#i have brute forced a family au in the most confusing way possible

[solargeist]

Okay

What if...

While Xelqua is practicing spells, he makes a mistake...

Which then results in him turning into a child until the spell is reversed?

xelqua can do this on command actually !

i've sorta doodled this idea before, in attempt to comfort Grian and not look so scary in his usual form (old art)

Xelqua can probably change his form in other ways, but i think only within versions of Grian haha.

If he changes on purpose, then he's very in control, but I think if it happens from stress or intense emotions or even if he stays in form too long, it'll affect his psyche, like he won't remember who he is, and will act as if he is genuinely a kid, and believes he is !

[shig-a-shig-ah]

GOOD CLEAN FUN

» pairing: chisaki kai x fem!reader

» cw: noncon, somnophilia, oral sex, medical kink, needles (brief mention) 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: Quirkless AU! This was written for the BNHA Degeneracy 9 to 5 Server collab.

» wc: 5k

» ao3 mirror

Dentistry is a disgusting profession. It makes Chisaki's skin crawl, the poor care people take of themselves, and he frequently regrets being pushed into this family business of staring down filthy gullets all day, though he takes sadistic pleasure in refusing to be gentle with the worst of his patients. Why should he be, when they obviously have such disregard for their own health and hygiene? No, in those cases he takes great satisfaction in ripping the rot out by the root with nothing but pliers and his own brute strength.

Some days, though...some days there are patients like you, who make it all worth while. Patients who are clean.

You make yourself such an easy mark too, though Kai had expected as much after Kurono so slyly told him that he'd probably want to take care of the new patient in room two personally. Hari wasn't wrong; you're trembling when Kai enters the exam room, staring wide-eyed at the tray of neatly-arranged stainless steel instruments next to the chair in which you're reclining, fingertips gripping at the armrests. You're chewing at your lip too, as though your nerves weren't already apparent enough, those perfectly white, straight teeth digging into your plump lower lip in a way that's practically obscene. Even without a closer look Chisaki can tell what good care you take of that cute little mouth, and it's enough to send his cock twitching.

He takes a seat on the stool next to you as he introduces himself, careful to keep the excitement from his voice and to squint his eyes just right so that you'll know he's smiling even behind the surgical mask he wears, the one that both protects him from those much filthier than you and keeps you from seeing just how cold that grin really is. Your own smile is much more obviously forced, but he likes that you try - it's endearing that you're working hard to be brave even when you look close to tears with anxiety. Of course, he also likes that you're scared, likes that extra little bit of power over you, and that it will make all the easier for him to take advantage, because he's already decided he has to have you.

It's impossible for you to remember how or why this dentophobia started. You can only remember being dragged kicking and screaming to the dentist as a young child, your mother scolding you for refusing to behave. As you got older you managed a little more self-control, but while you can force yourself into the chair, you can do nothing to stop the way you shake and your heart races. It's only made worse by the obvious annoyance you face when practitioners have to deal with you; you know they think you're stupid or immature for this reaction you can't control.

The man before you, however, is smiling sympathetically, gold-flecked eyes crinkling with concern in a way you appreciate. He's handsome even with half his face covered, all bright eyes and perfect dark hair, and your cheeks heat up when he asks if you're nervous. You force out a meek nod, and he chuckles softly.

"No need to be self-conscious. It's a common fear," he says. "But we do offer sedation, if that's something you're interested in. It can help with the nerves."

Your brow furrows slightly. It's not an option you've been offered before, hadn't even realized it was a possibility. "Sedation? Like, put me under?"

"No," he says, chuckling softly again as he turns to the monitor by the chair and starts scrolling through what you assume is your file. "Nothing as severe as that, at least not for a routine cleaning. Just a little nitrous oxide to help take the edge off."

That you have heard of, but always thought it was only used for more intense procedures. "That's laughing gas, right?"

"That's the colloquial name for it, yes. It'll numb you some and help you relax. Although it might make you a little giggly, as the name implies. Some of my patients even enjoy it." Your face heats up again when his intense gaze lingers on you, not just with embarrassment this time, and a small titter escapes you.

Chisaki can't believe his luck with you, if he's being honest. You're exactly his type, and as he expected your dental records are flawless - never so much as a cavity. He's confident too that you'll accept what he's offering with as anxious as you are, and your reaction to his presence. He's not surprised by that; Kai knows the effect he has on people when he tries. Probably he doesn't even need to go through the great lengths he does to get people like you into a compromising position, but he enjoys the process. It's easier this way, with access to medical records so he knows what he's touching, and an army of sedatives to ensure he's perfectly in control of these encounters.

You only deliberate for a moment before nodding and giving him the answer he knew you would. "Okay, I guess I can try it."

The smile he gives you this time is actually genuine as excitement blooms in his gut. "I think you'll find it really helps," he says, daring to rest one hand on your forearm briefly. Even through the thin latex of his gloves, he can feel that your skin is soft, and he feels another pang of anticipation. Then he stands up. "I have to supervise the sedation, so I'll take care of your cleaning and exam personally. I'll be right back and then we can get started."

Your chest is still tight with anxiety as he situates you, arranging a strange mask over your nostrils and instructing you to breath deeply through your nose, but once you catch the scent of that slightly sweet gas being pumped into your lungs, the effects are almost immediate. The tension in your chest abates, your whole body going light and tingly, and suddenly you can't remember what you were ever so afraid of. When Chisaki tells you to open wide, you don't even hesitate, doing so immediately and sticking your tongue out slightly, making an exaggerated 'ahhhhh' sound and then giggling a little, though you couldn't say why.

"I can see it's working already," Chisaki says. He's unable to keep the breathiness out of his tone this time, but he trusts you're too distracted to notice. The way you'd opened so obediently, and the sight of your little pink tongue poking out lewdly has his cock hardening already, and he's only barely begun. He can't stop himself from reaching out, pushing that wet muscle back into your mouth with one finger, letting it linger on your tongue a moment longer than necessary to feel the heat of it before pulling away, but you only giggle at the slightly inappropriate act.

Despite his straining erection begging for relief, Chisaki still has a job to do, and he works with well-practiced efficiency as he goes through the process of cleaning your teeth. The anticipation is as much a part of this as anything else, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the buildup. He's not a masochist by any means, but these little self-denials are gratifying, only serve to make the end result that much sweeter. Still, he can't help but find himself occasionally distracted by the way you laugh every time he gives you an instruction to open wider, or tilt your head, noticing the way your chest bounces slightly beneath your tight top, and how you lie with your legs slightly spread, so inviting.

Normally he waits until he can render patients like you truly helpless before he touches them, recommending elaborate procedures that they don't realize are entirely unnecessary, but then again most patients don't request or accept sedation for such routine procedures as this. He reaches over to the tank of nitrous oxide, increasing the dose slightly and watching as you slump a little more in the chair, and then he reaches out to trail one gloved hand up your thigh and over your clothed center.

You've barely felt anything this whole time, aware of him working at your teeth but not really registering it, too overwhelmed by the way your whole body feels pleasantly tingly and numb, and it's only after he's ceased fussing over your mouth that you start to notice another sensation, a building tension between your thighs that makes you squirm, a small whine escaping you. Your eyes, closed to defend against the bright overhead light, flutter open, but you can't see him hovering over you anymore.

"We're almost finished," Chisaki says calmly when you whimper again as that slight pressure continues to build. "I just need to enter some notes in your file, and then finish the actual exam."

From out of your line of sight he can see the way you're frowning, your cheeks puffing up slightly with discomfort and arousal, obviously confused. He presses his fingers more firmly against your clothed cunt, palming himself through his pants with his other hand. It's bolder than he'd usually be, but for once he's struggling with restraint, just can't bring himself to wait until he's found some excuse to render you more wholly unconscious in his chair.

"I just...I feel a little funny," you whimper, and then giggle again.

"That's normal," he says, continuing to massage your sex, noticing the way your hips twitch when he strokes over just the right spot. "Some people feel numbness, or a little pressure. As long as nothing hurts, there's nothing to worry about."

You nod, letting your eyes fall closed again. You can't quite help your thighs from twitching; it's a strange feeling, the knot tightening deep in your stomach even as you feel so numb and tingly, and when it intensifies further you feel a stab of shame as you realize exactly what's happening, that you're going to cum even as you try to hold yourself back.

Kai knows it's risky, that all you'd have to do is turn your head and open your eyes to see his straining arousal, but he can't stop himself from working his pants open as quietly as possible and stroking himself properly as he watches the struggle on your face, the way you bite at your lip and obviously try to ignore the sensation, apparently ready to believe this is some spontaneous reaction to your drugged-up state and not his fingers working over you.

Despite the fact that you try to resist the sensation, the tingling in your body intensifies around your clit until your legs are shaking, the walls of your cunt fluttering around nothing and a mortifying whine escaping you. Through your giddiness, however, the humiliation is short-lived, nearly forgotten the moment you find yourself giggling at your own orgasm.

The sight of you quivering as you cum, entirely unaware of his hands on you, only further erodes Kai's patience. "I just need to take one last quick look," he says, and then without waiting for your response he's releasing his cock momentarily, using gloved fingers from both hands to pry your mouth wide again. You squirm slightly when he forces those fingers deep in your mouth, but he removes one hand just as quickly, returning those spit-soaked fingers to his throbbing shaft and fisting himself more urgently. If you can hear the faint wet sounds the action brings, he trusts that you won't question them.

Fuck, and he's close already, the sight of your pink tongue lolling against his fingers only sending the coil in his gut tightening further, and he shoves his fingers a little deeper towards the back of your throat, feeling the muscles there spasm as you gag at the invasion.

"I'm sorry if this is a bit unpleasant," he says shortly, too caught up in the way you look with his fingers probing your mouth to maintain that congenial tone. Even through the gloves he can feel the heat and wetness of your mouth, and it sends shivers down his spine. "This should only take a minute. You have a small mouth - it's difficult to see with your tongue in the way."

He presses his fingers further, not sure why he's explaining himself when you're so obviously unbothered. You're only nodding, spit running down the side of your chin as you salivate around his fingers. On most anyone else he would find the sight nauseating, but seeing your innocent face so debased only spurs him closer to his release. He squeezes his length more tightly, letting the spit-slicked palm of his gloved hand rub over his tip with every stroke, the fingers of his other hand continuing to invade his throat while you simply lay there and take it, and when you finally let out a moan of real distress at the feel of his fingers in the back of your throat, it's enough to send him over the edge, his cock spasming and hot spurts of cum shooting into his gloved hand.

The moment his cock stops twitching he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, stripping off his fouled gloves and tucking himself back into his pant before you can so much as open your eyes. When he turns back to you again, you're staring at the ceiling, grinning slightly with shiny, wet lips.

It takes a few minutes for your head to clear once he removes the mask from your face, and by then you only have the vaguest sense that anything about the experience was strange, and even then it was still vastly more pleasant than any of your prior dental experiences, albeit embarrassing in a slightly different way than usual.

Chisaki waits for you to seem cognizant before drawing your attention to the monitor by the chair. His boldness in touching you did little to truly satisfy him, only made him more eager to fuck you properly, to feel the heat of your tongue against his cock instead of his fingers, and to bury himself in that cunt that responded so sweetly to his touch.

"Your teeth are mostly in good shape," Chisaki says. "But I'm afraid you do have one small cavity. Here, see?" He points at one of your x-rays on the screen, a perfectly healthy tooth but he's confident you won't notice that, that you don't know what to look for, and sure enough you're only nodding, eyes wide. It's adorable, that fearful look on your face. He almost wishes there were a way for you to keep that expression when he has his way with you. "It's only a small one. But I'd recommend a stronger sedative for it, if your nerves are that much of a problem."

"Stronger?"

"It requires an IV," he explains, "and you wouldn't be able to drive yourself home afterwards. You'll still be conscious, technically, but you won't be aware of much."

The idea of having your tooth drilled into already has you quaking, the last traces of your buzz gone, and you agree at once. "Okay. I guess I can ask my roommate to drive me." She probably won't mind; you two do each other favors fairly regularly.

Kai's glad to hear you don't mention a boyfriend. It wouldn't matter in the end, if you had one or not, but the idea of some other man's hands on you still sends a jealous, possessive stab through him. He prefers to believe that he's the only who's touched you, that there aren't others out there tainting you with their filth.

"Great," he says, giving you another one of those reassuring smiles. "Let's get you scheduled."

***

It's a matter of days before you're back again, Kurono having conveniently found a 'cancellation' in the schedule to slot you in. He knows all about Kai's proclivities of course; they've worked together for years, well before Chisaki took over Overhaul Dentistry from his adopted father, and they've known each other even longer. Hari's stayed to watch Kai's little indiscretions once or twice, though he's more prone to lurking outside the door to listen shamelessly, knowing full well that Chisaki has no interest in sharing and would never permit him to touch what he considers his.

Chisaki is practically shaking with impatience by the time you arrive, has to take a few deep breaths to steady his trembling hands before placing the IV and pumping you full of Propofol. He's not sure he's ever been this excited about a patient, but this time around the eagerness has been killing him. He's always considered his libido healthy but not excessive, but he's stroked himself off more times in the last few days that he usually would over the course of a month, waiting for this.

You blink slowly, counting backwards until your words trail off and your eyes fall closed, and then Kai stands up, taking in the sight of you limp before him. You wore a dress today, a summery little thing that buttons from top to bottom, almost as though you'd known what you were coming here for.

He's already hard, his erection straining against the constricting fabric of his pants, but he ignores it for now and focuses on undoing those buttons, savoring each additional glimpse of skin. Your underwear is simple, white cotton panties with a hint of lace around the edges, and a matching bra. He likes them, simple and clean, just like you.

One gloved hand lifts to cup your breasts, kneading that soft flesh and then finding the bud of one nipple and rolling it between his fingers, sending it hardening. He watches your face as he does so - you're not entirely unconscious, but you won't react much, and you certainly won't remember this. Your brow is furrowing just slightly under the attention, and when he moves to toy with your other nipple he hears the faint sigh you let out, takes it as encouragement to shove that garment out of the way and reveal your pert breasts, licking his lips at the sight of the slightly darker skin of your nipples, and the way they've puckered under his attentions so invitingly. He bends and takes one in his mouth, laving his tongue over that stiff peak, biting down lightly.

A little whine escapes you this time, and the sound sends spike of heat through his cock. He knew you'd be responsive to him after the last time, but you're already exceeding his expectations. He tips his head slightly, staring at your mouth, those slightly parted lips.

He's never felt compelled to kiss anyone, all too aware of the filth present in even the cleanest of mouths, but as he stares at your lips he's surprised by the urge to do so. And he knows the risks are minimal, spent more than one of the last several evenings reading through your medical records, giving them a much more thorough evaluation than the release form you'd signed probably warranted. But he couldn't help himself, and now he knows that you take good care of the rest of yourself just like you do your mouth.

He leans forward curiously, encouraged when your lips press just a little back into his, even as your eyes stay closed. He lets his tongue snake out to trace over your mouth, probing between those lips, and you let another soft whine, though your tongue doesn't respond to his. That's okay; it's more enjoyable that he'd have expected and he deepens it anyway, relishing your taste, minty and sweet - obviously you'd prepared yourself for him. He grasps one of your hands and brings it to rub against his cock, panting as he ruts into your palm.

When he finally breaks the kiss, he's equally parts disgusted and aroused by the thin strand of saliva that connects your mouths, staring at it in fascination until it breaks.

That uncharacteristic impatience rears its head again, and Chisaki fumbles with his pants, letting his cock spring forth. He wraps your hand around it briefly, savoring the feel of your small, soft hand caressing his length, and then he moves on just as quickly. It only takes the flick of a switch to lower the chair down so that you're at waist level, and then he's tilting your head towards him, pressing the tip of his cock against those spit-slicked lips. You surprise him by poking that pink tongue out just a little, and for a minute he simple brushes the head of his glans back and forth against it, relishing the soft brush of your wet tongue, and the pleasant jolt it sends through him.

"You're a little tease, aren't you?" he whispers. Then, he pushes forward into the hot cavern of your mouth, swearing under his breath at the feel of you. You gag reflexively when he bumps against the back of your throat, but he only pulls back briefly and surges forward again, one gloved hand coming to rest in your hair gently, holding you in place as he fucks your mouth.

It's not tight without you actively sucking, but it's hot and wet, and the velvety texture of your tongue against him is more than enough. Despite trying to be gentle at first, he finds himself thrusting more roughly as his excitement grows at the sight of his length disappearing between your sweet lips, stroking your hair when you gag harder.

"Shh, now," he scolds to your unresponsive body. "Be good and take it."

It's almost as though you're listening - your head tilts back slightly to accept more of him, your throat contracting around him, and before he can help himself Kai's hips are bucking, his balls tightening and his cock contracting as his load spills down your throat. When he pulls away he can still see the last of his seed coating your tongue, and he spreads it around with his gloved fingers, entranced by the sight.

He adjusts his clothes a bit, not done with you just yet, and then circles around towards you feet. His gloved hands wander up along your thighs, squeezing at that soft flesh, and then tug you down towards him - mindful of the IV still buried in your arm - until your legs dangling off the edge of the chair. He spreads them a little, running one finger over your clothed slit. There's a damp spot at the center of your panties, and his eyes fix on it with great satisfaction.

"You really are eager, hmm?" he murmurs, letting the pad of his thumb hone in on your clit, the outline of that puffy bead visible through the damp cotton. You let out the faintest of whimpers, your hips tilting into his touch slightly, and Kai lets out a shuddering breath before bending forward and burying his face between your thighs, letting his lips move lightly over your covered cunt, catching your clit between his lips to tease your barely-conscious form, earning another soft whimper. His cock is swelling again already at those little sounds, and the scent of you.

Forcing himself to pull away, he works your panties down over your hips and off completely with eager fingers, his eyes fixing on your bare cunt. Your positive to response to his touches is all the more visible now, glistening strands of wetness coating your folds. He uses his thumbs to spread you open, circling your clit with two fingers as he stares at your entrance and letting out a throaty groan when he can see your hole clenching around nothing.

The sight of your perfect cunt so greedy for his cock is entrancing, and he repeats the motion. You're not the first person he's done this with and you certainly won't be the last, but oh, you just might be his favorite, so eager for him. He'd known you were special after that first encounter, but your response to him now is better than he could have imagined a few days ago.

He slides two fingers into you, scissoring them gently to ready you for his cock. He can hear the way your faint breathing has sped up, the skin across your chest darkening slightly as you grow flushed from his efforts, and when he removes his fingers they're coated in your slick. He stares at them curiously, tempted again by new desires, and then slides them into his mouth, savoring the taste of you, sweet and quite unlike anything else.

The throbbing in his cock is growing unbearable, and though there's a part of him that wants to draw this out, wants to savor it, there's even larger part that's desperate to feel that tight hole clenching around him. He shifts you again slightly, bringing your hips to rest at the end of the chair, the contours of the leg rest making your back arch nicely, those perfect tits even more on display, and he takes one in hand as he aligns himself near your entrance, pinching at your nipple hard enough to make you whine.

There are condoms in the pocket of his sterile white lab coat; he's normally vigilant with the protective measures, loathe to expose himself to any unnecessary risks, both hygienically and in terms of leaving evidence behind, but he's tempted to forgo that now. The notes from your last yearly doctor's visit stated you're not sexually active, and he thinks it must be true, that an innocent thing like you is too sweet to lie. Of course, because of that you're not on birth control either, but even that doesn't bother him like it should; it excites him even, the thought of his seed taking root and the surprise that would bring.

He runs his bare cock over your damp slit experimentally, groaning at the unadulterated sensation, and that's enough to convince him to abandon his usual precautions. Kai thrusts forward into your wet heat, letting out a strangled moan. Your cunt is so tight, so hot around his length, and god, it's so much better when he can feel it all, the intense wetness of your cunt creaming around him and every tiny ridge of your velvety walls. The way you whimper when he forces himself into you makes him wonder if perhaps he didn't prepare you quite enough - your walls are fluttering around his cock, obviously struggling to accommodate him, but it's not until he's nestled deep inside, the head of his cock kissing your cervix, that he pauses to let you adjust.

You squirm a little - small, feeble movements - and Kai relishes each slight shift of your body, watching your lips twitch. It's obvious you're trying to speak, but in your drugged up state all that spills forth is barely audible nonsense, tiny whines with a pleading undertone. He reaches forward to stroke your hair from your face. "You're so needy," he scolds, "but don't worry, I'll take care of you."

With that, he pulls out until just the head of his cock is still trapped in your cunt, and then drives himself forward roughly. Your limp body bounces back at the force of his thrust, your tits jiggling slightly with each of his movements, a sight he adores. He lets his fingers circle your clit again, can feel the way your cunt immediately clamps down around him in response, as though you're trying to draw him even deeper, and he gladly obliges you, slamming himself as deep as possible every time. You whimper more loudly than you have yet, and he can just make out your eyes trying vainly to flutter open, never quite succeeding.

"You take me so well," he pants, the feel of your slick walls gripping his cock so tightly has his balls tightening again, and he slows a little, trying to prolong the inevitable, not ready to be done with your sweet pussy just yet. He leans forward clumsily latch his mouth around one of those erect nipples, sucking and nibbling, noting the response brings, you throaty noises coming more quickly, the slight twitches of your hips growing more violent.

"So well," he murmurs again. No one's been this responsive before; he's lucky, honestly, if he can ever coax his patients to orgasm, but your cunt is flooded, obviously ready to cum for him, and it's enough that he loses the last of his restraint, rolling his hips furiously, railing against your cervix with every thrust in a way that's sure to leave you aching once you're fully aware again, but he can't bring himself to care. He wants to feel your release, feel you gripping his cock more tightly if such a thing is possible, and wants to fill you up with his seed.

"Are you going to be good and cum for me?" he asks breathily, and after another minute your body answers his question, your cunt clamping down, a quiet, high-pitched whine issuing from your throat as you hole constricts. Another few stuttering thrusts and his own cock is spasming, pleasant throbs radiating through his core as he drives into you one last time and cums, swearing at the almost unbearable tightness of your cunt around him.

For a moment he remains buried there, relishing the last throes of your orgasms and the way you're still occasionally pulsing around him. When he pulls out, he frowns at the distasteful mess his cum makes as it leaks out of your gaping hole, but it's accompanied by a shiver of satisfaction at the evidence of how he's claimed you for himself. Still, he moves on almost immediately to cleaning up, slipping on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves and tucking himself back into his pants before digging out a handful of papery dental bibs and using them to clean away the mess he's left between your thighs. Of course, there's nothing he can do about the evidence he's left deep inside, but even that he still finds titillating, the thought of his cum dripping out of you even after you've left, of your cute, confused face as you try to understand.

You barely stir as he goes about this process, only occasionally shifting slightly or mumbling a little, and by the time he's replaced your clothes you're lying still, the tiniest frown is on your lips. It's almost as though you know your time together is coming to an end, and you don't want to go. Chisaki glances from you to the needle in your arm, and the still half-full bag of Propofol suspended from the IV stand. Now that he thinks about it, he supposes there's no real reason to rush you out of there.

"Hari," he calls out, and he's unsurprised when the door to the exam room opens almost immediately, knows how Kurono likes to listen. The other man looks at him questioningly, gaze flicking between Kai and your sedated form reclining in the chair.

"Yes, Kai?" he asks, raising on pale eyebrow.

Chisaki smiles behind his mask. "Cancel the rest of my appointments for the day."

[sun-daddy-yoriichi]

Kimetsu no Yaiba Role - Reverse AU : Pillar Version

I’m not planning on this being long as all hell but let’s see if it gets out of hand or not :)

Sun Pillar : Yoriichi Tsugikuni

I ALMOST WASN’T GONNA INCLUDE HIM BUT I HAD TO-

My entire account is named after his come on have more faith in me.

Okay but I feel like the twins would get a lot of outside attention

Not because they’re Demon Slayers but because they’re hot as fuck

But that could also just be me

Nobody knows how or when Yoriichi learned Sun Breathing. It hasn’t been used in hundreds of years, and it’s supposed to be incredibly difficult to master, and he’s like twenty-five being able to wield it with complete ease.

Michikatsu thinks his brother is the most annoying thing ever

They spar constantly

Yoriichi thinks that Nezuko and Tanjirou are the cutest things ever, and Nezuko knowing what Dance of the Fire God is, is really only a huge plus.

The twins fight over who gets Nezuko as a tsuguko constantly.

Moon Pillar : Michikatsu Tsugikuni

Everyone’s favourite motherfucker y'know-

Jk we love him

His Moon Breathing is not like his Blood Demon Art at all, really. His Blood Demon Art was a corrupt form of his Breath Style. In actuality, his Breath Style is much finer and more graceful.

If I’ll be honest, his breath style is actually quite beautiful.

Like Breath of the Sun, his Breath of the Moon almost looks like a dance.

Michikatsu and Yoriichi fighting together is a sight to behold, and a force to be reckoned with.

If only Michikatsu could stand to be in the same room as his brother for more than five seconds at a time.

When he goes on missions, he tries to keep it as low-key as possible. He hates having people looking at him

And he’s not the type of person to fail on his missions at all. Which is why it was so surprising for the others to figure out that he had let the Kamado children go.

Mostly because Tanjirou reminded him a lot of Yoriichi, so he couldn’t help himself from sparing them both.

Ice Pillar : Douma

Another favourite, surprisingly. A lot of people like Douma and it’s very confusing.

Other than Rui, he's one of the youngest Pillars (16).

Of course he still uses his fans rather than a Nichirin blade. And effectively, too.

Douma is one of the fastest Pillars out of them, aside from maybe Yoriichi and Michikatsu.

Obviously, Ice Breathing is descended from Water Breathing. Rather than flowing attacks, however, most of them have more strength added to them, in order to pack quite a punch.

He’s a bastard and we all know it.

Usually, Douma is given missions that are difficult even for a Pillar’s standards, but still out of the way of civilisation.

Because his breath technique is DESTRUCTIVE.

He’s basically the same as his demon counterpart, except he doesn’t eat humans.

But he’s still a damn sociopath

We all love him though

Soryu Pillar : Akaza

Haha I didn’t know what else to put for him-

His fighting style is strongly based around the Soryu Style he was taught before he became a Demon Slayer. He ends up using hand-to-hand combat a lot more than he uses his Nichirin blade.

Which means he rarely has to commission a new blade if his breaks, because he only uses it slay the demon near the very end of their fight. Nothing more.

He’s a very respectful opponent. Unlike other Demon Slayers, he won’t goad or insult his opponent. He doesn’t hate demons, like some Pillars do.

Because his fianceé was turned into a demon, and he would want to respect her if he ever ran into her during one of his missions.

Thus, all of his missions are ended quickly, and with great respect. Any demon that’s run into him and lived to tell the tale always holds him in such high regards (for a Demon Slayer, at least).

His main job is to keep Douma and Enmu in check, though.

Urami Pillar : Hantengu

Can you tell that I have no inspiration for some of these names

Urami means 'resentment' which makes sense for Hantengu since he hates demons for killing his family and deforming his face.

Despite visiting several doctors, the appearance of the pair of horns on his head remains a mystery.

Some Demon Slayers think he's got demon blood in him, but nothing has been confirmed.

He doesn't have a designated Breath style at all.

Rather, you could call his technique 'Universal Breathing'. If he's had enough training with a certain Breath style, he can use it. Which means he can basically learn all of them if he wants.

He's mastered two : Wind and Flame. He knows bits and pieces of others, but usually wimps out before he can continue training.

His sword gets broken a lot for no reason at all. His swordsmith hates his guts, but always pulls through with a new blade.

His crow is old and cranky, but they get along just fine.

Water Pillar : Gyokko

I mean that’s basically what he is-

He's fabulous

And he'll make sure everyone knows it right after they meet him.

(Nezuko lowkey hates him)

Most of the time, he's not given as many missions as his teammates. He's left to his own devices.

Which means that his territory to patrol - perhaps just around the capitol - is very well protected.

His tsuguko, Sabito, is cute as all hell, but will kick your ass if he needs to. He looks up to Gyokko, and thinks really highly of him.

Most of the other Pillars think there's something wrong with Sabito-

But he's a strong Demon Slayer, so they don't question Gyokko's teaching methods.

Blood Pillar : Gyuutarou

Irritable as all hell

But he loves his sister and would do anything for her.

Rather than use swords, he uses sickles

Yes yes very dramatic thank you Gyuutarou-

He gets cold easily (being so skinny and all), so he stays bundled up often

Daki gets mad at him if he’s not careful, so they often get into fights with one another

Which ends up with Akaza pulling them apart and putting them in time-out

Missions that he’s sent on are often ended quickly and precisely. He’s usually paired up with Rui or Daki, since both of those two Pillars are incredibly good at long-ranged combat, while Gyuutarou is more adept at short/mid-ranged combat

Blood Breathing is derived from Water Breathing, but Gyuutarou also equips the use of the poison that Daki makes in order to get the upper hand on his opponents.

He’s had a tsugukos before, but his training was so harsh that they quit on him. He hasn’t taken another one after that.

Silk Pillar : Daki

Designated medic in the Demon Slayer Corps.

She’s very skilled at not only making antidotes but making poisons out of wisteria. Other Pillars, like Enmu and Gyuutarou, use them in combat. She’s just making them to pass the time.

Rather than use a blade, she uses special sillks made specially from Crimson Iron Sand and Rui’s spider silk. They’re soft and heat-insulated, and Daki wears them over her Demon Slayer uniform.

However, much like Rui’s spider threads, she can manipulate them with ease, allowing them to become as sharp as a blade.

Honest to God nobody knows how she and Rui do it. Perhaps it’s brute, strength, or their Breathing techniques.

Either way, it’s quite a new experience to be on the receiving end of her silks. Daki is fast, and agile. She can get from one point to another in a matter of seconds. The only person faster from her at all is Douma, and even then it’s by seconds at a time, maybe not even that.

Daki doesn’t care to sympathise with demons. She’s never thought of it. Usually, her missions consist of her yelling insults at her target while she battles them.

Biwa Pillar : Nakime

Pretty girl pretty girl

With two eyes this time

She doesn’t often use a sword at all. She has one, but it’s only used for worst-case scenarios.

And when you are Nakime, you don’t get to the point where you can consider something a ‘worst-case scenario’.

Her Biwa is her main weapon, and she has the special ability to create music that harms demons.

The strings are crafted specially from spider silk (courtesy of Rui) and Scarlet Crimson Ore, but they’re also infused with Wisteria incense (courtesy of Enmu) in order to ward demons off.

She’s a master at her craft, and at her best, she is a force to he reckoned with.

She is often paired up with other Pillars on difficult missions, or if there’s more than one Demon in a certain area. Nakime’s music travels a lot farther than a sword does, after all. But a demon has to be within fifty feet of her to actually die from it.

She doesn’t exactly use a Breathing technique for her Biwa. But her base Breathing technique is Water Breathing, so she practices using her sword often so her skills stay sharp.

Dream Pillar : Enmu

I’ll start this off by saying that no, it’s not quite the same as his original Blood Demon Art. But it does use illusion in order to confuse his target.

Enmu is, to say the least, a sadist.

(Nobody likes him)

He toys with his prey and usually ends up taking a long time in order to complete a single mission because he loses track of time.

The Corps wouldn’t like that if they ever found out, but it’s not like they can just stop him.

However, his technique is extremely effective if they ever have the opportunity to gain information from a demon with a high rank.

Which is probably the only time the Corps would let him do as he pleases.

He doesn’t really have a reason for joining the Demon Slayer Corps. He had no family or loves ones to worry about, and he was good at killing demons. What more could he say?

(That’s probably even more depressing than his family dying or smth)

His Dream Breathing is descended from Flame Breathing, because honestly anything destructive is a plus to Enmu.

He uses a Nichirin blade, but he also uses poison on occasion. Not the type that Shinobu uses to kill them, since that’s not the kind of person he is. He uses hallucinogens to make his Breath style more effective.

Spider Pillar : Rui

A surprising amount of people like him, but I can’t say I don’t know why.

Rui’s one goal when he became a Demon Slayer was simple : protect his family.

None of them are actually blood related, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t fight tooth and nail in order to protect his siblings.

It’s not fake like it would be if he were a demon. Rui deeply cares for those that he sees as his family.

His Spider Breathing is descended from Wind Breathing, and is very unpredictable.

Rather than use a traditional Nichirin blade, Rui opted for a more experimental approach : threads.

To the touch, it’s fine and hard to miss. But when he uses it in battle, alongside his Breath Style, it’s hard as diamonds. And Rui controls is expertly, though there’s not really any way to just cut a demon’s head off.

He usually ends up slicing them into tiny bits and pieces, but that does the job as well.

Listen

CAN and WILL adopt any lone child that he sees

That's all for him lmao

Demon Slayer Corps Leader : Muzan Kibutsuji

He's So Done with everything and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Bedridden or not, he’ll beat someone’s ass. On more than one occasion, he’s somehow chased after Daki and Gyuutarou for fighting.

But don’t worry, he’s a very good leader. He’s just temperamental at times, is all.

However, he is a strategic genius. He does everything for a reason. Nothing is done without purpose.

He does know how to wield a sword, but he can’t do it often. His body wouldn’t be able to sustain that kind of physical strain.

The Pillars are incredibly protective of him. They respect him deeply, even if he can be quite stingy and a little aggressive at times. It’s just how he is. He’s never angry just to be angry.

Despises demons. They’re the reason that his body is as weak as it is, so he can’t help but hate them for everything they’ve done.

[lesetoilesfous]

"For DA Drunk Writing: "I never stood a chance, did I?" FenHawke or Handers?

Oh AMAZING prompt, thank you :D

(If you’d like me to write you a da2, da:o or da:a fic, send me a prompt!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: FenHawke

Characters: Garrett Hawke, Fenris

Tags: in which I think about Zevran extensively despite him not being in this fic, AU

Rating: Mature

“I never stood a chance, did I?”

For some bizarre reason, the great hairy brute of a human who’d ambushed him with a small gang of highly trained assassins sounds almost pleased by his observation. Fenris scowls at him, and wonders why he hasn’t killed him yet. The blood of the man’s accomplices drips from his fingers, and the human in question is on his arse before him in the dusty streets of Amaranthine. It would be so easy. Judging by how the man had handled a knife - it was necessary if Fenris had any intention of living long enough to give his master the violent death he so rightly deserved.

Instead, he hesitates. In the dust, the human stares at him. He has warm brown eyes and a thick black beard. There’s a stripe of red across his nose. His arms and legs are muscular and tanned by the sun, exposed by the light leather armour he’s wearing. Blood is streaked with sweat over his limbs, and he’s clutching a blooming rose of a wound in his side. Fenris frowns at the man’s companions - all wearing simillar light leathers. “Who sent you?” 

He tries to sound authoritative. He’s not sure that he succeeds.

The man raises his eyebrows, just for a moment, apparrently caught off guard enough to relinquish any attempt to bluff. “You’ve never heard of the Crows?”

Fenris frowns at him, internally checking his own memory for any other possible meaning of the word in the Trade tongue. When he comes up empty, his frown deepens. “The birds?”

The man’s thick black eyebrows hit his hairline. “No, the Antivan Crows. You’re not from around here, are you?”

Fenris glares at him, gesturing once to the extensive and outlandish tattoos curling across his body. “What gave it away.”

The man huffs a laugh, and it’s a deep rough sound that makes his broad chest shake. “Fair point. We’re a guild of assassins from Antiva with a terrifying reputation. Though not, apparently, a very far-reaching one. There was a contract on your head. I’m the idiot who took it.”

Fenris frowns at him. The blood on his hands is cooling and coagulating now. He itches to wash them. “Why?”

“Why take the contract?” The human clarifies. There’s a thick Fereldan burr to his accent that Fenris can hear the more he talks. He wonders how he got mixed up in a guild of assassins from Anitva. Fenris nods, once, and the human shifts and winces when he does so. Fenris viciously stifles his own irrational urge to help. “The money was good. I didn’t realise the reason was that the target was a one man army.” The man’s expression grows rueful then. Fenris wonders whether he is as guileless as he seems (certainly a flaw in an assassin) or if he has simply decided to forsake any further efforts to dissemble. “Probably should have.”

It’s all he needs to hear. This man would have killed him for money. He is no better than those who would sell him for it. Fenris pulls on the tattoos burning through his body, and ignores the dragging ache of them as he does so. The man on the dust huffs, and tilts his head back, exposing the thick line of his neck.

“Make it quick, won’t you?”

Again, Maker damn him, Fenris hesitates. The blue-white light around his hands flickers as he loses his focus. “Are you not going to try and stop me?”

The man shrugs, and flinches when it pulls at his wound. His blood drips into the dust. Nearby, mabari hounds bark on another street. “I know when I’m beat. Besides, being a Crow isn’t the sort of job you leave. This was always going to happen, one way or another.” The man gives him a grin then, blinding and handsome and full of mischief. “I’m just grateful it’s coming at the hands of someone so pretty.”

Fenris feels himself flush, and blushes more deeply in his own indignation, feeling blood rushing up the back of his neck and to the tips of his ears. He nearly kills the blighted man then, if only to stop the way he is looking at him. But something in what he’d said sticks and niggles at the back of his head, like grit in a shoe. 

“What do you mean, it isn’t the sort of job you leave? You did not choose this?”

The man sighs, then, broad shoulders dropping as he realises that Fenris is not going to kill him imminently. Above them, the sky is grey and promising rain. “Ah, no, not exactly.”

Fenris frowns. Around them the smell of warm blood is thick in the air over the astringent bite of poison. “Explain.”

The man looks up at him, squinting against the light of the sun, veiled by the clouds behind Fenris’ head. “Why do you care?”

Fenris answers, honestly. “I’m trying to decide whether or not to kill you.”

The man huffs, then, something that isn’t so much mirth as instinct. “I always thought this would be quicker.” He mutters the words to the dust. Blood dribbles over his fingers from the wound in his side. Then he sighs. “My father was an apostate. He got dead, left me and my family on the streets. I got picked up by the Crows when I was eight, I think? Been there ever since. Like I said. It’s not the kind of job you leave.”

“You said it was an Antivan organisation.” Fenris does not think he can hear a lie in the man’s voice, but he doesn’t know how good he is at lying.

The man scowls now, and the expression is thunderous. Fenris nearly finds himself stepping back, some cowed and trained part of his hindbrain demanding that he submit to such fury. He holds his ground. “Yeah, well. One of the Masters went shopping.”

“You are a slave.” Fenris hadn’t entirely intended to say the words out loud. The human stiffens, and Fenris watches with interest as pride and resignation wage war across his handsome face.

After a moment he says, with another attempt at levity, “after a fashion. Yes.”

Fenris crouches, then, and the human flinches. Fenris supposes that makes sense. He moves his hand to touch the human’s, and the man looks up at him. This close, Fenris can see the faint line of a scar tracing down from his temple, and the way the corners of his brown eyes tighten in grim anticipation. 

“If you’re planning to torture me, I should warn you that the Crows are sort of famous for training that out of us. You won’t get far.”

Fenris shakes his head, ignoring his own memories of torturous ‘training’ at the hands of his master. This close, the human’s voice is so deep Fenris can almost imagine that he feels it shivering in his chest. “I intend to help you.” He stops, then, and withdraws his hand. “What is your name?”

The human stares at him. Fenris can see the confusion in his brown eyes. He thinks he would have been confused, too. It only furthers his resolve. After a moment, the human clears his throat. “Garrett. Hawke. My name is Garrett Hawke.”

Fenris nods, and pulls a poultice from his belt, gently but firmly pulling Hawke’s hand away from his torn armour and the wound beneath it. “My name is Fenris. I know what it is, to be a slave.”

Hawke hisses as he presses the fabric of the poultice to his wound, applying a firm clinical pressure he’d learned years ago. After a moment, in which Fenris feels Hawke’s eyes on him and tries not flinch, the human breaks the quiet. “How do you know that I won’t hurt you?”

Fenris shrugs, adjusting the poultice a little and staring at it instead of the handsome man beside him. “I don’t. But I think I could take you, in a fair fight.”

Hawke grins. “I never play fair.”

Fenris smirks a little then, unsure of what possesses him to rise to the jest. “Neither do I.” Something flashes in Hawke’s eyes - dark and bright, like humour or admiration. Fenris feels blood rushing to his cheeks again and desperately wishes it away. After a few moments, his face cools. The smell of the poultice’s herbs is thick and bitter between them. Fenris breaks the silence quietly. “It is worth the risk.”

Hawke frowns, sunbeaten skin wrinkling with the movement. “What is?”

Fenris looks at him then, meeting his eyes. The poultice under his fingers is damp and soft. He wonders at what he sees in Hawke’s eyes: the quiet strength and courage there. He wonders what it is about him that seems so irresisitible. “Your freedom. If you are a slave, then I would risk my life to free you.”

Hawke stares at him. “Why?”

Fenris shrugs and turns away, letting his hair fall forwards a little to hide his eyes as he answers him. “No one should be a slave.” His fingers tighten around the damp fabric of the poultice. “I have won my freedom. I would not take it from another.” Carefully, he lifts the poultice. Hawke winces, and doesn’t meet his eyes when he replies.

“You’re a better man than me.”

Fenris shakes his head. “I am free. It is what you do with your freedom that will define you, not what you were forced to do in bondage.” He thinks, for a moment, of a sandy beach and blood between his toes. 

Hawke is still looking at him. Fenris gets to his feet, ignoring the burn of his tattoos as he does so, and holds out his hand. After a moment, Hawke takes it. He skin is hot and calloused, and his hand is broad and strong, enveloping Fenris’ entirely. He seems surprised that Fenris is able to pull him to his feet, and Fenris feels a faint hint of satisfaction at that.

Standing, Hawke towers over him. Most humans do. Fenris no longer finds it intimidating. Instead, he turns to leave, heel slipping in the dust. 

Fenris is a few feet away when Hawke calls out to him. “Fenris! Wait!”

Fenris stops, and turns back to him. Hawke stands a little awkwardly amidst the bodies of his fallen comrades, body tilted around his wound. It has, at least, stopped bleeding. He scratches the back of his head, and his hair is thick and black and curling. He is a very handsome man. 

“Can I come with you?”

Fenris stares at him. Hawke looks away, and his cheeks grow ruddy with his blush. Above them, the clouds break, and it begins quietly to rain. “It’s that or go back. And they’ll kill me for failing, so...”

This isn’t his problem. He should say as much. If he isn’t going to kill him, Fenris should at the very least leave the man to take himself and his problems elsewhere - and preferably very, very far away from him. Maker knows he has enough problems of his own.

But he thinks of the last few days, and weeks, and months. He thinks of the loneliness gnawing at his chest like a physical thing. (He thinks of a sandy beach and blood between his toes.)

Fenris inclines his head. “Very well.”

Hawke’s face brightens immediately, and he’s almost childish in his excitement as he lopes closer, like nothing so much as the mabari hounds of his homeland. “Great! Say, out of curiosity, have you ever been to The Crown and Lion?”

Fenris stares up at the human beside him. “The inn?”

Hawke nods, and together they step out of the alley and into the high street. Rain falls steady and cool over their faces. If anyone is perturbed by the two heavily armed men who’ve just left a back alley covered in blood, they’re wise enough to keep it to themselves. “They serve a great malt whiskey. And I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

Fenris raises an eyebrow. He hadn’t thought much of the place when he’d passed it. But the idea of a decent drink is an appealing one. Part of him whispers that sharing alcohol with an assassin is hardly what could be considered wise. The other part of him is caught on the way Hawke is looking at him: bright and cheerful and laughing, brown eyes warm with the joy of it. It’s hard to imagine that this man had so recently been resigned to his own execution. Fenris cannot bring himself to regret his decision to let him live.

“Very well. But I shall be very put out if you poison my whiskey.”

Hawke grins at him, and the expression is crooked and handsome and laughing. “I wouldn’t dare.”

[foxtophat]

here’s chapter 4!!! it’s been about a week and a half, two weeks since John Seed reappeared, and now nick is ready to take his vengence!  by... having john do basic tasks to repair the homestead.  hey, this isn’t eden’s gate -- what do you expect, skin flaying and long-winded religious diatribes?  (weird, that’s exactly what john expects, all the time, from everyone!)

i really love this story and am so thrilled that other people seem to enjoy it too!!! it’s fun to write, and since i know it’s just full on self-indulgent bullshit, i don’t feel guilty for not being ~~realistic~~ about the whole thing.  fuck it! nick is a pacifist now!!!

i’ve included today’s chapter under the cut so you don’t have to leave tumblr if you don’t want to.  if you’re enjoying this story, please consider reblogging so your friends can also enjoy my hellscape! or, you know, do what makes you happy, it’s not like i can force you to ruin your aesthetics blog on my behalf. stay frosty my dudes, i’ll see you in 2 weeks!

Well, John doesn't die. Despite that being the only good thing the man could possibly do, he manages to hang on through the first night, looking better before the week is out. It's a mixed blessing. On the one hand, Nick no longer feels like he's serving a skeleton its last meal; on the other, it means that John is more than likely here to stay. Every time Nick goes to give him food, he finds the room just a little bit more lived in, the tarp turning into a makeshift bed as John struggles to settle in. Just yesterday, Nick had noticed a short series of tally lines scratched in the wall, marking each day of his sentence as though he were confined to solitary.

Nick should probably be happy with how smoothly things are going. He should probably be glad that John is keeping quiet and politely recuperating without so much as a snide remark. It's what he wanted, after all — for John to wave a white flag and agree to an unconditional surrender. And yet Nick can't help but feel short-changed, as if John owes him at least one opportunity to punch him in the face for being an asshole. It used to be something Nick dreamed about doing; he'd fantasized about beating him to a bloody pulp even as John had ripped his skin from his chest. Now, he's not willing to deal with the guilt that would undoubtedly follow.

Nick wishes he could go back to his "fight everyone" thirties. Being a mature adult sucks.

It's bright and early one morning when Nick decides it's past time to do something about the ceiling, which is warped and sagging beneath the nursery. Nick suspects it's a cracked joist, but considering his lack of carpentry skills, he doubts he can do anything to repair it. Right now, all he can do is try to support the weight of the second floor with something other than a wish and a prayer. Thankfully, he saved some of the posts when he dismantled the back porch — now if only Kim weren't going to be busy all day with Carmina, they could actually get some work done.

Except, maybe not!

John has been looking a lot better these past two days, since all he's been doing is resting and regaining his strength. Nick's heard him rummaging around at night, and he's been making himself something of a nest out of the crap left with him. Nick's even heard him talking, although it's anyone's guess who he thinks is listening. Considering how quiet and withdrawn he is when Nick brings him his meals, he doesn't seem interested in what real people have to say.

Honestly, if Nick hadn't been an integral part of John's survival for the past week, he'd think the whole thing was some kind of ploy. Nick's not sure what John would be planning with this act for sympathy, but he isn't going to make the same mistake he did all those years ago and write him off as some rich, coked-out jackass with no thoughts to his name. He's not going to let John sit around and finalize whatever evil machinations he's got brewing in his mind. He's gonna work that sad-sack until the only thing John's thinking about is collapsing from exhaustion.

Nick doesn't reveal his plans until after breakfast. He doesn't want to ruin his favorite meal of the day, not when he can rest aimlessly beside his family around the table, eating ham and eggs while Kim brews coffee. It's the closest they'll ever get to the way life used to be, and Nick can pretend that everything is back to normal as long as he has a cup of coffee in hand. Hell, it's not like watching his eight-year-old daughter methodically clean the family rifle during breakfast is all that weird for Hope County, with or without the apocalypse.

It's probably a good thing that Carmina is distracted. If she realized today was the day John would be seeing sunlight, she'd refuse to go anywhere until her curiosity was satisfied. They've told her as little as they can get away with, given that they're keeping a man prisoner across the hall from them. Mostly that he's a very sick stranger who could make little girls very sick too. She'd bought it for the most part, but Nick's afraid that she won't be able to contain her curiosity for much longer.

"Think I'm gonna get some stuff done while you're gone," he tells Kim, glancing significantly towards the stairs while Carmina isn't looking. "We need to deal with the second floor sooner rather than later."

"Are you sure?" she asks, raising her eyebrows meaningfully back at him. "Is this something you can do on your own?"

"Better to not put it off anymore," Nick replies. "It'll be easier if I have the place to myself, anyway. Less, uh, confusion."

That said, he puts the chore off for almost half an hour after Kim and Carmina head out. He tries to prepare, but there's not much he can do to close off the exits, and it only takes a few minutes to drag all the necessary supplies into place. All he can do at this point is hope that John is only strong enough to help, and not strong enough to run at the first chance he gets. If he does that, Nick's going to have no choice but to shoot him.

Nick does his best to hide his nerves as he unlocks the door. It feels weird to knock so he doesn't, pushing the door open slowly enough for the hinges to creak. John should just be thankful Nick bothers to try giving him any sort of head's up.

John, ungrateful bastard that he is, sleeps through Nick's entrance. He's found the cheap wool guest blanket that Nick would never dream of actually offering to guests, which seems fitting. His shirt is crumpled next to him, leaving Nick with the unfortunate view of his bare torso.

Nick's seen John shirtless a few times now, but that doesn't make it any easier to stomach. His skin is stretched over his jutting shoulder blades, clinging to every sharp, bony angle of his spine. Nick knows there's not much else for it to cling to - he's seen the way John's stomach sags, too much skin with not enough meat to hang on to. It's all been eaten away from months, maybe even years , of malnutrition and inactivity. The only thing left of the man Nick remembers is a goddamn shadow. Looking down at John, Nick's left to wonder how he had survived at all.

Nick nudges John unkindly with his boot, ignoring the grunt of discomfort he gets in return. "Come on," he snaps, "It's morning. If the sun's up, you're up — this isn't the goddamn Hope County Hilton."

John groans, biting his tongue against whatever snide comment might come to mind. That's too bad — Nick would love to start today off with an ethically-sourced beat-down.

Even though he wants to, Nick refuses to look away as John sits up, revealing all of his tattoos and scars. The tattoos are nothing new, and some of the scars look pre-Collapse old, but John obviously didn't let the bunker curb his self-mutilating tendencies. Some of the tattoos have been ritualistically carved out, leaving flat slabs of scar tissue behind. Others have been scratched out less completely, seemingly at random. The worst part is seeing the ten deep, half-moon gouges in his shoulders, leaving behind raw, fresh scars. Nick can only imagine what led to their creation, but he would really rather not.

"Put your shirt on and eat quick," Nick tells him, setting the plate near enough to John before retreating to wait by the door. The more space he has between them, the better. If John is going to pull something, Nick wants to have room to grab his gun, or at least to brace for a fight. And anyway, John still eats like a mongrel and it's uncomfortable to watch.

"Time to put me to work?" John asks skeptically as he drags his shirt over his torso.

"You bet," Nick replies. Should he be a cagey dick about it? Part of him thinks so, out of spite, but realistically he should temper John's expectations. Nick isn't going to be capable of putting John through the kind of torture he's probably expecting. So, he points out the dipping corner and says, "This whole floor is gonna give out if we don't do something about it. Well, I say we , but I mean you ."

John regards the spot with more skepticism. "That's it?"

"You haven't even seen how much of the house you're going to be digging out of the dirt," Nick points out. "Come on, hurry up already, I don't have all day."

——

Despite being sick as a dog, John's strength is still something to be reckoned with. Nick watches uneasily at first as John makes short work of clearing space for the beam to stand, heaving shovelfuls of dirt out the open window without regard to his wasted muscles. If John decides to come at him with that shovel, it's going to be Nick's reflexes that save him, not his brute strength. Nick's reflexes aren't exactly the best these days, so Nick hopes it doesn't come to that.

It doesn't seem like John is interested in fighting, though. Nick sets him to work with the shovel and he takes it up without so much as a snide comment about Nick trying to order him around. He slings dirt silently, practically zoning out over the manual labor as Nick watches from his side of the room. It's almost like he's in a trance or something, and it's only broken when the shovel scrapes against the wooden floorboards. He comes to a sudden stop, staring at the floor in surprise. He looks up and around, fixing a sour glare at the wide-open back porch that Nick is standing guard in front of before finally looking at Nick himself.

"That's it?"

"Hell no, it isn't," Nick sighs, gesturing towards the beam that he'd dragged in from the woodpile outside. It doesn't rain much nowadays, so it hasn't gone to rot, and it should be just about level with the supports in the ceiling. Plus, it's already got the right hardware attached, and most of it even survived the nuclear blast.

"Come on," he tells John, "You're putting this up."

Still no backtalk, not even as Nick gets his own hands dirty and helps John prop the beam up. He remains silent as Nick fastens it in place with the only three-inch bolts left in America. It's a temporary solution, but Nick's proud of it anyway, and he steps back to admire the work. He has to admit, even if John is planning something, at least his plan involves actually being useful.

"That should work for now," he says. He scratches the back of his head as he regards John — what does he do with the guy now? It seems like a waste to just... jam him back up there. He's obviously capable of working, and that's what Nick said he'd do — break his back with manual labor, right?

"Well, now that we're done with that... I guess you can get to work shoveling the rest of this dirt outta here. It's been pretty low on the list, but it's not like you've got anything better to do."

"No, I suppose not."

"Hey now, what happened to just saying yes ?" Nick grins, feeling mean but still pretty funny for it. John scowls, but he's just not the right audience for the joke, so his opinion doesn't count.

" Yes, sir ," John replies. He's probably just being a dick, but the way he says it roils Nick's stomach on impact.

"Hey, none of that shit," Nick snaps, even though he probably should lean into the boss role while he can. "Just — don't be a fucking weirdo about this, okay?"

John frowns and doesn't respond. He doesn't need Nick to instruct him any further, returning to work with the shovel as though he's forgotten he ever stopped. Nick keeps an eye on him as he has lunch, waiting for John to drop the weird, quiet obedience act that he's been putting on. It has to be an act. John's just using their mercy for his own ends, using them for shelter and food while waiting for the opportunity to strike. To take the house and the guns, to take control of everything that he'd felt so obligated to eight years ago.

An hour goes by in silence. John works steadily, almost meditatively shoveling down to the floorboards, dumping shovelfuls of dirt out the nearest window to him. He's lost in his thoughts, so much so that he doesn't seem to notice as he clears out nearly half of the living room, the shovel scraping against wood like the beat of the drum that's distracting the poor motherfucker.

Eventually, Nick can't help but point out, "You don't talk as much as you used to."

John doesn't so much as look at him, which is more irritating than Nick wants to let on. What, is he supposed to shut up now, too? Forget that !

"I mean, you used to never shut the fuck up. Guess even you couldn't stand listening to yourself for eight years solid, huh?"

John grunts in response. He doesn't look so hot; his face is pale and drenched in sweat, and he seems to be relying on the shovel to steady himself. Nick squints, trying to figure out whether or not the guy is trying to pull a fast one on him — it's exactly the kind of thing Nick would do, if he were being held captive — but John doesn't seem to notice Nick's scrutiny at all. He seems miles away from the house, from himself.

Goddamn it. The more Nick watches, the less comfortable he becomes. "Alright, come on," Nick sighs, exasperation masking his discomfort at seeing John near-fainting. "That's enough for one day, now sit down before you fall down."

It's a toss-up which of those options John takes, but moments later he's flopped backward into the mound of dirt. He leaves streaks of mud across his face where he wipes away the sweat. Nick watches, waiting for the asshole to spring his trap, but John looks sincerely too beat up to try wrestling the gun away or making a break for it. His hair, thick with dust, clumps over his face, dropping into his eyes no matter how many times he tries to smooth it back.

To his personal horror, he finds himself offering John his canteen. He should leave John to drink his own spit with their fresh water supply as low as it is. It's what the man deserves. But they've wasted too much time and supplies on John to be stingy with the water now.

"Don't get too comfortable lying in the dirt," Nick points out, "I'm gonna put you back before Kim and Carmina get home."

John nods without complaint. He takes careful sips of water, like he's trying to mind how much he's taking, which is a fucking riot coming from the guy who did nothing but take, take, take for years.

"It's the nursery, isn't it?"

Nick stares down at the dirty bastard in confusion. "What?"

"The room," John repeats with a suspicious lack of irritation. "It was going to be the nursery."

Nick scowls. "Yeah," he says. "Not that it ever panned out."

John holds the canteen out for Nick to take back, which he does. "No," he admits, "It certainly did not."

"No thanks to you." Nick takes a thirsty swig of water. "None of you got a chance to raid our bunker, but there were a lot of other people who weren't so lucky. Lots of people didn't even have a house to hide in."

"Yes," John sighs, "I know."

The nerve John has to brush aside the damage he's done momentarily overwhelms Nick, and before he realizes what he's doing, he's chucking the canteen at John's head in a vicious game of dodge-ball that John just barely wins. "No, you don't know. You managed to find somewhere to survive for eight years, while good, honest people were left to rot away on the surface and suffer through nuclear winter because you burned down their houses, you stole their supplies, you ruined their lives! You destroyed everything before the police ever showed up! You sorry assholes kept talking about the Collapse while all of us were already living through it! Because of you ! You know ? Fuck you!"

Nick reaches his hand out to grab John, to — to strangle him, to shake him , anything to stop him from sitting there and staring cow-eyed up at him. Waiting for Nick to exact a physical price for all the anguish that he's caused, waiting for the inevitable retribution that he deserves.

But eight years is a long time to carry so much righteous anger. Nick must've set it down somewhere along the way; now that it's time to resume that bitter loathing, he finds himself coming up short. Honestly, he's too goddamn old for it. He's too tired. Eight years of fatherhood and living past the end of mankind has run the rage right out of him. The idea of expending that much effort just exhausts him. What would even be the point? John isn't even worth it.

"Just — get up," Nick sighs at last. "Kim'll be back in a while and I... don't want to look at you anymore."

John slumps into himself as he stands, shoulders caving in as he avoids looking higher than Nick's boots. He proceeds without complaint or comment up the stairs; despite that, Nick still braces himself for a surprise attack, his hand clinging to the holster. He stops at the doorway behind John, waiting for some trap to spring and feeling oddly put out when nothing happens.

"I'll bring you dinner later," Nick tells him. "From now on, you're only getting a second meal on days you work."

John nods in response, falling into his makeshift bed with as much grace as he had the dirt pile downstairs. Nick's not sure he's gonna be awake the next time he checks in, but that's probably for the best. Nick doesn't like watching the guy eat, and he hates having to interact with him.

When John fails to say anything, Nick uses his silence as an exit and quickly locks John away. He'll probably sleep until dinner, which means he'll spend all night muttering to himself again. That's just what Nick needs.

There's still time before Kim gets back with Carmina. Nick drags the dining table into the living room, taking a minute to marvel at the amount of dirt John managed to clear out. Maybe tomorrow, Kim can take Carmina on a hike or something so that he can have John do the rest of the room. Once the dirt's all cleared out, they'll be able to build proper doors for the back porch, instead of leaving it open to the elements and potential prison breaks. After that, who knows? Maybe they'll be able to string lights up in here like they did back at the Spread Eagle. They could actually find a use for the generator. Hurk was on the radio recently, boasting about party liquor and gasoline — maybe they could barter for fuel?

Thinking more than a year ahead is jumping the gun a little, especially considering they have to get through another winter without heat, but this is the first time Nick's let himself imagine that far. Kim is already prepping for next year, of course, but Nick's still a little stuck on bunker time, where everything felt like a tightrope walk to survive and keep sane. But now, well — there's floor space, and Nick's even stacked plates and silverware on the kitchen counter for dinner. It's progress that he can't miss, and for once he breathes a sigh of relief and actually feels relieved.

Kim and Carmina come back before dusk with three rabbits and, in Carmina's case, a turkey so big that it nearly drags on the ground as she carries it on her back. "Shot it herself," Kim tells him, dropping the rabbits on the table. She does it almost without a second thought, wrapping her arms around Nick before realizing, "Oh, the table's back!"

Nick grins. "Figured we could use the extra space. Look at you, kiddo!" Nick turns his attention to Carmina, who still has the turkey slung triumphantly over her shoulder. "That is one big bird."

"Yeah," she says, trying to look as casually confident as her mom. She can't help but brag, "It was coming right at us. I had to do something. "

"That's my girl," Nick says, "I need somebody to protect your mom whenever I'm not around."

"Hey," Kim protests, playfully shoving out of her supposedly loving husband's grasp, "I can protect myself, you two. Carmina, take that thing into the kitchen and start plucking."

Heaving a very exasperated sigh she must have lifted off of her dad, Carmina drags the limp poultry away. Kim watches her go with a satisfied smile, telling Nick, "She's got great eyesight. I didn't even notice it in the grass."

"Thank God. Can you imagine if she needed glasses out here? We would be royally screwed. So! What do you think?"

Kim looks back at the clear floor and the table with four legs on solid ground. "I admit, I'm impressed," she says. "I expected to come back to a funeral pyre. But look, you even got the support in!" She furrows her brows at him. "Did you have any trouble?"

"Nah. Actually, it was... uh, painfully easy. He didn't put up a fight or anything."

"Hmm."

Nick's not sure what Kim's thinking as she eyes the progress that's been made. Maybe she's wondering what John's endgame is, the same way Nick wonders. She's probably worrying about how to explain it to anyone who might ask about it — Grace, mostly, maybe Jerome, if he'd ever come out this way. Nick's sure he can just take credit and leave it at that, but maybe she's seeing some hidden angle that he hasn't caught on to yet?

"If we string some lights up in here," Kim points out thoughtfully, "We might actually be able to use the bottom floor, instead of camping outside all day."

"Hey," Nick laughs, "That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Am I supposed to pluck this whole thing myself ?" Carmina exclaims in horror from the kitchen.

"I'll be right there, honey," Nick calls, offering Kim a chair at the table. She takes it with a grateful smile, leaning into his hand as he briefly strokes her hair. "Not bad for a day's worth of work, huh?"

"Not bad," Kim agrees. Nick heads for the kitchen, unable to keep from humming some old-world song he can't remember the words to, happy to put aside his doubts about John for a couple of hours yet.

[raendown]

Pairing: MinatoKakashi Word count: 1368 Soulmate au: The one where your heartbeat syncs with your soulmate whenever you are close to each other

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 193: Minato/Kakashi

It was, of course, an almost ridiculous notion. Minato liked to think that he was smart enough to have noticed something like this a long time ago if it were actually true so clearly it had to be just a figment of his overactive imagination. Sure he had been noticing more and more often how attractive his best friend really was but that didn’t mean they were actually soulmates. Obviously this was just because of that funny dream he’d had a few weeks ago of lying in bed with Kakashi and talking about things he couldn’t even remember now.

Still, he knew he’d never be able to get the issue off his mind unless he disproved it once and for all and there was really no harm in doing a few experiments as long as he didn’t say anything to his friend. There was no need for him to make things weird between them when he knew he had to be wrong. Of course he was wrong.

He started with something simple, skipping the cooldown after his morning training and heading off to see Kakashi while his heart was still racing after so much cardio. It didn’t occur to him until he was subjected to a few pointed questions about the sweat beading on his forehead that he wasn’t sure which way the bond worked. Was his erratic heartbeat supposed to slow down when nearing his calm soulmate or was their heart supposed to speed up until they matched him? Questions he had never bothered to wonder about until he needed to know; he would have to ask Sakumo later about the bond he shared with his wife because today he had no answer one way or the other.

Just in case, he made sure to show up when Kakashi was sure to have his heart racing, arranging himself to be right there when next Gai declared the latest challenge between himself and his rival. Unfortunately that plan ended before it ever truly began when Gai passed the honor of choosing their battlefield to Kakashi, who chose janken. Only the ever excitable Blue Beast himself could manage to get riled up during janken.

Minato went away feeling frustrated, marching himself across the village to stare over the fence of the Hatake family home. He waited until Sakumo turned to look at him with wary curiosity before climbing over and deftly wading his way through the newest litter of puppies.

“I came about your wife,” he said. Then he stopped and flustered his hands through the air. “No I mean you and your wife! Your bond! I wanted to ask about your heartbeats!”

He wilted under his friend’s steady gaze until finally Sakumo cracked a smile and he understood that the man was laughing at him. What a traitor. Minato glared as he snapped his jaw shut to cut off the flow of babble.

“Soulmates, huh?”

“Yeah. I came to ask about some things no one’s ever explained to me.”

“I’d be more than willing to answer any questions you have – but first you’ve got to help me wrangle all these pups back inside. Today was bath day but they should all be dry now and ready to go fall asleep on the rug by the fire place. Does that sound good? Does it sound good?” Partway through speaking Sakumo was, predictably, distracted by a month old pup trailing past his feet and fell back on puppy talk.

Minato smiled happily as he helped wrangle the furry adorable creatures back inside where they could nap and daydream about the battlefield beasts they would someday grow up to be. As promised, they were all very clean and their fur quite soft, a delight to cuddle even though each and every one of them squirmed for their life whenever he tried to pick them up. Even Sakumo seemed to be having some troubles keeping ahold of the little buggers but the two of them were both highly trained shinobi. They weren’t ready to give up quite that easily.

If brute force wouldn’t work there was always some kind of trickery to try.

“You stay out here with them,” Sakumo murmured, leaning close. “I’ll go inside and shake their tin of biscuits. They’ll all come running.”

“Right!”

With this new mission in mind Minato did his best to keep the puppies’ attention while Sakumo slipped away in to the house, leaving the door open behind him. A minute later every pup in the yard froze at the same time with their heads cocked to listen to the distant but enticing sound of treats rattling around in a plastic container. The moment was broken when one of them barked and then a mad rush ensued as they all barreled towards the door in a parade of fur and adorable yips. Minato found himself laughing alone in the backyard in under a minute.

He stopped laughing when he heard an amused hum from up on the rooftop that he knew all too well, spinning around to find Kakashi watching him with his one visible eyebrow lifted. Immediately his heart took off at speeds normally reserved for the Flying Thunder God technique when his body quite literally broke through time and space barriers. Although he wasn’t sure if it was the sudden appearance when he wasn’t expecting Kakashi to be here or being caught just before asking the man’s own father for advice on a possible connection between them, Minato supposed it didn’t matter why his heart was racing. All he cared about was that Kakashi had caused it.

Or that was all he cared about until the moment when he was looking Kakashi dead in the eye and he felt his heart return to a proper steady beat behind his ribs. At the same time he could feel Kakashi’s familiar chakra fluctuate in a way he realized had been happening quite a lot lately, though it was such a small blip that he’d been passing it off as unimportant, and he understood exactly what just happened.

Kakashi had calmed his own suddenly racing heartbeat with chakra. Judging by the utter lack of reaction he didn’t realize why it had been racing but he had felt it and reacted as any paranoid shinobi would to force his body back to normal – and with it he had done the same for Minato.

“You alright there?” his friend called down from the rooftops.

“Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I…mhm.”

“Really? You don’t sound very sure of that.” Kakashi crouched a little lower on the clay tiles but Minato waved him off, not really wanting to blurt out his discovery here for all the nosy neighbors to hear them shouting.

Luckily he was saved from that by the return of Sakumo, who paused to lean out from under the roof and wave to his son. Then he patted some of the fur off the front his shirt and placed both hands on his hips with an expectant look for the one who had come seeking his council.

“You wanted to ask me a few questions?” he said. Minato let his eyes flicker back to Kakashi only once.

“Ah, no actually. I think I’ve figured most of it out myself just now. But thank you.”

“Oh, alright.” Sakumo blinked with confusion. “If you’re sure? You know you can ask me whatever you want!”

“Yes I’m sure. I just…needed to think about things from a new angle and I can, er, see that angle now.” He bit down on his tongue before he could explain his very bad joke and very carefully did not look up to admire how much floofier Kakashi’s hair looked when viewed from below.

Both of the Hatake men gave him strange looks but Minato only smiled and clasped both hands behind his back. It was good to have the mystery solved after preying on his mind for weeks but now he had something even more important to think about, beans he wasn’t ready to spill until he’d figured this out too.

How to inform a skittish Kakashi that they were soulmates without scaring him away for a month-long panic mission? Now that would need some thinking.

[bashfulbrilliance]

au. ( deadlords of future past )

              [ This is WAY longer than I thought so it’s going to be under the cut. ]

It’s mentioned in awakening ( or strongly hinted at ) that most of the parents end up becoming deadlords, resurrected by presumably Grima. It is also noted that some Risen actually retain previous memories from when they were living. 

Memories.

In the case of Olivia ( v. undead marionette ), I believe she retains memories of her time with the shephard’s and so forth with vague pockets of time previous from then. It’s strange that memories of her parents would fall as more vague memories and here are some reason why ( this is based on headcanons because you know, they gave us like no backstory on her ): 

     ► Her younger years were more of exploration. Discovering all that the world has to offer through traveling with her parents and gaining everything from experience. More or less, just enjoying the wonders of life.       ► Only her strongest memories of that time will be remembered as those were ones she learned the importance of her own morals, ideas and beliefs of life. Naturally, from her parents ( namely her father ) and from individuals she crossed paths with.      ► Time amongst the Shephard’s was a HUGE game changer in her life. Excluding the people she met, Olivia herself changed and blossomed. Please keep in mind that if Olivia never marries, then she remains the same shy performer and never breaking away from that ( though I believe it just happens much later ) while if she does, she develops her style, grows more courageous and thoughtful and is just simply recognizing her own strength and the influence she has.         ► In terms of her marriage, those would be the most vivid of memories. Time with her family, her child(ren) are the most cherished.

Thus, I will note that whom ever she weds and whatever siblings Inigo/Laslow has, she’ll recognize them however it’ll take a bit of time before she completely acknowledges who they are. Even within the state that she’s in if her family is in unconquerable danger she’ll more than likely act on impulse. Not to be confused with her willingly doing so, it is impulse of wanting and needing to protect them.

Overall Mannerism. 

Olivia’s mannerism as a deadlord is more or less best described as creepy, unnerving really. Her motions are very corpse like with broken movements but there’s a consistent fluidity that presents itself as something very mesmerizing and alive. There is no way for her to ideal stop moving and must remain in constant motion for unknown reasons. 

Idle waiting would be a gentle sway back and forth to unheard music or the moving of lips speaking a silent song. One way or another, something on her person’s must remain in motion. The possible ideas that I thought of for the need would be:

     ► The subconscious fooling that the vessel is still alive and not at all dead      ► Creation of friction reduces chances of her joints locking up or her body stiffening and thus falling apart from lack of use.

She speaks through singing, often in cases, riddled songs that are gently uttered. It’s the kind of voice that is motherly ( soft, gentle, inviting ) and disturbing ( overtly playful & light, stalking, constantly sounding close ). The only times she will not be doing such is when screaming in some level of agony or weeping. 

Atk/Def & Strategies.

Her defense takes a major nose dive while her speed and luck improve. Landing a hit is a challenge as there are many ways for her to evade assaults. Brute force will not work and a strategy will be necessary to trap and defeat her. I imagined her attack to be rather average or a little below -- reason being that her speed will allow for multiple hits to be made, slowly chipping away at guarded foes or because she plans to escape. 

The thing is when she ‘escapes’ it’s never too far away. The idea is to ambush when your guard is let down and your cross paths within a 2 foot radius of her hiding place. Although, this would be considered rare to occur as either she’ll take an opponent down before that or she’ll be forced to pull back. She will never approach an opponent that would not guarantee her victory. Consumption is necessary but the number 1 innate priority is to stay alive. 

Weapon of choice is of course a long sword, but I’d imagine she’s also have claws that are adorned in gems and jewels that she’d use as a weapon. Probably when she’s REALLY hungry.

[holisticpanda]

she kills with her guitar

Title: she kills with her guitar 

Summary: She plays the guitar as though she was born with it in her hands—like it was a part of her own body.

Kurlish Week Day 2: AU

Notes: The first time I saw Bart I thought ‘huh, she vaguely reminds of Tash Sultana.’ So if you want to look up some of her vids to get an idea of Bart’s appearance and musical style, That’s sort of who I’m challenging here.

A surprising amount of people have absolutely no idea how hacking works. Most just picture a guy sitting in the dark in front of multiple screens, typing furiously for hours at a loud, mechanical keyboard while techno music blasts in the background.

And they’re not completely wrong. He is currently listening to disco, techno’s long dead ancestor, but that’s where the similarities end. What usually happens is that he types a few commands into the command line to run a program that either he or one of his fellow hacker buddies wrote and spends the next few hours fucking off while the application does its work. If it weren’t for the movies making hacking look like something only a genius could do, he’d for sure be out of a job.

A job he doesn’t particularly like if he’s being honest. Besides the moral greyness of what he does, jobs that pay well don’t come along all that often. He can usually scrape together just enough in a month to eat, pay the rent on his shoebox of an apartment, and also indulge in his more extravagant hobbies—if visiting the local strip clubs can be considered a hobby, anyway. He doesn’t lead a particularly happy or exciting life, but at least it’s a relatively free one.

He’s currently running a brute force hack into some rich girl named Lydia Spring’s Facebook account—her dad was convinced she was dating older men—when the doors to the Waffle House he’s relaxing in slam open, loud enough to scare the shit out of him even through his earpods. A woman who looks to be a little older than him, somewhere in her mid to late twenties if he had to guess, stomps into the diner.

She’s wearing a large black t-shirt that looks two sizes too big for her and a pair of rippled, baggy black pants stuffed into scuffed, oversized boots. Her wild brown hair is tamed only by a backwards blue cap while her wrists are adorned with a few beaded and woven bracelets. A variety of tattoos litter the rest of her arms that he can see, creeping up from her forearms to her biceps, and he spots the glint of a stud in her nose in the bright lighting. In short, combined with the wild expression in her piercing blue eyes, she looks like a completely deranged hippie.

Her gaze flickers about the restaurant before eventually settling on him, her face morphing from annoyance into furious rage, and she stomps her way over to his table to grab him by the front of his shirt.

“Dirk Gently, you are a dead man!”

It takes him a minute to find his voice because it isn’t everyday that a random hippie chick mistakes him for someone else and tries to kick his ass, but he manages to squeak out a reply. “Who’s...who’s Dirk Gently?”

She pauses, blinks, and looks around the restaurant again in confusion. Besides an older couple sitting at the bar and the wait staff, he’s currently the only one in the diner. Her eyes shift back to his, eyebrows furrowing. “...You’re not Dirk Gently?”

“No!” He wrenches himself from her surprisingly strong grip to put as much distance between them as possible—which isn’t much since she’s blocking his way out of the diner and his booth only goes back so far.

“What, are you kidding me right now? Why didn’t you just say ‘I’m not Dirk Gently’?!”

He can only stare back at her, incredulous. “Because I don’t know who that is!”

Frowning, she huffs and plops down in the booth across from him, looking less like a crazy, murderous flower child and more like a little girl who’d just been told she couldn’t ever eat ice cream again. Judging by the way she’s slumped down in her seat, whatever’s bothering her has her pretty bummed.

Once he’s (reasonably) sure that she’s probably not going to kill him, he considers hearing her out to see if there’s something he can do to help. Plus there’s also the fact that the faster he can fix her problem the faster he can get her to go away. He has a rich girl’s account to sift through for evidence of possible child abuse, after all. “So...why are you looking for this Dirk Gently guy? You know, beyond wanting to kill him.”

The woman scoffs but grudgingly leans forward to rest her forearms on the table, swiping a few of his fries to stuff down her throat in the process. “My last drummer quit on me so I went to that Craigslist place to find a new one. This Dirk Gently guy on there said he’d help me out, but every time we’re supposed to meet up and practice, he bails on me!”

He nods gravely, doing his best to appear interested. “I’m guessing he was supposed to meet you here?”

“Yeah, and of course the dickhead didn’t show. Again. It was the last chance we had to practice, but now I’m gonna have to cancel my gig tonight. This all fucking blows.”

After hearing her reasons for accosting him he finds that he actually feels a little bad for her. He knows firsthand what it’s like to be constantly let down when you needed help the most, and it’s no wonder she was steaming mad when she came in. Maybe she’s not so crazy after all.

He taps his fingers on his keyboard, trying to figure out a possible solution to her problem (maybe she should try Reddit?) when she snaps her head up to stare wide eyed at him. “Can you make songs on that thing?” she asks, pointing to his laptop.

He glances down at it, confused. “I mean, I guess in theory? I do have a program on here that you can make music on. It simulates the sound of nearly every musical instrument ever invented, and—”

“Blah, blah, blah, whatever. Can you make that thing sound like drums ?”

“Um, yeah?”

A sudden grin breaks out on her face. Before he can react she jumps up and drags him to his feet with a strength belying her small stature. “You’re my new drummer. C’mon, let’s go.”

She ignores his protests and pulls him from the restaurant to a yellow, beat up old car that looks like it used to be a taxi cab in another life. All he can do is hug his laptop to his chest as she books it down the street until they get to a run down storage unit in the middle of nowhere. She then unlocks and pulls up one of the garage-like doors to reveal her studio space. It looks like she also lives there if the futon, empty pizza boxes, and cases of water are anything to go by.

“Sit there, where I can see you,” she says, pointing at the futon covered in snack wrappers while she goes back to her car to get something. He clears a space on it to sit, and when she comes back, she has a guitar case slung over her shoulder. She then plops down on the empty seat next to him.

After spending half an hour turning his computer keyboard into an improvised beat machine under her impatient gaze, they spend the next two and a half going over some of her songs. Their practice session mostly consists of her terrorizing him for missing cues or having a complete lack of rhythm, and by the end, it feels like they haven’t gotten anywhere. He doesn’t even have the slightest idea what type of music she plays let alone how any of her songs go.

Yeah, they’re for sure going to bomb.

He tries to say as much but the woman rushes him back into her car so that they’re headed to where he assumes her gig is. She turns to look at him, taking her eyes off the road in front of her for an alarmingly long time.

“It’s really good you decided to help me.”

“I didn’t decide anything . You said you’d smash my laptop if I didn’t help you.”

“Well, you decided it was better to help me than lose your laptop. It was nice.”

He can only gape back at her incredulously. He takes it back. She’s insane. She’s literally insane.

It doesn’t take much longer for them to pull into a surprisingly full lot next to a derelict looking dive bar. “We’re here,” she says, shutting off the dangerously rattling car. She suddenly reaches across his body—causing him to reflexively flinch—and opens his door for him. ”Get out.”

He scrambles out of the passenger side while she takes her time pulling her gear out of the trunk, and it’s at that moment that he strongly considers making a run for it. She can’t see him with the trunk open, and he could be a full block away before she even notices that he’s gone.

But then he remembers the dozens of times he’d been let down in life; by friends, by family—hell, by the fucking world. He can’t do that to her, even if she hadbasically kidnapped him and forced him to join her band. It was only a few more hours, and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do that night.

They walk through the front doors of the rundown venue and it’s pretty much exactly what he expects. It’s dark, the air is thick with cigarette smoke, and most of the clientele already looks half drunk. He’s not exactly uncomfortable in the bar since he’d spent more than his fair share of time in places just like these ever since he’d moved out of his parent’s house at seventeen, but it’s not a place that he particularly likes to hang out in if he can help it.

She leads them over to the back corner of the building where a small stage has been built. An older woman is busy setting up the equipment and she looks up as they approach. “You two the Holistic Assassins?”

The hippie chick pulls her guitar off of her shoulder and sets it down on one of the stools resting against the wall. “That’s us.”

The older woman nods and stands, stretching out her back as she finishes setting up the last amp. “I’m Barb, the owner here. You go on in five.”

“What’s a...holistic assassin?” he asks as the owner disappears into the darkness of the bar.

After plugging her guitar into one of the amps, she turns to look at him with a pleased grin. "’Holistic’ is the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. I don't do your whole deal with structure, or finding inspiration, or writing drafts. I just...I play whatever I feel like playing all day, and if it works, then it becomes a new song.

Her eyes are nearly shining as she explains it to him, though for his part all he can do is stare dumbfounded back at her. “The connection between cause and effect is much more, you know, subtle than you would otherwise think. I mean...you wouldn't believe it. Things, they double up. They parallel . Everything is chaos, but it’s, like, synchronized? It's like, there's always something ready to mirror itself. Life endlessly turning inward.”

Yup. Crazy. “Don’t get me wrong, but it seemed like you were just playing a bunch of random notes when we were practicing.”

“I never played a bad song,” she says, somewhat defensively. She picks up her guitar and slings the strap over her shoulder. “Come on, time to play.”

He follows her onto the stage and plugs his laptop into the other amp—then tries to find the darkest shadow to hide in. They were going to bomb spectacularly, and the less people who saw him, the better.

“I’m Bart Curlish, and we’re the Holistic Assassins,” she grumbles into her mic, sounding like she’d rather be anywhere else. Which was odd since this was her gig.

He then belatedly realizes that it’s the first time he’s heard her name. What the hell kind of a name is Bart for a girl? She looks back at him and nods, giving him his cue to start, so taking a deep breath, he begins to tap out the first rhythm she’d shown him a couple of hours before on his keyboard. She bobs her head with the beat for a few seconds, eyes closed, and then begins to play. He feels his jaw drop when the smoothest sound he’d ever heard comes from the amp next to him, and then he feels his jaw scrape the ground when she begins to sing.

She’s a completely different person. Her voice is husky and gravely, just like her speaking voice, and it’s surprisingly more pleasant than he expected it to be. And it’s still only secondary to how well she plays the guitar. She plays as though she was born with it in her hands—like it was a part of her own body.

Thankfully it’s easy enough for him to keep up with her. Her music is slower than he expects, and more mellow. If he had to compare it to anything it sounds sort of like a mix of folk and reggae, but even that’s inaccurate—it’s completely and totally hers.

He makes a couple of mistakes during her short forty-five minute set, but overall, he thinks he did a pretty good job for his first time. Sure, he’s absolutely exhausted and is sweating buckets from being under the hot lights of the stage, but he’d survived.

“We’ve been the Holistic Assassins. Thanks,” she all but spits at the audience. Unsurprisingly she’d reverted back into her old grumpy self once her fingers left her guitar.

The crowd isn’t that big—only around fifty or so people—but everyone’s on their feet and clapping, even the tough looking bikers who seemed more likely to eat them than cheer her on. A few people are even bold enough to approach her as she leaves the stage but she only gives them the barest amount of attention, nodding courteously as they compliment her and shrugging off any questions they have. Eventually they all give up on getting anything more than a couple of words out of her and the owner of the bar approaches them with an excited smile.

“I had my doubts about you when you first asked if you could play here, but you know what? You put on a hell of a show.” She hands Bart a stack of dirty bills. “I know it ain’t much, but come back soon and I’ll double it.”

Bart takes the money with a grunt, gives him half, and grabs him by his arm, pulling him towards the door leading to the parking lot. It’s not until they make it back outside to her car that she relaxes and gives him a small, meek smile. “You did good.”

A little surprised by the praise—she didn’t seem the type to dish it out all that often—he shakes his head. “It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be, and you’re really good. Amazing, actually.”

They lean silently against the hood of her car together for a few minutes, both still coming down from the high of performing live. He’s just about to make his exit when Bart suddenly stands and turns to look at him.

“So...you did the thing up there on stage, And now that you did it maybe you’re gonna leave, and...You can do whatever you want, you know, because I forced you to help me, and...and like, it must’ve been really bad for you, you know I didn’t think about your feelings and all that, and…

She takes a deep breath and lets it out again, looking distinctly uncomfortable with everything she was saying to him. It was obvious this wasn’t something she was used to. “I don’t want you to go. I think.” Her eyes are misty as she speaks, surprising him since they’ve only known each other for at most six hours and yet she already seems to care so much for him. It pains him to admit it, but he can’t remember the last time anyone had been so sad to see him go.

He considers her request, and after a little thought, realizes that he was truly, genuinely happy up there making music on stage with her. He had been doing nothing everyday of his life and thinking it was just that—nothing. It was nothing. Even if he’s just providing a backing beat for her amazing songs, he’s found some semblance of a purpose and hell, maybe a little happiness too.

“Hey,” he says, nudging her to get her attention. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A wide grin breaks out on her face, and laughing with unconcealed relief, she throws her arms around his neck. She’s still sweaty from their show but so is he, so rather than try to squirm away from her touch like he usually would with any other person, he awkwardly returns it. She smells like musk, dirt, and sweat, and though the smell isn’t exactly pleasant, it isn’t altogether unpleasant either.

Still smiling, Bart pops the trunk to put her guitar inside. “Our next gig’s tomorrow night. Come on, we gotta practice.”

He slides into the passenger seat with his laptop and leans his head out of the window to talk to her. “You ever think about selling some merch? Maybe putting out a CD or at least uploading your music to BandCamp for people to download? I’m pretty good with a camera, so I could help you get your face out there a little more.” He’s vaguely aware that he’s being a little overeager, but he’s inspired by her. He believes in her. She has something special, and with his help, maybe she could become one of the biggest indie artists of all time. “I’ll bet I can sync my computer up to the stage lights. You know, add a little pizzazz to the show.”

She slams the trunk closed and laughs as she slides into the driver’s seat. “Pizzazz? Ken, you’re a riot.”

He rolls his eyes and shrugs. Well, whatever. He’d get her to see the appeal of his ideas eventually. He’s about to suggest they get a bite to eat before they spend the next who knows how long practicing when something she’d said stops him cold.

“...Wait, how do you know my name?”

[letsplayscrabble-blog]

travelin’ soldier. [au linstead oneshot.]

- Based on the song “Travelin’ Soldier” by The Dixie Chicks. Please enjoy! And yes, I cried. [tw: mention of war, abuse]

Him.

 His piercing blue eyes flickered down to the watch on his left wrist, a last second, last thought gift from his mother which he’d received with shaking hands and clumsy fingers. She’d been the only one to venture down to the bus station to send him off- a flurry of teary eyes and flailing limbs, trying to pull herself together enough to help him grab his single suitcase out of the back of the family’s station wagon and into his hand but she couldn’t quite seem to get a handle on it. The tears flowed freely down her flushed cheeks and he knew he should probably reach out and hug her and whisper that he’d see her as soon as he possibly could, but this was the Vietnam War and despite the unrest among his fellow Americans he knew what he needed to do, just as his brother had courageously done before him and though they hadn’t a single idea where Will Halstead was in this world they hoped and prayed every single damn night for his safe return, though their hopes were wavering thin, and he had a sneaking suspicion his father had assumed the worst. He’d turned to the bottle and he’d turned to blacking out instead of facing the reality of this disheveled country and maybe it was terrible of him but Jay found himself wishing the booze and the nicotine would finally stop the man’s heart while he was away because he couldn’t take the thought of him laying another hand on his already fragile mother.

But now, he was on the rickety wooden bench just across the gravel road from the only bus station for miles, en route to California and all alone with just his thoughts and damn was he terrified and damn did he wish he had someone here right next to him to at least distract him from his incessant thoughts and fears and doubts. And so he stood to walk somewhere, anywhere and away from this very spot because he had well over two hours before the bus was supposed to show up and if he sat still any longer he’d surely find it in him to burst into tears because he’d never been more afraid than he was in this very moment as he tried to do his country proud- or maybe it was for his drunk of a father because as much as he tried to deny it, there was this tiny little piece of him that wanted to hear that horrible man say that he loved him and he’d given up trying to figure out ways to do just that.

With his head down and his boots shuffling he made his way down the gravel road, perspiring a bit under the sun’s rays and itching to get out of the damn new uniform because it was scratchy and a little too tight around his arms and maybe that was a good thing- he’d been loading and unloading the truck full of produce for the market in town for weeks now, trying to build up what little defenses he could because war was something he had never experienced at a mere eighteen years old and maybe, just maybe if he was strong enough he could survive it and come back home to his mother’s crystal clear blue orbs and her warm, comforting embrace.

Jay stumbled upon the diner by complete accident; a hole in the wall establishment by the looks of things. The storefront had seen better days with its crumbling wooden sign and letters that probably should’ve been blinking in a sort of a welcome to potential customers but instead just glowed in a dull sense of the word. But he saw a few people bustling around inside through the front window of the joint and plenty of booths to lay down his head and maybe send up a few quick prayers and he figured being around others would keep him from hearing those distant gunshots and screams of terror he’d begun to drum up in his headspace, and so he used his shoulder to nudge the door open, grimacing at the damn cheerful bell that jingled the instant he opened it, ducking his head and slipping into a corner booth and folding his hands out in front of him because maybe this had been a mistake. 

--------

Her.

She hadn’t wanted this job. Not the stupid waitressing job with a mandatory apron and a required pink skirt and white button down and least of all the damn frilly bow they made sure she twisted up into her loose brown waves before she started her shift. She couldn’t stand the thought of having to do what others asked of her, least of all some drunk, blubbering old geezer of a man whom they’d just kindly asked to leave but not before he made some snide remark about her chest and how it looked in the uniform and it took absolutely everything inside of her to keep from smacking him straight across the face because she’d taken this job to get away from men like that, men like her disgusting brute of a father but she should’ve known she wouldn’t be that lucky.

The soldier caught her eye the instant he stepped into the place, maybe because he didn’t walk around like he was entitled to something like most of the men she was accustomed to serving but instead slunk to a back booth, or maybe it was the split second look in which she allowed herself to appreciate his obvious good looks but for whatever the reason she found herself begging Cindy to let her take the table and that she’d owe her one and she felt the older woman’s confusion rolling off of her in waves because Erin Lindsay was not one to beg to do anything on the job. She’d much rather hide in the bathroom and fake the flu than plaster on a forced, cheerful grin in hopes of receiving just a few extra coins of a ‘thank you’ in return.

Nonetheless, she snatched a spare notepad off of the counter and hesitantly approached the man, his head bowed in what might of been a prayer but she hadn’t the slightest clue about any of those things; except sometimes she folded her hands and squeezed her eyes shut as she cowered in the corner of the living room and silently begged for help when she heard her mother’s screams and the repeated slaps from her father and after a few moments of an eerie silence, the obvious sounds of pills jangling around in a bottle coming from somewhere in the kitchen and maybe sometimes she believed someone was up there listening to her desperate pleas.

Erin realized he must’ve heard the soft padding of her footsteps approaching because his head snapped up and his cheeks flushed a soft shade of a pink in what must’ve been embarrassment though she couldn’t stop the soft smile that lifted up a corner of her mouth in response because he was absolutely adorable.

“Would you mind sitting down and uh- talking to me? I’m feeling… I guess just really afraid.”

His soft, shaky voice struck every piece of her heart and she nibbled on her bottom lip, tossing a quick glance over her shoulder at the clock above the door with its incessant ticking hands and obnoxiously colored numbers, as if the liveliness of the thing would brighten up the dreary place but oh, they were so wrong.

“Will you wait here? I’m off in an hour and I have a place where we can go.” A place where I hide when my mother’s too drugged up to remember to feed me and my father’s on a rampage.

He nodded his head and she poured him a warm cup of coffee and he asked for way too much sugar for her liking but she couldn’t help but smile again, letting her fingers brush over his shoulder gently in what she hoped would be somewhat of a comfort before she heard that stupid little bell ding again and the lunch rush had arrived.

--------

Him.

Erin. He’d caught her name off of the scribbled tag she’d worn on the left of her uniform, after he managed to tear his gaze from her alluring hazel hues and when he focused on anything except her charming little dimples but he was having a really hard time getting his mouth to form sentences in her presence because she was just that exquisite. He did manage a nod in answer to her question and though he found himself fidgeting in his seat as each tick of the clock came and went, their stolen glances throughout the rest of her shift kept him sitting there, curious as to what she had in mind but knowing without a shadow of a doubt he’d follow her anywhere if she so much as asked.

He watched her untie the apron from around her waist and hand it off to what appeared to be the lady in charge, giving a quick grin to her superior before nearly bounding in his direction, her eyes alight with excitement and warmth and on an impulse he stood from the booth and grabbed her hand, relishing in the feeling of her fingers that fit oh-so-perfectly wrapped up in his, allowing her tiny frame to pull him along and out of the diner, content to watch her sudden enthusiasm as she trudged along the same gravel road he’d shuffled on earlier, except this time in the opposite direction, tugging out the bow from her brown locks so her waves fell loose just past her shoulders.

“So, what’s your name, soldier?” She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to study him and he chuckled, realizing they’d skipped over that pleasantry though he wasn’t entirely bothered. More than anything, he was glad he had someone here to keep his thoughts off of the war and the bus ride that would take him straight to California and straight to training and early morning whistles and entirely too many gunshots.

“Jay. Jay Halstead. And you?” Though he already knew and she probably realized as much, he still wanted to ask. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her, but her name seemed like a safe place to start.

“Erin Lindsay. Now keep up. We’re almost there.” She let go of his hand then and went flying down the hill, the sudden expanse of the ocean with a lone pier stretching out above the waves of the water catching him off guard as it came into view because it was almost as beautiful as this tiny, hazel-eyed waitress he had befriended in a mere fifteen minutes. And so he kept walking, following in her hustled footsteps and by the time he caught up to her, she had her bare feet dangling over the edge and her arms stretched out behind her and so he found himself sitting down beside her, scooting as close as she would allow because he was drawn to her and those adorable little dimples and her knowing little smirk and he was certain he was never going to meet anyone quite like her again.

“Can I- send you a letter, while I’m away? I don’t have anyone to write to...But I’ll write to you, if you’ll let me? Unless you have a boyfriend then-” He’d decided a long time ago he wouldn’t write home to his mother. It would save her the heartbreak if the letters suddenly stopped, knowing he was dead and gone. But with Erin.. hell, he wouldn’t be able to think straight if he never heard from her again.

She cut him off, her eyes flickering open to glance over at his face, his brow furrowed in a nervous hint of a frown and he watched her lift her fingers to gently smooth the worried lines out of his expression. “Of course you can write to me, Jay. There’s no boyfriend. There’s only you.” 

-----------

Her.

They sat for as long as time would allow down by the water, sharing a few kisses and even longer embraces and though neither could explain the instant connection they felt to each other they knew without words that it was something to hold on to. And so she dug an old, wadded-up scrap of paper and a pen out of the pocket of her god-awful skirt, scribbling out her address where he could send the letters, him promising to send her his once he was stationed and without truly understanding why her eyes welled with tears, and though she wouldn’t allow them to fall and wouldn’t allow herself to show that weakness and just how afraid for him she was, Jay stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her tiny frame as close to him as he could manage and brushed his lips across her forehead because he was just as afraid as she was.

The both of them walked hand in hand back to the bus stop and he realized he’d been stupid enough to leave his suitcase right there, under that rickety wooden bench where he’d been only a few hours before. But the rest of the young men in this town had shipped off to war awhile ago, he had explained to Erin, so there was no one left to send to this bus stop and off to fight the good fight. Just him and his shaky hands and those beautiful freckles sprinkled across his nose that became more prominent the closer she got to his lips and the longer he stayed out in the sunlight. But then she picked up on the rumblings of the bus rolling along the road, and as it came into view she felt Jay’s muscles clench beside her and without a word he leaned down to grab his single suitcase, the piece of paper with her address clutched tightly in his other hand as if it was his most treasured possession, and when he leaned down to kiss her again, the salt of his single tear caused more of her own to well in the corner of her eyes and as she watched the doors close behind him and the bus rumble away and out of sight, she finally allowed the tears to come, collapsing in a heap on the ground because maybe someone up there had been listening and Jay Halstead was everything she’d ever asked for.

---------

The first two letters came almost three weeks later, three long, painful weeks full of shifts down at the diner and nights spent hiding under the covers from her father, barely even breathing when he stumbled home intoxicated beyond belief with her mother lying somewhere in the living room high out of her mind. She skipped classes the next day because there wasn’t anyone who would really notice to sit down at the pier, her mind lost and wandering back to his beautiful blue eyes and the way his lips had felt on hers, scribbling down her replies to his letters and writing everything that was trapped up in her head she wished he could be here in person to listen to. She felt a little less broken, a little less like a lost cause sitting next to him all those weeks ago, as if he had shown her the good parts of her heart that she knew were there and buried that she lost the instant her father smacked her across the face for the first time.

She skipped the next day of classes too, going instead to sit at the bus stop on that damn wooden bench before she wandered all the way back into town to the diner, her eyes falling onto that corner booth every few seconds as she bustled back and forth, as if she prayed long and hard enough he would somehow appear out of thin air.

------ 

Him.

It’d been a month since he’d climbed aboard that bus and a handful of letters had been exchanged now- the only link he had to home, the only link he had to the beautiful girl he was pretty damn sure that he loved. He’d spend his nights writing to Erin, even if he didn’t send them all at once and even if he got razzed by his bunkmates for keeping the lamp on well past the hours he should’ve drifted off to sleep but he didn’t care. His first few were sent from California but as of last night they were in Vietnam, huddled way too close together under way too thin of blankets and the way too constant rounds of gunfire and so he never really could drift off to sleep anyway.

He wrote to tell her of the men he’d come to call brothers and the way their eyes would light up for a moment speaking of the families and the wives they’d left back home. He wrote to tell her of how afraid he was to close his eyes because how easy would it be to slit his throat when he was unconscious? He wrote to tell her of watching one of his buddies go down in front of him, clumsily dragging him behind a boulder for a few moments of cover, but even as he pressed down on the wound and the blood seeped dark red through his fingers he knew it was far too late for him and so Jay had pushed the man’s eyelids closed and sent up a quick prayer and kept a mental note of the man’s name to scribble down later because he’d kept track of the lives lost or at least the ones he knew of in case he made it back to tell the families how sorry he was and how wonderful a man they had lost far too soon. He wrote to tell her when he shook so terribly with nightmares and when his reality was too grim and too bloody to deal with he thought of that day down by the pier and her dimples that only appeared when she was smiling and he wrote to tell her just how much he missed that smile and in particular her lips and the feeling of them crashed against his own and he would give absolutely for that comfort right about now. And finally, he wrote to tell her that he loved her and that he wouldn’t be able to write for awhile and that she shouldn’t worry.

-------

Her. 

She sat in the bleachers clothed in a horribly uncomfortable band uniform but it was one more activity that kept her away from and out of her house and her terrible parents and so if she had to feign an interest in the upbeat tempos and tiny little notes on the sheet music in front of her she would so long as no one asked her too many questions or to play a little louder. She hadn’t a clue how to make a sound with the piccolo but she was damn good at pretending and so far she’d gotten away with it just fine. Erin had found his last letter in the mailbox just a few minutes ago, her eyes blazing over the words to finish before she made a mad dash to the school and then the football field to sit with the rest of the band and to begin a pitiful round of pump of music but she’d been smart and brought along a pen and a slip of paper to draft up her next reply, managing to scribble down a few words before she really had to act like she was paying attention during the national anthem and fingered a few fake notes. With her duties finished for the rest of the night, she set the instrument off to her left and picked up the pen, her hand freezing as the announcer came over the loudspeaker and the crowd went silent in anticipation and she could’ve sworn absolutely everyone in attendance could hear the sound of her heartbeat as it was nearly in her throat.

“Folks, would you bow your heads for a list of local Vietnam dead.”

The sound of his name echoed over and over again in her eardrums like some sick broken record and without really thinking straight she dashed down the bleachers after that heart-breaking moment of silence, that piece of paper still clutched to her chest and tears falling freely down her cheeks because now she didn’t give a damn about weakness anymore, she just wanted that blue-eyed boy back and she just wanted him to pull her into his arms and whisper that everything was going to be okay and one day they would get out of this town and away from these people and start a life of their own. Together.

But as she made it underneath the bleachers and she hid herself in the shadows where she allowed herself to be consumed by the grief, she realized she would never see him again. She would never again feel quite as safe as she did with his arms wrapped around her torso and she would never again feel quite as loved as she did with his lips pressed firmly against her own and as she collapsed on the ground into a heap of short breaths and shaking hands she watched as her tears dripped down onto the paper to the reply that he would never get to read. The one where she scribbled out that she loved him too and that she couldn’t wait for him to come back home to her.

@thelinsteads @kkmallow3 @writteninthestarsandthesky

[bigcrimsonwolf]

Crimson & Lola MAD MAX AU bc reasons

GIVE ME AN AU AND I WILL WRITE 5 15 IDEAS/HEADCANONS FOR OUR MUSES IN THAT AU!!

this is awfully long and i’m sorry but also i think it was very necessary. there are also mentions of @jacobasterbunny , @elodieasterbunny , @bettysnooze , @lcnatics , @guardianofjoy , and @sebastianiisms 

if any of you haven’t watched mad max… this au does have SOME spoilers, but it’s mostly regarding themes/parallels as opposed to actual events? and also, please watch mad max it’s so great honestly

in the dystopian wasteland of Auradon, where desert reigns and any other soil, swamp or likewise, is too poisonous to grow anything without magic’s help, Lola is a rogue– having been separated from her lover and family while also dealing with trauma after the raid of her homeland, Pixie Hollow; after struggling to find something to eat, she is captured by goons and brought back to a small oasis called Moon Shade, where the tyrannical warlord that dubs himself the “Man in the Moon” rules over it and all its resources, forcefully grown by abusing magic users who specialize in nature manipulation

after an invasive probing of Lola, they find out that she can manipulate fairy dust and is used against her will to keep sick minions and goons alive so that they can fight the Man in the Moon’s battles; she is used to heal a boggan by the name of Boog, whose own magical powers turned against him, causing his body to rot and decay if he exerts too much energy

the Man in the Moon makes a grand spectacle of prepping his War Rig for transport, with Imperator Crimson as the driver; they are to deliver his magically grown produce and water to other warlords: Two-Face, the mayor of Halloweentown, who specializes in the production of gasoline, oil, and other crude fuels and the White and Red Queens, the rulers of Wonderland, where they make weaponry and train monsters to do whatever their master’s pleases

Imperator Crimson is a dangerous werewolf that’s made a quite reputation for himself as a ruthless, bloodthirsty lieutanent for the Man in the Moon– but during the transport, Crimson defies the Man in the Moon by taking the treasures of the Man in the Moon, four young women chosen for their magical properties being considered the strongest, and giving them the chance to escape

during the initial pursuit of the War Rig and Crimson, Lola manages to break free from Boog, as he insisted to join the pursuit despite being sick and she reluctantly joins them after one of the treasures tells her where they’re going: a Green Place, a place where the sun is kind and people aren’t slaves and the soil is rich

Lola learns the names of the treasures: Betty, Ranon, Luna and Elodie and why they were treasures and why the Man in the Moon wants them so bad; all of their magic prolongs their lives and the Man in the Moon wants an eternal legacy, having children with the treasures practically guarantees almost immortal children (for some reason, Elodie seems really familiar to Lola when she admits she’s never used her magical powers because the Man in the Moon kept them in a locked safe room most of their stay in Moon Shade); Lola doesn’t give them her name and Crimson dubs her “Fool” until she does

Crimson tells Lola about how he was taken from the Green Place when he was a child by the Man in the Moon, one of the strongest werewolves to have survived the mountains and deserts; he also tells her that the Green Place is actually called Corona but he didn’t want to give the treasures the power of its name just yet– Lola then tells him that her lover had escaped a warlord and that he was taken as a child from his home, along with his sister, to be a warrior under his name; when Crimson asked where he was, Lola only replied with, “lost”

the War Rig makes it to Corona, though rudely unwelcomed by the son of its leader, Sebastian, until Crimson proves himself as part of the “pack” and the two reunite, having been best friends before Crimson was kidnapped; he explains that the treasures need refuge, they need a new start, having been someone else’s property for so long; Sebastian agrees that they can stay before Rapunzel, the ruler of Corona, asks who else is held underneath the Man in the Moon’s thumb, Crimson tells them “an army’s worth”– Rapunzel suggests they go back to Moon Shade to free everyone, especially now that it’s undefended, all its minions in pursuit of the War Rig

at first Lola turns her back on everyone, saying that she no longer has any ties to the persons involved so she didn’t have to risk her life for anyone else, Crimson gives her a vehicle that’s fully loaded for a one-man’s survival, though he wished she’d come along for the ride– Lola finally rejoins Crimson and the treasures after a talk with Elodie, one of the treasures she grew closest to

in the final battle, Crimson showcases the brute force that came with being an Imperator and why he was feared, after trusting Lola to drive, he practically hopped from car to car, spilling carnage wherever he went; Lola also shows how she’s managed to survive on her own for so long, keeping goons and minions off the War Rig for as long as possible– it’s during this that the treasures find themsleves hopeful, empowered even, and also begin to participate in the fight

it’s here that Elodie displays her prowess as a Pooka bunny, finally using her magical abilities to make sure that the Man in the Moon’s minions don’t stop their momentum; hopping from car to car, using her superb strength, her teleportation abilities, as well as her explosive eggs– Lola was hit with realization and everything fell into place in the puzzle; Elodie was Jacob’s sister, the Man in the Moon was his warlord, Crimson was even the one who had given Jacob enough hope to run away, to find a way to charge Moon Shade and rescue his sister

when the Man in the Moon is defeated, Crimson is fatally wounded with a silver bullet, Sebastian demanded that they keep him awake as he used his healing powers; Lola, in desperation, finally tells him and the treasures her name, she also tells him where Jacob was, “lost” in Fantasia, the cursed swampland where its rulers trap their inhabitants by brainwashing– she was looking for help to rescuing him when the Man in the Moon kidnapped her

Crimson awakes with a weak laugh, saying “i like ‘Fool’ better… and you’ll find Jake” and at first, confused, Lola smiles through her tears before the werewolf demands to know where Sebastian is, and has a gay tender moment because goddammit I’m like 90% sure Furiosa is gAY

Crimson survives and the inhabitants of Moon Shade are freed; at first, the crowd cheers on Crimson but Crimson holds his hands up and allows the treasures to stand up, now heroes; after the initial celebration dies down, Lola stays just long enough to tell Crimson that she needs to get back to Fantasia to free Jacob, he agrees and before he has a chance to offer his help, Elodie and Luna volunteer to go with her, confident in their magical abilities to free the youngest treasure’s brother

the trio set out into the desert, Betty and Ranon are now the leaders of Moon Shade, and Crimson and Sebastian make it back to Corona AND a big “to be continued” is left hanging in the air