#i remember being blown away when horizons started airing

[amelikos]

Something about the way Spinel, Friede and Liko's first Pokemon all share (or will share) the Dark type under certain circumstances (Spinel's Blacky being Dark type, Friede's Lizardon becoming Dark type upon Terastalization, and Liko's Nyarote will eventually gain the Dark type if it evolves into Masquernya). And how all three of them craft strategies around diversions, creating distractions, observations and running away.

Also thinking about how Spinel's Orbem is a Psychic type, similarly to Liko's Tebrim. Psychic moves being used to restrain or limit movements, or stop opponent's moves and use them against them. (Liko's Tebrim using her Mind Power during the battle against Grusha to stop her opponent's Icicle Spears and send them right back at it really reminded me of Spinel using his Orbem's Psychic moves to restrain Friede's Lizardon's movements back in HZ014.)

[killyzury]

PAST LOVE KISSES *⁠.⁠✧

about. I want him sobad :( sorry that it's short ! I rushed it so I wanted to finish it quickly before I forget about it :3

details. (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

you've always been so intrigued by theories, especially love theories. You'd talk about them for hours on end while Kirishima listens to you no matter what he is doing. while he's cooking? you're sitting on the counter talking about The Red String Theory or when he's working on some work back in UA, you'll call him as he's finishing up talking about Multiverse Theory

till one day you saw a theory about how moles are where your past life lover used to kiss you the most. You were so fascinated and completely indulged by it, you spent the whole day reading about it and immediately running to Kirishima to talk about it.

“Kiri! Look at this theory I just found!” you slam the door open to find him on the bed. “What is it, lovie'?” he'd lay on his side as he watched you climb onto the bed to lay beside him.

“look at his theory” you show him your phone with the screen illuminating on his face with a page called Past Life Kisses. “ah interesting, tell me bou’ it” all of his attention are on you. Nothing mattered to him anymore at that point, he'll listen to you talk about these things for hours and days without getting sick about it.

He loves to watch you get all excited and completely lose your ability to think because of being so mind blown about it. “Basically, this theory is about how the moles on your body tell where your past life lover used to kiss the most!” Your bright contagious smile affected him.

“oh really?” his arm slithers around your waist as he pulls you closer towards him. “Look, I have one on my temple! And my neck!” you went on and on about the theory. His gaze never left you once. He made sure to pay close attention.

Days went by with air so crisp and you thought nothing about the theory. You're sitting on the couch with Kirishima, talking about your day. You're always in your own world when you're talking. You have no care for the outside world anymore.

Kirishima is right next to you with his hands on your thigh and the other hand behind your shoulders. He zoned out for a moment, remembering back about the theory of past love kisses. His eyes gazed on the small mole you had on your neck.

“Kiri? Kiri–” your words cut short as he leans closer, gently pressing his lips on the small mole. Your body went still as his mouth pressed against your neck, startled by the sensation. “What's that for?” you couldn't help but to let out a few chuckles.

“you told me about the theory and I wanted to recreate it” he slowly pulls away from your neck and starts to pepper your mole on your temple with kisses. “let me be the one who gives you millions of moles in your next life” your cheeks redden. The sun falls into the horizon as the room fills with a warm yet comforting embrace.

Your lips slowly glided over his, returning the kisses with a gentle graze.

yay, I can work on another one now

╰───► masterlist. tags.

[experthiese]

@zenigatakeibu asked: volumes / loud & deafening silence

volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’

He can see the squad cars coming up the winding country roads. They're only tiny little blips of red and blue right now, pinpricks of light against the horizon, but he knows from experience it won't be long until they're tailing his little Fiat again.

It won't be long until the game begins anew, just like it always does.

It's almost a shame, really - he and his inspector make such a good team in times like this, when they can put their heads together and unite against some greater threat. A surprisingly vast crime syndicate, in this case, with their fingers in all sorts of pies across the country. Government officials, police, doctors, bankers... This whole place was rife with corruption. Now that the operation's head has been cut off, the leader of the syndicate buried beneath the rubble of his own hideout after shooting one too many bullets into the ceiling joists, he expects there'll be a lot of chaos for Interpol's puppies to investigate and clean up. Groups like this always unravel in the messiest of ways.

He could leave them to it. He could wash his hands of the whole affair and let the boys in blue work the long nights and early mornings, desperately chasing every lead they have. He could even take advantage of this sudden workload increase and push his next heist forward, snatch as many treasures he can while there's not enough security to stop him.

...He won't do that. It would break the rules of their game, for one, and he knows how seriously they both take these rules.

And, for two... Zenigata works hard enough as it is. Piling this on top of everything else just means less time delegated to the Lupin case.

The lights are getting closer.

A manila folder is fished out of the inside of his jacket, stuffed to bursting will piles of stapled-together papers. It's not the treasure he came here for, but he figures a compiled list of all high-profile persons associated with this particular syndicate might make his inspector's work a liiiiittle easier. Cut down the wild goose chase. Cut down the time taken away from his chase.

(It's not like he had any use for the information, anyway.)

The sincerity of the gratitude (the love) Zenigata's gaze holds in that moment steals the breath straight from his chest, his own eyes blown wide with awe. For as... complicated... as their dynamic can be, it's not often he gets to see such tenderness displayed so openly. It feels too vulnerable, he supposes, like any admission of softness would be remembered and used against him at some later date. God knows Lupin's found a way to weaponise every other weakness.

Does this mean that he's being trusted with this admission? Trusted to hold something so wonderfully delicate in his hands and not break it?

Or is it more of a surrender, something too great to be contained any longer? A recognition of how much this game has changed them, willingly or not?

He's not sure which option makes his heart beat harder.

The sirens are loud enough to be heard, now; a distant wail carried forward on the chilly autumn air. Lupin stretches up on tiptoe, butting their foreheads together like a cat seeking out pets, one hand clutched tight to the lapel of Zenigata's trench coat. He'll need the leverage for what comes next.

Just as the cars round the final hill, the blue and red lights painting the edges of his suit jacket, Lupin tilts his head and presses his lips against the other man's. The kiss is soft but demanding, an insatiable greed that always demands more, and Lupin doesn't step back until he's panting and lightheaded. Even then, he stays close enough to share breath, the aborted little pushes forward making it clear just how much more he wants to take.

...But he can't. Not right now, anyway.

❝ Catch ya later, Koichi. ❞

He starts to run just as the police cars roll to a stop outside the ruined hideout.

[talesfromtheorient]

Standing in the darkness somewhere outside Göreme, I watched the mighty fire burst into the balloon as it gradually began to inflate. I was nervous, I’m not scared of heights, but this was different, I’d never flown in a hot air balloon before.

We were told to climb inside the basket and then given a safety briefing, most of which referred to the landing. There were 5 of us per compartment, and there were 4 compartments in total. This was the less cramped option which gave me space to shimmy about.

I didn’t have time to collect my thoughts, we were up. We ascended so smoothly to a height of 660 feet that I momentarily forgot that I was in a hot air balloon. We were one of the first balloons up, but slowly but surely hundreds of balloons ascended over the dry landscape. We descended into a valley to admire the rock formations before the burner fired us up to dizzying heights again. Then somewhere over the horizon the sun rose over a distant mountain peak and lit up the valley. All the passengers were blown away by the natural beauty and took many photos. I thought that the ride couldn’t get any better, and then we descended over sunset spot and the town of Göreme. On the rooftops were dozens of early risers greeting us, we even managed a hand slap. The balloon floated around Göreme before properly descending outside the town. The safety ropes were thrown out and grabbed by an invisible army of men who pulled us onto the back of a nearby truck. It was a perfect landing. I guess that the brace position is only for emergencies. We all struggled to get out of the balloon and enjoyed a champagne reception, before being driven back to out hotels.

The ride has to be one of the best experiences of my life. When we were in the air, I felt so calm, not what I expected. An highlight of the tour was our unofficial tour guide, a 10 year old lad from Southeast London who gave a running commentary throughout the ride. When the call to prayer started, he referred to it as Chewbacca talking. Apparently the rainbow balloons are for homosexuals. When two balloon intentionally touched each other in a movement known as ‘the kiss’, he referred to it as ‘the fuck’. At 660 feet it was entertaining watching his parents try to tell him off, he was funny, but I wouldn’t want to teach him.

I arrived back at my hotel in time for breakfast. Whilst enjoying my Turkish breakfast, a cat pounced on my lap and tried to steal my foot. Out of nowhere the owner came along clapping his hands and told the cat to scram. Thanks.

Energised from the exciting morning, I went for a walk around Göreme. I soon remembered that this is a really unpleasant thing to do because there are so many cars driving in every direction. Therefore, I spent most of the day relaxing in my cave.

I have tried to book myself onto a sunset camel tour, but this has proven difficult. There are only a few camels in Cappadocia (apparently only 10) so camel tours do need to be booked up well in advance. I have spent a lot of time questioning the ethics of the ride, but it does seem that the camels are treated properly. I might be able to get on a camel tour tomorrow after my Green Valley tour, but I might not be back in time to catch it. The Green Valley tour will take me to the underground city and many others attractions. I would like to do the sunset camel ride, but you can’t do it all and after tomorrow, I will have done everything that I aimed to do in Cappadocia.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Jean with their almost full term wife just being extremely uncomfortable, they cry a lot and are just ready for the baby to be out?

Here I go... this has been in my inbox for an embarrassing amount of time but I had this plot in mind for two years and I was waiting for this moment to be animated to be able to write and post this... Listen while you read → the sound of silence by Simon and Garfunkel

Pairing: Jean/ Reader

Tags: hurt/comfort (yes my ✨favorite✨), Jean being a sweetheart

Warnings: pregnancy, grief, mentions of labor and childbirth, crying, Post Sasha's death

The Sound of Silence

The dull, gray shade that was plastered all over the sky was accompanied by an excessive stride of frozen air that was blowing on your hair, sending stray strands of (e/c) flying all over your eyes. A few droplets fell faintly in random places over you and on the freshly trimmed grass that was swaying under your feet. There was a vast variety of tombstones that surrounds you, sternly and calculated lined up tombs extend to a tragic horizon, where your eyes couldn't seem to find an end to. A few leaves were being blown around over them, as well as fresh flower petals, ones you could recognise as you had seen numerous people leave bouquets to their deceased loved ones for all the time you'd stayed here.

Inevitably, the gravestone you were resting your back on was frozen, making your whole body shiver as you lean on it, but you chose not to pay any attention to it; you simply buried your chin between your knees and closed your eyes before letting out a sigh escape you. Your stomach tightened as your chest hitched and you instinctively brought a hand to rub over your swollen tummy. You inspected the bum by running your hand around it, rubbing on a few places near your inverted belly button, pressing slightly over the top as you felt the probing piece of flesh flick in the palm of your hand underneath your dress.

When you felt a kick, a single leg movement push against the insides of your stomach, though, you took away your hand, slamming it onto the ground as you tried to grip onto the moist soil right next to you. It was kind of a peculiar feeling and even now, nine months in you were still fully uncomfortable with it. Being pregnant wasn't something you've enjoyed; rather was more like a hazard to your very health and was reason you were relieved of your soldier duties. And you secretly cursed Jean and yourself a bit for allowing this to happen.

Who on their right mind would enjoy swollen feet and back pains, who would enjoy the crazy mood swings and the fatigue that causes you to be unable of even taking a stroll around the town? Who would ever want to feel suffoccated by how big their pregnancy belly had turned? Not you. Definitely not you, but according to your mother they were supposed to be something you'd enjoy later on.

Now, you weren't so sure.

And you were so overdue yet you weren't even sure you could even take care of your child in the mental state you were in.

Sighing hard after taking a deep inhale you dug your frail fingernails into the soil, feeling the ominous tears that the angry skies were begining to pour. Your eyes lingered on the shapeless coulds, focusing onto the dull, stripped light that could barely peak from underneath them. You felt the faint river of a tear run down your cheek at the sight and the skies responded right back at you with a loud thunderclap. It almost felt as if the skies were mourning Sasha just like you. Maybe, if you tried to convince yourself, you'd believe that it was your childhood friend that cried with you due to your departure.

Feeling your body go stiff and your face go numb from the fresh needles of the cold air that was blowing on you your scrunched your nose upwards, hoping for the action to stimulate even the tiniest blood flow to the numb tip. It didn't, and the tingling sensation of a sneeze madxhed it's way to your blood vessels, scratching methodically at all the right pressure points to force it's release. Finally and with a loud blow you felt your chest go in shock as you sneezed, your whole body joltimg up on your very spot.

Still you sniffled the little drops of moisture with the inside of your elbow, you couldn't find it in you to move or get up, you couldn't even try to find an ounce of physical strength inside your body. Sashas tombstone provided some strong comfort for you though, acting as your only comforter against the cold.

"This can't be any good for you."

A soft, large and so very warm hand came to rest upon your shoulder; delicate fingers gave you a squeeze as a bulky thumb rubbed a few circles to the end of your collarbone. You didn't even have time turn your head to see who it was, frankly because you knew.

His scent, his warmth, his touch, his whole aura practially screamed his name.

"Jean?"

"It's going to rain really hard you know." He said, planting a kiss to your temple. "wanna go back?"

"No." You sniffled dangerously.

"Okay then, I-" Jean paused before squating to your level "I guess were staying here for a bit."

"Thank you."

The soft ruffle that you felt on your hair was Jeans reply and it tousled your hair slightly, allowing the shy blond to catch a tiny sniff of your sweet scent to which he sncrunched his nose slightly and proceeded to place a kiss at the top of your hair line. Then, once again, he placed another kiss on your temple.

Fidgeting with your hand while trying to undig it out of the soil, you closed your eyes at the feeling, expecting the tiniest bits of adoration to enter your body through that kiss. Jean rested his head on your shoulder from his squatting position and you smiled a tiny bit and only in the blink of an eye, exhaling a cold huff of air to his face. A sharp pain in your chest was starting to spread, pushing back away over everything else that lay inside your body, strangling the insides of your throat.

"I miss her already."

You felt your breath chock you from the insides of your throat dangerously; a tight, looking knot was finally making its binds tighter and even more evident to the depths of your stomach as it spread to your throat.

"Me too"

"And God she was more that me excited for our baby."

As you shut your eyes, in frail attempt to mute the memories of Sasha that were coming back to your vision, a single tear rolled from the corner of your eye. With a shaking hand you managed to grip onto the side of Jean's coat; the chachi makò cotton coat rubbed against your thum as if protesting for the dirt that was being wiped on it, yet Jean didn't seem to care.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for so long when you're dysphoric about pregnancy."

"Its-its fine" You sniffled, a hitched sigh escaping the depths of your throat.

"Mmm baby, it's not, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't bring Sasha back with me too she'd talk to me everyday about betting on how we're going to have twins."

As another thunderclap roared in the background, Jean found it fitting to move his aching legs and shift his position to the ground. As he took a turn, he placed another kiss just next to your eye while he took your hand in between his. With a soft thud he came to rest his body next to yours and you made a slight move to allow him a little more space before his back finally came to rest to the small tomb right behind you. A hand came to wrap around your shoulders lovingly silently begging you to push your head down to your lover's shoulder to which you eagerly complied.

"I kinda think she was right, I'm too huge, I can't even breathe properly these days." Another tiny peck was placed to the top of your head as you spoke. "To be honest," You sniffled "whatever it is I want it to be out."

"I know."

"And I don't want to accept that Sasha died, I grew up with her Jean."

"I know baby." He said and placed a new kiss to your head.

"And for the love of any fucking intelligent titan I'm so swollen and I'm angry and all that could make me happy right now would be you Connie and Sasha teasing me about it."

Jean felt your back pulp on him like a jolting lighting has just fell from the sky. He heard the hard sniffle of your nose and heard the painful sob that was stuck to the back of your throat as your sentence came to an end. This, with a burning desire to let his own heart go loose came the feeling of his own eyes stinging, his own chest jolting, his fingertips gripping onto the side of your head as if they were hanging onto you for dear life.

"All I get though is this stupid tomb!" You cried and threw a clenched first backwards towards the tomb, hitting it with all your potential might as you chocked on your next words. "This stupid fucking reminder that my best friend is dead."

It was so dearly painful. Your heart hammered in your chest in protest to your refusal to deny Sasha's death, your stomach churned in a coiling fire and the big swelling bumb under your right hand rioted against your mourning. But you failed to give a care. Your best friend in the whole world was dead.

You could still remember when you decided to join the military together, you still remembered your very first friends, you still remembered how she and Connie were the ones to help you and Jean get together. You remembered the way you'd play when you were kids and how you'd spend days sewing clothes just to play like you were paying a visit to Sina in your most elegant attire. You remembered watching her fall in love with food and with whom you had thought could be the man of her life.

You remembered every single miniscule moment of your life spent with Sasha and it crushed you.

Nevertheless when Jean's long fingers came to sway over the roots of your hair and his nose nuzzled to the top of your hairline, his lips rubbing onto your soft hair, ready to press another kiss at any given time, your face softned, taking away the chocked sob you were about to let out with it. You brought your hand to your face, pulling your sleeve to cover it up and put it to your nose to wipe the runny goo off of it.

"I know, shh" The ashy blond rubbed his chin to the side of your scalp, giving you the tiniest bit of affection from it before bringing his nose back to your head to rub it on the spot again.

Then, the way that you sighed was almost silent.

Save for the whiny hiccup that escaped you.

"Please don't cry so much, I'm going to panic."

A tiny laughter inevitably escaped you. You remembered that phrase very well. When you had caught Jean crying after Marco's memorial he had came running into your arms, sobbing like a madman and you had wispered the same words while rubbing your palms soothingly over his back. That was the same night that you decided to follow him into joining the scouts, the first night of an endless personal misery.

"It's just-" You cried "I just can't, we've lost so many people and it hurts Jean. I should have been there."

"Shh no, don't think like that."

Jean was holding back tears for you. It was evident in the way that he was shaking and jolting his head from time to time. His palm was flexed in a fist, tightly resting over your shoulder as it gripped a fold in your cloack. You only breathed harder at the realisation, feeling your chest sink in a tremendous amount of pain that left you hollow. You felt another kick coming from the inside of your stomach to which you shut your eyes to, too afraid to see the outline of a hand or a foot appear under the thin linen clothe of your dress. And just like before, another heart wrenching sob escaped you.

"I didn't want to say goodbye." Jean said quietly, his voice coming as a breath that barely brushed your ear. "You didn't even get to say goodbye and that's bad of me to say, but I didnt want to see what I saw. I didn't want to say goodbye. I don't want you to suffer. I don't want to suffer either."

"Jean.."

The sniffling of your nostrils wasn't nowhere near coming to an halt, thus the back of your sleeve was the ideal solution to your distress; had you had any more little power in your body you would reach for the handkerchief in your shoulder bad. But that couldn't be the case. Not until you could feel your feet.

"(Y/n), baby... I'm sorry. I promise I won't let anything happen to you and our baby. Even if it means I have to sacrifice my life for you to be safe."

A gasp came out of your mouth quicker than you had anticipated. The hiccup that escaped you was accompanied by another burning hot tear that run down your eye, your whole spine giving in to the wave of fear that shook you, resulting in your head jolting in shock. Your hand shot to his, gripping it with force to bring it over your stomach, your fingers clinging onto his while pressing hard in between his knuckles.

"Don't say that shit, you're not dying Jean, get that thought out of your idiotic head," You inhaled through hitches "I'm going to die a pitiful death if you leave me."

"Please don't do that." Jean clenched his teeth.

"Then don't die too you idiot."

Another rush of a few raindrops started pouring, this time even more quickly that before. The grass under your feet swayed, each spiky peak bending and bouncing as the weight of the rain hit the ground. Big blotches of water were now forming on your attire, waiting your skin as they came to connect with each other, darkening the brown color of the linen skirt you were wearing. Jean wrapped his hand tighter around you, rubbing his cheek to the top of your head again with mellow force, as if trying to assure you it would be okay for you to stay there for only just a moment more.

And you begged to listen to his silent proposition.

Letting his hand rest loosely over your swollen stomach, you took a deep breath, allowing your self to flex your toes inside your shoes. Your indstep steamed as the little strap squished you so hard that you tried your best to convince yourself you weren't going to deal with a blood clot. You hated that you had come to despise your favorite pair of shoes. All you ever wished for was that then would just fit you like normal. Still, even to that thought, the little being inside you took half a leaping turn, giving another kick to the top of your stomach.

Had Sasha been here she would have told you something to help you get your mind off of it. She would have teased Jean for not being able to keep it in his pants and you would have laughed, feeling the tentuon easing off.

Still, the kick, that most women would have found one of joy, only turned your insides like clothes swept by a tide.

"I want to throw up." You announced, half looking at Jean

"Because of the kick? Or the thought of it?"

"Maybe-maybe both."

It was then that another kiss was planted in your forehead. The raw sound of lips smacking filled the air against the drenching water of the rain, giving a little antsy essence to the gesture. Jean rubbed his closed mouth against your skin with his eyes closed in his best effort to help you calm down.

"Now now," He whispered "It wouldn't be the best thing to throw up in the cemetery, would it?"

With closed eyes, you pouted and shook your head twice in response.

"Okay then, I have a proposal for you."

"What?"

"Want to go visit Marco's grave? And then get you somewhere warm? And changed?"

Your pout intensified amd you fixated your gaze at the ground with furrowed brows. The nauseating feeling in your stomach was coiling begging to obertske you, but there was something so warm about Jean's sweet tone that fought it violently, so much that you could even feel your face loosen up as you melted under his touch.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"Okay then."

You shivered slightly as Jean took his arm off of you and dug it to the ground, giving himself a little prompt as he bend his knees closer to his body before stretching them to get up. Next, he leaned towards you, extending a long arm to your side, his thick, enormous palm stretching as it signaled you to place yours in it. Lifting a hand to his direction faintly you manages to place your palm into his and soon you managed to feel his fingers tighten a grip over your knuckles.

Still though, you couldn't find it in you to get up.

You stared at Jean with brows that screamed in apology, lifted skin littered with regretful lines. You had been feeling heavy lately. Everyone knew that, everyone who laid eyes on you questioned hoe you even managed to walk normally. But today you had struggled to get out of bed so much that you had even considered asking to be carried to Sasha's grave, knowing full well that you were too heavy for this to be a reality.

"You can do it."

"Give me a second, I can feel my lower stomach pulsating."

Jean eyed you with concern, his thumb quick to rub a circle over the knuckle of your pointer finger. You only gave him a mixed look next, squeezimg him just a little as you started pulling his hand. You had to get up. You couldn't stay in the rain until someone picked you up bridal style. Thus, you gave a little push. Just a teeny, tiny push to prompt yourself up and meet Jean halfway.

"Oh, oh crap."

In that moment you couldn't even think of a worse mistake that you had made in your nineteen years of life.

"What?"

You didn't want to believe it. No. It couldn't be happening now.

"Uhm, my water just broke."

"WHAT?"

"There's fluid leaking down my thigh and I'm pretty sure I didn't just pee myself. I wouldn't do that in a graveyard."

In between Jean's petrified expression and the trembling pain in your core, you somehow found yourself be eerily non panicked about the happening. As much as you wanted to scream from the pain, as much as you felt like your feet where going to give out, you were nowhere near turning pale yellow like Jean.

"Was this supposed to happen so suddenly?" Jean breathed heavily.

"Well" You cursed under your breath as you clutched over your stomach "I have been overdue for some days now and, ah fuck this is painful-"

"I'm really, really freaking out right now. What. Do. We. Do?"

"Calm down, let's go to Marco's grave."

"What? No!? Your waters literally broke. They broke, oh my god I'm going to be an actual father." Jean let out a chocked scream while running his other hand through his hair and gripping despairately on the roots.

"Jean, okay I migh-" A sharp pain went through your core "I still have a lot of time until my contraction is big enough for the baby to come out."

"This can't be safe."

"I'm telling you!"

Jean took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell, his shaking fingers steadied just a tiny bit, his trembling feet suddenly felt just a little more steady. This wasn't a time to panic, of course, he knew that far. The look you were giving him, even though it was pained, screamed that he could trust you; despite either of you having absolutely no idea about childbirth, he knew that having an anxiety attack this early into labor would only cause a worse experience for you.

Plus, he was the one who suggested they you'd visit Marco, and he wasn't about to say no to you at your current situation. With a hand bend over his hip, he prompted your own to snail through it for support. At least if you were going to do this, he'd basically walk you there. Pressing his lips together, Jean gave you an longing look, letting a deepnsigh escape the depths of his chest.

Eagerly you nodded at him, linking your arm with his. You softly dug your button lip under your upper flesh, trying your best not to bite into it as another rush of pain washed through you. Having contractions this frequent only meant that you had to rush and you knew that better than anyone else, but there was this little voice in the back of your brain that begged you to not take this moment away from Jean. With a final little stroke at Sasha's tomb and a tear running down your wet, stinging eyes before you matched away and to the direction of Marco's grave, you let yourself think you could hear her say a tiny good luck to you.

"Okay, let's go see Marco alright?" Jean said with a hint of glimmer in his eyes "For five minutes."

"Okay and then I'm going to go and have your child."

"Quite literally."

Taglist: @sasageyowrites @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @ladyofpandemonium @levisbrat25 @callmepromise @hawkssnugget @berrijam @thethyri @nobody-knows-anymore @lzrers

[vxmorpheus]

It’s been 30 years

since she first landed, and 15 years since we lost contact with her and she died. We knew the day was going to come at some point, but it didn’t make it any easier. We watched her progress, enjoyed her photos, and played music to wake her up. Now, here we were, on Mars and I had a plan. I wanted to find her, not just for myself, but for everyone who cared, everyone who cried at our loss, everyone who wondered where she was and what state of disrepair she was in. 

I quietly influenced where we should land, my crew had no idea what I planned on doing. I wasn’t even sure if they remembered her. Sure, over the past 15 years there were many others like her… but they weren’t her. She was only supposed to live for 90 days and she survived for 15 years. She shared so much with us… pictures, data, and she even discovered water (in the form of ice of course), and she shared her life with us from millions of miles away. I was determined to find her, to show her… we still remember everything you did for us.

We landed between Sunderland Point and Spirit point, not far from where she was last known to be, it took a couple of weeks to set up camp and set up our land rover, but when everything was said and done… we were here. At nights, I would stare out the window at the moons, the huge sky of stars, and the vast dry dusty horizon, it was beautiful. This is what she saw every night before ‘going to sleep’, this is what she lived under, this is where she had lived for 15 years, this is where she lied in permanent slumber. Being able to share this beauty and experience with others was a gift… But she was alone her entire life on Mars and she was alone when she died, in a physical sense. We were there but we couldn’t be there with her. She deserved to come back, she may be unable to come back to working order or back to Earth… but she deserved to come back into the human hands that built her, and loved her for what she was and what she did. The hands that played her music every day to wake her from her coma and sent the final message of I’ll Be Seeing You in hopes that maybe, one day, we will see her again. 

In the morning, I told the crew I was going out to explorer. They told me to be careful, to not stray too far from camp, and to come back before nightfall. Getting on the land rover and driving around was… amazing, weird… alien, yet it felt as if I were driving in a desert on Earth. The land was vast, the terrain was difficult, it took hours to thoroughly search the small area I had marked for day one. In the end, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere I looked in the week that followed. I wanted to give up… but I couldn’t. She didn’t give up after 90 days, and neither will I. The search continued, I was asked questions by my crew about what I was doing. I wanted to tell them, but I was worried they would think I was stupid or would tell me to give up and that there was no hope in finding her, so… I told them I was mapping out the surrounding area, which in a sense is true. I was mapping out the area, just not for the reason they thought.

Days passed… then weeks… then months… with no luck. Not a single sign of her. But I still didn’t give up. I didn’t want to give up on my personal mission. It might sound weird, but I didn’t want to give up on her. I wanted her to be back with the people who cared and not at the hands of a merciless landscape. The sun was 3 hours from setting and I was on my way back from another failed exploration. Could she have moved? Could she have wandered aimlessly, searching for a way to communicate to us again, only to finally succumb to the dust storm? No… no that sounded stupid… right? But… no, it’s dumb to think such things. It makes no sense. I shook my head and looked off to my left, knowing the terrain by heart by now, I felt comfortable looking away for a time. I needed to clear my thoughts before getting back to base. 

I idly hummed a song to myself, watching the land go by as I drove. I slammed on the breaks, almost causing the rover to tip over, but I swore I had just seen something. I tore my hands away from the steering wheel and slowly got out of the vehicle. I stepped alongside it, staring out to where I saw something reflect, and that’s when I saw the shine again. Taking a sharp inhale, I slowly walked over to the reflective object. It was covered in a heavy amount of dust, but some had blown off from a recent wind storm… I looked down at the large object if it weren’t for the storm, I would have never seen it… it just blended in with everything so well. I knelt down and dusted it off, the air caught in my lungs, and tears formed in my eyes. 

It was her. It had to be her.

I desperately cleaned off everything I could and tried pulling at her to get her tires free from the 15 years of accumulated dust and dirt but she was stuck pretty hard. I crouched down to my knees and grabbed a rock, stabbing and digging at the dirt around her tires, and by the time I freed them… the sun was setting and it was getting cold. Running to the land rover, I dug around for rope to hitch her up to it. I hooked the rope to the rover and walked over to her, looking for the best way to tie her up and not break the fragile machinery. The only way I thought I could do this was by tying her up by her box body, the WEB. I was as careful as possible and even more careful as I towed her back to base. I was freezing cold by the time I saw base, the last bits of the sun just beginning to disappear. There were lights outside moving around, probably the crew doing last minute checks before heading to bed… That’s when a loud radio buzz came over my com before the captain’s voice yelled at me, asking where the hell I was, why I was so late coming back. The yelling continued until they showed their lights onto her, then there was a long silence that overcame them.

Once I parked the rover and got out, I fell down to my knees. I couldn’t feel my legs, I hadn’t moved them once on the way back. Everyone rushed over and helped me to the base to warm me up. I was setting into hypothermia, I couldn’t process anything anymore at that point. They threw so many questions at me, I just couldn’t understand anything they were saying, all that I thought about was, “at least she was found finally and she wasn’t alone. At least I’m not alone either…” before passing out. I thought I was dying… well… I guess, in a way, I was dying, but… since I wasn’t alone… since I had people around me who cared… they helped me. They saved me. When I came to some time later, a couple of days later, I was once again questioned on my reckless actions and what I had brought back to base. I told them everything. I told them how I searched for her every day, how I found her, why I wanted to find her, why I risked my stupid life to bring her back, who she was…

They didn’t believe me at first, so we took her to the garage with the land rover and began looking at her parts. We cleaned her out, checked all the hardware, and somehow… we were able to run diagnostics on her. She should have been a heap of junk on the Martian wasteland, but here she was… still in, mostly, one-piece and somewhat functional. We ignored everything for a while and just worked on her for a couple of days. Replacing a small part of her solar panels, shining light onto it, hoping for something… anything… but she didn’t wake up. We checked her body, checked everything we could… and retried again. We watched the computer eagerly, waiting for something, and there was something. There was a small bit of charge, we waited for hours but it hardly went up any. 

She somehow charged to a small 5% and connected to our computer. We began receiving data slowly before she started to smoke, making us panic. One of the crew went to take the light away, but before he did… we received a message… or rather… she received our final message. I’ll Be Seeing You played for her while we sat there and watched…

I'll find you

In the morning sun

And when the night is new

I'll be looking at the moon

But I'll be seeing you…

Then… she powered down for the last time. Nothing we did brought her back. But… it’s for the best… it was time to let her go. It was her time to go. She stayed fighting for so long… just long enough for someone to find her… so she could hear our last message to her. Our love song for her. Our good-bye song to her. We all started crying as soon as we realized she was gone for good. Even though she was ‘just a machine’, she still meant things to us. We humanized her, gave her a name, watched her explore and discover new things, watched her age, and now… with a final good-bye… we watched her die.

We humanize the most mundane and inanimate things, we love them and care about them as if they were alive… and when they die or get destroyed… we grieve for them. We grieve for the humanity we put onto them, we grieve for something that felt like somebody, and that’s ok. It’s ok to grieve or something that seems so… abnormal or stupid… it’s not stupid or abnormal in the end though. It’s only human to love such a thing so deeply that you humanize it and miss it when it’s gone. And it hurts if we feel we never had the proper good-bye with them.

Knowing that Oppy, Opportunity, died, despite many attempts to wake her up, and then get sent the final song I’ll Be Seeing You is… touching, comforting even, but it still makes me incredibly sad. She was long since passed when we sent the final message, I’m not even sure if she truly received the good-bye she oh so deserved, which makes me cry even more to think about.

But maybe

Just maybe

We will be seeing you again one day.

[samstree]

splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (1/?)

Geraskier, Prince!Jaskier, fairy tale elements but with a twist, fluff and angst, 6.9k, rated T

Read on AO3

Geralt finds himself drawn to the prince despite himself. As he and Jaskier grow closer, war also looms on the horizon. It's the stuff of fairy tales, but can a witcher find his happily ever after in the time of heartbreaks and deaths?

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened next?”

“The farm girl became a princess and married the prince. They lived happily ever after,” she smiled, her eyes so warm in the candlelight.

“But what next?”

“Happily ever after, sweetie. It means there will only be happiness for the rest of their lives.”

She places a kiss on the top of his head and blows out the candle. Her hands are soft and gentle when she tucks him in.

“Ma?”

“Yes?”

“Will we live happily ever after?”

She pauses in the darkness.

“Of course, my darling. Now you need to close your eyes—”

“Like the prince and the girl?”

“Even better.”

“But she married the prince. How can it be better?”

She sighs. The warmth of her palm brushes across his forehead, making his eyelids droop heavily.

“Your future holds much more, my sweet boy. You will find out tomorrow when you wake up.”

Sleep overcomes him. Indeed, he dreams of fairy tales and royal balls, magic spells and grand weddings.

The next morning, he wakes up believing in those happy ever afters.

*

Sometimes, when stones are thrown and pitchforks raised, Geralt regrets ever doing so.

*

The crown prince of Aedirn is a beautiful thing.

His pale blue doublet shines under the bright morning sun, the silvery embroidery sparkling in the light. A big smile —that ever-so-friendly smile that Prince Julian is known for— spreads across his face as a man with blond hair riding next to him speaks. Windswept brown hair brushes over his eyes, obscuring his youthful features.

Everything about him screams royalty. Privilege.

Even his horse is the most nicely-groomed white stallion Geralt has ever laid eyes on.

Prince Charming needs the whole get-up. The witcher snorts behind the bush, observing the royal convoy. It’s too small and moving way too slowly. They must have let down their guard because of the proximity to the castle. If Geralt were to assassinate a royal, he would choose to do it here as well.

It doesn’t take long for the first one to approach from the side of the road, hiding behind the shrub just like Geralt. The man in black works silently and quickly, but not as quickly as a witcher.

Geralt strangles him from behind, gripping tightly until the man passes out. A crossbow falls to the ground. The convoy travels ahead, unaware of the witcher disposing of a deadly threat to their prince’s life.

The swoosh of an arrow pierces the air.

“Protect the prince!”

Two dozen assassins in the same black suit appear out of thin air, charging into the royal guards’ formation. In an instant, the heap of pale-blue is tackled to the ground. Swords clash as more men start yelling.

“Fuck.”

Dodging a stray arrow, the witcher rushes into the chaos. The small convoy being overwhelmed by the incoming force, they hardly notice one of the assassins circling around the battle and moving directly to the prince. With a few long strides, Geralt stops the man with a clean strike.

“What—” the prince scrambles back at the sight of blood, looking at the witcher’s towering form with disbelief.

“You need to come with me,” Geralt says, before hauling him up by the collar of his doublet.

*

He half drags the prince to the hide-out. It’s only a cave where he left Roach earlier, but it should be enough. The young man slumps down against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Why are you—”

“Shh.” The witcher quickly crouches on the ground and presses his palm over the prince’s mouth. Distant footsteps disappear in another direction, before he slowly lets go. “We should be safe for now.”

In the quiet of the cave, he can hear the prince’s pounding heart, his eyes blown wide like a startled deer. Specks of blood smear across his cheeks, making him appear even younger.

“My men?”

“These are hired assassins. They will disperse once you are gone.” Geralt is surprised at how gentle his voice comes out. “Are you all right?”

“I—” the prince swallows, and looks down to his bicep where the flesh is grazed by an arrow. The wound is shallow and slowly seeping blood into the torn fabric. Geralt reckons that it should be fine left alone. “I’m fine. I—I’m…fine, yes. I’m alive.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, both in shock and relief. The prince tries to appear unaffected but the overwhelming panic in his scent betrays his seemingly neutral expression.

“You are lucky it didn’t go through your heart.” The witcher leaves him to check on Roach. Sensing the danger in the air, the mare has stayed quiet this whole time. He pats her mane in thanks. “Didn’t think the prince of Aedirn was this careless.”

“I didn’t think witchers got themselves involved in political squabbles either.” Cornflower blues meet Geralt piercingly, despite his shakiness. “I know who you are,” he chuckles tightly. “The witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt grunts.

“I didn’t get involved.”

The prince only gestures to himself, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve saved your ass. Now you can return to your castle and pretend we’ve never met, your highness.”

“Please, call me Jaskier.” The prince stands, patting the blue silk to get off the dirt and wincing when the movement tugs at his arm. “Aren’t you curious as to how I learned about you? Your fame precedes you, witcher.”

The young man meets his gaze assuredly. There’s no trace of fear in his scent.

People usually learn about Geralt one way—his moniker is not something to be escaped. But the prince doesn’t act like everyone else who meets the Butcher. Or at least, he hides it well.

“Are you not scared for your life, prince?”

“It’s Jaskier. And no, I’m not scared by the Butcher, if that’s what you mean.” There’s a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know you from a… mutual acquaintance, let’s say.”

“Oh?”

“Filavandrel mentioned you.”

“The elf king who hides in the mountains?” Geralt frowns. “I never really knew him. Not for more than a day.”

“No? He spoke of a white-haired witcher who was paid to hunt his people. Only that witcher left his own coin purse to them upon finding out about their circumstances. It showed compassion that no human had ever shown them, witcher. From his description, I thought the elven king and you shared a moment that day, or rather, an understanding.”

“Only of men.” He pauses. “Haven’t you come to the same understanding? Or why else would the prince of Aedirn make a target of himself by providing shelter to elven refugees?”

Geralt remembers his encounter with the elf king vividly, his anger and despair. The path took him back to Lower Posada years after that day. His curiosity drove him back to Dol Blathanna, only to find a much larger settlement and an exploding population of elves and other non-humans. Not only that, everyone there spoke of the kindness of the prince, who gave equal status to all sentient creatures on Aedirn soil.

“I see someone did homework on me.”

“People here sing your praises on the street day and night. It seems half the country has fallen in love with you,” Great admits begrudgingly.

“And the other half dislikes that I’m giving land away. Land that could have been providing for humans. The other half of my country believes I’m crazy just like all the other kings and queens in the north.”

The prince steps into Geralt’s space.

“You see, Geralt of Rivia, I cannot change the war that others deem just. I cannot stop the Lioness of Cintra from slaughtering elves and non-humans alike on the other side of the Yaruga. All I have is a piece of land in the Blue Mountains and, perhaps, I can provide them the means to rebuild. Those settlements are only a start.”

“It sounds like a noble cause, prince, but I’m not sure how much you can achieve.”

“Sometimes,” the prince’s attention shifts to Roach. “I wonder the same thing. The continent won’t change overnight just because one kingdom decides to show them a little bit of decency. The same decency that we humans are treated with all along.”

The young prince falls silent, his hand reaching out to touch Roach’s mane but retreats when she snorts anxiously. Geralt shushes the mare with a carrot from the pack.

“And I think, my friend,” the young prince continues. “Despite your claim of neutrality, you are on my side.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No? But I wish to become yours. After all, you just saved my life so selflessly and gallantly,” he proclaims dramatically. “You should have seen yourself, Geralt. So brave with a sword, like a knight from the stories! If we were in a fairy tale, this is where I offer myself to you in eternal gratitude.”

“Are all princes this cheeky?”

“I don’t know. Are all witchers this heroic and beautiful?” Blue eyes roam up and down the witcher’s body, before meeting his gaze with clear interest.

Geralt grunts, ducking away from direct eye contact with the prince. Suddenly the air in the cave feels too warm. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Are you being shy, Geralt the witcher?”

The teasing comes so naturally for the prince. Gods, is that why all the maidens out there are so enamored with him? With those easy smiles and dreamy blue eyes, as soon as he throws in some flirtatious words, any inexperienced country girl would swoon upon meeting with him.

What fools they all are.

“We are not in a fairy tale,” Geralt says, palming his face. “Don’t expect a happy ending from this, my prince.”

“Jaskier,” the prince repeats insistently. “Although I do like the way you call me ‘my prince’. I’d certainly like it more if we were in a… different situation.”

He raises an eyebrow suggestively, and Geralt wonders if he can un-save this ridiculous man’s life.

“Fine then. Jaskier.”

The prince, who insists his name is a flower, smiles smugly for having gotten his way.

“But why?” he then faces Geralt head-on, his voice steady. “Why help me? If you don’t seek the favor of a prince, and the conflict never concerns you?”

Geralt blinks.

He’s not sure what drove him to the decision. The only emotion he had upon hearing about a price on the head of the crown prince was unease. The witcher has seen the war and how all the non-humans were killed with little reason, their corpses a feast for ghouls. The prince of Aedirn made himself an enemy to many realms by taking in all the refugees.

It wouldn’t sit right to let him die.

“I was in Cintra a month ago,” Geralt answers.

Jaskier tilts his head.

“So was I. I went to negotiate the relocation of the defeated elves with Queen Calanthe.” Something dawns on him. “You heard something, didn’t you? Was this assassination ordered by her? The negotiation ended up a complete waste of time, but never have I thought she could resort to such a dishonorable way of killing. No matter how much she must want to get rid of me permanently… Oh, I—I never thought…”

The prince—Jaskier trails off, his face drained of blood.

“I only learned about the bounty on your head,” Geralt explains, confused by the prince’s sudden show of weakness. “Hired swords get quite loose-lipped after a few drinks. As to where the order came from—"

“Wait, I…"

A pained grunt escapes the prince’s throat. He sways on his feet ever so slightly, but steadies himself with a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. They both look down to where the wound is still trickling slowly, soaking his sleeve with a patch of dark crimson.

“Wait, I thought…” Geralt reaches out to hold Jaskier’s arm. His palm comes away covered in blood. “Shit, it shouldn’t be bleeding this much.”

“You followed all the way from Cintra, just to stop them from killing m—" Jaskier breaks off for air as Geralt rummages through his pack for bandages. The prince clenches the fabric over his chest, as if something is hurting him from within. “So much for… n—not getting involved.”

“Shut up, prince.” Geralt’s fingers reach the bandage. “Or Jaskier, or whatever flower you prefer.”

A strained smile contorts into a grimace on the prince’s face, his knees buckling.

“Shit.” The witcher barely manages to catch his limp body before his head hits the ground. Blue eyes become unfocused as his head sags against Geralt’s shoulder. “Jaskier? Prince? Can you hear me?”

Geralt inspects the wound on his arm closely for the first time, and that’s when his witcher senses pick up on the faint trail of bitterness.

“It’s poison,” he mutters and curses under his breath.

Jaskier whimpers weakly upon hearing the words, his eyes filled with full-blown panic. For the first time that day, the witcher senses potent fear in the prince’s scent.

Or is it his own?

Geralt can’t tell.

*

Roach is almost at her limits. The weight of two grown men puts a lot of tires her way too quickly, but Geralt doesn’t dare to slow down, not until he can see the castle walls.

“Don’t die now,” the witcher murmurs into the prince’s ear, who is slumped against his chest, half-delirious and slurring nonsense. The make-shift tourniquet on his arm is soaked through with specks of blood.

The poison is attacking his heart, Geralt notices. It’s also speeding it up, disrupting its rhythm. It’s the vicious kind, one that is designed to make the victim suffer before they die.

Jaskier’s face is white as a sheet, and his lips are turning a sickening purple. The trembling comes and goes, making it harder to keep him in place. His blue eyes roll back, and for a moment, Geralt thinks he’s lost him.

“We are here, prince. Do you hear me?” The gate opens when the guards realize that their prince is brought back injured. A lot of people are shouting but it’s all a blur when Geralt carries the prince down from the mare’s back. “Just hang on, Jaskier.”

Jaskier clings, his heartbeat fluttering dangerously.

They take Jaskier away with force, his limp hand slipping from Geralt’s grip. Someone kicks the witcher behind the knees, sending him to the ground. Weapons suddenly appear at his throat, stopping him from going any further.

“G’ralt…” Jaskier protests, his hands grabbing blindly.

“He needs a healer!” he shouts at those guards who only seem to be interested in restraining him.

Cornflower blues are fixed on golden yellow. The prince’s skin is covered in sweat, his lips quivering, struggling to form words. It takes a second for the witcher to realize that he’s talking to the guards.

“He saved my life. Don’t… He saved…me,” Jaskier chokes out a breath, and Geralt feels those guards release him.

The witcher is left kneeling as more men surround the prince and rush him inside. They’re either fussing over Jaskier or calling for help. His faint heartbeat gets lost in the commotion.

“Wait, is he going to—"

The gate shuts in his face. The last thing he sees is Jaskier collapsing in someone’s arms.

*

No word about the prince comes out for months. Not about the assassination. Not about his poisoning.

Rumor says that he was gravely injured during the attack, and that he has been bed-ridden since returning from Cintra. Some even suspect that he’s already dead.

*

“…I opened the envelope and it was an invitation from the prince!”

“It was magical, wasn’t it? He doesn’t show up for ages and suddenly we are all invited to a ball! In his castle! A royal ball where anyone can attend, no less! I heard he will choose one to marry tonight.”

“Although I heard he’s sick for quite some time…”

Geralt ducks his head while listening in on the two women’s conversation. They are each dressed in a luxurious ball gown, their faces powered and lips painted. Like everyone else in the room, they are trying to impress the prince at his first outing in months.

But that is not why he is here.

Geralt has been lingering in Aedirn since that day, when he sent Jaskier back to the castle with poison coursing through his veins, not knowing what would become of him. Months of dead silence only make his stomach sink further.

A chance presented itself when news came out that the prince will hold a ball to the public.

It only makes sense that he should go and check, just to make sure Jaskier is all right. After all, he doesn’t want to put in all the effort to save someone only to never know if he will end up fine.

He will see for himself that Jaskier is well, and then he will leave.

He will not get involved.

Of course not.

Geralt takes another sip of the wine, surprised at the buzz it gives to his temporarily human body. When the mage sold him the potion that could hide all visible witcher traits, she did not mention it would also slow his metabolism to an ordinary human’s.

“The disguise will expire at midnight, when the bell strikes twelve.” Luckily she didn’t forget about this.

What a cliché.

It seems that no mage can resist a touch of dramatics.

For now, he looks like another random lord with dark hair and brown eyes. She also threw in a spell to turn his clothes into a silky ensemble in a muted black color.

“His royal highness, Prince Julian!” someone announces.

The crowd turns their eyes to the top of the stairs, where the heavy wooden doors open in everyone’s anticipation. One of the two women lets out an audible gasp as the prince steps out.

And there he is, Jaskier.

Those blue eyes are bright as the sky, those cheeks rosy-pink. He’s a picture of health compared to the last time Geralt held him in his arms. The witcher lets out a relieved sigh he never knew he was holding.

A smile spreads across the prince’s face. Suddenly the wine isn’t the only thing making Geralt all warm and fuzzy inside.

The prince descends the stairs with such elegance, his doublet a pristine ivory color under the chandelier’s sparkling light. The clothes sit perfectly on his frame, but with a heavy heart, Geralt realizes that he’s also lost weight.

It’s minuscule, and the puffy sleeves hide it well, but it’s there. Bed-ridden for a long time, they say. The witcher swallows the lump in his throat.

The crowd parts for the prince, retreating to the edge of the dance floor. No one dares to breathe as they await his invitation to the first dance.  Once the dancing starts, the music will be too loud and the people too busy, giving the witcher a window to easily disappear into the night. But Jaskier continues to search through the crowd as if he has a specific someone to look for.

Before Geralt can even react, blue eyes have locked with his. The piercing blue makes him instinctively want to hide, but the witcher is frozen to the spot. The prince walks directly towards him, the grin spreading even wider if that is possible.

“May I have the first dance?” Jaskier reaches out, his palm facing up.

Countless eyes fall on Geralt, making his skin prickle, but he pays no mind. All he can focus on is the prince’s expectant look. Even now, without his witcher hearing to know Jaskier’s heartbeat, he can see the tentative hope in the way Jaskier seems to hold his breath.

Geralt takes his hand.

*

The royal garden is quiet under the night sky. The cool breeze is nice on Geralt’s skin, the faint hum of cicadas a soothing balm to his ear after hours of music and dance.

“Apologies. I was getting a little… uncomfortable in there.” The prince leads the witcher to a bench. His hand rubs at his heart like it’s bothering him.

“Are you well, my prince?” Geralt helps him sit down.

“Please, call me Jaskier.”

Geralt pauses. Does Jaskier tell his preferred name to anyone? Even a stranger he just met at a ball?

“Why Jaskier?”

“It’s the person I dream to be,” he answers wistfully but adds nothing to explain. Geralt wonders why a prince could possibly dream to be another person.

“I see.” He nods. “Are you feeling alright, Jaskier?”

The prince’s eyes soften as he reaches out to tuck a lock of curly brown hair out of Geralt’s face. The movement is so gentle that the witcher can’t help but catch his hand, holding those slender fingers in his palm.

They are way too slender, he thinks. Repressed worry bubbles up in his throat again.

“I’m fine now.” Jaskier squeezes his hand reassuringly. “Although I haven’t been for a few months, as you already know.”

“Uh…yes.” Geralt splutters. This closeness, combined with the touch of skin, seems to be slowing his brain. “There are rumors, from outside the castle. It was an attack, wasn’t it? At least that’s what I heard.”

“It was. They used poison, no less. The healers told me that it weakened my heart, even stopped it for a few seconds.” He chuckles sadly, threading their fingers together and pressing both their hands over his chest. “The pain still comes and goes these days, but I cope.”

The thumping underneath Geralt’s hand is rhythmic. Calming. It feels so fragile, especially now that he knows how little it takes to stop it. To snuff out the light in those cornflower-blue eyes along with it. And yet, this heart keeps beating.

“I’m glad you survived, Jaskier.”

The name comes out reverent, like a prayer.

“So am I, my friend.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

Moonlight frames Jaskier’s fond expression, giving it a soft glow. Long lashes cast a shadow on his faint blush. A grin spreads across the prince’s face when he answers.

“I hope? Or maybe I can hope for more. After all, this ball is held so I can find my future intended in the crowd.”

The implication makes Geralt’s breath hitch. He blinks.

“You don’t even know my name.” 

Jaskier’s eyes darken as he leans in. His hand comes up to cradle Geralt’s chin. “Somehow, I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

The crisp night air is mixed with the fresh smell of grass, but on top of it is a floral scent that reminds him of spring and hope. Geralt lets his senses be overwhelmed by the prince, by his soft breaths ghosting over his skin and those enchanting lips well within reach.

Not getting involved, the back of his mind screams.

Despite himself, Geralt meets Jaskier halfway, their lips a hair’s breadth away when—

The bell strikes. Once, twice…

The noise is the loudest wake-up call, turning Geralt’s blood to ice. What is he doing? Is it midnight already? Fuck… he needs to get out of here before the magic expires.

“I need to go,” Geralt blurts out. “I have to leave right now. Ah… I’m so sorry.”

Jaskier’s brows knit together in confusion. “What is wrong? I thought you—”

“I came here to make sure you are all right, Prince Julian. Nothing more. It was never my intention to let you believe there could be anything else.”

The prince’s face dims at his apology. The dejection on his face tugs at something in Geralt’s chest. It leaves him wanting, but there’s no time. The bell counts down his sentence.

He takes Jaskier’s hand and places a simple kiss there, and turns to leave, only to be halted by the prince’s tightening hold.

“Wait, you don’t have to go."

“You don’t understand,” Geralt’s voice quivers with urgency. “It’s important that I leave.”

Those gentle fingers wrap around Geralt’s steadily, Jaskier’s skin cool against his. The prince continues to ignore his plea. If anything, he steps closer.

“Stay. Please.” Jaskier whispers, and it’s all it takes.

The witcher can break free easily, but for some reason he is unable. For some reason, he feels the weakest he has ever been under the intensity of Jaskier’s pleading gaze.

To his horror, the magic fades. Geralt can feel his hair change and grow longer, his teeth sharpening. The flow of chaos stings his eyes that are certainly turning back to yellow. His face crumbles.

And yet, Jaskier never wavers.

If anything, the adoration in those stormy blues only grows, ever so beautifully, as the swirl of magic circles around Geralt, revealing plain clothes instead of silk. 

The bell strikes twelve.

The sound still echoes in the air. Slowly, with the utmost determination, Jaskier’s fingers thread through what is now silver-white hair. Tears glisten in his eyes.

“You told me we were not in a fairy tale, and yet, you try to leave me at midnight. You tried to leave me here under the stars. Alone and heartbroken.” The prince lets out a wet chuckle. “Because you think I wouldn’t recognize the man who saved my life. You think I wouldn’t know the witcher who’s risking everything right now just to see that I am well. I’d know you anywhere, Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier’s feather-light touch continues to trace the shell of Geralt’s ear, the tiny scar under his eye, and then finally, the corner of his mouth. It’s not often, in his long life, that Geralt gets his breath taken away, least of all by a prince.

“How?”

“I suspected,” Jaskier whispers. “Or rather I hoped when I saw you in the ballroom. I prayed. That it’s you.”

“You danced with me because—”

“Because I wanted to thank you properly. We were kind of in a hurry last time.” The prince teases, his palm tilting Geralt’s chin. “May I?”

He nods.

As if in a dream, soft lips press against his, tasting of salt and moonlight. Geralt lets out a tiny gasp as Jaskier opens him up patiently and draws it out like they have all the time in the world. Like he’s something to be treated with gentleness. Something to be treasured.

He pulls away panting, only to realize that tears are rolling down Jaskier’s cheeks freely, so he catches them with the pad of his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Geralt shushes him, but Jaskier sniffles with a smile.

“I’m not upset. Trust me when I say these are tears of joy.” Red-rimmed eyes sparkle like the stars. “But Geralt…”

“Yes?”

“Will I see you again?”

Geralt blinks. He only sneaked into a royal court with one goal. Now that he has achieved it and more, there’s nothing that should bring him back to Jaskier again. His heart twists painfully at the idea, and words tumble out of his mouth. The last of his sanity screams against it, and yet his heart has made the decision.

“I hope, Jaskier. I can only hope to see you again.”

Jaskier beams as he presses another kiss to Geralt’s wrist.

“That is enough for me.”

*

“Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh…”

Jaskier’s voice echoes hauntingly. In front of him, the elven family sits huddled together, listening intently. The two children are concentrating so hard that they are almost falling off their parents’ laps. Finally, as the soft strumming of the lute comes to an end, they start clapping with passion.

From a distance, Geralt can only see the prince from behind, but somehow he can sense the big smile Jaskier returns to those excited children. The wind in the Blue Mountains ruffles his brown hair. Jaskier continues to take off the strap and carefully hands the lute to the elven woman.

The witcher approaches quietly.

“…thank you so much! It is such a beautiful instrument.” Jaskier’s voice is warm and welcoming. She’s certainly charmed when they keep talking about music and folk songs.

Geralt stands there and lets Jaskier’s presence wash over him. In the end, it’s the other woman who notices him and gestures in his direction.

Jaskier turns his head and beams.

“Geralt! What brings you here?”

With a few long strides, the prince rushes over and slams their bodies into a bear hug. Anyone who’s not a witcher might have been knocked over by the force, but Geralt catches Jaskier steadily.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” Jaskier exclaims as he presses a chaste pack to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I haven’t seen you since the manticore hunt.”

“It was still weird that you would want to come with me on hunts.”

“What is life if not to see your favorite witcher in action?” Jaskier waves it off as if a prince getting monster gut all over himself is a common occurrence. He checks Geralt all over. “Anyway, how’s the path treating you, my dear? Any injuries? Exciting stories?”

“The path is fine.” His excitement is too contagious that Geralt feels his lips tug upwards. “And it hasn’t been long. Two months at most.”

“Nonsense. Any amount of time not seeing you feels like ages.”

The parents lead their children away, the girl still humming the song from Jaskier’s private performance.

“I didn’t know the prince could play the lute. Or sing,” he teases.

“Ha! I’m full of surprises, you shall see! Besides, I always thought—” Jaskier cuts himself off, ducks his head before continuing. “I always thought that in another life, I would have been a bard.”

“Would you?”

“Mm-hmm. I would travel the continent, write songs about heroes and adventures. With a lute on my back, I could go to the edge of the world and beyond. Maybe even meet some interesting people, find my muse, or… fall in love.”

He winks at Geralt cheekily when the witcher realizes something.

“So is Jaskier the stage name you picked? For this bard life?”

“Why yes.” Jaskier sounds so surprised. “How do you know? Oh, my dear witcher, you do understand me like no one else! Not even Valdo is a match to you, no matter how well he claims to know me.”

The mention of Valdo Marx’s name sends a pang of bitterness through Geralt, though he has learned long ago that it’s irrational. The prince’s life-long friend, now an important right-hand man, is the most devoted advisor in Jaskier’s council. He’s supported Jaskier in everything throughout his life, having done nothing wrong by the prince, and yet, Geralt can’t bring himself to like the man.

Maybe it’s because of his too-shiny blonde hair. It gives him a headache if he stares at it for too long. Maybe it’s his all-knowing eyes that tend to judge the witcher silently every time they meet. The distrust is too typical for politicians such as him.

Or maybe, it’s because anyone with eyes can see how Valdo is desperately in love with Jaskier, but apparently, it’s not that obvious to the prince himself.

“I know because only you will have a tacky name like Buttercup for your professional career.” The words come out more sour than Geralt expected.

Jaskier squawks with rightful indignation, and Geralt can’t help but snort out a laugh. It’s truly too easy to rile him up.

“It’s just hard to picture.” The witcher continues, while taking Jaskier’s hand. “Someone like you, with soft hands like these. It would take a lot of hard work if you want to make it as a musician. I’m not sure if my prince is up for that job.”

Jaskier slaps him on the arm offendedly. “I’ll have you know, Geralt of Rivia! I am perfectly capable of enduring hardship for the right cause! Now that was truly rude of you to assume that I am spoiled just because I’m a prince! Really, it’s very unbecoming of you!”

“Hmm.” Geralt tilts his head, amused. “And what is a right cause in your book?”

All jokes dissipate after that question.

The prince looks around to the new camps and make-shift houses, everything illuminated by the setting sun. Bonfires are lit where families are gathered after dinner, laughing and dancing together, despite the hardship that brought them here.

“I want everyone on my land to live happily, no matter how they came to Aedirn. I wish they could all see it as a home,” Jaskier says sadly. “That is the most important cause in my life, Geralt. Although I’m not sure if that’s just a fantasy.”

Geralt squeezes the prince’s hands gently. They are exceedingly soft, and cold to the touch. The witcher used to assume that Jaskier just runs a little colder than the average person. But later, to his dismay, he found out that it’s yet another result of the poisoning.

He never wants to see Jaskier’s chest pain flare up again. He never wants to see Jaskier bend over in agony, his hands turning into blocks of ice from the lack of blood flow, his face skin covered in sweat in an instant. Just witnessing it happen almost gives Geralt phantom pain. What’s worse is that there’s nothing he can do but wait it out, holding Jaskier close and rocking him back and forth slowly.

At least he’s now feeling contrite. Teasing Jaskier about not being strong enough was a low blow, when in fact, the young prince is the furthest from deserving such an accusation.

He doesn’t need swords or muscles to be strong.

Jaskier is strong for his stubbornness and his unwavering faith. The elven settlement around them is the best testament. He carried on despite being hated by all other kingdoms, despite the attempt on his life, one that was nearly fatal. One that still hurts him in the quiet of the night.

“Fantasy or not,” Geralt’s insides melt at the way Jaskier looks at him expectantly. “I’d like to see it through with you, if you allow me to.”

Blue eyes suddenly sparkle with renewed excitement.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Geralt?” Jaskier asks carefully as if he could spook the witcher. “Are you finally saying yes to my proposal?”

“I’m considering it.”

“You’ve been considering it since the first time I asked!”

“You asked on our third ever meeting, Jaskier.” Geralt chuckles in exasperation. “And you’ve been asking every time we see each other.”

“And you’ve been giving me the same response every time.” His pout is too adorable Geralt wants to kiss it away. “One might suggest it’s rude to string a prince along like this.”

Geralt hums while cupping Jaskier’s jaw in his palm, tilting it so their gazes meet.

“One might also suggest that our beloved Prince Julian is too good for a witcher like me.”

Ho only means to joke but the smile on Jaskier’s face falls, hurt immediately replacing the earlier chirpiness.

“Shit, Jask… Forget I said that.” Geralt closes his eyes, regretting having ruined the moment.

“Darling, we talked about this.”

“No, you’re right. Of course…”

Jaskier takes the witcher’s hand and places a kiss in his palm. “I won’t allow terrible things to be said about the man I love, and that includes you, my dear. I’d hate it if you joined those senseless folk who can’t see you for the good man you are.” He bites into his lower lip. “Now, I understand if you have reservations about us. I mean, what I am… or what I do, is a lot. I won’t rush you into a decision anymore. I never meant to pressure you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Jaskier.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “We are from completely different worlds. Anyone who has eyes will tell you we’re not compatible.”

“Did Valdo say something to you again? Or is that truly what you believe?” Jaskier takes a step back. “Do you wish to end things with me? I—I’ll understand if you want to—"

“No, Jask.”

“—I know how much I’m keeping you in Aedirn, and maybe you wish to be free of court rules and politics and—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt interjects, and cornflower blues meet him in earnest. He knows too well how the prince could spiral out of control, dredging up all the terrible scenarios hidden in the dark corner of his mind. Jaskier looks so lost right now and all Geralt wants to do is make it better, so he does it with action, as always.

He kisses Jaskier with a bruising force. It’s too rushed, too clumsy compared to the gentle caress they normally share, but it conveys everything Geralt cannot promise yet. Not out loud. Not right now.

Geralt threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, playing with the soft locks. He lets Jaskier lean against his shoulder when they break off the kiss.

“I’m yours, my prince,” he whispers.

“Have I told you how much I love it when you call me that.”

Geralt hides his amusement in soft brown hair.

“Many times, my prince,” he indulges Jaskier. “And yet I cannot help but worry. I fear that things will not work because of our differences. I am a witcher. I am the Butcher of Blaviken, no matter how noble you believe me to be. I will never become someone else. Not like in fairy tales, where a farm girl can transform into a princess and suddenly become worthy of her prince. I fear you’ll make too many compromises because of who I am, bear too many scrutinies, and you will end up resenting me.”

Jaskier shakes his head at those words, his hair ticking Geralt’s ear.

“You speak of my sacrifices, but what about you?” His hand rests between Geralt’s shoulder blades. “You’ve walked the continent for so long. Will you resent me for caging you in a castle because of who I am?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes the name solemnly. “You promised to never trap me in the drudgery of court life. You promised that no matter what we become, I can always return to my path when my heart desires. I trust you on that.”

“And I trust you in return, that you won’t dishonor me. Not in ways that matter.”

They pull away. The sun is hanging just on the horizon, drawing a golden line around Jaskier’s hair.

“I will ask one thing of you, my prince,” Geralt says. “Allow me more time to be sure. Of myself and of our future.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkle at the corners, taking the witcher’s hand and presses it over his heart, where the doublet is left wide open. The warmth of his skin seeps through the thin chemise and into Geralt’s calloused palm.

“Don’t you see, my darling? I’d give you the stars if you asked. What is a little more time?” His chest rises and falls. “Although I need you to promise something as well.”

“What is it?”

The last of the sunlight fades, darkening Jaskier’s eyes like a stormy night.

“Don’t break my heart in the meantime.”

The plea comes out desperate, vulnerable. Under his palm, Geralt feels the soft thumping that he knows to be fragile.

“I won’t,” he breathes the words reverently. “I promise.”

Jaskier’s heart is so full of the world and its sufferings, so full that there’s hardly room left for himself. So full that the witcher should build a shrine for whatever gods out there that it gives him any attention. To think that he has any power over it, that he can hurt it easily, makes his stomach turn.

He’d live out his life fulfilling that promise if allowed.

*

The witcher walks the path just like he’s done for the past decades. Temeria’s wind is as freezing as ever, and its secrets even more so.

Another dangerous contract is nothing new, and yet, something in him shifts. Somehow, the days ahead are no longer painted with monotonous black and white, but an unpredictable mixture of colors—orange like the setting sun on Jaskier’s long lashes, or rosy-pink like the too-easy blush that dusts over his cheeks when he’s pretending to be unaffected by Geralt’s attention.

More often than not, he sees in his future the blue of Jaskier’s eyes, deep and vast like the sea.

The same blue is what flashes across Geralt’s eyes as the striga’s teeth bury into his neck. With the crypt cold and hard against his back, the witcher would laugh at the irony of it if not for the blood choking in his throat.

Funny how the moment of revelation does not come in a whirlwind of poetry, one that is befitting to Jaskier. The moment Geralt realizes that he is finally ready to take Jaskier’s hand might just be his last moment.

He drifts into bottomless darkness and wakes to cool fingers on his forehead.

And here Jaskier is, sitting by his bedside, his frame so lonely in the Temple of Melitele. A relieved sigh by his lips and tired bruises under his eyes. Gone is his composed regality. Jaskier looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he just rode all the way here with wind still in the tousled mess of his hair.

“Yes,” Geralt croaks.

The prince rushes forward to fuss over his bandages and splints, cooing with the most distressed frown. “What do you need, my dear?”

“Yes.” Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand, caressing those cool fingers. The stitches in his neck tug uncomfortably.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, my prince.”

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @theultimatenerdd

Are the tags working? Anyway feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[verbastim]

Loki, honestly, is tired. Every steps are getting heavier and heavier. Sweat soaking through his dark white, ripped on the arm, dirty, dirt and blood stained TVA work shirt. Yeah, the same shirt he has been wearing for Norns how long since- since the last time he saw Mobius.

Pain stung his heart a bit. "Who are you? What's your name?" Great, now it's all coming back again. Filling his head and ringing his ears. Loki shook his head and continue his pacing. Searching.

It felt like years. Years? Loki don't even know if *time* still work differently in *these* TVAs. Why "TVA" with the s, you might ask. See, Loki has been jumping from universe to universe all these time. Searching for, his glorious purpose.

He had seen every type of TVAs at this point. Every type of guards, Judge Renslayer's, Hunter B-15's, Casey's, and ofcourse, Mobius'.

In a small amount of universe he had been, he was greeted warmly. Too warm for a group of strangers meeting another stranger, a dishelved and dirty one.

But in most of the other universes, he got hunted. Like a deer being chased by hungry lions who seems like they haven't ate in years. He would surrender though, everytime. Just to be caught, and get handed to Mobius. To see if he finally found his Mobius.

Everything is the same story in these universes except for how the TVA greeted him, how Mobius looked at him, how Mobius act around him, and how he would get treated. Weapons are different in each of these worlds. Guns, spears, lasers, and his good old-friend prune stick. Loki had experienced them all.

Mobius had stabbed him with the spear once, turned out it was Loki's magical double while the real Loki jumped again to another universe, ready to start over again. One of the Mobius' had tried to shoot him in the face. Thank Norns for his good reflexes. He caught the bullet with his mouth, the bullet is hot from the explosion.

He spits it out with tears prickling in his eyes, "I can't believe this, Mobius. A bullet to my head, really? You want to see my head get blown out in front of your face? You want real *blood* on your hands?" Loki thought silently while preparing his magic to jump universe again. Loki couldn't shake the pure hatred in Mobius eyes, he didn't even blink when he fire that gun.

He had arrived once again in another universe. This one is different. He didn't recognise where the Hel is he now. He looked around. He's at, a beach? It was sunny, he could smell the ocean, and finally some fresh air.

He took his time looking at the endless bed of water, disappearing into the horizon. Beads of sweat keeps coming back no matter how often he swipe them away, plus it's getting warm now from the sun.

Loki heard a shuffle of sand behind him. Like footsteps. He turned around and saw this old man, in a white t-shirt, a beach hat, and a pair of pants. The shadow covered part of the man's face by his wide beach hat. But Loki can see his white mustache and a pair of trembling lips.

The man took his hat off, probably trying to see Loki better, revealing his face. Loki's puzzled look matches the man's shocked face, which softly turn into, relief?

Loki searched the man's face even more. His square face, his short white, white hair, paired with white eyebrows and white mustache, wrinkles near his eyes and on his forehead. And, a slightly crooked nose, that Loki knows all too well.

"Mo-," "Hey Lokes," Mobius' eyes softened, cutting Loki's words that he know he wouldn't able to finish. Loki's reality come crashing down as he realized that he, finally, found Mobius. His Mobius. Loki took trembling steps towards Mobius. Mobius decided to come to him instead, crashing their bodies into a hug.

Loki trembling arms seem to caught mid-air, he forced them to hug back. Loki hugged Mobius so tight part of his mind telling him probably it's too tight. But Loki shook them off because he's too scared to lose the man in his arm. Again.

Loki tucked his face into Mobius' neck as he cried. He cried, hard. Gripping Mobius' white shirt perhaps close to tearing it open from his grip. "Mobius," Loki sobbed, his head pounding from the crying and exhaustion. Mobius thighten his hug too, rubbing Loki's rigid back, as he feel tears collecting in his eyes too. "Mobius, I found you, I found you, I fou-," Loki's quick, trembling words once again caught in his sobs. Mobius shushing him softly, telling him that he's here.

Loki's legs gave in, he fell but Mobius caught him by not breaking their embrace. They both kneel on the sand. The sand felt uncomfortable stabbing into his knees through his pants but Loki didn't care. He is comfortable in Mobius' arms.

After another two or three minutes, Loki slowly pulled back. Rubbing his puffed eyes as he look at the man in front of him again. Now that they're closer, he can see the resemblance of how Mobius looked in the past with how he looks now. He's definitely got old, far older.

"What happened, to you?" Loki asked softly. "I am a human, Loki. Don't you remember? You said I'm a variant. Wow, that was a long time ago," Mobius chuckled, "When the TVA was destroyed, I stole one of the TempPad and went back to my timeline. I went back to the 90s. Now it's the 2020s. I get older like normal humans do," Mobius then paused.

"You still look the same, Lokes. Still a god, aren't you?" Mobius joked. A pain stung in Loki's heart again. Yes, I am still a god. I don't get older the way Midgard mortals do.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't worry about me getting old, I'm here now, right? I knew you would come back," Mobius reassures him, the sadness in Loki's face must be so visible after the thought. But,

"You waited?" Loki asked. "Ofcourse! Why wouldn't I? You saved me from the TVA, you told me the truth. If I knew our hug in The Void would be our last, I would've hugged you tighter," said Mobius, followed with a smile. Loki smiled too.

He's here. He found Mobius. His journey through the universe is over. Loki is home.

[queen-eevee]

tigers captain of your choice + 44

44 — Handle

(Willians Swain + Dagmar Ocean are both from the Hades Tigers' Short Circuits Gamma 2 Team. In this, Dagmar is the Captain and has always been a pirate, but once lived a more violent life of greed and corruption before she pulled herself out of that cycle and began trying to earn redemption for herself. Willians is her first mate and his lore is courtesy of @leonstamatis. He drowned at sea several years ago but was fished out and brought back to life by Dagmar + her crew and now feel "all indebted about it.")

(Willians uses he/they pronouns and Dagmar uses she/her)

It’s a miracle the Theseus is in good enough shape to hold one body, let alone two, Willians thinks as they make themself comfortable in the crow’s nest. They still remember the crash in all its gory details: the storm in the Atlantic that had blown them off course; the blinding pelts of rain and whipping wind; the sudden realization that the sky had turned a bright crimson, the color of blood, sometime between when they went in and out of consciousness; until Dagmar called out that she had regained control and could attempt to steer the boat straight. She swore over and over that she had it handled.

And she did. Until, at the same time Willians noticed their “ocean” suddenly had visible shorelines on both sides, their ship slammed itself into solid ground with a sickening crunch and an explosion of wooden splinters.

Then the crew started yelling for help.

Once the wreckage had been dislodged from the bank of the “Styx” (the name they were given by a very amused man who introduced himself as “Hades,” which had then been confirmed by a very concerned Doom), what was left of the vessel was anchored in a harbor less than a mile from The Amphitheater, where it currently bobs and dips in the inky waves. It would be a kindness to call what the ship is doing “floating,” as half of the ship remains submerged beneath the water. Though she’s stubborn enough to still support Willians’ weight.

Dagmar’s too, as he had discovered when she went missing after the Mills game and Amelia pointed a knowing finger towards the docks.

She hasn’t said anything since Willians boarded the ship—“boarded” being a nice way to say, “swung one leg over the hull and prayed he didn’t tip into the water.” He found her in the crow’s nest, now only elevated about 15 feet from the ground, arms crossed and eyes unfocused, staring into the fog across the river.

“Penny for your thoughts, Cap?”

Willians’ easy drawl cuts through the silence, half-smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Dagmar pushes at his arm half-heartedly as her mouth curls in amusement, but her eyes don’t stray from their vigilance on the horizon. She doesn’t answer, which he had expected. Willians didn’t come here without their own suspicions.

“Knew we shoulda taken the phone away from you after the game.”

That gets Dagmar to snap to attention, eyes going sharp as a cutlass. “Lay off,” she gripes, pushing herself away from the railing with a grimace. “Like you could have known what happened.”

“Had a hunch, didn’t we?” Willians leans the small of his back against the banister and gestures at the sky. “Sunrise red as a snapper this morning.”

Dagmar remains unfazed. “Every sunrise is red in Hades, Swain.”

“Naw, even you said somethin’ about it. Orlando said the wind smelt like blood and you agreed.”

“I didn’t—" Her knee-jerk denial hangs itself on a high note and she trails off, quiet, finishing her thought by picking at the flaking wood of the mainmast. The wind whips up and ruffles Dagmar’s clothes, coaxing the smell of the brine that always seems to cling to her into the heavy air. Limp strands of hair that had managed to escape her low bun sway in the breeze, and she brushes them away before clenching a fist at her side.

“I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know—”

“’s okay, Dag.”

“No.” She smacks her fist weakly against the mast, mouth twisted with stewing fury. “I should have read that contract more carefully. I didn’t know our lives would be on the line for this deal.”

“Our lives were on the line every time we sailed on Theseus,” Willians counters, matter-of-fact, “And they woulda been forfeit if we’d decided to drown in this ghost river instead.”

He doesn’t say it as an accusation, but Dagmar’s expression still shifts from one of controlled anger to bitter pain. Willians notes the twitching muscle in her jaw and gives a rattling sigh, clapping a withered hand on her shoulder.

“Lay the guilt down, Cap. You did what you thought was best.”

“I sold our souls—”

“To save us.” Willians leaves behind a wet outline of green algae when he moves his hand to gently knock her shoulder with their fist. She doesn’t flinch. “It’s two years, Dag. We’ve spent damn-near months battlin’ tempests before. We can weather a couple fortnights here.”

But Dagmar isn’t listening. She’s sneering at the setting sun, angry hands at work flexing and unflexing at her sides, reaching up to tighten her belts, straighten her blouse. “You’re acting like this is nothing, like a little fire is nothing.” The pistols in her holsters rock with her movement.

Willians sucks his teeth, giving a small shake of his head. “Come on, we’ve both been burned worse by cannon fire before. You just got frightened, tha’s all.”

“I am frightened by this!” Dagmar shouts as she finally whips around to face him. Her hands clench around the banister as her eyes go dark, hardened. “Look what happened to Jam Robbie. I’m not going to let some game be what robs my crew of their lives.”

“No one’s gonna go jumpin’ in front of any fireballs, Dag,” Willians insists, before they exhale and say, voice softer but firm, “I’m not gonna let some rogue umpire take me from this team.”

It must sound as much like the promise he means it to be because he watches as her brows slowly unfurrow, the tension starting to drain from her shoulders. She begins to look like herself again, expression steeled, mouth pursed, hands already fumbling to undo her hair tie.

“You better not,” she mumbles, loosened hair falling to coat her shoulders like an oil spill. She doesn’t make a move to say anything else, so Willians closes his eyes, resting against the mast. He’s more than willing to test how long their slowly-sinking ship will tolerate their presence.

[kayr0ss]

Hands that Remember Chapter 2 [AO3]

[Horizon Zero Dawn, Elisabet Sobeck Lives, Found Family, Mother-Daughter Feelings, GAIA is recovering, Ereloy]

Summary: Aloy saw the recordings, felt their grief over the death of their culture - the loss of their identity. Ted Faro had blown away the light meant to guide humanity through darkness - but she was willing to risk it all to take it back. To bring APOLLO back.  It wasn't the first time that the world asked her for a miracle, but it bargained with a miracle of its own: This time - she didn't have to do it alone.

[Wherein Elisabet Sobeck returns, GAIA is recovering, Erend is done waiting around, and Aloy discovers a family she's never had before to help lift the weight of the world off her shoulders.]

Chapter 2: Re-Calibration

CHAPTER 2

--

It was such an odd thing to feel dirt again.

When was the last time she felt sediment and rock between her fingertips? A thousand years ago—quite literally. She’d forgotten the feel of it squeezing underneath the overhang of her nails, the discomfort of a pebble pressing on her heel within her shoe.

Little things. Living things.

GAIA Prime and all the other bunkers she had to oversee were exactly that: bunkers. Giant boxes of metal sealed from the world and its mounds of dust, dirt, and rock. But this disconnection wasn’t new: it’s been around since before she was locked away and working on Zero Dawn. It was there even back in Miriam, in FAS—even as far back as Stanford. So much time spent rushing towards the next breakthrough that she never had the time to stop and smell the flowers before they all burned away.

It was hard to wrap her head around the idea that flowers were back—blooming again somewhere out there. But for now she’d settle for the desert sand, riddled with weeds and other small signs of life.

She wondered what Erend might be thinking, seeing her run her fingers along the ground like a toddler. Eager to feel—to learn, no, relearn about a world she was only getting her bearings on. She caught a small blade of grass between her fingers. It’s alive, it’s all… alive again, she stared in wonder at the small miracle of live in her hand. Her return to consciousness was a violent experience. This was a nice change of pace.

The rest of the vanguard gave her and Erend privacy to talk, running errands in the nearby encampment and leaving them in the shade of an open tent. God knows she needed the space. She had questions—so many questions and while Erend tried his best to get her up to speed it seemed like there was always more. His rushed explanation was a disaster. Machines, cultists—whatever the fuck else was out there—and Aloy.

He said he’d try again and break it down slowly this time, sticking to what he knew and leaving the rest ‘to Aloy.’

‘Aloy’ sounded like a big shot. Someone important. Erend spoke about her with both familiarity and fondness—like how the other Alphas sounded when talking about one another. Whatever tangent he flew into—about what they had to fight off and how he believed it was related to herself and the other ‘Old Ones’—it always came back to Aloy. There was an unwavering faith he had in her that she could recognize: the feeling that they’ve fought together, bled together.

Endured something terrible together.

She remembered how he looked a little hurt earlier. “You’re Aloy’s mother, aren’t you?” He said it almost reverently, but unfortunately the answer was a very strong “no.” It must have been a misunderstanding—why would he think that?

“Got some boar roasting in camp.” Erend’s voice carried above the sound of his heavy footsteps. He walked closer, seating himself on a rock across her. “You feelin’ better?”

“I think so,” she admitted. “Alive. Which is better than the alternative when it comes to emerging from cryosleep if you ask me.”

“Good, good.” He crossed his arms. “Not hungry?”

Elisabet shook her head. “I don’t think I can taste anything yet.” She really hoped this side-effect was temporary.

“Well, let’s get you some soup. That’ll help.”

How she was feeling was a can of worms she didn’t want to open quite yet. Her body was on edge, the hairs along her arms standing in attention while she could feel the pace of her heart jog above average. It almost made her wince, the self-awareness of expecting a panic attack at any moment, but if her system had decided to be useful before shutting off completely later on, she was going to make the goddamn most of it.

Deep breaths.

She needed to take deep, long breaths. This was nothing but a jacked-up sympathetic nervous system stress response—there was no real danger. Just hypothetical fear. She needed to relax. She needed to think.

Orientation would be a good start—what, when, and where. And then she needed a plan. Something. Anything to do other than wander aimlessly like a fucking relic out of time. “You okay?”

It almost made her snap. He was asking if she was okay? She looked up, a smart quip loaded at the tip of her tongue but then—he looked so earnest, so concerned. An expression like that didn’t belong on a soldier.

“Not really, no.” She admitted.

“Huh.” Erend sat hunched over with his chin on one hand, looking comically close to that old statue of a thinking man if not for the wider breadth of his knees. He cleared his throat. “So…”

Despite the situation, she chuckled. “I’m glad to see that the most awkward of conversation starters evolved itself back into common use.”

The reference likely flew over his head, but he smiled while rubbing at the back of his neck almost shyly. He seemed… kinder than a hundred pounds of armor and a warhammer would seem like.

“I mean what am I even supposed to say?” He shrugged. “I uh, hit things with my hammer. You—and this predicament—are not things I’m gonna hit with my hammer.”

“That’s reassuring,” Elisabet deadpanned.

“You sure you aren’t Aloy’s mother?” Erend cracked her a lopsided grin.

Elisabet rubbed at her temple. “I think I’d know if I was. Is it wishful thinking to hope you guys have any ibuprofen?”

She had been pointedly ignoring his assertions that she was anyone’s mother. There were more pressing concerns to address, foremost of which was the distinct lack of technology. She’s only been up and about for a few hours but it was enough to notice the rudimentary tools and structures, along with the fact that Erend seemed to be the only other person with access to technology similar to hers.

“I’d check if we do, if I had any idea of what that is.”

“Where are we?”

“The furthest west I’ve ever been, honestly.” Erend shrugged. “I’m not familiar with these lands. We generally call it The Forbidden West—but there isn’t much else we know. Just more… sand, and dust. I’ve heard stories of trees that grew on sand, at the border of an endless lake. Never been there to see it myself.” He paused thoughtfully. “I uh, made a short trek back east from where I found you. About an hour or a little more.”

Elisabet stayed quiet, willing herself not to ask the question prickling at the tip of her tongue.

“Was that your home?” Erend asked quietly. “Where I found you. With the tall, pointed trees and the old stone structure.”

“Pines,” she supplied. “The trees, I meant. I thought you would know this by now.”

He grunted. “I’m a captain. Pretty good darned captain too, but no tree expert.”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I meant you as in people, in general. The kinds of trees and animals, our history and technology—we tried to pass that on.”

Something wasn’t right—a feeling that’s been weighing on her since her awakening.

Erend and the vanguard were outfitted with plate armor and looked to have no means of transportation other than by foot. They had waterskins instead of thermal containers and their basic camping supplies were made of fibers and tanned leather. Nevermind real-time mapping and wireless communication. ‘Battle-ready’ wasn’t exactly what came to mind, and she’d have paid to hear Herres’ take on 31st century military technology. She might have even chuckled, had the implication not been so dire. Something had definitely gone wrong.

“Is the nearby encampment allied with you?”

“It was established by the Carja military as a way station, under the Sundom’s jurisdiction.” Erend beckoned her nearer, shuffling towards the side to leave space on the large, slated rock he was sitting on. “Ever since the Battle at the Spire, the Sun King’s been allowing expeditions towards the west—Aloy’s got a hunch that something is going on over there and you could guess that most of everyone listens to her these days. Whether she likes it or not.”

Carja. Sundom. Factions and nations, most likely?

“Just a minute.” He fumbled a little with his focus, looking up and awkwardly moving his hands in thin air. His frustration was noticeable in the deep set of his brows. “Aloy’s done this before—a map, on scrolls of light. She could share it with me while it, uh, did its floaty thing.”

“Do you have the map open?” Elisabet tapped her focus, hearing the small digital beam alert her of its activity. Technology was a familiar comfort—something to ground her. She whistled lowly while running a system check on the piece of hardware, trying not to wince at the fact that the date read January 14, 3041. The 31st fucking century. Safe to say it’s still working way past warranty declarations. “I think I got it.”

“How did you—its telling me that an external device accessed my display?”

“Hacking it,” she smiled. “This is more or less my area of expertise.”

“Right,” Erend nodded. “So we’re right over here.” He pointed towards a small glowing indicator.

“Outskirts of Carson City.” She had said it so softly it surprised her. She never pegged herself as particularly sentimental but being so close to home… after everything.

“And this,” he moved to the east. “Is the Sundom, and to its eastern border is the Nora’s Sacred Lands.”

Elisabet let herself have a moment of evaluation, eyes moving around the map to absorb as much information as she could. The satellite image let her know that the area’s topography reverted to pre-Faro Plague days: desert and canyons. Forested mountains covered the range to the east, but the northern range where she recalled Yellowstone was seemed erratically cold and glacial.

Information was a valuable resource she was lacking in.

“I need to get to the most developed settlement,” she muttered to herself. “Acclimate to customs and culture before finding a means to find and access ZD bunkers.”

“Bunkers?” Erend blinked.

“I assume that camps similar to this one are interspersed between the border of the Sundom and our location? At distances accessible by foot?”

“Yes, but—”

“I have to account for hostility along the road.” She crossed her arms. “And resources for supplies. What currency do you trade with?”

“Look,” Erend’s tone was firm. “We are going to take care of hostility and resources, because we’re going with you.”

“I—”

“You need to slow down,” Erend rose to his feet. “We don’t even know for sure if you’re okay after getting thawed out a thousand years later.”

“I need to figure out what happened to Zero Dawn. Find GAIA, and then—”

“Elisabet,” his voice was softer again, big and heavy hands settling on her shoulders. “We have time.”

Time? Of course they didn’t! There were a million things left to do and only two weeks until—

“The world isn’t ending anymore.”

--

He’d finally convinced her to sit down and get something to eat and it wasn’t damn easy. Elisabet was back to the makeshift planning table even before swallowing down her last bite and by the forge it was driving Erend just a little bit crazy.

“This is where we’re headed.”

Erend marked his own map, one that was tangible and inked on parchment instead of light. More reliable, if you asked him. Didn’t flicker in and out of sight—and didn’t make him look like a total jackass in front of his vanguard, waving his fingers around something they couldn’t see.

It was nearing sundown. The vanguard packed up ahead of time; they were leaving at the break of dawn. Erend split the party in two—one was to continue the expedition towards the Western Threshold, and the other, with Erend, was to hurry back to Meridian discreetly. It was a plan forged into metal: Erend needed to talk to Avad, while Elisabet seemed particularly interested in the Spire once he mentioned it.

“Utah and Colorado,” Elisabet whispered in wonder, tapping her focus on likely projecting a light-based rendering of them map on top of his own. “The staging areas for Zero Dawn.”

Erend looked at her with curiosity. “S’that what they used to be called? Before… before the whole thing—”

“Ended?” She punctuated, sensing his discomfort. But then she gave him a slight smile—it was different from Aloy’s. Wiser and wearier. “Though that’d be wrong. We’re still here, somehow.”

He smirked. “Don’t look so surprised. Didn’t you have somethin’ to do with that?”

“I’m just one of many,” she looked back towards the map. Didn’t look ready to talk about that, it seemed. “So what have we got?”

“We’re not in a hurry. We can take the traders’ path on the way back.” He pointed along a red, snaking line etched on the surface of the parchment. It was well-lit, well-guarded, and easy to traverse with enough camps in-between to restock and rest. He tapped twice on a marker at the end of route: it was a black, soaring tower. The good ‘ol Spire.

“That’d take us too long.” Elisabet shook her head. “We could go through these passes through the ridges. Cut straight through and save both time and resources.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“And time—”

“—is something you have now.” Erend stood his ground, arms crossed. “As I keep reiterating to you.”

“I’ve noticed.” Elisabet set her jaw. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to—” she waved a hand over the map “—this.”

“You mean not being the one in charge?” Erend grinned.

“I didn’t really ask for that,” she smiled back kindly. “But old habits die hard.”

“The long way to Meridian it is, then.”

--

Sobeck Journal, 1-14-41

We did it.

Even this barren desert looks beautiful. Can’t shake the feeling that I don’t deserve to see it all though.

Not without the rest of ZD. Without the rest of you.

I’m going to forego writing about how I feel because I don’t even know where to begin digging up that can of shit. Exhaustion was always an effective sleeping pill back in the day: now that I’ve got time to think when I lay down everything is so loud. Given the state of things I doubt they’d invented melatonin pills yet either, but who am I to complain? Alive is still better than dead.

Off to sleep now. Something’s wrong with APOLLO. More things to figure out tomorrow.

After all these years, I still don’t get to rest.

--

[“—someone— … —back to see—“]

“Great timing as usual.” Aloy hissed under her breath. The strider she was on was nearly worn down. She was an hour’s ride away from the forest’s edge—right where the sands of the Barrens began. That’s what she was going to call them anyway: “the Barrens.” Those prissy cartographers up in the mesa have no idea just how large the West was. It wasn’t all sand and tumbleweed: there were forests so different from the Jewel and the Sacred Lands that she didn’t know how to begin describing them! And the lake… the biggest she’s ever seen. A body of water so large it must have cloaked the world’s entirety. She’s seen it on the spherical maps stored in her focus—a depth of blue so imposing she couldn’t even wrap her head around it. The air was different along the lake’s edge—salty and crisp. Both beautiful and foreign and so very unforgiving.

She gently stroked the side of the strider’s neck. She didn’t want to wear him down completely—best to leave enough so that he could carry on and survive another day. Herds of broadheads often wandered around the Barrens anyway, although not found as often as in Meridian and to the East.

She’s been getting scrambled messages from Erend for the better part of a day now. He sounded panicked. He hated using his focus but there was apparently something important enough for him to try. It seemed desperately urgent and the only thing she could make of his messages was that she needed to go back.

Chasing after GAIA and whatever was left of APOLLO was going to have to wait.

Her strider whinnied—Aloy hummed a small apology she hoped it could understand. If she found a charger it’d be better—she could ride through evening on a mount strong enough to discourage smaller machines from engaging them. By next evening she could rest by the ranch.

Aloy bit her lip, a soft feeling of longing at her gut. That’s what Elisabet called it in her journals anyway—Sobeck Ranch. A small speck of life, trees, and flowers on the eastern edge of the Barrens. A small place to rest before another two days’ ride to Meridian.

She remembers how freeing it felt to tell Rost about her misadventures so far. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to take a few minutes for Elisabet and do the same.

She urged the strider to run a little faster, wind whipping at her hair and the tassels of her armor. “Just a bit more, big guy. Just a little more.”

-

A/N: Thank you once again to Tototops for beta-reading this chapter!

It's been a hot minute but here we go with chapter 2!

[slightly-nerdy-rambles]

Robstar Week Day 3: Snow Day (Prompt: Snowfall)

This is one of two fics this year where I decided to try something a little different (for me at least) and set it at a point in time well after the series without necessarily making it about something related to that point in time, like their wedding or something with kids. I'm really glad I chose this prompt for it, too, because it was an easy excuse to just write about Nightwing and Star doing something fun while just... casually being married adults and part of a now very skilled and far-reaching superhero organization.

Snow Day

An icy landscape stretched out below the windows of Starfire's pod, reaching to every horizon. She had just breached the dense clouds overhead, but the light snowfall now surrounding her was not enough to obscure the hills of fluffy white or the jagged peaks of blue and green ice below.

Her peripheral vision caught a flash of red as another pod descended just behind hers, and she had to stifle a laugh as she heard her husband's awed gasp over the intercom.

"When you said, 'frozen world,' you weren't kidding," Nightwing's voice crackled in her ear. Starfire smiled and spared a quick glance at his pod.

"It is not entirely accurate," she elaborated. "Nellohar would have no snow and very little life if it was completely frozen over. The tropics become… somewhat warm in the summer, letting the water cycle continue, and we're close enough to see some of that precipitation."

The frozen world of Nellohar was not a place Starfire had ever really expected to visit again. She'd gone once as a child, when her parents had needed to visit for some diplomatic meeting she'd been too young to understand. But Nellohar had a small population and was not very active on the galactic stage, making such meetings rare.

Besides that, she had been out of the line of succession for several years now. The Titans weren't often sent on space missions, but as their network had grown and the core team became stronger and better known, they were occasionally called on for help by other organizations and distant (sometimes very distant) nations alike. Even so, the fact remained that the mostly-frozen planet was small, little desired by would-be invaders, and generally at peace.

Starfire eased her pod into a landing, carefully picking out a spot that should not have too deep a layer of snow as Nightwing came in behind her. This excursion was just the two of them - the Titans had been called in to help deal with an asteroid threatening a nearby inhabited moon, and after their rousing success, the others had opted to spend some time exploring the moon itself.

"Now this brings me back," Nightwing said with a grin as he got out and joined his wife at the crest of a snow bank. It was fortunate that he'd thought to pack his cold-weather gear, 'Just in case' as he always said. It said something about how long they'd known each other that he didn't even bat an eye at her wearing her usual uniform in the snow, but she didn't miss the little shiver he gave at a sudden gust of wind.

"The weather in California is nice," he went on, "but it just doesn't snow like it does in Gotham. That was one of the few things I really missed when I moved."

Starfire gave him a playful side-eye. "You've seen where I was raised; it never precisely got snow. But I was under the impression that most people lose their love of the snow when they grow up."

Nightwing just grinned back at her. "Most people lose their love for living in the snow," he said, kneeling down. "Luckily for us, we're just visiting."

No sooner had he said that than there was a snowball in his hands, but Starfire had been wary of his movements and dodged nimbly away from his throw. She laughed and readied a playful taunt, but before she could get out more than, "I see —" the next snowball hit her square in the face.

Nightwing was laughing too now, one gloved hand covering his mouth. "You okay?" he asked. "Sorry, I — heh — did not mean to get you there."

For a moment, Starfire just stood in place, blinking. As she moved to wipe the snow off her face, though, she fixed her husband with a predatory grin.

"Oh, you do not know what you have gotten yourself into," she purred.

Nightwing smirked, but she could catch just a hint of nervousness in the way his brows furrowed. He started backing away, kneeling low to scoop up more snow as he did. "What, a snowball fight? We've sparred plenty, I know what I'm doing."

Starfire scooped up a hearty handful of snow and launched into the air, relishing in the way her hair billowed dramatically in the wind. "Perhaps, but you forget which of us is the ranged fighter."

It gave her a little more pleasure than it probably should have to see how quickly the smirk left his face. "Wait, Star, can we talk about — Gah!"

It wasn't long before the snowfield was filled with the sounds of their mingled laughter and banter, as the two full-blown superheroes whiled away an afternoon in an age-old game.

******

"It's official. We have the best date nights."

The snowfall had settled a few minutes ago, and Starfire and Nightwing had taken it as a sign to break off their impromptu battle. They were now resting together against one of the field's magnificent ice spires, and at Nightwing's comment, Starfire angled her head a little to face him.

"Oh? I was not aware this was officially a date night."

Nightwing shrugged one shoulder, careful not to jostle her where she leaned against him. "Eh, I figure it's close enough. Don't you? It's nice to have some time for just the two of us."

Starfire hummed in mixed agreement and contentment, and turned to bop her forehead gently against his in a Tamaranean display of affection that conveniently lacked any dangers associated with the freezing air.

Nightwing had removed his mask along with a few heat-retaining accessories as the rigors of the snowball fight had worn on, and his eyes shone with affection as he returned the gesture.

"I'm so lucky to have you," he murmured.

Starfire giggled and pulled away, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I still remember a time when you were too shy to say things like that."

Nightwing rolled his eyes at that, but his expression was still mirthful. "You're going to hold that over me forever, aren't you?"

Starfire giggled again. "Perhaps."

Standing up, she held out a hand to help her husband to his feet. "We're not far from town. Are you ready to explore more?"

Nightwing smiled and let her help him up. Putting on his mask out of habit as much as anything else, he said, "With you? Anywhere."

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

With Cherries On Top

Chapter 6: The Dog & The Heart-to-Heart

Summary/Author’s Note: Max has another run in with Kevin that winds up putting the both of you in a very...awkward situation. The two of you have your first talk that doesn’t involve just ripping each other to shreds with insults. Is Max opening up? Are you? Are either of you prepared for what is going to happen when those walls start coming down? (This chapter is BIG guys. No smut yet but we are getting closer. Also I know the gif is not of Max Phillips but it is pretty spot on for what I picture Max to look like out of a suit.) Gif credit to @pajamasecrets

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader (The Proposal AU) Word Count:  4.1k Warnings/Rating: R/18+ - so naked. so wet. Nudity, hilarity, banter, flirting, sexual innuendos, mutual sexual harassment (although is it really harassment at this point with you two?), feelings, confessions, soft!Max

[Chapter 5] [MASTERLIST]

You hated running. You hated it with every fiber of your being but you wanted to be breathless, you wanted your lungs and your limbs to ache, you wanted to punish yourself. So this morning when you rolled over and saw that it was still dark out, you had pulled on wool socks, insulated leggings, and an old hoodie. Tip-toeing around Max’s sleeping form with your sneakers in hand, you laced up on the porch and watched the fog roll off the water.

You could do this--one foot in front of the other, rinse and repeat. You put your iPod in the small pocket of your leggings as you took off, but not even the fast paced music could drown out the thoughts that refused to stop coming. Fuck it. The path that you took along the gulf and through the woods felt familiar and you were glad for it because it meant you thought less about where you were going and more about your situation.

Max was winning over your family one day at a time and the way your mother's face lit up when he put his arm around you made you feel sick. She just wanted you to be happy. And if you said you were in love with Max Phillips, then she believed you and supported you. And it was all a lie.

"Fuck," you cursed quietly as you started to pant and you shook your head, changing directions down a smaller path.

Despite everything horrible that no doubt lay on the horizon of this half assed plan, it hadn't been as terrible as you had imagined. When he wasn't making your life a living hell or having you keep track of his daily planner, Max... wasn't that bad. He was charming, but you already knew that, that wasn't the interesting part. What made you pause was every time he laughed, he made a joke, or he did that god damn grin that caused the corner of his eyes to crinkle gently. It was confirming what you thought you always knew--the business tycoon and prince douchebag that he donned every day like a suit, was all an act.

Then there was your dad. You knew you shouldn't be surprised, but he held narrow-minded thoughts about Max and his vampiric nature, and he was still holding out the hope that you would throw in the towel and move back home. Your dreams meant nothing because they weren't achievable to him. Being born in a town like Sitka meant you grew old with your highschool sweetheart, a white picket fence, and at least two children balanced on your hip--no thank you. That would never be you, you longed for the unconventional, and the way your dad saw it, choosing Max as your fiance went far beyond unconventional. It was down right crazy.

At some point you had turned back towards the house, on the path that led out of the woods and around the barn at the edge of the property. Your mom had been decorating a setting up for a get together for the last two days and you were not looking forward to the potluck and barn dance that she had no doubt invited the entire town to. Of course you had no one to blame but yourself--if you came home more than every couple of years, maybe she wouldn't make such a big deal about it.

Sweat dripped down your temple from your hairline and was chilled almost immediately by the cold autumn air. Your legs were sore and your stomach growled as it reminded you that a hot cup of coffee and a warm muffin was far superior than this self deprecating jaunt.

You put your hands on your head to open up your aching lungs and breathe deeply as you walked back to the house. This was going to be the easiest part of your day and you wanted to soak up every last bit of it. Hopefully everyone would still be asleep so you could take a shower and drink your coffee in peace.

--

Max had been awake when you quietly left this morning and it had been incredibly tempting to reach his hand out and grab your ankle. You would have probably tripped and it would have been hilarious, but he refrained. Christ, he was off his game lately. As the door clicked closed and he listened to the fading sound of you going down the stairs, he opened his eyes and rubbed his hand down his face.

"Fuck," he cursed as he folded his hands on his chest and looked up at the ceiling.

Another night of restlessness and listening to you sleep quietly ten feet beside him. He had made sure to eat before going to bed last night and yet you still smelled delectable. It was driving him crazy, he felt insatiable, like a man half crazed, and it worried him. He had been a vampire for a little over a decade, he had control of himself, but you made him want to bury his face between your--

"No, nope, no," Max shook his head and sat up, stretching his arms above his head and letting out an exasperated groan.

In five years he could count the number of times you had seen his fangs on one hand, and he knew for a fact you had never seen his true face. The one that morphed when he was pissed, when he lost his last shred of humanity, when his features pulled together and his snarl was permanent. His eyes would go yellow and his skin would darken, and he once had it described to him as going full-blown Buffy--and that wasn't far from the truth.

He could continue to sit here and argue with himself about how much he didn't want you, or he could get in the shower and wash away whatever these feelings were. He didn't have a better idea yet, but maybe one would come to him. Great ideas were always hatched in the shower, right? Right.

--

Max turned off the water and was no closer to finding a solution to his current problem. Now he was just wet. Wet and frustrated. He threw back the curtain and shook out his hair, shoving it back from his face as he looked around and clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"Towel? Towel. Where's a fucking towel?"

He looked at the rack, the counter, and the wicker laundry basket and there was nothing that he could even use as a towel. Fuck. He stepped out onto the rug and wiped his feet as much as he could so he wouldn't fall on his ass on the tile. He thought he heard the sound of the door and froze, but nothing followed. Then he remembered, the armoire, the one with the goddamn baby maker blanket, there were towels in there.

He cracked the door and leaned his head out, looking around the bedroom. He called your name, but no one answered. Letting out a deep breath, he put his large hand over his groin, just in case, and hurried out to the cabinet. A high pitched bark made him jump as he turned around and cursed loudly, making eye contact with your horrific fuzzy demon of a dog.

"Shit!" Max glared and pointed at the Shiba with the hand that wasn't currently cupping his dick and balls. "Listen, I just need a towel--you little fluffy bastard--fuck!"

It continued to bark at him, hopping slightly with each noise and the action put it closer to him. Max involuntarily took a step back each time and he swallowed the lump in his throat as the beast started to growl.

Before he was turned, he loved dogs. His family had owned one when he was a child, but that had changed when he got back from Romania. It was as if the creatures could sense something was wrong with him, something not human was staring them in the face, and they hated it.

"Look," Max continued to try and reason with the orange canine. "I've never once thought about eating you. That should count for something, right?"

By now the animal had backed him back into the bathroom and he let out a frustrated growl of his own through his nostrils as he looked around for a weapon of some kind. His eyes fell to your cordless hair dryer on the edge of the sink and he couldn't help the smirk that overcame his face.

"Bingo." He scooped it up and grinned as he aimed it at the dog and flipped it on. The handheld device whirrrrr'd to life and the dog leaned back away from it as the warm air rippled its fur away from its face like it was in a wind tunnel. "Yeah--that's what I thought. Who's your daddy, now?"

Max dropped his hand from his crotch to hold the dryer with both as he aimed it like a six-shooter and took a few careful steps out of the bathroom towards the dog.

"That's it. There ya go," he chuckled as he aimed the dryer and made the dog switch places with him. "That's a good boy, that's a good, dumb dog," his voice dropped and cooed at him like a baby as the dog pranced backwards towards the bathroom to avoid the stream of air.

As soon as the dog crossed the threshold of the bathroom, Max lunged forward and grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut. He let out a yell of triumph as he effectively locked the beast in the bathroom and ensured his own safety. He spun around to toss the hair dryer on the bed and instead collided with your naked body as you walked in from the deck, your headphones still in your ears from your run.

In the time it took Max to realize he didn't have a towel, you had come home and back into the bedroom. Max was nowhere to be found and it was still dark so you had grabbed a towel, stepped onto the covered balcony, and stripped off, leaving your sweaty jogging clothes in a pile. Your loud music thumping in your ears had left you oblivious to the cowboy western showdown that was happening in your bedroom. And now you were pressed against your boss, both of you as naked as the day you came into this world and not only did he hit you with force, but he was very wet and very slippery.

"Oh my god, oh my fucking god," you said, as your headphones fell from your ears and you started to fall. You would have welcomed the bruised ass because it meant you would have stopped touching him. What you didn't expect was for him to put his arm around your waist to keep you from falling. All it wound up doing was making him fall to the ground with you in a tangle of limbs and an ungraceful thud.

"Max??" "Fuck!"

The two of you looked at each other with wide eyes and open mouths. You were suddenly hyper aware of your breasts pressed flush against his chest as your hands found his shoulders for balance. He caught himself as much as he could with his hands on either side of your head but you still felt... something pressing against the inside of your thigh--and it was much larger than you had imagined it would be. Not that you had ever thought of such things...about Max fucking Phillips.

"Why are you naked?!" He yelled as he finally found his voice.

"Why are you wet?!" You yelled back as you slapped at his damp chest and tried to push him off of you. "Get off me!"

"Gladly!" He snarled as he rolled off of you. You scrambled for the towel that you had in your hands before he caused you to drop it and covered your breasts and the apex of your thighs. "Ugh, goddammit!" Max picked up the baby maker blanket to cover himself and once he realized what it was, he tossed it aside and grabbed one of the pillows off the bed.

"Get your dick off of my pillow! I use that to sleep!" You gestured to it as he gripped it tightly and pressed it firmly to the front of his waist.

"Okay, well it's either this or I drop it!" He snapped back and you groaned.

"Why are you wet and naked in my bedroom?" You asked.

"Our bedroom--forget it," he growled and threw an arm out to gesture towards the bedroom. "I showered and there were no towels--and then the dog--"

"Kevin?" You looked at him like he was crazy and looked around but the dog was nowhere to be found. You looked at the shut bathroom door and quickly opened it as the dog gave a yip and sprinted out of the bathroom and out the slightly cracked bedroom door. "What is it with you and this dog??"

"He hates me--"

"Oh, yeah, my mistake. You're right," you put a hand to your chest and gave a mock gasp. "Barely got away with my life just now."

"Oh, shut up!" Max rolled his eyes at you. "Go shower, you stink!"

"Fuck you, Max!" You gave a frustrated groan and made sure the towel covered your ass as you started towards the bathroom.

"Nice tattoo!"

He got one last jab in and you realized he could see the ink that he had only guessed about previously on your ribs. You stuck up your middle finger at him before you slammed the door so hard you hoped it didn't wake anyone up.

--

You and Max avoided one another for the rest of the day. Which was easy to do as your family was content to keep you both busy helping to prepare food and decorations for the party. Your mother insisted it had nothing to do with your engagement and that she had had it planned even before you and Max had given them the good news. Good news…if that's what she was calling it.

So that's how the day went, with you and Max on opposite ends of the table, in separate corners of the room, refusing to make eye contact with one another. Without even looking at him all you could think about was how soft those broad shoulders actually were. You were surprised how muscled his thighs were and how they lead to what was even the most surprising, which was his---nope. No. Definitely not. You refused to think about Max in that way and the fact that the thought made you blush like a schoolgirl, pissed you off even more.

You decided to go to bed early and when he followed you upstairs you almost stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing. But your mom was watching you both with so much adoration that it made you take Max's hand as you told your parents goodnight and retreated to the comfort of your own space.

After an awkward dance of taking turns using the bathroom to get changed and trying not to look one another in the eye, you laid your head down on the pillows with a loud huff. The soft crackle of the fireplace brought a warmth and a glow to the room that made your shoulders relax slowly. You should have thanked Max for making it but you didn't, it was just better to say goodnight and go the fuck to sleep and forget this day ever happened.

"Goodnight, Max." You said bluntly, pulling the covers up over your shoulder and closing your eyes. When he didn't respond, you opened them back up but stayed still.

Max had heard you but as he folded his hands on his chest and stared at the ceiling, he said quietly, "So...naked."

You sat up and looked in the direction of his spot on the floor. "What was that?"

"I said, you were so naked. I saw... everything." He grinned even though you couldn't see and you groaned and laid back down.

"No you didn't--"

"Oh, yes I did."

"We're not talking about this--"

"You're thinking about it, aren't you? You saw my dick."

"I didn't."

"Yes you did," he insisted. "I saw your tits--well, felt them--"

"Max enough! Good. Night."

The two of you were silent again for another few minutes. The fire popped and the crickets chirped and you knew he was just waiting for the right moment to open his mouth again. And sure enough, without fail, he said the next best thing to piss you off.

"So, what's the beef between you and your dad?"

"I honestly would rather talk about how you saw me naked."

Max chuckled. "As tempting as that is, I want to know. You two seem to really hate each other."

"I'm sorry but that question isn't in the binder. Please play again." Your voice was that of a sarcastic game show host but he was relentless.

"You really think INS won't ask about family drama? Because I think--"

"Max. Not this. I--please."

Maybe it was the 'please' that finally made him drop the topic, but you were thankful regardless as you thought about the conversation you had with your dad yesterday and your throat became tight. Your eyes started to burn and you rubbed them furiously. This was not a topic that you wanted to discuss with the man on the floor, not now, not ever. A silence fell between you again and when Max cleared his throat you prepared for him to continue to press the issue, but he didn't.

"I like the psychic network." He said flatly and you opened your eyes.

"What?"

"We need to start learning the binder right?"

"I guess…"

"Well, I like the Psychic network. And no, not in a ha-ha, look at those idiots believing in that trash, kind of way. I actually kind of enjoy it. I mean vampires are real, maybe other shit is too, ya know?" He shrugs and lets out a heavy sigh. "Um. Let's see. I took piano lessons in the sixth grade. Lynda Carter was my first crush when I was nine. I don't like giving flowers to women or having them in the house because they remind me of funerals. I try to read Wuthering Heights every year at Christmas--it reminds me of my mom. My dad thought it was trash but that wasn't the point." He paused and let out a sad chuckle and you bit your lip gently as you listened to him. He let out a heavy sigh and waited and when you didn't say anything, he prompted. "Your turn, sweetheart."

"I...sorry. I'm just processing," you said honestly and he chuckled again.

"Take your time."

"I also took piano lessons when I was little, but I was so terrible I quit. My fingers aren't long enough," you said quietly as you flexed them in front of you as if to show him. "My first record my dad gave me was Lionel Richie. Uhh..I haven't slept with a man in eighteen months."

"Wait--"

"Shut up, you said it was my turn." You cut him off before he could draw attention to that particular factoid. "The tattoo on my ribs--they're birds, just your typical basic girly silhouette type but I got them when I was sixteen. They're mid-flight to remind me that I don't want to stay here for the rest of my life. That no matter what anyone says, it's okay to leave and live my own life." You swallow hard and blink quickly, feeling like an idiot for continuing to get emotional in front of the one person you were pretty sure didn't have emotions. "And despite the front I put out there, I went in the bathroom and cried the day that Evan called me a poisonous bitch and reminded me that I was never getting promoted. Because then my dad would be right--I took a risk, made a big deal of blazing my own trail, and I have nothing to show for it."

Max lay patiently with his hands on the edge of the blanket, playing idly with the fringe as you told your facts to him. His eyebrows furrowed together and his heart felt like a rock within his chest. As if he didn't already hate Evan before, your confession made him want to beat the little prick down 5th avenue. He quietly committed everything you just told him to memory, like you had done moments before when he was the one making his confessions.

"Um...are you still there?" You asked quietly.

He realized he had paused for too long and the meek tone in your voice made a lump form in his throat. "Y-yeah. I'm here."

"Say something, please." Your voice sounded small even to you but you know he heard you.

"You really haven't slept with anyone in eighteen months?"

The laugh that bubbled from your chest broke whatever tension had been in the air before. It felt real, and that's because it was. The question was so on par for Max that it felt good to know that despite what had happened in the last few days, it was still him. He was still the same man.

"That's all you took from that? Of course it is."

"I'm just saying, that's a long time." He said, holding out his hands in self defense.

"Yeah? Well, I've been a little busy. My boss is just a tad demanding."

"He sounds like a prick," Max scoffed.

"He's not all that bad," you shrugged without hesitation and the statement made both of you pause as the awkwardness returned once again.

"Who--um," Max coughed, changing the subject. "Who's Lionel Richie?"

"Seriously?" You sat up and looked at him with wide eyes. "You know 'hello'? 'Dancing on the ceiling'? 'All night long'??"

He shook his head and looked up at you as you crawled to the end of the bed to look at him. "Sorry," he shrugged. "Not ringing any bells."

You looked up and silently cursed yourself for what you were about to do but you decided to throw caution to the wind. You fought back the blush as you very quietly started to sing the chorus and bob your head. "All night long. All niiiiight. All. Night. Long. All niiiiight."

Max leaned up on his elbow and looked at you with a slack jaw and wide eyes. His expression made you lose the fight with your blush as you felt your cheeks burn red and you wanted to crawl under the bed.

"Is that you singing?" Max teased.

"Maybe! I just can't believe you don't know who Lionel Richie is--"

"I know who Lionel Richie is, sweetheart. I just wanted to hear you sing it." He grinned and you gaped, but it felt good and before you knew it you were laughing again. The laughing only intensified as Max started singing, too, making sure you didn't feel too singled out. "Everybody sing, everybody dance. Lose yourself in wild romance.."

"We're gonna party--" you joined him and the two of you both bobbed like there was a beat somewhere to be heard.

"Karamu.."

"Fiesta.."

"Forever.." He paused and tried to make his voice go higher. "All. Night. Long!" His voice cracked and he shook his head, "I haven't been able to sing that high since my balls dropped."

You fell into a fit of giggles and flopped back against the pillows on the bed. It felt good to laugh for real for the first time in this hellacious trip, and you would have never guessed it would have been because of Max. When you gave a snort, your hand flew to your face to cover your mouth and Max laughed even harder. He had a good laugh, it was warm and deep, and not at all superficial or fake like it was when he was trying to make a sale.

Eventually the laughter died down, and you both stared up at the ceiling in silence. Except this time, the silence didn't feel overwhelming or awkward, it was soothing.

"Sweetheart?" Max asked quietly and you felt your breath catch at his tone.

"Yeah, Max?"

"Don't," he let out a heavy breath before continuing. "Don't take this the wrong way...but you are a beautiful woman."

You put your knuckle to your lips and failed to suppress the smile that came with his words. He had said something he had never said before. He wasn't talking about your tits, or your ass, or the way your pencil skirt complimented your curves, no, this was different.

"Goodnight, Max." You said quietly as you rolled on your side and tried not to think about how hard your heart was beating.

"Goodnight."

--

Its already like an hour late so I am posting it without the tags and reblogging it with tags so enjoy!

[ginkgomoon]

Hello there! I hope everything is going well with you. (・∀・)

I have some questions. In CH 30 & 32 the Time Observer mentioned about the "price being too heavy/dear" & he mentioned that he never expected for Victor to choose that method to prevent the crisis. I was wondering what price is he talking about & what's "the method" he mentioned? & Victor collapsing in CH 32 was not from hitting the bullet I believe. What exactly happened there?

Also...I don't know the details but I think I saw it somewhere that Victor goes through different timelines & dimensions for 10000 years in the later part of the story...? I remember reading it in a R&S that every time he crosses a dimension he'd experience soul crushing pain... The mere thought of doing it for so long honestly made me feel traumatized. I was hoping you could give me some insights as to what exactly he was doing.

I hope I'm not bothering you with tons of questions & they made sense. Thanks a lot in advance! Have a good day! <3

Hello!!

Thank you, you too! :)

I hope I helped answered your questions here. It's quite long, so enjoy the read!

I did Victor’s Time Observer analysis and I’ll be heavily referencing that post to help answer this particular ask. Big thank you to @cheri-cheri and @ey8508 for help clarifying some of my thoughts concerning Victor this chapter! Spoilers down below! ⏱

“With great power comes great responsibility.” -The Peter Parker Principle

We all know Victor bears great power, but also with that comes great responsibility. He is the sole individual who has the will and power to alter time and space, however this develops drastic consequences to his health and to history- all for his love for MC.

Victor doesn’t care about this price- he is more concerned with whether he can prevent the death of the girl in every unpredictable future.

“The person who can save the world… is not me, but her. As for myself, I know my ending line and how much pain I can bear better than anyone. I would rather take such a risk.” -Chapter 35-36 Rumours and Secrets

Chapter 30-6

Victor is seen to be flanked by bodyguards on Adagio Street. Moments later, in a pure white space, we see the Time Observer addressing Victor.

I stood in the centre of the street, looking hesitantly around, but I was unable to spot that familiar figure.

In the dead of the night, from the distant horizon, there seemed to come the sound of a mechanical little violin.

In a boundless, pure white space, the music would be at time peaceful and solemn, and at others somber and mournful. After the final note, that pair of tightly-closed eyes opened.

The Time Observer looked at Victor, neither showing surprise.

That pale white hand brushed lightly over the violin strings, and his gravelly voice spoke up with the pluck of the string.

TO: “The natural rules of operations no longer supply. This world… in memory is a turbulent past and in imagination, there is no serene future. She should have stayed in that world. Her return was a mistake.”

Victor: “If you’re still here that means we still have a chance.”

TO: “A chance that comes at such a heavy cost. Is it really worth it? You will soon understand, in some things, you are doomed to helplessness. Try with all your might, and yet, it remains out of reach.”

Victor: “I won’t let her die again. No matter when."

This will foreshadow future events such as in Chapter 32, where Victor shows a demonstration of this.

Chapter 32-6

Amidst the scattering glass shards, I saw a number of bullets flying towards me.

Only one thought ran through my mind.

Am I going to die?

Chapter 32-8

In the darkness, a crack suddenly splits open, and a blinding light appears, obscuring my sight. My heartbeat practically came to a standstill, the pain I expected never came. The blinding light disappeared, instantaneously replaced by darkness.

Time seemed to pause for a second.

The pitch black bullets, the fractured glass, the car in mid-air…

And then it fell all heavily to the ground.

And in this moment, Victor challenged “fate”, or rather, the “natural rules of operations”, stated by the Time Observer.

I reached out and grabbed the black clothing fluttering before me. Even my voice was trembling.

MC: “Victor…”

I looked in a daze at the man before me, at those fierce eyes beneath his wind-blown hair.

He was looking back at me, as if trying to etch me into his eyes with his deep gaze. But there was another emotion hidden within as well.

After confirming he was unharmed, I let out a sigh, then looked anxiously into his eyes.

MC: “What are you doing here?”

Victor: “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

But this time, his voice was flat.

MC: “I’m sorry… but I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m not unaware of the danger… I must simply stay and stop them.”

I hastily wanted to get Victor out of danger, but his feet were planted firmly. I looked up, to get a look at his expression.

His voice was steady, stopping me in my tracks.

Victor: “I see.”

MC: “You really believe I can stop them?”

Victor: “I said before, even if you don't trust yourself, always trust me. I won’t do anything I'm not sure I can handle. Go what you think needs to be done.”

He patted the back of my head lightly, with a hint of tremor in his voice. He didn’t ask me or stop me, as if he already knew the choice I’d made.

So, while the STF agents and runaway Evolvers were battling, MC was literally going to die at that moment. But Victor enters- using his Evol to stop time, ultimately stopping the bullets and MC’s death.

I whirled around, hoping to catch sight of him.

MC: “Victor!”

I wanted to tell him I’d done it, that I really had prevented this crisis.

A faint worry floated up in my chest. What about Victor?

Medic: “Someone, come quick! There’s another person here!”

I turned and hurried to the end of the bridge.

I then quickly found him.

Ringed by a crowd of people, there he was, the person I would recognise anywhere.

It was…

I halted my steps for a moment, then ran to him without hesitation.

I broke into a panic.

Chapter 32-10

Victor… What happened to him??

I pushed the crowd aside and frantically ran to him.

His face was pallid, eyes squeezed shut, his hair plastered messily to his forehead with sweat. I grasped his hand, unable to believe how icy cold it felt to the touch.

MC: "How could you… Why did you…”

Just then, those eyes shut with pain cracked open. He pursed his lips and then coughed violently, blood started trickling out. Even like that, he still chuckled weakly.

Victor: “I used to think… that your problem was that you thought you could control fate all by yourself. Stubborn, self-reliant, in over your head. Whenever anyone tried to tell you anything, no matter what they said, it was always in one ear and out the other.”

Although it sounded a little weak, his voice was unusually calm, and didn’t really even pause or halt. Almost if, if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to start again.

Victor: “But I really did learn a little something from you. You are the thing unto yourself, so only know the best what your values and decisions should be. No one can guide you. And just like I can’t hold you back, you also can’t change this decision that I’ve made. Don’t ask why, this time, just let me say my piece.”

His voice grew weaker, but he managed to lift his right hand and place it over mine.

I clasped his hand, and a feeling of suspense and dread came over me like I'd never felt before.

MC: “I know… I know… You don’t have to say more.”

He was afraid of something, but not because his life was slipping away. It was more like… something would happen.

Victor closed his eyes, completely exhausted. I squeezed his hand tighter, as if trying to hang on to those remnants of warmth.

You have to make it through this.

A man standing by the riverside swiped his hand through the fog, swiped his hand through the fog, stirring it up into an erratic vortex.

Zero: “Did he actually…”

TO: Like I said before, he is the most suitable candidate.”

Zero: “But he refused to help us open the Door of Return.”

TO: “Perhaps it’s only temporary, and he’ll change his mind. I didn’t imagine he’d choose this method for preventing this crisis. Too bad… the price was so dear.”

After Victor saves MC from death, she finds him on the ground- pale and in terrible pain. Throughout Victor’s time with MC, we slowly see the influence he has on her- and the influence she has on him. He tells her that while she shoulders everything on her own and never listens to anyone, she did teach him things in the process. With her love and kindness, she strives to defy “nature's course” and saves worlds. Literally.

You were correct, Victor didn’t suffer injuries from the bullets because he stopped them just in time but Victor is overusing his Evol, and it’s gradually taking a toll on his body. Even back before MC crossed over to the Winter World, Victor was trying to find other alternative ways for MC to live and not sacrifice herself. Unfortunately, there were none. He did also suffer immense pain whenever he time traveled, especially when it led to his time travel pocket watch cracking and breaking in the end.

Victor would normally be practical and very principled in how he executes his plans, but this time around, it was him. This- he- was the plan. That's it. This is similar to how Victor opened a time rift to send MC away in Chapter 18- to somewhere and sometime in space. He waited for her to come back with the help of the Time Observers to confirm her safety. Only someone with his powerful Evol could do that, otherwise they’d risk losing consciousness in the “Time Rift”.

Additionally, he held onto that hope that MC could and would be saved in the end, like how he tried to find her for 17 years after the orphanage incident, not knowing whether she was dead or alive. Victor wants to wield that control, denying “helplessness” and “winning all the bets” he had with MC prior to her “death” in Chapter 18. Victor stated that if she couldn’t trust herself, then she should trust him and his decisions to protect her. Even if it’s detrimental to his health. Life-threatening, even. Because in the end, Victor knows he will always win. He just does.

And since he knows that he won’t be able to stop MC from doing what she wants, we now see him fully embracing then acting upon it. He accepts that she’s her own person and he has grown to have so much faith in her, seeing how she successfully survived Winter World then coming back home safe. It’s almost like- “okay. It’s you and me against the world”.

On the sidelines, Time observer and ZERO both observe, surprised that Victor will pay such a high price to avoid MC’s death from occurring- with the risk of his own. Could they have lost their most powerful time Evolver from this incident?

Though, we shouldn’t be surprised that the Time Observers think that Victor would be so foolish to use his Evol up to the point where it would actually kill him just to save MC. It's literally in their name- “Observers''- they haven’t and aren’t even allowed to actively participate in the events that happened in Loveland, let alone the different histories and worlds that existed, other than claiming to “correct it” by influencing other people who can. They don’t appear to have this kind of empathy in understanding Victor and why he wants to save MC’s life, or how important she is to him.

“You misunderstand. We never alter, we are correctors of history. We want you to join us, your power’s scope of influence has already surpassed the dimension of this current world. Before you are rejected by it…”

Victor: “I will not leave this world.”

“Even if you’ve seen the future of what is all to pass?”

Victor: “No matter what happens, the person I’m seeking for is right here.” -Black Curtain: Chapter 6

Also taken from my Time Observer Analysis-

Since Victor’s Evol is strong and has the capability to do more than “observe” like the Time Observers, he is the one who is deemed the most suitable and more responsible for “grasping the time in the past and the future”. Ever since STF found out about Victor’s Evol, they wanted him to cooperate with them too. Every time he stops time, certain surrounding energy and space changes.

The organisation also entertains the idea of fate, and how things should be refused to be changed. Since they have “seen the future of how the world ends”, they want Victor to cooperate with them in making it stop. Nobody can rewrite the ending among them, except him. Victor refuses to join because he doesn’t adhere to this idea.

“QUEEN’s return has brought unexpected consequences; the entire collapse of the world is ahead of schedule. The world’s line has come to an end, no matter through time or space, we can no longer interfere in this world.” Was there a difference in letting each world go to the end alone to close all the world lines in the future directly? Although we found a breakthrough, this situation really caused us a lot of headaches: she who should not have survived and she should not have been sent to other worlds. As a result, it would seriously interfere and disrupt the timeline. No one had done it before, and no one except Victor could do it.

In disbelief, we weighed it and threw the olive branch- as long as he is willing to cooperate, we will help him find her. As decisive as he was to refuse a few times before, this time he had promised me without thinking. And for a moment, I didn’t know if his decisiveness was good or bad. -Chapter 33-34 Rumours and Secrets

Victor "travelling ten-thousand years in the future" was mentioned in his Chapter 35-36 Rumours and Secrets. The Space and Time Administration (who the Time Observers were under) could "repair his abilities", after he stopped the bullets from hitting MC. He would have to stay there for the Space and Time Administration's time duration of ten-thousand years. Victor accepts. (BIG THANKS TO @cheri-cheri FOR CORRECTING ME LAST MINUTE WITH THIS ONE, YOU AMAZING HUMAN!!)

[flying-nightwing]

Scorpion (1/2)

I am still working on Op. Solarstorm, but I had this playing in my mind for far too long to keep ignoring. Also, not me back at it again with my favourite tropes and villain!reader? lmao. Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist in bio/pinned

Pairing:

Dick Grayson x f!reader (villain)

Word count: 5217

Warnings: Language, violence, steamy stuff hehe ;) but no nsfw, kind of angst? also reader being so fucking dramatic Summary: You are the resident bad guy of Blüdhaven, former supervillain, nemesis of Nightwing and master toxinologist in your own right. One night, however, you receive an unexpected visit that convince you to return to your former alias, Scorpion. (Based off a prompt I can’t find in my likes anymore but I’ll link it as soon as I find it)

The storm raged outside.

The rain pelted down your windows, blurring the view of Blüdhaven’s skyline almost entirely. Only the occasional thunder bolts lit up the horizon, just enough to see for a fraction of second the dark clouds glaring down the city. The wind howled as it navigated around the skyscrapers, washing away the droplets of rain as soon as they crashed down.

You stood in front of the curtain wall of your condo, sipping a glass of wine and watching it all unwind like a movie. You found the storm relaxing, as if the loud growl of it drained all the negative energy stored within you and released it as a powerful blast out into the world. You smiled at the thought; if only you could possess that much power to smithe your enemies, your job would be about a hundred times easier. 

You were about to leave your window for a refill when you heard the faintest thud at your door. You frowned, waiting a moment, before shrugging and resuming your course for the kitchen. However, before you could get there, another sound reached your ears, this time, unmistakably two quiet knocks. You placed your glass on a hallway table beside a flower vase and went to the door, peeking through the glass eye. When you saw nothing, you backed up and reached for the switchblade tucked under the waistband of your pants, then placed a careful hand on the knob. You twisted and pulled the door open, and your muscles tensed at the sight in front of you.

Your fight or flight instinct kicked in for a second as your eyes registered the black and blue before anything else, but you held back that reaction when you noticed something was wrong. While there was no doubt the man on the other side was Nightwing, the vigilante that always managed to spoil your plans or stop your schemes, he looked nothing like the cocky vigilante who would have already delivered a clever one liner as soon as he got a glimpse of your face. 

No, that man was hunched on the wall, his footing staggering and his suit ripped on the arms and the torso. He was drenched and visibly weak, and his mask was broken over his left eye. Even if you could see only half of it, you noticed the blown pupil that expanded over most of his iris. Like his reaction time had been put in slow motion, he finally lifted his head, his gaze swaying from left to right. He had been clearly drugged.

“I’m sorry” His voice was shaky and breathless. “I’m sorry… I had nowhere else to go”

You noticed only then he was clutching his stomach, even if he wasn’t bleeding specifically there. You snapped out of your stupor, putting your arm around his torso and holding him up as he crashed forward. You managed to pull him in your condo with you and shut the door behind you with your foot. He was heavy, especially since he probably didn’t have the control of his muscles at all to help you with the weight, but you managed to get him to your couch. You laid him down, being careful not to let his head bounce on the way down. You put the back of your hand on his forehead, and he was burning. Even through the rain on his skin, you could see the coat of sweat on his face and down his neck. Switchblade in hand, you cut through what remained of his suit and slipped it off him before he caught his death from wearing cold, soaking wet clothes on top of whatever else was happening. He started writhing on the couch, moaning in pain and still clutching his stomach. You saw that it was swollen and tender under all the shallow fresh cuts littering his body, and immediately you understood that he hadn’t been drugged, he had been poisoned.

You moved up his body again and kneeled beside his head, gently removing his domino mask. He was so out of it he didn’t even notice your cold fingers on his face, nor your saddened sigh. It had been a while since you had seen him without his mask, and yet, he was still as shockingly beautiful as he was years ago. You didn’t waste time appreciating his beauty however, as you were most probably on the clock. You stood up and left him there for a second as you grabbed your emergency kit labelled poison/venom and brought it back to him, kneeling once again. You grabbed the flashlight first, leaning above his face and pulling the eyelids of his right eye open. You flashed the light in it, but the pupil remained blown, completely ignoring the sudden brightness. His left eye was the same. 

Quickly, you put the flashlight away and grabbed a plastic syringe, capping it with a needle. You made sure the air was out before finding the vein in his arm and plunging the needle in it. You filled it with blood and put it aside while you fished the toxicity test, then put a small amount of blood in the vial and twirled it to mix it with the powder. You waited a minute and checked the scale, which told you if left untreated, whatever was flowing through his veins would be very lethal. You swore under your breath as you pushed to your feet again, heading for your bedroom and your walk in wardrobe. At the back of it, you punched a code in a pad and the wall pulled slightly toward you. With a tug, you pulled it all the way out and grabbed the first o negative blood bag as well as tubes and a stand to hook it on. You returned to him and prepared his transfusion in a record time, setting the bag and the tubes then putting once again a needle in his arm. At this point, he had stopped moving, but his chest still rose and fell in jagged motions. 

You remained there a couple of seconds more to be sure he was really passed out, then you grabbed the syringe filled with blood and moved everything else out of the way. You put the syringe on the counter while you dragged your working station from another room--only now glad that you made the choice to have it on wheels--and put it so you could have a good view of Dick even when working. You took the time to put gloves, then brought the syringe with you and sat behind your microscope.

You put a drop of blood on the slide and got to work.

---

You waited in the dark warehouse, your ears strained for any other sound than the water leaking from the roof. Your double edged spear was prominent on your back, glistening under the faint light coming from the bright spot outside. You hadn’t taken it out in a while, but its blades were still sharp and deadly. You hoped the sheer sight of it would be enough to remind your rendez-vous who was in charge here, but you wouldn’t mind using your weapon once again. 

You stared deeper into the building as quiet footsteps grew closer, and seconds later, your contact emerged from the darkness. You let them come to you as you remained attentive to your surroundings. Just because they were an old colleague of yours, it didn’t mean you trusted them. If anything, it made them even more dangerous in your eyes. 

“Scorpion” They greeted with a smirk, using your old nickname. You couldn’t help but let a chuckle at the memory of the good old days, when you definitely wouldn’t have gone to such lengths for Nightwing out of all people. “What owes me the pleasure of getting your call tonight?”

“I need some intel” You went straight to the point, fishing a small vial from your black trenchcoat, holding it up to eye level. “This is a very rare sample of Diamondback rattlesnake venom I extracted from the blood of an unfortunate victim. Any idea how it got into Blüdhaven without me knowing?”

They raised an eyebrow after giving the vial a quick glance. “Are you accusing me of smuggling it into the city?”

“Not yet” You carefully replied. “But I believe you might know who did”

“Listen” They sighed as you put back the sample in your coat. “You’ve been out of the game for a while now. Things have changed down here, and it’s not my place to question the chain of power”

“Have they?” You challenged, sweeping the room once again and noticing they hadn’t brought back up. Decidedly, someone somewhere got ahead of themselves and forgot their place. 

“Uh?”

“Have things really changed?” You slowly raised an eyebrow. You felt dread creep in their eyes. “I want a name”

“None can do” They backed up slowly, palms up. “You hold no power here anymore, so you should just go back to your tower and keep your nose in your mob business before we both get killed”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” You mumbled, looking them up and down. Then, you reached behind your back to get your spear. You striked rapidly as they jumped back, the blade slicing the skin of their biceps. You spun it in your hand and put it back on your back.

“What the f--” They swore, glaring at you. “You’re truly out of it, Scorpion. Can’t even hit your fucking target now. That’s why nobody’s scared of you anymore”

“If you think I missed, then you’ve learned nothing” You simply smiled as you backed away. “You’ll remember who’s in charge soon enough. Have a good life, what’s left of it anyway”

You turned around and walked away, thinking about how the powerful venom coating the blades of your staff was strong enough to cause seizures in about fifteen minutes, and death in fifteen more.

---

You returned to your condo as the sun began to be visible over the horizon, the soft light basking the whole living room in a yellow hue. You quietly went back to your room, changing from your drenched trench coat and black suit to a cream colored blouse and burgundy slacks. You carefully put back your spear in its locked case, keeping its blades far away from any exposed skin.

You returned to the living room, pausing beside Dick who was still passed out. His breathing was slower, more even now, so the antidote you had prepared before leaving had worked. The fever seemed to have died down, and you guessed his stomach wasn't swollen anymore. You didn’t want to pull off the two heavy blankets over him to check and let his bare skin come into contact with the cold of the room. You checked the solute solution that replaced the blood bag on the stand, knowing you wouldn’t need a refill once it was empty. Knowing the man, he’d wake up anytime soon. 

You cleaned up the room and brought back your working station to your office, then sat at your computer to catch up on some work your now ex-accountant messed up. After a couple of hours, you took a nap that turned into something closer to a night full of sleep, and only woke up in the late afternoon. You were surprised Dick was still out when you checked on him, it wasn’t his type to fall into the average of anything, especially not recovery time. 

You had to wait well after sundown for him to stir awake with a groan, then slightly panic as he took in his surroundings. He tried to sit up, but fell back onto his elbows.

“Take it easy” You said, bringing his attention to you for a second before he averted his gaze. “You had quite the dose of venom in your blood. You’re lucky you even made it to my door”

Even with his gaze casted down, you could see he was confused by the soft tone you spoke to him with. It was a far cry from the threats and insults you usually shared when he decided to come and interfere with your business. Yet, you didn’t like the idea of someone else out there trying to kill him, despite the fact that you had done so many times in the past. You and Nightwing had been long standing rivals, fighting for the same turf when you were Scorpion and now that you had your own mob to manage. He knew where you stood, and you him, creating a dynamic where unspoken rules were religiously being respected by both parties. And well, you hated when rules were broken, especially by people with no respect for them, especially when they targeted your nemesis.

You stood up and walked to him, sitting on the coffee table beside him. You brushed your hand down his cheek to his chin, gently pushing up so he could meet your eyes. They were still a bit glassy and unfocused from the venom, but the pupils had regained their normal size. The white around his dark blue irises was bloodshot, and the dark bags under his lids were prominent. In the years you had known him, you had never seen him so battered, so down, so not… him. Even if you were by all purposes and intents enemies, it still sparked a rage within you. You could feel the anger rise in your throat at the defeated face staring back at you, but you willed it back inside. For now.

Your voice was barely a whisper, but it still conjured a divine wrath with every word. “Who did this to you?”

“Doesn’t matter” He mumbled, but he didn’t have the strength to conceal his lie. He tried to get up, but his muscles failed him. 

“But it does” You shook your head, not letting him look away. “Someone injected you with venom and tortured you. It cannot go unanswered, not under my watch”

Something switched in his eyes, before it was buried under resolve in front of your insisting. “Sionis”

Suddenly you saw red. You knew he had been in town for a few weeks already, but you mostly ignored him, thinking he’d go away on his own after concluding whatever deal he was there for. You had no doubt he had been the one to take over Blüdhaven’s underworld right under your nose and turn everyone against you. Unbeknownst to them, you were still the most dangerous person in this city and it was well past time to remind them of it. 

“Stay here, you need to rest” You ordered, gently pushing him back on the couch. “When you’ll feel strong enough to stand up, there’s food in the fridge”

“Wait, where are you going?” Confusion etched on his features.

“I’m going to have a little chat with Sionis”

“(Y/N), no” His voice was strained as he pushed himself off the couch and tried to stand up again. The use of your name made you halt your step to face him as he struggled to stay on his feet. “You don’t… You can’t…”

You retook the steps towards him, stopping right in front of him. “You came to me last night for help, so let me help”

“I know but…” He trailed off, sighing. “I can’t let you fight my battles, it’s not right”

“I’m not, I’m doing what I should have done weeks ago. I have let the infection fester in the wound for far too long, and now it’s time to clean it” You placed a hand on his cheek, and he didn’t fight it. “It’s our city, and if Sionis thinks he can take it, he’s gravely mistaken” 

“It doesn’t mean I want it to be taken back your way” His eyes flashed pain as he shook his head slightly. Yet, he still didn’t back off, but you retracted your hand like it touched fire. “Scorpion left a trail of bodies wherever she went. I may still not approve of your current career, but nothing will let me morally support your descent to that rabbit hole again”

Your features hardened at his words. “Those are bold claims for a man who cannot take two steps without crumbling” You spoke calmly, but the harsh undertone in your voice was a dead giveaway of your bitterness. “I don’t want to see you hurt, I think we’ve established that a long time ago. But I feel like it’s a good time to remind you that what was given can be taken away”

“You’re threatening me now?”

You gave him a cold smile as you backed away. “Oh honey, you’ll know when I’m threatening you”

“So we’re back to this uh?” His sneer transcended his weakened physical state.

“You should rest” You deflected, not ready to answer that just yet, not to him, anyway. You hated to see disappointment on such handsome features, even if it was pretty much the only thing you ever saw anymore. “This isn’t a hangover you can shake off with a tylenol and a smoothie. You need to let the antidote work” 

He only held your stare, the disappointment you dreaded steadily growing in his blue eyes. His lack of words were as effective as his worst scolding. Without breaking eye contact, you fished your phone from your pocket and dialed the first contact in your list.

“Borovski, arrange a last minute meeting with Mr. Sionis” You spoke in a flat tone. “Yes, let him know that Scorpion requires an audience”

------

You found the place of the meeting peculiar. 

The underground casino was crassy, a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging low in the air. No players were sitting at the tables, no bartenders were on duty, only a handful of armed guards giving you a not so warm welcome into the establishment and one man in a purple sequin suit.

“Ah, Scorpion!” Sionis called as he stood up. Then, he paused as he took you in. “I must say, you are not what I expected”

You raised an eyebrow at the grimace he made, but he kept looking you up and down as if there was something he didn’t quite catch. Finally, his eyes stopped on your spear on your back, and his face lit up with understanding. He laughed, but it seemed way too forced.

“Oh, I get it now!” He wiped nonexistent tears from his eyes as he pointed back and forth between you and the spear. “It’s because the spear’s like a scorpion tail. Very clever!”

“I’m glad to see there are no explanations required then” You scoffed sarcastically as you took one step forward. Immediately, his guards closed in on you.

“Aht aht,” He held a finger up, waving it obnoxiously. “I might find it clever, but there is no scenario possible in which you come close to me with that thing. Hand it over”

“Afraid of a little blade, Sionis?” You taunted, nevertheless taking your spear off your back and handing it to one of his goons. 

“Nice try, but we both know it’s not just the blade” He made yet another grimace as you got cleared to come closer. “Men, be careful not to touch the shiny part of it, kay? I’d hate to stain the floors with your dead bodies”

You smirked as you sat down in the chair he gestured to, resting your arms on the empty poker table. He sat down sideways in front of you and crossed his legs, bouncing his feet to an imaginary beat. “So... Miss Scorpion,” He began, a hint of humour in his voice like the situation was amusing. “I gotta say, I admire your previous work. But how long has it been since then? Five, six years? Where have you been?”

“Seven” You corrected. “I inherited a criminal empire from my father, changed vocations. Rather than sting people, I synthesize antidotes to the most potent venoms and sell them for quite a fortune per dose”

“Uh, I heard you were in the drug market” He frowned. “Perhaps my intel was… Mistaken”

“That too” The corner of your lips went up. “Well dosed, venom makes for a fantastic psychedelic. But worry not about your circle, those are no street drugs. Not a lot of people can afford it, in fact”

He nodded slowly. “So you want what exactly, to sell to me?” 

“No” You shook your head, your smile turning just a bit more sinister as you grabbed the rattlesnake venom vial and rolled it to him. Slowly, he picked up and observed it, recognition flashing in his features. You leaned forward, setting your stare on him. “I’m here for other concerns. Like you bringing venom in my city without my authorization”

He sat back in his chair, amused and unimpressed. He twirled the vial in his gloved hands, lazily studying it. “It’s not your city anymore” He shrugged. “It was right there for the taking, and honestly it is so much more fun than Gotham, without a gloomy bat lurking in the dark”

You didn’t react immediately. You simply observed him, then subtly calculated the distance of each goon from him. In theory, their reaction times would be slow enough for you to get to Sionis. But you held back, knowing he’d expect it now. 

“That’s what your smuggler said, too” You hummed, watching closely as his eyes met yours. He mustn’t be happy about that, because his expression became a notch darker. “Before I killed them, that is. But I guess I did you a favor in doing so. They would have sold you out to the next opportunist. Nobody likes a traitor, right?”

He regained his composure, but the bitterness in his eyes didn’t leave. “When I heard you wanted to meet, I thought it’d be to apologize to me for your misstep” He took a deep breath. “I was ready to let you go with some compensation for my loss in the form of doing my dirty work, I really was. But now I see you still want to be insolent--”

“Alright, I’ll say this once and only once” You interrupted him, and he instantly grew offended. “Get out of my city. Leave and never come back, or Nightwing won’t be the one you’ll be facing”

“So, this is what got your panties in a twist” He laughed, then seriousness fell back down on his features in a snap. “Kill her”

Before they could move, you pushed out of your chair and grabbed your switchblade in your belt. Your footwork was swift as you spun around Sionis, avoiding the range of the gun he was pulling out, and stopped behind him. A second later, his head was slammed down on the table and your blade was pressed to his throat. You looked up at the goons who had halted their movements, suspense of what you’d do next hanging in the air. 

“Drop your weapons” You ordered, nodding at the gun aimed at you. “C’mon, off with it. Kick them away too”

“Drop your weapons” Sionis repeated through his teeth, not daring to move a muscle. God knew what was on your blade, and if you drew blood, it’ll most likely be over for him. “Fuck!”

Slowly, they lowered their weapon to the ground and kicked them toward you. “Good” You huffed out before leaning closer to Sionis. “Now maybe you won’t underestimate me anymore. This is only a taste of what will come to you if you keep provoking me. I’ll destroy you like a poison running its course through a healthy vein, and you’ll regret setting eyes on my city. Understood?”

“You fucking bitch” He panted, a twisted smile on his lips. “You’re fucking dumb if you think you can get out of here alive. You’re out of your league, little girl”

“Really? I was under the impression that your life mattered more than mine” You said as you pressed your blade further, exposing the metal to his blood long enough to know the venom got in. You retracted your blade, but kept the hand on his head. “If I don’t make it out of here, neither will you. You’ll be dead in thirty minutes, like your smuggler. It’s gonna be painful and ugly, trust me. But if I walk out of here, in five minutes you’ll have a delivery boy knocking at your door and handing you the antidote. So what’s it gonna be, Sionis?”

He took a moment, exhaling loudly as his breathing quickened. “Go” He muttered harshly, glaring up sideways at you with a thousand daggers. “Fucking shit hell, go!”

You grinned, making the motion of leaving, but you weren’t done just yet. “One more thing” You slammed his head on the table once again before letting him go. “Nightwing is off limits. You’d do well to remember it”

You backed off of him, letting him stand up again and adjust his suit with an undignified huff. His eyes shot thunder at your back as you retreated, smugly taking your spear out of a goon’s hand and exiting the casino. 

You weren’t such a fool not to expect retaliation, but at least you could say he had been warned through an over of what would be waiting for him. 

-----

You weren’t expecting a welcome party back home, but Dick was there, on his feet, leaning on the couch as he glared at the front door. 

“I thought you’d be back to sleep by now” You mused as you got in your apartment. You dropped your keys on the counter and made a show of putting down your spear. His eyes burned into yours as he watched your every move like a hawk. You raised an eyebrow as you took off your coat, then unclipped your utility belt and dropped it beside your keys. “Why now, are you finally out of clever one liners?” 

He scoffed, then crossed his arms against his chest and looked away.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know why you’re mad I went after Sionis” You kept speaking, as he clearly gave you the silent treatment. “Who, by the way, tried to kill you with rattlesnake venom, in case you have already forgotten”

“I’m not mad” He finally mumbled. “I’m mourning the days where I didn’t have to worry about you going on a killing spree anymore”

“Is that all you think of me?” Your tone turned dry as you took one step toward him. “A loose cannon that needs to be held on a leash?”

“I don’t know” He shrugged sarcastically. “From what I remember from your so called glory days, bodies pile up pretty quickly when you’re in a mood”

You closed your eyes as your eyebrows rose in disbelief. “I’ve always liked you, Dick” You began after taking a deep breath. “As yourself and as Nightwing. We’ve always had a lot of common enemies, and I was fine with sharing this city with you”

You paused, slowly closing the distance between you and him. His muscles were tense, and his posture was defensive.

“If you think this was bad, oh you’re in for a treat, honey” You were face to face now. “I held back out of respect for you. Sionis is alive, out of respect for you. I healed you out of respect for you. Now that I know none of that respect is reciprocated, what stops me from fully being the bad guy?”

He stood up fully, towering over you. You had to look upwards to hold his glare.

“Me”

You smirked. “You’re so full of yourself”

“You don’t believe I can?”

“Well, you couldn’t when I was holding back”

“What makes you think I wasn’t holding back too?” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

“You had no reason to leave me out on the streets to pile up bodies, as you put it so eloquently” You taunted. “Unless…”

You inched closer, your faces only inches apart now.

“Unless you liked the chase as much as I did”

“In your dreams” He sneered.

“Oh, every night without a fail” 

Before you could blink, he sneaked his hand behind your head and crashed his lips to yours. You were surprised, but you didn’t waste time leaning into it. For a man still weak from his previous poisoning, he recovered his spunk pretty quickly. His fingers dug into your side as you moved against each other, and if you didn’t know better, you’d believe he was trying to leave bruises on your skin. You returned the favor, brushing your hands against his bare chest, but his reaction wasn’t the one you had anticipated. He hissed, probably still sensitive around the stomach from the effect of the venom, and you took the opportunity to catch his lower lip between your teeth, giving it a soft bite. 

“Fuck” He grunted, his eyes fluttering close.

“Are you sure you’re strong enough for this?” You hummed, tracing the dark bags under his eyes with your thumb. He opened his eyes once again, an incredulous and slightly offended glint in them that told you he was tired of you asking any variant of this question. “Alright, no need for hostility”

You returned your lip to his as he steadily backed you through your condo, navigating with assurance toward your bedroom. Your back pushed the door open with a thud, and soon after, you felt the mattress pressing behind your knees. You sat back, peeling off your shirt from your body and scooting further back on the bed. Dick climbed after you, pushing you on your back and wasting no time to crawl all over you again. You heard noise in the background, but you were too busy focusing on how blissful his mouth down your neck to your chest and back up made you feel. You barely noticed when your hands were brought up above your head, or when cold metal was secured around your wrists with a click. 

Then, his body weight above yours was abruptly taken off. You reopened your eyes, mind still a bit fuzzy as you stared in confusion at Dick standing at the foot of the bed. Your frown deepened when you gave a good tug on your wrist, but couldn’t bring them down. You narrowed your eyes, then read his smug expression and understood what he did. You were tempted to be mad, but you couldn’t help but give him a full blown grin”

“Well, well, well” You drawled out, relaxing back. These were your handcuffs, you knew there was no getting out of them so easily. “I gotta say, I’m impressed. Using my attraction to you to get me temporarily out of commission is cold. I didn’t know you had it in you”

“Well, you had it coming” He crossed his arms against his chest, but in a more relaxed manner this time. 

“Playing dirty now, are we?” You chuckled as you shamelessly checked him out. “Very well then. Next time we meet I’ll have adapted my game. I hope you’re ready”

You might have imagined it, but a small smile played on his lips just before he turned around and left you there, handcuffed to your bed frame.

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘Come Home’

A TommyInnit & Clingyduo Fic ahead of the final showdown tomorrow - spoilers for today’s (19th) Tommy stream.

tw for events of Exile Arc (skippable if you miss out the entire middle section of the fic, marked by three dashes on their own separate line)

The rush, the high. He’s been chasing this feeling since forever. It’s not a perfect replacement for the real thing, which he hasn’t felt in such a long time. It’s not a fluttering but an explosion, not the strumming of the guitar but the crash of the drums, not the rain but the thunder and lightning, though even that’s become fraught for him recently. He remembers the last time, a wonderful five minutes sandwiched by pain and chaos and destruction. His best friend standing on a stage, new leader of L’Manberg. A fresh start, the promise of peace and prosperity for all around them. But then it was all over, all brought down so quickly. The Tommy that cheered at his best friend’s inauguration is unrecognisable now.

But Tubbo is not, and between the scars and the new outfit and all the words, both spoken and unsaid, it’s still them. Tommy tastes the potion they’ve just made and hears his best friend’s laughter, and if he closes his eyes, he can pretend for a few fleeting seconds that nothing has changed at all. If he opens his eyes, he’ll be back in the camarvan, and Wilbur will walk in through the door with more blaze rods and laugh at the two of them and ruffle his hair. The discs will be in his ender chest if he wants to listen to one with Tubbo. There’s a lake outside the door and a forest and a whole wide world to explore, and Tommy’s only worry is that Punz will yell at him if he sees him for having a ‘Fortnite build battle on his front lawn’ a little while ago. He opens his eyes and then takes another swig of potion to dampen his disappointment.

“Aye careful,” Tommy’s vaguely aware of Tubbo pulling the bottle away from his face before he accidentally upends it on himself. “Don’t want you looking like Sapnap earlier.” Tubbo’s grin is brighter than the sun on snow. “I have no idea what was happening with Cracknap other than he still needs help.” Tubbo’s laughter is soft, “He’s not the only one anymore.”

“Too shay.”

They drift upstairs, and then eventually out the door. It’s around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and there are clouds drifting on the edge of the horizon. They’re dark and heavy-looking, but for now too far away to block the pale winter sunlight keeping the outside temperature a stubborn 10 degrees C. “I should go back to Snowchester.” Tubbo looks restless as they step onto the Prime Path. Tommy knows the feeling. Suddenly tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

“You’ll come back though, right? Tonight, one last ride?” They embrace, squeezing tightly as Tubbo hums an agreement. “Of course. One last ride.” And then they withdraw, and Tubbo gives a small wave as he disappears down the hill towards his highway, and Tommy watches him go. And when he finally looks up, alone with his thoughts once more, he realises he is leaning on the back of his bench; here again, always retreading the same ground. He briefly entertains the idea of putting on a disc and staying a little while, but he doesn’t have any music to live up to the occasion. Not Far, nor Pigstep or Wait, and he still hasn’t sorted out his complicated feelings over his version of Blocks. Besides, he still has things to sort out before the showdown. He walks away to prepare, humming Mellohi lightly as he goes.

---

‘Home’ is a fraught word for Tommy now. Every home the boy has had in this land is either steeped in blood and bad memories, or blown to bits beyond repair. Somedays Tommy wakes up alone and forgets that L’Manberg was wiped off the map, and it comes as a nasty shock when he rounds the corner by his home to see a crater that stretches all the way down to bedrock. Pogtopia never really felt like home, but it was bad enough when it was only soulless stone walls and bashing your head on the lanterns hanging from the ceiling that its inhabitants and visitors had to contend with. After the Manberg Festival, there was an entire room in there that’s sole purpose was to remind Tommy that he didn’t save his friend and couldn’t have if he’d tried, dried blood on the walls and all. Then there's the fact that it’s practically server tradition at this point: if you want to send TommyInnit a message, leave it on signs in his house. Don’t forget to blow up the house first though! Tommy forgets how many times he’s had to put his abode back together; probably about as many times as he’s had to reconstruct himself.

That leaves Logstedshire. Sometimes he agrees with himself that that place doesn’t deserve to be considered a home of his. He sure as hell didn’t want to live there, barely survived his stay, and the place is mostly blown up, the awful icing on the dreadful cake that was his second exile from L’Manberg. He supposes it could be considered weird that he finds himself stepping down a path he never wanted to walk again, but today… Today is about closure. And if he can look Technoblade in the eyes with a belt-full of potions stolen from his chests, he’s brave enough to face his fears in Logsted. As he arrives at the portal, he hesitates, his gaze drifting away from the swirling purple and to the bubbling orange, much further below. So many times has he been here, only then his mind was a much worse thing to own, a clouded mass of hateful thoughts, most of them not his own. Where the bridge meets thin air there are patches of a shimmering wind where the heat takes the place of the nothingness, and if he squints Tommy can imagine himself standing on the edge, wondering what would happen if he'd just let go. He’s glad now that he was in the Overworld when he made the pillar, even if it seemed like he had nowhere to go.

Logstedshire is haunted, even more so than the Nether path. It’s exactly how Tommy remembers it: the broken Nether portal missing a single piece of obsidian, the craters untouched, the pillar still stretching skyward. He can see himself again; on the beach, repairing the chests, standing at the top of the tower. It’s like being in a haunted house where all the ghosts are yourself. But Tommy isn’t afraid. The ‘Drista’ sign makes him laugh, the ocean where he’d wake up drowning (trying to make it home to where? A country that no longer exists) gets a small wave, even the pillar gets a smile, because he’s here to look at it from the ground. It was a bad time in his life - possibly the worst -  but he made it out the other side. And that’s what matters.

There are some craters though, some specific memories that Tommy can’t face yet. The smiling mask of the green man, snatching items out of Tommy’s hands to then force him to watch as he blew them to bits. How he specifically said “I want you to watch.” when he blew up everything Tommy and Ghostbur had managed to scrape together for themselves out there alone. The two-by-two hole in the centre of the largest crater, and how just glancing at it summons Dream’s voice to his mind, taunting him as he grabbed him by the front of his already ripped shirt and hoisted him over the short drop, “Why don’t you get in the hole, Tommy?”

Those still sting. There’s a reason, he supposes, why Wilbur went mad after losing L’Manberg. Why he asked Philza to kill him instead of facing the wreckage all around. But Tommy refuses to be just another repeat of history. Tommy looks into the pit made by Dream’s TNT where scraps of happiness were burned, and he spits at it.

No more.

TommyInnit heads home.

---

Hours pass. Tubbo returns from Snowchester soaked through to the skin but smiling. Tommy helps him peel off several layers of frozen clothing (he decides not to ask in regards to the hazmat suit), finding out that the nukes project is going well but they are presented with the usual issues of living in a frozen tundra: cold.

After Tubbo’s showered and changed, they share a dinner giggling about really dumb topics like Tommy pulling a fast one on Technoblade, Jack Manifold being weird and unhelpful again, and good old GeorgeNotFound. The hours fly by, and it's much later that they’re getting ready for bed when the heavens finally open, and the sound of a heavy downpour seeps in through the cracks of Tommy’s dirt house. Tommy can feel the smile crossing his face until he remembers his house is a dirt shack at present, and mud houses aren’t generally known for being the most watertight. Tubbo gets a good laugh out of his expression when he comes bustling down the stairs dragging his bed behind him, crying out, “Our clothes! Beds! Tubbo-” Their plans changed and they put their beds in the storage room, the room voted Least Likely To Have a Leak by a grand majority of two. The sound of the rain is somehow less muffled down there, and it clatters against the ceiling almost melodically.

Tommy picks up the crossbow from the pile of clothes and other bits and bobs he grabbed from upstairs when the downpour started. ‘Chekhov's Gun’. Wilbur’s gun. As in, actual Alivebur’s weapon, from before he blew up L’Manberg. It feels heavy in his hands. Too heavy. Wilbur’s voice echoes through his head, not the usual line he hears in his nightmares, but similar. 

“You’re never going to be president, Tommy.”

It doesn’t hurt anymore. Wilbur gave him that choice, and he declined. He wonders, with a certain detachment, how it all would’ve turned out if he’d chosen to take the presidency. He certainly wouldn’t have exiled Tubbo.

Tubbo, who’s looking at him with a lopsided grin, standing by his bed and holding his covers aloft, one leg already in bed. It seems like an invitation. “You alright?” Tommy nods and sets down the crossbow and clothes on top of one of the chests, “Yeah… Goodnight Tubs.”

“Goodnight Tommy.”

In the split second before either of them can commit to getting into bed, Tommy hears Wilbur again. This time though, he doesn’t mock him, nor does he sound too far gone to be saved. This iteration of Wilbur Soot wears a captain’s hat instead of a beanie, and speaks with soft conviction, and puts his hands on Tommy’s shoulders like he can shield the teen from the choice that he’s made.

“I want you to do whatever your heart says you should do.”

“Tubbo wait,” Tommy catches his best friend by the arm. Two pairs of blue eyes meet briefly as Tommy pulls him into a hug, putting one hand on the back of Tubbo’s head and messing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. Tubbo’s surprise doesn’t last long, and he hugs back, burying his face in Tommy’s shoulder and balling Tommy’s shirt into his fists. Tommy breathes a deep sigh, trying to make the moment last, but knowing no one lives forever. Eventually they split, and Tommy ruffles Tubbo’s hair as they grin at each other with tired eyes and heavy limbs. “Okay, goodnight Tubbo.”

The older boy in question takes two steps back and sits down on his bed, shuffling back quickly and holding the covers open, smiling invitingly. “Tommy,” His voice sounds like honey, so sickly-sweet it shouldn’t be nice, but is. There’s also a heavy undertone of teasing going on to start with, but it becomes more genuine suddenly. “Come home.” And Tommy understands and climbs in beside him, and they tease each other for being clingy and sappy as they try to get comfortable, and then they quiet to the odd remark as they find the right place, Tubbo’s head resting on Tommy’s collarbone, their arms wrapped around each other and Tommy’s head leaning on Tubbo’s. Tubbo drops off first, and Tommy is waiting in the noisy quiet for sleep to claim him too, listening to the rain pattering on the roof and his friend’s breathing beside him. And in the quiet, he realises a couple things.

He realises he rather likes the rain without the thunder, and that maybe the guitar is better than the drums, and that the fluttering in his chest is more uplifting than the explosion of a vibrant heart. It’s not the triumphant high he’s been chasing. It’s quieter, it’s comforting, it’s a warm feeling in his whole being. It’s just as good as the victorious moment. It’s perfect.

The second thing he realises is that he’s been wrong since the beginning. Home was never Logstedshire or Pogtopia, but neither was it L’Manberg or even the building they’re currently in. Home was the togetherness L’Manberg brought, sitting around a campfire singing the national anthem and putting more effort into the ‘fuck Eret’ part every time it came around. Home was listening to Wilbur’s guitar echoing through the caverns at Pogtopia and complaining about eating Technoblade’s potato stew for the third day running while your comrades laughed. Home is right here, wrapped in the arms of your favourite person, belly full of good food, listening to the rain as sleep slowly takes you. He sees that now.

TommyInnit is home.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Mimicry.”

Trying to get back into more stories about how weird humans are in general. It is very difficult though, since I am short on ideas lol. Also, prepare for some world building! :) The rundi home planet was fun to design.

I hope you like it anyway. 

The engines of the GA transport ship kicked up a storm of blue dust as it descended towards the sandy desert plateau. Little creatures fled in earnest from the buffeting gusts of wind and the loud rumbling of the engines fleeing out into the dessert on many legs and stumpy wings. Twisted, yellow-barked bulb trees cracked and bent under the powerful gusts of wind swaying gently back and forth as the billowing blue dust cloud came to overtake them.

The GA shuttle landed lightly on the surface of the planet, three-pronged body burying it’s struts deep into the desert planet’s sandy skin. Dirt continued to swirl up and around the shuttle, until the engines were cut, and the power was stalled.

With a low whirring grumble, the ship whined into dormancy allowing the dust to settle and leaving nothing but the low mournful whistle of wind in the desert.

The shuttle door opened, and the Rundi scientists jogged out onto their home planet’s dusty surface, their feet padding softly against the sand. The dark greens and brown of their skin, while not exactly camouflage against the blue sand did help them to blend into some of the lower lying rock-shrubs on the horizon.

The air in the desert was bone dry and dusty blue. The horizon was a haze of wind blown sand against a green/yellow sky. 

The slow expansion of the rundi sun had turned their once, yellow star, red. It had been like that for many years now, and not even their most ancient texts remembered the days when the sky was blue.

Boots clattered on the ramp down onto the sand, and the human placed his hands on his hips wide eyes staring out at the strange alien planet’s surface.

“Everything alright, Jim.”

The human turned coming face to face with the GA ship’s pilot. He grinned, “Couldn’t be better.” Together the two of them walked down the ramp and onto a light dusting of blue sand. The human reached down scooping up a cup of the strange and beautiful sand, letting it trickle through his fingers.

“Thank you, commander, for offering to help.” he turned to look at the Rundi, “And thank you immeasurably for giving me this opportunity to help you. I never would have thought…. I mean I am a wildlife expert, but alien wildlife…. That's an entirely different story.”

The rundi bowed their heads as was their manor, though they weren’t entirely sure what the human had said. He had a strange accent that threw off cheaper translation models. While many of the older models COULD understand the multitude of human languages, deviations in accents was still nuanced and difficult to pick up for even the most expensive piece of equipment.

He turned to look at the commander, “Do you know what makes the sand blue. It is the most fascinating thing I think I have ever seen.” 

The commander picked up a handful of dirt and let it trail through his fingers, “I think it has to do with the extreme presence of copper in the soil, oxidized copper likes to turn blue, and with bacteria in the soil producing ammonia, i think you can get even darker shades than this.”

The human lifted his head smelling at the air, “it’s very dry, obviously this is a desert planet, or at least a dessert on a planet.” 

“A dessert planet.” The commander said, motioning to the group of rundi who stood out in the sand examining the plants for signs of wildlife, “Rundi are actually allergic to water, which is why they were making us wear gloves and masks.”

“Allergic to water? How do they survive then?”

“They can get moisture in other forms, I guess. Water being as scarce as it is on this planet, at least on the surface. There are vast underworld reservoirs and rivers, which feed the plants you see here. Their roots are extremely deep, deeper than any earth plant. Eating those plants provides the Rundi with everything they need.” He motioned onward, “The thoraxes act as a sort of fat deposit so they can go for months at a time without eating.”

“That’s quite amazing, Commander. You know about as much about other sentient species as I do about our more animal friends.”

The commander smiled the skin wrinkling up around his one remaining eye, “I have had plenty of time spent with them.”

“Ill bet.” All in one moment, he clapped his hands together, forcing the attention of the Rundi who turned to look at the strange human, in his boots, shorts, and shirt, probably the most under-dressed human they had ever seen.

“First things is first.” he turned around to look at another group of similarly dressed humans emerging from the inside of the shuttle, “We are here to catch, sedate, and transport the Strangit. We want to make sure that it stays as relaxed and as stress free as possible, which is why we will bate it, and then dart it from a distance.”

“How do we know our sedation will work?” one of the humans asked, raising a hand.

“We have done some non-invasive testing with the DNA sequences of these creatures and found that their structure is similar enough to accept the drug in the same way a Rino or a hippo might, so hopefully we won’t be proven wrong Also, if you find any other creatures during our tour, just use the little boxes on your hips to catch them, and secure them. We want to relocate as many of these critters as possible, but we want to do it in the nicest way we can.”

He turned to look at the Commander who stood to the side of the group, “Do you think you can help us out.”

The commander nodded, “Always willing to help. Just tell me what I need to do.”

He clapped his hands together. “Excellent, lets get to work.”

-

The following Rundi scientists were a little more than fascinated by the pack of humans, and especially their leader as they began a slow movement up through the sand sweeping back and forth for signs of the Strangit, last spotted in this area. They had heard that some humans were capable of tracking their prey over long distances by using nothing more than small changes left in the land by their prey, footprints, or clumps of hair, sometimes the very formation of the land itself.

Their feet were almost silent on the sand, and when they communicated, they did it in a low rumble. Sometimes, they didn’t even speak at all, simple motioning at each other, communicating silently over long distances. The lead human kept his eyes to the ground crouched low legs always moving zig-zagging from rock to rock until at one moment he stopped, and called the others in with a sharp piercing blast.

He had no equipment with which to make that sound, though humans were known for their ability.

“See these, right here. Looks like tracks. I’ll wager to say it passed by here not too long ago.” He motioned upwards at the blowing sand. And with the rate at which this sand is blowing, I would reduce the time even more than before. We should move silently from here.” The rundi held back, watching as the humans condensed down their group slowly moving around each other their eyes forward, their bodies focused on their hunting. The main human spent most of his time in a low crouch, sometimes dropping down to all fours so he could better see the dirt and the ground underneath.

None of the rundi could see what he was looking for, but he seemed sure they were close.

It was just then that a strange warbling chatter echoed up form the other side of a short sand dune.

The humans went very still, and the forward human held his finger to his lips motioning the other into position.

The human with the dart gun quietly padded up the side of the hill concealing himself against the bowl of a rock, cozied inside a divot created by the sand and the wind.

With a wave of his hand, the human motioned the others closer, including the Commander, who knelt in the soft sandy circle about him.

The rundi tried to stay quiet as they approached, ready to hear the plan.

“That first call.” he whispered, “Was the male, its a mating call, and the second one was a more distant female. Now the females tend to travel in herds, while the males are generally loners, so if we mimic, the sound of the female, and make it think that there is a larger group of us, we might be able to drawn him over and into our line of sight, without risking it getting startled or agitated.

The chattering sound started up again, receiving a response not a moment later.

He motioned the other humans away, who scurried off to hide themselves, creating a spot for ambush. 

Watching from a distance, it was rather unnerving, the way the humans seemed to know inherently how to behave, how to spread out, and how to hide themselves, creating an open break in their circular line for the creature to come.

It was even worse when the sounds came.

The lead human, in line of sight to the Rundi, cupped his hands around his mouth and began the warbling call of a female strangit. Off in the distance a male call answered, following that the other humans began to mimic the sound of the first. A human to their right added in soe of the related huffing noises, their chest raising and falling in shorts bursts.

They did whatever they could to create the noise they were hearing, using their hands, adjusting their tongues and tilting their heads back.

It was terrifying.

A few of the Rundi felt shivers run up their backs as they imagined their ancestors traveling in large groups and hearing a cry for help, running to hear that cry and being pounced upon by a group of humans mimicking their own voices.

Sand shuffled off on the other side of the hill.

Footsteps thudded against stone , and the Strangit crested the horizon, its massive back spikes jutting almost three feet up into the air. Its body was stocky with muscle, its feet were large, round and flat, and from a distance it was at least the same height as a tall Drev, though with much more mass.

A single giant tusk jutted out from the bottom of it’s chin nearly scraping the ground as it walked. 

As a male of the species, instead of being blue to match the sand, Like a female, they were a sort of ruddy yellow color with spots of green dappling it’s back.

When it moved, the sun reflected off those spots of green.

The creature lifted it’s head looking around for the female’s it was sure it had heard.

One of the humans made one last call, and the great beast turned to face the sound, seeming almost confused when it saw nothing.

The Rundi watched as the armed human gently slid into place on his side, using the sandy hill to steady his weapon.

There was a low pop, and the beast jumped bellowing at the sky before turning around and running in the opposite direction.

“We got him!” Someone yelled, and together the humans broke from their line of cover and went racing after the creature.

Like a pack of wolves they followed the creature at a distance as it galloped through the open sand leaving a  trail of dust behind it. The human’s feet kicked up dust, and they pulled to a slow stop as the creature slowed, wobbled and then tipped onto its side resting heavily in the sand. The rundi caught up as the humans were speaking with each other.

“Just give it a few minutes.”

While they waited the Rundi looked to the humans with concern, “Is it common…. For humans to mimic their prey.”

The humans laughed, “Not really, we record things instead. Most animals on our planet can tell the difference. However, we are generally pretty good at somewhat reproducing most noises.”

“Go on.” They asked 

Intrigued.

While the other humans walked off to inspect their prey, a few remained behind and seemed to be having fun demonstrating the different calls animals on their planet make.

One of the sounds a long, drawn out howl sent shivers up the Rundi’s backs. 

“You know, wolves are fun to mimic, but the one sound I think it might be impossible to make is a roar.” 

“I mean yes, but have you ever tried to make an Elk sound.”

“Oh, I can do an elk.”

“No way, lets see it.” 

What followed was a competition based on who could make the strangest animal noise. The elk was pretty terrifying and screeching repeating call that rose in octave until it was no more than a piercing note on the air repeated multiple times.

“Ok, ok, that is pretty.”

“Is it acceptable to use props.”

“Why.”

“Because if it is, I can accurately mimic a two strike dirt bike.” 

There was laughing from the other humans, “Ah yes, I forgot about that breed.”

“I have an uncle who owns a dirk bike farm.”

It took a moment for the rundi to realize that the humans were simply joking. As it would soon come to light, humans could also mimic the sound of non-organic objects.

Looking back and fourth at each other, they collectively decided it would be best if this was never mentioned to the humans.

IT seemed as if they had not evolved to hunt like this.

But if they knew.

If they knew the power of their own voices, the rest of the galaxy might be in serious danger.

Looking over at the Strangit, the Rundi shivered at the thought of hearing a familiar call in the distance just to show up, and be met with the sharp glistening teeth of a hungry, smiling human.

Poor creature.