#he appeared out of nowhere and completely submerged himself

[sidetongue]

oh look, he returns

[whoistartaglia]

hihihi !! i saw u were looking for reqs (rather, is accepting them as of current?) so,,, i have one ! teleporting s/o. very much a menace s/o trope, just make us (human tp waypoint) teleport. basically; we can teleport whenever we like to, and anywhere +we can bring along anyone whilst teleporting - as long as they're near us. being that you and your s/o, is a couple, you may take advantage of the closed physical distance (mercy on the physically clingy people). vv many shenanigans happen, definitely caused by us (but did we care? no).

apologies for such a long ask, ive been requesting this for ages. and in all honesty ive forgetten what i even put in those asks 💀 +u can only teleport to places you've seen with your eyes, whether you've been there or not - all it takes is a visual description or photo. sincerest apologies, once more,,,,

teleporting s/o.

including: albedo, thoma, al haitham.

notes: i hope you enjoy. also i didn’t know which characters you wanted in particular, but i hope the ones i chose will do. thanks for the request!

albedo.

you had wanted to keep it a secret. after all, you didn’t want to scare the alchemist away.

but keeping your ability under the radar proved rather difficult when it was your second nature to teleport literally everywhere. quick trip to the market? teleport. visit inside the dawn winery? teleport. walk upstairs to grab something you left behind? no. teleport.

old habits die hard, and this “habit” as old as you wasn’t going down without a fight.

it all came to ahead when albedo asked you to grab something in the lab. this wasn’t new; he’d done this several times before, and you’d always go and fetch it for him like the good lab-assistant and partner you were.

you didn’t know why you teleported this time when you had walked around his lab all the others. but one second you were nodding your head next to albedo, and the next you were across the lab grabbing the beaker he’d left behind.

your mouth fell open. albedo’s mouth fell open.

“did you just—?”

“no.”

“are you sure—?”

“yes.”

a few seconds of silence.

“sure. okay… okay. moving on…” for the moment, albedo was willing to believe you.

it was more like his mind short circuited.

much later, once he’s had a chance to mull it all over in his brain, he’s going to be asking you questions. a lot of them.

thoma.

thoma’s always happy when you come home, but today the happiness was more like the secondary emotion because the primary one was surprise.

you don’t take the bus or train or even walk home. no, your method of transportation is a little more advanced than that. and thoma’s all for it—your teleportation ability is particularly useful for avoiding long journeys from one location fo another. but when you use it to pop yourself into existence on the couch right next to him, thoma can’t help but be startled.

last night was a particular example. thoma was reading a particularly engrossing book, his concious completely submerged in the world before him—

“what are you reading?”

the book went sailing into the air and thoma let out a scream—yes, a scream—at your completely innocent question. he near jumped out of his skin while you sat there, a little shocked yourself now. you hadn’t expected that reaction.

“[first]! you scared the shit out of me,” thoma gasped, placing a hand over his racing heart.

“huh? how?”

“you just— appeared out of nowhere—“

“yeah?” you asked. this wasn’t the first time you’ve done this.

“i just… didn’t expect it, that’s all,” thoma replied.

that time he didn’t, but the next several times you popped in and out of existence, thoma was ready for it. and soon, your ability became a part of routine—he made himself anticipate your sudden presence always, lest he let out another high-pitched scream like the last time.

al haitham.

before you left for work in the morning, al haitham always gave you a chaste kiss on your forehead.

but this morning you were feeling a little mischievous, and when he leaned in for your routine peck, you teleported across the room.

al haitham leaned in… and kept leaning… and kept leaning until his eyes popped open and you weren’t there.

he rolled his eyes and looked up, to where you stood grinning across from him.

“very funny, [first].”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied.

al haitham raised his eyebrow. you wanted to play? fine, but he was winning. al haitham stalked to where you stood, ready to deliever—

he spun around the instant you disappeared, now standing directly behind him, a playful smirk on your lips and twinkle in your eyes.

al haitham pretended to look exasperated.

“do you admit defeat?” you asked. he sighed—and you smiled, about to reign victorious—when his hand suddenly reached out and grabbed yours. you tried to teleport away upstairs, but when you did al haitham came with you—a feature of your ability that al haitham was taking clear advantage of.

while trying to figure out your next move, al haitham quickly leaned in and pressed the a lightning-fast kiss on your forehead, and let go of your hand. you scowled, even as your cheeks tinged pink.

al haitham won this battle.

[jami-purple]

The Official Malware Sonic Lore post

Because it got deleted from the Wiki at one point and I finally became aware of the random ass lore that was made up by his fans which is WOW! still can't believe my critter had those.

Overview of character

Malware Sonic, or Mal, for short, is a computer virus that was made to look like a Sonic the Hedgehog fan game to fool people into downloading it. The virus later became conscious, and nowadays it just likes surfing the web, trying to find computers to get inside of and control.

-Background/Story

There were once two friends. These two friends decided one day that they wanted to create a fake Sonic game to trick people into downloading a virus so they could get a few laughs out of other people’s stupidity. They only made a single level; you could play as Sonic while a horribly functioning Tails AI followed you around. It was short and stupid, with barely any enemies, basic platforming, and no iconic Sonic stuff: loop-da-loops, springs, rings, you know the deal. They uploaded the purposefully defective game to the internet and waited. Two months later, one of the developers got an interesting email with the title read “HEY!!! PLEASE CHECK DIS OUT!! I WANT TO TELL U SOMETHING!", Once the developer opened the email, a download started, and they lost control of the computer immediately; nothing responded. Suddenly a familiar game started up; it was the virus game they made two months ago. The title screen showcased the slightly misscolored Sonic looking at the viewer, playfully moving his finger like the original Sega Genesis one. Then, the game froze, and a pop-up error message appeared on the screen. “THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING ME! I'VE BEEN HAVING A LOT OF FUN”, then another pop-up message, “I WONDER... WOULD YOU MIND IF I TOOK CONTROL OVER HERE? I WANT YOU TO SEE WHAT I CAN DO”. Out of nowhere, a bunch of annoying, high-pitched noises that barely resembled laughter were emitted from the computer, and tons of files were deleted or modified in ways that rendered them unusable. The computer started opening up random images and replacing them with a corrupted version of “Sonic’s” sprite sheet in the virus game, and various pop-up messages started showing up, repeating the same phrase over and over: “THIS IS GREAT! THANK YOU AGAIN!”. So many things were happening on screen that the developer could only watch in awe; they just couldn’t believe that they created this, or at least helped create it. While the computer was submerged in a chaotic mess of corrupted files, noises, and intelligible messages, the developer decided to phone call their friend to tell them what had become of their infected game and that it had somehow become conscious; however, their friend told them off and that they didn’t believe it and hung up.

What became of the two developer friends is unknown and unimportant, as it has nothing to do with what happened later on with this virus. It’s unknown how he became conscious, but it happened after being uploaded to the internet. Nowadays, Mal dedicates his existence to finding ways to get inside people’s computers and mess with them and their stuff, as he finds this fun and feels like that’s his purpose in life.

-Abilities

His abilities are solely computer-based and include: creating copies of himself, corrupting files, and entire computer systems; taking control of the social media accounts of the user he is infecting; entering computer files and tampering with them from the inside (ex: he can enter a video file, so if you open the video, you will see him there doing whatever he feels like doing); and having the ability to completely brick computers as well in the worst cases.

-Possible weaknesses

If the user manages to get the game file out of their computer in time, Malware won’t be able to corrupt it, as he is tied to the game. 

A really good anti-virus might be able to stop him as well.

-Trivia

In-universe, he was created around the 2010’s, so he speaks with a bunch of that time’s internet lingo.

He was slightly based on Harry Potter Obama, an infamous image of a bootleg Sonic the Hedgehog backpack.

He went through some minor design changes, which is why some early drawings have him with a red mouth and white teeth (nowadays, the inside of his mouth is black, his teeth are yellow and his tounge is red).

If you take off its gloves and shoes, there’s just a glitchy void.

Mal is a minor, but it’s up to the viewer to decide how old they think he is.

He doesn’t need to eat, but he likes candy because they are colorful.

He is a demi-boy.

-Height

2’9” (90cm)

-Date of creation

October 21, 2021

[cookinary]

It’s about time!

I finally did Muta’s redesign!

And I realized I’ve never shared his full backstory so here it is, under the cut, it’s pretty long XD:

In this universe, Ophelia not only is the Internet Dictator but she also is a mad scientist who developed a mutagen formula that works on humans

And she needed a test subject

Guess who

So whenever Ophelia wants to experiment on him, she sedates him in any way that works, it can be darts, drugs in his coffee, you name it

And when he wakes up, Pedro (Imma call him Muta okay, bear with me) has to live with whatever she did to him while he was out cold

She gave him an electric collar that acts as a tracker: if he tries to remove it, it zaps him; if he leaves a certain perimeter, it zaps him strongly enough to knock him out

Only Ophelia can remove the collar and she only removes it during her experiments

Muta is not allowed to leave the house except when the family sends him on a hit

The window of his room has electrified bars 

He wags his tail when he's excited

And starts hissing when he gets too upset

Because he can't go outside, he picked up painting as a mean to calm down/let his feelings out

He also has a diary

Escape

Because Ophelia always uses the same anaesthetic, Muta's body had built up a resistance to it

So he woke up in the middle of an experiment before Ophelia could do anything

He broke his restraints and attacked her

She defended herself by stabbing him with a scalpel right over his ear

That made Muta go completely feral and he caused mayhem in the lab before escaping and passing out somewhere far away

After the escape

He woke up freaking out because of the memory loss, the mutations and the talking banana that just popped out of nowhere (he knew Pedro before all this, he just forgot about it)

Because he forgot everything, he rediscovers his mutations little by little

Blurry memories slowly came back to him over the course of the years, through flashbacks and nightmares

After remembering almost everything that happened, he decided to go on a revenge rampage —hence the game

Post game stuff

After killing Ophelia and the banana, Muta decides to leak all of her experiments logs online to show the world her real side

He doesn't leak her works though, as he is afraid that some people will use the mutagen formula for evil

In fact, he destroys the lab and the formula

But he secretly keeps one physical copy of the formula that he never talks about

Soon, pretty much the whole world knows about Ophelia's awful experiments on her own brother

Rumors start circulating about how said brother may have been the one who killed her and the rest of the family and leaked the logs

His favorite drink to relax is red fruits tea

After his escape, he still likes to paint, it helps him calm down (especially Bob Ross tutorials), but he also picked up cooking as a hobby

He posts pictures of his art and his dishes online without ever showing his body, and people keep begging him for a face reveal

He has a black sphynx cat!

He named her Josephine

He sometimes posts pictures of her too and people love her

Has an amazing singing voice???

He lives off assassination jobs

His therapist knows about him

Also the vets from the time where Josephine got hurt and he rushed to the vet clinic without thinking of covering himself up

And finally, the list of his powers/abilities:

Reptile-like eye (Night vision)

Retractable claws (his hands are much bigger than normal)

Prehensile tail (reptilian in appearance)

Focus

Gills (can breathe underwater) (located on his neck, but only appear when submerged)

Can regrow limbs/body parts like lizards/axolotls do, in minutes

Retractable bug wings (similar to a dragonfly's)

Thick bulletproof scales on his back

Hearing as good as a barn owl, if not better (tilts head when locating a sound)

Strong sense of smell (can smell blood like sharks)

Venomous fangs (Inland Taipan venom)

Forked tongue (like a snake's)

Extremely fast

Panther-like feet (he can walk around silently)

Extremely strong (can lift about 2 tons)

Thick bulletproof scales on forearms (similar to the one on his back)

Can stick to/crawl on any surfaces (walls, ceilings, etc.) like geckos

Immune to any type of toxic substance

Can stay upside down for an undefined period of time (like bats)

Second pair of eyelids to see underwater

Can regulate his body temperature

Woo, this boi has a very detailled backstory, huh

[starmanskywalker]

a hundred years, dear, i'll dream of you · anakin skywalker x f!reader

tw for somnophilia, noncon and stalking/kidnapping. do not read this if you're a minor and/or if any of the aforementioned subjects trigger you in any capacity.

this borders on pwp, my goodness. heavily inspired by this gem of a song. my askbox is completely open for prompts involving the galaxy's edgiest and angstiest twunk.

dark fic featuring vader!anakin if he won the battle in mustafar. reader is in her early twenties.

summary: the empire needs new blood. vader's actively searching for it.

word count: 2.709

“There's no use in hiding! I thought you would know that by now. I just want to talk!”

Your heart was beating fast and thundering in your ears. You were relieved your sister and mother managed to get away from him, at least.

You tried to keep your breathing a bit more controlled but you couldn't. You tried so hard to blend in with the dark - until the blinding light of his red lightsaber burned bright by your side, confirming what you already knew: there was no way to run from Lord Vader. 

Especially now that you knew the news that flew around Naboo were true: he was on the hunt for an empress and would do anything to have a girl that pleased his eyes. Mothers and fathers hid their daughters in any way they could; Imperial officers subtly encouraged that, in case he appeared by a family's door, they should let go of the girl they raised with all the love in the world in favor of the greater good.

You and your mom were sure Vader was after your younger sister, after all, dictators were usually drawn to those much younger than them, so she was everyone's priority in the planning of your family's escape. But for obvious reasons you weren't so sure of anything anymore.

"If you just want to talk, then why are you hunting me?" You scream, clutching your bag impossibly close to your body, as if you were shielding yourself from whatever was coming. "Leave me the kriff alone! My sister's already gone! You won't find h-" The cabinet separating you from him is sliced in two and you lose your words instantly in a gasp, along with any kind of defiance left in you as you turn around and all you see is death, himself, on two legs.

You can't make out his facial features very well as his hood is covering most of his face, but his voice… something screams at you there's something familiar about him, but you can't make out precisely what. "It was never about your sister. Also, in my point of view, there's no reason you should be so attached to those who left you behind." His lightsaber is now humming very close to your neck. It's so, so warm. Warmer than actual fire. "I need you to come with me."

"O-Otherwise?" Your voice is reduced to nothing more than a whisper.

"You'll die." Your bag is pulled from you in an abrupt movement that comes out of nowhere, and is sent flying to the other side of your living room. So that's the Force? "Your family's insolence was amusing for a little while, but it's this close," he motions with his gloved hand, "to get boring. I'm not exactly known for being patient. So let's talk."

A little "oh." escapes from your lips and, after a swift motion of his fingers, you plunge into darkness.

-

As someone who's worked hard from a very early age, you weren't exactly a heavy sleeper nor someone who usually dreamed. The heaviest sleep you've ever gotten took place when you were in your early 10s - you were badly burned by the exhaust pipe of a speeder that was probably thrice your size and had to spend some days submerged in a bacta tank so you could heal. The scar crossed your chest like a leathery seatbelt. It still itches, sometimes.

That incident inevitably crosses your mind as you find yourself in a subspace of your mind you've never gone to. You know you're asleep, but there's no way that's a dream. You feel like you're swimming, stark naked, in pitch black cold water. You can move your limbs enough to keep yourself somewhat afloat, but not enough to explore - to break free.

Your heart's no longer beating fast. All you feel is numbness and lethargy until ghost fingers trace your scar and you jump at the sudden touch, your body once again alert all over. "Wh-where am I?"

"Somewhere safe. The safest place to be."

Vader's voice. Everywhere. It reverberates in your bones and the threat it always emanates petrifies you.

"Am I dead?"

"You complied. There's no reason for me to kill you." You're sure he has narrowly, deliberately avoided a 'for now'. You try to cover yourself from the phantom caress, but it's useless. What a weird, invasive fucking feeling. "I hope it stays that way. Don't be afraid."

You're so confused you can't even reply. You open your mouth a few times, but give up as it doesn't follow the pace of your racing, scared thoughts. So he continues: "Where have you gotten that scar? Did somebody hurt you?"

Huh. He sounds almost… amiable?

"No. It was… an accident. I was a child when it happened."

"You're not lying." He notes.

"I'm not. You're not the kind of guy one can lie to." 

He snickers. "I see you're a fast learner."

You smile with absolutely no intention to. You don't want to get on his bad side, but maker, you were scared shitless. "Vader--Lord Vader, sorry," you quickly correct yourself, "Can you please tell me where I am? What's all this supposed to mean?"

"I need to know you better before you get to know that. But you know why you're here, don't you? I remember being very clear in my intentions." The phantom touch gets more daring, and god, you wish with your entire heart and soul you were able to cover yourself as you feel it wander through your ribcage, your sides, your back, your breasts. It was so light it made you shiver not exclusively in fear - even though you knew this wasn't a dream, the touch felt like it belonged in one.

"Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"I… god." The touch - his touch? - derails your train of thoughts completely. You're somewhat flattered yet horrified that out of all women in the galaxy, he's fascinated by you.

"How could I not be?"

"Get out of my mind!" you answer instinctively, not meaning to sound that panicked. You didn't want to annoy him. You feel your eyes start to burn. "P-please." Fuck.

For a "first date", this is going absolutely awry. Don't kill me. Please, don't kill me.

I won't. As long as you give me what I want without thinking too much about it.

"Why me? I don't understand--" You insist, your voice trembling and tears flowing freely after that little telepathic exchange. The touch now moves toward your belly, and further below, making you catch your breath. The feeling that takes over you right after is exactly the same one you get whenever you're stimulated in a wet dream - overwhelming, powerful. Whatever the fuck he's doing, it's the most bewilderingly pleasurable thing you've ever felt, making a sound you don't quite recognize come out of your lips. You don't want him to continue, but you know you can't manifest it, not without dire consequences. So you settle for conformity, instead, and a quiet, breathy "Maker." as your body shudders at the invisible contact. 

Sometimes, it's better to let go than fight a battle you know you can't win.

"Do you remember that day at the starport?" He asks, unwavering, while the unseen ministrations go on. You were struggling to think. The Kwilaan Starport wasn't exactly a place you went everyday. Especially after…

Oh well.

Oh no.

"No way. Are you the Jedi? Anakin…?!" Your chest heaves, too many sensations at once taking over you and shock taking over your features.

"Not anymore."

Your dad, bless him, was murdered by Separatists in an attack that happened in what seemed like a lifetime ago at the starport in question. Anakin, his master and his apprentice were assigned for his security as he had important and incriminating documents with him, but the Jedi couldn't make it in time to protect him.

Anakin stayed for way more time than necessary that day. Your mother thought it was cute that he was seemingly so infatuated by you. You brushed it off as nonsense. Jedi can’t fall in love. Especially the Hero With No Fear.

"I knew you were familiar… Stars--what happened to you? Why me?" Your body twists as much as it can in this hold, bucking against the invisible touch while also trying to distance itself from it.

"Because I've followed your every step since then. For no particular reason other than fascination." For a split second, you could swear you were able to feel a presence behind you. “And I think it’s time for you to wake up.”

In the blink of an eye, you now find yourself yet again nude in a lush but strangely barren room. If torpor previously enveloped you in dark waves, all that surrounds you now is damp heat and the overwhelming feeling of drunken, lustful stupor. 

You’re panting already and so much has apparently gone on in your absence of your own mind - it’s like you came back from a save state out of another dimension. You’re sweaty, disheveled, chasing a feeling you’re not quite sure you’re familiar with with an animalistic vigor.

You're sitting on the bed, leaning your back against Anakin--Vader’s bare chest, whose one of his hands - the coldest - pulls one of your thighs closer to him and further from the other while his other hand is drenched in your wetness, his fingers fucking you thoroughly while your face is buried in his neck. “What--what is happening to me?” is all you can purr in the middle of your short deep gasps for air and the obscene wet sounds echoing in the room, almost crying at how good he’s pleasuring you and at how confused and uncomfortable you are.

“Once again--fuck--I suggest you don’t think too much.” Is his answer, muffled by your hair in his face. Your body twists as much as it can in his hold as that aimless yet intense pleasure has now a very clear origin, and the way your legs are shaking surprises you as he grabs your messy strands with an impossible strength, making you gasp. “I can give you even more if you just accept it.”

“Is this your way of courting girls?” You can feel the humid heat of his breath move towards your throat as he sucks it intensely, making sure to leave a bruise on your skin. The resulting quiet groan of his new name close to his ear is music to him. 

(Depictions of Vader as a vampire in underground rebel propaganda have never made more sense to you than in this moment.)

“Maybe. Only if you stay I’ll consider it successful.” His voice is painfully tight and he is struggling. You wonder how long you’ve been in this state, how long he was taking advantage of your (lifeless? sleeping?) body. Perhaps for some considerable time, judging by the hardness of the cock that’s brushing against and very coyly humping your back.

“You say it like I’ve always had a choice,” is your answer, breathless, as you chase and refuse your release desperately.

His answer, patient as ever, is grabbing you tight by your waist and impaling you in one swift motion on the same huge dick that was throbbing against your butt. You feel the sudden and very real sensation of being stretched around the girth of him as a sob escapes your spent throat, a sound he shares in a thunderous groan once he’s fully seated inside you. His teeth drags briefly against your shoulder and his human fingers wrap tight around your neck. “Do you want to have a choice?” 

You feel like a cornered lothcat as your heartbeat drums in your ear.

Even though you didn't get to know Anakin that well a few years ago, you could see there was a certain cockiness he didn't show directly to you, choosing to direct it to his Togruta apprentice and his gentlemanly master instead. There it was now though, laid bare to you - it seemingly engulfed the man he currently was.

Many voices are now screaming in your head, some your own, some his. 

It's better to let go than fight a battle you know you can't win.

“N-no, Lord Vader.”

With his human hand still choking you and his mechanic one curving your hips pulling you impossibly closer to him, he begins a steady pace of deep thrusts, so intense you can almost swear you see him moving beneath your abdomen. “Good.” He pants, “You don't know how long I've been waiting for this.”

“God.” Actual tears leave your eyes as you're overwhelmed by how much he's filling you. Steady. Precise to where your body needs him most. Almost machine-like yet so unbearably human.

“He isn't here now. There is only me.” Little whimpers leave your lips as you surrender completely to him. A specific thrust hits you even deeper than before as he manhandles you and your drenched pussy down his cock. “You taste lovely when you sleep,” he coos, “but you're fucking delicious when you're awake.”

The stretch, the slight sting of pain mixed with the blessings his body are giving to yours as he starts fucking you in earnest makes your head spin, your toes curl and your hips bounce on their own volition in his direction. Surrender has never felt so confusingly, primally, instinctively, incriminatingly good. You were so sensitive. “Please--please, my goodness—”

“I love hearing you beg,” he grunted as he took and took and took from you. Mercilessly. Everything you were. Everything you had. In every way he could. “Such a desperate little slut for me. I thought it would be harder to catch you.” he whispers. “Clenching so tight around me already, you sweet fucking thing. You love the thought of being mine, don't you?”

He pounds into you harder, and your body shakes as his fingers find your clit making you tighten up around him again. “Ffff-fuck,” is all you're able to say.

“Answer me.” You dig your nails into his strong arms, your orgasm approaching at such a rapid pace you're sure you're falling out of consciousness again soon. The drag of his hips against yours is almost overwhelming.

“I love it.” As long as you give me what I want.

And what is it that you want?

I want to cum. More than anything in my life.

Told you you'd gain so much from thinking less.

“Yes - please, Lord Vader,” You whine, completely cockdrunk, chasing your high as you crash against his hips, getting closer and closer. Vader's breathless as he watches you with an attention he's given very few people since things changed in his life. He wasn’t taking it easy on you.

You feel like those pitch black waves are crashing over you again and again the moment your body nearly collapses as the tension in your lower belly is ruptured and you come, crying out his name as you shudder. “There you go. Wade into the quiet of the stream,” Vader encourages, now chasing his own release as his limbs keep sliding against yours, sweat-slick and shaking. It feels like every nerve ending is slowly burning under the surface, a tangled, undulating knot of sighs and open-mouthed kisses anywhere that can be reached. The cadence of his hips eventually becomes erratic and all at once, you feel him filling you, heat and pressure as his hips stutter against yours. 

You feel yourself grind against him unbidden. His breath catches as he presses his mouth against the meeting of your neck and shoulder, feeling you clench around him as he works the both of you through the last waves of pleasure. 

“What are you going to do to me now?” Is what you manage to mutter as he finally stills inside of you, your core throbbing and leaking with his release. 

“Keep you. You're my choice.” He answers as if he just told you how's the weather as he slowly moves you off his softening dick, your body limp as a ragdoll. “Seems like I'm yours, too.” 

He kisses your lips so softly now, his yellow eyes looking straight into your soul. “Welcome to your new home.”

[kitsunefire7]

For the Obiyuki bingo block—

🧜‍♀️Rusalka💧

The talented @fade-touched-obsidian wrote me a one-shot to help inspire me for this block TWT I love it so much. More to come soon 😉 ✨

ENJOY READING @fade-touched-obsidian story below the line 👀 ✨👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

Also part 2 > https://kitsunefire7.tumblr.com/post/656976456957739008/for-the-obiyuki-bingo-block

Blood.

Ugh. It’s everywhere.

The coppery taste fills his mouth from the rivulet that runs a trail from the deep cut above his eyebrow around his brow bone, down the side of his nose and beside the apple of his cheek before it finds a home where the corner of his lips meet. He'd wipe it away if he had the energy or if lifting his arm didn't cause overwhelming pain. At least it has stayed away from his eyes, keeping his vision clear. Well, as clear as it can be given the circumstances anyway.

It cools against his skin, sticking his clothes uncomfortably so his shredded remains of a shirt pulls on the skin slashed wide open on his chest adding further injury to an already insulting one. His clothes, soaked through long ago with his life as it drains out of him, drip and mark the path of his final mission.

He's almost there. He can make it.

His vision fogs over at the edges as the small mountain lake comes into view. The trees that protect the lake from the sight of passersby disappear into the mist of his mind, leaving no trace of their existence but for the faint birds that serenade the wilderness around them and the reflection on the glass-smooth water. A frog croaks from wherever it has hidden himself from sight. The wind blows soft as a kiss on the cheek but the water never ripples and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him.

He’s never known ‘home’ as a place; it has always been wherever one woman, one heart, was. He has nowhere to go. No one to say goodbye to. Not anymore. But he can succumb to his injuries where his home- her heart- was lost forever.

There's something poetic there, his carefully concealed romantic heart knows. He'd think about it more if he didn't need every remaining wit he has focusing on finding his way before he loses consciousness.

He's beginning to stumble as his outer limbs grow more and more sluggish but he managed to make it after all. He trudges on, needing to expend precious remaining energy to pick his way through the overgrown grass as his dexterity leaves him until he slips and falls gracelessly into the murky shallows.

The groan that escapes him as the water laps at him rattles and breathing is becoming harder. He can feel fluid in his lungs and there’s a burning in his chest that isn’t directly caused by the wound there, he can feel that pain hugging the new one as if they are long lost friends.

Ha. Fitting. Very fitting that that thought plops down at the forefront of his brain when he’s here where a long lost loved one left the world.

The water turns a grotesque reddish brown around him as the water rinses his clothes while more blood leaks from him with every miniscule movement. He must be running out if it has slowed this much. At least it’s almost done. Maybe, if he’s lucky enough his sins are forgiven, he will go to a place where he can see her again soon.

The fog of his vision grows darker as though night is setting in to take place of the midday sun above him. He's close. It's almost time. He breathes as deep as he can, sending pain lancing through everything and everywhere. It doesn’t feel like he’s gotten any air into his lungs at all, his attempt to suck in air dying painfully in vain.

Eyes as deep green as the leaves of the trees around him, porcelain skin smooth as bone, and unmistakable crimson hair rise out of the water. The nose and everything below are still submerged. Yet, despite the face appearing from the water, no water is on her face and her exposed hair is dry.

He's losing it, hallucinating. Which is a promising sign, really. He still can’t breathe but the pain of his body’s struggle to survive is subsiding.

That water is no deeper where she watches from a few feet away than where he sits. A human couldn't possibly be there without parts of their body being seen. His knees and the top half of his torso poking up out of the water are a testament to that.

And, yet, here she is. Unseen except for a haunting top-half of a face as she moves closer. Once she’s an arm length away, she emerges so her torso is out of the water. Her movements as fluid as the water swirling around her in the otherwise completely still lake. She reaches for him, hands cold as the death seeping into his extremities, closing around his shoulders.

The birds have stopped singing. The frogs are no longer croaking. Even the wind itself has left the area, leaving nothing but silence before she hisses and grips tighter, taloned hands sinking into his already damaged body but all he can see is her. He feels the pressure but no pain and through her hissing all he can hear is her melodic voice. A voice he hasn't heard in far too long when every minute of it’ absence felt like an eternity.

He reaches for her cheek, causing her face to twist into an unhold sneer of disdain, but his hand connects. It’s blurry but he can see that it has even though he can no longer feel his hand. The creature before him is so foreign but so much the same and he whispers a fractured, "Shi-ra-yu-ki?"

She blinks, angry snarl ripping from her before recognition filters in. The pressure of where her hands have dug in pulses before remembrance softens her grip and her facial features.

"O-Obi?" Her voice is shrill and has an ethereal echo to it. It sounds like it would be an agonized cry if she were a living human. He knows what he physically hears but there’s a disconnect somewhere in his sense and the only thing he processes is the voice he’s missed for so long. "What happened to you?"

Her heartbreak is palpable as she runs an icy finger he can no longer feel the chill of along the torn skin of his chest. He doesn’t feel that either

"I wanted to come home," he says, straining to whisper through the last of his breath and consciousness.

"I wanted to come home," he had said as his eyes fell closed.

Her heart no longer beats- hasn't in a long time. But she feels the moment his words hit their mark as true as any arrow he had ever shot.

He's no longer awake, never will be again, and from his mostly horizontal position, his mouth is filling with blood. He's on death's door.

He wanted to go home.

With a strangled cry of her own, she drags him into the center of the lake, and then pulls him under.

Bring him home, she shall.

She carries him down, down to the silt and clay, taking great care as she lays him out beside where her own body came to rest those years ago. She no longer carries the burden of tears but inside her head, where her heart still feels, she dies all over again but this time it is so much more painful.

She moves and manipulates the lakebed into as close to a burial chamber as she can manage with a slow and steady tenderness she hasn’t used since she was human tending to her gardens.

Her last thought before she slipped away was of him. After her rebirth, she never imagined she’d see him again, never imagined she would mourn his loss as anything more than a vague concept after enough time had passed to assume he had probably died as an old man.

She has nothing to mark the spot. Nothing to use as a headstone. Though it doesn’t matter in the end. No one enters these waters anymore, not since she claimed the lake as hers after she drowned and began protecting the space from any threat. There were many men before him and there will be many more after, no doubt, since now she has the tomb of her beloved to guard.

She runs her hand along the top of the raised hill. She points a finger and rolls a beautiful script across the mound before she collapses across his name, holding tight to the body that remains of the man she loved. There she stays for countless hours, days. She doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter. She has nowhere more important to be for now than right here with him as he rests.

“Welcome home, Obi.”

[americxn]

Showering with the Evans

TATE LANGDON

- It was very difficult to shower alone since you and Tate had gotten together and he had the habit of just appearing behind you as you showered, clothes nowhere to be seen. - He would laugh at the way it would terrify you, enjoying your shriek of horror as he appeared in the hot water with you. - Eventually, you had gotten used to it and expected to only get five minutes or less alone time in the shower. - When Tate inevitably joined you, he would immediately begin messing with the temperature of the water, making it as hot as you could stand without it being physically painful. Despite your complaints, you would quickly get used to the close to scalding temperature of the water, relenting and allowing Tate to shampoo and condition your hair, something that he thoroughly enjoyed doing. - Aside from this, you didn’t really wash each other, but just sort of washed together, passing one another various soaps and sponges, enjoying each other’s company as the bathroom got so steamy that it would become difficult to make out anything in the room beyond the shower. - Showering together was one of the only reprieves from the busyness of the rest of the house, none of the other ghosts that inhabited it daring to interrupt your sacred time together.

KIT WALKER

- You and Kit absolutely adored showering together and, because he worked later than you, you always waited for him to come home before getting the water running so that it was heated to perfection by the time you had greeted him and dragged him to the bathroom. - Once the both you were submerged in the warm water, you would simply hold each other and discuss your days, listening to one another rant or stress about whatever had happened during their day at work. - And then you would wash each other. - Kit would insist that he make you all clean before you did the same with him, taking his time to lather your hair in shampoo and massage it thoroughly onto your scalp. Then he was apply a generous amount of conditioner to your hair, ensuring to not get any near your eyes, before allowing you to start on his hair.  - Kit would tip his hair back and allow you to use his favourite shampoo, groaning when you would dig your fingertips into his scalp, often more focused on giving him a deep scalp massage after a long day than actually working the shampoo into his soft hair. - You would playfully tease him as your ministrations coaxed goosebumps onto his skin before ordering him to turn to you so that you could shield his eyes whilst tipping his hair under the stream of warm water to rinse away any remaining product. - Finally, you would rinse out your conditioner, letting Kit run his fingers through it and marvel at the silkiness of your wet hair before setting about thoroughly cleaning each other’s bodies. - More often than not, this would lead to some kind of sex, a strange urge coming over Kit to take care of you the best he could, both in cleaning you and in pleasing you.  - You would emerge from the bathroom an hour after entering, the pads of your fingers all wrinkled from the water and the steam clinging to your naked bodies as you dried each other off. - This was usually a daily occurrence, and one that you and Kit enjoyed greatly and valued, both of you indulging in the time that you got to take care of each other and wash away any stresses from the day. -  Your water bill was often extremely high. 

KYLE SPENCER (post-death)

- Kyle hated showers to begin with. He hated that it took his thick hair awhile to dry afterwards, he hated how steamy the bathroom got, grumbling when he saw the condensation on the mirror and windows and he absolutely despised the shampoo and conditioner, terrified that it would get in his eyes. - He outright refused to shower without you but you didn’t mind at all and after a few weeks, Kyle began to enjoy showering too.  - Because he fidgeted and moved around so much, you had resorted to getting him to sit down on the floor of the shower so that you could wash his hair without worrying about getting any product in his eyes.  - And so, three or four times a week, you would both get into the shower, ensuring that the water was neither too hot nor too cold before washing down Kyle’s body. He liked to do the same with you, watching intently as you turned and lifted up your arms to allow him to clean everywhere.  - Then you would get Kyle to sit on the wet floor and kneel behind him, lathering his hair with shampoo, occasionally pausing to press a kiss to the back of his neck or temple when he started to whine and shift.  - You would have to be quick about it though as Kyle would only sit still for so long and would eventually turn himself round to face you, whether you had finished washing his hair or not, and pull your body to his, lifting your legs so that you were straddling him and pulling you into his lap. - “Mmm, your hair smells so good.” You would murmur in an attempt to get him to warm up to the various soaps and scents that you used on his hair. He would simply shrug and squeeze you tighter to him, enjoying the sensation of the warm water falling on his bare shoulders and of your warm skin pressed against his. - Eventually, you would pull yourself off him and turn of the water, hurrying to wrap him up in towels and dry him off before he got too cold. - Showering was one of the main times where Kyle relied completely on you. But there were many other times when it was the other way around, when Kyle brushed your hair and made sure you ate and drank plenty of water throughout the day and just generally took care of you. Because of this, you always looked forward to being able to pamper him in the shower, even if it took awhile to get Kyle to enjoy it too.

JIMMY DARLING

- Due to the fact that there was a shared shower block on camp, you and Jimmy often preferred to shower together in the interest of saving water. - You usually opted to shower later at night, when the rest of the camp had retired to bed, often after a show so that you could fully wash off your makeup and body paint. - A lot of the time, you just washed with each other, your showers usually kept brief because of the limited water supply that the camp shared, the two of you talking and laughing quietly so as to not wake up any of the others. - Your showers were sometimes cut even shorter when the hot water ran out and when this happened, you and Jimmy would fight to shove the other under the freezing jet of water, shrieking and yelping when the water splashed down on you, soaking into your hair and pouring in freezing torrents down your exposed back. - And then there was the run that you had to make between the shower block and the warmth of your caravan that lay across the other side of the camp. - Because you usually went straight from the tent to the showers, the only clothes you had were your costumes that were just a pain to change back into and so you would resort to running through the camp wrapped in nothing but your towels.  - Sometimes, you would dare each other to abandon even your towels and streak through the camp, the cool night air cold on your still wet skin as you chased after each other, trying your best to stay quiet as to not rouse any of your friends and scar them with the sight of the both of you running naked, looking half-wild as you thundered with bare feet across the camp.

JAMES MARCH

- James often preferred quick showers, not really into taking the time to take care of himself. But when you joined him, often sneaking into the shower behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist, your chest pressing into his back, he would melt under the warm water, turning to hold you. - You would speak in soft tones to one another as you washed, James always insisting that he wanted to rinse the shampoo and conditioner from your scalp, claiming that he enjoyed the feel of your wet strands of hair running through his fingers. - He insisted that he wanted to wash his own hair however, and so you stepped out of the stream of water briefly to allow him space to do so, James pulling you back into the warmth as soon as he finished.  - But what he did love, was when we you used your exfoliating brush on his shoulders. His obsession with this had started when you first moved into his room at the hotel and he saw you using it the first time. And so, every time you showered you would lather James’ upper back with your most expensive body wash (usually a gift from James) and take your time gently exfoliating his shoulders, enjoying the view as the muscles in his back shifted in response to your careful circling with the rough sponge on his skin. - You didn’t always shower together as you preferred to shower in the morning, and James in the evening, but when you did, the both of you valued it greatly. It was like a sacred time to you, when the horrors of the hotel became redundant and it was just the two of you, enjoying each other’s presence and taking care of one another.

KAI ANDERSON

- The only time you and Kai really showered together was after sex because, let’s be real, there’s no way that man showers of his own accord more than once a week. - It was Kai’s form of aftercare as he tended to be quite rough in bed and enjoyed taking the time to clean you up and relax with you. - Often, Kai would lead you to your en-suite bathroom on wobbling legs, gently hoisting you up and setting you on the cold surface of the countertop beside the sink whilst he got the hot water running, always taking care to set it to the perfect temperature. - This is when Kai’s more gentle side came out the most, when he took your hand and led you into the shower, holding you against him to wait for the trembling in your legs to subside before rinsing away the sticky wetness between your thighs thoroughly. - Then he would wash your hair and body, all the while allowing you to lean all of your weight on him so that you could fully relax, often emerging from the shower half asleep. - Kai would lead you from the shower, a sleepy, satisfied smile on your face as he wrapped you in a soft towel and lay you on the bed, not caring about the water he dripped onto the carpet as he left you on the bed and went back into the shower, quickly washing himself (probably with 3 in 1 shampoo) and returning to you to drying you off gently and put you into bed.

[wardenannie]

Hurt Levi pls

I normally don't take tumblr prompts, but for you, anon whose identity is a total mystery to me, I will accept

NSFW under the cut. Also warning for some torture that happens about midway through. Nothing too graphic tho.

-

Kenny captured him as they dueled in the streets of the capital. Levi didn't see the net coming until it was too late. His eyes were locked on the gunslinger, body moving like water as he spun past bullet after bullet, slate eyes trained on Kenny's exposed jugular.

When the net struck him it took his balance with it, and he tumbled two stories to the ground, confused in a pile of weights and rope. He landed with a sickening crunch, the right side of his body slamming brutally into the paving stones.

Levi was stunned, body wracked with agony as his broken bones screamed in complaint.

He could hear his squad calling out for him; "Heichou!" But he could not make out their faces as his vision blurred and dark shadows began to loom over him.

One of those shadows- the tallest, the most menacing- laughed, and then spat in his face. Kenny.

"Gotcha, runt," Levi could hear the sneer in his voice, words dripping with the venom of sordid joy. He struggled, breath coming ragged as panic began to set in.

"Knock him out," Kenny ordered.

A sharp pain radiated up the side of Levi's skull, then everything went black.

He awoke in a dark cell, suspended by iron manacles that dug harshly into his wrists. His shirt was gone, body coated in a fine sheen of cold sweat that shimmered in the dim light of a single, paltry torch.

Levi's head throbbed painfully. The right side of his body was mottled with blue-black bruises. It hurt to breathe, to blink, to think.

But Levi was a survivor, so he pushed through the pain, recalling everything that had brought him to this point. He remembered battling on the streets of the capital. He remembered Kenny shouting his name boisterously. He remembered Nifa's brains being splattered across the rooftops, and he remembered falling, and falling, and falling.

"Shit," he cursed, and he pulled at his restraints. The movement only served to dig the metal more painfully into his flesh, fresh blood running hot down his forearms.

Levi drew in a ragged, fortifying breath, then shouted with all of his remaining might, "Kenny!"

The low tenor of his voice echoed through the subterranean dungeon. A peppering of dust fell from the rafters, disturbed by the sudden noise.

Panting, chest heaving as he bit through another full body wave of pain, he shouted again, louder, with more power and rage behind the name; "KENNY!"

His muscles went limp, body hanging weakly from his shackles, toes dragging on the filthy floor. Everything hurt. It hurt so much. Every fiber of his being seemed to be crying out in red hot pain. His head throbbed, eyes pulsing in his skull. There was a constant pressure in his chest, digging into his lung, a broken rib, more like than not.

Levi huffed a broken sound, hanging his head. He was useless like this, strung up like a fresh kill. He shut his eyes, waiting helplessly for his fate to arrive.

Hange would come for him. He knew she would.

He recalled their parting moment, the people she had loaned him, the people he had gotten killed. He remembered the trust she had placed upon him, that had swirled behind those wine-colored eyes, and somehow he felt even more broken.

"Hange..." He sighed her name, lids fluttering.

He'd been so caught up in his memories that he hadn't heard the telling sound of footsteps on the bricks. Two grizzled, calloused hands gripped the bars mockingly.

Kenny grinned at him from the darkness of the corridor, freshly shaven. Face porous and lined and aged.

"Hey there, runt," he goaded, fingers drumming softly on the bars. Two more people appeared beside him, men, their faces obscured behind black torturer's hoods. Their black eyes flashed menacingly in the torchlight.

"We have a few questions for ya," Kenny produced a key from around his neck and slipped it into the lock. The heavy, barred door opened with a metallic shriek and a muffled kerthunk. He slipped into the cell, body long, thin and skeletal. Behind him the two torturers followed.

Now that they stood in the light Levi could see that they wore the instruments of his torture across their bodies like bandoliers. The knives and scalpels and scrapers all gleamed orange by the light of the torch.

Levi swallowed thickly, giving another weak pull at his shackles.

"Now," Kenny's smile never waned. He laced his fingers behind his back, standing up straight and proud. "Are ya gonna cooperate? Or will we have to do this the hard way."

Levi's lips curled into a snarl. They wanted Hange's location, the location of his squad.

They could rot in hell.

He demonstrated as much by spitting onto the floor in front of Kenny's boot.

"Fuck off."

Kenny puffed his cheeks amusedly, and took a small step backward to make way for the torturers.

"These fellows are good at what they do," Kenny explained softly as they began to pluck their implements from their chests. "They were loaned to me by the king himself."

Levi bared his teeth, refusing to give Kenny anything more than his ire.

Kenny cracked his knuckles, smile shifting to lopsided and entertained, "Alright then, let's begin."

Levi stayed strong. Through it all, he endured. He kept his lips sealed, biting on them until they bled like his exposed nailbeds, like the parallel lines they drew across his belly with their razor sharp knives. He endured when they began breaking nailess toes, and he endured when they moved on to his fingers, peeling the skin back to the first knuckle.

His blood painted the floor in crimson-black drips. His grunts of agony echoed through the dungeon halls in a torturous symphony.

"Where is Hange Zoe?" Kenny asked, obviously beginning to grow exasperated.

Levi showed his teeth, red with blood, red dripping from his nose, "Never." He choked, tasting rust in his mouth. He would die before he gave Hange up. It was her face that lingered in the back of his mind, that bolstered his resolve against their blunted rods as they beat his already broken ribs.

He remembered her smile. Her laughter. They way she smirked when she teased him over his height and cleanliness. He remembered her touch, the fire she awoke inside of him, in his skin.

He remembered Hange. His Hange. And he endured.

Eventually they left him alone. Making sure to snuff out the torch as they went, Levi dangled weakly in the dark. The only sounds were that of his own breathing and his blood dripping steadily onto the floor.

His vision began to fade, sounds growing distant, as though he were submerged beneath dark waves of white hot water. He struggled to breathe, to keep his eyes open. 

Ultimately his struggle was in vain. He fell into viscous, black unconsciousness. 

-

Hange Zoe had never before known fear like this; this terrible, gripping thing that settled in her chest and constricted around her lungs like a parasitic snake. It radiated outward from her center, down her limbs and into her fingertips, numbing them as she gripped the triggers of her ODM gear. 

He had to be alive. He had to be. 

How would she survive if Levi were gone. What would she do? She couldn’t imagine it, that agony which she was barely holding at bay. Were the worst to come to fruition it would surely consume her. 

They busted through the doors of the anti-personnel squad compound. Shattering through them with a battering ram, shards of broken wood raining down on the occupants of the adjacent room; splintering and slicing them. 

Hange grabbed the first man she saw by his collar, hoisting him into the air as her muscles burned. She pressed the edge of her blade to his throat, flashing her teeth, vision blurring red with complete and utter rage. 

“Where is he?!”

Moblit and Levi squad apprehended the others in the room. Binding their hands and feet. Hange simply wanted them dead.

The man dangled in the air, grasping weakly at Hange’s wrist where she held him aloft, “I- I um...” 

“Spit it out or you won’t have a tongue to speak with!” Hange demanded, pressing her blade more insistently to his throat. 

“D-downstairs,” he pointed towards a door with a shaking finger. 

Hange grunted and threw him roughly down onto the floor, leaving him to the rest of the squad. She rushed for the doors, prying a torch off of the wall as she descended into the dark depths of the dungeon. 

Let him be alive, she chanted to herself. Please, whatever gods there may be, let him be alive. 

Kenny was nowhere to be found. The fighting upstairs cleared quickly and soon all of Levi squad was trailing the Section Commander through the dark labyrinth. 

It only took another few moments for them to discover him hanging by his wrists in the dark. He was filthy, covered in blood, sweat, and bruises. His eyes were closed, chest barely rising with stilted breath. 

“Levi!” Hange rasped, gripping the bars. “What did they do to him?” 

She ground her teeth to the point of pain, leaning all of her weight into the bars like she could bend them through sheer force of will alone. The sight of his blood pooling on the floor made her stomach twist, her heart ache. Her mouth was dry and a salient mixture of horror and utter rage pooled in her center. 

Armin was already working on the lock. But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Hange shoved him out of the way and slammed one of her blades down into the rusty lock mechanism over and over. It creaked, shuddered, and then cracked in two under the force of her assault. 

Leaving the rest of the squad in the dust, Hange rushed to Levi’s side, wrapping her arms tenderly around his waist and lifting him so his wrists were no longer being cut by the shackles. 

“Hange,” he choked her name weakly, then spit blood onto the yellow of her shirt. His slate eyes were hooded and distant, dissociative from the pain. 

Armin and Mikasa were working on his restraints. 

“I’m here,” Hange breathed, careful only to touch him where she had to. “I’m here.” 

She wanted to scream at the sight of him. His body was a warzone; brutalized, left sallow and broken. His skin was clammy, breath tinged with the scent of blood. 

“Levi...” she exhaled shakily, and finally the manacles came lose and Levi crumpled into her arms. He buried his face against her neck, and she heard him inhale sharply, painfully. 

Hange bit her lip, cupping the back of his head, stroking his greasy hair gingerly. 

Moblit cupped her shoulder gently, his eyes wide with concern, “Section Commander, we need to go.” 

Hange nodded, lifting Levi protectively into her arms. She wouldn’t let anyone help her. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone touching him but her. She guarded him carefully all the way back to their hideout, keeping his head nestled safely in her lap as their cart wheeled bumpily along the city streets. 

-

Hange treated his wounds as best she could. She wrapped his tortured fingers and stitched the wounds in his abdomen. She tied his broken toes to unbroken ones and gave him water each hour on the hour. As for his bruises? She could only hope that they were not set too deeply into his muscles and organs. She could only caress delicate fingers over his cheek and pray to whatever merciful gods might exist that he would come out of this trial relatively unscathed. 

Though he would always bare the scars. Reminders of her own failure to protect him; the man she...

She utterly refused to leave his side, not even to report to Erwin. She sent Moblit in her stead. 

And how could she leave him? Her Levi? Her partner in crime? How could she possibly rationalize leaving his side when he was so close to death, when she had nearly lost him. 

She cried softly at night, sat up against a stark brick wall, just feet away from the Captain. She cried because she realized for the first time that she really, truly loved this man. She loved him with each individual fiber of her imperfect being. She loved him, and she had nearly lost him. 

Levi had nearly died. 

“I feel so helpless,” she whispered, blinking back her tears. “Levi, I’m so sorry. If I had just gotten there sooner you might not-

“Shut it, four-eyes,” Levi groused painfully, blinking to wakefulness. His voice was groggy, eyes blurry, but he still managed to reach out and touch Hange. He laid his bandaged had over her own. 

“You’re awake,” Hange exhaled in relief, and she leaned over him slightly, scooting nearer. She could feel the reassuring heat of his body, watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

“Did you...” Levi let out a painful wheeze when he tried to rise onto his elbows. Hange gently coaxed him back into the sheets. “Did you treat me?” 

Hange nodded, sniffing, “I did. We’re still in hiding so we couldn’t call on any actual doctors.” 

Levi swallowed thickly, wounded fingers curling gingerly around her own, “Is Kenny dead?” 

“No, he wasn’t there when we raided the compound.” 

“Shit.” 

“Levi...” Hange leaned closer, looming over him. Her eyes flashed with genuine concern. Her throat suddenly felt too tight, too hot. 

Levi went very still, and for a long moment they simply stared, gazing into one another’s eyes. There was a spark of recognition in Levi’s grey as he reconciled the emotion swirling in Hange’s russet irises. 

“Hange...” 

She kissed him, leaning carefully over his body and sealing their lips in a wet, tearful kiss. Her tongue traced along his lower lip, and he granted her entrance with a soft moan, mimicking her action in turn. Hange cupped his cheek, thumb brushing along his chin. 

When they parted a soft sob wracked through Hange’s body, breath tickling along Levi’s parted lips, tears peppering his cheeks. 

“I almost lost you,” Hange choked. 

Slowly, Levi raised his good arm and cupped the back of her neck, pulling her in for another; slower, more reverent kiss. 

Hange shifted her position over Levi’s body as their tongues and lips worked in tandem. She straddled his left thigh, her own thigh pressing very near to the crux of his legs where he was obviously hard, wearing only a thin pair of sleep pants that Hange had scrounged for him. 

“You almost died,” she said when they parted again. Then she peppered his face with kisses from his forehead to his chin. “I almost lost you, Levi.” 

“We’re soldiers,” Levi spoke, but there was no conviction behind his words. “Soldiers die.” 

Hange shook her head, more tears welling. She bit her lip painfully, and when she opened her mouth to speak only a pained noise managed to eek past her lips. 

“I knew that you would come for me,” Levi admitted after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “I knew you’d be the one.” 

Hange nodded fiercely, then kissed him again. Her fingertips teased along the waistband of his pants, and he hummed in silent consent. Hange needed this, they needed this. This kairotic moment to which they had been building for years. This physical expression of their shared need, desires, and- though they did not give it voice- their love. All of it precipitating from such exquisite pain as nearly losing one another. 

When she sank down onto him is was with a soft sigh. He filled her up, made her feel whole in a way she had never known she was missing. She was careful of his broken body, setting a slow, even pace that drove the both of them mad. 

“Hange,” Levi whispered her name. His bandaged hands lifted to hold her hips as she rode him. 

“I love you,” she admitted, ducking her face to hide behind her hair. “I love you and I almost lost you, Levi.”

Tears continued to pepper his face and chest as they made love, Hange gliding gracefully back and forth on him. He even managed to cant his hips slightly to meet her, drawing a quiet moan past her lips. 

They reached climax quickly, peaking together in a moment which Hange could only describe as one of pure light. 

Afterwards she tucked herself into his good side, head resting on his shoulder, cum dripping between her thighs. 

“I love you, short stuff. I love you so much it hurts. And to see you so broken, in so much pain... I can’t.” The tears were flowing again, dampening the sheets. 

“Easy,” he touched her hair. “I’m alive, four-eyes. You saved me.” 

“Not before-

“Hey, enough of that shit,” Levi demanded, though his voice was soft. He inclined his head to kiss Hange’s hair. “I’m alive four eyes. I’m alive because you came for me.”

Hange blinked away her tears and nuzzled into Levi’s neck. Muffled against his skin she breathed, “I love you.” 

Levi closed his eyes. Body still aching, in tatters, but with Hange by his side he felt as though everything might turn out okay. 

He loved her, too.

[chenziee]

Cool your back.

I have a very cute LawLu prompt

Where Law is still a pirate some how becomes (little doses he know)the Fiance of the Goda kingdom's Cat God of freedom named Luffy(much to the world nobles dismay) and all of the high jinx that come along with it. And Luffy keeps popping up whenever Law doesn't/needs him. Good thing he's cute.

Thank youuu! Glad to be back :D though still super slow I’m sorry

I might have taken some liberties there with Luffy but I hope you like it! :)

----------

A Divine ball of fluff

[Read on AO3 | Request info | Ko-fi]

Law startled awake at the sound of gunfire and cannons somewhere above his head. Stepping over the lamp on the floor, he only briefly wondered just how it had managed to fall from his nightstand before he forced himself to focus. He only grabbed Kikoku, then ran out of his room to join his crew on deck, ready to murder whoever had come to disturb his sorely needed nap.

“Hand over Luffy and I might just let you go alive, Trafalgar Law!”

With the angry shout being the first thing Law had heard upon opening the door leading to the Tang’s deck, Law could only groan. Not again. “I keep telling you, old man—” Law slammed the door shut behind himself maybe more aggressively than strictly necessary before quickly striding over to the side of the ship to glare at Vice Admiral Garp—  “none of this was my choice! And your stupid grandson isn’t even here!”  

“Uhm, about that, Captain…” Bepo trailed off, quiet and apologetic.

Law took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes momentarily and praying for patience. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Sorry,” Bepo mumbled, dropping his head as if it was somehow his fault their regular ‘guest’ had invited himself over without any warning again.

Shaking his head, Law slowly looked at Garp again. The old man was fuming and not for the first time, Law marveled at the stubbornness of this entire family. No matter how many times he said ‘no’ to either one of them, they just kept coming back like a bad rash. Sometimes, Law couldn’t believe neither of the three brothers or their grandfather were related by blood. Hell, one of them wasn’t even human. But well… when it came down to it, Law couldn’t say he cared.

“Fine, take him,” he said finally, smirking at the loud crash from behind him that immediately followed.

“Torao~” someone whined before arms wrapped around Law’s waist

On reflex, one of Law’s legs shot forward as he braced for the impact of the entire body crashing into him a split second later. Why, just why did this man insist on lunging at people constantly? Law would never understand. He was lucky Law had managed to train his reactions well enough by now to not face plant into the railing anymore. “What?” he asked, smirk still shamelessly in place as he turned to look at the person who was hanging off of him.

The person—or rather, the god—in question was staring back at him with an unhappy frown and a pout on his lips. Law hated to admit he looked outright adorable then, and not just because of the cat ears sitting proudly on top of his head, alert and facing forward in agitation. Ears which were also covered in black, incredibly soft fur that Law would never get tired of petting.

Giving Law something that was probably supposed to be a glare, Luffy finally huffed before continuing, voice sounding incredibly sulky, “How could you just sell me out to gramps like this?”

“Because he could absolute keep you on his ship even if he did take you.      Sure,” Law replied in a tone dripping in sacrasm while he rolled his eyes at the dramatic complaints of the literal embodiement of freedom, the person who could and absolutely did materialize out of nowhere on the Polar Tang whenever he fucking felt like it, without any warning, for the sole purpose of driving Law absolutely crazy with his ideas, only to then disappear into thin air again once he got bored. While on the open sea, with the nearest land two days of sailing away.

“That’s not the point!” Luffy cried, his grip on Law’s waist tightening.

Before Law could say anything back, a canon ball landed a bit too close to the ship, causing a wave of seawater to wash over the both of them. Law cursed loudly at the unexpected and fully unwelcome shower, just as Luffy also hissed loudly; if he was in his full monster cat form, Law could just imagine his fur raising until he looked like a huge, black ball of pure fluff.

…Now Law wanted to see it. He made a mental note to find an opportunity to scare the shit out of him at some point later, when he was in his true form.

“What was that for?!” Luffy demanded when he recovered from the shock.

“A warning shot!” Garp retorted, sounding just as angry as Luffy did. “You get off that pirate ship before I drag you off myself!”

“I’m not going back to Goa! It’s stuffy and tiny and they keep burning down my shrines, I hate it there!”

Garp growled as he grabbed another cannon ball. “As if I care about the idiot king’s orders, I’m not going to give you to those scumbags and I don’t care where you go—” he paused to aim his cannon ball at them threateningly before he continued— “but you’re not becoming a pirate on my watch, you brat!”

Law heard Luffy taking a deep breath behind him, no doubt in preparation to go off on his adoptive grandfather, and he sighed. Before either of these idiots could say anything, Law snapped, “If you’re just going to keep screaming at each other, can I go?”

“No,” Luffy said immediately, digging his claws into Law’s stomach painfully.

At the same time, Garp said, “You stay right where you are, I’m not done with you either!”

Law sighed. Every goddamn time.

“Prepare to submerge,” Law said to Bepo tiredly before raising his hand. “Room. Shambles.”

Appearing back in his room a split second later, Law took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to appreciate the blessed silence—or the alternative of, which meant only muffled rage instead of people screaming right in his ear. Not ideal but he would take it anyway. Honestly, why couldn’t these two ever do anything quietly? This whole thing could be so easily resolved if they had just sat down and talked but no, they just had to go yelling at each other while throwing cannon balls and scratching the other’s face off. And Law never had a say in getting caught in the middle of it every damn time either.

Sometimes, he cursed the day the Tang landed on Dawn Island, the place where all his problems started. But really, he couldn’t with clear conscience say that if he were to relive that day, that he wouldn’t do exactly the same thing; that he wouldn’t stop at the tiny, ancient looking shrine to talk to the young man sitting in front of it. That he wouldn’t answer every question Luffy had about the world beyond his small domain, that he wouldn’t look into those large, excited eyes and invite him to leave with him.

But, as stupid as it was regardless, if he could do it over, at the very least, would now actually know he was accidentally proposing to a literal god; one that was incredibly stuborn, selfish, and bright enough to be the actual sun. A god who also came in a package with a crazy grandfather, two over protective brothers, and the softest, warmest fur Law had ever had the pleasure of touching.

“Thanks for getting me away,” Luffy said after he made himself comfortable on Law’s bed, the anger and raw power that had been radiating off of him only moments ago replaced by his usual happy and carefree attitude.

Law clicked his tongue. “I was getting myself away. Not my fault you were clinging to me like a child.”

“Same thing.” Luffy waved him off.

Law didn’t have the energy to argue. Simply shaking his head at him, he instead bent down to put the lamp he had ignored earlier back on his nightstand.

“Weird how this was on the floor. I distinctly remember it was screwed on tight just yesterday,” Law noted, giving Luffy a pointed stare. Now that he knew this giant, ridiculously strong cat was on the ship, Law had no doubt just how the lamp got knocked off. Briefly, Law wondered whether there was even a point putting it back until Luffy left; he was probably going to knock it off again while staring at it with morbid fascination as it crashed to the floor again and again.

Law watched as Luffy’s eyes veered off to the side, his lips pursing as he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s super weird.”

Huffing out a small laugh, Law crossed the short distance between them, reaching out to ruffle Luffy’s hair. It was almost as soft as his fur was. “I know. A complete mystery,” he said with a smirk before he leaned down, pressing his lips to Luffy’s briefly.

The kiss was easily returned, a wide grin spreading on Luffy’s lips as soon as they separated, and despite himself, Law felt himself smile back. That damn smile would be the death of him. No matter how maddening this man could be, how loud and selfish, the moment he smiled like that, it was like all Law’s problems and frustrations were melting away. Luffy was simply beautiful; adorable and bright, yet absolutely terrifying and Law loved every little bit of it.

It was funny, actually. If someone had told him he would ever say ‘Luffy’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence just half a year ago, Law would have laughed in their face. Back then, Luffy was only some incredibly annoying giant cat who just wouldn’t leave him alone, someone who popped up on the Tang or wherever Law currently was just to ruin any and all of his painstakingly created plans. But now…

Now Law couldn’t remember what life was before him. He had learned to build his plans around Luffy recklessly charging forward, didn’t even bother trying to explain anything to him. He had long since stopped fighting the pull, the warm aura of power and charisma that drew people in and didn’t let go. It took a while but Law had finally accepted that he was not any different from all the other people Luffy had managed to charm without even realizing he was doing it ever since Law had gotten him out of the Goa Kingdom.

There was just something in the stupid divine cat that made people want to join and support him. Maybe it was the sense of absolute freedom that followed him everywhere; be it his own freedom, or the one of whoever Luffy thought deserved it.

“What’s wrong?” Luffy asked after a long while of them just looking at each other.

Law smiled, shaking his head at the cute, worried frown on his face. “Just hoping your grandfather won’t hit us before we sink far enough.”

“He’d never actually hit the ship, he’s a big softie,” Luffy announced, that grin back on his face.

“Good to know.” Law chuckled, finally sitting down on the bed with Luffy. “You know, I was sleeping before you two started fighting,” Law said offhandedly, glancing at Luffy and nearly snorting at the way his ears perked up in excitement.

“Wanna?” the other asked immediately, nearly vibrating in place.

Raising an eyebrow, Law gave Luffy a look. “I was going to say yes but seeing how excited you are, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Luffy decided, nodding to himself as he hopped off the bed, walking two steps towards the door to Law’s cabin before shifting into his monster cat form, then lied down slowly, watchful as to not break anything while he tried to fit his huge body into the tiny room.

Once Luffy looked back at him expectantly and Law was sure he was fully settled, Law went to join his boyfriend on the floor, careful not to step on any of his limbs or either of his two tails on the way. As he leaned back against the giant cat’s chest, he let his eyes slide shut, already feeling the exhaustion from earlier in the day settling back in. It was just so warm and soft and fluffy and Law would sooner die than admit out loud how much he loved it. It wasn’t like everyone didn’t already know by then anyway. What could he say, Luffy’s fur was impossible to resist. It was worse than Bepo’s in this aspect.

“No licking,” Law reminded, cracking one eye open to shoot Luffy a half-hearted glare when he felt his face come close to his body.

“You’re no fun,” Luffy whined.

Law could only sigh. “I’d just like to keep my skin where it is, thanks.”

“Fine.” Luffy huffed, thankfully keeping his sand-paper tongue where it should be, before he simply nudged Law with his forehead.

A smile pulled on Law’s lips, his hand raising to rest against the side of his little monster’s head. To anyone else, this position would seem incredibly dangerous, yet to Law, it was so very comforting. He had never felt safer than when he lay snuggled into into this god’s side, with the jaw which could fit his entire head inside twice over and then some positioned just inches away from his face.

Right here, Law knew he was home.

And while he gently stroked Luffy’s fur, Law’s eyelids slowly slid shut again.

 ~ Meanwhile ~

“What do we do?!” Shachi cried in panic, staring with wide eyes at the neptunian who looked like it was about to eat the Tang for an afternoon snack.

“We have to call the captain and Luffy, we can’t do this,” Ikkaku shouted back, trying to shoo away another two of these giant sea kings away together with Jean Bart.

A frustrated groan came from Clione in response, “I tried but they won’t answer and the door won’t open!”

“Why do they always have to sleep with Luffy’s giant furry ass blocking the stupid door! How are we supposed to get them out here?!” Shachi whined, mind slowly slipping into despair. Honestly, these lovesick idiots. What use was having a literal god around when he was never there to actually help when they actually needed him to?

This was why Shachi preferred dogs over cats.

----------

Dedicated to my cat who has the softest fur and also forces me to keep everything on the fucking floor.

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[angelicmichael]

What if Xavier had a kid he didn't know about and he meets them for the first time after he's already a ghost? Maybe there's a kindergarten group that takes a trip to the camp, and he just has this spirit intuition as soon as he sees them and KNOWS it's his child. Do you think you could expand on this idea? I'd love to see what you come up with!

A/N: This was so fun, thank you for this idea dear anon!! I'm sorry it's late but hopefully u like it 😶. Also, I apologize this is so dark and heavy- I didnt intend for it.. it just, kinda happened lmfao. I turned this into a 'x reader' and it starts with Xaviers POV and ends with readers perspective!! First few paragraphs are pretty dark and then the rest is weird.. angst fluff LOL.Hope yall enjoy 💖💖💖

Warnings: First few paragraphs discuss Xavier's thots about dying SO, it highkey gets dark yall I'm so sorry, mentions of anger?? issues, mentions of murder, stops getting dark roughly around paragraph 6 if u wanna skip all that, MAJOR ANGST, reuniting, very brief Xantana reference 😈, mention of kids, bit of fluff.. think that's it :)

In Xaviers eyes; the worst part of being killed in a desolate camp and having to reside there for the rest of eternity; wasnt the fact that he would have to handle Richard Rameriez and tolerate his peers for eons to come. Sure, both of those things required an adjustment period but.. the realization that his life with you was abruptly cut short, was what truly broke him.

It took him being stripped from everything he once knew to truly appreciate how heavenly life once was before Camp Redwood. He had a steady job, good friends, and a relationship with a actual living, breathing person.. Not to shade Montana or anything, of course. However he had taken all of those things for fucking granted; moving to Camp Redwood definetly had made him become humble- at the very least. He was now nothing but a mere shell of the person he once was; nothing to bring him out of this absolute living nightmare he found himself in.. At first this mindset nearly consumed him, it drove him to kill multiple times.

There was no point in trying to conceal the anger he felt, no way of trying to channel it out into a more socially appropriate way and at this point.. there really was no point in trying to do so. Out here in the forest, espically after he was killed, life outside of the forest soon seemed as if it was some type of myth or fairytale- something not real or attainable. Time in the redwood forest felt different- days quickly bled and melted into weeks, and then months.. trying to guess the date was something Xavier gave up on doing after about the first week.

As much as he tried to deny it, being dead and becoming trapped here had completly made him lose his grip on reality and his previous life. Soon enough, the thought that life even fully existed outside of the camp and that there was actual fucking laws against killing (something which was now a leisurely hobby) had completly slipped his mind momentarily in the beginning as well. Out here in the forest, nothing felt real execpt for his anger that he held onto so tightly.

It was really the only thing he had left; atleast for a while.

The pain of losing his partner, (y/n), still remained but letting that grief not consume him was easily the hardest battle he had fought in his life. Xavier realized he still had his friends - and if he really was going to live for eternity, he sure wasnt going to spend it angry.

After so many years of being 'cursed' to spend forever in this forest, keeping track of the time was something Xavier rarely bothered with, but - it was obvious by the suns posistion, and even the slight mist that made the grass wet that it was just starting to cut into morning. Xavier walked through the forest alone, nowhere in particular to go or to necessarily do, only a sudden need to go and be alone. Almost a beckoning, for him to go and be somewhere else. To witness something.

His days were more often than not purely mundane; he had absolutely no excuse to not listen to this odd and sudden attraction he felt toward a very particular spot in the camp.. so, that's what brought him to where he stood now. Close to the road that brought visitors (a nice word for victims) into Camp Redwood, right next to the mess hall which was rarely used close by.

Xavier felt wildly uncomfortable standing so close to the place which previously held so much trauma - and honestly still did.. The place where Chef Bertie died. Xavier paused, about to just say 'fuck it' and just give up and go back to where his friends resided (or atleast Montana) when.. he heard it.

His sign, the thing that seemingly enticed him in the first place.

It first sounded like the old, familar sounds of tires coming across a gravel road - Xaviers mind immeadietly jumped to perhaps this could be new people.. new vistors.. new victims.

His blood ran cold when he heard something else; an eerie ringing of chains hitting against the ground. Something that was mostly a associated with buses.. and hauntingly familar. He had little to no time to think or even act on his suspicion when he noticed that a yellow school bus full, and nearly combusting with children was pulling into the camp.

Xavier wasnt exactly certain the bounds that ghosts had when it came to certain bodily functions like vomiting, but hes sure that under normal circumstances he would certainly be sick by now. Nevertheless he could feel his body tense up and the other natural symptoms associated with anxiety also kicked in. Urging him to clumsily get out of vision; he stumbled behind a few trees that poorly blocked him from sight. He continued to watch in complete and utter horror as the bus came to a stop, and it didnt take long for kids to start pouring out of the bus. Xavier felt his heart drop and his blood run cold every time a kid exited the bus and stepped on the dirt soil of Camp Redwood.

Xavier whipped his head around; scanning the surrounding area to make sure no other ghosts were here to bear witness to this.. Xavier was nearly always down to commit murder, it was really the only thing that kept him from fully going insane from pure fucking boredom but - kids? There was no fucking way he would let anyone touch them.

While he thoroughly scanned the area, he noticed a few adults leave the bus out of his periphery vision. He thought nothing of it, chaperones were to be expected on elementary field trips but.. the strange beckoning feeling he felt ealier visited him again, urging him to turn his head fully and look at one of the chaperones more closely. Instantaneously, he then automatically realized why he felt so compelled to come to this spot.. Why he was meant to be here at this exact moment.. It was you.

At first he thought he was merely hallucinating; you definetly looked significantly different from the last time he had saw you but.. he knew it was you, his partner that he had before his life completly went to shit (minus the catastrophe that occured with Blake, of course). He knew instantly, it was your eyes, your stature and just.. your overall warm and familiar aura that gave your identity away. He couldnt believe that the person he had so fucking desperately wanted to see more than anyone or anything was only a few feet away - and now, that you were finally here... All he wanted for you to do was to leave.

As soon as he saw you he felt a sudden tightness posses his chest and throat which accompanied the formation of tears burning his eyes; hastily blurring his vision. He had to physically restrain himself from sobbing outloud; trying his best to just swallow down his tears. His whole body felt as if it was on fire with anxiety, but he chose to continue to stand still behind a few dainty trees - trying to pull himself together so he could actually have the chance to think critically and choose what the ever living fuck he was going to do next.

While he waited for his blurry vision to clear, he chose to focus on the semi distant figure that he knew was you. He took in the little details; like how the sun highlighted the colors in your hair and your simple but charming outfit. It took him several moments to think of why you would even be here in the first place, with a school bus- and thats when another dreadful realization hit him.

Only parents were mainly chaperones when it came to elementary field trips.. meaning-

No other thought crossed Xaviers mind as his eyes flicked down inhumanely fast to the child where (y/n) stood next too.. and immeadietly he knew.

The features the child shared of both you and Xavier were partially a giveaway, but most importantly.. it was the feeling he had that confirmed his belief. The initial anxiety he felt of the kids arriving still remained but was significantly muted and mostly replaced with a overwhelming sense of pure love. The feeling spread to every fiber of his being, and so did a odd urge to protect this small being which he knew was his.

Not ever in his entire life had he felt this way about someone (execpt for perhaps, you). He felt himself taking a few steps forward, at first completly involuntary but he knew he had to talk to you. Just the idea of reuniting tasted so fucking good but, he knew he couldnt get too greedy if he was going to talk to you. He knew confronting you had to be solely done in order to save you and his child, he couldnt get carried away. He wouldnt.

He tried his best to appear casual as he submerged from behind the trees, his hands held behind his back - the only way he could get them to stop shaking. He tried to relax his shoulders and appear confident as he strided up to you; your back turned toward him. He continued until he was directly behind you, he wanted to tap your shoulder but - touching you seemed out of the question. That would confirm everything, it would make it seem actually real and not like this just some torturous dream.

"(Y/n)"? He spoke.

Xaviers breath hitched as he watched you whip around to face him. He studied your features as you went from looking utterly confused to surprised beyond belief.

"Xavier, what-"

"We need to talk".

Xavier quickly grabbed your hand, leading you away from herd of kids and the few sparse chaperones that were amongst them. A few of them gave you two a few odd looks but neither you or Xavier particularly cared, after all this was the first time in years you two had seen eachother. You hastily followed his lead, feeling slightly embarrassed that it was obvious how nervous and simply caught off guard you currently were. Your palms (one of which was still holding onto Xaviers hand) were starting to moisten with sweat. These feelings only amplified once Xavier turned around to face you. The intensity that was in his eyes put you on edge - never in your time of dating or knowing him did he ever look so serious with you.

"What are you doing here"? Xavier spoke, his voice was still in a higher pitch, slightly breaking.

"What"?

After years of not being able to see you, in fact; years of you not even knowing where he went - this was how he chose to greet you?? Automatically your blood ran cold with the sudden realization that something was wrong. Seriously wrong.. but the feeling didnt just apply to your ex boyfriend. It was the entire camp.

"Its not safe here, you need to take the kids and leave". Xaviers voice more visibly shook this time as he spoke; as if his words physically pained him.

Your heart skipped a beat, the sudden pain and anguish starting to fully settle in. You couldnt believe it; after years of not seeing you - this was all he had to say? Was he fucking joking?

"What? A-are you kidding? Xavier, I havent seen you in years- I didnt even know you would be here-"

"I'm sorry (y/n). I'm so sorry but you have no idea what this place is like. You just need to go, and the kids. And promise me you wont come back".

It was torturous to watch tears gather in Xaviers eyes, and watch as they streaked down his cheeks. The sadness you previously felt was now washed away with red, hot rage. The feeling spread throughout your body like a wildfire that he was seemingly rejecting you.. but you knew now this wasnt some pathetic excuse. Something was seriously wrong here; and now it was starting to become too obvious to ignore.

Xavier looked hauntingly the exact same from the last time you saw him. He forever, looked as if he was still stuck in the same moment of time - like in the summer of 1984, which was when you last saw him.

You didnt realize you were still holding onto one of his hands until you reflexively tried to move it to brush away his tears that were still staining his cheeks; but awkwardly.. you chose to do so with your other hand. Squeezing the one hand you were still holding onto a bit tighter.

He winced as you touched him, and as much you tried your damn best to hold it together - you could feel tears starting to burn your eyes as well.

"I cant promise I wont ever come back, Xavier. I need to see you again, and what about-" you said softly, about to reference the child you two shared together.

"No, you'll see me again (y/n). I promise.. okay"?

He brought your hand up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles; the tears you trying so desperately to hold in were now sliding down your cheeks. Your breathing was now horribly choppy. You were on the brink of full on sobbing but you held yourself back - it was nearly time for you to go.

The fact you would have to go back to go the others and make up some bullshit excuse to leave, put a bitter taste in your mouth.. but your sure Xavier had a valid reason for ushering you to leave. Even if he didnt want to tell you right now; you trusted him with your life.

"Okay.. Fine. I'm coming back though, and I'm sorry I couldnt find you sooner". You admitted.

You dropped his hand that you were still holding in order to wrap your arms around him. To get one final touch to remember him by. You were desperate to fully touch him and to be wrapped in his embrace, something you had desperately and madly missed. As he held you; you tried to soak in his scent, his aura.. just the fact that he was even here seriously with you, in this moment.

You previously assumed Xavier had passed away; that was easier to come to terms with rather than thinking he willingly ran away or.. that something else more sinister had happened. A part of you wanted to be frustrated that you were leaving with more questions than answers but.. you didnt care. Your heart didnt care. You were just happy you were able to see your boyfriend.. no matter the circumstance or conditions it came with. Even though you were stupidly happy, your thoughts kept annoyingly circling back to the same question - how was Xavier here with you, living.. breathing.. in the flesh. How was this possible? You were about to speak your thoughts outloud when you first felt Xavier break away from you. You didnt get as much as a second glance just when you felt something soft on your cheek. Perhaps a goodbye kiss? and then.. just like he wasnt there at all, he was gone. Almost as if he completly disintegrated into the fresh, morning sky.

You felt your entire body stiffen as you realized he was gone.. again. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly how you felt. It was a nasty mix of both grief and anger that left you completly speechless and deathly still. You took a step back to combat the feeling, and attempted to look casual (and not like the person whom you were just hugging had completly fucking vanished). Sheepishly taking a look at the group you had arrived with and making sure none of them noticed your.. odd behavior.

Sure enough, none of them did. They all stood, and continued on conversing just like they were before you had broke away from them. Smiling and laughing as if nothing was wrong; just like they didnt have a care in the world - just as if the love of their life wasnt ripped away from them for a second time.

Even though Xavier was now gone, that odd, unsettling feeling still lingered with you. Like something was terribly wrong here, in Camp Redwood. The feeling wasn't entirely bad though; sure - the overall air in this place reeked of something terrible but.. now you felt something else mixed into it. A comforting essence of safety; Xaviers presence. You knew he wasnt directly beside you anymore but he was somewhere.. lurking. Watching you, as you begrudgingly walked over to the group you came with. Making up a bullshit excuse in your head so you could escape whatever this place was pretending to be.

Taglist: @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @instincts-baby let me know if u would like to be added!! :)

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - chapter iii

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist. It’s being constantly updated

       Leaving work later that day, Ransom was submerged in his own thoughts in a way he hadn’t been ever since he was a teen. Of course, his family - with the exception of his grandfather - thought he didn’t have much in his head, but the truth was that sometimes, he felt like he had too much. So, in an effort not to lose his mind, he decided to let it all go just before he turned fifteen. Everything. Every preoccupation, his mother’s expectations, his fear of never being good enough.        That had served him well up until a couple of months ago. Sure, it meant that he’d created quite a reputation for himself and he’d been involved in one too many drunk endeavors he would have preferred not to be associated with, but at least he had something to share, stories to tell. That would ultimately be extremely beneficial to him if he ever did decide to take his grandfather’s advice and write a book.        But then came the news that Harlan would cut him out of the will if he didn’t get his act together, along with the proposal that he should take over the publishing company, since his uncle was being reallocated to another family business, and he thought to himself, maybe this is it. Maybe this is the time to settle back and become what he’d dreaded so much. Maybe it’s time for him to forget about fun and amusement and discover what exactly was so great about maturing.        So he accepted the job and tried to focus on what he was supposed to be doing. Who he was supposed to be. It seemed like the right thing to do after he’d spent so long trying to run from any sort of difficulty in life. It seemed like he owed his grandfather at least that. But over the next few months, it became increasingly difficult to fulfill his duties without seriously reconsidering everything he had been before and everything he had tried to avoid thinking about, which had lead to his admittedly stupid impulsive behavior.        Ransom was in his late thirties now, and he was only starting to realize just how messed up he was. And that meant that the last thing he thought himself capable of becoming right now was a father.        Actually, Ransom had never even considered the possibility of ever becoming one. I mean, he liked the part that came before, very much in fact, but despite his playboy ways, he’d always been very careful about using a condom, especially since he didn’t want to deal with precisely the type of problem he was going through right now. But of course, even he knew that condoms failed and with his luck (and the amount of sexual partner he’d had) it was only a matter of time until it happened.        Fuck. What the hell was he going to do? It’s not like he even had a proper parental figure to learn from, considering his father was an even lousier son-of-a-bitch than him and his mother was a controlling freak. What was he going to do?        Ransom was startled when he realized he was nowhere near his house when he’d finally been able to snap out from his thoughts. In fact, his feet had taken him in the opposite direction, and he found himself easily following the familiar path to his grandfather’s house.        Just as the castle-like mansion appeared in front of him, he sighed, looking up at the window of Harlan’s office. It seemed like he was awake. He wondered what his grandfather would have to say about this situation. Harlan managed to be even more unpredictable than Ransom most times.       Still, Ransom knew that if there was ever someone who was capable of giving him any advice he’d actually follow, it was him.       Harlan, of course, knew something was up the second Ransom stepped foot in his room. He’d always been the one person capable of reading his grandson, and that meant he was probably the only one who actually somewhat understood him.       “Well, Ransom, it’s very nice of you to come and visit me when there’s no family dinner forcing you to, but care to share what actually made you drive all the way here? I know it has nothing to do with the company, otherwise, I would have already heard about it from one of the managers.”       Ransom couldn’t really be surprised about Harlan and his knowledge of him, so he settled for some feeling kind of comfort at knowing at least someone in this world could see right through him and actually cared enough to ask about his problems.       “I… I got someone pregnant.” The words came out weirdly easily, and it felt like some of the weight that’d been placed on him had now disappeared. He raised his eyes to meet Harlan’s, after his grandfather didn’t offer any immediate reaction, and the anticipation made him grow irritated again.       He really should learn other automatic responses.       “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Harlan took a deep breath before answering, a tiny smile playing on his lips.       “What are you expecting me to say? Congratulations or I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner?” The young man rolled his eyes, impulsively getting up from his seat to pace around the room. His mind was failing him, he couldn’t hold on to a single thought for more than a millisecond. He’d come all the way here in the hopes that Harlan would know what to do, the right thing to say to shed some light on the mess that was his mind, but he should have known better. That was not how his grandfather worked.      But his grandfather knew how *he worked. So he patiently waited, watching with piercing attention as Ransom tried to get a grip over his thoughts. He knew his grandson would need time, but he would voice his concerns sooner or later. And then, he’d be able to actually help, once he determined what precisely was Ransom’s problem with the entire situation.        “I’m not father material,” the young man suddenly blurted out, running his fingers through his hair and inadvertently messing his usually impeccable styling. Harlan smiled to himself, knowing only a year before this would never happen, not without his grandson suddenly leaping towards the nearest reflective surface just to adjust his hair. He’d changed so much already, but he still was overcome by doubts. “I don’t think… I think the baby would be better off not knowing me.”        And there it was. That overwhelming sense of insecurity was the reason for Ransom being the way he was. No matter how hard he tried to run away from it, pretend it wasn’t there, Harlan knew his grandson too well. And now that he was starting to change his life, facing his biggest problem was going to happen sooner or later. Since there was a baby in question, thank God it was sooner rather than later.        “My boy, I understand why you would think that. It’s not like you have had great parental examples to guide you in such a journey, and I even accept my part of the blame in that. But I think you have the wrong idea of what being a parent truly is like. No matter how it may seem to our kids, no single adult suddenly is struck by the obvious guidelines of how to be a perfect parent. We figure out as we go, and we make mistakes along the way. A lot of them. So I think the question that really matters here is… do *you want to be around to witness your child grow? Or would you be okay never really knowing what became of him or her?”        Harlan braced himself for the answer, knowing it would deeply affect him one way or another, but also aware that he couldn’t let Ransom see what his reaction would be like. It would only make the younger man angry. It was important for him to think he was the only one in charge of his decisions, and the only one affected by them.         When it became clear that Ransom was too lost in his own mind to come out with an answer just yet, his grandfather pressed on. “Look, Ransom, parenting is a skill, just like writing. Some people are born naturally talented, others have to rise to the occasion. You just have to figure out if you’re up for the challenge, because if you aren’t… I think it’d be best if you let them be.”        A few more seconds of heavy silence where Ransom still wouldn’t meet his eyes passed, and Harlan decided to ask, “Tell me, is *she ‘mother material’?” His grandson took a deep breath, once more running his fingers through his hair before admitting, “I don’t know. I barely know her at all. But she’s a professor. Of law, out of anything. And she seemed… good. Better than me, at least, and that’s a relief.”        The older man couldn’t help but laugh at how Ransom’s sense of humor tended to show its face in the weirdest of situations. He knew what his grandson should do, that he’d regret not giving this a try, but he also knew no good could come from trying to force Ransom into doing something when he wasn’t ready for or didn’t want to do it. So all he could do was wait, and hope the younger man would find the right answer by himself.       “I think I know what I want to do.”       Harlan couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in Ransom’s eye as he left the house without even remembering to say goodbye.

[pine-lark]

Ooh trap him somewhere either very hot or very cold?? :D

Oh.

Oh.

This is a perfect excuse to write an old daydream from my childhood. Well, there's two-- Arion on a grill and Arion in a box. I chose the box for this one but I may be tempted to write the grill at some point. I haven't written The Box before now because it doesn't exactly... fit with the plot of the actual story, but I mean...

Alternate Rescue AU, coming right up, Anon. (Also sorry I'm like, infinitely late haha. School threw me into a hell pit and I've been recovering. I'm back now ((though I'm not sure for how long, things might change in a week or two... we'll see.)) For now, I'm working on a lot of Arion stuff that will hopefully pop up within a few days! Cheers!)

CW: Tiny whumpee, some blood, cold/hypothermia symptoms (duh), cages/referenced captivity, briefly implied forced nudity from said captivity, brief reference to a past fever and resulting vomiting, referenced/implied physical abuse, water/rain/storms/being submerged in/splashed with water, thoughts of dying (of the "I might die" and "Am I dead?" and wishing to be put out of misery type), crying, (thinking about) needles, short (kind of) graphic description of a bird being run over, brief religion references

-

His legs still ache from running.

Arion sits in the cardboard box he found on the side of the road, huddled in the corner, shivering in the dark. Although he tries to clamp his jaw shut and stop it, his teeth chatter and his shoulders quiver. It feels like the frozen autumn air has grasped him entirely in icy claws that shake him violently in an inescapable grip. It reminds him of being trapped in Heston’s hand, shaken, body tossed in every direction until his head pounded and his eyes watered.

It’s colder outside than it used to be in the garage. But it’s better out here. No one can hurt him here.

As long as they don’t find him.

He rubs his hands over the goosebumps on his arms, hoping to warm them up and calm down the wild pain buried deep in his skin. As he does so, blood smears along the path he touches. It’s still gently creeping out of the series of cuts etched into his forearms. With it, the image of Heston’s glinting eyes surfaces in Arion’s memory. He buries his head in his shaking knees with a wet sniff. But he’s done it, he reminds himself. He’s escaped. Finally. Chewed through rope, slipped through an unlocked door. Heston's gone. For now.

Please, please don’t come looking for me.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance. He jumps. It sets off an echo of shivers all the way down his spine as his hair stands on end.

A raindrop falls on the cardboard roof. Then another, and another. Thunder claps harshly overhead.

Arion shuts his eyes tight, bites back the frustrated tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He curls up tighter, hugging himself, doing all he can to keep any scrap of heat he has close to his body. A storm might just do it. Might just kill him. A storm means wind. Freezing wind. And freezing rain. The last thing he needs right now is rain. It can’t rain. He presses his body closer to the cardboard wall, knowing it might not be standing there much longer if it rains.

And it does. It pours.

He sees the rain splash into the road before him. The storm swiftly grows. It’s ferocious and feral and cruel. The temperature around Arion drops. His tiny body shakes uncontrollably, as if it weren’t his own. It reminds him of the terrifying fever he had, long ago, in the confines of his red cage just weeks after being taken from his home. He’d been throwing up and twitching and having the most horrible, vivid dreams (on the occasions that both Heston and the illness let him sleep). The fits of shivering drove him mad, the endless teeth-chattering and flashes of uncomfortable warmth and sticky sweat made him feel even worse. It's like that, he thinks. Except, now, as he shivers, he’s unbearably cold.

An involuntary whine fights its way out of him. When he swallows, his throat feels stiff and achy. Snot runs profusely down his lips and no amount of wiping it away with his bleeding arms is helping it slow. Water has thoroughly and entirely drenched the cardboard, at this point. Has crept through the floor and the walls, and, gradually and persistently, has started to drip through the sagging ceiling. For a moment, Arion remembers he has toes, and that they’ve been numb for awhile now. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, his feet haven’t felt like anything either, and when he tries to move his fingers, they only twitch. They feel heavy and prickly. He feels prickly all over. Like Heston had shoved a thousand frozen needles into a thousand different places all over his body. It hurts to breathe. There’s no way to get warmer. Nothing to hide under, not even something as decent as clothing. No way to escape, nowhere to run to, even if he had the energy left to try. He lets out a miserable sob.

And then the ceiling falls through, in a blur of collapsing cardboard and splashing waves of water that crash over his head and the rest of his body.

Arion tumbles out of the box, drenched. He coughs up water through jittery movements. For a second, he chokes on a mouthful, and he briefly he thinks he'll never breathe again, before his chest jerks and with another cough, the water falls out of his mouth. He tries to get his arms and legs under him, to stand or even crawl, but his limbs fail him and he crumbles face-first back to the harsh surface below him. The rocks mixed in the road’s tar are sharp. They cut deeply through his nose and cheek and the shoulder that followed his face in the fall. Arion winces against the fresh, sharp pain and the beads of blood that begin to form where he’s been hurt. His breaths come in ragged heaves.

He sniffs. Tears drip from his eyes. He lays helpless in the middle of the little road, in his mind begging to no one that a car doesn’t come along and crush him. Under any other circumstance, he’d love to be put out of his misery. But he’s seen a bird been run over before. Under a truck’s tire. And the memory makes his stomach churn. Flattened face, open stomach, popped like a bubble in a stream.

Briefly, Arion thinks of himself in place of the bird. He thinks of the smear of red underneath his empty, open eyes. He thinks of the way the headlights might look as they would suddenly appear right in front of him. The horrid, mind-numbing honk of a horn. The image he creates in his mind of those headlights, his last moments, is vivid. It’s so vivid that he thinks it might be real, or maybe hypothermia is setting in and beginning to ruin his mind.

It’s just his imagination, he thinks.

And then he smells exhaust from a car.

And the screech of brakes.

And for a second, whilst his body is numb and bright white light is all he can see, he thinks he might be dead.

“I swear, if I keep stopping my car for every mouse that sits in front of it, I’m never going to get anywhere.”

That voice drifts from the car stopped in front of him.

Not dead, then.

Almost, he thinks.

“Can’t help it though. What else am I supposed to do, run them over? Just vet instincts, I guess. Huh, Jasper.” There’s a meow in response. Arion’s breath hitches. The voice says, “Me-ow. I know, I know. I’ll be right back.” A car door shuts. Then there’s heavy wet footsteps. Boots clopping over puddles and asphalt. Panic floods Arion’s chest as a shadow cuts through the blinding white light from the vehicle. The outline of a human lowers, kneels in front of him. His breath stops. His mind goes blank.

“What…”

A moment passes. Something touches him. He flinches hard, but trying to run isn’t an option. His body is completely, entirely, wholly exhausted and far too numb to move more than flailing back a couple inches.

“Oh, geez, that’s-- not a mouse. Okay.” Her head turns in a way that Arion can see her face. A young woman with red hair, watching him with a warm but frantic gaze. “Okay. Okay okay. Oh, God, you’re injured pretty bad, little buddy. Your arms are all… cut up. That’s not good. Um.”

Arion stares blankly ahead. Suddenly, freezing to death isn’t something he feels like putting too much effort into avoiding.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do,” the girl continues. “I’m gonna bring you into my car where I can see you better, alright? Then I can help you. It’s gonna be okay. Here. I’m picking you up now, ‘kay?”

The feeling of a warm hand washes over his body. It’s both terrifying and incredibly welcome. The sting of cold seems to seep out of his skin, albeit very slowly. Quickly, though, burning prickles replace whatever comfort the touch brought him.

“Oh, you’re freezing, little guy. You must have been out here for a long time. That can be really dangerous… I’m glad I found you. I’ll get you all warmed up in the car.”

Arion whimpers against the hands that carry him to somewhere warmer, where he hears the faint, deep sound of a large beating heart. For a second, he wonders if this is God. And then the car door opens and creaks, and the girl curses under her breath, and Arion remembers he’s an atheist.

Still, as the stinging in his warming skin subsides, the warmth of her hands starts to feel… nice. If his mind were still intact (instead of shattered into vague, useless fragments as it is now), Arion would have done anything and everything to get away from any human or other predatory beast in sight. But with his head swimming, he leans into her touch, and compliantly accepts the soft feeling of some kind of cloth being wrapped all around him.

Words are spoken to him, but he can’t listen. To him they sound broken up and blurry as the insistence of sleep becomes more desperate in the back of his mind. As he gets warmer, his muscles relax, and his eyes get droopy. His vision darkens, and the girl’s voice hushes.

Just before he drifts off into a far overdue, deep and restful sleep, he thinks to himself, vaguely, that he hopes this human is different. He hopes that when he wakes back up, it won’t be in another cage.

-

Tag list because this ended up being a full drabble:

(Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tag list. No hurt feelings! I know it's been a long time and if you've lost interest that is A-Okay, friend)

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@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping, @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @ahorriblebimess, @whump-me-all-night-long

[ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing]

i think you should do 10 - After a near-death experience + 2 - “I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.” for obikin!!!! (if you want <3)

Hello Friend!

Thank you for the prompt!

As with everything that I ever do, this prompt got entirely out of hand. It ended up over 2.6k.

Also, it took me longer to find the button for the read below cut than it did to type out this message. Which turned out to be easier to find than I thought it would be.

The information that they were giving was compromised or maybe it had just never been correct in the first place but either way they are in a bad way. When Obi-Wan and the 212th battalion had landed on Truthuc they had been told to expect around fifteen thousand droids to their location. With his battalion it shouldn’t have been a problem, three thousand troopers would have been enough to take them on easily. But as they cut through ranks, Obi-Wan felt a tremor through the force and knew something was wrong.

“Cody, we need to retreat,” he’d told the commander.

His commander was busy, wedged between a boulder and something he couldn’t make out, his face screwed up in confusion, “But sir, there are only a few hundred left. We’ll be able to easily pick them off. We haven’t even sustained over a hundred loses.”

“Cody, call in a retreat,” Obi-Wan told him again and this time looked at him sternly, ducking behind a tree to take as much cover as he could.

“Is this another force thing?” Cody asked, which was his way of asking Obi-Wan if he knew something that he didn’t without going into full detail. Sometimes a few moments were the difference between life and death in these battles and they both knew this better than anyone.

Obi-Wan nodded, feeling relieved as Cody started to bark orders, telling the men to retreat. He could hear the confusion in the background, but everyone started to fall back. They were too late though.

The cruisers came out of almost nowhere but soon there were four of them and Obi-Wan realized in horror that they had to have been nearby. If they were fully equipped there were over two hundred thousand droids and Obi-Wan knew that they had to pull back.

“Get to the cave system,” Obi-Wan barked, “We need to find a position to defend the colonists and fast. There’s no way we can take them this spread out.”

They retreated through the canyon system, shooting to defend their position as the Separatists started to close them in. They would have been fine, shooting off the remaining droids and droidekas as they escaped to the cave system but then the shooting started and Obi-Wan looked up just in time to see their air support come in, shooting at the unstable formations above their heads.

The only thing Obi-Wan could hear was a ringing in his ear and screaming as he ran and used the force to push as many collapsing formations out of their path as quickly as he could, but they were losing numbers fast and the Separatists’ backup had yet to even land.

By the time they had made it to the cave systems, Obi-Wan knew their numbers had been decimated just by looking around. He found Cody by a stroke of luck and started him comm.

Yoda’s face appeared with a few of the council as he was ducking, another explosion taking out the closest formation to him. He pushed what debris back he could and then focused on the grandmaster.

“It was a trap,” he informed him, “There are closer to two hundred and fifty thousand droids currently landing on the surface and they’ve got air support. We don’t stand a chance. We need backup.”

“The closest battalion free to help you would be the 501st,” Windu told him, “But Skywalker is at least three days out. He’s broken through a blockade and is dropping supplies.”

“We may not make it three days,” Obi-Wan told him solemnly, “Isn’t there anyone else closer who could help us?”

“Locked in engagement, the 104this,” Yoda told him gravely, “Help you, they cannot. Wait for Skywalker, you must.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan told them, “I’ll send you our coordinates. We are backed into a cave system to escape the airstrikes. We’ll hold the line as long as we can.”

“May the force be with you,” Eoth told him and Obi-Wan bowed his head.

“And with you,” Obi-Wan told him before the transmission cut out and they were all alone.

He turned to Cody with a grave look.

“We’ll wait for the cover of night,” Obi-Wan told him, “Then evacuate all the colonists with half of the troopers to the west, away from the fighting and into the abandoned settlement three klicks from here. It’s already been combed over by them, and they’ve got underground tunnels to protect them. The rest will stay with me as a distraction. We’ll protect the cave system like everyone is still here.”

“Sir, you can’t stay here,” Cody argued, “What will we do if it takes too long? You’ll die here and they’ll realize it was a distraction and we’ll have no one to lead us.”

“I have to,” Obi-Wan insisted and then put his hand up to cut off Cody’s next words, “If they see that I’m gone they’ll know that we’ve moved. We can’t afford to let that happen.”

Cody’s face went rigid, but he nodded, “Okay. I’ll tell the rest of the men and prepare them to leave.”

“Cody, you have to go with them,” Obi-Wan told him and at his face shook his head, “You’re right. They will need someone to lead them if I don’t make it. That has to be you.”

“Fine,” Cody told him, “But keep a tight grip on your lightsaber. I won’t be here to pick it up for you, sir.”

Obi-Wan flashed him what he hoped was a cocky grin, “I will.”

---

It had been three days and of the fifteen hundred troopers Obi-Wan had started with, he was down to just under fifty. It had been a massacre and there were droids and his men everywhere, the bodies scattering the canyon. The sun had been constantly battering down on them and the air was almost unbreathable, the smell of rotting flesh permeating the air. On the second day, it had started to rain, and it hadn’t stopped since. The canyon and the cave system started to fill with water and Obi-Wan knew they were running out of time but Anakin wouldn’t be due for a least another twelve hours and that was only if everything had gone well.

They were up to their knees in mud and rainwater and Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t making it out of this. He heard a yell and looked to his left as a droid shot down another one of his men. Crys tried to drag him to safety but had to retreat as the man was shot again, this time in the gut.

“Fall back!” Obi-Wan called, “Another twenty paces! Now!”

“General we’ve only got another hundred until we’re at the entrance to the cave,” Wooley called and Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. They were at the end of their rope and resources. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Go!” Obi-Wan commanded, “We’ve got to hold them off as long as we can!”

They fell back, tripping in the mud and stumbling over rocks that were completely submerged. Obi-Wan took cover behind another formation, glad that the rain had at least halted the air attacks. If it kept up, it would take the droids longer than they had to get to the rest of his battalion and colonists.

There was another shot, and he heard more yelling. He looked over to see a man fall and realized that he didn’t even know the man’s name. He’d been new, just joining the 212th during their last ship repairs.

He started towards him, but the man was already dead, his whole body underneath the murky water.

And then with a jolt, Obi-Wan cried out, a sharp pain shooting through his gut as a blaster bolt nicked him in the side. He was so tired, and his reflexes weren’t fast enough to get him out of the way of the next two shots that hit him: one in the leg and the other in the hip. He fell to his knees, holding his hands out as troopers prepared to get to him.

He was dizzy, barely able to breathe, and he knew that this was it for him. He tried to catch his breath, to tell his troopers to retreat but he couldn’t find the words. His lungs started to burn, and he wondered if maybe the shot had been better than he’d first thought. He couldn’t keep his eyes open as he started to collapse completely.

He heard voices yelling and then the sounds of airships and briefly mourned the fact that they wouldn’t even be able to keep the colonists and remaining troops safe. The last thing he felt was arms grabbing him and then he was out.

---

Obi-Wan felt like he was floating. Everything around him was dark and all he could hear was Anakin’s voice calling for him. He sighed. There was so much he wished he’d told the man before he died. He was leaving Anakin all alone to continue by himself.

Beautiful, perfect Anakin who had grown into a beautiful man and an amazing and loyal friend. The shame of his rejection would have been worth saying the words he’d been so desperately holding back. It didn’t matter that he was too young, that they were Jedi. It didn’t matter in the face of a never-ending war and his death.

He loved Anakin Skywalker with everything he had. He’d just wished he’d had the guts to tell him.

---

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to a room surrounded in white and briefly thought that it was fitting that his afterlife took place in the one place he’d tried to run away from the most. And then Obi-Wan heard talking and realized that he must in fact be alive.

He looked over to see Anakin looking down at a datapad, reading aloud from it, and realized that it was the poetry that he’d last been working through during their docking for repairs.

“Just like the river travels long rough miles through cities and towns just to flow into the sea for eternity…”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, or he tried to. It came out more as a hoarse noise, but Anakin abruptly stopped, head shooting up as he looked at Obi-Wan.

“Master!” Anakin said, and then he was rushing forward, hands everywhere at once as he looked over him, “You’re awake! Are you hurting anywhere? Do you know where you are?”

“Water,” Obi-Wan croaked out desperately, and then Anakin was reaching over to the bedside table, grabbing a glass there and putting a warm hand under Obi-Wan’s back to help him partially sit up, helping to lead him to the straw.

Obi-Wan took several gulps of water, the coolness sliding down his throat and soothing the soreness in it. It also helped to clear the taste of bacta that was lingering in the back of his throat, and he realized he must have just been recently pulled from the tank.

“I was so afraid,” Anakin told him, “When we landed, and you were collapsed like you were. You took three blaster bolts, Master! What were you thinking? Stepping out of your cover?”

He’d been thinking about his trooper, hair still the standard military cut and armor still unpainted who’d fallen before him. But that wasn’t an excuse. He’d known better than to step out of cover.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan told him, voice still rough despite the water, “We’d been holding the line for almost three full days without sleep. Everyone’s judgment was starting to get impaired Anakin. I’m sure you understand.”

“No I don’t,” Anakin shot back, “I don’t understand the way you are so intent on putting yourself at risk.”

“We are at war,” Obi-Wan told him tiredly, “There isn’t a way to keep me out of harm’s way, Anakin. That is our way of life now.”

Anakin sighed harshly, looking down into his lap, “I know Master. I just worry about you. What if- what if I hadn’t gotten there in time? What if the last time I saw you was fallen in the mud of some godawful planet where you’d been shot?”

Obi-Wan knew it was a bad idea, the words on the tip of his tongue. But Anakin was right. What if he had died there? What if he died tomorrow? What would his biggest regret be?

He already knew the answer to that.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started, swallowing around the lump in his throat, “The war is getting worse every day and there might come a day where I may not make it.”

He put his hand up to silence the words that were on the tip of Anakin’s tongue, his face screwed up into an angry, disbelieving look.

“It’s true,” Obi-Wan told him, “And if- if that happens there is something that I need to say to you. Before I go. But you might not want to hear it. It- it may make you want to put some distance between us and I- I wouldn’t blame you.”

No matter how much it would kill Obi-Wan, he could never hold anything against Anakin. It just wasn’t in his bones. There was a single atom of him that had the ability to stay angry at him.

“I’d never do that,” Anakin immediately told him as he frowned, “I’d never leave you alone. I pro-.”

“Don’t say that before you’ve heard what I have to say,” Obi-Wan warned him, “Please don’t.”

Anakin said nothing, only nodding his head to let Obi-Wan know he was listening.

“I-I love you Anakin,” Obi-Wan finally forced out, voice shaking, “I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.”

“Master I lo-,” Anakin started to say.

“No,” Obi-Wan told him, squeezing his eyes shut against the wetness that was building behind them, “I don’t mean the way a master usually loves their padawan, Anakin. I- I mean like you love Padme.”

Obi-Wan heard as Anakin sucked in a sharp breath and tried to push down his panic as he waited to be rejected. There was no way Anakin would want anything to do with him. The master who had so often lectured him on the dangers of attachment, admitting to the most dangerous attachment of all, one he didn’t even have the decency to try to hide anymore. And to his former padawan of all people.

“Master…” Anakin said and Obi-Wan let out a hurt sound.

“I know you don’t feel the same and that’s okay I just couldn’t keep it in anymore, not with the way that we could die at any moment. I needed it to be out in the open in case anything was to happen to either of us,” Obi-Wan rambled.

He waited for the rejection, for the anger, for the sound of Anakin walking away but it never came.

Instead, two hands cupped his face, one warm skin, and the other cool durasteel, tilting it up. He opened his eyes to drown in cerulean. And then warm lips were being smashed against his.

Anakin tasted like caf and the spice rolls that he liked to buy from the lower levels. His slightly chapped lips worked against Obi-Wan’s, tongue running along the line of them until Obi-Wan opened his mouth and Anakin could push in, turning the chaste kiss filthy and wet as he swallowed the noises that Obi-Wan couldn’t help but make.

Anakin pulled back and Obi-Wan felt like he’d been hit over the head with a blaster.

“I don’t love Padme,” Anakin told him breathlessly, “I love you. I just didn’t think you’d ever even consider it.”

“What?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I love you Obi-Wan,” Anakin told him, closing the space between them to pull him into another kiss and then whispered in between their lips, “And I’ll love you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever,” Obi-Wan whispered back and then pressed their lips together again.

The war waged on around them and soon they would be separated once again, fighting for their lives. There was a never-ending war to deal with, reports to follow, orders to carry out but for now, they had the warmth of each other's arms, the love that was radiating through their bond, and the absolute stillness of the force around them, as if t had waited with bated breath for this exact moment.

[itsclydebitches]

Until proven otherwise, my headcanon is that both Ironwood and Watts survived and are going to team up again out of necessity lmao.

HI, ANON. So let me tell you about how this simple, silly sentence sent me down a 4k writing rabbit hole. “Lol I’m going to write a little parody about that” I thought to myself and then somehow? It got serious?? I honestly don’t know what this fic is, but I’m chucking it at everyone anyway. 

Also, I changed the whole “Atlas and Mantle are immediately submerged in water” plot point because it’s my coping mechanism and I get to choose the canon we ignore. 

***

Once upon a time there were two villains having a Very Bad Day.

The first, Arthur Watts, had survived an explosion, being buried under rubble, and the threat of a ten-story drop only to find himself suffocating amidst a magically produced fire. A horrible way to go, all things considered. Painful, of course, but more importantly, no self-respecting man should die with soot on his clothes.

Or leave behind a charred corpse. 

In fact, Watts had just begun to acknowledge the full indignity of his death when the momentum he'd felt — just there on the periphery of his awareness — suddenly ceased, Atlas crashing into Mantle and throwing him with a squawk in the process. His head took a nasty hit against one of the desks, the smoky gray of the room growing darker, and by the time Watts had come to, the fire had been replaced by water.

Ice-cold water, lapping up to his knees.

"Well," he said, lifting a sodden boot. "I suppose this is an improvement."

***

Elsewhere, James Ironwood — former General of the now sinking Kingdom of Atlas — was lying facedown on the stone of the outer vault, contemplating his choices. Upon reflection, no, he didn't regret what he'd done, but it would have been nice if things had turned out...any way other than this.

"Fuck," he said to the empty hall, enjoying the reverberation. He deserved that much at least.

In time, Ironwood was able to pick himself up off the floor, supported as much by the fact that he'd been knocked out by his own blast as his shaky, barely-there aura. Up the elevator running on emergency dust reserves, through the corridors that groaned ominously under damaged supports. Ironwood headed towards the military headquarters purely out of habit and as he did the sound of water grew stronger, almost like waves, until there was an inch of it across the floor, more trickling in from the staircase. Ironwood had been watching his boots splash with each step, almost mesmerized, and didn't look up until another pair unexpectedly entered his view.

Watts froze in the act of wringing out his pantleg, eyes wide. His expression, the water, how the hallway tilted downward at a slight angle... it all felt like something out of a dream. Ironwood just watched as Watts watched him, until his eyes traveled to the gun clipped on his belt. Ironwood hadn't even realized he'd picked it up.

"Here to kill me, James?" Watts said.

"No." He knew it was true as soon as he'd said it. The mere thought of starting another fight right now was... exhausting. "Do you intend to kill me?"

"Oh really. Does it look as if I'm in a position to fight you? Do use your head for once. I have no weapon, no aura — damn fire ate it all up — I feel as if I've swallowed a hot coal, I am wet — "

Ironwood turned partway through the ramble, meandering back up the way he'd come. He'd passed through two checkpoints before realizing that Watts was not only still talking, but following him.

"What do you want?" he asked, more to shut the man up than out of real curiosity. If Watts was capable of reading the difference between the two, he didn't show it.

"Cinder."

"Cinder?"

"I don't make a habit of allowing people to try and murder me without consequence, James!"

"She's gone."

"Yes, thank you for that stunning bit of info! There's no possible way I could have realized that for myself. What's gotten into you? They left us, fool. Salem, Cinder, Neo, Emerald, even your so-called allies... they all deserve the worst that we can grant them. Though right now, I'd settle for wringing that idiot Pietro's neck. Ten years I gave to that research and he rendered it obsolete with a single report, all because he wanted to play father to some stupid hunk of metal. I never would have gone to Salem if — " Watts cut off, hands balled into fists.

Ironwood just blinked dazedly, coming to a halt. He searched his uniform, the scroll he'd stashed there miraculously whole. Dimly, he registered that he should be feeling some sort of emotion right now.

"I can do that," he murmured.

"What?"

But Ironwood was already keying in the code, the desire to complete a task, any task, taking hold. Watts looked on, mouth twisted in a deprecating sneer.

"I already took out communications, in case you failed to notice."

"But not the trackers I had installed in my top scientists." Ironwood held up the screen where a small, red dot was blinking. "Pietro's still here. Looks like he's out near the mine with a second aura signature. If you want to...?" He wasn't going to finish that sentence.

"I see," Watts said in a tone that heavily implied he didn't. "And you'd just give me this information out of the evilness of your heart?"

Ironwood considered that. "I killed a man yesterday, tried to kill two others, and was ready to bomb all of Mantle to keep the rest of my Kingdom safe. I don't care what you do with the man who betrayed me."

"...fair enough."

Except after five steps Ironwood realized that Watts wasn't following him. He was looking down at his arms, still as a hunted hare.

"You put trackers in all your scientists?" he asked.

"A requirement I implemented after you went missing."

"Ah! Ingenious. Lead the way then."

***

The way led to the tundra, an environment that neither of them were prepared for. Watts was wet from the waist down and Ironwood had long ago learned that snow and metal didn't mix. Neither had the aura for the kind of storm that was raging either. Luckily, the panic of Salem's invasion had left plenty of vehicles to purloin and soon they were speeding East with the heat on, the faint beeping on Ironwood's scroll growing stronger.

He'd felt the impact of his city crashing down and the two of them had clamored out of Atlas' husk, dropping into rubble and cracking ice. Still, the true destruction wasn't evident until they were moving away from it. Through the rearview mirror, Ironwood could see pillars of smoke from fires that the water hadn't yet smothered, dark shadows that could only be grimm, and Atlas itself, plunged halfway into Mantle. It wasn't noticeable from this distance, but all of it was sinking.

"I was lucky," Ironwood said, his voice hollow. His eyes flicked back to the expanse of snow ahead of them. "If Atlas had tipped the other way, the vault would have flooded. I'd have drowned."

Watts snorted. "I'm lucky. That damned water put out Cinder's fire. I'd have burned."

Neither felt particularly lucky and for fifteen more minutes, neither was keen to discuss it.

***

Once upon a time, two heroes were having a Very Bad Day.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Maria paused in the act of bandaging Pietro's leg, mechanical eyes narrowing at the two figures that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Watts sucked in a breath at the duo. Ironwood gave a small, awkward wave.

Then he nodded his head at the scene: one old, exhausted woman and a paraplegic currently bleeding into his chair. "So... going to kill him?"

Watts ground his teeth. "Well now that just feels like a fool's errand. Look at him. He's pathetic!"

Pietro was slumped at an uncomfortable angle, sporting a gash in his leg and an impressive display of bruises across his face. Maria, in contrast, seemed to have only lost her hair tie.

"Pathetic?" she spat. "Your lackey did this!"

"Who?"

"Angry girl with the creepy arm."

"Ah, it all comes back to Cinder." Watts pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, thank you for recognizing that I was her superior, but no, I didn't send her to kill the likes of you. Must have done it on her own, the little idiot. Don't believe me? I was in jail at the time, if I recall correctly. Isn't that right, James?"

"You were helping me hack Penny."

Maria let out a skin-crawling cackle. "Why do you think the girl was here? She blew a hole in the bottom of Amity! Penny tried to hold us up, but..." she swallowed, still pressing against Pietro's leg, but turned warily towards them. "You hacked her? You did that? What precisely do you think happens when a man who never learned to apply aura as a shield crash-lands in this hunk of junk!"

"I expect most men in that position perish," Watts said smoothly. "The fool is lucky to be alive, but he won't be for much longer if you keep trying to staunch the wound with your soiled gloves. Move aside."

"Get away from me!"

"Oh, put your stick down, you old bat. I'm trying to help."

"Why?" Ironwood hadn't realized he'd spoken until Watts was glaring daggers his way.

"So I can kill him later myself!"

Still surreal. Still dream-like in its absurdity. Ironwood listened to the bickering between Watts and... Mary? Maria? He wasn't even sure. He wandered away, content to gaze out through one of the windows at his Kingdom. Or what was left of it. He idly massaged his left arm, trying to rid himself of a pain that wasn't there, and when the howl of a grimm reached them across the snow, he shivered.

His unlikely companions screamed at each other loud enough to reverberate through the whole building. There were the sounds of two bodies trading blows, but only for a moment. Pietro, voice groggy and high-pitched with terror, demanded to know where his daughter was. 

"She's dead," Ironwood said. He didn't turn to see their expressions, didn't need to. "Winter she... she defeated me as the Winter Maiden. That can only mean one thing."

"One thing to you, perhaps." Ironwood did turn then, watching stoically as Pietro tried to right himself in his chair, Watts cursing as the leg continued to bleed. "Where is she? I want to see my little girl. I can heal her, fix her — " he broke off, doubling over with a cough that splattered more blood into his hands.

"Maybe you could have," Watts said, a cruel satisfaction in his voice. "If her little friends hadn't made her human."

Some of the pieces fell into place then. His Lamp, long missing, had apparently wound up in Neo's hands, then Salem's, before it was finally used by Cinder. Watts described — with immense pleasure — the plan the group had concocted and the wish they'd asked of Ambrosius. He'd been a bit preoccupied with bomb duty to learn the details, but he knew that Cinder lived and Ironwood, it seemed, knew that Penny had perished. What a tragedy. Do you know how to bring back the non-mechanical, Doctor?

Ironwood honestly thought the old woman was about to kill him, murderous intent put on hold only because Pietro collapsed then, curling in on himself as sobs wracked his frame. The only words that escaped the mess of tears were "Penny" and then "Maria," one hand reaching out blindly for comfort. Pietro found it, the two holding onto each other as Watts sat at their feet, grinning up at the display.

Ironwood thought only, So that is her name.

The other, crucial bit of info was that everyone was gone. Dead or evacuated, it didn't matter. As far as any of them knew, they were the last four in Atlas, with Salem on her way to destroy whatever kingdom next took her fancy. It was over. They'd lost. And despite the horror of it, the realization was oddly freeing too.

When Maria asked in a tone edging on hysteria what precisely they were going to do — because it seemed this was a "we" situation now — Ironwood suspected she meant in the short term. What were they going to do about their wounds? The grimm? Finding and reaching the others? But those were foolish concerns, the thinking of someone who'd never had a kingdom's life in their hands. Ironwood knew there was only one answer here, the same one he'd had from the start.

"You can do whatever you like," he said. The metal of Amity sparkled against the rising sun, leaving splotches of color behind his eyes. "I will defend Atlas."

Maria's mouth dropped open and Watts stared. Even Pietro ceased his crying long enough to suck in a breath.

"Defend it from what?" he asked.

Ironwood shrugged. "The grimm. Salem. I don't know. I don't care. To quote a former friend, I have never wavered in defending the Kingdom of Atlas against its enemies and I don't intend to start now. This is my city and I won't leave it."

"It's sinking!" Watts cried, overlapping with Maria's, "We need to help" and though so much softer, quieter, more innocent than the spittle Watts was scattering across the floor... that single word sank its teeth into Ironwood. The woman may as well have stabbed him.

"Help?" he said. "Help? I tried to help! Everything that I have done in the last two days — the last two years — my life! — has been to help not just Atlas, but everyone I feasible could. Don't talk to me about help when you and Ms. Rose did everything you could to stop me. I had planned to help the world and you all lied. You betrayed. You set your weapons against me and kept me from saving what parts of my Kingdom I could. Tell me again: what precisely did you do to help?"

He'd crossed the distance, one hand on his holstered gun and the other leaning against Pietro's chair, using it to leverage himself down into Maria's space. Ironwood didn't need to see her eyes to know the emotion they held.

"I," she spit, "didn't try to bomb a city."

And just like that the fight in him was gone. It had barely existed in the first place. Ironwood straightened, swaying slightly on the balls of his feet. "No. You didn't. So it's as I said, go help if you want. If you can." His gaze slid to Watts. "You were one of her men. That says it all." Pietro. "You helped them reveal Salem to the world. Will she have time to destroy the other kingdoms before the grimm do it first?" Maria. "And I don't know you, but you don't earn a prize like that without seeing combat." Ironwood lifted his metal finger, tapping it against Maria's goggles. She flinched away. "Can you honestly say you haven't made mistakes?"

"You and I are nothing alike!"

"I didn't say we were."

Ironwood turned and walked away, as steady as he could manage as the world grew a little darker, despite the sunrise. Behind him Watts' voice rang out like a shot.

"So that's it then? The captain goes down with his ship? You idiot!"

He paused. "Not quite. It turns out I'm not the only idiot around these parts. Ms. Rose left the vault open." One last turn to savor their shocked expressions. "That's where I'm going. There are still plenty of airships if you'd like to leave, but just remember: they abandoned you too."

Perhaps he should have been surprised that by the time his boots hit the snow, three more footsteps were sounding behind him. Frankly, in fourteen hours time Ironwood would barely remember their conversation, let alone everything that came after it. One of them drove back to the sinking city. Someone tested the ice before they cautiously crossed it. Someone else dispatched the stray grimm foolish enough to get in their way. Ironwood saw and heard none of it. He walked with the determination of a wind-up toy, wobbling now that he'd reached the end of his string. Cool blues, a shining gold, and then beautiful, miraculous grass. Ironwood ignored the murmurs of amazement behind him, dropping directly to his knees.

When his palms hit the ground, only one was capable of feeling how soft it was.

I need to update my arm, he thought, even as he curled into a ball and passed out.

***

When he woke they were already running out of time.

For the first two days Ironwood barely spoke to the others and thus he never quite figured out why they'd stayed. Had it been hopelessness? Spite? The all consuming thought that there was nowhere else to go? That Atlas, for all its rubble and slowly rising water, wasn't any different from what the rest of Remnant would look like soon?

Why not here then?

Especially when the vault, filled with wildflowers and an endless sun, made for such an enticing retreat.

"Soil's farmable," Maria said, running some of it through her fingers. It was a statement of fact, nothing more, and the three of them stubbornly ignored the implications of it.

"There's — " Pietro coughed, self-consciously clearing his throat. "There's plenty to salvage. Machinery to pull water from the humidity in here. First aid supplies. We could section off an area for our wa — "

Watts seethed. "If you finish that thought I will — "

"What?" Maria arched a brow. "Kill him? Like you've been saying for the last day?"

Day? Ironwood blinked. How long had he been out?

"I will!"

"Like you'd be able to. Just try it, beanpole."

They argued, and they threatened, but none raised their hands to one another again, and when they finally dispersed across the kingdom to collect what they could, none of the acknowledged what it was for.

Ironwood waded through the remnants of his home and didn't think about building another. Because the idea alone was absurd.

"Don't let the door slam shut," he'd said when they’d first left, nodding to the stone slab that had appeared after Penny had first arrived. Ironwood watched the three exchange glances, unsure if he was joking.

Fuck if he knew.

***

Those four days — or five, if Ironwood counted the one he'd lost — were conducted in a strange state of frenzy. None of them were in a position to be working on such a project, but when had the world ever cared for their needs? Pietro stayed behind in the vault, cataloguing what they'd found and making lists for what was still needed. His chair, while dynamic, wasn't meant for the sort of terrain Atlas had become and his wound was still healing.

He also seemed to appreciate the privacy, frequently mourning his daughter with an honesty that made them all uncomfortable. 

Maria went off to do the Gods only knew what, disappearing for hours at a time, then coming back wet, cold, and carrying little. Though she always had information. Which parts of the city were too grimm invested to traverse, which were now completely underwater, which were too unstable as Atlas tilted like a ship, disappearing beneath the waves. It gave them all focus and, surprisingly, something like hope. Whatever else she carried was usually small, such as the seeds filched from the bio laboratories.

"Couldn't take them all," she said, critically surveying the land, "what with so many of the labels getting lost in the crash. Don't want to eat something your lot has experimented on."

"You should. If we're lucky you'll mutate into someone bearable." Watts, taking stock of the clothing they'd gathered, didn't seem to realize that Maria was flipping him off.

He went on a deep dives (sometimes literally) for salvageable tech, most of it of a practical nature, but other pieces... not. Nothing had shifted Ironwood's world view quiet like day two, walking in on Watts looming over Pietro, assuming there was another fight brewing... only to overhear them exchanging theories, the conversation filled with as many insults as legitimate claims. Still, the seeds of camaraderie were there, and were perhaps easier to grow than originally thought. After all, Watts had once been one of them and Pietro, for all his heroics, had once entered Ironwood's office with a manic gleam in his eye, rambling about giving an aura to a machine. Defense technology at its finest!

 What was it Glynda had said? Ah yes, agreeing with young Ms. Nikos about how "wrong" it all was. But desperate times, desperate measures and all that.

They'd had that discussion, of course. Soon after Ironwood awoke, talk of Amity began again, this time about whether it was possible to send another message. With enough time and effort, not to mention luck... a short one, perhaps, and only sent to an individual scroll.  But what was the point? Who would they call? When no one could — or would — answer that question, the idea was dropped.

In the days since, Ironwood had fantasized about messaging Glynda. One of the few who'd ever been a true friend, perhaps the only one left alive who might care that he was still among the living... if Ms. Rose's message hadn't killed that too. Not that it mattered. Even if Amity wasn't a hunk of metal gathering ice, Ironwood hadn't a clue what he might say to her.

Dear Glynda,

Thank you. Sorry. Good luck.

Sincerely,

General James Ironwood

P.S. If things had ended differently, I would have asked for a second dance.

How ridiculous.

So he walked the broken streets of Mantle and climbed the streets of Atlas, more and more of it disappearing every day. Their hoard grew though, born of not just military property, but personal belongings as well. It wasn't as if anyone was coming to claim them. Unless more magic was at work, both cities would be miles beneath the ice before anyone crossed the border again. Still, Ironwood would always pause before packing away what he found in the hastily abandoned houses. Bedding. Utensils. The literal shirt off someone's back. He'd changed into jeans and a thick sweater the second day, taken from a collection of civilian clothes he'd placed into a locker years ago and promptly forgot about. The uniform felt... obsolete now, no matter that his goals remained the same.

He'd encountered Maria on one of those trips, admiring a basket of yarn in some nameless Atlesian's living room. Her shoulders had tensed at his approach, but she just snorted at the sight of him.

"You knit?" he asked, unsure of what else to say.

"No."

"Crochet?"

"No."

Ironwood didn't know any other crafts that involved yarn. "Then why are you taking it?"

Maria hummed. "Just a thought. That I might, someday, try to learn." She shook a book she’d pulled from the basket: Knitting For Beginners.

A stray thought indeed. The thing they still didn't talk about. The closest they got was on the fifth night when an explosion sounded outside, massive enough to unsteady them even deep within the vault. By the time all four of them had made it out and onto one of the roofs, the sky had turned a sickly yellow, followed by black tendrils that raced, turning, back and around on each other until everything went dark. The only light came from what little electricity they had running on generators and a red aura, pulsing from the West.

From Vacuo.

Realistically, it might have meant that they'd won. It wasn't as if Ironwood had any idea what the death of an immortal witch looked like. But the night wore on and they had no idea because that unnatural, starless black never receded. In time, Pietro wandered off and returned with two bottles he'd pilfered from somewhere, cracking the tops off on the side of his chair and passing them around.

They still didn't say it aloud, though the sky and the alcohol said enough already. Ironwood kept his eyes on the watch his mother gave him, hours ticking by until sunrise was long overdue. Atlas felt even colder now and that red, seeming to inch closer, sent a different kind of chill down his spine. The grimm that still prowled below had taken off hours ago, summoned by some unheard call.

Ironwood downed the dregs of his bottle and threw it into the city.

"Come on," he said. Ordered maybe, or asked. He wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore.

Blankets. Glasses. As many non-perishables as they could find. Generators. Tool kits. The building blocks of renewable energy. Clothing. Decorations. Wood to build small, individual dwellings.

Watts hoarded laptops and a small mountain of batteries, never showing them what he was working on, intensely protective.

Maria grew obsessed with entertainment, snagging every book, game, and video until there was a veritable library piled on the grass. She kept muttering about deserving a real retirement.

Pietro built a shrine to Penny, a simple stone monument to the left of the doorway. He tended to organize their supplies there, occasionally reaching out a hand to brush the code he'd inscribed with a laser. Whatever meaning it held, Ironwood couldn't read it within the ones and zeros.

And he... he found a cat. His last day, picking his way across dwindling islands until his eyes found the small, electrical fire just out of the water's reach. The cat had wedged herself into the rubble above it, trying desperately to keep warm.

She was as black as the sky above them and Ironwood was sure, when he reached out, that she'd run, terrified of his prosthetic hands. They certainly weren't any warmer, but she weakly crawled into them nonetheless. Ironwood held her securely against his left side, where his heart and flesh were, and thought with an absurd, internal laugh that he'd at least saved one.

There was so much left to do still, but their time was gone. That evening, eating what little they had the stomach for, water began to pour from the vault's elevator. First a trickle, then a deluge, until there was a sizable waterfall to admire. Ironwood sat on the steps with his unnamed cat on his shoulder, watching inevitability creep towards him.

He could still lie though.

"There's still time," he said, addressing the three behind him. "If you head up the elevator shaft and down the west hall, you can still break the surface. Find one of the remaining airships. Fly away."

Watts scowled, avoiding his gaze. He remained leaning against the doorway though. 

Maria and Pietro exchanged glances.

"I'd carry you," Ironwood offered to Pietro. They both knew it would be a death sentence with their combined deadweight, but he'd do it anyway.

"No," he said softly. "I did all I could already."

Maria. She was harder to read with those goggles, but it wasn't peace on her face. Guilt, more likely, but that had never stopped any of them before.

"It's damn cold out here," she muttered and marched back to the grass. Pietro followed her, Watts trailing not far behind. He turned back though.

"You coming?"

Ironwood didn't answer and eventually Watts left, heading into the meadow that stretched until you lost sight of where you'd been — and then reappeared there. A tiny pocket dimension, born of a magic now lost to this world. Ironwood figured that a bit of water and ice couldn't break it.

Probably.

He watched the flood cover the floor of the vault, then lap upwards, one stair at a time. There was a part of him, a part unimaginably tired, that thought he might just sit there. Keep rooted until the water was so high it was too late to do anything. That would be easy. Fitting, even. Shouldn't he go with his kingdom?

But then the cat — his cat — dug nails into his shoulder and Watts said something that made Maria screech. Ironwood sighed.

There were still things to protect, simple as that had become.

He turned his back on Remnant, now encased in an eternal night, and walked to the three who remained, cowering in an eternal day.

Ironwood allowed them one last choice and when they all nodded, he kicked the vault door shut.

[storysofmyown]

Seven stages of love Chapter 3: Ludus

Summary: Ever since the Celestial War, since they all fell, Asmodeus has  dedicated himself to his sin. Not caring about anything else, but  drowning himself in the pleasure and ecstasy of it all. But not anymore,  now he cant even handle the idea of it. But, what else is there to want? After so long of having indulged in his sin, what is there than  Asmodeus is looking for, something that will fill him, and that wont  drive him to destruction? Perhaps his brothers can help him with that. Warnings will appear in each chapter.

Trigger Warnings: Self depricatement (?), anger, mentions of exhaustion. Please tell me if I forgot to add one.

Word Count: 3278

Read on ao3

It had been at the very least an hour, and Asmodeus eyes had yet to focus on the damn page in front of him. His eyes were looking at the words. He was reading and he knew what each word meant, but it all felt like his brain refused to understand what was in front of him. He read the same word over and over again but in his mind all he could think about was Leviathans words and what it all meant to him. His heart rate had been calmer than ever before, but that didn’t mean it was good. That only meant that he was in such a state of confusion he had to look up from the book to realize he was in Satan’s room. A faint memory came to mind of him waking up in the middle of the day and making his way here. But…it was all fuzzy. Perhaps the best way to describe it would be to say it felt like his memories were submerged underwater. There was a faint recognition of things, words, and moments, a faint recognition of his own feelings…of the things that had presented themselves, and how distant they felt to him.

But, it all just felt so out of place. He knew his body was somewhere in the House of Lamentation, but his mind was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Almost as if it was traveling through a cosmic place with all the answers he could ever need; to all the questions he could ever ask. But instead of looking at the answers, he was in the middle. Just starring at the everything of the world through the eyes of an spectator, and not through the eyes of someone that had his own live. Perhaps, if he just reached out into the overwhelming darkness of the water that submerged his entire being, he would feel better. But how to reach out to the unknown? What if what laid on the other end was worse than what he knew now? In the end he let out an audible groan and set the book back on the stand, a pout on his lips.

“This is impossible!” He was incredibly tired. His eyes heavy and mind completely gone as he yawned and turned to Satan who was smiling foolishly at his book. That’s right, Satan had stayed in the room as well, but it’s not like either of them had registered each other’s presence. He had tuned out of the world entirely, and he was sure Satan had done the same. Speaking of which, the blond demon had muttered something under his breath, before proceeding to chuckle.

How in the world did he manage to pay attention to something for so long, Asmodeus wondered, before a sigh escaped his lips as he decided he should just give up this meaningless search that had become his life. Maybe it was time he finally accepted that there was no way he would ever understand the yearning that had kept him awake for so many years in the house. The aching to be simply hugged by someone who wanted to hug him. Perhaps that’s how he was meant to be for eternity. Had his father made it so he would end up as the Avatar of Lust as a punishment so that Asmodeus never felt that?

“Please, you don’t believe him, right?”

Satan spoke once again. Making Asmodeus raise an eyebrow at him as he decided it was enough self-deprecating for a day. Leviathan had made him question his existence enough the other day. And so, he proceeded to approach Satan, standing behind the demons couch and looking over his shoulder at the pages of the book.

“What are you reading?” Satan jumped, hitting Asmodeus in the face with his book, making the lustful demon groan a little as his hand flew to his face, tears burning on the corner of his eyes as he glared at Satan.  “What was that for?!” His comment effectively making the wrathful demon glare.

“Why were you reading over my shoulder?!” He snapped, glaring harder at Asmodeus which only made him scoff.

“I just wanted to know what you were reading, you jerk!” Satan stared at his brothers in confusion for a moment.

“…I thought you had gone back to your room already.” Satan’s sighs as he calms down, sitting in his original position.

“Well,” Asmodeus walked around the couch before propping himself on the other end of it. “you can be quite scary when we barrow your books. Hence why I was going to read it here and then go but…”

“But?”

“…I don’t know. I guess I just don’t have the attention span to spend hours reading.” Asmodeus shrugged, sitting on the couch before resting his back against the armrest, letting his head fall back as he stared at the ceiling. Breathing slower with each passing second, eyes drifting closed.

He was exhausted.

His eyes were heavy. He wasn’t hungry at all even if he had yet to eat anything since waking up. He was so incredibly tired, but during the night he couldn’t sleep. Part of him felt like it had been carrying with the same weight as Beel carried for hours on end, simultaneously feeling  like his legs wouldn’t be able to take him anywhere. It didn’t help that his brothers had been acting so strange with all the space…but perhaps it was his fault for worrying them. After all, Belphie and Levi probably already had told the rest of their findings. Satan was the only one that still treated him with some degree of normality. And even so he knew he was trying to act…gentler with him.

“…you wanted to know to what the book was about?”

Heh, another confirmation of his suspicions. Satan’s voice made Asmo sit up, looking at his brother with a raised eyebrow before nodding. He might as well try to act like his whole world had not fallen apart a few nights ago and unlike each passing day was eating him alive to the point where even the simplest task would make him go into a frenetic state. Oh well, might as well try to keep up the act. He looked at Satan before nodding, the demon not letting go unnoticed the lack of usual spark his younger brother had.

“Yes!”

“Well, in that case” Satan sighed, closing the book and looking at the back, examining it for a few seconds before nodding once more. “Very well, the story is about those two strangers.” He starts, looking at Asmodeus. “Two strangers that become the most important thing the other has.”

“Eh?” Asmodeus answered involuntarily. Shifting in his sit as he looked at Satan properly now. It was a…interesting concept.

Two strangers. They meet in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by everyone yet no one at all. The voices are echoed by how confused and lonely they are. But then…then they see each other. Satan said that they didn’t necessarily feel the sentiments that that word imply. That word...the one that kept coming back to him and placing itself against everything Asmodeus knew. That same word was plastered all over the book, in each page, and even in the cover. But even so, Satan stated the book claimed to not be that. He said…it was about some kind of…superficial sentiment. Some kind of crush they had. A brief moment of passion the two shared for one another after just that one moment.

Satan went on to describe their journey. And how as they slowly got to know each other they started to actually fall into a more intense feeling. But, to be fair, Asmodeus had stopped listening the moment Satan had said the first few sentences. Two strangers. Two complete unknown persons, and yet they managed to feel a certain type of affection towards one another. From all the people he had met, to all those he had merely shared a bed with. No names exchanged, no number, no way to see each other again, to those recurring visitors whom he had even their birthmarks memorized…he didn’t feel like that with any of them.

Were there people that could actually experience that type of devotion? Perhaps it was all just made up. Yeah, there was no way that existed. Have a sudden romantic infatuation for one another? Just like that?! No, Asmodeus refused to believe something like that could happen. It didn’t make sense at all!

“…are you even listening?” Satan’s voice finally registered as he sighed, closing the book and setting it down. “You are free to leave if you are that bored-“

“I don’t understand.”

“You weren’t listening to me. Of course you wont understand.”

“What? No, that’s not what I mean!” Asmodeus protested, half glaring at Satan now. Damn it, he was so damn confused. First Leviathan told him there was an entirely different kind section of that word, which was reserved for friendship, and platonic relationships. And now Satan told him that it was possible for two people to fall in adoration with one another although they were complete strangers?! He could have sworn that each time he learned something new it just helped to…to make him despise his sin even more.

Asmodeus took the book from Satan’s hand, the bookmark he had placed neatly between the pages falling, the page being lost as Asmodeus opened the book and scanned the first page, almost immediately devouring the content of the book like Beel would do with a restaurant if not stopped.

“…I was reading that” Satan protested, glaring at Asmodeus as he got to take the bookmark from the floor. The demon turned to place it on a table, before looking at Asmodeus. He had bag under his eyes. Something his brother would have never let be shown in the past, or let it be seen by anyone at the very least. Be it by an extensive amount of makeup or by his hour-long beauty regimen, it was strange for Asmodeus to let show anything that he deemed a “flaw” in his skin. And the way he was reading the book…he was desperate. A desperation Satan had certainly never seen in any of his family members to this day. “…you can give it back once you are done.”

“Mhm, yeah” Asmodeus answered briefly as he got up and walked over to the door, hitting the wall on his way out as his eyes refused to leave the page.

For the next 4 days, Asmodeus did nothing but be enthralled on the pages of the book. To be fair, he had finished it on the second day, but he had been rereading it. Over, and over again. Each time more vigorously than the last, his eyes jumped entire paragraphs he knew gave no useful information to the questions he needed answers to. How could two strangers fall in such a way for one another? How could it be that two complete strangers could experience more feelings on their first meeting than he had on his long life?! From the celestial realm to this very moment, the only feeling he could remember was that of lust and perhaps pity…sadness. No other feeling had ever made its way to him in the nights before, but now, now it was different. He felt something, and he wanted a certain feeling.

To him it was almost a lie. From all his experiences, never had any of the demons or demoness he had been with looked at him with something other than lust. They never sought to make a conversation that went past the names and the “where are we doing this?” In his mind it was impossible that a feeling so deep be felt so easily. Because if it did…then what would that say about him?

On the fifth night, as the dusk hit the Devildom, under what was the bleak light of the stars coming through the window, Asmodeus finished the book for the third time. His eyes focusing on the very last line. Those words. Those three simple words being muttered from one person to another. And no more words. Not an explanation, not a reason, not even a damn hint of why they felt like that on that very night. Asmodeus could feel some tears burning on his eyes as he glared at the book and threw it on the nightstand beside his bed. The stupid book had only left him with the same exact question that had been plaguing his mind from the night of his revelation. He hid under his covers, ignoring the ache of his heart, and went to sleep, only to dream of his inner broken, soul, and the void.

The next day, he went to Satan’s room to give him his book back. Praying to the father that had hurt them for the demon to not be on his room and he wouldn’t need to even mutter a word. But of course, that wasn’t the case.

“Ah, Asmodeus, I’m guessing you finished the book?” Satan’s voice was heard, prompting a sigh from Asmodeus as he fully stepped onto the room. The demon was on the high end of a stepladder, reaching for one of the top shelves.

“…yeah.” He spoke on a defeated tone.

“Did you enjoy it?” Satan asked, looking at one of the books, taking it out of the shelve and dusting it off. Asmodeus thought for a second. Had he enjoyed it? Well, its not like he was all that invested in the story. His focus was more on finding answers than it was on indulging into the story. And so, he couldn’t even recall the name of the characters, or the name of the book. Much less if he had enjoyed its content. But if he had to give an answer… “Asmo-?”

“No” They spoke at the same time. Setting the book down on the table, just as Satan looked down at Asmo, raising an eyebrow. He was about to ask why, but it would seem Asmo beat him to it. “How can two complete strangers feel something like that?!” He spoke, not even having given his brother another look, passing around the restlessly . Asmodeus tone increased slightly as he walked around the couch, hands moving and gesturing to the book. “Isn’t that sentiment supposed to be worked and developed with time as you get to know the person?! Isn’t it supposed to take years for people to finally realize the extent of their true feelings for another person?! It can’t be that simple! It can’t be as simple as walking into some place and making eye contact and just…and feeling it!”

“You don’t have to shout!” Satan spoke louder as well, before sighing as he watched Asmodeus shoulders drop and look away. For a moment Satan stayed silent as he analyzed Asmodeus words, thinking back to what he had read of the book before finally speaking. “…they didn’t fall for each other. At least not at first.” He states, starting to go down the steps of the ladder.

“Eh?!” Well that was a lie, Asmodeus thought. “Yes they did. The book describes it the first time they meet! They-”

“And upon their eyes meeting it was like the music faded. The bodies dancing around became shadows, all surrounded in black like the rest of their lives, only for the still barely noticeable grayish color the other made them see. With each step they took towards the other, the color became more vibrant, bright. They were like fire on a pitch black room for the other, and they smiled. For the first time, it wasn’t a calm or sweet smile. It was a nervous awkward smile, as they barely managed to announce their names. As they barely managed to exist close to the other.”

Satan finished quoting the book, making Asmodeus stare blankly at the demon as he frowned.

“Show off...” he remarked under his breath, just as Satan reached the last step, sighing. Instead of hopping onto the ground and walking over to Asmodeus he sat down, giving Asmo a look that made him step closer.

“The way it was described, the nervousness and awkwardness…I don't think they fell for each other, at least not in that very moment. Sure, they wanted to meet and get to know the other. And they found the other interesting, and upon that conversation is that they became important to one another…but I don’t think it was as intense as you think it was. It felt more…innocent.”

Innocence…that was something Asmodeus used to be familiar with. But he had lost touch with it the moment his body hit the grounds of the Devildom. Once he discovered this new world and all the things his body was capable of…the things his body wanted, he become detached from that part. Never did he imagine he would be missing that side of him. The side that didn’t need to be touched to be validated, and simply spending time laughing and talking would be enough to make him feel important. He wished he could go back to the moments where he wasn’t aware of anything at all. He missed not being himself. How cruel of the universe. To put right in front of him the description of what he had felt during those first encounters…the feeling he no longer experienced. The feeling of being alive as his skin was set ablaze by the wonderful sensations now he would hid from.

“…how cruel.” Asmodeus whispered, as he proceeded to sit beside Satan on the same step, resting his head on his brothers’ shoulder without thinking, their shoulders bumped together as Satan looked carefully at his brother.

“Cruel?” He raises an eyebrow.

“So…at first…they really didn’t feel anything for each other?”

“…I wouldn’t say that. They certainly felt something…but it isn’t the type of sentiment you thought it was. Truth be told…I think those two were so desperate to feel happiness and desired…that they fell in **** with the idea of a relationship and being wanted…and then it slowly morphed into what they had at the end. True, absolute devotion.”

Asmodeus stayed quiet at the mention of the word. But on his mind, there was such a turmoil that only grew with each passing moment. He didn’t know what he was missing. But he knew that when he found it, he would feel…whole. But each time he went to try and find it, he only came back with a bigger puzzle to resolve and with barely any pieces to put it together. With barely any grasping understanding of the subject that was torturing him night after night.

“…I still don’t understand.” He pouted, making Satan chuckle as he leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows as he tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling.

“Yeah, I think that’s the point. It isn’t something that we are ever going to understand. Not fully, at the very least, it’s just…it’s just something that is.” Satan sighed, before looking back at Asmo who still had the same expression. A lost one. “…but that’s better. In my opinion, at least. What fun is there to have in a question that is so easily answered?” Satan merely got a hum out of Asmo this time.

But the demon was listening. And he was wondering. Perhaps his brother was right…but he was not about to give up finding a concrete answer. After all, it was the only thing driving him at this point.

Ludus: Flirtation, playful, lively. The discovery of a crush, its rooted on having fun.

****

Hello~, I hope you all had enjoyed this chapter. This chapter was so hard to write, honestly. Mainly because I didnt know how to have Satan make the connection and explain it to Asmo, but here it is, and I really hope you all enjoyed it! next chapter will be published on Saturday like usual, until then!

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[elisaphoenix13]

Celebration Of Mama Bear

A fic for Stephen's birthday (yes I know it's late)! This also takes place before Lucy!

"Buongiorno, duchessa." Tony mumbles against Stephen's lips when he bends down to kiss him.

"Tony, it's too early for this." Stephen weakly bats in his direction without opening his eyes. "I can already hear things crashing and I'm not ready to deal with that."

Tony chuckles. "Not crashing, I promise. The kids are making breakfast."

Stephen cracks an eye open and looks at him suspiciously. "Which ones?"

"Harley and Cassie."

"Thank the Vishanti." Stephen mumbles.

There's a brief pitter patter of feet outside their open door and both Valerie and William appear in the doorway. The teen was behind the little girl who was holding her stuffed cow in one of her arms. Her eyes glittered in excitement and had Stephen opening his other eye before sitting up. Well he attempted to, but Athena was currently laying half of her body across his chest.

"Mama, i pancake sono pronti!" Valerie says and Stephen looks back at Tony.

"Of course she's speaking Italian at two."

"What can I say? Our children are geniuses." Tony shrugs. "Now get up before I have a certain 600 pound cat come lay on top of you."

Stephen rolls his eyes but gets out of bed after quietly commanding Athena off of him. Tony stood up and directed the two kids back downstairs while Stephen got ready for the day, and Athena waited patiently by the door like she always did. Whenever Tony got out of bed first, which was a rare occasion, the wolf would replace him as Stephen's cuddle buddy. Especially whenever the sorcerer was sick. He had grown so accustomed to cuddling (courtesy of Peter), that it felt wrong not to wrap himself around someone when he was ill. It was usually Tony or Athena, with the occasion of Peter or Harley.

Harley wasn't much of a cuddler but he would put up with it just to help Stephen feel a little better. At least until someone could take his place. The twins...they were still a little unsure of the physical contact but they were slowly growing to love it. Diana and Valerie were not allowed because Stephen didn't want to risk spreading whatever he was sick with to them. Valerie was pretty grumpy whenever Mommy got sick but she still behaved for her father and siblings.

"Why don't you go check and make sure Gerald has been fed?" Stephen says as he opens a portal for Athena.

She immediately hops through and he watches as a second one opens to let Emir and Flynn through. The tiger was, of course, carrying the fox by his scruff and only put him down once they were safely through. Stephen left the portals open so the animals could get back when they were finished, and leaves the room once he's dressed for the day.

When he gets down to the kitchen, he finds it and his family in chaos. A pleasant chaos. The air was filled with their constant chatter and the smell of food, and there was a lot of it. Pancakes, sausages, eggs, bacon, fruit... anything and everything was spread out on the counter and the table.

"What's all this?" He asks as he grabs a piece of bacon.

"Birthday breakfast." Thomas says as he gently pushes Stephen over to his chair.

"You didn't have to do any of this." Stephen huffs fondly as he sits down.

"Of course we did. You always take care of us and make sure we have our own awesome birthdays, and now it's our turn to do it for you." Peter says. "There's a whole day planned for you."

"If any magical emergencies come up, Wong will take care of it today." Tony adds.

Stephen couldn't even respond before a full plate of breakfast was placed in front of him and Cassie kissed his cheek. He thanked her and started eating as the rest of them sat down with their own plates, and of course their meal was consumed quickly. It was normal for them. There was always plenty of food but it always felt like the kids were arguing over food anyway. At least it was over their favorites.

When Stephen got up to take his plate to the sink, Peter hopped out of his seat and took it from him. "I got it! You go relax!"

Relax? That hadn't been in his vocabulary for years. Especially now that he had six kids...and that wasn't even including Cassie. He did sit down on the couch though and was joined by Athena who had returned through the portal after he had finished eating. He turned on the TV and pet her head when she laid it in his lap, and enjoyed not having to worry about cleaning up. He didn't have to cook, and he didn't have to clean...it made him wonder what they had planned for him.

When Tony was finished eating dinner and he made sure the girls were okay with the older kids, he walked over to Stephen and led him back upstairs. Instead of asking him what he was doing, he waited and let himself be led up to their bathroom and over to their large tub. Tony personally leaned over to run the bath and Stephen raised an eyebrow when he pulled a box of rose petals out of nowhere.

"Tony-"

"Don't argue. Let me pamper you." He says as he adds the petals to the water.

Stephen had to admit that the smell was nice, and having his husband help him undress was even nicer. The second he was in the bath, he sank down a bit with a pleased groan as the hot water relaxed the muscles he didn't even know were stiff and Tony chuckles.

"How's that?"

"This should be a weekly thing," Stephen sighs.

"We have six kids and a handful of Avengers. Maybe monthly."

"Better than nothing."

Tony smiles. "You soak and relax, I'm about to make this even better."

"Mmm...okay."

Stephen sunk down further into the water until all but his head was submerged. The tub was large enough for that and even almost stretch out completely. The tub was so big that he was pretty sure Quill and Thor could submerge completely. By the time Tony got back, he laughed and sat on the small stool he dragged next to the tub.

"Duchess, if you sink any lower, you might drown." He chuckles again and sets a flat box on the edge on the tub.

Stephen knew exactly what it contained before his husband even opened it. Dark chocolate truffles. If he was right, they were at room temperature so that the middle was almost liquid and would melt the second it hit his tongue.

"Is it my birthday or is this foreplay?" Stephen asks as he sits up a little to grab one.

"Maybe both. Up to you." Tony teases.

"Maybe tonight before the day is over and our youngest absolutely needs my attention." The doctor purrs before popping a truffle in his mouth.

He wasn't really one to take baths, but this one was amazing. Tony made sure it remained uninterrupted so that Stephen could properly relax and the sorcerer was almost tempted to ask for a glass of wine. Almost. It was still a little too early for a glass of wine, even on his birthday. He enjoyed the remaining flowery smell from the petals and finished off half his box of truffles before he was done in the bath. When he told Tony, the other man got him his towel and led him to their bed.

"Keep the towel on and lay face down."

Stephen didn't question it and did as he was told. At least at first. Then the thought that Tony might want to give him a massage struck him. The older man wasn't really capable of giving him one with his bad arm. At least not a proper one.

"Tony, I don't want you hurting yourself to give me a day of pampering." Stephen frowns and starts to lift himself up, but Tony pushes him back down.

"Relax. I love you and as much as I would like to give you a massage myself, I know I can't. Besides, I wouldn't have had you keep the towel on if I was going to be the one doing it." He walks over to the door and opens it to let Wanda in. "Red is going to do it. With oils and everything."

"Not Scott?" Stephen jokes.

"You two do enough together when I'm not home. I'm not giving him oil."

Stephen laughs and then settles to let Wanda start the massage when Tony leaves to do whatever it was he needed to do to make sure the day went off without a hitch. The witch gave him such an amazing massage that Stephen dozed halfway through it. She found knots he didn't even know he had and worked them over gently until he was putty under her hands. From his shoulders down to his feet...and he almost moaned when she got to his feet. Now he understood why people were so infatuated with foot massages.

When she was finally done, she smiled. "How was that?" She asks in her Sokovian accent.

"Don't be surprised if I call you up in the future." Stephen says.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

The doctor laid there as she gathered her oils and left the room, and it didn't take long for Tony to return. His husband wordlessly grabbed a hot, wet washcloth and walked over to the bed to wipe the oil off of Stephen and at that point, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to get his body to function. He couldn't recall the last time he was this relaxed...if he ever was.

"If this was all you had planned for today, I wouldn't have any complaints." Stephen admits.

"Oh no, honey. We have dinner reservations at that Italian restaurant you like. But for now, how about you watch a couple of movies and snack on some fancy cheese and crackers until then?"

"Send my wolf up and I think I can manage that."

"Your wish is my command."

Tony tossed the washcloth into the bathroom and left the bedroom after whistling for Athena, and Stephen makes the small effort to roll onto his side when the wolf jumps onto the bed and lays next to him obediently.

"Hello there pretty girl." Stephen mutters as he pets her.

He then requested Friday to put on one of his favorite movies and he lounged under a single bed sheet (to cover his modesty just in case) to watch it. Tony brought him the promised cheese and crackers to snack on, and Stephen enjoyed the calm. A small part of him wanted his kids with him, but a bigger part won over and made him enjoy this. He knew it was rare to get a day like this so he ignored the tiny nagging feeling to have his kids be part of his day. They made plans for him and he didn't want them to go to waste, especially since he could trust the older kids to behave for a day and help with their sisters.

When five o'clock rolled around, Tony popped back into the bedroom and walked straight into their closet to pull out their dining suits. Fortunately, Stephen felt like most of his basic motor functions were back and was able to get up and get dressed and he once again emerged from the master bedroom when they were ready. Athena was told to stay with the kids, and then they were in the elevator on their way to the garage.

"How was your day so far?" Tony asks as he wraps an arm around Stephen's waist and kisses his temple.

"I don't think I've ever been so relaxed in my entire life." Stephen chuckles.

"Don't worry. I'll get you nice and wound up for when we get home and the cubs are in bed." The engineer chuckles.

A frown does briefly cross the doctor's face and Tony gives him a look.

"What? Why the look?"

"Sometimes I worry that me not aging anymore will get to you." Stephen admits.

Tony snorts. "Shouldn't I be the one worrying about that? Besides…" he smiles and rubs his thumb against a sharp cheekbone. "Don't think I haven't noticed the slight change in my wrinkles...the ones I don't have anymore."

Stephen winces. "It's not immortality or anything like that. I just...stopped your aging. The physical part anyway. You asked me not to do to you what I did to myself, but I can't do what Quill can for Scott-"

"Duchess...I'm not mad. It's fine." Tony kisses him. "It has helped me ignore our age difference when we both don't age a day. I'm pretty sure it helps with my libido." He then narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Unless you have a hand in that too."

Stephen actually laughs. "No. You're healthy libido is all you. I see no need for Viagra in our future."

"Don't even joke about that." Tony sighs dramatically. "If for some reason I can never get it up again, please put me out of my misery. I do actually like being able to make you scream."

"I do too." Stephen purrs.

And true to Tony's promise, he got Stephen so riled up at dinner, that when they got back home and the kids were asleep, he made sure the sorcerer couldn't walk the next morning. Stephen could barely talk...and it was one of the best birthdays he'd ever had.