned against the wall to observe the way he moved. Languid, like a cat, I thought. Completely at ease in his domain, which was how the man was in EVERY domain. His jeans were hanging low on his hips, having tugged them on sans belt, and I was wearing his t-shirt, so he was once again shirtless. And he was barefooted, like me. His toned chest, dusted with matching salt and pepper hair that I’d found he enjoyed me tugging on at any point in our intimacy, made me bite my lip. Fuck, was he really all mine?

“You gonna keep starin’ or come over here and fucking eat, like a good girl?” He asked, not taking his eyes off the food. Studying it, probably making sure nothing was amiss, or maybe hoping they fucked up so he could take out some pent up aggression that sex didn’t fix.

Shaking my head, I walked over and wound my arms around his back. Kissing his spine, I felt his hands cover mine. I pressed my cheek against his back, feeling him relax into my touch. “What’s for breakfast?” My words are quiet, but my contentment with this new normal of mine clear, I hoped.

Negan turned, kissing the top of my head. “Take a look, baby girl.” But his arms wrapped around me, naturally and easily. I leaned around his tall frame and took in scrambled eggs, fresh baked bread, some type of meat, and a dish of oatmeal at both of our seats. Dear Lord, there was no way I could fucking eat all that.

I groaned, and felt him chuckle. “I get that I’m ‘eating for two’ and all, but these fucking portions are going to kill me.”

One of his hands cupped my chin to force my eyes to meet his. “Just eat, princess.” And with a kiss that made my knees go weak, he released me and held out my chair. Such a fucking gentleman, I swear.

Rolling my eyes, I sat, but I waited until he took his own seat before picking up my fork. As we ate, we got back to our ‘getting to know you’ chatter. “Tell me what your life was like before all this.” I wanted to know who the man was before he became this version of himself.

Negan studied his food. He didn’t answer, and for a moment I wondered if he would brush it off. Not every survivor liked to talk about their life before. As though talking about it made it less real, or more real depending on the person. He surprised me, however, and finally looked up and told me. The entire story. His wife. Her sickness. His infidelity. The ups and downs of his career. And most of all, how he felt he’d failed the woman he’d married as the world truly turned to shit.

“She turned.” His voice was as quiet as mine had been when I walked in this room earlier. “And I knew I should-” He stopped, eyes pinched with a pain that I hated to see. “I couldn’t. Not her. Not after every shitty thing I’d done.” His eyes landed on that damn bat and I realized, I knew that it carried her name. Lucille. His true wife. A woman he felt he’d never done right by, not even when she died and came back.

I listened, eating absently, and wondered what he really saw in me. Why he picked me. What he wanted from me truly. When he was finished telling me his history, I looked down at my food and was shocked to see it was almost completely gone. Who knew? Who knew that hearing a man who was larger than life explain that he was fucking human would make me ravenous? Or at the very least distract me enough to overeat.

“Thank you for telling me.” I offered, putting my fork down, feeling more than full. “I, maybe I shouldn’t have asked-” I stopped and tried to collect my thoughts. “I’m sorry if sharing it was painful.” It was lame, to my own ears, to try to offer- what? Sympathy? Comfort? It was too little, but I wanted to take his pain away.

He shook his head, glancing where my food used to be. “If sharing painful things with you gets you to fucking eat? Then I’ll tell you any damn thing you want to know.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I sat with him, no longer asking for more information, while he ate his own breakfast. “Is that my shirt, Callie?” His eyes, no longer pinched, turned dark.

I beamed at him. “Yep.” I watched him eat while studying me, in his shirt, sitting across from him.

I learned something during breakfast. Negan can keep me eating absently by just telling me his story. A combination of his voice and the fact that he was baring his soul to me. I could keep Negan shoveling his in, just by sitting there wearing his clothes.

I also learned that Negan is always hungry. For me at least.

 Another shared shower, and Negan left after we both got dressed, promising me that he’d be bringing a few Saviors up for me to pick and choose from for my own “security detail”. I seriously didn’t know if I felt more like a First Lady, or the fucking Queen. I was just opening my mouth to ask if I’d be left to my own devices for the interim when he answered me.

“Dwight is gonna be right outside the door, Callie, if you want something he has a walkie. I forgot to tell them to get you one.” He was pulling on his leather jacket and picking up Lucille as he told me this. Then, lest I forget that he’s insatiable, he yanked me to him with his free arm and kissed me long and hard. “I’ll try to keep this shit brief, but who knows what the place has gotten into while I’ve been up here with you. And fuck if I wouldn’t rather stay.” He pulled away after brushing my nose with his. “Damn, this is fucking hard.” He groaned, and in case I forget which part of him was particularly affected, he adjusted himself. And then, he was gone.

 I spent the time exploring my new living space. Negan had kept me pretty fucking occupied, not that I was complaining, but I wanted to know where everything was, and what everything consisted of.

I found a linen closet of sorts, stocked with spare bedding and throws. The small fridge that he’d grabbed my water from was stocked full of snacks and more bottles of water. I hadn’t noticed the bookshelf when I first walked in, but looking at the offerings I smiled. There was variety, which meant I wouldn’t get bored yet. I went through my closet, my shoes, my lingerie.

There was a knock on the door as I was looking through Negan’s side of the closet. It was my lunch, and the delivery person wouldn’t make eye contact, not until I thanked him. Then he shot me a look of utter fucking confusion. What the hell? Did manners not exist here? Dwight was looking at me over the tray-bearer's shoulder, and I shrugged, but asked him to wait while I gathered the dirty dishes from breakfast. Leaving the door open, I rushed to where Negan had piled them back on the tray, and grabbed it. I gave it to the poor kitchen guy and smiled, offering another bit of gratitude. Another fucking look of utter bafflement crossed his face. Shit. Seriously?

Before I could close the door on Dwight and the retreating back of the delivery guy, my temporary guard grinned. “You’re his queen, girl, get used to these assholes lookin’ at you like you’re some kind of fuckin’ goddess.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and it definitely didn’t make him look more believable. I glared at him, and shut the door.

Lunch went quickly, mostly because Negan wasn’t here to make demands on my stomach contents. I chose a book and plopped down on the sofa to read, grabbing the blanket I’d left there when we were interrupted the day before. I stopped reading and considered that. I’d only been in the Sanctuary for one full day. Holy shit. One day and my entire life was changed.

I’m Negan’s main squeeze. I’m carrying a tiny being inside of me that may or may not be related to the devil. My family was who knew how far away. And I was learning that the entire fucking population of this community considered me a fucking queen. Dear God. That’s more unbelievable than when I first heard that dead people were coming back to fucking life.

Gobsmacked. That’s the word that completely described my emotional situation. I was fucking gobsmacked.

[smosh-stuff]

Apocalypse AU - Origins

“Maybe tomorrow” hahahaahah,,,

It’s 2 am and Im REELING rn so this may be somewhat incoherent but I don’t care

Okay, so before I can explain how they met, there’s some more terms that I just came up with and need to define.

The Nameless: The blanket term used for a secretive and unidentified group of raiders. They’re much larger, scattered, and professional than any pack, and most consider them more of a small network of several packs, though no one knows for certain how many there are. They’ve been terrorizing packs in the No Man’s Land since a short time after the Smosh pack was formed.

Mutts: The blanket term used for the irradiated, mutated beasts that roam the wastelands. They’re hostile, vicious, and pretty fuckin gross. There are a lot of different types of mutt mutated from different creatures- but it’s pretty hard to care about whether it’s a cow or a goat while it’s trying to tear your throat out.

Lurkers: Mutts that are primarily nocturnal.

Ruins: Any structures that have been abandoned. Not the jungle ruins you may imagine- these are the ruins of modern society; shopping malls, cities, towns, suburbs, etc.

Okay, ONTO THE BACKSTORY

For Toxicitea, it started with Ian. After Smosh was destroyed by the Nameless, he was one of the sole survivors. Not one to take a defeat, he set out to form a new pack and to regain the status he’d lost. It didn’t take him long to find some strays who would join his new pack. 

Mari had found Joven when the latter had been trying to raid the same set of ruins as her. At first, they’d been ready to kill each other, but when a group of Mutts suddenly ambushed them, they became allies of circumstance. After Mari saved Joven’s life during the fight, Joven offered to team up with her, as opposed to her killing him. His Guard’s ability is one to give energy to things around it- physical or spiritual- and she decided he seemed useful enough, so they became a duo. 

Later on, the three of them had met Wes, who’d found himself injured in a solo battle against a violent handful of fellow strays. Mari and Joven drove the hostiles off and helped Wes recover. Due to a strict code of honor he’d formed in the pack that had raised him, he decided that in order to repay them, he’d join their alliance and protect them moving forward.

Ian found them a short time after Smosh’s destruction. Despite news of the pack’s demise, the group still knew Ian for his impressive reputation and accepted his invite. 

Olivia and Courtney had met each other a while back. 

Olivia had been a stray for as long as she could remember- the pack that had raised her as a baby was wiped out when she was still young, and she could barely remember them. She’d grown up in the wastelands on her own, and because of this developed eccentricities that prevented her from finding a pack even later on. 

Courtney had grown up in a good-sized, tightly knit pack. It wasn’t until she was becoming a young adult that they were killed by the Nameless. Devastated, she struggled on her own- not with survival, but the loneliness. When she met Olivia, stumbling upon her campsite in the dead of night, Olivia had initially viewed her as a threat. But Courtney talked her down, and by the sunrise they’d already decided to become a team.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last forever. A massive, irradiated dust storm hit them one day while they were traveling. They both survived but were separated thoroughly, unable to find each other. Once again, they were on their own.

Olivia was badly injured in the storm. She would have died, if Wes hadn’t found her. Unable to stomach the idea of letting her die, Wes carried her back to the Toxicitea camp, where the group helped her. Olivia’s Guard ability, they discovered, could create fire. While it wasn’t the most amazing ability, it was certainly useful, and she had a great deal of gratitude towards them for saving her. In the end, when she was healthy, she agreed to join the pack.

Meanwhile, Courtney wandered the wasteland aimlessly after the storm. Brokenhearted over the loss of her friend- over never having the opportunity to be more- she felt hopeless. That was when she met Lasercorn.

Lasercorn, like Olivia, had been a stray for most of his life. He had known Ian for a long time- They met while the Smosh pack was still whole. Lasercorn had joined the pack near the end of its lifespan. During the Raid that destroyed the pack, Lasercorn watched Ian turn and leave the camp- while Lasercorn was on the ground, screaming for help after being wounded. Against all odds, he’d survived the attack, but he harbored a burning grudge against Ian for leaving him for dead. He’d decided that the best revenge would be to crush Ian’s hopes of regaining control of No Man’s Land- but to do that, he needed a pack of his own.

When Lasercorn met Courtney, he found her on her own in a small pop-up-inn that had been built out of some ruins. She wasn’t especially well known, but she’d gotten her face around for her impressive Guard, which had the ability to heal others. Lasercorn saw the worth in that, knowing himself and his strategies, and figured she’d be a great asset to a growing pack. Courtney was convinced that Olivia was dead and aching for companionship, so she accepted his offer on the spot. They didn’t have to travel long before they found two more.

Noah and Keith had both ended up in the same pack. Keith had joined a bit earlier, taken interest in for his combat skills and his Guard ability- amplifying or dulling sound waves. Noah came later. He was young and not especially skilled in fighting, but the pack decided he was worth taking for his Guard ability to read the emotions and intentions of others, able to tell in an instant whether someone is lying or not. Keith and Noah were at odds in the beginning, but after some time, began to develop a bond. This grew to the point where they were nearly inseparable. Unfortunately, Noah was always clumsy, and after a while in the pack, he made one too many mistakes for the leaders. The group decided to throw Noah out. However, Keith stepped up to defend him. In the end, they were both run out of the pack but stuck together, even as strays. 

They met Courtney by chance. The three of them got trapped in a set of ruins after nightfall when a group of Lurkers was hunting outside. In such a small space, they were forced to interact. Courtney, nothing if not charismatic, got the two to tell her about themselves. After getting to know them and what they’re capable of, Courtney brought them to Lasercorn at sunrise when they escaped. After some convincing, he offered to take them into the pack. With few alternatives, the two agreed.

Later on, they met Damien.

Damien and Shayne were raised in the same pack as children. They grew up together- training, scavenging, traveling by each others’ sides. The destruction of their pack was a mystery. No one knows who did it- only that it ended with their camp in flames. After the destruction, the two of them traveled while looking for answers to their pack’s demise. However, Shayne ended up coming to a conclusion that sent a rift between the two of them. He’d become convinced that it was the pack leader himself who’d aided in the destruction- the pack leader, who happened to be Damien’s blood father. Insulted and unwilling to entertain the idea, Damien lashed out, and Shayne fought him back. 

The argument, fueled by misdirected rage that the two of them had pent up throughout their tragedy and the aftermath, got ugly- to the point that Shayne, in a fit of anger, destroyed a pendant that Damien had made for him when they were children, which had been a symbol of their friendship for years. When it was all said and done, Damien left, and the two were separated from then on.

After becoming a lone stray, Damien began to focus entirely on honing his skills. He became a talented marksman, and his name became known in the North of No Man’s Land. Well-versed in the goings-on of the wastelands, Damien recognized Lasercorn’s name when he approached him. When Lasercorn offered an invitation to Damien to join the pack, Damien accepted, seeing it as a fresh start.

Shayne, similarly, focused on his own goals. But while Damien focused on his combat skills, Shayne focused on wielding his Guard. His Guard ability was more volatile than most- being able to increase force. This could apply to anything- his body, his voice, objects he moved. As a child, he’d often lose control of it. He spent his time alone often secluding himself entirely, communicating with his Guard and training his abilities.

He met Olivia one day while training. She had been out to scavenge for resources and found him alone in some ruins. Fascinated by his ability, she approached him. As it was entirely out of the blue, he was defensive at first, but after realizing that she didn’t intend to attack him- at least not immediately- he began to actually talk to her. Well, talk is a strong word. He mostly attempted to get rid of her, but no matter what he did, she followed him like a puppy with a stream of questions and conversation topics as seemingly endless as her energy. Eventually, he relented and asked exactly what she wanted. She replied by taking him to the camp. She explained to Ian what she’d seen, and Ian, intrigued, talked to Shayne. After Shayne demonstrated his skills, Ian decided to ask him if he wanted to join the pack. Shayne was admittedly beginning to grow lonely, and bored with being on his own, so he accepted.

As for Kimmy, well- her story is one that spins into something much, much larger...

[turtle-steverogers]

Rumble (2/2)

heeeeres pt 2!!! you can read pt 1 here ! def read that first 

anywhoooooo

warnings: graphic depictions of stabbing/stab wounds, blood, hospitals, violence, crying, uh yah

ship: sprace

word count: 3363 oo

editing: mm mm

-

“I love you,” Spot looked into Race’s eyes, a sense of calm washing over him.  Nothing mattered right now.  Their situation was fucked up; it wasn’t fair in the slightest.  But if this is what needed to happen for Race to be safe, then it was okay.  They were okay, “Do what you have to, it’s okay.”

A million emotions and thoughts seemed to flit through Race’s mind, landing on something dark and desperate, and all at once, dread flooded Spot’s body.  That wasn’t a look he liked.

The darkness drained from Race’s face, ultimately landing on pure adoration, “I love you, too,” he muttered, low enough so only Spot could hear, “I’m sorry.”

Spot shut his eyes, waiting for the nauseating pain of the knife entering his body.  But it didn’t come.  Instead, a shrill, horrified cry rang out somewhere from the Greaser crowd.  He froze, confused.  This wasn’t lining up, why wasn’t he in pain?  

Then, he felt the wetness on his torso.  Something was seeping through his sweater.  Something thick and uninviting.  He cracked open his eyes, immediately spotting the blood that stained his stomach.

Oh, so he had been stabbed.  He looked up at Race, prepared to convince him that it was going to be okay- that it wasn’t his fault.  His eyes traveled up to his boyfriend’s face and the nauseating pain became a reality, manifesting in his soul and spreading to the rest of his body.

He fought the urge to throw up as he took in Race’s pale face, head bowed slightly and lips parted.  Bloody spit was dangling from his mouth as he took unsteady, unfulfilling breaths.  His eyes were closed, arms shaking violently from where they held him up on either side of Spot’s body.

Most disturbing, however, was the ever-growing patch of blood on the front of his shirt, parallel to where blood was streaming onto Spot.  He wasn’t even aware of the presence of Jack and Albert until they were pulling Race off of him, horrified shouts ripping from Jack’s throat as angry howls sounded from Albert.

Spot laid there, shock rendering him immobile.  He turned his head helplessly, watching as Jack tried, in vain, to stop the bleeding.  Race was unconscious now, a line of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth, down his cheek- stark and glaring against his now, sheet white skin.

His heart sank, defenseless grief consuming him as he watched Jack sob over Race, who was obviously fighting with every ounce of his being to stay with them.  He wanted to cry.  He wanted to scream at the world for cursing them like this.  He couldn’t lose Race, he couldn’t lose what they had worked so hard to build.  

He didn’t want to live a day of his life without Race’s challenging smirk, or soft caring touches when he was sure they were alone.  He didn’t want to live without Race’s impeccable ability to tend to Spot’s moods how he saw fit.  Whether it be with a teasing comment or hidden shoulder to cry on, he could always sense what Spot needed.  It was rare for Spot to let anyone in- to hand someone the key to breaking down his walls.

But Race had taken that key on his own, chipping away at Spot’s hardened demeanor and revealing his true nature underneath.  He was gentle with this privilege, though.  As if he were aware of his special circumstance and wanted to do everything in his power to remain within Spot’s walls.  He was never one to challenge Spot’s heart, but took on the role of his unforeseen logic filter- carefully steering him back on track when he was leading himself astray.

They clicked in an odd way.  The understanding they had for each other was unfathomable.  They worked in their own way.  Their similar stubbornness and mirroring hard-heads led to bickering, yet they always bounced back.  They knew when enough was enough.

They bounced off each other seamlessly, understanding without words what the other was feeling or thinking from a singular look.  A shift in mood was spotted from a mile away, while others couldn’t see past their poker faces.

They were always there to restore the light in each other’s eyes when life took its toll on their spirit.

Except now, Spot wasn’t sure he could restore Race’s light.

Jeering and whistling from the crowds brought Spot out of his reverie.  He looked towards the source of the noise to see Albert pressed against Hotshot, fist balled in the latter’s shirt.  He was shouting incoherently, terror and anguish the only discernible emotions under the anger.  Hotshot at least had the decency to look scared.

Without warning, Albert slammed Hotshot to the ground, barely wincing when his head made hard contact with the black concrete of the parking lot.  

Hotshot cried out, lifting his head momentarily before giving into the pain and laying back gingerly.  A small puddle of blood was forming underneath him and Spot averted his eyes, tired of seeing blood, only to find himself looking at where Jack was attempting to tend to Race.  Whimpering, he trained his gaze on the night sky, noting the abundance of stars twinkling that night.  Odd.  There were usually never stars.

“If he dies, I’m going to make your fucking sorry, hateful life a living hell,” Spot tuned back into Albert’s seething voice, “And that’s a fucking promise.”

He heard Albert spit, but didn’t bother looking at Hotshot’s current state.  He couldn’t care less.  He laid his head down sideways, zeroing in on the knife that must have slipped out of Race’s grip sometime during the commotion.  Light from the stars reflected on the blade, causing it to glint invitingly.  

An invisible force seemed to guide his hand from where it was frozen at his side towards the knife.  His fingers curled over the hilt, noting the cool, black plastic as he held it in his grip.  He sat up heavily, hunching forward as he held the knife in front of him.  He studied it, enthralled by the blood that was already drying on it.  

He swallowed, hovering it in front of his body, levelling it with his stomach- right where Race’s blood stained his sweater.

“Hey, what the fuck’s Conlon doin’?” Someone in the crowd called out, bringing all eyes to Spot.

More voices joined the first, calling out alarmed warnings.  Someone else was kneeling next to Spot, a hand placed over his own, trying to coax the knife from his firm grasp.  Spot became acutely aware of the agonizing sobs that were tearing from his chest, painting tears on his cheeks.  He shook his head, weakly trying to push the hands away, but it was no use.  

He looked up, making pained eye contact with Albert, who looked momentarily relieved to see Spot present.  But Albert’s expression quickly morphed into sickened panic when Spot overpowered his strength, driving the blade of the knife into his own gut- barely faltering when he felt the skin break.  

XXX

Spot never liked hospitals.  They had an off energy.  Pain and misery carefully masked by the pristine white walls and overly fluorescent lights.  

The first thing he registered when he woke up was the dull, thrumming pain in his middle.  He groaned, fighting the urge to pass out again as he lifted his head to peer down at his body.  A thick, white bandage was layered heavily around his stomach, limiting his ability to breathe freely.  He sucked in a breath, thoroughly unsatisfied by the fact that all the oxygen seemed to stay vacant from his lungs.  He let the breath out a little too quickly, resulting in a pained coughing fit.  He started to wheeze, tears squeezing through his eyelids and down his cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath.  

The commotion coming from his hospital room must have been fairly loud, because a moment later, a kindly nurse entered.  Spot squinted up at her, pained gasps still sounding resiliently from him.  The nurse clicked her tongue, crossing to his bed and sitting on the edge.

“Breathe, dear, it’s alright,” she spoke softly, a concerned, yet welcoming smile gracing her features, “I know it’s a bit tight, but if you slow it down, the pain will go away a little faster.”

Spot nodded vigorously, making an effort to suck in steady breaths.  After a few long minutes, he had his breathing under control.  

“There we are,” the nurse praised, “Now, I’m Miss Medda, I’ll be overseeing your care and subsequently, your release.  Okay, let’s see about redressing those wounds of yours.  I’m going to need to touch you, is that alright?”

Spot felt a rush of gratitude towards Miss Medda.  People rarely took his comfort into consideration.

“Yeah,” he croaked, clearing his throat, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

He watched as Medda nodded, moving down to carefully unwrap the bandage.  He waited with baited breath as the layers of white gauze fell away, gasping when the deep, dark red stab wound was revealed.  He felt tears spring to his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

Just that afternoon, he and Race had been lost in each other.  Safe in their concealed love, still blind to the outside world.  Yet, just in a few mere hours, it was torn away from them.  Race was torn away from him.  Race.

Spot’s eyes widened as he felt the blood drain away from his face, remembering with a jolt what had driven led him to this hospital room in the first place.

He looked at Medda quickly, opening his mouth, but stopping when he realized he had no idea what to ask- or if he even wanted to hear the answer.

Medda seemed to sense his shift, because she looked at him, the comforting calmness of her eyes washing over Spot once more, “Is everything alright, dear?” She asked, guiding him to a sitting position as she began to redress his wound.  

“Is…” He bit his lip, training his eyes on the ceiling, “Do you know if Race- uh, Antonio, er, Higgins, yeah,” he shook his head, putting himself back on track, “Did he...make it?”

Medda hesitated and Spot felt his stomach drop.

“He’s alive…” Medda began.

Spot blinked, “But…”

Medda sighed, securing the new bandage with some medical tape, “He lost a lot of blood, dear.”

Spot stared at her, trying to process her words, “Is he gonna make it?”

Medda sat on the edge of his bed, pulling the latex gloves from her hands and crumpling them in her fist, “He experienced something called hypovolemic shock, which occurs in a number of situations, but namely when someone loses a lot of blood at one time.  Luckily, he was brought here in the nick of time, but he did need a blood transfusion.”

“But, he’s good?  He’s safe?”

“I think he will be,” Medda squeezed his leg reassuringly.

Spot slumped back into his pillow, a relieved sob tearing from his throat, which soon turned into many, wracking sobs.  He attempted to hide his face under his arms as every ounce of pain, adrenaline, fear, panic, and anger from that day crashed onto his chest.  He heard Medda hum and felt the mattress dip as she moved closer to him, carefully placing a consoling hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“It’s not fair,” Spot sobbed, curling his hands in his hair and pulling, “None of this is fair, I just want to love him.”

Medda seemed to pause and Spot stopped breathing, horrified that he’d just outed himself.  

Medda, however, was quick to recover, “I know you do, sweetheart, it’s unfair that you two cannot express yourselves freely,” she took a moment, reaching out to pull his hands from his hair and rub a thumb over his knuckles, “But never, ever think that your love for one another is less cherishable or true than other’s.  Your love is as beautiful a story as anyone else’s, the world just isn’t ready for it yet.”

Spot felt his sobs reduce to hiccups, breath slowly ebbing back into his lungs.  

He nodded, “Okay.’

XXX

Race dug his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he crossed into the richer side of town.  It was a warm Spring evening.  Birds were still chirping in the trees and the sun still fighting for a few more minutes of light, despite the late hour.  

He straightened his back, feeling it pop a bit as he stretched.  A dull pain twanged in his stomach, where his stab wound was still valiantly healing, and he grimaced, absentmindedly rubbing the area, but stopping when it only made the pain worse.

It had been a week since he’d been released from the hospital, but he hadn’t had a chance to see Spot yet, still banned from returning to school.  He was well enough now, though, and it was Spot’s night off from work at the diner, so he seized the chance.  

He lifted his head, absorbing the cleanliness of this side of town.  All the houses looked similar.  Pristine front lawns and perfect white picket fences surrounded him and Race couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  Screw these cookie cutter neighborhoods.  They were as fake as the people in them.

Sometimes he hated being from the ‘poor side’, but moments like these, he grew to appreciate his origins in the grit.  What would his life be without the rowdiness of his brothers and roughhousing on the streets?

A figure bounded out from a house a few paces down and Race leaned forward a bit, squinting as the recognizable haircut came into view.  Anger bubbled in his stomach and he picked up his pace, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as he approached the figure.

As soon as he reached arms length, he spoke, “Hey, asshole,” he bit out, smirking when the figure froze, “I lived.”

He stuck out an arm, taking harsh hold of Hotshot’s shoulder and spinning him around, barely giving him a second to blink before his fist connected with his mouth.  Hotshot let out a shout of surprise, careening to the side as blood began to flow from where Race punched him.  He hissed, spitting out a tooth before lifting his head to look at Race.

Fear, but more importantly, guilt swam in his eyes, “Higgins, I-”

Race scoffed, adrenaline now coursing through his veins, driven by vengeance, “Save it,” he hoisted Hotshot up by the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards him so they were nose to nose, “I don’t wanna hear a goddamn thing from you,” he snarled, “But if you ever so much as look at me or Spottie again, the knife won’t be in my stomach this time.”

He considered for a moment before kneeing him in the crotch and shoving him to the ground, smiling triumphantly as he walked away, Hotshot howling in pain behind him.  A few minutes later, he found himself climbing the tree that led to Spot’s sister’s room.  He peered inside, tapping the window when he saw Spot’s little sister, Sophia, sitting on her bed, reading a book.

She looked up and smiled when she saw Race, hastily placing her book down and bounding over to let Race in.  She was one of the few people that knew about their relationship and had never judged them for a moment.  Or if she had, she kept it quiet for her brother’s sake.  Race admired their bond.

“Heya, Racer!” She exclaimed, helping him climb through the window frame, “How are you feeling?”

“Definitely better than last week,” Race fixed her with a lopsided grin, “How are ya, kiddo?  How’s Spot?  Is he home?”

Sophia rolled her eyes, “Slow down,” she said, “I’m good, Spot’s been sad, and yes, he’s home.  My parents are off at the store, so you can just head across the hall.”

“Thanks,” Race said genuinely.

“Of course,” Sophia grabbed his arm, yanking him towards her bedroom door and shoving him out, “Now shoo.”

Race suddenly felt nervous, unsure of how to confront what he and Spot had gone through.  He lifted his hand to knock on Spot’s door before he could get cold feet.  

“Sophia, it’s open, you can just come in,” Spot sounded vaguely annoyed and Race smiled.  God had he missed that voice.

Race took a bracing breath and slowly opened the door, peeking his head in.  Spot was sitting at his desk, facing away from the door.  His posture was hunched and pained and Race frowned.  Something wasn’t completely right here.

He replaced the smile on his face.  Whatever it was, they could address it after their reunion.

“Not Sophia,” He sang, laughing when Spot’s head whipped around towards him, eyes blown wide.

“Race!?” He nearly shouted, leaping out of his chair and striding towards Race.  They embraced, tucking their noses into each other’s necks and drinking in their familiar, safe scents.  

Race pulled back, letting out a teary laugh as he and Spot made eye contact.  Then, they were kissing.  Expressing every emotion they’d experienced in the past week into a singular, fiery motion.  It felt amazing.  

Spot bit down on Race’s lip and Race let out a small moan, pushing him backwards towards his bed and lowering them onto the mattress.  They made out for a few minutes, sighing happily every few moments.  

Race took his hands from Spot’s hips and let them wander up his shirt, but stopped when he felt an all too familiar fabric around Spot’s stomach.  He pulled back, alarmed, and yanked up Spot’s shirt, paling when he took in the bandage, which was placed in an almost identical location to his own.

He looked at Spot, dumbfounded, “Spot, what…”

Spot carefully removed Race’s hands from his shirt, lowering it back down over his stomach.  He sat up, scooching towards the wall and leaning his back against it, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Did, uh, did no one tell you?”  he asked, eyes flitting around the room, avoiding Race’s.

Race shook his head, suddenly angry.  What had happened after he passed out?

Spot sighed, placing his head against the wall behind him and closing his eyes, “After you, um, did what you did, I kinda...I don’t know.  Everything was a lot and yeah, I’m not sure, I kinda… did the same?  I didn’t wanna live without you.”

“Jesus, Spot,” Race murmured, scooching forward so that he was directly in front of Spot.  He intertwined their hands, suddenly thankful that they were both there to do that, “What if ya hadn’t made it? I don’t think I could…” he swallowed, shaking his head and leaning over to press a soft kiss to Spot’s lips.  They lingered for a moment, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter now.  I’m so glad we’re both here.”

Spot pulled him into his chest, “I am too,” he ran a hand through Race’s curls, “I love you, Tony.”

“I love you, too, Sean.”

XXX

“I’ve always wanted to come to one of these things!”  Race bounced excitedly in the passenger seat of Spot’s car as they pulled up to the drive-in movie.  It was a Friday night and they had both been completely cleared for their injuries, so they’d decided to celebrate.

Spot glanced sideways at him, smiling as Race’s eyes widened when the giant screen came into close view.  It was already playing some previews and the movie itself was bound to start soon.  

Spot put the car in park, “You wanna go grab us some snacks while I get the right radio station tuned?”

Race tore his gaze away from the screen to grin at Spot, “Sure thing,” he leaned over and pecked Spot’s lips, sending a jolt into Spot’s stomach, “Be right back.”

Spot watched him go, still feeling feeling electricity from their kiss coursing through his veins.  

He held his fingers to his lips, love overcoming him.  That’s what they were- electric.  They took the world by hidden storm, fueled forward by their unstoppable love.  

Because although the world wasn’t ready for them yet, they were unstoppable.  They wouldn’t be held down.

-

hey y’all, def lemme know if you wanna see anything else in this au cuz i really love this like ,, au,, so i’d be happy to take requests if ya got em

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[flightfoot]

Last Days of a Meat Puppet Chapter 4

(A/N) Thanks to ArtJunkyard for creating this AU and for looking over this chapter! I've had most of it planned for awhile, but kinda got distracted from it. I was never gonna end the story THAT badly for Lester, I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

-------------------------------------------------

Movement.

Dragged back.

Summoned, piece by piece.

Bonding together seamlessly.

Reforming... me?

Me.

I existed.

I existed!

But who was *I*?

As more pieces gathered together, I dove into myself.

People flashed by me. Two young boys and a girl giggling and running away as I chased after them, pretending to be the Tickle Monster. I caught one of the boys and tickled him mercilessly. Causing him to laugh and cry out for help. My hearing seemed distorted. I focused, sharpening my hearing, straining to hear his words. 

“-ter! Help, Tyrone! He-he-he-” he collapsed into a fit of giggles. 

Tyrone? 

The second boy leapt into view, attempting to pull the first boy from my grasp. “I’ll rescue you, Tyler!” he shouted bravely. 

I felt my cheeks hurt from smiling. A warm sensation welled up inside me. Tyrone and Tyler... I loved them. I loved them so much. I loosened my grip a little, allowing the twins to escape.

I felt something wrap around my back. I didn’t have time to ponder what, though.

Hands kneaded at my belly and side. I laughed and laughed, unable to defend myself. The tables had turned. The Tickle Monster was being tickled himself.

The boys cheered, “Get’im, Katie!”

I craned my head around. A little girl wearing a tutu and a tiara greeted me, an evil grin on her face as she gleefully tickled me.

“I’m the Tickle Monster Princess!” she declared. “This is my servant Tickle Monster now!” She turned an evil grin towards the two boys. “Ooh~ I spy some new prey~”

Uh Oh

The boys saw the writing on the wall and RAN. With a grin, Katie and I ran after them.

A new scene interceded, demanding attention. 

I let it come.

A blond-haired boy, older than the other two, sat in front of me. He looked maybe ten years old. 

He seemed closed off. Withdrawn. Wary. As if he’d been through this before, and knew he’d go through it again. 

A tall woman I didn’t recognize stood off in the corner, watching everything.

“So what do you like to do?” a voice spoke from beside me. I turned slightly. The voice belonged to a tall man with curly hair and a kind face.

Dad!

This... this was my father. How could I have forgotten him? 

My past self wasn’t as enraptured with my dad as my current self was, unfortunately. My eyes darted back to the boy.

He shrank back and mumbled, not seeming to want to meet anyone’s eyes.

Things blurred forwards slightly.

I was at home with the boy (the boy? I knew his name. I KNEW it. So why couldn’t I remember? Please let me remember...). He wandered around, attempting to look casual, but I noted how his eyes kept darting to the doors, as if mapping escape routes.

“Cameron?” I heard my voice call out (Cameron, yes, THAT was his name!)

He startled a little. I felt myself give him a small, hopefully reassuring smile.

“I was going to play some Mario Kart,” I told him. “Want to join me?”

His face lit up. “Yeah,” he said quietly. Still, it was louder than the mumbling I’d heard from him before. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

We played a few rounds. Cameron fumbled a little on the first few tracks, but soon got his bearings. That’s not to say that he could beat ME, of course, I had years of practice over him - but he was consistently able to make the top five.

“You two having fun?” An amused voice interrupted. I looked over my shoulder. 

The woman smiled back at me, affection shining in her blue eyes. Just being near her made me feel warm and safe.

Mum.

“Mind if I join in?” she continued. The smile seemed less warm and motherly now, and more of an evil smirk. 

Crap.

I handed her a controller.

Cameron looked confused at my expression. “What’s up with that face? You look like your cat just died.”

“You’ll see,” I groaned. 

And oh did he EVER. Mum was a DEMON, shunting racers into hazards, laying down some hazards of her own, and dodging everything that Cameron and I could throw at her. 

Cameron looked at her in awe as she strode off at the end of the set of races (she won first place of course). “How... how did she DO that?” 

“She’s been playing Mario Kart for longer than I’ve been alive,” I chuckled. “What did you expect?”

“Have you ever beaten her?” he asked. I shook my head. “Nope. I haven’t had a lot of other live opponents to practice with though, just the NPCs. Want to help me unseat her and end her reign of terror?” 

I held out a hand. He shook it, a fire lighting in his eyes. In my new brother’s eyes. “Let’s DO this.”

It took YEARS of practice, but we finally beat Mum in a race. Ok, so maybe it took us ganging up on her, but still, we WON. 

The vision ended. That was okay. I remembered who I was now, and who my family were. 

But... where was I now? Why had I forgotten in the first place?

I opened my eyes.

Three people stood in front of me, their eyes filled with relief and joy. I didn’t recognize two of them - the dark-skinned teenage boy or the lighter, younger-looking teenage girl next to him.

But the final figure...

He looked about my age, but I sensed - no, I KNEW - he was much, much older than I was. He glowed softly in the darkness, illuminating his expression. I saw the same relief in his eyes as I saw in everyone else’s, but also sadness and a deep, gnawing guilt.

Apollo. 

Everything came rushing back. Zeus, the kidnapping, Apollo’s punishment, and my destruction.

But if what I remembered was correct... if I’d truly been destroyed. Then...?

“How?” I asked. I startled slightly. That was definitely my voice, but speaking felt... different. As if my thoughts had simply sprung out of my head audibly.

I started again. “How... how am I still here?”

Apollo spoke up. “I- I encountered your mother while I was on a quest. She thought I was you. Before that, I’d just assumed this body was an empty shell, a prison Zeus had created for me. That’s when I discovered the truth. That Zeus was crueler than I had ever imagined.”

He drew in a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I ran into your mother on the street. I didn’t recognize her, of course. But she recognized me. I realized what Zeus had done.”

He shifted uncomfortably, not meeting my eyes. “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t do that to her. Pretend to be her son. To be you. I promised her that I’d come back. And I ran.”

“I broke that promise.”

My brow furrowed. What did he mean? Couldn’t he just go to her now? I felt like I was missing something...

Apollo looked up, catching sight of my expression. His face collapsed in misery, realization filling his eyes.”You haven’t realized, have you?”

“Realized what?” I asked. I didn’t think I wanted to know, but I NEEDED to know.

“I- I couldn’t help you then. I needed to help defeat some evil people, and I had no idea where to even start at restoring you, if I even COULD. I’d hoped that getting back into Zeus’s good graces would be enough to persuade him to restore my godhood and to restore you back to your body. But it didn’t work like that.”

His expression fell even further, the light around him flickering like a candle in the wind. “I helped stop the Emperors and kill Python, but your body was destroyed in the process.”

I should have felt shocked. But I didn’t. I’d known this. I just hadn’t wanted to accept it. But that still didn’t explain...

“How am I here at all? Zeus said he was going to totally destroy my soul. It certainly FELT like he did.”

Apollo grimaced, disgust leaking into his voice. “My father TRIED to destroy your soul. And by Greco-Roman standards, he did. Not even a god could have restored you.”

He smirked. “Egyptian magicians, on the other hand...”

I took a closer look at the other two teenagers. They DID seem to have a lot of vaguely Egyptian-looking items on them.

Apollo continued. “I told some of my friends about what I knew of your situation. Luckily, they’d heard that these two had restored a destroyed soul before. My friends put me in contact with them - Carter and Sadie Kane.”

The boy - Carter, I assumed - took over. “People’s souls are often destroyed in Egyptian mythology. If someone’s heart is evil, their soul is fed to Ammit the Devourer -”

“Poochiekins,” the girl - Sadie - cut in.

Carter glared at her for a moment, then resumed as if nothing had happened. “-but sometimes evidence of a person’s innocence arises, and Dad needs to reverse the punishment. That’s where the sheut comes in.”

“Sheut?” I asked. I’d never heard of that before. 

“Shadow. It’s basically a back-up copy of the soul. One of my friends had part of his soul devoured, but we were able to restore it using his sheut. Finding it was the tricky part.”

“But if it’s just my shadow, wouldn’t it be attached to my body?” I asked, confused. I’d brushed up on my Greek mythology, but this Egyptian stuff was new to me.

“Well... sometimes. My friend - the one who had his soul partly destroyed, his name’s Bes - actually hid his sheut away in a rendition of the past. He’s a god though so that kind of thing’s normal for him. We weren’t entirely sure where to look for yours since it’s not like you would’ve known how to hide it. Luckily we didn’t have to look far.”

Where would I have...?

Oh. 

Of course.

I looked over at Apollo. “I left my sheut with you, didn’t I? Not with my body, but with YOU.”

It made sense. At the end there, I’d tried SO HARD to convey to Apollo what he needed to know. That us mortals were people too. And I’d wanted to protect Apollo as well, protect him from his own depression and guilt. I’d wished I could stay around to battle the voices in his head.

I guess in a way, I’d gotten my wish.

Apollo nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes. “I’d begun getting little snatches of memories from when we merged. Just little bits here and there at first. I didn’t even know if they were REAL, but something told me not to dismiss them. Then - then I remembered something. I was drowning in depression, ready to just give up and fade. Then I heard you scream “NO.” And-and you helped somehow. At that time I didn’t remember what you’d done exactly, just that you’d shared part of yourself with me. That’s when we figured out that you’d attached yourself to my soul.”

He smiled at me, though I detected a hint of sadness in his eyes. “From there it was pretty easy to restore your soul. Carter and Sadie just made a shabti, - a figure of you made out of clay - bound your sheut to it, and performed a reverse execration spell on it. Whole thing took less than an hour.”

That explained how I was here now. But that sadness in Apollo’s eyes...

“There was more to it than that, wasn’t there?”

Apollo chuckled softly. “You know me too well. Of course you do. You’ve seen into my soul, seen me more clearly than I saw myself.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “You took certain memories with you when you were destroyed. Memories you stole from me in an effort to undo some of the emotional damage Father had inflicted on me during my imprisonment. Undoing your annihilation brought those memories back. All of them. Everything Father did, everything you did, everything I realized during those precious moments when we were one. I’ve been sorting through it all while we waited for you to wake up.”

He drew in a shaky breath. “I- I forgot what I learned. Consciously, at least. But I think that subconsciously I remembered what you’d shown me. About how mortals matter. You broke through my indifference, and even after I forgot about you - about what happened - the cracks in my facade remained. I relearned what you taught me. I don’t think it would have happened so quickly if not for you. Thank you. I just wish - I wish I could help you as much as you helped me.”

He already HAD helped me. Apollo had searched for a way to bring me back even when it should have been impossible. The way he’d said that though, as if what he’d done wasn’t enough - it confirmed my suspicion.

“I’m dead, aren’t I? Not just bodiless, but really, actually dead.”

Apollo nodded apologetically. “I could get your soul restored, but repairing your body was beyond mine and their power.”

I wasn’t surprised. I’d been prepared to be annihilated when Zeus set my soul on fire. At least being dead was a step up from THAT.

But being dead meant...

A sinking feeling filled my gut (despite not even HAVING guts anymore). “I’ll never get to see my family again, will I?”

Apollo flinched. “I’m- I’m sorry. It’s my fault you don’t have a body to return to. Maybe if I’d been more careful, or- or faster, or practised more, or SOMETHING, your body would still be intact.”

I shook my head. “How many times do I need to tell you? This is Zeus’s fault, NOT YOURS. HE’S the one who dragged me into this. You blame yourself enough for your own actions. Don’t blame yourself for others’ actions as well.”

“Just- please. Keep the promise you made. Look after my family for me? That’s all I ask.”

Apollo laughed derisively. It sounded more like crying. “I don’t have the best track record with promises you know.”

“Maybe not. But I know you’ll keep this one.”

Apollo nodded. I don’t think he trusted himself to speak.

I took a deep breath. Not that I needed to - no lungs and all - but the action calmed me a bit. “So what happens to me now?”

“Now, I guess I take you to the Underworld to be judged.”

Judged?

“Judged by who? What do they judge me on?”

“Whether you’ve lived a good life and been a good person, mostly. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll achieve Elysium.”

 “Elysium?”

“It’s basically the Greek equivalent of Heaven. It’s a nice place, like one of those gated communities that’s popular with the older mortals.”

I had no doubt it was, but... “My family won’t be there.”

“They’re still alive, so no.”

I was happy they were still alive and well, but I wanted to be WITH them, to grow up with them. 

We can’t always get what we want.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I walked through the Gates of Elysium.

I hadn’t needed to wait very long to be judged. Apparently Apollo had fast-tracked me. I was grateful, but felt bad for everyone else still waiting in line, many of whom surely deserved Elysium as much or more than I did.

The judging itself hadn’t taken very long either. I really shouldn’t have been surprised. I was only sixteen and I hadn’t had a very exciting life. A good life, but not one that took long to look over. The judges unanimously declared that I was fit for Elysium and sent me off.

I wandered around Elysium for a few hours. The place was beautiful, with massive castles and villas and gorgeous gardens. The people were pretty friendly. I was invited to join several picnics and barbecues even though I was a total stranger.

I declined them all. I just... I couldn’t bear seeing so many people happy, or participating in casual conversations. Not then.

“Apollo?!”

I looked around. Had Apollo decided to visit me? Could he even do that? 

I didn’t see any sign of the golden-haired god. Instead a blond-haired boy stood in front of me, gaping.

I frowned. Was this someone Apollo had met while in my body?

“Sorry, I don’t know who you are.”

The teenager looked disturbed. “You don’t remember me? Jason Grace?”

I shook my head. “I’m not Apollo. I’m the kid Zeus kidnapped to serve as Apollo’s meat puppet.”

Now Jason looked REALLY disturbed. “His WHAT!”

“He kidnapped me from my family and systematically destroyed my soul, piece by piece, until my body was empty enough for his liking. Then he shoved Apollo’s soul in and set what was left of my soul on fire until it was totally annihilated,” I stated matter-of-factly.

Jason stared at me, his jaw hanging open and eyes bugging out. He made a few strangled noises before finally regaining the power of speech. “My Father did THAT?!”

I grimaced. “Yeah. He sucks.”

Jason was silent for a moment, seeming to process my words. “Wait, if he annihilated your soul, then how are you here?”

“Apollo found out about what happened to me and found people who were able to restore my soul - but not my body.”

“Oh.”

We stood there awkwardly for a second, until my OWN brain had finished processing Jason’s words. “Wait, Zeus is your Father?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah. Well, Jupiter, anyway. I’m Roman. Sorry about... you know.”

“Not your fault, man. It’s his fault I was put through that, no one else’s.”

“Still...”

I shook my head. “NO. I had enough of Apollo blaming himself. I don’t need you doing it too.”

Jason perked up a bit. “How’s he doing? Did he defeat the Emperors? Is he a god again?”

“He seemed okay when I saw him. Sad and feeling guilty about what happened to me, but otherwise okay. He stopped the Emperors and killed Python, whoever that is. And yes, he’s a god again.”

Jason let out a breath. “That’s a relief. I just hope...”

“Hope what?”

“I- I knew I was going to die when I helped Apollo on his quest. I wanted to make sure I made a difference before I did. I asked him to promise that he’d remember what it was like to be human when he became a god again.”

This kid - I WISHED I’d known him when we were both alive. We would’ve been great friends, I was sure.

“He remembered,” I assured Jason. “I know he did. I could tell in the way he talked to me and about his friends. He won’t forget.”

Jason smiled back. “I’m glad.”

We walked around the lake for a moment. My eyes kept drifting to the islands in the middle.

Jason spoke up. “So what are you gonna do now?”

I stopped walking. Jason had asked the question I’d been avoiding thinking about. “I- I don’t know. This place is lovely, but- it’s not home. I- I want to go back home to Mum and Dad and Tyrone and Tyler and Katie and Cameron-”

I choked back a sob. So much had happened that I’d managed to avoid thinking of my family, of dwelling on what EXACTLY being dead had meant, for a while. But now that I’d had time to process it all came flooding through.

I’d never play hide-and-seek with the twins again.

I’d never attend Katie’s dance recital.

I’d never beat Cameron at Mario Kart again.

I’d never have butt whooped by Mum at Mario Kart ever again.

I’d never watch movies with Dad ever again.

Maybe I could see them again eventually when they died (which I dearly hope wouldn’t be anytime soon) but they’d all have grown and lived full lives without me by then.

Jason looked at me sympathetically. “I have people I miss too. People I’m waiting for. Though since they’re demigods, I probably won’t have long to wait. We don’t have the best survival rate.”

“I- I just,” my eyes drifted magnetically to the islands in the middle of the lake. What WERE they? “I just- I want to be alive again. To see them again.”

Jason looked at the islands for a moment. “Do you want to go back?”

Go back?

“I can do that?” I asked, suddenly hopeful.

Jason nodded. “Souls that are judged worthy of Elysium have the choice of being reborn. If they’re reborn twice and judged worthy of Elysium all three times, they can enter the Isles of the Blest - those islands over there.” Jason gestured towards the islands we’d both been staring at.

“I could go back...” I stated numbly.

“Yes, but you have to be SURE it’s what you want,” Jason told me warningly. “You have have bathe in the River Lethe in order to be reborn, wiping out all your memories. There’s no going back at that point. You don’t have any idea where you’ll end up, or what your circumstances will be. You might not achieve Elysium next time. You could be sentenced to either the Fields of Asphodel or the Fields of Punishment for all eternity. It’s very, VERY unlikely you’d ever cross paths with your family again, and you wouldn’t recognize them if you did.”

Jason was right. The sensible thing would be fore me to stay here until my family eventually died and meet them then. I’d have missed a LOT, but I’d be guaranteed to see them again.

I didn’t feel like being sensible.

The chance I’d see my family again was vanishingly slim, but I was going to take it.

“Where’s the River Lethe?” I asked Jason.

He frowned, but pointed. I started walking in the direction he’d indicated. Jason walked with me. 

“Are you sure? You could stay and think on this awhile. There’s no time limit.”

I shook my head. “It’s foolish and idiotic and stupid to rush into this, I know. But I’m feeling stupid and idiotic and foolish right now.”

Jason laughed. “Sometimes it pays off to be a bit foolish.”

We stopped at the riverbank.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” Jason said, smiling sadly. 

“Yeah, I guess this is.” 

Jason hesitated for a moment, then pulled me into a fierce hug. “You’ll see your family again. And- and this isn’t goodbye for good. I’ll see you again the second time you earn Elysium. I’ll be waiting.”

I hugged him back. I wished I’d gotten longer to know him, but I just couldn’t wait around any longer, knowing there was a way back to the mortal world. I just couldn’t.”I’m looking forward to it.”

Jason laughed. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to see you back here again for a long time.”

I smiled at my new friend, then turned and waded into the Lethe’s waters.

It felt warm and cozy and... what was I thinking of again? 

It didn’t matter, did it?

Don’t forget your family.

I startled. My family?

Tyrone. Tyler. Katie. Cameron. Mum. Dad.

Their faces invaded my vision. I clung to them even as everything else slipped away.

Please, just let me see them again.

Please...

-----------------------------------------------------

I had most of this planned out, but I came up with Lester meeting Jason while I was writing the chapter, and once I'd had the idea, I HAD to implement it. I really think they'd be great friends if they'd had the chance.

[courtorderedcake]

Untitled, Double Dark Ones drabble

Found in my "WIP - untitled" folder.

Blame this completely on @thisonesatellite who had me searching for my illusive prompt list, or billions of things that I will never write.

No beta, so no better than my usual junk.

Rated M, for gore, multi character death, OUAT forgiveness of everything, a mention of sex, and whump. Would you like fries with that?

Tagging whump machines.

@hollyethecurious @doodlelolly0910 @sherlockianwhovian @killian-whump @artistic-writer

--------------------------🌹----------------------------

Neither of them can destroy the other, without ending their own selfish needs as well. It frustrated both of them, but both of them are happy to use each other in the less contentious moments.

So, the games of torment, of pure hatred that true love bore, carnal needs satisfied in brutal couplings just to forget the names of so many who have died in their war. To drown out the darkness, it's voice no longer the crocodile or Nimue, but their own.

His strikes have an easier grace to them, maybe because he's simply been so deep in revenge before, his teeth and claws easier to sharpen. The Darkness was an old friend made captain.

She does not take to it easily, fighting their purported nature. The Dark Swan cried when he held her Father by the neck, and begged for his life when he bled slowly to death from nightshade. The man had stabbed him. Stabbed the Dark one. Revenge was the expected outcome. A pity that her mother, the queen, had gotten in the way. Respect was difficult to earn without some bloodshed.

Even if part of him dies with David, and another as he watches Snow struggle towards her family. Snow held her husband's body, and Emma both, forgiveness on her lips for the Dark One and her daughter.

“Emma… Don't give in. Don't do it. It isn't him. Fight for your true love.”

Last words whispered to two beings that could never feel anything again. Or, that's what was easier to pretend, at least.

Killian can only watch, the Darkness bemused as Emma ran, fled to lick her wounds until their next encounter. As she steeped in revenge. It doesn't take long.

She burned the harbor, burned his sanctuary and every vessel seaside for miles, the sea a blanket of fire. The fire burned his trunk, the home of every piece of Liam and Milah he'd replaced with Emma's pretty face.

He razed The Enchanted Forest as her subjects flee in terror, and only stops when it's her boy, her son, he's almost burning to death. Her adopted son, the darkness tried to taunt, but her son and the boy Killian returned to raise. Henry's eyes barely recognize him, and Killian feels the recoil, the man who saw this boy as close to his own son surfacing in haste.

Emma doesn't show emotion in her eyes, the tilt of her shoulders, or hard won smile anymore. The surprise on her face is an arched eyebrow, a look of resigned relief, a little give in the tight lines and angles that she is as this dark queen.

“Thank you.” She whispered softly, Henry resting with a doctor. Handing him a glass, she sat by the fire with her own goblet resting on the black of her dress. The distance is purposeful, her pensive frown in it's crimson color like the red of forbidden fruit.

“If that's all his life means to you,” He swaggered towards her, throwing back his drink. “or is another form of gratitude in order?”

Their kisses are frantic and so is their fucking, peace restored for another set of years until the next wars. It's an uneasy truce and forgiveness in quarters that doesn't come without quarrel. It is something.

They watch the world move by, the same mistakes made with or without their touch.

They took no part in the attacks themselves, instead wreaking havoc and sowing mischief in small ways, changing the odds of battle and tipping the scales of fate.

They forget in the terrible lull of almost humanity that magic always comes with a price.

The war spread, closer and closer, until the sea burnt and shipwrecks littered the shoals and shores. It crawled at first then dug in its claws to sprint, blood shed like brush fire. One of Killian’s men made mad with his own strength, pulled his sword from King Henry's chest, Queen Jacinda and the princess slaughtered in the siege.

Emma did not run. She raged, burned as bright as a second sun. The war is over in a blast that is indiscriminate in its destruction, but this is not enough, and the Dark Swan is not nearly done. Killian, the Dark One, knew true pain and true fear for the first time as Emma destroyed him and put him back together again. The darkness in him echoed his own screams, and they are turned inside out, burnt, frozen, tortured in new ways that only another with darkness inside them could create.

In a sudden moment of weakness, Emma shrieked to the skies; they are unable to die, she cannot join her family, she cannot disappear, cannot escape her thoughts.

Killian understood.

Killian ran, for her sake, across the ruined world. Another chase, a hunt that kills both prey and predator. As the years pass, the few people remaining rebuild, trees grow, plants sprout from scorched earth, green returning to a world of charcoal and embers.

Killian studied the old texts, any that are left, and continued to flee from Emma's grasp. They danced around each other, ships in the night passing ever closer. There are times when the attempts were sloppy, as if she's bored, and others where he can see the fire behind glassy eyes. Her attacks were precise and her accuracy frightening. Killian licked his wounds after barely escaping more than a few times.

They both wondered what they will do if Emma does manage to capture him again.

She appeared, eyes full of that flame, and this time Killian was ready with determination of his own. Emma was brutal, speed and hatred, tears streaking across her cheeks as she lept toward him.

It doesn't matter what she does to him.

Killian managed to hit her on the neck, and her surprise echoed through the woods. They are right where he has planned, the clearing full of pink flowers that sway in the breeze, that make the blood coming from her neck look dark against their brightness. Wine on blush lips, deep crimson on soft petals.

Clutching her neck, Emma stumbled toward him, and he caught her with the same grace that they danced with all this time. The sword was thrown aside as he lays her down, carefully, holding her delicately as she looks at him with sad adoration.

“I'm sorry.” The gurgled whisper startled him, but Killian laughed gently at her, finally pushing her hair away from her face to see her eyes. There's no more anger held there, only the tiniest flicker of hope. “Killian, I -”

“Hush, love.” Stroking her cheek soothingly, Emma reached to touch his hair, tracing the lines of his face, gently skimming over his scar. When she rested her thumb on his lips his own tears started to fall. His hand gripped the pommel of the discarded sword. “It's not going to hurt you, is it?” his words are strangled, but Emma made soft noises to quiet him, gently wiping at his eyes.

“If it does, it will only be for a moment. Like ripping off a dressing.” Killian felt himself chuckle despite himself, a sob catching in his throat as he gripped the sword. “Will you…?”

An unspoken question that was understood immediately. He nodded.

“Yes. I'd follow you to the end of the world, or time.” She sighed in contentedness, almost looking as she did when they met.

“Do it.”

Killian leaned forward, letting their foreheads touch. After a moment, he kissed her softly, and pulled away. Gazing into her eyes one more time, he whispered hoarsely into the quiet glade, raising the sword above her chest.

“As you wish, my love.”

Emma was right, her pain lasted only a moment before her face stilled into what looked like a peaceful slumber. Color returned to her, as the darkness was rinsed away by the pallor of eternal rest.

Laying next to her after carefully setting up his rig, Killian interlocked his fingers in the lingering warmth of hers. He looked up at the sword, the darkness in him caged, giving a quiet protest. Looking at Emma, his Emma, before names on swords and swirling ink, he cut the rope with his hook.

The sword burned in his chest, all but forgotten by the blackness that encroached on his view of his love.

The darkness that held him for the last time was different than what dwelled inside him for so long. It was warm, fluid and gentle, guiding him towards something he could not see. Her fingers in his again, Emma pulled him into color and light. There a crowd of people waited who forgot owed apologies, in lieu of welcoming him home.