#i had it last nigh and handed it off to a manager cause not allowed to keep it anymore cause our lock boxs in are department

[tarudce22]

i want to fist fight the regional, they’re not our actual regional that came last time, that made us give up my departments compost key

management has LOST IT

its been missing for like a week now according to most people

[whump-a-la-mode]

Maybe, if you have any extra time, would you consider doing a continuation of the good villain rehab center prompt??? 🥺

🥺 I loved writing that one. Here you go! Just as a heads up, I’m going to start making prompt fills like this a little shorter, just because they’re starting to pile up a little. I wanna make sure I can answer all of them!

Thank you so much for the request!! Continued from here. This one is fluffy but also just a little sad.

CW//Hospital setting, pill mention, nausea mention, low self esteem

Visiting hours were from one to four.

That was the first thing Villain learned about the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center, or, as it was far more commonly known, for the sake of brevity, the RC. That visiting hours were from one to four.

They could not help but hear the fact, echoing in their mind, as they glanced to the clock. Half after noon.

Half an hour.

Lunch was served at noon sharp-- they had learned that, too. Villain glanced down at the plate, sitting on the desk before them. It had been picked clean, to the point of nigh-spotlessness, leaving behind only the smeared residue of sauces and spices.

Two days. Three, they supposed, now, since the clock’s hands had already passed well into the afternoon. Three days, spent at the RC.

72 hours. Not counting the time they’d spent without their consciousness intact.

They sighed, placing down their fork-- a real, metal fork-- and listening to its soft clatter against the porcelain dishware.

Visiting hours were from one to four. Meaning that, in half an hour, Hero would be there. They’d grown familiar with, though not particularly fond of, the knock on their door-- the age-old call: “Villain, you have a visitor.”

Lunchtime had quickly become their least favorite time of day.

Things were peaceful before food was served. They woke up when wakefulness stirred them, spurred by no alarm, human or otherwise. The room was... comfortable. Light coaxed its way between the shades of their closed blind, leaving sunspots on the wood-paneled floor.

Though they awoke alone, when they emerged from bed, it was never long before someone came to see them. Doctor, it had been so far. A face they had learned to find kind and welcoming, even if their movements still made them uneasy.

Every day, the doctor would coax a light knocking upon their door, greeting them with a soft call of ‘good morning.’ They would ask how they had slept, how they were doing.

It was always the less practical questions that came before those of a medical nature. ‘Have you been feeling well?’ ‘Is there anything you need?’ ‘Would you like some tea?’

Then came the medical questionnaire-- a short affair of simple ‘yes’s’ and ‘no’s.’ Yes, their head still hurt. No, they weren’t having any trouble breathing. Yes, they were drinking their water. And their pills. Based upon the doctor’s warm, content smile, Villain’s recovery was going well, though they never mentioned the way that the taste of smoke refused to remove itself from the back of their tongue.

And, finally, the apologies.

To Doctor, Villain’s living conditions must have seemed to be torturous, considering the way they spoke of them.

“I’m so sorry you have to stay in here. Your doctors want a clean bill of health before you move to the main wing. It’s flu season, they say. Something like that could land you in the hospital while your lungs are still weak.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you could come visit with the nurses for a while... Oh, you must be so lonely. Are you sure there’s no one you want to call?”

“You aren’t getting bored, are you? The library is just down the street, are there any books you want? There’s a TV in the employee lounge...”

Yet, despite their countless worries, each and every one went unfounded. Villain’s room was a cell, yes. The door was locked. The window was bolted shut. They were a prisoner, and they knew that.

But, inexplicably, they were happy. On the first day, they had gone so far as to wonder if their food had been tampered with. They’d soon found otherwise, however. There was a far less sinister explanation.

They were simply happy. Perhaps not euphoric. Not overjoyed. But... content.

The time they spent in their cell was serene. Staring out over the window, watching the ocean play, the flowers in the botanical garden flash their extravagant petals. On the second day, when their fatigue had receded, they had obliged one of the doctor’s many offers. A book from the library.

Later that day, a chatty intern had brought in five, jabbering about how they didn’t know how fast of a reader Villain was.

So far, they’d only gotten through one, flipping leisurely through its pages. There was something nearly overwhelming about the experience. Letting the words flow to their mind as waves whorled in the ocean outdoors.

Prisoner or not, they were happy. They enjoyed their cell. There was room to roam, room to breathe. They couldn’t remember the last time they had been able to simply pause. To let every part of them relax.

And, during most of the day, they did relax.

Except during visiting hours. One to four.

Villain’s gaze glanced to the clock. 12:45.

Three days they’d been in the RC. Three days Hero would visit. Even if the hour had no struck yet, there was no doubt in their mind that the hero would be there, right on time, smiling and bringing gifts. The first day, it had been cookies. The second, a handful of candies. Today, they’d promised a brownie.

Villain never ate the food. It went right in the trash, every piece of it. It wasn’t an act of spite, not an act of distrust. But an act of nausea. When Hero left after their visits, they had no desire to eat.

Hero was... nice. That was undeniable. They entered with a grin and left with one, even as it fluttered throughout their meeting. Never had they uttered to Villain an insulting word, an aggressive tone. That was exactly the problem.

Why?

Why hadn’t they harmed them?

By name alone, the RC would have made any villain keep far from its walls. A recovery center was certainly a misnomer, a joke at those inside. Those being held captive, broken down and shattered into fiberglass particles of themself.

Because the heroes were evil. They were in the wrong. Regardless of what they said, regardless of what the public thought, it was the villains who were fighting the good fight. Any facility they had control over was certainly a torture chamber, intent on inflicting nothing but suffering on those inside.

Not bringing them tea and library books.

During visiting hours, from one to four, Villain would hardly speak. They allowed Hero to do that for them-- even as they asked them questions, requested their input, nudged them for anecdotes. There were no words that villain could say that would sound right.

So, they listened. Listened to the hero’s stories, how their day had gone, what stupid think their drunk teammates had done last weekend. Yet, they never strayed to topics of villainy. Never to topics of work. When such things would come up, they were brushed over with professional efficiency. ‘Then we fought downtown, but you’ll never guess how Teammate managed to set off the fire alarm.’

Because they didn’t care. Hero didn’t care.

They didn’t care that they were speaking to a villain. One who had caused untold harm, unending, ceaseless, meaningless destruction. Every time they prompted Villain to speak, they struggled to open their mouth. To let a stream of apologies spill forth, greater than the ocean outside their window.

But, not a single word would emerge. Because it wouldn’t be enough.

In the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center, Villain was recovering. That was the problem.

They didn’t deserve it.

[theflashdriver]

A Measure of Trust

Knuckles' birthday is on the horizon, Rouge had schemed up a surprise costume party for him. Unfortunately, a certain blue blur has taken much too long in picking out what he's going to wear, and a pink hedgehog has taken notice. Written for Sonamy/Silvaze Week 2021, but for the pirates or the knights prompt? You'll have to read to find out!

---

Despite his usual arrogant antics, Sonic wasn’t without his share of weaknesses, that much he could freely admit. His cool demeanour tended to slip when it came to open bodies of water and he did like to the centre of attention more than he was willing to admit, but neither of those issues were plaguing him today. No, today’s grievances were derived from a two related yet contrasting sources; the need to plan and being forced to wait.

His issue with the latter was more obvious, his pseudonym was the blue blur for a reason after all. Sticking around in one place just wasn’t his style, he had to feel the beat of ever-changing terrain beneath his sole and watch his surrounding rush by so fast that he could scarcely make them out. No matter how much people watching he did, tapping his right foot all the while, hanging around outside the third costume shop they’d visited today wasn’t achieving the same purpose.

A sigh slipped through his lips as he readjusted his grip on the overlarge boxes stacked up to his chin, each of them a different colour and sealed with a bow. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for his present position… but if he was asked, he’d absolutely point fingers at Rouge, Knuckles and the girl he was presently waiting on. His claim for the echidna was admittedly the lousiest, as this was all happening without his knowledge, but he was the central cause. Having heard that the master emerald’s guardian had never had a birthday party, the bat had seen fit to organise one. The bat’s chosen party type of fancy dress was the hedgehog’s reason to blame the girl currently rummaging through boxes and coat-hangers somewhere behind him, trying to pick out matching costumes.

In truth, Sonic knew that his current circumstance was entirely his own fault. Rouge had passed out the invitations months ago and Tails had literally read the letter to him, just to be sure it wasn’t forgotten. The fox had also reminded him of all this last week but there being seven days till he had to act meant seven more days to put it off. It’d taken Amy’s intervention, a mere half day before the party was set to start, to get him on the right path.

To his credit, while running through station square, Sonic had made a mental note of a hat that seemed to be Knuckles’ style and would make for a good enough gift… but the hedgehog hadn’t given a single thought to his own costume. Apparently being fashionably late and undressed for a surprise costume party was too much of a faux pas. Well, he knew it was but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been destined to happen.

Amy had dragged him out to buy the hat on the spot before insisting that she would help him pick out an outfit. The serious yet excited look on her face had left him unable to come up with a quip or excuse. He supposed he could just have run, just as he could now, but he’d told himself if he showed up late after her offer she’d have a genuine excuse to be mad at him. That was what he’d told himself, but the truth was that his inability to refuse the pink hedgehog was third weakness of his, especially when she’d so plainly planned this out. She’d probably known this was how it’d all play out upon first reading her own invitation.

Her aid had come with a few catches, the first being his status as her luggage caddy for the day; that wasn’t so bad, though he couldn’t help feeling the boxes were meant to weigh him down. It was the other two that were filling his stomach with butterflies; he wasn’t allowed to pick out what he’d be wearing, and he had to stand outside while she picked out all the pieces. He’d stepped into the first costume shop and been overly thoroughly measured before being promptly kicked out. Every garb and accessory she’d brought out since was so thoroughly packaged that he had no chance of guessing what was in store.

He’d tried not to think too about it too much, but boredom had made him laps a handful of times. They were here for his costume, not hers, which implied Amy had already picked out what she was wearing. The moment she’d insisted on her plan he’d known they’d end up matching or contrasting in some way, and that’d only fed his potential embarrassment. The most savoury hypothetical that he’d managed to imagine was that he’d be the knight to her princess, at least the visor of his helmet would hide his embarrassment. With Amy at the reigns though, and all the time she’d had to plan, he really doubted it’d be so simple.

Sonic shut his eyes and leaned harder against the side of the building; just how much longer would she take? They’d been to three different costume shops, three! Whatever she had planned had to be elaborate; he would have picked up whatever was nearest the door and called it a day or wrapped himself in toilet roll and claim to be a mummy.

Amy plainly had a vision for what he was going to wear. Maybe she’d pull something specific from one of those corny romantic movies she liked to watch? Perhaps he’d end up more princely than knightly, dressed in some overly restrictive ensemble? That was what bugged him the most, not something he didn’t like but that it’d keep him from movi-

“I should have known I’d find you here, Big Blue,” He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who’d said that; he fought to make his grimace a grin.

“Long time no see, Rouge,” Sonic said, keeping his eyes shut so as to avoid the smirk that was surely on her face, “I figured you’d have already picked out your outfit, given that you planned this whole shindig.”

“Oh I have, you don’t have to worry about that sugar,” The hedgehog couldn’t help but hear another set of footsteps come to a halt just in front of him, “Why don’t you go stand next to him, Shadow. You two are matching after all.”

At that, Sonic’s eyes snapped open. Rouge nigh perpetual flirtatious gaze was present, as expected, but just left of her was a figure more obscured by boxes than he was. If it wasn’t for the dark quills poking out from both sides of the tower, and the presence of some metal boots, identification would have been impossible. Without warning, the figure stepped directly toward him, clearly unable to tell where it was going. Sonic took a step to the left only for Shadow to fill where he’d been standing.

“I’m glad I left sorting Red’s outfit to Tails, Amy must have predicted I’d have my hands full,” That was a half-truth, Amy and Tails had talked the bat into handing over that job after hearing what she’d schemed for the guardian, “I’ll see you tonight then, assumedly on Amy’s arm?”

The bat slinked off laughing through the automatic doors, only half covering her mouth with her hand. As soon as she was out of view, the blue blur returned to his prior head raised and eyes closed position. That was just a taste of what was to come tonight… at least the birthday boy would get a laugh out of it.

He opened one eye, glancing to his partner in embarrassment. Though the black hedgehog was a natural scowler, but the look on his face was truly tremendous. He was staring into the box in front of his head as though he was willing it to explode. It looked like, at any second, he might just faint beneath his own exhaustion and frustration at this whole situation.

Seeing a silver lining to this dower situation, and an opportunity to distract himself, Sonic opened his mouth, “So, Shad-

“Not a word,” Shadow cut him off, “I’ll be dealing with your nonsense enough later, I’m sure.”

“Aww, come on, I want to guess what you’re going as. Rouge has a sense of humour; it’ll be something like a vampire, right? That way it won’t be hard for you to stay in character,” Sonic teased.

For a moment, icy silence hung in the air. The dark hedgehog’s eyes closed, “I don’t care what she’s picking out.”

“W-Wait, you trusted Rouge to pick your outfit?” After he asked that though, realisation struck him. Trust had nothing to do with it.

“I don’t care,” Shadow flatly insisted.

“That’s what your mouth says, but your face says you didn’t have a choice,” The blue blur smirked, “Amy stopped her from picking Knuckles’ costume for a reason you-

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open, and the footfalls derived from a familiar set of boots cut Sonic off. His blood ran cold as a long box was added as a new peak for the mountain he was carrying. He scarcely managed to see a set of pink ears line up in front of him.

“Alright my darling, that’ll do,” Amy Rose had returned, Amy Rose had finished her creation, “Let’s get you home and try it all on!”

“Alright, let’s do it,” He managed to grin as he poked his head around, locking eyes with the girl in red.

Immediately he was of two halves, the look on her face had split him in twain. She was beaming with excitement; the red on her cheeks, the smile on her muzzle and brightness in her eyes was overbearing. The hedgehog was so plainly happy with what she’d made, so overjoyed that all she’d planned had come together. That happiness struck him to his core and made the waiting worth it, but it also brought him certainty that this outfit would be his undoing.

She only managed to walk a couple of paces, her happiness unyieldingly blunt in her step, when she came to a sudden halt and looked to her left, “Shadow? Is that you?”

The set of legs beneath a mound of boxes gave no response, so Sonic spoke for it, “Rouge is picking his outfit for tonight.”

“Oh, Shadow…” The sympathy in Amy’s voice only lasted for a moment, being quickly replaced by a lecturing tone as she puffed up her cheeks, “Well, after tonight I’m sure you’ll have learned your lesson, just as I’m sure my darling Sonic will.”

Up until her last claim, seeing Amy talk down to the once named ultimate life form had been the highlight of the speedster’s day. Instead, it was just another source of conflicting joy and fear. Like two ships crossing in the night, without another word, Sonic walked past Shadow to catch up with Amy.

He wasn’t used to moving like this, walking slow to keep everything balanced. Usually, the only thing he could see was what was directly in front of him, now he was reliant on Amy to carve him a path through the people walking Station Square. Just looking at her from behind all these boxes, the sight of her red dress and boots, was conjuring more theories. He’d ended up a werehog due to one of Eggman’s schemes, would she make herself red riding hood? Maybe they’d visited so many places because she’d been looking to perfectly recreate that style?

Haphazardly poking his head out from behind the pile, seeing an opening, he rushed forward to walk next to her, “So…”

“So?” She cocked her head, plainly already aware of what he was going to ask but enjoying dragging it out.

“Now that you’ve picked everything out, I get to know what I’ll be dressed as. That was the deal,” He reminded her.

“The deal was that I get to pick out your outfit and you don’t get to know what it is,” She responded, rubbing her chin and pretending to be in deep thought, “I don’t remember saying I had to tell you what it was.”

“So, I can just open the boxes now?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” A sing song tone had entered her voice, “Besides, do you want to reveal my decision with all these eyes around?” That was a fair point, if he was set to be the nutcracker for an evening, he didn’t much want to pull the outfit out now, “My flat’s just a couple blocks away, after all this, I’m sure you can wait five more minutes.”

“Just five minutes till the embarrassment really starts,” He hummed, being forced in behind her by the passing of a group.

“Don’t you trust me, my darling?” She sounded from ahead.

“Ames, I trust you with my life,” Sonic honestly responded, but he wanted to match her teasing, “But I know not to trust you with the little things, you know you can take advantage of those.”

“Well, if my choice really embarrasses you, we can always swap. I’m sure I’ll look quite dashing in what I’ve picked you out, almost as handsome as you would,” She grinned back at him again and he had to duck behind the boxes, for whatever reason his face felt hot.

“Y-Yeah, well,” He muttered, biting his tongue. The only comebacks the came to mind played similarly to the half compliment she’d just given; he didn’t have the will for that sort of teasing right now.

As a result of his heavy tongue, the remaining walk back to her place was relatively quiet and left him with far too much time for speculation. The elevator trip up to her apartment was even more difficult, being side by side with her meant perpetually catching her excited grin and the dual mirrors in the metal box didn’t much help him avoid it. Amy Rose would never truly hurt him, physically or emotionally, he knew that for sure, but teasing was more than fair game. After all the times he’d jokingly run off and talked about dates, this did rather feel like karma.

He didn’t drag his feet though as they alighted the elevator and took the small walk to her door. The instant it was unlocked however, the scent of flowers just about knocked him from his feet. He’d been in Amy’s flat a handful of times, mostly just to escape the rain or crash for a night, and it never failed to perfectly reflect its inhabitant.

It was as if he’d stepped into valentine’s day as he made his way through the door and into her combined kitchen-dining room; pink, red and white were absolutely everywhere, from the tablecloth to the walls to the painted wooden fixtures. Even in the middle of the table, perfectly pristine and unwilted, sat a large bouquet that contained half a dozen red roses and various pink flowers he couldn’t identify. Admittedly only this room was that overpowering, her living room was far more regular looking, but the space’s first impression was certainly strong.

Finally, Sonic managed to set down the ludicrous pile of boxes on the kitchen table. Quickly, he managed to separate out the round ribboned hatbox that contained his gift for Knuckles and set it aside. A cold sweat swept down his back as he looked upon the four other boxes, he’d been made to carry for so long. While only one of them truly had any heft, Amy had made sure to have them sealed as though they were presents. The serious of difficult to carry shapes this had resulted in were not only difficult to carry but truly gave zero clarity regarding their contents. If he had to guess, he’d say the heaviest box contained shoes, but he didn’t have to wait any longer!

As Sonic reached to undo the first bow however, a single finger came down to hold the knot in place, “Not yet, my darling.”

“Eh?” He looked up only to be met with the pink hedgehog’s bright green eyes, “What’s holding up the show?”

“What you said before hurt me so badly,” Amy pouted, “I need to prove that you can trust me with the silly little things.”

“What’re you getting at Ames?” His bit back a stutter, totally lost about what was on its way.

Bounce still in her step despite the theatrics, the pink hedgehog slipped around the table and into her kitchen. She quickly returned with a pink dishtowel in her hands and a cunning look in her eyes. Immediately Sonic understood her plan and an embarrassed, wiry, smile crept onto his lips.

“I said you don’t get to know what your costume is,” When it became apparent that he didn’t understand her plan, she smiled oh so sweetly, “If your blindfolded, you’ll have to trust me to put your costume on.”

“Really, Ames? I can’t even dress myself?” He snorted, trying to play off her suggestion as a joke.

“Well, considering your usual attire, I’m not sure you know how to,” She only half fought back her laugh, “Have you ever even worn a shirt?”

“I’ve…” His mind went blank as he thought back, “Worn jackets?”

“You never even button them up though. You just sling them over your shoulders and decide that’s good enough, regardless of the weather,” She correctly established, but, rather than cockiness or excitement, a certain sincerity crossed her face, “I want your first view of it to be the full picture, everything put together,” She seemed to be aware of just how foolish this was, but it seemed like she’d planned it too, “There’s not that much to it, just some accessories, it’ll barely take me five minutes.”

Sonic hesitated, feeling his face grow warmer. He’d said no to Amy in embarrassing situations like this countless times, she’d ask for a date and he’d run off and she’d follow, that was the way things worked. Sure, he’d let her catch up in the end and they’d hang out for a while, usually doing something close to what she had planned, but by that time he’d have cooled off and come up with quips. With how late he’d left all this, there was no time or space to run. Unless he truly said no to her, he’d just had to face whatever she’d schemed up. Though he said no to her a lot, it’d never been wholeheartedly.

“At this point, what’s five more minutes,” He sighed, running his hand through his quills, “If it’s really what you want, then fine,” It was just so embarrassing, he had to do something, “No pictures or anything until after I’ve seen it though, alright?”

By the time he’d dared look down her eyes were sparkling like emeralds, enthusiasm had claimed her, “Deal!” She pushed the tablecloth into his gut, practically bouncing, “Put it on and don’t peek, I’ll try to be quick.”

Swallowing his embarrassment, the hedgehog tied the cloth behind his head. For a moment there was silence between them, by the wind on his nose he could tell she was doing something to check he was truly blinded.

Suddenly, a set of hands were on his shoulders, “You’ll need to bend down just a little,” He acquiesced immediately, and her fingers left him, “Now, where to start…”

“The beginning probably,” His nerves had forced a quip loose, he really hoped his muzzle wasn’t as red as it felt.

Her snort, followed by the shifting of boxes, only made that heat worse. Something about her contact, so gentle when she knew she could be so strong, struck a chord deep in his gut. Amy rivalled Knuckles in terms of strength, Sonic had seen her swing her hammer hard enough to behead metallic titans. Having her take control away from him and then so gently ask him for something she could take was just so heart wrenching yet surreal.

Her next contact sent the same static up his spine; she took hold of his right hand, raising it to be more accessible. Her fingers went from loosely locked around his wrist to fiddling with the hem of his glove and soon that garment was fully removed. Soon after, equally gently, a glove made from a thicker material with a wider cuff made its way onto his hand.

Reflexively, Sonic raised his left for easy access only to hear, “Thank you,” Uttered in response.

Trying to guess an outfit from the internal feeling of a single glove was foolish at best but when he closed his fist, he didn’t feel pointed nails. Well, that probably ruled out him going as the werehog. Puzzlement crept into his mind again as she finished with the left hand; the gloves were matching, that was clear.

Before he could think any further, her voice caught his ears, “Turn around.”

He spun on his heel, trying to make the action look cooler than it had any right to be. The hedgehog felt anything but cool however when she stretched over his back, pressing a loose shirt to his back before pulling the sleeves along his arms. It took her a little bit of shifting to fit the holes in its back, likely custom cut in the shop to fit his spines. He managed to keep cool until she moved at his neck, plainly fiddling with the shirt’s collar, before reaching around to do up his buttons. Did there have to be so many of them? This was why he never closed his jackets, it felt so restrictive! He was getting hotter and hotter in the face.

Well, it was a fun excuse to think about. She seemed to hang on the top two sets of buttons for a moment, as if debating closing them, before opting not to. Now with two distinct articles of clothing on, Sonic had no idea what he was set to be, but he felt reasonably confident ruling out that they were going as a knight and a princess. The next garb served to confirm that theory, it was some sort of loose waistcoat that she’d slung over his shoulders like he would a regular jacket.

Things got more confusing with the addition of what felt to be a large belt that was tied around his waist. That wasn’t too bad but then he felt another’s buckle on his shoulder, soon followed by her hand slipping beneath the supposed waistcoat and around his back; for whatever reason, she’d opted to bring that second belt out through one of the spine holes in his back. It was so bizarre, was there something on the belt? He was getting the feeling that he was being dressed as some sort of handsome prince when she reached for his midriff again, looping something new across the belt on his gut.

“A-Are we about done?” His stutter caught him off guard and shut him up.

“Very almost,” She sounded so pleased with herself, but that sound was followed by the dragging of a chair across carpet followed by her hands again arriving on his shoulders, “Sit down, the chair’s just behind you.”

He followed her lead only to then feel her, left hand grazing across her shoulders, walk around to face his front. After a little bit more shuffling he felt her hands in his quills and was relatively confident a crown of some sort was coming. The end result was strange though, he felt something pass between his quills and then heard the familiar sound of fabric knotting. As if that wasn’t a strange enough addition, the touch of her hand on his ear was followed by something cool and metallic being left behind. If he was set to be a prince, it wasn’t like any he could visualise.

“Wait right there, don’t peek, I need to get one last thing!” The excitement had put a tremble into her voice, matched only by the sound of the skip in her step as she rushed past him and through a door.

They hadn’t been exceptionally talkative, but something about the still silence her absence brought perturbed him. Once again, he had been forced into a position of patience. There was a reason he was known as the blue blur and not the azure anchor, stillness like this, unless he was snoozing or distracting himself some other way, just wasn’t his style. Though his face felt cooler, his thoughts were lingering on the various sites she’d made contact across his body. Words like intimate weren’t commonly thought of, let alone used, by the hedgehog, but feeling her fasten button after button couldn’t have been described any other day.

She was just so bouncy and jubilant most of the time, capable of throwing herself at him without a care. Amy Rose wasn’t afraid to use her strength, in moments of need and casual excitement, but her potential for softness always hung beneath those efforts. He’d seen her gently look after Cream and handle flowers with such softness. She was an adventure in and of herself, capable of being so surprising. Maybe that was why, no longer how far or for how long he ran, he’d always let her catch him again, eventually.

Sonic heard the door reopen, but Amy’s pace was bizarrely slow. He could hear the rubbing of fabric and the pad of very slow footsteps. Was she wearing some sort of long dress? That would validate his prince and princess theory, but he really didn’t feel like what he understood of his outfit matched it. The fabric rubbing sounded like some sort of strange flapping, it was as if she was waddling in her rapid approach.

“Here’s the final part of your ensemble, just a little something for you to carry!” She shouted bringing his head to snap, eyes still blind.

“Ames, wha-

He was cut off by a sudden form jumping into his lap, a form that weighted the exact same as Amy Rose but was weirdly textured. Whatever she was wearing, it was covered the entirety of her lower half. Anticipation and contemplation built toward climax as he felt her hands on her shoulders again. The feeling of her wrists sliding beyond the sides of his head absolutely renewed the warmth on his muzzle.

While his vision had been very red, the blindfold had been thin enough that his eyes barely had to adjust. He was greeted by Amy’s green eyes and wide grin first, but his eyes were quickly drawn to her forehead and a seashell headdress. From there his gaze was brought down and came to collide with a loose-fitting red shirt. Its sleeves were long rippling, almost like there were waves in fabric. Just beneath her midriff, he identified the source of her slow movement; made of what looked to be a red plastic material, dotted with sequins, was a fish tail.

As he looked down at himself too, it all clicked. Brown mariners gloves for handling ropes, a loose white shirt, a blue overcoat, buckles and belts and sashes. Sonic reached up, feeling what she’d attached to his ear and put through his quills, he was wearing an earring and an orange bandana. She’d made him pirate and herself a mermaid.

“Do you trust me now?” Mermaid spoke with mocking befitting of his stupidity.

“With my life,” The pirate cheekily grinned back.

“What about with everything else?” She asked, putting on a joking pout.

“Well,” He stuck his tongue out, “I trust you with my outfit at least.”

“I suppose that’s a start,” Amy hummed, “I’ll be trusting you to carry me to Tails’ airship and back here tonight, I’m afraid that walking’s not my strong suit.”

“Well, swimming up to a flying island does sound difficult,” He mock rubbed his chin, in thought.

“And I’ve got just the thing to help you,” She reached across and knocked the top off the last, and heaviest, of the boxes. Hitched on two of her fingers, up came a set of brown, “I figured, unlike everything else, you could handle the shoes,” A grin, more teasing than any prior, claimed her muzzle, “You’re used to those after all.”

He took them from her, matching her expression, “Didn’t want to leave the gloves up to chance though, good call.”

“Well, it’s not every day you let me hold your hand,” She repositioned herself, sliding to rest her shoulder on his, “So, seems like I planned this all pretty well then.”

“I can’t deny it,” He shrugged, more than content. Sure it was all a little tight around the chest, but it could be worse and at least his legs were free.

“I’d love to bask in this more, but we should probably get going, the actual party still needs set up and it seems like Rouge could use the extra hands,” The pink hedgehog leaned up and reached for the table, gathering up the boxes that contained their respective gifts for Knuckles and the keys to her flat.

“Only one set of feet though, apparently,” Sonic joked, shifting to hold her before rising, only to be struck with a realisation, “With us decked out like this, Shadow’s gotta have drawn the short straw.”

“Try not to tease him too much, he’ll be embarrassed enough as it is,” Amy half insisted as she was walked toward the door.

Between her as the arms and him as the legs, they managed to make it out and close the door, “Yeah well, if he’s hit rock bottom then I can’t push him down any lower.”

Their back and forth over how much to tease Shadow didn’t get very far by the time they’d reached the bottom floor. The moment they arrived there though, the talk didn’t stand a chance of surviving; with Amy in his arms, Sonic shot off like a rocket. He tore across pavement, skidding and weaving around people and over roads as if they were nothing.

In a matter of moments they’d reached the city’s edge and then, a further three moments later, they’d ran across enough green grass to sight Tail’s workshop. Above, just visible from this distance, Angel Island was hanging. He couldn’t help thinking that Knucklehead would probably be surprised he’d shown up on time, let alone with a halfway decent gift and a good outfit. It’d be a surprise within the greater surprise.

The hedgehog duo slid into the open door of the massive workshop, finding the scent of oil quickly caught up with them. At the heart of the space stood the overlarge plane that Tails had modified to transport not only the party people but the party goods. The mechanic himself was to the back of the room and looked to have just finished putting on his own costume. It was jokingly low tech compared to his usual work, plainly made from carboard boxes with slap on buttons made from loose junk, but the youngster had made himself into a carboard robot. He’d scarcely be identifiable if it wasn’t for the outfit’s cut face and tail holes.

“Hey Tails,” Sonic called across, getting his attention, “Cool costume!”

“You look so cute!” Amy shouted from his arms.

“Thanks guys,” The youngster beamed before throwing a knowing look, “I see Amy caught up with you.”

“Well, I mean, it looks more like I caught her,” Once the words fell from his mouth, he realised he hadn’t played this whole situation off as well as he’d planned. Instead, he tried to change the subject, “What did you end up picking out for Knuckles?”

“Oh, I just put the finishing touches on it,” He picked up what looked to be a heavy-duty briefcase, flipping it open, “I figured he’d want something cool and practical, something that could double as a proper gift.”

Inside was a set of ornate hand axes, a metal breastplate, a pair of metal shoes and a traditional knight’s helm. The whole get up was admittedly giving Sonic some very strange flashbacks to events he was only half certain were dreamed, but he couldn’t deny that the metalwork looked superb. It was all exactly to Knuckles’ style and, if that perhaps dream was to be believed, it’d look great on-

The sound of fast moment coming to a sudden stop, punctuated by three quick footsteps, pulled the blue blur from his thoughts. That was a sound Sonic knew well and could only associate with one prickly fella. It was finally time to see what the bat had made of him.

“Hey Big Blue, fancy seeing you here on ti-

In an instant, the prior gloating confidence seemed to hitch in Rouge throat as Sonic turned and the two pairs came eye to eye. The blue blur found his counterpart dressed in red and brown, with knotted ropes punctuating leather shoes and gloves. A belt with a golden buckle, a red overcoat with shoulder flares, a tricorn hat and an eyepatch made for a dissimilar yet still much too familiar view. The familiarity was again shoved to the forefront with Rouge, the tail that’d come to replace her legs was black and she’d opted for a pale crop top with a matching shark tooth necklace, but the intent so blatantly matched Amy.

Somehow, just as they’d ended up at the same costume shop, both girls had settled on the same concept to share with their partners who’d waited far too long to pick out an outfit.

“Well,” Rouge blinked, for once entirely deadpan and serious, “Two of us need to change.”

[kiruuuuu]

Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

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“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

.

~*~

.

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

.

He needs to recover.

.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

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~*~

.

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

.

~*~

.

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

.

~*~

.

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out  E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

[leejafythe]

Prompt #9 - Caretaking

Pairing: Leeja and Thancred TW/CW: Mental Health, guilt

Leeja’s guilt is getting the better of her after having to fight Lahabrea in Thancred’s body. Now she wants to make sure he’s okay and not mad at her

______________________________________________________________

Leeja paced about outside of the Phrontistery in Ul’dah, trying to bring herself to go inside to check on Thancred who had been hurried there after the explosive ending to Operation Archon. She kept being told she couldn’t see him for the first few days which, while understandable, she was getting no news on how his recovery was going and she was feeling more and more frustrated. It was bad enough she did her absolute best to hold back the strength she would normally unleash when fighting an enemy, knowing that she ran the risk of either killing him by injury or sending his body into shock after removing Lahabrea’s hold on him and the injuries to boot. She had to make sure her party was well aware of the situation and left the Ascian to her. When Minfilia finally managed to secure permission for her to visit him, she had suddenly become a nervous wreck as she tried to formulate an apology in her head. “Miss? Are yer comin’ in?” She stopped her pacing and mumbling and nodded.

She had been given special permission to visit after hours due to being called upon frequently since taking down the Black Wolf, cementing her title of Warrior of Light, making it nigh on impossible to visit during regular hours. She followed the chirurgeon though the hauntingly quiet infirmary as he took her to a private room that had been organized for Thancred to recover in peace, letting the guard know she was fine to enter and leave when she wanted to. Thank the Twelve for Minfilia pulling those strings. I need to thank her. She nervously picked at the skin around her nails as the door opened. She had a vague understanding of the state Lahabrea had left him in and it infuriated her. She wanted to hurt him, make him pay for the hells he had put everyone through but it wouldn’t have been fair to Thancred and she would have never forgiven herself. “Will yer be here long?”

“As long as you allow me to, aye” she gave him a sad smile.

“Dependin’ on how he is on the morrow, we can decide from there” the chirurgeon pat her shoulder gently. “Don’t worry lass, we’re takin’ good care of him.”

Leeja quietly moved the chair next to the bed and curled up in it as best she could, though it was uncomfortable to do so. She sighed softly and drew soft shapes on the back of his hand. She bit her lip for a moment before deciding to do something she had never done before. She removed her boots, placing them under the chair and curled up carefully next to him on the bed. She felt incredibly protective over him, the fear that Lahabrea would return put her on edge and she found it so incredibly frustrating. “I’m sorry, Thancred. I did my best, I just fear it wasn’t enough.” She kept fighting off sleep, though it made her very jumpy toward everything. She couldn’t fight it long enough though, it began getting too tough to stay awake and she fell into a light sleep curled up next to him.

Come morning, Leeja woke to a light pressure between her ears that caused her to purr gently. She nuzzled into the hand and heard a quiet chuckle, her ears perking upwards as she sat up to look at him properly in the daylight. She hadn’t realized quite how fragile Lahabrea had left him and it made her angry, though she could see the cuts and bruises from her fight with him. “Hi” she smiled softly at him, turning to face him properly.

“Hi. When did you get here?” He attempted to sit up on his own and struggled. Leeja shifted her position, letting him lean on her while she piled the pillows behind him to make it a little more comfortable.

“Got here late last night. Minfilia’s managed to pull some strings so I could come visit you. Thankfully the healers don’t mind the fact I fell asleep. Unless you tell me you don’t want me here, I’m going to be here all day. I’m signed off of duties for the next three days” she climbed off the bed and sat on the chair. “How are you feeling?” Stupid question to ask you idiot.

“Would you like the truth or a lie?” He forced a smile at her, making her heart hurt.

“That was a stupid question, sorry” she bit her lip and picked the skin around her nails.

“‘Tis quite alright. If it helps, I feel much better with you here” she blushed lightly at his comment.

As the door opened, Yda walked in with a in her arms “good morning! Oh Leeja! I had no idea you’d be here!” Leeja shot her a look, only to be met with a dopey looking grin in return. “I’ve got Thancred’s breakfast since apparently he hasn’t eaten yet” she placed the tray on the table next to the bed. “The healers also told me you had a visitor all night, though I should have figured it would be you since you didn’t return to the Waking Sands after Minfilia said you were visiting Ul’dah for a few hours” she smirked at Leeja as the miqo’te’s face burned with embarrassment.

“Yda, be nice to the poor girl.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just thought it was amusing is all” Yda grinned at Leeja who shot her a death glare.

“Yda I love you but I’m not afraid to punch you. Because I will and you damn well know why.” That recieved a bark of laughter from the pugilist as Thancred smirked slightly.

“She hurts if she hits you, Yda. It’s not a threat to take lightly.” “I hate you both” Leeja groaned.

As the two Scions gently teased her, she noticed Thancred trying to reach for his breakfast and struggled. Leeja, without thinking, stood up and passed it to him as she made sure that his tea was also within reach. She sensed the two watching her as her ears fell flat “wh-what?” Thancred smiled at her, though she could see the hints of sadness in it. “S-sorry… I didn’t think that–”

“Thank you, Leeja” he squeezed her hand gently as she relaxed. Yda couldn’t hide her grin as she noticed the behaviour between the two. Leeja sat on the bed next to him, seemingly as an automatic habit. Yda couldn’t help but watch, fascinated that Thancred of all people seemed to be relaxed with Leeja’s presence there.

“Well, I’ll let you two love birds be alone together” Yda stood up, laughing as Leeja’s face burned red again. “Minfilia said she would be by later, as did Y’shtola. So expect potential scoldings if you misbehave.” 

“Thank you for that lovely warning, dear Yda. You can inform them that I am indeed behaving and if I try and do something wrong I’m being told off enough by the healers” Thancred couldn’t help the smile that appeared. Yda made her goodbyes and left. 

Not even five minutes had passed until she heard Yda’s voice crackle on her linkpearl “you seem to be able to tame the womaniser, well done.” Leeja swallowed hard as she heard Yda giggle and the linkpearl fell quiet.

“Are you alright? Not getting sick?” He looked her over and she cleared her throat.

“No no, I’m fine. Yda just teasing me over linkpearl” she smiled at him. “I am sorry about just… Assuming you needed help. I shouldn’t have done so and that wasn’t fair to you.”

“There’s naught to be sorry for. In all honesty, I hate admitting to Yda that I need help. I’ve known her a long time and she does rather enjoy teasing me about it” he smiled as she giggled quietly. “I am grateful you do so though.” 

______________________

Days turned into a few weeks until Thancred was finally allowed to return to the Waking Sands to continue his recovery, mostly because he was insisting he was fine to the healers. Leeja was unconvinced but knew that he knew his limits better than anyone and so arguing with him was pointless. “You better rest, Thancred. I will tie you down to the bed” she crossed her arms at him.

“Is that a threat or a promise? Because that sounds like it could rather fun” he smirked at her, causing her to punch him in the shoulder.

“Yeah and you don’t get laid until you get better. Understood?” He rubbed his shoulder and nodded at her.

“Painfully so, my lady” he pouted as she giggled.

“Sorry lo– sorry Thancred” she grinned and sat on the edge of the bed. “Can I get you anything? Yda’s dragging me out to train against my will so I’d rather do something meaningful” he shook his head and just gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry, my dear. Not this time. Should I need anything I won’t hesitate to call on you, even if it’s just some company” he chuckled as he settled in for a nap. She leaned over and kissed his cheek gently before getting up.

“I’ll come and check on you later but you better behave, Y’shtola will tell me otherwise” she grinned at him as he waved her off.

By the time Leeja and Yda had worn each other out, the sun had long gone down and the desert heat gave way to chilly winds and it made being all sweaty and tired uncomfortable. Tataru had made sure that they had a bath to relax into with dinner ready for when they want it. Leeja stretched and made her way to gather clean clothes out of her armour, bathe and settle in to eat. By the time she was done and checked the chronometre on the the wall and it was late, close to 11 bells at night. She bid goodnight to Yda and Y’shtola and made her way down the corridor to the wing of the personal quarters of the Scions and stopped outside Thancred’s room. She leaned toward the door, checking if he was still awake without going into the room and heard nothing but his breathing. As she went to walk away, she heard the faint sounds of panic inside.

She opened the door quickly and rushed in to discover he was having what appeared to be an intense nightmare. She sat on the edge of the bed and gripped his shoulders tightly, trying to to force him out of the nightmare as she called his name repeatedly. His eyes flew open and he tried to attack her, confusion and fear on his face, but thankfully Leeja could see it coming and moved out of the way quickly. “Thancred it’s Leeja! You were having a nightmare!” She grabbed his wrists and waited for his mind to return to the present. When he realised where he was, he settled and stopped trying to hit her. She smiled softly at him “are you with me?” He nodded and she released his arms. “Good. I heard you beginning to panic and thought it safer wake you rather than letting you suffer it.”

He rubbed his face gently and sighed. “Thank you, for waking me.” “Do you want to talk about you?” Her voice was gentle as she stayed sat with him.

“No, not at the moment. I’m not ready to” his voice was quiet and he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. She hummed for a moment before standing and walking to the door to close it. Thancred watched her, thinking she was leaving but let out a quiet sigh of relief when she didn’t. Leeja smiled warmly at him “shift over, I’m going to be on guard for your nightmares but you are going to have to give me a little bit of space” she pulled her slippers off and watched him move over a bit. 

She climbed under the covers with him and settled in. “Do… Do you mind if I ask a request?” Leeja look at him and nodded.

“Ask away, as long as it doesn’t involve going outside or murdering anyone, you’ve got me for the night” she smiled and laid on her side. He nodded, seemingly nervous. “Thancred, you can just ask. I am happy to do anything that you ask. Within reason of course.” He bit his lip and forced a smile.

“It’s nothing. Thanks for staying the night.” She didn’t believe him but didn’t push it.

“You’re welcome, love” she shuffled closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder, resting her hand on his chest carefully as she felt his arm close around her. She smiled and hummed softly, trying to help him fall asleep again.

[sophi-s]

Cost of Kindness

Chapter II: Fear me not

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 6373

Characters: Raphael, Original Character (OC)

Warnings: Blood and injury, suffocating, violence, Raphael is sad :(

Summary:

Nicola is quick to find trust in herself and quick to lose it. She doesn't realise however, that the man she fears sees something in her others cannot. And this something is what made him save her life again.

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Through the few short weeks, the apocalypse has taught the dying Humanity many different things. Resourcefulness, cunning, true strength of unity… and among other things, the cruel life had taught them, was bravery in its purest form. Bravery that isn't simply an absence of fear but the power to overcome it. Stay cool-headed even in the most extreme scenarios, allowing them to face down even the most horrifying demons and either get away mostly unscathed or sometimes even beat them if they were lucky. Without those traits, survival was nigh impossible these days.

This last very important lesson however, Nicola seemed to have quite spectacularly failed to learn. Even as lucky as she was - considering that she lived thus far - she never was the bravest creature in this God-forsaken world. Smart? Sometimes. Ingenious? Sure. But brave? Not really, no. Especially now, as she was staring up at the angel who she decided to trust not even a minute before and who has just ruthlessly murdered a demon with little to no remorse in a very, very sickening way. Her muscles refused to move as though Raphael had already used the spell of paralysis against her as she watched the corners of his mouth, previously quirked upwards in a small smile, slowly descend. His expression in the matter of seconds morphed into confusion when a quiet sob escaped her. This horrifying, agonized screeching was still ringing in Nicola's ears, the demon kept writhing before her eyes and she couldn't help but wonder.. what did it feel like? To have one's life drained like that. Because judging by the sounds the Goreclaw produced, it must've been truly torturous.

"Human…?"

The soft voice of Raphael snapped her out of this strange haze and the sight of his hand extended towards her once again made her heart jump and begin to race. Her mind was telling her that if Raphael wanted to harm her, he would've done it already. Besides, moments before the demon came, he healed the cut on her forehead demanding nothing in return. Only because he could and - for some reason - wanted. But the chilling claws of panic gripping her throat and the fight-or-flight instincts kicking in, screaming inside her head made the voice of reason merely an inaudible whisper drowning in the sea of primal fear of the possible approaching danger. And right now, her body definitely settled on "flight".

"No! "

She yelped and tried to get away but her heels met the corpse behind her and it caused her to trip over the husk of the once frightening demon. With an expression of shock, Raphael retracted his hand as her rear painfully met the tough and damp floor. There was utter horror gleaming in her emerald green eyes, matched by lack of comprehension in his.

"Why are you frightened?"

And he has the audacity to ask why. Nicola thought bitterly as she started to scramble away. At the first glance, Raphael seemed so kind, he was such a gentle soul. Even his face, despite the collapsed cheeks, has the most trustworthy look to it Nicola had ever seen. This kind is the worst. Makes you trust them, lower your guard.. It seems she'd conveniently forgotten about one fact she noticed moments after she found Raphael. He's completely, absolutely and utterly insane. Unpredictable. At first he couldn't even remember his own name or how he got here. Who can guarantee her that he won't have an abrupt change of heart and lash out at her? She wasn't going to take chances. Leaping up to her feet, Nicola blindly runs off into the dark pathway she initially emerged from, her shotgun left forgotten on the floor just as she heard an almost frantic-sounding call echoing from the haphazard hide-out alongside the sound of rustling feathers and cloth.

" NICOLAAA! "

To her, this shout may have as well been a roar of a Fallen that not so long ago nearly succeeded in ending her life. A golden hue on the walls glistening with wetness trembled and started to move. No one had to say that out loud for her to realise that the angel was actually chasing after her. And to think that merely seconds ago Raphael was struggling with standing up properly… The pain of her overworked legs was gone, forgotten. They carried Nicola like a completely different entity, moving on their own, tireless and strong with only one purpose. Get away. Survive. Escape.

How Nicola managed to get to the point where she started her sightseeing tour of the sewers without any source of light and without tripping over all those bodies she found before was a mystery even to her. Even the slickness of the ladder didn't phase her as she pushed the lid off and quite literally pounced out of the hole in the sidewalk like a puma. She only hoped she'd managed to lose her pursuit in the winding corridors. Placing the lid back where it belonged, Nicola immediately booked it for the nearest alley just to be sure.

Once she was more or less hidden, she leaned against a crumbling wall, breathed out silently and covered her mouth to muffle the uncontrollable sobs. She thought that for once she found something that wasn't about to end her where she stood but it seems that the Universe has taken it as a matter of some twisted honor to slaughter every single member of the human race. This is just unfair. Sure, there was a lot of people who deserved to be smited into oblivion by the God himself for what they'd done but if the apocalypse was supposed to be some kind of punishment, then for fuck's sake why does the entire race has to suffer for it?! How is this even fair ?!

It's not. That's how.

Nicola looked up at the night sky glittering with numerous stars, winking at her like thousands of watching eyes as tears spilled down her cheeks, leaving clean trails in the dust and grime. Eventually, her heartbeat started slowing down, her breath evening out and the adrenaline gradually receding from her system. Now she had a moment to clear her head and think. She had no doubts she can be forgiven for running away. Every person in their right mind would do the same in her situation. Nicola refused to die like this.. But on the other hand… This panic in Raphael's voice, the almost childishly innocent smile as he closed the cut on her skin and the gentleness to his every move as he tried to heal a defenseless kitten… God, this is so… so… Nicola couldn't even find the right word. Despite what the angel did to that Goreclaw, no one said he meant to hurt her too. He may be crazy but that doesn't mean he's a psychotic murderer. This was a demon and angels rightfully hate demons! In his mind there was most likely nothing wrong with that. Besides, she gave Raphael no reason to think of her as a target. All of the sudden, Nicola felt unbelievably foolish for running off like that. Raphael saved her life after all. And she acted nothing if not horribly ungrateful. Should I go back? She'll have to anyway. In a hurry, she left her weapon back down there and Haven was short on those… Dang it…

She sighed. It honestly made her feel like a moron. Damned survival instincts… Sure, they were keeping her alive all the time but sometimes they were just so incredibly annoying. Why would they make her run away from someone who protected her even though he had no reason to do so and nothing to gain from it? From the first angel who seemed to care what fate befalls her? Goodness me, this is so stupid… Nicola shook her head and was about to walk back to the entrance to the sewer when she noticed something in an adjacent alley. Seeing a pair of hungry yellow lights slowly moving closer to her, just above the ground made her heart drop. Her sight has long got used to darkness and so it took her only a fraction of a second to notice curved, black horns above them, long and spindly arms on either side of a slender body ending in a long, scaly lube. A snake-like tail…

With a pounding heart, Raphael quickly moved through the sewer that has long ago turned into his hide-out. Tracking down the strange little human who unexpectedly visited him in his "lair" was harder than it seemed. She was way faster than he would have given her credit for. By all means, in her short legs she shouldn't be that quick. Fear does strange things to people.. But why was she afraid? This short meeting was inarguably the most wonderful thing that happened to him ever since he left the White City. He couldn't quite remember how long ago it was but definitely too long for his taste. All he recalled was the horrible, sharp bite every time he repeated the ritual to finish his greatest creation, followed by a short-lived feeling of elation soon to be replaced by deathly cold within the centre of his being. Each time getting worse and worse until he couldn't stand it anymore. Quickly descending into madness caused by never-ending pain and the chill of his damaged soul, the invisible wound in his chest as cold as a forgotten grave, he knew he can't keep doing this. And so, after having lost his purpose, there was no reason for him to stay anymore. He refused to disappoint his brethren.

You've fulfilled your task. They don't need you anymore.

Raphael halted for a moment, blinking to try and chase away the taunting whisper in the back of his head. It is not true.

"You're wrong. They do. More than ever…"

In the premature Endwar, Heaven's Legions probably wished he was with them. But that doesn't change a thing. He's not going back. Not after he failed to save Ithuriel as an unexplainable surge of panic paralyzed both his hands and his magic. It still sometimes haunts his damaged memories… The young warrior slowly languished from a poisoned wound, grew weaker and weaker with every moment and the archangel couldn't move, couldn't even speak to call for help. Just.. stood there and watched unable to act. Until… A painful twinge through his chest made him wince. No. He can never allow something like this to happen again. He cannot fail them.. He refused to let anyone down like that. Ever.

Frankly speaking, Raphael started to wonder when he'd taken to talking to himself. Solitude clearly wasn't serving him… It's been so long since he had anyone to speak to and even longer since his mind felt this clear. This woman, Nicola, told him she is a human. Considering what has happened to the Third Kingdom, Raphael found it hard to believe. But the spark of life in her soul… it really did feel human. She wasn't a fiend from the Black Depths, nor was she of his own kin. Earth was where she belonged. But there was something in her… something so oddly familiar.. soothing. A flame like those burning in hearts of Heaven's people, just somehow fainter. Only a small fraction of it. Maybe her soul belonged to an angel before it was purged by the Well? Who knows?

But that aside, she was still human. And so, it might as well make her the last survivor of her race and the first creature to show him a lick of sympathy ever since he chose the path of a hermit. The Balance was in danger and this human was imperative for its preservation. For the first time in decades, Raphael felt needed. He had a purpose again. No one was forcing him to do this but the words in a caring tone leaving Nicola's mouth and clear concern for his well being even though she barely knew him for a couple of minutes were something he has been so… so dreadfully missing. As confused as he was by her attitude, he couldn't deny that it was… nice. How long has it been since someone expressed clear worry for him? Too long… The archangel wished this odd mortal near even if for just a short moment because strangely enough, her kindness directed specifically to him somehow eased the never-ending suffering and helped him focus his thoughts that kept running rampant without control whenever he couldn't busy himself with something other than the hole in his chest. And now they were focused on one goal. Find the human.

Raphael waved his bandaged hand through the air before him to invoke a spell and frowned when he detected the familiar presence he was searching for somewhere over his head. She must've left for the city above him. Right where she's out in the open for demons to pick out. Why did she run?

She knows what you are. And she is just a human. Of course she would run like a coward.

No. Raphael brushed this poisonous voice off. Believing in a single word it says will mean his failure. If he does, he will be doomed. Forever lost in the depths of insanity. No matter.. Channeling his magic, Raphael warped and reappeared amidst the sorrowful ruins of the city once inhabited by hundreds of humans. A wave of fresh air hit him in the face and for a moment made his head feel like it was spinning. His eyes opened wide when he took a huge gulp of oxygen. He never realised how sweet it can taste. After such a long time in the damp darkness… The stars peered down at him from the moonless sky, shining like shattered diamonds woven into black velvet. Enchanting and stunningly beautiful. If it wasn't so dangerous out here, Raphael would've surely been more eager to leave the dark pit he was stuck in to marvel at the Earth's still present beauty but such as it was… The moment he let his eyes wander across the vast expanse of the Earthen sky, his feathers bristled at the sound of a shrill cry of fear that tore the silence asunder. A cry of a female voice. Familiar voice. It could only mean one thing. His heart skipped.

Rushing towards the source of the scream, Raphael soon discovered the reason right behind a corner. The same human that indulged him in a much needed interaction, that calmed his restless spirit, was now struggling against the tightening coils of a serpentine body of a demon sorcerer which apparently has picked her as its midnight snack. Already feeling a mist of rage fall over his mind, Raphael shook his head to shrug it off for a little longer. Keeping his head as cool as he could, he performed a gesture with his hands as a string of words in his mother tongue slipped past his lips and his vision zeroed on the Shadowcaster.

Nicola was absolutely sure these were her final moments on this horrible, horrible world when the Shadowcaster jumped at her from a nook and wrapped its tail around her to try and strangle the life out of her like a gigantic, twisted constrictor snake, and watch her perish in suffering. What an awful way to die. Seeing the wicked grin of this malformed face as the last thing before her consciousness leaves her for good. Nicola hoped that if she had to die, then at least she would be sent off by a friendly face… But it seems that God denied her even this last, small comfort.. She fought ferociously against the crushing pressure that was successfully preventing her from catching another breath but to no avail. Her lungs felt as though they had been set on fire and her desperate wriggling only made the demon laugh excitedly as it whispered something she couldn't understand. She didn't have to though. Something told her it was nothing nice.. Dark spots started to gather in the corners of her vision and slowly encase her mind in darkness and she has already come to terms with the fact that this time she isn't getting out of this one alive when… the hold the Shadowcaster had on her loosened.

Taking a wheezing breath, Nicola fell over, still trapped in the coils of the scaly body. What? Once her vision cleared out a little, she saw her attacker lying stiff like a statue with its nasty eyes, previously burning with malice, now opened wide in shock and a web of golden lights crawling across its skin spoke for itself. Before any coherent thought could form in her head she was suddenly yanked free from the demon's grasp by an invisible force. A small cry escaped her when she felt a sharp sting on her thigh where the monster held her with its claws and soon she was gently deposited on the ground. Looking up into a pair of big, white eyes blinking down at her upside down from underneath a green, ragged hood.

"Raph-... phael…?"

She gasped to let her crushed lungs expand properly, though she needed no answer. It was him. He did follow her. And he saved her bacon. Again. Nicola truly wanted to laugh. If there were any doubts still left in her mind that Raphael is a friend before, they disappeared at this very moment. You bloody idiot, you ran from a dude who was trying to protect you and almost got yourself killed in the process. Nicola scolded herself inwardly as she struggled to breathe properly. No running again. Although she was most glad to see Raphael, she immediately noticed something was wrong. He was looking at her but without this soft smile. His eyebrows were knitted together in an expression of worry and… guilt? Why the…? And that's when she noticed that his eyes were flicking between her face and the spot on her leg which was quickly starting to grow warm and wet. Craning her neck to see, Nicola nearly choked once she caught the sight of three deep gashes torn into her flesh. And they were spurting about a lot of blood… Like.. a lot.

"You're bleeding… Hurt…"

His hesitant words only confirmed that it wasn't a hallucination caused by oxygen deprivation. Nicola bit her lip and tried to find that healing shard in her pocket but between being nearly choked to death, her empty stomach, sharp pain and seeing that amount of blood leaving her injured appendage she felt too dizzy to keep her head up and laid back down on the ground with a miserable mewl.

"In the eyes of our blessed Father, your days are numbered, foul beast.."

She heard Raphael hiss through his teeth once he looked up towards the place where the Shadowcaster was surely still face planting under the influence of the spell and his troubled frown turned into a scowl. There was this weird sound once more. Oh my God, he's doing it again… Nicola gulped, already preparing for the round two. Even though she was certain now that she had nothing to fear from him, it still doesn't mean she liked what she saw back then when the Goreclaw jumped her. She was already hearing the screeches of the demon even before they could come to be but this time no such thing happened. Something was different. The light that coalesced around Raphael's hand was not green but golden as the magic vibrated through the air once again. Everything lasted but a second. And instead of a series of pained shrieks, Nicola heard a single, sickening crunch. And then silence. Nothing more. Whatever happened, it was quick and mostly quiet. Probably because they were outside and more demons undoubtedly prowled nearby, and Raphael was definitely smart enough to realise that. Thank goodness… Nicola breathed before she saw the shimmering stars swimming before her eyes quickly starting to disappear along with her hearing. Soon, she slipped her eyelids closed in spite of the pain in her leg and found herself sliding into the dark. Hold on. Just a little longer.. Just… a little…

… longer…

If anything could be said about Shadowcasters, was that their skeletons, as flexible as they are, characterize with astonishing brittleness. One flick of Raphael's wrist was more than enough to snap its neck and give it a far quicker and more merciful death than it deserved. He couldn't allow himself for another drain as it would bring half of the Horde bearing down on both him and the wounded human at his feet. Besides, he didn't feel in need of its energy. The human…

Looking down at her, Raphael felt his heart cease for a second. She was lying there on her back, pale and motionless, her intricate green eyes shut. Alive, the blaze in her soul flickering, but clearly unconscious. Blood was still oozing from the wound he himself had made because of the spontaneous decision to wrench her free from the fiend's hold. He wasn't careful enough and failed to notice that the demon dug its talons into her skin. The archangel had seen a fair share of pain. He used to be the head healer back in the White City after all. The number of warriors he'd pulled out of the cold clutches of death was impossible to count. But somehow this was different. The poor woman was defenseless, weak and delicate. She couldn't even fight the demon that tackled her.

Azrael was right. Humans are very, very fragile.. Compared to other races, they were frighteningly easy to crush. Anything could kill them. From eating something wrong, through illnesses, to even falling into the water. Truth be told, Nicola was the first human Raphael had met in person and he didn't want her to be his last. Just stay calm. Don't panic… Not now… Kneeling down next to her, so small in comparison to him, Raphael gingerly peeled the torn trouser leg off the wound and placed his quivering hand over it, concealing the whole thing with his palm. His magic began to flow into the human once again to seal the torn flesh but there was very little time he had.

He barely managed to lessen the bleeding when a sound of a distant roar and a crash of a car being tossed aside, reached his ears. His head snapped up as his eyes darted around, searching for the owner of this cry. He would recognise it even in his sleep, even if the last scraps of his sanity left him. A Trauma was somewhere nearby. No doubt heading in this direction, attracted by the commotion and possibly the smell of blood as well. And a Trauma he couldn't afford to fight right now. Those things are hearty enough to break through his magic and get to him before he is able to put them down. Scooping up Nicola into his arms, Raphael wrapped his dusted wings around both her and himself and with a single arcane word they both vanished, leaving only a trace of quickly dissipating golden glow in their wake.

-

How long had she been out, Nicola couldn't tell. All she knew that she felt as though someone ran into her with a car. Her breaths were shallow and her heart was beating way too fast for comfort. Groaning quietly, she laid her arm over her face before opening her eyes. To see a dark, damp ceiling gently illuminated by a warm light. Where the Hell-...? The last second before the blackout came back to her like a punch to the gut. The Shadowcaster. Raphael.. With a startled gasp, she shot up, looking about, promptly regretting her decision when the world started to spin again. And to her utter astonishment, she was once again in the small section of the sewers where she met Raphael, settled on some ratty blankets and covered with another one that fell from her chest the moment she stirred.

"Keep still.."

She heard and nearly jumped when she felt a hand fall onto her shoulder and gently coax her into lying down again. And honestly, with how nauseous and weak she felt, Nicola wasn't about to resist and let herself be lowered to the ground. Unsurprisingly now, she saw the familiar scrawny angel sitting cross-legged next to her and staring intensely at her with those big, disturbingly hollow eyes. He brought her back into his hidey-hole? It looks like it.. Why exactly however, Nicola couldn't tell. And there wasn't much she could read from those eyes. A couple of seconds passed. A minute. Two. Five. And he still kept staring. The awkward silence continued until Nicola decided to break it by clearing her throat.

"Uh… what's up, buddy?"

If she wasn't feeling like shit, Nicola would've burst out laughing when she saw Raphael look up at the ceiling confused but she really didn't have strength to explain that this was just an expression. Chucking to herself quietly, she rubbed her eyes with pads of her fingers to clear her blurry sight a little when again her stomach loudly demanded nutrition. And the poor angel who was still looking at the ceiling quite literally jumped away and glared at her abdomen distrustfully when it "growled at him". Seems like angels know as little about humans as humans about them…

"What… was that.?"

Carefully pulling herself up to a sitting position, miserably failing to stop a fit of giggles - even though it pulled her sore muscles over her ribs - Nicola waved her hand dismissively. Any fear she once felt in the presence of Raphael was gone now. Not only did he rescue her twice but the way he was getting confused or spooked by literally anything Nicola did - purposefully or not - was just somewhat endearing.

"I'm just hungry.. I haven't eaten for a whole day.."

"Oh… hungry… hmmmm… Yes.."

Raphael murmured, seemingly a little embarrassed by the whole situation and twisted his body around to reach for something. Furrowing her eyebrows, Nicola tried to shift to see what exactly he was doing back there but she didn't see a lot. At least not until he turned to face her again and very slowly - like he was afraid he would frighten her again - extended his hand to her. And in his palm sat a paper bag where undoubtedly Nicola's sandwich was. Hesitantly, she reached for the packet that rustled encouragingly and a faint, pleasant smell of cheese, ham and pickled cucumbers emerged from within. A nice change from the stench around. It wasn't much but made her mouth water nonetheless.

"Thanks.. though I'd be glad if you didn't go through my things. Okay?"

"Okay…"

He replied with a nod and sat down again, watching Nicola devour - not eat - devour half of her sandwich in a few bites. Goodness, she was so hungry she could eat a horse.. However, halfway through something beside Raphael's thigh caught her attention. There, next to his knee sat a small cat. The same back and white kitten the angel was taking care of before. Looking at her with those blasted big, green eyes with pupils expanded almost to the point where its irises weren't visible and hungrily licking the sides of its mouth. At first she tried to ignore it. But the cursed look cats, especially the little ones, can give! The longer it stared at her, the more sure she was that she doesn't have the appetite anymore.. Goddamnit. Pulling a slice of ham out of her sandwich - the only part that would be of interest to it - Nicola clicked her tongue and offered the food to the kitten.

"Here, little buddy.. Come here."

I'm too soft for my own good. One day, some cat will be the death of her… Carefully and slowly, the kitten approached her, sniffing the piece of meat before snatching it out of her hand and retreating into the safe place behind Raphael to consume the gift. Cats can smell good people from a mile. Looks like she was wrong to ever doubt Raphael had anything but good intentions. Smiling slightly, the angel reached out to the cat and brushed his knuckles against the black fur around a new scar on its back. The loud and comforting purr interrupted only by an occasional swallow rung out and made even Nicola smile as she finished her own food. Even with how meager her snack was, hopefully it was going to last her at least until she finds her way back to Haven. One day of poor eating wasn't going to kill her after all.

When she was done, she peeled back the blanket to examine her injured leg. Nicola pulled a face at the three - even if mostly closed - claw marks on her thigh and the bloodied trouser leg. It didn't look that bad anymore but she could imagine that it would definitely slow her down. The slightest move was causing her mild discomfort. Running and walking anywhere is definitely off the table for now. Still, Nicola much preferred the dull ache that was now in place of excruciating throbbing.

There was no doubt in her mind that this is all once again thanks to the kind, even if a bit unhinged, angel who was now sitting beside her with a quietly purring kitten nested on his lap as he kept stroking its head and back and murmuring something to himself in a strange, melodic language Nicola couldn't understand but found beautiful and enchanting nonetheless. She watched Raphael for a few moments, listening to his deep, soothing voice that made her feel a bit sleepy. After the apocalypse Nicola rarely slept well because of nightmares. And it showed. But before she inevitably dozed off, she felt she had to say something.

"So uh…"

She started, successfully getting his attention, judging by how his eyes shifted to look at her.

"Um… Thanks. For… for everything I guess.."

For a whole minute Raphael didn't answer, simply watched her with his head tilted to the right, a silent question in his eyes. Nicola scratched the back of her neck awkwardly and decided to clarify.

"You know.. for saving my butt two times now, treating me.. And sorry I ran away. I was scared, you got pretty spooky with that Goreclaw back then…"

"Oh…"

He replied with raised eyebrows.

"Forgive me then… I did not mean to frighten you…"

"Oh, no no no, you don't have to be sorry, it's okay! I'm not scared anymore.."

Nicola assured him quickly. Making him feel bad for it wasn't her intention at all.

"Seriously though. Thank you.."

She repeated with a grimace when she tried to shift to a more comfortable position but the ache in her leg made it significantly more difficult. With an empathetic look to his face, Raphael steadied her by returning his hand to her shoulder and moving the other - already radiant with his Heavenly magic - to her wound. The prickly sensation came back, bringing relief in pain as he sighed tiredly.

"This is.. my duty…"

As surprising as it was, Nicola couldn't deny that Raphael seemed to have changed in some way since she found him absolutely deranged. Now he seemed a little more… collected. Focused. Calmer. But simultaneously even sadder and very jumpy. Still, he remained as mysterious as he did before. But maybe if he retains this composure, Nicola could pry something from him about his background. Why is he here alone? What happened to him? How did he get here? There were way too many questions to ask at once but she had to start with something.

"Your duty? You're some sort of a… uh, what shoudma' call it? Doctor, medic, something like that?"

Despite the question being seemingly innocent and harmless, Raphael reacted by turning his eyes down to look at his hands as he flexed his fingers a couple times with a barely noticeable wince twisting his lips. His answer was so quiet that Nicola barely caught it.

"... was… I left.."

"Huh? Wh- why?"

At that, Raphael looked up at her, again with this tortured gleam in his eyes that made her heart squeeze painfully and shyly pointed at Nicola's side.

"It hurts.."

He chimed as she stared at her own hip in confusion. Again, the angel was making no sense. Her side didn't hurt for one, and two, it can't have been the reason why he left… whatever he left to abandon his previous life. A little startled that maybe he knew something she didn't, Nicola probed the place he pointed out but all she could feel was the healing shard in her… in her pocket… All of the sudden she recalled what Raphael told her before.

Hesitantly, she dug the glowing crystal out of her vest and lifted it for Raphael to see better and asked a wordless question which he answered almost immediately.

"The shards… they hurt me.."

This was probably the lowest Nicola's eyebrows have ever descended, making the look of confusion on her face even more blatant. I thought they were supposed to be healing shards? Why would something made to heal one person hurt another?

"How?"

With an expression of anguish, Raphael placed his hand over his chest and took a small gasp of air as if to make his point.

"I created them.. and some of them hurt…"

The revelation made Nicola's jaw fall slack. She'd been suspecting this before when Raphael referred to the crystal as "his" shard but hearing the confirmation almost had her gag. How many times a healing shard has saved either her or someone else from the Tree, she couldn't count on both of her hands. After Ulthane snatched her from the Fallen's talons it took the large one to heal her and make sure she survives afterwards and still it shattered after it served its purpose. At this very moment, no one could ever convince her that the sad, mad angel before her is evil in any way. With a huff of disbelief she shook her head, shifting her gaze between Raphael and the shard.

"Wait, hold up, you made those?! Oh.. my God, I could kiss you, my dude."

A very undignified snort almost escaped Nicola when she saw the face Raphael made. Something between astonishment, horror and curiosity. She remained oblivious to how improper it sounded in his ears. He cocked his head again. Goddamnit. Every time he does that, Nicola just… can't. It constantly reminds her of a puppy looking at some bizarre wonder of nature.

"But.. why would you want to do this..?"

"It's an expression. In other words, I wanted to say I can't thank you enough. How did someone like you ever end up in… like- like this?"

Nicola said "like this" in the last moment before she could say "in such a shitty situation" because she realised just in time how inappropriately awful this sounds, considering they're in the damned sewers. I'll have to learn to stop accidentally making jokes.. For some reason Jones absolutely adored her for it, unlike most of her friends who kept either groaning or facepalming every time and begging her to stop before they kicked a bucket from the sheer badness of her jests. The kitten in Raphael's lap meowed in annoyance when it lost the touch of the angel, coaxing him to keep smoothing out its fur still stained with dried blood. He did, and Nicola didn't miss that he was deliberately avoiding her gaze.

"Long story.. very long.."

"That's alright, we have time!"

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. Her curiosity was just too strong. Besides, Nicola wasn't going anywhere anytime soon with how her leg was fairing (just thinking about how worried Ulthane and the rest have to be made her a little sick) and she honestly doubted Raphael is going anywhere either. But the way it came out made her sound like she was prying to get to something the angel clearly wished to keep to himself. Whether because it was something to be ashamed of or something very unpleasant to speak of. In honesty, Nicola was sure he would scowl at her for this but he simply looked away with a grim look on his face. And it was even worse because it made her feel awful.

"Oh… sorry, if you don't wanna talk about it then it's alright! You don't have to tell me."

"Another time.. rest now."

He hummed and extended one finger towards Nicola's forehead. Before she had time to ask him what he was doing, he lightly poked her right between her eyebrows and all of the sudden she felt unbelievably drowsy. She blinked a couple of times but everything was starting to double before her eyes which were closing all by themselves. With a wide yawn Nicola soon fell into the embrace of magical slumber Raphael called upon her.

He caught her before she could fall down and lowered her onto the blankets to let her sleep in peace. The poor human needed her rest to make up for the amount of blood she lost merely an hour before. Sitting back, Raphael settled for keeping a silent vigil over her until magic wore off. What am I going to do with you? He wondered. For some reason he felt so inexplicably drawn to her and couldn't help it. Something about her was just easing in the pain and warming up the empty void in his tormented soul, even if only a little. The small animal he rescued before rubbed its fuzzy head against his hand and started to knead the fabric of his trousers with its laughably tiny claws that compared to demons' talons were nothing. Still, it stung a tiny little bit. Despite this, Raphael let it curl up in his lap again and fall asleep as well while he watched the human woman and the strange spark dancing within her like a candlelight.

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

Chapter II is done! Getting angsty. And say hi to Raphael's kitty. Isn't it cute? :3

Also, here's part 1 if you haven't seen it yet.

[arrow-guy]

The Lighthouse (6/??)

Summary: The town is sleepy, the people are nice enough, but life gets turned upsidedown when the God of Thunder literally falls out of the sky.

A/N: Alright, I promise to start answering some questions as soon as I can get through this and the next chapter. I’m really excited to share this story with you guys now that it’s all planned!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong​

Pairing: ThorxReader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: None

Part 5

“You seem more confident today.”

“Can we not talk about that right now?” I ask. “Trying to do magic with your instruction is hard, but it’s nigh unto impossible with you commenting on irrelevant stuff.”

“You’ve improved immensely over the last week, and I’d hardly say it’s irrelevant.”

“I don’t think confidence has anything to do with it,” I mutter.

“Then what is it?”

“We need to find Loki and I don’t want to scare Thor again if I have to use magic.” I shake my head and forget trying to focus on the spell. “The fact that I can even do magic still blows my mind. There’s still a lot that I have to process on top of all of trying to train with you.”

“What makes you think you need to find Loki?”

“You don’t know where he is and Thor’s worried about him. I’d say that’s cause enough to want to find him.”

“You really care about him.”

“Of course I do.” I shake my head and flop down on my bed. “Of course I do. I thought that was obvious.”

“To you, perhaps.”

I scowl. "Am I not allowed to experience my feelings privately? I've barely had time to process the fact that an actual god seems to have a crush on me, let alone sift through my own feelings on the matter."

“I’d say you’ve had a fair amount of time.”

“I’ve had barely more than a week. I don’t think you understand the kind of brain power it takes to even contemplate Thor wanting me.” My face flushes and I cover my cheeks with my hands. “I don’t want to process that right now. I just want to finish my projects and keep going with these lessons so I can be more helpful.”

"I think you're mistaken to believe that you're not helpful, (Y/N). You've done more for all of us than we'd have been able to accomplish on our own."

"But I've got all this… this energy inside of me. I want to understand it. I want to use it. Maybe if I can, we'll be able to find Loki."

"You're not going to drop that, are you?"

"Not a chance. I have a gut feeling that he'll be able to help us."

"How?"

"I don't know, it's just a feeling. But I want to act on it before that feeling goes away."

Thor knocks on the door frame and pokes his head into the room. "Am I interrupting?"

I smile at him and shake my head. "Nah. What's up?"

"I was hoping I could start on dinner."

"Oh?"

"I'd prefer to do so with supervision," he explains. "I'm sure I can do it, but I'd rather not burn down the house."

I laugh. "I'll be right down."

“Thank you.” He grins and disappears out into the stairwell.

“You still there, Heimdall?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to revisit this Loki thing tomorrow,” I say. “This is non-negotiable”

“Fine. I’ll make preparations.”

“Thank you.” I haul myself up from my bed and head for the stairs. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make sure he boils the pasta instead of setting it on fire.”

I kiss Thor’s cheek as he dishes up the spaghetti. “Thanks for cooking tonight.”

His grin lights up his face. “Happy to. Though I must thank you for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I’m sure you could’ve figured it out..” He raises his eyebrows and I laugh. “Maybe not just yet, but I’m sure you’ll get it eventually.”

“With you as a teacher, I’m sure I will.”

“Aw, you’re sweet.”

He hands me my dinner and dishes up his own. Thor watches in confusion when I move to the living room instead of sitting at the kitchen table. I gesture for him to follow me and he does so with some reluctance..

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Look, I’ve been proper as long as I can manage it,” I plop down on the couch and pull my legs up onto the cushions as I pat the space beside me. “But right now, I just want to eat dinner on the couch.”

The cushions dip as Thor takes his seat and I tip to the side and fall against him. He looks concerned until I laugh and right myself enough that I can sit up, but my arm is still pressed against his. I jokingly jab his side with my elbow and he laughs. We eat in silence, occasionally having to fend off Daisy when she comes begging and Charles when he tries to stick his little paws in our pasta.

Daisy eventually manages to distract Charles long enough that he decides playing with her is better than getting marinara sauce on his paws. I sigh in relief and lean heavily against Thor and he hums softly.

"How is your training going?" he asks.

I shrug. "It's alright. Way more exhausting than my day job, but I think we're starting to see some improvement?"

“I had a feeling you’d be a quick study.”

“Really?”

He shrugs. “You’re a very determined person. It doesn’t surprise me that you’d apply that determination to everything that you take on.”

"O-oh," I say dumbly.

"What is it?"

"I guess I just didn't expect you to make that kind of assessment."

"I may not be able to cook, but I'm not stupid, (Y/N)," he jokes.

"No, I know you're not. I just mean that I sometimes forget that you pay attention to me. Being known like that is… it's nice." I look up at him and smile. "It's really nice."

"I want to know everything about you, eventually," he says softly. "If you'll allow it."

“Of course. But only if you’ll allow the same.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up into a small smile. “I’d warn you against it, but I know you’re well aware of how  much there is to know.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know. But, like you said, I’m a very determined person.”

He laughs. “Yes, I know you are.”

I smile at him and wipe a bit of marinara sauce from the corner of my mouth with my thumb.

We finish dinner and do the dishes. Thor tries to start a water fight and I grab his wrists and he allows me to hold his hands to his chest.

“You’re cute, but I’m not gonna do this with you tonight.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Perhaps a different night?”

I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling. “More like never. Maybe we go to the beach next week or something. Make a day of it.”

“(Y/N), are you asking me on a date?”

“I’m asking you to go to the beach with me,” I poke his chest. “Anything that happens after that is unplanned and spontaneous.”

“Spontaneity isn’t really your thing.”

“It is sometimes.” I place the bowls into the dishwasher. “Infrequently, but sometimes.”

“Alright,” he says softly. “We’ll go to the beach.”

I smiled up at him. "Cool."

We finish with the dishes and round up Charles and Daisy to cuddle while we read on the couch. Daisy has a hard time staying put and Thor moves to the floor where she flops down in his lap. I lay on the couch and Charles curls up on my stomach. I doze off with my book on my chest and Thor gently shakes me awake.

We say goodnight and I kiss his cheek before heading upstairs to get ready for bed. I turn back to look at him and find him sitting on the couch with pink cheeks and a lopsided smile, gently touching his cheek. I smile and my heart flutters at the sight. I duck into the bathroom before he can catch me staring.

"I am not sure you’re ready for the magic it will take to find Loki."

"I mean, it's gonna have to be a sheer force of will type of magic, right? Based on what I know about my magic, spells aren't really my thing. Maybe I can work up to finding him by finding little things first."

"That could work… though I wish there were an easier way to focus your power. Compacting magic and forcing it to do what you want can be very dangerous."

"Then I'll practice outside."

“You’re not going to let go of this, are you?”

“I told you yesterday that this was non-negotiable. We’re finding him and that’s that.”

Heimdall sighs audibly and I know that I’ve won. “Fine. You will not tell Thor about this until we have his location.”

“Obviously not. I don’t want to get his hopes up.”

I head downstairs and Thor pokes his head into the kitchen when I reach for the door.

“Where are you off to?” he asks.

“Working on bigger magic today. I can’t really use spells so I kind of have to force the magic to do what I want which is,” I mime an explosion. “Explosive.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, don’t really want to blow up the house.”

He laughs. “Alright, let me know if you need any help.” He grins and adds, “Or a test subject.”

I shake my head. “I would never use you for that. You’re too pretty.”

“Thank you, (Y/N).” He hesitates before heading back to the living room. “I’d still trust you to, if you needed me, though.”

I smile. “I gotta go. I’ll let you know how it goes after.”

“Yesterday definitely didn’t go as planned,” I mumble.

“That is not your fault,” Heimdall says. “From what I could tell, his location kept changing. There was no way that either of us could keep up with him at the rate he was moving.”

“How can he be moving that fast?” I shake my head. “It makes no sense.”

“I’m puzzled as well.”

“Well, he’d have to be moving through space, right? If he were anywhere on Earth, he’d at least be easier to pinpoint. More like a Pachinko machine than Pinball.”

“I’ll assume what you just said to be gibberish and move forward,” he mumbles. “But yes, he would have to be moving through space as opposed to being stuck on a stationary planet.”

“All of you are experiencing memory issues, correct?”

“To the best of my knowledge, yes.”

“Alright, what if you’re the one who sent Thor away?”

“There’s a possibility that I did.”

“Is there any way to mess up that kind of magic?”

“Only if the subject of the spell was knocked off course.”

“What if you tried to send Loki away and he was knocked off course?” I begin pacing, biting at my thumb. “There has to be something pretty powerful to mess with the memories of literal gods. Maybe Thor was subject one and got away clean, but Loki was subject two? Maybe whatever attacked you went after Loki before you could do anything, and he was already sent away, but knocked off course.”

“If that’s the case, then finding Loki is a matter of waiting.”

I groan. “That sounds awful. Is there no way to pull him closer?”

“Unless you’d like to completely destroy yourself, I would advise against it.”

“Ah, well… I guess I can wait a little while.” I paused mid-step. “Is there any way to more accurately pinpoint where he is?”

“It may be possible to determine his general position.”

“Then we’ll have to work on that, if there’s nothing else that we can do.”

“It would be prudent to practice on other spells while you are looking for Loki. I’m sure that this runs deeper than poor memories and displaced godlings. You may be getting yourself into something that you’re not ready for.”

“Fine. I’ll train and look for Loki during breaks. Does that sound good to you?”

“It sounds… acceptable.”

"Great, where do we start today?"

“Are you sure that you’re alright?” Thor asks.

I nod. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep off this magic hangover.”

“I’m worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard, (Y/N),” he admits. “There’s no reason to kill yourself over magic.”

“I’m not going to, I promise.” I take his hand and smile up at him. “It’s like exercise. I have to build up my stamina and I’ll eventually get stronger, and I’ll be able to cast better and longer than I was before.”

“I don’t know…”

“What can I do to ease your mind?”

He holds our clasped hands to his chest. “Take a day off. You finished with your last project for the week two days ago. Just… take some time for yourself and rest.” He reaches out and cups the side of my face with his massive hand when I frown. “In the time that I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you this run down, (Y/N). I just want you to take care of yourself.”

I nod. “Alright.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Will I have to wrap you in a blanket and make sure you stay in one place?”

I roll my eyes. “You won’t. I’ll take the day off.”

“Thank you.” He gently kisses the top of my head. “Do you want clam chowder for dinner?”

I try not to laugh. “Why clam chowder?”

He shrugs. “I saw a couple of cans in the pantry and it looks good.”

I laugh and pull him towards the kitchen. ”Okay, we’ll have clam chowder for dinner, but we’ll do it with a twist.”

“Oh?”

“In my family, we add bacon, heavy cream, and fancy white cheddar cheese to our clam chowder,” I explain. “Makes the flavor a little more rich. I like to add a little Tabasco on top of all that, but that’s just a personal preference.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm, it takes a little extra time to prep, but it’s worth it.”

“Then I’ll help.”

“Hmm?”

“You say it takes extra time. If we work together, then it won’t take as long.”

I press my lips together to keep from laughing. I don’t have the heart to tell him it’ll take just as long to make dinner, even with two people in the kitchen, so I don’t say anything.

We cook dinner and Thor enjoys it just as much as he hoped he would. 

“You’re supposed to be taking the day off.”

“I know, I’m not doing anything.”

“Where are you off to, then?”

“We need groceries. You looked like you were really deep in your book, so I figured I’d go by myself.”

He perks up slightly. “I can go with, if you’d like.”

“No, it’s alright. You stay here with the beasts and your book. I won’t be gone all that long anyway.”

He sighs and agrees to let me go and settles on the floor just as Daisy trots into the living room. She flops down on his lap as I’m grabbing my purse and keys. She stretches as far as she can and licks Thor’s mouth and I laugh as he splutters and wipes away her slimy, doggy saliva.

“Are you sure that it’s wise to leave him on his own?”

“He’s a grown man, Heimdall, he can take care of himself and a dog for half an hour,” I mutter.

Thor looks up, silent question on his face, and I wave him off as I close the door behind me. The drive to the grocery store is uneventful and I’m able to get in and out of the store with relative ease. I just barely manage to escape having to talk to Sheriff Green as I’m climbing back into my car.

“I’ve been trying to find Loki,” I admit.

“I’m not surprised. You don’t seem the type to do what others tell you.”

“Look, I tried to take the day off, but there’s only so much TV I can watch and so many hobbies I can fiddle with before I get excruciatingly bored. I’m a fan of doing things that yield some kind of result.”

“So you decided on magic that will drain your energy unlike anything naturally found on your planet.”

“Thor doesn’t need to know.”

“I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

“Much appreciated.”

We lapse into silence, but Heimdall is just as eager to find Loki as I am.

“So, you said you were looking. Did you have any success?”

“I don’t know for sure, but it feels like he’s getting closer. Like he’s closing in on Earth.”

“I see.”

“More Pachinko than pinball, finally.”

“You still have yet to explain what you mean by that.”

“Okay, so with Pachinko you launch a ball into the board and hope it falls in the hole that you want, whereas, in Pinball, you want to keep the ball in the air as long as you can.”

“And the hole you want, in this instance, is Earth.”

“Exactly. If not Earth, then at least our solar system.”

“I see.”

“You should, you’re the one who’s supposed to see everything,” I joke. Heimdall says nothing and I shake my head. “You have no sense of humor.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Thor would’ve laughed.”

“Thor is in love with you, he would laugh at any joke you tell.”

“He’d laugh because I’m hilarious, not because he’s in love with me,” I retort. “And he is not in love with me!”

“You say that, but you’re half in love with him yourself. You are hardly in any position to argue about love.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell me how I feel. You don’t know how I feel.”

“I see all, (Y/N). Remember?”

“Yeah, not as cool when you’re peeking into someone’s emotions.” I park the car in the carport, but don’t immediately get out. “But, as I was saying, I’ve been looking for Loki. I think he’s getting close to the solar system. I don’t know how close he is to Earth, but I plan on keeping an eye on the situation.”

“I see. I’ll do what I can to find his specific location.”

“Alright.” I grab up the groceries and reach for the door handle, but pause. “No telling Thor.”

“You seem to forget that I couldn’t, even if I tried.”

“Just making sure.”

I walk into the house and find Thor spread out on the floor with Daisy hugged up against his chest. The two of them are snoring softly and I laugh quietly and shake my head. I don’t wake them, and instead decide to get started on dinner on my own. The smell of cooking ham eventually rouses Thor and he wanders into the kitchen and wraps his arms around my middle. He kisses my temple and tucks his chin against my neck as he asks what I’m making.

“Breakfast sandwiches,” I answer. “Quick and easy and way healthier than McDonald’s.”

He hums softly and I pat his cheek before turning my attention back to dinner.

We curl up on the couch and watch a couple of episodes of a forging show. Heimdall’s accusations from earlier ring in my ears and I can’t help thinking of how I feel about Thor. I refuse to put too much thought into it, though, and settle against Thor’s chest.

---------

Part 7

I know this chapter has probably left you with more questions than answers, but I promise all will be revealed in due time.

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[caraway-ship]

// Playing recording… //

The colony of Ors was never meant to be permanent. We were never meant to last more than a few years, and then get replaced by the actual settlers. The palladium and lead deposits detected on Aurum-3 had left the higher ups promised profits, riches found once in a lifetime. [[MORE]] They scraped together a ragtag colony kit, just a few pressurized habs and barebones life support, not even an atmosphere processor to our name. They outfitted it with whomever they could get on the shortest notice, and well, starting out as an exocartographer is difficult. You take what you can get. I wasn’t set off by the three days given to prepare to ship out, at least not enough to not be allured by the handsome paycheck they offered, cash upfront in return for shipping out before their survey data was released publicly and one of their enemies saw the treasure waiting. I wasn’t expecting to do much, maybe a few survey missions, mostly just sitting around until the actual colony fleet arrived. Well. That’s what I expected at least.

When the survey team first saw the outer edge of the phenomenon, they thought it was just another weird feat of geology. With the millions of worlds out there, there were plenty to go around. This one was unlike what I’d ever seen before, huge geometric spires shooting at discordant angles from the ground. The techs with their worldshell ultrasound imagers said the deposits were centered some sixty kilometers in from the slight curve that was the edge of the phenomenon, and I was in the first survey team they sent in to investigate. 

We were supposed to find a good spot for mining, and I was to map the area. What we thought at the time were ravines and canyons, hard-edged and black as basalt, seemed to close in around us as we approached the center. Our geologist, Harrison, had sampled it: A Lead-graphite alloy, seemingly, almost uniform throughout the outer edges of the phenomenon. They had surmised that this may have been a meteorite at one point, crashing down, the fires of atmospheric drag melting it until it melted and filled its crater, creating a perfectly flat, almost perfectly round disk. 

And that’s the other thing that spoke to me as odd - It was nearly perfectly flat. Not flat like the surface of a planet, fitting in with the curvature of the planet, but flat as a plane. It gave the eerie feeling of a slight downwards slope towards the center, sickeningly subtle. 

I did my best to track our progress, using GPS and some satellite imaging to create a map of our path. Despite each corridor feeling the same as they last, there was no discernable pattern to our movement towards the center. Connection to our main settlement was out, the company had skimped on comsats and our only one went on the fritz a week before we had left on the survey mission. Typical. Normally, we would also have been connected directly to Ors Command, but the mass of black spikes lying between us and them ensured that didn’t happen. 

At around forty kilometers towards the center, our driver stopped. The walls, which had now noticeably started to creep in closer, had gotten too close to safely pilot the rover through. We conversed briefly, and decided to split up. The first group, including me, Harrison, and a marine named Clint, would go on ahead, taking one of the rover’s tent habs and light pressure suits to try and make it to the center. Our pilot, engineer, and researcher would stay back to try and find another way through for the rover. We packed our bags, taking surveying equipment, radio beacons with centuries-lasting RTG batteries to mark our path and meals enough for three weeks. It would only take a day or two to reach the center, but erring on the side of caution never hurt anyone. 

The next morning, as we set out, the sheer scale and immensity of the phenomena we found ourselves surrounded by set in. Spires of dull black metal, thirty meters tall now, seemed to be set to cascade down around us. I was on edge at all times, looking out for signs of the first to start to fall. 

Progress that day was relatively slow, compared to the rover. We made about 10 km that day, having to rig beacons between and to the sides of spikes in order to set them upright. They wouldn’t dig into the leaden floors. I had remarked to Harrison, them being one of the people I worked the most closely with, that I was reminded of a demonstration I was shown as a schoolchild growing up on Shisurna station, a collection of ferromagnetic nanoparticles suspended in an oil, making hard spikes as a magnet moved under it. I shuddered, imagining the spikes here flowing and crashing back into the plane beneath us, with us between them. 

That night, as we set camp in the now 3 meter wide corridor, Harrison called me over to show me something. While we had been walking, they had noticed a sheen over a patch of one of the spikes, and had managed to scrape off a sample. “It’s gold,” They said. “Bet my life on it.” 

The next day, we began to see more and more of that sheen, then gilded patches like discolorations in birch bark. We were fascinated, and Harrison puzzled over what may have caused it. It couldn’t have been part of the original meteorite, unless it was solely in one point. Otherwise, they said, we would have found similar patches all throughout the phenomenon. They were still unsure of what may have caused the spikes themselves, but were sure there was some explanation, if their bouncing ideas off of me was any sign. 

The spikes surrounding us grew as we approached, reaching now thirty meters or more into the grey sky. We were having to pick our way through them, sometimes climbing up one then sliding back down others as the paths grew too narrow to traverse. They also grew in girth, some growing to as much as ten meters at the base. We were dwarfed in comparison, and my combined awe and horror at their sheer size peaked as our contact with the rover was lost. 

The patches of gold continued to grow in size and intensity along with the spires themselves, sometimes leaving streaks 5 meters long in the cold black metal. My best efforts to find some sort of pattern in the layout of the monotonous cacophony surrounding us failed, and I struggled to plot a path as we nearly altogether stopped following the channels through the leaden ground. Then, it all stopped.

   

The ground before us opened up, spikes suddenly stopping before a circular clearing, about 1 kilometer in diameter. Perfectly flat ground lay ahead, streaks of gold flaring out in all directions as if they were caught fleeing something. The center was almost all coated in gold, flecks and streaks of black lead abruptly breaking through. In the very center, jaggedly curved arches about 15 meters tall stood in a circle. The sheen was impossible to ignore, and despite the ashen atmosphere, rays broke through to glare off the arches. They stood menacingly, their shadows cast fifty meters to a side. We spent some time setting up camp a bit out from the arches, then took more time investigating them.

   

When Harrison and I reconvened, they were almost imperceptibly shaking. After discussing with them their findings, we had come to the same conclusion: There was no denying the evidence, no natural causes could have crafted this phenomenon. The arches height, perfectly dividable by pi, and their purpose: A sundial, left no room for nature. But why? If they had crafted this, surely they would have known the barren wastes surrounding it, would have recognized the futileness of placing something important here, where it would be nigh-impossible to reach. 

   

Our discussion was halted almost immediately by the unmistakable sound of pressure release, then vomiting. During our discussion, we had neglected to pay any mind to Clint, who had been investigating all the while. He had wandered into the center of the arches, and was peering at a circular groove I had noticed while walking through. There he now sat, helmet off, hands on knees, vomiting. The vomit was tinged red, I saw, as Harrison and I rushed towards him. As we approached, I realized what I had mistaken for a groove was, in fact, incredibly small text, engraved in the golden floor. In common script, in my native language, Uraian, a thousand times over in a thousand tongues, a singular phrase. 

“THERE IS NO HONOR TO BE FOUND HERE” 

   

Harrison knelt beside Clint, now collapsed in the center of the circle, blood dripping from his lips. I noticed a pale red discoloration on his cheek, then another, then ten more. I then involuntarily stepped back in revulsion, as his abnormally pale face became coated in a hundred welts, seeming to bubble and ripple as they grew and spread. His face contorted in pain, and he coughed, spattering crimson across the smooth gold. Then he didn’t move. 

   

Harrison turned to look at me, and I saw the same welts begin to bubble under their skin through their faceplate. They must have seen my expression, or maybe just felt the pain, as they began to scrabble at their faceplate. 

My mind, despite my horror, couldn’t help but posit a question, one that may just save my life. Why them? Why hadn’t I been infected? I staggered back again in horror, then another step, then I turned and sprinted as fast as my pressure suit would allow on the slick metal ground. I felt it first on my legs. A dull burning, slowly growing in intensity as it spread up my limbs and reached my chest. I could no longer feel anything but the burning, and I collapsed behind the arch’s pillar as I began to feel it creep onto my palms and face. Immediately, the intensity died down. It’s still there. I can feel it. Creeping, slowly, corrupting and twisting of it’s own volition, taking and turning and burning… I was lucky enough to have the time to take this down. I don’t know how long I’ll last. I was lucky enough that the survey cameras have a microphone, now that my datapad seems to not be working. There’s no promise that this will make it out, but let it serve only as a warning. The riches aren’t worth the cost. This place is cursed, it’s promises are false, a lure. Hnn. I can feel it again, the burning. I can’t feel my legs anymore. Fuck.

// End recording. //

Recovered from Aurum-3 by remotely piloted drone.

The bodies of colonists recovered from the phenomenon seemed to have been symptoms of severe ultraviolet burns, as well as last-stage cancer in multiple spots on their cadaver.

Cause of death ruled as multiple organ failure.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 52

Hopefully as everyone is reading this things have improved for me. My mental state has been a bit of mess at the time of writing this. I’ve had fears for the future of the AU and my ability to write it at all. While I have big plans and changes in store, it’s surprisingly difficult to stay enthusiastic. Strangely, only my primary villain seems to keep me motivated. But they won’t appear here, too an extent I suppose, but there is another villain who returns in this scene. I’ll let you see who now in...

    “Oh~! I see more flowers,” Blister began as she stepped through the Ring Gate and watched Zooey embrace Tails. She grew distracted a moment however as she took in the sight of the Ring Gate Beacon room. The ceiling of shifting blocks covered in glowing geometric patterns was almost mesmerizing. “Wow~. I have to get one of these on my ship.”

    “Maybe later,” Tails stated as he put his hands on Zooey’s shoulders and pushed her back, although as gently as he could. “Right now, we have to support Sonic. Zooey, can we map out the catacombs from the bridge.”

    “The Engineers and I already have a map in place,” Zooey confided in Tails, though still peeked around him curiously at Draw and Blister. Tails’ urgency pulled her back however as she felt his grip tighten on her shoulders. “We can use the same sonar method we used to map the city to keep track of Sonic and give him a heads up if anything goes sideways.”

    “That’s great,” Tails sighed relieved and started to hurry for the bridge, stopping only long enough to look back and ask Zooey another question. “Is it sensitive enough to pick out people?”

    “I don’t believe it is, but the catacombs should be large enough for the Tornado to fly through.”

~|~

    “Ho! An aeroplane of all things to best Claymore the Purple,” Claymore scoffed as he strode through brick halls that were open on one side to a cavernous hall beyond. “How the mage caused so much trouble with so small a force. No less he bought the time to take to the skies again. Ho! It is like that I would do well to remember the name Sonic the Hedgehog, unless I should stop him and my other guest all at once.”

    Weighing the thought of confronting two Ring Mage’s, Claymore chuckled nervously to himself. “Ho! My first real battle since waking and I must face two Ring Mages. Would that I could be joined in battle by my fellow knights.”

~|~

    “I don’t like it,” Rosy puffed up her cheeks, her problems multifold.

    “Well, you’ll just have to bear with it,” Sonic encouraged Rosy to not let the situation get to her. As he was sitting on top of her pressing her deeper into the cockpit of the Tornado, his words seemed uncaring. Though they were no meant to bet, he had his own problems controlling the biplane as he had one hand occupied holding onto Rosy’s tarot card case. “Just consider it for your own protection.”

    “I don’t need protected,” Rosy puffed her cheeks up even more. “Besides, if what Tails said is true, we won’t have time for me to be kept safe. We have to go stop Ix.”

    “You know who you’re talking to, right kid?” Sonic feigned being hurt. But Rosy was not feeling playful.

    Beyond the cockpit, even squished uncomfortably behind Sonic as she was, Rosy could see Yoluku in the sky, the upside-down sunset becoming a tighter and more sinister smile with each passing moment. A chill ran through Rosy looking at it, and she could swear even without her cards that she heard those same whispers.

    It’s fine. This is fun isn’t it? Enjoying a desperate adventure to save the world with your true love. How entertaining!

    “Hrm~!” Rosy emitted a low growl and puffed up her cheeks more. Not liking the voice in her head, she contorted herself as best she could behind Sonic and managed to get access to her wrist device.

    “Tai~ls!” Rosy whined into it. “Please tell me you have somewhere for us to go!”

    -I do!- Tails’ voice came back across the radio.

    ~I want to feel relieved while Tails guides Sonic through how he needs to fly the Tornado into the catacombs. It’s actually a lot of fun too, the way Sonic pilots his plane around the towers of the city and down into a chasm I didn’t know was in the city. Ooh~! It’s so exciting, but the situation isn’t good. Yolk is… I don’t know what Yolk is any more, but I have a really bad feeling.

     ~It’s not like me to have bad feelings, especially when Sonic is here. I know he’ll save the day, but something isn’t right. I just have a hard time believing Ix was seen so easily. He had me and everyone else fooled when I first met him, so to think he would be seen going into these oversized catacombs. It just doesn’t feel right. I wonder if this is supposed to be a trap. But for who? Did he even know I was going to be here? Ooh~! I don’t like this!~

    “We’re going on foot from here,” Sonic stated as he landed the Tornado on a small ledge, bringing the short flight to an end. As he left the plane, he worked he wrist device under his ow glove cuff. “I’ll relay back to you what I see Tails, but you’re going to have to be on your game to get us to where you think our uninvited party crasher is going.”

    -No problem, Sonic!- Tails’ voice chirped confidently across the wrist device’s radio. -Just watch out for traps.-

    “No worries there,” Sonic laughed. “In case you haven’t forgotten, I have a world class rascal here to take care of them for me.”

    “Soni~c!”

    ~Sonic’s ability to stay cheerful, even in the face of danger is always so inspiring and always helps me forget that people call me strange for doing the same. I can’t help but smile running with him through these ancient stone tunnels. Though it would be nice if there were less traps. But, well, a lot of traps that needed to be tripped were already tripped as Sonic and I ran past them. It’s hard to say running so fast, but they look more like they were disarmed rather than tripped. I shouldn’t be surprised, but… I kind of feel like it looks too familiar how they’ve been disarmed.~

~|~

    “Alright, how much further do you want to drag me into this place! It’s been nothing but trap after trap and no rewards worth the risk!"

    “Silence, treasure hunter! I must endure this humility and so will you.”

    “Yikes! Don’t lose your feathers old man!”

    “An old man who will outlive you, treasure hunter!”

    “Alright, alright! Just put my gun down. I’ll stop asking questions.”

    “Perhaps it would be best if you both focused.”

    “Yeah, well if I could I’d leave you both under a pile of rubble if I thought it’d do anything you talkative pile of rocks.”

    “Keep talking, treasure hunter. It fascinates me how your mouth is able to dig a grave.”

    “Yikes!”

    Watching the antics of Doctor Fukurokov, former leader of the now all but defunct Battle Kukku Armada, and Fang the Sniper, the troublesome treasure hunter who introduced Rosy to the world of adventure for his own gains, Ix would have sighed if his stone form possessed lungs. The two were anything but dignified. Though at least Fang put on no airs of false dignity like Doctor Fukurokov.

    Still, Ix’s plans required both, lest he had been rid of them ages ago having learned all he needed from them via a forced Ring Bond.

    “There will be time for you to torment the Child of Chaos yet, Child of the Heavens,” Ix at last interceded by walking between the owl and jerboa-wolf hybrid. His actions were meant to do more than break line of sight between them however, as he continued forward causing Fang to panic.

    “Watch where you’re walking you blasted statue! You’re going to get us all killed!”

    Fang’s excited shouting carried through the catacombs, straight into the twitching ear of a certain pink hedgehog girl. “Fang!”

    “Him again, huh?” Sonic sighed in response to Rosy’s exclamation.

    “Ooh~! Don’t be like that Sonic!” Rosy chided Sonic before suddenly picking her own route deeper into the catacombs.

    “Hey! Amy! That’s not the way Tails is–”

    “It sounds like Fang is with Ix!” Rosy interrupted Sonic and dashed off, following the sounds of the voices and her intuition.

    “This isn’t a great time Amy! AMY!”

    Left with little choice, Sonic took off after Rosy. It was going to be far from a difficult task to catch her either. For as much as she did her best to run at Sonic’s speed, her stumbling and general clumsiness was not the practiced and instinctual scrambling that Sonic performed that allowed him to run freely nigh anywhere. As large as the catacombs were, however, Fang did not possess Sonic’s speed. As he was the one searching for traps, he was the one controlling the pace at which Ix’s party progressed.

    “Yeesh, the weasel, the surprisingly resilient birdbrain, and the statue who really would have been better served staying in bed,” Sonic remarked as he skidded to a halt and saw the odd group. Or at least odd to Rosy who did not see the panic on Fang’s face as anything but a desperate plea for help. Naturally, Sonic saw it differently. “So how are you going to lie your way out of this one, weasel?”

    “Ho! Funny, Ring Mage,” the voice of Claymore boomed from beyond Ix. “I was aiming to ask you and the medium the same.”

    “And now, all of the players are present,” Ix remarked, his blue glowing eyes taking in the autogolem knight, the treasure hunter and pirate, and the two hedgehog’s who he silently deemed the most troublesome of all his obstacles.

Scene 52 · CLEARED Party Crashing, to be continued

-----

And there we go. Two scenes left to finish up Season 1. There’s a lot of ground to cover, and hopefully I’ll be able to have Sonic meet my main villain. It’s just there is so much to cover, and it’ll likely inflate the scenes. The smart thing to do would be to stretch it out, but I really want to end the season inline with the anime season. So, if everything went well after I wrote this, in one week Season 1 will be finished and Season 2 will be quite different in it’s handling. Please look forward to it!

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Insatiable (From “Final Fantasy XIV”) - Vocaloid Version – Azina, Masayoshi Soken – Insatiable (From “Final Fantasy XIV”)

[sarcastically-defensive17]

Before he cheats - L. Hemmings

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

Oddly enough, despite the intentions swirling round in he head as she drove to the house, Y/N was calm. Unnaturally calm, if you ask her.

She had a smile on her face as she sung along to the Carrie Underwood song blaring through the speakers of her beat up jeep. The lyrics were far too relevant to her current situation, and while she knew she should be upset, angry even, she couldn't bring herself to lower her mood as she prepared for the fun she was about to have.

Payback is a bitch, and her name is Y/N. Jake was about to find that out.

Right now, he's probably slow dancing with a bleached-blond tramp and she's probably getting frisky.

She let herself wonder what Jake is currently doing as she pulled up to the house that looked far too good to house somebody like him. All lights were off, signalling that she wasn't home. Perfect timing.

Right now, she could imagine he was going about the same routine he followed closely.

Take his latest conquest to a bar only he likes, pull his girl into a dance (most likely a handsy slow dance), buy a drink for her, then wait til shes drunk enough to let him take her home and flop around on top of her for a measly two minutes while she lays there buzzed and unsatisfied.

Y/N couldn't figure out what it was she found so appealing about the sleazy man. After all, her mama always told her a man whose name starts with "J" would try to ruin her life. Well, she wouldn't let the man get close to that. Even now, as he believed he had her wrapped round his pinkie while he schmoozed another girl and forgot what monogamy was.

Right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink 'cause she can't shoot whiskey.

His large range rover was in perfect view, sitting pretty in his garage that he always left open. He didn't even have insurance, nor did he bother locking the car he adored up while he wasn't home.

He was too narcissistic to think anybody would ever do something wrong to him.

She was about to prove him wrong.

She stepped out of her car, heading to the back to grab a bag she packed specifically for her late night mission.

What she didn't expect was to meet the gaze of a set of piercing blue eyes that watched her curiously from his front porch.

Luke Hemmings. He was in her sociological studies class at University. They hadn't spoken much, but he was Jake's neighbour.

"Hey, Y/N," Luke said curiously. "Jake's not home."

"I know," she stated. "I, uh, have something I need to do while he's gone."

He eyed the large bag, and his mouth worked before his brain could stop it, "Oh, you come to get your stuff from his house?"

She quirked a brow at this, tilting her head as the nigh breeze blew through her hair, whipping it around.

Luke had to fight the redness rising to his cheeks at the sight of the woman. He had the biggest crush on her, and he was going to ask her for coffee until he saw her with his neighbor.

The same neighbor who stumbled out of his house loudly a few hours before with a bleach blonde under his arm.

Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo.

"Why would you think I'm coming to get my stuff?" She laughed with little humor. She was curious to hear what the man had to say.

His face dropped at her question. Did she not know? He thought.

"Oh, um," he shifted awkwardly. His initial thought was that they had broken up and Jake had simply moved on quickly, but it is more plausible that he is cheating on Y/N. "I thought you two had broken up-"

She laughed again, one filled with empathetic humor as she waved her hand at Luke.

"You thought we broke up?" Luke nodded slowly, his long curls bouncing with the motion. Y/N shook her head, dropping the bag down onto the driveway. "No, he didn't have the morality to do that. Instead he's out with some other woman."

There was a small smile on her face. She was calm, but anybody with half a brain could see the pain in her eyes. The betrayal forcing tears to prick the border of her eyelids.

Luke felt his blood boil. He had always disliked Jake. The while neighbourhood did. He was a truly horrible neighbour, anybody could vouch for that.

But Y/N was kind and respectful. She baked cookies for Jake's neighbors for the holidays, and she was always there to help out the older residents that lived directly across from Jake.

She was at his house more than her own so she took it upon herself to get to know the neighbors and help out where she could.

Y/N took Luke's silence as a signal that the conversation had ended, so she crouched down to grab the bag, barely noticing as the man crouched beside her.

"Mind me asking what's in the bag?" He smirked, watching as she fumbled with the zipper.

His hands moved hers aside, unzipping the large bag with ease and his eyes widened when Y/N procured a large baseball bat from the black canvas.

She had a grin on her face. One of pure excitement that was framed by the light pink lipstick she had on.

Luke took a moment to observe the determination in her eyes, and before he could further question her, she stood to her feet and walked closer to the Range Rover.

"Can I trust you?" She winked at him, knowing he was the closest neighbour that was at home to witness her plan.

The elderly couple across the way were at their granddaughters wedding for the weekend, and all of the other neighbors had a decent 20-25 feet between the edges of their property and the edge of Jake's.

It was a nice area for building, with Luke's house, Jake's house and the elderly couples being the only ones within decent range of one another.

"I think so?" It came out more as a question than a statement as she fished the keys for the vehicle out of the 'hidden' spot they owned in the garage.

"I planned this perfectly, Lucas," she fixed him with a serious glare, resting the bat on her shoulder and tossing the keys to him after she disarmed the alarm. "Nobody is around, and I'm going to dump the asshole tomorrow. You're the only outlier, so the only option left is to recruit you. Come on, you wanna get back at Jake don't you?"

"First," he raised a long finger, "my name isn't Lucas. Second, yeah but this is illegal."

She walked closer to him, resting a hand on his chest with a sly grin, "Oh, Lucas, Jakey boy is in so much debt that this ugly ass car is in my name. Not much anybody can do if I destroy my own property."

He gulped at the feeling of her small hand on his chest, and the sight of her staring up at him with doe eyes.

"So, you in?" He thought for a second, only to nod slowly, watching the grin on her face spread. "Batter up!"

She stepped away, swinging her right arm and connecting the bat with the front headlight of the car.

I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive. Carved my name into his leather seats.

She took out the headlights with such ferocity that Luke couldn't draw his eyes away.

Even destroying a vehicle in such an animal way, he thought her to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Uh, what else have you got in this bag?" He tried to force his attention away from the woman, knowing he had no right to think in such a way when she was literally about to get out of a relationship.

"I have like, 24 bottles of beer in there if you want one," she smiled sweetly, taking a swing at the windshield. "Figured I might get thirsty, and what better combination that revenge and alcohol?"

He shrugged at her, chuckling softly as he passed a bottle to her and opened his.

I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights. I slashed a hole in all four tires. Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats

The alcohol in their veins allowed Y/N to convince Luke to get in on the destructive action.

So far in that they sat in the back seat for almost an hour playing naughts and crosses in the leather seats with Y/N's pocket knife.

Luke won. Every time.

They painted numbers on the tires and played Darts. Luke huffing as Y/N beat him on every wheel.

More beers down and they were using the keys to the truck to carve pictures into the pristine blue paint job.

Safe to say, there were a few penis images included from Y/N.

The last thing either of them remember, they were down to four beers left each and Luke had managed to take the spark plugs out of the engine while Y/N left Jake a little message on the steering wheel.

She had a pre-written note, as she knew her drunken mind wouldn't be able to handle literature at the late hour.

"Lucas!" She slurred, "Come listen to this and tell me if it sounds okay!"

He trotted over to her quickly, handing her the spark plugs with a proud grin on his face.

"Dear Jake, I hope you enjoyed the two minutes of passion that you give to blondie. She's too pretty for you anyways, give her my number. I hope you like what I did with MY car." Her words were blending together as she sipped her beer some more. "At least this saves trouble for the next girl you cheat on. I'll be back to collect my car tomorrow. Not a single bit of love, Y/N."

"That sounds like it could be a song. Or some angry slam poetry. You should write music for my band!" Luke's intoxicated mind went wild with ideas, all amounting to time he could spend with Y/N.

"Shush," she pressed a hand to his mouth, cringing when he licked it, but not removing it. "How can I stick this to the wheel?"

Luke pokes his tongue out, letting the strawberry chewing gum show on his tongue.

"Genius!" She exclaimed, peeling the small pink bundle off of his tongue and sticking it to the steering wheel before she delicately folded the paper and smacked it onto the warm gum. "That's gross but I love it! I need to wash my hands."

"Hey! You just put your hand on my tongue and you don't hear me complaining."

"Your tongue is gross! My hand isn't, Lucas!"

"My tongue is perfect!"

"Prove it," she smirked, watching as his eyes darkened slightly.

Whether it was the rush of confidence from the alcohol, or the sheer powers of persuasion she had over him, Luke managed to step forward and connect his lips with Y/N's.

The next morning they both woke with a satisfied feeling in their chests, as their naked bodies rested together on Luke's king size bed.

The sound of a very loud, and very high pitched shriek forced both of them into consciousness, and Y/N sat up to look out Luke's bedroom window.

She had the perfect view of Jake on his knees in his driveway, staring with an open mouth at his prized care that is in metaphorical tatters.

An arm wrapped round her bare waist, pulling her back down to the bed and closer to the body laying next to her.

"Laugh at him later, cuddle for now," Luke grumbled into her neck and Y/N giggled at him.

[shinsousbedroom]

Plus Ultra! Go Beyond the Screen!

celebrity AU drabble series, 3K~, quirkless actor Midoriya Izuku gets interviewed

[Read on AO3.]

GO BEYOND!

A conversation with Japan’s rising star Midoriya Izuku on standing up on set and off as the next symbol for peace. A GQ Japan exclusive.

By Taneo Tokuda | Correspondent

[Image of Midoriya Izuku, leaning next to a window, his body arched off the wall. His head is tilted up and over towards the camera, the left side of his body illuminated from the light coming in, the right side fading into the shadows. He’s wearing a sheepish grin, tugging at the tie around his neck with a single hooked finger, jacket sliding off his shoulders. He’s wearing Best Jeanist’s exclusive non-denim line, and the monocolor layering of velvets in the lighting make his green hair, red shoes, and tie pop in rich color even more.]

I’d been warned that Midoriya Izuku has no regard for outdated formality. He’s far from callous or jaded — sweet and optimistic are two words often used to describe him — but propriety is something he has never been concerned with.

I’d been warned, but I didn’t understand.

Any journalist who’s worked the entertainment beat for a while knows there’s a cadence every interview follows. The details may change, but there are conventional practices that help an interview go smoothly for both the interviewer and subject, to make the most of a complicated relationship between celebrities and the media.

This interview starts behind the scenes, as most do, with the e-mail I send out to Midoriya’s manager, laying out a request to speak with his charge. The enthusiastic response comes just an hour later and references details from a number of stories I’d written across the entire span of my career.

It isn’t his manager’s response. It’s Midoriya’s.

That was my second warning to assume nothing, but I still stumble into Midoriya’s apartment expecting a clean, contemporary, moderately-sized apartment. It’s rare to host interviews in celebrity homes, and when it happens, it’s meant to be a statement — power, wealth, pride, affected sincerity.

Instead, Midoriya opens the door halfway and apologizes because he moved in recently and there’s still a stack of boxes blocking him from opening it any further. The door handle nearly catches between the buttons of my shirt as I squeeze through the crack. Once inside, I trip over his trademark red shoes and nearly take him down in the process.

He catches me in his arms and says with a wry grin, “Don’t worry, I am here!”

That, of course, is a classic reference to his latest role: All Might. All for One will be a Netflix reboot of the old '80s superhero film franchise that turned Toshinori Yagi into a household name. In a casting coup that stunned fans and industry insiders alike, Midoriya fell into the role shortly after making headlines for saving a life during a villain attack on the set of long-running soap opera The Quirked and the Quirkless. The villain had been looking for Toshinori, and in his absence, grabbed a crewmember hostage. Midoriya attacked the villain despite having no quirk.

Soon after, Toshinori reversed his longstanding refusal to produce an All Might reboot and gave the studio a green light — with a stipulation. Just as the franchise had brought him up from obscurity, so must the franchise fill its ranks with youths aiming to catch their big breaks. Enter: Midoriya Izuku.

Midoriya sets me back down gently — yes, he picked me up when I fell, even though I’m a full half meter taller than him — and I’m more inclined to see his suitability as Toshinori’s successor.

Physically, he still looks nothing like his mentor. Where Toshinori is buff, Midoriya is lean, tall to his short, loud to his soft. Toshinori held his strength in the brash, nigh-cocky attitude that got him into as much trouble as himself as it did in the show as All Might. Midoriya carries strength like woven spider silk; it’s graceful and dangerous, but all too easy to overlook for those unused to subtlety. But he carries the same bright aura of unwavering love and determination.

More to the point, I also felt his arms and abs in the fall, and he may not look like he has the muscles of All Might, but they are definitely there.

“You can take a seat anywhere in the living room if you’d like,” Midoriya says, ushering me down the hall with a light hand on my back. “Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes, but I haven’t put together the kitchen table yet, so living room it is.”

“Breakfast? Did we decide on a working breakfast?” I replied.

“I couldn’t invite a guest into my home without offering snacks! Since this interview coincides with breakfast, I made breakfast.” He pushes me towards the sofa and wags a finger at me when I try to follow him to the kitchen anyway. “No guests allowed to hover or help in the kitchen. It’s too small!”

The rest of the apartment is half unpacked, and haphazardly at that. Boxes are open, dumped out into piles on the floor where they will likely be permanently placed. I perch on the arm of a ratty sofa by the only portion of the room that’s been set up. It’s a veritable shrine to pro heros, fictional and real alike. Two of the five shelves are devoted solely to All Might merchandise.

Midoriya appears behind me, as if by quirk. “Ah, do you collect hero memorabilia? I’ve been a big fan of All Might since I was little, and then I started following hero society in general when I got into middle school, so I’ve built up a lot over the years especially rare items like if you look at the back corner there’s a particularly cool figure of All Might from the emerald era which if you remember was received so poorly that most of the merch was shelved in one location and subsequently destroyed during a villain attack…” He goes on without end or pause, taking me through the history of each item on the third shelf. At minute six, he abruptly tenses mid-sentence. I can almost feel the heat from his red face as he starts stammering apologies for wasting my time and gingerly puts his collection away again.

“You've got a lot of stuff I haven’t seen. It’s interesting.” It makes me uncomfortable how much he clearly doesn’t believe me. “It’ll be good content, that you have such a long history being an All Might fan.” He shrugs my words aside, and gestures behind me to a giant spread he’d laid out on the coffee table before seeing my interest in his collection.

We sit. For a moment, the only sound in the apartment is the clatter of silverware, the muffled bustle of Tokyo’s streets at midmorning a soothing counterpoint. I’m considering how to break the lingering tension I caused. But then —

“I’m a quirkless soap opera actor who seemingly got the biggest role of the decade for doing something completely unrelated to acting. I’m optimistic, not an idiot.” There’s a taut line to his shoulders again, at odds with the quiet, delicate way he drinks his miso soup.

His eyes trail back to the curio shelf of hero merchandise. A heaviness builds between us in the seconds it takes him to think. “I grew up in a neighborhood hostile to me and my mother. I mumble my thoughts out loud and have an obsession for heroes that edges past societally acceptable as an adult. I have no quirk, she had no husband, we had no money. Any insult you could say about us, I’ve heard it.”

He looks me dead in the eyes and leans forward. I can’t help but mirror him. “It would be disrespectful to everyone who supported me to get here if I let the back talk get to me. I worked hard for this role, and I earn it with every new day of effort I put into it. All Might is the symbol for peace, and I intend to embody that legacy. No one will be able to doubt me when I’m done.”

Anyone who’s familiar with Midoriya’s reputation knows not to be surprised by his humility, but it’s a revelation to see this drive, his earnest focus pinning down my full attention. The last bit of the puzzle that was his casting choice is answered in one overwhelming look. If All for One does it right, his magnetism is going to Detroit Smash every heart in Japan.

“The waffles!” He springs up and mutters his way back to the kitchen, cutting past the moment. “I forgot the waffles, Kirishima gave me a waffle maker the shape of All Might’s crest as a housewarming gift, they’re so cute and surprisingly detailed…” In just a few seconds he plops the plate down amid the overfull table and settles back into his seat with a smile. “So? Should we get started?”

Interview has been edited for length and clarity. For the full article, visit us online. Catch the first season of All for One on Netflix, streaming xx xxx.

[Image of Midoriya Izuku sitting outdoors on some sidewalk steps in workout gear, leaning back on one arm, the other hand raised to cover his face from the sun. He’s wearing bright green short shorts and a very loose tank top, the arm holes cut out so deep that the angle lets the photographer capture the sheen of oil and sweat across his ribs and back as light filters through the shirt. One sock is pulled up taut, the other scrunched down, same classic red shoes still on his feet. His legs and arms and hands are haphazardly wrapped in carefully grimed bandages, as is his makeup, smudges of dirt across his cheeks along with make up to bruise his lips a deep, pouty red. Boxing gloves hang over his shoulders, and a bandana mimicking the famed mouth guard from All Might’s most iconic outfit hangs around his neck.]

TT: Congratulations on your first starring role! How does the move from semi-recurring character to protagonist feel?

MI: It’s a huge challenge, one I’m incredibly excited for! My character in Quirkless wasn’t supposed to be mine. I’d already been involved with the show as a quirkless consultant but one day on set, they’d had a huge scheduling conflict, and Director Ryuko remembered I’d originally auditioned for the show for a character that was ultimately cut. She brought me in as a literal last minute replacement, and soon enough a three-episode run expanded into a semi-regular spot next season. At least with All for One I’ve had tons of time to prepare.

TT: Take us through what it was like getting the role of All Might.

MI: I think the media explained the villain attack that brought me to the studio’s attention plenty. What's more important is when after I recovered, Toshinori-san contacted me and connected me to his talent agency, and my new manager was the one that successfully nabbed me an audition for the new show. They had us go through a few standard readings and chemistry checks, and then I got the part.

TT: You auditioned?

MI: I did! That’s what makes the rumors of favoritism even more frustrating. I promise I didn’t get the role because I stopped a villain attack on set! Well, I hope I didn’t.

[File photograph of Toshinori Yagi and Midoriya Izuku post-hostage situation. The stage is in disarray, black goop covering the furniture and floor of a fake hospital waiting room in a thick layer of sticky slime. They stand off-center in the foreground, Midoriya rubbing a fist over his eye, exhausted, possibly crying, as Toshinori pulls him into his side for a hug. Both have shock blankets draped across their shoulders. Emergency respondents case and clean the scene in the background.]

TT: How does it feel to take up the mantle of one of the most iconic comic book characters of all time?

MI: I’d be lying if I didn’t say nerve-wracking, but I’m more excited than anything. I’ve dreamed about this since I was 5, when the doctors first told me I’d never have a quirk and never be a licensed hero. All that love was redirected toward All Might. Some people might say being too big a fanboy will make playing him hard, but I’ve been preparing for this my entire life, and that’s what I’m trying to hold on to instead of anxiety. Toshinori-san has also been a spectacular mentor to me through this whole process.

TT: It's been said that Toshinori-san implemented a rigorous vetting process to work in any position on the crew. Recommendations, mentorship networks — because everyone is new to film.

MI: That’s only true to a certain extent. I wouldn’t say most of us are complete newcomers; we’ve all been around the industry for a fair number of years making our careers off it one way or another. We definitely wouldn’t have gotten hired to such prominent roles without Toshinori’s interference, yes. Because of his stipulation, the studio wanted to minimize as much of the havoc inexperience might cause such a beloved, big budget reboot by offering us close, mandatory support networks featuring industry professionals who’ve been working in their field for decades.

So far, the idea has really worked out well. We get to implement fun new ideas we don’t realize are impossible yet, and the mentors temper our more […] impractical ideas with logic and experience. The cast also has gotten a lot of support from the old cast of the '80s run!

TT: You’re known for being an advocate for quirkless rights in the entertainment industry. Has that impacted the way you approach your career and what opportunities you take?

MI: It isn’t just the entertainment industry I’m interested in for my advocacy work. Society’s rabid obsession with quirks is a problem across all of Japan, for both the quirkless and those with quirks. But as an actor, I happen to have personal insight with the roadblocks that prevent quirkless individuals from succeeding in film. We make up a fourth of the Japanese population, but less than 1% of the Japanese Film Union, in the mere century from when quirks first showed up across the globe. There’s no other explanation for such a miserly diversity rate than discrimination.

Studios have gotten so used to using quirks to sift through application stacks, looking for who can offer the most with just a quirk name and description. Toshinori-san has easily admitted that the electricity he emits when engaging his strength quirk was one of the reasons he won the role of All Might over better known actor Todoroki Enji. It was one less special effect the studio would have to spend money and time on. Viewing accommodation as a costly complication is historically dangerous to all types of minorities across the globe. How am I supposed to compete when people think I can’t offer anything unique compared to the host of wild quirks out there?

TT: Wow, that’s quite the speech.

MI: I’ve practiced a few times.

TT: Really?

MI: Quirk discrimination was my thesis topic at UA.

TT: You went to UA? That didn't show up in my research.

MI: Oh, I […] was in their support program for a while.

TT: Why did you decide to pursue acting instead? They don’t have a fine arts program, do they?

MI: As much as I love support work, it’s a stressful field. [Laughs] I started looking for an outlet that had nothing to do with hero work when an old friend dragged me onto a set. I’d completely forgotten how much I loved acting, and it wasn’t long before I decided to pursue that over support work, for however long it would have me.

TT: Would you ever consider returning to support work?

MI: Yes, but it gets harder the longer you’ve been away. I still keep up my qualifications, and keep up with my old classmates. Some consulting here and there. But for now, I’m happy using my background to help me act a better All Might.

[Photograph of Midoriya Izuku sitting in an office chair, facing three-quarters towards the camera even as he lays half across a desk. The decor is rich: old, dark wooden furniture, ornate work across the frame of the chair and desk, half-filled bookshelves in the background. His cheek rests against his arm stretched along the edge of the deck; one leg is tucked under the seat and the other is extended out. His outfit is artfully ripped name brand jeans and a tight shirt, color blocked in All Might’s classic red, white, and blue. Tiny figurines of All Might in his various costumes across all his comic book and screen appearances dot across his body as if they’ve climbed across his body, and Midoriya is an Atlas holding the weight of these ideals across his shoulders and arms and legs, a Gulliver tied down and overwhelmed. But his expression is vibrant, determined. Not quite a smile, but nowhere near defeated.]

TT: Does it bother you, having your quirklessness constantly be the focus of your career and identity?

MI: Of course! I’m a lot more than the superpower I don’t have. I’m a pretty private person, but I want to do great things. I want to inspire people, to make everyone feel safe and like they belong. If that means I have to feel some discomfort, it’s more than worth it. I’m a big kid with a therapist, so I’m prepared to balance my needs with those of my career.

TT: I’m not helping, am I?

MI: Like I said, I’ve deliberately opened myself up to that focus when I’ve put myself out there as someone willing to talk about these important issues publicly. You’re not asking anything I wouldn’t expect of any good interviewer.

TT: Speaking of privacy, your co-worker Todoroki Shouto is infamous for his taciturn personality and complete seclusion from the public eye, even during personal interviews. What is it like working with him on set?

MI: I have a bone to pick with you journalists about that! Remember what I was saying about how quirk reputations hurt those with strong quirks as much as those without? Todoroki Shouto is a wonderful person, and I’m so glad we get to work together. But boy, that reputation of his does him a disservice. He’s more than just Endeavor’s son and a powerful quirk. […] He’s his own man with a lot to say — it’s just no one’s asked him the right questions, yet. Once you do, you’ll find he shines brighter than any of the characters he’s played. It’s frustrating to see a good man overlooked again and again in favor of easier topics like a flashy quirk and flashy father.

TT: One last question. Isn’t it a hassle to squeeze past those boxes each day to use the front door?

MI: I don’t use the front door.

TT: Then…?

MI: Wouldn’t you like to know? ■

[queenmuzz]

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter X

The Pieces (of Pizza) Fit

Read the full story on Ao3 Here! Where the Hell is my brother?

The voice, full of rage, nearly gave you a migraine as you struggled to get out of the unyielding grip.  Slow to anger, my ass, you brain unhelpfully supplied to you as you frantically tried to get out of his grasp.  At the same time, the clock was ticking as your oxygen levels depleted and your lungs protested.  Great job, your brain continued, trying to get your crush (NOT MY CRUSH you corrected) to safety, only to get killed by the one man you thought could save him.  If it weren’t for the fact that you kinda needed your  brain to remain alive, you’d attempt to shut the damn thing off.

WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?

His grip tightened, and you could have heard an angry growl in the water, instead of in your head.  And just when you felt like you couldn't take any more, you were pulled out of the water.  You tried to take a breath of precious air, terrified that he’d dunk you back in, but he slammed you into the hull, knocking any remaining air out of you.  Your head whacked painfully on the fiberglass frame, and your vision turned black for a moment.  Your jackknife slipped out of your wet hands, and into the depths, leaving you nigh defenseless.

“I swear to the Tidemother, if you have touched a hair on his head, I’ll drag you to the deepest fucking depths of the ocean, and let the scavengers eat your corpse.”

You tried to respond, tried to tell him that you meant him no harm, but his face was full of fury, and now he gripped your neck in his webbed hands.  Your hands latched on to his wrist, in a futile attempt to break free, but all you managed to do was to jostle the amulet free from under your shirt. 

The glint of gold must have attracted his attention because he loosened his grip slightly allowing you to gasp out for air.  Perhaps he recognized it as a sign that Vergil trusted you.

That idea went out the window as he snarled, and suddenly you were lifted up and thrown back onto the deck, sliding a metre and a half across the wood. 

You barely had time to reorient yourself before you heard a massive splash, a crushing weight on your torso, and most worryingly of all, the cold, sharp tip of metal at your throat.  Your vision rapidly cleared, you saw him on top of you, teeth bared, reared back, with an honest to God sword pointed at your throat.  (Where the hell did that come from? your brain asked unhelpfully)

“I don’t go after humans,” his icy voice chilled you to the bone, “But for you…” the sword tip moved slightly to lift the amulet up, “I’ll gladly make an exception.  Where. Is. He.”

“Help…”  you managed to croak.

“Bit too late to be begging for help, babe” he sardonically replied.

You shook your head, and slowly grabbed the amulet, intending somehow to take it off, before, surprisingly it easily unlatched itself.  Sparing a quick glance at it as you cautiously slid it to the side, you were perplexed that there was no clasp, no broken chain...magic?

No time to ruminate about it, you took another breath of air, praying that it wouldn’t be your last.

“Help….him”

Confusion flooded Dante’s face, as to your relief, he withdrew his weapon away from the hollow of your throat as he snatched the chain and scooted away from you.  You took this precious moment to catch your breath, heaving in and out and when you had recovered some of your strength, you rolled over to see Dante clutching the amulet to his chest, a matching one in silver and red around his neck, his eyes shut tight.   The sword was gone, and you were beginning to think your lack of oxygen had caused you to hallucinate it.

A good minute passed as you watched him, neither one of you moving an inch.  What he was doing with it, you had no idea.  You slowly backed up, you didn’t want to hurt him if he attacked again, you just wanted to convince him that you truly wanted his help.  

And then, out of nowhere, the merman laughed.  It wasn’t a soft chuckle like his brother’s, but it didn’t seem dangerous.  

“Oh bro…   you’re such an idiot…” he bent his head over the necklace, his wet hair obscuring most of his face, leaving only a toothy smile, “You know, once I get your tail fins out of there, I’m never gonna let you forget this, right?”  You weren’t sure if he was talking to the gem, his brother, or himself.

He brushed his hair to the side, allowing you to see his face.  It was much kinder than before, if a bit embarrassed.  “I…. eh, sorry ‘bout that, kinda swam out before checking the current, you know what I mean?  Mom always told me I was a bit impulsive.  You okay?”

“Yeah…” your voice was raspy, but felt much better “Wait, did you just know what happened just by holding that?” you pointed at the chain, dangling in his hand.

“Well, I got the gist of it, it’s not like we can send messages like you humans do in your little things you carry around constantly, but it can give me a bubbleful of information.” He chuckled, “So, my brother’s been captured and being kept as a pet, but you’re a friend of his.” 

Your heart warmed up at the fact that Vergil, despite everything, considered you worthy of friendship.  You hoped that you could be on friendly terms with his brother.  So you did the thing that worked with Vergil.  Grabbing the cardboard box that had fallen to the deck in the kerfuffle, and opened it up.

“Want a piece?”

The way his nostrils flared and his eyes widened at the sight, you realized you had made the correct decision.

*****

“So, Verg says to me.  ‘Brother, I wager you ten cordina to get on that boat and grab something from it’...” Dante regaled you as he worked on his fifth slice of pizza, savouring every mouthful.  His imitation of his brother was quite on the nose. He lounged on the sunny side of the deck, still shielded from prying eyes by the way you tilted the sail, as you anchored the boat.

“And I says ‘you’re on!’ and I scope out this boat full of guys playing loud music.  I’m looking for a way to sneak on the damn boat, but there’s waaaay too many people dancing or something.  But I’ll do anything to prove my bro wrong, so I wait.  And Wait. And Wait.  But when the Dawnfather was just about to rise, everyone finally fell asleep.  So I flop on board, and I’m terrified that I’ll wake up someone, but everyone is really sleeping, like if it wasn’t for those funny noises you guys make when you sleep, I’d think they were dead.   I grab the first thing I see, one of these,” he held up the half eaten slice, “and I bring it to Verg, and he grumbly pays off the bet. But,” he finished off the slice, “what’s weird, this stuff was the real prize.  Vergil could have offered me a hundred cordina for that one piece, and I’d have said no…. It was so fucking delicious.  And now you come along with a whole box of this…” “Pizza” 

“Mmmm… Pizza…” he picked up another slice and stretched out the cheese.  “I gotta say, this is why I like you humans, you come out with some pretty delicious food.  It’s hard to make this stuff when you are surrounded by water.”

You smiled.  Vergil had said they were twins, and while they looked very similar, (aside from scale colour) their personalities couldn’t possibly be any more different.  While Vergil was calm, composed, and contemplative   Dante was brash, bombastic, and brazen.  Vergil was disdainful of humanity, (although you couldn’t really blame him), while Dante seemed to enjoy the quirks humans had.  But strangely, despite his totally different personality, you liked him, though not in the same way as his brother.

“So, you want to get my brother back to the open waters, eh?”  He had emptied the box of its contents, and was now licking his fingers for any remnants of melted cheese.  

“Yes, and I need your help to make sure he gets as far away as possible, and doesn’t try to do something that’s liable to get him captured again.”

“That I can do… although I can hardly believe that he actually regrets not listening to me. You sure he said that?”

“Pretty much…”

Dante went a bit serious… “Okay, it should be simple.   You get him to the ocean...let’s say,” he scanned the horizon, before pointing at the beach that lay next to the suspension bridge that linked both sides of the bay. “Right there.  Should be when the next time the Tidemother shows her full face, that’ll give you enough light to see, to slip him out, and also the tide will be up, making the trek to the water’s edge as simple as possible.  I’ll be waiting, and I’ll drag him by the tail fins out of here, if I have to…. and knowing Vergil, that’s probably literally, not figuratively speaking.”

“That simple?”  you were perplexed.  Surely there had to be more, or else Vergil would have been dropped off a long time ago, before you had time to develop feelings for him. 

“Should be, I mean, you come across any trouble, he can probably use Yamato to get rid of any problems.”  He now was scraping the melted cheese off the bottom of the box, and you were worried that if you didn’t stop him, he’d just eat the entire thing, cardboard and all.

“Yamato?”  you’d never heard that term before.  

Dante dropped the box, looking alarmed, “Wait, he hasn’t shown you Yamato?” his eyebrows shot up, “okay, that makes sense on why he’s been stuck… he doesn’t have his, …. um….” he cocked his head in thought, “I guess a rough translation would be ‘soul-weapon.’”  You shook your head.  Vergil had never mentioned anything about a weapon.

Dante continued, “I don’t really know how you humans see your souls, but the gist is, everyone of us has a weapon that’s intrinsically connected with our soul, our very being.”  He rubbed his head, “some of us have harpoons, others daggers, even have a few with a trident. Me on the other hand…” his hand waved out, and instantly, in a red flash, appeared a sword.  You hadn’t imagined it!  “This is Rebellion, ain’t she a beaut?” 

You had to agree.  It was a long solid sword, with what seemed to be a stylized human skull at the crossguard, but with shark teeth poking out from where the eyes were, as well as embedded into the ricasso of the blade.  It definitely was intimidating.  “So, a brief summary of how we look at our lives.  Us Merfolk see life like the way water moves.  Water flows throughout the ocean, until the Dawnfather decides it is time for it to ascend, and so the water becomes the clouds above, before raining back down and eventually rejoining the ocean.  It’s a cycle.”

“Ah,” you nodded, “like reincarnation”

“I guess?” Dante shrugged, “the philosophy of it all was all mom’s and Verg’s thing.  Anyways,”  he looked at Rebellion, “like I said, the weapon is linked to our soul, and if anything happens to it, it’s like someone took a bucketful of  that water and just locked it away, never able to return to the ocean, or repeat the cycle.  And it’s irreversible, a fate worse than death.”

Instantly, your mind went back to something similar Vergil had said all those months ago, and you remembered the ‘leash’ the good Doctor had in a long slender briefcase.  The pieces were beginning to fit.

“I mean, it’s hard to damage one of these, but it can be done, and most likely there’s the connection that's the issue.”

“The connection?”

“You can’t stray too far from your weapon, that’s why if you get too far, SNAP,” Rebellion dissipated in a shower of sparks.  “It’s the same as if the weapon got destroyed.  Somebody probably got a hold of Yamato, and you got lucky that they haven’t gone too far with it, or they know that they can use it over him.” his brow furrowed.  “On the bright side, it means it can’t be too far from where he is right now, so you won’t have to search too far.  But on the other hand… I’m still trying to figure out why he never told you  about this…”  he seemed honestly puzzled , “I mean, he trusted you enough with the amulet.” It worried you too.  Was Vergil too proud to ask a mere human, even one he was on good terms with for aid?  If he had just asked, you would have dropped everything to find and get this Yamato back for him.  It would have saved you a lot of heartache.  

“I think..” you said, “I know where his sword would be.”  The warehouse.  It was the only building Doctor Griffon could possibly keep the ‘leash’.  It wouldn’t be hard to get to, you had keys and codes for all the buildings on the property.

“Good!” his face brightened, “you get that sword to him, and you bring him here, and I can get him out.  Easy as swimming!”

“Yeah… easy as swimming” You attempted to match his enthusiasm.

“You know, you’re a good person.  Vergil has never been too close with humans, especially after mom and dad… well,” his features fell, “I thought I lost him too… was halfway about to follow him on a suicidal attack. When I felt the amulet,” he clutched it tightly in his hand, “I thought that he’d escaped, and when I found out it was a human, I just… I just snapped.”  

“You don’t have to apologise, Dante.  He’s your brother, after all.”

“Well, he’s a lucky son-of-a-barnacle to have an Odar like you, Dawnfather knows what would have happened to him if he didn’t meet you.”

You were slightly confused, “Odar?  Never heard that term.”

“Ah, keep forgetting you’re not familiar with Old Mer.  Basically a term for a human, but in a good way” he clarified. “Oh,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. “That’s not what Vergil calls me.”

“Ah?  What does he call you? It better not be ‘Chiktik’, or I’ll be punching him in the face when he gets back.”

“He calls me… Sifa.”

There were a few moments of silence, with only the gentle lapping of water against the hull, and the flap of the sail in the breeze.  Dante just stared at you, jaw dangling, looking exactly like a moray eel.  And then, to your astonishment… he just started laughing.

“Verg… of all the mer… well, I guess the polyp doesn’t drift too far from the coral.   Mom would be proud of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He seriously hasn’t told you what it meant?”

“Vergil said it meant, ‘human,’” you answered and the red scaled merman cackled before looking up to you with a big grin. 

“You really want to know what it means?”

You bit your lower lip, afraid to know, but yet still intrigued, and after some hesitation, you nodded.

“There’s not a perfect translation, but basically, it means ‘Beloved’.  It’s a term you only use… well, for someone you really care about.  Someone…” he paused, as if for emphasis.  “You love.”

It was a good thing you were already sitting, because your legs began to feel like jelly, numbness spreading to your chest.

“He can’t…” you managed to wheeze out.

“Why not?” Dante asked.

“I’m basically his jailor!  There’s no possible way he could be truly in love with me!” You tried to protest.  But to your dawning horror, you realized a whole plethora of signs that he had been developing feelings for you.  The songs, the glances, the gentle touches.  Your head sank into your hands as you stared at the wood.  How could you have been so stupid?  How could you have been so blind?  

Or...maybe you had known, you just didn’t want to accept the truth.

“Well,” Dante added unhelpfully, “you don’t just call anyone Sifa, it's a fairly dedicated term, and Vergil wouldn’t just call you that if he didn’t mean it.”  He slipped back into the water gracefully, apparently oblivious to the turmoil that he had inadvertently caused.

“But there’s no way it would work between us!  I mean,” you pointed at your legs “we’re not even the same species!”

His response was to laugh.   If it wasn’t for the fact that he was Vergil’s  brother, you’d have clobbered him for his continued ignorance about how much this affected you.  “I don’t really think that’s much of an issue, but that’s not for me to say,” he responded cryptically.  “I’m sure Verg can fill you in.”  

And with that, he slipped back into the water, leaving you staring at the trail of bubbles.

No, you were not going to speak to Vergil about any of this.   You were going to keep this whole revelation to yourself, and focus on locating that sword and then getting him home.   It would be painful, but it was for the best for both of you.  That’s what you kept telling yourself.

Without warning, the water opened up again to reveal the smiling visage of Dante, his hand outstretched, holding your jackknife, and his own amulet, keeping the golden one around his neck. “Meetcha when the Tidemother is at her highest point when she shows her full face!  Good luck!” and after handing the blade and the silver amulet  to you, he swam off, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, leaving you alone with your turbulent thoughts.

*****

You returned back home, to see an expectant Vergil poised at the edge of the platform.  His eyes widened as you nodded and handed him the silver amulet, proof that you’d finally met his elusive brother.  He clutched it tightly, and for a moment you panicked, wondering if he was somehow able to look into the latest conversation you and Dante had.  But when he opened his eyes, they were full of relief and happiness.

“Ah, so he is well.”  He leaned back  in the water as he placed the chain around his neck, “That is good, that is good.”

You attempted to add some sort of joviality, “He thinks you’re an idiot for getting yourself captured.”

Vergil chuckled, “That does sound like him.  But at least he’s alright…” he turned to you, smiling gratefully.  “Thank You, Sifa.”

You successfully managed to hide the pain that word caused you as you gave him your best grin.

“Anything for you, Vergil”

[asteriuszenith]

VT Investigation Files: POI Files: Nocturne

(Masterpost)

Account/s

Blogspot

Updated As Of:

7/27/2020

With Regards to His Name

Nocturne is obviously not his real name. He preferred to use that pseudonym in order to maintain some anonymity despite, as he claimed, the fact that a lot of people already probably know his true name due to his whistleblowing days for a company like Montauk. I suppose it could also be a way for him to become more comfortable with sharing his own personal feelings by pretending that the anonymity could protect him from behind the scene.

Nevertheless, as a point of reference for my own files, I’ll state it here that his name is Vincent.

The name Nocturne has a rather interesting meaning behind it. According to google dot com, a nocturne is usually either a musical composition or a work of art that is inspired by, or evocative of, the night.

Vincent, on the other hand, came from the Roman name Vincentius, which was also derived from the latin word vicere which means “to conquer”.

The Nocturnal Archives

Nocturne created The Nocturnal Archives blogger account in order to record his journey on life after he graduated from high school.

At least, that had been the original intention of the blog before a certain event obviously caused an upheaval on his personal life.

After the death of Adrain Carter on October 14 2017, Nocturne became emboldened, or rather to be more accurate, passionate slash obsessed with finding the truth. What sort of truth? I think that originally, it was just to prove his mentor’s innocence with regards to the sexual harassment allegations Dr. Miz Cardozo made around a month after Adrian Carter’s death. However, the deeper he searched for the truth, the more he realized that it wasn’t just about proving his mentor’s innocence at that point but also beginning to pinpoint certain things that doesn’t add up such as his mentor’s research, the fishy events circulating around Miz Cardozo herself, and more.

Most of the entries in the blog contained some self-reflection and reminiscing that tells us of Nocturne’s inner thoughts as well as little facts sprinkled in here and there that told us more about what sort of person he was. Most of the times, however, the entries would focus on his journey for the truth, telling us with some frustration that he’s been encountering roadblock after roadblock in his search for information and sometimes, even when he got some intel, whenever he attempted to piece them all together… It always felt like there was something off or impossible about the information.

It’s definitely a very personal blog and for someone who gives off the vibes that he is a very private person save for when he is around people that he actually cares about, I’m surprised that he actually took the suggestion of his friend to create this blog and put it on public seriously.

Another thing that I’ve noticed on the format of the blog is that it might be heavily inspired by the House of the Leaves book written by Mark Z. Danielewski considering quotes from the book are heavily peppered in around the different entries especially when he’s getting in too deep when he’s talking about a heavy topic. Did he deliberately edit it like that? I don’t know. But I suppose I could always ask him when I manage to muster up the courage to actually talk in the comments.

On the Topic of Adrian Carter

Nocturne looks up to Adrian Carter. He’s constantly singing the man praises for his genius work and personality. He also admired Adrian’s parenting skills and his parent-child relationship with Cassie Carter, noting that despite the long periods of time when they’re physically distant, Adrian was still a hell lot more present in Cassie’s life compared to his own parents who lived much closer to him in distance.

As I said, Nocturne looks up to Adrian as his role model. He admitted in one of his entries that he practically worshipped the grounds the man walked upon with some self-aware light hearted humor:

“It felt like God himself had come down and was like, ‘hey guys, lemme give you some guidance in person here, face-to-godly-face.’”

I wonder if Adrian considered Nocturne as his personal student. If Adrian had been obsessed with perfecting the RedMan then he would have only allowed people that he trusted to influence the creation of the AI, right? So the good relationship between the mentor-student must have been a mutual one.

It appears that Adrian left behind his research to Nocturne or at least, Nocturne had been able to access the man’s lifelong research studies and projects as the creator of the blog had been expressing a nice mixture of appreciation, confusion, and frustration from what he was reading from Adrian’s texts. It appears that most of it doesn’t seem to make sense. He claimed that Adrian seems to have been looking for monsters in the dark judging from some of the ramblings he read through.

Still, Nocturne has nothing but respect and good words for his mentor despite his frustration. He remembers the man fondly and is very much insistent on clearing Adrian’s name after Miz Cardozo stained it with her confession.

Miz Cardozo

It appears as if the two barely crossed paths even as they worked closely with the same man. Nocturne mentioned that Adrian never worked with the three of them together, only ever working with him once Cardozo had gone home for the day (they were working together on RedMan). This claim might get updates if Nocturne will divulge more details on his and Cardozo’s relationship, if there is one outside of the loathing vibes he’d often give off whenever he talked about Cardozo on his blog.

Originally, Nocturne had stayed his tongue when talking about Cardozo after the harassment confession came out. It appeared that he was rejecting the notion that Adrian Carter would do such a thing and was also rather peeved at seeing how Cardozo turned a blind eye on how the world decided to treat Cassie as their newest scapegoat. He decided then that he’ll get to the bottom of these claims, find out for himself and for Cassie’s peace of mind on whether Cardozo’s claims were the truth. If not, he will let the world know of Cardozo’s lies and prove his mentor’s innocence.

However, when the news about Rosemary Road came out, all pretenses of politeness finally melted away from his mask and Nocturne basically declared war against Cardozo calling her a despicable person who had done so much disgusting things that it wouldn’t be surprising if they found out that she made that sexual harassment allegations in order to give her a better chance at taking Adrian’s place on the company as its new CEO.

Miz responded with a mocking, passive-aggressive post that called him a delusional conspiracy theorist and may or may not have peppered in some subtle/not so subtle threats at the end of his section in her answering post to his and Cassie’s callout posts.

Needless to say, I really wouldn’t recommend leaving these two alone together in one room as they might as well start ripping each other to shreds.

Montauk

Nocturne interned in Montauk during his last year in highschool and while he was studying in UCLA. During his time there, he must have shown a lot of promise to have captured Adrian Carter’s attention and satisfied his expectations along with maintaining an amicable relationship with the man to the point that he allowed him to work with him on RedMan.

However, as the years passed by, notably after Adrian’s death, the relationship between the corporation and this man must have soured enough due to Nocturne’s own digging into the company’s dirty secrets that he whistleblowed on the company’s shady dealings. Was the issue that he blew the whistle on the dubious experiments that caused the deaths of so many people? Perhaps that’s another thing to ask him in the future too.

Cabbage Girl

One day, during the summer of 2015, Nocturne burst into his mentor’s office without knocking in order to tell him about his progress on his tasks and met the daughter of Montauk in a humorous way that the head of the massive corporation introduced his daughter to him and created the birth of the fondly remembered inside joke slash nickname “Cabbage”.

Nocturne and Cassie are obviously close as they are both cohabiting together and are actually in a romantic relationship with one another. The man obviously adores Cassie, his dorky little love letter praising her and telling her how much he loves her in his blog is already evidence enough as it provided a glimpse into the man’s softer side that I believe is generally reserved for his cat, Cassie, and their friends. He’s also really protective of her which is rather cute, in my opinion. He’s been really supportive of her over the past years since her father’s death and you could see it or rather hear it in the way Cassie would often pepper in (heh) mentions of him during her stories over the months.

However, it does make one wonder if they both think that it’s just the two of them against the world as nobody or almost nobody is taking their side that Adrian Carter is innocent of the accusation that Cardozo threw at him after his death. From what I saw, the world even condemned Cassie for not ‘cancelling’ her father.

Thankfully, they are both acting as each other’s support system in their trying times and from what I observed in the tiny peeks into their interactions with each other in Cassie’s entries and Nocturne’s journals, they trust the other to drag them out of their own heads when they get in too deep in their own thoughts to the point that they were shutting the world out. I’m just glad that they’re not alone right now as what they are attempting to do would be nigh impossible without anyone they could trust backing them.

Investigations and Seeking the Truth

Nocturne seems to have taken it upon himself to investigate a hell lot of things in his quest for the truth. The Cardozo-Lawrence case, Cardozo’s Relationship with Adrian Carter, the thing with Rosemary Road, Montauk Stuff, Continuing Adrian Carter’s Research and Projects, and it seems he’s beginning to delve into investigating the Bureau of Unreality and how they seem to be innately connected to Cardozo and Montauk and the Rosemary Road case.

All I can say is… My dude, my man, you need to learn how to delegate this shit to others.

(Bold words coming from someone who’s also doing the same thing. Jesus fucking Christ, Robin… What on earth are you doing?)

No wonder he’s having a hard time seeing the forest making up the trees when he’s trying to take in so much information as much as he can. I can’t exactly blame him since I’m not any better but seriously… This is just one massive way to burn ourselves out easily. Anyway—

It appears that for every information that he gets, he also receives fifty more questions which would understandably be very frustrating for him and it doesn’t help that since this is something that could bring quite the dirt into light, a lot of people and organizations are trying to prevent him from being able to dig in too deep and sink his teeth into actually helpful information rather than being led away into another possible dead end via crumbs for intel which would equal to a lot of time lost which could have been used for actual progression in the investigation.

I would suggest finding someone they could trust in order to help them with the investigation but how would you even know if somebody is trustworthy when it seems like the entire universe is completely against you finding the truth?

How would one be assured that the person whom they dragged in to help would also fall for the same trap of getting stuck in the minimal details to the point that they start seeing and hunting for monsters and lies in the dark? Especially when you, yourself, are starting to fall for the same trick?

Honestly? I don’t know if any of us would have an actual answer to that question. You could go the path of the more people to help with the search for the truth, the better, but then wouldn’t that just run the risk of all of us suffering from a horrid game of Telephone? It’s just such a high risk thing.

Either way, it seems that Nocturne’s investigation did at least yield some intel as word about his determination to find out what the actual fuck is happening in the world is getting around and people have started giving him leads that did bear some fruit even if it also created more questions.

Your Cat Pictures… Give It To Me.

Oh.

Nocturne also has a cat baby named Truant and I want a picture of him, damn it!

Somebody stop me from spamming the shit out of the poor man’s blog with begs for serotonin shots.

[vampirebitestigmata]

Accidentally Hurt by a Friend for the @badthingshappenbingo​

Daredevil fic, post season 3.

Matt doesn’t want to tell his friends he’s hurt and gets hurt worse because of it.

Matt had a supremely shitty night. He had shitty nights often, how can you not when you get into multiple fights with criminals in the span of just a few hours before returning home to three hours of sleep tops? That kind of night was typical for him, however, so they were much easier to deal with. If his shitty night consisted of just cuts and bruises, it was a miracle as far as he was concerned. Easy patrols like that are what drive him to go to mass every week, hoping for more (that, and the heavy stares he can feel deep in his soul from Maggie when he misses a week).

The previous night started as just your average shitty time, a few punches that would leave some bruises, but none to his face, and just one small cut from a very drunk man with a knife that wouldn’t even need stitches. In fact, it was looking to be one of the best days Daredevil had had in quite a long time. Naturally, since this was Matt Murdock and his horrible luck, absolutely everything went wrong in what should’ve been the last leg of his patrol through the kitchen. 

He was just two short minutes from his home, he could see his roof and was almost there when he heard a child screeching in the alley below him. Matt had to ignore many things in his life. If he didn’t overlook or bypass a majority of the issues he could hear when he really listened, he’d be running around in his suit all day and probably wouldn’t have even lasted a week, so no matter how wrong it felt he should’ve kept going.

Matt had made a promise to Foggy and Karen to be more careful about Daredeviling and when that promise fell through not even a week later, he promised he’d at least come to work on time and not visibly injured beyond explanation. If Matt didn’t keep going, there was a chance he’d get no sleep and his work performance would suffer, and while Matt did not want to do that for both the sake of and the fear of his coworkers, Matt also saw that this could be something simple. Just lead the child to his mother and he gets home to a glorious five hours of sleep before work. Matt decided to be an optimist just this once and help the kid. 

Six hours later, Matt managed to reunite the boy with his fathers. His fathers who did not live in Hell’s Kitchen. HIs fathers who did not live near the Kitchen. His fathers who were nigh impossible to find and scandalised when Matt brought them their young son to their hotel, who had spent the last few hours with Maggie as he followed the boys instructions to what he believed was his home. Matt took a wrong turn and found himself in the middle of a drug den, where he got the crap beat out of him. Eventually, Matt was able to call the police to collect the dealers, but not before getting hurt much more than he was willing to admit to Foggy. 

He was an hour late and had no time to sleep, so he simply bandaged all of his wounds and stuffed his first aid kit into his briefcase to fix himself up at work. He quickly called Foggy, claiming he’d overslept and would be at their new office in just a few minutes. 

“I promise I will get you both coffee and pastries from the good cafe down the street at lunch if you both let me get to work without question.” Matt knew the best way to enter the office and avoid confrontation now, all it took was a bit of bribery.

Karen hummed lightly in consideration, most likely giving him a once over before deciding. Just as Matt heard her start to answer, Foggy chimed in from his office.

“No way, Man.” The other man pushed aside the curtain currently serving as his office door until they could afford a proper one. “I know you think bribing us is going to work everytime, but the last time you overslept was when you were dead for months, so what really happened?” Foggy and Matt grew closer than they had been since college over the past few months at Nelson, Murdock, and Page, which was amazing and something Matt considered impossible not too long ago, the only downside being Foggy was able to find out all of his tricks quickly again and was good at shutting him down. 

“Overslept? Matt, really, I’m gonna be honest, this would’ve fooled me a while ago, but you refuse to be even two minutes late any more and barely get enough rest. You did not oversleep.” Karen stood up from her previous perch on a desk they had gotten from Foggy’s uncle and set in the center of the room and moved to get a closer look at Matt, trying to find any injuries. Thankfully he’d wrapped all his wounds well enough that none had bled through yet, but he needed to go, seeing as it would not last. 

Matt smiled at Karen in the same charming way he always did. “There were some… special allowances made to my no sleeping rules.” He wiggled his eyebrows at his coworkers. 

“Who was it?” Foggy did not believe him, that much was clear from the tone of his voice alone, which was good, since Matt couldn’t pay much attention to anything but the pain he was feeling and sensing if any blood was seeping its way into his clothes.

“I am pretty sure you shouldn’t ask that. We’re coworkers, Fogs. This is not professional discussion.” Matt tried to go to his office, sweeping with his cane as he went and tapping on Karen’s ankles when she didn’t move.

“Maybe not, but we just have to say we're not open now to ask unprofessionally.” Matt just smiled and shook his head once more, continuing to tap on her leg lightly until she let him by a moment later. 

Matt was eternally grateful for the lack of windows in to back space of a butchers shop they called an office, because that meant Foggy and Karen couldn’t see him with his shirt off stitching up the cuts on his torso (and he thanked God, Mary, and every saint he could think of that they didn’t see his with his pants down to sew the cuts on his legs). He’d cleaned all the cuts before bandaging them at home and he smelled no infection yet, so there was no alcohol on the floors for his friends to find. Matt thought he was home free a quarter of the way threw the last cut, a stab wound on his shoulder. It was going to hurt like hell to move that arm for a while, but he’d be fine and his makeshift family would be none the wiser. 

“Hey, Matt,” Foggy called from the center space connecting the three offices. Matt dropped the needle to let it lay on his arm as he put on his shirt at record speed, leaving only the top button undone and forgoing his tie completely, moving his hands to the papers on his desk just as Foggy pushed open his door. 

“Foggy?” Matt stalled his hands over one line of text and turned his head innocently to the doorway. 

Foggy pulled the chair across from Matt closer to the desk to sit and then scoffed. 

“Mr. Murdock, I will have you know that casual Friday takes place on Fridays in this office, ties are a requirement all other days of the week. Failure to comply will result in firing.” Foggy was fiddling with a pen he’d probably forgotten to set down as he spoke, and he poked it toward Matt playfully at the end of his sentence. 

Matt released a scoff of his own and replied, “Mr. Nelson, we all know Ms. Page is the only one allowed to make personnel changes in this office. On the topic, however, I do seem to remember someone having very long, unprofessional hair in this business not too long ago.” Matt tried his damnedest not to lean over and ease the pain of the wound on his stomach like he wanted and mostly succeeded in making his movement look like a lean toward the other man. 

“Wow, buddy, a joke about my precious lost hair? I’m hurt!” Foggy sat up straighter and pressed a hand to his chest before shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m going down to the precinct to meet a client, you in?” 

Foggy was just asking as a formality, Matt always wanted to come help and double check the honesty of their clients. Matt was fucked the minute Foggy asked, since he couldn’t say no or yes without consequences. 

Matt leaned back, ignoring his body's protests, and shook his head. “No thanks, I’ll sit this one out. I have a lot of paperwork over another case and it’s not gonna do itself.”

The moment he finished speaking, Matt could feel Foggy’s withering stare on him, searching for signs of injury or hangover, which had been the only things to stop him from taking on more work now that he could to lower the burden on his partners. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Matt huffed out a small awkward laugh. “I kinda spilled coffee on my pants and don’t want to show off the stain.” 

Foggy stared at him a moment longer before chuckling himself. “Lead with that next time, pal. Alright, I’ll see you wh-” 

Matt had almost forgotten about the pen Foggy held, tuning out that part of his body language to focus on more pressing details. He was joltingly reminded of the object when Foggy went to poke him in the shoulder with it. Foggy grew up in a family that liked to rough house and put too much force into things like playful taps sometimes. It wouldn’t have been that big a deal if he hadn’t just poked his pen into Matt’s stab wound. 

The injured man gasped loudly and grabbed his injury tightly, hissing through his teeth when his hand made contact. 

“Fuck!” He was going to have to put his jacket back on. There was blood on his shirt now and his hand as well. Matt hunched over to lessen his other pains and squeezed tightly on his arm, feeling the needle poke at his skin.

“Holy shit, Matt! Are you okay?” Foggy stood up and leaned closer to Matt. He pried the other man’s hand off the wound and cursed at the blood. “I’m sorry, man. You said you were okay, though. Oh, shit. Here, take off your shirt so I can see-” Foggy reached towards Matt’s shirt collar to help him get it off without pain, but Matt jumped back in his seat and swatted at his friend out of habit, grimacing at the sharp spikes of pain it caused across his torso. 

“I’m fine, Fog. Just need to finish stitching that up and I’m all good. Don’t you have a client to meet?” 

Foggy steamrolled right past his attempts at distraction, “I can see a cut on your chest from here, Murdock. Let me see what’s wrong before you decide it all okay.” He made another move towards Matt’s collar, and Matt used his less injured arm to hold his hand still. 

“What about the client, Foggy? You’re always complaining that we don’t make enough money and we have to have clients for money.”

The two continued their struggle, Foggy using his two uninjured arms to his advantage to open buttons in a way very reminiscent of their college days when one would be too drunk to do anything and the other would help them get undressed and into bed. 

“Karen, can you call the local precinct and tell them I’m gonna be delayed,” the blond called over his shoulder, trying to keep partially turned toward Matt as they struggled. 

“Sure, why?” Karen popped her head into Matt’s office and gasped at the visible bruises on the parts of Matt’s torso Foggy had freed from the shirt. 

Karen went into Foggy’s office to make the call before returning with the first aid kit she kept in her purse. When she returned, Foggy had won the battle and was looking at the bloody, partially stitched cut on Matt’s shoulder. Said man was slouched back in his chair, almost pouting as his companions inspected his handy work.

“Karen, do you have any alcohol to clean this with?” 

As soon as Karen passed off a bottle of some type of alcohol, Matt resigned himself to spending the next twenty minutes observing as his two close friends tried to figure out how to do proper stitches with him as a test dummy.

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

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TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all…

CHAPTER 5 - AMOR FATI

He made it. By the gods, he made it.

After spending what felt like half a lifetime running through that cursed labyrinth, Jahaan finally found himself at the end. Stepping through the final door, Jahaan could see it in the distance. The Stone of Jas, tantalisingly close.

But, of course, nothing’s that simple.

A large chasm separated him from the Stone. The ground simply seemed to end, a terrifyingly steep drop into the black abyss of nothingness. Jahaan felt himself getting vertigo just by peering over the edge. There were two thin bridges crossing over to the Stone, both blocked by an energy field of some kind.

Jahaan tried to place his hand through the shield, but naturally got blocked. Frustrated, he looked around the side, wondering if there was a way to jump past the shield, but it was too risky.

Grunting, Jahaan called out, “What’s this about, Sliske? I’m at the end of your stupid maze. Give me the Stone.”

A cackle reverberated around him. “Patience, Janny… there’s just one more hurdle in your way. For that, we’re awaiting the company of another…”

Irritated, Jahaan settled himself on a ledge and waited, examining the remnants of his backpack to see if he had any food left. Seeing that all the supplies had been used, Jahaan tossed the backpack down to the ground with a huff.

It didn’t take long for him to work out Sliske’s intentions, that being forcing the World Guardian to race another competitor. It seemed ridiculous - he had reached the Stone first, why should he have to go through this pathetic little hurdle?

Because Sliske finds it funny, Jahaan grumbled internally. No doubt, that was why Sliske did a lot of things.

Before long, the chamber door opened again and Zamorak emerged through, entourage in tow. He regarded the bored looking World Guardian, then the bridges over the chasm and the Stone beyond. “What’s all this bullshit?”

Picking himself up off the ledge, Jahaan rolled his eyes. “I think Sliske wants us to race.”

Zamorak mirrored the eye roll. “Of course he fucking does.”

“Gentlemen, please!” Sliske’s vexing tone interrupted them. “Take your places. The race for the Stone is about to begin!”

Reluctantly, Jahaan and Zamorak readied themselves on the starting block just in front of the protective shield. Honestly, Jahaan was more pissed off than he was anxious. After traversing the labyrinth for hours and making it to this ‘final section’ minutes before anyone else, he still had to race Zamorak for the Stone. Zamorak, a taller and stronger Mahjarrat not weighed down by the burden of armour. Jahaan deduced quickly that Sliske no doubt just wanted to see him lose up close and personal, to drag the Stone just out of reach at the very last minute. One last middle finger in all these bullshit games. Despite that, Jahaan’s initial goal had not changed - kill Sliske. Getting the Stone would have just been a nice bonus. But since he was so close to winning, damnit, he wanted to win. Maybe he and Icthlarin could end up doing some good with the Stone, or at least hide it away to prevent another rerun of the God Wars.

However, his disheartened mood lifted slightly when Sliske announced, “Oh dear, this won’t do at all. I think Jahaan deserves a little headstart - he did make it here first, after all. I’m going to make you work for it, Zammy. Now, on your marks… get set… RUN!”

Thinking he actually had a chance, Jahaan bolted forwards the second the shield dropped, sprinting down the narrow platform and over the first hurdle effortlessly.

But it wasn’t long until Zamorak was running too.

Zamorak was incredibly agile for a creature of his size, but so was Jahaan. The World Guardian vaulted over the obstacles with ease. The height difference certainly worked in Zamorak’s favour, but Jahaan was nimble, managing to edge his way into the lead before Zamorak clawed it back.

Zamorak’s entourage looked on in trepidation. When Moia realised her master’s victory wasn’t guaranteed she resorted to desperate measures. Picking up a stray piece of debris, Moia aimed as best she could and hurled it across the chasm towards Jahaan. Unfortunately for the World Guardian, Moia’s aim was near flawless, catching him hard at the back of his knee joint. While his armour protected him from any pain, the shock and impact was enough to make Jahaan stumble - he tripped forwards, gravity cruelly catching up to him as he toppled down onto the narrow platform, clutching onto the edges of the walkway for dear life. A small chunk of the platform broke off when he hit the ground. Jahaan watched it fall into the abyss below with a furious heartbeat, his life flashing before his eyes as he realised how close he was to following that debris downwards.

Then he looked up and saw his chance of success being stripped away from him as Zamorak reached the end of the course.

As Zamorak hopped off the course, Sliske emerged from his hiding place, the Stone looming over his hunched frame. With a flourish of his hands, a spell was cast, and Zamorak’s entourage - along with all the other gods and their followers - were ejected from the maze. “Bravo, brother! Your little half-breed really did you a solid at the end there.”

“Get out of the way, Sliske,” Zamorak ordered, striding forwards. “I’ve beaten your pathetic little game. The Stone is mine.”

“Yes, yes,” Sliske accepted with a dismissive wave of his hand, stepping out of the way to allow Zamorak an unhindered path to the Stone. “A deal is a deal, and I am a man of my word. The Stone is yours - do with it what you will.”

“Yes, a deal is a deal, my Legatus Maximus,” Zaros’ voice emerged before he did, Seren teleporting by his side soon after.

Grumbling, Zamorak rolled his eyes and let his shoulders sag. “So fucking close… I thought you’d invoke this here. You want me to give you the Stone, right?”

“As the terms of Vinculum Juris dictate, I request for you to give the Stone to me,” Zaros confirmed. Zamorak could have sworn he felt traces of smugness coming from the deity, but he shrugged it off.

“Fair enough. The Stone’s yours,” Zamorak conceded. “A fair exchange for the salvation of my people.”

In all this, Sliske was thoroughly taken aback. “But… but how are you two here? You should have been cast out of the labyrinth when Zamorak reached the Stone.”

“You are not as powerful as you think you are, Sliske,” Seren stated with unwavering conviction. “We are beyond your tricks.”

“But she said…” Sliske shook his head in bafflement, trying to blink the pieces into place. “It doesn't matter. The game is over. The Stone now belongs to Zamorak.”

“You cannot do this Sliske,” Seren maintained, forcefully. “You know that any god being in possession of the Stone would be an act of war. It would plunge the universe into chaos.”

“Well, it’s rather fitting Zamorak has the Stone then, isn’t it?”

“But a war, Sliske,” Seren emphasised. “It would wake them. You must know that the elder gods sleep below us and you know what will happen if they wake!”

“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps they had a part in all of this?” Sliske insinuated, causing even Zaros to falter.

This time though, it was Zamorak’s turn to pipe up, “You’re saying we’re supposed to believe all your bullshit was the will of the elder gods? Yeah, sure thing, you mad bastard.”

“Jas…” Jahaan gasped, having stayed quiet in the background until now, listening intently. With encouragement from Seren, Jahaan continued, “That orb in your study, I touched it, and my head was filled with a vision…” with wide-eyes of realisation, Jahaan looked up at Sliske. “You were talking to Jas, weren’t you? She was the one who showed you how to get the Stone, and how to use it to strip the gods of their powers.”

“Ding ding!” Sliske clapped his hands sharply together. “Congratulations, Janny. Of all of them to figure it out, I’m surprised it was you, but I’m impressed nonetheless.”

The cogs in Zaros’ mind were grinding with indignation. “You… had an audience with the most powerful being in the universe. You have been her agent. Why you?”

“Perhaps she was drawn to my magnetic personality?” Sliske grinned, unable to resist the tease. He recovered quickly though, continuing, “I don’t know why she chose me, but she did. We came to a mutually beneficial relationship. She gave me the power and knowledge I needed, and in return, I brought her the gods.”

Seren blinked. “You… brought her the gods?”

Sliske’s lip curled upwards slightly at one side. “Indeed. You intrigued her. She wished to study you, and I told her I could provide the means for that research.”

Jahaan angrily countered, “So what was all this bullshit about trying to steal my soul?”

Raising an eyebrow, Sliske replied, “You think I’m incapable of having two plans on the go? Now, my work for Jas is done, and the Stone is of no further use to me. The Staff, on the other hand...”

Sliske summoned the Staff of Armadyl to his hands, shooting Jahaan an intense look that made the World Guardian physically recoil. “I have one last use for.”

Suddenly, a haunting screech pierced the air. Soon after, Kerapac teleported into the clearing, adopting a proud and defiant stance that challenged all the gods before him.

“You should not be able to be here!” Sliske hissed, feeling the card house he had built start to wobble. “The Stone’s power should have cast you out!”

Kerapac stretched his jaw, showing off the fearsome set of fangs he housed inside. “Ignorant vosk. The Stone is our tether; you cannot keep us from it!”

Stalking forward, Kerapac’s shoulders raised and sagged with heavy, seething breaths. “You bicker over the Catalyst like a toy or trophy, but I know it for what it is. It is the whip that cuts our flesh. It is the collar that chokes us. It is the enslavement of my people!”

From out of his robe, Kerapac brought out an ancient-looking mirror with a plated gold frame - the Elder Mirror.

Holding it aloft and pointing it at the Stone of Jas, he screamed, “WE WILL NO LONGER BE SLAVES!”

Suddenly, sparks started to fly out of the mirror, attaching themselves to the Stone with a sickening crackle of pure elder energy. The cavern started to shake violently, rocks detaching from the ceiling and crashing down to the ground, shattering on impact. The Stone itself was fizzing and whirling, breaking apart with a furious anger that thrummed and pounded as the earth shaked and quivered.

Zaros and Seren gasped, eyes transfixed on the beam of energy that threatened to tear the walls down around them. They knew that Kerapac was channeling the anima mundi from around the Heart of Gielinor straight into the Elder Mirror. The anima mundi was then duplicated infinitely as it was redirected back into the Stone of Jas, overwhelming the precious elder artefact.

They also knew that the damage had been done, and that they needed to escape. Thus, they teleported out of the cavern and left the Stone to its fate.

Seeing their swift exit, Zamorak was smart enough to follow suit closely after.

Jahaan saw that Sliske was looking at similar moves to escape, but was damned if he was going to let him get away that easily.

“NO!” Jahaan screamed, launching himself at Sliske and tackling him to the ground. Once he’d grabbed onto the Mahjarrat, he managed to transport them both into the Shadow Realm, praying that being in a separate realm of existence from the Stone of Jas might protect them somehow. Fortunately, he’d caught Sliske off-guard enough to accomplish this and the two tumbled into the Shadow Realm.

Wasting no time, Jahaan dragged Sliske to his feet by his robe and started to pull him into a sprint. “RUN!”

Instinct taking over, Sliske complied. He and the World Guardian ran as fast as possible away from the Stone of Jas, leaping behind a downed statue just as the blast hit.

The aftershock of the blast had knocked Jahaan from the Shadow Realm - that much he felt from the difference in the air, sucking in a lungful of dust and debris that threatened to choke him to death. When the light faded and the ringing in his ears subsided enough to take stock, Jahaan dared to peer over the pillar and survey the destruction.

The Stone was no more - that was the first thing that captured his attention. Only a shattered plinth remained, fragments of the Stone’s surface thrown around the remnants of the cavern, piling against the walls.

Squinting, Jahaan thought he could see Kerapac’s body through the smoke and haze. If he remained so close to the Stone for that blast, there was no way he could have survived.

Hearing Sliske stirring beside him, Jahaan wasted no time, swinging back around and catching the Mahjarrat’s temple with his elbow.

Grunting, Sliske dodged the next attack by teleporting out into the middle of the ruined cavern, stumbling upon his landing. Clutching the side of his head, he growled, “You really are giving me mixed messages here, World Guardian.”

Getting back up to his feet, Jahaan drew both of his swords and declared, “This ends tonight, Sliske.”

Sliske laughed. “Even the World Guardian isn’t above a good cliche, I see. But you should have escaped with the others, Jahaan. Now…” he summoned the Staff of Armadyl back to his gloves hands. “Now I shall collect what I am owed. Wights!”

Raising the Staff aloft, Sliske brought forth the six Barrows Brothers to his aid, the wights that had once fought alongside Jahaan at the Mahjarrat Ritual now stood opposing him. The six against one advantage did not swing in Jahaan’s favour. Thankfully, Sliske seemed like he was going to sit back and enjoy the show, so Jahaan had more breathing room to deal with these undead foes first.

“Debilitate him,” Sliske commanded. “I need him alive for the transfer.”

Upon the order, the Brothers started to advance on Jahaan.

The good thing about the wights was that - unless specifically commanded - they did not run, thus they could be out maneuvered fairly easily if Jahaan kept on his feet.

With Sliske’s order to debilitate him, not kill him, the World Guardian felt a little more confident about his chances. Still, these wights could make a mistake and take his head off, if he wasn’t careful enough. With that in mind, Karil had to be taken out first. If a stray bolt caught Jahaan in the side of his head, it was lights out for good.

Sheathing his swords, Jahaan ran to the other side of the chamber and ducked behind a pile of debris to summon up his first spell, a simple air blast. Jahaan wanted to save his ancient magick spells for Sliske - an unwelcome surprise for the Mahjarrat.

Peeking over, he locked sight of Karil, making sure to pick him out from the cluster of brothers. As he did, two bolts whirled over his head, slightly too close for comfort. Crouching back down, Jahaan readied the spell. Once he’d gathered enough energy, he peered back over and shot the barrage at Karil, catching him square in the chest.

Of course, that wasn’t enough to kill him, but it was a start.

The Brothers were gaining on him now, forcing Jahaan to relocate behind a broken statue, dodging Ahrim’s magic attacks as he did. When the World Guardian edged out of cover to survey his next move, a bolt caught the side of Jahaan’s arm, ricocheting off the sturdy elder rune protection.

That’s when he saw Kerapac’s body lying close to him, and an idea came to mind.

Jahaan knew he could tank a few of Ahrim’s attacks - the armour managed to survive one of Zemouregal’s spells, so it could take whatever the wight threw at him.

What Jahaan needed to do was catch Karil as he was reloading. About seven more shots, if he counted correctly. To do that, he needed to use himself as bait, but he’d need a shield if this was going to work properly, something to protect his head. Unfortunately, Jahaan hadn’t come equipped with one, but the armour Kerapac was wearing would do the trick nicely. Quickly, Jahaan hopped out from behind cover, praying Karil wouldn’t get lucky this time, and dragged the corpse back behind the pillar with him. Swiftly, he removed Kerapac’s armour, held it to the side of his head, and hoped this wasn’t a mistake.

Running out from cover, Jahaan sprinted across the chamber towards the opposite corner, and not a moment too soon as the Brother’s were almost on top of him at this point. Ahrim got a few good strikes in, slowing Jahaan down a touch as he absorbed the impact, but nothing too wounding. As soon as Jahaan saw the first bolt shoot past him, he began readying a spell, and counted.

Another bolt, and another. Jahaan didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this cat and mouse strategy before something gave out, but knowing it was the best strategy he had so far, Jahaan held out for as long as possible.

Another bolt, this time catching the edge of his leg armour. Another one, just missing his arm.

Just one more left…

As soon as Jahaan heard that last bolt whiz by, he dropped the make-shift shield and fired a relentless barrage attack against Karil. Fortunately, it paid off, the wight collapsing to the ground and disappearing in a dust cloud.

“Hahaha! Congratulations, Janny!” Sliske announced with a sharp clap. “One down, five to go.”

Ahrim was more of an annoyance than a threat, but there was a risk that his strikes would gradually degrade Jahaan’s armour, making it more vulnerable in the process. So, Jahaan decided to take him out of the equation next. Dashing straight for him, Jahaan tanked a handful of magic spells, managed to weave out of the way of the melee-attacking Brothers, and unsheathed his sword seconds before he plunged the blade straight through Ahrim’s heart. The Brother crumbled to dust the second Jahaan removed his sword, freeing the blade just in time to block an attack from Guthan’s spear.

The hardest part was needing to separate the Brothers; Jahaan knew he couldn’t fight four wights at once. Even the greatest swordsman in the land would have had a hard time, considering the Barrows Brothers were incredibly strong and proficient warriors, even in their undead states. While wights were slower on the uptake than their living counterparts, they made up for it with durability - you cut a man’s arm off, it’ll give him pause, but do it to a wight, he won’t even notice.

So, Jahaan took to sending targeted air strikes at their feet and ankles. There was no sense bombarding them in the stomach or chest. Jahaan knew he wouldn’t be able to cast powerfully enough or quickly enough to do any lasting damage. But by targeting the legs, it slowed them down further, sometimes causing them to clatter to the ground. With this careful strategy, Jahaan gradually separated the Brothers out into something much more manageable to deal with.

And all the while, Sliske observed the battle like a hawk watching its prey. But if Jahaan squinted enough, he noticed that Sliske’s face looked thinner.

Of course! He didn’t attend the Ritual, and without the Stone supplementing his life force…

Jahaan didn’t let himself get too excited - Sliske at his weakest was still stronger than Jahaan could ever be. But anything to slightly level the playing field was a godsend.

Verac’s attacks were fast and fairly accurate. The only slight weakness was when he had to pull the flail back around after each swing, but even this barely took any time at all. Sometimes he would even incorporate it into an attack, relentlessly gaining on Jahaan as he forced the World Guardian to hop backwards to avoid being hit. Jahaan knew enough about flails to know that they bested swords almost every time. You can’t block an attack from a flail head on, and if the chain wraps itself around the sword, you’d find yourself disarmed more often than not, having the blades wrenched out of your grasp.

So, Jahaan let Verac advance on him, trying to identify a pattern in his movements to calculate the best time to counter. But while this worked for the first few attacks, Jahaan unfortunately misjudged the distance during one strike.

When the flail swung forwards, the mace slashed towards the side of Jahaan’s head. He turned as much as he could, folding himself over to avoid the impact, but one of the spikes caught the skin against Jahaan’s temple.

As blood gushed from the wound, Jahaan started regretting not wearing a helmet. It was a risk, leaving your head exposed like that, but Jahaan had never managed to get along with them. His vision would be partially obscured, and distance couldn’t be judged, so he couldn’t fight half as well while wearing one. But the downside of that, of course, was leaving the most fragile and vulnerable piece of the body as a big, shiny target.

In Jahaan’s dazed state, he could have sworn he heard the scolding voice of Sliske reiterate that the World Guardian was to be taken alive, not dead.

Scrambling to get away from Verac, Jahaan moved his attention to Torag, who was quickly gaining on him. Unfortunately, the blow to his head had knocked him for six and he wasn’t able to dodge Torag’s attack in time. Jahaan stumbled backwards and fell to the ground as one of the hammers knocked him square in the chest. Coughing furiously, the winded World Guardian gasped for air, just managing to roll out of the way as he saw the other hammer set to smash down onto his torso. After Sliske’s assault, Jahaan knew his ribs were always going to be a weakness, but thankfully they didn’t feel broken or shattered.

Once he got to his feet and recuperated enough to see without blurred vision, Jahaan realised Dharok was also upon him, alongside Torag. The simultaneous attack from one of Torag’s hammers and Dharok’s greataxe was blocked by each of Jahaan’s swords, but it was a strain, especially in his weakened left arm. Slipping to the side, Jahaan used Dharok’s own strength and momentum against him, forcing him to stumble forwards. At the same time, Jahaan swung his second sword around, aiming for the unarmoured flesh around Torag’s elbow.

The sickening squelch as the blade sliced through undead flesh signalled he’d hit the target, followed by the dull thump of a hammer clattering to the floor, Torag’s severed hand still firmly wrapped around the handle.

Jumping backwards, Jahaan sought to gain some distance from the reoriented Dharok and the one-armed Torag, who didn’t even notice he was now missing a limb.

Sheathing his swords, Jahaan conjured up another series of air spells. The Brothers had congregated together again, threatening to overwhelm the World Guardian with their offence. Targeting the legs was a fairly easy way to slow them down, and Jahaan’s accuracy was pretty decent. Practice had really paid off, allowing Jahaan to hit the mark nine times out of ten. In fact, Jahaan got exceedingly lucky when aiming an air blast at Verac’s leg, missing the shin but catching him in the kneecap, shattering part of the join off. Verac tumbled to the ground and didn’t seem to be able to get back up again, much to Jahaan’s delight. As the World Guardian had found out personally, Verac’s flail was a huge threat. Now, that particular Brother could be easily culled at any time.

Now that the Brother’s had been effectively separated, Jahaan went to challenge Guthan first, nimbly dodging out of the way as the Brother tried to pierce the spearhead through his armoured stomach. As Jahaan went to counter, Guthan braced the spear to block the double strike from Jahaan’s swords, but instead of stopping the attack, Jahaan’s blades cut straight through the wooden shaft of the spear. The action surprised Jahaan a lot more than it did the wight, but the World Guardian recovered his wits quick enough to capitalise, pushing Guthan back with a kick to his gut and then finishing him off with a decapitating strike.

Dharok and Jahaan parried for a while, the Brother being rather quick with his reflexes, despite having such a large weapon. Jahaan knew to not give him enough room to properly swing the axe, keeping in close quarters with the Brother to restrict his movement. It paid off before long; learning from his fight with Guthan, Jahaan cut the greataxe’s handle in two before stabbing Dharok through the heart, the Brother’s armour no match against the razor-sharp elder rune blades.

The one-armed Torag wasn’t too great of a struggle either - it didn’t take much to outmaneuver him and take off his second arm, leaving him vulnerable to decapitation.

Panting for breath, Jahaan sheathed one of his swords, feeling the sweat pooling up in his gloves. He wiped away the beads coating his forehead.

Looking up at Sliske, he ambled over to Verac and drove the blade through the top of the crawling wight’s skull. “Now can we finish this?”

A sneer tugged at the corner of Sliske’s thin lips. “Not bad, World Guardian. I dare say I’m impressed. But I’m afraid I have one more ace up my sleeve…”

With a wave of the Mahjarrat’s hand, a cloud of smoke and shadow manifested in the centre of the chamber.

When it receded, Ozan was standing there.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[tarithenurse]

Stranded - 2 of 2 (or 3)

Pairing: Loki Odinson x fem!reader Content: A bit of drama, but mostly fluff. Some errors due to lack of proof reading. A/N: So people liked the original (see Masterlist) and asked for more though I’d meant for it to be a one-shot…and then I thought: why not? There will be one more part after this if you guys are interested, other wise I’ll let this be the last.

Pacing back and forth, Loki only listens half-heartedly to the nonsensical babble of his friends. Lady Sif is entertaining Thor and the Warriors Three with her latest news from the training of the newest guard – she had assisted Tyr in a mock battle which he and his team had lost.

“Loki?” the victorious warrior call out.

The long strides carries the prince in question to the door where he has to turn around. “Yes, marvellous. Well done, lady Sif.”

Raucous laughter finally causes Loki to pause.

“Oh, brother mine,” the deepest voice hollers, “your thoughts are so far astray a skirmish may break out and you would not notice.”

Fandral, at least, finds a smidgen of compassion. “Is it the fate of the Midgardian that troubles you?”

There is understanding to be found despite the mirthful twinkle in his eyes and Loki admits to the worries. The Midgardian has been called before the All-Father, interrupting the stroll through the gardens that she and the raven-haired prince were enjoying after lunch. The two of them spend nigh all their waking hours in the company of each other as though each day is the last, they have together – it may as well be because lady [Y/N] is bound to return to her homeworld sooner rather than later.

Always. A word spoken so easily, taking their willing hearts captive. But always and forever will end eventually, Loki knows, as his father is ill-inclined to allow the use of Bifrost for the youngest son to travel to and from Midgard once [Y/N] has returned to a home she has no longing for.

“But this is simple!” Despite Volstag’s enthusiasm, the rest of the chamber’s occupants wait silently for him to elaborate. “If you cannot go to her then she must stay here.”

Loki frowns. “As much as I would love this, we all know how Odin’s attitu–“

“Yes, yes!” Fandral picks up on his friend’s idea. “A young maiden can easily be disguised among the people of Asgard or Vanaheim for a while until the All-Father’s attention has shifted and he has forgotten about the foreigner –”

“– at which point the young prince conveniently forgets the cause of his broken heart when he finds a new love,” Volstag completes, the two friends beaming.

…   Reader   …

You had decided with yourself on the very first night in Asgard that you like Frigga. The queen is kind, smart, and wonderfully wise to the point where you’re beginning to suspect that she’s got a lot more to say in terms of the affair of the kingdom than she officially is supposed to. Right now that’s a good thing. Sitting face to face with king Odin all on your own would have been nerve wrecking (the guard in full armour and with a fabulous but rather lethal looking spear might not help either) so you’re thankful for Frigga’s presence.

I wish Loki was here. It’s not the first time the thought presents itself during the audience, but you try your best to keep calm. This is about him too, though. Odin is ignoring that detail quite brilliantly, however, as he talks about your future without pausing for you to get a word in.

The thing is: as a so-called Midgardian, you’re not supposed to have come to Asgard at all. Now that you happen to be there, the quasi-mythological ruler is worried if other people might suddenly pop up from either Earth or anywhere else, really, and as you haven’t been able to  explain how you managed the trip…well, it’s hard to put that concern to rest. The next point that Odin wants to discuss (or rather, monologue) is how you were to handle the knowledge you now have of Valhalla and the “realm” once you do return home. At this point, you take a risk by interrupting the old god to promise that of course you wouldn’t say anything to anyone, and at least Frigga supports you (and further adds that no one would believe you anyways which hurts but is true). Odin? Not convinced.

A song you can’t quite remember enough of keeps bouncing around in your brain: Should I stay or should I go now…unfortunately, you can’t recall more of it so it only adds to your frustration. Seeking Frigga’s gaze, you’re seconds away from losing your temper.

“Perhaps, then, we must consider the simpler of two options?” Frigga winks quickly at you, making sure her husband doesn’t see. “It appears to me the best solution would be to have [Y/N] stay. I am certain that she can make herself useful, and although it will be hard to leave everything behind…it time, she might find happiness here?”

You don’t dare to say anything or even breathe as you wait for Odin to make up his mind.

Tugging softly at the beard, the king mumbles to himself. “It would eliminate the risk of the wrong people obtaining any information, exploiting it…”

“Indeed, dear husband.” Frigga has clearly counselled like this before. “Of course…accommodating lady [Y/N] need not be your concern. Such trivial matters could be dealt with by, say, Loki?”

The beard gets an extra tug before the god lights up with a smile, his eye nearly disappearing between the wrinkles. “He has taken quite an interest in you, has he not?” For a second, you recognize Thor in that face.

“Y-yes, your highness, prince Loki-i is very uhmm kind to me.” Nooo, why do I have to stammer?!

“So it shall be,” Odin declares with a grand gesture, “you must remain here...or on Vanaheim if that is more agreeable. Loki will be informed of this and he shall be in charge of your settlement.”

To his right, Frigga winks again, a mischievous smile at the corner of her mouth. “Do not worry, dear girl, I will be delighted to ensure everything is fine.”

It’s clear the audience is over and you get up, making sure to bow (which makes the king guffaw quietly) and thank them both before you rush out.

Every cell of you is aching for Loki with the exception of your braincells that are working overtime to make sense of what just happened. I’m staying? Odin never asked what you wanted and maybe he knew already from the queen whom you’ve talked a lot with about your home and the situation there, but it still feels odd to have someone else make a decision on your behalf as though it isn’t actually your life at all. But…I wanna stay. Pausing briefly next to a statue of a stern-looking Viking, you feel the warmth of the golden metal reflected in your chest and stomach. Yeah, staying feels right. For a moment, you bask in the soothing serenity that everything only can get better from now on.

But…what if…? A new wave of disastrous possibilities rise to engulf you, drown out the joy. Fighting the tide is useless as you own mocking voice pokes fun at you and questions everything you might just have gained. What if Loki doesn’t really want you around? Or if he does, for how long then? A simple “Midgardian” really can’t hold his interest for very long, the sing-song voice in your skull jeers.

A strong arm wraps around your shoulder, bulging muscles squeezing a bit too tight for comfort as they pull you into the shadows behind the golden statue. Too surprised to say anything, you automatically follow the order to remain quiet whispered by a deep voice.

Thor peers at you with gleaming eyes. “Lady [Y/N],” the whisper sounds like a distant rumble of thunder, “do not be alarmed.”

Easy for you to say! The heart is stuck in your throat, hammering frantically. “Oo-kay?”

…   Loki   …

Urging the stead out of the stables, the young prince resigns to the fact that he will not have a chance to double-check the hastily packed supplies - at the very least the trip to Vanaheim should not last more than a few days, though, now that any official passages are out of the picture.

Loki lingers for a few seconds, looking wistfully at the golden-capped towers of Valhalla before he spurs the horse into a gallop out of the city.

Leaving has never been this hard before. He knows he will return, forced to keep up the charade until the All-Father has forgotten the incident of the Midgardian intruder, but in this very moment, he has left the fate of his true love in the hands of his friends.

The plan is simple. Loki will wait until the cover of darkness at which point Fandral will smuggle [Y/N] out of the castle. Thor will stay behind to distract their father and mother, however in case that is not enough then Lady Sif, Hogun, and Volstag will remain as well to give credibility to any scenario established to throw the king (and potentially Heimdal) off the tracks.

The raven-haired prince prefers to leave with his sweetheart (and argued vehemently for this until Sif commented that he would be the first to be kept under observation as soon as Odin’s mind was made up). No, it will be better that he already is out of sight, and as he is needed to navigate the hidden paths between realms, then this is the only other option.

…

No rest for the wicked. Anxiously pacing around and around the same tree, Loki’s mind is a mess and his guts are filled with alternatingly lead and butterflies. There has been no comfort in the company of his steed as the animal has found a patch of sorrel collecting the evening dew. Now the last bird sings goodnight, ending its tune on a soft twirdle that echoes through the dusk before stilling.

The shadows grow deep. Loki’s horse decides it is time to settle in for the night, rubbing the saddle that lies on the ground into position before lying down with its head upon the embossed leather. The man walking in circles find no rest.

When a light finally can be seen, moving between the trees as a glowing orb entrenched by sharp teeth of darkness, Loki’s heart stops. One horse. He supposes it shouldn’t surprise him. Do Midgardians ride horses nowadays? A tentative breath makes room for normal breathing until he realizes that the single horse only has no rider while merely a single shape walks beside it. Fandral…where is [Y/N]? It is as though a bottomless crevasse open before Loki’s feet, invisible currents trying to pull him in, making him stagger as he steps forward to wards the blond man.

“Where is she?” Loki is aware how his voice shakes, but it does not matter. “Has Odin sent her away already?”

The mischievousness beneath the gentle smile is similar to Loki’s own, yet he cannot abide the sight of it and nearly looses his temper before Fandral finally answers. “As surprising as it may be, our carefully laid plan turns out to be unnecessary for a different reason. Come, my friend.”

…   Reader   …

You’re steaming with indignation, but thankfully for your surroundings a sense of appreciation for the (misplaced) helpfulness is creeping in…or maaaybe it’s the abashed apologies on repeat from Thor.

He’d scared the life half out of you when he grabbed you, and pretty spot on compared to the myths the guy had carried on with the “plan” without listening to any of the objections launched at him with an increasing amount of violence. Admittedly, your fists probably weren’t the worst pain he’s imagined through his life. It wasn’t until you’d been brought to the rest of the gang that you get a word in, stopping the outrageous escapade.

“We truly were just trying to –“

“I know!” You interrupt Thor a bit harsher than intended. Oops. “I know and I…I’m thankful…it’s just…” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose for a moment, “perhaps it’s best to ask next time if the help is needed?”

The blond warrior slash god has the decency to agree before making himself scarce to see if someone elsewhere needs any help.

Left alone, you finally have a chance to look around the room. It’s not your own but Loki’s and although you’ve been in there before, it’s the first time you really have the time to look around – or more correctly, it’s the first time you’re not being distracted by Loki in all his kind and brainy splendor.

…

Mesmerized by one of the few books you can actually read (honestly, you’d just wanted a peek to see what sort of literature the god likes) the sound of running footsteps barely manage to register with you before the door is slammed open to reveal a dishevelled Loki in front with a Fandral and Thor behind (both looking appropriately apologetic, still).

“[Y/N]…”

The silver tongued prince is rarely in lack of the right thing to say and you would have felt smug about it if it wasn’t for the desperation in his eyes. Large, roaming your face and shape in sign of any sign of distress before they light up with the intensity of a winter’s sun, stealing your breath away and making your knees go soft. An impractical change as you’ve just stood up. But of course, within a split second he’s there, practically sweeping you off your feet and into a lover’s embrace, lips meeting soft and hungry.

When next you become aware of your surroundings, it’s nice to see that the door has been closed to provide the two of you with some privacy.

“I thought…” Loki’s breath fans your cheek and neck. “If only I had dared to imagine father would let you stay…”

Pulling back slightly to kiss his nose, you share the anxious shiver of what could have been. “Your mom probably had something to do with it, to be fair.”

“I shall be sure to thank her.” He is somehow able to lift you and carry you to the bed without getting tangled in the dress you’d been told to wear today by a maid, and for a second it’s like you’re a real princess. “My love.” The plush mattress rises to hold you instead as the gentleman of a god kneels before you. “I could not stand the risk of losing you, not now and not ever…”

Waaaaait a second…

“I have no token to offer you in this moment as a symbol of my undying love, yet I must ask…” At this point you’re certain you feel your brain implode. “Will you take me as your husband?”