#i think finding the echoes and visions and using them to change the plot beats and the environment and the story itself for the first time

[emmaswanned]

"i had a flash of inspiration. the ghost of my fictional detective."

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 9.3

Childe elected to ignore your groan of pain when he yanked you to your feet.  "No hard feelings, comrade."

"I-I'm gonna kill you," you breathed.  "I'll kill you and that damned witch if it's the last thing I do."  A cold hand pressed to your side while the harbinger threw your other arm over his shoulder to escort you inside.

"I suppose I'll have to train you then if that's your goal."

He wasn't joking; the two of you would remain at a stalemate until your strength grew.  He taught you--what you assumed was--almost everything he knew, though for you to reap the full benefits of his knowledge would take years of training.  Despite this he pushed you over and over again, every day, after the wound he gave you closed.  He didn't give you the courtesy of healing completely before initiating fights with you.  He didn't go easy on you either--but it's not like you would've wanted him to in the first place.  At least your sparring sessions gave you an outlet to take out your frustrations on.

You didn't count the days that passed.  You didn't call for Xiao.  You didn't rely on him to save you when all is said and done.  It was time to rescue yourself; if you overran the palace on your own, then other nations wouldn't need to get involved on your behalf.  If the palace fell, no one except you would be held responsible.  You were okay with that.  If it meant Xiao, Aether and Zhongli would be excluded from the wrath of the cryo archon, then your struggles were more than worth it.

Yet with every passing day, more and more Fatui agents were injected with the serums that contained your blood--and survived.  The only thing that made their successful adaptation possible was the sealing of your and Xiao's bond.  With that thought in mind, you were growing increasingly impatient.  You were the one that insisted upon training for most of the day, not Childe.  You were the one looking for a fight.

"Why're you doing this?"  You asked one day while your hand absently trailed down to the fresh scar on your side where he had impaled you.

"Doing what?"

"Training me.  Isn't it a stupid move to train someone how to fight when they're intent on killing you?  If I was you, I would've just let me bleed out in the snow back then."

"If I didn't train you, I would be missing out on one of the best fights of my life."

"Is that supposed to flatter me?"

"It's the truth.  Where else am I supposed to find a worthy opponent?  At my current power level, I'd have more luck with creating one."  Childe conjured his bow and twirled it in his hand, seemingly debating something that was on his mind.  "With your improved skills, I think we'd be able to take the other harbingers."

You froze.  "What?  Why would you say that?  Whatever happened to your undying loyalty?"

"My loyalty for the Tsaritsa and my respect for my coworkers are two entirely different matters.  What I really care about is fighting.  It's been so long since I've had an exhilarating battle, even after Aether showed up.  I would give anything to feel that thrilled again.  And that, dear ojou-chan, is where you come in."

"I'm not fighting you for the thrills.  I will kill you, I'll make sure of it."  It's insulting that he'd even look at your anger as a type of entertainment!  The nerve of this guy--

"Well until then I think we could stir up quite the trouble, you and I, don't you think?"  His eyes finally left his weapon and locked onto you.

"...What exactly are you implying, Tartaglia?"  Narrowed suspicious pupils returned his mischievous ones.

He didn't answer, instead leaving you with an ominous smirk and returning to the palace walls.  Why should you trust a word that fell from his mouth after the Lantern Rite stunt he pulled?  Maybe a small part of you wanted to believe he had some inkling of good in him, but you forced that wishful thinking down into the depths of your soul.  Childe betrayed you so many times; it was in his nature to do so.  He would never be done deceiving you either.  You were sure of it despite the doubts that weighed on your mind.

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

"Bow before Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa."  La Signora crossed her arms over her chest when you just glared at the dark throne that sat beneath the shadows.

"I think not."

The clicking of the harbinger's heels echoed in the silent room as everyone held their breaths.  No one dared stand up to the cryo archon; it was unthinkable, even considered treason to question her actions.  This would be the first meeting with the god since you formed a contract with her.  And yet despite your quivering knees, you didn't remove your disrespectful glare from the throne.

"I wasn't asking."  Fingers gripped your chin and forced you to look Signora in the face at an uncomfortably close distance.  "You know the drill.  Bow."

A beat of silence hung heavily in the air and then an awkward cough came from one of the Fatui advisors to your far right.  You didn't blink.  "Did I stutter?"

Signora's lips curled into a half-amused smirk before her fingers let go of your chin and were replaced by a palm slapping you instead.  Her nails broke skin, but your expression never changed even when the stinging pain rang through your ear.  "Have you forgotten who you serve?"

"She's not my god."

"Maybe not the one you worship, but I am the one you serve," the Tsaritsa leaned forward from her place on the throne and gestured for the Fair Lady to return to her side.  "Tell me, why did you request to see me?"

A quick glance was sent Childe's away as if to check yourself.  You had decided it best to at least try the peaceful way out before throwing yourself into a suicide mission.  If worse came to worse, at least you'd be able to put your new knowledge to the test.  "I'm no longer working for you."  The archon's silence urged you to continue.  "You don't need me here anymore.  You got what you wanted.  I'm going to return to Liyue."

"Is that so?"

"I will leave regardless of your answer."

"And you think I'd just let you walk out of here after all I've done for you?"  The temperature dropped, but it displayed an emotion that you couldn't put your finger on.  "I gifted you your vision, spared your life and that of your friends, and you insult me in return?"

What is this feeling of dread in my stomach?  Your fists tightened and you took a deep breath to steady your nerves.  "The trials are over now that Dottore's injections work.  That was our deal, was it not?  You want to break our contract?  I thought you were more credible than that," you tested.

"I know what you've been thinking," the archon's thin lips formed a sinister grin.  "I know you're plotting to cause an uproar, and I am telling you now that you will fail.  Heed my words, Mezzetin, you are and always will be under my control."

"Wh-What did you just say...?"  Your heartbeat drummed loudly in your ears and you knees felt like they would give out beneath you.  This...This happened before.  When did she say that?  Where did I hear these words from?  Cold, desolate eyes watched you carefully as the room spun beneath your feet.  "Stay...away..."

"You work for me, not the other way around.  If you leave now, I'll give the order to kill those friends of yours.  You're not done until I say you're done."

"You wouldn't--!"  Bile burned the back of your throat, and a shaky hand covered your mouth in case you suddenly couldn't hold it in.  "You...you..."  An unsettling realization came to light.

"Do you understand the position you're in, Mezzetin?"

"It was...You gave me those nightmares!  Those were all you?"

"You don't think I'm oblivious to your desires, do you? You will always be under my control."

"If you dare touch him I'll--!"  Hundreds of shards manifested behind you and simultaneously shot at the throne.  The more that shattered against the seat and back wall, the more that manifested and replaced them.  

The ones that barreled nearest to the Tsaritsa diverted their path and shattered against the back wall like they had a mind of their own.  Signora used her catalyst to redirect the remaining shards to you.  Luckily none of them landed a strike on your skin, but a charged arrow of Childe's landed before your feet and you slipped on the forming ice.  His hydro blade was immediately at your throat, along with Signora hovering over you with an annoyed look on her face.  The three of you were surrounded by Fatui officers in an instant; despite their capabilities, they were slower than the harbingers.

"If she makes a move, kill her," the archon calmly ordered, completely unbothered by the commotion.

Signora had her men drag you away to the all-too familiar exit that led to the cells beneath the palace.  They forced your head forward so you didn't see the Tsaritsa recline back in her seat and into the shadows.

The archon swiped her finger across her pale cheekbone and warily inspected the fresh blood that had run down the side of her face.  I missed one?  One of your shards did manage to hit her.  Such a measly attack shouldn't have injured me, she thought as she stared at her fingers in awe and concern.  While your power had grown to a certain extent thanks to Childe's training, it was by no means anywhere near equivalent to his--much less equivalent to a god's.  Your strikes, while powerful, shouldn't have been able to hurt the cryo archon.  Yet here she was, staring at the blood you drew from her.

She recalled the wild look in your eyes when you decided to attack her.  Such a beautiful, pitiful sight that held an immeasurable lack of sanity and rational thought.  Your rage was feral, but just like a wild animal, so was your fear of being caged.  She could see it in your stance;  you were all bark and little bite.  The soft interior within her hardened heart actually admired your bravery...only a little, though.  If she were to achieve her goals, that flame of admiration would quickly be extinguished since it had no place in such a cruel world.

Her thumb smoothed over her bloodied fingers while she thought quietly to herself.  It shouldn't have been possible to harm her.  Not on your own, not even with your vision.  It was then that it dawned on her the true meaning of your bond with Morax's sole-surviving warrior adeptus.

So this is the power of the Vigilant Yaksha.

[pine-lark]

Ooh trap him somewhere either very hot or very cold?? :D

Oh.

Oh.

This is a perfect excuse to write an old daydream from my childhood. Well, there's two-- Arion on a grill and Arion in a box. I chose the box for this one but I may be tempted to write the grill at some point. I haven't written The Box before now because it doesn't exactly... fit with the plot of the actual story, but I mean...

Alternate Rescue AU, coming right up, Anon. (Also sorry I'm like, infinitely late haha. School threw me into a hell pit and I've been recovering. I'm back now ((though I'm not sure for how long, things might change in a week or two... we'll see.)) For now, I'm working on a lot of Arion stuff that will hopefully pop up within a few days! Cheers!)

CW: Tiny whumpee, some blood, cold/hypothermia symptoms (duh), cages/referenced captivity, briefly implied forced nudity from said captivity, brief reference to a past fever and resulting vomiting, referenced/implied physical abuse, water/rain/storms/being submerged in/splashed with water, thoughts of dying (of the "I might die" and "Am I dead?" and wishing to be put out of misery type), crying, (thinking about) needles, short (kind of) graphic description of a bird being run over, brief religion references

-

His legs still ache from running.

Arion sits in the cardboard box he found on the side of the road, huddled in the corner, shivering in the dark. Although he tries to clamp his jaw shut and stop it, his teeth chatter and his shoulders quiver. It feels like the frozen autumn air has grasped him entirely in icy claws that shake him violently in an inescapable grip. It reminds him of being trapped in Heston’s hand, shaken, body tossed in every direction until his head pounded and his eyes watered.

It’s colder outside than it used to be in the garage. But it’s better out here. No one can hurt him here.

As long as they don’t find him.

He rubs his hands over the goosebumps on his arms, hoping to warm them up and calm down the wild pain buried deep in his skin. As he does so, blood smears along the path he touches. It’s still gently creeping out of the series of cuts etched into his forearms. With it, the image of Heston’s glinting eyes surfaces in Arion’s memory. He buries his head in his shaking knees with a wet sniff. But he’s done it, he reminds himself. He’s escaped. Finally. Chewed through rope, slipped through an unlocked door. Heston's gone. For now.

Please, please don’t come looking for me.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance. He jumps. It sets off an echo of shivers all the way down his spine as his hair stands on end.

A raindrop falls on the cardboard roof. Then another, and another. Thunder claps harshly overhead.

Arion shuts his eyes tight, bites back the frustrated tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He curls up tighter, hugging himself, doing all he can to keep any scrap of heat he has close to his body. A storm might just do it. Might just kill him. A storm means wind. Freezing wind. And freezing rain. The last thing he needs right now is rain. It can’t rain. He presses his body closer to the cardboard wall, knowing it might not be standing there much longer if it rains.

And it does. It pours.

He sees the rain splash into the road before him. The storm swiftly grows. It’s ferocious and feral and cruel. The temperature around Arion drops. His tiny body shakes uncontrollably, as if it weren’t his own. It reminds him of the terrifying fever he had, long ago, in the confines of his red cage just weeks after being taken from his home. He’d been throwing up and twitching and having the most horrible, vivid dreams (on the occasions that both Heston and the illness let him sleep). The fits of shivering drove him mad, the endless teeth-chattering and flashes of uncomfortable warmth and sticky sweat made him feel even worse. It's like that, he thinks. Except, now, as he shivers, he’s unbearably cold.

An involuntary whine fights its way out of him. When he swallows, his throat feels stiff and achy. Snot runs profusely down his lips and no amount of wiping it away with his bleeding arms is helping it slow. Water has thoroughly and entirely drenched the cardboard, at this point. Has crept through the floor and the walls, and, gradually and persistently, has started to drip through the sagging ceiling. For a moment, Arion remembers he has toes, and that they’ve been numb for awhile now. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, his feet haven’t felt like anything either, and when he tries to move his fingers, they only twitch. They feel heavy and prickly. He feels prickly all over. Like Heston had shoved a thousand frozen needles into a thousand different places all over his body. It hurts to breathe. There’s no way to get warmer. Nothing to hide under, not even something as decent as clothing. No way to escape, nowhere to run to, even if he had the energy left to try. He lets out a miserable sob.

And then the ceiling falls through, in a blur of collapsing cardboard and splashing waves of water that crash over his head and the rest of his body.

Arion tumbles out of the box, drenched. He coughs up water through jittery movements. For a second, he chokes on a mouthful, and he briefly he thinks he'll never breathe again, before his chest jerks and with another cough, the water falls out of his mouth. He tries to get his arms and legs under him, to stand or even crawl, but his limbs fail him and he crumbles face-first back to the harsh surface below him. The rocks mixed in the road’s tar are sharp. They cut deeply through his nose and cheek and the shoulder that followed his face in the fall. Arion winces against the fresh, sharp pain and the beads of blood that begin to form where he’s been hurt. His breaths come in ragged heaves.

He sniffs. Tears drip from his eyes. He lays helpless in the middle of the little road, in his mind begging to no one that a car doesn’t come along and crush him. Under any other circumstance, he’d love to be put out of his misery. But he’s seen a bird been run over before. Under a truck’s tire. And the memory makes his stomach churn. Flattened face, open stomach, popped like a bubble in a stream.

Briefly, Arion thinks of himself in place of the bird. He thinks of the smear of red underneath his empty, open eyes. He thinks of the way the headlights might look as they would suddenly appear right in front of him. The horrid, mind-numbing honk of a horn. The image he creates in his mind of those headlights, his last moments, is vivid. It’s so vivid that he thinks it might be real, or maybe hypothermia is setting in and beginning to ruin his mind.

It’s just his imagination, he thinks.

And then he smells exhaust from a car.

And the screech of brakes.

And for a second, whilst his body is numb and bright white light is all he can see, he thinks he might be dead.

“I swear, if I keep stopping my car for every mouse that sits in front of it, I’m never going to get anywhere.”

That voice drifts from the car stopped in front of him.

Not dead, then.

Almost, he thinks.

“Can’t help it though. What else am I supposed to do, run them over? Just vet instincts, I guess. Huh, Jasper.” There’s a meow in response. Arion’s breath hitches. The voice says, “Me-ow. I know, I know. I’ll be right back.” A car door shuts. Then there’s heavy wet footsteps. Boots clopping over puddles and asphalt. Panic floods Arion’s chest as a shadow cuts through the blinding white light from the vehicle. The outline of a human lowers, kneels in front of him. His breath stops. His mind goes blank.

“What…”

A moment passes. Something touches him. He flinches hard, but trying to run isn’t an option. His body is completely, entirely, wholly exhausted and far too numb to move more than flailing back a couple inches.

“Oh, geez, that’s-- not a mouse. Okay.” Her head turns in a way that Arion can see her face. A young woman with red hair, watching him with a warm but frantic gaze. “Okay. Okay okay. Oh, God, you’re injured pretty bad, little buddy. Your arms are all… cut up. That’s not good. Um.”

Arion stares blankly ahead. Suddenly, freezing to death isn’t something he feels like putting too much effort into avoiding.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do,” the girl continues. “I’m gonna bring you into my car where I can see you better, alright? Then I can help you. It’s gonna be okay. Here. I’m picking you up now, ‘kay?”

The feeling of a warm hand washes over his body. It’s both terrifying and incredibly welcome. The sting of cold seems to seep out of his skin, albeit very slowly. Quickly, though, burning prickles replace whatever comfort the touch brought him.

“Oh, you’re freezing, little guy. You must have been out here for a long time. That can be really dangerous… I’m glad I found you. I’ll get you all warmed up in the car.”

Arion whimpers against the hands that carry him to somewhere warmer, where he hears the faint, deep sound of a large beating heart. For a second, he wonders if this is God. And then the car door opens and creaks, and the girl curses under her breath, and Arion remembers he’s an atheist.

Still, as the stinging in his warming skin subsides, the warmth of her hands starts to feel… nice. If his mind were still intact (instead of shattered into vague, useless fragments as it is now), Arion would have done anything and everything to get away from any human or other predatory beast in sight. But with his head swimming, he leans into her touch, and compliantly accepts the soft feeling of some kind of cloth being wrapped all around him.

Words are spoken to him, but he can’t listen. To him they sound broken up and blurry as the insistence of sleep becomes more desperate in the back of his mind. As he gets warmer, his muscles relax, and his eyes get droopy. His vision darkens, and the girl’s voice hushes.

Just before he drifts off into a far overdue, deep and restful sleep, he thinks to himself, vaguely, that he hopes this human is different. He hopes that when he wakes back up, it won’t be in another cage.

-

Tag list because this ended up being a full drabble:

(Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tag list. No hurt feelings! I know it's been a long time and if you've lost interest that is A-Okay, friend)

(Also, if you'd like to be added or if your username's changed, let me know!)

@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping, @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @ahorriblebimess, @whump-me-all-night-long

[supremeinlilac]

I thought I’d killed you

Pairing: Apocalypse!Wilhemina x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2821

Warnings: Mentions of death, angst

A/N: Honestly I don’t know if I kept Mina in character or not in this, but I do think she needed a good cry. Also, I just really enjoyed writing this, i think its one of my favourite things I’ve written :)

“Please don’t cry.”

It was unnerving to see Wilhemina crying so openly in front of you. She was usually so against such displays of vivid emotion. Seeing her shoulders shaking as tears tracked down her cheeks shocked you into action, scrambling up from where you’d been on the floor, hands coming up to cup her face and thumbs brushing the tears that had gathered on her closed eyelashes.

You’d never seen your girlfriend cry once in your time at the outpost; not even when her back made it impossible for her to move, her eyes screwed shut in pain, and you had to do everything for her. It both shocked and worried you to see her in such a state. Her normally perfect hair was tousled as if she’d tugged at it in anguish, and she’d clearly been crying for a while before you’d woken, eyes puffy and red.

Your voice and touch made her head jerk up to meet yours, her eyes widened in shock. She looked terrified, as if she could barely believe you were there, stood in front of her. She reached out to touch your face, pausing slightly before she touched you, before tracing your features with shaking hands.

“You’re alive” she gasped out, tears still flowing freely of which she made no attempt to wipe away. “You’re alive” she repeated, as if confirming it to herself, nodding her head and then shaking it. A strangled sob left her lips as she broke down again, clutching at you as if you’d simply disappear between her fingers.

“Of course I’m alive baby. What happened? Where’s your cane?” You moved to support her weight to relieve the pressure on her back, not knowing where to find her cane for her. Her sob turned to a momentary peal of laughter, before she returned to crying again, face turning away. Confused and slightly scared at her erratic changing of moods, you forced her to face you; leaning your forehead against hers and staring into her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” you whispered, hands moving to smooth down her tussled hair. She let your comb your fingers though it, leaning her weight against you and letting her head rest in the crook of your neck. Her gasping sobs turned to frequent sniffles, which in time turned to slight hiccups and deep breaths. You’d lead her to the edge of the bed, keeping the embrace and your tight grip around her frame as you’d settled down.

“I thought you’d died.” She paused, drawing a shaky breath and still clutching the fabric of your skirt into her hands, “I thought I’d killed you” she breathed against your neck.

Wilhemina followed Mead out of the common room, nose scrunched in disgust at the putrid stench of vomit that lingered in the air. The apple clutched in her palm was discarded on a box at the end of the corridor, as she parted with Mead.

“You deal with Langdon. You know what to do”. Mead nodded, turning and leaving Mina alone in the corridor. Glancing back once more towards the common room with a smirk, she nodded to herself before starting towards your shared room, eager to remind you of the rule you’d ‘broken’ at the dinner table that morning. The rule broken in question was in fact made up, but Wilhemina knew that you loved being punished just as much as she enjoyed doing it. You were always happy enough to act like you’d disobeyed her when she prompted it.

She’d thrown the door open, expecting you to be sat atop the bed, awaiting her arrival like she’d taught you to do when your relationship had started. When you were not there, she called out for you, in case you’d hidden to frighten her. No, you wouldn’t have repeated those actions after the last time you’d pulled that trick with her. She shivered at the thought of you bound on the bed before her at her mercy.

Pushing the image out of her brain, worry suddenly spiked within her. What if you went to find her and saw the common room? She knew you had a soft spot for most of the people that now lay on the floor dead; knew that you never honestly disliked anyone in the outpost. Not enough to enjoy finding them sprawled out dead in their own sick.

“Y/n?” she called out softly, eyes searching for signs of you down the deserted corridor. Upon hearing the echoing silence as an answer, she hurried towards where she feared you’d be. Nearing the turn of the corridor a muffled thump caught her attention ahead of her, and she hurried towards it, unease prickling up the skin of her arms.

She stopped in her tracks as she came to see your crumpled form two thirds of the way down the staircase, a cry getting stuck in her throat at the sight of the apple which had rolled to the bottom of the stairs. She hiked the hem of her dress into her hand and descended upon you as fast as her cane would allow.

“No no no no, Y/n what have you done?” she gasped, hand coming to tilt your head towards her. The foam at your mouth was still frothing, face muscles still twitching in reaction to the fatal poison you’d consumed. ‘Oh god, what have I done?’ she thought, looking around at the blue lips and whitened skin of the other bodies in the room. She could not let that happen to you.

Wilhemina let her cane clatter to the ground roughly and wrapped her arms hastily around your body like a parent would for an infant. Although your frame was small, her back still screamed at her in protest when she made to stand up with you in her arms. She steadied herself with a hand on the beam, ignoring her back, jaw set but face stricken with worry at the way your head lolled with nothing to support it, arms flailed to the side dramatically.

Mina let a low continuous groan of pain as she ascended the stairs, teeth gritted, every movement feeling like bolts of electricity were being forced up her spine. She hadn’t realised she’d begun to cry until the droplets splashed off her cheeks and onto your frail body beneath. It was impossible to determine whether it was the pain that drew them or the deep gutting fear that you might die here, in her arms, and that it would be her fault.

“Y/n, Y/n baby. Stay with me okay, listen to my- argghh- voice” her breathing now laboured and knees threatening to buckle beneath her, she pushed on down the corridor to your room. “Please don’t- Oh God, please don’t die.”

Once in the room she unceremoniously dumped you onto the floor, not having the time for the luxury of the gentleness she’d shown you on the stairs. Rifling through her draw, showing no regard for messing up her usually impeccably organised belongings until she found the small vile and needle she was looking for. Practically falling to her knees by her side; back now throbbing to the heightened beating of her heart, she took the needle between her teeth and shakily drew the contents of the vile into the syringe. Attempting to calm her trembling hands, she lined the needle up to the bend of your elbow, sliding it into your delicate skin and guiding the liquid into your veins.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she removed the needle and discarded it to the side. She positioned herself so her back was against the bed, guiding your head to rest in her lap and allowing her better access to check your temperature with the back of her clammy hand. Her fingers stroked through your hair, nails lightly grazing over the skin of your scalp the way she knew you loved.

“I love you; you know. I know I never say it to you even when you say it to me, but I do.” Her hand stilled on your hair, voice wavering slightly as she confessed, staring at your closed eyes with tears in her own. “And I’m so sorry baby that I never told you. I’m so sorry that you may die never knowing how much you mean to me”. Leaning to press a kiss to your damp forehead, she rocked you, cradling you again as close to herself as she could.

“I don’t want to be alone again. Please don’t leave me!”

A strangled cry escaped her parted lips when she kissed you, realising she could no longer see the rise and fall of your chest on her lap. She’d killed you. Oh my god she’d killed you. Laced the apple with the poison that stilled the blood in your veins. Her tears dripped from her chin and splashed onto your face, which she hastily wiped away, not wanting to taint you any further than you already had been.

Adjusting your body so you now lay completely on the floor, hands together on your torso, she rose to her feet using the bed as an aid. Still crying, clutching the bed and then the wall for support, not giving a damn about the lack of her cane, barely able to breathe through her gasping sobs. Her cries were loud, no one left to hear her anguish.

Miriam however, heard her from down the corridor, the wails carrying all the way to where she and Michael Langdon were plotting together. “Will you go and shut her up? I can barely concentrate as it is and-what the fuck is she crying about” he stated, hand pressed exasperatedly into his temple as she started off without the weapon. “Take. The. Gun. For crying out loud” he paused. “Quite literally it appears” chuckling as Miriam sauntered away.

She knocked at the door, poking her head round when she received no answer. Upon seeing Wilhelmina at the wall, head against it with no cane, you on the floor, she pocketed the gun she’d held up. Seeing the woman in such pain, stopped her from being able to kill her. They had been allies once; and in Wilhemina’s current bereavement, she simply could not bring herself to complete the task.

Coughing, she brought her presence to the other woman’s attention, who violently swung her head round, eyes ablaze with anger. “Get out Mead” she spoke calmly, eyes black with hatred for the woman who’d aided in your death. When Miriam did not budge, Mina snapped, crying suddenly not enough for the rage that clouded her vision. “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT OR I’LL KILL YOU GODDAMMNIT” she reached for a vase that rested peacefully on the dresser beside her. Miriam saw her do this, ducking behind the door and snapping it closed as the vase shattered upon impact.

She’d returned to face the wall again, sobs becoming audible again as she pulled at the already loosened hair of her do. She was too distracted to notice you stir behind her, busy furiously wiping tears that were then immediately replaced when her hand was removed. Your eyes opened, squinting groggily around the room, focusing on Wilhemina leant against the wall, and becoming fully conscious at her distress.

You scrambled to get up, holding the bed frame for support, still slightly disorientated in your haste to comfort your girlfriend. Standing beside her; the older woman still unaware of your presence, you reach out to cup her face slowly, speaking as you did so.

“Please don’t cry.”

“You thought you’d – Baby why would you have killed me?” searching her eyes for answers you couldn’t find, you settled for simply holding her against your body again, rocking her and hushing her occasional gasps. She ignored the question, instead asking her own, voice lower and you could tell she was on the verge of crying again by the way it wavered.

“Why did you eat the apple?”

“I don’t know” you stammered, not quite remembering what had made you eat the apple you’d found in the corridor. “I wasn’t thinking and then I went into the common room and- Oh my god” you stopped, hand pressed to your open mouth as you recalled seeing everyone lying on the ground from your vantage point at the stair top before you yourself started coughing and choking.

“What happened to them? Are they okay? Are they all dead?” you choked out, breathing becoming ragged as you panicked for your fellow Outpost residents. You felt Mina nod against you; blinking your tears away harshly as you tried to piece things together in your still fragile mind.

“So the apples killed them?” you concluded, head turning to hers and finding blackened eyes staring back. She explained how she and Mead had laced the apples and given them under the pretence of them being a gift from the Cooperative, and how she needed a reason to present the apples to the residents.

“The party was the perfect distraction really” she mused, fingers tapping against your leg.

“That’s why you wanted me to stay in the room and not go to the party. You felt bad for having to kill them and you didn’t want me to see that” it all clicked in your head, hand coming to stop her incessant tapping by tangling her fidgeting fingers between your own.

“No. I didn’t feel bad. I just did not want you to see, and not want to come to the Sanctuary with me. I didn’t want you to hate me. I couldn’t lose you.” Her face was set and unwavering at the confession, showing no regret for her actions.

“They didn’t deserve to die Mina.” Your voice was low; warning, at her indifferent attitude towards her merciless killing of the people you’d come to think of as friends. She shook her head at your statement, fingers picking a stray thread at the hem of your sleeve.

“It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The sanctuary could never take all of us.”

You both sat in silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable as you just embraced the fact you still had each other to hold. Once a sufficient amount of time had passed, and the silence became suffocating, Wilhemina spoke again. This time her voice was quiet, gentle and filled with something you couldn’t quite place as she explained how she returned to the room only to find it empty and had panicked.

You interrupted her at that, somehow feeling the need to explain why you hadn’t been in the room like she’d explicitly asked of you before departing. “I was in the dining room. You never said I couldn’t leave to get myself a drink.”

“It’s okay.”

“But then I found you on the stairs and your mouth was foaming and I thought you were going to die and I was so scared Y/N.” she rambled, stopping to breathe heavily, hands clasping yours in a vice like grip, releasing them when she realised. You let her continue, nodding to show her to go on and that you were right there.

“I’d hidden the antidote here in our room because I suspected that someone had been snooping around; so I carried you from the common room-”

“But Mina your back-” you interrupted, worried with how carrying you all that distance would have put immense strain on her fragile back. “You shouldn’t have done that” scolding her slightly, tears pooling in your own eyes at the thought of her suffering. Your hand danced up her back, watching for any signs of discomfort in her eyes, relaxing when she seemed to not be in too much pain. She shuffled up so you were facing each other again, and she grasped your hands in her own.

“Y/n don’t you understand? I’d break my back one hundred times if it meant saving you.”

Despite feeling betrayed at what your girlfriend had done to your fellow Outpost residents earlier that evening, you couldn’t help but warm up at her confession. You leaned in to kiss her, lips pressed together tightly as you felt her hands pull at your waist. Allowing the kiss to deepen you let yourself melt into her touch, cheeks still wet where tears had fallen, before she pulled away slowly, her face lingering close to yours.

“I was so scared that you were gone sweetheart.” Her voice broke, and you touched your nose to hers as encouragement for her to continue. “You’re the best of me – And I could never live with myself if I had been the cause for your death” you silenced her with another brief kiss.

“Shhh don’t talk like that. I’m here, okay. I’m alive, and I love you Wilhemina Venable. I love you!” she laughed, wiping her eyes and running her thumb over your cheek, cocking her head to look at her through softened eyes.

“I love you too Y/n. I love you too.”

[ot3]

i watched red vs blue: zero with my dear friends today and i was asked to “post” my “thoughts” on the subject. Please do not click this readmore unless, for some reason, you want to read three thousand words on the subject of red vs blue: zero critical analysis. i highly doubt that’s the reason anyone is following me, but hey. 

anyway. here you have it. 

Here are my opinions on RVB0 as someone who has quite literally no nostalgia for any older RVB content. I’ve seen seasons 1-13 once and bits and pieces of it more than once here and there, but I only saw it for the first time within the past couple of months. I’ve literally never seen any other RT/AH content. I can name a few people who worked on OG Red vs. Blue but other than Mounty Oum I have NO idea who is responsible for what, really, or what anything else they’ve ever worked on is, or whether or not they’re awful people. I know even less about the people making RVB0 - All I know is that the main writer is named Torrian but I honestly don’t even know if that’s a first name, a last name, or a moniker. All this to say; nothing about my criticism is rooted in any perceived slight against the franchise or branding by the new staff members, because I don’t know or care about any of it. In fact, I’m going to try and avoid any direct comparison between RVB0 and earlier seasons of RVB as a means of critique until the very end, where I’ll look at that relationship specifically.

So here is my opinion of RVB0 as it stands right now:

1. The Writing

Everything about RVB0 feels as if it was written by a first-time writer who hasn’t learned to kill his darlings. The narrative is both simultaneously far too full, leaving very little breathing room for character interaction, and oddly sparse, with a story that lacks any meaningful takeaway, interesting ideas, or genuine emotional connection. It also feels like it’s for a very much younger audience - I don’t mean this as a negative at all. I love tv for kids. I watch more TV for kids than I do for adults, mostly, but I think it’s important to address this because a lot of the time ‘this is for kids’ is used to act like you’re not allowed to critique a narrative thoroughly. It definitely changes the way you critique it, but the critique can still be in good faith.  I watched the entirety of RVB0 only after it was finished, in one sitting, and I was giving it my full attention, essentially like it was a movie. I’m going to assume it was much better to watch in chunks, because as it stood, there was literally no time built into the narrative to process the events that had just transpired, or try and predict what events might be coming in the future. When there’s no time to think about the narrative as you’re watching it, the narrative ends up as being something that happens to the audience, not something they engage with. It’s like the difference between taking notes during a lecture or just sitting and listening. If you’re making no attempt to actively process what’s happening, it doesn’t stick in your mind well. I found myself struggling to recall the events and explanations that had immediately transpired because as soon as one thing had happened, another thing was already happening, and it was like a mental juggling act to try and figure out which information was important enough to dwell on in the time we were given to dwell on it.

Which brings me to another point - pacing. Every event in the show, whether a character moment, a plot moment, or a fight scene, felt like it was supposed to land with almost the exact same amount of emotional weight. It all felt like The Most Important Thing that had Yet Happened. And I understand that this is done as an attempt to squeeze as much as possible out of a rather short runtime, but it fundamentally fails. When everything is the most important thing happening, it all fades into static. That’s what most of 0’s narrative was to me: static. It’s only been a few hours since I watched it but I had to go step by step and type out all of the story beats I could remember and run it by my friends who are much more enthusiastic RVB fans than I am to make sure I hadn’t missed or forgotten anything. I hadn’t, apparently, but the fact that my takeaway from the show was pretty accurate and also disappointingly lackluster says a lot. Strangely enough, the most interesting thing the show alluded to - a holo echo, or whatever the term they used was - was one of the things least extrapolated upon in the show’s incredibly bulky exposition. Benefit of the doubt says that’s something they’ll explore in future seasons (are they getting more? Is that planned? I just realized I don’t actually know.)

And bulky it was! I have quite honestly never seen such flagrant disregard for the rule of “show, don’t tell.” There was not a single ounce of subtlety or implication involved in the storytelling of RVB0. Something was either told to you explicitly, or almost entirely absent from the narrative. Essentially zilch in between. We are told the dynamic the characters have with each other, and their personality pros and cons are listed for us conveniently by Carolina. The plot develops in exposition dumps. This is partially due to the series’ short runtime, but is also very much a result of how that runtime was then used by the writers. They sacrificed a massive chunk of their show for the sake of cramming in a ton of fight scenes, and if they wanted to keep all of those fight scenes, it would have been necessary to pare down their story and characters proportionally in comparison, but they didn’t do that either. They wanted to have it both ways and there simply wasn’t enough time for it. 

The story itself is… uninteresting. It plays out more like the flimsy premise of a video game quest rather than a piece of media to be meaningfully engaged with. RVB0 is I think something I would be pitched by a guy who thinks the MCU and BNHA are the best storytelling to come out of the past decade. It is nothing but tropes. And I hate having to use this as an insult! I love tropes. The worst thing about RVB0 is that nothing it does is wholly unforgivable in its own right. Hunter x Hunter, a phenomenal shonen, is notoriously filled with pages upon pages of detailed exposition and explanations of things, and I absolutely love it. Leverage, my favorite TV show of all time, is literally nothing but a five man band who has to learn to work as a team while seemingly systematically hitting a checklist of every relevant trope in the book. Pacific Rim is an incredibly straightforward good guys vs giant monsters blockbuster to show off some cool fight scenes such as a big robot cutting an alien in half with a giant sword, and it’s some of the most fun I ever have watching a movie. Something being derivative, clunky, poorly executed in some specific areas, narratively weak, or any single one of these flaws, is perfectly fine assuming it’s done with the intention and care that’s necessary to make the good parts shine more. I’ll forgive literally any crime a piece of media commits as long as it’s interesting and/or enjoyable to consume. RVB0 is not that. I’m not sure what the main point of RVB0 was supposed to be, because it seemingly succeeds at nothing. It has absolutely nothing new or innovative to justify its lack of concern for traditional storytelling conventions. Based solely on the amount of screentime things were given, I’d be inclined to say the narrative existed mostly to give flimsy pretense for the fight scenes, but that’s an entire other can of worms.

2. The Visuals + Fights

I have no qualms with things that are all style and no substance. Sometimes you just want to see pretty colors moving on the screen for a while or watch some cool bad guys and monsters or whatever get punched. RVB0 was not this either. The show fundamentally lacked a coherent aesthetic vision. Much of the show had a rather generic sci-fi feel to it with the biggest standouts to this being the very noir looking cityscape, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like something from a batman game, or the temple, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like a world of warcraft raid. They were obviously attempting to get variety in their environment design, which I appreciate, but they did this without having a coherent enough visual language to feel like it was all part of the same world. In general, there was also just a lack of visual clarity or strong shots. The value range in any given scene was poor, the compositions and framing were functional at best, and the character animation was unpleasantly exaggerated. It just doesn’t really look that good beyond fancy rendering techniques.

The fight scenes are their entire own beast. Since ‘FIGHT SCENE’ is the largest single category of scenes in the show, they definitely feel worth looking at with a genuine critical eye. Or, at least, I’d like to, but honestly half the time I found myself almost unable to look at them. The camera is rarely still long enough to really enjoy what you’re watching - tracking the motion of the character AND the camera at such constant breakneck high speeds left little time to appreciate any nuances that might have been present in the choreography or character animation. I tried, believe me, I really did, but the fight scenes leave one with the same sort of dizzy convoluted spectacle as a Michael Bay transformers movie. They also really lacked the impact fight scenes are supposed to have.

It’s hard to have a good, memorable fight scene without it doing one of three things: 1. Showing off innovative or creative fighting styles and choreography 2. Making use of the fight’s setting or environment in an engaging and visually interesting way or 3. Further exploring a character’s personality or actions by the way they fight. It’s also hard to do one of these things on its own without at least touching a bit on the other two. For the most part, I find RVB0’s fight scenes fail to do this. Other than rather surface level insubstantial factors, there was little to visually distinguish any of RVB0’s fight scenes from each other. Not only did I find a lot of them difficult to watch and unappealing, I found them all difficult to watch and unappealing in an almost identical way. They felt incredibly interchangeable and very generic. If you could take a fight scene and change the location it was set and also change which characters were participating and have very little change, it’s probably not a good fight scene. 

I think “generic” is really just the defining word of RVB0 and I think that’s also why it falls short in the humor department  as well.

3. The Comedy

Funny shit is hard to write and humor is also incredibly subjective but I definitely got almost no laughs out of RVB0. I think a total of three. By far the best joke was Carolina having a cast on top of her armor, which, I must stress, is an incredibly funny gag and I love it. But overall I think the humor fell short because it felt like it was tacked on more than a natural and intentional part of this world and these characters. A lot of the jokes felt like they were just thrown in wherever they’d fit, without any build up to punchlines and with little regard for what sort of joke each character would make. Like, there was some, obviously Raymond’s sense of humor had the most character to it, but the character-oriented humor still felt very weak. When focusing on character-driven humor, there’s a LOT you can establish about characters based on what sort of jokes they choose to make, who they’re picking as the punchlines of these jokes, and who their in-universe audience for the jokes is. In RVB0, the jokes all felt very immersion-breaking and self aware, directed wholly towards the audience rather than occurring as a natural result of interplay between the characters. This is partially due to how lackluster the character writing was overall, and the previously stated tight timing, but also definitely due to a lack of a real understanding about what makes a joke land. 

A rule of thumb I personally hold for comedy is that, when push comes to shove, more specific is always going to be more funny. The example I gave when trying to explain this was this:

saying two characters had awkward sex in a movie theater: funny

saying two characters had an awkward handjob in a cinemark: even funnier

saying two characters spent 54 minutes of 11:14's 1:26 runtime trying out some uncomfortably-angled hand stuff in the back of a dilapidated cinemark that lost funding halfway through retrofitting into a dinner theater: the funniest

The more specific a joke is, the more it relies on an in-depth understanding of the characters and world you’re dealing with and the more ‘realistic’ it feels within the context of your media. Especially with this kind of humor. When you’re joking with your friends, you don’t go for stock-humor that could be pulled out of a joke book, you go for the specific. You aim for the weak spots. If a set of jokes could be blindly transplanted into another world, onto another cast of characters, then it’s far too generic to be truly funny or memorable. I don’t think there’s a single joke in RVB0 where the humor of it hinged upon the characters or the setting.

Then there’s the issue of situational comedy and physical comedy. This is really where the humor being ‘tacked on’ shows the most. Once again, part of what makes actually solid comedy land properly is it feeling like a natural result of the world you have established. Real life is absurd and comical situations can be found even in the midst of some pretty grim context, and that’s why black comedy is successful, and why comedy shows are allowed to dip into heavier subject matter from time to time, or why dramas often search for levity in humor. It’s a natural part of being human to find humor in almost any situation. The key thing, though, once again, is finding it in the situation. Many of RVB0’s attempts at humor, once again, feel like they would be the exact same jokes when stripped from their context, and that’s almost never good. A pretty fundamental concept in both storytelling in general but particularly comedy writing is ‘setup and payoff’. No joke in RVB0 is a reward for a seemingly innocuous event in an earlier scene or for an overlooked piece of environmental design. The jokes pop in when there’s time for them in between all the exposition and fighting, and are gone as soon as they’re done. There’s no long term, underlying comedic throughline to give any sense of coherence or intent to the sense of humor the show is trying to establish. Every joke is an isolated one-off quip or one-liner, and it fails to engage the audience in a meaningful way.

All together, each individual component of RVB0 feels like it was conjured up independently, without any concern to how it interacted with the larger product they were creating. And I think this is really where it all falls apart. RVB0 feels criminally generic in a way reminiscent of mass-market media which at least has the luxury of attributing these flaws, this complete and total watering down of anything unique, to heavy oversight and large teams with competing visions. But I don’t think that’s the case for RVB0. I don’t know much about what the pipeline is like for this show, but I feel like the fundamental problem it suffers from is a lack of heart.

In comparison to Red vs. Blue

Let's face it. This is a terrible successor to Red vs. Blue. I wouldn’t care if NONE of the old characters were in it - that’s not my problem. I haven’t seen past season 13 because from what I heard the show already jumped the shark a bit and then some. That’s not what makes it a poor follow up. What makes it a bad successor is that it fundamentally lacks any of the aspects of the OG RVB that made it unique or appealing at all. I find myself wondering what Torrian is trying to say with RVB0 and quite literally the only answer I find myself falling back onto is that he isn’t trying to say anything at all. Regardless of what you feel about the original RVB, it undeniably had things to say. The opening “why are we here” speech does an excellent job at establishing that this is a show intended to poke fun at the misery of bureaucracy and subservience to nonsensical systems, not just in the context of military life, but in a very broad-strokes way almost any middle-class worker can relate to. At the end of the day, fiction is at its best when it resonates with some aspect of its audience’s life. I know instantly which parts of the original Red vs Blue I’m supposed to relate to. I can’t say anything even close to that about 0.

RVB is an absurdist parody that heavily satirizes aspects of the military and life as a low-on-the-food-chain worker in general that almost it’s entire target audience will be familiar with. The most significant draw of the show to me was how the dialogue felt like listening to my friends bicker with each other in our group chats. It required no effort for me to connect with and although the narrative never outright looked to the camera and explained ‘we are critiquing the military’s stupid red tape and self-fullfilling eternal conflict’ they didn’t need to, because the writing trusted itself and its audience enough to believe this could be conveyed. It is, in a way, the complete antithesis to the badass superhero macho military man protagonist that we all know so well. RVB was saying something, and it was saying it in a rather novel format.

Nothing about RVB0 is novel. Nothing about RVB0 says anything. Nothing about it compels me to relate to any of these characters or their situations. RVB0 doesn’t feel like absurdism, or satire. RVB0 feels like it is, completely uncritically, the exact media that RVB itself was riffing off of. Both RVB0 and RVB when you watch them give you the feeling that what you’re seeing here is kids on a playground larping with toy soldiers. It’s all ridiculous and over the top cliche stupid garbage where each side is trying to one-up the other. The critical difference is, in RVB, we’re supposed to look at this and laugh at how ridiculous this is. In RVB0 we’re supposed to unironically think this is all pretty badass. 

The PFL arc of the original RVB existed to show us that setting up an elite team of supersoldiers with special powers was something done in bad faith, with poor outcomes, that left everyone involved either cruel, damaged, or dead. It was a bad thing. And what we’re seeing in RVB0 is the same premise, except, this time it’s good. We’re supposed to root for this format. RVB0 feels much more like a demo reel, cutscenes from a video game that doesn’t exist, or a shonen anime fanboy’s journal scribbling than it feels like a piece of media with any objective value in any area.  In every area that RVB was anti-establishment, RVB0 is pure undiluted establishment through and through.  

[marvel-ousfairy]

“Flesh eating plants, are you kidding me???” NALU Oneshot

Author’s Note: Ummm... So I don’t normally post my own writings, but I wrote this literally years ago and figured it was about time I posted it. Better late then never, right? *Chuckles nervously* Anyways, there are a few plot holes and things but I’m honestly too lazy to change it sooo, here you go! Let me know what y’all think. (Also I appologize in advance for any wierd formatting issues. I blame Tumblr.)

Warnings: Fighting, angst with a fluffy ending, killer plants? idk what else to put haha. If you read it and think there are any other warnings I should add, please please let me know.

Pairing(s): NaLu

_____

“Open, Gate of the Golden Bull: Taurus!” Lucy Heartfilia shouted, summoning the celestial spirit to her side.

“Mooo! It’s nice to see you again, Miss Luuucy.” Her celestial spirit, Taurus, drawled as the golden light of Lucy’s magic dissipated.

A large crash echoed through the forest near Magnolia as Lucy dove to avoid getting hit by a thick plant root, only a gaping hole left of the earth where she previously stood.

“Not the time,” Lucy panted before struggling to her feet again. “I need you to get in there and snap those vines!” she directed.

Celestial Wizard Lucy Heartfilia, her partner Fire Dragon Slayer Natsu Dragneel, and their cat companion, Happy, had taken a simple job helping out a local farmer. The request had asked for a few wizards to come assist in the extermination of the vermin rampaging through the owner’s crops.

“Stop pouting,” she said as the trio walked through town towards the agricultural district. “At least you get to beat something up.” She smiled, glancing around at the fruit and vegetable stalls lining the streets.

The pink haired wizard crossed his arms before letting out an offended huff. “I’m a dragon slayer, not an exterminator.” He whined.

The blonde let out a giggle, ignoring his petulant child act. Her laughter didn’t last long, however. Upon their arrival at the little farm, the trio soon realized that things weren’t as they appeared. Much to Lucy’s horror and Natsu’s delight, the vermin that needed bashing turned out to be full-fledged, plant-based monsters.

“’Let’s do it’ I said. ‘This will be easy’ I said. How does a Venus Flytrap even grow this large?” Lucy grumbled as she jumped over another stream of murderous plant roots. Finally finding solid ground, she pointed Taurus towards the twisted nether of roots and stems that kept the frightening flora grounded. Meanwhile, Natsu busied himself with torching the other five or so reanimated plants that littered the forests edge.

“Fire Dragon: Roar!” He let out a manic laugh as his flames transformed an entire line of trees into glittering torches, burning friend and foe indiscriminately.  

“Natsu, watch where you’re aiming,” Lucy scolded, letting loose a disgruntled shout as she once again narrowly missed a blow to the side via killer plants. The self-proclaimed farmer, apparently, was a wizard himself who specialized in foreign herbs with magical properties. Their current foes were the result of his latest creations gone very wrong.

“We already owe a great deal in repair costs as it is. The master will kill us if we burn down another building,” she reminded him, hand on her hip.

“Yeah, Yeah.” Natsu shrugged as he incinerated yet another row of trees and crops.  “Stop with your naggin’ already. We’ll be fi– Hey Lucy, watch out!” The dragon slayer let out a roar as Lucy whipped around. A faint gasp swept past her lips as a verdant blur crossed her vision. Pain ricocheted down her left side as a stray vine from the Flytrap knocked her to the ground, tangling with her legs and whipping her towards the Venus’ awaiting jaws.

“Argh,” Natsu screamed, face contorted in anger. “Fire Dragon: Wing Attack!” The vines that dug at her skin, slowly encroaching upon her torso, were suddenly engulfed in flame and burnt to a crisp. She yelped as Natsu’s flames left her stranded in the open air. With nothing left to catch her fall, she plummeted back down to the rigid ground, her head smacking against the dirt with a harsh crack. A muffled yowl came from beneath her and she rolled over to find a disgruntled Happy scowling back at her.

“You alright, Luce?” Natsu questioned, finishing off the last of the nasty creatures.

“I’m the one in pain,” Happy cried, indignantly. “Lucy squashed me with her fat butt!”

“WATCH IT, CAT!” she screeched at the little blue exceed, the pain from her fall quickly washed into the foreground.

Natsu cackled, causing the celestial spirit mage to turn her glare on him. Noticing the change in atmosphere, he yelped as a certain red-haired wizard came to mind.

“Scary,” he whined. Lucy’s scowl deepened before gifting him with another one of her signature Lucy Kicks.

“Humph,” she muttered, smiling in satisfaction. “Serves you right.”

_____

Later, at the Fairy Tail guildhall, the pair found themselves curled around the bar. Mira wiped down the counters, glancing at the two while she worked. Lucy sat on Natsu’s left with reequip mage Erza Scarlet on his right. Gajeel, Levy, and Pantherlily were located at a table behind him, while Gray was doing his best to avoid an overly exuberant Juvia. Happy had disappeared soon after their arrival back at the guild, dreams of fish and a particular white feline dancing in his head. An overall jubilant air had settled on the guild as members had returned from their missions to settle in for the day.

Lucy leaned against the bar, head spinning, with a strawberry concoction clutched between her palms. A dull ache had settled into her bones since their mission earlier, winding around her mind like a snake. A slight burning sensation danced along her side as a pair of onyx eyes watched her with intensity.

“I’m fine,” she said with a huff, not bothering to turn towards the dragon slayer gazing at her worriedly.

“Lucy, I–”

“Really, Natsu, I’m alright.”

Natsu grumbled, unconvinced, as he finished off the plate of food Mira had set before him. He knew Lucy was lying, but he also knew that she could be just as pigheaded as him. She had been acting strange ever since their return from their earlier expedition. Despite her claims otherwise, he could tell something was up.

Lucy stood up abruptly, letting out a heavy sigh, before turning towards Natsu once more. Ignoring the stars that threatened to consume her vision, she forced a wide smile onto her lips. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be okay. I think I’m just gonna head home and get some rest. The fight today really took it out of me. Thanks for the drink, Mira.”

She gave one more wave to the white-haired woman before making her way towards the entrance. Before he could make any move to stop Lucy’s departure, Erza placed an armor clad hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be fine, Natsu,” the red-haired warrior assured him. “She can take care of herself.”

He simply nodded, giving Lucy another intense stare before promptly getting knocked off of his barstool by a half-naked Gray. Mira giggled as Natsu let out an enraged scream. Apparently, Juvia had finally caught up to her beloved Gray.  

“What the heck was that for, you pervert?”  Natsu yelled as he quickly shifted into battle-mode, fists blazing with fire.

“Who you callin’ pervert, flame for brains?” Gray challenged.

Soon after, a fight broke out between the two, eventually expanding into a guild-wide brawl after another slice of Erza’s strawberry cake was destroyed. Lucy, who had been watching from the towering guild doors, shook her head. She let out a yelp as a chair smashed against the wall to her left, before finally disappearing out the door and into the streets of Magnolia.  

 Despite a slight limp in her step and pain in her side, the walk home wasn’t as bad as she’d first expected it to be. It wasn’t long before she was weaving her way past the ferrymen and stumbling into her apartment with a heavy sigh.

“Home at last,” she hummed to herself. She stretched out her limbs, cringing as her ankle buckled a bit in pain, before making her way toward the bathroom. “Maybe a shower will help wash off the pain from today,” she mused, ridding herself of her blood-stained clothes. With steam flooding the little room and the water temperature set on high, she stepped carefully into the scalding water. A shaky breath escaped her lips, but her mind continued to spin at a rapid fire pace. Groaning in frustration, she tried for another calming breath. Despite her chance to finally relax a bit, she couldn’t manage to quiet her mind. It had already been a long day, now made even longer by the pain that constricted her mind and body. A glance towards her numerous bruises sent a frustrated sigh past her lips, before her features contorted in confusion. A second glance down at her body caused her gaze to quickly slip from confusion to fear. Thin green lines painted swirls and complex designs across her torso, leaving angry red marks in their wake. The vines, she thought. They don’t just feed off human flesh… “They steal magic power!” She shouted, mentally kicking herself for forgetting the farmer’s warnings. He’d told them that this was a possibility.

Her hands shook as she slowly grew more and more hysterical, tearing frantically at the small vines cutting at her body. Just as she made some headway clearing the thin vines, however, the dizziness from before threatened to overtake her. She reached for her keys, only to find them rendered useless. My magic power is too far gone, she cursed. “Loke, Virgo, someone please!” She cried out desperately. They can’t hear me, she sobbed. A single step towards the bathroom door sent her vision shaking. By two steps, the light in the room began to dance. By the third, Lucy could feel herself losing her will to stand. By the forth, she found herself hitting the ground as the ceiling grew further and further away. “Natsu…” She whispered as vines tangle around her mouth. Her vision slipped away as she soon felt herself get swallowed whole by a cocoon of roots and vines, before she finally lost consciousness altogether.

______

Back at the guild hall, things had finally settled down. Luckily, the aftermath of the brawl had been minimal. A few burnt spots, some broken tables and chairs, and a few missing pillars. The building, by some miracle, still stood proudly in the heart of town.

“Where’s Lucy?” Natsu asked, having finally cooled down from his fight with Gray.

“Oh. Lucy? She went home a little bit ago.” Mira said, smiling sweetly from behind the bar.

“You even watched her go, you idiot.” Gray said with a laugh. Natsu shot the Ice mage a scowl.

“He loooooves her.” Happy drawled from his place next to Charle on the bar top.

Natsu reddened in embarrassment, brushing salmon strands out of his face. The dragon slayer stiffened as a ball of anxiety settled into his stomach. His nose twitched as he took in the stale undertones in the air, confirming some unknown fears. He could be wrong, but he knew Lucy. He knew her scent and how it changed depending on her mood. Right now, the thick smell of fear curdled his blood. Something was wrong.  

With one last vengeful fireball to Gray’s face, he ran off towards Lucy’s apartment with the blue exceed following close behind. Fellow mages and townsfolk cried out in protest as he pushed by them, but Natsu didn’t notice. Blood pumped in his ears, matching his racing footsteps as he hurtled himself down the stone streets. As Lucy’s apartment came into view he pushed his legs faster, using his fire to boost himself through her window in a single bound.

Once safely inside, the first thing he noticed was the silence. Despite the distinct sound of a shower in the background, the stillness hung like a thick fog in the air, suffocating him.  Steam seeped from beneath the bathroom door as he flung it open to reveal a horrific jungle. Vines grew up and off the walls, roots digging out of cracks in the floor.  Leafy plants twisted in midair like worms burrowing through the dirt, dragging curious fingers along his face and down his legs. “Lucy!” Natsu shouted, digging through twists and snarls in the vines. “Lucy!” No answer. Frantic, he set his body ablaze, burning down every vine he could get his hands on. The twisted nether of green squealed and screeched, cutting at his arms and face as every vine soon turned to ash. Finally, there was nothing left but a pale sleeping beauty curled up on the scorched and broken tile.

“Lucy…” his voice was barely a whisper as he pulled the blonde into his arms, swaddling her in a nearby towel. Ashen vines were like cobwebs arching across her ghostly pale skin, her fingers tinged blue as if frost bitten. Even her hair seemed somehow drained of life, as the last of her magical energy seemed to fall dangerously low.

“Nat-su,” a shuddering gasp swept past her grey, cracked lips. “Help m-me… S-so c-cold…” Her words came out in little puffs as her eyes fluttered open, straining to gaze up at his face.

“Lucy. Lucy, look at me. I – I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He hugged her into his chest, his tears melting into sobs as the smell of strawberries and vanilla wrapped around him. Desperately, he looked around the small apartment before his eyes settled on his blue companion, standing wide-eyed at the door.

“Get Wendy!” He cried out to the little exceed.

“Natsu?” His little eyes rounded with horror.

“NOW, HAPPY!”

“A-Aye, sir!” Happy jumped up and gave him a determined nod before soaring back out the open window from whence they’d come.

A shaky hand grasped onto his scarf, pulling his gaze back down to Lucy’s shaking form.  She curled like a sunflower into his warmth before letting out a shuttering gasp.

“Don’t leave me,” she wheezed. Every note grated against his ears, her normally melodic voice cracked and broken. Regret settled like a stone in his stomach as he cradled her closer to his chest.    “Never,” he whispered.

A soft kiss warmed her clammy skin, flowering across her cheek, as exhaustion finally pulled her into a deep, restless sleep.

______

Warm hands wrapped around her as the smell of wood smoke and cinnamon swirled through the air. She knew that scent. It meant safety, warmth. It meant home.

A slow smile stretched across her lips as her eyes fluttered open to see a chiseled chest and strong arms holding her close. A quick blink shot her eyes upward, only for them to be met with slightly parted lips. As her eyes roamed over the curved planes of his jaw, the slightly parted lips morphed gradually until she was met with a wide, toothy grin. One more shift left her breathless, as she tumbled deep into the depths of his obsidian gaze.

“Natsu –” she stammered.

“Welcome back.” He pulled her closer, resting his forehead onto hers before finally releasing a heavy sigh of relief.

All the pain that had previously ensnared her was gone without a trace. The telltale signs of the guildhall infirmary told her that she had Wendy’s sky magic to thank for that. The warmth that flooded her senses, however, was thanks to her one and only favorite dragon slayer. Although, she doubted it was his naturally higher body temperature that caused warmth to flood her cheeks. Curious eyes peered up at him as his eyes danced behind hooded eyelids. Her very presence seemed to melt him, soften his normally sharp edges.

“Natsu?” She questioned as his face lowered towards hers, their noses brushing together.

“Hmm?” he hummed a response, not quite focusing on her words.

“I –” she began, her words causing their lips to brush. Fire raced through her veins at the sudden touch. A gasp escaped her as their lips finally connected, the sound muffled by the gentle caress of his lips on hers. She felt the fire that raced through him swirling just beneath the skin, held back by an unseen floodgate. He nipped playfully at her bottom lip as their lips danced together in perfect harmony. Abandoning its previous position around her legs, his right hand slid up her side to cup her face while his left hand snaked around her waist, tugging her closer still to his chest. Trails of fire blazed across her skin wherever his fingers danced, sending a shiver of delight down her spine. Her delicate fingers dug into his silky salmon locks as all of their raw emotions were poured out, left open and vulnerable for the other to see. Their kiss grew desperate as the spicy taste of cinnamon filled her senses, causing her toes to curl and her fingers to tug harder at his cotton candy locks. With one last shuddering breath Natsu pulled away, studying her rosy cheeks and her chocolaty brown eyes alight with joy and complete contentment. A deep, throaty chuckle escaped his lips, vibrating against her chest, as he took in her dopey smile. Swollen red lips downturned into a pout, enticing him into another sweet kiss upon her lips, before her dopey grin returned with renewed vigor and her laughter intertwined with his. Lucy gazed sleepily up at Natsu as he mindlessly spun her golden locks through his fingers, a gentle lullaby to her tired mind.

“I –” she began slowly.

“She loooooves him!” came a teasing voice, followed by fits of laughter and giggles. Lucy’s eyes widened, taking in the audience staring at them from the doorway. Spotting the culprit for the interruption, her eyes narrowed on a certain blue exceed hidden in the crowd.

“SHUT IT, CAT!” She screeched as Natsu’s chuckles rolled into cackles, his body shaking as his face twisted with laughter. Lucy burrowed into his scaly white scarf, groans mixing with laughter as she took in a beautiful, terrifying truth. Happy was right about her and Natsu. She really did looooove him, and the adoration he showered down upon her told the mage that he really did looooove her, too.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 5: The North Mountain

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry and Y/N set off on a new journey and get stuck in another snowstorm.

Word count: 4.6k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

THEY’RE BACKKKKKKK! There’s another cave scene in this chapter 👀

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“Are you sure, Your Majesty?”

“Yes,” Y/N told Mary for the third and final time, hoping that she’d sounded determined even though her voice was wavering. She could feel Lance’s eyes burning holes on the side of her face. He didn’t want her to go through with this.

The throne room was utterly quiet. There were just the three of them and two guards standing by the door. Y/N hated how loud her heart was beating, as if even it could tell this was a bad idea.

“The journey won’t be easy,” Mary said, lacing her hands together in front of her crotch. “Many have tried to find the lake and those who returned had not even made it halfway to the top of the mountain.”

“I know,” Y/N said coolly.

Mary quickly looked from her to Lance as if expecting him to interrupt and convince Y/N that Harry wasn’t worth all this danger. But Lance kept a straight face, as usual, masking what he truly felt inside.

Mary drew in a breath. Then, she took the silver ring with a black gemstone off her finger and wiped it clean with the sleeve of her dress. “When my sisters and I were born,” she said, “each of us was given a ring like this. It was enchanted with our mother’s blood, so as long as the stone was red, it meant all three of us were alive in this world. That was how I knew my sisters were gone. After I’d escaped from Egon’s men, the stone faded to brown and eventually to black.” She turned to Lance. “This ring will let you know if the Queen’s in danger.” And back to Y/N. “All it takes is a drop of your blood, Your Majesty.”

Y/N met Lance’s uneasy gaze. He sighed and drew out the dagger attached to his belt and handed it to her. She held it firmly, biting her lip and pressing the tip of the blade into her finger until blood oozed out of the cut. Mary took hold of Y/N’s wrist and placed her finger above the ring. The red drop fell onto the stone and it glowed like a tiny flame before subsiding to a dimmer red.

“Blood calls to blood,” Mary said, giving the red-stone ring to Lance. He put it on as Y/N put the finger into her mouth, tasting the iron sting of her own blood. “If the colour darkens, it means she’s in danger. If it turns black, she’s dead.”

The way Mary said it, so assertively and pitifully, sent a chill down Y/N’s spine. But for Harry and her kingdom, she must not be afraid.

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Harry hadn’t expected to see the Queen in the stable. Who would expect to see a Queen out here in the middle of the night?

“What are you doing here?” she asked, looking equally surprised to see him.

He flashed a beam and continued stroking the black horse. “I ran into Jo and she told me to go feed the horses.”

“Feeding the horses isn’t your job,” Y/N said, arching an eyebrow.

Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s not?”

Y/N was speechless for a moment before she sighed. “Guide to surviving in my court: do not take orders from a maid.”

Heat pooled at Harry’s cheeks yet he managed to conceal his embarrassment with a grin. “Sorry. Your maid is pretty scary for a maid.”

Y/N shook her head as she broke into a smile. And Harry felt that weird sensation in his chest again. She’d been cold and distant since the last time they’d spoken two weeks ago. He hoped she’d forgiven him for what he’d done. Even though he didn’t know her, he felt a strong connection between them. He hadn’t had any nightmare lately about her jumping off a cliff or bleeding out to death on the floor, but those scenes had been stuck on his mind ever since the last time. He wished he knew what they meant or if they meant anything at all. That was one of the reasons he’d agreed to join her on this impossible quest – to make sure his nightmares wouldn’t come true.

“What are you doing here?” he asked and quickly added, “Your Majesty.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched subtly as she came closer. The black horse pawed the ground and snorted as if it were happy to see her.

“I’m here to say goodnight to Thunder,” she said, stroking the animal’s head.

“Thunder,�� Harry echoed.

“I know what you’re thinking. Northerners have weird names for their horses,” she said. That was exactly what he was thinking. “You two have met before.”

“Thunder and I?” Harry asked, pointing to his chest.

Y/N nodded. “He was my ride on the journey last year. Would you like to see your horse?”

He said yes. And so she led him further into the stable to a beautiful brown horse who neighed and nuzzled Harry’s chest as soon as it saw him. Harry chuckled and stroked the horse’s back.

“Her name’s Lightning,” Y/N said and laughed when Harry raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m serious.”

Harry didn’t remember having ridden Lightning before, but he felt like he knew her in the same way he felt like he knew Y/N. The memories might not be there, but the feelings were.

“Will it be just the four of us again tomorrow?” he asked.

“No, some of my men will be joining us. They’ll carry food and water.”

“What about the King?”

Y/N paused for a bit longer. “Lance must stay here. Someone has to run the court while I’m away.”

“And Attwell?”

“He’ll travel back and forth if necessary.”

Harry had heard from the maids that the people in Attwell loved Lance and were excited about the wedding. Y/N would probably receive the same amount of adoration in Isolde if she were a man. There hadn’t been any protests in the past weeks. Harry assumed Calanthe must be planning something else, so Lance had to stay here to pacify the court during the Queen’s absence. He wanted to ask Y/N about it, but he knew she wouldn’t discuss such matters with a peasant.

“Why doesn’t His Majesty go instead?”

Y/N’s expression remained the same as if she’d been expecting the question. “This is my kingdom,” she said, “so it's my responsibility, not his.”

“But he’s going to be your husband,” Harry ventured.

“So?” She lifted her chin proudly. “You think it’s because I’m a woman I cannot finish a job?”

“No, Your Majesty.” Harry could not help but smile. “I think you’re perfectly capable of getting the job done. It’s just...I wouldn’t let my woman risk her life out there while I’m safe here in the castle.”

“Lance insisted on going for me, but I didn’t let him,” Y/N said. “Just like you, I wouldn’t let my betrothed risk his life out there while I’m safe here in the castle.”

“Ahhh, so that’s what betrothed means,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. When Y/N didn’t reply and turned her attention to Lightning, he felt the need to keep this conversation going. “So...why are we searching for the lake? You asked me to come with you but you never told me why.”

Y/N straightened her back and folded her arms over her chest. There was something so serene about her, and Harry would sometimes catch himself staring unblinkingly at her face. He didn’t know if he was allowed to gawk at a sovereign, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind.

“One drop of water from that lake,” she began, “could cure the deadliest disease, heal broken bones, make a mute person talk and a deaf person hear. So if the lake exists and we have access to its powers, we’ll have a great chance of winning against the enemy.”

Harry pressed his lips together and shifted his gaze to his feet. Y/N let out a chuckle. “Don’t tell me you’re changing your mind now.”

“I still want to go,” he said. “It just doesn’t make sense to me why you chose me to go with you. I’m flattered, Your Majesty. But I’m also confused.”

“Because we’re partners in crime,” she said. “Even though you don’t remember anything about our journey, I believe we’ll make a good team as we did, you and I.”

Harry swallowed as he nodded slowly. Being trusted by the Queen with this important quest made Harry anxious and elated at the same time. “I hope this trip will bring back my memories,” he said, then realized he was unconsciously twisting the gold ring on his finger. “Do you know how I got this ring?” He raised his hand. “I asked Kenny and she didn’t know, so I assumed I might have stolen it. I’m not feeling guilty, it’s just weird to wear a piece of jewellery that you stole without knowing how you stole it.”

To his surprise and delight, Y/N broke into laughter. “I gave it to you.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. It was a reward for saving my life at the Wind Valley.”

“Wow.” He admired the ring. Now that he knew how he’d got it, he started looking at it differently. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

He dropped his arm back to his side and let out a sharp breath. “I can’t believe we’ve crossed the Wind Valley and done all those crazy things and I don’t remember anything.”

“I suppose we’ve made a lot of impossible things possible,” she said with a faltering smile. “But that was nothing compared to this. I need to know you’re ready.”

“I am.” He gave a firm nod. “I’ll try my best. That’s the least I could do for you before I leave the court.”

“Right,” Y/N said, almost to herself than to him.

He walked her out of the stable. It was snowing. She told him she could get back to her chamber on her own and wished him goodnight. Harry clasped his hands together behind his back as Y/N turned and started walking away.

He suddenly felt the need to shout after her. “You don’t have to worry! I’ll protect you and get you home safely to the King.”

Slowly, Y/N looked back over her shoulder. Their eyes locked, and a flicker of memory flashed across Harry's mind. It’d been snowing like this. They’d been at this same spot right outside the stable. Y/N was sitting on Thunder’s back, white snow falling all around them, decorating her hair with silvery flakes.

Reality rushed back into his vision when she spoke, “I can look after myself. You keep yourself safe.”

He opened his mouth yet could not utter a word.

Her red lips curled gently. And then she was gone.

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“What is it?”

Y/N’s voice brought Lance back to reality. He cast her a single glance before scanning his eyes around. They were standing outside the portcullis. The sky was just growing light. Men were already gathered, faces red in the morning chill as they saddled the horses that snorted clouds of steam.

“Nothing,” Lance lied, not looking at Y/N. He hoped she couldn’t see through his feigned nonchalance, although it hadn’t been effective lately. Y/N had acclimated to his attitude. Sometimes he thought she had to be the only person left in this world who really knew him. It was sad, as the more attached he grew to her, the more it’d hurt when she got back to Harry.

He unconsciously twisted the red-stone ring around his finger while keeping an eye on the soldiers and servants, acting occupied.

“I’ll be back in two weeks,” she said despite his silence. “Don’t miss me too much.”

He turned back to her. She was beaming. The dawn had reddened her nose and cheeks, and as he stared, he completely forgot what to say.

“I won’t,” he mumbled, averting his eyes before she could sense his anxiety.

She placed her hand on his arm and he tried his best not to react to her light touch. He didn’t like the person he’d become when he was around her. Always so sensitive and predictable.

“I trust you not to plot on overthrowing me while I’m away,” she joked.

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know, my lady, your throne seems much more comfortable than mine.”

Y/N’s eyes wrinkled at the corners as she tilted her head. “When I get back, I’ll have a special cushion made for your throne.”

“I’ll hold onto that promise,” he said, flashing her his signature grin.

They were interrupted by Harry shouting at a servant for threatening Lightning with a whip. He shoved the man out of the way, obviously angry as he took the mare with him and whispered something to comfort her.

“He seems more himself lately,” Lance remarked.

Y/N only shrugged. It made him wonder what she felt inside.

She hadn’t spoken of Harry since she’d found him with the maid. Everyone in court was convinced that she was looking for the lake to use it as a weapon against Calanthe, and not to save Harry’s life. Lance didn’t want to get his hopes up. The things she did and said always contradicted the look she’d give Harry when he wasn’t looking – like she’d die for him. But he’d already died for her and was probably not coming back.

Lance told himself to never settle to be the second choice or even a choice; he’d been that his entire life being born a bastard. Yet, he would find himself looking at her that same way.

“We’re ready to go, Your Majesty,” said one of the men.

Y/N nodded once before turning to Lance. She held his gaze for a moment, probably rearranging the words in her head to make a proper sentence. She’d once told him that she was bad at goodbyes. He hadn’t thought one day he’d get to see it.

He mustered a smile and pulled the hood of her fur coat over her head, leaving only her face exposed. He cupped it with his gloved hands and she placed her hands over his. If it hadn’t been for the promise he’d made after the first and last time they’d been intimate, he would kiss her right now.

“Try not to die,” he said.

Y/N’s lips arched as she held his wrists. “Even if I die, I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you and your new bride.”

He chuckled.

To his surprise, she pushed his hands down to close the distance between them and pressed her cool lips to his cheek. He instinctively tugged her in, hugging her like he’d always wanted as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The hug didn’t last for long. And when she pulled away, she turned at once and trudged toward Thunder.

Lance stood with his hands behind his back, watching her mount her horse and shout orders at the men. Harry was on the horse beside the Queen. For the first time since his return, he was looking at her the same way the old Harry would.

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Jo had been watching Lance pace these halls for the entire day after Y/N had left. He looked restless and would keep checking the ring on his finger. It had been funny at first, but now it only concerned Jo.

Of course, Jo was worried about Y/N, too. But from everything that'd happened, she’d learned that every time people doubted Y/N, she’d proven them wrong. And so Jo believed in her. Besides, Y/N had been alone the last time. This time she had a group of soldiers to protect her. The biggest concern should be the existence of the lake. But it was not Jo’s responsibility to think about it. Worrying would do them no good. Life had to move on here in court with or without the Queen.

“Are you kidding me?” Jo asked as she picked up her skirt and chased the King down the long corridor. Lance’s legs were longer so he strode ahead effortlessly while she was out of breath trying to catch up with him. “I’m not sharing a room with the witch!”

“She’s not a witch anymore,” he said easily. “Besides, now that the Queen is gone, it’s time for you to make new friends.”

“Said the loneliest man in the world!” she jeered.

Lance stopped walking and turned back to her, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you always so mean?"

She folded her arms, chin lifted. “I’m not sharing a room with the witch.”

“Too bad. I’m the one giving orders.” He spun on his heels and she immediately circled around him to stand in his path.

“Why should she get to live here anyway?” she said in annoyance. “She helped Calanthe kidnap Harry, tortured him and erased his memory. She should have been hung by now.”

Lance regarded an angry Jo as he tightened his jaw and sucked in a breath. “Y/N specifically requested that Mary stayed with you.”

“What? Why?”

The King lifted a shoulder. “Mary’s sister was the one who brought you back to life, wasn’t she? Don’t you think you should at least be nice to her?”

“Yes, her sister, not her!”

“The poor girl has lost everything and everyone, Jo. Have sympathy,” Lance said. “And I don’t hit women, but if she pulls some tricks, you can easily take her down.”

Jo put both hands on her hips as her mouth fell open. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lance snorted, shrugged again and sidestepped her. He was walking away when his footsteps slowed and he stopped, standing rigid, staring at his hand. For a second Jo thought he was going to change his mind, but then he turned around and his face was pallid. “The ring,” he said.

Jo’s gaze dropped to his finger. The stone on his ring had turned to a darker red. A prickling sensation shot up Jo’s spine as she locked eyes with the King, both of them horrified.

Their Queen was in danger.

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A bad storm hit as soon as Y/N and her men entered the forest at the foot of the North Mountain. The powerful wind roped itself around them, wanting to either choke them or yank them off their saddles. The horses pushed through the deep snow as the trees swayed back and forth, bending in every direction while the howling of the wind grew louder and more frightening.

Y/N could not see. She shielded the flying snow from her eyes with one arm while looking around for shelter. Unfortunately, her vision was blurred by the raging storm, and she was unable to see further than a few feet ahead. The wind became more bitter and vicious. Horses neighed and men shouted. Y/N told everyone to stay calm, not sure if anyone could hear her. The only thing that kept her sane was Harry being by her side from the moment they’d set off. She thought about what he’d said outside the stable last night. Maybe he really wanted to protect her.

A human scream tore through the crying of the wind, making Y/N snap her head up and strain her ears to listen. It was a woman shouting for help. It grew louder and clearer and more desperate by seconds. Somebody else was here in the forest in this storm. But why?

“We must move, Your Majesty!” Harry yelled at her.

“Did you hear that?” Y/N shouted back.

“What?”

“A woman! There! She’s calling out for help!”

“I hear nothing.”

“How can you not hear that? There it is again!” cried Y/N, but Harry only looked at her as if she were mad. She shook her head quickly. “That woman needs our help. We must save her.”

“Are you insane?” he growled. “We can’t even save ourselves!”

The woman screamed again. She sounded as if she were in pain. Y/N thought about the dying pregnant woman she’d pulled out of the burning house and her conscience didn’t let her move on. “Wait here! I’ll be back!”

“Y/N!” Harry snapped. But she’d already pulled the reins and kicked her horse into a gallop.

She hurried through the snow, chasing the screams until she saw a figure crawling on its hands and knees across the white snow. Y/N flew off her horse and rushed toward the woman. She could barely make out the woman’s face through the wind but Y/N knew she was alive.

Y/N swore she could hear the fizz and crack of her own heart breaking. Her hood was thrown back by the wind. The cold stabbed its talons into her skin like a thousand little cuts with a serrated blade. She reached for the woman’s arms to help her up, but as soon as she closed her fingers around what should be human’s flesh, she was grasping at nothing.

The woman had vanished.

In one violent crack, the ice broke beneath Y/N and shattered into a hundred tiny fragments, sending her plummeting into the black water.

A million knives stabbed her skin, slicing her open. Her lungs contracted as her numb hands clawed for something to hold onto. She wanted to yell. Her ribs crushed her heart, and her whole body started caving in.

As her eyes shivered open, Harry’s face was the last thing that she saw through the surface.

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Harry knew something was wrong when he saw Y/N get off Thunder’s back and head straight toward the frozen river.

He’d forgotten about everyone else. His thoughts were running wild. He threw himself off Lightning’s back and hurried after her. She was standing out on the ice when he’d caught up. He called out to her, but she didn’t look back. Her hood was off and her head was bare, the wind churning up around her, making her look as if she were made of magic.

And then the ice gave way beneath her. A shudder and a crack and she disappeared into the river.

Harry ran. His heart flattened against his ribs. His feet were slipping on the ice. He dropped to his knees at the edge of a vast hole, plunged his arms into the black water and seized her hand floating just above her head. He pulled her up, dragging her onto the ice and into his arms.

He didn’t remember how they’d got back to their horses. Fear and panic had blurred his mind. They were lost. The others had either moved on without them or stuck somewhere in the storm. There was no time to look for them because he must find a place to hide and light a fire.

Y/N was shivering in his arms. Small ice crystals had formed in her hair and on her lashes and brows. He pushed her onto Lightning’s back and mounted the horse, sitting behind her, her head resting against his chest.

Suddenly, Thunder reared upon his hind feet. Harry feared that the animal thought he’d hurt Y/N. But then Thunder snorted and sprinted ahead. Harry knew the horse wanted him to follow so he kicked Lightning and chased after Thunder. He held the rein with his right hand, holding Y/N in his fur coat with his left arm. The cold was so unbearable that every breath he took caused him pain.

They rode and rode. The wind slapping against their bodies until Thunder stopped at the entrance of a cave hidden behind snow-covered branches. The black horse entered first and Harry and Lightning followed. The further they walked, the warmer it became, but it was not enough to melt the ice from their clothes.

Harry dismounted his horse and placed Y/N onto the ground, holding her closer to him to share his body heat. It was not working. Her clothes were all soaked. The only thing that let him know she was alive was her hot breath against his cheek.

“Stay with me,” he hissed, stroking her back.

His heart stammered as her eyelids fluttered. “I’m tired,” she croaked. “I’m going to sleep.”

“No.” He squeezed her shoulder and gave her a firm shake. “You’re not going to sleep. Promise me, Y/N.”

“I promise.”

Carefully, he laid her down and gathered as many dry sticks as he could find. The horses helped. It was obvious that they’d been trained for rescue missions.

Harry managed to light a fire which he hoped wouldn’t go out too soon.

Fuck, he hoped Y/N wouldn’t go out with it.

He quickly got back to her and dragged her back into his arms. “Here, stay close to the fire.”

The ice in her hair began to melt but her face grew bluer every passing moment. Now he was really afraid. He didn’t want her to die like this, in this cave.

“You saved me,” she spoke, her voice brittle. “Why?”

He schooled his face as their eyes met. “What do you mean?”

“I thought...I thought you hated me,” she said.

He swept her damp hair out of her face and frowned. “I don’t hate you, Peach.”

He hadn’t meant to call her that. It’d slipped out. He didn’t think she’d heard it, because she didn’t react. She was going to pass out.

He shook her again, forcing her to keep eye contact. “Tell me something,” he said. She needed to keep her brain working. “Tell me your most precious memory.”

Y/N’s face contorted as she shook her head. “I-I don’t know.”

“Think.”

She swallowed dryly, her purple lips quivering before she could manage, “Sunset.”

“What else?”

“Sunset...sunset…”

“No, Y/N, look at me!”

But she couldn’t.

Her eyelids slipped shut and her head fell to the side.

“No, no, no,” he chanted, shaking her as hard as he could but she did not respond. She was still breathing but it was becoming weak.

Harry had no other choice. Either this or she'd die.

“Forgive me, please,” he murmured and hurriedly removed her coat and the rest of her sodden clothes before he sloughed off his and spread their clothes beside the fire. His face burned with shame as he took her into his arms and wrapped his fur coat around their naked bodies.

He’d been close to many women, but none of them had been dying, so he told himself there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He was only saving her life.

Her face was buried into his chest. She smelled like winter. He continued stroking her wet hair until her breath grew steadier and her skin warmed up. The relief and ease that coursed through him felt too good to resist. He allowed exhaustion to engulf him and finally shut his eyes.

Outside, the storm was still raging, but at least for now, they were safe. He was just about to drift off when he felt her arm hook over him as she snuggled closer. If she were awake, she’d be able to hear how violent his heart was thumping against his chest. He thought about what she’d said, sunset, and tried to figure out what it meant, until finally, sleep took over him.

.

.

.

In the North castle, Lance sat by the fire, its glow illuminating his face. He heaved a sigh of relief and buried his head into his hands.

The ring on his finger had turned from black to red.

[mrneighbourlove]

A King to a God: Chapter 1. Change in the Wind (Preview for Ganzine)

Preview and first chapter for my full entry for the @ganzine2020. What would happen to Ganondorf if he had won outright against Zelda and Link at the end of Ocarina of Time? How would the events and antagonist of Majora’s Mask effect him? Find out in “A King to a God”. I hope that you enjoy this first chapter and consider contributing towards the Zine and its charity to have early access to the full story. My favourite and best work yet I feel. 

Lightning snapped against the blackened sky, illuminating the landscape in bursts of flashes. Fire crackled and spat wildly, shuddering with each step the mighty figure took. A roar thundered out, and clash of metal echoed far. Amidst this battlefield stood a man in green, battered and bloody. His courage was faltering. A princess stood not too far. Her wisdom unable to help her. And towering above the man, a monster with a red mane snarled down at him. His power burned and he felt victory beat like a drum. With one last swing, the beast threw his sword at the man in green. A sickening slice grated against the ground, the man falling to his hands and knees. A mighty roar filled the air, overtaking the scream of the princess. This day, Ganon, King of Darkness, had won.

His hand glowed with the Triforce of Power as he reached down to the boy known as Link. He could feel the boy’s life drain as he pulled the light from him. It was like a toggle being brought down when Ganon took the Triforce of Courage from Link. The Hylian’s heart stopped as soon as the Triforce transferred to the mighty King. Ganon felt a surge of strength flow through him. It appeared as if fate favoured him this day, as a beam of light struck him from behind. It burned his flesh, but due to the mighty magic of the Triforce of Courage, Ganon persevered against the magical attack. Raising an open hand, the King of Darkness opened fire a beam of malice at his attacker, entrapping Princess Zelda in a wave of pain.

The Princess’ body bled from the attack, as the darkness attacked her physically and mentally. She fought with all her will, but it was too late. Her body succumbed, and she felt the Triforce of Wisdom leave her. The King of Evil merely had to will the last of his treasure to him in her weakened state. Clenching his fist, Ganon felt the last piece of the Triforce enter his being. Waves of energy rippled through his body, and the King of Darkness felt a state of nirvana. After all his sacrifices, he finally felt true, unlimited power.

Zelda screamed in fury, using every fiber in her being to stand. Both hers and Link’s efforts couldn’t end like this. She’d drain her own lifeforce if it meant killing Ganon. Channeling all her spirit, she unleashed all the holy magic of the gods she could.

To Ganon, her effort was useless. He countered with his blast of darkness. His own newly acquired power was overwhelming, a surprise to even him, and his attack devastated Zelda, overcoming her final assault and erasing her from the world.

All that remained was the broken body of the boy in green, the seared scar lines in the earth of where the princess had once stood and standing in the middle of the battle field was Ganon, Master of the World.

The sages looked onward, but knew they could do nothing. They would need to evacuate before Ganon sent his minions into the sacred realm. Nabooru looked to what was once the man known as Ganondorf. Even if he took human form again, and took the title of Ganondorf, she knew that the darkness that was in Ganondorf’s soul had forever changed him. Gathering with the others, she and the rest of the sages decided to formulate a plan of resistance in order to give the world sanctuary from Ganon’s evil. With Zelda gone, they had lost their leader and the power needed to seal Ganon away.

Looking around, the mighty Ganon felt the air change. The only bloodlust he felt came from within him, but it was slowly dying down.

In his mind, the man and the beast conversed. The Beast promised unlimited power, so long as it remained in control. It’s malice and terrifying might could bring the world to its knees faster, in the name of Ganon. The man, still in control, gave it a thought, yet ultimately, decided against it. He would be the face of the world, and not this beast.

Squeezing his fist, the dark beast used the power of the Triforce and his body glowed with a powerful light. The silhouette of his form shrunk and, out from the blinding light, Ganondorf emerged anew.

He was surprised to still have his scars from previous battles, despite acquiring his complete power. With a clenched fist, Ganondorf took a deep breath and, following an exhale, his body relaxed. The King of the Gerudo looked to where Zelda stood her final ground. “A shame Zelda. You could have been my queen for this world had you shared my vision. You were formidable, but not wise enough in your scheming to defeat me.”

The man turned to the body of Link and judged his formidable adversary. “And you… well boy, you did well. I can relinquish a little pride to admit that you almost had me. But in the end, you fell. You were nothing but a kid after all, playing with toys too much for you. It was inevitable that you would die at my hands. My struggles far surpassed yours after all. And you lacked the vision to ever kill me.”

Ganondorf glanced back and forth between Link and where Zelda once was. “You had strength, and the princess held vision. But I was the one to have both. I was the one to be perfectly balanced… No.” The King looked down at his hand, watching the glow of the Triforce with a twinkle of pride in his eyes. “I wasn’t before. My mind was clouded with power. Now that I hold the last two pieces, I know what I must do. This world will find peace and prosperity under my singular rule.”

Ganondorf walked by the ruins of his destroyed tower. Perhaps a palace could be constructed to replace it. “First, I bring a final order to Hyrule. Then, I will march onto the world. They might call me King of Evil, but I am the King they will deserve.”

The King of Darkness lifted his hand and commanded the Triforce to enhance his magical might. With this new power he could raise entire armies of monsters to follow his command. From the shadows, Ganondorf willed into creation artificial Moblins and undead Stalfos. In time, he’d train legions of Darknuts and Iron Knuckles as his vanguard. Monsters and dragons would spread fear to his enemies. However, for now, these simple monsters would do.

“All of you, get to work on raising my palace anew. A king such as I will need a throne.” For now, Ganondorf lifted a stone slab from the earth to sit down upon. As his minions immediately set out to collect and carve away stone slabs, Ganondorf thought about what he wanted and why he had set out to acquire his power in the first place.

His people, the Gerudo, toiled in the desert. They had to steal just to survive the heat of the land in the day, and the blistering cold of the night. So why did a land like Hyrule, full of ungrateful slobs, have such comfort? It maddened Ganondorf, filling him with greed and envy. His enemies called him the King of Thieves, but he justified his actions well enough. He needed power, the kind of power that would raise him and his people to prosperity. And as he began his quest, he came to the most logical conclusion. The world needed a singular will, a being who would be willing to make others sacrifice to bring everyone together. By becoming King, he could make a world united under his protection. As King, he’d bring peace and security to people like the Gerudo. If any resisted, then they’d be wiped away, making room for only those who would accept his utopia.

The Goron, the Zora, and the Great Deku Tree had resisted seven years ago, what with them being blinded by their loyalty to the royal family. Had they simply given the spiritual stones to him, he’d have spared them. But instead they spat in the face of the Great Ganondorf. That was the last mistake they’d ever made. Feeding the Goron to a dragon had amused Ganondorf, similar to how he had fed crickets to the desert scorpions as a child. The Zora would remain frozen now that he had defeated the Princess and her little ‘hero’. As for the Kokiri, Ganondorf considered sending a horde of monsters to wipe them out. He carefully thought over the option, finally deciding the wiser course of action might be to give them one more chance as citizens of his new empire. The surviving Goron tribe, if they hadn’t grown a back bone, would become slaves. Every empire needs strong labour after all.

But his own people … Ganondorf winced just thinking about what to do with them. Nabooru, his second in command, was supposed to lead the Gerudo in his absence. Yet, she had stabbed him behind his back. He had caught her treachery over seven years ago, but her freedom at the hands of the hero had set her loose in the world and free to plot against him. How many of the other Gerudo could be wishing to see him fall? The king squeezed his hands on the cloth above his knees. Taking a deep breath, he shook his paranoia away. Even neglected, his people still adored him. Any negative feelings they’d have toward him would be erased once he moved them out of the desert. Nabooru was simply a virus, an isolated incident. A mistake of putting too much trust in one person, one that he’d never fall for again.

“I’m so tired…” Ganondorf gave a light chuckle. In the seven years looking for the Triforce, he had barely slept. Now, he felt like he could take a moment to breathe. Pulling himself slowly upright, Ganondorf decided his first course of action would be to raid the lost woods to secure wood for building supplies. He could at least build himself a new bed. For the time being, he’d settle his eyes on Kakariko Village. His minions would clear out the inhabitants so he could have a safe night’s sleep.

As Ganondorf slowly walked out of the ruins of his crumbled tower, he took note of the environment around him. The winds of Hyrule that he coveted were still. Why did the wind not blow in his direction this day, on the finality of his victory? Was fate not satisfied with him just yet?

~

The Sacred Grove was devastated. A group of Hylians made their last stand in defending the Kokiri and evacuating the defenseless. From all sides, monsters and spirits of evil intent swept through the undergrowth, overtaking all who fought against the enemies of the Great Ganondorf. They killed everyone from soldiers to civilians who came to aid the evacuation and bring comfort to the forest children.

One of those who escaped the carnage was a single Imp. The Skull Kid, the last of the Skull Children, rose from a pile of shrubbery. His head was aching like nothing he felt before. His feet shook as he tried to pick himself up. Why did everything hurt? How had he gotten here? What had happened to him? How could he -

Slowly, Skull Kid started to recall the events of the previous two weeks. He remembered finding Link’s body floating down a moat towards Zora river; the fairy boy who showed him kindness when only one other would. The Hylian kid had even gave him a new face to wear in the form of that cool skull mask. When Ganondorf first appeared and declared himself as King of Hyrule, no more fairies came from the Great Deku Tree. Skull Kid hadn’t seen any fairies nor Link for seven years. Link said he was going to put a stop to Ganondorf, that he was going to make up for the loss of those seven years. But now Link was dead.

With Link gone, Skull Kid remembered Saria telling him to keep an eye out for monsters. He didn’t want to, as a happy looking man was giving out masks to the Kokiri. It looked like fun and he wanted to join in. It was then that Skull Kid had been suddenly attacked by a Poe, which smashed its lantern against his head. If it wasn’t for the mask he wore taking the brunt of the force, his head would have cracked open instead. The Skull Kid heard the sounds of screaming in the distance before he lost his vision.

Skull Kid didn’t know what to do. His head wouldn’t stop hurting, and every time he reached with his hand to touch it, he felt a stickiness on his forehead. Why did his head feel wet and sticky? The imp stumbled past the hacked-up pieces of other Skull Children when he stopped in his tracks. Among the bodies was the still image of a girl with green hair. “S-saria? Saria, are you-!”

She only had one wound, a small red circle that stained her green sweater. A single spear thrust was what fate had dealt her for her ending on this earth. Her eyes were like a glass doll’s, looking longingly into the distance. Immediate guilt hit Skull Kid. He couldn’t protect the last good thing in this world that mattered to him. His friends were dead.

“Oh……… I guess you’re gone now.” Skull Kid reached out to feel her face. Cold. Someone as kind as her shouldn’t be so cold. His body started to shake as he felt emotion leak from his shattered heart. What was the point of living in a world like this? Ganondorf was going to take everything for himself. Make a world of cruelty. The world had shown him cruelty before Ganondorf had come along, so Skull Kid assumed it was only fitting.

A gust of wind from the north caught Skull Kid’s fragile attention. Feeling the cool air hurt his head wound. He needed a new ‘face’ now that the one Link had given him was gone. Stumbling away from Saria, he came across another body. The Happy Man who was giving away masks to the children laid dead on the forest floor. He had his giant backpack still on him, with masks thrown about everywhere around him. One of Skull Kid’s eyes grew dark as the liquid from his forehead dripped down over it.

Skull Kid wanted the perfect face. He wanted to put all his worries behind him. Going through the bag, he felt a pull towards something. Discarding the faces useless to him one after the other, the Skull Kid eventually found the perfect mask. Wiping away his eye to see, he looked into the eyes of a heart shaped mask. This was it. This was what he wanted. What’s more, he felt he needed it.

He carefully turned it around, and placed it on his head. The mask was a perfect fit. As soon as he put it on, Skull Kid giggled to himself. This giggle turned into a laugh. His mind was clear, and he knew exactly what he wanted. This cruel world took the things that mattered to him, and it wanted to give a monster like Ganondorf everything in return. Such a world didn’t deserve to exist, and Ganondorf deserved the suffering tenfold that Skull Kid had faced. The Mask’s eyes gave an eerie glow, and with the last of Skull Kid’s laughter, it vowed to give the King of Evil a new taste of terror.

[thatshankcallednewt]

The Death Cure: Gally - Forgive You in a Heartbeat; Part One

Summary: Set in The Death Cure, you and Minho are prisoners of WCKD as Thomas and Newt reach out to a ghost from the past for help in your rescue. 

Usually, I write character’s physical description based off the books (Thomas’ blue eyes, for example) however, this time since I’m following the film plot, I decided to change it up and go with the cast. Hope that’s alright!

You felt the grass between your fingers, and you peered up at the sun, your hand raised over your eyes to keep your face shaded from the sunlight. The blue sky was clear, and you could see the top of the maze walls. The vines snaked up the grey concrete and birds nested near the top.

      There was an echo of voices. You turned, still sitting in the green grass, and saw your friends lining up for lunch at Frypan’s kitchen. By the look on most boys’ faces, you could tell Fry’s stew was on the menu again.

      “Hungry?” a voice asked beside you.

      You turned at the sound and met eyes with a pair of blue ones. Gally sat across from you, his damp shirt clung to his chest from all the sweat of working hard during the day. You stared at him as if he weren’t supposed to be there… but that moment passed quickly, and you smiled.

      “Not sure… I think I just want to enjoy the sun a little while longer.”

      He nodded; a look crossed over his eyes as he stared at you. You couldn’t place the emotion behind it.

      He scooted closer to you so that he sat beside you instead of across from you. He was so close that his leg brushed by yours. He glanced up at the clear sky, “Sun’s beating down on us today, I think I might have to call it quits with the Builders.”

      “Too much sun never hurt anyone,” you said, a little too suggestively.

      He realized you were commenting on all the sweaty guys hard at work, and he shook his head, an amused grin spread his lips thin, “You’re gonna get in so much trouble if Alby hears you talking like that, you know.”

      “I’m only joking… mostly,” you teased.

      Gally smirked, “Hope you’re not joking about me.”

      You shook your head, laughing. You covered your mouth with your hand as you laughed, with hopes to hide the blush that flushed your cheeks pink. “How do you know I was even talking about you?” you asked, playing his game. “Maybe I was talking about…” your eyes quickly scanned the group of boys still out in the sun, “Maybe I was talking about Newt.”

      Newt was out near the gardens again, chopping down another dead tree near the forest line. He was sweating hard, so much so that every few minutes, he would wipe the sweat off his forehead with the front of his shirt, exposing the skin of his stomach.

      “Yeah right,” Gally remarked, rolling his eyes. But he watched Newt a little longer anyway, his jaw unusually clenched, his eyes narrowed.

      You suddenly felt a wave of sadness hit you, all too quickly. You couldn’t understand where it came from. It was a beautiful day, though a little hotter than usual, but there wasn’t anything to complain about. You had everything you needed.

      You felt a pang in your chest as you stared at Gally, who was now too preoccupied with a frayed strand of his pants to notice you looking at him. He was tugging at it carefully, trying not to rip a new hole in them again, otherwise you’d have to sew them up for the seventh time that week.

      “Gally?” you suddenly asked, and there was an unusual sound to your voice, like you were afraid.

      He looked up at you quickly, noticing the way your voice changed. His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what was wrong. He blinked, “You okay?”

      You breathed in and out. You swallowed the dryness from your mouth. The sadness… the fear… it disappeared as quickly as it had come. You looked at him, a little confused, “I’m okay.” You frowned, looking at your hand. You found his eyes again, “I’m happy… to be here. I always liked these moments, sitting on the grass in the sun. Waiting for you to go on break so you could sit with me. It was my favorite part of the day.” You spoke like it had been a million years since you last saw him.

      He smiled and his hand reached for your hand in the grass, his fingers brushed over the back of your hand, “Me too.”

      Gally disappeared and instead of sitting on the grass amongst the bustling Glade, you were standing in the maze. The change of scenery was a sudden shock and you felt that same fear and confusion as before. You peered up at the giant walls, the sun was going down, and it would be night soon. Which only meant one thing.

      You ran towards what you thought was the Glade. As you got nearer, you heard sudden shouting from the others. You urged yourself to go faster, to beat the sun, beat the walls from closing at the entrance. You were out of breath, but you kept pushing your legs harder and harder, hoping against all hope that you would make it through in time. But as you turned the last corner and saw your friends shouting at you from within the Glade, they quickly disappeared behind the doors as they slid shut.

      You stopped in your tracks; your mouth open as you sucked in oxygen. You turned around but instead of seeing the maze walls, you saw the room where Gally had died. Sudden memories spilled into your mind of escaping the Glade and coming here, only to witness the deaths of two friends.

      You were breathing quickly as you walked through the room. You looked at all the fallen bodies laying in the broken glass. A lot of them you didn’t recognize… until you found him. You shouted his name and ran to where he lay, dropping to your knees, you hovered over his body. It didn’t seem as though he was breathing, the spear in his chest stuck out still and blood drenched his clothes and pooled around him.

      You felt tears fill your eyes and his face grew blurry with your vision. You wiped your tears away with your fingers, only to wipe his blood on your cheeks. You searched the room for your friends but there wasn’t anyone else left alive, only you.

      A clicking sound echoed down the hall. It clicked and whirred and there was metal against metal. It clanged and echoed as it grew louder and louder. You lifted your head, tearing your eyes away from Gally, and saw it. A Griever.

      You slowly stood up, eyeing your only other exit. When it moved again, you dashed out from where you stood and made a run for it. You could hear the thing chasing you, racing to catch up to you, and your heart leaped in your throat, but the adrenaline you felt kept you going. You ran down a long stretch of a hallway, where you had exited the maze, and screamed for someone to help you—

      You opened your eyes, briefly. You fought to keep them open. The room you were in was white and clean, sterile. You could smell a faint chemical odor. You glanced around the room at the people who supervised you, though clearly unaware of your consciousness. They wore white lab coats and a bunch of machinery surrounded you, flashing and lighting up. Computer screens. All monitoring your physical health.

      You spotted Teresa with a clipboard in her hands by the entrance to your room.

      Your cheeks were wet with unconscious tears. They had put you under again, tormenting you with memories and trials from the maze. Using your memories with Gally to lull you into some kind of compliant participance.

      You remembered when Janson and Ava came for you all out in the Scorch with their Berg. You remembered getting captured with Minho. But everything else between then and now was a blur. But you knew that they were only using you for more of their WCKD experiments.

      It wasn’t fair. You never agreed to this. And to spend most of your days trapped in the maze, running from Grievers again… only to produce the serum they so greedily wanted… but most of all, to force you to see Gally alive and well again, only to show you his death, over and over… it was too much.

      You struggled against your restraints, a loud groan escaping your lips. You shook your shackles and it got the attention of your doctors. They rushed to your side, despite your loud protests, and you felt a needle prick into your skin. It stung for a moment before you started feeling drowsy again. You pleaded with them to let you go, to not let you go back into that place again, but it was already too late. Soon, you would go back under, and who knew where you’d end up next.

      The last thing you saw before everything went dark was Teresa’s blue eyes.

                                                            ***

Gally couldn’t believe his eyes when he spotted Thomas and the others in the crowd of rebels. He almost choked on air when he met eyes with his, but he quickly realized that Thomas couldn’t see through the dusty visor of his mask. He was thankful for that, at least, because no reunion with him would be a happy one.

      He hopped off the truck and kept close to the edge of the crowd that advanced towards the Last City walls. He ordered a couple guys to park their cars around the edge of the outskirt ruins, and then told the others to follow him. He instructed them of their target. He would just have to hope that Thomas and the others would forgive him.

      The first to notice their apparent stalking was Newt, of course. Gally could’ve picked it. Newt was always looking out for trouble. But it wouldn’t matter soon, because there were way too many people for all of the Gladers to realize they were gaining on them.

      He spotted Frypan and Thomas near the front of the crowd, with Newt still lingering behind, glancing back at him and his men every so often. There was a girl with them that he didn’t recognize, she had dark hair that was cut into a bob and she was much shorter than the boys. Then there was a man with them, he looked older with grey hairs speckled through his scruffy face.

      When Gally realized that they were the only ones left from the maze, he felt his stomach drop. He double-checked, searching for the only person that really mattered to him, but he couldn’t find you in the crowd at all. He gripped his gun and nodded to his men.

      They started advancing towards the group, which only caused Newt to finally inform Thomas about their existence, when the tall machinery near the entrance to the city suddenly swung at the crowd of people. Everyone stopped by the security gate and stared. Gally knew all too quickly what was about to go down.

      He only had seconds before the guns started shooting at people. A mass of bullets, shouting and exploding dirt ensued as he ran towards the vans that they had parked behind the city ruins. He caught up with his men and they prepared to kidnap the others as they came around the corner.

      He grabbed the girl and Thomas and shoved them both into his van, and he climbed in with one of his men before it could take off. They would drive back to home base.

      Thomas looked at Gally a little too hard and Gally squirmed under his stare.

      They finally arrived back at the compound and Gally hurried his hostages out of the van. He couldn’t take waiting anymore. He practically threw his mask off and ditched it somewhere on the ground. He caught eyes with Thomas.

      Thomas leaped and him, punching him square in the mouth, and Gally fell to the floor. His men began to make a move, but he ordered them to stop. Thomas held the collar of Gally’s shirt, it twisted and bunched up in his dirty fingers, and he swore at him for killing Chuck.

      Newt was the one to calm Thomas down, gently pulling him off of Gally. Gally looked at Newt gratefully but there wasn’t kindness in his brown eyes, only betrayal.

      Gally swallowed, “What the hell are you doing here?”

      Thomas shook Newt off him but didn’t go for another punch-up, “We’re trying to get into the city.”

      Gally stared at him. He rubbed his shaven head and glanced at his men.

      “Who is this guy?” the old man asked, a threatening tone to his voice. He was still angry that they separated him from the girl.

      “An old friend,” Newt replied, somewhat sarcastically.

      Gally looked them over. They’d definitely seen better days. But the pang of hurt in his heart was almost too much, he clenched his jaw and tried not to think too hard about you. “Okay,” he said, looking at Thomas, “Why the hell are you here?”

      Thomas swallowed, looking to Newt for some kind of reassurance. He was still pissed and on edge. He never expected to see Gally again, after witnessing his “death” with Chuck… but Newt was right, Gally was stung out of his mind and not thinking straight. He’d known that all along, but he never wanted to admit it because it was so much easier being angry at him.

      Thomas sighed, looking back to Gally, “We’re here to… rescue Minho and Y/N.”

      Gally’s eyes widened, “Y/N’s alive?”

      Thomas nodded, “We think so. WCKD took her and Minho back in the Scorch. They wouldn’t have taken her if she weren’t important… if she weren’t Immune. They wouldn’t kill her if they could use her for something, so…”

      “So, she’s one of the Munies being used for the serum,” Gally concluded, glancing away from Thomas. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t describe how he was feeling. From thinking you must have died to now having this hope that you were alive… “I think I might have a way inside.”

      “You’re going to help us?” Thomas asked, doubting his motive.

      “Lawrence will have to have a word with you, but I’m sure he’ll see reason to let you help us,” Gally said quickly, ushering them toward Lawrence’s room. “Besides,” he eyed Thomas as they walked, his stare suddenly firm, “If there’s a chance of saving Y/N…”

      “And Minho,” Newt added.

      “And Minho,” Gally repeated, glancing back at the blond boy, “then I’m all in.”

      Thomas nodded, realizing that Gally would risk anything to get you back, which was the kind of help they needed right now, “Good that.”

[fandom-collective-writers]

Man (Seth Hyde x Reader)

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution

Pairing: Seth Hyde x Reader

Prompt: “If you don’t like my teasing then why are you moaning?”

Warning: Smut

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 3,389

Requested by: @cinnatwisted

Written by: @lordsister

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Revolution or any of its characters. All that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost or reblog this on any other website.

Additional Notes: This is kind of a part 2 to another Seth fic I wrote a few months back, but it can be read as it’s own oneshot piece. Here’s the link if you would like to read part 1 --> Man (Seth Hyde x Reader)

       It was impossible to forget. Ever since you had returned from your outing with Seth, the ghost of his touch hadn’t left your skin, clinging to you and making you shiver every time his gaze met yours. In mere heartbeats, your carefully maintained image of him as an older sister had fallen away to expose the man you had always known him to be but had tried hard to ignore. 

       You had feelings for him. That had been true for a long time. But you had convinced yourself that he didn’t feel the same. Every time you thought you were really getting close to him he changed the subject or ran away, so how could you have thought otherwise? Still, the words he’d murmured in your ear from within the curtained walls of the changing room, his fingers on the exposed skin of your back as he’d helped you with the buttons of a blouse, made his intentions towards you very clear. 

       "Oh, my dear, all men are secretly wolves and I may very well be one of them." 

       You shivered at the memory of his fingers in your hair, bringing a lock to his lips for a smiling kiss, your heart pounding. 

       "Though my methods are a little more subtle, I fully intend to steal the heart of my beloved unless she gives it to me herself."

       You jumped, gasping, as hands landed on your shoulders and slid down your arms, a warm chest pressing against your back. A puff of air against your ear made you flush and you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was behind you. Chuckling in your ear, Seth’s hand covered yours, taking the wooden spoon you’d been using to stir the stew. 

       “The stew’s burning, Alice!” he chided in amusement and you thought you heard yourself stutter out an apology through the sudden rushing in your ears.

       Had his voice always been so deep? You were suddenly very aware of his body behind you, the combination of his warmth and scent encompassing you and making your knees weak. You could even feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, each exhale fanning against your neck, and the muscles in his arms flexed for apparently no other reason than making you turn even redder.

       He hummed thoughtfully and you felt the tip of his nose brush against your heated cheek as he said, “Your face is so warm, my love. Are you feeling okay?”

       “I’m fine!” you squeaked, internally cursing the handsome male. He knew exactly why your face was so warm.

       “Are you sure? I could take your temperature if you want. We can’t have our dear little Alice getting sick now.” 

       His fingers ghosted across your forehead, displacing a few locks of hair, and you shivered despite yourself. 

       “I-I’m okay, Seth, really.”

       Warm air blew over the sensitive skin below your ear and you inhaled, body tensing in expectation for the contact of his lips that never came. “Don’t lie to me, (y/n).” His use of your real name, said low and husky, sent a throb of heat to your core and you shuddered into him, the nervous shift of your hips unintentionally brushing your ass against his groin. 

       Seth sighed against your ear and his voice was a pleasured purr as he said, “What’s this? Did what I say earlier have that much of an effect on you? You’re so cute, love~”

       “A-About what you said earlier…” you trailed off, eyes skittering to your feet as you tried to take deep breaths.

       “Yes?” he asked expectantly, hands moving up and down your arms in a strangely soothing motion. Despite how forward he was being, you knew for certain that if you told him to stop, he would, without hesitation. You felt safe.

       “Were you serious?” Your voice was a whisper and you weren’t sure he heard it until he turned you around and the tender, starry look in his eyes made your heart melt. 

       Tilting your chin up, he kissed your forehead softly. “I did. Every word.”

       “Even the part about stealing my heart?”

       He chuckled, caressing your cheek with a soft hand. “Yes. Especially that part. Because you see, my dearest…” Half-lidded chocolate eyes filled your vision as Seth leaned his forehead against yours. “My heart is already yours. It has been for a long, long time.”

       Before you could respond he was gone, pulling away from you with the ghost of a kiss at the corner of your lips and the lingering warmth of his arms around you. Your eyes met his, sparkling with affection and nervous tension, and then he was gone, leaving you to your weak knees and pounding heart and too-hot skin.

       His heart was yours… His. Heart. Was. Yours…

       The words played in your mind over and over, not quite comprehending until a sudden angry pop from the stew still cooking broke the cycle. Grabbing the stew off the stove, you sunk to your knees, cradling your flushed cheeks in your hands. Eventually, the words running through your brain faded, giving way to two others in big, bold letters.

       ...IT’S MUTUAL!

       You were distracted for the rest of the evening, barely able to pay attention when the others were speaking during dinner or when you were chatting with Luka while cleaning up later on. A nervous energy sparked and caught flame within you, growing by the second. Seth hadn’t asked for a response and he’d kept his distance during dinner, but you knew you had to give him one, wanted to give him one. The man you loved was waiting.

       “I think that’s all for tonight, (y/n),” the soft voice of the man next to you interrupted your thoughts.

       “Hmm? What? Oh, okay! Thanks, Luka!”

       The Jack of Spades smiled and grabbed his coat before moving for the door. “Good night, (y/n).”

       “Night, Luka! Sleep well!”

       You took a deep breath when you heard his footsteps echo down the hallway. Unless you wanted a sleepless night and lots of awkwardness on your part when you saw Seth tomorrow, you had to confess your feelings now. 

       Your legs felt weak, but your steps were steady as you set off down the corridor. Nerves had your heart pounding, despite the fact that you already knew your love was requited. Feet stopping as if on instinct, you looked up, blinking, to find yourself not in front of your own door, but in front of Seth’s.

       You stood there, rooted to the spot, for several moments. Now that you thought about it, what were you supposed to say? Just come right out and confess as soon as he opened the door? Wasn’t there something more you were supposed to do? And what would happen after you confessed? The knots in your stomach were winding themselves tighter the more you thought about it.

       Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and rapped your fingers against the dark wood. It opened sooner than you would’ve liked and your cheeks warmed immediately at the vision that greeted you.

       Seth’s hair was down, falling over his shoulders in soft waves of blue, and he was shirtless, showing off his toned chest and abs. Only a loose pair of trousers hung around his hips and even those left little to the imagination. The look on his face was surprised, but you thought he must’ve known you would be coming to him tonight. Something about the immediate heat and delight in his gaze told you so.

       “Alice! What can I help you with so late at night?”

       “I-um! I wanted to talk with you about...about earlier.”

       “Of course!” Stepping back, he held a hand out to his side, gesturing you in with a smile. “Come right in!”

       Stepping through the doorway, you couldn’t help being very aware of him next to you, watching you. 

       “Have a seat wherever you like,” he spoke, turning away from you to dry the ends of his hair with the towel around his shoulders.

       “Thank you.” You took a seat on the sofa and tried not to look too nervous.

       “Okay. Go on, love,” he said softly, sitting down next to you. He was still bare-chested and your face was still hot, but you cleared your throat and met his gaze. His chocolate eyes were gentle and warm, but you could see the same nervous energy you felt in them, his lower lip tucking as he bit it. Maybe Seth wasn’t as cool inside as he was acting on the outside. Maybe he was just as scared of rejection as you were of making this confession. 

       Your heart beat a mad pace in your chest, but you reached out and took his hand anyway, smiling as you did. “I wanted to tell you, Seth, that I...I love you.”

       He seemed speechless for a few heartbeats before he laughed breathlessly, sinking back into the cushions. “You’re amazing, Alice,” he said, covering his eyes with his free hand.

       You blinked. “What do you mean?”

       Sitting up again, he leaned forwards and brushed some of your hair away from your face with a flourish, letting the strands fall through his fingers. “No one has ever been able to control me with a single word like you have. Do you have any idea how hopelessly you have me wrapped around your little finger?”

       Your voice caught in your throat as his lips trailed along your jaw and over your cheek, the contact a simple brush of skin against skin as he reached the corner of your mouth. “Do you?” he whispered again softly, and then his lips covered your own. 

       You had suspected his lips would be soft, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how sweet his kiss was, how it sent flutters down your spine and made your whole body flush with a tender, gentle warmth. He didn’t need to be passionate to leave you wanting him. 

       His tongue caressed your bottom lip and you granted him entrance, moaning into his mouth as he stole your breath away. His hands guided your arms around his neck as he pressed into you, following you as you leaned back. You didn’t realize you had closed your eyes until you opened them moments later to find an Adonis hovering above you, a curtain of blue softening the edges of your vision and eyes like molten chocolate gazing down at you.

       “Perhaps you didn’t take my warning seriously before,” he husked, a pleased, lustful grin breaking over his face through soft pants. Taking your hand he drew you up on shaky legs and led you over to the vanity. His voice was a soft, sensual murmur as he continued,  “All men are wolves, love, and it’s even worse when the sun goes down. However, here you are, in one’s den, as innocent as a lamb.” Turning you around, he met your eyes in the mirror, one hand cradling your jaw while his other arm wrapped around you and his head came to rest on your shoulder. “Tell me, do you know what it implies for a woman to come to a man’s room so late at night?”

       “I-I do.”

       His lips graced the sensitive spot below your ear and you shivered. Seth blinked and the playful light in his eyes dimmed a little, turning serious. “Is this what you want then? Do you want me?”

       “Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the hammering of your heart in your chest. “I want you, Seth.”

       He exhaled, his grip on you tightening, and then his mouth attached to your neck, his hands drifting. One ran down your thigh, hiking up the fabric of your skirt as it did, while the other undid the buttons of your blouse. Seth moved slowly, allowing you time to get used to his touch, and you leaned into his soft caress, sighing.

       You mewled as his fingers dove into the open top of your shirt and beneath your bra, fondling your breast. “S-Seth!” you stuttered, biting your lip as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. You bucked against him when, a second later, his hand came into contact with your covered womanhood, already damp with the beginnings of your arousal.

    Releasing your neck with a noisy kiss, he nipped at your earlobe and asked, “May I?”

    You nodded, not trusting yourself to answer without squealing. Seth made quick work of your blouse and skirt, stripping you down to your undergarments before drawing the band of your panties down from your hip to drop forgotten to the floor. Your body tensed and you held your breath, but his touch didn’t come, his breath fanning across your cheek instead.

    When you opened your eyes to look at him in the mirror, Seth was looking at you tenderly. His hands caressed your sides, coaxing you to relax as he said, “I won’t hurt you, my love.”

    Reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, you watched him lean into your touch. “I know. I trust you, Seth.” You smiled at him and bumped his chin with your head, signaling him to continue.

    His hand disappeared from view in the mirror and you held your breath as his fingers traveled along the skin of your inner thigh. Seth’s touch started out soft, barely there at all, before he slipped a finger between your folds, pressing his erection into your ass as he did. Your hands grabbed the edge of the vanity for support and your head fell forward, your back arching. 

    “Seth!” you moaned as he stroked you, panting in your ear as he ground against you. The last of your clothing - your bra - fell away with a pinch from his dexterous fingers, and his hand fully cupped your breast, messaging in time with his thrusts. When his finger slipped inside of you, you cried out, your toes curling. A pleasant fire was quickly filling your limbs, your core throbbing with need as your hips moved against his hand instinctively, seeking that delicious friction. 

    “You look so beautiful,” Seth moaned in your ear and you blushed hard at the wetness you could feel coating his fingers and dripping down your inner thigh. Another finger joined the first and his thumb located your clit, nearly bringing you to your knees as you leaned further onto the vanity.

       “Seth, please! Stop teasing!” you cried, turning to look at him as he sucked and kissed at your nape.

       “Hmm? If you don’t like my teasing then why are you moaning?” His fingers plunged deeper, scissoring inside of you, and you would have fallen had his arm around your waist not been holding you up. “I need to make sure you’re nice and prepared for what comes later.”

       “What comes-!” You knew where this was going but for some reason it made it more embarrassing when he said it out loud like that.

       He chuckled. “I thought I’d made my intentions clear, but I’ll say it anyway. I fully intend to make love to you tonight, my dearest Alice.” His lips found yours in a sweet, loving kiss, the contact gentle and adoring. When the kiss broke heartbeats later, he continued brightly, “Now! I think it’s about time I gave you what you wanted.” The pads of his fingers pressed a spot deep inside of you as his thumb pressed down on your clit. “Be my good girl and come all over my fingers?”

       He didn’t have to say any more. Your climax washed over you hard and fast and you distantly felt your body going completely limp in the arms of the man behind you. His name fell from your lips on a cry, your nails digging into his arm. The heat his fingers coaxed from deep inside you was more intense than anything you’d ever felt before, almost overwhelmingly so.

       “That’s it, darling. Oh, you’re so beautiful like this, climaxing all over my fingers,” Seth murmured lovingly in your ear, your skin oversensitive to his warm breath. When you opened your eyes, you were on Seth’s bed, your essence slick on the inside of your thighs and your lover hovering above you, a sly look on his face.  

       “I want to taste you, but I’m so hard it’s painful.” He laughed, the sound musical and sweet, as you blushed, looking away from him. “Another time. Are you ready for me, my love?”

       Your own forwardness surprised you as you wrapped your arms and legs around him and pulled him closer, his cock brushing your heat and making the both of you moan. A part of you was still shy about doing this with Seth, but you loved him and wanted him desperately.

       “Yes,” you answered. “Make love to me?”

       “I love you so much,” he murmured, kissing your brow. “Thank you.”

       You cried out as he pushed himself inside, your vision filled with blue as Seth kissed you cheeks, your nose, your tightly shut eyes, trying to distract you from the painful stretch. His fingers squeezed yours and you squeezed back shakily, trying to tell him you were alright. He was more well-endowed than you’d thought he’d be, and the pain soon turned to pleasure as your walls accommodated him. 

       “Mmm, Seth,” you gasped, fingers digging into his back.

       “Yes? Does it still hurt? I’ll sto-”

       “No!” Your grip on him tightened, bringing him a little deeper within you and making both he and you moan. “No, please. Please, start moving.”

       Pulling back until just the tip was inside of you, he pushed in again. Your moans quickly drove him to move faster, turning forceful and deep as he thrust deep within you over and over. Seth was a very vocal lover, you learned. His moans were loud and unashamed as he buried his cock in your tight heat, the praises spilling from his lips making you redden with more than just pleasure.

       “I’m in love with you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeated. “I’ve wanted you for so long. You’re so beautiful, and now I finally have you. Finally, mine…”

       He paused in his thrusting to fasten your wrists above your head, lacing his fingers with your own. When you blinked at him, he just smiled, cat-like. You writhed, mewling, as his lips descended on your breasts, kissing and sucking at your nipples and leaving love bites in his wake. All the while, you could feel the coil tightening deep within you, signaling your impending climax. 

       “S-Seth, I-!”

       “Are you close, Alice?” The particularly hard thrust that followed his words made your back arch and you wished you had the strength to break his grip so you could touch him. “So am I.”

       His pace increased until the bed was creaking and you were sure the entire hall could hear you, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the man above you as he brought you over the edge. 

       You screamed his name as you came, Seth following you into his own climax seconds later. His voice was a deep growl as he bit onto your shoulder, his heat spreading through you and leaving you lightheaded as he marked you. He collapsed on top of you moments later, both of you a panting, sweaty mess. The second his grip went slack on your hands, your fingers were in his hair, combing through the cornflower locks and hugging his muscled shoulders.

       “I love you, (y/n),” he panted, his smile adoring as he looked up at you. “I really, really love you.”

       You giggled. Even though you were exhausted, your body spent and sore, you were fizzing with happy, excited energy. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy - so happy you wanted to explode. “I really love you too, Seth.” Kissing the top of his head, you snuggled him tighter as he pulled up the blankets and nuzzled into you. Unable to keep your eyes open any longer, the warmth of his breath on your skin quickly lulled you to sleep, feeling warm and loved. 

       The last thing you heard before falling into unconsciousness was Seth’s whisper. “Thanks for making me your man. I promise you, you won’t regret it. I’ll love you forever.”

[mattzerella-sticks]

Supernatural Crack🩹tober

Day 3: Baby/Pimpmobile - Shotgun

           Baby stares at her reflection in the mirror, acquainting herself with new, yet familiar features. Runs a twitching hand through short, ruffled locks. Giggling at the sensation, and at the novelty of sense. Green eyes light up the more she tussles her new hair, wrinkles appearing around green eyes and pink lips. “Oh my God,” she whispers, voice a deep timbre. Rumbling without an engine. “Cars should totally come with hair!”

           She adds hair to the ever-growing list of things she enjoys while being a human. While being her human. Dean.

           It was a normal day, before. Better than usual. Instead of wasting time, collecting dust, resting alongside rows of retirees Baby burned rubber. Driven over hot asphalt, her tires endlessly spinning. Full up, Dean taking care by feeding her until she could fit no more. And, with open windows, the world could hear her voice as she crooned song after song. She and Dean duetting on most of them. Sam roped in on certain choruses.

           But then they made it home. Journey over, the brothers began emptying her trunk. Baby carried an extra few pounds, souvenirs from the trip. From her rearview mirror, she watched them bicker while stacking boxes in their arms. Dean attempting too much, his face obscured by a wobbling tower. He inched backwards, Sam already given up and abandoning him. A box fell out of view, sound echoing in the room.

           Dean stopped. Bent over –

           Suddenly she sees brown, scuffed boots and an odd, stone figure. Startled, Baby relies on her defenses. Her sirens go off and she honks uncontrollably, but they’re different. Not the same.

           She wasn’t the same. She was Dean.

           “-and Dean is in the car,” Sam explained over the phone, Baby listening but not really. Distracted by an engine that beat, holding her exhaust until sparks burned inside her chassis, and headlights dimmed.

           That’s not right. Not engine, heart. Breath and vision. Sam ran down basic human functions after the call, telling her not to overexert herself. “Be careful with Dean’s body,” he said, “he’s not as durable as – uh… as you used to be, Baby?”

           Nodding, Baby mimicked an affectionate gesture she’s seen Dean use over the years. “I’ll keep Dean safe, Sammy!” she promised, middle finger proudly raised.

           “…Thanks.”

           Unhitched, Baby decided that while in Dean’s body for the time being, she might cruise the only other place he’s called Home. See how a stationary building compares against her sleek, steadfast design.

           In her objective, unbiased opinion, Baby finds her competition lacking. It’s too big, sprawling like the American highway system. A map needed in plotting the path between point A and B. And the detours were confusing. One whole room dedicated for storing food? Pointless. Drive-thrus and diners still existed, meaning the stockpile she found inside a giant, white box wasted space for probably better things. There’s also a washroom that made little sense. How can Dean thoroughly clean himself when little walls were built throughout, blocking any attempt at moving onto the next station?

           Humanity was too complicated for her. Baby enjoyed the simple pleasures. Air on her face, the sound of her steps echoing, and her appearance.

           Wandering, she passed by a room with little thought about it. But, surprisingly, she shifted into reverse.

           Nothing she saw meant anything to her. But her body – Dean’s body – eased, like when she would do rolling stops. Comfortable and safe, in control. Given how crazy the entire day’s been, she savors the feeling.

           Curiosity returns though, not idling for long. Baby investigates the new space. Turns down the soft tarp, leaning on a plush ledge that differs from any surface she’s touched. Examines many hanging decorations of weapons, recognizing those as Dean wielded many similar shapes while around her. She refrains of grabbing any. Instead pulls on a loose hanging rag, surprised when a compartment opens up. Reveals more of the rag, and how it’s not a rag at all. Baby holds a smaller tarp, painted in a criss-cross pattern like the tarp Dean usually wears.

           “That?” Sam said, earlier, following Baby’s pointed finger, “that’s not a tarp. It’s a shirt.”

           “A shirt…” Baby repeated in this newer room. Rubs it against her face, smiling.

           Dean keeps her looking one way. Always black. Never considering a different style.

           Humans can change their style on a whim. Baby does just that.

           She moves her hands away from her hair, traipsing along the lines of the shirt she chose. Buried underneath all the others, it was a tiny scrap of fabric. Decal sheared off, the hem ending halfway down his chest. Baby pokes at her exposed belly, laughter growing. Then, she rubs a hand on the denim short pants she loves, even if Dean only wears them when washing her.

           “Must’ve been a dust storm or something,” Dean said, she remembers, that morning outside the human garage. “Don’t worry, once we get back I’ll give you some good ol’ TLC.”

           It strikes her that, with their new roles, she can shower Dean in a whole new type of love. Engines revved; she guns back onto the highway. Racing towards the garage where Dean sat for all this time.

           He wasn’t alone.

           Baby skids, stopping at the garage entrance. She spies a familiar figure sitting on her old hood, although it’s been ages since Baby saw him in such a state.

           Castiel kicks his legs, wearing only a pair of slacks while murmuring in a low pitch she cannot hear at this distance. Inching closer, Baby notices a nearby pile. His familiar beige tarp, and a darker color of a similar design. Striking blue strip still hanging off a wrinkled white shirt. And black hubcaps – shoes, they’re called shoes – with grey rags sticking out.

           “…and the sky… the sky is so weird, here,” Castiel mumbles, “how do they put up with it? No blue, no purple – no sun, no stars…” He chuckles, stealing the road out from under Baby. She pauses, the sound hauntingly familiar to her. Not like the angel who’s ridden with her boys. Like someone she hadn’t heard in years. “I wish you could talk,” Castiel says, petting the hood now, “I’m finally awake again, but we’re still separated –“

           “Linc?”

           Linc’s head whips towards her, eyes widening in recognition. “Dean,” he stands, advancing, “Dean, I can – I can explain –“

           “No,” Baby interrupts, closing the distance. She wraps her arms around him, savoring how he fit there. “No, not Dean,” she explains, “it’s Baby.”

           “Baby?” Linc gasps, twisting in her grasp. He studies her in a new light, “How… when did –“

           “Before you, I think,” she tells him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

           Linc scoffs, slinking away. Moving, she can tell how different he is from the angel. Hunched over, hands shoved in folds within the slacks that are slung low on his hips. “Darkness… y’know, so much darkness.” He looks left, at a nearby car covered in an old, oily tarp and dust. “But then that changes, and the next thing I remember, I’m in my ol’ driver’s frame –“

           “Body,” she corrects, wincing under his arched brow. “They’re called bodies… apparently.”

           “Right,” he drawls, whistling the word out. “Fuckin’ stupid…” Linc shuffles over, hand freed and hovering near her face. “Aren’t humans dumb?”

           “They’re not dumb,” she says, face twinging with pain as she smiles. It hurts, in a good way. “But they do a lot of unnecessary things.”

           “Fuckin’ A they do.” Linc gestures at the discarded coverings, snorting. “Why they wear so much, I’ll never know.”

           Baby sighs, “You do tend to run hot, Linc. It’s not Castiel’s fault –“

           “Maybe if he ever looked under my hood, he’d fix it.” Linc spits, bitterness soaking the words. A dark cloud of exhaust following it. “Fix a lot of things, make it so I can be out there, again. I can be… I can be with you.”

           She missed him. Missed his snark, and his care. Whenever she returned, Linc would immediately run through a check list – hoping nothing too serious happened while out. Waited by her side if a hunt left some casualties and distracted her from Dean’s surgery with stories of his former life.

           This anger… it’s been festering like oil. Every day Castiel didn’t drive him, it grew. Being decommissioned, forgotten, absorbed into an ancient collection… made the hurt grow. Baby tried speaking with him, then, in those early days. He never heard her. Couldn’t see how sad she was. Close, but still so far.

           Baby grabs his hand, guiding it to her cheek. “I missed you, too.” She leads him forward, leaning on her old hood. “Missed a lot of things… but we have a chance. A small window of opportunity, while Sammy figures out how we can get back to who we were.”

           Linc shakes his head, “Make that a large window. When the oaf left he had no clue where he should start!”

           “Then we can do it more than once.”

           “Do what?”

           She glances behind, at her cabin. “They might have complicated much of life, but humans still know about simple pleasures. Let’s make like the humans do, and… fool around in the backseat?”

           He catches on, laughter cutting through like a sharp honk. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he wriggles his fingers, “still unused to all these extra… features.”

           “I’ll help you.” Sliding off the hood, Baby and Linc hurry – hand in hand – into the second row. “Dean’s done this a lot. Now I’ll finally understand why he chooses to do it here.”

           “Don’t think about Dean,” Linc whispers in her ear, tiny pellets of hail striking her skin. “It’s just you and me, Baby. Linc and Baby… together again.”

           “Together again…” She turns slightly, enough that her mouth captures Linc’s, an imitation of all the times she watched Dean do the same through the rearview. Baby never got it. In that moment, she does. It’s finding a parking spot in a crowded lot. Passing a light as it switches from yellow to red. Idling on the side of the road during a sunset, her boys sitting on her hood. Baby breaks from the kiss, gasping.

           She prefers being a car. As she was, her life was simple. Still… humanity had its perks.

           Linc and her explore all of them, until the clock runs out.

(Day 2 - Oops! All Plaid)

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Fourteen

The plot continues to thicken. Catch up on what you might have missed in the previous parts linked in the Master List. 

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 2,288

Content advisory: More smut here and some possibly disturbing bits related to pregnancy

The summer seemed intent on making me suffer. Everyone from the town and the village agreed that it was the hottest weather they’d had in many years and my body felt every bit of it. The more I grew, the hotter it became. I spent nights lying awake in bed, body soaked with sweat, unable to position myself comfortably because I always had this heavy ball attached to my body. I was literally reduced to tears from the discomfort and prayed that I could give birth soon so that I could at least have my own body back. 

I expected that Balor would come to taunt me again, come to threaten to take the child, or to take us both, but he never appeared. I had Feargal, who tended gently to me and comforted me as he could. It was an adjustment for him, being at home much more often, and I could tell that he was a little on edge at the change. When he grew tense, there were moments when I thought I saw flashes of the Demon in him and I hated myself for being unable to rid myself of the thought that they were one and the same. 

Worst of all was that, in the midst of those endless nights, there were times when I longed desperately for Balor’s touch. It seemed like the sensations that he could create in me might distract me if only for a few moments. I could feel that he was close, always, watching me and planning. Thinking about what had happened between us, my sex ached with unsatisfied need. I shuddered to imagine what might happen to the baby if anything were to occur but that didn’t stop my body from wanting it. 

Sometimes, I dreamt that he’d come for me and for my baby. I felt his fingers close around my throat, his breath hot on my neck. Other times, I felt his hand trailing over my stomach, kneading at the stretched skin, that fine membrane that allowed me to protect my child completely. 

But when I would open my eyes, there was nothing to see, just Feargal sleeping next to me, features twitching as if he too were fighting something off in his dreams. Sometimes my stirring would wake him as well and his eyes would alight on me with an irritated expression, only to melt into tenderness as he realized where he was and why I was in the state that I was. When this would happen, he would kiss me over my face and hands and stroke my back until I fell asleep in his arms. 

It was on perhaps the hottest night of the year, or at least what felt like the hottest to me in my state, that Balor finally appeared to me. I had been convinced that I heard noises coming from the children’s room but when I went to check on them, they were sound asleep. When I walked back into our bedroom, however, I was immediately aware that something was different. The air, so heavy and stale in the late summer heat, felt fresher against my skin and it was somehow cooler than it had been, without being uncomfortable. 

I could barely see but it felt like I had stepped outside. Blurred lights hovered in the distance in all directions, even above and the bed in the room seemed enormous. 

“Feargal?” I croaked, seeing that the bed was unoccupied. 

I was so overwhelmed with the desire for sleep that I practically fell onto the bed, crawling towards my customary side and trying not to fall onto my swollen stomach. I wanted to call out for my husband again but I saw a familiar figure moving in the shadows. As he appeared before me, I strained to focus, needing to know once and for all if Finn Balor and Feargal Devitt were the same, but I was so weak and so very sleepy. I collapsed on my back, crying a little as I fought the urge to welcome him to my bed. 

He climbed on the end of the bed, running one rough hand along my calf, which was enough to ignite a fire in me. He cackled softly when he observed how my legs parted a little, inviting him to slide his hand higher. My mind was screaming that I should stand up and do whatever it took to put distance between myself and him but my body refused to cooperate. It had been so long since I felt the dark magic of his touch. 

“How beautiful you are like this,” he purred, running his hand up my thigh and making me gasp. “So ripe and needy.”

“I don’t understand my body anymore,” I whined, as much to myself as to him. 

“But I do,” he growled. 

He dragged one long finger through the folds at my crevice and I could not stop myself from crying out at the sensation. He continued the movement, as light a touch as I could imagine, back and forth, humming in pleasure to himself as he felt the flesh there grow wet and slippery. Finally, satisfied that I was desperate enough, he curled two fingers inside me, moving them slowly until I unconsciously began thrusting against them, feeling the ache of unmet desire that had been building in me for months become unbearable. Smiling, he obliged me by moving faster and harder and then, without missing a beat, he dipped his head between my legs. 

I screamed the instant his mouth connected with the swollen bundle of nerves, unprepared for the intensity of the sensation, for the pleasure as he nipped and sucked while reaching that magical point inside me that only he had been able to find. It was seconds before I felt like I exploded, hot juices pouring from my opening while at the same time tears leaked from my eyes. My vision went black, then white, then black and white again as a stream of mewls and cries escaped my lips. 

The man who rose to look at me seemed to shift between dark and light as well: I could see my beloved and the Demon at once until there was no perceptible difference between them. And in my weakness, all I knew was that this was the man I wanted. 

“I need you,” I rasped, grabbing at his arm. 

He was happy to oblige, lining his rigid member up with my sex and thrusting home with one swift movement. Once again, it seemed that every nerve was awakened, excited at the feeling of him being inside me, and I was quickly reduced to a quivering mass once again. 

His fingers dug into my hips, allowing him to move harder and faster as he cursed and snarled about the way my body had tightened inside, and, over and over again, how he was going to keep me, how he was going to take me and the child. I knew I should resist, that I should refuse him, but I felt heavy and weak and helpless, lost in pleasure and unable to extricate myself. I groaned in ecstasy as I felt him release and the hot mixture of our fluids flooded from my cavity and down to the bedsheets. 

I grasped the bedsheets in both fists as I slowly started to come down, releasing my grip only to swat at something that tapped at my hand from a distance. The tapping continued, despite my attempts to hit back at whatever it was, until I finally opened my eyes and saw Sophia standing next to the bed, the same bed I slept in every night in the familiar bedroom that was filled with the sounds of my gasping for air. 

“You were crying,” she said flatly. 

“I was just having a bad dream,” I gasped, trying desperately to figure out how I had returned to this place, or if I had even left to begin with. 

“Is everything ok?” she asked. 

“Everything is fine. Everything is safe,” I assured her. Her expression was so vacant that I thought for a moment she was sleepwalking again. “Come, I’ll take you back to bed,” I offered. 

She kept her eyes fixed on me as I wriggled ungracefully out of the bed and padded down the hall with her in my bare feet. As she crawled under her covers, she cupped my face in one of her slim hands and kissed my cheek. 

“It’s going to be harder for you,” she whispered sadly. 

I kissed the top of her head and answered, “We’ll be fine.”

I smiled as if I could not possibly have been more confident in what I was saying. I had found ways to hold the monster at bay for so long now, I thought, surely I could negotiate something? Did his wanting to “keep” me not indicate some kind of affection for me? Or at least, would it not mean that he would prefer for me to be happy? I repeated variations of this argument in my head as I headed back to my room and climbed as gently as I could into the bed. 

Feargal’s eyes opened as soon as I sat down and he smiled softly. 

“I was worried when I saw you weren’t here,” he sighed. “I keep thinking you’ll disappear one night.”

“I couldn’t disappear even if I wanted to,” I moaned. “I’m as broad as a barn door and move about as fast.”

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled, pulling me into his arms. “There’s nothing that could make you less than beautiful.”

I shuddered a little as he ran his hand over my swollen stomach, thinking of all the ugly things I had already done that ate away at my soul and wondering what might still be asked of me. 

*

Feargal crept quietly from our bed a few hours later, obviously taking every precaution to avoid disturbing me. I was half-awake and aware of his movements but his determination to let me rest was so sweet that I pretended to sleep, smiling just a little when he kissed my cheek before heading downstairs. Left on my own, I did manage to drift off, only to dream of him shifting between man and demon as I tried to demand what he wanted. 

“You have access to me whenever you want. If you want this child I’m going to bear, then leave it in my care since it will need a mortal mother anyway. Why do you need to take us away?”

“I move between worlds,” the awful, familiar voice echoed in my head. “You can’t. Why would I choose to keep you only to leave you in the world where I have to appear as something less than I am?”

“Let me have just a little longer,” I begged. 

I woke with a sharp little cry, suddenly aware of a stabbing pain in my abdomen, which in turn frightened Susan as she entered the bedroom. 

“Oh ma’am I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you!”

I shook my head and smiled at her. “I was having a nightmare. You didn’t disturb me at all.”

She gathered the clothes we had set aside for washing, still looking very apologetic. 

“My mother told me she���d get all sorts of terrible nightmares near her time.”

It was a relief to me to know that what I had experienced might just be a normal side effect of my condition and that everything might be normal after the baby was born. I grabbed my dressing gown and slowly lifted myself up, wincing at another sharp cramp. 

“Please don’t get up, ma’am, you need your rest.”

“I do nothing but rest, Susan. And who knows long that’s going to continue.” I fumbled with the lacing of the robe in my thick, numb fingers. “If I can get around a little then that’s what-”

“You must get back in bed,” she insisted. 

I turned to face her and was immediately confronted with a face of shock and fear. She nodded towards the bed, breathing heavily. 

“Get back in bed right away,” she repeated. “I’ll go for the doctor.”

A bright red patch of blood stained the ivory sheets where I had been laying. I knew that blood meant there was something wrong and Susan’s expression told me just how dangerous it might be. I followed her directive and crawled back onto the bed, shaking off the robe as I did. She stayed only until she was satisfied that I had obeyed her directive and then she was off at a speed I had never seen from her. I heard a flurry of voices downstairs and then more footsteps, followed by the door opening and closing. I tried to focus on all the sounds but as I did, I felt warm liquid seeping from me, down my thighs. I touched my fingers to the skin and, as I feared, when I lifted them, they were smeared with blood. 

Kate entered the room and placed a hand on my forehead. “You’re not feverish,” she reported, trying to smile. 

“I’m bleeding.”

She nodded. “The doctor’ll be here soon and he’ll know what to do.”

I wanted to ask her if this meant there was something wrong with the baby, or if I was going to die in childbirth as my mother had before me but I knew that she did not have those answers. Nor could she tell me what it would mean for the Demon Balor if the child or I died. No one could tell me that, save the Demon himself and for once, I could not feel his presence in the room with me. 

[gumnut-logic]

When the World Goes Boom (Part 8B)

Here is the rest of Part 8. This fic definitely has a life of its own. I was seriously stuck this morning but with a pile of help from Bri, I managed to get writing again. So much for a quick fic for Alan’s birthday on 12 March. It is a matter of an hour before 12 April at the moment and every brother has his finger in the pie now ::sigh:: I hope you enjoy whatever this is ::hugs::

Spoilers & Warnings: Spoilers for season three, angst, hurt/comfort, brothers and family, 4007 words.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​​ @onereyofstarlight​​​ and @i-am-chidorixblossom​​ for putting up with my crazy and reading this at random moments. Also the extra plot help from @onereyofstarlight​ when I was all wibbly and stuck earlier today ::hugs you all::

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part 7A | Part 7B | Part 7C | Part 8A | Part 8B

-o-o-o-

Jeff continued to stroke his eldest son’s back, ever aware of the tense muscles there. Those shoulders supported so much. So much he should have been here for.

Scott’s head rested on the edge of Virgil’s bed. His breathing was quiet, but his face held a frown, even in sleep. Jeff hadn’t missed the grey hairs at Scott’s temples, or the worry lines faintly creasing his forehead. The last eight years had been the worst in Jeff’s life, but the worst of it was what he had done to his sons.

Scott’s fingers lay intertwined with Virgil’s.

He couldn’t think too hard about Virgil. Dark hair, pale bruised skin, white sheets.

Life support machinery.

If he thought too hard, he would lose it.

From the moment he had stepped foot on Thunderbird Two in the depths of space, Virgil had been there, hovering and worrying.

His engineer, medic, musical and artistic son.

One hand on Scott’s back, Jeff reached out his other and lay it gently on Virgil’s leg.

Please.

He closed his eyes.

Only to fling them open again as the door was thrown open. A doctor and nurse burst into the room, urgency in their expressions. Jeremy and Brie followed them in.

The room was suddenly crowded.

Jeff pushed himself to his feet, both hands suddenly signalling quiet. Scott’s sleep was precious.

Both of the medical professionals eyed the sleeping pilot. The doctor’s lips thinned, but her voice was quiet as she spoke. “Mr Tracy, we’ve identified the drug that your son was attacked with. We have an antidote. We would like your permission to administer it.”

The woman was virtually bouncing.

Jeff’s eyes darted to Jeremy. The security guard nodded just once.

Oh, thank god.

He turned back to the doctor. “You have it.”

“Thank you.” The woman moved over to Virgil and began running a series of obs. “Mr Tracy, according to your son’s medical records, he has a medication sensitivity.”

Jeff nodded.

The doctor fiddled with Virgil’s IV. “The dosage currently in his blood stream is a large dose, but a man of his size should not have reacted in the way he has. Consequently, we have minimised the antidote and will increase the dose if necessary. The last thing we want to do is overdose him on another drug.”

Jeff nodded again mutely.

Scott shifted where he sat and Jeff reached out to resume the circles on his son’s back. The nurse glanced at their interaction, but Jeff ignored her.

The doctor administered a hypodermic to the IV and took a step back.

The room fell silent and the tension climbed.

“How soon?” The words fell from his lips unbidden.

“Response times vary, but we should see a change very soon.”

As she said it, the heart monitor beeped quietly several times in a row and he watched as his son’s heart beat flickered a moment before switching from stimulated to self-sustained.

He sucked in a breath.

Virgil’s heart rhythm held strong, the pattern regular and a wonderful sight.

Oh, thank god.

It wasn’t everything, but it was a step in the right direction. Jeff’s sight blurred.

“Mr Tracy?” The doctor’s voice was gentle. “We will be monitoring Virgil’s progress closely, but you should know that the prognosis is good. The antidote is a proven foil for the drug your son was attacked with and your son received excellent first aid.” A glance in Jeremy’s direction. “The prognosis is good.” Her lips curved in a small encouraging smile.

Jeff straightened his spine. “Yes, yes, thank you, Doctor Harris.”

She held his eyes a moment longer before backing up a little and gathering her equipment. A glance and the two medical professionals slipped out of the room.

Jeremy stayed.

Jeff’s eyes flickered to the man.

A worried frown as he stared down at his gravely ill charge.

“Thank you, Jeremy.” Jeff’s voice was rough. “You saved his life.”

The man swallowed and continued to stare at Virgil. “Shouldn’t have had to.”

Jeff had no answer to that. His soul was baked dry. He had no comfort left.

Instead he sat down again beside Scott, a hand falling gently to each of his sons.

He would call his mother shortly. His sons.

The heart monitor’s quiet beep echoed his own heart as if it was keeping him alive.

He waited.

-o-o-o-

Gordon found John on the roof exactly as Eos had told him, Tane standing beside him. What she hadn’t told him was what his astronaut brother was doing.

Still wearing his tan-coloured gravity support shirt...and people claimed Gordon had a bad taste in clothing, John took the cake...his red-haired brother’s head was buried in guts of the hospital’s communication satellite dish.

“John, what are you doing?”

His tall brother startled and whacked his head on an overhead metal bar. “Ah! Gordon?”

“Sorry.” But Gordon wasn’t feeling too gracious at the moment. “What are you doing?”

“Tracing communications.” He pulled out his tablet and tapped it repeatedly. “Eos needs a little more bandwidth than this ancient piece of tech can provide. I’m providing it.” Red brows frowned at his tablet screen. “I haven’t been able to identify how our suspect was receiving information.”

“You reckon this will help.”

More taps of his fingers. “Definitely.”

The big question. “Authorised?”

Turquoise flickered in his direction. Hmm, obviously not.

“Scott?”

“With Virgil...injured...command is left to me.”

“What about Dad?” It was a question that had to be asked.

John didn’t look at him, continuing to stab his tablet. “Dad authorised GDF access to our files. Virgil was almost killed within hours. I don’t believe he has the knowledge required in this instance.”

“It was Dad?” Gordon’s shoulders tensed.

With that John did straighten up. A sigh. “My fault. I didn’t give him the information he needed to make the correct decision.”

“But he knows of our history with the GDF, the spy?”

John turned away, but shook his head.

“What? Johnny, he needs to know.”

“I told him and he didn’t give it the credit it was due.”

Gordon frowned. “When?”

“The day Virgil was injured.”

“What? That recently?”

“It was just...he isn’t long out of recovery and we thought a gradual re-introduction to International Rescue was warranted. I was forced to tell him without preparation and I didn’t have time to follow it up with a situational report. Aunt Val was demanding information and Dad made the decision.” His brother turned back to the dish and dove in head first again.

“So, what are we going to do?” Gordon was sure he knew the answer. John wasn’t one to beat around the bush. The astronaut, if anything, was direct and to the point.

“We…” His brother emerged and grabbed his tablet again. “…are going to find who did this to our family and…prevent…them from hurting us any further.”

Gordon held his brother’s gaze. There was so much unsaid in those eyes. Calm though John appeared, he was anything but, and while Gordon might scream at the nearest target, John would simply act.

Lips thinned, Gordon straightened his shoulders. “Count me in.”

-o-o-o-

Someone was stroking his cheek.

Sensation.

Followed by pain.

He groaned.

His throat screamed at him.

“C’mon, honey, I know you’re in there.” The stroking continued and he became vaguely aware of someone holding his hand.

“Virgil, c’mon, bro, you can do it.”

He frowned and found his face aching almost as much as his chest and throat.

Another groan.

Ow, shit.

“Virgil?”

Dad. That was Dad. They had found Dad and he was safe and home and, thank, god.

“Open your eyes, Virgil.”

Scott.

His big brother.

Augh, his face hurt.

“Hurts.”

Shit, that was his voice? He coughed and everything flared up in pain.

The hand on his cheek moved to his hair, fingers combing through it. “Virgil, dear, let us see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

Hurts.

But he was always one to do what his grandmother asked of him.

He found his eyelids and forced them open.

They dropped immediately, the blur and the glare, harsh and painful.

“Shut off the lights, please Jeff.”

His eyelids grew dark and he relaxed a little. Sleep would be nice.

“No, Virgil, you need to wake up, dear.”

Don’t want to. Tired.

“I know it is hard, but open your eyes for us.”

He gave it another go and the darkness became a dim blur. He blinked and the blur sharpened into his family.

Grandma stood beside his head and was the one responsible for the hand in his hair. Scott sat beside her and was holding Virgil’s hand. Allie was on his own bed and at an angle to the bed Virgil was lying on so he could see clearly. Blue eyes sparkled and grinned at him. “Virgil!”

Allie.

Allie was being attacked.

“Al-an!”

“No, you stay put, young man.” His grandmother was holding his shoulder. “Alan is safe. You saved him. He is safe.”

Safe.

Allie was safe.

Oh, thank god. Memories flickered in and out and his right hand clenched.

And screamed at him.

The sound that issued from his throat wasn’t remotely English, but it said everything he felt.

And there was Dad, worried grey eyes staring down at him. “Dad…”

A hand gripped his leg gently. “You’re safe, Virgil.”

“Alan…”

“I’m here, bro, thanks to you.”

Thanks to him. Memories swirled again as his arm throbbed in complaint at the movement. His eyes closed involuntarily and he found he had no strength to open them again.

-o-o-o-

Scott’s vision blurred as Virgil slipped back into sleep and he had to blink his eyes to clear it. His fingers spasmed just a little tighter around his brother’s hand, ever grateful for the warmth there.

“He needs his rest.” Grandma reached an arm around Scott’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “He’s going to be okay, Scotty.”

All eyes in the room immediately turned to him and he swallowed. His voice failed him, but he sat straighter.

“Now I want you back in bed. You’ve been sitting here for hours and you have your own recovery to consider.”

“Yes, Grandma.” He didn’t have the energy to protest. Virgil was going to get better.

His eyes didn’t leave the bruises on his brother’s pale face.

“C’mon, honey.” She helped him to his feet and he stumbled, turning and reaching for his bed. “You need rest almost as much as Virgil. Sleep is the only thing that is going to fix your head, so give it all it needs.”

“Yes, Grandma.” The bed felt lovely to roll into as gravity took its pressure off his weary body. Sitting hunched in a chair for hours wasn’t good for anything.

He rolled onto his side so he could see Virgil.

But he wanted to see Alan as well. His little brother was having a rather intense discussion with their father as to whether he needed more sleep.

“But Dad, I’ve been asleep for ages.”

“You need rest, Alan.”

“I am resting!”

“Alan.” Scott’s voice cut across the room. “Do as you are told.”

Blue eyes glared at him for a moment before dissolving into a more familiar pout.

Their father frowned at Scott.

“Dad? Can we leave Alan over there? Allie, can you stay there?” He wanted to keep his two injured brothers in sight.

Alan’s eyes narrowed. “So, you can keep an eye on me.”

“Yes, for that very reason. Do as you are told, Alan.” But the message was there, he could see the vulnerability in his little brother’s eyes.

“Fine. But only because I want to be able to see Virgil as well and if I’m stuck in the corner, I can’t see beyond your big head.”

“Alan.” Their father’s voice was full of warning.

“He’s bossing me around, Dad!”

“Because apparently you need it. Now, I’ve asked you to rest and so has Scott. Do I need to wake up Virgil and get him to nag you as well or should your grandmother come over here?”

Alan opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Wow, Dad. Scott just stared.

Alan may be an adult, but he was still technically a teenager and every now and again he regressed.

Said teenager glared and with an exaggerated pout, curled up in the bed on his uninjured side. Their father reached over and squeezed an ankle. “Rest, son. You’ll feel better for it.”

Alan’s expression just grew grumpier.

“Virgil is getting better.”

And that hit the nail on the head. Alan relaxed just a little bit more and the frown lessened. Another squeeze of his son’s ankle and their father pushed the bed gently into dock on the other side of the room, opposite from Virgil’s bed. Alan stared at his sleeping brother, still attached to monitors and multiple IVs.

“He’s getting better.”

Dad’s voice was reassurance itself.

Grandma, who had obviously elected to stay out of it, brushed Scott’s hair off his face. “Go to sleep, Scotty. You need it.”

A sudden thought. “What about John and Gordon?”

She snorted. “You let your father and I worry about the vigilante brothers. You worry about yourself.”

Vigilante? “What?”

His grandmother sighed. “Relax, Scott.” She began stroking his hair.

He couldn’t remember the last time he combed his hair. He probably looked awful.

But that one word stuck in his head.

Vigilante.

What the hell were his brothers up to?

-o-o-o-

Gordon had to admit that having Eos on the team was a great advantage despite the situations that resulted.

He could almost hear Virgil’s snort at that comment, followed by the inevitable ‘situations you create, Gordon’.

God, he missed his brother.

But Virgil was improving. His dad had been adamant and Gordon clung to that. Apparently, he had even woken briefly. He wished he had been there, but this was important.

Tin walked beside him, her pace one he had to keep up with. She was not happy. But then neither was Gordon.

Using the wider bandwidth John had jimmied into the system, Eos had been able to swoop into the network and gather information much faster. She dove straight through protected systems like a phantom. Or so John described the process. How she did it, Gordon did not have a clue, but he was ever so grateful she could.

She was able to crunch all the communications data that had occurred in and around the building for the entire time the Tracys had been resident. It had been a massive task, but one she was uniquely suited to. The majority was civilian comms traffic hooking into the hospital network due to the communications restrictions around medical equipment, but there was a small portion that was GDF flagged. None of that had appeared suspicious, but John as particularly interested in the traffic around the time Aunt Val had been in the building.

One anomaly had been found.

Aunt Val entered the hospital with Foster and two aides.

She left with Foster and only one aide.

Tracking down what had become of the second aide had proven difficult. Hallway security cameras located Foster speaking to the missing aide and that aide leaving the corridor outside the Tracys’ hospital room, but from there the aide vanished.

She did not exist the building.

Both John and Gordon agreed that it was likely this person was the person who attacked Alan and Virgil.

The question was did Aunt Val know?

“I’ve called in Jack Dunning. We may need a lawyer to keep Virgil’s attacker out of the hands of the GDF.” Tin’s voice was matter of fact, but underneath he could hear the boiling pot of anger she was keeping under control.

Gordon grunted. His anger was much closer to the surface. It was cold and it made him sharper. The perpetrator – his mind spat the word – was currently being held by New Zealand police, but Aunt Val was moving for global extradition due to the Tracys being the Tracys.

They couldn’t let that happen.

John had called the elevator down and taken off for Five. He wanted to be hands on hunting down the details of the explosion, even if that called for shifting Five into an orbital path contradictory to GDF directives.

If there was a way to discover what had actually happened up there to injure their brothers, John would find it.

Ignoring the GDF was quite liberating.

Until they found out.

Jack Dunning was good. Gordon hoped they didn’t have to find out how good.

Aunt Val had retreated to the local GDF base after his ‘words’. So, this time he had to go to her for a meeting.

Iz hovered as they crossed the gardens at the entrance to the building.

It was always amusing to flip out his International Rescue ID. The expressions on the face of security was always worth it and these guys were no different. Yep, there was the surprise, followed by the starstruck expression.

“Thank you for your service, sir.”

Gordon blinked. Wow, a devotee. He nodded once. “You’re welcome. We’re here to see Colonel Casey.”

The guard was still staring at his ID. “Gordon Tracy…so you fly Thunderbird Two?”

Blink. “Sometimes.” He wasn’t in the mood to elaborate.

“Aw, great. Thunderbird Two is the coolest Thunderbird.”

Gordon’s flat-eyed stare at that comment got a confused reaction.

“Excuse me, we are in a hurry.” Tin’s cold voice cut across the silent conversation. “Colonel Casey’s office?”

The guard jumped and hurried to lead them where they needed to go.

The colonel lacked her usual smile when they entered and Gordon wondered how many bridges he had permanently burnt.

At this point he didn’t care.

“Kayo, Gordon, what can I do for you?” Her tone was cool and curt and she eyed Iz as she slunk in behind them.

Tin didn’t waste one moment, deploying an electronic security net with one hand. The subtle hum was unnerving, but it created a bubble around them that secured all transmissions in and out of the room and blocked all audio-visual equipment.

Casey eyed the gadget, but didn’t comment as Tin slapped it down on her desk.

“Colonel, we would like your assistance in identifying this person.” Tin’s phone flickered up a hologram of the missing aide.

They had already identified the woman as Brede Williams, a New Zealand born GDF administrative aide. John had even located her address in Auckland. Eos had infiltrated the apartment block and found her room’s electronics undisturbed, including the locks, for several days.

John feared for her safety.

The perpetrator in custody was definitely not Brede Williams.

The colonel eyed the hologram with an arched eyebrow. “That is Corporal Brede Williams, one of my executive assistants.”

Tin didn’t react. “When did you last see her?”

“She called in ill a few days ago and has been on personal leave since.”

Tin took a step forward, her entire body whip sharp with potential energy. “Colonel, when was the last time you saw her.”

Aunt Val blinked and frowned. “She was with me at the hospital, but had to leave due to a family…what are you implying?”

Tin switched the view to the incriminating scene where Captain Foster spoke to the woman outside the Tracy’s hospital room. They watched as she walked off.

“She never left the hospital.”

Aunt Val’s mouth was open but nothing was coming out.

Gordon took the opportunity to state the obvious. “We believe she wasn’t who she appeared to be. That she was in fact the person who attacked Alan and Virgil.” He drew in a breath. “You brought a killer into the hospital and Virgil nearly died.”

The strict military officer he expected to turn around and rip him a new one melted in front of him. Aunt Val sat down hard on her desk chair, shock on her face.

Still nothing came out of her mouth.

Gordon was caught between distress at the devastation in her expression and anger that she had been so easily fooled.

“We advised you that you had a spy in your ranks quite some time ago. What has been done to identify the person or persons responsible?” Tin was sharp and no nonsense.

Aunt Val found her voice, but it was uncharacteristically uncertain. “I reported the issue to my superiors. There was some shuffling of staff and I was assured the problem had been negated.”

“Assured.” The word fell from Gordon’s lips with a snarl.

Dark eyes glared up at Gordon. “I had no reason to disbelieve the assertion.”

“Colonel, you were once disposed by those superiors and an infiltrator replaced you. The result of those actions nearly cost us Thunderbird Two and several innocent lives at Saad Madina. Yet you’re telling me that you trust them?”

She stared up at Gordon and some of the more familiar steel returned to her expression. “Not all of us have the luxury of complete trust, Lieutenant. As you should well know.”

His eyes narrowed at the barb obviously referring to his past in WASP and the end of that career. He ignored it. “You can trust family, Colonel.”

She stood up slowly. “Easy when you have choice.”

“There is always a choice.” A huff of exasperation. “C’mon, Aunt Val, dump this outfit and come work with us.”

Brown eyes flickered with the briefest of fondness and his heart clenched.

“You know I can’t do that, Gordon.”

“Why not?”

“I can do more here.”

“The system is corrupt!”

“And it is one person less corrupt as long as I’m here to fight it! Do you think International Rescue would last very long without me here, Lieutenant? I stay for Lucille, for her family, for you and for the smallest chance that I can do some good and prevent this damned organisation from taking the world with it!”

It was Gordon’s turn to have his mouth drop open and nothing come out of it.

The anguish returned to his aunt’s face. “I’m sorry Virgil…I didn’t think we were that vulnerable. I thought my office was secure. Please, I would never want to hurt any of you. How is he?” The plea was an honest one.

It was Tin who answered. “An antidote has been found and he is recovering slowly.”

“Oh, thank god.” The woman wilted. “Scott and Alan?”

“Also recovering.”

Alan might have nightmares for the rest of his life, but Gordon kept that to himself.

Tin straightened. “We believe Alan was the target of the attack. Virgil got in the way.”

Aunt Val frowned. “They think he remembers something.”

A single nod was all Tin was willing to give her.

“So, if you find who was responsible for the explosion, you’ll find who ordered the attack.”

“That is the plan.” A considered gaze. “We need everything you have on the incident.” Tin threw a drive onto the desk.

The colonel eyed them a moment before reaching down and picking up the drive with the IR logo wrapped around its edges and plugging it into her terminal. A flick of her fingers, a breath, and she unplugged it again. “It’s not much, but if there is a mole in my staff, the data may not be comprehensive.”

“We are aware of that.” Tin slipped the drive back into her pocket. “Thank you for your assistance.” She turned to leave and Gordon took a step to follow.

“Gordon. Kayo. Be careful.” She knew they weren’t going to play by the rules, he could see it in her eyes. “And give my love to your family…and my sincerest apologies.”

Gordon found he couldn’t answer. The Colonel he could yell at, but Aunt Val had always been a part of his life, a cherished reminder of the mother they had lost.

Tin answered for him. “Yes, Colonel.”

The use of her rank struck hard and her shoulders bowed just a little.

Gordon said nothing. He grabbed the electronic net and turning, followed Tin out the door.

It hurt, but GDF and International Rescue relations could never be the same.

-o-o-o-

End Part Eight

[lazywriter7]

Five Bells

Written for @lightsonparkave prompt one and two. Cheers to the delightful @firebrands for all her words of encouragement.

Summary:  

After returning the Stones, Steve takes a detour through time.

First few lines of dialogue taken from Avengers: Endgame. All other lines in italics, as well as the title, are taken from Kenneth Slessor’s Five Bells.

________________________________

“How long is this gonna take?”

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.”

  Time that is moved by little fidget wheels Is not my time

the flood that does not flow.

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

  “You know which bagel,” Steve says – mostly distracted. Cross-legged, notepad on thigh, he is drafting new training plans for the team; Pietro is proving to be a unique challenge.

“I do?” Tony queries, standing above his shoulder. The couch is low and he towers over Steve. “I don’t remember that being covered by the history books… unless I’d fallen asleep, of course.”

Steve freezes. No, no, he stills. The setting sun angles over Tony’s cheekbone, a deep, burnt red.

Steve lowers his gaze, his skin shivering with the afternoon chill. “Sesame seed, please.”

  Why do I think of you, dead man

 You have gone from earth,

Gone even from the meaning of a name;

  It is in the little things. Natasha’s surprised blink when Steve brings her a peanut butter sandwich, the hollow silence when he curses on the comms and no one chimes the L-word back at him.

It is nothing. It should pale before the face of the big things, the earth-shattering, the miraculous – the reality of getting to hear their voices, see their faces, unblemished, every day.

Even Christmas. Clint snags a thumbnail under the wrapping paper and peels it open from the middle; lifts the box set of Jurassic Park colouring books in the air and shakes it. “Right, ‘cause I’m the toddler of the team, I geddit. Thanks, Cap.”

It’s for Cooper, Steve thinks; it’s dumb, I couldn’t help myself, you haven’t told us and I’m so sorry–

“Did you not have presents in your time?” Tony asks, part snark and mostly befuddled, the multicoloured gleam of fairy lights dappled in his hair.

I didn’t have you in my time – and. And. It is in the little things.

  Yet something's there, yet something forms its lips

And hits and cries against the ports of space,

Beating their sides to make its fury heard.

  “They’re shiny. Silver.” Tony says, bruised eyes, dim with a kind of terror Steve has lived through first-hand. “These big, heaving whales in the air… and everything else is dark. All of you are dead.”

It’s been twenty-three days since Steve told him about December 16, 1991. New traumas evoking older nightmares.

“And I’m alone.”

It wasn’t real, Steve should say. That is the correct response to a nightmare.

It was real, in another, deliberately forgotten lifetime. Five years, and they weren’t even the worst of it.

“We can prepare,” Steve fists his hands by his sides, so as to not reach for Tony’s trembling ones on the kitchen countertop. Everything around them is night and still, but for the flickering of the bulb overhead. “We’ll be ready for them when they’re here.”

It’s like a face shifting from the shade into the light; the gratitude moving over Tony’s features.

The kettle whistles, Tony pads over to the stove – and for an instant, it’s as if a cloud passes and Steve is convinced this is a BARF memory. There by the corner, the real Tony stands with shoulders curled in – gaunt, emaciated, mouthing words.

Liar. Thief. Liar, liar.

  Are you shouting at me, dead man, squeezing your face

In agonies of speech on speechless panes?

Cry louder, beat the windows, bawl your name!

  Tony, Steve breathes – and Tony catches it on his lips.

This has never happened before. Steve has no memories to compare it with, and catalogues every detail to add to a rolodex of sensations, for safekeeping; Tony’s eyelashes fluttering against Steve’s skin, the way the callus on his thumb digs into Steve’s chin when he’s holding it steady, the soft skin in the crevices between his fingers as their hands wound tighter together, the happiness of an impossible moment.

Tony pulls back, smiles softly.

Steve closes his own eyes, brushes his mouth over the corner of Tony’s, where the wrinkles begin – the place missing just a few extra lines.

  But I hear nothing, nothing...only bells,

Five bells, the bumpkin calculus of Time

Your echoes die, your voice is dowsed by Life

  “I have… Arlington.” Steve awkwardly presses himself against the wall of the overfull coffeeshop, paper cup oozing warmth through to his palms. Sometimes, if he lets himself forget, the crowds piling through the street and bustling indoors can still stun him. “There’s a memorial there, I mean. But if I could pick, after I eventually… Brooklyn, probably. In the Barnes family plot, if they allow it.”

“What,” Steve asks – turned morbid by the laughter and press of people around him. Fifty percent. It never happened here. “What about you?”

Natasha looks at him, brow crooking high enough to reach her hairline. Steve used to think that blistering colour came from hair dye, but he knows better now.

“Where I’d want to be buried?” She summarises bluntly. It’s like a wound getting cauterised – relief and pain making everything insensate.

The answer is a farm that isn’t supposed to exist, in the middle of nowhere. “Minsk,” Natasha says instead, and it doesn’t sound like a lie he’s heard before.

  Nothing except the memory of some bones

Long shoved away, and sucked away, in mud;

And unimportant things you might have done,

Or once I thought you did; but you forgot,

And all have now forgotten

   “Happy Sputnik Day!” Tony choruses, Thor’s deep base rumbling alongside his. Bruce is in the attached kitchenette, peering at jar labels in the shelf; Clint and Natasha playing Borderlands on the couch.

Steve comes further in from the doorway, gaze flitting incorrigibly from person to person. “What?”

“You know, Sputnik. The day all of humanity became a little cooler, and the Russians successfully launched the first satellite into orbit, driving the Americans insane.” Tony springs to his feet, wide grin approaching for a morning kiss. “October fourth.”

He barely catches Steve, fingers clamped about the arms, just as Steve pitches into the floor.

One year, one year one yearoneyearone –

Past, present, future swirls together in his serum-perfect brain, gibbering over two words, a fact so carefully forgotten; his breaths grow shallower and shallower, pain shooting through his chest with every hitch, black-spots-inverse-stars shimmering in his vision–

“You’re dead.” Steve rasps out, Tony’s face shuttering in confusion. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it. “You’re dead.”

  Where have you gone? The tide is over you,

The turn of midnight water's over you,

As Time is over you, and mystery,

And memory, the flood that does not flow.

  He’s curled on the couch, apostrophe-like; dry-mouthed but breathing slower against Tony’s denim-covered thigh. Tony drags blunt nails over his scalp, quietly humming under his own breath.

I’ve watched you, Steve thinks hazily – watched you raise a child, watched you be blissfully married, watched you speak to Howard, father to father, and dole out more understanding than he deserved, and let me walk you away from your pristine life and give me more trust than I had ever earned. I watched the silver grow from the temples of your head to the longer hair-strands, to the scrub of your goatee, up to the fleck of your brows. And the longer I keep watching you now, the more I know I’m watching someone else.

“Was so sure,” He can hear his voice reverberate off the floor, more of a croak than anything– “tha’ I wasn’ gonna leave you this time.”

Tony regards him, hum falling silent. There’s a dam there, in those eyes, holding back a wave of slowly stirring anger and injury that Steve fully intends to weather – but is leashed now, for some reason.

This Tony doesn’t have grey in his beard yet, but even as his lips move and Steve braces himself, he says–

“I’ll forgive you.”

  The night you died, I felt your eardrums crack,

And the short agony, the longer dream,

The Nothing that was neither long nor short;

But I was bound, and could not go that way,

But I was blind, and could not feel your hand

  After he’s said his goodbyes, Natasha follows him back to his room.

“Is he still in the plane somewhere?”

Back at the beginning, when he’d been dropping off the Tesseract at Camp Lehigh – he’d briefly considered it. Dropping off an envelope on Peggy’s desk with the coordinates of the Valkyrie, so that the other him could find… something. Maybe a happy ending, maybe just a chance. But all of time and its knowledge had been laid out before Steve, and he hadn’t resisted one extra indulgence.

It was only time before he met Scott, after all. One extra Particle than he had, one trip to the forties and back – and his self could be spared the pain of thirty years in the ice.

In twenty-twelve, Steve changed the course of history merely by showing up; all deep sea vessels, search parties in the Arctic called home. Captain America was alive and well.

“Seventy five, point two three zero six north, ninety nine point one one three zero west.” With every blink, Steve can see her memorising the numbers. “Find him, kick his ass into gear. Don’t let him run.”

She nods, and remains waiting in the doorway. Steve is motionless on the bed, the looming weight of the future wrapped around his wrist.

He looks at her. Natasha’s lips curve straight up, soft and reassuring.

“See you in a minute,” Steve whispers, and disappears.

  If I could find an answer, could only find

Your meaning, or could say why you were here

Who now are gone, what purpose gave you breath

Or seized it back, might I not hear your voice?

  Back on the platform, Bucky runs to him first. His brows are furrowed with faint surprise.

In that other past, and now that was The Other – Peggy had set him free in the seventies, aided by information that Steve left behind. When Steve re-emerged in twenty-twelve, he had no idea where Bucky was and how the years had passed for him – fettering his impulses in steel, and letting it remain that way. His interference would accomplish little, and Bucky had always managed on without him.

Or maybe that had just been easier for him to believe.

“Not the end of the line just yet,” Steve says.

The surprise smooths out of Bucky’s features, so does the staidness; he squeezes Steve’s elbow once and for a second, that grin seems alive.

“I hate running alone,” Steve tells Sam, who’s standing but two paces behind. He strides forward to catch up, reaches out and wraps Sam’s solid fingers over the strap of the shield in one motion. “Hold this for me, will you? Be back soon.”

He turns and walks. It’s a short one – the lakehouse property isn’t really big. There’s grass everywhere, and dandelions, and no headstones.

Just a tall, stately oak towards the side – foliage in full summer splendour. There’s already a circle of dropped acorns around the base, ready to sprout into a hundred, newer lives.

“Hey.” Steve strokes his fingers over the burnished bark. “I’m back.”

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

 Time that is moved by little fidget wheels

Is not my time, the flood that does not flow.

  Outside the lakehouse, Laura is bundling the kids into a van. Clint steps down from the porch, murmurs something to her, then jogs over to where Steve is watching, arms folded.

“She did have family,” Clint says, almost as an aside. “Sisters, a few others.”

Steve breathes the news in. The scent of summer is strong in the air, lilacs and crabapples and the soil itself.

“I have a few of her effects. They must’ve heard, already, but someone should tell them in-person.”

“I’ll find them.” Steve affirms. Clint nods, and walks back to the van, where Cooper sticks his head out of the open windowpane and gets his hair ruffled teasingly for his efforts.

Steve watches, the warmth of the sun beating down his arms and back. He has a feeling Minsk is pretty nice this time of year too.

[thepoeticfirefly]

Always You (Chanyeol x Reader// Baekhyun x Reader) Four

Summary: She never intended to fall in love with her best friend knowing that doing so will hurt what they already have. But what she never wanted was to hurt them both in expense of her feelings (to edit if i think of a better summary than this crap)

Genre: Angst/Fluff; high school to college au; chanyeol & baekhyun x fem!reader

Disclaimer: this story is mine and any stories with a similar plot is a coincidence. this is story is purely my imagination; moodboard is mine, i really worked hard doing it and I know it’s not that good but it was my first time doing one but it was fun😆

Warnings: angstttt

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: So the draft that I was writing for this chapter which I was very much happy with is GONE (thanks laptop) so I wrote this again in hopes that it would be better but tbh, I think this chapter is crappy. I dunno, i just feel this could be much better but heh. but please read, lol. Your notes means A LOT

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

A weekend passed since Y/N’s unexpected confession to Chanyeol and neither of them spoke nor sent a text to each other. Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t hurt that Chanyeol didn’t even try to ask if she was alright or whatever he could say, nonsense or not, it would have cheered her up. But no, no text or anything that showed that he cared and this made Y/N even more depressed.

While Chanyeol was off to who knows where, Baekhyun took it upon himself to be by Y/N’s side. And so he came unannounced to Y/N’s doorsteps much to her dismay. All she wanted was a weekend to herself to focus on herself and her thoughts. But Baekhyun came in knocking on her door with a bag full of clothes.

“Get out” Y/N glowered as she watched helplessly as Baekhyun plopped down on her bed, covering his body with her blankets, positioning himself to get comfortable. After some tossing and turning, Baekhyun gave Y/N a grin, clearly enjoying the other’s distress.

“Baekhyun!” Y/N stomped towards him and hauled him out of her bed making him land on the floor with a thud. Baekhyun glared at her playfully before standing up and holding Y/N’s hand as he dragged her out of the room.

“What the-! Byun Baekhyun!” Y/N hollered, trying to pry off her hand from Baekhyun’s but he was much stronger than her. Upon arriving at the living room, Baekhyun pushed Y/N down on the couch and sat beside her, still holding her hand in case she run away.

When Y/N managed to remove her hands away from Baekhyun, she stood up and began to run away but Baekhyun was much faster and held her waist and pulled her down to his lap. Y/N huffed, very annoyed now. She turned to face Baekhyun and glared at him and wiggled her way out of his arms but Baekhyun tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer to him.

They made eye contact again and Baekhyun turned red at their close proximity. Y/N was still glaring at him but he was too mesmerized by her eyes, blurring out Y/N’s protest as all he could see was her eyes...and then her lips.

Y/N jumped out of his lap when he softened his touch, running up the stairs to her room, slamming the door shut that caused vibrations that echoed down the stairs.

Baekhyun still sat on the couch, his face flaming red as his heart thumped up and down as if trying to jump out of his chest. He laid his hand on his chest, gulping as he tried to calm down. He stood up, clearing his throat and shook his head, trying to clear off his still beating heart.

He reached her door and knocked “I’m sorry” He said, his head against her door, reminiscing her touch that sent flames down his spine “I didn’t want to annoy you. I just wanted to make you smile...” He trailed off.

He heard a muffled sigh from the other side of the door and then there were footsteps and the door opened. He stumbled but Y/N caught him in her arms. He was about to jump away from her when she tightened the hug, whispering “I’m sorry too”

Goosebumps shot through his body and he pulled away from Y/N, afraid that if he stayed longer, she would feel his loud pounding heart. He gulped, looking straight to her eyes that reflected his stupefied ones.

“Baek?” She asked softly, reaching for his hand but he leaped away. Y/N looked at him confusedly, tilting her head at his weird behavior “Baekhyun? You alright?”

Baekhyun snapped out of his trance, clearing his throat and masked his inner feelings with his bright dazzling smile  “Sorry, I was thinking. Anyways, let’s binge watch some movies before your mother calls us for dinner!” He chirped as he skipped towards her bed.

Y/N chuckled and asked “Aren’t you embarrassed to eat dinner with us?”

Baekhyun smirked at her “Your family loves me”

“My dad doesn’t like you”

“Oh, he’s glad I’m here. He loves me alright”

Y/N rolled her eyes, plopping down next to him as he browsed through her laptop for a movie worthwhile to watch.

The next morning, Y/N and Baekhyun went to school early, much to Baekhyun’s protests. Y/N wanted to go to school early as to avoid Chanyeol as much as she could. She thought that if they arrived early, she wouldn’t have to suffer seeing Chanyeol first thing in the morning.

But her efforts turned dire when they saw that Chanyeol was already there. The three of them turned frozen at the sight of each other, ironically being the only ones present in the room. Y/N gave Chanyeol an inscrutable look before walking to her proper seat. As soon as she sat down, Y/N put her head down on the table, her earphones blasting off loudly to erase any outside noise.

Baekhyun stood, unable to decide who to sit with. Chanyeol was still his friend, and he will never ever abandon him no matter how mad he is at him. They stared at each other, their eyes communicating until Chanyeol stood up, slinging his bag on his shoulder and made his way out of the classroom.

Baekhyun shuffled towards the seat beside Y/N, dropping his bag as he sat down. He glanced at Y/N who miraculously fell asleep despite the situation. He chortled under his breath, gazing at the sound-asleep girl.

For the rest of the day, Y/N didn’t turn, didn’t look and didn’t talk to Chanyeol, avoiding him like the plague. While Chanyeol would look at her longingly, unsure if he should approach her or not. Baekhyun and Chanyeol spoke to each other but said no word about Y/N’s confession, as if it never happened.

Baekhyun would see Chanyeol hesitating to talk to Y/N and so made an effort to somehow put them close to each other but every time that Y/N would be close, Chanyeol would run away, irking Baekhyun. Y/N would also see Chanyeol’s retreating figure and would feel hurt all over again, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk to the boy or not.

Tuesday was the same with Chanyeol and Y/N not acknowledging each other to the point that every one around them noticed the sudden change of behavior. Even teachers would ask if they were alright and they would always brush it off, though it was clear to everyone that the two was not in talking terms.

Baekhyun suffered from his best friends’ broken friendship as when he hangs out with Chanyeol, he would feel bad that Y/N would be alone. But then, when he hangs out with Y/N, he would also feel bad when he sees Chanyeol alone, though he always disappears during breaks to be with Mi Soo. He racked his brain for a way to save Y/N’s and Chanyeol’s friendship, but every time he finds a way, Chanyeol would run away and Y/N won’t stop him and feel bad all over again. Baekhyun could only sigh at his hard-headed friends, cursing the heavens for involving feelings in their already beautiful relationship.

Wednesday came and just like the last two days, Chanyeol and Y/N avoided each other. Y/N thought things would go easier but being in Chanyeol’s presence was enough to down her entire day.

It was their 3rd period and after that, their break would come. Y/N tried to listen to their teacher but her eyes would open and close, finding their lecture boring. It was always like this with this teacher, the teacher knew what she was saying but her students didn’t. One of her classmates actually made a list as to how many times their teacher said “So” to distract himself from falling asleep. Y/N would feel bad for the teacher, knowing that she was putting effort but none of her students appreciated it. Y/N did try to listen but her eyes just couldn’t take it.

What actually made her eyes open was that when their teacher announced that they would be having an activity and that they had to group themselves to 3-5. Before, grouping themselves wasn’t a problem as Chanyeol, Baekhyun and Y/N would always group together, but Y/N wasn’t so sure anymore.

Nervous, Y/N turned around to where Baekhyun and Chanyeol were seating. Y/N saw the glint in Baekhyun’s eyes and turned away from him, but not before making eye contact.

“Y/N~” Baekhyun cooed loudly making Y/N flinch. She could see him approach her from her peripheral vision and so she turned the other way, not wanting to hear Baekhyun’s proposal that Y/N already knew what.

“Y/N! Y/N!” He chirped, trying to make Y/N look him in the eye. Y/N closed her eyes tightly and started chattering  to blur out Baekhyun’s loud voice.

“Y/N!” Baekhyun screamed, prying Y/N’s hand away from her ears “Y/N Y/L/N!!!” Baekhyun yelled in her ears. Y/N’s eyes flew open and glared daggers at Baekhyun who only grinned in triumph “Let’s group with Chanyeol!”

Baekhyun chirped loudly that some of their classmates turned to look at their commotion. Y/N mumbled profanities at Baekhyun who only laughed at her face. Her mouth zipped shut when she saw Chanyeol appear from behind Baekhyun, making eye contact with Y/N.

Chanyeol gulped audibly before sitting down on the chair a seat away from Y/N. Baekhyun also noticed his appearance and yelped in glee, happy that the three of them are sitting together again. Baekhyun plopped down on his seat, grinning like Christmas came early.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” Baekhyun asked beamingly “Y/N?”

“Why are you asking me?” Y/N shifted on her sit, uncomfortable.

“Because you’re the leader!”

“Excuse me? I’m the what?” Y/N exclaimed, her eyebrows rising as she felt herself getting irked by Baekhyun.

“You’ve always been the leader, sooo...what we gonna do?” Baekhyun said rather cheerfully. Y/N stared at Baekhyun as if he grew three heads but remained silent, leaning back to her seat and grumbled to herself.

Baekhyun looked at Chanyeol then at Y/N, sighing. He leaned back on his chair, his smile now turned into a frown. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms, glum at his best friends’ actions.

Y/N looked at Baekhyun, guilty. Y/N sighed before turning to the two boys “I need you to revise and you-” Y/N paused and looked at Chanyeol whose eyes are wide in surprise that she actually spoke to him “-you print”

Baekhyun’s mouth was agape, but nonetheless happy. He giggled and Y/N smiled lightly at him. Baekhyun cooed at her, ruffling her hair, feeling proud. Y/N scoffed at him, swatting his hand away from her hair, but she had a smile on that made Baekhyun relieved.

“Anyways, Yeo- Chanyeol” Y/N cleared her throat and continued “C-can I have a piece of paper?” She asked, embarrassed, looking at the pad of paper Chanyeol held in his hands.

Surprised at Y/N, Chanyeol nodded without a word, clumsily peeling a piece of paper and giving it to Y/N. She gave him a small smile to which he grimaced. Y/N frowned, suddenly feeling down again at his response.

Baekhyun started jabbering away and included Chanyeol and Y/N as much as he could. He felt his heart soar when Y/N laughed, his eyes shining in delight.

Y/N felt nice, laughing again with Chanyeol and Baekhyun made her feel like it was back to normal. She was too far in her head that she spoke to Chanyeol without even hesitating, happy that she could again. Chanyeol was laughing too but when he and Y/N made eye contact, he suddenly froze, not laughing anymore.

“I-I’m...” Chanyeol stood up, looking down on the floor, unable to meet their eyes. Baekhyun and Y/N gazed at him worriedly, Y/N’s demeanor dropping when he tried to look at her but turned away.

Chanyeol walked out of the classroom, leaving a gaping Baekhyun and a hurt Y/N. She thought it was okay again, that they’ll be able to still be friends after all that. Y/N felt herself boiling in anger as she stomped off, running after Chanyeol all the while hearing Baekhyun shouting her name.

Y/N caught up to Chanyeol and caught his arm to stop him. Chanyeol looked at her with his eyes wide open “Y-Y/N?” He stuttered. Y/N was about to speak but looked around to see that there were too many people to listen to them and so she pulled him to somewhere secluded.

Once they were under the staircase, Y/N let go of his hand and gazed directly to his eyes, determined to put an end to their drama. Chanyeol looked back, his lips sealed as he waited for her to speak.

“Are you that uncomfortable with me?” She asked, her voice cracking that pained both their hearts

“I’m-” Chanyeol paused again, pushing a hand on his hair, distressed “Yeah, yeah I am” He said, nodding to himself.

It was silent again. Y/N absorbed his words that threatened tears to fall down her face. But she gulped, not wanting to cry anymore in front of him. Not wanting to cry anymore because of him.

“Can’t we still be friends?” She asked, her voice almost quiet, afraid he would hear and answer what she most not want to hear.

“I don’t know” His voice was sad and he was looking at her now. They stared at each other, their eyes sad and tired, both yearning for everything to be still the same as before. When Chanyeol and Y/N were best friends and nothing more. But it couldn’t be. At least for Chanyeol it just couldn’t.

“You don’t know...” Y/N nodded, kicking a stone as she paced, scoffing. Chanyeol took it as his chance to walk away but Y/N got a hold of him, pushing him against the wall that forced him to look at her directly in the eyes.

“Why won’t you just look at me?! I know I made you uncomfortable with my sudden confession and I very much know that you don’t feel the same but-” She ranted, pausing to take a breath.

“Aren’t I your best friend? Aren’t I worth fighting for? Or was our friendship not that important to you enough to break it?” She lost it, holding Chanyeol’s blazer as she looked up at him.

Chanyeol scoffed, pushing her off of him “How can you say that?!” He paced in disbelief. He stopped and looked at her “I-I just can’t see you the same anymore! What we had was so so beautiful but you just had to break it-”

“Oh, so now you’re blaming me for my feelings?!” Y/N glared at him and his eyes was wide in anger, an expression she has never seen him pull on her before.

“Why did you have to feel that way? Now everything’s fucked up and my girlfriend’s uncomfortable and-”

“She knows?!”

“Of course I told her, she’s my girlfriend!” He snapped but he didn’t stop there

“She’s uncomfortable enough that we’re in the same section and I’m- I’m uncomfortable” He said, jabbing his hand on his chest.

“You’re my best friend! So wh-why?! Why did you- WHY?”

“I couldn’t help but love you” Y/N sobbed, her feelings out there and she couldn’t stop it. Chanyeol let out a painful breath and fell down on the floor, putting his hands harshly against his head.

“Why now?” He asked, his voice muffled “Why now when I’m-” He huffed, his ears red and painful when he let out tears.

They sobbed, the inevitable end of their friendship just round the corner and both of them didn’t dare cross it. Y/N dropped to her knees and hugged Chanyeol’s hunched figure. Her tears fell on his blazer as she hugged him tighter, refusing to let go. Because once she did, it’ll be over.

They stayed like that, even when the bell rang. By now, both of them has stopped crying and just stayed in their position, savoring each other as much as they could.

Y/N squeezed him tighter one last time, pressing a kiss on his head, whispering “Goodbye, Yeol-ah” before she let her arms fall down to her side. She stood up and glanced at him one last time before walking away. Chanyeol’s head was still hiding in his arms, refusing to acknowledge that she really left.

He could still feel her arms around him and he sobbed. His heart screamed at him to run after her but his body refused to stand up. If he run after her now, she would still be with him. Everything could still go back to normal. But time passed and he knew it wasn’t worth it anymore. He had Mi Soo, running after Y/N would be wrong.

Chanyeol went home that day, not bothering to get his bag because he knew she would be there, and he can’t, he just can’t.

[izaswritings]

all that’s left in the world | chapter four

Title: all that’s left in the world—

Synopsis: —is me.

Neku’s been shot and Shibuya is threatening to go the same way as Shinjuku, but just because the first Game is over doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten how to play.

Or: Neku deals with a nightmare city and his most annoying (and mathematical) partner yet; Shiki and Joshua commit an escalating number of illegal moves, Beat and Eri hunt down a stray Reaper, and Rhyme watches and waits for the counter-attack. Shibuya refuses to go down easy.

Fandom: The World Ends With You | TWEWY

Warnings: cursing, references to past murder a la Reaper’s Game, mild body horror (in a Noise-human fusion case), and implied erasure. Nothing super graphic, but be warned! Please let me know if there’s anything I missed.

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AO3 Link is here!

Previous chapters are here!

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part four: neku

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I can’t hear a thing.

I hate it. I hate it. Where did everyone go? Where did everything…

It’s so quiet. Help me. Please, help me.

…

It’s too quiet.

.

.

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Neku stares at the message for a long time.

He doesn’t move, but his fingers tighten, stiff around the phone. Kill the Composer of Shibuya. No mistaking that one. No mistaking the signature, either, or the time limit counting down on his hands. Yeah, okay. Okay.

There’s so much about the situation that infuriates him, but somehow, it’s this that makes Neku want to break something. Kill the Composer—be more original, he thinks, and grits his teeth. Always, always, kill the Composer. Well, poor fucking luck for her, then. Even if Neku wasn’t inclined to disregard every word Coco says by virtue of the whole being-murdered-again thing, this would cinch it. Why do people always pick Neku for this? Does he just have “potential assassin” written on his face or something?

Neku isn’t going to kill Joshua. He got his chance, months ago, and it was a way better set up then this farce: his friends taken, Shibuya on the line, Joshua a liar and a killer and still smiling, mild, like Neku’s anger was something vaguely amusing. A gun in his hands and a countdown to boot.

Neku hadn’t taken the shot, even then. He’s made his choice; he’s sticking with it. Joshua is an asshole—a liar—someone Neku is probably never going to be able to fully forgive. But he was Neku’s partner, too. And even this Neku can’t deny: the Game was horrible, but it changed him. He has friends now. He can see the world now. Sometimes, when he lifts his hands and closes his eyes, he can hear Shibuya’s music.

And yeah—it matters, too, that Neku’s still here. Because he lost, he’s pretty sure. He lost the Game. But Neku is alive and breathing and so are his friends, and they all have their memories, and even Rhyme...! And Shibuya is the same, except not somehow, Shibuya is brighter than ever and its almost blinding.

It’s not enough for Neku to forgive Joshua. It doesn’t take away what was done. But... it says something. About everything. That maybe Neku isn’t the only one who was changed by those three weeks.

Kill the Composer. Punch the Composer in the face, sure, but Neku clicks off the phone with a scowl. Sucks for Coco. Neku’s not playing this Game, thanks.

...Which is easier said than done. Sho Minamimoto, for example. And, you know, the time limit. Neku already knows what he’s not going to do, but that does leave the question of how the hell am I going to get out of this one.

Pi-Face must have been looking at the mission mail too, because now he’s laughing, a manic sort of snickering that makes Neku go still on pure instinct. Minamimoto, he’s found, only laughs like that when he’s about to, say, murder people, sick Taboo noise on them, or recite ten lines of pi and summon imaginary number explosions or some shit. Bad news either way.

“TANGENT,” Minamimoto shouts, and Neku blinks. “Fucking finally! This Game’s already getting zetta old, but this isn’t a bad solution at all.” His smile is full of teeth. “This is an equation I can get behind.”

Because facing Joshua worked out so well for you last time, Neku thinks, but keeps his mouth shut. He’d definitely noticed, with the ease of hindsight, how Joshua had killed Minamimoto—not with those burning beams of light that left scorch marks in the streets, but with the cars, the vending machines. And the casual way Joshua had dismissed him, that day in the throne room—I liked keeping him around—well.

Neku knows he couldn’t beat Joshua, even if he wanted to, which, no. And Neku beat Minamimoto once before. It... well, yeah, it doesn’t speak well of this guy’s chances, probably.

But again. Never, ever saying that aloud, holy shit.

“Whatever,” Neku decides, because as annoying as Pi-Face is, they’re partners whether Neku likes it or not, and he knows how these things work. Minamimoto, still grinning, closes the phone, shoves it in his pocket, and starts walking away. Neku stares after him. “What?”

And... no, yeah, he’s actually leaving. Oh, god.

“Hey,” Neku snaps, and races after him. “Where are you going? We have to stick together.”

Minamimoto squints at him and then turns away. “What, you’re still here?”

“Yes, I’m still—” Neku bites off the rest of it. Must get along with partner. Must get along... nah, screw it. “We’re in a pact. We can’t fight the Noise alone. We have to stick together—”

“Nah,” Minamimoto decides, and keeps on walking.

Neku stares after him, struck with a sudden and dizzying appreciation for Shiki. Had Neku ever been this bad? Had Neku been worse? How the hell had she not strangled him two minutes in?

He takes a deep breath. “Look,” he snaps. “I don’t like this much either, but if something happens to one of us, the other is screwed. I don’t like this any more than you do, but if we’re going to survive and figure a way out of this we have to work together.”

Still nothing. Neku narrows his eyes. Shit, okay. Math analogies, math analogies... “Unless you think you can make a working equation with just you.” Does that make sense? Well, whatever.

It works, at any rate—Minamimoto pauses, and after a moment he looks back, considering. Neku crosses his arms and scowls, trying to ignore the sinking sense in his gut. This might even be worse than his week with Joshua. For all of Joshua’s many, many irritating moments, he’d at least recognized and understood the basic principle of stick together. Death by no-one completing the mission had been a problem on day two, but Neku at least never had to worry about death by negligent partner who won’t recognize we’re in a pact.

After a moment, though, Minamimoto snorts and turns back around. “Zetta annoying,” he decides. “You better not slow me down, you useless radian. I don’t have time to proof. Though I guess you’ll be some help when I get around to crunching the Composer.” He grins, at that, cracking his knuckles.

Neku’s not really surprised by that response, but still. “What, you’re actually going to do it?” Try to do it. Same thing.

“What,” Minamimoto mimics, “you aren’t?” The smile returns, all teeth. “Either we crunch the numbers, or the numbers are going to crunch us. Constants don’t get a say in how they’re used.”

Math-speak for you’ll help me kill the Composer or I’ll make you, probably. Neku crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Sure,” he says, doubtful. “Either way, we have a problem.” He gestures around them the destroyed buildings and ruined streets. “I know Shibuya. This isn’t Shibuya. How the hell are you going to find the Composer? We’re not even in the right city!”

Minamimoto shrugs. “A possible miscalculation,” he allows. “I’ll figure a solution.”

You inspire so much confidence, Neku thinks, irritated. “Like what, exactly?”

Minamimoto snorts. “None of your concern,” he says dismissively, and starts walking away again.

Oh, yeah. Just as bad as Joshua. Maybe worse, because at least Joshua didn’t make Neku do math. Ugh.

Neku scowls at Minamimoto’s back and follows, resisting the urge to drag his feet. For all of Pi-Face’s easy dismissal of the worry, Neku’s still stuck on it. This place... it’s familiar, sure, but not in a good way. It’s ruined, ash and dust and smog choking the air, Noise filtering about the edges... but he can still recognize it, if only sideways. Those strange visions that had been blacking out his sight all day... yeah, Neku knows this place. This was the city that got destroyed in the dreams.

Why am I here?

He’s almost certain, now, that this is where Coco was trying to lead him and Beat; she’s succeeded in dragging Neku here, at least, but he still doesn’t know why. Why kill Joshua? No, wait, wrong question. Why try and kill Joshua like this? A Reaper’s Game twisted beyond recognition, and a mission to kill Shibuya’s Composer in a place that clearly isn’t Shibuya. Can they even leave this place? Is this just a trap to get them erased by an impossible mission with a definite time limit? But then—why seven days to complete it? She could have set it to five minutes and dusted them that way.

It doesn’t make any sense, Neku thinks, and tugs once at his hair in frustration before letting go. He’s sick of this. Plots and plans and Neku stuck in the strings, and damn, he did not fucking miss this.

For a moment his hands shake. He squeezes his eyes shut, and exhales very slowly. His eyes are burning. And that’s—that’s fine. This is fair, isn’t it? He’d thought he was done with Games, but now he’s back here again, so it makes sense, it’s fine, he just needs…

He just needs a moment.

The air is so stiff here. Silent and empty. Every inhale is tinged with dust, and the city itself is a dead place—no wind, dead air, stale and settling and starting to rot. It’s hollow in a way that echoes. It aches. He misses Shibuya so suddenly it dizzies him. The crowds—the music—the world.

I didn’t ask for this.

But it doesn’t matter. Not really. Neku’s made his decision, and he’s going to stick to it—his only concern is getting out of this. And hey, track record, right? He’s done the impossible before. He can… he can figure this out.

He opens his eyes, and exhales again. He grits his teeth and pulls himself together. Okay. He can do this. He will do this. He’s going to figure out this new Game and he’s going to come back to Shiki and Beat alive and well. If Coco thinks she’s got him beaten, then she’s got another thing coming.

But still. As he picks his way across the ruined landscape, Neku can’t help but feel, with a sinking sense of dread, that there’s still so much worse to come.

.

They explore the city for a while, in silence—Minamimoto leading, like he’s forgotten Neku is there, and Neku trailing behind, keeping one eye on his irritating partner and one eye on their surroundings, wary of an ambush.

The city is... awful, Neku thinks, and the longer he stays here the more it makes his skin crawl. The streets are totally empty; the Noise are either everywhere or nowhere at all. No more strange, distorted symbols in the air; no more chance of avoiding them. They always watch them pass with blank, gleaming eyes—and that’s another thing, too. The Noise aren’t right. The Noise are dead silent.

Everything, Neku is finding, is dead silent.

The Noise don’t make—well, noise. There’s no wind—no birds—nothing. Even their footsteps feel muffled and dim, as if Neku’s walking on cotton, unable to make any noise louder than a whisper. When he speaks, it feels like he has to shout to be heard—like the total silence of the city is swallowing his voice whole, taking it all in, giving nothing back.

The worst part, though, is that there’s no Music.

When Neku left the Reaper’s Game for good, and first awoke alive and well on the Scramble Crossing... memories, and friends, and nightmares hadn’t been the only things he’d taken away from the Game. Sometimes, when Neku closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears and just let the murmur of the city wash over him, he could hear it—a song, or the Song, Shibuya in entirety, a music he could never really describe and could hardly imagine living without. It was chaotic and chiming and... Shibuya. Just Shibuya.

It was a comfort. And now it’s gone.

And he knows—Neku knows, logically, that even if there was Music here it wouldn’t be the same—this isn’t Shibuya, isn’t home. But even so, he’d rather hear an unfamiliar song than this... nothingness. This absence. This void in the air where music used to sing and people used to laugh, and just—there’s nothing, now. There’s a lack. There’s a hole.

I can’t hear a thing, he thinks, and it feels like his thought and yet it feels nothing like him at all, and for a moment the silence presses down on him. Panic coats his tongue. Despair squeezes at his chest. It’s less pain and more an echo if it; someone else’s words, ringing through him. For a moment his vision washes out into white.

I hate it. Where did it go? It’s too quiet. Come back. Come back!

Neku stumbles forward. Again. It’s happening again. He can hardly breathe. He presses a hand to his temple. “Who are you?” he whispers. He’s almost certain, now. This isn’t him. This is someone else. But who? “You keep—calling to me, who—”

Please help me. Static fuzzes in his ears. His eyes burn. Help me. Oh, god. Oh, god, please, someone help me—!

“Useless radian,” a new voice snaps, and the echoing words cut off with a snap, so quick it leaves Neku almost breathless. “Get up.”

He’s on his knees, Neku realizes. When had he fallen? He presses his hand against the concrete, gray and ashy beneath his palm, and lifts his head to glare.

Minamimoto looks unimpressed. “I don’t bother with inherently flawed calculations,” he warns, and then grins. “Match the parameters or get deleted, yoctogram.”

How nice, Neku thinks, dryly. Now he’s not sure if the headache pounding behind his eyes is from the echo, or just from listening to Minamimoto talk. Or both. Asshole.

“I’m fine,” Neku says, finally. His hands are shaking. He curls them against the concrete, and tries to remember how to breathe. “I… I’m fine.”

Minamimoto snorts. “Who gives a digit? Just get up. There’s a problem.”

“Huh?” Neku pushes to his feet, wavering a little. His legs feel shaky. He’s not in pain anymore, but the memory of that hollow ache is enough to make him shiver. That voice. That fear. Those visions, again. Just what is going on?

Minamimoto runs a hand back through his hair and grins, unsettling. “We have a new addition.”

“What?”

Minamimoto lifts his chin towards the far end of the street, seemingly unconcerned. Neku follows his gaze. They’ve stuck to the main roads, thus far; this one is three lanes wide and shadowed by empty skyscrapers turned hollow and half-eaten, like they’ve been decayed from the top-down. The fog of white dust makes it hard to see, but if Neku squints…

A blurry shadow of a figure lingers at the end of the road.

Neku blinks. Not just a figure. A humanoid figure. Moving. Holy shit. Is that… is there really someone else here?

His blood runs cold. Coco? Or… could it be—the girl from his visions?

But there’s something off about the figure, and Neku finds himself reaching for his pins before he can think better of it. He doesn’t trust this. Too much about this Game isn’t right—not just the missions, but even the rules of the world turned on its head. All of his pins work even when he’s not fighting the Noise. He doesn’t have a Player Pin, but he’s definitely in the UG. The Noise no longer pull them into an alternate dimension; they’re fully formed and waiting and watching, with eyes blank and white like a dead pin. And the silence, too...

No. This isn’t right. And as the figure shuffles towards them, Neku steps back and pulls a Lightning Rook to his hand, because he’s not so sure that’s a person, either.

Minamimoto is grinning, though something has turned sharp at the edges of his smile. “Ugh.”

“What is it?”

“I miscalculated.” He studies the figure and slides back into a stance. For a moment, he seems to blur at the edges. “Should have carried the evidence to its conclusion. Tch, embarrassing. This was simple math.”

Neku squints at the figure. They’re shuffling forward, coming into view, and when he sees them in full, he blanches. “Is that—”

“Yep.” Minamimoto makes a harsh noise in his throat, looking disgusted. “Inversion. The system’s all screwed up. Noise in the RG, UG in fractions... and sometimes you get equations that just don’t work out.”

Inversion? The hell? But there’s no time to ask. The figure is close enough now to see in entirety and— oh.

Neku can’t breathe.

They look—they must be—that’s a person, isn’t it? A businessman, he thinks, with slicked back black hair and a pale gray suit, jolting faintly with every step. They must be a person. Except they have a Noise’s colorful scrawls winding all the way down their arms and face and there’s wings peeling out bloody and painful from their back and sharp teeth jutting from their gums and oh, fuck, Neku never wanted to know what a human-Noise combo would look like and he’s really not happy to have found out now.

The Noise humanoid opens up their mouth and screams. There is no sound, but the air grates. Neku slams his hands over his ears, and in the distance, Sho Minamimoto is laughing.

“Caught between the frequencies, are you?” he says, looking delighted. “So zetta cool. Zetta sucks, too. Don’t worry. You’re about to get deleted.” He draws back his hand. To Neku: “You better not slow me down!”

Neku falters. “Wait,” he says. “Wait wait wait, that’s a person, what happens to them if we—”

“Ugh, do the math!” Zetta shut up, Neku thinks back. “What do you think happens to Noise-possessed people when it all gets Inversed?”

Neku stills. Noise-possessed people. Which means...

He draws back his hand. Okay. Okay. He doesn’t understand most of that, but... if they defeat this person, will that help? Will the Noise leave them? Will they go back to normal?

He doesn’t know. What he does know is that looks painful. Either way, Neku isn’t going to be able to back away from this.

Minamimoto laughs and throws himself into the fight with a sharp, vicious war cry of “Infinity!” It is familiar in a way that makes something in Neku ache; he stills, and refuses to look beside him. Joshua isn’t there. Joshua isn’t with him. In fact, he hasn’t really seen Joshua in almost a month, not since the Game ended.

And yet. For a moment, he can almost hear the laughter.

Neku shakes his head. He’s not fighting Minamimoto, he’s fighting with him, and he needs to start acting like it. Neku reaches for his pins.

“You better be right about this,” Neku snaps, and attacks.

Lightning Rook in one hand, Electric Warning, Velocity Attack, Raven, and two healing pins. Neku flips them through his fingers, watching Minamimoto dart across the area, and sets his feet. He still has the Fusion pin—he’d made sure to check, and thank goodness for that—which means so long as he times this right, they should sync up and hopefully be able to…

He preps the lightning in his hand, and then Minamimoto appears right in front of him.

“Shit!” Neku jerks his hand away—the lightning flashes and bangs, gone wild, darting up and out of range, crackling harmless in the air. What? What!? “Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

Minamimoto just cackles. “Useless components should just stay put!”

“Hey, wait!” In the distance, the Noise opens its mouth in a silent scream, and the world warps like putty. Pi-Face grins like a shark and vanishes from view. Neku curses at him, and throws himself down.

The air explodes above his head; Neku ducks out of range and then rolls back on his feet, angry now. “Are you kidding me?” he demands, to no-one, and reaches for his pins again.

The lightning jumps for his fingers eagerly. The power is a head rush. Neku grits his teeth and blasts at the Noise again. Despite all of his annoyance, the weight of the pins in his hands is a comfort. It’s almost soothing. He hates this, he hates fighting, but—

But Neku has missed this, too. That breath of power, that static on his tongue… he’d missed it. Why? He doesn’t want to. But he finally feels settled, feet flat on the ground. Minamimoto is an annoyance, this new Game a mystery, Coco a threat—but here in this fight, Neku is steady. I can do this.

Minamimoto cuts him off again; Neku switches pins with a mutter and throws himself out of range of the Noise’s shockwave. The silent screaming thing is seriously starting to vex him. He takes up the pin again, aiming—

Pi-Face, sneering, flickers into view and kicks the Noise back. “So zetta slow!”

Neku grits his teeth. “Would you just—hey! We need to sync up! Stop getting in the way!”

Minamimoto scoffs. Neku clenches his fists. “You—”

And then Minamimoto is gone again—and then he is right in front of him—and then he is kicking Neku right in the side, hard enough to send him flying back. Neku just barely gets his arm up in time to block most of the blow; his whole forearm sears with pain. Minamimoto is grinning again, sharp and wild.

Neku stumbles, catches his feet, and stills, his pins burning in his palm. Attack your partner is never the mission. It’s never the mission. It’s never—

“What the hell are you doing?” Neku says, quietly. “Do you have any idea—”

“Cooperation is trash,” Minamimoto says, far too gleefully. “We’re looped in the same equation, sure, but I crunch the numbers. Get in my way, you get factored out.” He steps away, turning his back, piece said. Neku sees red.

Raven has always been a favored pin. Neku tosses a streetlamp at him.

Minamimoto dodges, of course—and when he turns back around, his expression is frightening. “You are so—”

“Partners!” Neku snarls, talking over him. “We’re in a pact, you… we have to work together!”

“Crunch! That opinion was garbage. I’ll throw it on the pile.”

Must. Not. Murder. Partner. “You’re not a Reaper anymore. You don’t have the wings, we’re in a pact, you have the same fucking timer I do—either we fight together, or we’re going to lose.” He takes a quick, tight breath. Sota. Nao. All those Players, even the Reapers… but Neku can’t afford to die here. “Work with me here. You don’t want to die again, right? Well neither do I! So help me! And let me help you.”

Asshole, he adds, internally.

Minamimoto looks like he’s considering it, which of course— of course! —is when the humanoid Noise attacks again. Go figure. Fucking fantastic. Neku wants to bang his head against a wall.

But when he rises from his dodge, Minamimoto flickers into view beside him again. He looks annoyed. Grudging. And his face twists up, but he says: “Fine. Whatever,” and it is not the glowing confirmation Neku was hoping for but god, damn, he’ll take it.

“Finally,” Neku mutters, and flips a pin. “Then let’s do this. If you take it from behind, I’ll blast it from the front.”

Minamimoto scoffs again. He vanishes without a word.  Neku rolls his eyes, and sets his feet.

Lightning in the air, Minamimoto’s taunting insults, the Noise’s silent screaming and the warping air—but while they are not entirely in sync, this time it’s enough. The Noise is slowing, wing tattered and limp, face fuzzing from view—and the Fusion pin warms against Neku’s wrist.

He activates it. “Get ready!”

“Fucking finally! So zetta slow!”

“Argh, you—!”

It’s like stepping into a web. Lines and angles and numbers and—and Neku grits his teeth against the overload, the power slipping through his fingers, and reaches back. Equalities, balances, equals to. He clicks the numbers into place, and feels power burning through his hands.

(And for a moment: something is off. Something is wrong. A power that is neither his nor Minamimoto’s. Something else. Someone else? Not quite a pact, but… like moving in sync. A mirroring.

A connection.)

Something shatters.

It’s like white noise in his ears—the empty static—the imaginary plane. For a moment there is a hole in the world, in the sound, in the noise—there is music, sharp and rhythmic and singing through the air—and then they are back, and his ears are ringing, and there is a person, Noise-less, lying slumped on the street.

Neku blinks fast. The bitter taste of ozone lingers on his tongue. He breathes past it, and rushes for the body. “Hey! Are you okay?”

No answer. Oh, shit. Neku kneels by the man, reaching out, and freezes when his hand passes right through. “Wait—wait, no—”

The man fades away, as fragile as a dream. Neku doesn’t move.

Behind him, Minamimoto makes an interested sound. “So, the Inversion takes it all. Noise or nothing. A full circle.”

Neku curls his fingers. He still doesn’t know what the hell this Inversion thing is, but he’s starting to get the gist. “You mean…” So there was no saving the guy? Either existing as a fusion with Noise, or not existing at all? Is this what’s become of all the people in this place?

Neku grits his teeth. He bows his head.

Minamimoto makes a scornful noise and turns away. “Let’s go,” he says, dismissively. “We’re subtracting time.”

Neku clenches his jaw and rises to his feet. Right, he thinks. Right. It’s not over yet. Whatever happened here, whatever this is… he still has time to figure this out. Maybe… maybe he can find out what happened to this place, too. To these people.

He’s not playing to win, after all. He’s playing to finish this. He can add one more mystery to the list.

But for all his determination, his mood has soured. Minamimoto is walking down the street, casual as he pleases, but Neku lingers on the road, subdued, bitter despite himself. He looks up at the sky, and thinks of the mission mail, of that almost-presence during the fusion, the almost-whisper in his ears.

High above him, the sky flickers cold and red. The clouds churn like boiling water. When he blinks, he can see the afterimage of it on his eyes, like an imprint of the Reaper’s skull, glaring down at him. Burning.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you there?”

He waits. But no one answers.

Neku blinks the red from his eyes until the sky is gray and cold once more, then turns and walks away.