#i only own like....a chain and a couple arm cuffs kill me!!!!

[brodyfoxxsmassivetits]

he's smarter than he looks! but he don't look so smart.

drew punk Jon a bit ago but found art n made final passes of it 2day :3(also some doodles...some more rough then others </3 :( )))

I really like!!! Having two versions of finished art just so I can do whatever I want with one n mess around x9!

that new(I think) that handsome devil album is rlly good

[gothic-thoughts]

Wrath

Lil homage to Supernatural lowkey (cuz i miss that show)

Ghost Riley x Black GN Reader Angst

Fallen Angel!ReaderAU, MeetUgly

CW: Ghost finds you, Reader wakes from a coma

TW: I, myself am not religious but that don't mean ion respect other people's beliefs and obviously this isn't meant to be offensive in terms of religion, killing mention, bad injury/wound description

Word Count: 1449 (give or take)

The ground finally stopped shaking like nothing even happened, but this wasn't some minor tremor. This was the most unlikely place to have earthquakes and yet a 5.2 just rocked the entire base out of nowhere like it was nothing; strong enough to shake the building but weak enough that nothing was broken, just knocked over. We tracked the origin to find it was only 20 miles from here in a random forest, deducing that it was some kind of weapon meant for us but thankfully missed by only a couple miles. And I was determined to find out who had the balls to threaten us in our own home.

Once the chopper landed, I cautiously led my squad across the field towards a huge clearing of knocked-over trees and scorched grass with a giant, steaming crater in the middle. We approach it to find nothing: no metal, no casing, nothing. Just somebody lying naked in the center.

"Oh, what the f--” I trail off as lowering my gun, “Who the hell is this? And why are they naked?"

I groan in frustration before ordering most of the squad to investigate the area while ordering a couple others to get a blanket from the chopper. I carefully walked down into the crater with my gun trained on the person, waiting for them to make a move but the only movement was the staggering rise and fall of their chest. I nudge their calf with my foot only for it to move limply.

“And what the hell were you doing all the way out here...? Whatever, hello?! Hello, hey!”

No response. Not even an eye twitch to let me know they could at least hear me...or alive. I put my gun away and kneeled into the now dissipating steam to examine the many, many cuts and bruises marking the front of their body that seemed to be already healing. I reluctantly reach down to shake their shoulder but again not even a change in breath; they’re out cold.

I roll them onto the side to check but the sight of two, large matching wounds between the shoulder blades makes my eyes widen. The skin around it was pulled outward, looking either melted or like they were ripped off of something hot. 

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Three days after we bring them to the medical bay, their eyes finally open, darting around the room and then to the cuffs keeping their right wrist chained to the gurney. The medics thought it was a bit much since they were so hurt but I couldn’t trust them just yet, if at all, given the fact that in 3 days, we still knew nothing about them: not their name, age, nationality; nothing, so I wanted to be extra cautious. Their eyes lock with mine and I give them nothing but a cold, skeptical stare as I walk into the room and stand at the end of the bed.

“Stop struggling; I don’t trust you enough as is.”

“So we understand each other then.” They snap, “Who are you and what have you done to me?”

“Done to you? I brought you to a medical bay and kept you even more alive than you looked in that crater so how ‘bout we start with your name and we’ll go from there.”

“I don’t have to tell you damned thing, I demand you release me. Now.”

“Yeah, that’s not how this works.” I cross my arms, eyes narrowing behind my mask, “I don’t care how pretty or rich you think you are, but--”

“Do I look ‘rich’ to you?”

“I don’t know what you look like, all I know is we found you at the epicenter of 5.2 earthquake only a few miles from our base, thinking you were some kind of missile. That was 3 days ago.”

“Three...? I... I caused an earthquake...? Was anyone hurt?”

“You must’ve hit your head harder than we thought if you think you could cause a damn earthquake, much less one that strong.”

“Wait, did you say ‘base’? Like a mortal military base...?”

Mortal? They're more entitled than I thought. "Yeah, sure a ‘mortal’ base. You’re being detained until we determine and learn who you are and what you are."

“What I am? So you do understand I am not from here...”

“I almost considered that since that's the only answer I can see after 3 whole days of trying to figure out why the hell you have no blood type, fingerprints or an even an SSN; so either you’re an infant, faked your death, or you’re a fucking spy. So as I said earlier, we’re gonna start from the fucking beginning.”

They sigh, no longer struggling with the cuffs, “Fine... I’ll comply.”

“And no lies; you may not have a blood type, but you have a heartbeat. If I feel like you're lyin', we do this the hard way, got it?"

They nod. I don't budge an inch, continuing to watch for even the slightest twitch.

“Name.”

“(Y/n).”

"See, easy. Alright; then (Y/n), what makes you so special that we can't read your fingertips?"

“Since you're already so skeptical, I doubt you will believe me if I tell you...”

“Try me.”

They rolled their eyes with a scoff. “Yeah, because you mortals are known for your trustworthiness.”

“What I believe isn't the point here, just spit it out."

Another exasperated sigh. “I'm an angel...or I was...”

I blink a few times, processing their words. “I said no lying.”

“Thought you said what you believe wasn't the point.”

“It is when you lie.”

“Whatever, if you're so smart how do you explain my lack of human information, Mr. Easter Bunny? The earthquake? You didn’t find anything else besides me in the area, did you?”

I scoff with a chuckle. Angel or not, they're a smart ass. "You're right, I actually can't. But I know that angels aren't real... and if they were, they can't be hurt. How'd you go from this invincible being to half-dead in the middle of a forest?"

“I said I was an angel, didn't I? I'm a fallen angel now.”

"So how'd you lose your wings then?"

“Simply put, I sinned.”

“Can you elaborate on that?” 

“A demon killed my best friend and wrath got the better of me..” Their voice cracked a little, “So I found that monster and showed him the exact same mercy he showed her...”

I pause, hearing the amount of stifled anguish in their voice. I relax my shoulders and uncross my arms, softening my eyes just slightly enough to let them know I believe them...enough...for now.

"You regret it?"

“I am aware of what I signed up for when the thought entered my head... but she was my best friend.” (Y/n) sniffles, avoiding eye contact, “It was worth it, though I am a terrible person for it...”

“Well yes...” I walk around the bed and unlock the cuff from their wrist, “And no.”

They gasp, doing a double take. “No? I killed someone."

"We have something called nuance down here on Earth. What you do matters, but the intent matters more."

"So you don't think I'm a terrible person? Are you serious right now?"

“Not a terrible person, just a terrible angel. You’d make a great person.”

"Right, because mortals kill more often than not."

"Hey, not all of us are serial killers, (Y/n). Most have legitimate reasons for killing someone, your case just so happens to be very common."

"Oh..." (Y/n) sits up against the pillows, "That doesn't make it okay."

"I never said it made it okay; I said it doesn't make you terrible."

"I never got your name..."

"Call me Ghost."

"Ghost...?"

"We'll work on real names when I trust you more."

"Okay then...Ghost. So what happens now? I stay in some special cell, treated like a freak while your army interrogates me?"

“I'm not putting you in a cell."

“You won't?”

"Unless you give me a reason to, no. You don’t seem dangerous, and besides, if we keep you in an actual cell... I think you'd just try and break out. You're just gonna have to live here for now."

“Thank you... I think..."

"Don't get too comfortable though, I'll still be keepin' my eye on you. But at least you get to not be cooped up in a cell. Until we figure out what to do with you that is."

“...And... just how comfortable are army barracks?”

I let out a soft chuckle. "They might not be the most luxurious, but I can give you a room to yourself. No one should bug you as long as you stay out of others' way."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet; you might hate it here. Not many people like being surrounded by soldiers in every direction."

"Better than the middle of a crater."

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(a/n): Last mythical one i swear (prolly, maybe, not really)

[ncitygirls]

yours - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, bffs2lovers, 3k

before joining you to your cousin’s wedding, jaemin had made a big deal about not being properly invited. as always, mark kept true to his habit of innocently causing trouble when it suited him. ‘i’m like family! where’s my invite!’ but it was hard to fault mark, because of course jaemin had been invited. somehow, his parents neglected to inform him that your cousin had rightfully assumed jaemin would know he was included in the na family’s invite. you said nothing though. especially when jaemin had briefly explained the reason for his displeasure. ‘we deserve our own invite, y/n. one for us together.’ which made no sense at all, because you’re just friends. you’re not together. however you had no idea you were alone in thinking that.

you see, jaemin was more acquainted with your family than some of your own relatives. he was invited to christmases, weddings, birthdays. basically any and all occasions your family saw fit to celebrate, jaemin was in attendance. yet surprisingly, even after having grown up alongside you and mark, a few of your more distant cousins were more than happy to express their displeasure with his more forward placed seat. because, like you keep reminding everybody: jaemin is just your best friend. but apparently, best friends didn’t reserve the rights to things you gave to jaemin. not in your extended family’s eyes. not that yours and mark’s family cared.

yet in the end, like most things regarding you, jaemin knew his attendance tonight had been a mistake. but not because of the petty feud his presence birthed in the lee lineage. oh no. it’s because, unlike most nights jaemin spends in your company - with your hair strewn about, mascara permanently smudged, and a lazy grin etched on - tonight, you were his least favourite kind of y/n. the one where he can’t help but follow you with his eyes, watch the placement of your feet, enjoy the shrill tone of your cackle. throughout the night, jaemin had found himself warmed by the way you drag your balled up fist over your made up eye, how you sing along to songs you don’t know the words to, how you wobble in your heels before you cling to him.

jaemin makes the mistake of enjoying you a bit too much. how you scowl as your relatives chat shit a bit too loud for you liking, how you make a scene of conspicuously covering his ears, unaware of how unbothered he is. how you try so hard to make him happy, in the smallest and largest of ways. so he drags you into a dance when you move to walk over, ready to rip your own blood a new one. “i’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“no,” he states simply, one of his hands slipping from your hand to your waist. “dance with me.”

“who do they think they are!” your voice adopts an unsettling shrillness that he can’t help but chuckle at. it even throws his head back. “why are you so happy? you should be mad!”

“because i don’t care,” he shrugs, tightening his hold on you slightly. “i’m here- you’re here. why would i not be happy?”

“you’re such a fucking leo.”

he still doesn’t know what that means, but he laughs anyway, happy that your deduction seemed to satisfy you. you eventually calm down, a peace settling over you as he spins you lazily around the dance floor. there’s some early 2000s track playing, one definitely unfitting for the way he’s swaying you. but you pay it no mind, speaking softly as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

“when do you wanna head up?” up, meaning the hotel room your relatives are also wound up about. it was intended for the bridal party and far travelled guests, neither of which they are. and neither of which you are. but you were your cousin’s favourite. and so was he. so naturally, you two had one reserved. even your parents had opted to stay at a cottage a couple roads over. “i think the boys are all gone already.”

he notes the guilt tainting your tone, knowing how drained jaemin grew from both physical and social interactions of any kind. so you knew well what his answer would be. “when you’re ready.”

“okay,” slipping out of his hold, you drag him over to the newly married couple. you exchange brief goodnights and grateful tidings before he excuses himself to find the jacket of his tuxedo. the search doesn’t take long, his eyes landing on the black coat a few seconds after parting. he does give himself a breather though, his knees cracking as the seat holding his jacket readily carries his weight. he doesn’t dare shut his eyes, knowing full well he’ll fall victim to his fatigue. so instead, he let’s them follow the one thing that always occupies his mind, that can keep him up all night. he finds you far quicker than he did his coat, the pink satin of your dress falling half way down your calf as you skipped over to bid some other guests farewell. he sighs happily, glad you never force him into such tedious pleasantries. you learnt a long time ago that while impossibly affectionate, jaemin’s social clock ticked a few hours faster than any one else’s. so by your timing, it had probably expired a little after the vows. it took a little bit of getting used to, but it also meant for quicker farewells and a speedier exit.

it’s only now jaemin realises this was a mistake. because before he ever gets his breather, less from you, but all the feelings that come from being with you, you’re at his side. he’s learned how not to cease up at your touch anymore. instead, linking his fingers with yours when they rest gently on his shoulder. when he peeks up at you, his eyes blinded less by the party lighting and more by your tired smile, he knows not to sigh, forcing down his body’s natural response to your attention. but when you tug at his hands, bringing him to stand, whispering a-

“let’s go home, yeah?”

he knows this isn’t a mistake. this is torture.

it’s how you pour him a tall, ice cold glass of domesticity with every meal. your hand wrapped in his as you lead him through the hotel. you slip out of your heels somewhere between the lobby and the elevator, grinning up at him as he takes them from you. jaemin even curses himself, his body responding to your needs unthinkingly. he tries to calm his beating heart by counting the floors, his eyes following the analog dial as you lean against his shoulder, fiddling with his cuffs.

“do you want them off?” you ask softly, barely a touch louder than the elevator music. he nods, though your gel nails are already picking at the gold, removing them with ease. “gimme the other one.” he inhales deeply, cursing whoever gave you to him. well, not really. you weren’t really his. but god did you act like it.

your hands slip into his pocket for the room key before slipping back into his hand. he just follows you out, caught in a happy daze as you take him ‘home’. you struggle a bit with the key card, trying it every which way before he leans into you, wrapping his arm around you as he reaches for the card. “the arrow’s pointing this way,” his thumb nail presses on the black arrow indicating the direction you have to push it. he doesn’t see you roll your eyes, but he guesses you do. so he presses his lips to your temple in apology. “you’ll get it next time.”

“piss off,” you laugh, pushing the door open when it clicks. he throws the heels and jacket on a chair by the door before collapsing onto the adjacent couch, his body ready to succumb to his dire need for rest. he can just about hear you rustling through the bags in the bathroom, your feet padding around on the linoleum. when it muffles slightly, he figures out immediately what you’ve returned for when you stop between his thighs. “thank you,” you sigh, his fingers already pinching at the zip on your dress. it sits low at the base of your spine, the back of the dress leaving you completely exposed. he’d taken to placing his hand there all night, his fingers gliding up and down the skin whenever he got the chance. when it’s down, his eyes linger on your hips, the top of your panties peeking out before you slap his knee.

“what?”

“the necklace,” your back is still turned, hair blocking his view. “please?” you add, hand smoothing over the skin of his knee.

“come here,” he pulls you down to sit between his thighs, his legs parting to make space for you. you land with a huff, quickly realising you haven’t sat down all night. jaemin realises this too, your neck craning a bit further to the side than necessary as he tucks your hair over your shoulder. “you okay?”

“mhm,” you hum, squeezing his thigh. “just a bit sleepy.”

“a bit?” he laughs, a little breathless as he gathers the chain he got you one christmas. “i think you’ve earned a good sleep.” he surmises, hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “but you know you were a guest today, right? not the planner?”

“yeah?” turning onto your knees, you glare down at him. “someone had to sort my uncle out, he was steaming!”

“yes, true,” he laughs. “just make sure you’re not doing that at my wedding.”

you feign surprise at that, “i’m invited to your wedding?”

“of course,” his hands squeeze yours earnestly before he whispers, “can’t have my wedding without the bride, can i-”

“fuck off!” his cackles chase you out the room. while you wash up, he makes quick work of his tux, throwing his slacks over the back of the couch, his thumbs slowly unhooking each of his buttons. a true man of leisure, he’s in all but his socks and draws when you return. “all done!” you sing, throwing the dress down as you reappear in an oversized t-shirt. he recognises it almost immediately from uni. it’s his soccer team’s jersey. it has his number on the back.

“finally,” he whines, pushing you aside as he makes his way inside, quickly locking the door to avoid your attacks. he goes to reach for his wash bag just to find the reason he did already waiting unpacked. in a small cup on the side is his toothbrush, resting sweetly beside yours. he ignores the hygienic implications of this and skips right to the romantic. because, while jaemin thinks and often dreams of placing your first name with his last, and while he spends most of his free time with you, and while he would take any number of bullets for you, he still can’t for the life of him figure you out. even after he bombards you with affection, praise, teasing, flirting, kisses. you’re still just you. making him just him.

and that’s fine, if that’s what you want. but he’s not sure he truly knows what it is you want. and this gets him thinking about the little things. how his hand is seldom empty in your presence. how you never think of him second, always first. how you want to be with him always. moments like now, when he returns to find you hanging his tux on its hanger, encasing it in its protective sleeve. his arms slip around your waist, pulling you flush against him. and you melt instantly, resting in his embrace. “thanks,” he mumbles, lips pressing gently to your shoulder.

“‘is okay,” you hum, hanging it over the back of the door before resting your hands over his. see, hands never empty when you’re near. he sways you back and forth, his heart beating gently into your back as you lean into him. “did you have fun?” you ask, squeezing at his forearms, “i know we probably stayed later than you’d like-”

“it was great.” see, always putting him first. “did you want to stay longer?”

“not without you.” see, how you want to be with him always. he wonders how you don’t see it. how you don’t see you’re killing him. “come on,” you mumble, shutting off the light as you blindly drag him to bed. jaemin has an annoying habit of following you in, his body shuffling in after yours, rather than separating and meeting in the middle. it doesn’t allow you much room, by the time you reach your side, he’s encased you in his arms, legs, even his head, his chin slotting itself in the crook of your neck. “nana?”

“hm?”

“i’m sorry about today,” the apology doesn’t shock him, but rather your disappointment. “you’re more like family to mark and i than they ever were. tonight was just proof of that.”

“it’s okay,” he squeezes you a touch harder, trying to decipher whether your words harm or soothe the growing hole in his heart. “i can’t say i don’t see where they’re coming from.”

“what d’you mean?”

“i dunno,” he starts, thinking as his lips press to the back of your neck. “i guess i’d be confused by us too,” he mutters against your skin.

“how so?” you press, turning in his hold, gazing up at him. his eyes are more than used to the dark now as he gazes back down at you. you’re tucked right up to him, the covers strewn over your lower halves. he rests his temple on his palm, elbow pressed into the mattress as you fiddle with his fingers. “what’s confusing?”

he shrugs as best he can, watching his hand in yours. “i dunno,” he repeats, grinning when you huff. “i just- i think it’s hard for people to get that i’m your friend,” he tries, “just your friend.”

“what else would you be?” what else? what else?!

“i dunno,” he repeats for the third time, though he knows exactly what you’d be. but you don’t need to know that. not when you seemed so happy, so satisfied with how things are already. and that’s what’s most important to him. your happiness. and jaemin couldn’t exactly say he wasn’t happy with how things are either, he just knows there could be more to you both, more to this. more to him than being your best friend. but maybe it’s for another night. like he tells himself every time you push a topic you’re not remotely ready to breach. “let’s forget it-”

“no,” he flinches, just preparing to settle down for sleep. “am i missing something? if i am, just tell me.”

“i-” he drops his forehead to yours then. he’s so close, your eyes have to cross just for you to see him. it’s only when he rises you see a change in him. a nervous jaemin isn’t one you’re use to. it’s one that you would rather never see, it truly worries you. especially as he agrees, a small “okay,” leaving him before he kisses the tip of your nose, his lips barely puckered as they meet the skin. he grins as he does, his teeth gleaming in the moonlit room, his eyes open just wide enough to see you. his lips drop to your cheek, warming as your skin does. he hovers there as your hand tightens on his arm, clinging to him. he daren’t move, afraid the slightest jolt will wake him, drag him right out of this sleepless dream. when your grip loosens, he drops his head until he’s right by your mouth, his lips daringly puckering before he presses them to the corner of your lips. he stills as yours do too, your soft lips, now embalmed in his memory, pressing there ever so gently before he rises once more. he waits a second, watching the smallest of shivers rack through you before he dips again, lips falling to your neck. he smiles against your skin, overjoyed as you subtly crane your neck. his teeth drag over your skin as he journeys down the column of your neck, your hands gripping onto him a touch harder when he stops.

his fingers glide along the skin of your side, thumb pressing into the dip of your waist. he stops short of your chest, locked mid motion as he watches you breathe. there is no haste in his movements. no need to rush anything. no need to hurry. all there is, is a beat. a steady one in his chest. one that holds him here, one where he can’t move, can’t bring himself to test the waters you’ve just dared he enter. not even as the pads of your fingers glide along the warm skin of his neck, nails dragging through his nape, silently daring him to move. he pants over your chest, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as you ask him again-

“what else would you be, jaem?”

he moves unthinkingly. as his dampened lips meet the hardened nub through your t-shirt, sucking on you through the aged material. his rolls his teeth gently, his fingers at your side finding your neglected nipple as you whine out for him. he feels himself slipping into delirium, caught somewhere between a dream and reality, unsure where exactly he’d rather be. he decides it doesn’t matter, not when you’re there. here. with him. letting him touch you in ways he never really thought possible. ways jaemin only ever imagined, only ever let himself surrender to in the dead of night. in the solitude of his own shameful company. he never thought of this. not really.

he had hoped, maybe even prayed, but never truly believed he’d have you whimpering for him. your fingers falling in the gaps between his own, pressing his open palm harder against your thinly veiled heat, your hips rolling against it. jaemin never thought he’d hear your whines, the sound cutting through him like knives, like ice shooting through his veins. he never thought you’d want him. not like this.

“jaem,” he’s with you in seconds, his spit slick lips an inch above yours. he watches patiently as you grind up against his hand, feeling his fingers prod at your desperate heat.

“you wanna know what else i could be?”

you nod. “please.”

“i could be yours.”

[hopelesshawks]

Official Accounts Part 19- Search

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Warning for non graphic descriptions of injuries and manga spoilers

Masterlist

You are NOT a damsel in distress. So when you woke up bleary eyed in some industrial building, hands cuffed and chained to the ceiling, feeling like you’d been hit by a truck, your first thought wasn’t, “I hope a hero comes for me”, but rather, “ok what’s step one to getting out of here.” First the matter of freeing yourself. You didn’t have a bobby pin so you’d have to get yourself free from the chain up top and then deal with the handcuffs. Honestly if you could get some time alone you could probably pull it off. You may not be able to take Dabi on directly but you could probably surprise him enough to make a getaway. Unfortunately, Dabi hadn’t left you alone since you’d woken up. And GOD did the asshole like to talk.

“Aren’t you curious why you can’t access your quirk?” Dabi asks. “I literally work hero tech, don’t insult my intelligence. I was looking over the specs for these cuffs just last week,” you reply with a roll of your eyes, “the better question is how you got hold of a pair.” “Can’t tell ya that, that’s no fun.” “So that’s why you won’t leave me alone? Cause this is fun for you?” “What? I’m bored. Your little boyfriend hasn’t texted me back,” he shrugged. “Not my boyfriend,” you snark back. “Ah right, sorry. Your ex boyfriend hasn’t texted me back,” he corrects with a smirk, “are you worried he won’t come?” “Nope.” “Aww, come around to thinking he cares about you again?” You roll your eyes again. “He’s a good hero. Regardless of whether he cares about me, he’ll come. And if not him I’ve got some really overprotective friends.”

Your arms are tingling from being held above your head for so long and your wrists feel rubbed raw by the harsh metal of the handcuffs but you refuse to give your captor the satisfaction of seeing your pain or discomfort. “Why even bother with all this?” you ask. If he was going to annoy you with all this chatter you may as well get something useful out of it. “You don’t really expect me to villain monologue my whole plan to you, do you?” he scoffs. “No but I also don’t expect you to leave me alone any time soon, so the least you could do is talk to me about something more interesting than the texts you read off my phone.” That wrenches a surprised laugh from the man. He walks over to you, giving you an appraising look the whole way over until he’s in your space, only a couple inches away. “Which do you think would hurt Hawks more? For me to kill you in front of him,” he leans in to whisper the last part in your ear, “or for him to watch you join me instead?” He pulls away only slightly, the two of you practically breathing the same air. “What on earth would make you think that I’d want to join you?” you scoff. “If you knew what the commission was hiding-“ “Tell me then. If you want me to join you so bad.”

Hawks arrived at the first address in record time. Speed was his thing after all. The moment he had touched down at the doorway and slipped into the all but abandoned warehouse he sent out several feathers to look for any sign of life within. Hawks had taken the two furthest locations since he’d be able to get to them the fastest and speed was of the essence. Logically, Hawks knew Dabi wouldn’t kill you before he or one of your friends got there. No, Dabi’s m.o. was suffering and it would hurt more to watch you die then to just find your body. That didn’t mean he relished the thought of you spending any more time in the other man’s clutches. His search turned up nothing. So he called his feathers back and in the blink of an eye was out the door and racing off to the second location, praying you were there.

“Well shit,” you sigh out, “I never did like Endeavor.” “Good instincts,” Dabi smirks. “You’re forgetting, Touya, I went to school with your little brother. I might not have known he was abusive, but I knew Endeavor wasn’t father of the year.” “So are you in or what?” “In to ‘take down’ hero society with you?” “Exactly.” “No way in hell.” Dabi scoffs in disbelief. “Wow, you are so enamored with them it makes me sick.” “I’m not enamored with the HPSC I think they’re disturbingly apathetic at best and grossly corrupt at worst. As for Endeavor he deserves to pay for his crimes the same way any other regular citizen would. But there are good heroes out there and you would have me take them and innocent civilians down too in your quest for revenge.” “Good heroes huh?” “Yes! Good heroes like All Might and Chargebolt and Mirko and-“ “Hawks?” “Yes, and Hawks.” “Did he or did he not just break your heart?” “Hawks made mistakes that broke my heart and made me no longer want a romantic relationship with him that is not the same thing as being a CHILD ABUSER. At the end of the day he is a hero through and through. He is a good man with capital i Issues and a strong sense of morality and is one of the few top pros willing to push back against the HPSC.” “You’re an idiot.” “You’re a selfish prick with daddy issues.”

The slap across your face probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you. Perhaps you had pushed a little too far. The side of your face stung and you belatedly realized his hand had been alight when he struck you. You wonder if the brief contact was enough to leave a burn. “Oh I’m sorry, did I hit a nerve?” you reply as you slowly turn back to face him. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he laughs with a shake of his head. “You might’ve given up on heroes but I see a better future in Hawks and Mirko and my friends.” “Then you’re not as smart as I was giving you credit for.” “Feeling’s mutual. But tell ya what, once I’m saved, I’ll tell your daddy you say hi.” When Dabi hits you this time you don’t have to wonder if he left a burn or not. You just know.

Hawks followed the same procedure at the second address as he had the first. He carefully slipped into the complex, careful to remain stealthy as he sent out a few feathers to search. It didn’t take long for him to find you and Dabi. He quickly texted the others and then recalled his feathers the moment he’d identified where the two of you were in order to avoid Dabi potentially noticing. Little did he know it was already too late for that as Dabi had set up silent perimeter alarms to let him know the moment someone came for you. Deep in the recesses of the building Dabi turns to you, still trying to catch your breath from the punishment your big mouth had earned you. “Looks like we have a guest (y/n). Now the fun really starts!”

Author’s Note: B O Y did this one get away from me. I intended the rescue effort to be all one part but as I was writing it out I realized I wouldn’t be able to have the level of detail I wanted if I did that so I just picked a good stopping point and HERE WE ARE. Next chapter will also be mostly written. We’ll see for the one after that. Also we write bad bitch readers in this house 😤 (y/n) woke up from being knocked unconscious and chose VIOLENCE

Taglist [open]: @cathy8taffy @katzurras @grumpyfroggies @captaincyberqueen @itskindofafairything @420-uwu @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut

[spartanguard]

partners

summary: SVU detective Emma Swan's new partner is not what she expected. Thankfully, that's a good thing.

A/n: So I've been watching a LOT of Law & Order: SVU lately and when I got to the episodes where Stabler was partnered with Dani Beck, it just smacked with CS feels. This is just a bit of exploration of that, in honor of @optomisticgirl​ ‘s birthday!!

B—HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Thank you for being the most amazing friend, and the best person to bounce crazy fic ideas off of (like this). I hope you have the most amazing day and I love you!!!!

Note: While there isn't any actual sexual violence in this story, it is an SVU AU, so it's mentioned.

rated T | 2.3k words | AO3

She met him while he was trying to arrest a perp who’d just walked.

“Are you Detective Swan?” he’d asked, and she immediately noticed his accent—the way it wrapped around her last name in a way that sent a shiver down her spine, but it was hard to tell if it was in a good way or not.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she tossed back.

“I’m your new partner. Killian Jones.”

She shook his offered hand (only later noticing he only had the one) and wondered—just what the hell were they about to get into?

[He was her second new partner in as many weeks. Graham, who she’d worked with since she joined the unit, had enough with special victims—with Boston in general—and had taken up some smalltown sheriff gig in Maine. Emma knew he’d be happier there, but it kind of left her in the lurch. They’d sent someone new over the week before, but her style didn’t gel with Mulan’s quite well enough—the woman was a damn fine detective but just...too different.]

Jones was new to special victims, transferring in on the recommendation of the captain at his previous precinct, where he’d worked in homicide. The dead victims, he was used to; the live ones—not so much.

It was pretty obvious on their first case together, when they were interviewing the young girl in the hospital. Emma—she’d seen enough of the world’s shitty side that little phazed her any more; growing up in the foster system made her uniquely suited to this line of work.

But Killian? He was visibly upset; she had to physically restrain him from running out of the hospital to start tracking down the culprit, holding him back by the sleeve of his leather jacket. They hardly had a lead on this. Something could be said for enthusiasm, but that didn’t excuse jumping ahead of themselves. That’s how you got into trouble—that was how criminals got away with murder (literally); she’d done that enough for the both of them, and had a feeling he had, too.

She felt they had a lot in common, actually; there was an obvious affinity for leather coats, but past that, there was something familiar in his eyes. Not that she’d met him before, or anything—just something in the determined set of his gaze when interviewing a suspect, in the empathetic way he handled the victim.

She still wasn’t sure if that was good or not, especially when he almost forgot protocol—almost lost them evidence—by rushing in too soon.

And she was half ready to walk into Captain Mills’ office to request a new partner (again) when she found him asleep at his desk with what could only be described as a murderboard spread out behind him. He looked younger and softer in his sleep, impossibly gorgeous with the way his long lashes rested on his cheekbones and gentle breaths from his full lips—and none of that was really pertinent, because the man had just researched his way to a solved case.

“Just who are you, Killian Jones?” she asked when she later woke him up with coffee and a bear claw (biting back a comment on the rumpled state of his usually pristine waistcoat-and-dress shirt combo).

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he drawled, holding her gaze intently before taking a long pull from his cup.

She knew she shouldn’t, but damn, did she.

It wasn’t until a couple cases later that she began to put together the pieces of him. It had been a doozy of a kidnapping, and he’d been on edge the whole time—right until they finally tracked down the little boy who’d been abducted. Emma slapped the cuffs on the miserable excuse for a father who’d taken him and Killian pulled the boy into his arms, visibly deflating once he knew he was safe.

She dragged him to their unit’s favorite bar that night and slid a glass of rum in front of him, along with the directive to “Talk.”

He downed it in one shot, then worried his bottom lip (much to Emma’s distraction) before saying, “Have I mentioned I have a daughter?”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but she let him explain without interruption. Her name was Alice; she was 8. He had sole custody, and with good reason: her mother, his ex-girlfriend, had kidnapped her from his apartment when she was only a few years old. “It’s the most scared I’ve ever been,” he confessed. “And today...it’s like I was right back in that moment.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replied, then finished her own whiskey. This was probably where she should drop some of her own tragic backstory, right? Like the scumbag who left her pregnant at 17, and the baby boy she put up for adoption? “Props to you for doing it on your own. I obviously couldn't.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, love; you gave him his best chance.” He gently set his hand over hers on the bar and she froze; not because he was cold—quite the opposite, actually—but between that tiny gesture of support and the understanding in those too-blue eyes, she felt more seen than she had by anyone in ages, even Graham.

It was suddenly too much, too intimate, and she yanked her hand away and ordered another drink. “Is your ex the name on your tattoo?” she asked, trying to put some space in between them (physically and emotionally).

It worked. He sat back up and tugged his right sleeve down with his prosthesis, hiding the ink, and she could almost see the walls go back up between them. “No. That’s...another story. For another time.” He stood and tossed some cash on the counter. “Alice is with my neighbor; I better go get her. See you ‘round.” And he left hastily.

It was what she wanted to happen. He’d suddenly gotten too close. So why did she feel like such an ass about it?

She was going to apologize at their next shift, but they got thrown into another case. And then another after it. It was a different kind of intense—a different kind of intimate—than that moment in the bar; very quickly, she had to trust him, and vice versa. That was something neither were predisposed to, but were managing to do...honestly, better than she had with anyone.

After putting another rapist behind bars, Killian said with a smirk, “I don’t mean to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team.” And he winked (well, tried to), and she just blushed back, like she was a teenager in love all over again. That fact that would normally send her running but, for the first time in years, she wasn’t opposed to it—except for, y’know, the fact that he was her partner and they were coworkers and HR generally looked down on that kind of thing.

She doubted he was interested, anyway. They hadn’t really done anything outside of work since that night; he was always quick to get home to Alice, and she didn’t fault him that—especially when she finally met the kid, who was clearly her father’s daughter in all the best ways.

They got a call for a case late one weeknight; Emma easily beat him to the scene, since he had to make sure his neighbor could watch Alice at such an ungodly hour. She handed him a coffee when he got there and they made their way to the ME, to get the rundown on the vic. 

Emma had been paying attention, but it shifted from the examiner to Killian pretty quickly; he stiffened at the description of what had been done to the victim, then when white as the sheet covering her when it was pulled back.

“Eloise,” he whispered, like he’d seen a ghost.

“Wait—as in…?”

He nodded. “Aye. Alice’s mum.”

“Shit.”

They got what little information they could from the scene and then started to head for the precinct, but he was shaking so much, she insisted on driving.

“Are you gonna be alright?” she asked.

He let out a hollow chuckle. “No, probably not.” Then, one long breath later, “It was Gold.”

She nearly missed their turn at that. “Gold? As in, the mysterious Mr. Gold, owner of the pawn store chain?”

“One and the same,” Killian said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s the same as with Milah.”

She would have asked who that was, but he was resting his prosthesis over the spot on his arm where she knew the tattoo was. And she got a sinking feeling in her stomach that this was going to be a rough case.

Once they got to the office (and she got some more coffee in him), Killian explained: Milah was his ex, his first love—but also Gold’s wife. And while Gold was well-known for being a shady individual, no one had ever been able to pin anything on him.

But Gold did find out about their affair, and Killian came home one day to find Milah—dead, attacked and killed in the same way Eloise had been hours ago. He wasn’t sure what their connection was—and he didn’t think Gold knew about his to Eloise, especially since she’d only been released from jail last week—“But I know it’s him. And I’m going to prove it this time.”

(Apparently, last time had ended with him getting into an altercation with one of Gold’s lackeys. He escaped with his life, but not with his left hand.)

Milah’s case had gone cold, but given the similarities, they were able to pull the files. It took a few weeks—several late nights, more than a few breakdowns, many tears (mostly Killian’s, but Emma’s and Alice’s as well) before they finally—finally—had the evidence to pin both murders on Gold.

Tracking him down was another thing altogether, but they finally caught up with him in his penthouse apartment. To no one’s surprise, he didn’t go willingly; a fistfight broke out between he and Killian. 

She was scared she’d have to intervene, knowing how personal it was. By the end of it, Killian had a black eye and a bloody lip, but Gold was in handcuffs, tossed unceremoniously in the back of a squad car. 

Killian watched the vehicle pull away, then turned to Emma, and wrapped his arms around her in a bruising hug. 

In any other situation, she would have gone stiff with shock, but she didn’t hesitate to lean right into him. Her desire to comfort him after that was just as strong as his need for comfort. 

But then he pulled back, cupped her cheek, and pressed his lips to hers. 

That did take her by surprise. 

But she was equally quick to reciprocate. 

Just as fast, it was over and he was walking away, leaving her utterly confused. Logically, she knew it was probably just an emotional reaction—a one-time thing. 

However: he kissed her like he meant it. She was familiar with empty kisses and single-night flings—and that...was a whole lot more. 

And she couldn’t deny it any longer: she wanted that more. 

She arrived at the precinct early the next morning, hoping to beat him there so they could talk about whatever that had been. She’d even gotten up an hour before she usually did so she could get them good coffee. But he was already there, filling out forms at his desk. 

“Hey,” she said, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward as she put the cup on his desk. “You taking care of the reports?”

“Um, yeah,” he stammered, pointedly focusing on the paperwork and not her. 

She glanced down at the desk, and that wasn’t a report—that was a transfer form. “You want to leave?” she whispered, the familiar pain of betrayal washing over her. He didn’t want to be her partner anymore? 

“Emma, I can’t stay here,” he said, only somewhat apologetic. (Also, though she didn’t realize it at the moment, it was the first time he’d used her given name.) “After this last case...it just wouldn’t be good form.”

“Fuck your good form, Jones!” she cried. “How can you say that, after everything these past few months? After last night?”

Calmly, he stood up and moved into her space. “I can’t be your partner any more, Emma,” he said, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear. “Because I want to be more than that. And last I checked, Captain Mills frowned upon inter-unit relations.”

That was true; she really did, more than most. But then the reality of what Killian was saying hit: “You...you’d give up your position for me?”

“Aye,” he answered, simply, like it wasn’t the heaviest thing anyone had ever told her. 

What else was she supposed to do after a confession like that but kiss him? She rose up on her toes, gripped the lapels of his waistcoat, and found his lips with hers. He didn’t hesitate to pull her close and she was exceedingly glad no one else was in the squad room, because she’d never quite been kissed so closely to within an inch of her life as she’d been then.

(Also, it was a good thing no one was around when he pushed her onto his desk to deepen it further. If Captain Mills later noticed the forms were a bit crumpled, she didn’t say anything.) 

Killian ended up transferring back to his old precinct, old job. It turned out they missed him. Emma knew exactly why; her next partner, David, was great, but no match. 

Good thing she got to go home to Killian—and Alice—every night. 

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

thanks for reading, and send B all the birthday love! tagging some others:

@kat2609​ @thesschesthair​  @xpumpkindumplingx​ t @cocohook38​ @annytecture​ @shireness-says​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @wingedlioness​ @word-bug​ @thisonesatellite​ @distant-rose​ @wellhellotragic​ @welllpthisishappening​ @let-it-raines​ @pirateherokillian​ @its-imperator-furiosa​ @fergus80​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @ineffablecolors​ @laschatzi​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​  @stubblesandwich​​ @phiralovesloki​ @athenascarlet​ @kmomof4​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​

[hannya-writes]

Wanna see a Trick?

Title: Wanna see a Trick? Fandom: Law and Order: SVU/Marvel: Daredevil Pairing: none Other characters: Nick Amaro, Sonny Carisi, Amanda Rollins, Olivia Benson, Rafael Barba, Matt Murdok Category: Action, humor maybe?, No-romance I think? Warnings: this may be not perfect! Author's note: This was just an idea I got while watching Law and Order: SVU, since lawyers always got their clients out of the interrogation rooms and I love Matt Murdock  •  •  •

Y/n was a private investigator, a counselor to the police when in need and in her free time she was a vigilante. Not a superhero, there was nothing super in her strange abilitys to get herself in trouble.

She called it a "danger compass", sometimes there were places were things were supposed to happen and she just casually appeared there in the right moment to stop it. In other ocassions there was people who got this heavy aura. The darker it became, the most dangerous it was. And the dangerous it got, the stronger her "magic" become. She could make herself intangible, she could teleport to places, hear people when they were talking about her, live the experience of dying, see the past. But it all depended on the level of danger of places an people. If someone wasn't a dangerous they were practically inexistent for her. That night, as she was walking home she heard the footsteps getting closer. She felt the danger in her every breathe, and saw it. Y/n was taken hostage, the police yelled and a woman with the last name "Benson" told him to calm down, then he pulled the trigger and shot to a policeman to the head, then at the woman, killing her. It was a mess, and she wasn't going to allow that to happen. She stopped and took a sideway step, leaving space for the running man to pass. In the last second, she got her foot in his way making him stumble and fall to the sidewalk. — Hello, there — she said with a smile, the man turned on the floor and saw her above him. Y/n felt it or saw it, before it happened: the man taking out a gun. In a second, her own gun was out and pointing at him — You are so predictable — she wailed in exasperation, kicking him in the ribs and then leaning to take out the gun from his pants — Police, hands in the air — someone demanded and y/n turned to see a tall man with blond and silver hair. — Put the gun down — someone else yelled and Y/n saw a second man, hispanic, dark hair, frowning while pointing a gun at her, that took her by surprise. She looked down to the perp the policemen were following, then at the police, trying to understand what did he mean, she had his gun, he was harmless. — Oh, ohhh, you are talking to me — y/n realized as she put her gun down and back to her holster — Usually your kind don't yell at me — admited with a huff — you usually thank me — — Thank you? — the blond said as you stepped back, hands in the air. —  Yeah, I mean —  y/n pointed at the man that was still in the ground. — I got the bad guy — As she said that Benson got there  — Rude —   added a second before the woman said the words that would get her in trouble: "Cuff them both".

... Y/n took a sit in the interrogation room, the two men who had caught her were across the table. Her hands were still handcuffed, and they were asking questions as she played with the chain, making noises with it, trying to suffocate their voices and the oppressing feeling the room give her. "Who paid you to kill him? Who where you waiting for?" "If you have nothing to hide then speak, we only want to help you" Good cop and bad cop, y/n knew the drill. She had been a cop before going "freelancer". — wanna see a trick? — she asked after a long moment of awkward silence — one, two, three —  she counted and pulled at the handcuffs to the sides. Nick Amaro and Sonny Carisi saw the handcuffs pass through her wrists, as if it was a hologram. But the handcuffs weren't holograms! —  What...? —  was Sonny stupified word at the trick, not believing what his eyes had witnessed. Nick extended a hand and took the handcuffs noticing that yes, they were tangible and no, she hadn't opened them. — look — she finally said putting her hands back inside the handcuffs, Nick looked at her hands and then at her face. — I wasn't going to kill Mr. Rapist-murder-to-go, I was waiting for the police who was running after him who turned to be you two — she pointed at them with hand guns — I'm Y/n Y/l/n, I'm a private investigator and a police counselor, I have help to solve some crimes of Hell's kitchen and Harlem, — — why didn't ya' said this before? — Sonny asked somehow relieved that y/n had decided to talk since he didn't had ideas to force her. — You weren't ready — y/n said in a defensive tone — and the D.A is here which means I don't have to repeat myself — she pointed to the one sided mirror and smiled — and since Rollins has my file, and they have corroborated my story, I guess I'm free to go — Nick looked at Sonny with doubt. And saw her once again get out of her handcuffs with no difficulty. — wait here — Nick said as he got out to talk to Sargent Olivia Benson, deciding to ignore what he had witnessed, it was a trick of the light that was it. — Look, I'll like to leave before my lawyer gets here — y/n pushed at Sonny as Nick was out, greeting Barba. — how is your lawyer going to know you are here? — he asked amused by her worry — He got super powers, and he's going to get mad at me for getting in the middle of police busyness, I also have superpowers, the superpower to feel danger, that's how I knew I had to stop the man who was running away— y/n confeased sounding like a crazy to Sonny and the D.A. — Mr. Barba, I'm not mentally unstable — — how did she knew? — Rafael Barba muttered behind the mirror — what is she? a Bruja? — he added sarcastic. Y/n inside the interrogation room scoffed. — Maybe a psychic — Rollins said smirking, Amaro frowned. — Maybe she just had a good hearing — said Amaro unhappy of how the conversation has developed — A witch, A psychic or good hearing? — she asked from her sit making the fourth people outside the interrogation room to look at her surprised — nice try — Sonny felt lost, not understanding what was happening, he was only hearing one side of the conversation and it didn't have a sense. — Miss Y/l/n, in what area do you give advise to the police? — the Half Italian asked making her focus on him rather than the D.A. outside the room — eh... It depends, I can go into details about the way of dying, I can find lost people and corpse — she counted putting fingers down in a hand — I can reveal the deepest desire of a murderer, find ways to crack said murderer, can make them snap and show the worst of them— — how do you do that? — Sonny was sincerely curious and Y/n smiled. — Well, I'm kind of like a witch, only I don't make potions— she stated with a smile — I have a great luck, I read auras, sometimes I even got to read people mind if I focus really hard and... — — wait you can read minds? — Sonny seemed horrified. — what...?— — are you thinking? — she completed the question and grinned— you think I...— she blushed and left the sentence incomplete, because the man had used a corny pickup line that had worked wonderfully on her — Detective, that's some serious accusations — she said in a flirty tone, making Sonny blush making him realize that she had "hear" him. — how is this possible? — he asked and she laughed amused by the question. — well it all started...— Y/n was cut short as a man entered the room, cane in a hand, red lenses, black tie, gray suit. — That's enough, Y/n — the blind man said with a friendly voice. — Murdock don't be mean, we are in the middle of something... — Y/n said with a polite tone, the attorney walked towards her an put a hand in her shoulder. — we're leaving, they have nothing on you — he explained and Y/n pulled at the handcuffs, making them rattle, Matt almost smiled. — Detective, would you mind? — Matt Murdock asked with a nod towards the handcuffs, Sonny released her without questioning. As they left, the D.A. recognized Matt. — Murdock — he greeted him coldly, but somehow with a splash of respect. — Barba — Matt answered in the same tone as he took Y/n arm, so she could lead him out. — Here — Y/n said offering her business card to the D.A. — I feel like you'll need me in a couple of months — she claimed with certainty — by the way, the man I caught has all the corpses under his basement, good luck — were his last words before Matt sighed in defeat and shook his head. — you can't just shut up, can you? — he wondered as they walked away, Y/n laughed and held the blind man's hand in hers.

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 13

Day 13 - Everyone is born with a super power, but when soulmates are together their powers are nullified by each other.

Pairing(s): Romantic Intrulogical, Romantic Moceit, Romantic Prinxiety (background), Familial Anxceit

TWs: swearing, one mention of puking [nothing detailed], innuendo, Remus being Remus

--

Logic reigned at night in Newmind City.

Okay, that may not be entirely correct; the quicker the time sluggishly dragged itself towards 6 am, the faster the brain cell count dwindled. Stupider and stupider decisions were made edging the lines of the illegal and bordering on the disastrous. 

No, the Logic that owned the night came in the form of the superhero; Logic. 

The hero had to admit, it wasn’t the most extravagant name out there, he’d heard many more creative and intimidating names; the Sandman, Sweet Psyche, the Tempest Tongue, all of them household names by now, whether hero or villain. Logic wasn’t exactly a name that struck hearts much outside of NewMind City, but within the alleyways and dive bars, criminals lived in fear of his watchful patrols.

Harnessing the power of Order and Stability made Logic a formidable opponent. The effect on his physical balance allowed him to fight on any surface - even hundreds of feet off of the ground - with almost zero chance of falling. The way he could manipulate any situation into the perfect rube goldberg machine to aid his crusade was terrifying given the right situations. Only one villain dared provoke Logic at every turn; Deceit.

The Lord of the Lies. A Self-Proclaimed Subterfuge Specialist. 

Deceit seemed to live for one thing and one thing only; to destroy the city from the inside out. Logic would have admired the serpentine slanderer if not for his methods. Forcing politicians to spout the truth? Urging government officials to spill their true agendas against their will? Logic admired that kind of drive, but at the same time, this was a man who used lies as weapons. Deceit used them to hurt others whenever he so desired. 

Stalking across the edge of the Talyn Street apartment block, the hero could hear a commotion in the distance; by the sounds of it, at least three men were involved and by the sound of it, things had gotten ugly in a hurry. Logic took off along the edges of the nearest buildings and-

Wait. Something didn’t feel right.

The closer he got to the commotion, the less balanced he felt on his own two feet. Had he somehow exhausted himself? Impossible. He’d faced rather a quiet night until now. His thoughts were distracted long enough that he nearly slid right off of the edge of the building overlooking the alleyway in question. The scene that unfolded set Logic’s blood to a boil. 

Four men, not three. One held back by the largest thug in the group while the other two took turns brutalising the man, though he didn’t let out a single sound. Logic had to be careful; he couldn’t tell if his powers were acting up for sure, but just in case, he used the fire escape to stick to the shadows, to better observe the situation.

Despite the beating he was taking, the man being held back didn’t seem too worried. Logic found out exactly why when the man waited for the next brutal gut punch and used it to flip the larger man holding him onto his attacker. It was impressive to say the least. The final attacker still standing went to pull out a blade, evident by the flash of silver light that caught Logic’s eye, but thankfully, their victim was armed as well. 

The way the man twirled the butterfly knife in his hand so effortlessly was hypnotic, borderline erotic if Logic were to be so bold. Focus. You have a job to do. He leapt down from the fire escape with only a few inches between him and the attacker’s back. Before the assailant could do anything, Logic drove his elbow into the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious. Checking that he hadn't actually killed him, Logic took his pulse with relief before looking up towards the victim, 

“Are you unharmed-”

“That was so sexy.”, the man murmured.

“..... Come again?”

“Gimme a second.”

It took Logic that second and more to realise the innuendo. He annoyedly rolled his eyes and made sure his hair was neatly pushed back once again out of the way of his mask.

“Would you mind informing me of the situation, um..?”

“Remus.”, the man grinned. 

Logic wasn’t sure whether the grin reminded him more of a gassy shark or a seasick crocodile, but either way, he began to wonder if Remus wasn’t entirely innocent in this situation…

“Remus.”, Logan repeated, “Actually, I’ll need to ask you to assist me in escorting these charming gentlemen to the station-”

“That won’t be necessary. You’re too tired to move.”

The silky, venomous voice pierced through Logic before he could react. Dammit, he hadn’t anticipated these thugs would be working for Deceit. His movements were sluggish and just as he watched Remus hit the ground, Logic too felt the rough kiss of gravel before he was out like a light…

--

When Logic awoke, he felt rather like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air; everything was flipped, turned upside down.

Startled, he noted the boiling oil below him - typical of the villain’s over the top style - and the power suppressing cuffs keeping his hands secured behind his back. On the floor just to the left of him, he could make out the goons from earlier sat playing cards while Remus was tied to a chair a couple of feet away. Logic was thankful to see Remus had no new injuries though he was still out cold. The man may be a wretch but the hero really didn’t want to see harm come to him.

“Ah, you’re finally awake, my dear nemesis.”

Deceit’s voice trickled from the speakers in the room, sickly smooth and deadly, like honey laced with poison. Logic knew not to listen to it consciously, he’d made that mistake once before and it’d nearly cost him his life. He instead focused on struggling to get out of the situation he was in, but with his hands cuffed using suppressor cuffs, he was fighting an uphill battle. 

“Now, now, don’t exhaust yourself. I’ve been waiting for this day for a while now, I don’t want you too tired for the grand finale.”

The smugness dripping from every word even passively began to give Logic a headache. His attempts to escape were becoming more and more fruitless; the chain that held his legs in place also stopped him having his skin boiled right off the bone so being too unruly with them was out of the question. All he could do was hope that Remus would wake up and have some kind of ability that might help the both of them. 

Come to think of it, why had his powers suddenly stopped working as he’d approached? Perhaps one of Deceit’s thugs had been in possession of something made to counteract his abilities? No, that didn’t seem likely. Knowing the smug villain, Logic knew there was no way Deceit would let his cronies take charge of something that powerful and impressive. He was wrenched from his thoughts as Deceit’s message continued,

“I hope you’re prepared to-”

He stopped. There was a sound akin to rustling and clattering before Deceit’s voice came once more. From the muffled volume and the conversation, Logic guessed the idiot had forgotten to turn off the microphone.

“Pat, dearest?”

Another voice, probably the aforementioned Pat, spoke sweetly in response, 

“What, honey?“

“Where’s my villainous cape?”, came Deceit’s inquiry. Logic had to bite his tongue to refrain from laughing. Might as well enjoy the show while he thought of an escape plan.

“What???”, came Pat’s reply, a little closer now going by the acoustics.

“Where. Is. My. Villainous. Cape?!”

“Oh, I put it away!”

Logic was thoroughly enjoying the drama going down over the speakers, and so were Deceit’s henchmen who Logic spotted had stopped their rousing game of blackjack to instead get comfy and enjoy the show.

“Where did you put it?!”

“Why do you need to know, Jan!?”

Huh. This wasn’t how Logic figured he’d find out his arch nemesis’ name, but he wasn’t about to complain. What did strike urgency back into him was the progression of their conversation.

“Oh for the love of-! My plan to erase my nemesis is in danger!”

“Our EVENING is in danger!”, there was a soft sigh, “Look, Jan, we’ve had this reservation planned for months now! I’m gonna assume your nemesis is a little tied up at the moment,” , Logan rolled his eyes at such an awful pun, “So why don’t we just go enjoy our anniversary dinner and you can deal with him when you get back, alright?”

Horrifyingly, Deceit huffed a sigh, “I suppose it would be interesting to keep him suspended for a while, let the terror sink in. Good thinking, my love.” The sound of a light kiss and a chuckle could’ve made Logic lose his lunch. Or perhaps it was the idea of being held upside down for so long..

 “Alright, Pat, if we hurry, parking shouldn’t be too awful...”

The intercom went quiet and now Logic could truly let the situation sink in; he’d have to remain suspended over boiling oil, watched by Deceit’s cronies, unable to save himself or-

Remus!

He’d almost forgotten about the odd gentleman. He turned to see him-

Oh, are you kidding me.

Remus was still out cold. How. How in the HELL could one man be asleep for so long?!

Logic didn’t like the idea, but he had little choice. Inhaling, he began to yell, “WAKE UP-” when something hard impacted his cheek. The blow sent his glasses hurtling onto the ground - thankfully missing the boiling oil at least - and breaking apart on impact. Dammit. 

“Keep your mouth shut, Zero!”, one of the thugs chided, earning snickers from the other two and inciting them to join in on the jeering and insult hurling. Logic was just thankful that whatever had been thrown - he suspected a mug by the feel of it - must have been the single dispensable item at hand considering nothing else was thrown other than attempts at insults. The hero had no idea what was worse; the idea of dying from heart failure with the blood rushing to his head, or dying of sheer embarrassment knowing it’d happen while having to listen to these ignoramuses try to genuinely roast him.

Logic could already feel unconsciousness taking hold of him when the first thug began screaming. It took the last of his strength to turn towards the cacophonous cries of terror, but his vision was so blurred without his glasses, all Logic could see before he passed out were a pair of glowing green eyes and a whirlwind of obsidian tendrils.

--

When Logic awoke, the first thing he noticed was the cold breeze settling into his skin through his suit. Opening his eyes, the hero still couldn’t see clearly, but as he squinted, he began to make out stars and clouds. Shit, how long was he out?

“Wakey wakey, princess! You had me thinking you’d gone and died on me there!”, came Remus’ already unmistakable voice. Logic sat up, still reeling as he saw Remus approach him, getting clearer the closer he came until he was knelt down beside the hero.

“Here,”, Remus placed Logan’s broken glasses in his hand, “Sorry I couldn’t fix ‘em, it’s not exactly my expertise.”

Logic had so many questions already; how had they survived?! What had Remus done back at Deceit’s lair before he’d passed out?! Why did he still find it hard to use his powers even now he was free of the cuffs?! The hero frowned as his powers refused to work on his glasses. Remus - seemingly uncaring about Logic’s lack of a response - watched him attempt to work before he caught himself.

“Ah, wait. Lemme back up.”

The hero was confused as Remus backed away a good couple of feet from him on what Logic now recognised as the rooftop of the Crofter’s Hotel. He was about to ask for an explanation when he realised his powers were slowly coming back, reslotting the glass into the frames and straightening out the bridge and legs of the glasses. Order maintained once more, Logic donned the glasses, thankful for his vision stabilising. 

“Thank you, Remus.”, Logic went to stand up, but he still felt lightheaded. Thankfully, Remus saved him from toppling over, catching him at the waist and helping him carefully sit back down.

“Careful, Specs. I don’t want my soulmate hurting himself-”

“Apologies, your what?!“

Logic was stunned to say the least; Remus had just thrown that out there like it was any old fact.

“Soulmate. Y’know, your cosmic companion, your destiny dictated darling, your fatemate!”, Remus listed excitedly, “You know all about it right? When you meet-”

“- your superpower is nullified around that person, yes, I am aware.”

Logic wasn’t sure what to think; he’d never paid much thought to his soulmate, in truth, he preferred to think of his work as his soulmate. Not that he didn’t like the idea of meeting the man the universe decided was his perfect match. Nor did Logic mind that the man was rather handsome in the mysterious cryptid kind of way. Logic gestured for Remus to sit with him and extended his hand to Remus for shaking, 

“Logan Berrie.”, Logan offered, trying to settle back into his civilian mindset.

“Pie.”, Remus responded, low-fiving Logan’s hand.

“Pardon?”

“....We’re not playing a word association game?”

“.... I was providing you with my name, Remus.”

Remus grinned, “Wait, that’s your name?! That’s-”

“Ridiculous, I am well aware.”, Logan scowled, “I did go to school after all-” 

“I was gonna say that’s awesome but whatever!”

Logan did poorly to hide his surprise as Remus laid back like he could fall asleep, “So Logan, how’d you fall in with ol’ Snake Face himself?”

Logan rolled his eyes, still propped up on his hands, “The same way all heroes are presented with their arch nemesis; he and I crossed paths and unfortunately, while we share some values, we have vastly differing opinions on how society’s problems should be fixed.”. He glanced over at Remus, fidgeting idly with the corner of the beat up long coat his soulmate wore. 

“What was your transgression?”

Remus squinted at Logan for a second, “I’m cis.”

“... No. Transgression. What was it you did that made my nemesis target you? I noticed you addressed him by a rather flattering nickname earlier, so I assume you know of him personally.” 

“Oooh.”, Remus grinned, snickering at just the memory of it, “I may or may not have pissed off his little brother.”

Well, that had Logan’s attention immediately. The hero lay on his side next to Remus, propping his head up on his hand, ready for the juicy details. He may have thought himself above gossip, but that didn’t mean Logan didn’t enjoy a good old tea party.

“How so?”

With a grin Logan was sure should’ve split his soulmate’s face in half, Remus proudly elaborated, “Well he and my twin brother were dating, and they had a bunch of friends and family all gathered for some bullshit, and my brother wants me to say something - a terrible decision, really - and I’m there kinda caught for what to say. So I’m having to think on the fly.”

“So, what did you do?”, Logan inquired, clearly getting sucked into the plot unfolding.

“I just said the first thing that popped into my head!”

Logan rolled his eyes once more, but there was a fondness to it this time. “Which was?”

Remus proudly cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to clasp an imaginary microphone, reciting perfectly from memory,

“To the seventeen people in this room that all wished they’d taken my brother’s virginity first, just remember this is the guy who got blackout drunk, cried because he couldn’t afford chicken nuggets, and scared a birthday party of kids when he puked up behind Chuck E Cheese’s back in college!”

The snort of laughter Logan let out was disgustingly ugly. He clapped his free hand over his mouth despite his giggling soulmate’s attempt to swat the hand away. Logan finally gathered himself,

“That’s amazing, oh my goodness.”

Remus excitedly beamed, “Ten tittied Christ, thank you!”

What a visual.

He continued to rant, “I knew it was funny! But nooooo! It was all “that's not an appropriate story, Remus”, or “How could you say that right now?!”! They were the ones who wanted me to ad lib a last minute speech! So what if I said it in front of hundreds of people at their wedding-?!”

Logan couldn’t help it, the bellowing laughter that tore out of him was too much to contain. When was the last time he’d laughed so heartily? Logan wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure when Remus joined in with his laughter, but by the time they were done, Logan had laid down next to his soulmate to stare up at the stars. Then a thought hit him,

“Wait, you said your brother and Deceit’s brother are married, correct? Making you and Deceit brother-in-laws? ”

Remus nodded, “Yep.”

“And you’re not on his side, but are-?”

“Nah,”, Remus predicted with a head shake, “Ditz-ney Prince and TT are both heroes, so there won’t be much of a problem with us being a thing. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Logan nodded, though his frown continued into his query, “Ditz-ney Prince and TT are… interesting hero names...”

Remus rolled his eyes as if it was obvious, “Nah, those are nicknames. My brother’s The Prince over in Sanders Town a couple miles out from here, and you probably know the Tempest Tongue-”

“I’m sorry, your brother is married to THE Tempest Tongue?!”, Logan interrupted, though he shot Remus an apologetic look for his outburst. His soulmate chuckled, “Sounds like someone’s a bit of a fanboy.”

“No, no,”, Logan assured him, frowning despite his obvious embarrassment, “Nothing so childish, I merely admire his work-”

“You think he’s hot-”

“I said no such thing-”

“You didn’t deny it either.”

Remus had him there. Logan punched him in the arm playfully and, as if to prove a point, shuffled closer until he was almost laying on Remus. There was a question on Logan’s mind still, and he finally verbalised it as his gaze fell back onto his soulmate,

“Might I ask, how did we escape? I hate to admit it, but I was passed out for the entirety of your rescue.”

“No shit, who do you think had to carry you?”  Remus teased, “I just used my power, wanna see? It’s super fucked up-!”

“No. I mean, I would like to at some point, but I would rather we stay like this. For a little while.”

It felt like his cheeks were on fire, and the sweet smile Remus shot his way had Logan’s heart racing. 

“Sure thing, Specs!”, he slid his hand along Logan’s arm and softly let it card through his dark hair, “And how about after we’re done here we go mess with Snake Face? ”

Logan grinned back at him; why shouldn’t they have a little fun after all?

“What did you have in mind?...”

-----

This was fun! 

I haven’t written many hero fics before so I hope this is okay!

A big thanks to my friends in the discord for helping with this one when I had a writers block moment.

@tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account   @cateye-glasses   @fandomsofrandom

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are space Orcs, “Interrogation.”

Wrote this after my first day of work, so forgive me if there are any issues. 

Admiral Vir sighed and tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling overhead. “You can make me wait here all day, it isn’t going to change my story.” He leaned back further in his chair to the point where he balanced on two legs, “You want to know why?” He turned his head towards the mirror across the room, which he was in no small doubt, was a one way mirror. He allowed the chair legs to drop and slam against the floor, “BECAUSE I AM TELLING THE TRUTH.” 

He sighed and slammed his head against the table with a sigh. The energy cuffs on his wrists hummed, buzzing slightly against his skin when he moved.

He groaned, “I’ve told you countless times. I am-being-framed.” With every word, he accentuated his statement by slamming his forehead against the metal of the desk. Not hard enough to hurt, but he was just so bored that maybe pain would be better than just sitting here.

He sighed when no one came and looked around at the small room, the single table, the one way mirror and the two metal chairs, his hands chained to the desk in front of him.

He groaned and slumped down in his chair. Folding his arms before him, he rested his head against his arms taking a deep breath and sighed. Well maybe he might fit in a nap while they were working, at least that wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t enjoying this.

He was asleep within seven minutes.

***

“YOU BASTARDS. YOU MONGRELS. YOU HARRY SYCOPHANTS. IF YOU HURT A HAIR ON HIS HEAD, I SWEAR I WILL RUIN YOU. ADAM VIR IS INNOCENT I TELL YOU, INNOCENT.”

“Stop.”

“I WILL TEAR THIS PRECINCT DOWN BRICK BY BRICK.”

“Krill!”

“DID YOU HEAR ME YOU FUZZY PISSANTS.”

“Krill STOP!”

His ranting was cut off as Sunny clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him away from the front steps of the Tesraki prescient, “What are you doing! This isn’t going to help Adam. If anything that is going to make it so much worse.’

Krill turned his head to look up at her, eyes narrowed, “Who are you and what did you do with Sunny.”

She frowned, “what do you mean.”

“Are you kidding me Sunny! Your battle partner is in there, and who knows what could happen to him . Who knows what is happening to him as we wpeek Whoever framed him had a lot of ower and that means they have the power to murder him on the inside.”

Sunny snarled, “Don’t you think I know that Krill! I can’t believe I am saying this, least of all to you, but we have to be rational! Charging in there weapons blazing is only going to get us hurt, thrown in jail or killed, and neither of those would be useful to Adam right now. We have to prove that he is innocent!”

“What more proof can we get that they won’t just reject out of hand. It doesnt matter that he was traveling with the two of us, or that his ship is full of aliens, or that he is the head of a drev clan. Something bigger is going on here Sunny, we have to do something even BIGGER to fight this.”

She frowned tapping her fingers lightly against the bottom of her chin.

Great drops or rain began to fall from the sky plunking down on the pavement with subtle thudding noises.

“We have to find irrefutable proof, something they cant argue with even if they tried.”

“Where do we start.”

“That list Adam gave us should be a good start.”

Krill sighed, “Fine, but there isn’t time to be nice about this. We can’t rely on the authorities. We have to do this our way.”

***

SLAM

Adam jerked awake, his head ringing as he sat up in his chair staring around the room and groggily trying to find the source of the noise. It didn’t take long before he found what he was looking for. The Detective stood over him, his jacket hanging lank and long draped around his shoulders and towards the floor.

On the table before him, there sat a large cream file, which had likely been the source of the noise.

Adam frowned and sat back in his seat.

“Really, a file. Is that supposed to intimidate me or something?”

The Detective sat across from him, “Do you need us to get you anything Admiral.”

“How about the key out of here.”

The man frowned, “So you fancy yourself a comedian.”

“No, I fancy myself a free man.” he would have crossed his arms if the cuffs didn’t get in the way.

“Are you always this resistive to authority.”

Adam snorted, “I’m in the fucking army asshat of course I’m not. I am resistive to assholes who falsely accuse me of something I didn’t do and then ignore my friends when they try to stick up for me.”

“The Drev and the Vrul?”

“Yes.”

“We are looking into them as we speak. We are sure to find their link to your plot soon.”

Adam sputtered, “Plot, what plot you daft dimwit.” he wrigged his fingers comically, “My dastardly plot to give hugs to all the aliens in the universe, or how about my evil scheme to steal cake from the shared company fridge. Oh what a fucking moster I am.”

“Where did you put the body parts?”

He stopped in his tracks, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The body parts of the first Tesraki, where did you put them.”

Adam shook his head in disbelief, “Look Detective dumbass, I didn’t put the Tesraki’s body parts anywhere… do you want to know why?”

The detective raised an eyebrow and leaned in a bit as Adam motioned him closer. 

“BECAUSE I WASN’T EVEN ON THE FUCKING PLANET!”

The man nearly lept out of his skin with the strength of Adam’s voice. Adam sat back in his seat, “Just look at my ship’s log. I was busy working in the Perseus spiral of the Milky way before I was called in here. There was no way I could have been involved.”

“I know, we have a ship log that  says you were there.”

He frowned, “Than why try to get me to admit to something I didn’t do.”

The man shook his head, “I didn’t say you didn’t do it, I just said that your ship’s logs seem to state that you were off world during that time.”

Adam huffed in anger and indignation, “Are you suggesting that I doctored my own ship reports?”

“You are the admiral, you do have executive control over things like that.”

Adam sighed in frustration, “I can’t even believe you right now. Changing a SINGLE long would prove nothing. I would have to change hours and hours mabe even days of data. Looking on the ship, you will find collected specimens and photos and videos taken during the time of the killing.” He rattled his hands against the chains, “You are a pretty ass detective if this is the best you can do.”

The man frowned, clearly not very impressed.

“Did you ever stop to think about why you are even here? I CALLED YOU IN. Why the ever loving hell would I do that if i thought there was even a chance that you could come in and catch me. It’s stupid, and it doesn’t add up.”

“You aren’t doing anything to make yourself look better Admiral.”

“Because I shouldn’t have to!”

“I beg to differ.”

***

A bright light flicked on in the darkness.

The human cringed back against it his feet scraping on the floor along with the metal of the chair, which he was tied to.

“Krill I-”

“Shh Sunny,”

The human squinted past the light in confusion and concern as two shadows coalesced before him and his eyes grew used to the glare. He shifted back in his seat, eyes wide as the two aliens stared back at him, one of those big shiny Drev and those weird spider things he forgot the name of.

The little creature paced back and forth in front of him, ‘You will find it interesting to know how easy it was to find you. After we found your three thug friends on the list, surprise surprise, guess how delighted we were to learn you were all staying in the same room together…. And one of you was missing.”

The an hook his head staring at the scuttling legs of the little bug creature as he crawled past, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” The bug turned to look at him, and he was suddenly very disconcerted by the angry glower that covered the creature’s face, It was too human of an expression to belong on an alien.

“Wha, wh… I have no idea what you are talking about, I swear.”

The little bug leaned forward, as something shiny appeared in his hand, ‘Oh I think you do.”

“Is that a scalpel.” He squeaked out 

“Yes, why yes it is. I am a surgeon by the way.” He glowered at the human, “And I know over 100 ways to.” His voice grew quiet, “disembowel yo, while keeping you alive.”

The man’s eyes widened in panic.

“Krill!” THe Drev hissed.

“Shut up, Sunny.” The Little bug crawled forward, until he was right up in the human’s face. Did you know when I was in medical school, I learned how to completely dissect the nervous system of a krevling. My record…. Ten minutes and twenty three seconds.”

The man turned to look at the Drev, who, surprisingly, out of the two of them seemed less crazy and violent.

She caught his eye, “Maybe you should do what he says. I don’t think he’s kidding.”

THe bug creature inflated his helium sack and rose into the air scalpel held out nonchalantly. He leaned in close quietly, “I hear humans taste like chicken.”

His mouth quivered, “I, I thought you bugs only ate plants.”

The alien smacked his lips together, or at least made the approximation of smacking his lips together, “I don’t know a light based diet hasn’t really been sustaining me lately. He leaned a little further in, “besides, I think sauteed lightly in butter with a couple of onions…. You might just manage to convert me to carnivorism.”

The man pushed back against the ground, metal scraping against concrete until his back was planted right against the wall, “I…. I don’t know what is wrong with you, but I swear….”

THe Drev placed a hand on the bug’s shoulder, “krill, seriously, don’t you think this is going a little too far.”

“This coming from you, Sunny.” He shrugged hr off, “I think I would like his toes first.”

The human took a deep breath staring down into the little creature’s prismatic orange eyes, crazy eyes, manic eyes.

Sunny, the Drev shook her head, “Look we don’t really want to hurt you, we just want to help our friend.”

“Toes.” The Vrul whispered 

The look on the creature’s face was enough to have him loose his nerve completely, “OK OK fine, I will tell you what you want to know, just don’t. Just don’t touch my toes, OK. you Freak.”

*** “Dear lord in heaven above give me the strength not to smash my head through this table.”

“Are you sure you don’t want something to drink.”

“You know that whole trying to be my friend thing isn’t going to work. You called me xenophobic after all, which is the msot damned insulting thing I have ever been called. My best friend is an alien, my g….my gr-reatest allies are aliens. I was the one who DISCOVERED them. I am the leader of a Drev CLAN for crying out loud.”

“People do things they don’t like for power.”

“Were you dropped on your head as a child or were you just born stupid.”

The Detective glowered at him, “Name calling isnt going to help you here.”

“I demand a lawyer.”

The detective snarled.

He tired to cross his arms but only managed to tug against his jacket, “I demand a lawyer immediately,  and until I get one, I am not saying another word to you.”

“Admiral Vir, there is no law on the Tesraki homeworld that says.”

“Twinkle twinkle little star-”

“That is really mature Admiral.”

“Wanna hit you with my car.”

“Admiral.”

“Toss you off a cliff so high!” “Admiral, stop that right now.”

“HOPE YOU BREAK YOUR NECK AND DIE”

The detective was seen storming out of the interrogation room not minutes later fuming with the sound of lyrics followed him down the hall, which didn’t stop until the door closed all the way.

It would remain to be seen who was going to break first.

***

Sunny stared at Krill, and Krill did his best to ignore Sunny as he paced back and forth over the ground.

“What the hell was that.”

“What was what.”

“What you just did in there.”

“Interrogation.”

“That guy nearly shat himself.”

Krill looked up at her with a very serious expression, “That is what I was hoping for.”

“Have you gone insane.”

“No, not at all besides, it worked didn’t it.”

Sunny grumbled in acknowledgement. She supposed he was right. The revelations they had received from the man as he cowered back against his chair begging Krill not to cut off his nose.

Someone had hired the four of them for sure. He was in charge of locating their targets while the other three men did their dirty work. Following that he was supposed to doctor some information given to him by his outside source, “I fixed the surveillance to make it look like the admiral was there. I have the doctored files in my computer, and I was supposed to bring them to my source tomorrow night so they could use it as evidence against him.’

“And who are your contacts.’

“I don’t know, I never saw their faces, or asked questions. I was just the guy who dropped off what they needed.”

“Than that means you can take us to this dropoff point.”

“No I…”

“Did you know it only takes a spoon and less than a pound of pressure to pop a human eye out of it’s socket.”

“FINE FINE ILL TAKE YOU. Just get this crazy freak away from me.”

Sunny had grabbed krill then and dragged him out of the room with a disapproving frown. 

“What you are a drev you should love scaring the shit out of people.”

“I love beating the shit out of people krill, not threatening to eat their toes.”

He shrugged seeming very unconcerned about the whole thing, “Either way, we have our way in. As long as Adam can hang in there, we might be able to save him.”

[pixxiesdust]

Crimson Snow (pt. 3) • Bakugou Katsuki

Summary • We all know the story of Little Red Riding Hood. But all stories, especially ones passed through spoken word, can change with time. This is the true story of a girl who wandered into the forest, wearing a cloak white as snow, and left on the back of a beast with a crimson cape trailing behind her.

Pairing • Shifter!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Word Count • 6.8k

Tags and Warnings • Fairy tale AU, captivity, violence, blood, swearing, mentions of nudity, fluff, angst, eventual happy ending.

Note • This is the third part of a fic I originally wrote for @bnhabookclub​’s Provisional License Exam Event! Thanks to the lovely @unbreakableeiji​, @fanfic-me-up​, and @etegomanere​ for betaing! 

part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4

–

“There,” Bakugou grunts as the shackle around his ankle pops open. It reveals a red ring of skin, rubbed raw and burned by the cuff, making you grimace in sympathy. A matching ring circles his other ankle, and you think there’s a set on his wrists too, but those are obscured by the bandages you wrapped around him in his wolf form.

“Your turn.” He flips the knife in the air and catches it by the flat of the blade, holding the handle out to you. “Get this shitty collar off me.”

You eye the knife wearily before taking it into your hand. “You want something sharp next to your neck?”

“You gonna try to kill me?”

Eyes widening, you shake your head rapidly.

“Then, I’ll be fine.”

“If you insist,” you say, then wait expectantly. 

He looks at you, frowning. “What’re you waiting around for?”

“I can’t move any further!” Shaking your left ankle, the chain rattles with the movement. “Come here.”

“Hey!” he snaps as he closes the distance between you, flinching at the pain from his ribs. “I’m a wolf shifter, not a dog!”

“Oh really?” you ask airily, sitting up on your knees to get a better look at the collar around his neck. “I couldn’t tell. You still came anyway.”

You hide a smile as an irritated growl ripples through Bakugou’s throat. 

One of your hands reaches out to cup his neck, keeping it steady as you carefully try to fit the tip of the knife into the opening in the collar. “How badly are you injured?” you ask quietly, knowing that he might not admit to anything willingly. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off with a quick shake of your head. “And don’t try to hide it—I heard a snap when Overhaul kicked you, and you winced when you moved.” 

But the most obvious sign is the large bruise that spans his ribs, a majority of it deep purple, with putrid yellow and green on the edges. He’s shirtless, but he managed to make some sort of covering for his lower half out of your cloak.

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, not wanting to admit his weakness. But when you stop working at the lock and sit back to stare at him expectantly, he snaps at you, red eyes flashing. “I’m fucking fine! I’m not some weak-ass who collapses after a couple of hits.”

“I’m not saying that you are,” you reply calmly. “But I need you to be in the best shape possible if we’re going to escape.”

He exhales slowly and nods. When he speaks this time, it’s with a lot less aggression. “I’ll be fine. Shifters heal quickly.” Bakugou unwraps the cloth bandages around his wrists, letting the fabric drop to the ground. 

“Wow,” you breathe, stroking the fingers of your free hand across his wrist. The skin is smooth, with no sign of the blood and irritation you had seen on his wolf form. You drop your gaze to his feet and find that his ankles are looking better than they were before.

Bakugou draws his hand back to his side, and you realize that you’ve been resting your fingertips against his wrist. Pulling your own hand back, you duck your head down for a moment in embarrassment before you start picking at the collar’s lock again.

“What does Overhaul put on the inside of these shackles?” you ask. Your brows furrow as the tip of the knife barely fits through the small opening for the key. Bakugou had gotten the shackles off in just a few minutes, and you’re even more astounded by his speed. But even though it isn’t working well, you persist, wiggling the knife this way and that. 

“Huh? Put something on them?”

“Your skin looked really irritated and was even bloody when you first took the shackles off. Even mine doesn’t hurt as much. Did Overhaul put some kind of poison on them?”

Bakugou is silent for a moment, then a tremor runs through his body that makes you jerk the knife away in fear of hurting him. He scoffs out a laugh, amused by your question. You look away from his neck and stare into his eyes, pouting. “You want me to hurt you or something? What’s so funny?”

His lips curl up at the corners before he starts speaking. “It’s not what he put on them, sweetheart, it’s what he made them out of.”

The term of endearment makes your face feel hot, but you don’t bring attention to it. Instead, you eye the pile of chains and shackles by Bakugou’s side. “Iron? Steel?” He shakes his head, and you guess again. “Silver?”

“Silver,” he confirms. “It’s a metal that can burn wolf shifters when it’s in contact with them. That wannabe Plague Doctor likes using them so much ‘cause they make me weak,” he hisses out the last word, contempt filling his voice.

“If this is you weak,” you say, “then I’d be terrified to face you at your strongest.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou turns his face away from yours and crosses his arms over his chest. “Now stop getting distracted! Get this thing off me, and let’s get the hell out.”

You put the tip of the knife to the keyhole of the collar and sigh. “The knife isn’t working well on this one.”

“Then you’re not doing it right,” Bakugou snaps.

“If I can’t fit the knife in the stupid keyhole, how the hell am I supposed to unlock it to get it off you?” your voice is raised by the end of it, and you duck your head down when you realize that you’ve basically yelled at him. “Sorry,” you say. “Though I don’t think I can work with the knife on this one.”

Bakugou is quiet, thinking hard. “I–” he starts, then stops and swallows. “Don’t apologize. You’re new to this–” he ignores your eye roll and your scoff of “clearly,” and continues, “–and I need to remember that.”

“Some apology,” you say, though your voice is softer now and is more amused. “So what do I do? We need something a lot thinner than the knife and– oh!”

“Oi!” he exclaims as you push the handle of the knife into his hands and scramble to your feet. Ignoring his shout, you limp to the wall and move as quickly as you can to the pile of glass you had deposited earlier.

“Where is it?” you mutter as you gingerly look under the larger pieces of glass. A glint of metal catches your eye, and you pick up the thin needle with care, pinching it between your thumb and forefinger. 

Now that you have what you’re looking for, you quickly return to Bakugou. His eyes widen at the sight of the needle in your hands, but he nods when he realizes what you plan on using it for. 

You kneel down in front of him. Before you start using the needle to pick at the lock, you wipe it down across the front of your dress, smearing a bit of dark red and light purple on the white cloth. You don’t want any more of the wolfsbane serum to get near him. Bakugou had said that it only was damaging if it actually entered his body, but you don’t want to take the chance.

“Alright, let’s get back to it.” One hand supports the other side of his neck while the other carefully brings the needle up to the keyhole. Slipping the point in smoothly, you wiggle and twist it, listening intently for any sounds. 

Click.

You push the needle to one side of the hole, brows furrowed as you get the collar to unlock. “There!” you breathe, pulling the needle out and tossing it back towards the corner you had gotten it from. 

Bakugou nearly rips the collar off with the force that he uses, sending it skittering across the dungeon floor until it hits a wall. A band of angry red rings his throat, skin peeling, and you wince in sympathy. 

“What?” he snaps as he moves around to your left foot, knife in hand.

You blink at him. “Nothing! Just can’t wait to get out of here.” 

He only responds with a grunt as he concentrates on the shackle around your ankle. He works on it for a couple seconds at most before his back stiffens, and he stops moving.

“Shit!” 

“What’s wrong?” you ask worriedly. Bakugou doesn’t reply. He only presses the handle of the knife into your hands and pushes himself to his feet in one fluid movement, running to where your chain is connected to the wall. 

He looks at where the last chain link is connected to a metal ring that is embedded into the stone wall at a height that is level with his head. You get to your feet and move closer to him, watching as Bakugou wraps your chain around his left arm once, before doing the same to his right. Both hands grip the chain tightly, and he presses one foot to the wall. With a grunt, he starts pulling on the chain with all his strength, muscles in his arms and back straining and flexing.

Nothing happens for a moment.

Then with an ear-piercing screech, the metal loop pops out of the stone, sending little fragments of rock flying. Bakugou stumbles back a step but easily regains his balance. Without taking a second glance at the hole in the wall, he bends down and starts gathering the chain in his arms until he nears you.

“Take this. We gotta go.” He dumps the chains into your waiting arms, and takes the knife out of your hand. His urgency can only mean one thing. 

Overhaul is coming.

Bakugou starts running for the doorway of the dungeon. You follow, grimacing as the chains rattle in your arms. You hug them tighter against your body in an attempt to keep them from moving around so much. 

Beyond the doorway, a hall stretches on either side, with other openings that likely lead to other dungeon rooms. A staircase lies right in front of you, leading upstairs.

But that’s where the footsteps are coming from.

Bakugou looks back at you, red eyes flashing as he jerks his head to the left before heading down that hallway. You stay right behind him. He ducks into the nearest doorway and presses against the wall, in a spot where he can peek into the hall without being seen. You do the same, chest heaving already, although it’s more from nerves than it is from physical exertion.

The footsteps grow louder and louder, until Bakugou catches sight of a figure crossing the hallway and into the dungeon where the two of you had just escaped from. The footsteps stop, and you can only imagine Overhaul taking in the empty room with his yellow eyes. 

Then the footsteps are louder, angrier, as Overhaul walks around in the dungeon. Neither you nor Bakugou can tell what he’s doing, but it can’t be good.

A shadow falls through the doorway, and Bakugou presses his head back against the wall, you mimicking him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Bakugou watches as Overhaul stalks out of the room, clutching two large knives in his gloved hands. They glint in the low light, and Bakugou recognizes them from the wall of torture devices in the room you two were kept in.

Overhaul looks up and down the hallway. Bakugou catches sight of slitted yellow eyes, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes that this could easily be the end for both of you if Overhaul decides to check the room you are in first. 

After another moment, Overhaul turns on his heel and walks into one of the other rooms further down the hall. A few seconds later, he exits, walking into the room beyond that. Bakugou exhales softly with relief.

As soon as Bakugou notices that Overhaul is systematically checking the rooms, he knows it’s only a matter of time before both of you are found if you remain here. So he watches and counts, keeping track of the seconds it takes for Overhaul to enter, look around, and exit each room. And once Bakugou knows the timing, feels it running through his mind and in his blood, he turns to you. 

He presses a finger against his lips, waits until you nod, and then scoops you into his arms, careful to angle the knife away from your body. You keep the chains tight against you to muffle any sounds. You don’t know what Bakugou is planning, but you can only trust him.

Bakugou looks again, watching as Overhaul exits another room. As soon as Overhaul disappears around the wall of the next room, Bakugou throws himself into action, sprinting out of the room and up the stairs, skipping three steps at a time with large leaps. He does not slow, not even with the weight of you and the chain in his arms.

He’s moving faster than what is normal, you realize, and when you look up at his face, his crimson eyes are glowing bright, and his lips are stretched back in a silent snarl, emphasizing his lengthened canines.

It’s the power of a wolf shifter.

He looks wild, ferocious, and untamed, but a shiver of something that isn’t fear runs through your body. Gratitude, perhaps, that he’s on your side. Excitement.

Bakugou reaches the top of the stairs and looks around, head swiveling back and forth as he takes in the room full of all types of weapons. He’s trying to figure out where to go next as you notice the windows that are set close to the ceiling. 

You whisper, “Up. We’re still partly below ground.”

He doesn’t have the time to confirm what you said, but he puts his trust in you and runs through the weapon storeroom and into the next room–

–and knocks over a set of pots on the ground. 

They’re sent flying, scattering across the kitchen floor with loud clangs and clatters. There’s a shout from the dungeon, and you look up at Bakugou with wide eyes.

“Fuck!” he hisses, and starts running again, leaping over the fallen pots to make it out of the kitchen. You bounce in his hold with every step, but he keeps you clutched tight against his chest. 

After exiting the kitchen, there’s a flight of stairs leading up, and Bakugou doesn’t hesitate to take them. The stairs end, and you find yourselves in a living room, with a couple of seats arranged around the fireplace. You shudder when you notice the animal heads mounted on the walls, and a low rumble starts in Bakugou’s chest. The animal heads are all stuffed and preserved, not a hair out of place, but their eyes are wide open and lifeless, staring into the air.

But you have no time to stop and take in the room, not when Bakugou can hear Overhaul knocking into one of the fallen pots in the kitchen downstairs. And he can hear footsteps from the floor above as well, coming from Chronostasis. 

He runs across the living room, which then leads into an elaborately furnished dining room. But finally, finally, he runs into a hallway with a staircase going up to a balcony, with a door in the wall opposite the stairs. When your breath hitches and your heartbeat speeds up in excitement, Bakugou knows that this must be the way out. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of this place,” he says and bends down, letting your legs slide out of his arm before letting go of your waist once you’re steady. He grips his knife in one hand and scoops half your chains up with his other and runs down the hall for the door. 

Once you get there, breathless from keeping up with Bakugou, you reach out with a hand to slide open the bolt like you had the first time when you tried to escape, but Bakugou dumps the chains back into your arms and pushes the knife into one of your hands. You fumble to take it, some of your chain escaping and slithering to the floor.

“Watch and learn, sweetheart.” With a smirk that makes your face go hot despite the circumstances, he turns to face the door and grasps the handle, pulling with all his might.

Then there’s a pop, and Bakugou stops straining, looking from his hand to you with wide eyes. Laughter bubbles out of you as you eye the empty space the door handle occupied moments before. 

“You just taught me exactly what not to do,” you tease.

He growls at you, eyebrows furrowed, red eyes flashing in an effort to intimidate you into silence, but it only makes you laugh again. 

Thump.

The sound is hauntingly familiar. It’s booted feet striking the floor after a tall drop. It will lead to panic and pain and a loss of consciousness. Blood freezing in your veins, you turn to look over your shoulder.

It’s not Overhaul. 

But it’s someone who wears a plague doctor mask just like Overhaul does, with white hair that reaches his chin. And his eyes are a cold grey, reminding you of steel and stone and a blade that was dragged across your collarbone–

Bakugou roars, the sound echoing off the walls and drawing your attention back to him. His muscles strain and flex as he faces the door, and you can’t tell what he’s doing until you hear the cracking of wood.

Your mouth falls open in shock.

The door comes out of the frame, wrenched entirely off its hinges. He readjusts his grip on the door, slipping his hand out of the hole where the handle had been to grasp the side of the door instead. 

He leans back, muscles in his arms and shoulders shifting, then launches the door into the air, straight toward Chronostasis. Bakugou doesn’t wait to see if it connects before he grabs your hand and tugs you outside into the night—the first time in two weeks that he’s been able to breathe in the earthy scent of forest and dirt.

You start to run, nearly flying with every step as Bakugou tugs you through the air. Each leap takes you further and further away from the place of captivity and torture.

But as your left foot hits the ground, it’s jerked out from under you. Your hand is ripped out of Bakugou’s hold, and you hit the ground hard, the air in your lungs being forced out at the impact.

You push yourself up with your hands and try to scramble to your feet, but you’re dragged along on the ground by your left ankle.

“Bakugou!” you scream, clawing for purchase in the dirt, but there’s nothing for you to grab onto, and the particles only slip out between your fingers. You manage to flip yourself onto your back, eyes locking onto Overhaul, who has the end of your chain in one gloved hand and is reeling you in like a fish. 

Then something passes above you, a shadow against the night sky, and Bakugou lands in front of you. He lets go of the knife in his hand and snatches up your chain. Muscles straining, he pulls hard on the chain to prevent Overhaul from moving you any further. 

“I got you,” he says through gritted teeth. And he digs his feet into the ground, keeping his weight low, leans back, and yanks the chain.

Overhaul is forced to let go. The iron flies out of his grip. 

Bakugou quickly reels the chain in, gathering the links into his arms. He turns to you and helps you up, and he passes you the chains. “Hold them tight,” he instructs, before bending down to pick up the knife–

–and an arrow pierces through his back, the tip of it coming out at his right shoulder. 

Crimson droplets scatter through the air. Some land on your dress and seep into the white fabric.

“Bakugou!” you shout, eyes wide with horror.

He grunts and looks down at the wound, eyeing the red that seeps down from his shoulder. “Fuck,” he hisses, then looks toward the mansion at Overhaul and Chronostasis, the latter having avoided the door and managed to pick up the long-range crossbow that he had shot Bakugou with.

The hunters start advancing. Overhaul flips the two long knives in his hands, blades gleaming as the full moon’s light shines on them. Chronostasis reloads his crossbow and aims it at Bakugou.

Bakugou bends down and picks up the knife. He turns and steps close to you, putting his whole body between yours and the hunters. His eyes gleam in the dark, two rubies that burn with the desire to fight—with the desire to protect.

He presses the knife into your hand. You accept it, gripping onto it tightly. 

“What are you waiting for?” Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears. “We have to go!”

He rests a hand on your shoulder, the weight and warmth of it a comfort. “No. You have to go.”

You blink once before fully processing what Bakugou said, then open your mouth to protest. 

“Don’t,” he commands. “I am a shifter. My people will come to me.” He draws his hand back from your shoulder and moves it to pull the cloak off from around his waist. He’s completely bare now. But the situation is dire, and Bakugou keeps speaking, so you keep your eyes on his own as he shakes the cloak out and wraps it around your shoulders.

“But nobody knows that you’re here, so no one will come for you.” The words are harsh, and his voice turns deeper as he starts to change before your eyes, but you do not fear him. 

“So run! Go home!” He roars the last word, showing canines that have lengthened to impossibly sharp points. His hand pulls away from the clasp of your cloak, and his nails are now claws, long and deadly. And finally, he straightens up and steps away from you. He’s taller than before, muscles flexing with the movement. 

He’s ready to fight.

Looking at Bakugou now, in his half-shifted state, you know that he has always been designed to fight, to maim, to kill. 

But you are not afraid.

Your eyes are damp and you loathe to leave him, but you know that you’d only be a distraction. A weakness. And now, he cannot afford to be weak. Not if he plans on fighting two hunters, and leaving the victor.

So you do not show your sadness. You hide the cracks in your aching heart. You only smile at him, gazing into his crimson eyes.

“Don’t lose.”

Bakugou barks out a laugh, harsh and low. “As if I could.”

Then an arrow slices past Bakugou’s thigh, and another splash of blood stains your dress.

And you run.

–

You race into the forest, clutching the knife in one hand as you hold the chains tightly against you. It’s dark, and your eyes can only make out the vague shapes of branches and bushes that claw at your dress and cape. 

But the full moon is a blessing, and it scatters soft light on the forest floor whenever its beams can make it through the layers of leaves.

The sound of fighting—snarls, claws on metal, angry shouts—quickly disappear behind you as you push on. You pause for a moment, and look back in the direction that you came.

Bakugou had told you to return home. He’s strong, but you had left him to fight against two hunters that had captured him before. And he helped you when both of you were in the dungeon, just as much as you helped him. Could you really leave him like this?

But what can you do? The skill you have with the knife in your hand can never measure up to that of Overhaul. 

You look forward again at the dark branches that loom before your eyes. And you start running once more. But this time, you weep bitterly, letting tears slide off your cheeks and drip onto your dress, onto the chains, and onto the forest floor.

–

“Die!”

Blood races through Bakugou’s veins as he ducks under Overhaul’s silver knife. More blood flows out of the wounds on his body. Those injuries are barely closing, despite the quick healing that shifters have, because they were caused by weapons of silver.

But he fights on, slashing behind him with his claws to cut into Chronostasis’ side. He must keep fighting, even as Overhaul opens another cut on Bakugou’s arm, more crimson droplets soaking into the dirt.

He must fight. To win, so he can leave this place behind, though Bakugou knows in his heart that he cannot defeat both hunters when he is injured like this. Or to lose, but last long enough that he has given you time to get away and return to your village without the hunters chasing after you.

A burning pain erupts on his back; a new wound cuts through skin and flesh.

A sharp bite of silver on his thigh.

A sting on his neck, then his body seizes up and erupts with pain. Flames lick at every muscle, making them tremble and jerk, and Bakugou’s legs give out beneath him. He collapses to his knees, darkness closing in on his vision.

He hears Overhaul’s voice but can’t make out the words. Bakugou only thinks about you—hoping that you made it home—before a wave of pain sweeps over him and pulls him under, and he finally gives in to the darkness.

–

You’re lost.

You can’t recognize anything in the dark, and even if it were daytime, you aren’t familiar enough with the forest to know where you are and where you need to go.

But you don’t need to head home. 

No, you need to head further into the forest. Even though the trees grow thicker and the undergrowth scratches your legs and pokes at your feet through your thin slippers, you push on. You’re no longer running but keep going at as quick of a walk as you can manage. The wound on your right foot is stinging, and it likely has opened up once more. Your arms ache at holding the length of chain for so long, but you know if you drop it, the chain would only get caught on something and trip you.

Something rustles in the bushes nearby. It’s not the wind.

You whirl around in the direction the sound comes from, eyes straining to see in the dark. Nothing is there.

Something darts out from the bushes. You scream, but quickly cut off as the creature stands in a patch of moonlight, and you make out its features. It’s a chipmunk.

You blink at it. It cocks its head and blinks at you. You can see that the chipmunk’s fur is an odd color by the light of the full moon. It has more of a yellow tint than the usual brown, and it only has one dark stripe that runs up its back. It chatters its teeth and moves closer to you with bouncy steps. When it sits fearlessly at your feet, you study it more closely and feel something light and warm well in your chest. 

“Hey,” you say softly, keeping your body still, so you don’t scare it away before you finish talking. “You probably think I’m crazy, wandering through the forest at night and talking to an animal. But I know who you are. Or, more accurately, what you are.”

The chipmunk’s eyes are large and dark, and you think you see understanding pass across its face. “Bakugou told me that your kind is aware of everything that goes on in your animal form, so–”

The chipmunk suddenly scampers away, running up the nearest tree. You race to follow, shouting, “Hey! Wait! Please! I need– I need your help.” Your foot catches on a tree root, and it sends you sprawling on the ground, the chain and knife falling from your grasp. Tears fill your eyes from the pain and the loss of hope, and through your watery vision, you watch the chipmunk disappear into the branches of the tree. 

The chipmunk is gone, and the forest is still. You sniffle as you lay on the ground. Your whole body aches, and your limbs feel like they’ve been carrying weights, and you honestly want to give up and stay on the forest floor.

But you need to make sure Bakugou is okay. He never gave up on you. He never stopped helping you even when he could have gotten free without you slowing him down. So you need to make sure you can get to his friends and help them free Bakugou from the hunters.

You get back onto your feet and pick up the chains. This time, instead of carrying them in your arms, you wrap them around your shoulders, so you bear the weight of them on your back. You pick up the knife in your dominant hand, exhale loudly, and continue walking through the forest.

It’s not completely silent in the woods. Wind blows through the leaves, causing the spots of moonlight to dance around on the ground. An owl hoots from somewhere in the trees. Your feet kick up fallen leaves and break dry sticks with muted snaps as you trudge along.

Sleep pulls heavily at your eyelids, but you will not let yourself rest.

A dark shadow looms in front of you, shaped like an old tree that has been struck by lightning, the fire having burnt its bark smooth, though there’s something odd about it. You look at it for a moment before walking around it.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye. Before you can turn to look or raise up your knife, something heavy slams into you, knocking you onto the forest floor yet again.

Your head throbs, and your vision is blurry. But when it clears, you look up at whatever is pressing down on your stomach, and you go utterly still. 

It’s a bear.

Though you are still, your heart pounds rapidly in your chest. The bear holds you down with a massive paw, pressing hard enough that you cannot get up, but not so hard that it breaks your ribs. You stare up at it, but your vision is going fuzzy from your fear, and its black fur helps it blend in with the shadows of the night. 

But then, something moves onto the bear’s head and sits right between its ears. Your eyes manage to focus on it, taking a second to recognize the strangely yellow fur.

“Chipmunk,” you manage to wheeze.

The animal chatters its teeth at you from its position on top of the bear. The chipmunk is on the bear, and the bear hasn’t actually hurt you. You finally realize what this means, and your heart slows a bit.

“Oh!” you squeak out. “You both are shifters, then!”

A rumble comes from the bear, and you think it’s amusement. 

You look at the chipmunk. “That means you heard me. You know Bakugou?”

The chipmunk nods. Both it and the bear stare at you intently, listening carefully to every word that comes out of your mouth.

“I need your help. Bakugou and I were held captive by some hunters. We were escaping, and the hunters were chasing after us. They were about to get me, and Bakugou helped me but decided to stay behind, and I know he’s strong, but the hunters were doing terrible things to him, and I don’t know if he’ll make it out even though he promised–” You gasp, tears pricking your eyes, but you hold them back as the words keep spilling out of your mouth.

“Please help me! I’ll guide you back to the mansion and everything, but I can’t fight the hunters off myself. I won’t leave him behind, even though he told me to run. He saved me back there. I can’t– I can’t just go home and pretend that everything is fine!”

The bear lifts its paw off your stomach, and you get back onto your feet. You bend down to pick up your fallen knife, then look at the shifters.

“Well? Are we going to go back for him?”

The bear holds up a paw.

You tilt your head and look from it to the bear. “You want me to… stop?” Fury runs through you. “What the hell? I thought Bakugou is your friend!” 

But then the bear rapidly shakes his head and holds out his paw once more. You huff out a breath and try again. “If not stop, you want me to… slow down? Oh! You want me to wait!”

The bear and the chipmunk nod. As soon as you nod back and tell them that you won’t be going anywhere, they need to hurry back soon, the bear turns away from you and disappears into the forest, with the chipmunk riding on top of its head.

You sigh, sit down against a tree, and settle down to wait.

–

You must have dozed off while waiting, because you’re jolted awake when someone gently shakes your shoulder. Your eyes widen as you stare into a pair of unusual eyes; yellow irises that are surrounded by black.

“Hi! I’m Ashido Mina, but you can just call me Mina!” She stands up and steps back, clasping her hands in front of her as she rocks on her feet. “We’d love to get to know you, but Kirishima told us that we need to get going.”

You move the chains from your lap into your arms, pick up the knife, and get to your feet. “Kirishima?” you ask, then look beyond Mina at the three others that stand behind her. Your eyes widen as you take in a head of spiky hair that’s clearly a bright red even under the moonlight. “Shitty Hair!” you exclaim, then clap your hands over your mouth. That wasn’t exactly the most polite thing to say to a stranger—especially not a shifter.

Far from offended, the redhead grins at you, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Looks like Bakubro told you about me! I’m Kirishima. I was the bear you met just a little while ago. Sorry if I scared ya, I didn’t mean to!” 

“Oh! You’re the bear? But your fur was black!” You point at the dark-haired male standing next to Kirishima. “I would have thought he was the bear.”

The shifter you’re pointing at grins and shakes his head. “Nah, not me. I’m a gecko! Kirishima here likes to dye his hair, but the dye doesn’t transfer over to his bear form. Oh, and call me Sero.”

“So if Kirisima’s a bear, Sero is a gecko, then you must be the chipmunk!” You look at the shifter on the other side of Sero. His hair is a darker blonde than Bakugou’s, and a black zigzag runs through it on one side.

“Wow, how’d you guess? I bet it was from our instant con-nut-ion.” He smirks at you and finger guns, throwing you a wink.

You blink at him. Then blink again. “I can’t even talk to you after such a bad pun.” You turn away from him and look at Mina, who snickers at your response. It’s only then that you really notice the color of her hair and her skin. The pink reminds you of the fancy ribbons sold at the market back home that many girls would save up to buy. 

“Oh, wow, you’re so pretty! What animal do you shift into? If- if you’re comfortable sharing, of course, I don’t know if there’s some sort of shifter policy–”

Mina squeals and bounds toward you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Aww, you’re so sweet! My animal form is a poison dart frog. But don’t worry, the poison isn’t an issue in this form!”

You smile at Mina, but are distracted as Kirishima starts moving. You look at him curiously and quickly shut your eyes when you see that he’s taking off his shirt. “What are you doing?”

Sero laughs at your obvious embarrassment. “He’s getting ready to shift. If the shifters with larger animal forms shifted with clothes on, they’d go through more than a set every day. It’s not that big of a deal for shifters to reveal skin.”

“Oh!” So that’s why Bakugou didn’t make a big deal out of being naked until you forced him to cover up with your cloak.

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we have to get these chains off you first. It won’t do you any good to fight the hunters with a pile of metal in your arms.”

“Exactly. It wouldn’t do for someone so flawless to get injured!” The chipmunk shifter winks at you.

You scowl at him before recognition flashes across your face. “Oh my gosh, you’re Dunce Face! Bakugou told me all about you.”

“Kaminari Denki, at your service. Did he tell you about my handsome face and witty charm?”

You smirk. “No, he told me about your bad puns and inability to get a girl.”

Kaminari’s jaw drops, and he clutches his chest dramatically. “Oh, the betrayal! The pain! The–”

He’s cut off by a sharp smack to the back of his head from Sero. “We don’t have time for you to badly flirt,” Sero tells him, then turns to you. “Kiri’s gonna help you get that chain off and then we can go and rescue Bakugou!”

Kirishima approaches you, grinning. He holds his hands out for the chain in your arms, and you pass it over to him, the metal links clinking together. “I’m going to shift to my in-between state, okay? That way, I’ll have enough power to pull the chain apart. I won’t be able to get the cuff off, but at least you won’t have to lug around the long bit!” He rattles the chain for emphasis and crouches down next to your left foot when you nod in agreement.

“Here I go!” The muscles in Kirishima’s back and arms visibly get larger, and a trail of dark hair covers his spine. He grasps onto the chain, one hand right next to the shackle on your foot, and the other just a couple of links down.

He starts to growl, the sound a deeper rumble than Bakugou’s. Then his muscles shift and strain, the metal links are pulled taut, and his growl grows in volume until a metal link finally gives out, breaking the chain.

Eyes wide, you watch Kirishima stand up with the broken chain in one hand. “I- You- Thank you!” you stammer. Shaking your left foot, it feels a lot lighter with the shackle and a couple of metal links dangling from it, instead of the whole chain.

Kirishima laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “You don’t need to thank me! That was just the manly thing to do.”

“All right!” Mina claps her hands twice. “Since we finished with that, let’s get going. Kirishima! Shift!”

The bear shifter drops the chain in a pile underneath one of the trees. Then he reaches for the waistband of his pants, and you quickly turn around to face Mina as he takes them off. 

“So how are we going to get Bakugou out of the hunters’ mansion?” you ask her.

“We’re not sure yet!” She flashes you a blinding smile. “Bakugou’s the one that usually comes up with plans, it’s more our style to just wing it! If you come up with something along the way, definitely share it with us, though. Now get on!” 

Mina grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pushing you toward Kirishima, who crouches down in his large bear form.

“Get on? On Kirishima?”

“He’ll take us to the mansion pretty quickly! Also, you look like you could use the rest. It seems like those hunters weren’t the nicest toward you. Now, let’s go!”

You settle on Kirishima’s back, hands sinking into the dark fur, with Mina right behind you. She holds onto the clothes Kirishima, Sero, and Kaminari had thrown off when they shifted.

You tell Kirishima the direction you came from, and he sets off. With Mina behind you, Kirishima’s warmth beneath you, and Sero and Kaminari sitting between Kirishima’s ears, you feel a lot less alone and afraid than you were when you ran away from the hunters.

Biting your lip, your mind races as you try to figure out a plan for when you all get to the mansion. 

You’re going to get Bakugou back if it’s the last thing you do.

–

Series Tags • @steggy4ever​ @tspice283​ @wesparklebitch​

Other Tags • @simplybakugou​ @knifeewifee​ @gallickingun​ (thank you all for being so kind and encouraging while you sprinted with me!) 

[jaskierswolf]

The Howling of Wolves pt.2/3

TW for the whole story: Angst with happy ending, kidnapping, mentioned previous child abuse, mentioned torture (but off page), Major character injury and recovery, canon typical violence

Previous

Jaskier gasped awake as a bucket of ice cold water was dumped over his head. “Oh bloody hell, fuck that’s cold.” He spluttered through mouthfuls of water.

His hands were bound in cuffs that were chained to the wall. The metal almost burnt his skin meaning they were laced with dimeritium. He was all too familiar with dimeritium handcuffs, they had been a staple of his childhood during the experiments of his youth. Just to be sure he tried to let out his magic and shift. It would be idiotic not to try, but sure enough he barely felt a ghost of his magic over his skin.

At least who ever had taken him had allowed him to keep his clothes.

There was an unsettling itch just below his skin which he hadn’t felt in months which was bothering him.

How long had it been since he shifted? Not since before Geralt had gone off on his werewolf hunt, perhaps even a few days before that. Not long enough for him to be feeling like this though. It was normally at least a couple of weeks before he started to feel cramped in his own skin.

Fuck. How long had he been unconscious…

Unless whatever was in that dart had messed with his magic more than he thought.

“Geralt?” It was a long shot but he had to ask, at the very least he could work out whether his boyfriend was in danger.

“Your witcher isn’t here, petal.”

Jaskier’s heart sank and he felt a dizzy panic hit him like a giant.

“No.” He whispered.

He couldn’t be here. Not now, not again.

“Now, is that anyway to greet your mother, Julian?” His mother stepped out of shadows, and people wondered where he got his flare for the dramatics.

“Well, I would say it’s lovely to see you, mother, but I am currently chained to the wall.” He held up his bound hands as if to prove his point. “So really I’d rather be on my way and out of your hair, if you don’t mind.”

She laughed. “Oh dear boy, the cuffs are for your own good.”

He snorted. “Oh yeah, heard that one before.” He muttered.

“If we can just work out how to cure you then everything will be ok. You don’t need to be a monster.” She cooed, the same shit that she’d been spewing for years before his escape.

“I am not a monster!” He snapped. “Geralt knows that.”

“That witcher is no better than the beasts he slays!” His mother shrieked. “I only ever loved you, darling. Why must you fight me?”

“Loved me?” Jaskier scoffed. “You hate my very existence, or do you just hate the reminder that you cheated on your husband, that you’re stuck in a loveless marriage?”

“Gag him!” His mother ordered and Jaskier’s chains were yanked hard. He fell back against the floor.

“Hmmph!” He protested as one of the servants tied something around his head.

“Now, shall we begin?” His mother knelt down and cupped his cheeks. He saw his own eyes reflected back at him. There had never been any doubt of who his mother had been. His eyes were the spitting image of hers.

It had taken him a long time to learn to love his eyes.

“Hmmph.” He grumbled and rolled his eyes at her, shaking the cuffs on his hands. He’d never been very good at keeping his hands still.

She stroked a finger along his cheek and he tried to turn away.

How had he ended back in this hell?

He just hoped Geralt would find him soon.

___________________________________

The witchers of Kaer Morhen had gathered in a dingy looking cave. Geralt was pacing irritably across the entrance of the cave. It had been weeks since Jaskier’s disappearance. He’d tried to track his partner on his own but whoever had taken him had been too good so he’d sent messages to his pack and waited, impatiently for them to arrive at a fairly central location.

Lambert had been the last to arrive. He’d turned up with another witcher in tow, a blond blue-eyed witcher from the School of Cat. On any other day Geralt would have teased his redheaded brother about finally finding a friend who could tolerate him… but today his focus was on Jaskier.

“Wolf, you are making us all seasick with all that pacing.” Vesemir said in a calm voice.

Geralt snarled at the oldest witcher. How could he be so calm when Jaskier was missing?

“Jaskier is missing, possibly dead, and you are worried about getting seasick!” Geralt snapped.

“Hey.” Eskel punched his arm. “You’re not finding anyone like this. Getting pissed at Vesemir won’t help Jaskier, Geralt.”

Geralt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need to find him.”

Eskel pulled him into a hug and he buried his face in his brother’s shoulder. “We’ll find him. They’ll regret taking one of our pack. I promise you.”

“I’m gonna fucking murder them all.” Lambert agreed.

Geralt looked at Lambert over Eskel’s shoulder and scowled. “No. Whoever did this, they are mine.”

Lambert laughed darkly and nodded. “Alright, White Wolf. You have a deal.”

“No.” Vesemir said firmly. “We do not take revenge. We get the pup and we get out.”

“But Vesemir!” Lambert whined.

“We kill to defend ourselves, nothing more.” Vesemir’s voice left no room for arguments.

Geralt scowled and picked up his swords. “Let’s get moving.”

“Do we actually know where we’re going?” The blond witcher drawled as he pushed himself off of the wall. “Because it seems like not one of you actually has a plan?”

Geralt glared at the newcomer and his fingers itched to reach for his sword. He wouldn’t hurt Lambert’s friend but normally they would greet new witchers by sparring or wrestling, especially if they were being welcomed into the pack of wolf school witchers. Jaskier had gotten a pass, partly because he wasn’t a witcher and partly because he could turn into a fucking dragon. It also helped that Geralt had vouched for him.

Lambert had vouched for Aiden but Lambert didn’t have a good history of choosing friends, and Geralt didn’t trust Aiden yet.

“Don’t even think about it, you bastard.” Lambert snarled.

“You gave Jaskier concussion.” Geralt pointed out.

Lambert had the audacity to laugh. “Fair point, sorry Aiden, he gets a free hit when all this is over.”

“Idiots.” The cat witcher muttered. “All of you. Remind me again why we’re friends?”

“Because I’m pretty?” Lambert suggest.

Eskel snorted.

“Oi!” Lambert growled.

“Can we please focus!” Geralt snapped. “Jaskier is missing! I don’t care if Lambert’s pretty or not.”

“Yeah but…” Lambert protested.

“You’re gorgeous, darling, but the White Wolf has a point.” Aiden winked at Lambert who spluttered and went bright red.

“Right. Yup. Ok.” He muttered and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“What did you say that man called him?” Aiden asked, peering at Geralt with cool blue eyes.

Geralt frowned. “Julian.”

Aiden nodded. “Then I think I can help you, if you’re willing to trust me, dog?”

Geralt glanced at Lambert. His cheeks still matched the colour of his hair and he was scowling angrily at the world, but he nodded. The nod was barely perceptible even to Geralt but it was enough. Lambert trusted this new witcher and he was Geralt’s only hope right now to finding Jaskier.

He reached out his hand and Aiden grasped it tightly as they shook on it. “Help me.” Geralt all but pleaded.

“Alright, listen up dogs.” Aiden grinned, his fangs shining in the firelight.

____________________

Jaskier groaned as he was pulled to his feet. How long had he been here now, stuck in his old bedroom as if he’d been sucked into one of his nightmares?

His skin itched, his bones ached and he felt like he was on fire. The metal cuffs cut into his skin and his once cream shirt was now yellow and covered in splatters of blood.

The last time he’d been here, his family’s attempts at ‘curing’ him had been based on working out the limits of his abilities and where they had come from. This time his mother, without the help of mages, had decided to starve his magic instead. He  woke up shivering each morning and it was instinctive to him to try and shift but every morning he let out a pitiful cry and fell to the ground sobbing.

He was stuck.

He couldn’t breathe.

He had begged his mother to take off the cuffs, to allow him to shift. He’d promised he wouldn’t shift into anything dangerous or try to escape but he needed.

Gods he needed.

He ached.

But his mother just pulled him to her chest and stroked his hair, whispering that it would pass and that he was just experiencing withdrawal following his time with the witchers.

The witchers.

Geralt.

Where was Geralt?

Why hadn’t he come?

He’d been sure that Geralt would find him.

And it all hurt so damned much.

“F-fuck!” He stammered and curled up into a ball on the floor.

At least before his room had at least tried to resemble a bedroom. Now it was just a stone cold prison.

He felt sick to his stomach. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could survive. He needed to shift. They knew that. They knew they were killing him in this crazy plan to cure him.

But he needed to survive.

He had to.

For Geralt.

For his pack. His family. His heart.

He had to survive.

____

Next

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 29) Bird of nightmare

.-.-.

“I am the youngest offspring of Ragnar Lothbrok, the most famous Viking who ever lived,” Ivar spoke, pressing the back of his head against the board that separated the boxes. After his disgraceful meltdown, he felt the need to overcompensate and in all honesty, his royal blood seemed like his last resort. 

Piglet paused her knitting, she’d been trying to patch the destroyed potato sacks together, giving him a long bug-eyed look that she eventually broke off to continue  her work. 

Ivar couldn’t tell if she believed him or not, but she wasn’t mocking him yet, so he continued: “he was a king, a legend. And I was destined to be at his side, to die, by his side-” he paused and let out a long deep sign, “-but I failed to do so. It displeased the Gods, so now I’m here. With you, enslaved and ruled out of dying with dignity. Which means I will either die an unworthy death, or of old age, which I highly doubt. Doesn’t matter though, both won’t grant me access to Valhalla. Which means I will never see my father, nor my brothers and mother, again.”

In the shimmer of twilight, it was hard to see, but Piglet’s eyes slowly welled up with tears and although she furiously rubbed her face, it was evident she’d been touched by his revelation. 

It again brought Ivar back to the great puzzle that was Piglet, the still nameless slave maiden who time after time surprised him with the tricks up her sleeves. 

But before Ivar could reminisce about Piglet’s past, the maiden jolted up and dropped the bags.

“UTSTOTT!” She exclaimed, and hastily started to move her hands through the blanket of hay. Ivar could feel the color drain from his face and cursed himself for not thinking about the tiny white raven sooner. 

Piglet hurried to pick up her broom and started sweeping the shed, while Ivar scanned every inch of his box with his eyes and hands. He checked everywhere, inside his trough, underneath the loose planks of the floorboard, and clenched his jaw when he noticed all the ripped pieces of potato bag. What if, during his fit of rage, he’d ripped off the hatchling’s wings as easily as he’d destroyed the tough fabric? 

“Seek upstairs!” Ivar ordered with a voice that skipped a few beats, when Piglet returned empty handed from her search. 

What if he stomped it? What if he killed it? 

Ivar swept away hay and scraped his palms over the sandy floor until his box was empty. 

“He vanished”, Piglet mumbled sorrowfully, as her search upstairs had been fruitless as well, “maybe you scared him off and he escaped?” 

Ivar threw her an annoyed glance and motioned to the door, “we’re locked up, he’s small, but not small enough to pass through the door’s lock!” 

Ivar shoved his trough aside, turned over a bucket that lay in reach and checked the floorboards again all while Piglet pushed and pulled herself through cattle.

A soft caw made both of them freeze, the sound was almost inaudible and sounded from far, far away. But it was there, dull and muffled, as if there was a thick wall in between them. 

Ivar covered his ears, trying to locate the side the sound was coming from. A caw echoed from the attic, but the moment Ivar wanted to scold Piglet for being such a lousy seeker, the sound stopped and traveled downstairs, over the boxes and ended underneath Ivar’s floorboard.

  Ivar’s mouth dropped; because that featherless chick could in no way possible travel so fast on his own. He’d seen it wobble through the shed, there was no way those naked feathers could carry his weight. 

Piglet must have realised that too, because the slave maiden glanced around the corner of Ivar’s box with huge eyes, shock written all over her face. 

Ivar didn’t know what held him back and eventually decided it could not be fright when he pulled up the plank of the floorboard. Expecting Utstott to be seated on top of his humble treasury; woodcarvings, nails, the knife and sling, Ivar’s face went completely blank when the baby bird wasn’t there. 

A caw came from up close and Piglet let out a petrified shriek, hastily moving down at Ivar’s side. Casting anxious skyward glances, she pinched Ivar’s shoulder and huddled close to him.

“Voodoo!” she whimpered and cried out when a high pitched caw blared right over their heads. Ivar froze and could feel the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He recalled his first weeks inside the shed; how he’d battled fever and the mare riding his chest. He also recalled vividly how he’d witnessed his father being devoured by a flock of ravens. 

When he regained strength, he simply brushed it off as feverish dreams intensified by the mare. Yet, during the feverish days, he’d been staring into the shadows, petrified to register tarred feathers and beaks inside the darkness of the shed. 

A gust of cold night’s air made the pair duck their heads down, instinctively Ivar shoved Piglet down to the floor and reached for the knife, although he highly doubted it would do any damage. 

The cawing continued and it started to frighten the animals inside, for they could sense the unnatural atmosphere. 

To make matters worse, Piglet’s body went completely limp, only to abruptly shoot into a series of spasms. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me”, Ivar hissed through his teeth and hastily dragged the young woman onto her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own tongue. Her eyes were all white while her limbs convulsed in quick and odd motions. 

Piglet’s unconsciousness made Ivar feel utterly alone and exposed. Raising the knife in his fist, he held his breath- all while holding onto Piglet’s chin to prevent her from banging her face into the floor. 

Another caw cackled through the shed; it didn’t come from one side, no- it seemed to twirl in circles. 

It was then and there that Ivar realised he could either whimper as a coward or face the unknown abomination hiding inside the shadows. 

“SHOW YOURSELF!” Ivar roared, rising up to his knees and puffing his chest out. 

‘What are the odds of survival?’ Ivar asked himself. He was in chains, crippled, and his only ally lay in a seizure down on the floor. 

As an answer, the cawing evaporated and all went quiet inside the shed, aside from the soft frightened noises of the animals. 

Ivar’s eyes darted through the room, scanning all shadows and dark corners. Surely, this couldn’t be the end of it? 

A small beak appeared from around the corner of his box, causing Ivar to withdraw and land on his arse. To keep a slice of his dignity, he struggled back onto his knees and watched the tiny hatchling hop over Piglet’s makeshift line. There was a bit of smugness in his strutt as he blinked a couple of times; one eye glazed and milky white, the other a vibrant blue. 

“What are you?” Ivar whispered, pulling Piglet close and keeping the knife raised above his head. 

Utstott tilted his head, puffing up his humble feathers as he hopped toward Ivar. Like a half naked, fluffy ball, Utstott inched closer and closer. For some reason, Ivar sensed that the bird knew he’d be able to kill it, yet that  didn’t stop him. Utstott didn’t fear Ivar. 

Inch for inch, Ivar lowered the knife until he placed it down onto the floor and reached his hand out to the hatchling. 

Contentment seemed to beam from the tiny creature as it seated itself into the palm of Ivar’s hand. 

“What are you?”, Ivar wondered, calmer this time as he watched the bird peck at its own feathers, “what are you?”.

.-.-.

Piglet and Ivar did not see eye to eye; the slave maiden was convinced Utstott was ‘black magic’, an evil creature summoned from Jahannam, a place of blazing fire and the final destination of sinners. 

Despite  Piglet’s conviction, Ivar still couldn't put his finger on what Utstott actually was, and decided to keep him. 

Utstott sided with Ivar, with a raspy caw the bird sat on his shoulder and refused to leave that spot. 

“Fine”, Piglet eventually settled, “but you lock it up!” 

So, Ivar forced a deeply insulted Utstott inside a crate and placed his trough on top of it. He highly doubted the bird would remain inside of the makeshift cage, but it calmed Piglet’s fear.

Another day of scrubbing started and with that, rain started to pour down. Usually the task was pointless, now it was simply a joke. Ivar spent the first few hours of dawn soaking wet; his hair became one with his face, wetly draping over his bone structure. Muddy water splashed up everytime someone hastily passed him, hurried to find shelter inside. 

Oh, but Ivar continued his pointless task, gritting his teeth as the Giant watched him from the doorway. The large man stood with  crossed arms, contently watching his slave from up high and dry. 

Another dreadful and overall wet day ended and Ivar’s knees soaked the hay as he was returned to his shackles. The moment the Giant left, Ivar plucked at the cuff of his tunic and hastily peeled it off; he wasn’t cold per se, spring had been kind to him today. But removing the soaked fabric from his skin felt like a blessing. 

Piglet silently picked up his clothes and hung them out. Throwing a few blankets to his side, she paced around the shed for a few moments before casually mentioning:

“I think Utstott died”, as she watched how Ivar’s face fell, she quickly added: “he didn’t make any sound all day”. 

Ivar’s eyes shot to the crate and he crawled toward it, picking it up, he shook the wooden box. He didn’t hear the sound of Utstott’s aggravated caws, nor did he hear a tiny limp body toss and turn. 

“He vanished again”, Ivar explained as he showed Piglet the empty crate, “see?”. 

“By Allah…”, Piglet’s voice faded as she stared in shock at the emptiness inside the crate. She faltered down onto her knees and started a prayer: “Bismillaahir-Rahmaanir-Raheem . Qul 'a'oothu birabbin-naas . Malikin-naas . 'Ilaahin-naas . Min sharril-waswaasil-khannaas. Allathee yuwaswisu fee sudoorin-naas. Minal-jinnati wannaas”. 

Ivar simply rolled his eyes and pulled the blankets up around his shoulders: “don’t be such a wimp Piglet, he did not do anything harmful to us”. 

“That’s easy for you to say!” Piglet snapped through her prayer, “you’re Viking, you’re religion is an interplay of wickedness and bloodshed. The place you call ‘hell’ is a simple wasteland for the weak. My version of hell is an endless circle of pain and suffering and I will not put my soul on the line for your demonic bird!”.

Perfectly on cue, Utstott came teettering from underneath Piglets skirts, causing the slave maiden to scream bloody murder. Jumping onto the tips of her toes, she tried to kick the little hatchling.

Utstott managed to avoid Piglet’s toes and quickly ran toward Ivar for safety. He made one final jump, flapped his little wings, and landed onto Ivar’s lap. 

“Hamar! Idiot! Thick-head!” Piglet cursed him, as Ivar clapped his hands and started laughing. “You’re damming yourself! I won’t be a part of this!” 

Ivar continued laughing and shook his head as Piglet barged up the stairs to the attic. Petting the tiny bird, he watched Utstott puff up his feathers and close his beady eyes in content. Later that night, Piglet eventually moved to Ivar’s side, instead of remaining upstairs. The fear of the danger that lingered outside of the walls of their shed victored over the fear she held for the little white raven. 

.-.-.

A/N: For those of you who’d like to be refreshed, I highly suggest you re-read chapter 5; ‘Eaten Alive’, that’s the chapter where Ivar’s fever gets the best of him and he sees his father being devoured by ravens. 

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I’m very curious how you feel about Utstott.

Xoxox Nukyster

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys​ @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[hopelesshawks]

Official Accounts Part 20- Rescue

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Warning for canon-typical violence, major character injury, and manga spoilers

Masterlist

No one had come rushing down the stairs after Dabi had alerted you a guest had arrived. Nor had Dabi felt inclined to go check who it was, much to your chagrin. “Hmm, seems our little guest is shy. Shall we call whoever they are down?” Dabi asks. You don’t dignify his question with a response and choose only to glare at him. He saunters up to you, placing a warm hand on your waist, but soon warm becomes hot and then hot becomes burning. Literally. You grit your teeth for as long as possible, not wanting to give the deranged man in front of you the satisfaction, but eventually the pain grows too intense and you can’t help but cry out.

Hawks flinches at the sound of you crying out. His heart wants him to rush in there but his head knows better. Hawks is a smart, calculating man. He knows that Dabi is intending to get a rise out of him. He knows that in a one-on-one fight between him and Dabi, the other man has the advantage. He knows that back up is on the way. The kind of back up that will make this a quick and easy job. He knows all this. His commission approved, highly tuned instincts know this. A small, unhelpful voice in the back of his head reminded him that the last time he chose his brain over his heart in regards to you it had cost him your affections. Is that why every single cell in his body is telling him to go in anyway? No. Hawks would wait. Because it was the rational and logical option. It was the option that was least likely to get both of you killed. He could wait the 10-15 minutes max it would take for one of the others to get there. But then you cried out again, and without him consciously deciding to, Hawks was speeding to your location as if his body was moving of its own accord.

The minute he had eyes on Dabi, Hawks lunged forward and slashed at the other man, aiming for the seams between his healthy and scarred skin. He manages a couple hits but Dabi had been anticipating the winged hero so he quickly moved away from you and out of the way. “Ohh I was hoping it’d be you that showed up!” Dabi laughs. “You should’ve left her out of this,” Hawks growls back. His instincts were on fire in a way they’d never been before. Not the refined instincts of the HPSC, drilled into his head since childhood. No these were more primal, more feral, than that. “We both know this isn’t a good match up for you Hawks. What could possibly have driven you to come charging in like this, hm?” Dabi taunts as he unleashes his blue flames in Hawks’ direction. Hawks rolled away as quickly as he could but still winces as he feels some of his feathers get caught in the blaze. “You gonna talk or we gonna fight?” Hawks snarks back before once again diving in to try and close the distance between he and his adversary.

Dabi had chosen his location well. The confined room severely restricted Hawks’ mobility, further disadvantaging him in a fight already not tipped in his favor. To compensate he sent several feathers out to increase the amount of areas Dabi would have to defend. If he had to take the villain down with a thousand tiny cuts instead of a dramatic final slash he would. But Dabi is smart too and so he picked and chose which feathers to ward off and which to let land. As much as Hawks was hanging in there he was literally burning through feathers at an alarming rate and no matter how much he tried to dodge, the tightness of the room pretty much guaranteed he’d take at least a little heat. This was bad. It was really bad. But he couldn’t stop now. So he pressed on and hoped back up would arrive soon.

Your heart had constricted painfully in your chest when you saw Hawks come flying down the stairs. You knew this was not a fight he would likely win. Not alone. Which is why you wasted no time taking advantage of Dabi’s focus being entirely on the winged hero instead of you. Your eyes turned to the chain and handcuffs confining you and you took a deep breath to steady your hands before getting to work. You carefully grab hold of the chain and start pressing it past the raw skin of your wrists to get inside one of the cuffs until you can loop it over your hand. Then, slowly but surely, you’re able to pull it through until you free the handcuffs from the ceiling chain. You immediately begin working the chain connecting the cuffs, trying to line up the links just right to get the tension you need to break them apart. “C’mon, c’mon,” you groan in frustration as your eyes dart between the cuffs and the ongoing fight.

It’s going as poorly as you knew it would. Granted, Hawks is certainly giving a valiant effort. Dabi is cut and bleeding in several places. A few of the staples on his arms and face are even detached. But there is no questioning who is leading. Hawks could barely fly in the confines of the room anyway but now even if he had the space he wouldn’t have the feathers to do so. He’s breathing heavy and there’s already large angry patches of red skin from the burns he’s received. He can’t afford to throw away any more feathers by sending them at Dabi from all angles so the most he can do is duck and weave Dabi’s flames as much as possible to try and get in close and get in an incapacitating hit. Then you see the determined look in his eye, despite the fact he’s fighting a losing battle, and your blood turns to ice in your veins. It’s like watching your mother’s last moments all over again. One lone hero against a force they clearly can’t beat and yet so, so determined to press on. At least back then the tv screen had put distance between you and the struggle. Now you were watching a hero fall in real time.

You watch in horror as Dabi finally gets the hit he was waiting for and Hawks goes careening to the side. You continue to fumble with the cuffs, the tension constantly falling away just before it can break the chain keeping you from helping Hawks. Dabi laughs and it’s a cruel sound as Hawks has no choice but to curl up and cover his head and vital organs from the raging blue flames. Tears are flowing down your face and your vision blurs as you watch Dabi slowly approach the fallen hero before kicking him in the stomach once, twice, three times. The links of the handcuffs catch and once again you begin to bend them in hopes this time the tension will finally break them apart. “What will be left of you if I clip your wings?” Dabi cackles as he reaches for what little is left of the appendages in question. But before he can do anything the cuffs finally snap. Your quirk comes roaring back to the surface and no sooner do you feel it swell within you are you directing every ounce of it at Dabi, your eyes glowing with the power of it. Dabi slams into the back wall and you surge forward to put yourself between him and Hawks, who looks on the verge of passing out. “Well, well, well. He wasn’t kidding when he said your quirk was strong. This makes things interesting,” Dabi smirks as he slowly gets back to his feet. “Really? Because I’m already bored of you,” you fire back before surging forward and wielding your quirk with a ferocity you never had before.

You’re not a trained hero. Technically what you’re doing is illegal, considering you don’t have any kind of hero’s license. None of that matters in this moment though. What Dabi had on you in experience, you compensated for with agility. It isn’t enough to get you a win but it can buy you time as you pray more help is on the way. Your ribs are aching, you’ve acquired several severe burns, and you’re starting to slow down but still you push and for the first time you think you understand why your mother made the choice she did. Suddenly a familiar voice echoes through the room. “DIE!” Bakugo screams as he comes crashing in, tackling Dabi in one explosive move. You don’t stop to see the result, your faith fully in your friend as you rush to where Hawks is lying unconscious on the ground. You wrap one of his arms around your shoulders and do your best to stand, half walking half dragging him out of the room. You don’t look back until you’ve managed to get him outside of the building but even still you can hear the sound of Dabi and Bakugo’s fight.

“Hawks? Hawks! C’mon I need you to wake up. I need you to wake up for me,” you plead as you lay him down on the concrete, kneeling beside him. You pat his face repeatedly until finally you get his eyes to flutter open. “Oh thank god! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Jesus Hawks!” you sigh, already cataloging his various injuries to report to emergency services. “Keigo.” “What?” “My real name. It’s Keigo. You... you can’t use it where someone might hear but you can use it.” His voice sounds so weak you could cry again. “Your eyes are glowing. ‘S beautiful,” he chuckles, reaching a hand up to cup your face before passing back out. “It’s gonna be ok Keigo,” you reply in a hushed voice, although you doubt he hears you. It’s not too long after that you hear the familiar rumble of Chargebolt’s motorcycle as he races to the location, Mirko arriving shortly thereafter. “They’re inside! Hawks needs urgent medical attention,” you tell them before they can ask. Mirko gives a curt nod and rushes into the building, following the sounds of the fight. Chargebolt hesitates as his eyes scan over your various injuries, the tear tracks still evident on your face from when you’d been crying earlier. “I’m fine, Denki. I promise. Just toss me your phone so I can call an ambulance and the cops. Dabi stole mine,” you assure him. He nods and does exactly that before racing in to help Mirko and Bakugo. As you dial the emergency services number your gaze returns to the number two hero. Almost all of his feathers have been burned away, leaving just the nubs of his wings and the immobile feathers at their base. Laying on his back the way he is, someone who didn’t know who he was wouldn’t be able to tell he’s supposed to have wings at all. Your heart aches as you can’t help but think how small he looks without them.

Author’s Note: I wanna give a big shout out to @dutchintheusa on tiktok who is the one I got the hack about escaping hand cuffs chained to the ceiling from that (y/n) uses here and how to escape handcuffs without a Bobby pin. He’s got a bunch of emergency/survival escape techniques as well as general advice to stay safe in a scary world. I would highly recommend checking him out. The fight is heavily inspired by the fight between Hawks and Dabi in the manga and the fact I have repeatedly wished I could insert myself into that room and protect Hawks (hence the spoiler tag). Also I listened to Tantrum by Ashnikko on repeat while writing this if you want an idea of the ~vibe~ of the fighting lmao.

Taglist [open]: @cathy8taffy @katzurras @grumpyfroggies @captaincyberqueen @itskindofafairything @420-uwu @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut @the-adzukibean @main-ruthyruth

[thiefofstars16]

soooooo here is yet another thing that won't leave me alone!

Force Visions, Pirates, and Mandalorians - Oh My!

----

Obi-Wan Kenobi has a Force vision and sees Jedi Younglings being captured to be sold into slavery, and he knows without a doubt that he needs to do something about it, even if no one but his close friends will believe him. He's been in that position before, where ignoring a vision led to some of the worst moments of his sixteen short years. He also knows that he only has a short amount of time before the events in his vision come to pass, and that he's going to have to do some outrageously illegal things, lie to the Council, and possibly get himself captured on purpose. If he also happens to help rescue a couple of missing Mandalorians, too? Well, obviously the Force just has it out for him, plain and simple.

----

Obi-Wan woke up with a scream lodged in his throat.

He had flashes of what he had seen coming in and out of focus, all of it in pieces and not in any way coherent. Obi-Wan took a few deep breaths, in-for-five, out-for-seven, until he felt he marginally calmer.

He knew how to break down his visions, how to heed the warnings, and he also knew that if he told any of the Masters they would simply repeat back the same mantra: always in motion, the future is.

What a bunch of bantha-shit, Obi-Wan thought, still somewhat upset.

All his life he had experienced extremely harrowing and traumatizing visions, and so far, all of them had come true bar the ones he could tell were decades off; he knew which ones those were because he had seen himself, older, more tired, with strange armor and even more strangely armored people at his back (these visions just made him confused because what use would a Jedi have for armor, let alone when would he even come into contact with people who looked like walking weapons factories?)

The vision that woke him up, however, was the terrifying kind. On one hand Obi-Wan knew that he needed to take a step back and meditate on the vision so he could take apart the warnings, make note of who was involved and where it took place. On the other hand...he had felt the fear, the grief, the abject terror that had saturated his vision, and he really did not want to re-experience that.

But he knew that he wouldn't get any sort of peace until he figured it out, and he knew from past experience that ignoring the vision would not only lead to it coming to fruition, but possibly something worse. He reluctantly got out of bed and into the 'fresher, getting ready for the day even though it wasn't even first light.

I won't be able to go back to sleep after that, he groused.

As he went about his morning routine, Obi-Wan remembered when he had ignored a vision like this, when he had dismissed it as fearful thinking of a rejected Initiate sent off to be a farmer. He thought it impossible, that something as Dark as a Fallen Jedi would have been known and taken care of by the Order's ever-elusive Shadows, if not the Jedi Council themselves. He didn't think that a slave-operation would have been able to practically be in the open on a Republic-aligned world, either.

His faith in that ever-enduring mantra was shattered when he found himself in chains, in a bomb-collar on a deep-sea mine on Bandomeer. When the person who at one point would have been his Padawan-Brother had put the collar on Obi-Wan with a mocking laugh, the Dark Side nearly suffacating him until the Force itself was cut off by shackles snapping shut around his wrists.

I should have heeded the warnings of the vision - if I had, I could have told Master Jinn and he could have stopped Xanatos sooner! Or I would have messaged the Council, the Agri-Corps members, or anyone, that something was wrong! he had thought, panicked and afraid, so very very afraid of what was to happen next.

(Obi-Wan's faith in Master Jinn, however, hadn't been shaken until he was fresh off the battlefield of child soldiers and having spent nearly a year fighting a war, but Obi-Wan shoved that train of thought straight back into the Force.)

Obi-Wan had spent months in chains, trying so very hard to stay alive, and every single moment he had promised himself, that if he escaped this hell alive, he would always heed his visions, to try and understand what they were warning him, so that something like this wouldn't happen again.

And it's with that particular thought in mind that he made his way out of his room and to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. They were overflowing with serenity, something he sorely needed to begin unravelling his vision. Thankfully, his Master was off-planet on a solo-mission, and Obi-Wan's shields were stronger than durasteel - to survive what he'd been through, he had to get better at shielding or he would have died before ever becoming a Padawan.

Not even Master Windu - youngest Councilor ever, creator of the Vapaad - had been able to get passed his shields that hid the full extent of what had happened to him after his missions the past few years.

He made his way to one of his favorite spots, a secluded grove set in the highest part of the Room. He very much enjoyed this spot - it was too high for Younglings to safely venture and too much of a hassle for more adventurous Initiates or Padawans to try to get to. Most Masters didn't bother trying to seclude themselves as even Crèchelings knew not to disturb those meditating.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan settled into the roots of the large Veshok tree, reached into the Force -

- a feeling of anticipation, excitement, slight fear and wonder surrounded all of the Jedi Younglings, Initiates, on their way to Ilum -

- ice, so cold, why is it so cold? And a song, beckoning him to come closer, to take it away from the cold and be warm at last, a bright golden light -

- he's got another lightsaber crystal that he can immediately tell is for a shoto blade, but why? His Master had never been interested in him learning Jar'Kai, but now it seems as if he will have to because the thought of leaving his newly acquired crystal makes him want to scream -

- the return trip has a feeling of foreboding and oh, oh, he can feel that this is where it goes wrong, that this is what he needs to be prepared for because the Master and their Padawan were very much not, and the Knight-Pilot only just getting them and most, but not all, of the Initiates out -

- he feels the ship that they're in come to a screeching stop, pirates (pirates, why does it have to be pirates?) boarding with manic glee, calling out "take the baby wizards, we'll get a lot more for them" and that causes alarm to spike because they weren't just pirates they were slavers because of-karking-course they were -

- he watches as the Master and Padawan try to protect the Younglings, but there are too many pirates swarming their ship, and he knows what he needs to do as the pirates grab three of the Initiates; he launches himself at them and Force Pushes so hard that the nearest slavers are shoved back onto their own ship, and he's shouting at the other Jedi to get out of there with the younglings that they managed to save -

- he leaps into the other ship after the captured Initiates and hauls all three close to him in the slavers' ship, baring his slightly too-sharp teeth, praying that he can protect them but the pirates are so angry at the loss of profit and the Initiates are so scared and it's all he can do to not break -

- and then he's in a cell, the Initiates in Force cuffs next to him, with cuffs on his own wrists and gods please no, not this again, but he has to be strong because he's been here before but the Younglings haven't and he will not let another child die, not again -

- a woman with dark brown skin, along with a young Pantoran male, an older human male, and others bound in chains that he couldn't see, are being dragged in, screaming that they'll kick their hut'uun'la shebs when they get free, that the Mand'alor will kill them all for taking one of the Ad'be'Mand'alor, their captors' nervous laughter ringing in the background -

Obi-Wan comes back to himself, crying and gasping, the sense of dread nearly overtaking him.

"Breathe, Obi, you gotta breathe for me, c'mon that's it."

The voice cuts through his panic and he listens, breathing slowly evening out. Obi-Wan takes a moment, or a few, to collect himself, looking up from his hands to the sight of warm brown skin, black hair in dreadlocks with clasps of varying colors dotted throughout, and a bright yellow tattoo on a face hovering closely in front of his.

"Quin," he whispers.

Quinlan Vos: his best friend, closest confidant, and partner-in-crime.

"Hey, Obi. Wanna tell me what you Saw?" Quinlan asks, quietly and without pressuring him.

Obi-Wan pauses, thinks for a moment about what he's going to say. He'll definitely tell Quinlan, because he's one hundred percent sure that he's going to need his best friend's help, it's just - how's he going to explain that he knows something bad is going to happen, that he knows he's going to end up in chains once again, that he needs to start practicing Jar'Kai now so he can be ready for when this vision comes to pass?

Quinlan waits, slowly rubbing his hand in a soothing pattern down his friend's shoulders, then nearly breaks Obi-Wan's arms with the next words that come out of his mouth:

"One: I'm going to need to start learning Jar'Kai. Two: I need to know how to break Force cuffs without the Force. Three: I'm going to need to learn how to slice into ships, databanks, and anything else. Four: I need to learn basic Force-Healing. And Five: I need to know what or who the hell a Mand'alor is and why slavers would be nervous at the mere mention of the word."

Quinlan balks, but only for a moment, because this is Obi-Wan, and weird Force shit always happens to him so he shouldn't be surprised at this point.

"It seems that we've got to start preparing for the worst, doesn't it?"

[anon-e-miss]

I wonder if Prowl will shun Jazz for taking the little seedling or go willingly in the hopes jazz will take him to his baby ❤💙💎

As the light-cycle passed slowly by, the bitlet never really settle. He took the shortest of naps as exhaustion overtook him, but he spent the majority of the long joors wailing or sobbing. Jazz had prepared to bribe his creations with energon goodies to keep their peace but they surprised him with their empathy. They tried to draw smiles from the bitlet, using the puppets their grand-ori had made them for their emergence-cycle. Separation from his originator, and almost certainly hunger made the newling miserable but from time to time he calmed enough to watched them for a bream here or there, before he fell back into his misery. Throughout the mega-cycle Jazz and his ori tried to convince the newling to take some fuel, but he refused the bottle each time. It might have been Jazz’s imagination but he thought the bitlet’s colour had dulled a little, though that could have been the dim light of their habsuite. All of the windows were boarded shut, like every other habsuite in the Dead End. It protected them from stray bullets.

Punch left Jazz to mind the inconsolable newling and his own bemused creations. At least the Twins had decided to see some humour in the situation, instead of sulking about the cacophony. They had never seen Jazz unnerved. It had been important to him to keep the anxieties of their situation, and his business from them. Too soon they would be too old to hide the realities of the Dead End, and the family business from. Jazz would guard their innocence as long as he could.

“Good news, Jazz,” Punch declared after the door had latched behind him. “The Death’s Head took off the light-cycle and the Constructicons are on his tail. Bruticus actually tried to knock Lockdown out of the sky.”

“So Swindle’s personally on the hunt... That’s good. There might be nobody home to guard the dryad.”

“Y’re gonna go this dark-cycle.”

“I gotta. Newlings don’t last long without fuel.”

“How do ya plan on convincin’m to come along quietyl?”

“Hopefully he’s reasonable... or desperate. If I have to use the bitlet to lure’m out, I will. But I’d rather not bring’m out. If anyone’s at home, his wailin’ll draw’m out.”

“Ya’d be right, I suspect. I’ll listen for yer call. If ya can’t gettin’m this dark-cycle, will try again tomorrow. Don’t be stupid.”

“I won’t get caught.”

Swindle had not delayed his hunt by servicing his security grid. Jazz found it still disabled, though he triggered a second EMP grenade just to be safe. The garden was utterly silent, despair hung heavy in the air. It seemed to Jazz as if every crystal shrub and tree was grieving with the dryad. He rubbed the back of his neck. Jazz knew he should have spoken to the mech, reassured him that he would return for him, but Jazz had been impulsive. His progenitor protocols had screamed in his helm as Vortex’s glyphs repeated over and over in his memory banks. It did not matter to his core programming that the newling was not his. He as innocent. Jazz saw Gripper’s brutalized creations in his helm and took a long intake. His programming had never settled back down after he had stumbled upon that scene.

Jazz set off another two grenades as he found Swindle’s boobytraps. It was more than there had been the dark-cycle before but it was far too little and far too late. Swindle had trusted his high walls and his flashy security grid to keep out thieves, but any thief with a couple vorns experience would have been to find a way around the grid. It was all show, and no real substance. Fear of the fate that lay in wait for thieves and debtors had kept Swindle’s loot save. Too bad for him Jazz was not sensible enough to be afraid.

The crystal brush was dry and brittle, Jazz realized as he slipped passed. The flowers that had been in bloom all over the grotto were limp and dead. A visualization of the dryad’s mourning. Jazz looked out towards the sprawling garden and saw the whole of it was dark and dead. With his grief the dryad had killed every crystal planted in the garden. Swindle must have been furious. What would he do to the dryad if it remained like this. Some of these crystals were rare imports, and Jazz knew what they had cost. He had stolen more than a hundred of them for Swindle from all over the globe over the course of the vorns. They would not be easily replaced.

He found the dryad where he had left him. The tree he was bound to was as dead as those surrounding the grotto. Without the lush foliage disguising it, the cuff around the dryad’s wrist could not be mistaken for anything but a vicious restraint. Ugly chains wrapped around the crystalline dryad from the base of his crystal form, all the way his frame. It was horrid, and ugly. Might it be punishment for the death of Swindle’s garden? Or had the dryad tried to escape somehow? Jazz stepped into the clearing and inched towards the dryad, searching the ground for more traps. It worried him that the dryad remained crystalized. Might the perceived loss of his creation have caused him irreparable harm?

Suddenly a vine, or perhaps a root reared up and slashed at Jazz from just metres to his left. Jazz dodged neatly. Another erupted from the soil and Jazz jumped again. They lashed at him from all sides and Jazz twisted, jumped and flipped about, only barely avoiding the dryads attack. Jazz leapt over the mass of angry vines and scaled the faux waterfall even as the vines slashed up at him. He found himself clinging to the dead tree, chassis to chassis with the dryad. Before Jazz’s optics, the dryad transformed from a roughly mech shaped crystal, into a striking, and enraged Praxian.

“Thief!” The dryad snarled in his face.

There was contempt in the glyph and unbridled hate in his field. Jazz could not exactly  fault him. He stared at the dryad for a moment. It was still difficult to wrap his processor around the idea that dryads were real, that this garden ornament was a living and ventilating mechanism, but he was pulled from his stupor as the dryad tried to thrash against his chains. Fresh energon flowed down his arm from his cuffed wrist. Jazz could hear the chains around the mech’s plating grinding against his plating.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Jazz entreated, though he could not imagine how he could actually force the dryad to obey. The bound mechanism’s pale optics glowered at him with contempt.

“Why? Because my value will be diminished?”

“No. I don’t care ‘bout yer value. I don’t want to see ya hurt.”

“Lies. You are a thief.”

“I am a thief. Y’re right about that.”

“Lockdown hired you to steal my creation.”

“How’d ya know Lockdown hired me.”

“He has been persistent in his efforts to get Swindle to sell me. But Swindle wishes to fill the grotto with living statues. I was not, I am not, for sale.”

“So why not steal ya?”

“He knew well I would not go with him.”

“Ya wanna stay here?”

“Lockdown lusts for me. Swindle lusts for wealth and beauty. Both are intolerable, but one more so.”

“Scrap,” Jazz’s fuel tank rolled as he asked: “Is the bitlet his?”

“No. My creation is no ones but my own,” the dryad replied, and his optics flashed with white heat. “Swindle has not found another dryad despite paying a great fortune on the services of bounty hunters. I would not tell him where my kin reside, thus he settled on propagating me.”

“Propagating...”

“Lockdown paid a dear some to help stimulate me so that I would bud.”

“‘M sorry.”

“Do you think I care if you are sorry?”

“Probably not. Look. Swindle’s off chasin’ Lockdown ‘cause he figures Lockdown took the bitty himself. There’s no tellin’ when he’s gonna come back. We don’t got a lot of time to get away.”

“You think I will go with you?”

“If ya want yer bitty back, ya,” Jazz replied. The suspicion the dryad was all but seething with was not a surprise. He would have been worried if the mech was too cooperative. “Even if ya could get out o’ these chains on yer own, ya got an entire city to search. Come wit me, ‘n ya get yer bitty back ‘n ya won’t be Swindle’s ornament, or Lockdown’s berthslave.”

“And what would you have me do for you?”

“I don’t fraggin’ know. I took the job from Lockdown ‘cause he was willin’ to pay the crystal’s weight in shanix. I didn’t know he was a dryad. I didn’t think ya existed in anythin’ but my ori’s stories.”

“My kind do best when we are nothing but fairytales.”

“Y’re probably right.”

“I am worth more than my weight in shanix. It has been millenia since my kind were commonly found in manicured gardens.”

“I don’t deal in mechanisms.”

“A thief with a conscience.”

“Everyone has their limits.”

“What did you need that payout for?” The dryad asked. “Drink? Whores?”

“My brother.”

“Why?”

“He fragged off his patron ‘n Kaon. ‘M tryin’ to put together ‘nough credits to pay his fine ‘n get’m home.”

“It appears we have something in common.”

“What’s that?” Jazz asked.

“We both do stupid things for our brothers.”

[thewildomega]

Second Chance Ch.17

More people had been tossed into the cells with you and Enola, one looked like a humanoid dog and another you guessed was a fishman. As the number of people grew you had made sure Enola stayed by you when a few of the people seemed sketchy. At one point the pirates had brought down a few measly loafs of bread and everyone in the cells went nuts. After fighting with one of the human men which had proved to be almost more than you could handle because of your weakened state you had managed to snag the little girl a half of a loaf to eat. She had quickly offered you some of it but you had shook your head and moved to rest back against the wall with her in your lap. You had no desire to eat, no desire to go on. 

You had no idea how long it had been but your pants had started dropping lower on your hips as starvation started to take effect. Closing your heavy eyes you laid your head back against the wall and thought back to the man you loved. You wondered if he had meant any of those kind words he had ever said to you? Probably not, he was most likely just playing his card right since you had offered him a place to stay and everything else while he was stuck in your world. Like he said, he had never loved you, you were simply there for his amusement and once he grew tired of you that was it. He was never going to marry you, he didn't want you apart of his family, the family you had been so excited to call your own. You knew the truth now, you would never have a family of your own. No one would ever want you, no one would ever love you. With a heavy sigh you felt that clenching in your heart intensify. 

"Don't know why you are so attached to the girl, in a few days it won't matter..." 

Opening your heavy eyes you looked across the cell to the man you had just fought, his nose still dripping blood. 

"...she'll be sold off ta the highest bidder jus' like the rest of us." he finished.

Hearing a whimper you looked down to the little girl sitting in your lap and saw she had started crying again. 

"Those tears ain't gonna save ya brat, ya better toughen up now." He huffed. 

"I...I don't want to be.. sold... I want to g..go home." 

"Ya ain't ever goin' 'ome, yer gonna be a slave fer the rest of yer life." 

"That's enough!" you snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Oh shut it bitch, I'm just tellin' the little runt the facts..."

"Why?! Does it make you feel like some big macho man to scare little girls?" When he only narrowed his eyes at you you raised your chin, refusing to back down. "She is suffering enough as it is you don't have to make it worse." 

"Whatever let her live in 'er dreamworld but that's what's gonna get 'er killed. Ya on the other 'and... Well ya already look like yer knockin' on death's door. " he chuckled before he turned his back to you both. 

Sighing you looked back down to Enola and saw her crying quietly. "Hey it's alright, don't pay him no mind..."

"I don't want to be a slave... I... I don't want to die..." she cried. 

Feeling her turn to cry into your chest you lifted your hand up as much as you could with your chained wrists to rub her back. Swallowing hard you blinked slowly. She reminded you so much of yourself. A frightened child who wanted nothing more than to be with her family, the people who loved her. It was then you decided that you would not let her suffer like you did. That man had been right about one thing, yes you were close to death but if it was the last thing you did you would save this child. "Enola." you whispered, dipping your head down so only she could hear. When she lifted her tear filled eyes to yours you gave her the best grin you could. "I need you to listen very closely to me and do everything I say okay..." When she nodded hesitantly you licked your dry, cracked lips. "I'm gonna get you out of this..."

............................

One by one the others were led up the stairs. When it came time for you you sat quietly as the man unlocked the cuffs on your ankles. For the past few days you had been laying on your worsening condition a little more than how you truly felt. Not the you didn't feel like absolute shit but you wanted these men to think you were nothing to worry about. 

"You gonna be able to walk?" 

Nodding you stood, holding back your smirk as you stood up, wobbling a little bit when your head spun. Watching as the man tied a rope around Enola's tiny wrists you clenched your teeth but said nothing. Being led up the stairs you couldn't help but breath in the fresh air as it washed over you. Blinking you looked out over the island and saw snow. It was nighttime so you couldn't see the entire layout of the land but you could make out the silhouette of mountains in the background along with something roundish looking that was much bigger than all the mountains. It was windy as well, the cold air cutting into your bare skin like knives. You couldn't help but shiver but you wouldn't say a word. 

"Bet you wished you would've kept your coat huh doll?" the captain huffed, looking down to the little girl who was wearing the extremely large coat. Walking over to the tall woman he sighed at her weakened state, "Try not to die before I can make a few berries off of ya." 

Refusing to say a word you watched as he turned and started off the ship, everyone else following. Feeling the one man pull on your chain you started walking along behind him, keeping Enola close. Walking along the snow covered ground you felt your shivering increase. Stumbling a bit you noticed the rest of the crew and captives get a little further ahead. 

"Agh get a move on will you cunt!" 

Feeling him yank on your chains you started coughing and doubled over. Glancing up as the captain looked back and rolled his eyes before turning to continue on you narrowed your own. Acting out your part you heard Enola ask if you were okay. When the man holding both your chain and her rope shoved her back and made her fall you grit your teeth as he started yelling at her. Quickly grabbing hold of the sword on his hip which was more like a large knife to you, you shoved it into his chest when he turned towards you. As soon as he let out a croaking scream you made your move. Snatching your chain from his hand you lifted Enola up into your arms and ran for it. Hearing yelling behind you and then the Captain yelling orders for his crew to stop you pushed on harder. A loud gunshot rung through the air and then you cried out as a sharp pain hit your leg. Stumbling into the side of the nearby building you bit your lip. Hearing the yelling growing closer you took a shaky before taking off again, pushing through the immense pain in your thigh. 

Refusing to stop you kept on, holding Enola close. Seeing trees up ahead you ran for them, hoping to get some sort of cover. Your bare feet were becoming numb from the frigid cold but you wouldn't stop. Running through the trees and rocks for some time you made a sharp right turn when you noticed the smoke in the sky and saw a small home up ahead. You could still hear them coming behind you and swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. Panting you ran towards the door and knocked desperately. Hearing nothing at first you knocked again and this time saw a small light come on in the window. When the door flew open you saw a old man standing there with a old woman behind him. 

"Wha.. what can i do for you young lady?" he asked.

"I don't have time to explain sir but I beg you to please take this girl." Sitting Enola down in front of you you saw the old couple look to her and then up to you with wide eyes. 

"What's going on dear? Is somethin.."

Seeing the chains on the woman's writs the man looked down to the girl again. "You are runaways.... slaves..."

Shaking your head you looked him in the eyes. "Not yet... not ever." hearing the yellign getting closer you breathed heavily. "Please. Please you have to take her, you have to hide her. Please don't let them find her, she's just a child." 

"No. No, Y/n I want to stay with you..."

Coming forward to stand beside her husband she looked to the young woman. "You are hurt..."

"I'll be fine. I'll lead them away. Please I'm begging you." They both just looked at you for sometime before each other and then nodding. 

"Hurry child inside." the old woman said. 

Forcing her to let go of your finger you heard her start crying. "Enola stop. It's okay, it's okay you... your going to be okay." you told her, feeling her hug your leg you rubbed her hair and swallowed hard. 

Hearing the yelling he took a deep breath. "We must hurry or they will find the both of you." 

Nodding you pushed her towards the elderly woman and watched her take her towards the room in the back. Looking back to the man you tried to keep yourself from passing out. "Thank you." 

Taking a deep breath he nodded, "Go down to the river, make a right at the fallen tree and then a left after the big boulder. There will be a trail on your right, it will be grown up some no doubt but it will lead you back around to here. It's a long trail, steep as well but if you can lose them at the river and make it back here we will hide you as well."

Nodding you forced a small grin. You knew you weren't making it back but it was kind of him to offer, "Thank you." Looking to the door Enola had went into you saw him look up to you. 

"She will be safe. Go."

Taking a deep breath you bowed your head and took off back towards them.  Glancing back you saw the old man brushing up your tracks with a broom. Running towards the pirates you felt your bloody pants cling to your leg, the pain was almost unbearable but you knew what was at stake. Cutting through the trees you saw the lights from the pirates and ran a little ways in front of them, seeing them instantly take the bait and follow after you. Keeping your back to them so they would think you still had Enola you heard them running behind you. Shots rang out around you as you ran up the cliff side. Getting to the top you turned around when one got too close. Kicking him with your bad leg you felt it shoot with pain but watched him roll down the hill. Turning back around you made it over the peak and tried to go down but tripped and began rolling down, your body slamming into the rocks and roots as you fell. Stopped suddenly by a tree you screamed when another gun went off and the bullet hit your lower back. Gasping you looked up to see the group making their way down towards you. You were too close, too close to Enola, they had to think you had hide her away somewhere further. Rolling to your side you pushed yourself up, whimpering out and feeling something warm run down your back. 

"Don't let her get away!"

Holding your aching ribs with one hand you continued running. Pushing yourself as much as possible you lost them for a short time in a thick patch of trees. Coming to the river the old man was talking about you shuddered as you ran into the icy waters. Shaking so bad you could hear your teeth chattering you moved out into the water, making your way across to where you saw the fallen tree on the other side. Swimming when it got deep you gasped for air. Getting out of the river you stumbled across to the tree, you were so cold, your whole body was going numb and in turn it was getting harder to move. 

"AHHH!" 

Snapping your eyes to the man when he lunged towards you you caught the blade of his sword with your chain and spun out of the way. "AHHaaa!" Crying out you backed away into the side of the tree and looked down to see a slash along your right hip. Shaking you just did manage to roll away when he swung his sword again. Clenching your teeth you slammed into him when he was off balance but fell to the ground as well. Your head was spinning, your body growing weak as your adrenaline started wearing off. Feeling him land a hard punch to your jaw you looked up to the night sky, the stars mixing all together. 

"You're a tough one, I'll give you that... but not tough enough. Where's that little one at? You're stupid if you think we won't find her..." looking down at the woman he grabbed ahold of the necklace around her neck and lifted it up before ripping it from her neck and looking over the junk. Scoffing he tossed it to the ground. 

Enola.. You couldn't let them find Enola. Using your little strength to wrap your chain around his neck you held it tightly as he struggled. Clenching your teeth as he hit and elbowed your battered body you tugged harder. Slowly he started to go limp. Holding it around his neck for a little longer you finally let go and shoved him off of you. Panting you shook, your eyes desperate to close. You were so tired. You wanted to sleep, you just wanted to sleep. NOT YET! Snapping your eyes back open you rolled over and pushed yourself up onto your unsteady feet. Grabbing his sword and your necklace you started stumbling along the snow cover ground. 

Making it to the big boulder you looked to the grown up path not to far away and swallowed hard, taking in a shaky breath. You couldn't lead them back to her, back to those kind people that had helped. Looking to the opposite direction you saw the sea far down the mountain and blinked your heavy eyes slowly. Lifting your heavy limb you turned towards the water. You couldn't go on much longer, you were already past your limit. Holding onto the trees as you made your way down you got to a ledge of sorts with many large boulders and trees around. Stumbling over to one of the big rocks you leaned back against it and slowly sunk down. You couldn't go any further. Sitting on the ground you leaned back against the cold rock. At least with being so cold you couldn't much feel pain anymore, couldn't much feel anything. Your lids felt like someone had attached weights to them. Fighting to keep them open a little longer you starred out over the sea. The sun was just beginning to start it's rise, the sky turning pink and orange just over the water. Moving your arms you held the sword in your right hand on the ground next to you while you moved your left one to your lap. Glancing down to your palm as you shakingly opened it as much as your frozen fingers would allow you looked down at the yellow sea glass and swallowed hard. Feeling a clenching in your heart you felt your lip tremble and a tear roll down the side of your nose. What you wouldn't give to see him one last time, to have him hold you in those big, strong arms. Tightening your grip on your most prized possession you raised your eyes back to the sea once more. Your last thoughts being of the man you loved as your eyes finally slipped close. 

........................... 

Twelve days it had been twelve days since he had last seen her, since he had last held her. Noticing the sky starting to brighten along the horizon he sighed, thirteen days. Staring out over the seemingly endless sea he closed his eyes as the invisible blade in his heart twisted. They were supposed to be married by now. She was supposed to be his wife. He was supposed to be her husband. Right now they should be laying in their bed, blissfully enjoying one another in the ways newly weds should. Instead they were who knows how far apart and she was enduring who knows what. The constant pain in his chest ensured him that she was hurting. Undoubtedly emotionally, mentally and he had this horrible feeling it was physically as well. Stirring the ship in the direction his constricted heart was telling him to go he stood by the wheel and pushed his hand into his pocket to fish out her phone. Turning it on he looked down to the picture of the both of them. They were both smiling widely, her face attempting to hide away in his neck. God he missed her so much. That incomplete feeling that he had felt his whole life until she had shown up was now back and worse than ever. It was like his very soul was telling him how much he had failed his soulmate. She had been taken, hurt, to what extent he still didn't know but those punks that took her better pray not one scratch came to his darling.

"Hey Pops! We're coming up on Applenine." Hartura yelled down from the crow's nest.

Taking a deep breath he narrowed his eyes as the silhouette of the island came into view. Appleline, that was apart of that psychopathic Doflamingo's territory. He knew the punk was big into the slave trade. Clenching his teeth he took a deep breath as they got closer to the island. Being the first off the ship he looked around to the snow cover island. "Search the town, find out what you can." he told his sons and saw them all quickly take off. Walking along he was busy looking over all of the small homes with the apple shaped roofs when he heard Marco call for him a few meters away. Looking his way he moved over and quickly noticed what had caught his son's attention, a large amount of blood colored snow. Seeing it smeared in a direction he started following it, hearing Marco right behind him.

Whistling for some of the others to come with them, they all quickly followed after their father.

The smear ended after a while but it wasn't hard to spot the auction house. His pace quickened, the two men standing at the door stiffening as he approached. 

"Hey, hey you can't..."

Cutting through both of the men with one swing he kicked in the large door. His sons went to work stopping everyone who tried to get in their way. Scanning the room he saw the man at the desk stand abruptly and go to run but not before Marco could grab him. 

"If you want to live you will tell us everything we want to know." Maroc warned in a clam voice. 

"Where are the slaves being held for auction?" he asked and saw the man waste no time pointing out the right door. Kicking it down when he found it locked he walked down the long hall, getting to another door that was made of iron and locked up tight. Punching the door it flew off the frame and across the dark room. Ducking to fit inside he stood back up and scanned the room that was made of nothing but holding cells. Walking down the hall he clenched his fist as he looked to all of the chained people of different races, sex and ages. As he made his way through the room he saw some of their eyes lift to his, some holding fear others just looked like they were defeated. He quickly found his Y/n's face not among them and felt a sense of dread come over him. 

Searching over all the cells as well Marco saw his father standing there with a lost look on his face. 

"She's not here." he said with a heavy heart. 

"Perhaps there is another one on the island or they are holding her somewhere else..." Vista added. 

Going to work releasing the other slaves Izo looked to Jozu. 

"Have any of you seen a tall woman with long h/c hair, s/c skin..."

"I've seen er'." 

Snapping his eyes to the gruff sounding voice he walked down to stand in front of the cell that the voice had came from. Seeing a middle aged man inside, sitting against the back wall with chains along his wrists, ankles and neck he narrowed his eyes when the man looked to him, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Waiting for the man to speak he grit his teeth in annoyment. "Well?"

"Gonna cost ya." 

Huffing he narrowed his eyes at the man, "You'll tell me or I'll leave you here to rot." 

"You think I'm afraid of dyin'?" he chuckled. 

"Not dying punk, suffering." when the man continued to stay silent that shit eating grin on his face he felt his lip lift into a snarl.

"Come on Pops, he don't know anythin...."

Seeing the giant man go to walk away he raised his chin. "Y/n, I think that's what I heard that little brat callin' er'." 

Freezing when he he heard her name fall from the man's lips he turned back starred down at the man. 

"Ah so that is the one yer' lookin' fer."

"Where is she?" 

"Dead most likely, or wishin' she was." he told him with a tilt of his head. "She ran off when we got here, took that little one with her."

"Little one?" Izo asked, coming to stand beside his father.

"Yea, little girl they took ta sell wit the rest of us. Little brat wouldn't stop crying the whole ride here." he huffed. "She seemed real smittin' with that doe yer' lookin' fer."

"What do you mean she ran off?" Marco questioned. 

"I mean that as soon as they got us off the ship and started us 'ere she managed to grab the girl an' run off. Can't tell ya which way, I was further ahead an' couldn't see em but I can tell ya that she managed ta take out the one that was in charge of er'. 'eard the captain say it was his brother an' she was gonna pay fer his death. As soon as they got the rest of us ere he gave the order ta go find er'." 

Breathing heavily he felt this heart speed up and went to hurry out but heard the man speak again.

"Can't say yer gonna like what ya find, been earin' gunshots all night and she won't lookin' too hot in the first place." 

Quickly making his way out of the building he saw some people standing around looking to them. 

"Pretty sure some of the men we took out before were some of the ones that took Y/n." Marco said. 

"I want the whole island searched. Leave no stone unturned." he told his first in command and saw him nod. "You find the Captain, you leave him for me." 

"Understood." Without another word he watched his father start marching through the streets. 

..................................

Trying to let his heart lead him in the direction of his love he felt only this sharp, twisting pain. It was nearly enough to send him to his knees but he pushed on, desperate to find her. Following the tracks into the forest he walked through the trees, listening for any sound. Going on for a while he heard a gunshot followed by the sound of yelling. Running towards it he came up to a small home surrounded by a few men. Getting closer he saw an old couple standing there as the group f men went about questioning them. 

"...you'd both do well to tell us the truth."  one of the men threatened. 

"We known nothing of these two you are speaking of young man." The old man went to say but was cut off when one of the men came forward and shoved him aside to barge into his home. 

Hearing a child scream he watched as the man that had went into the home tossed a young child out into the snow, the others aiming their guns and swords towards the elderly couple. 

"Now you are going to tell me what I want to know or I'ma blow your wife's brains right in front of you an' then I'ma call inthe captain and he'll make you wish you were never..."

Jumping in he swung his blade through the air, cutting down one after another. Punching one of the men in the head he knocked him back into the tree and watched him fall to the snow. Grabbing the one that had been threatening the old couple he shoved Murakumogiri through his torso. Dropping his lifeless body down to the ground he turned to the couple and saw them both looking to him with fear filled eyes, the small child cowering behind them. Walking forward he shoved his naginata in the ground to show them he meant no harm towards them. Taking out Y/n's phone he turned it down and showed them the picture of her and him. "Have you seen this woman?" The two looked to the picture before looking up to him. However before either of them could speak two curious eyes were peeking out from behind the woman. 

"Hey that's Y/n..." 

Hearing the child's small voice he looked down to her and saw her clinging to the older woman's skirts. Crouching down on his hunches so he might not look as intimidating to the child he looked into her green eyes. "You know my friend?" he asked and saw her nod. Just now noticing that the little girl was wearing his darling's coat he felt his lip twitch when he noticed the blood stains on the tan material. 

"She saved me from those bad men." Enola spoke in a soft voice.

"The young woman showed up on our steps late last night, begging us to take this child in, to hide her from those men you just killed." the old man told the young man.

Looking to the man he saw the man looking him in the eyes. "Do you know where she is now, which way she went?"

"She said she was going to lead them away from us and the girl. I told her to head to the river on the other side of the hill, make a right at the fallen tree and then a left after the big boulder. There's a trail on the right, I told her if she took it it would lead her back here."

"We've been waiting for her to come back so we could help hide her away as well but.." the woman added but stopped when the little girl at her side moved into her more. 

"She hasn't come back yet." the man finished, glancing down to the child. 

"They hurt her...those bad men." 

Snapping his eyes back down to the child he saw her looking down, her little lip trembling. "What do you mean they hurt her sweetheart?"

"They hit her, beat her, the..then last night when she was running away they s..shot her." she told the giant in a cracking voice. 

Watching the little girl cry he felt his heart hammering in his chest. 

"Her leg was bleeding when she was here last night." the old woman told him. 

Standing back to his full height he looked up and gave a loud whistle. Within a few seconds marco was flying overhead and landing beside him, the flames on his body dying away. Seeing his eyes look over the scene and then up to him he glanced to the couple and girl. "Keep them safe, if anymore show up keep them alive for now." Seeing Marco nod he grabbed Murakumogiri and ran in the direction the old man had pointed him in. 

Making his way up the hill he saw many tracks in the snow along with a few drops of blood. Getting to the peak he looked down and saw much more of the snow and dirt disturbed. Running down the hill his eyes snapped to the larger stain of blood in the snow and grit his teeth. She had fell. Running faster through the woods he could make out where she had stumbled and fell, blood here and there in the snow. She was losing blood. Getting to the river he saw ice chunks floating along the surface. The current wasn't rough, his lass was a damn good swimmer, she would have been able to make it across but he was worried about how cold it was. Taking a few steps back he made the jump across, landing only in a few feet of water, enough to get his feet wet but he could care less right now. 

Seeing the fallen tree and then the body laying on the ground he felt his heart speed up at the sight of more blood. The man had no injuries on him, this blood was hers. Noticing the bruises on his neck he knew immediately that she had strangled him. "That's my lass." he spoke to the air. Going on he followed her tracks, being able to tell she was stumbling more now. Making it to the large boulder he moved around it to see the path the old man had told him about but there was only one problem, the snow there was undisturbed. She hadn't went that way. Turning around in circles he tried to figure out where she was. This high up the snow was only in patches on the rocks. Had she continued upward? No, there was no way she would be able to. Turning left he looked through the thin trees to see the sea in the distance. The water, she would go to the water. She wouldn't lead them back to the child. Moving over he started making his way down, blood here and there along with a few bloody footprints on the rocks. She wasn't wearing shoes? 

Stepping down from the small ledge he looked around but felt his blood run cold when he saw a small bare foot and jean clad leg sticking out from behind the large rocks. "Y/n. Y/n!" he yelled, his feet moving for him. Rounding the boulders his heart dropped to his stomach and his breath caught in his throat when he finally stared down at her. "nn..no...NOOO!" he roared. Dropping Murakumogiri to the ground he heard it clatter but paid it no mind as he fell to his knees beside her. There was so much blood. Reaching out for her his hands shook. He was so afraid to touch her, so afraid he would hurt her worse than she already was. Gently pulling her to lay in the nook of his arm he hissed at how cold her skin was on his. She was wearing nothing but her black lace bra and her bloody jeans. There was ice on her hair and lashes, her skin was flushed of color and her lips had a bluish tint to them. She was freezing.

Quickly shrugging his jacket from his shoulders he wrapped it around her, his eyes snapping to the bloody slash across her hip. Forcibly opening her hand so she would release the sword he tucked it inside his jacket as well. Looking back up to her face he swallowed the knot in his throat. "Y/n, lass wake up." he said in a shaky voice. Licking his lips he moved his other hand to stroke her battered cheek, brushing it up to her stiff hair. "D..darlin' come on look at me." Nothing, she didn't make a sound. Feeling tears leak from his eyes he gave her a shake. "Y/n." he grit out between clenched teeth. "Wake up." he demanded, his voice rough and deep. Pressing his ear to her chest he heard nothing but his own blood pumping and growled out, tears now pouring from his eyes. "No. No you wake up. You look at me!" he yelled. Sobbing out he hugged her close, "PLEASE!" 

Shaking he kissed her temple and then her cheek, laying his forehead on hers. "Please. Please lass don't le..leave me. I can't go through life alone again. I don't want to have this second chance if you're not apart of it." he sobbed. When she made no signs of life he leaned forward, holding her tightly as his heart shattered. "I'm so sorry darlin'. I love you." he spoke in a broken whisper. 

"...e..eed..."

Hearing the barely audible whisper he quickly sat up and looked down to her. "Lass? Darlin'?" Not hearing anything else he was sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him but then he saw her small fingers twitch and he was sure his heart was going to beat out of his chest. "Y/n?!" 

That voice. A deep voice that called out to you even from the darkness. You had felt nothing and then there was warmth, a soothing warmth. It couldn't be, could it?

When she whimpered softly his breathing turn erratic. Looking over her face he saw her lashes fluttering, her eyes attempting to open. Feeling his face crack into a large smile he cupped her face gently. "That's it, that's my stubborn woman, come on open those pretty eyes, look at me lass."

Ed? Your Ed, he was here? 

"Yes beautiful I'm here. I'm here darlin' and I'm never leavin' you again." he assured her. 

Had you spoken out loud? You couldn't open your eyes, couldn't move. Everything hurt, oh God it hurt. 

Watching her face contort into one of agony  and her eyes continue to try and open he heard her whimper again, this time sounding more desperate. "Shhh it's alright lass, everything is gonna be alright." Holding her close to his chest he pushed her head close to his chest, covering her other ear with his hand. Giving a loud whistle he looked up to the sky, "MARCO!" he yelled as loud as he could. Hearing the sound of his son's phoenix form call out he whistled again and in no time he saw the flaming blue bird overhead. Waiting for him to land he felt his Haki alert him to danger and quickly lept out of the way just as a gun was fired and the bullet whizzed past him. Landing a few feet away he snapped his eyes over to the man who looked about Jozu's size, that had to be him.

"I'll be takin' my property back. The bitch and I have some unfinished business." 

Landing beside his father he looked to Y/n and knew she was critical. "Pops.."

Gritting his teeth at the man he felt pure rage come over him. That was him, that was the one who had taken his soulmate, hurt his soulmate. Crouching down when he heard Marco call for him he pressed his lips to her forehead, "Marco's gonna take care of ya sweetheart while I take care of this punk. You just hold on for me okay, you keep fightin'." he told her in a deep, quiet voice. Kissing her brow he gently laid her down on the ground, wrapping his jacket around her. Stepping back he watched as marco turned to his phinox form and carefully grabbed hold of his jacket with his talons, lifting y/n up into the air and carrying her back towards the ship. 

"Marco the phoenix of the Whitebeard pirates huh? So what does that make you the old man's replacement?"

Huffing he raised his chin. "I'm gonna enjoy this." 

[cxmetery-gates]

DEFYING THE ODDS - LOKI LAUFEYSON

CHAPTER ONE: THE ARRIVAL

SUMMARY: Odin is faced with uncertainty surrounding a young woman who fell from the heavens and has no memory of where she came from. WORD COUNT: 4k NOTES: Make sure you read the prologue! Soooo there is a lot of Norse mythology going to be tied into this series! My information will be coming from “The Viking Spirit” by Daniel McCoy and his website Norse Mythology for Smart People. Thank you all for reading!! WARNINGS: none that I know of!

MASTERLIST

FROM THE CHAOS AND VOID of Ginnungagap came the beginning of everything. Where silence and darkness once existed, the beginning saw the creation of the giant Ymir from the fires of Muspelheim and the ice from Nifelheim, and from him, the Aesir were born. The universe was given a breath of life. It was said that all that will ever be was formed in the great beginning, the seeds of all life would sprout and flourish the cosmos until Ragnarök returned the universe back into the dark and silent abyss.

But so it seemed the void had one last creation.

As if falling from the darkness of Ginnungagap itself, a mysterious figure clad in obsidian armor fell from the cosmos, landing on the home of the Aesir: Asgard. It did not take a healer to note the height should have killed anyone, perhaps to the degree in which there would be no body to find. However, after washing upon the shore where Asgard's fiercest and strongest knights waited, they were all but surprised to find the being was a young woman.

Now, on the ninth day of her comatose state, Odin once again finds himself at the girl's bedside. While it is unclear when or if she will wake, the ruler of the Aesir still found himself in the hospital at least once a day. After all, the young woman's arrival was the hottest topic throughout Yggdrasil, the cosmic nexus of the Nine Realms.

No conclusion had been made yet and all the citizens across Yggdrasil who had heard the story were begging the Allfather for answers. Many already had their opinions laid out, arguing that she was a sign of the cosmos planning something great. However, many were on the side that she forebodes the coming of the end. There were assumptions that the empty black hole that opened in Asgard's sky was the darkness itself, teasing the arrival of Ragnarök. Either interpretation was a well enough argument in its own right, but they all faced the same dilemma: no one knew anything. Waiting was all anyone could do as the young woman lies on a cot with a steady breath and flushed cheeks.

"She's in perfect condition," the head nurse disclosed to Odin, her eyes wide in contemplation. When the Einherjar Guards first carried her to the medic bay, the girl appeared dead, the color drained from her face and her lips a soft blue hue. There were spots of dried blood on her armor and on the inside from where the sea did not rub away hard enough. "The only mark on her body is an old scar. There is nothing proving she fell at all. Not even a scratch." Odin hoped the crimson stains were not a bad omen.

Royal advisors were tasked to search all records pointing towards a prophecy or another occurrence of someone falling from the heavens and coming out unscathed in the process. Nine days and eight nights later, no answers were found. Odin hoped to find a vision from his father and father before him from their resting places in Valhalla, but there was nothing but silence from the gods. Odin even scoped guidance from Mimir, but the head merely told the Allfather time will reveal all secrets. The only option left was speculation, and that was not enough to calm an entire system of realms.

To attempt to quench the cries, a pair of spellbound chains loop around the girl's wrists and to the sides of the cot. Good intentions or not, the Allfather would not put his realm at risk by judging a book by its cover.

The Allfather sits and reads from his youngest son's book. A book of magical adventures, the history of the Aesir, and possible tellings of the Norns. When he was a young boy, his father gave him the same book and even after reading cover-to-cover more times than the number of stars in the sky, Odin still digs into every detail he comes across. The god swears that he has heard a story of a girl falling from the sky once before⁠— and he remembers what occurred after. But, as if the universe wanted to tease the Allfather, there was nothing he could find. Despite the dead ends, Odin is determined and would stop at nothing in his search for answers.

Unfortunately, it seemed not even the cost of Odin's eye would grant him knowledge this time.

With a sigh, Odin closes the book and places it on the bedside table. The thud was strong enough to wake a sleeping giant, and yet, the girl did not move. Not even a flinch.

"I should have guessed I would find you here."

The feminine voice from behind Odin is soft, easing his tightly wound nerves and racing questions. He barely looks over his shoulder as her hand comes to rest upon his arm, offering a squeeze that the Allfather relaxes into. "It is a king's duty to ensure the safety of his realm."

A smile reveals itself on the queen's lips. Frigga leans down to speak closer to her husband. "It is a king's duty to attend his sons' lessons that he promised."

Odin feels his head loll backwards slightly. With all the wonderment and questions, the promise to practice sword sparring with his sons slipped his mind. A great part of him feels upset with himself as he pictures his two sons waiting for nothing. "There is always tomorrow," the Allfather replies.

"Yes, there is," Frigga agrees, slinking her hand down to intertwine her fingers with his. "Come. Supper will grow cold if we wait any longer. Your boys miss you."

The Allfather lets his stare rest upon the girl's face. Her features are light but matured with dark hair and lashes to match. The curve of her nose speaks for innocence, but the cut of her jaw screams the opposite. Odin remembers the scar the nurse had mentioned. Letting his eye wander to the cracked skin right below her collarbone from where it peeks out beyond her temporary linen dress, Odin wonders how she became the bearer to such a mark. Despite not seeing the old wound in its entirety, he believed the head nurse when she proclaimed the falling entity was not some girl, but a warrior. No ordinary girl earns a scar like that from an accident (or falls from the sky, for that matter). Glancing over to the mighty and intimidating sword and the ensemble of armor, Odin has no reason to argue.

Another day and night, another weight added to the situation. By the fifth day, Odin began to grow anxious and, as his wife tugs on his hand for the second time now, approaching the ninth night, he feels nothing but frustration. Part of him thinks the girl will never wake, left for eternity as a mysterious sleeping beauty.

With a nod, Odin rises to his feet, Frigga sending a loving gaze as their arms interlock. The couple barely takes two steps before Odin spots the medic who was pausing her movements to bow. "Send word if she wakes."

The nurse's eyes flash to the girl then to the Allfather. Her mouth suddenly hangs open and she makes a double take. "I do not think I will need to send a messenger, Allfather..."

Turning their heads, Odin and Frigga find their guest with her eyes fluttering open.

Odin turns to Frigga to speak, but she beats him with words and a nod. "I will explain to Thor and Loki, then return. Stay; food may be brought up later." Squeezing her hand reassuringly, Frigga then departs from the medical bay, a look of apprehension very clear on her features.

The girl says nothing as she looks at the old man clad in golden fabric. When her eyes meet his, surprised to find the man has one eye socket covered with a thin piece of golden metal— and almost reaches up to see if she had only one like the man before her— all she does is swallow. She then notices the cuffs attached to her wrists. Her eyes become wide, wild with emotions she has never felt before. In an instant, she finds panic soaring through her veins, a new feeling she isn't quite fond of.

"Would you like me to fetch a guard?" the nurse asks.

Studying the girl, Odin decides to shake his head. "I think I will be alright. But perhaps the guards standing outside should be alerted, just in case."

The nurse nods her head, sends the girl on the cot one last look, then parts down the hall, walking with a purpose until she exits. Waiting for the taps of footsteps to disappear, Odin remains standing at the girl's bedside. When he concludes they are alone, Odin allows his body to fully turn, finding his chair a few feet away. Slowly and cautiously, he grips the back and brings it closer, then lowers himself into the seat. The girl grips the thin sheets, wrists growing irritated from the metal bindings.

"What is your name, dear?" Odin asks with his tone laced in amiability. He hopes not to spook her with his booming voice or his golden eye patch.

Her dark eyes dart from examining his face to the room in which she finds herself. Odin takes notice that her eyes are closer to a pitch black than brown. He isn't sure whether to be unsettled or intrigued.

The young woman takes in the room, noting everything from the floor panel to the texture of her sheets. She makes the deduction that she is in a hospital, seeing a cabinet lined with jars of ointment and utensils and lines of empty, identical cots. The girl has barely a moment to remember how and why she finds herself in such a place when her eyes flicker back to the man. The older man before her reigns superiority, for he bears golden textiles, intricate designs bedded into the front and large pads on his shoulders that deem attention. A king, she decides. The old man who might possibly be a ruler is offering her a moment to gather her thoughts, no pressure to answer quickly. A small feeling of gratitude enters her thoughts. She could have woken up in a place much, much worse.

After her examination, she looks back to the man's eye. A tongue pokes from out of her mouth and wets her dry lips before answering. "My name is Valdis Starborn."

Valdis Starborn, Odin considers. How entirely fitting. A strange name for an equally strange girl. In all his years, he has never met another Aesir with such a name, however it tastes familiar. A spark of recognition exists, but Odin finds no such idea as to why. "Valdis, do you know how you got here?"

The girl looks down in thought, brows pinching together. A roar of cries, a heated pain, and then nothing. As soon as the images flashed before her eyes, they were gone like the wind carrying smoke. Valdis reaches for the blips of memory to return, but all she's left with is confusion and emptiness. Nothing. She remembers nothing.

Valdis shakes her head slowly. "No, I do not." She swallows a lump in her throat realizing she does not know how she got to this room, nor anything else. Valdis searches through her thoughts to find her head void of any memory. "I do not know how or why I am here, but I also do not know where I come from. I fear my memories are... Gone."

Odin raises his chin, studying her puzzled expression. Not the answer he was hoping for, but at least she had a name. It was something among the sea of questions. "Do you know where you are?"

"No," Valdis answers quietly. "But, if I had to make a guess, somewhere nice. I expected a dungeon as my welcoming."

A slight twitch to the lips meets Odin as Valdis smiles sheepishly. "This is Asgard, the home of the Aesir and peacekeepers to the galaxy, and I am Odin, the Allfather. It is my duty to maintain balance in the cosmos, which includes sorting out the mysteries that the universe creates, such as yourself."

Valdis's eyebrows pinch. "Allfather?" She ponders out loud. Odin watches the girl carefully as her dark eyes leave him only to focus downwards, head tipped slightly in thought. "Allfather..."

"You speak as if something is coming back to you."

Looking back up, Valdis says, "'Allfather' sounds familiar. I feel like I have heard it before, but..." Her voice trails into silence, unable to locate the words or memories that have sparked some kind of recognition.

"Perhaps a sign that your memory will return," Odin hopes, eyeing her suspiciously.

The sound of heeled shoes on marble reaches both sets of ears, and Odin stands, turning to find Frigga coming to his side. Her smile is kind and warm, maintaining itself when she takes careful steps towards the young woman on the bed. Valdis cannot help but mirror the gentle expression.

"Valdis," Odin addresses, his arm outstretched towards her before angling to direct her attention to the new presence. "I am honored to introduce you to my wife and queen of Asgard, Frigga."

Memorizing the girl's name, Frigga passes in front of her husband. "How are you, dear girl?" Frigga asks, taking another step before lowering down to sit on the bed at Valdis's feet. "You fell from so high. We've all been worried about your health."

"'We?'" Valdis questions. Her heart spikes as she wonders what Frigga speaks of. With her memory wiped, it comes to Valdis's attention that not only does she not know where she came from or why she is on Asgard, but she is just as clueless as to how she ended up in a hospital in the first place. "Wait... I fell?"

Frigga's smile falters some, now understanding the downturn of Odin's expression. "Do you not remember?"

Valdis shakes her head, a new wave of rose-colored embarrassment coating her pale cheeks.

Only nodding once, Frigga does not let her worried sentiment show itself so clearly. Instead, the queen looks to her husband, continuing her words. "I hope my husband has not frightened you, little star. He has a habit." With this comment, the queen sends a wink to Valdis, who feels herself smiling.

Valdis notes that while the Allfather seems wise and just with a headstrong, powerful ambiance, the queen radiates a sunny glow, a tenderness that touches all. There is a balance to their chemistry, easily evening out what tension Valdis had in her thoughts. "No, the Allfather has been kind, my queen."

"You may call me Frigga, sweet one." The queen lets herself think for barely a second before letting her words play out loud. "Would you allow me to try something, Valdis? I would like to see if I can help with your lost memories."

Barely a pause ensues before Valdis lets out short exhale that sounds like a laugh. "It's not like I have much to lose at this point, do I?" It appears it was Valdis's turn to encourage a smile.

Lifting both her hands, Frigga extends her arms out towards Valdis. With no other warning, the queen cups Valdis's jaw gently. Before the young woman could react, a warm heat penetrates her skin and a faint, golden glow could be seen from under her eye. Valdis did nothing but stare questioningly at the woman before her. As quick as the touch was, Frigga withdrew her hands, sending a stare to her husband.

"Nothing," Odin remarks but with conviction in his tone.

Standing, Frigga speaks to Odin. "Seiðr did not work. Either a stronger force is baring all of us or she truly has no memory."

Valdis listens idly, knowing this is when her fate will be decided. She isn't sure where she would go or what she would do if the rulers before her were to cast her out. Maybe they would keep her locked away in the dungeons with criminals. Or maybe they'd send her somewhere else, somewhere less lavish than Asgard and cruel to oddities such as herself. No matter the case, Valdis only knows what has happened since she opened her eyes minutes ago, nothing more. She is not aware of any other realm, nor king, nor law. If Odin did not trust her, Valdis would have no fathomable idea what to do. The king must realize this, especially after what his queen just told him. Valdis still sticks out for hope, so much so that she feels as though she is pushing her pleas into the king and queen's minds.

"She has nowhere to go, Odin," Frigga continues, sending Valdis a small, tight-lipped smile before her eyes widen, quickly turning back to her husband. "Allow me to take her under my wing. Perhaps we can work to uncover her memories with time."

Odin takes a long look to his wife before focusing his attention back on Valdis, a hopeful look upon her face. It would not be the first time Frigga would become a mother to a child she did not conceive, but Odin cannot help but feel vastly more concerned this time around. No one knows who or what Valdis is, not even the girl herself, allegedly.

"She will be no trouble," Frigga insists. The queen glances over to Valdis. "Will she?"

Valdis was quick to shake her head. "No, of course not, my lady. I want to uncover the truth as much as you do."

The dungeons would be too dangerous for a woman like her and the cot she lies on will be needed eventually. Frigga is a powerful sorceress, one of the most talented the Aesir have ever come across, if not the best of them all. No one has deceived her yet, and this fact was set to stay for eternity. Such a creature as Valdis would not have the powers to break this record, but the preexisting confusion shrouding Odin's mind remains. Perhaps she can best his wife, or perhaps not. There would be rules to be made and there would be concern around Valdis's mystery, but what better sorceress to delve into the mysterious fallen entity?

Odin straightens his back as he turns from the yearnful eyes of Frigga, setting his stern gaze upon the girl in bed. Her eyes shone of the same buoyancy as Frigga. "You may not be safe here," Odin says, his voice steady and heavy with urgency. "Asgard is home to the best warriors, but that does not guarantee your safety. If you are running, they will find you eventually, and I will not risk my people if you show not to be as innocent as you seem."

Valdis nods. "I do not think anyone is after me, Allfather."

"But you do not know that for sure."

Valdis swallows. "Yes."

Odin lets out a long breath, sending his gaze to rest upon Frigga. His wife's stare is still set upon him with a plea, a loving care that Odin fell for millennia ago. There is no bone in Frigga's body that would allow her to turn away someone in need. It's what makes her a wonderful queen, a perfect soulmate to her sagacious husband. He knows that keeping the girl would possibly become a path for trouble. There will be others like Frigga who are interested in Valdis, but many may not have as innocent intentions.

With his chin poised, Odin turns to Valdis, taking several steps forwards until he is right beside the girl. For a moment, both Frigga and Vadis fear the worst. "You will temporarily live in the guests' wing and will be accompanied by a pair of guards everywhere you go. If your memory returns by the next moon, you shall have the option to leave. If you are still without your past, I would encourage you to stay."

It seemed as though the universe let out a sigh of relief as Odin spoke. From the corner of her eye, Valdis could spot Frigga wearing a gracious grin.

"However," Odin continued. "If there is any sign that you come with dark intentions or you do anything to harm this realm or the next, you will be imprisoned for the rest of eternity. Is this clear?"

There is no hesitation as Valdis nods her head. "Yes, Allfather."

"Good." With a simple wave of his hand, the two cuffs around Valdis's wrists unlock, the rounded pieces once rubbing against her skin now clicking backwards in on itself until the golden bands and chain disappear entirely.

"Come, Valdis," Frigga says, her hands holding out for the dark-haired girl to take. "We will head to your temporary quarters until a permanent one has been arranged." Holding her arms out, Frigga helps Valdis rise to her feet, her stature and built fully shown. She stands just a few inches shorter than the queen, but something about her shoulders and straight spine makes Frigga look small in comparison. Opposite to Valdis's meek disposition, the exterior of her shell is strong and battle-ready. This does not pass by Odin, his observant eye catching every movement made.

Frigga helps Valdis into a robe as Odin turns away. He eyes the armor on the table, as well as the bladed sword, staring in awe at the craftsmanship. If Odin had to make a guess, not even the skilled dwarves of Nidavellir could have fashioned such beautiful designs. In fact, the Allfather has never come across the kind in all his thousands of years. The designs are fluid yet sharp, demanding and large yet smooth and delicate, the points and edges telling all to beware while enticing enough to desire a closer look. The sword was no different, the steel and obsidian mashing together tastefully. Unlike any sword he has seen, the hilt extends out and up, several smaller blades pointed in the direction of an enemy. There was nothing but peril that radiates from the ensemble, and yet, Odin could not help but gape in admiration. How odd such a timid creature would be the owner of such an array of danger-exuding armor?

So many questions raised in Odin's mind at the examination, and it seemed as though more were raised with each day. In the nine days since her arrival, all one could do was question. The Allfather believes he is not the only one who finds himself in the realm of curiosity. No doubt there were others who were just as interested in the girl who fell from space, perhaps some having the answers Odin desperately craves. And some may just do anything to have Valdis Starborn.

"Valdis," Odin calls, shifting his eye from her armor to the two women taking their leave. Both look in his direction fluidly. Valdis stands with wide eyes, ready for what he may aim at her. As if she has been here before. "The way you arrived on Asgard is no ordinary occurrence. There are talks of you wielding a power strong enough to rip Yggdrasil apart, or worse. Many will want to meet you, and many will want to use you. Keep this in mind; it may save your life."

The girl who fell from the cosmos offers a single nod before allowing Frigga to escort her out of the room, leaving Odin to his thoughts. Undoubtedly, there would be more questions to be raised in the next few days, but perhaps Mimir's answer would be met. The vibrations of primordial fire and ice that created all seemed to have fashioned something not yet seen before and it was up to the Allfather to unravel questions into answers. A blessing, a curse, or something the universe was not ready for, all anyone could do now was wait.

Time will eventually give Odin his answers. However, part of him fears what those will be.