#i also should try the round jaw approach

[the-acid-pear]

I am soooo close to figuring out purps I swear to god

[iloveavatar]

a mothers instinct

neteyam x fem! reader

this is when the reader and neteyam are kids! also this is just something short (hopefully people are ok with that)

neteyam was always a wonderful kid.

the type of kid to always be happy about anything and everything.

neytiri never had an issue with her eldest. he has always laughing at something she did or something jake said that he found absolutely hilarious.

neytiri soon realized that neteyam was curious about the forest animals.

how they grew, what they looked like, how they responded to na’vi, etc.

he asked her if they could look for a specific type of thing in the forest. except neytiri had an issue… seeing as the one thing he wanted to go find was in fact not an animal.

he wanted to find another na’vi.

neytiri tried explaining to him that the na’vi children weren’t just hiding in the forest.

but neteyam insisted they go look.

he wanted to find another na’vi.

one by the name of y/n.

neytiri was quite confused as to who y/n was. however she still followed her eldest child deep into the forest where he was leading her.

they soon stopped at a small tree.

the tree was slightly glowing, the leaves were different shades of green and blue. the height of the plant was just tall enough where the top reached neytiris waist.

neteyams little tail was flickering back and forth in anticipation. his eyes darting around with hope of seeing his new friend.

“neteyam why have we stopped? there’s nothing here honey?” neytiri questioned with a confused look on her face.

“this is where y/n told me to meet her! she’s super pretty, just wait mom!” he excitedly said, slightly bouncing with joy.

neytiri decided to try and listen for any footsteps approaching. she heard a small stick break near the two of them.

her ears twitched at the sound.

she slowly got into a defensive position to protect her son.

however she couldn’t protect her son, seeing as neteyam was running away from her arms towards the sound.

“neteyam!” she whispered-yelled

“mama! mama! it’s y/n i see her!” he yelled with a smile on his little face.

neytiri followed her son to where she spotted another young na’vi.

however the young little girl was sniffling.

“y/n? are you ok? why are you sad?” neteyam worriedly asked. he ran around her to get a good look at her face properly.

“…neteyam? i thought you didn’t come?” she asked with tears in her big round eyes.

“what? of course i would come! why wouldn’t i?” he asked

“you weren’t at the tree… and i-i thought you forgot about me so i went to leave. b-but then i tripped and now my foot hurts.” she explains showing him how her ankle was swollen.

neytiri stepped around to face to pair.

y/n gasped.

“y-you’re neytiri! you fought against the scary sky people!” y/n said astonished. her jaw was dropped.

neytiri chuckled at the girls expression. she soon stopped laughing once she saw the damage her little foot had taken. her ankle was quite swollen.

neytiri had her mother instincts kick in and squatted down to get a proper look at the ankle.

“mom? what should we do about her foot? is she gonna be ok?” neteyam questioned nervously, seeing as he was anxious about his friends injury.

“she will be once we get her to your grandmother.” she said with a small smile on her face.

neytiri then picked up y/n and placed her on her back.

“let’s go get your foot fixed up so you two can play yeah?” she asked as she started to walk home.

neteyam led the way all the way back to his grandmothers tent.

the entire walk back to the village(?) neteyam and y/n ranted about all of the things they want to do. they talked about how they were going to swim, find different plants, eventually ride ikrans, all the way to what they wanted to become when they were older.

neytiri listened to the two of them with a smile on her face.

she was glad neteyam found a friend.

especially one who was as adventurous as him.

neytiri over the years witnessed how neteyam and y/n became closer than ever to one another.

neytiri realized the longing looks the two would send each other. the worry that they had whenever the other would go somewhere. the smiles they would send each other.

she noticed it all.

she even noticed the love in their eyes as they grew older and wiser.

her mother instincts were always right.

and a mother always knows best.

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

enjoy guys! i’m so sorry i’m always slow with posting.

please send requests!!

~S!

[princessbrunette]

rafe is so mean and scary but like imagine fucking him with a ski mask on!!! like maybe he’s just gotten back from handling business and he’s all filled with adrenaline and he sees the way you look at him with it on (plus the gun tucked in his waistband + how imposing he is 🤤🤤) he’d be on you in seconds. tearing away your clothes, not bothering to take his off before pressing your knees to your chest and having his way with you. lowering his mouth to the shell of your ear, whispering “i know you like when dad’s scary, huh?” 🫠🫠

˚ ༘ 🍼⋆🩷｡˚

the ski mask was barry’s idea.

as are most things, which always end up with ridiculous outcomes — like the predicament he was currently in with his confident, beating some poor sucker out and throwing him over the side of the boat after he’d threatened to snitch. rafe couldn’t let that slide, and he also couldn’t let himself be caught.

he was so full of adrenaline that he forgotten to take the mask off when the deed was done. maybe it was that, or maybe he couldn’t quite bare to catch himself in the reflection of any surface just yet — unable to face what he’d done. he’s dressed all in black to top it off, straying from his usual preppy pop of kook colour. all that seems to glimmer is the chain that’s untucked itself from his shirt.

you’d rounded the corner and caught him in the centre of the room, stopping dead in his tracks. “shit.” he spits, taking a step back like his little soft girlfriend in the slip dress was the threat.

“rafe?” you sound so small, so horrified as your brows crumple, wide eyes on his bloody knuckles. “what’d you do?”

he approaches you quickly, almost frantically with the urge to nip things in the bud before you freak. “hey, hey look at me kid—” he cups your head, roughly holding your gaze through the eye slit in his balaclava. “did what i had to do, ‘kay? remember when i spoke to you about having to make the hard choice sometimes? i— i made the hard choice.”

you’re blinking, unable to stop eyeing him. there’s something else penetrating your gaze, a twinkle in your eye. a certain curiosity. you stare at the gun tucked in his waistband. he hadn’t ended up using it, but you didn’t know that.

“y’look all scary, rafe.” you comment, and it seems more neutral than you were seconds earlier. he sighs, shoulders relaxing as he glances at the ceiling.

“i know.” he responds before checking you over with his gaze. “you scared?” he tests the waters. your eyes flutter at this and he knows he’s got you, drawing your glossy, pouty bottom lip beneath your teeth as you stare up at him through your lashes, shaking your head. “no?” he breathes, still ramped with adrenaline as he lightly pushes your shoulder.

“rafe.” you whine in complaint, but the way your chest rises and falls doesn’t lie to his wandering eyes and he starts walking you backwards.

“brave girl now huh? maybe you uh—” he chuckles, his eyes glimmering in the low light of the lounge. “maybe you should be scared of me. yeah. got no idea what i’m capable of, do you?” he tilts his head, closing in on you before his hands shoot out, grabbing your waist making you yelp. he laughs, mean and judgemental as he manhandles you to his room.

by the time he got you on the bed with your legs folded up on your chest, dick beating your walls — his mask is pulled up just above his mouth. he pulls away from roughly mouthing at your jaw, his upper lip sweaty from wearing the mask— lips parted and filled with colour. you try and chase him up to press his mouth to yours but he presses his hand against your chest pushing you back down before it slides up and grips your jaw. “matter’fact— open that shit, yeah—” he mutters, prying your mouth open before spitting a glob inside.

“swallow. swallow or i swear to fuckin’ god you won’t like it.” he threatens and you mewl, gulping it down. as he thrusts, his expensive chain continues to beat against his collarbones and you wrap a weak finger around it, pulling him in for a kiss. he relents this time and shoves his tongue in your mouth for a minute or so, swallowing your moans before pulling away just a tad.

you stare into his threatening gaze through the black mask. “say you like this shit. say you like when dad fuckin’ scares you.”

“like it dad!” you cry, thighs spasming as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming on his cock.

“uh-huh, wanna know how i know? s’cos you’re —” he taps his fingers hard against your temple. “—you’re messed up. like me.”

“no i’m not!” you complain, and he pauses — dick all the way in to the hilt, and taps your cheek. hard enough to turn your head, not hard enough to cause you any real pain. you sniffle.

“dont fuckin’ argue with me. yeah?” he tugs the mask back down fully and you whine.

“m’sorry!”

“shit, you will be”.

˚ ༘ 🍼⋆🩷｡˚

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 琅琊榜/Nirvana in Fire.

Nirvana in Fire is a 2015 historical series best described as either a complicated succession drama set in the premodern Chinese imperial palace, or the story of a man who didn't die a decade ago and has decided to make it everyone else's problem.

And really, I almost feel silly giving my glib little summary, because Nirvana in Fire is so well-known of a property. It's a classic for a reason, and that reason is that it's legitimately very good. This show is what happens when you adapt a solid story, get a bunch of very talented actors, and throw a huge amount of money at it. It's incredibly popular and highly acclaimed, and it earned all of the hype.

Still, while I bet there are few people adjacent to c-drama stuff who've never heard of Nirvana in Fire, I'm sure there are plenty who haven't watched it. After all, it looks like one of those slow, serious shows with a lot of ponderous talking and no joy. If that's the impression you've been given, I could imagine looking at the 54-episode commitment and saying, I don't need that in my life.

I am here to tell you you're wrong. It is a banger of a show. It's tense. It's funny. It's heartbreaking. It’s exceptionally clever. It’s jaw-droppingly stupid. It’s romantic. It’s tragic. It has smart plots and bizarre subplots. And that's not even touching the thing with the yeti.

So in case you're one of those people who's heard of Nirvana in Fire, but has put off watching it for one reason or another, I'm here with five reasons I think you should try it.

1. Epic Shit

Did you like the Lord of the Rings? More specifically, did you really like the second Peter Jackson film? Great, then you're all set for this.

I guess I could have called this Game of Thrones without the dragons, but that's not actually the vibe at all. Game of Thrones is much more sensational and salacious, with all the blood and butts and what-not. The Tolkien comparison is more apt, I think, because Nirvana in Fire is equally about as wholesome as you can get in a property where dudes are still getting stabbed all the time.

This is a show about vengeance. And yeah, justice for the fallen, sure, that's fine too. But mostly it's about a bunch of good people joining forces to make sure the bastards who did wrong pay, with their lives as necesary.

The problem, though, is that these bastards are incredibly powerful, which means that a pure brute-force approach isn't going to work. Accordingly, this quickly becomes a story about the power of smart teamwork to exact retribution on some people who can (and did!) legally get away with murder -- and our heroes are some of the people with their necks most on the line if anything goes wrong.

Don't let the Middle Earth comparison fool you into thinking this is all epic swordfights. It's not. (I mean, for one thing, as well-funded as this project is, it doesn't have Peter Jackson Money.) The vast majority of the tension in the show comes from dialogue and slow, terrible realizations. The fight scenes are almost a relief from the nail-biting intensity of intimate conversations about getting a letter from somebody's ex-wife or returning a book.

All told, the show has that incredible almost-RPG vibe of going through all the little subquests and cutscenes you find along the way to defeat the final boss. The plot carefully unravels a multi-tendriled mystery told to you by people in incredible costumes. It doesn't get much more epic than that.

(Nirvana in Fire is also a cautionary tale about how you should be very careful with who gets invited to your birthday party.)

2. A chronically ill protagonist

Okay, right in the first episode, it is established that the main character has three whole completely different names and an old nickname. I'm going to call him Mei Changsu for the duration of this rec post, but let the record show that I could just have easily gone with one of the other three.

What you learn in that same first episode is that Mei Changsu used to be a palace insider, the cocky son of a noble family, only now nearly everyone he used to know thinks he's dead. Also, he's not far off from being actually dead -- he has an unspecified terminal condition that's mostly managed, provided he stays in his little mountain hideaway with his handsome doctor bestie and doesn't return to his old stomping ground and start kicking over hornets' nests.

So guess what he's about to do.

I have to make a note of how brilliant the casting is here: Hu Ge is an action actor! He is a kickpuncher of a man! And I think it's great that you can sort of see his frustration, as well as Mei Changsu's, at having to spend the whole series wrapped in countless layers of fabric and/or lying in bed while everyone around him gets to be the badass action heroes.

Mei Changsu's not faking it, either -- he's actually dying. He expends his energy where he thinks it's necessary, and sometimes that means he has to spend the following week in bed. He's constantly frustrated with himself for what he can't do anymore. He's racing a clock, and that clock is his own failing body. If he dies, the only hope anyone here has for justice dies with him.

He gets two love interests that the show treats pretty much equally. One's a lady general who wasn't even a love interest in the book. The other's the handsome prince who was initially going to be his textual romantic partner in same book, until the author hopped genres from danmei to general historical drama. I can't even call this a love triangle, because there's no competition. He just gets a wife and a husband -- in that he gets neither, because circumstances and his own illness keep him distant from them. He lies to both of then about his condition (among other things). He wants to be with them both and knows he can't be with either. And they in turn have to learn to accept what of him they can and can't have.

(Also, Nihuang (her) and Jingyan (him) are both incredibly gorgeous, which is exactly what bisexual genius Mei Changsu deserves.)

Obviously this isn't a perfect representation of life with chronic illness, largely because Mei Changsu is an incredily wealthy man who lives in a universe with what's basically magic medicine. However, I've seen the story's treatment of him and his condition resonate with a lot of chronically ill viewers, so even with the fantasy layer on it, there's definitely something there.

3. Dave

I have already told the story of how Meng Zhi became "Dave," but long story short, he's such a Dave that I legitimately forget his character's real name. He embodies Daveness. He's The Ultimate Dave.

Dave is an excellent fighter, a loyal friend -- and a terrible liar. He's possbly the only straightforward character in the entire show. When he's asked to be duplicitous, he's comically bad at it. Dave will never do a heel turn. I was misled at first by his semi-evil facial hair, but I have seen the error of my ways. Dave is pure lawful good.

And the reason I list Dave as such a selling point is that having a Dave means you always know what's going on. This is because Dave never knows what's going on, and he has no ego about that, so he asks questions, and other characters have to explain to him what just happened, and that is how you figure out what's going on.

It's an incredibly smart move on the drama's part, because some of the (very fun) schemes are so complicated that there's no way for you, the viewer, to understand them just by watching. Without the internal monologues and omniscent narration of a book, the machinations are opaque. You need things explained -- but why would the schemers explain their schemes? Well, Dave needs some exposition, so here you go.

So if you're worried that you might be left feeling stupid by a show where so many sneaky people are hatching so many complex plans, worry not! Like the good man he is, Dave has your back.

4. A Million Amazing Antagonists

If you like bad guys, this is a show for you. This show has brilliant bad guys all the way down. It has bad guys at every turn. It has bad guys for every taste. Welcome to Big Liang's Big Bad Guy Emporium, where we guarantee you'll walk out of here with a bad guy you like, or your money back!

(And yes, this set of pictures is also to say that their costume budget was entirely well-spent.)

Without getting too far into spoilers, I will say that the basic situation underlying the whole series is this: The emperor has done a lot of bad things, and he has enlisted a bunch of people's help in hiding those bad things, so much so that many of those other people have done even more bad things the emperor didn't even know about -- and then everyone has gone to great lengths to cover those up as well. Our protagonists spend the whole series unraveling this colossal shitshow and bringing people to task for their crimes.

So really, if you're going to spend 54 episodes taking down the baddies, they've got to be baddies you love to see taken down. And these are -- in part because all of them have crystal-clear, rock-solid motivations for their actions. Nobody here is a moustache-twirling comic-book-villain baddie. They're all bad for reasons that are very understandable in their individual contexts. And not a single one of them is going to go down without a fight.

5. World's Best Mom

(Sidebar: The fact that four out of five of my reasons to watch the show are individual or groups of characters should be your strongest indicator that this is an intensely character-driven story.)

This is not a Dead Mom Show. Okay, some moms are dead, but mostly this is a Moms Are Alive And Often Cause Problems Show, which is a lot of what makes the palace drama so delicious. But there is one Good Mom who stands out above all the rest: Consort Jing.

Played with perfect grace and devastating politeness by the stunning Liu Mintao, Consort Jing is a skilled doctor and excellent baker who starts the show with a low-level status among the women of the palace. She swallows down all kinds of mistreatment because she's not in a place to oppose it -- and when she can retaliate, it must only be through soft power. She loves her jock son with all her heart, but because of both their relatively poor positions in the hierarchy, she doesn't get to see him all that much. She wants to be an asset to him, while all the time she has to fear becoming a liability.

She is also the smartest person in any room that she's in, unless she's in a room with Mei Changsu, and even then it may be a tie.

There are lots of great characters in the show that I could have highlighted here, and plenty of them are women, but Consort Jing in particular never ceases to impress me. She is trapped in a gilded cage, married to a man who [lengthy list of spoilers that are traumatic to her in particular], and held hostage by how every time she even looks like she's out of line, it puts both her and her boy in danger. She's the most vulnerable of any of our good guys. Kind of like Wang Zhi, she's got to be clever or she's dead.

Consort Jing is not part of Mei Changsu's original plan. She figures out his plan and makes herself part of it -- and entirely remotely, as she and he aren't even in the same room until episode 40 or so. She puts herself in great danger to make sure he succeeds, not because it will necessarily do her any good, but because Jingyan needs him. This woman has been captain of the Mei Changsu/Jingyan ship for like twenty years already.

Oh, and did I mention her outfits?

I love you, Consort Mom.

Are you ready to watch it yet?

Get it on Viki! Get it on YouTube! Get it on YouTube but in a different playlist! (And also maybe get it on Amazon? Not in my region, but maybe in yours.)

I will warn you that it does take off running -- I think I saw someone say it introduces nineteen characters in the first episode? I was worried that I'd be too innundated by situations and flashbacks and names to be able to follow. By the second or third episode, though, I was rolling with it. So if you feel like you're struggling at the beginning, stick with it a bit. See if you don't feel it start to click.

...Man, reading over this post has left me going, oh, but I missed that! and that! and that guy! And yeah, the truth is that there are just so many great things about the show that limiting myself to only five (and being limited to only thirty images) was tough. I'm sure that people reblogging will add their own must-see elements.

Truly, this is a show that deserves its reputation. It may not be for everyone, but if this is the kind of thing that you like, it is a shining example of that thing.

Besides, you have to love a production where everyone was clearly having just a whole lot of fun being big ol' costumed dorks.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

As the World Turns 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, imbalanced power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your new job takes you to new places with lots of new people.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, Lloyd Hansen

Note: I know I shouldn't have done this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

When you accepted your new position, you didn’t expect that two days later you would be on your very first business trip. Ever. Like at all!

It’s exciting. It’s not only your first trip overseas for work but your first trip across any border. You’re as happy to get use out of your passport as you are to have the new experiences. You don’t know, however, how much you’ll be able to enjoy any of it. It’s still work after all.

You stand at the luggage belt as your phone vibrates. It’s your boss, Mr. Fowler, once more asking you where you are. The car’s already there. It’s not your fault the elite class flyers got off first and you’re stuck searching for your bags among the sea of coach passengers.

‘Will be there shortly, sir. Just coming through customs.’

It’s a small lie but you don’t think he’ll be impressed to hear you’re struggling to find your bag. It’s not very big but it should be easy to find. A round plastic suitcase in a shade of sunflower you can’t miss. You think it’d be obvious amid the black and black suitcases milling along on the conveyor belt.

You see the plastic slats part and your bag shines bright, like a beacon calling to you. You race forward and grab onto the handle. You accidentally press the button with your thumb so the handle extends and you’re dragged along awkwardly as you struggle to lift it. 

Another passenger approaches to remove his heavy black bag but doesn’t walk away before helping you. You thank him with a smile. He’s older, maybe your grandpa’s age, and he assures you it’s no problem. He walks off and you plant the wheels of your bag straight, swerving around as you follow the signs.

You bring your phone up again and read Mr. Fowler’s next impatient text.

‘Take the cab fare off your per diem.’

Right. You’re not surprised. From what you know of your boss so far, he’s a stickler. He knows what he wants and he doesn’t settle for less. While he can be charming, even accommodating, he can also be terrifyingly stern. One moment he has that smile that makes his eyes twinkle and the next, his jaw is set and danger darkens his features. The very memory of that expression makes you shiver.

You suppose it’s your own fault. You should’ve considered the job description a bit closer. An executive assistant does a lot more than just the typical secretary. The pay itself was proof enough. Can you really complain? The perks include free trips!

You try to stay as positive as you can, ignoring your mother’s voice as it sneaks into the back of your head. She always has something negative to say. She could win the lottery and complain about the trouble of claiming her winnings.

You make your way through the terminal and into the atrium, passing by new arrivals and waiting departures. You check your smart watch, you’ll get in your steps for sure, and hurry as the minutes tick by. You follow the flow outside and find a spot along the pick up area, waving down a taxi as your phone buzzes again.

‘Don’t show up without scotch’.

The message is terse. You can only assume the flight was less than accommodating. You spent your time in coach looking out at the clouds or catching up on the adventures in Westeros. Terribly depressing books but it only makes reality a little less so.

You get into a taxi and ask the driver to take you to a liquor store. He doesn’t seem to understand you. Oh, boy. You pull up Google translate on your phone and speak into it, setting it to translate into the native language. You let the speaker play the text to voice. The driver nods and starts the meter.

Okay, not bad. You’re figuring this out. If anything, Mr. Fowler has to give you points for effort, right? 

You ask the taxi to wait as you run in and find yourself faced with shelves of bottles and cans. This is the hard part, you’re not much of a drinker. With the help of Google, you ask the clerk for a bottle of scotch and pay with the company card. You’re right back out to the taxi.

Everything is so fast, you feel like you’re still catching up. You’re doing things. Every minute matters. You feel important, probably for the first time in your life. No more sitting behind a desk yawning, you’re tired for good reason.

You give the hotel name next and let yourself relax. Just for a little. Your eyes drift to the traffic outside the taxi, the voices all around, the dimming of the sky as the city sets to evening. It’s beautiful and new and wonderful.

The driver lets you off in front of the hotel. You’re greeted by a valet who offers to take your bag. You try to refuse but he insists, so you let him and follow him inside. As you enter, another man approaches.

You’re confused at first. He’s tall, blonde, and dressed as if he’s a businessman visiting on his own sojourn. You look around, thinking he might be headed for someone behind you. No, it’s only you. You turn back and find his blue eyes centered on you as he stops before you.

“Miss, welcome,” he lilts in his refined accent, “may I have your name so we may get you checked in?”

“Oh, yes, thanks, uh, sir. Actually, first, my, er… my boss is here. I think. He must’ve shown up twenty minutes ago. Erm, Mr. Fowler. I have, a oh,” you look down at the bottle in your hands, “I have this for him.”

“Wonderful,” he eyes the bottle, “Izak,” he addresses the valet, “Fowler.”

He takes the bottle from you without resistance. There’s something about his confidence that has you frozen. He hands it to the valet, Izak, and sends him off. You smile and give a nervous chuckle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you rub the back of your neck.

“That is my job. I’m at your service, miss. Jonathan Pine, manager,” he offers his hand.

You shake it, doing your best to keep a firm grip. His fingers are so long that your hand feels tiny in his. He lets you go as you rescind your hand, crossing one arm over your stomach as you cup your other elbow, playing with the button of your blouse.

“Your name, miss?”

“Oh, duh,” you clutch the front of your blouse and eke out your name.

“Great, this way,” he beckons you with him and leads you to a round desk. He steps behind and types as his blue eyes reflect the screen. “I assume you’re here on business. You mentioned your boss is in another accommodation.”

“Yes, uh, my first business trip,” you almost wiggle with delight, “I’ve never even stayed in a hotel, you know?”

“Well, then I hope your stay is exceptional,” he smiles as he clicks around, giving a thoughtful hum, “allow me to make your first a special one,” he intones, “I’ve upgraded you to a suite.”

“A suite? Oh, but–”

“No additional fee. It will remain at the rate of your previous room,” his eyes flick to you.

“Wow, that’s… do I sound that pathetic?”

“Pathetic? Not at all, miss.”

You chew your lip and sway back and forth, crossing both arms across your chest. You don’t know what to say. He’s so nice that it almost feels patronizing. Or you’re just insecure. 

“Allow me to show you your suite,” he comes out from behind the desk, holding out a small black folio. 

You take it and look inside, two cards and a little insert with tiny text on it. You bring your hands down to fold over your stomach and back up to let him lead you. He struts along with you to the elevator and hits the button. He gestures you in first and follows.

“You haven’t traveled before?” He asks.

“Not really. We used to go camping but not far from home. Then we didn’t go anywhere. I’ve been working since, er, college, so… this is my first chance.”

“Well, the world is vast and not all are so lucky as to venture beyond their front door. It’s truly a privilege,” he says. The doors ding and parts, again, he waits for you to go ahead of him.

You step out and check the folio. You read the number and match it to a door at the far end of the hall. He’s right behind you as you get to the suite. 

“Shall I show you around?” He asks as you stop on either side of the doorframe.

“Erm, sure, why not?” You shrug.

“Might I?” He points to your hands and you give him the folio.

He takes out a card and holds it up, “these can be unfortunately finicky. You must make sure you hold it so,” he shows you how to position it and slides it through the slot beside the handle. The red light turns green and the door unlocks. “Please,” he opens the door and nods you inside.

You enter as he follows. The door slowly closes as he lets it go and he slips the card back into the folio. He puts it on the corner table beside the door and taps it with his fingertips.

“You’ll find the wireless information in there along with the room service details and our continental breakfast times,” he explains, “if you’ve any questions, you may call the front desk.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“Let me briefly go over the rest of your amenities and I’ll leave you in peace,” he avows as he waves you further inside, “a full bath,” he stops at the doorway to his left, “there are jets built in, rather useful after a long flight.”

You give a polite laugh and he presses on. He guides you through the suite; a kitchenette, a mini bar, a sitting space, a bedroom, a balcony, and a key to the private pool. You thank him again.

He goes back to the door, about to leave but pausing at the door, “if you require anything, you may ask for me. Jonathan, remember.”

“Jonathan,” you repeat.

He nods and steps out into the hall, gently closing the door behind him. You feel another buzz in your pocket. Shoot! Mr. Fowler.

‘Scotch is here. Where are you?’

You cringe and hurry out of the room. You should’ve known better. There was just a lot happening at once. You hurry down the hall and stop short of the elevator. You don’t know where his room is.

‘On my way, sir. Where is your room?’

You key in the message, awkwardly lingering as you wait for his response.

‘Not there. In restaurant. Two minutes.’

You push your head back. You really just want to go back to the room and jump into that giant bed. A full queen to yourself. That’s actual heaven. You answer, affirming your obedience and head for the elevator.

You get down to the lobby and once more find yourself lost. You have that problem, not thinking two steps ahead. As you look around, you see the valet, Izak.

“Hi, uh, is there a restaurant around here?” You ask sheepishly.

“Yes, miss, right through there,” he points towards the rear of the lobby to a wide archway crested with a point.

You thank Izak and scurry across the lobby. You put your phone away as you enter the restaurant and a server approaches you. They ask if you want a table for one and you explain that you’re meeting your boss. She points him out and asks you if you’d like a drink. You assume you won’t be staying for dinner so you pass.

As you near his table, Mr. Fowler doesn’t look up. You stop just across from him and wring your hands. You wait for him to say something but he’s focused on the menu.

“Sorry, sir, I was just checking in–”

“Sit,” he demands.

“Right, thanks,” you sit and grip the edge of the table, “it was very busy at the airport and I had to stop on the way for your scotch–”

“But no time to bring it yourself?” He challenges as he sets the menu down, finally looking at you, “I have a colleague meeting me here shortly.” His eyes dip briefly as he eyes your blouse, “hm, you didn’t change?”

“Like I was saying, sir, I didn’t have a chance yet–”

“Undo your top button,” he waves off your excuses as he sits back and grabs the short glass of scotch in front of him.

“Sir?”

“You look like a nun,” he retorts, “just one button, sweetheart.”

You furrow your brow but pop your top button open. It doesn’t show very much but it still feels wrong. You sit back and peer around the restaurant. The din is quiet and the lightning soft and warm.

“Um, so, you want me to stay for dinner?”

“You leave when I dismiss you,” he says curtly.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” you reply.

“Stop fidgeting,” he clucks, “try to sit still.”

“Yes, sir,” your voice shrinks.

He sighs and stares at you, “smile, okay? This is an important dinner.”

“Right,” you force a smile, cheeks trembling. 

All the excitement, all your former optimism, slowly slakes away. You get the churning anxiety in your stomach. The same sensation that kept you in bed a few minutes past your alarm. You’re only a few days in, you can do this.

“Fowler,” a voice booms across the restaurant as footfalls approach.

Your boss stands and you scramble to do the same. He shakes the hand of another man as you turn to face his acquaintance. It must be his aforementioned colleague.

“Hansen,” Fowler counters as their handshake becomes a battle, “about time.”

“Pfft, you were always boring. You gotta get out, buddy. Especially around here. I’ll give you a few names. There’s a sweet girl down at the spa–” the man, Hansen coughs, stopping himself midsentence as his eyes fall to you, “oh? And this is?”

“New assistant.” Fowler sits and pushes the tails of his jacket back.

You give your name as Hansen puts his hand out again. Instead of shaking yours, he takes it and kisses it in a very old-fashioned gesture, though something about his demeanour is sleazy. 

“Lloyd,” he winks as he clings to your hand, “Mr. Hansen is so boring. Makes me sound like an old man.”

You smile and repeat his name.

“What happened to Bennet?” He turns and claims the third chair. You lower yourself, content to be peripheral to their reunion.

“Gone,” is all Fowler says as his eyes meet yours, “so, what’re you drinking, Hansen?”

[yourbloodysunrise]

Hi! I was wondering if I can request 2012 Donatello where he finally manages to have enough courage to ask out reader but because he took to long reader is already dating someone? I want the angstiest angst that you can make 😇 also can it be like a Drabble or a one shot?

🌤 — ah, angst, the thing that always worse than I imagined.hope you've seen that I write soft angst, so it can be different from what you expected.here we go!

❝ Every plans has flaws.. ❞

— FANDOM: TMNT 2012

— PAIRING: DONATELLO X READER

— ROMANTIC

— READER IS GENDER NEUTRAL

— TW: BAD ENGLISH, BAD GRAMMAR, SWEARING, SOFT ANGST, OOC, DONNIE MORE ANGRY THAN UPSET, THIS IS SHORT, READER NAME NOT MENTIONED

"..And then I'll ask them to go on a date with me!It has to be the perfect plan!"

"I don't know, dude, why don't just cut out the whole evidence-finding part about the Kraangs?" — Mikey answers, spinning around in a chair in Donny's lab, not really listening to him.

Donnie loudly sighed, slowly turned to Mikey, squinting at him, looking annoyed by his question, as if the answer was obvious.

"BECAUSE I want everything to go perfectly!One small mistake can make them refuse.."

"I think you're too paranoid, just relax!Not like them already dating someone."

"..."

"..That's not the best way to calm someone down, Mikey."

"But that not bad, as try."

Donnie blankly looks at Mikey before turning away, shaking his head, — "I should have consulted with Master Splinter instead of you..Anyway, I want to make sure they agree."

"Maybe they will if you just come up and ask?I mean, you didn't try it."

"Well..You're right in some way, though..No, no, what am I thinking?!" — Donnie sighs, rubbing his temples with his fingers, looking wearily at the plan he drew of trying to ask his new passion out on a date, — "I just don't want to make a mistake, I've been trying to please them for so long that it feels like I'm pushing them away.."

"Pushing who away?" — you ask, entering the laboratory, causing a startled squeal from Donnie, hiding the plan board behind the laboratory equipment, — "Hi Mikey, hello Donnie. Sorry for not knocking, but I thought you'd hear me coming in."

"No problem-"

"None, hi, don't worry, I don't mind, everything fine!" — Donnie repeats, stuttering, a nervous and embarrassed smile graced his face, making you giggle.

Mikey glanced briefly at Donnie, winking at him and pointing at you, before taking a skateboard, standing at the entrance to the laboratory, and walking away from there shouting "booyakasha!!!"

"Hm."

"How are you doing with the Kraang search?" — you ask, approaching Donnie, leaning on the laboratory table.

"Weeeell, in the last few days I haven't been able to find any clues about where they might be, so so far the results are zero," — he says, turning away from you, rubbing his neck, staring at the floor.

Come on, Don, this is your chance. Maybe you won't have the opportunity to ask them out anymore?

He swallows the lump in his throat, feeling nervousness wash over him. He doesn't have any excuse to spend time with them..Okay, new plan. Maybe it won't hurt to try?

"Heeeyy.." — he begins, stretching out words, still gathering his thoughts, — "I need to tell you something.."

You mumble thoughtfully, interest lights up in your eyes when you lean closer to him, —"Yeah?"

He nervously swallows with excitement when you approach him, he inhales before starting.

"L-look, you can refuse, I understand you, given the circumstances of our relationship in terms of our situation.."

"Maybe we could go on a date?..Just ordinary date, where would you like to go?I know this is all unexpected, but..please?"

You stand there with your mouth open in shock before closing your jaw, staring at Donny dumbfounded with round eyes.

"O-Oh, Don.. it's.."

"Impossible."

"I'm sorry, but..I already have a partner. It's pretty awkward, you know.."

"But, hey, we're still friends, right?" — you awkwardly comfort him, trying to smile, although the only thing that comes out is a sour strained smile that tries to flinch.

You two stood in deathly silence, feeling the tension grow by the second. If it was something very embarrassing for you, then for him it felt like end of the world…

Your already weak smile completely disappeared when you saw his blank expression, you cleared your throat, preparing to talking — "Donnie?Are you okay?.."

He blinked a few times before answering in a low voice, — "Yes..Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry.."

You turned your head away with a sigh, staring at the floor, realizing that he said it just so that you wouldn't worry about him. Of course, it was probably worse for him than for you, you thought.

"I…I think I'll go." — you say quickly before turning around and leaving the lab. Donnie watched you walk all the way out, waiting for you to disappear through the door, and waiting a few more seconds to make sure you were gone before growling in annoyance.

Why?

The question arose in his head, feeling jealousy fill him, eating into his skin like poison, spreading throughout his body with a caustic feeling of envy and hatred for the whole world.

Why not him?

He collapsed into a chair, covering his face with his hands, letting out a heavy sigh. Was it useless to develop a plan from the very beginning?Or did his self doubt delay him and you managed to find a partner?Why can't luck wait at least one fucking day, so as not to ruin it for him?

He was thinking about what had just happened with a frowning face, resting his elbow on the table, and your photo caught his eye.

With an unreadable face, he picked it up, looking through it, longing seeped into his gaze at the sight of your smiling photo. Slowly, he squeezed the frame of the photo, his fingers digging into the wood with such force that he could have broken it if he really wanted to.

Everything is okay. You have made your choice. You're still friends. Everything will be fine.

Although, perhaps he could show you that he is the best choice?..

..:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟﾞ｡.:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟ🌤

🌤 — aw, my dear turtle don't deserve this :(

🌤 — ah, finally I end this.I have tried very hard and often rewritten it, also I use translator so sorry if there any mistakes.

🌤 — hope you like it!have a good day☆

[mediumgayitalian]

prev chapter

———

“Okay,” Will says, when they’re comfortably on the road. This early in the morning, Highway 17 is practically empty; nothing but sunny skies and clear air rushing through the open roof. The emptiness may also be attributed to the fact that it is a random Tuesday. “Pick a number between one and nine.”

“Uh, five.”

“Good choice, good choice.”

He opens the centre console, digging around Nico’s – well, and his, at this point – collection of CDs to find the right one. He makes a little noise of triumph when he finds it, blowing on the back and wiping it on his shirt before sliding it into the port.

“One half-assed polish isn’t gonna fix those scratches, Solace,” he teases.

“If you weren’t such an emo fuck, Playlist Five wouldn’t be so scratched.”

Nico laughs, conceding this round. Will looks inordinately pleased, nose scrunching along with his tiny smile even as Linkin Park starts blasting through the speakers, which he hates.

“Three songs ‘til Britney,” he grouches as Nico starts hollering along to Points of Authority. Nico shakes his head, still grinning – as if he didn’t make these playlists. If he is truly so miserable, he wouldn’t have put the song on at all.

(Nico knows, in the very back of his mind, that Will actually and truly cannot stand Linkin Park. To him, it’s not music at all. He has never been able to get into it, as much as he truly likes music of every genre. If Linkin Park is on this playlist, and they’re on more than one of the playlists Will has made specifically for their shared car rides, it’s because he cares about Nico more than he hates the band. Nico shoves this knowledge deep into the dustiest corners of his mind, because that’s more than he can afford to think about.)

The next couple hours pass by comfortably. There isn’t much to remark on the side of the road except the odd fruit stand, or farm advertising eggs and honey, so onward Nico drives. He keeps an eye on the odometer, but mostly trusts Will’s calculations. If he says they won’t need gas ‘til Anthony, wherever the hell that is, Nico believes him. 

“Highway changes to the 98 through here,” Will says, nodding to the tiny sign that boasts nothing except Ft. Meade CITY LIMITS, right next to the giant banner half the size of the church it's attached to that reads, REPENT OR BURN. 

Ah, Florida. Please one day change.

“Do I need to exit?”

“Nope, the road just changes to a different number.”

He eases off the gas as they approach the tiny town, watching carefully for state troopers. And, like, children, probably. So far he’s passed twelve gun ranges and one school, but whatever. He can have priorities, even if this garbage state doesn’t.

“Hm. 98 is a better number.”

“Absolutely not,” Will tells him, aghast. “17 is a prime number!”

“Ninety-eight is more fun to say. Also, prime numbers suck.”

“You take that back –”

Nico slides up his sunglasses, shaking his head fondly. Nerdiest nerd to ever nerd. He would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so endeared.

He presses back on the accelerator as they exit the town, turning up the music as Will’s rant ends. He shucks off his shoes – Feet off my goddamn dash, Solace – and curls up into his seat, burying himself in a book. Nico glances away from the road to try and read the title, but quickly gives up since the font is bright fucking purple, for some reason, and in some horrible looping shape that he knows will give him a migraine. All graphic designers should be in prison. 

“Hey, there’s apparently a gator reserve forty-five minutes ahead.” Nico squints again at the book. Barely, he can make out “roadside” and “weird”. “‘Weird American Roadside Attractions’,” Will reads aloud, noticing Nico looking. “Such as a very nice and highly rated gator reserve –”

“No.”

“Road trip, Nico. Adventure.”

“I’m super happy to adventure away from living fucking dinosaurs, Solace.”

“Aw, come on, they’re kinda cute –”

“Two thousand pounds per square inch of jaw strength! You are the one who told me that!”

“You don’t think you could take one in a fight?”

Nico stares at his best friend incredulously. He’s got a thoughtful little frown on his face, looking at the sky as he contemplates. Nico notices, vaguely, that the shade of his irises is the exact same colour. 

“No, I do not. Obviously.” He pauses. “You think you could take a fuckin’ gator?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“See, that’s crazy, because fifteen seconds ago I genuinely believed you were an intelligent person.”

“Do not lie to me and tell me you don’t have a list of animals you know you could take in a fight,” Will says, instead of rising to the bait. He waits, meeting Nico’s glare, eyebrows raised.

“An ostrich,” Nico admits, begrudgingly. “I feel like – one good punch to the throat –”

Will smiles smugly at him. “That’s what I thought.” He turns back to his book, fiddling with the corner of a page. “Also, ostriches are more closely related to dinosaurs than alligators. So. Check and mate, motherfucker.”

They pull into Anthony at around eleven, at pretty much exactly a quarter tank – just like Will predicted. He looks inordinately pleased about it, so Nico shoots off a quick prayer to the karma gods. 

He trips on his way out of the Jeep. Nico smirks.

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” he says, unaware of Nico’s hand in his humbling. Nico waves him off, attention turned to the gas pump.

Annoyingly, as he pulls out his card and handles the pump, he remembers Will’s scrunched nose and pursed lips as he’d explained, when they were 16, how gas station pumps were frequently more germy than their toilets, and cleaned approximately one hundred percent less. Suddenly, his hand begins to feel grimey.

Twelve bags of chips, a gas station slushie, and a pair of clean hands later, Will is still nowhere to be found. Nico frowns, craning his neck to look around the tiny parking lot as if he somehow missed Will’s neon orange shirt the first time he looked. Still not catching sight of him, he walks hesitantly back to the Jeep, tucking his snacks away and biting his lip, contemplating. Will is both very fast and very easily distracted, but he has enough sense not to go too far in a random town five hours from home. If he sticks by the car and waits, Will’ll be back soon. 

But, on the other hand, waiting is torture.

Easy decision, really.

He locks the door, hopes that no one will show up with a pair of wire cutters and a flathead screw driver, and sets off. The first thing he notices, and he adds it to his mental list of things to loudly complain about when Will is locked in the car with him, is that it is fucking sweltering. In the hours approaching the afternoon, the day has gone to pleasantly warm to so hot the air is actually thick with it, and he doesn’t have wind ripping through the open windows to cool him down. Plus, he’s wearing jeans, and for the first, and hopefully only, time in his life, he envies his friend’s cargo shorts. 

The second thing he notices is that Anthony, Florida, is empty as shit. All the love in his heart to the people who call it home, but also, move, maybe. He’s hesitant to stray too far from the gas station, in case Will comes back and finds him gone, but there are no hills or anything. He can see quite far down the road. The only thing he sees is a possum starting a fight with a poor random guy – which, actually, is kind of fun to watch. 

Perhaps he has judged Anthony too harshly. 

“Nico!” shouts a voice, startling him. He whips around and finds Will, standing in the goddamn centre of the road, the dumbass, waving like a lunatic.

“There is no possible way I was going to miss you,” Nico informs him when he’s close enough. “You are approximately the height of the Washington monument. I could not miss you if I tried.”

“I wasn’t waving to get your attention, I was waving to shoo away the eagles that mistook you for a mouse.”

Nico kicks him in the shin. Will, well used to his violence, dodges, grinning, except in the act of hopping away from Nico’s dangerously hardy boots, he somehow wraps his foot around his own ankle and goes sprawling.

Nico smirks. “Who’s the short one now.”

Faster than he can even follow, Will’s hand darts out, wrapping around his ankle, and tugs, yanking him yelping on the asphalt next to him. 

“Foul!”

“All’s fair in love and war, Neeks.”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up, Nico screams at the alarm bells blaring in his brain, he doesn’t mean it like that and you know it oh shit he’s looking this way quick look normal look normal –

“I can do war if that’s what you want, Solace,” he manages, honestly quite proud of himself for managing speech with approximately fourteen percent of his brain still functioning. Damn.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway.” He crawls to his feet, offering Nico a hand. He takes it, dutifully fighting the urge to pull Will down again, just to be an asshole. He’s cool like that, and most definitely being normal about the scrape of Will’s callused fingers against the inside of his forearm. “I found maybe the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and I need you to come look at it immediately.”

“Sick,” Nico says, immediately intrigued. He and Will have their differences, sure, but if there’s one thing they can agree on it’s their sense of humour. 

He follows will down the road, passing the gas station again. (His car, thankfully, remains in one piece and beautifully not-robbed.) They dark across an empty intersection, walking across a yellowed lawn as they approach a run-down, patchy, one-storey bungalow with a rusted sign that reads: The Iron Works.

“Behold,” says Will gleefully, “the Abstract Iron Centaur.”

And behold, Nico does.

Gaping, he observes the structure standing proudly under the sign. Striding proudly, rather, its front legs bent to simulate movement, its human arms poised as if ready to strike. It wears a medieval knight’s helmet, and holds a rusted axe. The entire structure is a little taller than Will, and made of, presumably, iron, rusted into a light roan red.

“Abstract Iron Centaur,” Nico repeats, after several minutes of silence.

Will still looks delighted. “It was in my book. I had no idea what to expect and also I didn’t believe it was real. Isn’t it the greatest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s…something.”

“We gotta take a picture, Neeks. I never want to forget this thing.”

Nico allows himself to be pulled, still somewhat bewildered. It’s not even the oddest thing he’s ever seen, it’s just – he has many questions, like, for example, why? How long has this creature existed? How long will it persist? Who created it? Why is it in Will’s dorky book? Does it house a soul?

“Okay, squish in, this camera is older than your elderly ass and doesn’t have a timer.”

The familiar jab breaks him out of his stupor. “Seven months older than you, fucker.”

“Geriatric.”

Without warning, Will crowds them under the Abstract Iron Centaur’s lifted arm, and then presses his widely grinning cheek right flush to Nico’s, raising his beat-up camera to the air.

Nico’s brain goes static.

“Say cheese!”

“Hnngh,” says Nico, as the camera blinds him.

Luckily for his continuously worsening blood pressure, Will pulls away the second he hears the click, shaking the ejected negative to help it develop, and Nico has a second to remind his lungs that they have a function, actually, get your shit together, I am not dying in fucking Anthony, Florida. 

“You look like a dork!” Will says, delighted. “Look!”

Blinking at the photo shoved one sixteenth of an inch from his eyeballs, Nico indeed looks. The Abstract Iron Centaur looks more foreboding on camera, somehow, but Nico barely notices it – instead, he finds his gaze drawn to the beam so wide it forces Will’s eyes shut, and the dazed, dopey look on his own face; eyes wide, mouth dropped, slightly, and posture undeniably leaning into Will’s magnetism. 

Humming to himself, Will slips his wallet out of (one of) the (many) pocket(s) of his shorts, tucking the photo inside it. Nico melts into a puddle of goo on the dead grass. His mortal soul escapes his body, descending rapidly. His atoms return to star dust. Et cetera.

“Oh, shit, we gotta go if we want to reach Georgia in good time.”

“Right,” says Nico, voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again. “Let’s go.”

He absolutely does not haul ass to his car. He walks at a normal pace, for normal reasons, thoughts in a normal place. 

“Back on the 75,” Will instructs as they peel out, sliding sunglasses on his nose. “We gotta scoot around town a bit to get to the entrance, but it won’t take long.”

“D’you know this place?” Nico asks, even though he doubts it. As far as he knows, Will was outside of Sarasota one time: in the move from Austin. He supposes his mother might have had a concert up here, or something, and unusually, let him tag along, but he doubts it.

“Nah, just memorised the map.”

Nico hides a smile. “Oh, of course.”

It’s all too easy to tease Will, but there was a reason he was valedictorian. There’s a reason for his many shining scholarship offers, his endless well of ridiculous facts pulled from nowhere. He is, genuinely, the smartest person Nico has ever met.

Even if he genuinely believes he can fight an alligator and win.

“Two hours ‘til we cross state lines,” Will says brightly, shouting slightly over the wind as they merge onto the highway. “And then on to infinity!”

“Onto infinity,” Nico agrees, matching his smile. 

Already, he’s proved Nico wrong. They’re farther now than Will has been since he was seven, and there’s nothing in his expression that suggests he wants to slow down. 

Privately, and quietly, Nico lets himself start to hope. 

———

next chapter

[moodymisty]

May I request Vulkan taking care of his pregnant S/O and just over all being cute and fluffy?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Ahhh, it's about time someone asked for Vulkan. This is about as fluffy as I can make WH without completely losing the plot. I mean, we're in this hellpit for a reason, aren't we? Apologies for any offness for Vulkan, I'm still lore reading for him and his legion.

Relationships: Vulkan/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy/Tokophobia warning, General 40kness but overall pretty bland and fluffy

Word Count: 935

A clash of blades, the sound of a ceramite gauntlet hitting a chestplate with inhuman force- Salamanders fight one on one in the large open space. The sky high above grumbles and threatens to downpour, but it hasn't smothered the Salamanders' fire just yet. Not that it isn't trying, with the smell in the air and the cold, moist wind on your skin.

You watch them, hearing the ringing of metal on metal and blood drip onto the stone ground as you wrap your arms tighter around yourself in the chill. Your rounded stomach serves to be the perfect place to rest them.

"Mother,"

You don't respond to the title right away, head only darting to the right once you see a massive pair of dark green boots enter your downturned vision.

You don't think you'll ever get used to being called that. Particularly with the prose that the Salamanders use. Not all of them use the familial title, but enough do that it still feels almost overwhelming. You wonder if Vulkan felt the same way, at first.

"Should you not be resting?"

Your eyes travel up the massive Astartes, up to a face staring down at you stoic and neutral, head tilted with the slightest curiosity. He turns away from you however, when you both hear another voice laugh at the Astarte's inquiry.

"If she will not listen to me about rest, she will surely not listen to you either."

Vulkan comes closer, his massive hand covers your shoulder and you purse your lips while shaking your head.

"I don't want to spend months stuck in a room. Can I not watch them spar for a few moments?"

You might not have many more chances to, if your child grows any larger. It's already a pain to do tasks that were menial not long ago. Though you can't complain, given the unsurprising nature. The child's father is a Primarch that towers over you, after all.

A Salamander gets toppled over by his opponent, but quickly regains his footing as you watch him defend himself. The man that had first approached you excuses himself, taking his exit and leaving you and his Primarch largely alone. Barely anyone would be able to hear you over the sounds of metal ringing, from both weapon and armor alike.

"We only worry for you."

Vulkan's gaze is soft, hand still firmly on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. But as much as they do worry about your health, it also seems that his men get a pride in them, at their Legion Mother being here.

Vulkan could tell when you had first arrived that his sons rose just a bit higher, shoulders squared just a bit more, and even though they always fight with their all, Vulkan could tell they went just a bit farther beyond.

Taking to a kneel in front of you, the massive Primarch places the hand that was once on your shoulder on your stomach, despite him being unable to feel with the armor of his gauntlet impeding. It's the symbolism of the gesture that he desires foremost. Your body relaxes a bit.

"And how is the little one now?"

It will always strike you how incredibly gentle he can be despite his size and the sheer power contained within it. It must surely be a conscious effort to do so.

"Well, according to the apothecary." He looks towards you, and his hand once again moves to the side of your jaw. You lean into the surprisingly warm armor. His thumb brushes against your skin.

"And how are you?"

The question makes you laugh, for some odd reason. He doesn't ask why and simply waits for your answer.

"Tired. Aching. The fresh air is nice, though." Vulkan smiles.

"Your intuition was right, it seems." He's referencing your concern from a few months back, about your worry of the child of a Primarch taking a toll on your body. You grumble largely to yourself.

"One of the few times I hate being right."

The comment makes Vulkan struggle to hide a smile behind stoic expression. He worries underneath it; For your health, the health of the child, and so many more things. But you worry enough. As you should, you're the one who's health and strength is being tested every day by simply holding a such a life within you. He has never voiced these things- he wishes to be your strength whenever yours might falter.

You consider maybe returning to your private quarters, finally heeding Vulkan's advice to rest despite your complaints, until you notice a unique set of armor among the sea of deep green. It makes you perk up and curious look to see if your first inclination was correct. Vulkan follows your gaze, raising up to his full height.

"Commander Artelleus is going to join them?"

The commander of the Pyre Guard is nothing short of a violent force of nature, in stark contract to his surprisingly selfless nature. Any step you might've made to leave is taken back and idea abandoned.

"I'll stay just a bit longer then."

Vulkan laughs. Surely the commander with have his pride warmed when he tells him of your comment. But for Vulkan, casual, purehearted curiosity even in the face of such violence and brutality will always be one of his favorite things about you. Many times had you kept him company by his forge, even before he called you his beloved.

Vulkan gently moves to pick you up, sitting on his arm. Your hand grips the edge of his pauldron as you sigh at the feeling of your weight being taken off your legs.

"Very well."

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this for a lovely anon, I hope you like it!

It is a Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x gn!reader imagine.

Warnings: mentions of sex, cursing

Waking up next to Hangman Seresin was the worst thing that could have possibly happened to you.

You didn’t know what had happened that had brought you into his bed because you barely remembered anything, except for how good the fellow aviator had made you feel.

It was a surprise since Seresin was an asshole, everyone thought so, he was selfish, egocentric and determined that he was the best.

He had also bragged about being good in bed, and you sadly had to give in to say that he was right.

You slipped out of bed quickly and silently as not to wake him, making your way out of his home to get out of the endless teasing you’d undoubtedly receive.

You weren’t prepared to see him a few hours later for training, a twinkle in his eye as he sent you a self-sufficient grin.

“Good to see you again, darling, you look like you had an amazing night,” he nodded towards you as he entered the briefing room, and you had to bite your tongue to keep yourself from saying anything.

Instead you focused on looking over at your instructor, feeling Hangman’s presence beside you as he playfully bumped your shoulder with his, standing too close to you for your liking.

“You look like someone rocked your world,” you could hear the grin in his voice as he whispered those words in a volume so that no one else could hear you.

You contemplated screaming at him or throwing a punch but you clenched your jaw instead, your full attention centered on where it should, except for the parts of your body that betrayed you by focusing on the person that was all too near.

You couldn’t stand yourself or his presence the entire day but especially not the small comments he made, the teasing endless.

With all his glances your way and his little whispered comments you were surprised none of your fellow aviators questioned you, but then again Hangman always chose a target to go off on.

Jake’s teasing became less menacing over the course of the day but stayed resilient, until you finally lost it.

You found him standing beside you once again as you stood with the others, talking casually.

You could feel his breath on your ear as he moved to whisper into it.

“Why were you gone when I woke up?” He asked, his tone accusatory and much more serious than the other times.

You were surprised by the question and also his entire demeanor so you turned towards him, gripping a part of his uniform and dragging him by it to a corner where you were sure no one could see you.

You could see a proud smile on his face and he stepped closer as if he expected you to kiss him, but you pushed your hands against his chest, stopping him from approaching you further.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Seresin? What, did you think we’re a thing now? What the fuck is this, a guilt trip? Did you think I’d stay and play your housewife, did you expect a full course breakfast?” You whisper-shouted, and you saw his grin gradually fade from his lips.

It gave you great satisfaction until you saw it return as he spoke up again.

“Well, a coffee as a thank you for my service would have been enough,” he answered calmly, his eyes trained on you to register every small reaction.

You were too worn out to do much else than cross your arms over your chest defiantly and roll your eyes.

You were searching for an appropriate reply when he leaned closer to you, one of his arms reaching out towards you to steady himself on the wall behind you.

“You know,” he whispered, his lips brushing the lobe of your ear and you felt a shiver down your spine that made you hate yourself and him even more, “I’m always up for another round”.

Your eyelids fluttered in annoyance and you pulled away from him as far as you could, trying to look into his eyes to see if he was serious.

A scoff arose from your throat as you shook your head in distaste, turning around and turning your back to him to rejoin your other coworkers.

You had absolutely been miserably wrong about your feelings towards Hangman Seresin.

You were far from in love with him but you needed him on a much more primal level, you spent two weeks aching for him until you finally gave into it.

To say you loathed him was an understatement but you couldn’t stop thinking about that night, about your legs wrapped around him and the moans the left your mouths.

It was all a movie that ran endlessly in your head, overshadowing everything you did.

In addition to that you had had a rather frustrating day that made you feel angry and overwhelmed.

It left you help- and hopeless, and you acted on your desperation by knocking on his door again.

As if he had anticipated it he opened the door shirtless and in low hanging sweatpants, and you didn’t give him a chance to make a single cocky comment.

You connected your lips with his and pushed him backwards into his room, closing the door behind you with your foot as your hands roamed around his body in pure and utter desperation.

“Shit day, shit week, stress relief,” you breathed out as you pulled your own top over your head and walked him backwards to the nearest surface, finding a couch perfectly in place for it.

You pulled his sweats down as well as yours before you straddled him, your hand moving to his neck to keep him laying down.

“Don’t get in your own head, this is just for fun. You’re not bad and I didn’t have many immediate options. You can count yourself as lucky as me that you’re getting laid right now,” you said, and he nodded, before you started the show.

tagging: @wildbornsiren @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @hederasgarden @letsfvckingdance @shadeds-library @a-reader-and-a-writer @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bespinnn @softromantist @malindacath @oliviah-25 @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @marvelandotherfandomimagines @natasharomanoffisbaebby @luckyladycreator2 @blue-aconite @tipsykeen @airedale17 @iangiemae @dempy @princessofglitterland @teti-menchon0604 @butaneandthebeast @katesmadness @call-sign-hurricane @kajjaka @kkrenae @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern @maniacalmedusa @mavrellover91

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[callsign-bunnie]

Pleaseeeeee write a second part to the gods and monsters AU

I have to clear a few projects and then chapters for this will be much longer and compiled on AO3

--

Gaz knew exactly what Soap was going to exclaim as he saw him rushing over. Soap knew Gaz knew what he was going to exclaim. It didn’t stop him from grabbing Gaz’s shoulders and crying, “Rodolfo has disappeared! We were near the fountain when he suddenly wandered off!”

A sinking feeling still fell in Gaz’s stomach. “Please tell me it was not the fountain I believe it to be??”

Soap looked away from Gaz, ashamed.

Gaz understood, immediately, that it was. Despite knowing that Soap was going to exclaim this, because with what other calamity would Soap find himself in this much distress, he still felt cold with shock. “What are we to do??”

Soap went quiet for a few moments, his mind racing through every possible option. “We… We could tell Alejandro?”

“Wonderful idea!” Gaz rounded on Soap. “We will tell the God of Wrath and War that his betrothed and beloved has went missing near his rival’s domain! The same rival he is prophesied to war with for a thousand years?? You shall certainly be a great god of strategy, my brother.”

“If you were to stab yourself, I would simply tell you to twist the blade.” Soap retorted, huffing. “Well, obviously I don’t know what to do. You come up with something. Surely those lessons with Laswell should have given you enough skill to decide??”

Neither Gaz nor Soap had been assigned domains yet but it was likely since the God of Strategy, Laswell, was Gaz’s mentor that he would also be a god of strategy. “We need to speak to the Oracle.” Gaz finally decided and looked at Soap, annoyed at the bright red in Soap’s cheeks.

“I don’t think we need to speak to Roach…” Soap mumbled and looked away.

Gaz sighed. “Your crush can’t get in the way of us getting Rudy back!! I’m going to go talk to Roach, and you can do whatever.” He then turned around and started to walk away before chuckling softly as he heard Soap rush to follow him.

The oracle was an eccentric being. Roach typically deigned himself to sit on a throne of bones. His body was decorated with gold, it swirled his skin and draped off of him in gold chains. Rings decorated his fingers and it even held his dress together, which draped down and fed into a river which swam with souls.

Gaz would admit to being intimidated by the oracle, but Roach was playful and sweet. Slash scars adorned his neck from humans trying to end his ability to prophesy and he was small, dainty. It was often that humans tried to end him and it was known that some day, they would succeed. 

Or rather, only if Soap didn’t get his way. Soap had ranted plenty that he would protect Roach from everything if he had to slaughter a million humans by himself. And he would.

Roach looks up from a flower that he appeared to have been admiring as they approached the circle river around his great seeing table. Gaz smiled as he watched a wide smile break out on Roach’s face and he was sliding down off his throne, falling to the floor gracefully before dancing over to them.

Soap’s own face broke into an easy smile as Roach came over.

You came to see me.

“I did…” Soap acknowledged, looking around himself as Roach danced around him, the river trailing behind him and leaving a soft green glow. 

Did you like the gift I gave you last time?

Soap avoided Gaz’s eye, flustered and embarrassed. “I did…” he responded, again. Gaz rolled his eyes, finding Soap to be amusing. 

You’re worried… purple… 

Roach’s fingers trailed down Soap’s chest as he stopped in front of him and Soap touched Roach’s hand, holding it to his chest.

Gaz spoke up. “Rudy has disappeared… Near… Near his domain.”

Roach didn’t look shocked or even mildly surprised. He just laughed and moved behind Soap, lifting up and floating so he could rest his arms on Soap’s shoulders, nuzzling under his jaw.

Roach’s hair floated around him in tendrils and Gaz became acutely aware of butterflies now fluttering around the room. Tens, then hundreds, and then thousands of them swirled around them before landing on Roach’s seer table and melting into it.

As it is to be… The Goddess of The Hunt and Intimacy was prophesied to enter the god of death’s domain. It is prophesied to start a thousand years of war.

“No!” Gaz cried. Soap flinched and turned to hold Roach protectively, but Gaz ignored him. “No! That cannot be! There must be something else we can do!”

Roach appeared to pause and then contemplate. He pulled from Soap and then moved, landing in front of his table, where he touched over it and closed his eyes. 

You are correct, dear Gaz… An eclipse approaches… the God of Vindication and Rage rides over the horizon on steeds of blood… She destroys all in her path… I see the Goddess of The Hunt and Intimacy across an altar… 

Gaz’s eyes went wide. This was worse. This was far far worse. “Valeria approaches? She comes for Alejandro?”

She will take the Goddess of The Hunt and Intimacy's heart and feed it to the God of Wrath and War… He is only safe with the God of Death… Rodolfo will only be safe if he is not split apart. If… If…

Roach’s body went stiff and then he threw his head back, screaming. It filled the room around them, drowning Gaz in the sound of it. Soap lunged forward as blood dripped down Roach’s mouth and he caught him as he fell and the sound cut off.

Blood… Nothing but blood… And rage…

--

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[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 8

A Niche Narratives Fanficiton

last | first | next

8. Thoroughly Ambushed

That Monday morning starts like every other; Mordecai puts on a suit, brushes his hair and fur to acceptable standards, trims his jaw fuzz back and finally, chooses a tie. He favours the red silk frequently, but today he chooses a forest green Esther made - her first and only foray into needlework thus far. It's not his best, but it is sentimental, and after this weekend he's feeling nostalgic for simpler times, before his mother started trying to wed him off to a near stranger.

Smoothing the fabric into his waistcoat, he pauses when his gaze catches that of his reflection. With such a busy life, he hasn't noticed himself growing up; his round, childlike face has become angular, a sharp jaw fringed with tidy whiskers framing piercing green eyes set into dark fur. Ears no longer too big for his head sit attentively forward and balancing out his overall appearance, signature pince nez rest on a white muzzle.

His hands fall to his sides as he regards himself, wondering if it was a gradual process, or a sudden change. Had those changes been what prompted his mother to start seeking a match? He's aware some of his congregation were matched far earlier, almost as soon as their bar mitzvah occurred, but Mordecai hasn't had time to worry on such things before. Keeping a secret second life was plenty enough to focus on.

Nor do I possess such luxuries now. Taking a moment to straighten his tie and secure it in place with his silver tie pin, Mordecai grabs his satchel and heads out. It's still early - barely past eight - but he has a lot to do, with the new week commencing. Orders to finalise, stock to count and horses to vet for fresh odds flow through his mind, organising into a schedule by the time his key presses into the lock.

"It's Katz, righ'?" 

It comes so naturally now; in a moment he's Elijah Katz, the manager of the races with no patience for imbeciles, entirely detached from his emotions for efficient business practices. Unfortunately, It also bleeds into Mordecai Heller outside of work, reducing an already restricted capacity for empathy in his real life. Mordecai considers it a tolerable side effect of living dual lives, one he's already resigned to when turning to face his guest with a scowl.

Three men stand just feet away, all wearing identical black suits and skinny black ties, the ornate golden tie pin clipping each in place making it painfully obvious they're part of the same organised crime syndicate. The two men flanking the last have a hand tucked into their blazers, signaling they're packing heat and ready to use it, expressions set similarly to Mordecai's own; cold and intimidating.

He knows he should be afraid, but his body refuses to feel it in his current state of mind. Instead, his gaze falls upon the third man, who stands with his hands on his hips and a grin on a pure black muzzle. A bushel of dark hair sits untidily on top of his head, his piercing green eyes shining from within a black abyss of fur as white teeth glisten when he smiles. "Elijah Katz?"

Mordecai narrows his gaze, an ear flicking in agitation. He's not yet sure who he's dealing with, but few citizens would so blatantly flaunt firearm possession beyond the police or the organisation. Assuming his own bosses wouldn't approach with such hostility and unaware of a rival crime syndicate in the area, he decides to play devil's advocate for the least likely option. "Am I under arrest?"

The black cat laughs loudly then makes a subtle gesture to his enforcers, who immediately take empty hands from suit jackets and turn their backs, bodies forming a makeshift perimeter between their boss and the public. A kid wanders too close and gets snarled at, whereupon his mother whisks the kitten away at breakneck speed to cross the street, and in turn others do the same, giving them space to talk.

"Ha! Fiores said you were a real card!" The feline chuckles and approaches Mordecai, offering a hand to shake. When the tuxedo doesn't take it after an extended pause, the slim black cat takes it back without offense, still smiling as he reaches into his jacket for a smoke and lighter. "The name's Hink. I was one of Fiore's hires, back in the day. Just like you, kid."

Not entirely grasping the scope of the conversation yet, the tuxedo sighs. Hink finally stops talking to light his smoke, a pause Mordecai takes full advantage of. "What precisely do you require of me? And please, be precise. I have an inordinately busy day ahead of me."

"That's exactly what I'm here about." Hink takes a deep toke of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose before he speaks again, waving his hand vaguely at the tracks. "Fiores sent them books you started to Mr Savage for the year's taxes, a whole stack of 'em. Even told 'im about that thing you dug up on Jimbo. He were real impressed, Katz. So impressed, he wants you on a new assignment, not in this shithole."

Mr Savage is not a name Mordecai hears often, but it's one he knows not to take lightly. He's above Fiores in rank, most likely an underboss for the head honcho himself. Getting his attention is not something the tom ever wanted; he wants to do his job, earn money and save. Yet here he is, apparently unfortunate enough to be seen, yet: A new assignment? 

Mordecai frowns, the ire leaching from his features. A new assignment could mean a better wage, further opportunities and the chance to buy his mother a decent home far sooner. However, it comes with uncertainty; there's no guarantee he'll excel, and his old job likely won't be available if he falls from grace. Not to mention Jimbo's crimes were fabricated by the tuxedo himself. Should that ever come to light, being as far from Savage as possible would be preferable.

"I appreciate the recognition," he states carefully. "However, I will have to decline. I have no need for a new assignment."

"That's great, but I'm afraid I have to decline your decline." Hink crosses the few steps between them and swipes the key dangling from the lock before Mordecai can react. As he tucks it into a concealed pocket, he turns back to the tuxedo with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Mr Savage booked you a ride already. Would be rude not to take it, wouldn't it?"

Alarm bells ring in Mordecai's head, finally surpassing layers of suppression to conscious appreciation, warning the feline something is very, very wrong with this situation. Before he can assess an escape route however, Hink places a hand on his shoulder and firmly steers the adolescent towards the road. A car idles, its engine running, rear door slightly open. 

Mordecai swallows nervously, not only because he's entirely unsure if he'll survive this encounter, but also because he's never been in a car before. He's well aware of the hysteria that first surrounded them - that raucous speeds could peel flesh from a man's face and liquify his intestines - and while he does not believe such idiocy, it doesn't sit well amongst his current anxieties either. "If I might just-"

"Nothing doin' here for you no more." Hink yanks the suicide door open wide with his spare hand then pushes down on on Mordecai's shoulder, the other coming his head as he's forced into the car. "You'll be thanking me later," Hink shouts as he slams the door behind him. "Don't worry, Katz! The tracks are in good hands! Fiores sends his regards!"

On all fours between two opposite bench seats, the smell of leather wax is the first thing to assault his senses, followed swiftly by a vibration through his hands and knees as the engine revs. The sensation shocks Mordecai into trying to stand but he struggles to balance in the moving vehicle. Eventually, he plants his hands on the ground and the rear facing bench seat to steady himself, stumbles to his feet and falls unceremoniously onto the bench, where he closes his eyes and takes a moment to inhale a deep, steadying breath.

Once re-centred, he opens his eyes and looks around, only to regret the decision as soon as his eyes fall on the seating bench facing the direction of travel. Three men take up the entire bench, but it's the burly characters flanking a smaller man that monopolise his focus. They're easily twice his width at the shoulders, a full head taller than the third man, and they each hold a pistol aimed directly at Mordecai's chest at their sides.

I'm going to die. Strangely, the thought isn't accompanied by panic or fear but rather, hollow regret. He's still only saved a fraction of the funds required to move his family out of their decaying home, and he's not even written a clue to where it is for his mother to find. If she doesn't receive the money, all of it, - especially his death - will be meaningless. Regret becomes a deep sorrow as his heart picks up its pace in anticipation of taking a bullet. I'm sorry, mother… 

The third man hums quietly and turns a page in a brown file resting in his lap. It's a simple gesture, but enough to draw Mordecai back into the present. With no time for sentiments if he does want to walk out of here alive, he studies the third man to ground himself. 

He's a siamese of average height and build, hands and ears tipped with coal black fur also present on his muzzle, dark patches that stand in striking contrast to a champagne pelt. He wears a navy pinstripe suit and matching hat, setting him apart from the black-clad cohorts, though a yellow tie is still secured with a golden pin, signifying his allegiance to the same syndicate.

Unnaturally blue eyes meet green as the man straightens, then rests an ankle on the opposite knee to prop up his file, expression remaining flat. Anxiety gnaws at the tuxedo, who has to make a concerted effort not to stare at the weaponry, but digs his claws into his thighs to maintain focus while still aware of his precarious situation. Now isn't the time for fear.

"Savage assumed you'd be taller." The siamese comments, then shakes his head and looks at his file. "But it's hard to take the measure of a man using an alias." Sharp blue eyes scrutinise Mordecai. "Savage doesn't like aliases, you see. They make him angry, makes him not trust you. So how about we start over, for his sake? You tell me your real name, and I'll ask my men to put their pieces away. Sound good, 'Katz'?"

It doesn't sound good, but he doesn't have a choice in the matter; if he refuses, he'll likely be peppered with bullets and tossed out the car into the ocean. Katz might be defunct, but thanks to Nataliya's prying father highlighting the need for a stronger story, he has another, more believable alias ready. Now, he just has to sell it, and he hesitates to make it feel more genuine. "...Fitzgerald. Isaiah Fitzgerald."

The siamese grins, dark lips curling into a satisfied smile. A gentle wave of a finger and the pistols are tucked away into blazers. Mordecai sinks into his seat in relief he's survived. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" His interrogator asks in such a condescending tone, Mordecai scowls. He doesn't seem to take offense as he closes his file. "I'll make sure to update your boss while you're on assignment today. He'll be pleased you were cooperative. You're a valuable asset after all. One Savage wants to make the most of."

That vague statement doesn't sit well with the tom. A frown overtakes his scowl, brows knitting as green eyes narrow. "I don't understand. Was I not as effective at the tracks? I can make alterations to-"

"You were real good at the tracks," the siamese interjects with a more genuine smile on his muzzle, now business has been concluded. Somehow, this smile is more unsettling to view than his last. "You should be flattered, kid. Savage is a busy man; he doesn't take an interest in people often, but those books of yours were impressive enough to make him pay attention. He wants to see what else that brain can do."

As they pull up outside a dilapidated factory on the outskirts of the city, a feeling of dread settles over the adolescent. He was expecting another accounting job, some front business in need of careful auditing. There's no auditing to be done in an empty warehouse. Dark ears fold with uncertainty as the closest enforcer opens a door and slides out, presumably to accompany him to his next destination.

"Go on," the siamese prompts the adolescent tom, his smile seemingly more sinister in the shadow of the factory. "Just don't fuck it up, Fitz. This high up the ladder, you won't survive the fall, not unless Savage decides you're worth a parachute."

[daemon-in-my-head]

durgetash 28 :3

Ooo, thank you anon and @beecreeper for indulging me like this.

28 ' …as a lie.' from this list. Durgetash, MxM, named Durge and SFW, 695 words of whatever their beautiful relationship and common shenanigans.

"What do you mean you'll stay?"

"Just a day or two," the Bhaalspawn sought to avoid the tyrant's piercing glare as he answered, "merely to ensure everything's in order and stays that way. It would be a shame if something went wrong as we near the completion of our goals, wouldn't you agree?"

Albeit valid reasoning, Enver Gortash's grimace refused to let go of the suspicion clawing at his features, "Ketheric is a competent General. And as much as I loath to admit this to his face, I'm fairly certain he'll be able to keep his own men in line even without your well meant intervention."

He raised a brow at his so-called dearest before digging for the real reason as to why the other man wished to remain in the lands suffering underneath the same curse that haunted him, "unless, perchance, you have a different reason why you'd like to stay behind? Maybe something related to a certain changeling and familial strings still attached?"

"I-" before Ellifain could retort or tangle himself tighter within his poorly knotted net of lies the Banite already continued his preachings. Of course, he did.

"Honesty, my dear. You should try it from time to time. It may even work out in your favour if you do."

Yet being aware of the man's disdain for his blood kin and the rather lamentful truth that he'd been caught, the little godling swiftly attempted another one of his strategies instead of listening to Gortash's nagging. Honesty may have been one way to defeat his beloved opponent, but certainly not the only one.

With his hand soon cupping the prickly jaw, he forced the man to look into wide, round, crimson shimmering eyes that seemed almost tearful at this point. "A day, maybe two. You can bear that long, can't you?"

Gortash simply replied with a click of his tongue, whatever other preaching stuck in his throat as he saw himself in the elfs eyes, still trying to refuse to give in to the pull of the Bhaalspawn's hand and voice.

"I swear on my name, I won't prolong my stay for too much." The Bhaalists paused to curl his lips into a smile, unfazed by the Banites stubbornness, "after all, I can't have you usher in your well-deserved reign without those who enabled it." The knowing, now almost smug-looking grin reflected back at him from within the dark eyes still holding contempt for decisions made without their owner as the man finished. A final petty trick up the elf's sleeve, but unfortunately for the tyrant, one that seemingly worked.

"Two days, any longer, and I'll drag you back myself if I must," Gortash rolled his eyes, an empty threat, no doubt, but a tyrant couldn't possibly give in without even the slightest hint of hesitation, and a quick defeat like this one warranted the venting of a bit of his frustration.

Gleefully ignoring his companion's displeasure, however, the little Bhaalspawn had already begun to launch yet another attack. His hand still holding onto the skin defended by the beginnings of a beard was soon joined by another, the lips spewing uncomfortable truths and makeshift lies meeting those of his most treasured opponent.

A quick yet deep kiss. The hungry kind, the one that makes you feel as though your breath is being stolen away all while a sly tongue prods and pokes to steal whatever else may yet remain. But also the kind that is over before you could ever savour the delicate intricacies of another being so close to you, a painful fact the suddenly not-quite-so-disappointed-looking tyrant lamented with his thumb rubbing the place that had felt another's heat just a mere second ago.

"I trust you'll send word once you reach the city," the Bhaalspawn called out to his latest victim as he approached the door, not a single more glance spared towards the one he'd taken such joy tormenting. After all, he was aware that he couldn't possibly adhere to the oath he'd just sworn nor did he ever intend to.

The temple dealings and his own would take a tenday at least, no matter how much he hurried. But he'd still much prefer to avoid the guilt brought on by facing the one he didn't wish to fool any longer.

[theycallme-thejackal]

One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day

46. You Belong With Me

It’s a typical Saturday night.

Her children are with Joel this weekend and she has a gig. Midtown. A dark club with good drinks and a solid paycheck.

What’s not so normal about it is that tonight Lenny’s here.

She spots him halfway through her set, and the feeling in her gut is twisty and a little warm, but she manages to get through the rest of her act as planned, receiving plenty of laughs and a good round of applause at the end. When she finishes, she stops backstage and breathes deeply, calming herself.

A couple minutes later, she finds him at the bar where she’d spotted him during her set, and he looks good. Really good. Handsome in his usual black suit, but also healthy. The suit doesn’t hang off of him like it did the last time she saw him.

He spots her then, and the way he smiles at her makes her knees weak. She manages to stop herself from wobbling and approaches him with a smile of her own. “Welcome back,” she says as she takes the stool next to where he stands, leaning on the bar.

“It’s good to be back,” he says, sliding over a martini he’d ordered for her.

She grins widely. “You remembered.”

Lenny shrugs and takes a sip from his own glass. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to your show last week,” he says. “Had some things to deal with in California.”

She nods slowly. “You’re busy,” she says. She knows about the girlfriend. She’s young. Pretty. Uncomplicated in a way Midge herself can never be. She doesn’t come with two kids and an ex-husband that just can’t seem to let go. And if Lenny is happy - healthy - that’s what matters.

But there will always be a part of her that knows who he should really be with.

“I wish I could have come. Upstairs at the Downstairs is a big gig,” he explains. “It go well?”

She nods again. “Yeah. A booker from Gordon Ford’s show was there, actually. They want to try me out to be the in-house comic.”

Lenny raises his brows, looking impressed. “Way to bury the lede, Mrs. Maisel,” he teases. “That’s great.”

She smiles broadly. “Yeah. If it works out, it’s a steady paycheck and a bigger audience.”

“More people to fall in love with you,” he comments, his voice tinged with affection making her blush softly as she sips her martini.

“When do you have to go back?” She asks as she sets her drink down again in favor of smoothing her dress.

“I don’t,” he answers. 

Midge’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “You don’t?”

He shakes his head. “I’m back for good.”

“What about - ” She stops herself from asking about the girlfriend, instead finishing, “Kitty?”

“Kitty’s got a few weeks of school left, so she’s still with my mother. Ma’s gonna bring her out here in June. I got a pretty nice place in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Hell’s Kitchen?” She asks. “That’s almost Upper West Side-adjacent,” she teases.

He chuckles. “Gotta start being a more responsible guy now. Full-time parent, you know?”

“I am very familiar with the concept,” she replies.

“And...” Lenny rubs his jaw for a moment before reaching out, taking her hand. “As an added benefit, it’s a much shorter drive to Riverside.”

She looks at their joined hands before meeting his gaze again. “But what about - ”

“I told you it wasn’t that serious, Midge,” he says earnestly.

He did. The one and only time they talked about her, he said it was casual. She didn’t believe him. “But all those pictures...you looked happy with her,” she breathes.

“She’s funny. She’s a comic, too, so yeah, sometimes she made me laugh,” he explains, his thumb rubbing gently over her skin. “But...she wasn’t you.”

Midge exhales slowly. “Lenny...”

He stops her with a gentle kiss. “I love you, Midge,” he whispers. “I never stopped loving you.”

She chokes out a happy giggle. “I love you too,” she breathes. She cups his neck in her free hand and kisses him again.

[i-didnt-do-1t]

A little more Oscar and Snyder

All the usual cw’s apply

For Oscar, being called to Snyder’s office was like a game of roulette; whether he’d be met with the offer of a cigarette and asked to do a little enforcing with the promise of a better dinner later or leave with a litany of new bruises was anyone’s guess. Snyder enjoyed being unpredictable like that, liked keeping the boys on their toes he’d told Oscar once. Oscar had nodded along, muttered that it worked.

He could feel the eyes on the back of his head as he made the familiar walk to Snyder’s office, the floorboards creaking under him with every footstep, sometimes he wondered if the floor would cave in, sometimes when he was making this trip he hoped it would.

He drew his shoulders back all the same as he approached the door, and knocked on it twice, the hard wood against his already bruised knuckles sending a sharp ache rippling through his hand. Then Snyder’s voice answering, calling him into the room.

He rolled his shoulders once before opening the door.

The wave of warmth hit him first, he hadn’t realised how tensed he’d been with cold till the heat was wrapping round him like a blanket, settling into his bones and making breathing a little easier than it had been, hands shaking less as he let them hang loosely at his sides, resisting the urge to shove them in his pockets or bite at his nails.

Snyder didn’t look at him, didn’t look up from whatever document he was reading. Oscar’s gaze shifted to the crucifix in the corner of the room.

“You want me for somethin’ Snyder?”

He could feel the shift in the room like cold air on the back of his neck.

Oscar had never been a betting man.

Snyder still didn’t look up from his documents.

“Try again, Delancey.” His voice was like ice.

Oscar’s jaw tensed. “Warden.”

“Better.”

Oscar bit his tongue in an attempt to keep his mouth shut. He hated the silence, the way Snyder had him standing there and didn’t even look at him, as if he were some new decorative feature like the pictures and crosses that Snyder had lining the walls of the office. Something he owned.

But Oscar was also stubborn, so he stood, biting his tongue till he tasted the coppery tinge of blood.

Then Snyder put down his papers.

“We have an inspection happening soon.”

“What’s that gotta do with me?”

“I want you as our face.”

Anger crept up his throat like bile and he swallowed it back, made sure to keep his hands from forming to fists.

“What’s that mean?”

“I’ll introduce him to you. You’ll show him around the bunks, tell him about all the good work that gets done here.”

He snorted at that, something almost involuntary, mouth twitching, gaze shifting to the floor. The regret hit almost immediately after.

Snyder’s voice cooled further, words clipped at the edges. “Something funny Delancey?”

“Not at all Warden.”

“Good.”

He kept his gaze on the ground as he felt Snyder’s eyes roaming over him and was all at once too aware of the scarred cut high on his cheek and the black eye finally turning shades of yellow and green.

“Of course we’ll have to have you groomed, can’t have a mutt introduced to the inspector.”

He should’ve expected the hand on his jaw, forcing his gaze up from the ground but he flinched anyway, blunt fingernails digging into either side of his cheeks as Snyder roughly turned his head to the side.

“Should file those teeth down too don’t you think. Keep you from biting.”

“Fuck you.” He spit.

The resulting back hand was hard, and not unexpected, but enough to jerk his head to the side anyway with the force of it. He assumed it opened up the cut on his cheek too, with the way he could feel the tell tale sign of a rivulet of warmth down the side of his face, and he knew it weren’t tears. He didn’t cry in front of Snyder.

He just let his eyes burn and pretended it was anger.

Then Snyder’s had was tangled in his hair and he hated that his curls acted as a handle and he was staring at Snyder again, mouth pulled into a snarl.

He pulled roughly on the handful of hair, forcing Oscar’s chin up. Studied him. Pulled again and smiled when Oscar’s jaw tightened. Looked thoughtful.

“We’ll need to get rid of this of course. Far too matted to try and brush out to make you look presentable.”

The implication had Oscar’s hands tensing into fists at his sides, but he tried to level his expression. He’d learnt that letting Snyder see you cared was like opening a vein for him to drink from.

He held back the wince, anger and maybe something like fear bitter in the back of his throat as Snyder dragged him to the chair on the opposite side of the desk, as he planted a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down into it.

Oscar eyed the scissors on the desk. Watched as Snyder grabbed them. Could feel him smile without even looking behind him.

Talking back resulted in something bad at the best of times, but Snyder stood behind him, scissors in hand made breathing difficult. His chest tight and constricted, like a belt had been wrapped around it, like da had yelled.

Snyder’s hand was in his hair again. The rusted scissors scraped the back of his scalp.

“I thought you’d put up more of a fight.” Snyder intoned, and Oscar’s hands white knuckled the arms of the rickety wooden chair, he wondered if he could break it.

“Needed a haircut anyway.” He grit out.

The metal was pressed up against the back of his skull again, too close to be anything but choppy. The base of the back of his neck felt exposed. Hair fell next to his feet.

“I wonder if your brother will feel the same.”

Oscar tensed. “Let him be.”

And flinched as something sharp dug into his head, as Snyder pulled aggressively on another fistful of hair, jerking his head to the side. “It’s funny you think you can instruct me to do anything.”

“Morris didn’t do nothin’.”

“He’s here. That’s enough.”

Another handful, another sound of the scissors interrupting the silence. More hair by his feet.

“This will suit you, you know Oscar. It will make you look sharp. Like a business man. Or your father.”

He bit down on his tongue harder. “Lucky me.”

“You should say thank you.”

Oscar stayed silent, ignoring the sharp pull on his hair, until he flinched forward. A hand to his ear that pulled away red when Snyder grabbed his wrist and forced it down.

His ear burned, he could feel the warmth of red running down the side of his neck, could feel it seeping into the collar of his shirt. Christ.

“Fuck you.” He choked out, tensing forwards, pain radiating- Jesus fucking Christ-

He didn’t get far before Snyder’s hand, smooth and uncalloused wrapped around his throat from behind, forcing his back against the splintered wood. His blood streaming over Snyder’s fingers.

His voice when he leaned down to speak in Oscar’s ear was a hiss. Oscar’s lungs burned.

“I told you to say thank you.” He reached over Oscar’s shoulder with his free hand, grabbed a handkerchief, dragged it up his neck, stained the pristine white red. “Maybe next time you’ll listen.”

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 282, Replies Part 1

1) “And what else needs to take place is Aizawa fucking losing his quirk apparently. Jesus fuck no. I can’t wait, and so can’t you, for Chapter 282: The Footfall of destruction.”-

 “Footfall”. Despite being the singular usage, it could likely refer to Aizawa’s free-flying limb, but it could just as easily apply to Tomura getting his secnd wind back along with his Quirks and rising to his feet once more, ready to mess up the heroes’ day…or, it could also refer to Gigantomachia’s Godzilla-esque thundering feet approaching the cities (Plural usage) of innocent and unaware civillains. Either way, shit’s gone beyond the point of recovery for everybody by this point, only thing left to do is start tallying up the body count and pray that the damage doesn’t get much worse…but if the villains continue to have their say, it will. 2) “And look at that, someone realized what the plan is, get ready Aizawa, I want to see that agility be put to good use.”- Unfortunately, Aizawa’s agility stat took a massive debuff, what with one of his legs being busted before he even used Erasure on Tomura. He’s been working with a major handicap this whole fight, and now he’ll be stuck with for the rest of his life…however long that is. 3) “OH SHIT A 100% POWER SMASH? WITHOUT DESTROYING HIS WHOLE ARM?

MY BOY HAS GROWN SO MUCH, SHAME IT WILL BE ALL FOR NAUGHT, THAT BULLET IS ALREADY ON IT’S WAY I BELIEVE.”- Actually, he hadn’t yet launched it, because he wasn’t certain of his aim being correct yet, so if that blow had taken effect properly, then Izuku could have very well stopped the shot from landing… but unfortunately, Tomura won’t let himself be stopped. More angst for Izuku I-should-have-done-better Midoria in the aftermath, I guess. And it bares repeating, but that was a 100% smash straight on his cranium. Izuku, that sweet cinnamon roll, was genuinely trying to kill Tomura at that point…because in his current state, nothing less will suffice. You take the kill shot and hope it sticks, because otherwise, lethal force is the bare minimum needed to make this guy flinch anymore. Overkill is now the go-to standard when it comes to fighting Tomura, no limits in place for him, and his opponents can’t play by the hero’s rules either. 4) “Yeah, no effect, right? He barely batted an eye to a fucking 100% power smash, jesus fuck”- Well, it at least slowed his shot down enough for Bakugou to catch up and fry his reserve bullet, preventing him from launching a second round straight into Aizawa’s chest, but unfortunately, Bakugou couldn’t see the actual bullet Ryukyu was referring to on the other side of her hand, so that reserve acted as a decoy. If he planned all that out, it shows how eerily calm and strategic Tomura’s mind is underneath his animistic ferocity on the field. 5) “OH JESUS FUCK WHAT IN THE WHAT OH GOD HE BIT HIM TO STOP HIM FROM MOVING WHAT THE FUCKSHIGARAKI”- He twisted his neck to catch the smash straight on his jaw and then started biting Izuku to hold the arm in place long enough to launch his round at Aizawa without him throwing his aim off. Brutal, feral and downright savage, but it highlights both his focus on winning and commitment to using everything he’s got to hurt the heroes. If they take his arms out, he’ll resort to his legs, if they take his legs out, then comes the teeth, if they take those out, then he’ll somehow will himself to keep fighting them. Obliterating Tomura down to the cellular level seems about the only safe bet left for stopping him from fighting back, and even then, they’d better make certain they got every piece… 6) “So, do I start screaming now or do I wait a bit until the reality of it all starts to sink?”- You can start screaming when you realise that Aizawa’s not the kind of guy to go down without a fight either. Tomura wants to mutilate himself to win? Well, two can play at that game… 7) “is that- IS THAT A KNIF-

NO

OGH MY GOD AIZAWA ARE YOU 

NO”- Aizawa: See, I saw this film called 128 days, and you know, it’s amazing the things you can learn on TV… 8) “OH JESUS FUCKNO TIHS IS GONNA BE HORRIFYING TO WATCH”- The amputation, or the fighting? Cause, lemmie tell ya, it don’t get any prettier from here on in…

(Vigilantes ch 64)

9) “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FEET OH MY GOD YOUR WHOLE LEG IS FUCKED UP MY GOD WE NEED A DOCTOR HERE PLEASE”- It’s even more fucked up now, if you can believe it. I’d almost put this down as foreshadowing, given Aizawa twice got maimed in combat by a villain way out of his league that his power was nevertheless integral to combating. (MHA ch 269) 10) “Those guys still haven`t come to the conclusion of what is causing it, but soon they`ll be at that point. Still, even that sheer strength can become a problem if they are caught out of position, Aizawa is so focused that even if he got shot he wouldn`t break eye contact with you monsters.”- Sadly, there’s a difference between getting shot, and self-amputating your twisted flopping limb of a leg with a knife. That’s a level of pain that’d make anybody blink, even for a brief second. (MHA ch 272) 11) “OH THANK GOD SOMEONE SAVED HIM

WITHOUT NEEDING TO CUT HIS LEG AT LEAST”- Sadly, it only delayed the limb’s fate at best. Getting all mangled and broken like that though certainly made it easier for Aizawa to slice through in one go. (MHA ch 281) 12) “I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD IF HE HIT AIZAWA IM GOING TO FUCKING SCREAM DON’T DO THIS TO ME”-  Well, bad news: he hit Aizawa. Good news, Aizawa won’t need to spend as much money on socks anymore! 13) “HORIKOSHI

STOP

FUCKING HURTING ME”-  He risks it all to see his kids again, or he dies here and now. Simple choice, simple solution, difficult execution. 14) “OH I SEE

FOOTFALL

HA FUCKING HA HORIKOSHI”- We gotta get the laughs in where we can. The funny times be over, just memories of yesteryear… 15) “OH FUCK DID HE JUST BLINK”- More like ‘flinched’ and one of his eyes involuntarily closed, thus weakening the suppression of Tomura’s Quirks and giving him a boost of strength right when he needed it to make a leap of faith…straight into Aizawa’s face.

16) “SHIGARAKI CAN YOU FUCKING DROP THE TWINK ARM YOU’RE NOT A DOG I’M GOING TO SPRAY YOU WITH A WATER BOTTLE”- Oh, Shigaraki Tomura is a dog alright. A beaten, abused dog by his own family, twisted and conditioned by his new master and abandoned by society when he needed real support and loving care, and now he’s big and strong enough to unleash all that feral pain and suffering on everybody. He’s going Cujo on all our asses. 17) “HEY WAIT, HE JUST BLINK ONE OF HIS EYES, THE OTHER WAS STILL OPEN, WAS THIS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN? OR IS STILL NORMAL SHIGARAKI STRENGTH IN ACTION AGAIN?”- I think Tomura still can’t use any activation-type Quirks, but the secondary ones that enhanced his natural strength got stronger for just a second, allowing him to tear his way free of their suppression and reach Aizawa in a single leap.

18) “GODDAMMIT SO AIZAWA NEEDS BOTH EYES OPEN? OH GOD IF HE LOSES ONE OF THEM WE’RE ABSOLUTELY FUCKED”- Judging by the gouging across his face and the position of Tomura’s fingers, he could very well have lost both, or at minimum at least one from that attack. No more debuffs against The End.

@thelreads

[terrencetheycallme]

Mag7/Dark Souls 2 Crossover: Prompt Piece

Prompt: Something you weren’t supposed to overhear.

Fandom: Magnificent 7 (2016) as a Dark Souls 2 crossover

Characters: Billy Rocks (POV), Vasquez, Faraday

Relationships: Guess.  Pre-relationships round the board, but specifically, pre-Varaday and pre-Goodrocks

Context: I’ve been working on Dark Souls 2/Mag7 cossover versions of each character, and Billy Rocks ended up being my manscorpion (human torso attached to a scorpion body), based on a character named Tark from Dark Souls 2 (who became the way he was as a result of Bad Guy Experiments).  Vasquez is a fire-using pyromancer based on the desert sorceress characters, and Faraday is a dark-magic hex-user.

Also linked to this post I made a year ago, featuring some unfinished designs for Vasquez and Goody from this AU!  I hope to get the rest of the 7 drawn at some point too.

This is a very specific AU, I fully recognize that, but for this preview, there isn’t too much that you need to know beforehand, and I’ve tried to give a basic picture with context clues in the actual story.  I hope to do more for this project, at which point, I’ll give more of a sort of pre-story description of what elements of Dark Souls 2 I’m using.  This was also mainly a prompt exercise to get me into a writing mode, so I wasn’t too concerned with setting the stage perfectly!

(And if some things are a little too confusing, feel free to let me know, and I'll answer questions!)

The basic gist of this: Everyone involved is trying to escape the Big Bad, and snuck into underground tunnels to do so.

Enjoy!

---------------------------------------

Billy moved quietly through the tunnel, thankful for the dark.  It shrouded him, it gave him safety, it meant he wasn’t followed, wasn’t hunted. 

His master disliked the dark, after all.

He moved lightly over uneven ground, feeling carefully as he went, paying attention to tremors and vibrations, listening when he could with his imperfect human ears.

He was so close to freedom.  So close to getting out, to throwing off the chains his master had kept him in.  But not quite.

He had to find Goody first. 

First Goody, then escape, for both of them.

Billy’s jaw tightened and he glared through the dark.

Goody shouldn’t have done that.  He shouldn’t have separated from Billy.  He was safer when Billy could protect him, he should have known that by now. His body was so fragile, so easy to damage. Billy was the one with the nigh indestructible form.

The shudders of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, the tremors coming from close by.

He stilled.  His body tensed, a familiar but uncomfortable action, his hybrid instincts at war with themselves.  He should dig, hide in the ground and wait for the shake of their footsteps above him.  But no—no, he should hunker down, get as low to the ground as possible, use his spear as they approached—

The footsteps stopped.  More than could be attributed to one person, too few for three.  So, only a pair, then.  There was a thud, as though one of them had dropped to the ground. 

So, they could be injured.  Good.

He crept closer, careful to stay in the shadows, aware of his bulk and its drawbacks.  He came to a stop before he could round a final corner, the potential threats on the other side.

Voices filtered through the dark.  The dim and flickering light of a fire threw itself haphazardly against the rock wall.  Torch?

“Shouldn’t have done that, Faraday.” 

A pained laugh.  “Hey, I been waitin’ to fuck that asshole up for years, a little nick to the side is worth it, far as I’m concerned.”  The man’s voice was heavy with exhaustion, uneven and slurred.

“A ‘little nick to the side?’  I’d call it ‘profusely bleeding from a hole in your abdomen.’”  This one sounded frustrated, his voice tense and unhappy.  Billy tilted his head.  He didn’t recognize either.  “Hold still.” 

A wet cough.  “Don’t s’pose you… you know any miracles, do ya?”

“No.”  Curt.  Short.  Billy’s brow furrowed.  This one sounded like he did when Goody wouldn’t listen to him.  “But I have some bandages I can work with.  And some of that magic salve.”

Billy’s spear dipped an inch.  A healer?  Maybe this one knew Goody…

A low whistle, more air than sound.  “How’d you get that?  Been watchin’ you the whole while you been in that cage.”

“Not the whole while.”  Gravelly and viciously satisfied, with dark ferocity.  Billy’s shoulders tensed.  He pulled the spear back up.

There wasn’t any more talking for a while, though Billy strained to listen. 

Distantly, a part of him wondered why he didn’t just make the attack, why he didn’t lunge from his hiding place and take them out while they were distracted.  One of them was clearly wounded, the other focused entirely on helping him.

A soft muttering reached his ears, a language he didn’t understand, and he paused again.

“Hey, I been meanin’ to ask you.”  There was the injured man again, still sounding tired and hurt. 

The other man only hummed acknowledgement.  There was a soft slapping sound, like a hand smacking against skin.  Like Goody when he reached up to smack Billy’s arm in one of his odd fits of humor, grinning and unafraid.

“Hey,” the tired voice again. “I m… I mean it.  Hey.”

“What, guero?  Trying to keep you from bleeding out, and you can’t stop talking.”  More of the unfamiliar language.

The other voice kept going.  “Why’d you… try to get me out?”

An impatient scoff.  “No ‘try’ about it.  You’re out, aren’t you?” 

“Still stuck in his—his damn tunnels, ain’t we?”

“Not for long, we’re not.  Now, ch.”

The first man didn’t seem to have a response to that, falling as close to silence as he could with his harsh and heavy breathing.  The sounds of the other man’s attempts at healing didn’t slow.  Billy’s spear dipped again, further this time.

“…You didn’t… di’n’t answer my question.”

More hurried movements, frustrated murmurs in that unfamiliar language, the hard abrupt vibrations of something hitting the ground.  A weapon? The other man’s hand?  Fist, maybe?

“Will you—”

“I worked f’the guy who held you prisoner.”  A wet swallow.  “He tortured you.  You know what he did.  You saw.  You should… should want me dead too.”  The ruffle of fabric, frantic movement that Billy couldn’t place.  “I l—I listened to him.”

His voice was rising, a thread of urgency, of something raw and harsh, weaving through it.  Billy’s grip on his spear was so tight it was nearly painful.  Just attack.  Just put him out of his misery.  Both of them.

But his body wouldn’t move. 

“Shouldn’t be here.  Could kill you.”

Goody laughed at that.  It was wispy and broken.

Billy looked up into empty blue eyes.  Goody smiled, wan, and went over to him anyway.

“Yeah,” Goody murmured, light and weak as the dust from crumbled bones. “And you shouldn’t keep letting me in.”  A wink, filled with Goody’s typical fake cheer.  “I’m practically your jailer, after all.” 

And then, he’d leaned back against Billy’s body – the protected parts, the stiff plated parts, where Billy couldn’t bend to reach him with his hands, couldn’t feel his warmth – and closed his eyes.

And then he’d helped free Billy from his master.  Helped free him, and then had disappeared.

And Billy had thought—he didn’t know, really.  He’d thought it was only him, and now Goody, out for themselves against all of his master’s staggering resources. 

He’d thought these two may have been guards sent to recover him.  Would have attacked them thinking that, if he hadn’t listened. 

But now…

“You were a prisoner too.”  The other voice wasn’t so frustrated now, wasn’t so tense and urgent.  It was soft.  Gentle.  “I knew that from the beginning.  From the way you were around him.  I saw your scars, Faraday.  You didn’t want it any more than I did.”

“But I—”

“I wasn’t about to leave you with him.”  The voice was almost too quiet for Billy to hear.  Solid with the steel of the man’s conviction, but tender somehow, like he didn’t want to scare the other man.

“Vas…”  Weak and shaking, that first voice.

“I’m not going to let him hurt you.”  Resolve, determination.  An idea started to form in Billy’s mind.  “Not anymore. We are getting out of here, and we’re going to find you help, ey?”

There was no answer.  For the first time since discovering the two men, Billy found he wanted to see what was happening.

He took in a slow breath, and the stubborn idea grew. 

Goody was still missing.  Billy’s master would likely be looking for them both.  Billy needed to find Goody and get them out of here.

And these two men seemed to have the same goal.  And the way they spoke to each other…

Slowly, carefully, Billy straightened his torso and pulled his stinger back, lowered rather than poised to strike.  He exhaled long and slow, and moved out of the darkness, rounding the corner and revealing himself to the interlopers.

There was only a beat of silence, then an explosion of movement.  The injured man sucked in a breath and reached for a long staff with shaking fingers.  The healthy man, crouched over the injured one, whirled about in one graceful movement, an odd fan jumping to his hand.  Fire began to swirl about his forearm.  Poised to strike, like Billy had been.  Ready to protect, as Billy wanted to do.

Billy held up his free hand.  He very pointedly didn’t move any farther forward.  He made eye contact with both the injured man and the healthy one, letting his gaze linger on the latter.

He dropped his spear to the dirt.