#he’s wandering around taking to trees because he can’t find his goggles

[blondeweasel]

The Bad Batch Finale: Tech is dead

The entire fandom:

I haven’t even seen the finale yet (clicked on the Tech tag on AO3 like an idiot and got it spoiled) but I’m already jumping on the denial train. Allll aboard!!

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Superior Tony, Controlling Peter

A summer fling, Tony thinks, is just what he needs.

Sunlight streaks through the air, the air conditioning blasts cool gusts of wind onto flustered, heated, dripping skin.

Extremesis glints like gold in the summer light, his eyes like glass, and the people of New York are even less likely to meet his eye.

When he glides into his lab, his little ants scuttle into position, and Bucky salutes him in greeting, ever the soldier.

“Good morning, Sir.” Bucky nods, arm glinting, veins blue.

Is it morning? The heat is stifling. Summer tinges the sky with a late day hue. Tony slips off his sunglasses, smiles at his scared little recruits. “Morning, Bucky. How’d my little bees do last night?”

There are so many secrets still to human DNA. So many different configurations of Extremesis updates. His worker bees, his little ants, his little army of scientists that scuttle about his labs are- well, slaves is a term thrown around. Tony doesn’t like that. They’re his little helpers, his little bees.

They stand, trembling in line. Eyes smudged with dark rings from another all-nighter. He finds Peter, small, compact, beautiful, sun-kissed (how odd, Tony thinks; amused, has the boy been catching sunlight in his skin? Wandering outside? How quaint. How very Peter).

“Anderson success rate: 13%.” Bucky reads off the list. Anderson flinches. Tony tuts.

“Well now, that’s hardly promising. What was it last week?”

“15%.” Bucky says dryly.

Tony shakes his head. “That won’t do, will it?”

“Please, Mr-“

The guards come in, take Mr Anderson away for punishment.

The other recruits shake in the sunlight.

The other success rates vary but never impress him. How well Extremsis will mesh is a matter of science and guesswork, a pinch of luck, and-

“Parker success rate: 88%.”

The recruits seem to hiss in awe and jealousy and Peter bows his head.

Tony beams like the sun.

“88%.” He rejoices loudly, voice making them flinch. He claps, delighted. “My Peter, my prized Peter, 88%. See? It is possible. My precious Peter, he never lets me down.” Tony glides over to him, puts a large, dark hand on Peter’s slender neck. The boy swallows, Tony feels it, but he doesn’t flinch.

Tony smudges his thumb across that Adam’s apple. Wants to inhale the boy.

88%. Goddamn.

“Clever little angel,” Tony croons. “Pixie of the lab, Peter, weaving your magic again, hm?” He noses at the sharp jaw, Peter smells like suncream. Smells like dandelions.

“Riley success rate-“

“Bucky.” Tony growls, voice so cutting that Bucky pales, “I’m not finished praising Peter. Am I not allowed a moment to bask?”

Bucky takes a breath. “Of course, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“Good. Peter here is a fine example for the rest of you. Look at him.” Tony forces his fingers under Peter’s chin, makes him look up. The summer brown eyes are full of slyness. Danger. Insubordination. It makes Tony’s blood sing. He drags his fingers over those plush, wet lips. “Well done, Peter. You’ll be rewarded.”

A summer fling, Tony thinks, seeing Peter woven in the blankets of Tony’s immense bed.

He’ll keep Peter for the summer.

*

Summer passes.

The days cool, and so too should Tony’s affections, but they don’t. Peter flips the glass slide under the microscope, makes a note, and Tony watches.

It’s overcast outside. Grey clouds. Leaveless trees.

Peter works up here, in Tony’s private lab.

Summer is over. Fall is here.

“Come here, Peter.” Tony orders, trying to figure it all out.

Peter looks at him, huge brown eyes through lab goggles, and turns away. “I’m working.” A moment. Tacked on. Cheap. “Sir.”

Infuriating. Insufferable. “What’ll it take then, poppet? Come sit on my lap.”

Peter sniffs delicately, resumes working.

Anyone else would be dead. Anyone else would never take such liberties.

But it’s because of Peter that the next Extremesis update is ready to launch. Because of Peter that Tony’s own core is self-sustaining.

If Peter loathes him as a God, he shouldn’t keep bringing gifts to Tony’s altar.

“Peter.” Blue crackles around him. “Come here.”

Peter gives him a long side-look. “Summer is over, Mr Stark.” He says. “Will you be sending me downstairs?”

No. Tony feels like a caged up lion. Wants to growl, wants to roar, he can’t figure out if Peter is an antelope or a Panther, curled up in the leafless trees, waiting to pounce.

He can’t leave Peter Parker in Fall. Not when his eyes match the amber leaves, not when he moves his hips with Tony’s, not when Bucky reads:

“90%.”

*

It snows.

Extremesis is being used by a record number of people.

Bucky tosses Peter onto the floor at Tony’s feet.

The boy looks up at Tony, split lip, snowflakes on his lashes, shackles on his wrists.

“He was trying to leave the tower, Sir.” Bucky says.

Tony sighs, running his fingers through Peter's hair. “He has permission, Barnes. Did he not show you his pass?” He turns to Peter then, lifts his eyebrows, “Did you show Mr Barnes your pass, sweetheart?”

Peter grunts, wheezes, like he’s been punched. Tony frowns. “Tried to. But…” he shows Tony his shackled wrists.

Tony slices them them with his fingers. Peter gets to his feet.

“With Peter, Barnes, give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Tony can recognise a cliff edge. As he sits on the edge of the bed and watches Peter dab at his lip and tuck himself into a winter coat, Tony knows he is standing at the cliff edge.

It’s winter. Peter wears ugly scarves and drinks hot chocolate and tucks his cold feet into Tony’s knees.

If Tony doesn’t leave him now-

“Here.” Peter hums, passing a well-wrapped box over. It’s tied with a silver bow.

Tony stares at it, uncomprehendingly for a moment.

His storeroom is full of presents for Peter.

He opens this one.

They’re cufflinks. Designed like little double-helixes. There are blips in the DNA-

“Is that Extremesis?” He marvels, plucking one out and holding it up to the light.

“A molecular representation.” Peter confirms. “I know cufflinks aren’t that unique, but what do you get the man who has everything?”

He does have everything. With Peter here, still decorated with the remnants of New York snow, he will have a Christmas with everything. A winter with everything.

He’ll back away from the cliff edge in Spring.

*

Peter cleans dust off the TV in Spring.

He’s wearing hideous flannel and no shoes, Tony’s underwear, love bites on his neck.

He’s no worker bee. Tony can admit that. Peter is something else. Hisin a different sense. In a sense that doesn’t mean possession. Property. Peter is his- like he is Peter’s.

Is Peter a Panther? Does Tony control him? Does Peter love him? Fear him? Plan to kill him?

Peter meets his eyes. Tony remembers the boy he used to touch in line down at the lab.

88% Peter.

Such pride. In seeing one of his possessions do so well. What is that now? Four seasons later? It’s love.

Tony wants him. Would do anything for him. He’s tumbled off the cliff. He wonders if Peter knows-

“I want you to use Extremesis for good.” Peter says, smiling. “I want you to be Iron Man. Not Superior. I want you to be a hero.”

“Baby, I’m a god.”

“I don’t want a god.”

It stings. Tony snarls. He’s a lion-

“I want you to save people. I want you to be a hero, come back here and take me. I want the people of the world to love you. Not fear you. I want you to stop hurting them and start saving them.”

Tony laughs, but he’s afraid. Trembling. “You're in the wrong business, sweetheart-“

“You’ll enjoy it. You love being worshipped, let it be for goodness.”

“I already have worship-“

“Tony.” Peter smiles, summer, fall, winter, spring, “I wasn’t asking.”

A lion master.

Tony goes to kiss him, but Peter turns away.

“For every life you save, the more of me is yours.” Peter promises.

Tony’s hungry.

Peter’s love is a gift. A reward. Tony risks his life to feel the rush of Peter’s affections on him once he returns. Peter is intoxicating, a drug, a rush- this must be what it’s like for those who had become addicted to the diluted Exteremesis.

Tony would do anything to get more of him.

And there are always people to be saved, and Peter always rewards him.

He becomes a hero, on an invisible leash, and Tony doesn’t notice when Bucky says:

“Sir, may I have the weekend off?”

And Peter says, “Of course, Bucky. See you Monday.”

When the lab turns its attentions to research and development, away from nano-tech and control, when the weapons division closes down, Tony lets it wash over him.

He has another summer, another fall, another winter and another spring with Peter.

For that, he would do anything.

[just-jammin]

Wandering Revelations… or Empty Guesses?

Word Count: 1111

Summary: As Jam writes a letter to the Angst Side, she finds out something about her recently newfound set of powers.

Well, she thinks she did.

(Or: The author is very unsure about how magic in this version of Fluff/Angst War works, and is probably wrong although she is happily willing to rewrite this to fit in the canon.)

Unofficial Tag List: @wherethehellhaveyoubeen-loca​ (you beta-read this bullshit and you loved it and ily for that— /p)

To The Angst Side:

Greetings to you all!

I’m not so sure if you have noticed (although, by the time this letter is delivered, you probably did), but I have left the group to wander in the woods. But before you jump to conclusions, I’m still on your side, no worries.

I’m writing this letter now to report any happenings on the opposition. This is the reason why I left: to spy on the Fluff Side & Team Switzerland, and take notes about their conditions & changes to report to you.

First, I have some info regarding the status of the members within the teams. I noticed that both the Fluff Side & Team Switzerland have one member missing from their groups since the last time we saw them. From what I remember of who the members are, the missing members are Keynon (I think that’s what they called them) from the Fluff Side, and… I forgot the name of the one from Team Switzerland. But they do have dark wavy hair that’s swept on one side if that helps.

Speaking of missing members, I bumped into one of our allies recently. I assume you remember Adri, right? If not, she was in the war with us for some time, though recently she hasn’t been able to meet up with us. However, we didn’t interact for long, but I did give her a parting gift before that, so I, unfortunately, don’t know if she still stands with us.

Oh, I also noticed something about one of the Fluff members. So, you know the kid with the goggles? Well, I may have seen him with Team Switzerland once. He was talking with… Rowan? The goat person, basically. I even caught a glance of a chainsaw on his person, which is quite unusual, because I’ve never seen him bring that in the battles.

One more thing, please do take this report of mine with a bit of salt, because my memory’s sort of… shitty, to say the least. If you’re wondering how I’m doing now, I’m actually doing pretty okay! Sure, they are some obstacles in survival that I have, but hey, I’m still here today! (as of the time I wrote this letter, hehe)

I hope that you guys can gather more troops for the next time blood is shed. And if you need me, just write to me and leave it in the woods, maybe? I’ll find it… probably…

Till we meet again!

— Jam

>> —^— <<

Right before Jam wrote her name (and, in extension, finished writing her letter), they realized that they needed to write the sigil she used. Rummaging through their knapsack, she tried to find her trusty red pen, only to come with no luck.

Damn, they thought to themselves, must’ve left it back there…

She paused and thought for a while until an idea formed in their mind. They grasped the hilt of their sword and unsheathed it in a not-so-graceful manner, due to the fact that she’s sitting down and leaning against a tree.

After picking it up on the grass & leaves where it fell on, she took one good look at the sword. The sword, as a whole, was quite long for them, measuring about almost as long as their arm. Its double-edged blade was quite strange-looking, decorated with smaller rectangular blades of a dark and deep purple obsidian on the sides.

The leather-wrapped hilt was arguably the hardest part to understand for Jam, because its crossguard is just two rhomboid pieces stacked on top of each other, with one pink and one blue. Even at this moment, they still don’t know what that part is made of; only that it looks like a metallic material.

Jam admired the sword—her sword—for a while. They reminisced about how it was created: by a light that she somehow managed to summon. In confusion and awe, slightly fueled by their stress. It was weird not seeing fire like they usually summoned, but hey, at least she got the Bi Vibes Sword.

(It was called that when she was still staying with the Angst Side, though she mentally changed it to “The Bane of Bad Vibes”; it seemed more badass for it in their opinion.)

She shook off from their tangent and got to the point of her idea. They carefully held it by the blade, cutting a tiny slit on her thumb to make it bleed. Then she traced their thumb onto the paper to paint her sigil: the sign of Gemini, a not very recent change from her usual X symbol before.

Putting down the Bane, she finally finished her letter. She also checked and double-checked for anything they missed or got wrong, but she noticed that it was getting dark out in the woods.

So they concentrated…

…and created.

Globules of golden light of varying sizes slowly started to appear around her and the tree she’s sitting underneath. One of them started to move closer to Jam, having her notice small tongues of flame reach up and retract on the light. To them, it looks like a miniature version of a Sun, being less hotter and more… reflective?

Wait a sec…

She focused on her reflection on the globule’s surface, which made the light dimmer for a bit. They didn’t expect that… nor did she expect that her eyes were glowing. Not that it was a new thing to them, she was just surprised at the fact that they were glowing gold.

Normally, they’d be glowing red when using her powers… but gold?

This is… very baffling for them right now.

As the mini sun shined brighter and drifted far from her, she also noticed that the globules of light looked very similar to the light when the Bane was created.

And then it clicked.

Sorta.

Is it… fluff?

It can’t be…

But the guess they had made sense. Making those lights had her feeling a sense of bliss. Happiness. That’s what Fluff was made to do: to make people have warmth in their hearts.

The flames made by her Angst didn’t give that warmth as well as now, she realized.

After this revelation, she read the letter once more.

“Eh,” she said to herself, “that’ll do.”

And with that, she looked up to see what seems to be a forcefield made of the same golden flaming light formed around her area. It doesn’t look discreet, but at least that’s enough.

As night finally fell over the woods, her area stayed alight.

[dokoni-mo]

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 4)

(A/N: oh boy oh boy, welcome back again you lovely people! The series has definitely taken a bold detour from what i had originally planned, but i am really really proud of it so far, and I hope yall like it too :)))) as always, feel free to ask to be added to the taglsit!!! The other chapters are also linked below if you need them for any reason. Thank you all so much for sticking around!!!! One more quick note: the chapters are gonna start to get longer and longer as the series starts to end (we’re in the home stretch!!))

Chapter One: [x]

Chapter Two: [x]

Chapter Three: [x]

Chapter Five: [x]

WARNINGS: mentions of self-loathing, some cursing, otherwise none!!

Key: (F/N) = first name, (L/N) = last name

Word Count: ~4700

~~~

Trying to coax your feelings into calming themselves down around him became harder and harder with the passing days. 

His visits became more and more frequent with the passage of time. He would visit your station in his hangar once a day, then twice a day, to sometimes even three times a day. Sometimes his visits were so close together that when he asked for a report on your progress, you had nothing to say to him. This was because you would still be working on the thing you had been working on when he previously came. 

Every time this happened, he would rumble out a flat oh. You would giggle in return. 

You had made good progress on his TIE over this stretch of time. Finally fixing the main computer to where it would turn on and stay on, you were able to talk to the ship much better, helping you to tell what made the TIE Advanced happy and what didn’t. You were very proud of yourself the night you got to show him your achievement, a broad, giddy grin on your features. He seemed to be pleased by this as well, since he made no attempt to choke you to death or slice you in half. A win, in your book. 

Over the expanse of time, you had also grown to be quasi-comfortable around Lord Vader. You were able to place your hands on your hips around him and hold a gaze with him without totally being in fear for your life were you to make a wrong move. As odd as it seemed, you also found yourself able to smile much more often when speaking to him. Your facial gestures were not long, quite the contrary. They were short, simple, mere flashes of your approval and content. 

What they lacked in length, however, they made up in authenticity. 

Alongside finding yourself smiling much more often, you had also found something much more… intriguing. 

Lord Vader seemed far more keen on making some sort of physical contact with you each visit he made. It seemed that at least once a day, one of his large, leather-bound hands would find its way upon some area of your body. Their most common target was your shoulder. The placement of his hand upon your joint was often precedented by you explaining what you had fixed on his ship, how you had fixed it, as well as any improvements you made while doing so. You assumed that hearing that his TIE could maybe one day fly again pleased him greatly, since he was never shy to place a firm hand on your shoulder as some form of… something.

Gratitude? Maybe. Pleasure? Perhaps. Pride? Don’t humor yourself too much, (F/N). 

The other common place that his hand would fall upon you was the area from the bottom of your triceps to the top of your forearms. These touches were far quicker than the ones that he placed upon your shoulder, and often done as he was leaving you to your work while he attended to other matters, and always done with just the tips of his fingers. These were the ones that confused you the most. Those were the most unnecessary ones out of all the ones he wished to give you. Why initiate and follow through with them? You didn’t see an obvious reason as to why he had to do them. You presumed that the touches upon your shoulder were a way to keep you progressing with positive reinforcement, but the ones to the side of your arm? You had no way of telling what he was trying to accomplish with those.

Maybe he’s trying to be friendly? I have been more comfortable around him… Maybe he does it just because he wants to…? 

No. 

That can’t be it at all. 

Hugging your knees to your chest, you leaned your head back upon the cot within your quarters, making yourself look up at the dull, gray ceiling, void of any interesting patterns. You had gotten done with your lunch break much quicker than normal that afternoon, and didn’t feel like getting back to work right away. Deciding not to force yourself to do so, you made your way back to your quarters for some alone time before you had to indulge in more alone time but with a heaping pile of TIE trash you had to somehow repair. To indulge in your fleeting moment of relaxation, you had seated yourself on the floor of your quarters, taking off your boots and setting them to the side. Of course, you had shedded your jacket and left it on the surface of your cot alongside your goggles, leaving you in just your tank top, pants, and socks. How professional. 

As you sat there in the small expanse of your quarters, you had allowed your mind to wander wherever it wanted to take you. You were only half surprised by the places it did. 

Home was a very prominent topic that your brain presented to you. Closing your eyes, you saw images of your home flash within your mind’s eye. You pictured the trees, the wildlife, the plants, the water that flowed nearby your house… 

Your home.

Delving further, you pictured your parents and the memories you still had of them. Lying awake at night, you would often replay these memories as a way to help yourself be lulled to sleep. These would comfort you, reminding you of a time where you were truly happy. A time before the Empire. 

The Empire. 

At the beginning of it's upbringing, you liked the Empire. You liked how it guaranteed safety and security to all of those who joined under its reign. You liked how they would promise of a better life to all of those who willingly came into its arms. 

You hated it now. 

Hate. 

That was one of the only things that you felt now. 

You hated the Empire with every fiber of your being. You hated how it allowed you to be so fucking stupid as to leaving your old life behind. You hated that it alienated you almost entirely from the outside world. You hated the old, cranky officers that barked you around. You hated that you had no friends. You hated how you ate the same rations in rotation every week. You hated the Emperor. You hated the moffs. You hated the officers. You hated how they made you feel. You hated how the Empire made you feel. 

Feelings. 

He made you feel good. 

You pretended not to notice the blush that crept its way onto your face every time he touched you. When you would talk to him, the galaxy around you seemed to fade away, making it feel like you and him are the only two people left. When he spoke to you, you would hang off every word he rumbled out of him. To you, he was enamourating. The way he loomed over you, the way he dwarfed you in every regard, the way he spoke to you, the way his breathing made you pay attention to him, the way his voice dripped in authority, the way his aura was soaked in power- 

You snapped your head back up to an upright position, your eyes widening and your face reddening. You shook your head, rattling away your thoughts as you washed your face with invisible water. 

No, (F/N). Don’t think that way. There’s no way in hell that you’re gonna survive thinking that way.

Taking your hands away from your face, you shot your gaze over to the clock that adorned your small end table. It was only about three minutes until it was get-back-to-work time. 

You figured that there was no point in sitting on the floor anymore. 

Sighing, you pushed yourself up with your arms and tucked your legs underneath you, raising you onto your feet. Grabbing your goggles off of your bed, you placed them upon your person so that they rested upon your forehead, displacing a few locks of your hair. After a quick shake-out of your hands and legs and a big stretch, you walked over to the door of your quarters, grabbing your boots to put them on in the hallway as you walked. 

Pressing the button on the side of the doorframe, you trained your focus on how the door slid back into the wall encasing it, just as it had done hundreds of times before.

Looking past the door frame, you were confused. Instead of the normal lights of the hallway that met your gaze every time prior, you were greeting with a black abyss on the other side of your door. This confused you greatly for a moment. 

Are they doing repairs or am I suddenly blind?

Focusing your gaze for a moment longer, you noticed how the black abyss before you was not devoid of light. A soft glow emanated from the abyss in certain areas, and blinked steadily in others in various shapes. 

Oh shit. 

Feeling your blood run cold, you craned your neck to look upwards near the top of the black pool before you. 

Oh, shit. 

Lord Vader just barely fit inside of the doorframe. In fact, he technically didn’t, since the top of his helmet was cut off by the top of the structure. His shoulders were so large that you would bet money that he had to turn one in order to walk through. With his cape over his shoulders, hiding his arms from sight, his mask was pointed down upon you like a child pointing a magnifying glass at a helpless ant on the ground. Since you were out of your boots, the height difference between the two of you was even greater than normal.

Fantastic.

Seeing him there before you, you immediately assumed that he was not happy with you. Instead of getting back to work, you had allowed yourself to use your time as you had pleased. This was not tolerated by the Empire. You were expected to always appeal to the Empire, no matter what. 

You had failed to do that with your actions today. 

Being sure of this scenario in your head, you brought your arms swiftly to your sides to stand at attention in front of the sith lord, your gaze not faltering off of his mask’s eyes. 

“L-Lord Vader! I apologize I am not at my station, I just got done with my lunch break early and-”

“It is none of my concern what you wish to do with your mandated break times, (F/N).” he said before you could blubber on any longer. 

Your shoulders relaxed as you processed what he said. “Right, of course…” 

Not knowing what else to say, you were relieved that he continued on speaking, “I have come here to speak with you, (F/N).” 

“What is it, my Lord?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest. 

He paused and stared at you a moment before speaking again, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. 

“I wish to speak to you… privately.” 

This sent a shiver down your spine. Privately? He always spoke to you privately, per say, but it was never by his specific request. Even now, you were in private. No one else was in their quarters that you knew of. But this was…

Different.

Knowing that he would dislike you making him walk all the way back to his hangar, you were faced with your only option. 

Let him in. 

“Uhm, well… we could speak here, My Lord, if you wish…” you peeped out as you nodded over your shoulder into the contents of your quarters. 

Shifting his gaze from your face briefly to point his mask towards the expanse of your room, he made no attempt to speak. After looking into your room for a brief moment, he rumbled out a short, hasty, “That will suffice.” 

With the words of his approval, you dropped your gaze and pushed a lock of hair behind your ear as you stepped to the side, forcing your back to meet the wall to your left. Lord Vader saw this movement as your consenting invitation for him to enter your chambers, and he did so quickly and hastily. Much to your expectations, he did have to turn one of his shoulders in order for him to fit inside your doorframe. This would have ordinarily made you smile to yourself, if you were not so nervous about having a sith lord inside your quarters. 

Pushing the button on the side of your doorframe again, you bit your lip as you watched the door slip out of the wall and entrap you within your small room with Vader. You were now undoubtedly, unquestionably, almost unimaginably alone with the sith. 

Here, you knew for a fact that no one would hear you scream if you pissed him off. 

Taking a short, hasty, deep breath, you turned to face the expanse of your quarters to address Lord Vader. His breathing was now even louder than normal, since it was so easy to echo off the cramped walls of your quarters. He was standing in the middle of your room, and he nearly took up the entire space. The tips on either side of his cape nearly touched both sides of the small room, and the top of his helmet was only inches away from the ceiling, even with him looking down to meet the gaze emanating from your eyes. Crossing your arms, you stood before the sith lord inquisitively. You couldn’t help but to think that he can’t be comfortable here, since he barely fit. 

This only fueled your belief that whatever he wished to talk to you about must be important. 

“What do you wish to talk about, my Lord?” You asked as you looked up at the sith in question. You hoped that you didn’t sound as nervous as you were. This was the first time that you had been alone in a bedroom with anyone, let alone a man, in an extremely long time. Hell, let alone a man that you… 

No. Not now (F/N).

“(F/N),” he said, not moving a single muscle as his gaze bore down into you, “I am afraid that I will be leaving for a period of time.” 

A weird pang ran through your veins as you process what he had said. Leaving? So suddenly? This must be important. You were used to him going away some place every now and again, but he would often be back within 24 to 36 hours. This made it seem like he wouldn’t be back for a while. 

You felt… sad. But yet… 

Why did he bother telling you? 

“Leaving, my Lord?” You retorted back at him. You decided that you needed further details in order to make a proper judgment on how to feel. 

“Yes,” he said, “I will be traveling to a nearby system to meet with it's royal family. They have expressed interest in joining the Empire, and I have been sent by my master to handle the situation.” 

You licked your lips as you felt a wash of cold flow over you. His master. That could only be one person.

The Emperor. 

You felt a sour taste on your tongue. You tried to wash it down with a swallow before speaking again. 

“What does this trip entail, my Lord?” 

“I will be spending three days on the planet mingling with the royalty in order to coax them into pledging themselves to the Empire. The planet is home to many valuable mining resources that would prove useful.” 

The way he spoke so matter-of-factly uneased you. From the time that you had spent talking with Lord Vader, you had started to pick up on his habits of speech in some regards. For example, when he was frustrated, he would often raise his voice ever so slightly and insult the receiver in some fashion. When he was pleased, his sentences were short and to the point. However, the way he was speaking now, you had no way of picking up his intentions on. It was like trying to find artistry in a brick wall. 

After a brief pause you had made to contemplate his intentions, you had settled on a safe, vanilla answer. 

He’s telling me this so that I don’t wonder where he is the next few days. 

But still… 

Why tell me this in my damn room?

You decided to leave that question as forever unanswered as you let your response fall out from behind you lips. 

“I… I understand, my Lord. I will be able to continue on with my work with no problems in your absence.” 

Sure, you would be able to, but would you enjoy doing so? 

Definitely not. You had grown very fond of your talks with Lord Vader. 

Expecting some sort of a response, you held another championship staring match with the sith as his breathing echoed off of the walls. The air was laced with a plethora of feelings. Content, mystery, and awkwardness to name a few. You wondered how long this was going to last before he said anything. 

You almost closed your eyes in relief when he did. 

“I… I am required to bring one representative of the Empire along with me.”

Huh? 

What the hell? 

What in the hell was he going on about? Okay, cool, he had to bring someone along with him. But why would you care? He’s probably gonna bring some senator along with him, like that one from Lothal or maybe the one from Alderaan. Was he just trying to share? 

Unable to fully hide your confusion, you raised one of your eyebrows slightly as you placed one of your hands on your hips and let the other fall to your side. 

“Yeah…?” was the only thing that you could think to say at this. You tried in vain over and over in your mind to peace together why you needed to know this information. 

“(F/N)...” he rumbled out, “I do not think you fully understand what I am asking of you.” 

Your brow furrowed before he continued, “I am asking if you would accompany me on this trip.” 

What? 

You had thought you had gone crazy as you felt a blush flinging itself upon your cheeks. Why the hell would he want you to go with him? You were just a mechanic. Just a mechanic from Endor. Why were you so important? How the hell could you represent the entire Empire by his side?

Frowning to yourself and looking down for a moment, you decided that you couldn’t. 

He had made a mistake. You were not the right fit for this job. 

“Lord Vader, I…” You began to say. Continuing on, you wrapped your hands around your biceps and rubbed them up and down sheepishly, your blush still peppering your face. “My Lord, I’m flattered by your offer but… but I think that you are better off taking someone else for your trip. I’m just a mechanic, my Lord. There’s no way I could do a proper job of representing the Empire.” 

“The things you would have to do are quite simple, (F/N). All that you will be required to do is converse briefly with the royals, consume a meal with them, and attend a gala or two. All of this will be done alongside myself, so you will not be alone in partaking in these actions.” he responded to your denial, almost too quickly. If you had been fully paying attention, you would have figured that he was trying to convince you to go. 

“I know, my Lord, it’s just…” you frowned again, dropping your gaze to the floor and gripping your biceps tighter. Why did you feel like crying? “I think that you asked the wrong person.”

This was met with another pause from him. Rethinking your sentences, you thought that maybe your choice of words hadn’t been all that smart. They had made you seem as if you were questioning the dark lord, questioning whether or not he really did know best. 

If you were anyone else, you knew that you would be dead on the floor right now. Luckily, you were you, so you were somehow by the grace of your maker not met with this fate. 

Although, with how you were feeling now, with no explicable reason for you to be feeling such a way, the thought of that fate didn’t exactly sound too bad. 

Before you could slip deeper into your thoughts of self-doubt and anxiety, you felt a familiar feeling of cool leather on your right shoulder. From the sheer weight and firmness of the feeling, you knew instantly that it was Lord Vader’s hand. 

You felt the ghost of a thought of him pulling you towards him in an embrace dance across the back of your mind.

“(F/N)...” You heard him say. Despite his beckoning, you refused to look up at him, keeping your gaze locked on the sight of your small, sock-covered feet in front of his large boots. 

After a long moment of you refusing to look up at him, you felt a foreign touch upon your chin. The touch was firm but gentle, and it wrapped around the curve of your bone so perfectly. The touch became more firm as it gently pulled your head upwards so that you neck craned, forcing your gaze back upon Lord Vader’s mask. In your peripheral vision, you noticed that both of Lord Vader’s arms were curved in such a way so that his hands could rest upon your upper body. 

This told you two things. 

One: Lord Vader’s left hand was on your right shoulder. 

Two: Lord Vader’s right hand was holding your chin in place, making you look up at him. 

To say your cheeks were pink was an understatement. They only grew pinker as he stared down at your face, his grasp unwavering from your joint and chin. 

“(F/N)...” he repeated, “There is no one I trust more to accompany me.” 

Your cheeks were pink before, but now they were quickly turning red.

For the first time ever, your mind was completely blank. 

“I… Okay.” was the only thing you were able to force out of your lungs.

~~~

Packing for the visit was remarkably easy to do. 

You owned very little, so fitting it all into one medium-sized backpack with the Empire’s logo slapped on the front was no challenge. Much to your disdain, you had to wear your full formal uniform throughout the entirety of the trip. The difference between that uniform and your normal one was the color (the formal being black and the normal being green-grey) and the material. The formal uniform was much more wrinkle-resistant than the everyday one, so you looked a million times more formal and empirical than how you ordinarily did.

You hated it. 

Pulling the backpack onto your shoulders and giving yourself one last look in the mirror, you decided that you were ready to head over to Lord Vader’s hangar. It was there that you would board the shuttle that would transport you and Lord Vader to that stupid planet with it's stupid royals. You felt like you could shit your pants right then and right there.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you looked over your features over and over again. Noticing anything out of line, you would quickly and hastily fix it, making sure that you looked your best in your shitty formal uniform. 

In your head, you told yourself that you did it to make sure you didn’t look like total shit. Deep down, however, you knew that you did it to look good for him. You would never admit this. 

Satisfied with your poking and prodding of yourself, you adjusted the backpack on your shoulders and headed out the door, not giving your small quarters one last look. Hastily making your way down the hallway, you ignored the stares and whispers that you noticed in your peripheral. You had no time nor interest in confronting them. 

The first thing you noticed when the doors opened was the busyness of Lord Vader’s hangar. This was a stark contrast of how you normally saw it. Right now, it was hustling and bustling with officers trying to get everything coordinated and troopers finding their positions. 

This must be normal, you presumed, when trying to move one of the most important people in the galaxy around. 

He was easy to spot in the crowd since he was so much taller and larger than the others. He was currently conversing with an officer who held a datapad and was likely rambling on about who the pilots where and the exact course that they planned to take. How interesting. 

Not knowing what else to do with yourself, you made your way over to him. Without even taking ten steps into your journey, you were stopped by a stormtrooper with a fancy guard around his shoulder. A captain, you presumed. 

“Are you Miss (L/N)?” The trooper asked, his voice distorted by the microphone in his helmet. 

“I, umm, yeah, that’s me.” You responded, a bit taken aback by the sudden interaction. 

“Great. I can take your bag for you then, Miss (L/N). Lord Vader also wishes to talk to you before you depart.” The trooper continued, holding out his armor-clad hand for you to place your backpack into. 

You looked at the trooper’s hand before hesitantly slipping the backpack off your shoulders and placing it within the trooper’s grasp, mumbling out a thank you. You were surprised at how polite that trooper was as he left with your bag. You always respected the stormtroopers, but that sometimes wasn’t a mutual respect. 

With your brief interaction done, you made your way over to Lord Vader. As you drew nearer, you noticed how the sea of troopers and officers parted and dissolved away, busying themselves with other means. His hands placed firmly on his belt, Lord Vader looked to you as he addressed you. 

“(F/N). I am pleased to see you here on time.” 

“I try to impress, my Lord.” You retorted back. You must have felt bold that day, as evidenced by your small quip and the faint smile that accompanied it. 

Not a moment after your small interaction was finished, a voice came over the comm system signaling that it was time to board the shuttle, already filled with it's pilots and a handful of troopers. Letting the sith pave the way, you followed as his cape fluttered behind him. Once the two of you were standing soundly in the shuttle, the doors to the craft were closed in a soft whirr, the light difference making your eyes strain. A moment after, you felt the shuttle rumble beneath your feet then smoothly purr to life, signaling that you had taken off and were now exiting the Super Star Destroyer. 

Your heart was beating a mile a minute from your excitement. You were so happy to finally be leaving that damn thing behind, even for just a little while. 

He must have sensed your emotions stirr inside you when you had felt the shuttle taken off. This was evidenced by him letting his gaze fall to you after a long while of simply staring straight ahead. You pretended not to notice his gaze as you continued to stare straight ahead, watching him in your peripheral.

Your cheeks, of course, dusted pink again. 

After simply looking at you for what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. 

“(F/N).” he said flatly, as he always did when he wanted your attention. 

The usage of your name prompted you to look up at him, a hint of wonder and curiosity in your eyes. 

“Yes, My Lord?”

He looked at you for a moment in silence before returning his gaze to its original position. 

“If you wish to simply call me ‘Vader’ when the two of us are alone… I will allow it.” 

In that moment, you wished that the rest of the galaxy around the pair of you could somehow easily and quietly slip away for the rest of time.

~~~

TAGS: @spaghetti-666​ , @soullesstaco​ , @arsonistvoyager​ , @robin-obsessed​ , @glitter-rian​ , @captainrexstan​ , @easterncryptid​ , @deviatedwinter​ , @roseangel013bf​ , @danicalifxrnia​ , @dartheldur​ 

[blookmallow]

i read the jurassic park novel recently (its SO good) and i didnt remember the movie that well so i watched it again and... the stakes are SO much higher in the book its legitimately like. horror novel levels. i thought maybe i just didnt remember a bunch of shit but no most of this just doesn’t happen 

- its like, “so dark you can’t see shit” levels for the first part, tim can only see whats going on because he has the night vision goggles. i understand why they changed this for the movie bc it would’ve been a mess trying to do a scene you can’t.... see, but it does ramp up the tension in the book

- after the first tyrannosaur attack we briefly don’t know if lex is even alive (and the ages are swapped, lex is the youngest, so its even Worse) (i do like the age change for the movie though bc then lex gets to be the one who knows computers and gets the system back online which is a really cool role to see a young girl in) bc she gets knocked out of the car and ends up hiding somewhere so badly traumatized she can’t talk for a while 

- tim wakes up stuck in the car in the tree completely alone while its still pitch black. grant doesn’t show up to help him get down. he has to figure it out by himself and doesn’t know if his sister (or anyone) is alive (grant does find them and helps them get to safety shortly after but for the car in the tree thing tim is completely on his own. it takes a considerable while longer to get back and is much harder on them. they also get attacked by very, very territorial pterodactyls at one point) 

- malcolm’s injury is so bad he’s actively dying. he’s vaguely delirious and steadily worsening for most of the novel. it’s clear he’s going to die if they can’t get help, there’s no medical staff on the island (poor planning/oversight/Cutting Corners Because Money i think) and they can’t get the phones or radios or anything back up. raptors are trying to get into the room through the fucking sunlight. he holds out for a while but he does not make it in the end 

- nedry gets fuckign gutted. the dino that attacks him slits his entire abdomen open. he vaguely realizes he’s holding his own intestines as they’re spilling out onto the ground before he dies 

- muldoon is basically shooting raptors apart by the end of it all

- i got the impression there’s way less staff around/the ‘we literally cannot fix this mess without nedry what the fuck do we do’ stakes are way higher. its basically all malcolm’s chaos theory thing, every single time they think they have control back/they think it’s going to be okay something else completely unexpected happens and fucks it all up again

- the kids see a supply ship leaving the island that has escaped raptors on it and the ship workers are unaware and nobody can get in contact with them bc the radios and phones are fucked up. the raptors are going to get to the mainland and nobody can do anything about it (they manage to stop the ship at the last second but BARELY) (i dont know why the raptors didnt kill everyone on the ship but nevermind) 

- henry wu (the scientist you see for like 5 seconds at the lab) is a major character and also eventually gets murdered by his own dinosaurs 

- the tyrannosaur is after them for like the entire way back through the jungle, they keep thinking they escaped it and it keeps coming back. tim just BARELY avoids getting eaten. they find a raft and think they’re finally safe but then realize it can swim 

- when they get to the visitors center at the end there’s several dead security guards around. lex finds an ear. they never find the rest of whoever that was. also instead of dino skeletons there’s a life size animatronic t-rex which has been destroyed by the time they get there so its just lying on the ground spasming with its robot wire guts all hanging out

- hammond is way less “well meaning old man with a Dream who did not think any of this through” and way more “ruthless capitalist who views a few deaths as just minor problems to work through/people will pay Anything to get into this place :)” he wanders off into the jungle and breaks his ankle and then is eaten by dinosaurs too 

- the entire island is destroyed seconds after they escape it, they just fuckin bomb the whole thing 

[dannyphannypack]

DP/PJO Crossover

Hello losers and welcome back to Taylor Writes A Teaser and Later Deletes the Entire Thing Because She Decides She Doesn’t Like it but She Wants to Put the Teaser Somewhere Else Where Her Grimy Little Hands Can’t Reach it so the Teaser Isn’t Lost Forever to Time! The Series. Today I’ve got a prologue for my upcoming fic, The Phantom Recollection. Enjoy!

“Woah.”

Daniel Fenton, newly fifteen, stood outside the Washington Square Park in lower Manhattan with a cardboard box overflowing with weaponry. He stood in front of the park’s Roman triumphal arch, where two statues of George Washington stared down at him. Behind the president on either side were two other people Danny didn’t recognize.

Jasmine, Danny’s older sister by two years, came up behind him toting another cardboard box labelled ‘Samples.’ She nodded toward the eastern pier. “That’s George Washington as Commander-in-Chief, Accompanied by Fame and Valor.” Jazz recited the words as if reading straight out of a textbook. “And the other one is George Washington as President, Accompanied by Wisdom and Justice.”

“Ah, yes,” Danny said as he adjusted his box. Guns were heavy. “My four favorite people: Fame, Valor, Wisdom, and Justice. Love those guys.”

Jazz nudged him with her shoulder and continued through the arch, where a crowd of people were gathered around a large fountain with jets that spewed water 45 feet into the air. A few adults sat around the fountain with their feet in the water and kids ran across the surface in swimsuits and trunks. Danny watched as one kid walked a little too close to the fountain and got pummeled by falling water.

The perimeter of Washington Square was decorated in booths. While one half of the square was shaded by the surrounding trees, the other half was enduring the hot July sun. Some people had been smart enough to bring canopy tents. Others were already baking.

“There,” Jazz said, pointing. A single empty fold-up table on the other side of the square sat in the sun with a sign that read, “RESERVED — Fentons.” Danny used a hand to shade his eyes in an attempt to get a better look at it.

“I told you that you should’ve brought sunglasses,” Jazz said. Danny figured she was rolling her eyes underneath her own pair of aviators.

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny huffed. “Let’s just go before I drop this Fenton-Tech all over the ground.”

A big guy in a bright orange neoprene HAZMAT suit ran into Danny from behind, almost making him fall over. Jack Fenton carried seven stacked cardboard boxes. “Whoops!” he shouted. “Didn’t see you there!”

Danny figured he couldn’t see anyone, anywhere, but a similarly-dressed woman in a bright blue suit came up behind him and urged him along. “Jack, I told you that we could just take a second trip.”

Beside Danny, Jazz hunched her shoulders like she thought she could hide in a turtle shell. “If anyone asks, I’m not related.”

Danny’s parents were … quirky, to say the least. Danny rarely saw them without their suits in public, and Danny even less so with his mom’s hood and red-tinted goggles. Underneath was a chin-length bob of red hair and deep blue eyes, almost purple in color. She was nothing compared to his dad, though, who was easily six feet seven and built like an MMA fighter (minus the rippling muscles). Huge. Stocky. Shaped vaguely like a box. He was difficult to miss. Even behind the boxes, people that walked past were giving him strange looks. Danny figured that was bad, since they were at a ghost convention.

“Not any ghost convention!” His dad had exclaimed, barely a week ago. “The Haunted America Conference in Alton, Illinois!”

“It’s not in Alton anymore, Jack,” His mom had sighed like they’d been over this three times already. “They had to move it due to popular demand.”

“Where is it, then?” Danny asked.

His mom had beamed. “Oh, Danny, you’re going to love this: New York City!”

And that’s how they’d ended up in America’s most populated city, carrying ghost weapons across a supposedly haunted park in the middle of July. Danny was pretty good at telling where ghosts were and where they weren’t, and there definitely wasn’t anybody here. The land had once been used as a mass burial ground during the yellow fever, but the spirits had all moved on since. If Danny had died during the yellow fever, he wouldn’t have stuck around either. Children running playfully over his unmarked corpse? No thanks.

Danny set his box at the foot of the table. His dad was trying to bend down without spilling the contents of his seven boxes everywhere, and his mom was fussing over him. “Don’t worry, Maddie, I got it!” his dad said, and he set the boxes on the pavement a little too roughly. The bottom box made a noise like breaking glass and crumpled underneath the weight. Ectoplasm began oozing out the sides.

“I’ve got the other samples,” Jazz drawled, setting down the box. “If you need me I’ll be by the fountain pretending that I don’t exist.” She shouldered her backpack and walked away.

“I’m just gonna go, uh, walk around,” Danny said.

His mom opened her mouth like she meant to tell him to stay there and help set up the booth, but she replaced the expression with a hesitant smile. “Go have fun. Be back by noon.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Danny knew how much his mother liked physical reassurance, so he stood on his tip-toes and pecked her cheek. “Love you.”

She smiled. “Love you, too.”

Danny turned and started heading around the square, glancing at people’s ghostly booths without actually getting close enough to warrant a conversation. He didn’t get a chance to walk very far, though. While passing a section of the square that branched off into a sidewalk, an old lady in a black hood grabbed him by the hand and pulled him aside. Despite the temperature (and the outfit choice), her skin felt cold. Danny forced himself to remain calm. Not a ghost, he told himself. Still, the woman set him on edge. When she opened her mouth, she sounded like she was hissing. Between gasping breaths, she said,

“Three shall find the child of death

Who loses his mind with one gasping breath

The son of the sea god must attend

To repay the kindness of a forgotten friend

See that his memories are safely returned

Or the reign of the King will be overturned.”

Danny blinked and she was gone, melting into the shadows of a big elm tree. “Wait!” he shouted, but the old woman had disappeared.

A wild animal growled nearby, but it came from all sides and echoed like Danny was in a cave.

He shivered. Get it together, Fenton. You’re losing it, man.

Thinking about how characters in movies splashed their faces with cold water when they were upset, he turned and walked down the sidewalk in search of a restroom.

Jazz sat on the steps of the fountain. With her laptop balanced in her lap, she reached into her backpack and removed a flash drive from her key ring of flash drives. This one was marked by a little cartoon ghost painted in neon green nail polish. She inserted it and opened up the folder. More folders stared back at her. Ghost Psychology, Ghost Physiology, Ghost Physics, Ghost Theories, Ghost, Ghost, Ghost. Jazz pursed her lips. Maybe she should take the ‘Ghost’ out of all her folder titles. The nail polish ghost on her flash drive already told her what it was.

“Hey,” someone said from behind her, and she jumped. Pulling her computer screen down, Jazz turned and looked up at the girl who had spoken.

She might have been a bit younger than Danny, though Jazz couldn’t tell exactly. She had long, curly red hair and dozens of freckles that decorated her nose like tiny paint splatters. Her eyes were so green they practically glowed in the light of the sun, swirling with mirth and curiosity. She was wearing red running shorts and a white t-shirt, so she looked like she had just finished a jog. Jazz supposed that she might have; this was a park, not a year-round ghost convention.

“Hi,” Jazz replied, pushing up her sunglasses so that they rested on her head. She visibly relaxed.

The girl chuckled and sat down beside her. She began taking off her sneakers and socks. “Surprised to see a fellow redhead at the Haunted America Conference.”

Jazz looked up and observed the crowd. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed before, but the people wandering about the square were a sea of black clothes and colorfully-dyed hair.

Jazz snorted and reopened her laptop. “That’s why you came over here?”

“No. I happened to see your computer screen.” She leaned in close for a better look. “Ghost Psychology, huh?”

Jazz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, I know it seems weird—”

“No, I love it!” The girl said. “Everybody else here is all, ‘Palmistry, Chakra, Tarot Readings.’ You’re asking the real questions. What do ghosts think about? That’s what I’m interested in.”

If anybody else had said that, Jazz would have assumed they were being condescending. This girl, though … she could tell that she was just curious. “You believe in ghosts?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, putting her feet in the water and kicking them back and forth a bit. “Why not? Had this weird experience at the Hoover Dam last month. Not a ghost, I think, but—” she cut herself off and bit her lip, like she was trying to stop herself from retelling it. She raised her hand for Jazz to shake. “My name’s Rachel. Rachel Dare.”

Jazz shook it politely. “Jazz Fenton.”

“Fenton, huh?” Rachel looked like that name sounded familiar but she didn’t want to say anything about it.

“Yeah, I know,” Jazz said, preparing herself for the obligatory ‘I’m a Fenton’ speech. “Parents are Maddie and Jack Fenton, ghost hunters extraordinaire. Last year they saved Amity Park from being annihilated by the Ghost King, yadda yadda.

“They did what?” Rachel squeaked, but she sounded more amused than shocked. “Ghost King?”

Jazz mentally berated herself. Without thinking, she’d started spewing the information that everybody back in her home state wanted to know. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she was in New York, hundreds of miles away. Stupid.

Rachel must have saw Jazz wince, because she switched gears. “So, ghost hunters,” she said. “Your folks got a TV show?”

Jazz took a second to process the change in topic. She blinked once. Twice. Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

“What?” Rachel yelled over Jazz’s laughter. “What’s so funny?”

Jazz giggled but calmed down. “Sorry. My parents having a TV show … I can’t imagine.”

“What do they do then?” she asked. “Ghost Tours?”

“Ghost—?” Jazz cleared her throat to keep herself from laughing again. “No, no, no, Rachel, you’ve got my family all wrong. Think, ‘shoot first and ask questions later.’”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “They shoot ghosts? How does that work?”

Jazz jabbed a finger behind her, where her parents had started on the box of weaponry. Her mom set the Fenton Bazooka down. Like anybody was gonna buy that.

Rachel gulped. “So I’m hoping you’re the ‘ask questions, shoot later’ one.”

Jazz nodded mutely and opened her Ghost Psychology folder. At the top was a folder labelled ‘Danny Phantom,’ but she scrolled past it to the general information. “My parents think that ghosts are inherently evil and have no thoughts of their own. They’re just a bad copy of their old human consciousness, wanting to get revenge on humans because they’re jealous that we’re alive or something. But they’re so much more than that. They have these—these ghostly obsessions.” She opened a Word document and began scrolling. “But they’re not evil obsessions. Sure, when they die, they can be like, ‘I’m going to make them pay.’ But usually it’s more of a gray area. Like, ‘I’m going to watch after my family,’ or ‘I’m never going to stop writing.’ What my parents don’t understand is that they’re not unary; they can think about other things. They aren’t limited to one state of mind.”

Rachel looked surprised at the sudden lecture, but she adjusted quickly. “Who is Skulker?”

“Oh.” Jazz paused and bit her lip. “He’s—he’s not the best.”

“What’s his obsession?”

“Hunting,” Jazz said, though she didn’t sound as excited as she had before.

“I’m guessing he’s not hunting for deer,” Rachel said, watching Jazz’s reaction. “Okay. Then … who is Danny Phantom? Why’s he got a folder to himself?”

Jazz’s eyes widened.

“Right. Another touchy subject.”

“No,” Jazz said, shaking her head. “No, he’s … he’s good. Great, even. I think he’s obsessed with protecting people.”

“Well, that’d good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Jazz exclaimed. “I mean, yeah, it’s really good.”

Rachel stared at her. “But … something’s wrong?”

Jazz exhaled slowly through her nose, considering what she should and should not say. “He’s just a little … too protective, I guess. Never thinks about himself. Always rushes in when he could get hurt.”

“Ghosts can get hurt?” Rachel asked.

“This one can.”

Rachel could tell that Jazz didn’t want to talk about it, but she was curious. Choosing her words carefully, she asked, “What’s he like?”

Jazz smiled. “Oh, he’s great. Always saving the day. You know, everybody thanks my parents for the Ghost King thing, but it was really him. Our entire city was transported to a different dimension called the Ghost Zone. It’s where all ghosts live. The Ghost King had just woken up. People doubted his power. He was going to kill us all to set an example. Let everybody know that he was in charge.”

Jazz took a deep breath. “And then … well, Phantom couldn’t stand for that. He was already upset because … someone else got hurt. So he went up there by himself and beat him. He could’ve died.” Her eyes widened. “Well, not died, but he could’ve gotten hurt.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring out at the fountain and watching the water splash against the surface. Some little kids ran by them, laughing. Rachel said, “You like this guy a lot, huh?”

That seemed to break Jazz out of her stupor. Her cheeks turned red. “Not romantically!” she shouted. “I care about him like a little brother. Not—” She put her face in her hands.

Rachel laughed and stood, shaking the water off her bare feet. “I’ve got to get going before my dad comes home for his lunch break and finds out that I’ve left the house. It was nice meeting you, Jazz.” She pointed at the laptop. “You keep that ghost science thing up. You never know. You might end up publishing it and becoming famous.”

“Your shoes,” Jazz said, grabbing the sneakers and holding them up to her. Her socks had been stuffed into the toes.

“Oh! Right.” She took them but didn’t bother putting them on; instead, she started walking up the steps and back into the square, barefoot. “And you keep that Phantom kid from doing anything stupid!” She added.

Jazz laughed. “I’ll try!” she shouted back.

Just like that, Rachel Dare was gone.

In hindsight, Danny should’ve known that he’d never get a break. Weird stuff had been happening to him since last year like clockwork. August: get ghost powers. September: fight ghosts. November: find out that a creepy old man has ghost powers, too. December: fight ghosts. On and on and on until now, watching people stumble through the gates of a sandy dog park behind the restroom he’d found. An old lady shuffled past him, screaming bloody murder. “Rabid dog!”

Danny turned back towards the dog park. That thing was no dog. Snarling angrily at a park ranger was a full-grown lion, 500 pounds at least. It snorted a small plume of red-orange fire. Danny blanched. Yeah, so maybe it wasn’t a lion.

Danny was still trying to process its more … interesting parts. From its back sprouted a black ram’s head, with big, curly ebony horns and a sneer almost as nasty as the lion’s. It, too, huffed, but only smoke came from its mouth. Thank god. Danny didn’t know if he could handle two fire-breathing heads. 

Then there was the matter of the tail. The golden fur grew in patches before tapering off into tough yellow and orange snake-skin. At the tail’s end was a full, honest-to-god python. As he watched, the snake looked up at Danny and flicked its tongue.

This was a ghost. It had to be a ghost, right? Sure, it didn’t glow like a ghost … and it didn’t float like a ghost … and it didn’t set off his ghost-sense like a ghost … but what else could it be? An animal experiment escapee from the Central Park Zoo? Danny seriously doubted that.

The park ranger pressed his back against the fence, which was a little too high for him to jump, and made a high-pitched whimpering sound. Danny shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. Whatever it was, he had to get rid of it.

Danny glanced nervously at the security cameras attached to the public restroom and nestled between the trees. Okay. He had to get rid of it, but without ghost powers. How?

Looking around for anything he could use, Danny settled on rock and tossed it twice into the air to test its weight. Deciding that it would work, he shouted, “Hey, Alex the Lion!” and threw it as hard as he could. It hit the creature in the back of the head.

That got its attention. Turning away from the ranger, the lion growled and set the floor around the gate on fire. Danny surveyed the fence. He wondered if he could jump it or if he’d seriously have to run through flames to get inside. Danny didn’t like heat. It wasn’t his thing. If he channeled a little flight into the jump, would it be too noticeable?

He didn’t have to think about it for very long, though. A boy and a girl, apparently unconcerned with the security cameras, catapulted over the fence on the other side and somersaulted into a standing position, one holding a dagger and the other holding an entire sword.

A sword. This day was just getting weirder and weirder.

The girl kicked the guy in the back of the knee, causing him to fall. She pushed him toward the lion. “Mmm, look, yummy demigod!”

“Annabeth!” The guy spluttered, standing. Just in the nick of time, too. Their entrance had caught the creature’s attention. It lunged forward. The kid jumped out of the way.

Danny raised his eyebrows. The girl, Annabeth, had her wavy blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore jean shorts and a hazard orange t-shirt similar to Danny’s dad’s suit. The guy was wearing the same shirt, though he had a pair of black basketball shorts on instead. Together, they shared a matching gray streak of hair. He wondered if they’d dyed it together.

In the other corner, the park ranger fainted.

With nothing but sand and rocks to fuel it, the flames around the gate died, allowing Danny to walk in like a normal person. Unlike the other two, he’d rather not high-jump a fence with security cameras watching. Even in New York he needed to keep up appearances.

The creature rushed toward Annabeth and its snake head-of-a-tail wrapped around her arm, squeezing until she dropped her dagger with a pained yelp. She looked down at it and kicked it in the general direction of the other guy.

Okay, my turn, Danny thought. He grabbed another rock (this one sharper, yay!), stepped through the gate, and threw it. It cut a long gash through the ram’s cheek. The lion turned to face him.

Both of the strangers looked surprised to see him there, like they hadn’t noticed a fifteen-year-old kid standing by the front gates. Honestly, Danny was surprised that he was still there, too. He had seriously considered running away when he saw them jump the fence. He had thought, Great! Back to my vacation, but his feet stayed firmly planted on the ground.

Annabeth recovered quickly. With the lion-goat-snake-thing distracted, she ripped her arm free of the snake’s grip and tumbled away.

The lion head roared, shooting fire across the park at Danny. He rolled out of the way and stood, bouncing on his toes. What he would give to be able to fly right now.

The other guy stared at him.

“What?” Danny snapped.

“Your pants are on fire.”

Danny looked down. Sure enough, the hem of his jeans hadn’t been as lucky as the rest of him. Patting it out, he shouted, “Dude!”

And then the lion was on top of him.

Now, Danny had been in some pretty sticky situations. The lion had his arms pinned on either side of his head. Danny couldn’t help but flash back to another time, when a ghost panther had been on top of him in the same fashion. It wasn’t the same, but still. Two giant cats pinning him to the ground in a year? That was sad.

On one side of him was Annabeth, on the other, the guy. Annabeth pointed frantically to his right. His eyes flicked in the direction she was indicating. Ah, yes, the dagger! He’d never be able to grab it with the creature’s full attention on him, though.

“Percy,” Annabeth said in a harsh whisper. He didn’t seem to notice. With a stomp, Annabeth ground out, “Per-see!” and nodded her head toward the dagger. He opened his mouth like, Ah, hyped himself up by jumping up and down, and started running top speed with his sword held high above his head, screaming.

The lion gnashed its teeth like it was annoyed. The goat head bleated angrily. The snake hissed. In one swift motion, the creature lifted one of its massive paws and hit Percy across the stomach. He flew backward into the metal fence.

Fortunately for Danny, that was all the time he needed. With one arm free, he reached for the dagger, got a hold of it, and pushed it into the lion’s chest. He cringed, bracing himself for the five hundred pounds of lion-goat-snake-thing that was about to die on top of him. Instead, it began raining sand.

Danny opened his eyes, sat up, and immediately began gagging. “It got in my mouth!” he yelled, though it sounded more like, “It got in me mouf!”

Percy, who had been thrown into the fence and didn’t look much better than Danny, had the audacity to start laughing. Danny turned and glared at him, using his hands to brush lion-goat-snake dust off his tongue. He only succeeded in adding more sand from the ground to his mouth.

Annabeth held out her hand for Danny and helped him to stand. Percy cleared his throat, like, Hey, aren’t you gonna help me up, too? but Annabeth just looked Danny up and down with a puzzled expression. Her eyes were gray like a storm cloud. “Who are you?” she asked. It sounded like an accusation.

Danny was still spitting sand and monster dust all over the ground. “Danny,” he said between gagging. “Bleh.”

“First time?” Percy quipped, helping himself up by leaning heavily on the fence behind him. He winced and held his stomach.

“I’m Annabeth,” Annabeth said. She gestured flippantly at her friend. “That’s Percy. I’ve never seen you before. Where did you come from?”

Danny furrowed his eyebrows, thoroughly confused. “You ever meet a tourist?”

Annabeth continued to stare at him. Shaking her head, she asked, “Where’s your parent?”

“Uh, parents? And they’re at Washington Square.”

“You have a stepparent?” Percy blurted.

“What?”

Percy changed gears. “You’re adopted?”

“What? No!”

Percy’s eyes widened. He muttered, “You’re like Rachel?”

“Who?” Danny and Annabeth asked in unison. For once he wasn’t the only one out of the loop.

“Look,” Danny said, brushing himself off. “This has been super fun, but I’ve got a ghost convention to get back to.” He turned on his heel and started stalking out of the dog park. What was up with them assuming he didn’t have parents? And people thought he was nuts.

“Wait!” Percy shouted. Danny paused mid-step. “Thank you.”

Danny considered that. He wasn’t supposed to be a hero in human form. It was dangerous. Even now, he was running through scenes in his head of these two stealing the security footage and putting him on YouTube or something. Highly unlikely, but anxiety twisted that in his head and made him more and more uncomfortable. He turned back around. “Look … don’t tell anybody about this, yeah?” Then, to disguise his nervousness, he said, “My parents would flip if they found out lion-goat-snake hybrids existed.”

“Chimera,” Annabeth said.

“Bless you,” said Percy.

“What? No! Percy, you of all people should know this. The Chimera is a Greek monster. Bellerophon shot it with the help of Pegasus. Do you listen to anything we tell you in camp?”

Percy shrugged noncommittally.

Annabeth fumed. “I—”

“You could come with us, you know,” Percy said, cutting Annabeth off. “To camp, I mean.”

Danny pretended like he was considering the offer. “Hmm, a camp with a Greek mythology class? No thanks.”

“It’s not a myth,” Percy said, rushing to get what he wanted to say out before Danny lost interest and left. “The Greek gods, I mean. They’re real. We could really use someone like you.”

Danny considered this. Right, so … crazy. They were crazy. If the Greek gods existed, why would there be a Ghost Zone? Didn’t spirits go to the Underworld in Greek mythology or something? But then again … what else could that lion-goat-snake thing be? It definitely wasn’t a ghost.

Danny shook his head. He had enough things to worry about. This was crossing into the Too Weird category. Turning, he said, “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve gotta go throw rocks at some other monsters. See you around.”

He walked out the gates and down the sidewalk towards Washington Square, thinking, I could really go for a sandwich right now.

[f1uffy-turtle]

Soul Bound Chapter 5 : What Happened?

Ao3 Link Here

Edric brought Luz closer to his face. His tears were on the verge of breaking the surface and his breath was growing heavy. The human can feel the tight grip on the collar of her hoodie. She peered over to his hand to see that his knuckles were a pure stark white. The heat from his anger pooled over and made the air thick. Her tears started to pool faster as the recent events flashed in her head. She didn’t get up to save her. She didn’t know what was happening. This was all her fault. Her tears grew thicker as they threatened to choke her.

“Luz, answer me right now! What did you do?” Edric’s voice cracked as his tears finally raced down his cheeks. His grip became weak from the sudden shift in emotions. He closed his eyes and wiped the tears away from his face in an attempt to bring his anger back to the forefront.

She opened her mouth to speak. “I-I didn’t-.”

“Bullshit! Someone did this and we’re the only ones here! It had to be you”

Luz hiccupped between her breaths. “S-s-someone f-f-found us. I-I couldn’t-.” She couldn’t finish the sentence before bursting into tears again.

“Just tell me what happened, Luz!”

Emira placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “She didn’t do it, Ed; not on purpose at least.”

Edric stopped for a moment to look at Luz’s face. Her nose was running, her lip trembled from holding back the torrent of tears that she held behind her eyes and her cheeks were red and raw. Her face read of a kind of guilt that he knew wasn’t because of what she did, but rather what she might have seen. Edric closed his eyes to rid of the tears that were trailing down his face before setting her down. Luz’s knees buckled and she slumped over as she crawled over to Amity’s body.

She lifted Amity’s head onto her lap as she ran her fingers through her multi-colored hair. The teal ends and the brown roots. She had always seen this hair being tied into that half-ponytail that she always wore, but when she took it down earlier, the human couldn’t exactly figure out why she did it. Maybe it was to untie herself from her mother’s grasp? Or maybe it was just something as simple as she wanted to let her hair down for at least once in her life. Either way, Luz noted how beautiful it looked on her. Had she always thought of Amity as pretty or was she only thinking of it now? Either way it caught her attention. Her hair contrasted beautifully against her already pale skin, although the color that was already draining from Amity proved to remind her of what happened. She burst into tears again before hugging Amity’s body. The hiccups in her breath returned as the tears choked her again.

Emira placed a hand on her shoulder. “She might not be – well, she might be better than we think, Luz.”

The human sniffed and wiped her eyes of her tears before she looked at the twin with curiosity. “Wait what?”

“Look, I’m just saying that we don’t know for sure. My girlfriend is in the healing track, so we might be able to help her.”

“Wait,” Edric interjected, “You never told me you have a girlfriend.”

“Yes, because I don’t have to be around your face 24/7, Ed. That and I don’t have to tell you everything.”

Edric opened his mouth for a second, but he couldn’t come up with any rebuttal.

Emira continued. “Anyway, we could probably get Amity to her and hopefully she can help.”

“And if she can’t?”

She put on a solemn expression almost as a preemptive apology. “Then, I don’t know what else I can do.”

Luz looked back at Amity for a second and ran her fingers through her hair before she looked at Emira again and gave her a nod. She went to pick Amity from the ground before she heard a loud crash from the front of the library.

Eda smashed through the stained glass window of the library. The shards flew from every direction and cut her in a few places. Her eyes were focused on something, but they didn’t know what. Emira waved her arms in the air to call her towards them. The Owl Lady spotted them before swooping down in an arc. She got off her staff before she rushed over to Luz. But she wasn’t prepared for the scene that lay before her.

Amity’s skin was pale and cold. There was no rise or fall in her chest. And there was Luz, carrying Amity with tears streaming down her cheeks. Concern spread through the older witch’s face as she put a hand on her shoulder. She took a deep breath before looking at the others.

“Coven goons are coming. We have to get out of here fast or else we’re gonna be surrounded.”

“Wait what happened?” Edric asked.

“I’ll explain that part later, now get on the staff.” Eda gave it a flourish before it floated level with the ground.

“There’s too many people, are you sure we’re all gonna fit?”

Shit. Eda looked at the staff as it floated in the air. It really wasn’t big or sturdy enough to hold the weight of five witches, especially if one of them was unconscious or – no, she wouldn’t want Luz to think about that, so she won’t think about it either. She would have to think of something quickly.

“No, it’s okay.” Emira said, “Just go on ahead of us. We’ll get them off of your trail.”

Eda nodded and scooped Luz and Amity onto the staff before flying off. As she looked below at the streets, she saw a whole lot more coven guards lining the streets than she expected. She was sure that she might have seen a familiar face in that crowd, she was sure that she noticed a patch of dark green hair tied into a bun. She shook her head; there was no way that she would be involved in this. She flew off into the depths of the forest towards the Owl House. Luz wrapped her arms around Amity’s body and wept softly.

~~~ Odalia had the coven guards break down the double doors with a loud wham. She threw down the witch that remained in her grasp.

“That will be all, Gary.”

“Why did you have to break down the doors?” He cried, “I already unlocked them for you.”

“Well,” She snapped and a coven guard came forward. “I just needed to get something out of my system. You see, I’ve been having a really bad day myself.”

She snapped at the guard again and he went to pick Gary up off the ground before pinning him against the now bare door frame.

“My own family is threatening to break away from me. They are defying my every word. They hate me, Gary. Do you ever fear that your family hates you?”

She did have a point. He was always afraid that his dear little girl, Boscha had grown a bit too detached from them recently. She was always a little bit firm, but of course that came from her mother, as well as her own exposure from Odalia when they still brought her over there as a child. And while the woman did scare him, he never thought that she would ever stoop to this level.

Gary stared into the purple haze that glossed over the goggled eyes of the guard’s mask. He trembled against the door frame, clenching his teeth as he could be choked out by the guard at any second. A moment passed.

“I thought so. Now, Steve, keep him there for a moment. I need to reunite with my family.”

Edric and Emira closed the doorway to the hideout. If there was anything that they didn’t want happening, it was for the Emperor’s Coven to find out about it. They breathed a sigh of relief once it had been closed all the way. Emira searched throughout the area to find if there was anybody watching them before she waved Edric on.

They slipped through the corridors of book shelves and rolling ladders, checking every so often around each corner to see if there was anybody searching for them. Edric almost backed up into a few rolling ladders while he checked only to have Emira stop him, putting a finger to her lips as she did so. After a few close calls, she told him that she would be the one on lookout from now on rather than switching off like they were doing before. He nodded at his sister and let her move on.

Emira was getting pretty tired of Edric almost getting them caught. This happens almost all too often, especially when they are making a prank that they don’t want anybody to know about, including Mittens. Thankfully, Luz and her mentor took her away from all this. Even if she were dead, it would be much easier that she were away from the situation. It would be much less to explain to her mother. She would probably be looking for Amity and she could just point her in the wrong direction and they could sneak off somewhere. Maybe at Viney’s? She wasn’t so sure about that. Even if her mother didn’t know that she was dating her, then a classmate’s house would be one of the first places that she would suspect. Maybe she could hide them in the caves near Lake Lacuna? It was close enough to The Owl House and that one tree that Amity and Luz made during Grom.

Emira couldn’t help but smirk at the thought. They were definitely crazy for each other, whether they both knew it or not. She wasn’t able to see the rest of the fight go down, but she saw the aftermath of the fight. They were being carried down by a crowd with the tiaras on both of their heads and she caught a loving glance that Amity was giving to Luz. She asked her if she was dating the human when they were walking home through the forest that night while Edric was trying to walk his date home and Amity got extremely flustered. This was before she started dating Viney. Her mother was suggesting that she should date this guy that she barely even liked- not that she liked guys all that much anyway- only for her to be stood up. At least the feeling was mutual, but still what a jerk! Edric’s had stood him up too, but he wasn’t so keen to taking rejection as she was. Emira laughed at her sister for how absolutely adorable she was. Amity then told her that even if she did, she wasn’t able to ask her up front, but that the dance they had was nice. Emira noticed her thumbing over a torn up pink note thoughtfully as she said that. As her mind wandered, she didn’t notice that she bumped into a rolling ladder, releasing it from its track.

Edric slid over to catch the ladder before it could hit the ground, but he wasn’t prepared for its weight and he fell over. The ladder came down on him with a loud crash that echoed throughout the whole library. They stood there for a second just to process what even happened. Edric winced through the burning pain that coursed through him as he wriggled out from under the ladder. Emira took his hand and pulled him up before running towards the next safest hiding place. However, it was too late now that Odalia stood right before them.

“Heyyyyyy Moooommmm.” Emira flashed a nervous smile.

“Save it, Emira. Where is your sister?”

“I-.”

“That’s why we’re here, Mom.” Edric piped up, despite the fact that he was struggling to breathe. “We saw her as she was getting out and we followed her here. We couldn’t find her.”

Odalia shot him a glare and took a deep breath. “Well, my dear children. I would believe that if that weren’t such an obvious lie.”

The two of them winced as they heard that. They have been caught in the act of their shenanigans before, even when they did lie, but they never got in trouble for it. They were always given a warning, but every now and then when Odalia was particularly pissed, she would call it out right then and there and go on and on about it. Their jaws clenched and their chests tightened.

“However,” She added. “I’m not in the mood to scold my own children. I’ve already done that so much recently. No, I have something different planned for you two.”

She drew two circles in the air and her hands were engulfed in purple flames. The twins’ eyes widened as they tried to back away. As they turned to run, they knew that they had nowhere to run. The coven guards, all with a glistening purple haze behind their goggles, surrounded them at every turn.

What the hell is this?

Their mother grabbed at both of their heads and after quite a bit of time had passed; she released them as they slumped over, unconscious. She cast a quick sleep spell on the twins and took in a deep breath. A smile grazed her lips and her eye started twitching.

“Almade, you have some explaining to do.”

~~~ Luz couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t count the amount of times she flipped over the pillow that she took from Eda’s leftover human collectibles pile just to keep the tears that soaked through the fabric from touching her face. She tried many times to think about anything else. How was her mother doing? She dreaded if she ever found out that she ever lied to her. She dreaded if she ever ended up telling her at all. Luz didn’t feel like her heart could take it. Just like her heart couldn’t- no- next subject.

She wondered what Almade’s stake in this was. What does he have to lose? What does he have to gain? Why is he doing this to her? Why did he have to- no! Stop thinking about it, pendeja! It probably wasn’t a good idea to think about him either way.

She tried again and again, but no matter what she came up with, Luz always landed on Amity and how she looked. How she opened the door and the surprise on her face when she noticed it wasn’t the twins. How Luz froze up when it all happened. She wanted to jump right in front of her and take the blow instead of her. How she wanted Amity to be safe more than anything. About how she hoped that she wasn’t dead and that this was all a dream, this has to be a dream.

No, she has to think of something else. Her teeth clenched as she pounded on the pillow and put it over her head. She put it back in front of her face and screamed into it, as if yelling into it was going to solve anything. All she could think about was Amity and how far they have come together. Memories came pouring in; from the first time they met all the way to Grom. She thought about the Boiling Isles and how beautiful it was behind all the horrifying monster-of-the-week shenanigans that happened on this desiccated corpse of an archipelago. She thought of Willow and her times mending her memories. With Amity. She thought of the time she spent on the Knee when she learned her second spell. With Amity. She thought about their time at Covention and their duel. She thought of the Grudgby match that they had against Boscha. She thought of Grom.

Every time she ever thought of the Boiling Isles, she couldn’t see anybody else; just Amity. She saw the cocky smirk that she always gave and the way that she would blush whenever she got just a bit too close. A matter of personal space, she guessed. It wasn’t like anybody would fall for her. After all, she tried to get her dissected when they first met, she did everything she could just to prove that Luz wasn’t a witch during the duel. She called Luz a bully when the twins forced her to pull a horrible prank that she didn’t want any part in. But she still came through. They were friends. Best friends even. Luz did everything she could to look after her. But why couldn’t she do it now? Why is it now of all the other times that she went to help her friends that she froze up?

Why did her best friend have to suffer like that! For all she knew, she was dead. She couldn’t spend more time with her. She couldn’t let her know how much she meant for her. How she couldn’t see the Boiling Isles without her in it. She couldn’t at least look into those golden eyes of hers again. She couldn’t see her face flush and her normally stoic demeanor fall completely apart whenever they were around each other. She couldn’t study with her again and huddle up against each other. She thought of the warmth that she always felt with Amity. She couldn’t help but feel comfort in her presence. She stopped for a second and thought back to the assignment that Skara brought up.

Was- was she in love with Amity?

No, she couldn’t be. But it was possible. I mean, why else would she push to try to get to know her better or to be better friends with her. Ever since the covention, she wanted to reach out to her. She just wanted her to be happy. She just wanted her to be safe. And now she couldn’t do that anymore.

Luz got up and wiped the tears from her face again. Maybe working on the song will help. She went down the stairs and into the living room where the guitar that she fished out of Eda’s collectibles recently sat. It was in relatively good condition, aside from the aged strings. However, it was a classical, similar to her mami’s. The strings were tied pretty well and wound just enough to where they just settled. Right next to it was Eda, sitting up on the couch. They locked eyes for a moment and Eda patted the open seat next to her. Luz took in a deep breath and smiled weakly at her mentor before sitting down next to her and burying her head into her shoulder.

The two of them shared a moment of silence together before Luz spoke up.

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

Eda’s shoulders grew stiff and she held her breath for a moment.

“It’s okay,” Luz told her mentor. “You can tell me. You don’t need to soften the blow.”

Eda sighed. “I honestly don’t know, kid. I’m just about as scared as you are. Thankfully your sleep-cocoon-thingy was good enough to at least make her comfortable in my nest. I wouldn’t ask Lily to give up the room I gave her as much as I know making her mad would be funny.” She snorted at the sentiment.

“I want her to be okay.”

“I know, kiddo.” Eda pulled her in closer and Luz tears finally managed to break the surface again.

“What if this is all my fault, Eda? I didn’t get in there to help her in time. It should be me up there, not her.”

“Luz!” Eda barked at her with her own tears in her eyes. She never yelled at her like that before. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself. Did you know how I felt when I thought I lost you?”

She looked at her for another moment before she wiped the tears from her own eyes. “I thought you were gone. We were out of potions and we had no healing glyphs. I didn’t know how I could help you aside from bringing you to a healer, but I didn’t think that I could even get you there in time. You were beat up really badly and if it wasn’t for him then you would be dead.”

Luz looked at her curiously. “Almade?”

Eda nodded. Luz pulled away from her and gave her a confused glare.

“But he was the one who almost got me killed in the first place.”

Eda scoffed. “Yeah, I knew that. Why do you think I was out around where you were? I was tracking him down.”

Luz’s head started racing with all this new information and what to make of it. She was the one that caused all of the noise around the library. She was fighting Almade. She let him get away. She let him get to the hideout. Eda let Almade hurt Amity.

“And you didn’t stop him?” Luz cried out to her mentor louder than she intended, but she didn’t care. What happened out there? Why couldn’t she do anything? Even with the limited magic that she does have, she can do pretty much anything. She was better than her at everything. Why couldn’t she just stop Almade in his tracks right then and there? Why didn’t she end him like she did Adegast or any of the other monsters that they faced together?

“Luz, I was trying to. I never wanted him to do anything like that to you again.”

“Oh, sure! Protect me from him, but let Amity take the brunt of it and possibly die? What if she is dead, Eda? What if I can’t see her again?”

“Luz, I did everything I could!”

“Well, it wasn’t enough!” She huffed before she took the guitar and stormed back upstairs.

Eda looked back up at her as she walked up the stairs. Once she was out of sight, she buried her face in her hands and cursed under her breath, a few tears escaping her eyes.

Luz put the guitar down and gripped at her head, cursing over and over again under her breath. She screamed into the pillow and threw it on the hardwood floor. She punched at it repeatedly so much that the stuffing started to deform around her fist before it was deformed enough to punch the solid floor with only the two layers of fabric in between the two. She pulled back and looked at the slightly bruised knuckles of hers. Tears pooled down her cheeks as the thought of Amity raced through her head again. What Almade did to her and what she did to Amity. If Eda didn’t just lose him, then this wouldn’t happen.

No- wait- what was she thinking? Why would Eda have control of the situation when she lost control of her magic? I mean, she got a pretty good grasp on glyphs pretty quickly, so she could have at least some control of the situation. A weight set in her stomach as guilt settled in. Why did she have to be such an idiot! She shifted her weight as she picked up the guitar again and leaned her back against the door.

It’s been quite a bit since she played last, but at least she knew how to tune by ear. It was never perfect by any means, but the simple feel of the strings vibrating against her fingers calmed her down slightly. It wasn’t long before she started improvising one of the songs that she used to write when she was thinking of songfic ideas for The Good Witch Azura series. Funnily enough, the fact that she shipped Hecate and Azura together was kind of coincidental in a funny sense.

She plucked at the strings and got a feel of the chords that she was familiar with. She let the music sink into her and she thought of Amity again. How the calm of the music felt as soft as the calm of her presence. She let the soft sound settle in as she hummed along. She wondered about the song for a moment and improvised the lyrics that floated around in her head.

Amity

You mean so much to me

I can’t believe

That when we met

You didn’t care to see me

But the air’s grown stiff

Threatening your loss

I don’t know if I can ever

Move that across my head

You’re always on my mind

And in my heart you’ll always be

Just that pretty, stuck up girl

Who never took a chance on me

I’m just a foolish girl

And my love just isn’t fair

Though I wonder if it was always there

I wonder if you’d like us as a pair

She felt herself getting lighter as her tears felt less like a raging inferno of emotions that broiled and bubbled inside, but more concentrated. She felt the pain of loss and the sensation of guilt lift from her body. She felt the love she had for her float up above her. However, all these feelings still lingered there like the balls of light that she would conjure from her glyphs. She imagined this as she played and felt the warmth on her skin.

She thought about what happened again and her heart sank. Her head shifted over in the direction of Eda’s room where she was staying. She took in a deep breath.

Amity

It really should be me

If I didn’t freeze up then

You’d still be here with me

But I don’t know

If you see me the same way

I guess I might not know

When you drift away

You’re always on my mind

And in my heart you’ll always be

That pretty, stuck up girl

Who never took a chance on me

I’m just a foolish girl

And my love just isn’t fair

Though I wonder if it was always there

I wonder if you’d like us as a pair

Luz lifted her fingers from the strings and set the guitar down beside her. She took a deep breath as she buried her face into her hands and quietly sobbed.

~~~ Eda fell from the couch as she awoke from a loud crash outside her house. She grumbled under her breath. This better not be Hooty just hunting for more bugs.

Lilith ran down the stairs from her room with her staff in hand and her round glasses on crooked.

“Edalyn, are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She grumbled as she got up. She went to look outside the window to see Hooty juggling coven guards again. But something was off about these guards. They didn’t move in any normal fashion. It looked almost as if they were moving like puppets. They were fairly close to organic, but there was this slight uncanny feeling to it that she couldn’t put her finger on.

“We’ve got company, get everybody ready.”

Lilith gave her a subtle nod and ran upstairs to get Luz and King. Why is Edalyn even considering staying here when the Emperor’s Coven is closing its grip tighter and tighter around them? She knew they didn’t want anything to do with her sister now because the Emperor already has the portal- or at least its remains. Lilith’s eyes widened as the realization dawned on her.

Belos is building a new portal. But why are they even attacking the house again? And why are they going after Edalyn’s apprentice?

She rushed down the hallway to Luz’s room and knocked as hard as she could on the door.

No answer.

“Luz, get up. We’re in trouble.”

No answer.

“Luz, are you even hearing me?” She said as she opened her door. Luz was nowhere to be found. Lilith started to panic as she searched all around the room to find a note. Something; anything that could be a clue as to where she went. There were a few custom light glyphs lying around the floor. She did recall that Luz did use light glyphs sometimes to customize messages. Lilith tapped on each one of them.

To anybody who can find this message,

I need some time to myself for a while, so I’ve wandered the forest. I might be gone for a few days, but I just need to clear my head from this whole situation. I hope you understand.

I love you guys,

Luz

Lilith cursed under her breath. What was Luz doing out there? She could get hurt, or even worse. She raced over to Eda’s room to grab Amity’s body from the nest, but as she opened the door, she noticed that it was gone too.

What is even going on right now?

The house jolted upwards and Lilith lost her footing and fell over. The wind in her lungs escaped her and she took a moment to catch her breath before she looked at the pair of broken glasses before her. She let out an irritated sigh, it might be an inconvenience now, but she does have contacts and she needed a new prescription on her glasses anyway. Though, it was going to be harder to go to a trusted healer now that she defected from the Emperor’s Coven. That didn’t matter now, she could still see what was directly in front of her – okay maybe like a foot in front of her – but she can still make out shapes.

She got up from the floor and raced down the corridor again, trying to find King and opening literally every door that she can. He could be anywhere in the house. Lilith looked out the balcony and in the cupboards, in the closets and in every room again just to make sure. Until she heard a loud “Weh?” come from downstairs followed by Eda cursing up a storm.

Oh no.

She raced down the stairs and out the door to find Eda and Hooty fighting off a dozen coven guards that had King pinned down. Lilith raced over to grab her staff from the other side of the room before she felt a massive force weighing down on her body. Her eyes widened and her body grew stiff. Her heart raced and her chest tightened. She tried moving her arms, but she couldn’t do anything. Suddenly, she was pulled outside with the rest of the crew. In front of her, she saw a poised, green haired figure and Almade standing right next to her.

This can’t be good.

This really can’t be good.

~~~ Luz sauntered through the forest and took in a deep breath as she took in her surroundings. The sun crept through the leaves and shone on her dark skin as she walked. Even if it was relatively warm out, she couldn’t help but feel a chill around her. There was no wind blowing, but she still felt it. She wrapped the witch’s wool cape around her to help keep her warm, but it had no effect. She couldn’t help but feel dehydrated too, but she didn’t know if it was because she didn’t even bother to hydrate due to her own depressive state or if it was whatever this was. It was probably the former. She started looking out for any nearby stream.

As she walked, she looked inside her satchel again. She had emptied the contents of what was there before and replaced them with a new pen, some cardstock paper, and a few glyphs at the ready. However, they were still just the few that she already knew, Plants, Fire, Ice, and Light. Wait a minute.

She found an indented rock in the middle of a clearing and placed an ice glyph in the middle of its opening and quickly followed that up by activating a fire glyph, effectively melting the ice and leaving some perfectly viable drinking water.

She splashed her face and breathed a sigh of relief before plunging into the water and taking in massive gulps of water. She resurfaced and took in a large gasp of air. She splashed her face again before walking further into the dense tree line.

She wasn’t exactly familiar with this section of the forest, although she couldn’t help but feel familiar about it. The trees and foliage were dense and thick, almost feeling suffocating when Luz weaved through them. However, it was still thick enough for her to at least walk through. Then she saw it. She saw the tear-out of trees being uprooted and pushed aside. This couldn’t be Almade’s forest abomination; she would be close to The Owl House by then. No, this was a different monster. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

Luz followed the trail of torn trees and bushes. Most of them still remained connected only by a few roots and somehow thrived under the conditions that they were put under. The bushes and flowers weren’t so lucky. They were flung up so far, that most of their roots pointed skyward and the bushes wilted due to a lack of nutrition. She parted a curtain of foliage and tears burst from her eyes again as she laid her eyes on the scene before her. She made her way to the Grom tree.

Over the course of that fun, yet frightening night, she saw this tree as one of the best things about that night. The whole fact that she got to dance with Amity was really nice.

Luz sighed and picked a few of the flowers from the surrounding area before she had a whole bouquet of flowers that didn’t try to snap or bite at her. She wasn’t too familiar with flower language, or any that the Boiling Isles might have, but she was sure that the gesture would be appreciated. Once she placed the bouquet down, she looked up at the tree before sobbing uncontrollably again. A cold chill brushed past her again and she wrapped herself up in the cape. It might have not helped, but at least it was something. This was really starting to annoy her.

“Why can’t I just see you again? Can you tell me that this is all just a really sick and twisted nightmare? Please, Amity. I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you again. This whole thing has me so scared that you might be dead. I wish you could tell me. But, that’s impossible, right? How can someone unconscious just tell me if they’re okay, you know?” She started getting hysterical. “I mean, that’s stupid, right? I’m so stupid that I just want to know how you are doing, but I know I can’t rush this. I just want you to be safe.”

“But I am safe, Luz.” An unsettling voice hissed. “Just come and see for yourself.”

The human snapped in the direction of the voice. Amity stood before her. Her green hair was up in its half-ponytail again and she stood in a very gangly fashion. Luz tensed up and backed into the tree as she saw the purple haze in her eyes. Except it wasn’t even a haze anymore. It was more like an abomination’s goop covered the entirety of her sclera. She almost thought that she saw her fingers emanate the same slimy ichor. Luz’s brows furrowed and she planted her feet firmly on the ground as she stared at the creature that stood before her.

“Is this some kind of sick fucking joke, Almade, tu amemao hijo de la gran perra!”

The husk was taken aback by the remark. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Doesn’t fucking matter.” She slapped down a glyph and vines wound around Amity’s body, raising the husk high in the air. As she readied another glyph to use against her, she looked into her eyes.

Amity… it was still her. But she’s now a husk controlled by Almade. Memories of the previous night flashed in her head as she remembered the story. She recalled reading about how he killed his father by turning him into a husk. That means Amity was- she was-.

Dead.

Luz dropped the glyph and the plants lowered the husk down to the ground. She started sobbing again and aggressively wiped the tears away from her face. But no matter how many times she cleared it away from her face, new tears would come and cloud her vision.

The husk lifted her chin up and gave her a smirk.

“What’s wrong, Luz? Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Why would you do this to her?”

“Now, if I were to tell you that, it’d spoil the surprise.” The husk traced a circle in the air, readying a sleep spell. “Now, you seem tired. You should take a nice, long-.”

Before Almade could finish the spell, the husk was knocked backwards and sprawled into the clearing. Luz turned back to see a figure that remained transparent in the light of the rising sun. She could see a hint of teal in the curtain of hair that draped over her face as well as the dark brown roots. As she brought her finger down, she looked at the human and gave her a soft smile.

“Hi, Luz.” Said Amity’s ghost.

[unsteadygalaxy]

all is soft inside chapter 5

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475064/chapters/64957384

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5. will i float or will i drown?

This city is much too loud, they think.

A lone figure perches atop a very high apartment building in the middle of bustling towers of grey. Talosian cities are loud and busy and choked with smoke, and Bloodhound misses the serenity of the forest. They miss the lush green of the trees, the gentle hum of the insects and creeping things in the summer, the sound of birds in the spring. They miss the rushing of the water in the creeks near their village, the far-off howling of the wolves at night. But most of all, they miss the comforting memories of home, and of their mother. Their father. Their uncle, Artur. 

If they squint, they can almost pretend the bright lights down below are fireflies, flitting around to their own whims, bound by nothing. Free. Sometimes, they miss the simpler times, when life did not consist of killing, sleeping, and killing again. But they know that they have consigned themself to this life for a valuable reason, and they will not soon abandon it.

They try with all their might to remember life before Talos. Life before the IMC. Life before they watched their parents perish before their eyes. But they were much too young- they had only been a toddler when their parents took them to Talos for their research. They had only been four years old when they watched their father get swallowed by a raging rush of ice and wind and death.

The ice slows just the slightest bit before it reaches their house, but they are still screaming. “Father! Father! No! Allfather, protect him!” A great shattering, splintering roar engulfs the air as the ice impacts their home. The windows crack and heave, but hold their shape, by some holy miracle. They are swiftly picked up and carried away from the windows right as the cold begins to rush in. Artur holds them in his arms, but he too is sobbing, praying to the Allfather, containing the child’s beating limbs, but only just.

A chill passes down Bloodhound’s spine, a sinister echo of the anguish they had felt. It had been many, many years, but the images of the ice burying their father’s body would haunt them forever. The way they’d cried when Artur told them their mother was dead too… Bloodhound could sometimes still feel the dizzying shock and grief in all its initial potency. When they had heard the new arena would be on Talos, their heart dropped straight into their stomach. It felt like a horrific violation, a slap in the face that such a broken and painful part of their past would be on display for all to see, even if the spectators did not know the significance. Setting foot in Epicenter for the first time, knowing that this was where their parents had come to rest… That match had not ended in a victory.

The air around them suddenly feels stiff and unyielding. It doesn’t seem to pass through their mask and into their lungs the way they would like for it to. Bloodhound removes their gloves, followed by their helmet, letting their long red hair fall freely. They sigh and remove the elastic holding the top half of their hair. Their fingers run across their sore scalp, massaging the roots till they no longer ache. The round goggles follow the helmet, and after a moment of hesitation, so does the mask. I am alone here, they rationalize. No one will disturb me. They lie down on the ground and gaze at the stairs as their mind begins to wander.

Ever since Artur died, Bloodhound had never been comfortable with letting anyone see their face. The injuries may have healed, but silver scars still stretched across their skin. They had never been one to obsess over looks or vanity, but these scars held a deeper meaning, a deeper story that they did not want to be bothered about. Breathing had been extremely difficult following the accident, but as the years passed, they could go longer and longer without the respirator. Their goggles had assisted them since they were very young; their eyes were unusually sensitive, and the lenses were tinted to dull the incoming light. But under the stars, they do not have to worry, because those far off supernovas could not hurt them.

They close their eyes, feeling the mild night air on their skin. Today’s match had been a particularly invigorating one, one that they enjoyed immensely. Their squad had taken first place after a tense shootout with the last remaining team. All of their opponents had been strong and worthy of praise. A sensation they can’t quite place starts in their stomach and expands to their chest when they think of Elliott. It’s like crystalized electricity, crackling and sparkling as it travels up their spine. Elliott was… refreshingly different. They had never met such a loudmouth, but he was proficient in his skill, and they had to admire him for that. His performance has suffered greatly as of late, they think. When Elliott was focused, he could be an incredibly valuable asset to their team. But now, for reasons that were his own, he was distracted and forlorn. He was not as attentive as Bloodhound knew he could be. Taking him down in a match had never been a problem. They always did what they had to in order to win and honor their fight. They never hesitated when killing an opponent. 

Until today. 

Caustic’s gas chokes the air around them, and for a moment, they cannot breathe. But the Beast of the Hunt propels them forward. They swipe their hands through the mist and break free of the cloud’s envelope, regaining their stride. They breathe deep, reveling in the Allfather’s gift of strength, and sprint down the hill. Scarlet footprints stain the ground like blood, leading to another kill, another victory. Who is at the end of them? They do not know, but they do not care. They flip Artur’s axe in their hands, passing it back and forth, and they itch to throw it. Their prey becomes visible, highlighted red, and Bloodhound’s heart stops. 

It is Elliott.

Elliott hesitates for a moment, then raises his gun. Bloodhound pulls out their R-99 just as three Wingman shots connect against their head and chest. Their shields are down by a considerable amount, but they persist, and unload an entire clip into the top half of Elliott’s body. His shields are ripped away, and he dives behind a storage crate just as Bloodhound reaches him. They back off briefly, waiting and watching to see what will happen. Elliott runs off to the side, but no- it’s not him, it’s surely a decoy. The real Elliott jumps out from behind the crate, his back facing them. A brief flash of something- pity, maybe?- runs through their brain, but the hesitation is gone, and they fire the next clip of ammo into his chest as he turns around.

He falls to the ground, his head hitting the dirt with a painful thunk. A strange feeling takes hold in Bloodhound’s chest- a mixture of triumph, adrenaline, and sorrow. As their Ultimate fades away, so does the rush of aggression, and a feeling of remorse replaces it. Elliott lays on the ground before them, bleeding and battered, quickly fading away. Their heart constricts painfully in their chest at the sight of him, and they flip Artur’s axe once more. 

“Fyrirgefðu mér,” they murmur. They do not want to do this, but they must. 

A flash of silver, a spattering of blood, and Elliott is gone. 

Bloodhound finds themself clutching their chest, right over their heart. The discomfort of all of the conflicting things they had felt comes rushing back, splashing around inside them like children on a rainy day. Why do you care so deeply for him? they wonder to themself. Why now? What has changed? They had lingered in the hospital until they knew Elliott was going to be alright. They rarely did that with anyone that was not in their squad. So why Elliott?

The door to the roof flies open, flooding the area with a vast golden light. Bloodhound sits up in a flash, hastily grabbing their goggles as their eyes burn. A pair of running footsteps abruptly come to a screeching halt, and their owner says, “Oh sorry, I was just-”

Bloodhound fumbles with their goggles, and notices in a panic that their mask is still off. They look up to berate the person who had intruded upon their privacy, but when their eyes meet, Bloodhound’s heart tightens. 

It is Elliott, backlit by the glow of the bulbs from the staircase. He stands there for a brief moment, staring down at Bloodhound, his mouth hanging open. His eyes flicker to the goggles in their hand, then to the mask and helmet on the ground. “Bloodhound! Is that y-” He covers his eyes and begins to nervously pace. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to in- inch- barge in on you like this! Oh, god, I’m dumb, I’m so sorry, I feel like I just walked in on you naked? Wait, no, that’s not the same thing, I swear I don’t imagine you naked or anything- oh my god Elliott SHUT UP-”

“Elliott!” Bloodhound snaps. It comes out more like a bark than anything else, and it silences him immediately. “Please, Elliott, vertu rólegur. It is alright. Please give me a moment.” Shame and fear flood their body with no warning, and they shiver uncomfortably as they put the goggles and respirator back on.

“Bloodhound, I’m really sorry, look, I’ll just leave and pretend this never happened-”

“Elliott, it is fine,” Bloodhound insists, even though they feel horribly, deeply exposed. Their voice becomes modulated and slightly muffled once more as they flip the switch on the mask.

“Are you sure?” Elliott asks, still sweating visibly. His energy is nervous, frustrated, and strangely emotional, as though he had been in an argument or had a nightmare. “‘Cause I can just-”

“Yes,” they reply. “I am sure.” Despite his intrusion, Bloodhound does not want him to leave. But why? He is far too much of a liability right now. Why not ask him to leave? He certainly would like to. They stand swiftly, and gather their hair in their hands, not facing him. They begin to tie it back, but in their stress, they pull at the elastic too roughly and it breaks. They swear under their breath as their body shakes, and drop their hands to their sides, huffing in frustration. It is no use. “You may uncover your eyes.”

Elliott slowly removes his hands from his face. He looks at Bloodhound with extreme hesitation, and seems relieved to find that they are masked once more. He shifts his feet uncomfortably and coughs, then clears his throat. “So, uh… that was awkward.” He pauses, waiting for a response. When none comes, he continues. “Why are you up here all alone, anyway? You don’t like to hit the town after matches?”

Bloodhound ignores his nervous queries. They take a few deep breaths, trying to settle their shaking stomach. “First, Elliott, I must ask you to never speak of this moment. I have spent much of my time hiding my identity from those who could cause me harm, and from all of our fellow Legends. I do not wish for anyone to know who I am, or what harm has befallen me.” They meet his eyes and stare him down intensely.

Elliott visibly shivers and takes a step back, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Even though he cannot see their eyes, Bloodhound knows their seriousness has done the trick. “Hey, look, as much as I want to go blabbing about that gorgeous red hair of yours, I’m not going to tell, I promise. And it’s definitely not because I’m terrified right now, nope, not at all.” He lets out a half-hearted chuckle, but it dies as he quickly checks Bloodhound’s body language to try and get a read on them. 

“Elliott, I need to know I can trust you,” Bloodhound says sternly, turning to face him. He still looks completely stunned and nervous, and Bloodhound’s heart is pounding, the blood thumping in their veins louder than the footsteps of the Leviathan. But Elliott takes a deep breath, and the nerves seem to drain away from him, leaving the strange sense of frustration from before.

“You can trust me, Bloodhound,” he says. “I won’t say a word.”

Bloodhound stares at him, more nervous than they’ve ever been in their entire life. This all depends on him. Will he honor my request? The uncertainty bubbles up inside them like the lava on World’s Edge, and their knees tremble faintly. I must take a chance on him. Finally, they exhale, letting out a sigh. “I am counting on you,” they murmur. 

He still hasn’t taken his eyes off of them, and Bloodhound feels too seen, too exposed. They turn away, and move across the roof to the balcony, trying to put some distance between them. 

“Um… so... you never answered my question. What are you doing up here?” Elliott asks tentatively, and Bloodhound hears the door to the roof close. His footsteps approach them, and Elliott stands at the balcony, a comfortable distance to their left. 

Bloodhound searches for the words, weighs them in their mind, deciding how much to say. Keep things vague, they think. He does not need to know about your past here. Not yet.

“The city below is too loud and brash for my liking,” they say. “I spend time up here to get away from the noise. I did not grow up in the city, as many of you did, and living here is… an adjustment.”

“Where did you grow up?” It is an innocent enough question, but it gives Bloodhound pause. 

“The exact location is something I wish to keep to myself,” they say finally, “but suffice it to say, it was nowhere near cities like these.” In an attempt to steady their hands, they gather their long hair together and begin to braid it, starting at the top of their head. 

“Huh.” Elliott leans on the balcony railing, putting his weight on his elbows. He’s gazing out over the streets, but his eyes are far away, and Bloodhound is surprised that he is not babbling on like he usually does. They wonder where his thoughts are. Back at home, maybe? With a sibling or a friend? A lover, perhaps…?

“What troubles you enough to keep you quiet?” Bloodhound asks suddenly, ignoring the strange surge of annoyance they feel at that last thought. “I have never known you to be leynilega manneskju.” 

“What does that mean?” Elliott asks, looking a little baffled.

“It means… a secretive person,” Bloodhound offers. “You often speak your mind, even when no one is listening. What has changed?”

“Well, uh, that’s really perceptive of you.” Elliott’s voice is tight, and maybe even a little annoyed. “How are you able to tell? You did it just then, and then you did it in the hospital the other day after that shitty match of ours. How can you tell something’s bothering me?”

“Well… Your performance in the Games as of late does not meet the potential I know you to be capable of. You are reckless and run into fights without thinking. You broke a glass in the bar the other night because you were cleaning it too vigorously. Looking at the sunset in the hospital made you pensive and sad. I frequent this rooftop most evenings, and I have never seen you here. You clearly came up here to find a place to be alone.” Bloodhound thinks all of these signs make it obvious, but they decide not to say so. 

“Um, ouch,” Elliott says, feigning shock.“That’s r- ridi- uh, stupidly accurate. You know, a lot of rumors fly about you, but I didn’t ever think the one about you being a psychic extraordinaire would be true.”

“I am no psychic, Elliott,” they reply. They finish their braid, but realize too late they do not have anything to tie it back with. They sigh and let their hair fall loose. “Let the people think what they wish. I am simply observant.”

“Right.” Elliott does not sound convinced. He falls silent for a moment, then, “You said the other night that you’ve lost family members. What happened to them?”

Images of their parents and uncle and other tribesmen flood their mind unbidden, and they let them come, passing over the memories with a quiet acceptance. “They honored the Allfather with their dying breaths,” they say, their voice almost a whisper. “They fought bravely, but their path was made.”

“They died in combat?”

“...Not all of them. Some died because of the IMC’s meddling foolishness, but some died fighting, yes.”

“I’m sorry.” He is silent for a moment, thinking. “If… if they were still alive today, but they couldn’t remember who you were, what would you do?”

Bloodhound’s breath catches in their throat, and they look at Elliott’s face, searching for meaning. He is staring directly at them, making eye contact, even through the goggles. They have never seen any of their teammates quite so vulnerable, quite so trusting, and they don’t know what to do with it. “I suppose… I would make sure they knew they were safe and cared for.” They pause. “Elliott, I wish to make it clear that you do not need to tell me anything you do not wish to,” they say, turning to face him as they speak.

“Only seems fair,” he replies, a glimmer of his usual charm and wit returning. “I invaded your privacy, now you get to intrude on mine.”

Bloodhound mulls this over for a moment, but relents, half a smile crossing their face. 

“Fair enough.”

The bravado disappears once more, and Elliott sighs. He is silent for a long time as he thinks. His head tilts as he looks up to the sky. “It’s my mom,” he murmurs, and it feels like a confession, or a confirmation to himself. “She can’t remember me. She didn’t recognize my voice over the phone when we talked earlier. I knew this was coming, but I thought I had…” His voice trails off, and Bloodhound knows his silence is not because he is searching for words.

“More time,” they finish for him. They meet Elliott’s gaze, but he looks away quickly. The silence hangs between them awkwardly at first, but the discomfort dissipates as Bloodhound waits patiently for the man before him to regain his composure. 

“We are blessed to have loved so much that loss hurts us,” they murmur, once Elliott meets their eyes again. They weigh a choice in their head, mulling it back and forth. The desire to be open with him, the desire for connection, wins out. “As a child, my faðir and móðir taught me to honor the pain I felt. When they passed, I was plagued by grief and sadness for a very long time. Though there is still pain and anger at times, I allow myself to feel it so that I can let it pass.”

“But… how do you know when it will end? Or if it will?” Elliot asks. He looks guarded, but vulnerable all at the same time. Bloodhound knows the feeling. 

They consider his query, pausing to find the right words. “Pain and grief and sadness… These things are not bound by time. We all move through them at different rates. But if you allow yourself to be plagued by the ‘what if’s’, you will never see what is right there in front of you.”

The man beside him is quiet for a very long time, and Bloodhound begins to fear they have offended him. Mirage was never quiet, and they realize how unsettling it is that he does not have a funny quip or self-deprecating comment to make. He was always running his mouth, letting the most absurd things pop out. But not this evening. He is quieter than he has ever been. They almost… miss his voice. He has spoken to you much this evening, they think, a little bewildered at their own emotions. You have no reason to miss it. But it didn’t matter- a feeling of fondness grows under Bloodhound’s sternum, and for once in their life, they do not try to compress it.

“Thank you.” 

Elliott’s voice is soft and accepting and all the things Bloodhound had hoped to hear. 

“I am glad I could be of help to you.” The silence stretches between them again, comfortably this time. A pleasant breeze flows across the roof, and Bloodhound embraces it, inhaling deeply. They smell the usual smog of the city, but it is accompanied by something gentler. Something warmer. And as their eyes wander back over to their companion, they suspect...

“By the way, you’ve got a hell of a throwing arm,” Elliott remarks. “My forehead is still sore from this morning. Don’t worry though, I just shook it off like I always do.” His bravado has returned, and it makes Bloodhound smile.

“I do what I must to vinna,” they say, briefly adopting a tone much too harsh and serious for their current conversation. Elliott fake cowers, taking a couple of steps back. 

“Whoa, alright then!” he laughs. “You know, I can never tell what you’re thinking under there. You could be sc- sco- uh, frowning at me, and I wouldn’t know any better. Makes you look kind of scary.”

“I will admit, that is part of the reason I wear it,” Bloodhound says, smiling wider now. “Intimidation is a powerful weapon.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he says, raising his hands in a placating gesture, but laughing again. Bloodhound finds themself staring at him, at his smile, and for once they feel… seen. Comfortable. They know, for some unknown reason, that Elliott Witt is someone to be trusted.

“Hey, thanks again,” he continues. “And don’t worry, I won’t go telling everyone that the great Bloodhound is secretly a total heartthrob. The press would have a field day. They wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Bloodhound stares at him, open mouthed- but it wasn’t like he could tell, anyway.

Elliott realizes what he has said much too late, and his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. His cheeks darken as he blushes, and he immediately splutters, “I- uh- oh my God was that out loud? I’m, uh… I’m just… gonna go…” He dashes for the door to the roof, leaving a stunned Bloodhound behind. He twists the door handle, but it does not budge.

They are locked on the roof. 

And Bloodhound laughs. 

It’s a giggle at first, but it turns into full chested, dizzying laughter in no time. They do not remember the last time they had felt such joy, such freedom. It must have been when they were a child. But this man, this trickster, has managed to find that young one again and bring them forward into the light. Their eyes sting, and to their surprise, tears of laughter begin to fall and fog up their goggles. They turn away from a very bewildered and horrified Elliott in order to lift the goggles and wipe away the mist. 

“Fyrirgefðu mér, vinur minn,” they choke, the laughter beginning to constrict their scarred lungs. “I am not laughing at you. I am laughing at the poor luck we have had this evening.” They breathe hard, clutching their chest, trying to get some air in. When the laughter has settled to the occasional chuckle, they turn back to Elliott, and they are surprised to find him leaning against the door, his face buried in the silver metal. He’s mumbling to himself, and Bloodhound cannot make out any words other than “stupid” and “damn”. 

“You flatter me with your kindness,” they say. Still smiling, they walk to him and place a hand on his shoulder. “But I am afraid the press would be quite disappointed. I do not meet their standards of beauty by any means.”

Elliott mutters something that Bloodhound does not catch, but they do not get the chance to clarify. “What do those words mean? The ones you said?” he asks, still blushing furiously. 

“They mean… forgive me, my friend.”

“Your friend, huh?”

Bloodhound considers this. “Yes. I suppose so.”

Elliott takes a deep breath, and even though Bloodhound knows he must be tortured with embarrassment, he looks them directly in the face. “If you tell anyone what I just said, I’m gonna… I’m gonna kick your ass. In the arena and out of it.” 

This earns him another laugh. “I would not dream of it.” The both of them notice that Bloodhound’s ungloved hand is still on his shoulder, and the latter removes it gently, their fingers ghosting across the soft fabric of Elliott’s hooded sweatshirt. He notices their lingering touch, and only blushes more.

Elliott shakes himself out of his daze, pulls out his phone, and types a quick message. The chime of a returning text rings through the air faster than Bloodhound thought was possible. “There. Octavio is coming to unlock the door. You’d better put your helmet on quick, because he’ll be here faster than I can say ‘pork chops’.”

Bloodhound obliges, and crosses back to where they had left their helmet and gloves. They pick up their helmet and store it beneath their arm as they gather up their hair and twist it expertly atop their head. Once the helmet is fastened, they don their gloves once more. True to Elliott’s word, the rooftop door clatters and swings open. Octavio, still wearing a gaming headset, looks impatient. 

“You owe me for this one, amigo,” he whines, tapping his metal foot and glaring at Mirage through his goggles. “I lost my game for you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Elliot replies, grabbing hold of the door and waving him off. “Next round of drinks at the bar is on the house. How about that?”

“Sweet!” the shorter man crows, and he rockets back down the stairs.

“The last thing he needs is alcohol,” Bloodhound remarks, tucking a stray piece of hair away. They highly doubt Octane even noticed they were there, but they do not mind. That just meant there would be less questions toward the pair of them later.

Elliott rolls his eyes. “Don’t go all Ajay on me now,” he teases. “And we were just starting to get along.” A faux wistful look appears in his eyes, and he sighs dramatically.

Bloodhound just smiles. 

The pair of them descend a few flights of stairs and arrive at Bloodhound’s floor.  “Thanks again for the advice,” Elliott says. “I appreciate it.”

“You are welcome,” they reply. “Sleep well, Elliott.”

“You too, Bloodhound.”

[kbstories]

Ontological

on·to·log·i·cal (adj.) Existing as such; metaphysical.

Eustass Kidd and Killer, during and afterwards.

(Or: Killer and SMILE, let’s talk about it.)

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Aftermath of Violence, Reunions, Body Dysmorphia

Read Chapter 1 here. Soft spoiler warning for Chapter 981. Content warning for discussions of Body Dysmorphia/BDD. Read Chapter 3 here.

***

They walk for hours, across dusty desert plains and past the outskirts of a bustling city to the very edge of a forest, every leaf covered in delicate frost. Kidd doesn’t have a single clue where they’re going – all he’s seen of Wano Country is a waterfall and the inside of a cell and what a lovely first impression that was – but Killer seems to, always two steps ahead of Kidd.

In that dark kimono and cloaked in patterned fabric, Killer looks like he belongs here, roaming wherever the wind carries him. All formal-like with his hair pulled up high and out of his face and his wrists bandaged all the way to his fingers.

Fucking uncomfortable is what he looks like, shoulders drawn and hands clenched where the grip of his scythes would be, and Kidd’s stomach roils with a fury that has nowhere to go.

Not right now, anyways.

Yet he’s still just Killer: despite the smile that remains on his lips, cold as the snow beneath their feet, despite the weeks they spent apart. Still the man that has been by his side since Kidd can remember, all the way back to the days they were snot-faced nobodies from South Blue dreaming of the wide-open sea and finding One Piece.

Killer’s always been a man of few words. He’s calmer now, hasn’t said much of anything since they left the prison gates behind. When Kidd had asked if he knew where the others were, Killer had nodded and led the way.

He hasn’t laughed either, as much as every breath threatens to change that. Kidd keeps a tight hold on his metal fist and doesn’t stare.

It’s quiet out here, eerily so. They come by a bridge and bloody arches splattered on cracked wood and snow alike. Across countless graves, old and frozen over to the point of illegibility – and while Killer’s gaze falls on the swords stuck in front of them, he does not stray from his path.

Idiot. Kidd rolls his eyes and gestures to a pair of short ones that are vaguely curved. They are torn from their place of rest with nary a sound; hovering, just as soundlessly, until Killer sighs and takes them in hand.

“A spirit guards this place”, he says, as if Kidd has ever given a shit about anything holy. Killer glances at Kidd’s deadpan stare, his eyes meeting Kidd’s before flitting away again, and Killer’s lips twitch. “It’s bad luck, that’s all.”

“Whatever”, Kidd huffs. Watches Killer draw each of the swords, quick and precise, and they can’t be all that crap given the care with which Killer ties them to the sash around his waist.

Onwards they go until the trees part and Killer finally stops. Kidd does so, too, shoulder to shoulder with him as the wind tears into the heavy fur of his coat. One step further the ground gives into a steep cliff and jagged rocks below. Beyond that: the rumbling of waves against shore.

They found the ocean.

Tucked into a cove, the Victoria Punk lies at anchor and there, in the middle of deck, a bonfire casts its warm glow. A light that calls her captain home and Kidd grins. They made it.

It’s a bit far to the metal in the Punk’s skull but Kidd doesn’t care. He reaches for it, feels its presence hum under the palm of his hand and it’s enough, the connection strong and unrelenting.

“Got her. Let’s go, Killer.”

Kidd’s metal arm opens to let him grab on and Killer– He stays right where he is, stiff under all those layers of fluttering fabric and Kidd looks at him. Really looks, his gaze searching for that face he knows so well and sees so rarely and much less like this, with lips pulled unnaturally wide and eyes shifting with hesitation.

A face none of the crew would recognize because they’ve never–

“They won’t care, K. You know they won’t.”

“I know”, Killer grinds out between clenched teeth. The thick muscles of his throat work; the chuckle still makes it out of his mouth, a strangled, joyless noise. “I know but–”

That’s the problem, isn’t it? That sliver of doubt that Killer’s worst fear could come true is almost as terrifying as the thing itself, and Kidd swallows whatever else is on his tongue. Promises himself he will speak every ounce of truth when the time is right, will whisper reassurances against Killer’s skin from here to eternity if that’s what it takes to make him believe them.

Kidd’s hand drops, as does the surge of power pulsating from it. “Okay.” He turns away from the Punk and towards Killer, a moment spent figuring things out before he tugs the cloak… thing off Killer’s shoulders.

(Killer doesn’t flinch from his touch but it’s close enough. Kidd pretends not to notice.)

Without hesitation Kidd digs metal fingers into the fabric and rips it apart, a long tear splitting the silk in two. Frowns at the one which is longer and dipped in old blood and shrugs. There are feathers on it.

It’ll do.

Killer is watching him, a line between his brows and his gaze a little squinted like he’s trying to gauge what the hell Kidd is up to. It makes Kidd wonder if whatever happened to him also affects his brain somehow because seriously.

“Get that shit off your face. I’ll do your hair.”

The tie keeping everything tightly bound suffers the same fate, shiny and expensive and ruined as Kidd throws it over his shoulder. Killer’s hair explodes into a familiar cascade of blonde in the matter of moments – the knots and tangled bits will take ages to comb out, which makes another item on Kidd’s to-do list.

Kidd shakes out the front until it falls over Killer’s eyes. “There”, he mumbles with some smugness and can’t help the nostalgic smile it brings to his lips. “Hah. This takes me back.”

Hidden by hair or not, Kidd knows where to catch the glint of Killer’s eyes in there and how they soften. “Mhm.”

The rest of Killer’s face is painfully bare without the bandages and so Kidd doesn’t linger. Just gives Killer the makeshift scarf he made and waits until he’s wrapped it around his neck and pulled it up to the bridge of his nose to tie it in place with a clumsy knot.

There. Not much finesse to it, the torn edges and messy strands clashing against Killer’s outfit with all its elegant folds and neat lines. Even muffled by the mask Kidd can hear the quiet sigh Killer breathes and something in him settles, too.

“C’mon. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

They come home.

*

Afterwards, that’s when Kidd asks.

After his boots hit deck for the first time in weeks and he thought finally; after both he and Killer were barreled over in a mass of hugs – warm, so warm – among shouts of “Captain!” and “Killer! You’re back!”; after Doc descended on them with the righteousness of a Valkyrie from myths and legends and Killer pointed at Kidd and said, “Kidd got shot”, and Kidd hissed back, “Bastard”, and didn’t mention the cuts hidden under that damned kimono (not yet); after Killer slinked off in the direction of their room (one hand keeping the mask in place, not that anyone had given a rat’s ass because the Punk’s right here and they’re all still breathing) and Kidd surrendered himself to his fate at Doc’s hands.

It’s what the crew needed, in that moment. Red-nosed and shivering from temperatures they’re not really made for, and Eustass Kidd is a captain to them all, not just Killer.

So he let Doc fuss over bullet wounds and overexposure to Sea Stone. He listened to Wire’s calm voice re-tell the story of how they got here, how Killer set off to find him and the day Pirate Hunter Zoro wandered by, clearly lost. In turn, Kidd told them the gist of what happened half a country away: about Udon’s downfall and the tides of rebellion crashing against Onigashima’s shores soon enough.

The bonfire burned on. There’s a decision to be made there, Kidd realized as he stared into its flames. Every expression around him carried the same conviction, encased in flickering orange and the bite of snow and Kidd knew, if he asked then and there, they would follow him into a war they'd lost once before.

Yet Killer’s not here and Kidd was tired, so fucking tired.

Across from him Heat shifted, a frown deepening the scars on their face with the things Kidd didn’t say: They have been with them longer than anyone else has, the first to join and the only one to have witnessed what’s beneath the mask. Heat’s gaze searched Kidd’s over the glowing embers between them and they, too, didn’t press for answers.

They smiled, instead, old stitches pulled taut. “Dinner’s on me. Welcome back, Captain.”

Through it all Kidd bit his tongue and waited. Killer is nowhere to be found when he finally steps into the captain's cabin: There’s a pile of used bandages and dark silk on the floor, the sound of a shower running the next room over. Filthy as it is, Kidd deems his fur coat a lost cause and tosses it to the ground along with the rest.

After days of wear, the clothes peel off like a second skin. The dust of the stone pit has been washed off yet it lingers, stuck under painted nails and in the greasy spikes of Kidd’s hair.

The goggles come off next. Kidd… sits, for a while, buck-ass naked on the edge of the bed occupying most of their quarters. Lets his fingers run over old, black leather and the holes missing studs have left behind, and his eyes are dull where they’re mirrored by tinted glass, monochromatic.

Killer’s mask is right there. Blue-and-white, mounted on its stand, not a single scratch on it – Killer’s design and Kidd’s handiwork, its individual pieces welded into place damn near perfectly so it won’t come off unless Killer wants it to.

Kidd stares at it, alone in this space they carved for themselves in this world, and remembers: Killer’s laugh, choked and wrong; Killer’s body, limp in the water; Killer’s face, tear-stained and bared for everyone to see–

Fuck.

Kidd’s palm is rough against his face, skin grown tough with callouses and burn marks. His fingers dig into his mouth and his scar and his eyes and they sting as his eyeliner smudges beyond repair.

How the fuck do I fix this?

Steam rolls into the room like thunder over the sea, the air charged and heavy with it. The bed dips behind him, legs bracketing his; hands slide over Kidd’s back to his chest, slightly damp. Naked skin against naked skin.

This is the thing Kidd missed the most, locked away and powerless.

“Kidd.”

There’s layers to it, the way Killer says his name. A weight behind that one word that invokes the thousand other times he has uttered it just like this, lips a phantom sensation at the nape of Kidd’s neck. The smile is still there, Kidd can feel it, and that too is a memory made physical.

It’s warm summer nights, it’s skinned knees and knocked out teeth, it’s mornings spent in bed with the Punk’s lazy sway beckoning them back to sleep.

Kidd loves Killer’s smile, has loved it before people started mocking him for it and continued to love it past the day Killer decided to hide it. He’d hoped, even as he made that mask, that a time would come when it wouldn’t be needed.

Not like this, though. Not against Killer’s will.

“It’s that SMILE shit, isn’t it?”

Finally, finally Kidd gives voice to the question burning in his mind, his heart, his lungs. Killer’s arms tighten around him but Kidd can’t hold back, can’t–

“Those fake Devil Fruits Strawhat was talking about, that’s what causing this. That’s why you can’t stop. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Killer is a force of nature on the battlefield, a whirlwind of blades and raining blood – here, now, his chest shifts against Kidd’s back with a breath that trembles on the line of becoming a laugh. “You’re not.”

Finally, Kidd allows himself to feel the ache at his core, the sheer grief of it all. The goggles drop to the ground as his fingers claw at fire-red hair instead, pulling. Pain, sharp, sizzles across his scalp, does nothing but add to the suffocating pressure building in Kidd’s throat because there’s no way out of this.

Artificial or not, Devil Fruits are forever.

“Why, Killer? You’re strong, they can’t… Just eating the fruit doesn’t work, you gotta swallow it. You gotta want it. What the fuck were you thinking?!”

And damn Killer, damn him for hearing Kidd’s voice shake and wrapping around him like Kidd’s the one falling apart. For running his hand over Kidd’s until he clings to that instead, strong and steady where Kidd can’t be, not anymore.

They’ve always been together, their lives and pasts and dreams entangled and breathing as one. From South Blue to the New World they've kept this secret safe and–

“There was a choice. They gave me a choice, Kidd.”

It’s mumbled right against Kidd’s ear like the truth will hurt less if spoken quietly. Because there’s no regret in Killer’s voice, none, and there’s only one thing he’d give up everything for.

Kidd clenches his eyes shut, groans out, “No–”

Killer doesn’t let him go, pressing a kiss to his shoulder with smiling lips.

“I just picked the one I could live with.”

>>Chapter 3.

[highdwightofmylife]

jdjsjfjeedndnddk I read your Claudette marriage post and OMG jdjsnfsjd I /have/ to request a marriage scenario for Yui, Dwight, and Jake fnsnfnendndmddk I would die so happily at that spot if I saw any of those three in any kind of formal wear aaaaa 💕☀️ as always I love your content and I'm here for it !!!! 💜💜💜 Have a wonderful day!! 🌻

man i’d marry all three of them in a heartbeat...

Marriage Headcanons

Dwight Fairfield

Dwight is the one that asks you to marry him. He tries his best to make something cute for you to remember -- but it’s mostly because he fears that if his ask isn’t good enough, you’ll say no. He’s terrified of being turned down. 

He spends weeks with Claudette (even Max at times), learning how to make decorations out of flowers. It’s one of the few things he has an abundance of in the fog. He’s clumsy and finds working with such small, fragile little flowers very difficult. But he tries his best. 

The day of the proposal comes. He takes you into the woods, holding your hand. Going for a walk, as... Usual. Right? Nothing different about this, no. Except that he has a few random petals stuck to his shirt and he looks extremely frazzled. You pretend you don’t notice.

He’s decked out a small area with absolutely adorable decorations. Trees are covered with flowers and vines. You see a small Dwight-shaped dent on the floor where he’s obviously fell from a tree. He looks incredibly nervous as he asks if you like it. You’re distracted as you look around, but that’s fine. He knew you would be. You wander over to a tree, where something has been carved into the bark. It’s his initials with yours. Your heart flutters. You turn around to say something, but find him on the floor. Down on one knee. His face is bright red and he’s trying very hard to look you in the eye. He asks you to marry him, his voice quaking.

Obviously you accept, don’t even fight me. He’s a cutie.

Wedding day comes. You make do with what you can in the fog. The Doctor hears about your wedding and insists on being your officiator, but you somehow manage to worm your way out of it. Ash ends up doing it. He cracks jokes the entire time, but he’s smiling and you can see he’s genuinely really happy for you two. Also? Bill walks you down the make-shift aisle. 

Dwight’s wearing black trousers, a grey waistcoat, and a white shirt. There’s a pink flower tucked into the pocket of the coat, and it suits the blush on his face. 

He’s so nervous that when he tries to say his vows to you (that he wrote himself!), he stutters and and chokes. He says sorry, but a patient smile from you spurs him on. 

If you don’t think he cries at his own wedding, then you’re wrong. 

If you take his last name, he is so happy. Literally overjoyed. Sometimes he gets all giddy and giggly and holds your hands and grins as he’s like, “Mrs/Mr Fairfield, I love you : )”

Jake Park

Much more chill about it. There’s not so much planning, but that’s fine. That’s not who he is. He gets you alone, both of you just lying next to a makeshift fire he’s made away from the main camp. He’s running his fingers through your hair, watching the light of the flames dance across your cheeks. He softly calls your name, and you look up at him. He smiles. It’s so nice to see his calm moments where he doesn’t have to worry about anything else. 

“What would you say,” he starts, mouth pulled into a lopsided grin. “If a certain someone was to ask you to marry him?”

You blink at him, confused. It takes you a few seconds to get what he’s hinting. You giggle nervously and ball his shirt into your fists. “Don’t know,” you glance at him. “Depends who it is.” “Tall. Scruffy hair, dark eyes. People think he’s pretty weird, you wouldn’t know him. Think he’s called Jake.”You play along, your cheeks going red. He’s grinning at you with a goofy smile. “Jake... Jake... It’s ringing a bell. I don’t think he’s so bad. I might say yes.” He nods, pretending to think it over. And then he meets your eyes, and casually just, “hey, I’m Jake. Will you marry me?” You snort and nod, and he pulls you deeper into his arms. He’s so dumb, but you love him for it. 

Wedding is a small thing. He didn’t even want everyone to come, but you put a stop to that. All the survivors are invited. Some of the killers are even there. You’re pretty sure that you saw the Demogorgon stuffing his entire face into a bouquet that Claudette gave you. Whatever. As long as no one’s getting hurt. 

Jake’s somehow managed to scrounge up something decent to wear. You see Dwight fixing Jake’s tie for him like a mother hen while Jake complains. It’s cute. Dwight’s his best man and he takes that job seriously. 

For some reason, Ace is the one that officiates. He practically demands the job. He’s surprisingly very good at it. Could he have dabbled in it back in Vegas? Who knows. 

He tries to wear his scarf for the wedding but Dwight practically wrestles him down for you to take it away. 

It’s a fun time all around honestly. He pretends like he’s bothered by so many little things, but he loves the day so so much. You look perfect. He’s glad his friends are there. 

The night does end with dancing. Jake refused to dance, so Ace grabs your hand and moves to take the dance for him, but... Jake quickly pushes in and steals your hand back to dance : )

Yui Kimura

Yui didn’t think she’d ever be married. It just wasn’t something that ever crossed her mind. But then you came along. She asks you to marry her in the heat of the moment during a trial. 

She’d been forced to watch you dance around, avoiding the killer’s attacks. She was on a hook, she couldn’t help! When you’d been hit the first time, she’d decided enough was enough. Yui yeeted��herself straight off the hook. It caused enough surprise to throw the killer off, and she grabbed your hand and made a break for it. Both of you were injured, but she managed to get you out of harms way. 

Now, picture you both collapsing against a wall, wheezing tiredly. Yui shifts around to your front and grabs your face in her hands. “Don’t do that!” She hisses. You can see the fear in her eyes. The fear of losing you.

She goes silent for a few moments, thinking. And then she blurts it out.

“Marry me.” 

It’s more of a command than a question. You can’t refuse. Please attack her with happy kisses.

Yui struggled with the wedding. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to wear a suit or a dress. You tell her she could wear literal leaves and still be the prettiest woman on earth. The thought makes her giggle. 

She ends up wearing a dress. She looks fucking fantastic. You cannot pry the goggles from her, however. She gets married in those. She also wears biker boots underneath a knee-length white dress. She’s so fucking cool.

If you’re a girl/on the more feminine side, she’s the one that waits at the alter. And that’s fine! She just really wanted to see you walking over to her. Bill ends up officiating this time -- mostly because Yui wasn’t entirely sure she could trust anyone else with an important job like that. Ash walks you down the aisle, cracking jokes the entire time. If you’d prefer to be the one at the alter, that’s fine too! It’s the same setup, just you’ve switched places.

If her bike is somehow in the fog, you can bet your ass that someone has taken it upon themselves to put “Just Married” on the back, followed with clanking empty cans. 

Should you be the smaller of the couple, Yui can and will swipe you off your feet the moment you’re told to kiss.

[notfunnydean]

Splash

Prompt: My Dream - Dean in a Bikini Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel Warnings: Dean wears a bikini, feminization, genderfluid-Dean, homophobia, genderphobia, people being assholes, nsfw, first time, soft!Dean Word Count: 5.129 Summary: Dean is an idiot. Since it’s hot outside and Sammy wants a break from his studies, they decide to check out the local pool. Feeling brave Dean decides to finally be himself for once. Will he regret that? Author’s note: So uhm. This is something new. I wanna say a few things first though. I had a dream about this and I mean exactly about this and I don't know why. I liked it well enough though ;) I'm genderfluid myself so bascially the way I'm writing Dean here, is the way I personally feel as a genderfluid person. I know some people feel very different and that's valid too <3 Just be yourself!! You do you ;) Link (if posted on AO3): https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898169

Fuck, he is going to die.

“Come on, Dean. They will close before we are inside if you continue to be so slow.” Sam complains for the third time. Dean just nods, holding his sports bag closer to him. They’re on their way to the local outdoor swimming pool.

Now, that shouldn’t be a problem, right? It’s hot today and Sam finally took a break from all his studies and even better their father isn’t in town right now. Sometimes he just vanishes like that - not that Dean cares.

“I just… do you think it’s a good idea?” Dean asks, there is a blush on his cheeks that he can’t get rid off. Sam stops walking and turns back to him, Dean looks down at his shoes. He’s an idiot.

“Dean, I told you, I don’t mind. Seriously, I want you to be yourself around me and everyone who’s an asshole about it will get a lecture from me!” Sam says and Dean smiles. He is glad to have such a supportive brother.

Even though he never wanted Sam to find out. But he did and lately Dean felt more comfortable being himself around his brother. He just never did it in public, when he felt like this.

“They will all look.” Dean mumbles, but  they both continue to walk. Dean’s not even sure how to describe how he feels. Sometimes he just feels like he always did, other times he wakes up and… wishes he could wear the dress he saw a few weeks earlier at a shop.

“Who cares? We will have a good time. I hear the slides are amazing.” Sam says and with that he opens the door to the swimming pool. Dean walks inside and looks around. Looks like there aren’t too many people here.

Genderfluid, that’s what Sam had called it after some very serious research. Dean likes that, because while he has some female days and some males, sometimes it feels like both or nothing. He’s just fluid in that way.

Dean pays for them both, much to Sam’s bitching and that’s when the first problem already comes. The changing room. Dean swallows loudly, when Sam opens the door. A few men are in here and Dean nods to himself.

He can do this. Too bad they don’t have any single changing rooms. 

He thought about going to the lady’s room first, but surely that would end in screaming and him getting arrested or anything. No thank you. Besides today he feels in-between. He should’ve packed his swim shorts. But he felt so pretty when he first ordered his bikini.

He wants to feel this pretty again.

“Dean, hey. It’s fine.” Sam says before he walks over to a free space. Sam already starts changing and Dean slowly sits down on the bench besides him. He would just… wait for the others to leave. 

Sam may be being supportive and open minded - and Dean is proud of that, because he raised Sam - but he knows most of the other people aren’t. The old man in the corner is already looking at him warily. 

“You can go, I’ll just…. uh well be out in a minute.” Dean says, when Sam is done. His little brother packs all the stuff he doesn’t need in a locker and closes that before he nods. 

“Sure, I will save us some sun loungers. Give me your towel.” Sam says and Dean does so. When the door closes behind Sam, the last guy leaves as well. Dean takes a deep breath. Okay here goes nothing.

He is out of his jeans in a second, putting his clothes in the locker next to Sam’s. He was never really ashamed of his body, but the other people at school made fun of him before. Dean’s freckles always seeked lots of attention and he knows he looks like what his classmates call “a fairy.”

Dean swallows and then finally takes out his bikini. It’s just a black one, since he was too shy to order anything bright. Maybe one day.

He slips into the bottoms and pulls them over his thighs. He already likes how they feel. He smiles softly and tugs himself away. Luckily he isn’t even well “gifted” down there. Another thing he’d been made of for, but Dean kinda likes it that way.

Secretly in his mind, of course. The top of the bikini is next and Dean looks in the mirror that is placed at the wall. He turns around and smiles. He really likes this, it looks so pretty. The blush is back on his cheeks, almost going all the way down to his chest, but he doesn’t focus on that.

Instead he looks into his bag one more time and takes a black net shirt over it. It wouldn’t really hide anything, but he likes it anyway. The shirt is a bit big on him and so it falls halfway over his butt.

“Oh.” Dean softly says when he looks at the mirror again. It feels good, for the first time in weeks he feels good in his body again. Just wearing what he wants, regardless if he feels female or male.

This is just him. 

He hears voices outside the changing room and freezes. Shit he had given Sammy his towel and can’t really hide in that now. He hastily packs everything away and just takes his smaller bag with him. He has Sam’s diving goggles and a ball in there.

Just as the door opens behind him, Dean steps out of the room, towards the showers. He just takes a quick shower there, letting the water calm himself down. It’s quiet in the shower room and he hears his own heart beating way too fast.

“Dean?”

Dean looks up and sees Sam in the door. Sam is smiling brightly, when he sees that Dean didn’t chicken out.

“I’m… ready. Or as ready as I can be.” Dean says and then walks over to his little brother. Or… not so little, cause the jerk is taller than him for years. 

“I’ll be there. Don’t worry, it’s not that packed today.” Sam says and he opens the door. It’s loud as soon as Dean steps outside. There are not that many people, Sam was right, but there are still children screaming and splashing.

Dean feels uncomfortable in a second, it feels like everyone is looking at him already. Sam doesn’t seem to mind and just walks over to their space under the trees. Dean puts his bag down and swallows it down to just hide in his towel.

“You wanna go to the slides first or swimming?” Sam asks and Dean thanks every god there is, that his brother with his 22 years, is already so mature and understanding. Dean looks to the slides and then to the pool.

“Swimming.” He decides, because at least there he can kinda hide in the water. Sam nods and then is already running over to the pool and diving in with his head first. Dean feels himself smiling, when Sam appears again his long wet hair clinging against his face.

Dean walks slowly over to the pool and he can see how most people are watching him now. A few even look angry and he can see how a mother covers her children’s eyes. Dean swallows and sits down at the edge of the pool, his legs in the water.

“Ignore them.” Sam says, still smiling so happy and Dean nods. His whole life he did what his father wanted, he became the son his father always wanted and now… he feels like he gets why his father was so angry the first time he caught Dean with lipstick.

People would never accept him.

“I’m trying.” Dean whispers and then he hops the rest of the way into the water. It’s cool against his skin and Dean shudders. It feels good and he forgets his worries for the moment. 

The next half an hour Dean races Sam through the pool and doesn’t lose once, even though Sam is a lot taller than him. Maybe Sam does it on purpose, but Dean doesn’t care, he’s laughing too hard when Sam has to shake out his hair again.

“Okay you win, asshole.” Sam huffs and Dean smiles brightly. Maybe it’s okay that not everyone likes him, at least Sam does. 

“Now will you treat me to some fries?” Dean asks because his stomach is grumbling for some time now. Sam rolls his eyes way too hard, but he nods. Dean grins to himself when they swim back to the edge of the pool. 

Dean gets out rather clumsily and then walks over to his chair, to rub himself dry with his towel. Sam waits for him, before the walk over to the small kiosk. Dean’s stomach rumbles now loudly and Sam laughs.

“Yeah yeah I’ll order you a big portion.” Sam says and Dean nods. He doesn’t want to wait in the line as well and wanders a bit away, to another pool, from where he can easily see Sammy.

Dean smiles when he sees how the kids are playing in the smaller pool and just then one of the kids fall to his knees and cries. Dean doesn’t even think about it, he is already walking over to the poor kid.

“Hey, hey now. It’s okay.” Dean says and the little boy looks up to him. Dean smiles, but he sees that the little boy’s knee is bleeding. Just as he wants to look around, somebody kneels down next to him.

“Your kid?” The guy asks and Dean gasps at nothing, when he sees it’s a lifeguard sitting next to him. And he looks stunning. Worried blue eyes, plush lips and his dark hair is a mess. Dean shakes his head slowly.

“Uh n-no. Just saw how he fell.” Dean stumbles over his words like an idiot. But the lifeguard - Castiel his name tag says - smiles a bit and then nods.

“Did you see if he hit his head?” Castiel asks and Dean shakes his head. 

“No he just fell on his knees, but he is bleeding.” Dean mumbles, even though Castiel can clearly see that himself. He is an idiot. Dean is already getting up again, when Castiel looks at him.

“Thank you so much. I will take care of him and it looks like you’ll be fine in a few minutes!” Castiel says the last sentence extra cheery to the little boy, who had stopped crying. Dean squirms under Castiel’s gaze and almost hugs himself.

Castiel frowns and Dean hastily walks away. Shit, he had seen now what kind of freak Dean was and of course that was the end of the conversation. Sam is still in line and Dean groans. 

He waits on his own, only looking once to Castiel, who had pressed a bandage on the boy’s knee. Just as Dean went to check on Sam again, a tall guy steps into his way. Dean looks up to him.

“Did you push my son in the pool so he hurt himself?” The guy growls and Dean almost ducks his head. Instead he pushes his shoulders back and shakes his head.

“Nah but I saw how he fell and helped him.” Dean says, but the guy is already pushing him a bit back. Dean almost stumbles. 

“Yeah sure fairy.” 

Dean looks down at that. He should’ve never done anything. It was clear as mud, that some people would see the wrong thing, because they want to understand it wrong and then punish him for it.

“Sir, I just helped him up.” Dean tries again, but just then another woman comes closer to them. For a second Dean hopes she will save him, but then he sees it’s the woman who covered her kid’s eyes when she saw Dean for the first time.

“Maybe you should leave. My daughter shouldn’t need to look at someone like you.” She sneers and Dean feels how tears start to build behind his eyes. This is the worst thing that could’ve happened.

“I… I didn’t mean to…” Dean doesn’t even know what he wants to say. Sammy said he should be proud of who he is and Dean tries, but it’s hard when so many adults around you hate you for it.

“You didn’t mean to - what? Trying to whore yourself out there?” The woman says and Dean looks ashamed to the ground. Slut. Whore. He had heard that before at school and it hurts each time.

Why can’t he live like he wants? He isn’t hurting anyone.

“I’m sorry.” Dean mumbles. He shouldn’t apologize for this! For himself, but sometimes it’s hard to stand up for yourself. And sometimes… you have to do what people want so you don’t get hurt.

“You will be sorry!” The guy says again and he pushes Dean again. This time he falls and promptly lands in the children pool behind him. The water is not very deep, so Dean is sitting on the ground. Dean hears a lot of people gasp loudly, some even cheering. 

Dean winces when he lands on his ankle and just as he sits there in the water, he sees the stunning lifeguard again. Dean looks down and that’s when the tears spill over.

“Dean! Oh my god, Dean!” It should be funny how Sammy runs over to him, but Dean only cries harder into his hands. Sam jumps into the pool and helps him up. There is a girl behind who looks just as shocked as Sam.

“S-sorry.” Dean mumbles, because it seems like Sam was talking to her before this mess happened. But Sam shakes his head and Dean curls againsts his brother, just so he doesn’t have to look at the man or the mother again.

“It’s fine, I’m here Dean. Oh I’m so sorry, I was just talking to Jess from my class and… I’m sorry.” Sam babbles and Dean just nods. Jess. He had heard that name before. It’s the girl Sam is crushing on for weeks now.

“C-can we sit down?” Dean asks, because he is still crying and everyone is looking at them now, Dean legs are shaking and his ankle is throbbing. Sam is nodding, but Dean can see that their food is next to them at the grass. 

Dean would love to leave immediately but he knows Sam would want to spend more time with Jess and he just prays that he didn’t ruin Sam’s chances with her, just because he’s a… a fairy. 

“Here let me help you.”

Just before Dean realizes what is happening, he is lifted into strong arms. Dean’s eyes widen, when he looks into blue eyes. Castiel.

“We’re sitting over there.” Sammy points at their cots. It seems like he doesn’t even question that there is a random guy lifting Dean up like a princess. Dean holds onto Castiel anyway, hiding his face in the guy’s white shirt.

“I will be back in a few. You should get your stuff in the meantime because after this, I’m banning you from entering this swimming pool ever again.” Castiel says calmly and Dean gasps quietly.

What? But he hadn’t meant to…

Just then Castiel strokes over his back and walks over to their spot.

“I wasn’t talking to you, but the idiots who humiliated and hurt you.” Castiel says and his voice is so deep. Dean shudders again, but he can feel Castiel’s chuckle more than he hears it.

Castiel carefully puts Dean down on his cot and smiles. Dean hastily wipes the tears away, not that it mattered, because Castiel already saw him cry.

“Dean here, I got you a drink and your fries.” Sam says and he carries it all over to them. He looks still worried and Jess is nowhere to be seen now. Dean feels worse.

“T-thank you.” Dean whispers, but he looks up at Castiel. 

Sam sits down on his own cot, smiling at them and Dean is sure he is blushing again. He hastily takes his towel and pulls it around himself. Now he looks normal.

“Can I look at your ankle real quick?” Castiel asks and Dean nods. Castiel kneels in front of him and he is careful when he pulls Dean’s foot into his lap. Dean is sure his face is bright red by now.

“Ouch.” He whispers, when Castiel examines it. It’s at least not swollen, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Castiel smiles, before he strokes over it again.

“Nothing serious as it looks, but you should still be careful.” Castiel announces and he helps Dean to lay down, before he takes a few steps back. Just as he wants to leave Dean speaks up again.

“I d-didn’t want to cause trouble.” Dean whispers and he hopes he wouldn’t cry again. Castiel shakes his head just as his brother protests.

“You didn’t. I will gladly throw the other assholes out. Poor kids though.” Castiel says and his smile turns sad. Dean nods, great now he ruined the children’s day. Castiel leans closer and strokes over his cheek.

“See me in thirty minutes at the lifesaver house?” Castiel asks and before Dean can even answer he is already gone. Dean gapes at nothing.

“Wow okay.” Sam says and then he laughs. Dean glares at his brother but then busies himself with his drink and his fries. He doesn’t want to cry anymore and he hopes everyone would leave him alone.

“I mean it though. Sorry to ruin your day.” Dean says between bites and Sam shakes his head. His brother is too nice.

“You didn’t man. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to kick that douchebag in his dick.” Sam says, blowing his hair out of his eye. Dean smiles, because Sam is not just saying that. He would’ve kicked him.

“What about Jess?” Dean asks and Sam shrugs.

“She is waiting for me at the kiosk, but you’re more important.” Sam explains and Dean sighs. They are both idiots, but it has always been them against the world and nobody else. Dean smiles.

“Well can’t get worse than this, huh?” Dean mumbles around his straw. Sam shakes his head, looking sad himself. 

“Don’t listen to them, Dean. Jess mentioned to me how stunning you look in your outfit and she was not judging you and seems like Mister Lifeguard likes you as well.” Sam explains and Dean huffs.

Seems like Sam has at least good taste in women.

“It wouldn’t have happened if I was normal.” Dean tries to argue, but of course Sam is having one of it.

“You are normal! Those people were just huge assholes and I’m not afraid to tell the whole world how amazing my brother is. But if you wanna go home, we can do that.” Sam says and Dean sits up more straight.

“And ruin your chances with Jess? No, go over to her. I will be fine, I just stay in my towel.” Dean says and Sam sighs. 

“If you feel worse, come over and we’ll leave immediately! I mean it Dean. And… and maybe see that lifeguard. I just want you to be happy and yourself.” Sam says and with that he strokes through Dean’s hair, before he leaves. 

Dean sits on his own for the next twenty minutes. Nobody is looking at him anymore and he’s surprised at that. It’s obvious that he cried but maybe he could pin that on the chlorine in the pool.

He debates with himself if he should go see the lifeguard again, but he kinda wants to, even though he embarrassed himself more than once in front of him. He will probably only look at the ankle anyway.

Dean walks slowly over to the lifeguard house that is a bit offside. It looks nice and Dean carefully knocks against the door. Luckily it is indeed Castiel who opens, Dean wouldn’t know what to say otherwise.

“Uhm hi.” Okay, seems like he doesn’t know what to say either way. Castiel smiles.

“Dean, was it?” Castiel asks, while he takes a step back and holds the door open. Dean nods and walks inside. It’s warm in here but he stays inside of his towel.

“You can sit down if you want.” Castiel says and he points out one of those wheeled stretchers. Dean walks over there and sits down, while Castiel takes a chair and before Dean knows it, Castiel has his foot in his lap again.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.” Dean whispers and at that Castiel looks up.

“That’s good. But I didn’t ask you to come here because of your ankle, even though I would’ve helped if it was still hurting.” Castiel says and Dean can feel his heart starting to beat faster.

“Huh?” He makes and Castiel smiles.

“I threw the assbutts who hurt you out, like I said. I’m sorry you had to hear what those neanderthals had to say to you. You look incredibly pretty and I’m sure they are just jealous.” Castiel says slowly and Dean looks hastily down at his towel.

Oh god, did he hear that right?

“I mean it, Dean. Not many people allow themselves to be this free and I’m sorry you are ashamed of yourself. Because from what I see, I can say I’ve never seen anyone that bright.” Castiel continues and he comes closer to Dean, who is leaning towards him.

“You aren’t disgusted?” Dean whispers and Castiel shakes his head.

“Quite the opposite. You make me want to eat you alive. Hell I daydreamed all day about fucking you in that sweet bikini.” Castiel almost growls and Dean’s shudders at that.

“I’d like to take you out on a date, spoil you rotten and then cherish you some more. I wanna show the world how beautiful you are.” Castiel continues and Dean isn’t sure what to say, he just squirms. 

“Sorry, god I’m the worst when it comes to other people, my brother always laughs at me and of course you are free to go and…” Castiel rambles when Dean is still not answering.

Just then Dean grabs his shirt and pulls Castiel closer. Castiel is standing between Dean’s legs now and Dean just kisses him quiet.

Castiel gets on with the program pretty well and Dean gasps into his mouth, when Castiel kisses him back. The kiss stays sweet though and Dean’s eyes stay shut for a few moments longer.

“Oh wow.” Castiel says and that self confidence seems to be gone. Dean smiles.

“I wouldn’t say no to the date, if you mean it. If you want me and not.. not just some fling.” Dean says slowly. Castiel’s lips are even more red from their kissing and he slowly shakes his head.

“I’d take everything and I promise… I meant every word. You are so out of my league.” Castiel says and Dean snorts. 

Castiel kisses him this time and Dean thinks this is better than talking anyway. This time Dean leans back on the stretcher. Castiel follows all too happily and soon enough he is laying on top of him.

Dean never had sex with a man before, always too afraid they’d laugh at his panties, his dresses and everything but… but Castiel wouldn’t. Dean could be free with him and he hopes this isn’t just a kink for Castiel.

“Dean, wait. A-are you sure you want this? We can wait and…” Castiel starts but Dean starts to giggle at that.

“Cas, I want it. You. I never… nobody ever accepted me that easily and… you like me for me and not… cause of my clothes?” Dean asks back and Castiel peppers kisses all over his face.

Dean has to say he loves that.

“While I do enjoy your clothes and I didn’t know that until I saw you, I promise, it’s you I’m interested in.” Castiel says and Dean smiles up at him. Castiel leans back and opens Dean’s towel.

“Fuck, you are so gorgeous baby.” Castiel whispers and Dean gets goosebumps all over. Nobody ever called him that. Castiel leans down and kisses Dean’s neck, while he strokes slowly over Dean’s dick, that starts to perk up.

“C-Cas.” Dean whispers and then Castiel gets away from him. He hastily gets out of his red shorts and the white shirt and Dean watches him hungrily. Castiel is so good looking and so wonderful, Dean is sure he’s already in love.

“Right here Baby. Just wanna get rid of those clothes.” Castiel says and then he’s out of his trunks as well. Dean swallows, when he sees that Castiel is already hard. His dick curving up to his stomach.

“Fuck you’re gonna kill me.” Dean says but he sits up as well to get out of his netshirt. Castiel watches him and then gets on top of him again. Dean really hopes the damn thing under them wouldn’t break.

But it seems steady against two walls. 

“So stunning and all for me. They all don’t deserve you. Don’t listen to them ever again, I will tell you for the rest of our lives how wonderful you are.” Castiel says and then he kisses Dean’s chest.

Dean moans at that and then Castiel pushes his bikini top a bit to the side and licks over his nipple. 

“Sensitive huh?” Castiel wonders and squeezes the other nipple. Dean’s dick jumps in his bottoms. Castiel just smirks and continues to play with his nipples until they’re hurting under all that attention.

“F-fuck yeah.” Dean answers, burying his hands in Castiel’s thick hair and pushing his chest into Castiel’s face, because it feels so good.

“I got you princess.” Castiel whispers and Dean moans even louder at that pet name, because holy shit he did know he was into that, but hearing it, is another case. 

“Please Cas.” Dean says and Castiel finally pulls away from his tits. Castiel is grinning widely and then he pushes Dean’s bottoms down. Dean wiggles a bit under him to help and then they are both naked waist down. 

“You feel so good, I’ll make it so good for you. Wanna take you apart. My pretty princess.” Castiel whispers against his skin and Dean throws his head back, when Castiel ruts up against his thigh.

Dean would love to get bent over the next table, but he knows they have time and maybe after their first date Castiel would fuck him for real.

Just then Castiel lines his cock up directly over Dean and rubs them against each other. Dean whines and then finally Castiel takes them both in his hand.

“You gonna come all over my fist, sweetheart?” Castiel asks roughly while fucks into his own fits as well. Dean moans louder, because that feels so good and he could do this forever.

“W-wanna come.” Dean says and while he is already close, he is not quite there yet already. Castiel kisses him again and Dean gets lost in that kiss for a moment. Castiel has to hold himself up on his other hand, so Dean puts his hands on his nipples.

“Fuck yeah play with your tits, baby.” Castiel says and Dean’s dick jumps against the smug bastard. Castiel grins.

“Not judging, Dean. You can like what you want. I’ll be with you no matter the gender you’re feeling.” Castiel promises and Dean is stunned at that. Seems like Castiel really understands him. 

Castiel smiles and then strokes them even faster. 

“C-close.” Dean whimpers and Castiel seems to be close as well. Dean pulls his hands around Castiel and pulls him closer again, while he spreads his legs wider. Castiel groans.

“Then come for me, baby girl.”

Dean is sure he died, his whole vision turning white as he comes all over Castiel fists. He barely realizes that Castiel only comes a second later as well. He feels literally spent and chuckles at his own joke.

“Hmh.” Castiel makes from where he is now fully laying down on Dean.

Dean chuckles and then Castiel is kissing him. So slowly and loving again, Dean doesn’t want this to stop.

“You’re heavy.” Dean mumbles after a few minutes of them kissing and Castiel laughs, before he gets up and looks around for something to clean them off. He finds another towel and makes it a bit wet.

“I see how it is now.” Castiel laughs when he is dressed again. He moves over to Dean and cleans him very carefully as well before he helps him back into the bikini bottoms and the net shirt.

“Thank you.” Dean whispers, still smiling so widely. Castiel is grinning as well.

“I.. I hope it was okay, I was a bit uh.. out of it.” Castiel says and he even makes some air quotes. Dean’s heart stumbles over the next beat. 

“All good. I… I’m genderfluid.” Dean whispers and it feels good to say it. Castiel kisses him softly again.

“Just ever say the word, when you don’t like something. My social skills are rusty and I don’t want to hurt you, too.” Castiel rambles and Dean just stays in his arms for a few more minutes.

“I trust you.” Dean says finally and then he looks at the watch. The pool closes in ten minutes and he still has to find Sam. 

“I have to close anyway.” Castiel says when he sees Dean looking at the watch. Dean kisses him again, because he can’t stop. Fuck he lost his virginity with this guy.

Does he regret it though? Not in a million years.

“Will you come here tomorrow again?” Castiel asks and Dean nods hastily. He has to see him again.

“I will, but I uh... I will leave you my number.” Dean whispers and then he walks over to the table and scribbles his number on a piece of paper. Castiel takes it with another smile.

“I’m already missing you.” Castiel pouts and Dean laughs. Fuck he has it bad, too.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dean promises and Castiel nods. They exchange another short kiss and then Dean is running back to his and Sammy’s spot. He even forgets his towel but he doesn’t care.

The whole world can see him like this. He doesn’t care.

Sam is waiting for him, a knowing smile on his face and Dean hugs his brother. He feels already so much better. Luckily Sam doesn’t even ask.

And when Dean comes back the next day, in his favorite summer dress but under it a normal pair of swim pants, Castiel almost walks into a wall. Sure people are still talking but Dean doesn’t care about them.

He only cares about the opinion of his boyfriend.

And Castiel loves him in any gender. Castiel loves him.

[moonlightandlilacs]

So, let’s pretend that the adults take a little longer to find the STATIONATION record in Party Crasher, and Marinette has a few moments to wander around.

Marinette, still trying to walk with wide steps, struts away from Master Fu.  She doesn’t want to draw attention away from him, after all, and besides, she’s supposed to be looking for Adrien.  She looks around, but she can’t seem to spot him anywhere.  ‘Okay, why do guys have to be so tall?!  How am I supposed to find Adrien in this crowd if I’m two feet shorter than everyone else?!’

She’s about to try to climb the rock wall to get a better viewpoint when someone behind her whispers, “Hey, Marinette.”

Marinette jumps about a foot in the air and spins, tripping over her feet as she does.  She starts to pitch forward and prepares herself for a nasty collision with Adrien’s expensive-looking hardwood floor when she is caught under the arms and hoisted back to her feet.  Startled for the second time in a minute, she looks up into aqua eyes.  Remembering that she’s supposed to be incognito, she belatedly protests, “No, it’s-a me, Marino.”

Luka laughs as he steadies and releases her.  “Okay, Marino.  My mistake.  My friend Marinette has those same pink pants, and I’m pretty sure she designed them.”  He leans closer.  “And she has the same song in her heart; strange coincidence, right?”

Marinette sighs and grabs Luka by the arm, dragging him away from the crowd and up into Adrien’s upstairs library.  When she releases him and takes off her mustache goggles, she looks down at her feet in shame.  To her frustration and further embarrassment, she feels tears welling in her eyes.  One slips down her cheek, and she bites down a sob.

“Whoa, Marinette, are you okay?  What’s wrong?  And why are you in disguise?”

This last question is the final straw, and a quiet sob rocks her slender frame.  Her back hits the shelf behind her, and she slides down to the floor, letting her knees hide her face.  Luka immediately kneels down in front of her and places a gentle, warm hand on her knee.

“Marinette?  Talk to me.  Is it something I said?”  His hands itch for his guitar, feeling as though he’s failing with his words, but he knows that now isn’t the time to pull out his instrument.  That would draw unwanted attention, and while he still doesn’t understand why his friend was disguised, he can guess that she doesn’t want to be seen right now, especially since she’s crying.  “I’m sorry if I upset you, Marinette.  Is there something I can do to help?”

She lets out a wet chuckle from behind the barrier of her legs.  The sound both gives him a little hope and makes him ache to write yet another song about her.

“You didn’t upset me, Luka.  I’m just an idiot.”

“That’s not true, Marinette; you’re brilliant and wonderful.  What’s making you feel this way?”

“Oh, maybe the fact that I snuck into my friend’s house in a terrible disguise because I was jealous of other people spending time with him without me?  Or that I’m unwelcome here because I’m a girl.  Or that my guy friends lied to me and the girls about where they were going today, and then I lied to them, too.  And now I’m lying to everyone here by pretending to be someone I’m not.  I’m making a fool of myself over Adrien.  Again.  That’s all I seem to do lately, really.”

When she finishes her rant, she drops her head again and wraps her arms around her knees, dislodging Luka’s hand in the process.

“Wait, what do you mean you’re not welcome here?  You’re Adrien’s friend; why wouldn’t you be welcome?”

She sniffs and looks up.  “It’s a guys-only party, Luka.  I know I don’t do a great job of being a girl sometimes, but I’m not a guy.”  Luka, stunned for a moment, looks around.  ‘She’s right.  There are only guys here, huh.  Wait, what did she mean about not being a great girl?’

While Luka is trying to think of a response, Marinette rises shakily.  “I guess I’d better get out of here before I embarrass myself even more.  Clearly, I shouldn’t be here, and I don’t want to ruin the party.”  

Before she can walk away, Luka grabs her hand.

“Any party that can be ruined by you being there isn’t one I want to be at, either.”  He gives her a small smile.  “What do you say we go back to the Liberty and have a party of our own, no jerks who don’t invite girls to parties allowed?”  That gets a laugh out of her, but then her face falls.

“I... can’t.  I’m sorry, Luka, but I had promised the girls that we’d plant those trees, and I already bailed on them for one party.”

Luka nods.  “Then let’s go plant some trees.”

She looks up at him, surprised.  “Luka, I can’t ask you to do that.  I’m the one who lied and ditched, not you.  And you were probably having fun until I showed up and ruined it.”

“Planting trees with you sounds like plenty of fun, Marinette.  And then maybe we can invite the girls to an arboreal after-party.  I’m sure Jules would love the excuse to dance with Rose.  What do you say?”  He squeezes her hand, and she blushes.

“Thank you, Luka.  I’d love to.”

“Well then, Marino, let’s get going.”  He grins, and with his free hand, he places her goggles back on.  She giggles in return and lets him lead her away.

When they get to the bottom of the stairs, however, Adrien grabs Marinette around the shoulders, saying something about a dance.  She doesn’t even notice Adrien’s arm around her as she looks back at Luka; all she wants at that moment is to go back to him and leave.

Of course, the universe never seems to be on her side, and she trips in the middle of the dance she’s been roped into.  Her disguise is ruined, and she starts blushing in shame again.  And then an akumatized villain bursts through the doors.

‘Guess that party will have to wait,’ Marinette thinks with a sigh.

[we-are-the-rebellion]

Everything Is Gonna Be Fine - File 003

Date: 3/5/215

Incoming signal:  Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me? Is there anyone in the wasteland listening to me? Fuck, this is hopeless...  We don’t even know if people are alive out there, we’ve never left the region because of the horror stories we’ve heard. CeeCee are you sure? ...Yeah, right. Ahem! I’m Nate, I’m from the Eastern OQ region, and for the last ten years I’ve been fighting in, well to put it lightly, a pretty nasty civil war. The group I was with has been mostly killed or captured and our leader is missing, presumed dead. Please, if someone is out there and can hear this, we need supplies. Wait what’s- Shit! CeeCee get down they found-

Outgoing message: Nous vous entendons. Sur routre chemin.

__________________________

Date: 28/4/215

Location: Wasteland

   Kenji had been out in the wasteland for three weeks now. After he had finished reading that repulsive public broadcast, he had stolen some gear and had gone over the wall. It was... Scary. He hated admitting it, he thought it made him look like a child watching a spooky film. But what else was he supposed to feel in that moment? He had grown up with stories about the radioactive monsters that lived in the wasteland beyond the wall. When someone died of The Sickness, their body was thrown over the wall so as not to contaminate anywhere else. That was what the wasteland had always been; radiation, horror stories and disease. That was the only reason he had never run, never jumped the wall and escaped the horrors of living as one of Toronto’s lower class citizens. When Jesse had appeared from the west, it marked something new, something interesting. Jesse was proof you could be in the wasteland and survive. Now obviously, Jesse had had state of the art anti-rad equipment and survival gear, and he had been driven or flown most of the way, only having to walk for the last 400 or so kilometres. But still. “Only 400 kilometres” was still 400 kilometres, it was only small compared to the 4000+ kilometre journey from the Yukon-BC Region to the Ontario-Quebec Region. 

   Kenji was not a survival expert like Jesse, and he didn’t have state of the art anything, (popular to contrary belief, having a state of the art “resting bitch face” didn’t count) but he wanted to try. After all, he couldn’t stay in OQ. The rich hated him for being the rebel leader, and the poor would no doubt turn on him now that the rebellion was effectively crushed and the elites would start cracking the proverbial whip on their literal asses. Where could he go but the wasteland?

   It was frustrating, to say the least. Kenji had always prided himself on his perceptiveness and spacial awareness. He recognized landmarks better than anyone he knew, and he could navigate the streets of every city in the region with ease. He had even memorized the streets of the ruins of old Toronto, back when it was nearer to the lakes, and that area hadn't been inhabitable since the end of the war. But out here in the wasteland, everything was new, and the goggles he had to wear to protect his eyes were so broken and filthy that he could barely see. He assumed that he had just been wandering in circles for weeks, and honestly wanted to keep it that way until he could get better gear. The unfortunate truth, however, was that might never happen. He was stuck out here.

__________________________

Date: 1/5/215

Location: Wasteland

   As Kenji started to come around, he could hear voices. He closed his eyes and groaned in pain, covering his eyes with his hand. Fuck, he was in so much pain. His head...

   "Where am I..." he muttered. The voices around him got closer.

   "Tu te réveilles maintenant?" one asked. Kenji blinked, trying to focus on something in his surroundings.

   "My head..." he moaned, turning over. The voice sighed and turned away to babble to its companions.

   "Il ne parle pas français. Non."  Wait... Were they speaking French? Fuck... Of all the places to end up, of course it was here. 

   The French person snapped their fingers at him, making him focus back up at them. They had long, dark brown hair and thin, distinguished features. They seemed female, but also just androgynous enough to make him unsure. He had also been told that he shouldn’t assume these types of things.

   “Me comprenez-vous? Comprenez-vous ce que je dis?” they asked him. Kenji knew just enough about the French language from Lewis that he almost understood what the person was saying. Almost.

   “No. Fuck off.” he spat. The person seemed to understand that phrase, and they roughly pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, a wave of nausea passing over him. Life his head was killing him.

   “Parler.” they snapped, jerking him forwards. Kenji snarled defensively. He knew talking to them was going to be useless, so he didn’t bother. Instead, he did the only other logical thing; Muster up all his remaining strength and punch the person in the face.

__________________________

   Kenji was thrown out, but thankfully they didn’t knock him out again. He remembered what was going on now. He had been looking for food, shelter, etc, and had briefly taken off his goggles. He had found a shielded area in the ruins of some old house, safe from the wind. He assumed he would be safe here from the wind blowing anything into his face. As he was crouched behind the wall, cleaning his goggles, someone had come up behind him and ambushed him. Typical. Of course he would find the only shred of remaining human life out here and they would be hostile. He couldn’t blame them, really. It was just annoying.

   What was even more annoying was the fact that he was currently tied to the trunk of a very large tree, unable to move and incapable of fending for himself. His head gear was still off, seeing as his francophone captors hadn’t been kind enough to bring his goggles with them when they tried to crack his head open. He was, figuratively speaking, completely fucked. 

   Footsteps sounded from somewhere nearby. Kenji groaned.

   “Back for round two, assholes?” he snapped.  “Or are you some huge, lumbering, mutant beast come to eat me and use my ribs as toothpicks? Either way, bon apetite you piece of shit, waste of space, rancid, ugly, motherfucking-”

   “Kenji?” 

   That took him off guard. That was Lewis’ voice, wasn’t it? The radiation had gotten to his brain, he was sure of it.

   “No, it’s Carson fucking Pryce.” he muttered sarcastically.  “Just kill me already, put me out of my misery.”

   The thing making the footsteps came around the corner and into Kenji’s field of view.

   “Holy shit! Kenji! You cantankerous old bitch, what the fuck are you doing out here?” Lewis exclaimed, rushing over to free him of his bonds.

   “Getting the best blowjob of my life. What does it look like?”  Lewis stopped.

   “I didn’t think it was physically possible for your personality to get worse. You are full of surprises.” he muttered.

   Kenji was positive he was hallucinating, either due to the concussion the French fuckers had undoubtedly given him or the radiation, and so he wasn’t taking anything seriously. 

   “I doubt that I could surprise you.” he said snarkily as Lewis tugged at the ropes tying him to the tree. Lewis squinted.

   “Sure.” he muttered, finally undoing the knots and setting him free. Kenji didn’t stand up.  “Hey, you gonna get up?”

   “This is a hallucination, I can’t go anywhere.”  Lewis groaned and put his face in his hands.

   “Oh so you’re stupid now? That’s it you’re stupid now? Fuck me.”  Kenji scrunched up his face indignantly.

   “Prove me wrong.” he snapped.

   Lewis exhaled sharply and kicked the older man in the shin.

   “Ow!”

   “There’s your proof, you belligerent geriatric.”  Kenji grunted and begrudgingly accepted that he was stuck in a radioactive French wasteland with the most obnoxious child in the world. Life, he wished it was a hallucination. He stood up.

   “How are you not dead?” he questioned skeptically.

   “I am dead. I’m a spooky ghost here to haunt you for your sins. Ooooh.” the young boy responded sarcastically, waving his hands in front of his face. Kenji elbowed him in the shoulder sharply. 

   “I’m serious. You were in one of the explosions on the west side, nobody else survived. We took out a fucking city block, for world’s sake, people don’t just come out of that a-fucking-okay.” he pressed the younger individual. He hesitated. Did he really want to tell the next part?  “I... Nate blamed me, he refused to talk to me for months.”  

   Lewis’ expression changed, becoming remorseful and tired.

   “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t come back. The soldiers tossed me over the wall with all the other bodies, I was more dead than alive honestly. But somehow I didn’t die, and some wastelanders picked me up. I’ve been too injured to go anywhere, I only recently got strong enough to walk around.” he said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead.  “What happened to you to get you tossed out?”  Kenji’s stomach twisted.

   “None of your damn business.” he hissed, starting to walk away.

   “Hey! You can’t just walk away from this!” Lewis shouted after him. Kenji ignored him. He needed to go back to that abandoned house and find his gear.  “So what, you’re gonna abandon your friends? Let them fight for you while you sulk and pity yourself from the safety of-”

   “They aren’t my fucking friends anymore and there won’t be any fighting!” Kenji shouted, whipping his head around to face him.  “You want to know why I’m here? I fucked up. I fucked up our chance to finally beat the elite bastards once and for all and I jumped the wall so I wouldn’t have to face what I did.”

   Lewis was shocked for a few moments before his face darkened in anger.

   “You’re a coward!” he snapped. Kenji laughed, turning away once more.

   “I know.”

__________________________

tag list: @thereasontherumisgone @germanmetal

//author’s note: I do not speak french! sometimes I forget what “bonjour” means. I am so sorry if these halfassed translations suck, I tried to stick to simple phrases that would be easy to translate but I don’t know how accurate they are. I’ll try to not write for the french characters too much.

[endangered-liaison]

Strays

((In reply to this letter by @norhimorovine​ ))

Content warnings: racism, descriptions of zombies/decay and gore/viscera, diremites/insects/arachnids, asphyxiation, injury

The wood wailer patrol wanders close to the entrance of Tam-Tara Deepcroft. It’s been all quiet for a long time, ever since that business with the wedding, but it’s still worth checking. Every so often, a skeleton or some more unusual undead abomination wanders its way out of the croft, and the Wailers have to bring it down with spears and determination.

Stabbing a skeleton to death with a spear is even harder than it sounds.

This day, the Deepcroft isn’t quiet as can be. The source of the noise is a strange half-cobbled-together corpse that had shambled out half a bell ago. Its leg is snared in a bear trap, and it has an arrow sticking out of its shoulder.

The wailers approach, spears raised at the unusual sight. “Weird. Adventurers?”

The one closest risks leaning forwards, yanking the arrow from the shoulder of the rotten creature. “Nay. These arrows aren’t standard adventurer fare. Poachers, I’d wager.”

One of the others, a redheaded Elezen man, makes a disgusted noise. “How many times we have to tell those strays they aren’t welcome here?” In the darkness, Max smirks.

“Strange, though.” The one with the arrow steps back, arms crossed. “Why would they put a snare down here? No animals come this way, only the undead.”

The redhead scoffs. “They’re idiots, that’s why. Now, come on, we’ve wasted enough time here already.” He approaches the zombie, raising his spear to try and aim a jab through its head. A sure way to put it out of its misery quickly.

Max yanks the wire by her feet, and the bear trap falls apart. The zombie shambles forwards, suddenly free but stumbling with its broken ankle.

“Shite!” The red-haired Wailer yelps in surprise as the zombie steps past his spear. The others move back, frantic, surprised.

Max’s smirk widens. She presses a button on her vox.

...And the thing explodes.

Viscera coats the poor unfortunate racist wailer from head to toe, and he stands there, mouth agape. Max has never been more glad for her mask, because she can imagine the smell must be awful.

It’s all Max can do to try and suppress her cackling as she slips out behind the disarrayed patrol. Out of the Deepcroft, and into the evening light of the Shroud.

_ _ _

Her second target of the day is a sergeant. An archer of the Gods’ Quiver tied to the Wailers, if one cares about technicalities. Max doesn’t care about technicalities.

She doesn’t need to cross-reference her map - she’s got it memorised. Southeast from the Deepcroft, hop the fence, use a tree to drop on the other side of a thick set of brambles.

She’s a little out of breath by the time she skids to a halt next to a tree and catches sight of the patrol. She knows it’s the right one - Gods’ Quiver leading the group, all five foot three of the smug midlander midget.

She’s aware that’s her calling the pot short.

They’re close to her ambush point, at this point. She reaches into her satchel, pulling out a bottle with a strip of fabric sticking out of the top. Slipping around the squad is easy enough, and she fumbles the lighter in her grip before she manages to get the bottle lit. She takes a breath without her mask.

Max reaches over...and tosses the bottle into a hole next to her feet. It smashes against rocks beneath the surface, and she takes the opportunity to clamber into one of the tree branches. Smoke begins billowing from the hole, and she knows all hell is about to break loose. She grins, clipping her mask back into place and lowering her goggles.

Sure enough, within a few moments, a veritable swarm of mites.

A diremite phobia is really a terrible thing for a Gods’ Quiver sergeant to have.

She hears the frantic yelling from the squad, and looks down from her perch to them, laughing. Nothing fatal, but...this many mites can’t be fun for anyone to deal with, especially not those with weaker constitutions.

Except the archer isn’t looking at the approaching swarm.

He’s staring into the treetops.

Staring at her.

“Fuck.”

He launches an arrow toward her, and it’s all she can do to roll from the top of the branch and cling to the underside of it. “Fuck!”

An archer. An archer. Of course he’d have better eyes than the others! Idiot!

She clambers her way back to the top of the branch, climbing to her feet and starting to run. She leaps, landing on another branch of an adjacent tree, then another. Pulls out a spare smoke bottle and lights it, tossing it at the base of the tree to try and give herself more cover. Another arrow heads her way, whizzing by her head, and she launches herself at a tree ahead of her. She grabs hold of its trunk, gasping and wheezing as the impact knocks the air from her lungs. “Fuck’s sake.”

She glances down at the floor. She’s made good ground away from the swarm. She can drop down now, make her escape, then she-- another arrow impacts right by her head.

“Oh, come the fuck on!”

Max drops, landing hard on the floor and kicking up a flurry of leaves. The breath is knocked from her lungs again, and she feels them complaining. Yeah, hate you too.

Staggering to her feet, she promptly gets tackled by a supremely pissed-off archer. Her head impacts the tree behind her and she feels her skull rattle. Her vision blurs, and she lashes out without thinking. Her leg hits something and she feels something snap.

The archer yells in pain and grabs her throat. “Fucking stray! Think you can fuck with my team? With me?!”

He squeezes, hard, and Max makes choked rasping noises. She’s pinned between the tree and the sergeant, nowhere to go.

“I ain’t even a fuckin’ miqo’te, idiot.” she manages to wheeze out, with the last air in her lungs. 

His eyes flash with something manic, something twisted. “No? You’ll die the same.”

She jerks forwards with a knife, stabbing her service knife clean through the man’s arm. He screams and lets go of her neck with that arm, giving her the room to break his grip. From there, her training kicks in easily enough. Use both hands to break out of the hold from the other hand. Elbow to the nose, a knee to the solar plexus, a kick to the head as he doubles over.

She grabs the knife from his arm, yanking it free and pinning him down. Her breath is coming in rough, broken gasps, and she grabs his throat while pointing the knife down at him. He reaches to try and grab her arm to stop her, but with the hole in his forearm his strength is lacking.

And, for a moment, it’s not a Gridanian archer beneath her. It’s an Ishgardian soldier. The same hate in his eyes. The same frantic energy as she fights to push the knife closer. The same obnoxious self-righteousness, always painting her as the aggressor. Always painting her as the villain. Never fair. Never, ever fair.

You promised, Max.

She screams in frustration and hits the man in the face with the pommel of the knife. It leaves a nasty mark, but he’s fine. Still struggling, even.

She hits him again, then clambers to her feet. He doesn’t follow her.

The smoke is starting to thin. She staggers back, knife held loosely in her fingertips, blood dripping from her hands.

And she runs.

_ _ _

Norhi, obviously, doesn’t receive a letter through a letterbox, nor a parcel, nor anything so easy. No. Instead, she’ll find a delivery laid out in the back room of her shop. Baby steps, one supposes.

There’s a handful of diremite thread, sticky and hard to handle. And there’s a smooth, clean fingerbone. Alongside them both, there’s a bottle of Ilsabardian vodka. Where the hells does Max keep finding those bottles? Does she make them? The note next to the assorted objects is far shorter than the letter Norhi had sent to Max.

From one stray to another? They deserved worse than I threw at them.

- M.S.

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 40

We circled around to the back of the car, where the kids were already in lock and load mode, pulling out swim goggles and flashlights from the trunk and distributing them amongst themselves.

“Oh great; you’re back—“ Smiled Dustin with one of his signature toothless grins as he walked up to us with bandanas and goggles in hand.

“I didn’t know if you’d like the red or the black, so I saved you guys both, just in case…” He continued with that thinly veiled hero worship, offering the different coloured bandanas for our selection.

“Neither; because this isn’t happening!” Snapped Steve, snatching both the bandanas from Dustin’s hands, before marching over to the other kids.

“Hey -- guys -- guys!! HELLO??” He yelled, waving his arms as if to get their attention.

He didn’t; or else the kids clearly didn’t care, too busy gearing up with flashlights in tow and goggles on their heads.

“You think you're going down there -- you're -- you're wrong! Okay??? This -- this ends RIGHT NOW!!” Steve demanded; sounding more like a belligerent child, than the commanding leader he was trying for.

“Lola; please—“ He turned to me; realising that trying to convince the kids was hopeless, and hoping I might support him for once.

“Come on; Steve. Chill. Trust me; it’ll be alright--“ I reassured him, untying the bandana I kept around my wrist and tying it around my neck.

“Trust you?! Trust you! You let a twelve year old drive—“ Blustered Steve, disbelief and indignation colouring his voice.

“I’m thirteen!’ Corrected Max, though I doubt a year made any difference to Steve.

“She’s driven before Steve—“ I argued; really not seeing what his issue was.

I mean; we got here okay, didn’t we?!

“It doesn’t matter! She’s a child-- “ Yelled Steve; really not willing to see my point in this.

Still; blessing or not, the kids were going forward with this plan, and were already tying their rope to the front of Billy’s car.

“Listen -- Steve. I get you're upset, okay? But the bottom line is a party member requires our assistance. And it's our duty to provide that assistance…” Dustin explained levelheadedly in his nerdy metaphors, but still the rationale hit the same.

Meanwhile, the kids had already begun to descend down into the hole; Mike first, closely followed by Max and Lucas.

Steve made to go after them; clearly intent on dragging them out by their hair if it meant keeping them safe, but I stopped him, taking his head in my hands just like I had at the Byers’.

“Steve; please. I know my dad made you promise you’d keep me safe; keep all of us safe, and I’m not asking you to break that promise…” I said; my eyes soft as they stared into his, petitioning for his trust once more.

“Lola; what do you expect me to do? I can’t do this— I don’t know what to do — I just—“ He stammered, and I could see the doubt in his eyes; the fear that he might not be enough if it should come to it, that he might fail me again.

“It’s okay; Steve. Just do what you’ve always done—“ I reassured him, stroking his hair before stepping back and beckoning Dustin forward.

“Keep us safe.” Dustin finished, shoving the nailbat into Steve’s hand.

Steve looked down, tightening his grip around the bat before nodding.

“Okay— I think I can do that—“

——————————————————

Steve insisted in being first down the hole, because chivalry wasn’t dead; just painfully over protective and more than a little pigheaded.

His sneakers hit the dirt with a dull thud, and I reached down to pass him his bat, taking care not to slip on the shifting earth there.

He grabbed it, throwing to the ground before reaching up and beckoning me into the hole.

“Come on; I’ll catch you.” He offered, and I trusted him to do so, so I sat at the edge of the hole, shifting forwards until I began to free fall, only to be caught by a set of firm hands.

Steve gently lowered me to the ground, setting me down with more delicacy than necessary, as he kept his hands wrapped tightly around my waist.

“Thanks…” I smiled, subtly enjoying the warmth of his fingers on my skin; how comfortably they rested there.

“No problem…” He replied; staring at me with deep brown eyes, and it suddenly had me wondering what he’d been so desperate to tell me back at the Byers’.

Back before Billy had showed up and ruined everything.

“Holy Shit!” Exclaimed the overeager voice of Dustin; breaking me and Steve away from our moment, only for us to turn and take in the tunnel.

“Holy Fucking Cow…” Steve remarked as he scooped up his bat, staring up at the ginormous cavernous structure we stood in that seemed to stretch on forever.

“You can say that again…” I agreed, using my torch beam to slice through the darkness, only to find it had no end.

“Alright, we don't have much time. Everyone stay close to me, okay?”

Mike took charge, already holding the map in his hand and beginning to lead the way down the tunnel, only for Steve to stop him.

“Any of you little shits die down here -- I'm getting blamed…” Steve spat, snatching the map from Mike’s grasp before he could protest.

“From here on -- I lead the way.” He commanded, sounding every inch the Alpha Male, and I couldn’t suppress a smirk at this newfound confidence.

“What are you smirking at?” He asked as he passed me to take the lead; even his walk changing to match his dominance.

“Nothing… Nothing at all; Chief.” I smirked, covering my mouth so he couldn’t see the grin on my face.

He nodded resolutely, before walking ahead with strong, confident strides, and I followed; very willing to follow this new fearless Steve wherever he chose to lead me.

——————————————————

We wandered through the dark, damp tunnels for the better length of half an hour; Steve often getting mixed up and turned around when following the map, and I was beginning to see why it wasn’t a good idea to let the dumbest of the group lead the way.

Eventually, we emerged in some sort of chamber filled with these weird egg things that kept spurting dust in the air; kinda like plants during pollen season.

“—God!—“ Remarked Lucas as yet another bud released a cloud of dust into the air.

“... What is this place…” Max asked, but we didn’t have time to search for an answer before Steve was ushering us onward.

“Guys, come on -- let's keep moving.” He urged, leading towards another opening that led deeper into the tunnels.

I was just about to follow, when I heard a shriek from back within the chamber.

I turned to see Dustin hurrying towards me; a disgusted look on his face.

“Ohmygodohmygod —“ He spluttered, ripping of his bandana to spit onto the floor.

“What happened??” I asked, rushing to his side as he began to cough and gag repeatedly.

“I think some got in my mouth!! I THINK SOME GOT IN MY MOUTH -- !!!” He shrieked, bent double, dry heaving onto the floor.

For a minute I thought he was gonna be sick; only for him to hack a loogie onto the dirt.

“Okay— I think I’m okay.” Dustin said, straightening up again and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

I turned to look at Steve, still stood at the mouth of the tunnel, and raised an eyebrow; because, really?

This was the kid he’d put so much faith in just this afternoon?

He just shrugged; a soft smile spreading across his face, because yeah; that was his kid.

——————————————————

When we stumbled into a chamber bigger than any of the ones we’d encountered so far; I knew we were in the right place before even asking.

Still; Steve checked the map anyway, not quite trusting his sense of direction after the wrong turn we took a couple of tunnels back.

“Alright -- I think this is your hub, Wheeler.” Steve confirmed after a quick map check.

Mike took a 360 of the sprawling space; the extensive vine-like growth covering the walls making it clear that there was no mistaking what this place was.

“Then there’s only one thing to do.” Mike stated, turning to us all with a knowing look in his eye.

We all nodded in agreement; already having discussed the plan in detail on the walk over here.

“Drench it.” I instructed, as the kids began pulling gas canisters from their backpacks; all except Mike and Max who were geared up with weed sprayers filled gasoline, and were already in the process of spraying down the walls.

——————————————————

Once the place was gassed up like a fucking tinderbox; the whole place reeking like the exhaust of a rally car, me and Steve worked together to create a gas trail leading to the tunnel adjacent.

“You guys ready?” Steve asked, already flicking my lighter to life regardless.

“Ready.”

“Then let’s light this bitch up…” I stated, watching Steve flicker the flame to life one more time, before tossing it into the cavern.

“I am in such deep shit!” He muttered, just as flame met gasoline, and the whole place went up like a Christmas tree.

The fire spread so fast it was almost instantaneous, and already I could feel the heat of it as Steve began to back us further into the tunnel.

“GO! GO! GO!” He urged, ushering us out into the tunnels before the smoke could reach us.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Commission for @frostedturquoise

Fandom: TF2      Pairing: Soldier/Sniper

Request: Fantasy AU

Concept: Ranger!Sniper/Sorcerer’s Apprentice!Soldier

Title: It’s Free Real Estate

With what can only be called an horrendous squeal, the giant creature lunged towards the human that assailed it; humongous gore-spattered tusks gleaming in the sunlight as it bore down with lethal intent. Enraged by the arrows dotting its flesh, the house-sized Titan Boar paid no heed to obstacles, smashing through tree trunks without seeming to notice and gaining ground with every passing second.

Yet still the lanky man stood his ground, perhaps foolishly attempting bravery against such a vicious creature, or more likely he was rooted to the spot in fear. Though, a third option yet remained, which became apparent as the Titan Boar suddenly crashed through the forest floor and skewered itself upon the sharpened stakes littering the bottom. It had all been part of the plan.

With swift efficiency, the Ranger strode towards the pit, took aim with his bow and sunk a hefty arrow straight through the rage-filled eye closest him, placing the creature out of its misery. Not to mention, out of everyone else’s too, given how its rampage had knocked several villages and citizens flat over the past week and a half.

Assured that the animal was indeed deceased, the Ranger jumped down to land atop its carcass, ignoring the loud squishing sound as his impact forced the body further down onto the impaling spikes. Upon closer inspection it was immediately apparent that this poor bloody thing had been a normal wild pig before all this mess, clearly someone had been experimenting their magical bullshit on animals. At least, judging by the runes he could see carved into the sides of it’s flanks by something arcane and definitely illegal.

He gave the carcass a pat, sorry to have had to do his duty to something that hadn’t really deserved it. “I’ll get the bastard who did this to you, put an arrow in his throat just for you, hey mate?” he assured, turning to begin scaling the side of the pit.

As he hauled his frame over the edge, rising to stand beside it, he pulled out a match and held his hat over his heart in a gesture of respect. “Hope you’re somewhere better than this mess, mate.” he says solemnly, before striking a small flame and tossing it atop the body.

Looks like he had a shittonne of paperwork to do, and someone to go turn into a magical shishkabob.

                                                        ~)0(~

Early that morning a messenger scroll had been delivered via the portal mail service for Merasmus, some urgent council matter that required several of the more experienced sorcerers out there to attend immediately. When questioned, his mentor had merely waved him off and mumbled something about illicit arcane animal experimentation that had to be dealt with.

He left with a suitcase, the bombinomicon, and strict warnings not to summon any demons for a party; leaving his apprentice, one Jane ‘Soldier’ Doe, all alone in the large, dank castle. What could possibly go wrong? Given Soldier’s penchant for absolute, generally accidental, chaos… pretty much anything and everything.

By the time dinner rolled around, Soldier had grown bored of training, reading, playing hide and seek with the ghosts, casting light spells in various colours and even flying on his broomstick. The place just felt emptier without someone else existing in it on a physical plane of existence; many of the ghosts had intriguing and varied personalities, and tried their best to cheer him up, but it wasn’t quite the same.

And that’s when he heard the scream.

Loud, surprisingly close-by, and hoarse. The short cry was accompanied by a series of equally audible profanities, threats and questions about their assailant’s parentage; but most importantly, from Jane’s perspective, it sounded like a call to adventure.

Soldier readjusted his helmet, grabbed the broomstick and ran for the front door with an eager spring to his step. Only to fling it wide open just in time to collide head-on with a rather battered looking man standing before it, hand raised to knock and attire rumpled almost beyond repair.

“Crikey!” came the startled shout of the lanky Ranger, as a hulking wall of magical muscle slammed into him headon. The pair tumbled haphazardly down the front stairs in a tangle of limbs, broomsticks and profanities; thudding to the ground in a halo of dust, which arose to choke what little air the winded men could inhale.

Quick as a whip, the lanky bloke shoves at Soldier, mouthing moving with words he didn’t quite have a deep enough breath to impart just yet; eyes wide behind his goggles, conveying the urgency that he couldn’t say. Somewhere along the treeline of the surrounding forest sounded an inhuman roar, the volume so ear-shattering it shook the ground and startled nesting ravens from the trees. A great cacophony of crashes echoed in the deafening silence that followed, as many a giant treetrunk shrieked in protest before toppling over under the onslaught of some gargantuan creature…

“In-...de…” the man wheezed out, coughed and tried again. “Inside, mate!” he said more coherently this time, smacking a hand on Soldier’s chest to illustrate his urgency, and scrambling upright. Swiftly following suit, Soldier shoved himself to his feet, and pushed up the brim of his helmet to scan the treeline for any sign of whatever made that noise.

The ground trembled a warning as their foe slowly came into view, fuzzy ears only just surpassing the treetops before the rest of the creature emerged, eyes red and enraged by what could only be arcane magic. Or potentially, just a megabunny having a really, really bad day. But considering the combined general luck of both men present, it was more likely the former, than the latter.

Not to mention the runes carved into the animal. Dead giveaway. Some black magic bullshit was going on here.

Soldier sneezed, and then again as the towering megabunny stomped ever closer to the castle, not yet having seen them in particular, but normally adorable nose currently twitching, desperately chasing the scent of-... oh. Blinking, and gaining a good concept of the situation in a split-second, Jane grabs the other man around the torso and bodily hurls them both through the open doorway. Broomstick zooming in behind, slamming the door shut and flicking its whiskers at the lock to engage the cloaking charms.

He gave it a pat, fondly, and turned to the newcomer. Given the clothing, he was one of the forest-loving types… but the lack of pointy ears said he wasn’t an elf, which was good, because Merasmus’s lessons hadn’t yet covered Elf First Aid. Jane was still studying healing potives for Centaurs… you wouldn’t believe how many crazy curses, hexes and diseases those half-horse nudist hippies could attract, or just how annoyingly difficult they were to diagnose and treat.

His nose twitched again, and he absently rubbed it on a sleeve, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the other man spoke. He might have forgotten the other existed for just a moment there, in light of his frustratingly flaring allergies.

“Thanks mate… that thing literally caught me with my pants down… nothing like taking on a ten-foot murderous megarabbit with your dacks ‘round your ankles.” Said the other, a wry grin forming over a slowly swelling face; bruises blooming on exposed skin, and blood trickling morbidly down his long features. “Name’s Mundy, m’one of the Rangers stationed down near that Forbidden Forest place, you know the one travellers and dumb teenagers keep going into and not returning from? All sorts of crazy shit in there, but it’s not all that hard to deal with, just your standard arachnid infestations or the odd rabid werewolf and the like…”

For the first time in his life, Soldier wasn’t able to get a word in edgewise, so he let the Ranger ramble on as he directed him to a chair. The slight slur to the speech, the unfocused gaze, and what was clearly a supernatural asskicking… it all seemed to ring a bell in the Apprentice’s memory; sure healing wasn’t a huge component of sorcery unless you wanted to specialise, but Merasmus liked to cover all the basics. Humans, at least, tended not all that difficult to treat… unless they were the stubborn type, like Mundy was shaping up to be.

“...and that’s why I got the call to come up here and see which snotnosed little blighter is going ‘round enchanting your everyday woodland beasts into… things like the big bunny. And the boar, and maybe that one really cranky weasel that stole my undies while I was taking a dip last night… looked bigger than it should have been.” The Ranger finished his spiel, shrugged off Soldier, and rose to stagger somewhat ungracefully towards the door.  “Anyway, thanks for the hospitality and all, but I gotta go deal with that before it finds out I’m holed up in here… or gets bored and goes wandering for… some other… kinda fun…”

Soldier barely has a chance to lurch forwards and catch him, as the Ranger seems to drop like a stone mid-stride and sentence. Dead to the world and oblivious to impending danger as Jane sweeps the lanky monster-wrangler into his arms, and whisks him away to somewhere a bit safer. Pausing only to throw a waring glance over his shoulder at broomstick, as he whispers sternly, “Don’t tell Merasmus…”

~)0(~

“...and I’m telling you, mate, it’s fine!” sighs the exasperated Ranger Mundy, for what had to be the sixth time in the past hour. It wasn’t that he didn’t mind the concern behind the questioning, but it was a tad hard to stealthily shift through the shadows when a loud, far-too-enthusiastic sorcerer’s apprentice kept asking you if you were feeling alright.

He clenches his fists, takes a deep breath, and exhales to a count of ten. Can’t do any good getting snippy with the bloke who saved his arse the other day, especially when Jane only wanted to make sure he was doing alright. Sure, maybe Mundy was fudging the truth around the edges a tad, but he had a bloody job to do; and every second he laid about being pampered like some fainting dandy of the royal court, people’s lives and livelihoods were at risk.

Bit disorienting, really, waking up when you couldn’t recall going to sleep. He’d awoken with a shock, hand automatically reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there, and feeling more than a tad off-kilter at finding himself tucked carefully into a bed that most definitely wasn’t his own. Various bits ached, stung and throbbed in a discordant cacophony, some abating or growing sharper as he moved; Mundy had wriggled a bit, just to be sure this wasn’t simply the fall-out from a rather vigorous night before.

He eventually concluded that no, this was definitely the result of being trounced by something or other; getting smacked about tended to leave an impression on the mind and body alike. Still, the night before was a hazy mess… which was unusual. Mundy usually had a mind like a steel trap, but for some reason he just couldn’t picture who, or more likely what, had punched his ticket hard enough to leave him… covered in bandages?

Too neat for his usual patchjobs, must have been someone else. At least they’d left him his undergarments, and therefore his dignity… not that he must have much of that left, if he was in such rough shape. The answer of who, and why, came crashing through the door with a vibrantly enthusiastic ‘Good Morning!’ and a tray of various breakfast-like items.

Jane, or Soldier as he preferred to be called, had taken his sudden intrusion last night in stride. Simply just locking the door to the cursed creature outside, and dragged Mundy’s deadweight off to the apprentice’s own room to deal with the mess he’d made of himself. Soldier told him all this proudly, excitedly; it was almost endearing, even for someone who tended to prefer silence and solitude over socialisation. Jane just seemed to exude a chaotic sensation of life at its most vibrant; which was why Mundy had found himself attentive to the tale of how Soldier had treated him last night, whilst nibbling on any unburnt foodish offerings provided.

Turns out, the helmet-clad bloke had stripped off the ragged remains of his travelling cloak, tunic, breeches, boots and hat; sending them off with what Soldier described as animated household items for washing and repair. Mundy didn’t really know how to feel about that, but nodded to encourage the other bloke to keep talking. Well, the sorcerer’s apprentice realised how damaged the Ranger actually was, he set about just about marinating Mundy in as many salves, potives, poltices and spell-infused bandages one could possibly get their hands on at short notice.

Seemed to work a treat, because most of the swelling and inflammation was down; not to mention he was pretty sure the myriad of talon and tooth marks had faded to little more than scars at this point. Mundy made sure to thank the guy, and they idled in conversation until his clothes were returned; mended and free from blood and grime.  

There had been an argument.

Soldier was adamant that Mundy should stay, wait for some guy called Merasmus to come back, before they went about knocking giant rabbit heads in; spend a bit more time taking a nap, at least until Mundy could raise his arms without wincing. Which was all well and good, but every minute he waited, that damn creature and the idiot who made it could be wreaking havoc on innocent people. He had to get out there…

Which was how they’d ended up with a compromise. By which it could be said that Soldier managed to pester Mundy into a verbal corner, and the Ranger had agreed to take Jane with him just to expediate the process. He wasn’t completely adverse to having a muscle-clad magic-wielder as his back-up, you almost couldn’t pay for better unless you went with premium Paladin Escort Package; and that lot were far too self-important to shadow a Ranger, no matter how much coin he flashed.

If Jane could just stop asking if he was doing alright, if he needed to rest, if maybe he’d like a quick refresher of some pain-removal potive or healing spell… this would be a lot less frustrating. Mundy began to suspect the other man was simply casting the spells he offered anyway, because discomfort always seemed to decrease after the Ranger declined… though he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it was simply the company that soothed him.

Soldier was a strange bloke, but he had a good heart; lot of funny, if a bit crude, stories about bizarre situations he’d gotten himself into and then out of. Nice eyes, build like one of those gods of war that the armies were always praying to, and an enthusiastic, if sometimes overbearing, personality. Must be a right hit with the ladies, or gents, or whatever he fancied.

He had a funny feeling that he knew why Soldier’s company seemed so enthralling, but Mundy sure as hellfire wasn’t going to admit it even to himself. He was too bloody old for all that nonsense anyway; well, for those in his profession anyway, you didn’t last very long out in the wilds but at least the pay was good. And the only boring aspect was the paperwork when you were cashing in a bounty or sending a warning on to some committee or other about a rogue so-and-so of their order.

Mundy jerked as a large, warm hand pressed against his spine; fingers twitching as he fought the instinctual urge to go for a weapon, mentally telling himself it was just his companion. Soldier must have noticed, because the pressure eased off; but the tingling sensation remained a few seconds more… confirming the Ranger’s suspicions about what the other was up to. He chose to ignore it for now, simply continuing to slide through the dappled shadows of the trees with the practiced ease of one who had spent their life doing exactly this. Followed, not quite so silently, by the solid form of Soldier, who did his very best to be quiet; but ultimately left Mundy wishing the man had brought broomstick, which would have alleviated the sound of his footfalls crunching through the leaf matter strewn about.

“My campsite’s around here somewhere,” he hisses, keeping his voice low as they started to notice gargantuan bunny footprints filling the area, tracks criss-crossing over one another. Clearly, it was still hanging around where it could find the strongest concentration of the Ranger’s scent, seeking revenge for the wounds he had inflicted the night previous. It was a wily little bugger, they’d have to be careful; you should never underestimate something just ‘cause it has a cute fluffy tail… a bad run-in with satyrs’d tech just about anyone that.

His eyes scan the forest, noting small nicks and sigils he’d left on the trees leading to his hideout, gesturing for Jane to follow along behind as quietly as he could. The unlikely duo crept through low-set brush and towering treetrunks, winding their way towards a well-hidden rope ladder hiding in the shadows. Checking that nothing stirred in the area, he began to climb; and after a moment, felt the slight jerk of Soldier also ascending behind him.

Higher and higher they rose, clambering up amidst the uppermost branches, where an impressive platform awaited. Boards expertly nestled between, and secured to the thickest branches in an interweaving pattern; the kind of temporary shelter one built when needing an extended stay somewhere that lowering one’s guard on the ground could be fatal. Small bags were littered here and there, as were weapons and a sleeping roll; Mundy took comfort in realising that nothing had been discovered or disturbed in his absence.

He dragged the sleeping roll toward the treetrunk, and then sank upon it, pressing his spine against the reassuring solidity of the living wood. Mundy always felt more at ease when he was like this, with nature thrumming all around him and no immediate threat to deal with.

Boards creaked as Jane carefully tiptoed across to join him, seeming uncertain at such a height; or perhaps the bloke was afraid that something built to facilitate someone Mundy’s size, would never bear his weight. Still, nice of the guy to try. Soldier made it all the way over and sat beside the Ranger, attempting to maintain his upbeat attitude despite worrying glances at the platform.

“It’ll hold.” Mundy reassured, reaching into a bag and yanking out some sort of fruit. HE began to peel strips off it, biting tentatively to test if it wasn’t overripe yet, and then offering some to his… well, Jane was sort of a guest now, wasn’t he?  Soldier took it, and nibbled appreciatively, as they settled in.

And now, it was a waiting game.

                                                         ~)0(~

Soldier sneezed for the second time, nudging Mundy out of his doze with a jolt of adrenaline.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Reacting instinctively, the Ranger grabbed his bow and arrows as a twinge of memory flared from the night before; carefully stretching himself out so as to peer over the platform’s edge and into the lightening world. No birds chirped greetings to the dawn sun, and nothing scurried below despite the ever-present tell-tale leaf matter. Clearly a sign that something ominous, predatory and dangerous lurked nearby; keeping creatures silent, wary, and afraid to leave their dens for fear of being caught.

Warmth flushed along his left side as Soldier laid down beside him, warding off some of the early morning chill as they waited; neither speaking, straining to hear the slightest sound. Though instead, it came first as a sensation… strong vibrations that shook the leaves on their branches; growing in magnitude with every second that passed until it felt as if each footstep was a thunderclap intent on shaking loose their bodies, cell by cell.

Mundy picked out the tips of enormous fluffy ears by the time they could hear the creature’s every movement, path clearly veering towards their hidden location. Tracking their scent, though not quite well enough to pinpoint them; although that was somewhat due to a certain countermeasure the Ranger used. See, when you gotta go, in a tree, there’s an obvious solution… if you want every slavvering supernatural creature with a hankering for human flesh clawing their way up to your tree. An ancient ranger trick they tended to teach in basic training was to store up your urine and carefully splash it haphazardly throughout the forest if you really needed to give something the slip.

A tad gross? Perhaps. Kept Mundy alive more times than he could count. Had creatures circling back on themselves all over the place, in the past. Even now it had the megabunny so turned around it couldn’t even work out which direction to sniff right.

Just the way he liked ‘em.

Sliding an arrow of blessing, or whatever fancy title those monks’d given it after dunking it in some sort of godwater, from his quiver and aligning it upon his bow, Mundy tracked the creature’s every twitch. Mentally noting the trajectory and factors that might need to be compensated for, such as windspeed and the target’s current travelling velocity…

Shot through the eye’d do it, but not from this angle. Wouldn’t kill it outright, and he wasn’t one to leave something suffering if he could help it… no, he needed… a distraction. The Ranger’s head snapped towards the enthralled Soldier, who started to find himself being stared at, opening his mouth to question what was wrong… when he sneezed violently instead, responding to the increasing levels of dark, arcane magic in the air.

Mundy saw the megarabbit’s head snap up and stare right at them, meeting him eye to eye. “Yeah,” he mumbled, drawing back the bowstring, “That’ll do.”

He loosed the enchanted missile.

                                                    ~)0(~

The hardest part of the whole operation seemed to be guiding Soldier down the ladder, as he wouldn’t look down. It was bizarre, because he’d seen the bloke whizzing about on his broomstick before, far higher than this and hadn’t assumed Jane would have a hang up about heights.  Still, they made good time back through the forest, or so it seemed; perhaps the mood was just a tad lighter now that the creature was finally deceased.

“...find the wanker behind all this and deal with him. Suppose that’s really a wizarding council’s jurisdiction or something, I’m just the guy they send in to take out the shambling horrors  they unleash on the world.” Mundy said, feeling oddly at ease as they traipsed through the trees, as  close as a duo could be given the dense foliage. He tried to tell himself it was a job well done, but… nah, who could pretend any longer? It was Jane.

Not that he was head over heels or anything, no, just… felt like maybe there could be something there, if there was time to get to know one another better. His internal monologue was cut short by the man himself, who touched his shoulder to gain the Ranger’s attention.

“Mundy?” there was a query in the tone.

“Yes mate?” he replied, wondering what kind of flower or butterfly or poisonous demondog the guy’d seen this time.

“Would you say the person behind the big bunny would be using dark magic? Maybe about your height, red hair, green eyes, little nose and a big black cloak?” Jane asks, and it almost causes Mundy to miss a step. He raises an eyebrow, turning to look at Soldier.

“Dunno exactly, they didn’t give a description… what makes you ask?”

Jane pointed. “Because he is standing over there right now, enchanting a raccoon to large proportions…”

“He-... wait, what?” Mundy started, swiftly pivoting on his heel to follow Soldier’s gaze, and discovered the exact scene Jane had detailed. Bugger, his bow caught on his pack as he tried to yank it off in a hurry, and the ruckus they’d caused had caught the sneaky spellcaster’s attention. Their peaky face flashed briefly towards the pair, before they whirled about and attempted to flee; dark cloak flapping about them as they slipped into the shadows.

Mundy swore, loudly, but Soldier was already raising a hand and yelling something. A flare of bright light seemed to rush across the distance between them, twisting and twining about the limbs of the fleeing darkmancer; ensnaring him fast about the legs so he couldn’t escape.

With a small huff of triumph, the Ranger’s freed bow notches the very same blessed arrow he had retrieved from the megabunny’s corpse, and took aim.

“N-no, please, it was just a little fun! They’re only animals! Stupid, unthinking animals!” jibbered the ranga, not so high and mighty now he’d been caught and cornered. “They don’t even feel pain! And what’s a f-few dead nobodies when y-you’re advancing magical kn-knowledge?!”

The Ranger nudged the darkmancer with his boot, flipping the rogue sorcerer flat upon his back; cocking his head as he took careful aim, pulling the bowstring taut. “Yeah nah, mate… me’n’my mate here, real animal lovers. And you? Turns out your the bastard hurting them. If you believe in any gods, might wanna say a few words to ‘em now.” he growled, tone low and menacing. The arrow lurched forwards and pinned the darkmancer’s skull to the ground, as Mundy grinned. “Cause you might be meeting ‘em soon.”

There was a faint flush on Jane’s cheeks as he turned away from the corpse to face the sorcerer’s apprentice; and for a moment he thought it was horror, at what the Ranger had done. Though the sudden crash of lips against his own was, perhaps, the greater surprise still… or so Mundy thought, right up until something wriggled between them.

Pulling away, suddenly aware of just how much he’d love to do that again, the Ranger blinked down to see a large infant racoon in Soldier’s arms. Delightedly shredding the other man’s jacket, while he cooed down at it.

“Er, before I ask about the racoon, what was the uh… you know, about?” Mundy had to ask, he was a tad confused about how things had even gotten to that point, to be honest.

“Commander of my heart’s battalion, when I heard your voice I was unable to remain at attention… and will need to be disciplined back into line later after this mission is completed.” Jane grinned, unabashedly, blue eyes sparkling where they met Mundy’s, from under his helmet. “And as for Lieutenant Bites, I have made the tactical decision to add him to my platoon… he needs guidance to become a good soldier.”

Mundy quirks an eyebrow, lets the silence linger a moment, then shrugs.

“Works for me, mate. Let’s get back to that castle of yours, see about this… discipline problem you got going. Reckon I can find a good solution to it…”

Jane snaps a smart salute, not even pretending to hide his enthusiasm. “Yes sir!”

                                                      ~)0(~

By the time Merasmus arrived home, he was utterly in shock at how chaotically bizarre the castle had become in his absence.

To begin with, there was the lanky Ranger who cheerfully greeted the sorcerer as he made his way inside; the man seemingly wearing a towel, a hat and little else besides as he took breakfast with a honey-and-skyclad Soldier.  Not even to mention what appeared to be a rather large baby racoon seated within a hastily constructed highchair; occasionally being spoon-fed by the broomstick; upon which the spoon had been tied.

There was an exceptionally large, fluffy rug now sumptuously draped across the floor that everyone present was pointedly Not Looking At; and what seemed to be a suspiciously familiar corpse lashed to a spare chair in the corner. Squinting at it revealed it was, indeed, the exact rogue darkmancer he’d been summoned all the way to the high council’s chambers to help track down…

Tired from his travels, and deciding he would rather deal with all of this mess after a nice miniature coma, Merasmus merely wished them good morning and levitated up the stairs to bed. Leaving the two men, and their bizarre furry son, to finish their meal in peace.

----------

The End