#he fights and fights and feels everybody's agonies a thousand times over. then he feels his own

[kiybee]

hey so you guys ever think about how master chief nearly inserted the index into the core and pulled the plug on all sentient life in the entire galaxy? you ever think about how he thought it was the right thing right up until cortana told him it wasn't? you ever think about how he stood there realising the fact he nearly killed all the people he would have died to protect? you ever think? you ever think??? you ever think????????

[greensaplinggrace]

“how could you ship Darklina knowing she based it off of her abusive relationship?”

By educating myself about the origins of this rumor and learning that it’s false! By scouring the internet for a time wherein she explicitly stated it was based off her abusive relationship and coming up with nothing. By finding only the most obscure posts and references in interviews that talk about how her relationship at the time of creating Shadow and Bone caused her depression. 

So no, Darklina actually wasn’t based on Leigh Bardugo’s abusive relationship. That’s a rumor.

It is also in incredibly bad taste to use a real person’s history with trauma as a way to harass fans of her novel. I honestly can’t believe the amount of times I’ve seen her history dredged up for an anti’s chance to “get one over” on a shipper. And I’m honestly appalled by the amount of times this argument has been raised against other, real life, actual abuse survivors who ship Darklina. 

“how could you ship Darklina knowing she based it off of her abusive relationship?”

By acknowledging also that fiction is a work meant for thousands. By remembering that any personal experiences an author puts into a novel are not universal. That every fan is different and will have lived extremely different lives from her. That expecting them all to read the same message in her story is impossible, especially since it’s one very specific to Leigh Bardugo’s own private life. 

By exposing myself to the entirety of the fandom and not just one echo chamber, by seeing posts about how some people are triggered by Darklina and other people are triggered by Malina. By realizing that the world isn’t black and white, that everybody is going to be coming into this with their own baggage and traumatic experiences, that Leigh Bardugo, in putting this book out there for the entire world to see, gave every reader the chance to see something different and unique and personal in her words. By remembering that fiction is not reality, and that reality is the people behind the pages and behind the screens.

“how could you ship Darklina knowing she based it off of her abusive relationship?”

By remembering that Leigh Bardugo actually championed the Darklina ship! That she actively supported it and its fans for years. That she baited a vast majority of this fandom into believing certain things were going to play out in her stories that never did.

By remembering that the Darkling is given his own backstory. That we see him as a child. That we have a chance to connect with his own traumas on an intimate level. 

By remembering that Leigh Bardugo made some missteps in how she framed the plight of the Grisha. By acknowledging that some people will see themselves in the Darkling, that they can’t not, that his character goes beyond Alina and his relationship with her. That thousands of fans look at this man fighting for the rights of his people, living with centuries of generational trauma, persecuted by outsiders and ostracized even within his own community, completely alone, and feel agony over the way he’s treated by the story. By acknowledging that the story Bardugo told was a damaging one to some who read it.

By remembering that the people in this fandom have lives and traumas of their own that they’re seeing in this book, in these characters, in this world, and they’re all taking away something different. By remembering that Leigh Bardugo is now not the only one involved in this story. That this goes beyond her. 

“how could you ship Darklina knowing she based it off of her abusive relationship?”

By realizing that many antis parrot buzzwords without any real idea what they actually mean as a means to scare off potential Darklina fans and actively shame the people who ship it, and that this rumor in particular got circulated by antis for much the same reasons.

Anti Darklinas grossly misuse terms like abuse, grooming, and pedophilia on a regular basis, and it’s actually kind of disconcerting. The way they overblow the negative aspects of the relationship and then twist or outright lie about canonical facts in the series is something people should be on more of a lookout for. Especially when it pertains to them creating content that could be damaging to a lot of people in the community and especially when they go out of their way to stalk and harass fans, purposefully triggering them.

Leigh Bardugo has recently misused the word grooming as well. It’s hurt a lot of fans and downplayed the reality of an actual, serious issue that many people face in real life. And because apparently none of these people are capable of research, the antis are now the parrots repeating what she’s said without any thought to the gravity of the situation.

So please, please, remember to fact check this stuff, and don’t believe every little thing the antis say. Not liking a ship is valid, respectful criticisms of a ship are valid, but the continued and exaggerated use of this rumor is just plain fucking offensive. Have some goddamn respect.

SO! How could I ship Darklina knowing it’s based it off of an abusive relationship? It’s easy. I just mind my own business and engage with the media/literature in a way that’s actually healthy. I don’t take the Word of God from an author who’s already finished the series. In fact I don’t take her word on much of anything, because why should I? I draw my own conclusions. I open myself up to new ideas. I remain confident in my ability to engage with the literature critically and comprehensively. I HAVE FUN.

[castiel-kline]

cas and balthazar meet again post finale

This one really got away from me, and it got really long. I promise it does answer the prompt but I also made it super plotty for some reason. I hope you don’t mind!

Being taken by the Empty didn’t feel like dying. 

Of course, that’s what was happening to him, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt cold, and painful, and vengeful. Lonely and miserable and laced with glittering knives of regret.

It was his damnation. Not the traditional sense of the word, but true nonetheless. 

But if facing it meant he’d save his family? Save Jack from being subject to the same fate? He’d damn himself to this a thousand times over, without a single shred of hesitation. 

The Empty had him entirely covered in its goo, tendrils snaking under his skin and into his body from every angle. In through the eyes, the nose, snaking down his throat. Under the fingernails, into the ears, scraping through the tattered remnants of his grace and pressing down around his true form. 

It was agony. 

Eventually it subsided, and some of the inky tendrils retracted, leaving him gasping for air that neither existed in this realm nor was truly necessary. He collapsed in a heap, the Empty bubbling around him. He spared a glance up, wondering if the Shadow were nearby to gloat before sending them both into slumber. What he saw… well. Unexpected didn’t quite cover it. 

“Jack?” 

“Hmm. Guess again, Castiel.” 

“No.” Don’t you dare look like him.

“Oh, yes. Because it hurts you to look at him, doesn’t it?” The Shadow leaned down, condescension clear as day in its every move. So wrong on Jack’s face that it twisted something deep within him. It stared him down, watching him squirm, mania-painted smirk stretching wider. “Good. I want you to suffer, so that’s what you’re going to do.” 

“I thought you wanted your peace and quiet,” Cas managed, as more tendrils snaked out over his wrists and ankles. Dragging him a little bit further down, completely at the Empty’s mercy. Somehow he suspected that was the point.

The Shadow straightened, looking down Jack’s nose at him. 

“Of course I do,” It said, emulating Jack’s earnestness. Liar. “But I can’t!”

“What?”

“Wonderboy-” the Shadow gesticulated wildly in the direction of its facsimile body “-woke everybody up when he exploded all over me. So I don’t get to sleep, no, and if I don’t get to sleep then you definitely don’t get to sleep. None at all.” 

Quicker than a blink, the Shadow had fisted Castiel’s collar in its hands, bringing their faces inches apart. 

“At least,” It whispered, eyes wild with an energy Jack had never, and would never, possess. “I get to make you suffer like you’ve made me suffer. So I want you to look at this face, Castiel. Look at it, and know that it’s contorted in tears right now because Papa Bear abandoned him.” 

The Shadow threw him down, the goo swallowing him right back up. Submerged in the dark, he scarcely felt its weight. He was too busy drowning in a fresh cascade of guilt.

It yanked him back up, tendrils leaving him suspended in the middle of nothing. Some of them twisted at his feathers, pulling them just enough to be excruciating but not enough to rip them free. He screamed.

“Be quiet!” The Empty released him, and Cas fell back down, every fibre of his being crying out in pain.

The Shadow cackled, everything about it from the pitch to the cadence to the intention screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You’re never going to regret this, are you?”

Cas glared at it, mustering up as much defiance as he could. 

“No,” he croaked. “Because saving my family? That’s worth dying a thousand deaths.”

The Shadow doubled over laughing again. Then, quick as a blink, kicked him across the face, sending him reeling backwards.

“‘Die a thousand deaths’? Please. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Castiel pushed himself back up, following the Shadow’s pacing with his eyes. It walked with one arm tucked behind its back, the other gesticulating as it spoke.

“Death isn’t going to be enough for you, hmm. Oh, you know what you’ve never been able to take?” It spun back around, grinning down at him. “You can’t stand seeing the pain you’ve caused. And since you can’t see what’s left of your precious little family- not that they even care that you died, by the way- how would you feel about seeing the angels again?”

No. He must have looked visibly afraid, because the Shadow only smiled wider. 

“Not so pleasant a thought, hmm? Seeing as you killed most of them.” It laughed again, clapping its hands in an expression of glee that would have been endearing coming from Jack, but now simply served to be disturbing. “Oh, yes. It’ll be just like throwing a scrap of meat to a pack of starving dogs.”

Cas shook his head, but the Empty pressed on. It waved its hand, and Castiel was thrown some immeasurable distance away. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and watched in horror as the ground bubbled around him, and his brothers and sisters began to crawl their way out.

He recognized them, of course, because he’d taken care to never forget a single name. He saw Hael first, then Bartholomew, then Jonah and Efram and Ambriel and Samandriel. He saw Raphael, Uriel, Anna, Jophiel. He scrambled to his feet, unable to do anything but watch and wait for their wrath to undoubtedly descend upon him. 

Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled, running and dragging Castiel with them. He didn’t fight it, figuring that whoever had him was going to inflict a world of pain and there wasn’t a thing to do but accept it. They’d gone a fair distance, if there was such a thing as distance in nothing, before they stopped and Cas turned to face who had taken him. 

“Balthazar?” His voice came out strangled, as scarcely more than a whisper. 

“Cas,” Balthazar said, staring at him with something unreadable in his eyes. “Your wings…”

“Balthazar,” Cas repeated, finding himself unable to say anything else, mind swirling in an inescapable vortex of grief and guilt and pain. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m so sorry.”

“What, for killing me? You weren’t yourself.”

“I was. That’s the problem.”

Balthazar just shook his head. “It’s going to take more than a stab in the back to get rid of me. You do know that, right?”

“If we weren’t already dead I’d offer you my blade to kill me. I deserve nothing more.”

“Castiel.” Cas forced himself to meet Balthazar’s eyes directly. “I know you, and so I forgive you. As I’ve told you before- nothing’s changed.”

Cas smiled bitterly. “Except me.”

“What happened to you?” Balthazar’s fingers traced the air where Castiel’s wings lay mangled and twisted in another dimension. “You look like you’ve been clawed apart by feral house cats.”

“I destroyed everything, Balthazar. So many times.” And he felt like he was being crushed under the weight of all his mistakes. Perhaps this was the torture the Empty preferred for him- giving him back a lost friend, giving him forgiveness- and then ripping it away again. Surely even someone as loyal as Balthazar wouldn’t want to associate with him after learning of the things he’d done.

“You, Cassie? I’ve only ever known you to do what’s right.”

“How can you say that when you saw me make one of my biggest mistakes? When I killed you because of it?”

Balthazar scoffed. “Mistake? Cas, you were trying to stop our control freak of an older brother from letting the other ones out to destroy the world. What about that is a mistake? Sure, Crowley was a bit of a snake, but come on. It can’t have been so long that you’ve forgotten your good intentions.”

Cas didn’t say a word, and Balthazar narrowed his eyes. “How long has it been, Cas?”

Cas sighed. “Nine years.”

“Nine years.” Balthazar’s eyebrows had shot all the way up. “Wow. Not long at all. So what could… no. Tell me you weren’t.”

Castiel frowned. “Weren’t what?”

“Weren’t still kissing the Winchesters’ asses for the whole nine years.”

“They’re my friends, Balthazar.”

“Oh, really?” Balthazar crossed his arms. “If they’re your friends, why did they treat you like one of the guns they keep in the trunk of their wretched car?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it, Cas?” Balthazar sighed, backing down a little. Nine years of death wouldn’t stop them from bickering, it seemed, though he did put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. An uncharacteristic attempt to show solidarity through the sarcasm.

“Look,” Balthazar continued. “What you do is your business, but… just tell me there was something good in those years. That it wasn’t just you running around trying to prove yourself to them.”

There was something, in fact, something he’d never expected. Something beautiful.

“I had a son,” he admitted. He’d often wondered what Jack would be like meeting angels that weren’t hell-bent on killing him. He’d imagined Jack meeting Balthazar, or Hannah, or Rachel or Samandriel, but it would never come to fruition. The best he would get was telling them about him, assuming he would be able to escape being choked and stretched and drowned by the depths of the Empty for all eternity.

“Why, Cassie, I’m impressed,” Balthazar said wryly. Oh no. Before Cas could interject and explain, Balthazar continued. “Looks like you really did get that stick out of your ass. And you put it right up-”

“Balthazar! He’s not mine, not like that. He chose me, and his mother was a friend. That’s all.”

Balthazar seemed to enjoy how flustered he was, but his tone was serious. “You adopted a human child?”

“No, he’s a nephilim.”

“Ah,” Balthazar said. “So they changed the rules regarding them in the past nine years, then?”

“No,” Cas said again, getting frustrated. He’d forgotten how much Balthazar loved to hear himself speak. Even if he had missed it, it was still mildly insufferable.

“Well, you rebel Cas, you. But, ah- who was the sire?”

Cas winced. “Lucifer.”

“Oh, my. That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah. Jack’s nothing like him, though. He’s… he’s very much like his mother. And I like to think he’s a little bit like me, too.”

Balthazar looked at him, somehow still reading him like a book after all this time.

“You spoil the poor child, don’t you?”

“I most certainly do not,” Cas huffed.

“Oh, yes you do. You’ve always been soft, but now you’re practically a down pillow.”

Cas’ smile was sadder, again. “I told you I’ve changed.”

“Maybe so. But we haven’t.”

“Thank you.”

Balthazar smiled. “I do have one question though, Cas.”

“Of course.”

“How did you die?”

Well. He supposed it would have had to be asked eventually. Unfortunately his hesitation gave Balthazar another opportunity to talk over him.

“Please don’t tell me it was for the Winchesters.”

“I love them.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. And unfortunately I love that about you. Well, go on. Tell me a story.”

Cas shrugged. “I made a deal with the Empty. My life for Jack’s, which- it wasn’t even a question. It said that when I was finally happy, it would take me.”

Balthazar frowned. “What did you in?”

“You know, I’m not really sure. But I managed to save Dean, and that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, Cas,” Balthazar muttered, sounding deeply sad. “Well, at least you were clearly a better father than our dear old absent God. That much is clear.”

Cas’ heart sank. He couldn’t not tell him, though he didn’t necessarily want to break the news.

“Balthazar.”

“What?”

“Um. A lot has happened since I’ve last seen you, and there’s a lot you need to know, but God- God was never on our side.”

--------

They walked aimlessly through the Empty, keeping aware for signs of their siblings or the Shadow, but oddly finding none.

“Well then,” Balthazar said, flippant as ever. Cas was nearly sure he was deflecting.

“That’s all you have to say? You’re not angry?”

“Nope.” Forced cheerfulness. “Never liked him anyway. Frankly, I’m surprised you even met the man.”

Cas paused and stopped moving, feeling something tugging at his grace.

“Cas, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Balthazar had stopped too, hovering closer. 

A pocket of the nothingness in front of them seemed to pull itself inward, caving in like a black hole and then cracking open just a bit. Was this what it looked like when someone died and came to the Empty?

Hopefully not, because the distortion cleared and Jack was standing there. And it was painfully, obviously Jack, clearly indicated by everything from his posture to the grace Cas could feel reaching for his own.

Balthazar stiffened, preparing for a fight, but the minute Jack caught sight of Castiel the angel found himself with an armful of nephilim. He held on tight, feeling Jack trembling slightly.

Having connected the dots, Balthazar caught his eye over Jack’s shoulder and mouthed “down pillow.” Cas shook his head slightly, but turned his attention back to his son.

“Jack? Are you-”

“I’m getting you out, Cas,” Jack said, pulling back. “We’re both getting out of here.”

Balthazar’s stricken expression tugged at Cas’ heart.

“Just me?” Cas asked.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The other angels are awake, Jack. Can you…”

“I… maybe. But, Cas, I don’t… I don’t know them. Why…”

“It’s alright if you can’t,” Cas assured. “But if we can help them somehow, be that bringing them back or putting them to sleep… I need to try to make things right.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll try to help.”

Cas smiled at him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you. And thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course. I missed you,” Jack said, eyes wide. Cas felt something else inside him twisting.

Balthazar cleared his throat, and Cas gently turned Jack around to face the third member of their party.

“Jack, this is Balthazar. He’s a good friend.”

Jack and Balthazar looked at each other, Jack frowning and Balthazar smirking in a horribly misguided attempt to be friendly. The silence stretched on, utterly deafening. Jack broke it first.

“I… I met an alternate universe version of you that was not very nice.”

Balthazar didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, you know what they say. Don’t judge an angel by their alternate universe counterparts, right?”

That got a bit of a smile out of Jack, though he was still wary. Cas couldn’t blame him, so he kept in contact to keep him at ease.

“We need to find the Shadow. Make an arrangement so that we can take a few angels with us and the Empty goes back to peace and quiet,” Jack said. The self-assuredness was clearly a front, but somehow Cas felt as if he’d have time to help Jack through it. 

“Okay,” he said, nodding at Jack. Jack nodded back, and the three of them started walking. Into what, they didn’t know. 

But Castiel had the strangest feeling that it was all going to turn out alright.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Nine: Swan Song

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Heh. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @renegademustelid @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @hoodedbirdie @literal-fand0m-trash @thyestean-feast @fioccodineveautunnale @kateb013 @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @oh-no-who-am-i @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @kylolover96 @lukesrighthand @lackofhonor @lightan117 @misssilencewritewell

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains character death and depictions of vomit/bile. Stay safe!]

While the Armorer spoke quietly with the Mandalorian at length and continued to smelt the reclaimed armor down, you remained out in the hallway with the IG unit to scan for threats. You couldn't bring yourself to go into the forge and just sit quietly like Karga and Cara, your whole body still buzzing with the vestiges of the huge rush of adrenaline you had received earlier. 

The robot's many sets of eyes swiveled back and forth, silently observing the tunnel in front of you. It also seemed to take note of your fidgeting. "Never fear. I am programmed to protect." The droid assured you. 

"As comforting as that is…" you grimaced, obsessively checking your blaster over yet again. "I'd feel much better if we didn't have to fight. Or if we had decent cover. I never know what will explode." An explosion echoed faintly down the tunnel as if in response to your words and you went rigid. You gripped the blaster even tighter, feeling the stock dig into your palm.

"I would advise not shooting at the inanimate objects to avoid possible damage."

"Wonderful." You muttered, a reluctant grin making its way onto your face. "This is why I prefer my knife."

"If you would like to attempt such an inadvisable tactic, I am unable to stop you." The droid commented. 

"No, no no. I promise I won't be that dumb." Your laugh was too high, choking off in your throat when you caught sight of several headlamps down the tunnel.

"Engaging the enemy." IG-11 announced, the spindly ex-bounty hunter droid striding forward into the spillway with purpose.

"IG, wait!" You protested. "How am I supposed to-"

"Do not worry about hitting me. Aim for them." The robot interrupted you calmly.

"Aim for them, no shit!" 

You knelt beside one of the many, possibly-explosive crates, tucking the stock of your rifle up against your shoulder. You then used the flat surface to steady the gun as best as you could, gritting your teeth probably a bit too hard. 

IG-11 was a force to be reckoned with. The droid barely even needed you, only once caught off-guard by one of the eight troopers that bore down on it like an unstoppable (but ultimately doomed) wave. 

One well-placed shot from you blew that particular stormtrooper's elbow out, making him scream in agony. You froze at the sound, your body stiffening before you could fight it off. How many men had you killed today? You had pushed it down, shoved the thought away, but-

IG-11 spiraled and struck with terrifying accuracy, it's blaster searing a hole in the side of the last trooper's helmet. "You have been protected." The droid droned quietly. It went on to ask, "Were you harmed?"

"No, n-no, I'm...I'm fine." You breathed. "Sorry, I get all…" 

"You did well. It is advisable to use cover at any and all opportunities." IG-11 mused sagely. 

"No kidding."

A nerve-wracking five minutes later the Mandalorian finally walked back out of the forge area, Dune and Karga close behind. "We push forward." The armored man said, answering your unspoken question. "We'll hit the river, and it'll take us to the flats. All we can do now is hope that the Imps won't head us off." 

Karga passed a large, square object off to IG-11 while the Mandalorian spoke. The boosters on the bottom of it seemed to indicate that it was a portable jet pack of some kind. You also saw a shiny new addition to the Mandalorian's pauldron.

"What's…?" You trailed off, gesturing at the insignia that had been welded seamlessly to his armor. It looked like a stylized mudhorn, which, when you thought about it, suited him immensely.

"My signet. I...I'm considered a clan now." The Mandalorian hesitated, his hand finding the child's in their little bundle of robes. "I have a Foundling in my care." His voice was warm, an almost incredulous wonder shining through his words. "She used...she used some of your beskar to make it. The ingot that I took from you, I-I asked her to use it," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hope that's--i-is that alright? I'll compen-"

"It's definitely alright." You interrupted him, nodding rapidly and certain that you were smiling like an idiot. "Don't even worry about that. Obviously, you guys can put it to better use than I ever could."

"Thank you." The Mandalorian said sincerely.

Greef suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable. "How did you get ahold of that ingot of beskar, anyhow?" He asked narrowly.

"I was paid with it when I got hired to clean his ship." You explained. "But I guess the person that hired me was actually only interested in having me jimmy the boarding ramp open for them, because as soon as I got it open I was clocked with the ingot. They ended up leaving it with me, though. Maybe they didn't know what it was worth?"

The Mandalorian turned towards Karga and you could feel him glaring, while Greef simply hummed and looked anywhere but the glowering man. "Karga, did you-?"

"Whatever it is, the answer is no! But I can't take responsibility for the actions of every hunter under me." The older man protested, waving his hands. "You know the rules, Mando, no questions asked."

"You were the only other person who got paid in beskar, Karga." The Mandalorian growled. "If I find out that it was one of-"

"We don't have time for you guys to have a beskar-based pissing match." Dune interjected, "we have to keep moving, or we're Imp chow. Squash your shit now or deal with it later."

"I apologize for anything my associates may have done to you that, er, caused you inadvertent discomfort." Karga addressed you hurriedly.

"Uh, I...forgive...you?" You replied, more than a little confused. 

"There, you see Mando? No issues here!" The Guild leader said brightly. The Mandalorian shook his head, growling something under his breath and then stalking off in the opposite direction.

...

The rickety old lava skiff, while originally half-welded to the dock, didn't stay stuck too long in the wake of Cara's heavy blaster fire. Karga quickly grabbed the side of the craft, steadying it before it could drift away from the dock.

"Watch your feet, it's molten lava." IG-11 warned. When you turned to give the robot an incredulous look, you saw the Mandalorian and Cara doing exactly the same thing. Your deadpan stare cracked a little and you were caught off-guard by a giggling fit, clumsily stumbling over the lip of the boat as the armored man followed after you.

"Fucking droids." The Mandalorian groaned while shaking his head, though he sounded less irritated and more amused.

The droid that normally piloted the skiff appeared to be out of commission, but it was no matter. Even though the lava moved slowly, it moved enough to carry the boat along with it.

The child was still limp in Cara's arms, the former dropship trooper absently rocking them back and forth. Weariness dragged at you as well, grey static slowly encroaching upon the corners of your eyes, but you did your best to push it away for the time being. You weren't sure how much longer you could get away with that, though. Stars, once this was over you would sleep for a thousand years.

A sudden crackling noise behind you made everybody whirl, respective blasters and knives brandished. But it was just the ferry droid, emerging from the ashen lava that had entombed it. It held a punting pole in its hands and began to beep, sounding almost inquisitive.

The Mandalorian finally muttered, "I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid," his tone one of long suffering.

IG-11 helpfully supplied, "I believe he is asking where we would like to go." 

"Downriver. To the lava flat." Karga ordered. The droid gave a chirp of confirmation and jabbed its pole into the lava, propelling the boat onwards at a much less leisurely pace.

The Mandalorian sat down heavily beside you after a moment, his helmet in his hands. "I can't believe you came back." He mumbled. "I didn't think...I figured you wouldn't. Thought I did a pretty good job at ruining everything."

"I can't believe I did either, honestly." You answered him, wincing when you realized how bad that sounded. "Wait, no, I uh...I just mean I didn't really know what was going on. I followed the noise and found IG-11."

"So, nothing new." The Mandalorian replied, his voice wry. Then, he murmured, "my little mudhorn."

You shot him a confused glance from beneath your lashes, but for all you could tell he was staring at the floor of the boat. Your eyes shifted to the silvery signet on his pauldron, taking in the vicious contours of the mudhorn's silhouette. I'm considered a clan now. 

"What will you do after we take care of this?" Your words were audacious in their optimism and you knew it. He knew it too, if his snort was anything to go by, but he humored you.

"I have to find the kid's people. I can't train him, he's...well, he's not really the Mando type. But he's a Foundling in my care, so I'm to act as his father until I can either return him to his people or...or until he comes of age." The Mandalorian heaved a sigh. "And seeing as he's fifty now, I don't think him coming of age is something that'll happen in my lifetime." His hand sought yours out on the bench seat after a moment. "If you...I mean, I know that...uh, the kid likes you. So if you wanted, I'd...I'd consider…" He trailed off, squeezing your wrist gently.

You opened your mouth to stammer something and then Greef inadvertently cut you off with an excited, "That's it! We're free!" The older man pointed ahead, indicating the daylight coming into view in the distance. You couldn't blame him for being relieved, really. This underground canal was stifling.

But the Mandalorian was already shaking his head, fingers tapping at the button pad on his gauntlet. "No. No, we're not." He said bitterly, getting to his feet. "Stormtroopers. They're flanking the mouth of the tunnel. It looks like an entire platoon." Your heart sank at his words. "They must know we're coming."

His shoulders slumped. You could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. He had almost died, only for this to happen?

Cara, meanwhile, leaped into action. "Stop the boat." She demanded of the ferry droid, which just continued to chirp merrily to itself. "Hey, droid, I said stop the boat!" She barked, storming towards the robot. "Hey, I'm talking to you!" 

The droid carried on punting the boat forward and Cara grimaced, jamming her blaster into the vacant space between the droid's dome and body. One quick trigger pull sent the droid's head flying off with a loud crack!, the dome hitting the lava and immediately beginning to melt. The child started awake at the noise, tiny fists waving wildly in the air.

The boat continued to roll downstream, slowly but surely carried by the flow's current. "We're still moving." Greef pointed out, his tone laden with dread.

Dune swore under her breath, turning to face the rest of the group. "Looks like we fight."

The Mandalorian scoffed, "There are too many." His hand absently tapped the side of his helmet and you read his fingers: enemy ahead, five, five, five, so at least fifteen.

At least. Your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. It had been one thing when you were running along pell-mell with no actual thought put into your actions, but now-

"Well then what do you suggest, because I can't surrender." Cara snapped, cringing when the kid started to whimper.

IG-11 suddenly spoke up. "They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable." It rose to its full height, proclaiming, "I will eliminate the enemy, and you will escape."

"You don't have that kind of firepower, pal." The Mandalorian retorted. "You wouldn't even get to daylight."

The droid leveled him with a stare. "That is not my objective."

"We're getting close." Dune hauled you to your feet. "Saddle up." You obliged wordlessly, waiting until she turned away before you allowed yourself to grimace in pain. Maker, your side hurt.

"I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer." The IG said calmly as you and Cara maneuvered around it and the Mandalorian to prepare what limited defenses you could muster. "If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct."

"What're you talking about?" The Mandalorian growled impatiently. 

"I'm not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed."

"Are we gonna' keep talking or are we gonna' get out of here?" Greef enquired, waving a hand at the molten riverbank.

"I can no longer carry this for you." The droid murmured, pressing the jet pack into the Mandalorian's unwilling grasp. "Nor can I watch over the child."

"Wait." The armor-wearing man sounded like he was having trouble breathing. "You can't self-destruct. Your base command is to watch the child." Was he...was he arguing with the droid? "That supersedes your manufacturer's protocol, right?" He reasoned desperately, his head tilted up to look at the spindly droid. When the robot didn't answer immediately, he pressed, "Right?"

"This is correct." IG-11 allowed.

He was arguing. With a droid. Stars, you saw something new every day. "Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out." The Mandalorian ordered curtly, turning to check over his own weaponry. 

"Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The child will be lost." You watched the armored man's shoulders slump even lower beneath his pauldrons and cape, like an immense weight was pressing down on him. "Sadly, there is no scenario where the child is saved in which I survive." The droid carried on relentlessly. You abruptly understood what it was saying, and despite your best efforts you felt tears sting your eyes. First Kuiil, now this?

"Listen, you're not going anywhere." The Mandalorian said sharply. "We need you. Let's just come up with a-"

"Please tell me the child will be safe in your care." The IG unit requested. "If you do so, I can default to my secondary command."

"But…" the beskar-wearing man's voice faded to a hoarse whisper, "you'll be destroyed."

"And you will live, and I will have served my purpose."

"No, we need you."

"There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive." The droid said pragmatically.

"I'm not sad." The armored man denied gruffly. He was lying and everyone knew it. You could hear the tremor in his words.

"Yes you are. I'm a nurse droid. I've analyzed your voice." IG-11 reached out those metal fingers, gently running them over the baby's ear. Then, without further ado, the droid hoisted a leg over the side of the boat.

"IG-!" Karga began to protest, watching the droid sink into the lava. Flames licked upwards from the ex-bounty hunter's knee gaskets, but it doggedly headed for the light at the end of the tunnel. 

The Mandalorian stood still as a statue, just letting the droid go. You ended up burying your face in your hands, unwilling and mentally unable to observe what would happen. 

The ringing impact of beskar suddenly broke the silence and the Mandalorian began to sing, his words wrapped in a deep, mournful tone that sounded like it came from the center of his being. "Motir ca'tra nau tracinya," His voice faltered. "Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a! Cuun hett su!" 

The droid's self-destructive explosion rocked the tunnel and you heard the Mandalorian's breath hitch, the noise sharp and pained even through the modulator. 

He then inhaled deeply, the words reverberating off the sides of the tunnel when he roared, "Cuun hett su!" and slammed his gauntlet against his breastplate once more.

The skiff slowly slipped through the archway and out into the smokey sunlight. Fifteen broken stormtroopers littered the black ground around the mouth of the canal, none left alive in the wake of IG-11's sacrifice. You scrubbed at your face in irritation, choking back your tears. There will be time later, you promised yourself, time for Kuiil and the IG. Time to mourn them properly. You weren't permitted such time now and you knew it. People needed you, they needed--

Without warning, that ship you had seen earlier buzzed by overhead, its powerful laser cannons sending chunks of half-coagulated lava flying into the air on either side of the canal. 

"Moff Gideon!" Dune shouted, the Bren blaster whirring to life. The TIE fighter's engines screamed and whined, the craft circling back around. A line of ground to the left of the skiff exploded, green lasers punching through the cooled lava. 

"He missed!" Greef sounded absolutely thrilled.

"He won't next time." The Mandalorian replied grimly, loading a fresh canister into his heavy blaster.

"Hey, let's get the baby to do the magic hand thing!" Karga suggested, wiggling his fingers at the child. "C'mon baby, do the magic hand thing." The child stared up at him, waving their hand uncertainly. Greef sighed, "I'm out of ideas."

"I'm not." The Mandalorian snapped. He reached for the jet pack and you tugged his cape out of the way so he could attach it to his backplate. He pressed his forehead against your own briefly before he tapped at his gauntlet keypad, igniting the boosters for the pack.

"Here he comes!" Cara yelled, bracing herself back against one of the seats while her blaster roared away. Whoever Gideon was, he appeared to be coming straight for the boat. The fighter wasn't slowing one iota. 

Right as you saw the TIE fighter's cannons begin to light up in preparation to fire, the Mandalorian punched the controls on his jet pack. The armored man hurtled into the sky, easily clearing the TIE fighter and then shooting his grappling line at the back of the ship. 

Gideon took off with him in tow and Karga laughed incredulously, "you've got to be kidding me! That was your plan? Mando, you're a maniac!" He then grabbed onto the cooled lava wall that rose on the right side of the boat, fumbling his way up onto the relatively-sturdy riverbank with a muffled grunt of exertion. "Alright trooper, you're next." The older man said, extending a hand to help haul Cara out of the boat.

She too managed to get to solid ground, and she carefully sat the bundled child down for a moment before turning back to you. Cara held out her hand and Greef held out his. "C'mon rookie, get up here." She said with a tired grin. "We need good seats to watch your Mandalorian work his magic, right?" 

Your laugh caught in your throat, almost a sob, and you reached to clasp their hands. But then your breathing abruptly hitched as, in reply to the first tugs of the two individuals above you, the wound on your side made itself felt with a vengeance. You panted, half-blinded by the sudden pain and knowing that you had gone full dead-weight.

"Use your legs rookie, c'mon!" Cara complained, planting herself and slapping her other hand closed around your upper arm to help her leverage. You gritted your teeth and forced your body to cooperate in a last ditch effort to get you up onto the river banking. Despite that, you were still all but dragged the rest of the way, Dune and Karga barely managing to muscle you to safety. "Look at him go!" Cara exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the sky.

As you tipped your head back to watch the TIE fighter skitter and weave through the air, the ground suddenly felt like it was tilting under your feet. Your ears started to ring and your knees trembled unsteadily, threatening to give out beneath you any second now while the static at the edges of your vision that you had been keeping at bay crept steadily in from the sides. 

You clumsily took hold of Karga's shoulder, the older man giving you a confused look. "I...I don't feel so good." You stammered.

Cara turned to you, her mouth moving and her expression changing to one of concern, but you couldn't hear her at all over the ringing in your ears.

She grabbed your cloak, yanking it up off your body as you sagged against Greef. "Sorry," you breathed, knowing that she must have spotted the blaster wound on your side. Your own voice sounded so loud to you. Your bloodied fingers found her gorget, floundering desperately for a handhold. "Take care...of the k-kid-" you whispered, all of your adrenaline finally spent. 

You had been running on fumes for the last few minutes. You weren't sure how much blood you had lost, all you knew is that you had been bleeding since getting clipped on the battlefield. It hadn't hurt when you were moving or distracted, the urgency of your situation enabling you to draw on your body's ability to push through the predicament. But now, it seemed that your luck had run out.

Your eyes felt too heavy. You needed sleep. How long had it been since you rested? You deserved a rest. A rest sounded phenomenal.

"...shot, give--osi'kyr, let me see them!" That was the Mandalorian. He sounded terrified. You couldn't remember ever hearing his voice crack like that. What was wrong? When had he landed again? What happened to Gideon?

"S'wrong?" You slurred. You appeared to be laying down. Possibly. Up and down were a little confused at the moment. 

"Focus on me, please, you have to stay awake-" He sounded so sad.

"Going into shock--must have been when-" Cara's voice was faint and wavering, as if she was underwater. 

"Sweetheart, cyar'ika, please, please--" His helmet pressed to your forehead and you heard his breath rattle. No, that couldn't be right, the bacta spray should have fixed that. Was it your breathing that sounded that bad?

You dimly felt dried blood flaking off of your hands as you moved your fingers. "Want to sleep. S'dark." You mumbled.

"Don't you dare!" His modulated voice cut through the gray haze rudely, too loud and bright. "You're not going to sleep!"

"F-five minutes." You bargained, grimacing when his helmet banged into your forehead.

"You stay awake, you hear me?! I'm not letting you do this! Not after everything we've been through!"

"Never even...got to…" Your head felt as if it was stuffed with clouds, words trickling out of your brain and vanishing like water in the sand. "'Pologize…" He had your hand in his own now, leather rubbing feverishly over your knuckles. "Got so mad…"

"You're not the one who needed to apologize, dammit. I...I shouldn't have tried to leave you behind." His voice broke. "I-I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I-" Blood was roaring in your ears, drowning out anything else the armored man might be saying. Your fingers were going numb. Flickers of conversation reached you, battling against the roar.

"-them still, Karga, he's got to close this, stop the bleeding--"

"-idea, but make sure it holds until we get back to town--"

"I love you, I'm so sorry, this will hurt--" 

Pain stabbed through your body, startling a ragged exhale out of you. Something was burning. It smelled disgusting and you retched without meaning to, bile foaming at your lips. You wondered absently if that was the smell he had been talking about when he had been poisoned, death-rot...

Metal was pressing against your forehead and a blinding heat seared at the wound on your side, the two sensations warring for your attention. Vomit surged up your throat, making you gag again.

This is it, you realized vaguely. This is how I die. Huh. The notion was not nearly as repulsive as you had expected. Dying sounded halfway appealing. You could rest then. 

"Stay awake, please stay awake-"

"M' here. M'wake." You assured whoever it was, your hand weakly patting at theirs. "So tired...can I sleep soon? Pl-ease?"

"Not now, not now, you h-have to stay awake." His voice was trembling. "The kid needs you, dammit."

"Need you to--to take the kid and run." You urged, confidently stating, "I'll hol' 'em off so y' can escape. They're comin' in warm an' I'm comin' in cold." You struggled to grab your blaster, but your arms refused to cooperate. "Did y' turn up the gravity? Can't...can't move…hurts..." The tears wouldn't stop rolling down your cheeks in a torrent. You weren't even sure why you were crying.

"Stay awake. Just like on Sorgan. All I need is a f-few more minutes, okay? Remember?" Your body tilted crazily, someone's arms fumbling beneath your shoulders and knees to hoist you off the ground.

"Mm, I can do that. Do whatever y' want." You mumbled. The darkness closed in around you, a sweltering maw that slowly drew you deeper and deeper into its grasp. "It's...it's so dark. M' scared." You admitted, your numbed fingers petting the hand that rested on your arm.

"I'm right here with you." He assured. "I'm not going anywhere. Sing that song, please? The one you sing to the kid. The...the lullaby."

Your brow furrowed with effort and you opened your mouth, your voice faint and pitchy in the blackness. "Stars fading, but I linger on...dear...still craving…" 

The words wouldn't stick. Your brain was drawing a blank. Why couldn't you remember the words?

You fell asleep.

...

You dreamed of wind whipping your face, steam that hissed and boiled on the lava flats, droplets trickling down from underneath a proud helmet to gather at the edge of his chin and drip onto your tunic.

You dreamed of drowning, thick liquid sliding over your head, enveloping you in its fetid grasp before your consciousness faded back out. 

You dreamed of a mudhorn in beskar, the shimmering silver-clad beast guiding you through the black.

Eventually you spiraled downwards into a deeper sleep, and finally you dreamed of nothing at all.

Interlude

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 6- I’m Awake, I’m Alive

Most of that day is spent keeping herself busy and distracted with various things; reading, sketching, scrolling through YouTube and hoping to find something entertaining. Even over the course of several hours, her message to the unknown number has yet to be answered, but she never really expected it to be. And there’s always the chance that it wasn’t ever meant for her; perhaps they were trying to reach another Y\n. 

It would be a big coincidence, but not one totally unbelievable. More likely than not though, it’s just some kid pulling a cheap prank. And she chooses to chalk it up to that exact thing. At around four-thirty in the evening, she decides to go downstairs and find something to eat, while also conversing a bit with her grandparents in an attempt to get rid of some of the unseen tension between the three of them. 

The news that Darcy and Marvin were murdered and that her cousin is missing, likely dead and decaying in the woods somewhere, is still sinking in, and she assumes it will for quite a while yet. Something like that can’t just be brushed aside as if it’s completely meaningless, or at least, that’s what Y\n thought. But her careless father managed to do it. Impressive or just incredibly cold-hearted? A little bit of both, in her opinion.

She sees her grandmother in the kitchen, pulling a pan of something out of the oven, its sweet, enticing aroma traveling through the air and drifting up to her nose, therefore drawing her interest. She catches herself wandering into the room, recognizing the scent slightly though not wanting to outright assume anything. Nana turns, noticing Y\n’s abrupt appearance and looking almost surprised as she pulls the oven mitt off of her hand.

“Hi, dear,” she says, keeping her voice mellow and pointing at the stovetop. “I made cookies.” Ah, cookies. The first thing that’s sounded appetizing since breakfast, and that’s been hours ago. Her stomach rumbles mildly from within the confines of her torso, and only now does she realize how hungry that she’s quickly starting to become. Perhaps a couple of cookies can ease that for a bit longer until she feels like eating something more filling.

“Oh.” She steps closer to get a better view, tilting her head to the side curiously. “What kind?”

“Oatmeal chocolate chip. Your old favorite, remember?” Recalling the distant memories of her childhood self stuffing her face with the delightful treat without a care in the world makes her want to laugh, despite the constant nagging in her gut and the aching in her chest. God, I was so naive.

“Yeah, I remember,” she replies, a ghost of a smile sweeping over her face for the briefest of moments before being replaced by an eager expression as she takes another whiff of the cookies. “They smell so good.” Nana releases a small chuckle and shakes her head.

“I’m glad. Dig in, I made them especially for you.”

“Ah, you didn’t have to do that.” She meets the woman’s gaze with a sincere one of her own, knowing in the back of her mind that she only made them to act as a sort of comfort food for Y\n, and though she’s greatly appreciative, the idea of being pitied doesn’t sit well with her. Still, she won’t say anything about it. Nana did it solely out of compassion and love for her, and she isn’t going to reject that.

“Of course I did.” Her hand finds its way to the girl’s shoulder and squeezes it affectionately. “You’re only here for a few weeks. I have to make sure you know how much we love you.” 

“I already do know, Nana.” Her voice is uncharacteristically soft as she looks to Farrah, touched at what the lady’s saying and trying to figure out how her father could have straight-up abandoned her without blinking an eye. “I don’t need cookies just to realize that.”

“Come here, baby,” she says, reaching her arms out and wrapping them around Y\n’s b\s frame in a gentle, caring embrace. The h\c leans into her, snaking her own arms around her but squeezing a bit more softly, relishing in the warmth of her grandmother’s hug. She knows that this is a temporary comfort; once her parents come back and she leaves, she likely won’t be returning until after she’s eighteen. That’s too long for her to wait. What if something terrible happens while she’s gone, like what took place at her cousin’s house just a couple of years ago?

She wouldn’t know how to react. Every emblem of love that’s left within her family can be found here, in this quaint household, and she isn’t ready to lose that. Especially since she only just rediscovered it. Nuzzling her face in the nook between Nana’a shoulder and neck, she squeezes her eyes shut and savors this feeling, fighting the tears threatening to form. She won’t cry and worry her; she has enough stress surrounding her as it is. The last thing Y\n wants is to be the cause of stress, for both of her grandparents.

A minute passes and Nana leisurely pulls away, grabbing a paper plate and napkin from off the counter and handing it to Y\n. At first, she thinks that maybe the napkin’s to wipe away tears that, unbeknownst to her, are slipping down her cheeks, though after she’s flashed with a sweet smile and Nana nods toward the tray of cookies, she realizes what it’s for and takes both from her hold. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, dear.” Y\n carefully picks up two of the cookies from the pan, being extra cautious so she doesn’t get burnt, and places them on the paper surface in her hand. She then grabs a glass of milk and heads to the living room, seeing Pops sitting in his chair, seemingly content as he watches reruns of Full House on the TV. Nervousness swivels in the depths of her chest, and she eases her way toward the couch, knowing that there’s likely to be a bit of anxiety lingering in the air between them since their conversation this morning. 

Her throat, at this point, feels much better than it had previously, and she’s hopeful that no real damage was done to it during her unnerving, confusing spell of agony earlier. By tomorrow, maybe she’ll be able to talk in her regular voice without having the slightest twinge of pain in the back. She sets her glass on the coffee table, pretending not to notice the way her grandpa side-eyes her every few seconds, as if apprehensive about something. 

Her eyes travel to look at the TV screen, trying to seem more interested in the show currently playing than she really is, until she can’t handle the pressure on her shoulders to just say something, break the ice in some way. Meeting his eyes timidly, she finally speaks, her tone honest. “Pops… I hope you know that I’m not mad at you for anything. I really do appreciate you telling me what happened.”

“Oh darlin’, I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you.” He twists around in his chair slightly to face her. “I know that news like that, especially after having just got here, has to be difficult to comprehend.” She shrugs solemnly as Nana makes her appearance, taking a seat beside her on the couch with her own cookies and milk held in her hands. 

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be fine.” Though her voice is disheartened, her facial expression is earnest as she takes a small bite of her cookie, a wave of nostalgia hitting her as she does so. “It can’t be harder on me than it is you guys. I’m sorry that happened.” She doesn’t see the sorrowful look that her grandparents share with each other before moving their attention on her, once again. 

“We are too, Y\n,” Farrah says, lacking any better words as she pats her back comfortably. Y\n, after another drawn-out silence, wants nothing more than to just find a different subject to talk about so everybody in this house won’t feel so sad. Taking a sip of her milk, she glances at Pops. 

“...So what season is this?” The question is directed at the TV show flashing across the screen, and he answers soon enough. 

“Four.” 

“What episode?”

“Eight, I think.” 

“Ah. So DJ’s going on her ‘crash diet’.” He nods. She remembers aspects of the show quite well, having watched it constantly as a young kid and having a very distinctive crush on Jesse, though she hasn’t seen it in years so she isn’t 100% knowledgeable on everything about it. Episode 8 was fairly popular, though, so she’s able to recall certain details about it that she can’t about others. She doesn’t leave the living room again for another four and a half hours, using this time to visit with them and enjoying their enlightening company. 

She can feel her eyelids start to droop as the sun begins its slow descent behind the trees, the bright silver moon replacing its glorious rays of light with something more gentle but just as majestic, soon accompanied by thousands of glimmering stars that pepper themselves all in the sky. Glancing out through the window to her right, she’s able to see a fluffy, white, and grey lump sitting on a chair outside and grooming itself, and she stands, going toward the front door to grant him entrance. 

Once it’s open, his head shoots up and he stares at her a moment before hopping down and rubbing against her legs as he walks inside. She reaches down toward him and he briefly stands on his hind legs, bumping his head into her palm in greeting as she shuts the door. “Hey, Marshmallow,” she says, voice quiet. As expected, he soon walks away from her, in search of his food bowl, and she rolls her eyes, and her gaze trails back into the living room. Nana gets to her feet, releasing a yawn and running her fingers through her thin, grey hair. “Are you going to bed?”

“Yes, I am. Phil and I have to get up early and go to the store tomorrow to buy groceries.” Y\n’s lips form an “o” shape as she leans against the doorframe, fiddling with her fingers absentmindedly. “Will you be okay here alone for a little while?” A mildly concerned expression forms across Nana’s face. “Or do you want to come with us?”

Y\n thinks it over a second. She really doesn’t feel like going anywhere, but then again she could help them out and spend quality time with them. But she’d be in public. What if she were to have another coughing fit? Not only would it draw loads of attention, but it would make her grandparents frantic. She definitely doesn’t want that; they’ve got enough to worry about as it is. Not giving herself any more time to consider against staying home, she shakes her head lightly. “N-no, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes ma’am. I’m used to staying home alone anyways.” Nana looks a bit hesitant, though doesn’t further argue the point and instead nods. 

“Alright. If you say so.” She pulls her in for a quick hug, which Y\n eagerly returns. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Call if you need anything.”

“You, too.” She watches as Farrah walks slowly up the stairs, going over what she’s going to preoccupy herself with, both tonight and tomorrow. She doesn’t want to go back to sleep for fear of having another nightmare, this one even more horrendous and bone-chilling than the last one. What’s her mind going to predict next? Marshmallow falling from the roof and dying? Her grandma slipping on mud and breaking her arm? She’s afraid of whatever it will be, which is why she’s decided to stay awake tonight for as long as possible. 

She’s going to go to sleep at some point, whether she likes it or not, that much is inevitable. She just wants to delay that process for as long as possible. After all, how hard can it be? She’s pulled all-nighters before. All she has to do is participate in mind-jogging activities. Nothing relaxing like music, or tea, or reading. Things like sketching, or exercising, or listening to Jacksepticeye and Markiplier play horror games on full volume.

Then again, maybe horror games aren’t the best things to watch in her lowkey paranoid state. Perhaps she should instead watch things like babies falling asleep while eating an ice cream cone, or kittens playing with each other, or memes about the Avengers. Something entertaining and yet energizing at the same time. She turns to go put the cookies away so they won’t get stale sitting out, and as she does so, Pops switches the TV off, rises from his seat, and walks toward her, likely to inform her that he’s following his wife to bed.

"I'm gonna go to bed too, hummingbird." Yup. She thinks as he pats her on the shoulder. "Sweet dreams. Love you."

"Love you, too. Goodnight," she says, watching him walk away and up the stairs after Nana. If only I could actually have sweet dreams. She stretches the plastic wrap over the plate of cookies and begins to walk out of the kitchen, though not before switching the overhead light off and grabbing a stick of string cheese from the fridge to snack on while she finds something to do. Watch TV? Maybe there's something good on. But that may disturb Nana and Pops' sleep, so she decides against it. She takes her phone out of her pocket and scrolls through her Tumblr blog, a small smile stretching across her face each time she reads a supportive comment about her 'amazing' art skills.

She originally logged into Tumblr a couple of years ago, whenever her parents refused to give her constructive criticism, or any criticism at all, in fact, about her paintings, so one day she just gave up and turned to the internet. At the time, most of her friends had Tumblr blogs, so she figured, why not join in? So she began posting artwork that she did, and within a month's time, she had over a thousand followers. Way more than she ever expected to get.

Her last picture was posted on the 21st of June, one week before she was hauled all the way across two different states and dropped off at her grandparents' house without a second thought. Not that she can complain now, though. Her grandparents love her way more than her actual parents do, she's sure of it. And even if she's wrong, it would be nice to hear the words 'I love you' come from their mouths every once in a while. But she supposes she just isn't that lucky.

Marshmallow emerges from the darkened dining room, just having eaten his supper and likely ready for a long, relaxing nap. He hops onto the couch and kneads the cushion with his claws before slinking onto her thighs, curling into a fuzzy ball, and closing his eyes. Her hand finds its way to his head and she strokes softly, able to feel his body vibrate against her legs as he purs in content. She scrolls through notifications, watches YouTube compilations (on low volume as to not wake Nana and Pops), and plays games like Among Us and Agar.io until her phone battery is at 2% and the screen is dimmed to the lowest possible setting by default.

She looks at the time in the top right corner, now finding that it's 12:29 at night. Her charger is all the way upstairs, and to get to it she would have to disturb the resting feline. He's shuffled about and changed positions a couple of times during the past four hours, but has overall slept peacefully. With a defeated sigh, she drops her hand-held device next to her on a pillow and throws her head back, leaning into the couch cushions and staring up at the ceiling. Now that she has nothing to do but sit here in silence, she can't stop the giant wave of thoughts, questions, and concerns from hitting her and boosting her anxieties. 

So many things seemed to have already happened in the mere four days that she's been here, ranging from mild and questionable to utterly fear-inducing or depressing. For starters, the terrible dreams she's been having almost every night? Or the way her latest dream basically predicted what she was going to be told only a day later? How about the random coughing fit, or the way Jack seemed to just disappear out of thin air? All these incidents plus some have her aching to know more, but at the same time, she's scared to know more. She has no clue what's happening. Maybe a bad case of allergies?

Yeah, right. Allergies don't predict the future or make weird men in white masks stare at you from the woods. She feels her eyelids grow heavy once more, though she shakes her head and bumps her temple with the heel of her hand to keep herself from becoming drowsy. You can not afford to go to sleep, right now. Her eyes land on a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling, and she blinks, focusing perhaps a little too hard on it as she tries to see a spider or any other living creature nestled inside, but fails to. 

She studies it for so long that her vision becomes blurry and the only thing she can center her attention on is that same cobweb. Random ideas pop up in her mind, thoughts that would normally be considered strange by individuals who get enough sleep at night, but they're only intriguing to Y\n. How long has the web been there? Did its weaver die? Did it once protect thousands of baby spiders until they hatched? Could she reach up and touch it if she were standing on a piece of furniture? 

Before she can even comprehend it, her eyes are fluttering closed and she's drifting off into an alleviating sleep. At least, she would have been, had her body not jolted awake right beforehand and left her heart beating wildly within her chest from the sudden adrenaline rush she just experienced. Glancing around, she quickly recalls where exactly she is and releases a huff from her nose, raking a hand through her hair. Oh yes, what a classic. Falling from a building and waking up before you hit the ground. How exciting.

Her abrupt movements shake Marshmallow and he, too, wakes from his deep sleep, looking a bit alarmed before letting out a yawn, his white canines on full display for the shortest of moments before he rests his head on his paws, once more. Y\n slides her hands beneath his small body, however, and lifts him up, kissing his cheek preparatory to laying him on a particularly soft-looking pillow on her right. "Sorry, buddy. I've gotta get up before I go to sleep, too."

He shoots her a dissatisfied scowl and curls his tail in front of his eyes as if telling her he doesn't want to even look at her. She turns to head upstairs, albeit quietly, stopping by the bathroom to relieve her screaming bladder on her way to her bedroom. As she steps out from behind the door and turns off the light, though, she catches sight of her father's old room, the door shut for some peculiar reason. They probably just didn't want to be reminded that their once loving son left them behind without a care in the world. 

Knowing she has better things to do than peer into a bit of her joke of a father's childhood, she lets out the tiniest of scoffs and goes to her own room, unable to ease the bit of pain that forms in her chest as she does so. The woman that this room used to belong to is gone. Dead. Out of the picture. This room will always hold a part of her in it. It shows what her personality was like back when she was Y\n's age, and beyond that. It's a sad and difficult revelation to come to, but Y\n bites the inside of her cheek and keeps the tears at bay. She doesn't want to cry, not right now. She just wants to avoid another scare that will take five more years off of her life. How does she do that? She refuses to sleep.

Although, when one doesn't rest for long periods of time, they can suffer hallucinations. Y\n does not want to suffer from hallucinations, but she supposes that at least she would know that they aren't real. They're merely figments of her imagination. Like that masked figure at the edge of the forest. Or the weird buzzing in her head. Heck, maybe Jack isn't even real. How else would he vanish without a trace? Or get black sludge on her face from what was supposed to have been a nosebleed? It's all a bit too baffling for her, so she just chooses to go with the most simple and less mind-boggling explanation; they were hallucinations. Granted, very vivid hallucinations, but hallucinations nonetheless.

It wouldn't be too far of a stretch. She hasn't been getting enough sleep lately, that on top of lacking a social life, her pathetically bad parents, and discovering three of her closest family members are gone would give just about any person mental strain. She grabs her sketchbook from her backpack, considering the blank canvas sitting inside a moment before disregarding the thought. Making some terribly-drawn pictures should keep her busy for a couple of hours more. 

Her stomach rumbles, signifying that it's empty and wants something that will actually fill it up, and as she passes the kitchen after walking back down the stairs, sketchbook, and pencils in hand, her mind wanders. What could she eat that is both appetizing and satisfactory, that wouldn't take forever to make, and that wouldn't cause unnecessary racket? Nothing that she can think of. That string cheese appealed to her just fine. The same clearly can't be said for her stomach. 

Perhaps she just isn't in the mood nor the mindset to care about eating anything else for the time being, but oh well. A bit of hunger never hurt anyone, right? She inwardly curses herself when she realizes that she forgot to grab her phone charger from her room while she was there, and now she'd have to trek all the way back up the stairs just to get it. She does not feel like she has the energy at the moment to do such a thing, but would she rather have a dead phone? What good is that? It isn't like I have people to contact, anymore. Or who contact me.

But what if her parents were to try and get ahold of her about something, but she wasn't available? What if one of them got in a car accident, or their trip got canceled and they were going to be returning tomorrow? Wouldn't she want to be notified of something like that? They're both highly doubtful scenarios, but they're a possibility, if only minor ones. "Agh, fine." She grumbles to herself, laying her things on the coffee table and spinning around to, once again, walk up the staircase that just seems to get longer each time she conquers it, going into her bedroom and being thankful that the lamp sitting on the desk is switched on to provide comforting light. 

She unplugs the cord from the outlet and wraps it messily around her hand, being careful not to get it tangled. Tangled wires are the worst, every modern-era kid would agree. Especially earplugs. Once they're twisted and knotted, it either takes hours of work trying to fix and get them straightened out—valuable time most people don't have to waste—or spend more money buying a new set. Sure, she's never really had a problem with that whole money issue, but it's still frustrating because oftentimes she never has a ride and is forced to walk all the way to the store in order to buy a new pair, either that or wait a week for the ones from Amazon to be delivered. And who wants to do that?

Perceiving the fact that she just had a mental rant solely about tangled earbud wires, she snorts quietly and shakes her head in disbelief. God, I really am going crazy. She's about to head back toward the living room but stops in her tracks and instead averts her gaze outside, to the darkness blanketing the house in an eerie aura. She isn't sure what possesses her to do it in the first place, all she knows is that she leans in closer to the window, her eyes scanning the area as if looking for something. What that 'something' is, she hasn't a clue. 

Just as she's about to give up and look away, she spots it. At the edge of the treeline, shrouded partly by bushes, is some sort of lanky figure. Maybe it looked too much like an actual tree that she easily looked over it the first few times, but now, it's like she can't take her eyes away. A familiar buzzing sound wraps around her mind as she has a one-sided staring contest with this... thing. Or is it really one-sided? She can't make out many details simply because it's too dark, but it looks to be wearing a formal outfit of some kind. Perhaps a suit? Its skin looks white almost, but that could also be the silvery beams from the moon shining down and reflecting off of it in a way that lacks any color. 

Her chest tightens and her breathing quickens as she finally forces herself away, blinking frantically and rubbing at her eyes with her free hand. Another hallucination, that's all it is. There is nothing out there but nature, nothing scary at all. She's fine, she's only imagining it. That's what she repeats in her head, over and over for the next thirty seconds before willing herself to look outside, again, purely out of curiosity. To confirm what she's tried convincing herself.

The droning disappears from her mind, and she's more than relieved when she sees nothing but trees. No boogyman in the bushes, no lanky beast lurking behind the trees and waiting to murder her. It's fine. Rolling her eyes, she exits the room and walks back downstairs, into the living room. Marshmallow is still lying on the pillow, probably asleep by now, and she steps quietly to the couch, fitting the charger into an outlet nearby before plugging the other end into her phone and setting it back on the table. 

She tries to get comfortable, sitting on the soft surface and resting her back against its arm. Her legs stretch out, though not all the way so she doesn't bump the fluffy feline and for the third time that night, disrupt his sleep. The lighting in the room is gentle and soothing, but still helpful, and it allows her to see the sketchpad propped in her hands and resting against her slightly bent legs fairly well. She takes a 6B pencil and begins tracing dainty lines across the paper, forming a mental image of what she wants to draw and slowly bringing it to life. 

The hours pass by expeditiously as she creates one drawing after another, not particularly satisfied with any of them but just content that she found something to both keep her awake and entertained. Though try as she might, she just can't keep the drowsiness at bay for more than a few minutes at a time. She could make coffee. That has loads of caffeine. Caffeine keeps people awake, right? But she doesn't ever remember seeing either of her grandparents drinking it. Odd. Most of her old friends' grandparents and parents alike drank coffee all the time, for either work or just out of habit. Isn't coffee a known drink for older people?

Maybe Nana and Pops just don't like it. She supposes it is quite an acquired taste; she's tried it on multiple occasions and it wasn't exactly satisfactory, but it had a strong flavor. That's what she needs. But if her grandparents don't drink it, what can she get? Tea? No, people drink that specifically to relax. She wants to be anything but relaxed. Her breathing and heart rate slows steadily, and she loses her train of thought. Soda. Soda could work. It's tasty and it hypes you up, which is exactly what she desires. 

She mentally screams at her body to get up, to move, but it seems to be too exhausted to do any such thing, much to her displeasure. Each time her eyes begin to close, she pries them open, again, and tries to concentrate fully on the drawing half-done in her hands. But alas, her decreased energy level and the lulling thought of rest wins the battle, and despite all her greatest efforts, her fingers become limp, she slides farther down into the couch and drifts off to sleep. 

～

The first thing she notices is the smell. The rancid, horrid smell of something rotting. A smell that she recognizes all too well. The area surrounding her is dark, and she has to blindly walk around and hope that she doesn't bump into or trip over anything. A familiar fear sinks into her chest as she tries to be as quiet as possible. Drawing the attention of some hungry cryptid wouldn't be a very wise thing to do, after all. 

Her body shakes mildly in apprehension, and she glances around desperately, eager to see something, anything, that could tell her where on earth she's currently standing. Or is she even on earth anymore? Is she on another planet, or been teleported to a whole different dimension? The possibilities seem endless, much like the questions swarming her mind, as she treks forward, cautiously. The gloom around her gradually lessens, and at last, she can make some form of sense from everything. This place. She knows this place. This is her aunt's and uncle's house. 

It's the same as she remembers, save for the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and the knocked-over flower pots scattered along the floor. Aimlessly, she wanders through the household, looking for any sign of life that may possibly still reside here. The smell gets worse the farther she goes, and suddenly, she shivers. It's getting chilly. Cold is often an indication of death, not life. She turns, looking into the ominously dark hallway before her and hesitating. Does she want to go?

No, she doesn't. She wants to leave. Nobody's here, so she shouldn't be, either. But an invisible force pushes her forward, and slowly, she starts walking. Deeper into the dreadfully sinister corridor, the smell getting stronger and more repulsive, so much so that she's forced to cover her nose just to stop herself from gagging. Her feet get stopped by something lying in the middle of the floor, and she places a hand on the wall so she doesn't fall. 

She squints her eyes at the ground, trying to see the object, and eventually just bends over and grabs it. This is no ordinary object. It's her uncle Marvin's javelin. The so-called 'murder weapon'. She stares down at it, ignoring the foreboding fog gripping at her feet. It's slippery. Why is it slippery? 

A shriek of what she can only describe as agony erupts from the room at the end of the hall, the end that she finds herself too close to for her liking. The door is closed, obstructing her view from the inside, then again that may be a good thing. Subconsciously, she grips the javelin, suddenly not caring what's on it and why it's slippery. If anything comes barreling through that door at least she has something to stab it with. 

She backs away anxiously, her breathing increasing as her eyes never leave the closed entrance. Her hands shake and her footsteps are uncoordinated, but she doesn't really mind it, just as long as she's able to escape before whatever happened to that person inside the room happens to her. 

She bumps into something hard, and squeaks from alarm, twisting around, ready to attack. Though she only gasps when she sees a wall. No, surely not... it's impossible. But if it isn't... 

Her eyes avert around, looking for another door, but all of them have disappeared. It's like whatever force surrounds her wants her trapped. All of her exits are gone. She has no escape, and she tries to blink away the distressed tears, gripping onto the javelin even tighter than before. Only now does she realize that the door from the end of the hallway has gotten closer, so close in fact, that she could take two steps and she'd be able to touch it. 

Trepidation masks all of her previously sensible thoughts and a whimper escapes from between her lips as she wills herself to do it. Just do it and it'll be over. She'll know what lies behind the door. But at the expense of her life? It doesn't look like she has another choice. 

Reluctantly, she reaches out and twists the knob, and to her dismay, the door creaks open. It's silent from the other side, meaning that whoever it was screaming before has been silenced. Likely by death, as that seems to be the only reasonable explanation. But maybe it's a prank?

She steps through, muscles tensed and weapon at the ready. Empty. The room is empty, with only a window allowing the moonlight to shine through and spill onto the floor. A crash from behind her, and she looks back, eyes widening when she sees the door slammed shut. Oh well, she could always go through the window. The real question is, who closed it? Another shiver wracks her body, and a whiff of that same powerful odor near about makes her throw up.

A loud static courses through her mind as she twists back around, not trying to hold back the tears that fall from her eyes once she notices two motionless bodies lying in the moonlight. They most certainly weren't there a second ago. Neither was all of the blood. Two large pools of it, beneath their mangled corpses, where they were mercilessly stabbed. But with what? A strangled sob climbs its way up her throat, and she drops the javelin, letting it clatter to the floor. 

Blood is all over her hands. It's all over the javelin. There's no doubt in her mind where it came from. But if she has the murder weapon, where is the murderer? She turns on her heel, grabbing at the doorknob, trying to twist it open, but her hands are too wet. They slide down it each time. 

"Let me out!" Her voice seems more voluminous than it would usually be, but she suddenly doesn't care who hears her, anymore. She just wants away. Out of this nightmare. Can't it just end already? The static grows stronger, more painful, and she takes to beating on the wooden portal, kicking it as hard as she can. Maybe it will rot away. Maybe she can escape. "Please!"

The desperation is thick in her horrified tone, and she musters up all of her strength, taking in a breath and slamming into it. To her relief, it snaps and she falls to the floor. Finally, she reached the other side. Finally, she can escape. A cold wind blows through her hair and she takes notice of the grass beneath her trembling frame. Grass? Wasn't she just in a house?

Trees. Endless trees surround her, their branches seeming like wicked beasts in the shrill moonlight and the shadows hovering around. There's one right in front of her, a large one. There's something carved into its trunk. She crawls forward a few inches in an effort to see what it is. A message maybe? It looks like a messily-crafted circle with an oversize 'X' in its center. What does that even mean? She almost wants to think that she's seen it, before, but she can't figure out where. 

"I control you..." A whisper rides the wind and meets her ears, giving her goosebumps as she shakily stands to her feet. 

"Who are you!?" she screams, wanting more than anything to know who is causing this torment. 

"Where I go..."

"What do you want from me!?" Her voice cracks, and she looks around frantically for the source of the disembodied voice.

"...you will follow..."

～

Her eyes shoot open and her head turns to the side, trying to remember where she is currently as she attempts to slow her shaky, shallow breaths. The living room. She’s in the living room. Not her aunt’s house. She isn’t trapped, there are no dead bodies, no javelins. She’s safe. Tears well up in her eyes and she sniffs, looking back to the sketch pad still in her hands and being quite alarmed at what she sees. In the center of the page, drawn in dark grey and scribbled carelessly, or hurriedly, is a circle and an ‘X’ that’s placed inside, its limbs elongated and escaping out of the confines of the circle. It obscures her unfinished sketch beneath, making it look more like a background than an actual drawing. 

She switches her attention down to her dominant hand, fingers clenched painfully around her pencil, as if she had just been gripping it for dear life, and releases her hold, letting it drop to her lap as she leisurely sits up and tries to gain control of her rapid heart rate. It was just another dream. 

A low, threatening sound reaches her ears, and her eyes shift up toward the opposite end of the couch, instantly growing confused when she sees Marshmallow, ears folded back in aggression and tail swishing around as he stares at her warily. She furrows her eyebrows, wanting to reassure him that everything’s okay, and leans forward, reaching her hand out to him cautiously. “Hey, boy, i-it’s okay. Don’t be scared—” She’s cut off when he suddenly swipes at her hand, claws drawn, and slices through her skin, sending a burst of pain through her nerves. 

She winces and yanks her arm back, examining the damage and seeing three vertical lines traveling the length of the back of her hand, blood quickly coming to the surface and making them much more noticeable. This seems to be the thing to drive her over the edge because she lets out a broken squeak as nausea starts to make its presence known.

She feels the abrupt urge to throw up, and tosses her sketchpad and pencil to the side, standing to her feet and hurrying to the nearest bathroom, the one on the first floor of the household. Her stomach swirls uncomfortably and makes her go even faster, not wanting to soak the floor in vomit, until she reaches the said bathroom, only bothering to switch on the light before collapsing in front of the toilet, pushing the seat up, and craning her neck forward.

With one hand, she pulls her hair back, and the other she grips the porcelain, hold tightening automatically as her stomach convulses, sending bile to the back of her throat. This alone makes her gag and forces the hot substance out of her mouth, where it lands in the toilet and makes a small splash. The odor finds its way up her nose and makes her gag once more as acid and half-processed food gets torn from her mouth, chunks of cookie, cheese, and bacon floating in the now discolored water, amongst the puke.

She takes deep, consoling breaths, trying to brace herself for another wave of inevitable retching as her fingers squeeze the toilet bowl, so hard her knuckles turn white. As expected, her stomach contracts, however this time the only thing that comes out is more acid and bloody mucus, much to her displeasure. She continues her aching process of heaving up nothing, strained tears slipping down her cheeks and dropping into the water mere inches away from her face at this point, until finally, her body has all the exertion it can take, and it gives out, allowing her to collect her bearings.

She gasps for breath and releases the toilet, leaning her back against the wall and zoning out as she stares at the floor. Her hands shake uncontrollably, and she swipes at her mouth in an effort to get rid of the sticky liquid residing on her lips, before letting out a sob and tucking her knees into her chest. Burying her face in her arms, she muffles her cries and whimpers pathetically. What the heck is going on? What’s wrong with me…?

[ziracona]

Hi! I just realised I havn't popped in in awhile. Do you have any headcanons u feel like sharing about the newer survivors?? (I love them all, they're so cool but I think imma have to say cheryl is my bby gurl. she's tired. let her rest.) also. i am. going insane. from a toothache :) - Sleepy

Hey! Hope your tooth pain clears up! I’m so sorry—that’s one of the worst. : /

Hmmm, I do, but I’m trying to think of ones I haven’t said in asks before. 😬 Unfortunately my memory of fictional characters is great, and my memory of what I said in asks is shitty. :’-]

I don’t know the newer survivors—except Nancy and Steve—as well as I do the older ones, because I’ve never written them, and I haven’t played Silent Hill. I like Zarina, Yui, and Cheryl a lot though. Poor fkn Cheryl can join Quentin in the “Please God, just one good day?” Existence. Rip to them both. 😭

Poor kid gets out of hell once, and ya throw her back in. :’-]

Let’s see—headcanon I am fairly sure I haven’t already shared. I think Yui and Min would get along really well, and Jane and Zarina would too.

Yui hates the serial killers especially, from her own personal experience, and goes to bat hard against them every time.

Ash flirts with everyone to a point it’s even more than Ace does, and for a while it becomes a competition between them to see who can flirt more and better than the other (not in a shitty way—everybody knows they have the competition going on and it’s more a ‘I can act better than you’ than a ‘I can win more hearts’ one.) Ace is declared the winner in class, Ash the winner in sheer quantity he’s able to churn out, and they agree to call it a semi-draw. It’s actually a really fun week for everyone, because they’re all constantly being complemented and flirted with in a way they know is performative and seeks 0 real actions from them in return, so essentially they are just showererd with ‘drunk girl in a bar bathroom’ levels of praise for seven days.

Felix and Nancy are the only two with significant others waiting back home, and they bond over talking about their wife/boyfriend and sharing stories and having someone around who understands that specific brand of pain and can encourage them that they’ll make it back home.

Tapp is a dad, so he gives Felix a lot of advice on stuff since he was an expecting father. Not so much “do this” advice, since his relationship with his family didn’t go so well, and he feels like he’s in absolutely no position to teach—more like “It’s okay. Women have been giving birth for thousands of years. She’s gonna make it just fine even if you’re not home yet, and you’ll get back to them. And I’m gonna teach you some of the tricks so you’ll be ready when you do. You can even surprise her by already knowing how to change a diaper and warm a formula bottle. I’ll show you how to do it,” and talking him through some of the stuff he would have been able to learn from infant care books. It’s sweet, but Tapp almost dies when Jane says its “Very heartwarming” and teases him, so they cut him some slack. Felix is really appreciative. Laurie has taken care of a ton of kids, and gives him some advice too, and so does Nancy, who had two younger siblings.

Steve is a disaster who suffers from “I like you and you are a girl, so *pigeon meme* Is this falling in love?” syndrome. Gets shot down hard by Laurie, who is ridiculously pissed at him for bringing it up during a trial when their lives are on the line, but after he gets over being super awkward around her, and she reaches out to be like, ‘Look, dumbass, why did you even like me?’ And he’s like ‘...because you’re, uh, really cool? A-and pretty? And...’ and eventually she’s like ‘Buddy, you don’t even really know me. You’re just lonely. You’re not in love with me, you just want to be, because you want to be in love with somebody, and that’s not gonna cut it, for me, or anyone. Be in love with a person—not with the concept of being in love. And for that to happen, you have to know them first.” And since Steve is good af self-improvement, he realizes she’s got a real point, and tries to find his worth outside of needing a girlfriend, and becomes both a lot happier, and one of Laurie’s closer friends. (Side note—this extends probably only to my initial Steve ideas. I had the idea batted around that in that universe, Stranger Things /is/ an existing show, but it’s based on a mix of urban legend and history from the 80s, and Nancy and Steve are the version from the actual 80s, and I think in that pitch Steve is dating Barb, who is still alive, and already worked through this specific issue, because many things happened differently for wild comedic ‘But in the show’ effect, becuase both them repeatedly going “WELL REALITY WAS A LITTLE DIFFERENT” when like, monster hunting shit from the show won’t work on the Demogorgan, and *Spit take* “THEY HAD ME HIT ON ROBIN?” “Ewwww” “YEAH ewww! She’s basically my lesbian little sister! We’ve been best friends since grade school! What the fuck :’-]” make for amazing joke potential. )

Cheryl starts having nightmares where she sees things from the Entity’s eyes she was never meant to see, and finding out dangerous amounts of information this way. The Entity decides at some point this is too big a threat, but because it’s proud, it doesn’t want to just kill her, as that would be admitting a human is a threat, so it starts having killers gun for her mercilessly to try to get her to give up, and the poor girl is in agony.

Zarina documents stuff form the realm constantly, and has a careful scrapbook collection of all notes and paraphernalia from past survivors. She also keeps conspiracy pages tacked together trying to figure out who they were becuase they deserve at least the justice of people somehow knowing how they died and what they went through. Laurie is a big help with this, and so is Claudette, who has been keeping stuff for a long time.

Yui is very no-nonsense, and protective. She gives off strong big sister vibes. She especially also loves board games/puzzles/other games like Shogi or Go and such, and Dwight and Adam create game pieces for her to play Go with when she mentions how much she used to like that kind of thing, and Yui is incredibly touched, and makes several other ones for people to play with too, and it becomes a very enjoyed pastime between trials. It’s engaging and competitive, but much more relaxed and low energy than sports or training or going for a run, so it’s a great alternative. Meg gets super into making puzzles, and all the artists do too, and take turns painting pictures on boards, cutting them into puzzle pieces with extreme painstakingly slow care, and then doing puzzles together. Jake is invaluable in the actual cutting pieces out area, but actually enjoys to do it.

Felix knows a lot more than anyone else about the Entity when he’s taken, so he spends a bunch of time with the research team trying to recall whatever he can from his childhood and sharing any information he has, then just stays on it because he wants to. He’s desperate to meet Benedict Baker someday himself, becuase that man seems to get around, and he really wants to know what happend to his father.

Everyone becomes protective as fuck of Cheryl when the Entity starts targeting her, and someone—I think Kate and or Meg—probably both together—as a one-off joke call themselves her knights at some point, becuase they’re running such dedicated protection detail, but it becomes a whole thing, and several more start to do it. They’ll like ‘fist clasped arm across chest at attention, quick bow’ when they see her, and it’s goofy as fuck, but it helps a lot making Cheryl’s reality more bearable. Plus, it’s really sweet. Nea gets in on this and comes back one day with a little daisy chain she made cause she was bored, sees Cheryl, it clicks, runs over and offers it as a ‘favor’. Zarina sees and comes back later that day from a trial and kneels and presents Cheryl with a rescued toolbox with a brand new part. This becomes increasingly common and extravagant, and Cheryl /cannot/ deal, but it’s like, genius, becuase it takes exactly this level of surreal goofy friend bullshit to distract from the hell she is living. She ends up just regularly having someone come back from a trial or trip to the woods, salute with an arm across their chest, bow, and present her with anything from a pinecone or pretty rock, to flowers or a medkit, to a salt statue or key, to a painting or hand made bracelet, to a makeshift weapon or a pillow. Everyone always tries to outdo each other, so the gifts tend to be extravagant. Zarina considers herself Cheryl’s righthand woman/personal knight by chocie, because she wanted a cause to fight for and has found one she truly loves, and she makes Cheryl her favorite gift so far, coming up to her at the end of a long day, after a very bad trial where Cheryl was mercilessly and slowly killed by the Pig, kneeling, and offering a thick shard of stained glass from the chapel, made sturdy and held in place with a few chunks of soldered and wrapped iron along the blade and down the grip, forming a razor sharp and reinforced stained glass knife.

[tactyl-ymon]

DnD session recap - Acceptance and Agony

So we left off after a very emotional moment between Sutha and Eridol where she realised he couldn't be what she needed at the moment and then Veiraen hugged Eridol and Eridol hugged him back for the first time since they’ve known each other

After some light preparations, the group sets off with Eridol's cleric mentor Bradul and they're still very busted carriage towards the holy city of Varildesh, with the carriage all busted it'll take about 4-5 days travel with a quick stop over in a nearby town

The first few hours go smoothly despite everyone being on guard the whole time and them all slam dunking Eridol into the cushions in the back because tiny baby man's been through a lot and he needs a nap. After sunset, he's joined in the back by Septima, Donnatello our new barbarian and Whisky

Not wanting to be rude, Eridol starts a conversation with Whisky in gnomish because he knows she speaks it, he tiredly asks what actually happened with Sutha and after several half truths and abysmal deception checks he realises Donnatello also speaks gnomish and Septima cast comprehend languages so now everyone can hear what's going on. someone just says "Well why don't you just message Sutha if you trust her so much"

And he does.

“Sutha, you said you nearly killed my ... companions, I need to know what happened. They're being obtuse.” And after several tense minutes, the magic flares to life and in him mind he hears “They questioned whether or not I would want you to come back for me. They refused to leave me be after 2 warnings. I'm sorry”

so Eridol rightfully furious that they'd say that but also understanding that he was still technically in the wrong for leaving decides to drop the subject. Septima had goodish intentions despite his complete lack of social awareness and Whisky straight up thought she was asking a friendly question because she believes that everyone wants to be her friend all the time

So he moves on and asks whisky about how he noticed she seemed a bit distracted during their last fight with the hydras and she didn't seem to want to go near the water, she mentions a very bad history with water and asks if Eridol remembers the last time they were in the water and because he was very drunk and just got a lifetime of trauma back absolutely doesn't remember

She mentions being on the beach after the dragon fight and having to swim back and her nearly drowning and Eridol saving her. Eridol feels very bad about nearly letting her drown and begins rummaging through his bag for some potions of waterbreathing he's got and gives them to her. All in all a very nice moment between them

It's just then that everyone can begin this very faint buzz in the air, slowly getting closer and closer along with the sound of old rusted carriage wheels, the buzzing whine getting louder and louder every second until it's deafening and not wanting to get caught in whatever this is unaware, Eridol orders everyone out of the cart as a precaution. In their haste, everyone fails dex checks and tumbles into SWARMS OF BEES

like tens of thousands of bees

we see a small procession of carts coming our way, each with several old timey bee keepers and many a swarm

Eridol having a general dislike of bees and knowing that he just got stung a good 70 times in an instant decides thats enough of that and moves off to the side of the road and casts spirit guardians so it'll encompase our cart and horses and still leave enough room for the carts to get by

Weirdly the beekeepers are not exactly happy about Eridol killing thousands upon thousands of bees and begin shouting at him to turn whatever this is off, he refuses because one round in that took of a third of his health and he has people to protect. It's on the third cart that one of them pipes up and politely asks if he can remove the spell, he politely declines because his people are a priority for him and he does apologise. Suddenly the beekeeper casts a spell and everyone gets encompassed in a tight dome of earth and rock.

Eridol drops the spell because hey safety is safety and he isn't cruel

A good 10 minutes later the spell drops and everyone gets back on their way, slightly swollen and pincushiony. a few hours later they see slight firelight up ahead and what sounds like muffled discussions, with Septima's god like perception he can see it's 4 eladrin ladies discussion things and the group all being tired and weary decide to try and see if they could pursuade the eladrin to let them stay at their camp for the night and wanting to make a good first impression decide someone should go talk to them first. But who would be the most innocent and unassuming of them all I wonder?

Eridol gets yeeted out of the cart with veiraen being shadow backup in the woods in case anything happens and Eridol begins walking slowly and unarmedly up the road towards them. Casting light on himself so they can definitely see him coming. After a ... rocky introduction where one of them got spooked and accidentally shot their crossbow at the tiny man. Septima and Whisky do a septima and whisky and begin yelling innapropriate questions from the darkness, with Whisky asking what booze they have and Septima just answering their questions because the man has observant and is a terrible person

Then after confirming that we mean them no harm and could help with securing the camp because of our numbers We get given the ok to come forward and Veiraen just skulks out of the bush behind them which gets Eridol nearly shot again

The eladrin introduce themselves as Summer, Spring, WInter and Fall and say they often travel to the material plane to discuss which season is best and ask the group their opinions. Septima says spring because nature boy go woo, Whisky says winter because she loves just stretching out in front of a cozy fire on cold nights, Eridol says summer because Falthresh being entirely a western hemisphere country tends to have wonderful sunsets and Veiraen was too busy looking for trinkets to answer

Most of the group goes off with the eladrin to drink and swap stories and be merry with Eridol and Septima taking watches in the camp itself and the surrounding forest.

After Eridols shift, nobody really comes to relieve him and he basically just nods off from exhaustion and then the dream happens

Eridol finds himself alone in a grey foggy void, the faint whislte of wind the only thing outside of his breathing and the blood thrumming in his ears. Armor and weapons as new as the day he got them and he begins to feel a burning on his right side, as blindingly painful as when the brand was first applied and tar like ooze begins cascading out of his side. Every beat of his heart causing more and more to flow out into the void

As Eridol is left close to vomiting and doubled over the goo begins to take form and Eridol begins to fear the worst that this is Bane himself and Eridol will never see his friends again

The goo crawls up itself into an imperfect mirror of the gnome, with crazed anger filled eyes and clawed hands balled into fists but otherwise it mirrored every twitch and heave of breath and I have to roll initiative to fight myself

Eridol's first thought is of course violence and both Eridol and Miradol cast spirit guardians at the same time as they rush into melee, each taking blow after shattering blow and Eridol coming out slightly worse each time.

Then he tries to get rid of it, both casting Banishment on their worse half. Then he tries to cast silence on it, his mirror self doing the same and in the silence they each drop their hammers and continue trading blows, Eridol swaying and practically dead on his feet as the pantomime boxers become more and more exhausted.

Eridol stops and breathes. dropping silence and trying to open up his connection to tyr, casting channel divinity, not to fight, not to win, but just to forgive, to understand and to find balance and Tyr responds, not a booming voice or a solitary judgmental eye but a feeling like a calming whisper and Eridol looks at his counterpart, nearly as dead as he is, but still standing defiantly almost goading him into another attack

Eridol breathes and casts healing word on his other self and begins apologising to the embodiment of all his negative emotions. “I have hurt so many people trying to deny what you represent, I let this fester and rot and I can’t let that happen anymore. I have so much to rightly be angry over, but anger alone isn’t what needs to happen anymore. So, together then, hopefully in balance, to serve Tyr and protect those who need it" and it fades away. Eridol is left in the empty expanse. A single blue light flickering in the distance like the first rays of dawn as it grows warmer and brighter until it is almost blinding and Eridol accepts it

He wakes up before dawn, to a very worried Veiraen holding a damp cloth to his forehead, pain everywhere and a small lightness in his chest that wasn't there previously. Like it's almost slightly easier to breathe all of a sudden. He asks Veiraen if he can help him get out of his armor and he checks the brand on his side, still there as it always was unfortunately.

He gets his armor back on and a vaguely worried Whisky comes up and hugs Eridol and after a second, he shrugs and hugs her back. Whispering "Nobody will believe you if you tell them I did this"

Unfortunately, Septima sees all and Eridol forgot how quick whisky can be so she locked him in the hug, shouting to get everyones attention and not letting go until everybody mentions that yes they see Eridol hugging her back and we ended the session

[captain-emmajones]

in this life, we do not meet

Soulmate AU: The first curse never happened. Killian died 300 years prior to Emma's birth. They both live a life of loneliness, haunted by a love they never met, until death comes knocking at their door.

in which i made an angsty text post and people requested a fic out of it, hope you guys will like it <33

2000 words 🔱 angst 🔱 ao3 

dedicated to my dear friend @b99peraltiago because you’ve always been so supportive of my works i had to write you a gift :’) (sorry it’s not peraltiago :’)) 

The lyrics in italics come from Sarah Bareilles Once Upon Another Time, I had it on loop while writing and I really recommend it for the mood™️.

ORESTES: Where have I seen you before?

MOIRA: In a dream.

ORESTES: A thousand years ago.

.

Once upon another time, Before I knew which life was mine,

As Captain Killian Jones stands at the end of his life, on decks of his ship, still terribly proud in spite of everything, the waves tenderly cradling his boat are his last companions.

His crewmen were reluctant to leave him behind. They had all wanted to go down with the ship. With him. He couldn’t allow it.

“You are a part of my crew, mister Smee, and therefore you are also required to leave this ship –”

“— but Captain, I am your first mate –,”

“— I am well aware of that fact, Mister Smee. However, this is my last dying wish: to be left in peace.” To die alone.

His hooked arm guides the ship’s wheel, as always, while he presses a bottle of rum firmly against his lips. To distract himself from this poison inside of him, this hellish burn radiating from his chest – not only loneliness but the poison the Dark One infected him with.

It was yesterday. Or a week ago, difficult to be certain.

A seagull lands in front of him, completely unaware of his inner struggle. She sings.

He had been so close to killing him, after years, and years, and years…. And then she had appeared.

(He thinks he saw her first the day Milah died. Well, he didn’t properly see her.

But, as he lied sobbing in the safety of his own cabin, he did feel the warmth of a hand over his closed fist.

And it had suddenly felt a little less terrible, the hole in his chest, less terrifying the future to come, without her.

Perhaps is there so much loneliness the human heart can take before it begins to manifest something, someone, that doesn’t exist.)

She is an angel he has seen in so many of his dreams, visions, whatever bloody curse he is under.

Back on this very ship, the crocodile had come to taunt him and the blonde woman had begged him not to kill him. She said there would be repercussions beyond this life, and he wanted to believe her. Perhaps there was no other choice but to believe her.  

From the first moment he had laid eyes on her, years ago, he had known he was supposed to love her.

Perhaps not in this life. Perhaps one in which he is nobler, better, good.

The burn of a knife plunged into his chest had cut his thoughts short, and he had fallen down on his knees in front of his whole crew.

“Enjoy the ride, dearie! Your death will be slow and painful, just like you made my life when you took away Milah!”

The giggles of the Dark One still echo in his ears, but it is a fight he has definitely lost. It is a fight for the living, and he is dying.

He clenches his jaw as a brighter ray of sunshine plays on his eyelids. He frowns. He is drunk enough to numb the pain in his chest but not this gulf roaring within his throat.

As he is about to die, the sum of Killian Jones’ life is a lot of pain and wickedness.

(There is a tear at the corner of his eyes, one he firmly wipes with his hand.)

Dying alone is, after all, more challenging for the nerves than expected by the brave Captain.

A deep breath, to fill in his lungs with the salty sea air, one he’s loved his entire life.

Perhaps is he not so alone after all.

He has been haunted all his life by this angel of beauty, of love, perhaps of death. As if, maybe – just maybe –  things were supposed to end differently.

Bloody nonsense.

A flash of pain. The bottle of rum escapes his hand as his eyes shut in agony, a fire he knows sent from Hell overcoming him. His knees bend down, and his hand tries to hold on to the wooden wheel.

“Bloody hell, can’t it be a quick death?”

He chuckles to himself. What did you expect? The comfort of a loved ones’ arms?

Soon enough, he is unable to see clearly, and his head hits the floor, a muffled sob he isn’t aware of echoing on the ship.

Be quick. Be quick. Be quick.

And then, somehow, as darkness engulfs him and there is nothing but pain, a relief. A cold, white hand on his face – there must some comfort in death.

A smile splits his face open. “Oh, there you are… just in time, love…”

He thinks he sees tears on her face, and his heart screams: someone cares, someone cares,…  

One last breath, one last pang of pain, and he is gone.

(When the Jolly Roger is taken back by pirates with bright eyes and hopes, rumor has it that it is now a haunted ship.

The crewmen avoid at all cost to walk along the corridors at night, for a white figure lingers there.

She has blonde hair and translucent eyes and she seems to be waiting for whom will never come back.)

.

Truly, it is a happy life.

Although King and Queen of Misthaven, Emma’s parents offer her nothing but softness and love. She grows up sheltered by their good heart. (The one they share).

Oh, she does live a good life – one of very few heartaches.

(The few she endures are fighting against Regina, but it is never a lonely fight. Emma’s light magic is too powerful for the Evil Queen and she bends the knee. They evict her from the kingdom.)

Except perhaps when she wakes up covered in sweat, heart about to explode in her chest, eyes filled with tears, and she aches for whom she cannot reach.

It is not for a lack of trying. She feels like she’s dreamed of him her entire life.

Her mother has a knowing smile when she confesses her worries. Together, they decide to create an enchantment to find him, whoever he is.

(His eyes are of a forget-me-not blue, his hair of a dark brown, and there is so much pain in the absent smile he paints upon his face.

She wants to save him. Little does she know she is too late.)

It is truly a good life, except for that one moment, maybe, when she finds herself near the sea and she thinks she has finally found him and she discovers a tombstone with his name on it.

(“How can you tell it’s really him?” her mother asks.

She finds no shame in her heart when she replies: “He told me in a dream.”)

If she can make out anything in between her tears, it is the date: 1755 - 1789.

“He’s been dead for three hundred years,” she whispers in this foggy morning, one hand over the marble.

The sea breeze is cruel against her cheeks.

“Some things are just not meant to be”, Snow White tries to comfort her.

There is a moan that she muffles against her palm. But we were.

Being brought up in this environment of true love and happily ever after makes this burn over her heart even more painful.

(The pain comes from the birthmark she’s got under her breast, the shape of a knife enchanted with poison.)

But it is a good life.

It is however a short one.

The birthmark seems to infect itself, and the poison takes her over in a week.

Their princess is twenty-eight-year old when Snow White and Prince Charming lose her forever.

.

Killian Jones has always been a man of action and this after-life is a long agony of waiting.

Tik tok, tik tok,… Times flies but never towards the future.

At least, there’s still rum.

Rum has no taste back there, but there is a comfort in the habit.

One look at the clock. 8:15. The time of his death. As always. He drinks a mouthful of rum, waits for the burn that doesn’t come.

It is incredibly lonely there. It never gets more comfortable, warmer, it is forever dull and cold.

.

He is sitting in Granny’s when the air shifts. The door opens, and he instinctively looks up from his drink.

And then, a miracle occurs: the clock ticks forward.

There she is.

After all these years. He swallows down, tries to remain composed. His heart is about to burst out of his chest. The woman of his dreams is wrapped up in a dark red dress, a crown on her head, and void in her green eyes.

His blood becomes cold as his gaze meets hers and something within him urges him to stand up.

Welcome her.

There’s a flash of light in her eyes and he knows she recognizes him too.

“Killian,…”

It is awful to hear his name in the mouth of someone who cares for him, after all these years of heartache.

It is freeing.

The ghost haunting him for centuries is finally in front of him, in the flesh, and they are both dead.

A smile. “Well, I sure as hell have been waiting for you, your grace.”

Her smile then doesn’t reach her eyes but does break his heart.

.

“So, you are a royal lady?” a roll of his eyes.

He is playful to hide his discomfort.

They are both sitting outside of Granny’s, echoes of once upon another time dancing all around them.

She’s gazing at the furniture, surely taken aback, and no vision allowed him to fully grasp a glimpse of her beauty. Nor her kindness.

“Was,” she smiles, looks up at him and dives into his eyes.

She takes his breath away.

“And you are a pirate?” she enquires back, playfully.

Something hurts, in his chest. His blood turns cold. “That I am.” He is disappointing her.

You disappoint everybody.

“Well, my mother was a thief,” she quickly adds, she is perceptive.

Tough lass.

He smiles at her. And it is terribly tempting to fall in love with her in the blink of an eye.

.

As things turn out, she is so willing to love him and he is unable to believe he deserves that kind of love.

“I’ve known you my entire life,” she assures him as they sit on a bench by the underworld sea.

She wants to reach for his hand but he is cold and distant and terrified.

The air in this goddamn hell is unbreathable, and perhaps is it because they are not supposed to be breathing. It constantly smells of smoke and ashes, and she still smells like her old self, vanilla and cinnamon, and hope.

“You don’t get it,” he mumbles, remains as far as he possibly can on this tiny bench. He stares at his knuckles. And exhales: “You were the only flicker of light in an ocean of darkness.”

So many times, the only reason he had hold on to life was her face under the sky of a starless night.

A pause. “But I never deserved hope.”

I never deserved you.

.

She surely doesn’t expect him to believe he is a villain. In her visions, she has never seen one. She’s only seen somebody incredibly lonely.

She knows she cannot save him unless he wants her to.

She understands. He wasn’t raised with tales of true love and happy endings – and for heaven’s sake they are both dead and their skin is cold, but lord is her heart beating for him in spite of everything.

He’s waited three centuries. She can at least wait for the rest of eternity.

.

It takes a lot of patience, and kindness, and affection, to melt the ice around Killian Jones’ heart.

Hades doesn’t help her, mind you, is quite determined to keep them both in the Underworld.

“We can move on,” she tells him, still by the sea, “Together. Start over on the other side. Be happy.”

He nods. It isn’t much, but it does give her hope.

And when she grabs his hand, he lets her.

.

It is a very bright light, moving on. For the first time in this life, they do so hand in hand, ready to face all of eternity together.

But mostly, I believed in yellow lights, and tire marks. Sun-kissed skin and handle bars, And where I stood was where I was To be… No enemies to call my own, No porch light home to pull me home, And where I was is beautiful Because I was free.

[lovelahela]

❛ 'til death do us part ❜ ─ bloodbound.

⇢ pairing: jax matsuo x dark!mc (maia)

⇢ genre: angst, death

⇢ song: everybody wants to rule the world

⇢ description: they could never understand the power she could culminate. the changes she could make to the world. so be it. no matter. she can always make a better version of them.

⇢ word count: 1743

⇢ notes: should i make a mini-series of dark mc? also i wrote this in one go and didn't review it so i apologise if it sucks and u wasted ur time ajdjsjcjs

        Succumbing to the inviting arms of malevolence that seemed so warm but were so, so cold was one of the most tempting challenges you could face. Even the strongest of wills could take so much before crumbling uselessly, pathetically at the hands of a good-enough lie — in her case, a lie that promised her safety and normalcy even at the hands of a god-like power.

        She stood in front of the kneeling woman — the broken woman, whose face told a thousand tales of love, loss, and absolute pain. She was gazing up at her, eyes shining with a heavy coat of tears, but rather than conveying the emotion of devastation, they showed just how hopeless she truly was. "Do it, then," she had whispered, the tone of her voice hollow. "Kill me."

        Maia could feel the weight of her decision crashing down on her. Eyes were locked on her, questioning and worried, as she stared down the woman who destroyed everything — Rheya Apostolous. She had lost so many at her hands... Lily. She had lost Lily.

        When the scene of her best friend dissolving into ash flashed through her mind, the flicker of unimaginable power and fury grew inside of her. Slowly, her otherwise warm brown eyes began to glow an eerie yellow that reminded them of the sun's light itself. Her facial expression contorted into an appalled sneer. "Good riddance."

        An indescribable sensation coursed through her flaming veins, spreading a comforting warmth throughout her body. It was incredible, how it gave her an extreme sense of utter euphoria unlike any other thing. It didn't matter how much delicious food she ate, how much she indulged in adventurous activities abroad, or how many times she spent passionate nights with Jax — nothing in the universe could compare to this power.

        Maia held out her hand towards Rheya, as if reaching out to her, and the latter immediately began straining against the torture inflicted on her decaying body. All those millennia in which she "graced" the Earth with her presence began to rewind as her hair began to grey from its roots and her smooth skin wrinkled unnaturally while its colour turned to ash. Her blood shot out of her body and floated in the air before two strands winded like a DNA helix.

        And she absorbed them. She took in Rheya's blood, disregarding the sound of her limp body falling to the floor, and paying her full attention to the key to Godhood. It was as though her body crackles with electricity raging at thousands — no, millions of volts, except it made her stronger rather than rot her lifeforce. Her eyes shone bright because she could see the world in a whole new light, like a canvas she could reshape to her will.

        "It's... It's amazing!" laughed Maia, completely astonished with the state she achieved. "I can create life!" She held out her palm in front of her and watched with all but crazed eyes as a flower materialized out of thin air. 

        "My God..." whispered Kamilah behind her, overtook with shock and — this was a very rare occurrence — at a loss for words.

        Maia spun around to face her friends and a grin stretched across her lips almost maniacally. It only faltered for a second when she saw the looks of sheer horror and gradually growing distrust they were giving her. "I can bring back Lily!"

        Just as Maia uttered those words, plagued with delusional and false hope, the delicate flower withered in her hand. She frowned distastefully. "I just need..." She turned her gaze to the thousands of people seated in the opera, dazed and slowly waking up from the psychic hold their minds were strained by. "More power."

        "Maia, this is unnatural." Kamilah's voice was still uncharacteristically quiet and she spoke as if she were tip-toeing on eggshells — except those eggshells would annihilate the world if cracked.

        "No, this is brilliant! I know now! I know what she felt!" Another crazed laugh echoed through the opera, sending shivers down the trio's body. 

        "This is wrong, Maia. Deep down, you know it." She was taken aback at the tone of Jax's voice. Who was he, a weak little spec on what was now her world, to patronize her? She was a force of power. A blessing to the Earth. A Goddess.

        "You don't understand, Jax, I can bring back Takeshi!" Maia spoke with slightly less enthusiasm, words laced with an underlying threat. "I can bring him and Lily back!"

        Once again, she faced the audience, ready to put an end to their miserable little lives, when she saw them start to recover. A few began to point, scream, cover their mouths with terror. Her hands clenched, and her vision burned. Who were these people to look at her like that, to judge her? Tiny, insignificant things. Droplets in a torrent. What were their lives, compared to her pain? What were their screams, compared to her power? They had no idea what she could do. What she could become.

        "I could be a Goddess!" Her voice boomed, bouncing off the walls of the opera, vibrating with raw rage and madness.

        "Maia, no..."

        She whirled around to glare at Kamilah, face contorted with burning fury. "You don't understand! You can't understand!"

        Her anger was no longer targeted at the world, at its injustice and the ego of the petty mortals who inhabited it. It was directed at Adrian, at Kamilah, at Jax. They were gazing at her with such fear, such distrust... like she was still a reckless human rather than a Goddess made flesh. "Just watch," she had growled. "Just wait and see. I can make this right."

        "You sound just like her!" exclaimed Adrian incredulously, facial muscles slack with shock but body tense and ready to fight or flee. 

        "NO!" They flinched at the loudness of her yell. "Rheya was consumed by anger and vengeance. She was foolish and irresponsible, unworthy of this power. I will use it for good."

        Maia looked at them, one by one. "Don't you get it? I can give you everything you've ever wanted! Jax, I can rid the world of injustice! I can topple all systems of oppression, protect the vulnerable and the voiceless! Kamilah, I can bring your brother back!"

        She winced. "Don't... don't go there."

        "Adrian... all you've ever wanted was a better world! A peaceful world! I can give you that! I can give you the world you've always dreamed of." Maia spread her arms wide, beaming, as if to welcome them into her embrace.

        "Not like this. Not with more pain and death." He frowned at her, showing all signs of heartbreak, instilling a sense of offense inside her.

        Her grin faltered yet again. "Death is temporary. Pain is temporary. And if you don't understand that... I can show you."

        She reached out a hand to the crowd again and began to draw their blood, their life, drowning out their screams, when a hand reached out and a touched her shoulder. She looked behind her to see Jax, looking at her with softened eyes and a concerned frown. "Maia, listen to me. This isn't you, okay? You can still come back from this."

        Maia scoffed. "God... I thought you'd understand. You of all people! But you're just like the others. You can't see what I'm capable of!"

        His eyes met hers, and he looked achingly vulnerable and sincere, scared and loving all at once. "You're right, okay? I don't know. I don't know what feeling you're going through right now. I don't know what this power has done to you. But... I do know you're hurting. I've been there. Believe me, I've been there."

        He took a deep, shaky breath. "And I do know how easy it is to give in to that hurt. To let it define you. To become a monster. And I know... I know you're better than that. I know you're amazing."

        Jax extended a hand toward her, cautious yet welcoming. "I love you, Maia... please come back to me."

        She met his eyes yet again, cold and soulless. And with an empty, monotone voice, she said a single word that stroke unimaginable fear in their hearts: "No."

        And with that, shrieks of agony and horror rang in her ears, but no matter. They're only insignificant humans, and they're contributing to a good cause. A great cause. They're giving their lives to being back Lily, to exterminate the evil in the world. 

        "NO!"

        "STOP!"

        Stubborn little things. They'll learn to come around eventually. How could they not? After all, she is their new Goddess. They will bow down to her, or die opposing her.

        Maia cackled, euphoric, as power beyond measure overwhelmed her every sense. The humans were drained of their life, of their blood, as their bodies withered and decayed. Flowers bloomed all over the stage. It was amazing, intoxicating. Then, something else began to form mid-air — blood, muscles, gone. And Lily was reborn from the ashes.

        "YES!" Her entire body tingled like never before at the sensation of such potential swimming in the blood that ran through her veins. But then, Lily withered just like the humans in the seats. And suddenly a stake was protruding from her chest.

        Maia looked sideways to see a crestfallen Adrian, shaking his head continuously in denial. "I'm so sorry, Maia... I had to... I had to... I'm so sorry..."

        The stake melted away into nothingness. She sighed disappointedly. Did he really think that would work? On her? With a simple wave of her hand, Adrian disintegrated and was left fluttering in the wind as specs of grey. No matter, she'll make a new Adrian. A better one. One that will obey and serve.

        She ignored the cries of despair that burst out of her friends' quivering lips and let herself float in the air towards the rooftop. The crisp wind of the night encased her, caressing her practically glowing skin. Maia stared down upon the thousands of humans walking along the streets, laughing, eating, crying, faces illuminated by the faint glow of the towering buildings — each of them a small step forward to reviving Lily and reshaping Earth to her will. All important to achieving Godhood.

        And as she reached out her hand and began to feed, the world was lost to blood and death.

[bgn846]

The Niflheim Experiment Chapter 14

 Gladio acted on sheer instinct as he released Loqi and summoned his sword. Ardyn was not going to get anywhere near Noct, he wouldn’t allow it.  Rushing forward he cried out in rage and charged at Ardyn.   The bastard simply laughed at him as he approached. He stood with arms outstretched awaiting his attack, his face twisting into a wicked grin. “That didn’t work last time!” he admonished right before he summoned his own arsenal of weapons.

 From a magical armiger.

 Like Nocts.

 Gladio’s mind was reeling.  Who was this guy that he had access to the crystal’s magic? The thought was fleeting as he quickly summoned his own shield to block the oncoming attack.  Without much time to process what was happening Gladio hadn’t noticed that Aranea and Ignis had joined him, running alongside their weapons out and at the ready. Focused only on protecting Noct, Gladio could only brace for the impact and hope they’d survive.

 Ignis crouched down behind him just as the first clang of metal on metal erupted. Aranea used her polearm to deflect what had come her way. “We can’t let him get to Noct!” Gladio shouted as he summoned his sword once more.

 Ardyn’s rich laughter rang out in the ever-growing darkness. “Is that all you’ve got? I expected better from the prince’s shield.”

 “You asshole!” Gladio shouted as he charged forward once more intent on hitting his mark this time. “Get away from him!”

 Ardyn waved him off casually like he was simply a nuisance, and turned to focus his arsenal on the vehicle Noct was sitting in. Hoping the prince would be able to warp away in time Gladio fought to close the gap between Ardyn and him.

 When he was nearly within arm’s reach Ardyn swept his hand around to create a barrier of some kind between them. Without thinking, Gladio swung his sword and slashed at the obstacle.

 The slight look of shock on Ardyn’s face almost made Gladio pause in his mission. Had he managed to break through the barrier? The fact that he was still advancing and now close enough to attack meant he      had     passed through the magical wall Ardyn had put up.

 Gathering all his energy Gladio swung his sword.

 This was the true test of Luna’s powers.

 The sound of a pained howl rattled his eardrums as Gladio made contact with Ardyn, his sword sinking neatly into the man’s shoulder. However, unlike last time Ardyn wasn’t laughing.  His face had taken on an expression of disbelief.  The wound from the last time, when he’d taken Luna’s form, had turned black and clearly hadn’t caused any discomfort. This time was different. This time he was in pain and it was showing.

 There was no time to dwell on the result when Aranea appeared and thrust her polearm into Ardyn’s side. Again, the man screamed in agony. Ignis attacked a second later with his daggers, digging them into Ardyn’s other shoulder to hold him in place.

 “What – what have – you done?!” he screamed. “I won’t be denied – my –my revenge!” Ardyn reached out with a shaking arm before his legs gave out and he crumpled to the ground. The air was thick with magic as Ardyn kept trying to summon his own armiger of weapons.  Each time he tried, it failed, and the panic at not succeeding was starting to show.

 Attempting to remove the weapons by hand, Ardyn began to push as the blade lodged in his shoulder. Gladio stood fast and wouldn’t let him wiggle it.  However, the small movement he managed must have bolstered his confidence because Ardyn tried to use his magic a second later. A small blast erupted from his own armiger sending out a wave of energy.

 The disturbance knocked over the other approaching glaive, Cor included.  Turning quickly to check revealed the men had merely been knocked out.  Just out of range Loqi was watching and trying to drag his body closer. A hand grabbing his neck forced his attention back to the issue at hand.

 “I – I will not be beaten!” Ardyn hissed as his face turned a sickly color complete with black ichor leaking from his eyes and mouth.

 Knowing what that meant, Gladio elbowed Aranea to shove her away, “Get away, he’ll corrupt you!” He was about to kick Ignis to move him when the advisor abandoned his weapons and ducked to the side. Before he realized it, Gladio felt the daemon's hands tighten at his throat, keeping him in place. Ardyn’s grip wasn’t painful, but it prevented him from moving.  He’d been healed by Luna before, he could handle it again if need be.  Hoping the oracle was still safe; Gladio tried to look around but couldn’t see any sign of Ravus or his sister.

 When the shell of a man before him smiled slightly, Gladio knew what he was trying to do.  The scourge was visibly running along Ardyn’s arm and towards him, bracing for the pain he knew was coming, Gladio clenched his teeth and held his sword in place.

 However, the pain never came. The overpowering feeling of darkness never took over his senses. The scourge wasn’t taking hold.

 “Noooo! I will – not be denied!” Ardyn cried out again.  “Why have the gods cursed me?!” he screamed nearly hysterical.

 “They have not forsaken you!” Luna managed as she suddenly appeared and all but collapsed next to them. Without any further explanation, Luna grabbed Ardyn’s outstretched arm and closed her eyes. This was it, the moment they’d all been waiting for, could Luna actually heal Ardyn? The flurry of activity nearby fell away as Gladio watched Luna work.

 Time slowed and Gladio could only tell things were starting to happen when Ardyn’s grip began to weaken. Finally, his arm fell away from his neck and Ardyn took in a gasping breath of air.  Luna still held him firmly, but Gladio could tell she was fading fast.  The amount of effort it was taking to rid Ardyn of the scourge must have been monumental.

 “Gladio,” Luna rasped hoarsely, “you – you must remove the – the weapons,” she managed.

 Cries of panic rang out behind him, but Gladio ignored them and followed Luna’s instruction. Beginning with Aranea’s polearm, he swiftly removed it and winced at the sound of agony Ardyn made.  The man made no move to fight back and sat slumped on the ground, he was either unable to fight or unwilling. Gladio wasn’t sure.

 Next Gladio removed Ignis’ daggers and tried not to get hung up on the pure look of anguish on Ardyn’s face as he did so.  The man was evil but he was clearly in pain and that wasn’t something Gladio wished on anyone.  Finally, and with some hesitation, he lifted his own blade away. The effect was immediate; Ardyn sighed in relief and fell onto his back in the dirt.

 Ardyn was opening his mouth to say something when he smiled and tried to move his arm. His eyes looked glazed over and he seemed to be staring at everything and nothing.  Then, in a blinding flash, he was gone. The air around them briefly filled with thousands of blue sylleblossom petals, floating off into the darkness, lit only by the rising moon.  

 Somehow Ravus was there to catch his sister as she lost consciousness. The stress they’d all put the oracle through was heartbreaking, but what else could they have done? Glancing up to the vehicle in a panic, Gladio sprang to his feet and ran over.  Noct hadn’t jumped out which was a little disconcerting. Ripping open the door Gladio stared at the seat dumbly.  There sitting strapped into the backseat was a very good mannequin dressed up as the crown prince.

 The damn windows of the vehicle had been tinted enough that it’d been impossible to tell from a distance. No wonder Cor had been so dismissive about the issue earlier. The marshal knew Noct wasn’t even there.  Laughing like an idiot Gladio sank to his knees and worked to keep his composure. It was over, Ardyn was gone.

 Unaware that his laughter had turned to tears Gladio could only grab hold of the first person who came over to check on him. Thankfully, it was Ignis and they stayed tangled in each other's arms while Gladio worked to handle his emotions.

 They still had work to do. To ensure the safety of the glaives and to get everybody back home to Insomnia.

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[jinmukangwrites]

Fly

Prompt

Warnings: description of injury, whump, blood, extreme doses of angst provided to you by a shady dealer named Jin, Jin taking liberties with prompt, what else is new.

-o-o-o-o-

Sky knows the feeling of falling, the butterflies in his stomach that flutter up to his throat are not unfamiliar to him. The wind ripping through his hair, his limbs spread out and trembling from the force. He's known the feeling ever since he first rode his crimson Loftwing, bringing his fingers to his lips and whistling as hard as he could because he had just launched himself off of the face of his world and is now plummeting towards the Cloud Barrier and the unknown below it. He's known it from when Zelda pushed him off various heights to see him fly or to see him test out her gift to him, the prize he won.

Yet, always, without failure, he's known the feeling of being caught. Whether it's his other half swooping below him and allowing him to grab onto those stiff yet soft and incredibly strong feathers, whether it's Zelda who realized she just pushed him off something and if she doesn't fly down to catch him he's gonna splat on something below, whether it's his greatest treasure that gives him a pair of wings in his own way, he's always been caught. He's always landed gently with two feet on the ground and a laugh bubbling in his throat because of the pure adrenaline and exhilaration flowing through every single artery and vein in his body.

To fly you must fall, and both processes give life to his limbs and pump his heart and clear his head. He loves it. He loves jumping and falling and rising so much. He's never been afraid of heights, why else would he choose his name to be the sky?

He misses Skyloft, he misses everybody and everything associated with it. He misses his Loftwing, he misses Zelda's Loftwing too. He misses Groose, Zelda's father, even that annoying cat. He remembers when his new group of traveling partners stumbled upon Wild's Rito village and he saw the launch platforms along the steep cliffs; he had many dreams of sprinting and jumping off them those nights they were there. He misses it.

So much.

The feeling of flying was ripped from him the moment he won, the moment he saved the world and was allowed to return to a normal, quest free life. He wasn't okay with it, he pretends to be, even to this day, for Zelda's sake if not his own, but it hurts. He sometimes brings his fingers to his mouth and blows, hoping for something while everyone wonders what he's doing, and nothing happens, nothing comes, there's no loving nibble to his ear from his good friend, no excited chirps and squawks, just him standing at the edge of a cliff looking up at the clouds and thinking that the only thing falling right there were his own tears.

For a moment, right now, he thinks he should whistle, yet if he brings his hands away from where his Sailcloth is stuck in one of the metal bits of his bag, he will surely die. He's falling, falling so fast, the wind is howling in his ear and every organ in his stomach is rising to his chest, something is caught in his throat, be it bile or fear, either way: if he doesn't get his cloth unstuck, he's going to hit the ground at terminal velocity and probably turn into dust from the force of impact.

They were fighting, it was just a pack of Wolfos, but they were stronger than normal according to Time. They were savage beasts who ran around and clawed at them the moment they found a weak spot. Sky had two trying to gang up on him, and he didn't notice they brought him to the edge of a cliff until he took another step back and found nothing there to support him. He could have caught himself, with arms waving he almost did, but one of the Wolfos snarled and with its tail wagging with excitement, it lunged and pushed.

For a few seconds, the very short feeling of floating washed over him. Everything was still, the clouds, the setting sun, the grinning beasts before him, and then he blinked and he was falling, falling down down down towards the trees and streams and rocks and world below him.

This is no problem, he thinks, the worst this has done is set him back, he'll have to find a way back up and then he'll join the others. The force of gravity pulls at his hair and his his heart is pumping a mile a minute as he reaches to the cloth around his shoulders and tugs, or at least tries too. His stomach clenches with an indescribable anxiety when he meets resistance. He glances at his hip and pales when he sees the corner of his Sailcloth is caught between the two ends of a metal ring. How it got in the tiny gap he doesn't know, what he does know that when he frantically tugs at it, it's not budging.

There's no way the cloth will stop his fall while connected to his bag, he has to quickly get it unstuck while in the middle of free fall.

His hands shake as he tugs and pulls and jerks the cloth, and his head is spinning faster the more he falls, he hasn't been this terrified in awhile, not since he fell from Skyloft and broke through the mysterious Cloud Barrier.

The ground is fast approaching, it's almost funny how quick one falls from great heights. In free fall, you always think you have more time, but in reality it's a few seconds if your lucky.

Too close, too close, his mind is screaming at him to do something to stop the fall, but he can't, it's stuck and it's not moving. Terror makes his eyes blurry, and he forgets to be careful with the cloth in one final attempt to pull. It finally comes free and he ignores the loose threads still stuck in the ring as he quickly opens the Sailcloth.

He didn't think. He didn't think what recklessly throwing up his Sailcloth would do at terminal velocity. For a second, he's stops falling, legs swinging out from the force, and the next second he's screaming in agony as something pops in his shoulder, the socket empty and his arm pulling up at a terrible angle with nothing to stop it. Instinctively, he let's go, vision red and whole body reacting to the unexpected pain of a dislocated shoulder. He veers to the side and he has just a heartbeat to see that he's heading straight towards the cliff wall before the pain in his shoulder is replaced with stars, a blur, and then nothing.

-o-o-o-o-

"Wake up, sleepy head," a voice says. He blinks, his eyes opening to his dorm room ceiling. He groans and turns over in his bed, thinking: just five more minutes. Let him sleep for just five more minutes-

"Link, c'mon," the voice says again, a chuckle in her voice. A hand falls on his shoulder and shakes him roughly, though he'd be a fool to think she could ever be graceful with him. She's always a bit too excited, a bit too… herself. "You're going to miss class again. Link, get up! Link! Link, help! LINK! LINK HELP!"

He gasps at the sound of her scream as a terrifying black wind rushes past him strong enough to give him whiplash. He has to save her, she's in trouble, he scrambles out of his sheets and turns around to see… an empty room.

"Zelda?" He asks. No one answers. It's silent. Nothing but his room, the desk, the wardrobe, his bed, and himself. "Zelda?"

The bed below him creeks as he lifts himself up. He could have sworn... He looks around the room with a growing sense that something is wrong, which couldn't be right because this is his room and nothing is out of place or moved.

Something suddenly catches his ear, it's a cry, someone screaming something on the other side of the door. Worried and confused, Link walks up to the door, the closer he gets the better he can hear what's being said on the other side.

"-it! I need—health——now!"

"——got one!"

"-so much blood-"

"Will he be okay?!"

"Back off! Give me room to work!"

"He can't die-"

"He won't die!"

"His arm-"

He puts his hand on the door knob and turns, walking into a giant room with walls covered in moss as silence falls upon him like a weighted blanket. The only noise he can hear is a distant clinking of gears and his own breaths.

"Hello?" He calls, no one answers. "Zelda? Anyone?"

He walks further into the room completely lost as to what's going on. Up ahead is a pedestal with many steps leading up to it. He swallows and begins to walk up the stairs, one foot at a time, with silence as his only companion.

When he reaches the top, his breath is stolen by the scene. His sword, Fi, is there, shoved in the stone and left to sleep there until needed again, for an eternity. Yet, the blade is rusted, chipped, coated with thousands upon thousands years of blood, some dried, some still dripping. Wielded like a weapon, not a friend.

He puts his hand on her blade and he can feel her pain, and a horrible thought flashes in his mind that there is a reason she does not speak to them. It lasts a second, a heartbeat, and he has no clue where it came from or who these people she doesn't talk to are. She's crying, he can sense it, so many years, forced to rest, to serve with no choice of her own. She started off uncaring, but by the end she could feel and she had the longing for agency, to choose to remain. She had no choice, and he could hear that longing in her voice when she told him she was feeling something that closest resembles the human emotion of happiness.

"Oh, Fi," he whispers, his eyes sting, and he gently grips her hilt more firmly and lifts her. It's like a physical blow when he sees parts of her chip away and fall as he lifts her up. He slides her out of the stone with a shikk and holds her in front of him. "What have they done to you?"

She pulses weakly yet strong, as if saying it's not anyone's fault that she's the way she is now, that the passage of time wears at everything, even the strongest of swords. After so long, she's still holding on, she is still looking forward to the next hero she meets, to the next incarnation of her most favorite mortal.

Link, every one of them, are the wielders of courage, but all of them pale in comparison to the braveness of the sword always accompanying them. She could he angry, hurt, bored, desperate. She's so different, he thinks. Here she is, waiting, separated from her Master for thousands of years at a time yet she never gets bitter. Not unlike-

"Time and time again," a new voice says and he spins around to see him. Demon Lord Ghirahim.

He's standing by the entrance of the temple, cape fluttering around him from some invisible wind. His eyes look dead, his skin is pale, his frame decaying. There's a gaping wound in the center of his chest, glowing a crimson red and a broadsword in both hands. Link's eyes travel up and many emotions overtake him all at the same time. Joy, anger, confusion, desperation.

"Let her go," Link snarls, lifting Fi up in front of him.

Ghirahim chuckles, his voice raspy and breathless, clear evidence of his eternal suffering. He too glances up, licking his lips, as if he's just as surprised Zelda is unconscious, suspended in the air above him.

He laughs and brings his hand to his bangs, swooping it to the side before giving a triumphant smirk over at Link. "Time and time again," he repeats, "I have let you go, let you survive. My greatest failure was not killing you the first time." A guilty pleasure. "You just keep coming back. Again… again… again…….." his fingers twitch and his head jolts to the side like he's fighting a seizure. He laughs again, a laugh filled with so much hatred and pain, Link almost feels bad for him.

"I won't be so merciful this time, sky child."

Ghirahim rushes forward, screaming a war cry that is all too familiar, as he raises his gigantic sword and prepares to strike. Link blocks and grunts from the force that sends him to his knees.

"Sun's going down, we need to move him-"

Sk- Link shakes his head and shoves Ghirahim off from him. The demon spirit stumbles backwards but quickly rights himself in a poise position, an excited and hungry smile tugging at his lips. Sky gets to his feet and they're at a standoff for just a second. He takes that time to glance down at Fi, whose definitely looking rough around the edges, yet she's pulsing with a eager and willing trust that he forces worries for her towards the back of his head and instead focuses all of his own trust in her.

"Careful with his head! Keep his arm still, I need to set it-"

Ghirahim lifts a lithe hand and snaps, the broadsword dissipates in a series of diamond designs and is replaced with a long sword. Link lifts Fi to the sky and charges her power up in response as Ghirahim snaps again, a cluster of red dagger like objects appear before him and a heartbeat later they're heading straight towards Link.

He swipes Fi and she sings. A burst of light erupts from the tip of her blade and flies, knocking the daggers off their path and hitting Ghirahim right across his chest. Link doesn't allow Ghirahim time to recover this time, he sprints forward, lifting Fi high, about to deliver the last blow straight down into Ghirahim's broken heart, but he's stopped as hid opponent lifts his own blade and blocks with stunning force. Fi stops against that blade, but Link's hands continue down as she shatters in his grasp with a glorious blue light.

He feels the loss like a blow to the stomach, or maybe he physically feels a blow to his stomach. All he knows is that he's now stumbling backwards, clutching his gut and struggling to suck in air as Ghirahim gets to his feet and brushes invisible dust from his shoulder.

He walks forward and gracefully slices his sword out, whacking Link across his head with the flat side of the weapon. He feels skin break and his head spin from the force of the blow, he falls to the ground only to get kicked in the gut by pointed shoes.

"The bleeding started again, why is he bleeding again?! Get me another health position, NOW!

Link shakily tries to force his arms to move and get him back up to at least try to defend himself, but a hand wraps around his hair and forces his head against the stone floor with a resounding bang. A foot lands on the small of his back. His vision is swimming, nausea crawling in his gut the threatening to climb up his throat. He tries to suck in air and he glances up at where Ghirahim is grinning ear to ear, sharp teeth, tongue, and all. He lowers his sword down so it's resting against the side of Links neck, he can feel the sharp edge kissing his skin threateningly.

"I never wanted to kill you, sky child," Ghirahim says, licking his lips, "but, oh, will I enjoy this."

He makes to slice Link's neck open, but before he can another blade—thick, black, dangerous—pierces through his chest. Ghirahim makes a strangled noise as he shatters in a flash of light. Link watches with growing apprehension as the light travels backwards towards the blade held by a black figure with flaming red hair. Zelda lays crumpled on the ground below him, looking ashen and gray. Dead.

Demise doesn't make any pleasantries, doesn't let Link get his bearings, don't do anything but stride forward and grab Link by the throat. Link grunts and chokes and before he knows it his back is being slammed into a moss covered wall. His lungs shutter and claws split skin, allowing red droplets to escape and run down his neck onto the collar of his shirt.

"The honor of killing you belongs to me," Demise says, voice deep, glutal, terrifying. Link chokes and brings his hands up to the one holding him up and tries to pry the fingers apart, but Demise only tightens his grip and Link's vision blurs.

Demise leans forward, his face scarily neutral, uncaring. "I told you my hatred will never die." He releases his grip ever so slightly and Link sucks in a lungful of air greedily before once again his airway is cut off. Demise doesn't want him to die quite yet. "I told you an incarnation will find every reincarnation of your spirit, every moral body of the Goddess, until the day everything belongs to me as it should. I told you how to avoid that fate, and you ignored me. You fought valiantly, hero, and so did they, but in the end, I will win."

"Set his shoulder———hold him———move-"

If Link had air to scream, he would have when Demise slowly sunk his blade into Links shoulder, but instead he can only writhe and make pitiful grunts and chokes. He tries to kick out at Demise, but nothing seems to affect him. He goes limp when the blade slides completely through his shoulder and tinks against the wall behind him. There's tears flowing down his cheeks, but with his last remaining strength: he glares.

"-eed—wrap it———wait——wake up."

"You humans never know when to quit," Demise says, almost sadly, "and because of that, you've doomed every one that comes after you to my hatred. All of their pain, all of their battles, that's on you, not me. And you know that, deep down, that it's all your fault. If you have just laid down like the dogs mortals are, they would never have had to fight me. I have no grudges against them, they hadn't need to suffer my wrath. You destroyed their lives."

He knows this already. He knows he's the one who doomed them to a life of war, loss, and goddesses. He knows who Ganondorf is, the demon, the Gerudo, the leader, the King, the thief. Whatever form he takes, he's always overtaken by Demise's hatred. In a way, Link also knows he's doomed that man as well. He's doomed Zelda to a constant battle for her life that will never end. Everyone he knows, everyone they know, they all suffer because Link only managed to seal away the demon king, not kill him. Everything; it's his fault. From the physical scars on each of their bodies to the psychological wounds they take and will carry with them until they eventually reach their graves.

It's all his fault. To his knowledge, he's the first hero, the first Link to carry the spirit of courage. He's failed them.

But… he's come to terms with that as he traveled with them. Yes, if he had managed to kill Demise, Wind wouldn't have had to grow up so young, Wild wouldn't have his scars, Time wouldn't have lost any dear friends, Twilight, Warrior, Legend, Four, Hyrule… all of them would be normal Hylians with no worries in the world, but he didn't defeat Demise, because he wasn't strong enough. They could be. Somehow, somewhere down the line, each of then have been cutting Demise down smaller and smaller and smaller until the point Demise threw away his reincarnations, started appearing in his true demonic form, and he's still being defeated. Maybe, just maybe, in a few more centuries, there will be another boy born with the spirit of the hero who will finally drive Fi right through hatred's heart and stop the vicious cycle Sky created.

He has to hold onto that hope, that someone will finish what he started and no longer will people have to worry about the next time the demons rear their ugly heads. He started this, he didn't finish it, but they will.

With a scream—a scream filled with agony, desperation, and courage—he brings the Master Sword that has materialized into his hand right through Demise's stomach.

Denise stumbles backwards and Sky drops to his feet, sucking in air. He clutches his bloodied shoulder with one hand and with the other he marvel's at his beautiful companion. He doesn't know where the sword came from, but he supposes where there is courage, there is Fi.

"You. Won't. Win."

Demise looks down at him, slightly bent over from his wound, and snarls. "You don't know what you're talking about, human."

"I will keep fighting you. They will keep fighting you, until you're damned back to whatever hell you crawled your way out from. No, no until there isn't even a speck of dust left of you in the world. You will lose. I can promise you. And if it's not me, it's Four, if it's not four, it's Time. If it's not Time, it's Twilight, or Hyrule, or Wind, or Legend, or Warrior, or Wild, or someone we haven't met yet. You're right, we don't know when to give up, and that will be your downfall, not ours. We will win."

Demise snarls and lifts his sword, lifts Ghirahim, and charges. Link matches him, running, running faster than what he has ever done before with his sword lifted to the heavens, then he shoves Fi forward, stabbing Demise through once again. Then, another sword flashes, and Four is there, looking fierce and determined and not at all blame-full. Then Time is there, stabbing Demise in the back, he nods at Sky like they have finally come to an understanding. Twilight jumps in snarling, swinging his sword like it's a part of him. Legend waves one of his many magic weapons and a blast of fire knocks into Demise's face, making him howl in agony. Hyrule loses an arrow, Wild besides him losing his own, at rapid fire, working together to make Demise look more like a pincushion than a demon. Wind charges forward, a look of pure bravery and pirate savageness hardening his features as he slashes at his enemy, and Warrior brings down a vicious blow, the concentration of a captain on his face as Demise stumbles and gurgles blood.

"I will be back!" Demise screams. "My hated will never d-"

A final sword pierces his body, and there's another man there. His hair is blond, almost white. Eyes are sharp, face set in righteous fury. The sword he wields is glorious, his armor classic hero green. His wrists are bloodied and scabbed and thousands of scars litter his visible skin and Sky instantly knows who he is.

He doesn't have time to say anything to his predecessor, to the Hero, before a flash of light explodes around him.

"He's waking up-"

"Thank Hylia-"

Sky blinks. There's nothing but the sky and clouds around him. The air ripples as he takes a step forward, and another, towards a beautiful woman he has come to love unconditionally over the years he's known her.

"Wake up, Link," Zelda says, and he's falling, reaching towards her, and she's reaching towards him. He doesn't know if he's falling down or if he's falling up, but when his hand grasps onto hers, he //sours.

"Wake up, Sky-"

-o-o-o-o-

Unconsciousness is different than falling asleep, and he is reminded of that every time he wakes up. If he's rested, he fell asleep, if he's in unbearable pain and more tired than be has ever felt before, he fell unconscious.

His head is spinning and he can't see a thing through his blurry eyes. He doesn't know what the last thing he remembers is, only that if he doesn't turn over now he's definitely going to throw up. He gags and trembles, trying to get his bearings before hands gently grab him and help him lean over whatever surface he's laid on so he can get sick without worrying about getting it all over himself.

He gags and dry heaves and tries to orientate himself but it's useless as his body seems to just want to flop down and do nothing for the next century.

It takes a few seconds for him to finally calm down. He rapidly opens and closes his eyes, forcing them to see through the blur, until finally, he can see where he is.

"W-wah happen…"

He can hardly feel his tongue.

"Hey buddy," Hyrule says softly, smiling. He's sitting next to where Sky is laid on a table. There's shuffling around him and the faint smell of milk and alcohol tinting the air. They're in some kind of tavern, and he's laid over the bar.

Okay.

"What do you remember," Warrior speaks up and Sky closes his eyes because it's too much work to move them.

"Wolves?" He asks.

Four speaks up. "You fell off a cliff- OW! Dude-!"

"Don't be so blunt," Twilight says, and Sky would laugh if he didn't think he'd throw up again if he opens his mouth a second time.

"We can talk about it later, he's tired, we should let him rest."

Sky opens his lead heavy eyes and gives a thankful smile Time's way, but then Wild comes into his line of sight, holding out his most prized possession. "We cleaned it the best we can…" he said, looking nervous. "But..."

Sky shakily holds out the arm that isn't strapped to his chest to keep his recently reconnected shoulder joint restrained and takes his Sailcloth from Wild. It looks clean, at first glance, but he can see the faint orange-ish stains of blood washed out too late. He smiles sadly at the sight, but he won't get mad, besides those orange stains are light green grass stains, and besides those are the faint stains of some juice Zelda had accidentally spilled onto him a few months back.

Things happen, he supposes. Nothing he can do about it. Just gotta keep one foot in front of the other and hope that another stain won't appear or another thing won't go wrong. He unwraps the Sailcloth and places it on his chest, close to his nose where he can still smell her. "I'm gon'sleep-" he says.

"You do that, partner," Legend says, smirking slightly.

Everyone moves away from him and he closes his eyes, breathing out a sigh of relief and content. He hurts, but he thinks something changed.

Before he can let sleep completely take him, he forces one eye half open because two would be too much effort.

"Hey guys…" they all look up from their spots to look at him. He smiles. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Sky."

[i-luv-stars]

Solace

The final battle against Thanos left you broken and numb. You find comfort in Steve’s arms. 

Warnings: mentions of violence and death, kind of angsty

Word Count: 4.1 k

A/N: This is the first fanfiction I’ve ever written, ever, so I just hope it doesn't suck lol.

The sky was a deep purple, and grey clouds loomed, so big they never seemed to end. The ground looked alien, barren and bare.

Dead, you thought. This was what a dead earth would look like.

And yet, you had never felt so alive.

You were running, fighting off Thanos’ alien army with your sword. The strange creatures ambushed you, barrelled towards you with foaming mouths and bloodshot eyes, yet you fought them off with ease. You didn't even need to think, years of training had turned you into a skilled warrior. Fighting came as easy to you as breathing.

And besides, you had just been dead for five years. Your body was screaming, begging to be moved again, to feel the pure adrenaline of battle. As you lunged and swung your sword, you were aware of the thrum of your accelerated heart, and the power that coursed through your blood.

Finally, you thought. I’m back.

When you had first woken up in Wakanda, you had been confused. Your body ached and your mouth was dry. The last thing you had remembered was Thanos snapping his fingers, Thor’s axe still lodged in his chest, and then you were falling to the ground and everything went dark.

Yet, here you were now, warm ground beneath your fingers.

You weren't alone. Around you, you saw Sam, Bucky, Wanda and others, all just as confused as you. Huddled together, you spoke.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does anybody remember anything… after the snap, I mean?”

“No. Just… darkness.”

“Why are we here? Where’s everybody else?”

“Steve, he was right in front of me, I remember. He should be here…”

It went on like this, a hurry of confused voices and answerless questions, for a while. You were uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. Your closest teammates, Nat, Steve, even Thor… they seemed to have just disappeared.

And then, a ring of electric gold appeared out of nowhere, and out stepped a stranger. A man with dark hair and a sharp beard, wearing a red cape.

“Are you… the Avengers?” he asked, looking each of you in the eye.

Wanda hesitated, Bucky looked at the ground. Even T’Challa seemed unsure of what to say.

The man had an unmistakable air of arrogance, and yet, he seemed trustworthy. Even familiar. He stood there, waiting for an answer, until finally you stood up, flicked your hair back and wiped your uniform off.

“Yes,” you said. “We are.”

A smile lit up the man’s face. “I was hoping you’d say that. Well, hurry up, all of you. We have a battle to win.”

And now, here you were, surrounded by more heroes than you had ever thought possible. People and beings from all the corners of the universe, hundreds of them, all fighting alongside you against the mad titan. You still weren't quite sure what had happened, if you were being honest. Nobody had really taken the time to explain. All you knew was that the fight against Thanos wasn't over yet.

You plunged your sword into an alien’s shoulder and it’s hot blood splattered your face. The smell and taste of metal overwhelmed you. Next to you, two members of the Dora Milajae twirled and stabbed at the creatures with their spears. A pegasus carrying a warrior woman flew overhead. Sounds of gunfire filled the air, and you knew that Bucky would undoubtedly be responsible.

Perhaps Nat is shooting as well, you thought with a smile.

You were yet to spot your best-friend, but you couldn't wait to find her after the battle. To hug her and talk for hours. And, of course, there was a lot you needed to talk about.

But first, you needed to win.

THREE DAYS LATER

Agony. One word. One word to sum up everything you had been feeling for the last few days.

The final battle had seen you victorious, but it hadn’t been without a price. Hundreds had lost their lives.

And, of course, there was Tony.

Tony, who had sacrificed himself for the rest of the world.

It wasn't right. It certainly wasn't fair. If the universe demanded a sacrifice, you were more than happy to volunteer. You didn't have a family, you didn't have thousands who looked up to you and loved you. Tony did.

After he died, it seemed like the last strings that were holding up the universe collapsed. Everything was chaos.

Some people were screaming, crying over Tony or others they had lost in battle, or both. Other people were confused, desperately seeking answers to what had happened and how long they had been gone for.

As it turned out, returning half of all life on Earth was even more chaotic than eliminating it.

You just wanted to see your team. You felt like you were floating, untethered, and the only thing that could bring you back down was seeing and talking to your closest friends.

Suddenly, somebody was touching you. You looked up, up into familiar sea-blue eyes. Steve.

“Y/N,” he breathed, enveloping you into a hug. “God, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you. How much we’ve missed you.”

You didn't know how to respond. Silent tears fell down your face, forging paths amongst the dirt that had settled on your cheeks.

“Steve…” You whispered, clutching onto his shoulders. “I’m so confused. I don't know what’s happened or… or where I've been and now, T-tony… he’s dead and-”

Steve met your eyes, and you saw that he was crying, too.

Something wasn't right. You could feel it.

All of the team was here, all around Tony, all except one.

“Steve, where’s Nat?” You whispered.

He didn't answer. Worry settled deep within your stomach. You felt sick.

“Please, Steve…” You looked up at him, a fresh wave of hot tears burning at your eyes. “Please don’t tell me she's gone.”

But he couldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N…” He choked out.

But you already knew. Of course you knew.

After that, everything was a blur. Someone grabbed your hand. You were led into a car, driven somewhere you didn't know. You blinked and suddenly you were in a strange room, one that smelled of wildflowers and cinnamon. There was a bed and the sheets were clean and you were dirty, so incredibly dirty, but you didn't care. You collapsed and screamed, screamed until there was no more air left in your lungs and your throat was red raw.

You stayed like that for the next two days, lying on top of the bed, the pillow soaked with tears. People would knock on the door, call out to you, tell you to come down for food… but you didn't answer. While it was still day, you would stare at the walls and try not to think about anything. It wasn't until the sun went down and your room went dark that you would let the thoughts wash over you and the tears fall freely.

Tony. The smartest guy you had ever met. The man who had offered you a home, who had accepted you immediately as part of the team, despite your past. The man who would give you big bear hugs and never said anything bad about you, ever.

You cried for him.

But Nat, you didn't just cry for Nat… you sobbed until it felt like you couldn't breathe. Natasha. The woman who could bring down a man with nothing but her hands. The woman who never knew her family. And yet… she had the biggest heart of anyone you knew. You remembered the nights you would spend together, just the two of you, sitting on her bed and talking for hours about stupid things. You remembered her laugh and the dirty jokes she’d whisper into your ear during meetings, and the nights you spent choosing each other’s outfits for Tony’s parties. She was your best friend in the entire world, the only person you felt comfortable telling anything too… and she was dead.

On the third day, when you awoke to sunlight pouring in from the window, you decided to get up. Your mind and body desperately wanted you to stay in bed, but you knew you couldn’t.

You are strong, you told yourself. You’re an Avenger, remember? You’ve done far harder things than get out of bed.

Your anger and denial had finally subsided. Now, you were just numb.

You stripped yourself of your uniform and stepped into the warm water of the shower. Dirt and dried blood ran off your body in streams. You lathered yourself in body wash, ran hands coated in shampoo through your hair. By the time you stepped out, you smelt like raspberries and vanilla.

God, you were hungry.

It was then that you remembered you had no idea where you were.

Would it be rude if you snuck out and raided the kitchen of whosever house this was?

Sudden knocking stopped your train of thought.

You hurriedly wrapped yourself in a robe, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The man in front of you was not the Thor you remembered.

His hair was long and matted, and he had a beard, one that nearly reached his chest. And his previous muscular figure, one he had taken so much pride in, was now softened by fat. His stomach threatened to peek out from underneath his shirt.

Grief, you realised, had affected everybody differently.

“Y/N,” he exclaimed, surprised, “I didn't think you’d answer. Steve has been trying to get you out of there for ages. Did you not hear him knocking?”

You weren't sure how to answer, what excuse to give for locking yourself away. Instead, you just hugged him. Surprised, he wrapped his big arms around you.

“Well,” he chuckled, “I wasn't expecting that.”

“Sorry. I just realised I haven't seen you in ages. And I… I missed you.”

Thor smiled. “I missed you too, Y/N.”

You were at Tony’s house. After the snap, he and Pepper had moved into a small cabin, away from the city. They had gotten married in secret, exchanged vows in front of the lake with nothing but the fireflies as witness. And then, Pepper had given birth to a baby girl.

Steve explained all of this to you. You sat next to him on the leather sofa in the lounge room, wrapped in a blanket. He had been ecstatic when he saw you, fresh and clean and out of your room. He had even offered to cook you breakfast. You picked at it now, french toast with syrup and berries, as he told you about everything you had missed over the last five years. He told you about the chaos after the snap, the aeroplanes that had fallen out of the sky, the people who had disappeared from thin air.

Then, about how they had killed Thanos for revenge.

But it wasn't enough, he said. Killing him didn't bring back everyone who was gone.

And so, he told you about time travel. About how Tony had figured out how to do it, and how they had each gone to different corners of the universe in search of the Infinity Stones. He told you about Nat, and how she had been the only thing keeping the Avengers together after the snap. He explained how she had chosen to sacrifice herself on Vormir for the soul stone.

Without her, he said, none of this could've happened. She was the real hero.

You didn't have to say anything. He already knew you agreed.

You spent the rest of the day helping around the house. Unbeknownst to you, everyone had been staying at the cabin for the funeral, which was tomorrow. However, nobody else had been afforded the luxury of a bed to themselves like you had. Steve and Bucky were sharing the only guest room. Wanda was sleeping on a mattress in Pepper’s room. Bruce, in his now permanent Hulk state (you were still yet to get used to that), was left to sleep on the couch. And there were still more people outside, sleeping in tents. You felt like a proper bitch for taking a room up all to yourself. The fact that these people had probably heard you screaming and crying for the last two nights straight made you blush and drop your head in shame. Here was Pepper, who had lost the love of her life and father of her child, and yet she still found the strength to keep it together and host a group of superheroes. You wanted to make it up to her, which was why you were currently sweeping the floor and keeping a careful eye on the legs of meat roasting in the oven.

“Rest.” You had told her after you finished breakfast. “I’ll care of everything today.”

And Pepper had squeezed your hands and smiled, her eyes shiny with tears. A silent thank you.

The next day was the funeral. There were so many people, people who had loved and cared about Tony, all watching as his body was put to rest. As you stood next to Steve and watched the sunlight glint off the lake, you couldn't shake the feeling of being broken and out of place. The black dress Pepper had let you borrow hung awkwardly on your body.

Just another reminder of how wrong this whole situation was.

Suddenly, Morgan, Tony’s daughter, began crying. Heartbreaking sobs that shook her tiny body. That was too much for you. You had to turn away.

Afterwards, people returned back to their lives. Everyone who had a home and a family went back to them. Thor went off with the Guardians. Going on an adventure across the universe was just what he needed, he told you as you said your goodbyes.

That left you, Steve, Bruce and Wanda. You had all lived in the Avengers compound, but that was destroyed. Where were you to go now?

Of course, Pepper said you were all welcome to stay longer. But you all knew she needed time to mourn alone with her daughter, without the Hulk sleeping on her couch. You kindly turned her down. She looked relieved.

Behind you, T’Challa cleared his throat.

“Wakanda has more than enough room for a group of heroes. You will all fly over with me. We can accommodate you for as long as you need.”

And so, it was settled.

The days in Wakanda were long and warm. You would busy yourself by helping out in the kitchens, or visiting Shuri in her lab. Sometimes you would just climb a tree and watch farmer children chase each other around the fields. Your arms became tanned, your hair got lighter. You relished in being at peace. The days were good.

But at night, dark thoughts still found their way to you.

You would have nightmares, visions of Nat being thrown off cliffs or ripped apart by alien creatures. One night you dreamt of you two painting each other’s nails like you used to. But when she opened her mouth to speak, thick, dark blood spilt out. You would wake up screaming, tears streaming down your cheeks and nails digging into your palms.

It was killing you, slowly.

Steve began to notice.

He noticed how you didn't meet his eyes when he spoke to you. How your nose no longer crinkled up when you smiled, how your laugh was no longer as loud or long as it used to be.

He began to ask you if you were alright. It killed you to lie to him, but you had never been good at talking about your feelings. And you didn't want to burden Steve with any of it. He had finally begun to look happy. Wakanda suited him. He spent most of his time talking with Bucky, and you could tell how much he had missed him. He didn't deserve to have to worry about you.

And so, you didn't tell him.

But one night, he found out anyway.

It was another nightmare. This one was particularly violent. The last thing you remember was Nat’s deep red curls, and then a splatter of blood, and then you were up and screaming. Screaming at the top of your voice for someone, anyone to help you.

Somehow, Steve heard you. He ran into your room so fast the door nearly fell off its hinges.

“Y/N,” he yelled, grabbing you by the shoulders, “what’s happening? Are you alright?”

You were still in shock, your mind couldn't form the words to express what you were feeling. So you sat there, crying hysterically, as Steve wrapped you in his arms. You could feel how soft his cotton shirt was against your skin. And he was warm, so warm. Slowly, you began to calm down.

“It’s okay, I was just having a nightmare-”

“No,” Steve cut you off, “Nightmare or not, you are not okay. Do you think I haven't noticed?”

“I-I’ve just…” You began, but honestly, you had no idea what to say. He was right, you weren't okay. You hadn’t been okay for a long time.

“Y/N, I want to tell you something. You don't have to say anything. I just want you to listen, okay?”

You nodded, glad to have an excuse not to speak. Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulder and drew you in closer to him.

“Those five years, after the snap… they were hell. Everybody was miserable. People would just break down, in the middle of the streets, crying…”

Tears started to build in Steve’s eyes. You reached up a hesitant hand and wiped them away. He didn't seem to mind.

“The Avengers… I don't even know if you'd call us that. It was just me, Nat and Rhodey at that point. Bruce was always hidden away in his lab. Us three, we tried to help out as much as we could. But we just felt so, useless. Like we had failed. Because we had.”

“Steve, don’t say that…”

“Shh,” he whispered, bringing a finger to your lips, “You said you’d listen, remember?”

A tiny smile played at your lips. You nodded and let him continue.

“Anyway, we all felt like we’d failed. I remember one night, everyone was feeling particularly bad. Nat and I decided to open up one of the wine bottles from Tony’s cellar. We took turns sipping from it. I couldn't get drunk, but she definitely was.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Where was this going?

“We began talking about the snap and about how screwed up everything was. Then, she began talking about you. About how much she missed you. And she was crying. I’ve never seen Nat cry.”

You could feel the tears start brimming at your eyes.

“And then she asks me, what did I miss most? Who would I bring back, if I could bring back anybody? And do you know who I said?”

“Bucky?” You guessed, looking up at Steve.

“No.” He replied. “Y/N, it was you.”

You couldn’t stop the gasp from leaving your lips. You and Steve had always been close, but you had never thought you meant this much to him. As he opened his mouth to continue speaking, a stream of tears escaped from his eyes.

“And I meant it, Y/N. I missed you so much. God, it was killing me. Tony was gone, Sam was gone, Buck was gone… but all I wanted, out of everything in the world, was to hear your laugh again. I would’ve given anything to see you perched on the kitchen counter, drinking coffee in your pyjamas like you always would. Or even just to hear your music blasting from your room again.”

Now both of you were crying. You wrapped your arms around Steve’s body, buried your face into his chest. Your tears were soaking his shirt but you didn't care.

“Y/N, I’m telling you all this because I want you to know, that on that night, me and Nat both sat on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, and we cried and we talked about how much we missed you. You, nobody else. I know how close you were with her. I know that I can’t even begin to understand how much pain you’re going through right now… But I want you to know that I miss her too. And you’re not alone. You don't have to be alone.”

Your face was wet, your cheeks slick with tears. “Steve I-”

“Wait,” he interrupted, brushing your hair behind your ear, “There’s just one more thing.”

“Okay.”

“When I went back in time, back to 2012 to get the stone… I saw you. It was your past self, obviously, but it was still you. You were standing with the rest of the team, threatening Loki with your sword, and you had your hair how you used to wear it, remember?”

You gave a small laugh.

“God, Y/N, you have no idea how much I just wanted to reach out and touch you. To run my hands through your hair and feel you in my arms again. You were right there. And that’s when I realised. I realised something, and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.”

You inhaled sharply. Steve looked down at your face. You looked into his sea-blue eyes and noticed how his long lashes were still damp from tears.

“Y/N,” he whispered, “I love you.”

Your world came apart again. But it was different, different to when you found out Nat was dead. Because this time, it felt good. Everything felt so, gloriously good.

Of course, you thought. This is right. This is how it's supposed to be.

Steve. America’s golden boy. The man who made you laugh no matter how grumpy you were, who would wake up at 6am just to make you breakfast. The man who would sketch you as you watched movies, who was able to replicate the most intricate details of your face perfectly on paper.

He loved you.

“Steve,” you whispered back, not looking away from his eyes, “I love you, too.”

You loved him. Of course.

It wasn't just easy all of a sudden. A switch didn't go off in your brain, your nightmares didn't automatically stop. But, with Steve, things were more… bearable. On the nights when it got really bad, you would wake him up, and you two would both talk about her, about your favourite memories. His story about them being undercover and having to kiss always made you laugh. Which is why he loved telling it.

Some nights, you would even talk about Tony.

The warm days in Wakanda stretched into weeks and months. You made a sort of makeshift home in the African country. Sometimes, you were invited to speak at one of the schools, and then you would tell the kids about the Avengers. About the God of Thunder, who was the prince of a palace amongst the stars and held the power of lightning within his fingertips. About Hawkeye, a man who could hit any target, no matter how small, and who loved his family more than anything. About Captain America, the man who fought off Nazi’s and won, who believed in justice and equality and who never ran away from a fight, no matter how much the odds were stacked against him. About the Hulk, a green, gigantic monster who looked scary but was really the smartest, kindest man in the world. About Iron Man, the genius who could build something from anything, and who gave his life for the rest of the world. And, finally, you would tell them about the Black Widow. The best spy in the world, a girl who could kick ass and look good doing it. A girl who was raised to be a villain and who became a hero anyway. Your best friend.

The Avengers weren't gone forever. There were new heroes ready to take on the name. Captain Marvel, Spider-Man, Dr Strange (you had finally learnt what that strange man’s name was). But for you, and for the rest of the original Avengers, your days of kicking ass and saving the world were over. But it was okay, because you had Steve, and you were going to start a new life together, one where you could sleep in each morning and didn't have to worry about becoming a war criminal overnight. For the first time in both of your lives, you could be at peace.

And, like the kids you taught in Wakanda, the rest of the world was always going to remember you.

[keishiko]

What Gives It Value (Chapter Two)

A lot can happen in five years.

[Chapter 2/?  |  Rated for language, adult themes  |  Angst  |  Natasha x Steve  |  Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4]

[Set during the five-year jump in “Endgame”.  My latest, lame attempt at a fix-it fic]

They got back in the wee hours of the morning, too tired for words, heading for their rooms with barely more than a grunt or a nod to sign off.  The entire trip home in the quinjet Steve had looked forward to a hot shower, a clean bed, an hour’s rest, preferably twenty.

But when he got to his suite he couldn’t find it in him to turn on the light or even change out of his uniform.  The silence shrilled in his ears and he knew, tonight as on most other nights, that he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep.

Even when he did nod off these days, he often woke screaming.  Or crying.  

Piece by piece he shrugged out of his gear as he padded into the room, dropping his harness and kit belt on the floor, discarding his gloves, leaving his earpiece on a side table.  He ignored his own resulting unease, his military training chafing against the disorder.  As he stood looking out the bay window he suddenly became aware of Natasha’s presence in the room behind him by the door, and he wondered how long he had been idly watching the wind outside, stirring the treetops across the way in the murky gray before dawn.

“Care to explain what happened back there, Rogers?”  

He sighed.  “It’s late, Natasha.”  He was almost getting used to calling her by her full name again.  Knowing she was watching him, he slumped into an armchair and turned on a lamp.

She didn’t move as he began removing his boots.  “That’s not an answer to my question.”

He said nothing, merely kicked off the boots into a corner.  Socks soon followed.  She came over to stand in front of him, arms crossed over her chest as she stared down at him implacably.  She wasn’t one to simply drop the issue.  

“Mission successful,” he bit out. “Target neutralized.  Survivors turned over to designated authorities.”

“And you very nearly took a hit.”  He averted his eyes then, busied himself with unfastening his jacket.  “You of all people, you stood there and you knew there was incoming and you almost didn’t move.”

He sighed, tossing his jacket to the floor, still not meeting her gaze.  She’d been there, after all, at his side as usual on that rusty tub of a ship that hid a satellite communications center in its belly and sidelined as an offshore drug laboratory.  He’d heard her frenzied shout of his name, a millisecond after she realized what was happening, a millisecond after he did.  After so much time in combat together, she must have thought she didn’t need to warn him.  He’d leaped out of the way at the last moment.  “But I did.”

She had promptly made short work of his would-be assailant, shattering bones in a show of force that only she and Steve knew was strictly excessive.  As the poor fool sobbed in pain behind her she’d glared at Steve, daring him to raise an objection.

“But you could have, sooner.  We both know this.”  When he said nothing, she stepped closer, crouched at his feet to look up into his face.  “Hey,” she said, more softly, when he still refused to look at her.  Reaching up, she cupped his cheek in her hand tenderly.  “Tell me what’s going on.”

Despite himself he leaned into her palm, breathing deep for what felt like the first time in weeks.  He remembered that moment vividly.  Though his head had been turned at the time and his attention focused elsewhere, he’d heard the shell deploy, the whoosh as it took flight, the churn of air in its wake.  He’d known with the perfect accuracy of his enhanced senses and all his years of experience in the field that the shell was headed straight for him and in that fraction of a moment he had only thought, Why not?

Then she’d called out to him, and he’d belatedly remembered that even now there was still something he couldn’t bear to lose, still something he shouldn’t just throw away.  And even as the shell exploded harmlessly in the deck behind them she had already been surging forward in a blur of blond hair and light-crackling batons, vengeance blazing in her eyes.

Gently he folded her hand in both of his.  Lifetimes ago the same calloused, fine-boned fingers had skated seduction along his skin, thrust into his hair, teasing, guiding, welcoming.  “I’m just a little tired.”

She sighed.  “I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

He almost smiled.  He could probably count the nights he’d “slept well” in the last several months on his fingers.  Her eyes met his and she smirked for him for a moment, just a flash of the familiar wry twist of her mouth.

“Y’know,” she said slowly, “not too long ago, I asked you.  If it were up to me to save your life, would you trust me to do it?”

Now that was a long time ago.  I did then.

“What about now?”

Her face was shadowed with hurt.  Remorse twisted in his chest.  The Black Widow could wring the deepest secrets from the most hardened liars, but this was Natasha at his feet, for so long his proud ally, through so much his loyal friend.  And, far too briefly, his passionate lover.  He’d never said anything, but the first night he’d kept himself from going to her—clamped down on the longing and the loneliness with the cold finality of shame—was seared into his memory.   She’d never called him out, never asked why.  He wouldn’t have known what to tell her.  

She looked up into his eyes now, guileless and gentle, and he knew he had long owed her at least some small accounting of himself.  

“I’m compromised,” he began, unsure how to continue, afraid he might never stop.  As the weight of her stare became unbearable, he glanced away.  “I’m losing sight of the mission.  I’m not even sure why there’s still a mission, or why I’m on it.”  His attempt at a laugh turned ugly.  “Given that I failed the last mission.  No, Nat.”  He cut off the protest already sparking in her eyes.    “It’s true.”

“We all failed the last mission.”  The sob caught in her throat, the tears spilled down her face, but her tone was like steel.  “We all lost somebody.  We failed together.  You can’t keep punishing yourself for something that wasn’t just your fault,” she called after him as he abruptly got up and stalked over to the window.  

Maybe this was finally what it felt like to be a hundred years old.  His eyes burned when he closed them.

“For the longest time all I wanted was to be strong,” he said at last, almost to himself.  “I was this sick, skinny little kid nobody wanted on their side because I couldn’t do anything for anybody.  I could barely look out for myself.”  Bucky did a lot of that for me.  But words felt too cheap, the loss too sacred.  He scrubbed his hand over his face.  “All I wanted was to make a difference, the only way I knew how.  At that time it was so easy.  Everything was so clear.”

She had moved to stand behind him, her presence silent but reassuring as always.  Yet again he pushed back the desire to reach out for her, to close even the small distance that yawned between them.  It wasn’t his place, he told himself, as he had told himself a thousand times before.  Not anymore.

“Now I’m all I ever wanted to be and it turns out it doesn’t change a damn thing,” he said quietly.

The glass felt blessedly cool on his skin as he rested his forehead against the window.  He had run the full gamut of his emotions more times than he cared to count in the months since Thanos and he knew now, with bone-weary certainty, that feeling any more of his feelings wouldn’t make any difference, no matter how painfully they consumed him, burned through him from the inside out, ate into his bones, smoldered in his lungs.  Even if he ended up curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing as if his heart was broken.  Even if Natasha found him and they cried together, clinging to each other in the darkness.

“You gave it everything you had,” she said softly.  “Nobody could have asked any more of you.”

“But it still wasn’t enough.”  In his mind’s eye he saw Bucky, wielding a gun as he hadn’t had to in years, slashing doggedly with his knife at the nightmarish thing that managed to pin him down.  He saw Sam, swooping and firing desperately at Thanos only to be swatted aside like an insect, spent bullets clattering on the ground.  Steve remembered the ear-popping silence that fell soon after that, the dawning sense of horror and hopelessness that the monster left behind.  He felt again the strange dust slithering between his fingers and he shivered, clenching his fist and closing his eyes as if he could physically shut out the memory.  “I was supposed to lead you—”

“It was a bad hand, Steve.”  Her arms came up around him, soothing, subduing.  “We all knew what we were in for.  We took our chances.  We played the odds.  Sometimes the house just wins.”  Her voice cracked with bitterness.  “Sometimes the house is a giant purple alien sociopath whom no amount of training in this world can prepare you for and not even Wakanda can keep out.”

He remembered again the ashes sifting incomprehensibly through his hands where Bucky had shimmered like a dream only moments before, and how’d he looked around frantically to realize who else had already gone: T’Challa, Sam, Wanda, even the tree-creature who had seemingly come out of nowhere to fight with them.  Through the trees had come echoing one by one horrified yells and shouts from the battlefield beyond and, as if in response, the dull, blank confusion inside him, the void Bucky had so suddenly left behind, had taken form—no, no, nonono—and then erupted into a wild and wordless howl of agony.

Sometimes he felt as if he were still screaming.  

“Wanda told me once about something you said to her.”  Natasha’s soft voice pierced the numbness; she pressed welcome, solid warmth into his back.  “We try to save as many people as we can.”  Her voice crumbled into a whisper.  “Sometimes that doesn’t mean everybody.”

She crumpled against him and he turned, held her gently, his own eyes too parched now for tears.  

She’d held him like this once, years ago, in an empty church.

“I’ve said a lot of things,” Steve murmured.  Every time somebody tries to win a war before it starts, innocent people die.  He wondered if Tony still remembered.  He certainly did.

He’d been so damn sure of himself, once upon a time.

We don’t trade lives.  

He squeezed his eyes shut against the image of Vision sprawled sightless on the ground, Wanda lost on the breeze, her head still thrown back in soundless grief.  Steve shuddered.  He’d only ever wanted them to have what he hadn’t.

“We couldn’t have known.” Natasha sounded tired but firm in his ear.  “Nobody could have known.”

Tony had known.  In his own way.  “And all you wanted was for us to stay together.”  He shook his head.  “I’m sorry, Nat.”

Her arms tightened around him.  “It was never really up to us, Steve.”

The sun’s first rays found them in his bed, still fully clothed, her bent over him, him curled desperately into the shelter of her arms.  Later he would be grateful that, for the first time in a long while, he’d slept without dreaming.

She put him on indefinite sick leave.

to be continued

Chapter Three

(Thank you for reading :)

[xialing-gf]

for the greater good (theseus x reader): chapter 3

requested by anonymous: could you make an imagine with Theseus Scamander where the reader’s an undercover Auror on Grindelwald’s side and her cover is blown when the Aurors try to arrest Grindelwald?

wc: 2208

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The following events were experienced through an uncomforting haze as you felt too numb to properly process anything. Voices piled on top of each other like bricks stacking to form a solid wall. Nothing seemed real; the pain in your heart made you wonder how you weren’t bleeding into your hands yet. You had risked everything, even though you had nothing left, for Grindelwald and it was hard to believe he had just thrown you away as if you were a disposable straw.

The haze seemed to drift away once you were thrown into the corner of a cold, grey cell. The cool walls pressed against your skin and reminded you that you were still alive, even if you had seemingly died inside. Memories of your brother and life before his death replayed in your head almost teasingly, as if reminding you that a perfect life had been lived only a couple years ago.

“Hey,” A soft voice floated through the cold air causing you to slowly glance up to meet Newt Scamander’s eyes. You almost chuckled at the irony of the entire situation; you were now in the position Credence had been in and Newt was in yours. “The guards let me in. Told them I was here to check up on you for my brother.”

“Well, there’s no need for you to check up on me. I haven’t tried to escape,” You stood up, almost tripping over your own feet, not used to this level of awareness. Trying to act confident, you stood up straighter, gaining a proper balance on both feet. You tried to look him in the eyes but his eyes reminded you too much of Theseus’.

“You know, you really meant a lot to my brother. I mean, you still do, but you really hurt him,” Newt’s tone had a genuine, caring softness to it that somehow pierced through the tough armor of steel you surrounded yourself with.

“I really do care about him. Initially, he didn’t mean much to me but as I started to get to know him better, I began to care for him. I’m just not used to opening up and feeling raw emotion. The last person I loved…” You trailed off, your brother’s jovial expression appearing in your mind. You weren’t sure if you had been talking loud when you were spilling your past out to Credence but from the look in Newt’s eyes, it seemed like he had heard.

“He blames himself for loving you and it’s tearing him apart on the inside. You have to help him, Y/N. Even I can’t him to talk to me about you, or rather anything. He’s just completely shut everybody out. The only person who can make him open up is you,” Newt hopefully glanced at you, pleading desperation rising in his voice. It seemed like he cared for his brother dearly and wasn’t trying to pull some Ministry tricks on you.

“Alright, I’ll try if I get to talk to him,” You promised, offering the smallest of smiles, causing him to give you a smile signaling his gratefulness towards your willing reply. After Newt left, the cell was empty and cold again, but instead of sulking in the corner, you began pacing around the room, thoughts of Theseus on your mind. You were pulled out of your thoughts abruptly as the door opened and the person you wanted to see entered the room.

“Hello Y/N, my name is Theseus Scamander,” You were stunned at how he treated you like a stranger, but then again, when he entered his posture was rigid, his hand hovering over his pocketed wand. “I’m here to interrogate you. Please refrain from trying to escape. That will only complicate this situation.”

“Did Leta ask you out? I always thought she liked you,” You brought up curtly, causing him to frown slightly at your bluntness. You weren’t jealous, just curious. Okay, maybe you were a little jealous you couldn’t call him yours anymore but you still wanted to find out.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. But I haven’t given her a decisive answer yet,” Theseus stiffly replied, getting ready to start asking questions. Before he could get a word out, you quickly interrupted, “Say yes. It’ll make both you and her happy. You really deserve somebody like her. Somebody who will treat you kindly, care for you, and always be honest. You’ll be happy with her, I’m certain.”

“If you could let me move on to asking questions, that would be absolutely wonderful,” Theseus started, attempting to cover up the crumbling of his rough act, but you cut in again, feeling guilty. You were acting extremely rude but it was the only way you could get him to communicate. “You know, there’s no use for questions. He’s already moving on, changing the location of his meeting place. There is no point in asking me anything; you’re just stalling.”

“You know what? You’re right. I’ve been trying to save you. All the other wizards want you to be executed but I’m trying to convince them not to. I’m trying to keep you alive and it’s all because of what happened between us.”

“I’m sorry for what I did,” You suddenly blurted, feeling an overwhelming need to express your feelings. “I was so scared of love. I hate that all I knew was manipulation. I had shut myself off from the world because of all the hurt and anguish love caused me to feel. But once I met you, I remembered how to feel again. Please don’t blame yourself. Please don’t shut everybody out. It won’t work. I hate to see you feeling this way. I know you have a future and I don’t want you to give up all hope because of what I’ve done to you. I’m so sorry. I will never be able to apologize enough for what I did.”

“It’s hard to forgive you. It hurts. Every night I wonder if you still love me and I can’t stand the pain that I’m feeling,” A teardrop rolled down Theseus’ cheek and you hurried over to his side, enveloping him in a warm hug. You rubbed his back comfortingly as he cried into your shoulder. During all those weeks of dating him, you had never seen him cry. He was always emotionally stable and a thousand knives drove into your heart when you realized what you had done to him caused him to be this way.

As he slowly began to calm down, he sniffled slightly, pulling away as he apologized, “Sorry about this. I really appreciate you being here. It’s so difficult to keep everything to yourself, you know?”

“I know, I know. It’s perfectly normal to feel emotions. I can’t believe I’m the one to say this but pretending to be an emotionless robot is not healthy and does not ever work. People are really judgemental and there’s nothing you can do about it, but talking about emotions to people you trust will keep you going through this hectic world,” You replied soothingly, holding his hand in yours. “You are a wonderful person. Thank you for being here for me. You’ve helped me so it’s about time you had a shoulder to cry on.”

“Thank you. And yeah, the world is quite a mess,” Theseus smiled, causing your heart to jump joyfully, a new sense of hope sparking in your body. You both stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds, blissfully engaged in the peaceful moment.

A shrill alarm slashed through the serene atmosphere, causing Theseus to jerk back out of your grip unexpectedly. He quickly rushed out the door to hear an Auror shout, “There’s an emergency! Something’s loose on the streets!”

“I have to go. I’m sorry,” Theseus hurriedly gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before rushing out of the cell door. You considered calling after him to stay safe but realized other people might hear and report it which could potentially ruin Theseus’ career. Then, you suddenly realized what the Auror had meant by “something’s loose on the streets!”. Credence had let his inner monster out.

Without wasting any time, you carefully snuck out of the opened cell door Theseus forgot to close in his rush and silently crept down the strangely empty halls. Most of the wizards must’ve left to find the Obscurus. Time was against your side so you burst into a random wizard’s office and stole a wand. Sure, it was going to be difficult to use but you didn’t have time to go search for your wand. You ran out of the doors of the Ministry to find the streets crowded with scattered people frantically trying to get away from the distant roaring menace. Pushing past the onslaughts of muggles running for their lives, you hurried down the streets, trying to gauge Credence’s relative location. Once you saw the looming, dark mass howling in agony above a building, you instantly apparated to its location, your mind churning as you tried to come up with a solution to solve the problem.   The Obscurus roared, enraged as it smashed into buildings and swirled around screaming pedestrians. You noted that there were a few wizards, possibly Aurors, in the distance that were observing the chaos, confused about how to calm the situation. Taking a deep breath, you yelled, “Credence!”

The dark mass continued to sway across buildings but it had slowed down, hearing your voice. Quickly, you followed up your shout, “Remember me? I was the person who brought you out of the prison cell from the Ministry. I’m sorry that Grindelwald took you. He can be convincing when he wants to but I know you saw through his act. I’m sorry I brought you into the mouth of the devil.”

The Obscurus gradually shrunk in size and drew closer to you cautiously, continuing to howl in anguish at a smaller volume. Your talking seemed to be working but you had to hurry before the Ministry arrived. “Credence, you are not alone. I’m here for you and I will always be here for you.”

As those words were stated, you were dragged into memories of you attempting to calm your brother when he was stuck in that form. Every step you took closer to Credence was a step into your memories. The words continued to tumble through your lips as you looked up to the receding Obscurus, “You have a future ahead of you. Don’t let this define you forever. You can fight it. I believe in you. Please don’t give up because this isn’t the only aspect of you that makes up your personality. You are so much more than what people see. What people see is what makes them want to use you and that is extremely unfair to you. I want to help you and by you, I mean you, Credence, and only you.”

By now, the mass had shrunk smaller and smaller until all that was left was Credence’s fragile form. You approached him calmly, soothingly wrapping your arms around him as he sobbed into your shoulder. Tears fell down your face as you recalled all those times you had held your brother like this. Footsteps were approaching so you carefully turned around while still maintaining a comforting embrace, pointing your wand to the direction of the steps. You sighed in relief when it was only Newt who was walking towards you and Credence.

When he gave you an understanding look, you helped Credence stand up, soothingly reassuring, “Newt’s here for you. He will help you and I promise.”

Newt steadily wrapped an arm around Credence, murmuring comforting words as he guided him away. Credence glanced back at you and you waved, smiling softly as he looked away, reassured by your warm expression. Newt apparated away with Credence, leaving you standing alone among the death and destruction.

“Hands up and wand down,” An Auror commanded as a handful more of them gathered around you in a circle. The tiring sense of deja vu washed over you as you dropped the wand to the ground and held your hands up. You met Theseus’ eyes and he nodded solemnly and knowingly, understanding what you had done.

Of course, the Ministry took you into custody again and luckily for you, Theseus managed to convince them to end your sentence early because after all, you had stopped an Obscurus from further destruction. Before they let you out, they interrogated you to try to find out the whereabouts of Credence and you managed to convince them that a wizard, thankfully not Grindelwald, had apparated and took him away.

Once you were free from the suffocating prison the Ministry stuck you in. As the Aurors became more lenient with their not-so-secretive spying on you, you began talking with Theseus again and he finally forgave you for your mistakes. Soon, you both were inseparable and you picked up a job at a local bookstore. You and Theseus lived the life you always wanted to live and even though you were content with this life you lived, at any moment you might have to give it up again for the greater good.

~

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[pyropsychiccollector]

            Elfman breathed heavily as he rested his hands on his knees, hunched over.

            “So… did we finally win…?”

            Lisanna smiled as she noticed Ajeel wasn’t standing back up.

            “Looks like it…”

            “The one with the stronger ideology will always win! Love is a powerful feeling, oh YEAH!” Richard gushed, causing Lisanna to giggle and Elfman to sweatdrop.

            “… Always with the love preaching with this guy…”

            “I think it’s cute~…” Lisanna mused happily.

            Down in the dirt, Ajeel looked up at his celebrating enemies with a twitching gaze.

            “It’s… not over… I’m not… finished yet, ya naïve Fairies…!” His eyes widened as a figure hobbled in-between him and his three opponents. “Gramps?!”

            “This war has taken a toll on both sides…” Yajeel muttered regretfully. “Please, can put an end to it…?”

            Elfman arched an eyebrow.

            “This war? All wars lead to the same result…”

            “You just never noticed ‘cause you win all your wars…” Lisanna agreed, quietly.

            Yajeel stared down at the ground, becoming more depressed.

            “… I don’t care if you decide to kill me… But please, spare my grandson…”

            Ajeel pounded the dirt with his fist as he struggled to raise his head up.

            “Don’t beg for my life, Gramps! I can still win…!”

            “We’ve never sought to kill anyone.” Lisanna told Yajeel, smiling as gently as she could. “Take your grandson home and live happily together… That’s all we want.”

            Yajeel didn’t dare raise his head, but he shed tears of gratitude. Elfman ruffled the top of Lisanna’s head.

            “No one understands the importance of family like we do! Everyone in Fairy Tail is like family, but Lisanna’s my only real little Sis!”

            Ajeel looked up at the pair of white-haired siblings, dumbfounded.

            “You’re brother and sister?! But you look nothing alike…”

            “Shaddup!” Elfman griped.

            “You and your Grandpa don’t look alike, either…” Lisanna giggled. Meanwhile, Richard was so overwhelmed by the camaraderie between once enemies that he ran over and hugged Yajeel and Ajeel both.

            “Such love…! I’m so happy for you both!” Richard was crying tears of joy.

            Ajeel twitched again, but only mildly annoyed.

            “You’re still obnoxious with that love stuff…. Geez…”

            ~*~

            A chill went down the length of Brandish’s whole body the moment she registered that she was once again in control of her body… The most obvious sign being the collar around her neck that melted away. She barely had time to process this before she was punched by Makarov and sent sprawling on her back with a thundering crash.

            And rather than get back up in retaliation to the strike… Brandish remained there flat on her back, staring up at the sky with a mixture of shock, pain, and regret swirling in her eyes. Kagura, seeming to notice this change in demeanor in her opponent, hopped up on Brandish’s cheek before jumping to the tip of Brandish’s nose, glaring down into her eyes.

            “I take it you have finally accepted your defeat…?” She asked coldly. Brandish couldn’t move a muscle. She continued to stare up listlessly into the sky.

            “… I lost the moment that I let Invel control me.” Though Brandish’s voice rumbled due to her size, there was a quiet, defeated quality to it. “So no, I will not fight you anymore…”

            Makarov stomped over to her, his pupil-less glowing eyes glaring scaldingly down at her face.

            “You claim it was Invel who made you slaughter my children…?”

            Brandish averted her eyes without turning her head so as to not force Kagura to move.

            “I’m still responsible for every last death… I have no excuse for it. All Invel did was kill off my heart and command me to exterminate your Guild… The blood remains on my hands. I won’t stop you if you seek retribution… Just get it over with.”

            An uncomfortable silence fell over them. Kagura’s glare remained unyielding, but Makarov turned his burning rage away from her.

            “No… If you have surrendered unconditionally, I will not kill you. That is not the Fairy Tail way. You must live and pay penance for your part in this war.”

            Brandish closed her eyes sorrowfully.

            “… If that is what you wish.” She shrunk down to her normal size, making Kagura leap off of her. She remained on the ground for a while, unmoving. Makarov shrunk down as well; his gaze was still hot with fury, but still he barely cast any of it onto Brandish.

            “I would speak with August now. This senseless bloodshed must end now.”

            Brandish reopened her eyes slowly, her face remained blank.

            ~*~

            From atop Kardia Cathedral, August looked out at the battlefield shrewdly. The harsh blizzard had died down. Brandish, free from Invel’s enslavement Magic, had been beaten down once she had regained control of her body and realized it, shocked beyond belief at what she had done… August could also feel the disturbance Dimaria had made with her Magic had been quelled as well, leaving the battlefield rather scarce of Spriggan Shields… Neinhart was still functioning, but if events continued progressing the way they were, he too would fall. Ajeel seemed to come to terms with his own defeat. The Historias had been dealt with, and Jacob lay defeated.

            “It seems the time has come to speak with Irene…” The Magic King heaved an airy sigh. He remained out of the fight to see how far Fairy Tail would manage to get… and their tenacity was remarkable. He could freely admit that, after seeing Fairy Tail struggle so valiantly, he was much keener to negotiate with them. At the very least, they should set aside their feud until Acnologia was dealt with… August’s eyes snapped wide open as he felt a disturbance in the air, recognizing instantly what was happening. “Irene… you would go this far?”

            The Magic King gripped his staff harshly. The Spriggan 12 in fighting shape had been whittled down to a measly two – only the mightiest remaining – and still Irene chose to go this far. He was revolted by her vulgar cruelty, and it stirred a rage within him that nearly bubbled over.

            And yet…

            “I will not raise a hand against Alvarez.” August firmly declared. “Nor can I in good faith defend a country that Alvarez has branded an enemy… I will allow Fairy Tail to deal with you, Irene, but mark my words: I will have you court-martialed for this. The toll for this decision will be too steep…”

            The aged men let out a gruff snarl. He knew Irene would not stop here. She was not known for lenience and moderation. Irene Belserion was the Crimson Despair, and the battlefield would indeed run red with blood this day…

            ~*~

            Irene yanked Mavis by the hair as they stepped outside the Guildhall. She stopped at the edge of the top of the hill to gaze upon the battlefield.

            “Your Guild… gets under my skin, little girl…” Irene cruelly smirked. “The Spriggan 12 are practically extinct, and August won’t lift a finger! I have no doubt your stubborn pawns will crawl their way up here, if left alone. So I will do what August will not… and exterminate the pests. Enchant… Berserker!”

            The redhead spread out her free arm, casting a glow that could be seen all around Magnolia. And down below, all of the thousands of remaining Alvarez soldiers started to glow, too – moaning in pain as their bodies mutated. Erza, standing over a defeated Neinhart, stared warily at the nearby soldiers who had previously been retreating from her general area. Other Fairy Tail members near the scarlet knight were taking notice of this development.

            “What the?!” Max exclaimed.

            “The enemy soldiers are acting strangely!” Warren observed.

            The transformations ended abruptly, and the soldiers roared monstrously as their forms had become much stronger but their sanity was stripped away. The soldiers surrounding Erza and her allies charged, intent on striking down the Fairy Tail Wizards. Erza blocked their path, but she was knocked back from their brute strength.

            “Erza…!” Warren cried out distressfully. Erza stood her ground as best as she could manage.

            “The enemy army’s combat capabilities have been significantly upgraded!!” The scarlet knight warned everybody to keep their distance. Cana gritted her teeth.

            “Tch! We already had our hands full with their overwhelming numbers… and now this…!”

            Makarov stared at the new carnage with a grim expression. Up on the hill, Irene hummed thoughtfully.

            “’Berserker’ amplifies their powers many times over. Its one occasional drawback is that they lose their ability to reason… But I digress.” She lifted Mavis’s head up by tugging on her hair. “I wonder how your pawns will counter this, Mavis…?”

            Erza changed out of the armor she was in and switched to her Clear Heart Armor, choosing to pour her Magic into offense for now. She charged a crowd of soldiers and slashed at them with her sword, and they did indeed reel back… But instead of falling over, they recovered and let out more inhuman roars.

            “That’s just great… on top of everything, you’re telling me they don’t feel pain?!” Max exclaimed in outrage.

            Much to Fairy Tail’s regret, the tide of war was changing back in the enemy’s favor… And if it kept going this way, they were going to get slaughtered. Even the S-Class mages were feeling the pressure. Erza. Laxus. Mirajane. Gildarts. And that said nothing of the significantly less powerful mages, like Mest, Vijeeter, Nab, Max, and Warren… Makarov steeled himself for what he was about to do, after seeing his Guild in such agony.

            “Is this… where we make our final stand?” Makarov wondered.

            “Master, we mustn’t give up…!” Erza pleaded with the man, fighting as ferociously as she could manage. “I will create a path… give us an opening… no matter the cost!!!”

            Makarov laid one hand on top of the other, shutting his eyes.

            “So this is where it finally comes to an end… my long journey…”

            Seeing what Makarov was doing, some of his Guildmates felt like they were getting a second wind.

            “That stance…!” Warren grinned.

            “It’s Fairy Law…!” Vijeeter smirked.

            “That’s right, we’ve still got that up our sleeve!” Max cheered.

            “This battle’s as good as one!” Cana was in high spirits, too.

            Some of the members of the Guild were wary of Makarov’s choice of words, though…

            “His journey… is ending…?” Mira asked in confusion.

            Up on the hill, Mavis’s eyes widened as she realized exactly what Makarov was going to do in response to this threat. And she was not happy.

            “He absolutely mustn’t…!” Mavis ignored the raised eyebrow from Irene. ‘Fairy Law is a Magic which shaves away at one’s very life in direct proportion to the amount of enemies on which it’s cast! If he uses it on such a large force, his body will not be able to endure it…! Please stop, Makarov!!!’

            She screamed into the telepathic link that Warren still had set up. But Makarov kept his hands clasped together in a prayer pose.

            ‘First Master, I am well aware of the burden of Fairy Law… I beg of you, do not stop me. The time has come for me to make my grand exit. To join that rambunctious Pyro on the other side…!’

            Mavis’s eyes quivered sorrowfully as Irene maintained her grip on her head.

            ‘I… I have a plan!! I’ve formulated a strategy which ensures our escape from this dire situation!’ Mavis knew she was bluffing at this point, because she was too scared of Makarov dying on everyone… on her…

            “Enough!!!” Makarov bellowed, making Mavis go quiet. ‘My precious little brats are suffering right before my eyes! They’re being beaten and bruised on this hellish battlefield as we speak! To you, they may be nothing more than soldiers you can maneuver… But to me, these brats are my irreplaceable children!’

            Mavis squirmed.

            ‘I… that’s not…!’

            ‘I know it all too well!’ Makarov denied any excuses the First was trying to formulate. ‘If we but follow your plan, we will surely seize the momentum and come out victorious! But that matters not! I cannot bear to stand idly by and watch my family’s blood be shed any longer! With the last few remaining years of this old soldier’s life… If I can use them to create a bright future for these brats… Well… Then I know what I must do… My job is a simple one.’

            “Master?!” Erza screamed, as she listened on the conversation between Makarov and Mavis like everyone else. But Makarov smiled even as she turned to him.

            “Listen well, Erza…”

            “No!” Erza wailed frantically. “I will not… I refuse to listen!! We must return to the Guild… all of us together!!!”

            Makarov took a deep breath as he launched into his final speech.

            “No matter what hardships may fall upon you from here on out… If you walk hand-in-hand with your friends and allies, there will always be a path forward! Believe in your friends… and believe in yourself! A guild is a family… Do not ever forget that. Thanks to all of you, my journey was one filled with an abundance of elation and jubilation!”

            “MASTEEER!!!” Erza shrieked as the other members of the Guild cried around them.

            “Perhaps my only regret was not reeling that knucklehead in before he died… But even then, he turned out to be a fine young man, don’t you think, Erza?” Makarov’s smile widened. He then closed his eyes solemnly. “All of you… be well! I invoke… Fairy Law!!!”

            An ocean of light burst out from the ground and enveloped so much of the battlefield… The Fairy Tail members wept for their Master, who was making such a sacrifice for them, and Irene, Mavis, and August looked on in awe as the battlefield was painted white for what seemed like an eternity… When it died down, there was large amounts of dust kicked up into the air, creating dense clouds. Erza stared numbly as her Master remained stuck in his heroic pose, head bowed, as the life was clearly extinguished from him. He did not collapse, however… Miraculously, he stayed standing in that pose. Like an undying symbol of their Guild’s fire and tenacity… Makarov had dedicated his life to Fairy Tail, and he served as an example to all that he called his children.

            Erza shed more tears as she stood there speechless for several moments. All around the battlefield, throughout Magnolia, thousands of soldiers had been wiped out. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Master Makarov had nearly won them the war with that one attack, and it would be so easy to return home and reclaim their First Master now…

            But the price was still too high. Erza sank to her knees and prostrated herself, forehead touching the ground in her deep, respectful bow.

            ‘To have been able to grow up as your child… I was happy beyond words.’

            Mavis, too, wanted nothing more than to sink her knees and cry her heart out. However, Irene would not allow it.

            “H…How many was that…? How many did he take out?”

            Irene rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

            “I’d say roughly 70-80% of all Alvarez soldiers. If I were to make a quick estimate.”

            Mavis’s eyes widened further at hearing that estimate. Then her eyes rippled as fresh tears trailed down her cheeks and she smiled bitterly.

            “I’d expect nothing less from him… He was an outstanding mage.”

            “That being said…” Irene continued on airily. “There were no casualties among the remaining members of the twelve. Though I’ll admit they were beaten down, sans August and myself… The flow of battle is unlikely to change in any significant way from this point forth. August is a wishy-washy bystander – willing to negotiate, but will not betray his country. Even if it’s me, who he disagrees with on so many matters, he will not help you. And there is no one in your precious Guild who can stand up to me. August and I are on our own level in sorcery… Since the others were so inept, I will exterminate Fairy Tail and its allies by myself. And I will enjoy it!”          

            Flinging Mavis back into the Guildhall, Irene slammed her staff on the ground and threw up an Enchantment that would prevent Mavis from leaving and others from entering. One that she knew only she would be able to break. A twisted, cruel smirk was plastered on Irene’s lips, her face darkly promising a horrific death for all of her enemies.

            ~*~

            Gajeel flashed a toothy smirk as he leaped off a pile of defeated soldiers.

            “Gihi… Gramps sure cut them down to size… I’m sure glad he was on our side. Look at this!” Gajeel gestured at such a large, breathable space. The bodies of Alvarez troops littered the streets, buildings, and other areas, but none of them were going to pose a threat. Not anymore.

            Levy’s head was bowed as her tears fell onto the dirt.

            “Weren’t you listening…? Master is…!” She sobbed, unable to finish that sentence. Gajeel’s grin dimmed at seeing Levy’s state.

            “… I know, squirt.” He dipped his head, staring down at his clenching and unclenching hand while his bangs fell over his eyes.

            “Then… why…?” Levy looked up at him, only mildly accusing him with a glare.

            “Because we don’t got the time to bury our dead yet!” Gajeel snapped, a little too forceful than he meant to, but he didn’t apologize. “… We still got a war to wrap up, shrimp. Gramps thinned the herd, but we’re still stuck in this… distorted Magnolia. What does that tell us?”

            Levy bit her lip as she looked around warily. Indeed, Magnolia seemed a bit… disorderly in its layout. It was subtle, but it was rearranged for defensive purposes, to keep Fairy Tail away from the Guild. The hill that the Guild was on that rose high into the sky was the biggest indicator of this.

            “… That there’s still Spriggan Shields out there…”

            “Exactly.” Gajeel grunted. He lifted up a soldier for emphasis. “There’s no way one of these pansies cast that Spell. These guys are the meatshields. I dunno how many Spriggans are left, but I bet you my bottom dollar that there’s at least one left, even after that last attack… It’s not over yet.”

            Levy teared up more as that sank in for her. Despite Master’s sacrifice, it wasn’t over yet… How much more would they have to lose?

            “Heeey! Gajeel…!”

            The Iron Dragon Slayer and Script user looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Gajeel blinked owlishly as the blond teen came running up to them.

            “You’re only just now getting here? Sheesh. That Spell musta sent you miles away… We’re getting to the nitty-gritty here!”

            Sting twitched, a vein pulsing on his forehead as he shook his fist at Gajeel.

            “Cut me some slack! I was all by myself, and I stink with directions! Not to mention the world’s all outta whack… I mean, Crocus is, like, within a mile of Magnolia. That ain’t right!”

            Gajeel rubbed his chin, scowl deepening.

            “Yep… Definitely a Spriggan Shield’s work… But how the hell do ya fight someone who can play around with the world itself?” He muttered lowly to himself.

            Levy smiled wryly at Sting, bringing him up to speed on everything they caught wind of through Warren’s telepathy. When she was finished, Sting’s face had become much more solemn.

            “Damn… Guess you guys did start the party without me. And Master Makarov took out most of the enemy with a single attack? Sounds just like him…” Sting trailed off, his eyes fogging over with uncertainty a little.  He stared up at Gajeel. “Hey… Can you tell me somethin’? Where’s… Natsu been in all this? It’s weird you’ve brought up all these big fights, and he hasn’t even been in one… At least from what you told me.”

            The Iron Dragon Slayer grunted as Sting picked up on that little detail. Of course Levy would gloss over that bit of news, which happened way before the world went to hell… And looking over at her, he could tell she wasn’t in any shape to inform Sting.

            He closed his eyes, steeling himself for Sting’s outburst.

            “… Salamander’s dead. He killed Zeref before we were all sent out to back you guys up, and he died in the process.”

            No verbal outburst came. Gajeel reopened his to see Sting overcome with a pensive expression, eyes trained on the ground. His hands were unclenched, and there wasn’t really anything that could reveal what the blond had going through his head. After a while, he clenched his fists, but his face remained unreadable.

            “So… he’s really dead…” His voice was empty and hollow. Levy cringed, but Gajeel narrowed his eyes.

            “Don’t tell me you’re flakin’ out… I don’t buy it that you’re depressed. You’re the kinda guy to blow up over shit like this… Don’t bottle it all in.”

            Sting scoffed, raising a twitching hand to face level.

            “So, what? I’m supposed ta blow up at you guys? No way in hell. I might be a hothead, but I’m not stupid! Venting at you guys won’t solve anything… I’ll pay these losers back a hundredfold for Natsu’s death, but I’m not gonna take it out on you guys. It’s thanks to Natsu, and Fairy Tail, that I turned my life around! If he died takin’ out the leader of Alvarez, least I can do is help take the rest of these assholes out… not to mention Acnologia. We’ve gotta do it for Natsu!”

            As Sting declared this with nothing but conviction in his voice and determination in his eyes, Gajeel could only stare at the young Guildmaster. Levy, too, was surprised by how much maturity the blond was showing.

            ‘Natsu, you really did a number on this little punk… He’s come of age.’ Gajeel thought, acknowledging both Dragon Slayers with respect. Levy bit her lower lip, stuck in her own thoughts.

            ‘Natsu, I hope you’re watching… Your spirit and passion is living on through the people you inspired!’ A small, sad smile formed on her lips.

            Out of sight, out of smelling distance from Gajeel, Laxus leaned against the wall of a crumbled building, hidden in the shadows. He craned his head up and stared at the sky contemplatively.

            ~*~

            Slowly, Irene hovered across the sky as she stared down at her enemies, who were regrouping. She had gone unnoticed at first, but slowly, they were becoming aware of her presence as she leaked out more and more of her Magic power. She hummed noncommittally.

            “Now, where do I even begin…?” She turned around slowly as she hovered around, taking in all of her targets. “A volcanic eruption? A meteor shower? So many options, but which is the most brutal and cruel…”

            As she came to a stop, Irene suddenly smirked. Something was flying at her backside with high speed and power. Within a few moments, her opponent could probably land a solid hit… But…

            “I’m not in the mood for playing around with you children anymore…!” Irene’s face became outright malicious as she whipped around at the last second and pierced her staff through Mira’s stomach violently, blood and guts exploding outward from the impact. Irene had enchanted her staff to have the consistency of a steel blade. Mira coughed up gobs of blood, but not a fleck of it got onto Irene as they floated there for a few moments. When Mira reverted back to her human form, Irene cupped her chin cruelly, uncaring that the light was slowly fading from the white-haired woman’s eyes. “You really were brazen, to attack the Queen of Alvarez in such a way… Be a good girl and go join your decrepit Guildmaster and vile demonic Dragon Slayer… Don’t worry, your friends will be right behind you!”

            Coldly, and smoothly, Irene yanked out her staff and watched as Mira, unable to keep herself air-bound anymore, plummeted and thunderously crashed through the remains of a ruined building. As Irene had chosen to intercept Mira in the air, the cruel act was equivalent to a public execution. Many began to panic with how much ease the Crimson Despair had taken down the Demon of Fairy Tail, and many were concerned for the white-haired woman.

            But of course, none screamed louder than Mirajane’s sister.

            “MIRAAA!”

[chiclet-go-boom]

fracture: void

reylo fic / what if kylo ren was actually stupid enough to turn himself over to the resistance / i dreamed this so its a fraglet of a story

“Stop! Kylo!”

She spreads her fingers out helplessly. She not even sure what she’s imploring him, them, everyone to do but all she can think over and over and over again is be calm be calm please just everyone be calm don’t move it’s still okay and somehow it seems to be working because nobody is moving, nobody is doing anything, nobody is even breathing anymore, least of all her.

He doesn’t break her gaze. He’s gone completely still after that one explosive, frightening burst; carved like a shadow against the gray tarmac with the dust and sand and dirt of the Resistance colors clustered around him in counterpoint. Black hair, black eyes, black everywhere and the Force is boiling around him so hard that she wonders in a hiccup of time how she can even still see him through the distortion. But nothing is moving. Nothing worse has happened. Everyone is still okay and that includes her and that includes him and that includes everybody else who have all frozen where they were shoved away, the one man on his back with the metal restraints still clenched in his hand and this is absolutely and utterly ridiculous and then she looks again at the maelstrom happening around him that nobody else can see and she swallows her rising panic.

“Kylo, please. You have to let them put the cuffs on.” This time she sees his chest rise and fall and something terrible spears through the Force, something that tastes of rejection and something else that sings of retaliation. “You have to do it,” she soothes. Her fingers are still outstretched as if that alone could hold it all back. “You have to let them do it. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s locked so hard into himself that she can’t tell what he’s thinking or if he’s even thinking at all. He’s made it this far but something about the shackles is where he’s balked and whatever it is, she can’t read it beyond the clench of his jaw.

Then, finally, he nods, once and sharp and straightens from the half crouch he’d fallen into. The Force settles a little and she can see him trying to calm down, his face trying to lapse back into impassivity but failing with the tightness around his eyes, the lip that keeps trying to curl.

The blasters that were half raised moments ago are now locked on target and the worst part is, she can’t blame them. The two men with the shock sticks edge back, edge closer and he looks back at her and she can see it in his eyes and she has to nod, this is okay, this is still okay, they knew this was going to be necessary but why the kriff someone had ordered this done on the platform as soon as they’d landed is beyond her but they have to do it, they’d both known this was going to happen at some point.

She keeps holding his eyes as the man he’d Force pushed gets back cautiously to his feet, never let it be said the Resistance lacks courage, and tries again shakily to put the handcuffs on.

This time it seems like it’s going to be okay. Kylo doesn’t so much as flinch this time as the first silver band snaps on.

It’s like being shoved underground. Rey exhales with a whimper. She grabs her own wrist hard enough to bruise in impotent reaction to something that isn’t even happening to her and she brings it to her chest as if that will somehow help, somehow restore function. She can feel it. Choking. Smothering. Half severed suddenly from air and light and life.

Her mouth is as dry as the desert she came from and his eyes still burn into hers but this time, this time he does nothing to stop it. His arm doesn’t move. His fingers don’t even flex.

In that heartbeat the jailor brings his other hand up and snaps on the second cuff.

The Force currents howling around him cut off instantly. It’s so jarring she actually takes a step forward as if falling into the void of it.

She knows there’s air still and she knows she’s still breathing but it feels like she’s not really doing either because where there was Kylo, where there was Ben now there’s nothing, nothing at all, an utter emptiness where there used to be so much presence and her heart is beating faster and faster and faster.

The look on his face crumbles because whatever she’s feeling it’s from the outside and he’s on the inside of that horrific vacuum and she takes another step forward as if it will somehow help if she can just get closer. Somebody grabs her arm and starts to pull her back.

His fingers grip into fists. His breath hisses out, shockingly loud and his eyes are suddenly nothing but black terror. He doesn’t even look human anymore and she can all but see him reaching, trying to claw his way back to reality through the chains.

Dust leaps into the air. There’s a delicate tremble under her heels. His hands clench again and the ground shakes once more, harder, and somebody curses off to the side.

Then one of the men with a shock stick strikes him with it and he howls with pain as he drops to his knees and the ground cracks around him as he falls. The man on the other side hits him as well as in frightened solidarity and she hears somebody yell get the collar on get the collar on now and how the fuck is he even doing that and Kylo is screaming as the shock sticks flare again and there’s somebody against his back fumbling and she sees silver against his black, black hair and something wraps like a snake around his throat and everything —

— just stops.

There are hands on her, hard and tight and she’s straining against them, she doesn’t even know who they are and they’re saying something and she doesn’t care. Kylo’s on his knees and she’s looking right at him and he’s not there, there’s nothing there at all, hard metal on his hands, on his neck, there’s just a shadow in the shape of a man kneeling where there used to be everything.

She reaches desperately into the Force where he burned so fiercely and there’s no answer. There isn’t even a whisper of an answer, an utter, aching void and she reaches again and there’s still nothing. In desperation she wraps her fist around her connection to him, the one thing that she had always, always believed inviolate even as she’d raged against it and there is nothing.

She can hear herself panting, high and pained. She didn’t know. She didn’t know it would be like this and he pulls himself up painfully onto his heels, shaking the hair out of his face, teeth bared and snarling but there is no answering fury anywhere to be felt except in her heart.

And then he gets hit again with the shock stick for something as stupid as moving and that everyone around him is afraid, will always be afraid, and he arches but this time no sound escapes at all, not even a whistle of breath.  She screams for both of them because his eyes finally close and she knows he’s setting himself to endure. She knows how pain moves through his body because she’s felt this before, every time he’s been hurt, been punished, been corrected and now this is her side doing this to him, her friends, and this is all her fault, he told her this would happen and she can’t find him anywhere.

“No! No! Leave him alone! Kylo!”

She knows how because he does. One step to blast everybody back, everybody away, they won’t do this to him, she won’t let them touch him again, she wants him back, wants all of him back and she reaches out with both hands and digs her fingers into the air and she knows she’s bruising his wrists but she wants those terrible things off and she crushes the metal, furious and panicked, digs again and pulls harder and finally they start to crack and she sobs with relief that she can feel him screaming through those narrow slivers. She reaches up to her neck and he reaches up to his in mirror and together they grab the collar and tear it off.

She’s running even as he staggers back to his feet, as he shatters the handcuffs in one convulsive strike and and he grabs her hard into his arms and he’s there, he’s all there, she can feel him all around her, heat and body and mind and breath and chaos and fire and she sinks her fingers into his flesh even as he sinks into her mind and she sees the silver on his wrists as a child when they’d tried to control him even then by cutting him off from himself and he’d tried, he’d tried to do it for her but it was too much, too much memory, too much fear, and he’d panicked and he couldn’t do it, so much silence, can’t feel can’t feel can’t feel and and if they try again he’ll rip them apart and she sinks her hands into his hair and never again never again never again.

She’s stroking him over and over, fingers on his face, her forehead pressed to his, his hands clutching at her hips, waist, running in agony up her back as he assures himself that she is here, still here, still bright and alive and blazing with light in his mind, not empty, not gone and she realizes they’ve sunk down again, knees to the rough ground with his face hard in her neck and she’s mostly crawled into his lap with the incandescent need to touch.

She looks up a thousand years later, blinking the tears away to find people are staring awkwardly at them.

“So. Yeah. Guess that’s not going to work now, is it?”

And she half laughs because that’s Poe sounding rueful, just like the last however long its been hadn’t actually happened and she could just kiss him with wobbling relief for how normal he sounds when she feels anything but. There’s trembling amusement sliding through Kylo simply because of how Poe’s voice made her feel and they agree somewhere that they both like the pilot but they can’t stay this vulnerable. Somehow they untangle just enough to stand again, his chest to her back as shield and comfort, one arm hooking around her chest to keep them in contact, fingers gripping her shoulder. She feels him looking for the men with the shock sticks because if they have to fight they need to go first and she hooks her fingers around his wrist, skin to skin and assents.

If they try and cage him again away from her, she’ll drop them all where they stand and she really, really hopes it won’t be necessary.

“No,” she says breathily. “It’s definitely not. Sorry.”

His breath is in her hair and she feels the burn of him extending in all directions around them as she threads herself into him again and he rumbles his agreement without words.