#i want his life to be ruined beyond repair before sending him straight to the worst part of hell

[cmedics-hell]

hi ive remembered that tbtf exists and i feel like ive been hit by a train

thinking so hard about whats going to happen much later in the story. mostly about alexander. i can not fucking WAIT to watch him get the shit kicked out of him. im going to love every single moment of it. i have so many feelings about him already and ALL OF THEM are negative

[loving-all-for-loki]

Your writing is so wonderful! Could I maybe request something comforting? I’m currently recovering from a surgery to repair my foot with bone anchors and I’ll be bed ridden for 6 weeks. Maybe something with Loki being very supportive and caring for the reader 24/7, moving into her room etc. and the team are just surprised at how helpful he’s being to her. 🤗.

A/N: I’m sorry if I posted this at a weird time, but I have the next chapter to my series Voiceless Love coming out and I wanted to give this fic some time to be seen before that got posted. It’s also a little short, but I felt like this was perfect as a short and sweet fic, instead of a 2k+ story, haha. Also, I know it isn’t 100% exactly what you wanted, but I get stuck with one idea and run with it, oops. I hope you are getting better with your foot. That stinks so much and I’ve been there with my own ankle injuries. If you have any requests for some fics while you recover, send them my way! I always need some inspo and if I can give you some entertainment during your recovery, that would be great. Now, read this, get some sleep, and drink some water. I hope you heal nicely <3

Lucky

Loki x reader

Word count: 1533

Warnings: Pure fluff, just fluff, fluffiness, maybe a bit of sexualizing Loki (I couldn’t help myself)

Seeing your friends carrying big heavy boxes for you swells your heart. It’s also hilarious to see Thor actually struggling to carry something. Tony finds it amusing too given that he’s not doing any of the work but it’s sipping mimosas next to you. Thor grumbles about getting all the heavy boxes, but you also know Sam and Bucky purposely avoid the big ones.

If someone were to tell you ten years ago that you’d be saved from getting tortured by Hydra and become an Avenger, you’d tell them they’re delusional, but this is your life. Even after years of torture and pain, you considered yourself lucky. You could have been the new Soldat, ruined over and over again to be a war machine, but now you’re a trained assassin like Bucky and Nat with a broken leg.

You lean yourself against a wall in your room with your crutches beside you (along with Tony, of course, that lazy bum). Steve, Bucky, and Thor are carrying in boxes while Sam, Nat, and Peter help unpack some things. Today is the day you officially move into the tower with the rest of your teammates and due to your current disability, the other avengers offered to help you. Another reason why you consider yourself lucky.

Peter is by far the most adorable on the team. He’s fully unpacking for you, even arranging the frames on your shelves and the organizers on your desk. He at point made your bed when Steve brought in your blankets and sheets. Bucky has been super sweet, too, giving you funny looks every time he passes by and asking where the best spot for the box he is carrying to go.

But the one “avenger” you didn’t expect to be as helpful as he is, is Loki. The others told him to move out of the way, not wanting his condescending attitude to ruin the fun day, but Loki started to carry boxes in as well. The first time, the avengers were stunned by him, but then they were gracious because he used his magic to transport them, making the job go by quicker. Loki just stands at the bottom of the truck outside and wipes his hand over each cardboard box, sending it to your room.

You really are lucky.

-

Two days pass by and you decide to ignore your laziness and finally unpack the rest of your boxes. You attempt to push some photo boxes on the top of your shelves, but you find yourself stretching so hard to reach the top. Your foot injury really is stupid and you just want to be able to normal walk, or jump, or even go on your tip toes.

Then you hear a sly chuckle coming from behind you. You let out a frustrated sign knowing exactly who it is.

“Loki, if you’re going to stand there and laugh at me, could you least help me and laugh at me?”

“Of course, darling.” He jokes.

He comes up behind you and takes the box from your struggling fingertips and carefully paces it on top of the shelf.

“Is there anything else you helpless being needs help with?”

“I could use help with hanging my window curtains.”

You point to the box in the corner with your large sheer curtains folded in them. He chuckles and goes over the box, carefully picking them up and hanging them on the frame. You can’t help but notice his figure as he hangs them. He is a marvelous being and who are you to deny your eyes of such a sight?

The sight in front of you proved that you are lucky

-

Tony gathers the group for a game night and it results in everyone becoming drunk and children. At some point, it becomes a truth or drink game night and everyone has their poison. You have your legs laid over Loki’s lap, who was really hard to convince to join the game, and a bottle of Smirnoff Ice in your hand, only because Tony didn’t have anything else. Loki’s slowly running his fingers over your legs, but higher than your cast.

“Okay, Steve,” Natasha coos, “your turn. Have you ever done drugs?”

“I did marijuana in high school once.”

The whole team gasps and whistles at his answer.

“Captain ain’t so wholesome, now, is he?” Sam cackles.

“I remember that night,” Bucky laughs, “You were so high.”

Steve chuckles and nods his head before looking to see you cuddled up next to Loki and gets a wicked idea.

“Loki, you’ve been quiet. Your turn.”

“Please no, I’m beyond your little games.”

“Aw come on, brother! One question won’t hurt you,” Thor laughs.

“Who in this room would ever kiss?”

Tony whistles and takes a sip of his drink as everyone else laughs. You can feel the ice giant get slightly warm out of embarrassment. His face is flushed with a rose pink color as you get nervous, lightly chuckling to himself.

“I uh…”

“Answer it. Answer it. Answer it.” Sam chants.

Everyone chuckles at the clear uncomfortableness of the god, not seeing him like this often.

“Y/N.” He whispers, almost too quiet for you to even hear.

“Louder, brother. I couldn’t hear you,” Thor says innocently.

“Y/N.”

You smile up at Loki in shock. He won’t look down to meet your eyes but stares straight out the window past Tony. The entire team cheers and chuckles.

“Oh, we’re never letting that one down.”

“How lucky am I?” You laugh.

-

You attempt to cook yourself some lunch but your stupid cast is getting in the way of moving around. It’s getting tiring to pick up your crutches every time you need a tool two feet away from you. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you hit the edge of the counter with the spatula in your hand.

“What is wrong, dearest?”

You turn your head to see Loki standing behind you with a concerned look on his face, this time not here to make fun of you.

“I’m tired of my stupid foot getting in the way of doing normal activities.”

“Darling, sit down. I’ll make lunch for you.”

“Loki, you really-”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

Loki picks you up and sets you down on the couch while also handing you the remote. He goes to the kitchen and attempts to resume your lunch.

“Sweetest, what are you cooking?”

You laugh really hard at his confusion.

“Fajitas.”

“What are those?”

“See Loki, it’s fine! You really don’t have to.”

“And I’m not going to. I’ll make Stark do it.”

Loki orders JARVIS to get Tony and finish making lunch for you. You laugh and shake your head at Loki as he sits down beside you on the couch. He starts to run his fingers through your hair but keeps getting caught in the tangles.

“Why is your hair like this?”

“It’s hard to do anything while standing up. I can barely brush my teeth without falling over.”

“Well, it looks like I’ll do that for you, too.”

“Loki, I swear if you-”

“No point in arguing. I’m going to assist you.”

You rolls your eyes at the cocky god as he smiles at you. Nuzzling your head into his neck, Loki holds you tightly in an embrace. Tony comes in to see you two cuddling and shakes his head.

“You are so lucky we love you.”

-

You wake up the next day to see Loki sleeping beside you on your bed. You try to remember anything that happened last night, but you were so tired, nothing comes to mind. If you didn’t have a broken foot, you would be concerned about waking up next to a god, but you also know he wouldn’t have done anything with your injury. He’s too kind (much to some disbelief).

“Good morning, darling.”

Loki leans over to you and kisses you on the forehead. He wasn’t as asleep as you thought he was, but you’re not complaining. Waking up beside this adonis isn’t the worst way to spend a morning.

“Good morning.”

“I don’t care what you say,” Loki smiles, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear, “you’re staying in bed and I’m waiting on you.”

“That’s very sweet. Thank you.”

“I’m glad someone learned something last night.”

“Actually, I don’t remember a lot from last night. I was tired.”

“We bickered about me waiting on you, hand and foot.”

“Hmm, that sounds about right.”

“So, today I’m treating you like a proper princess.”

“Does that mean we’re together?”

Loki looks at you confused, but his face lights up when he realizes what you’re implying.

“I suppose so. In that case, my princess, I will wait on you.”

You watched as the god all day served you lunch and dinner. He brushed your hair and teeth. Helped you change clothes. Played your music to cheer you up. Even carried you to the bathroom when you had to go.

Thinking about all the things your friends have done for you and all of the things that Loki, your prince, has done, all you can say is how lucky you are.

[my-soul-sings]

kiss the girl: ch 5

Fandom: Tears of Themis Characters: Artem x Reader

Summary: Armed with a trusty book, Artem Wing attempts to win the woman of his dreams.

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 2 extra (ft. marius) | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

***

“Surprise him with flowers.”

It all began one morning, when you went to Artem’s office to look for a case file, and stumbled across a certain incriminating book that was hiding in his drawer.

The title said it all: “The Psychology of Love”. The contents of the book were even more damning—flipping it open took you naturally to the page where a plain black bookmark had been inserted, and you found yourself reading a chapter about practical tips for wooing a woman.

As you read the book, you’d periodically look over your shoulder every now and then in case Artem arrived and caught you red-handed (although you were technically only going through his drawer because you were looking for a case file that he had told you to find in his office).

You immediately recognised the practical pointers as the things Artem had been putting into practice lately. The flowers, the compliments, the dinner… What you’d initially thought was odd behaviour on his part suddenly all made sense, and it basically confirmed your suspicions that perhaps your boss did have feelings for you, and that yours weren’t one-sided like you had thought after all.

The revelation had your cheeks warming and your lips spreading into a huge grin. All that had to be done now was for both of you to confess and then you’d officially start dating, just as you had hoped for a while now.

The next question then was how to go about doing it. You considered asking him about the book directly, but that wouldn’t be any fun at all. Sure, you might get a laugh out of seeing Artem’s ears turn red and his words coming out in a timid stutter, but you wanted to be more creative with this.

And as you scanned through the book, a brilliant plan began to formulate in your mind. One that had your smile turning from gleeful, innocent and warm, to something a little more wicked. Just a little.

With all that Artem had been doing for you lately, naturally, it was only right that you returned the favour.

***

Artem’s morning routine hasn’t changed much as far as he can remember. In the mornings, he makes breakfast, a cup of coffee, then drives to work and enters the office building. He’ll greet his colleagues who are already all set up in the office and doing their work or rushing some prep work before going to court, and then settle down in his room to check his emails.

It’s not a particularly exciting routine, but Artem has gotten used to his life as a working adult; more routines, less surprises and spontaneity.

That’s why Artem isn’t used to being surprised, or having to figure out at 10am why his colleagues keep staring at him or greeting him with vaguely suspicious smiles on their faces. With every step he takes through the office he can feel their eyes on him, like visitors eyeing an animal in a zoo exhibit.

Artem wonders if it’s something about his appearance, but he’s wearing the same thing he usually does, and he has combed his hair like always. Besides, he also subtly checked to make sure his zipper wasn’t down when he first noticed his colleagues acting strange, so that can’t be it either.

His mind runs through the many possibilities for his colleagues’ strange behaviours, but can’t think of a reasonable explanation.

Thankfully, he doesn't need to think for long. He finds that explanation placed conspicuously in the centre of his desk, which is usually left clean and neat when he leaves the office for the night.

Artem is so stunned he doesn’t even realise that someone has knocked on his door until he feels a tap on his shoulder and hears a stifled laugh coming from his left.

“Everyone’s been going crazy since the flowers came. Did you send a bouquet of roses to yourself?” Celestine asks between giggles. Artem doesn’t blame her—the sight is quite incriminating. He can’t think of anyone who would send him flowers when there is no occasion to celebrate anything. Not to mention, roses? That’s quite the choice of flowers for someone who is single…

“Did you do this?” Artem asks, turning to her, although even he thinks the accusation is absurd.

“Me? Of course not. Do you know how expensive flowers are? I’d only spend it on my darling—”

“Enough,” he interrupts her, pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing a vexed sigh. First things first, he needs to do something about the flowers before more people see and start gossiping about him.

“You don’t look so happy for someone who just received flowers,” Celestine says, watching as he places his things down on his chair and desk before moving to inspect the gift. He’s eyeing it about as warily as one might a ticking bomb.

“Is it a secret admirer? Or— Don’t tell me, you’ve been making moves on someone else?”

“Of course not,” he hushes her, casting a wary glance towards the window of his office, in case they’re overheard by mistake. She’s not at her desk, and the anxious beating of his heart calms down slightly when he realises she probably hasn’t arrived in the office yet. That gives him some time to dispose of the evidence.

Turning to Celestine, he says in a low voice, “Don’t be so loud. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

Celestine rolls her eyes, folding her arms. “She already saw the flowers.”

“What?” Alarmed, he looks out the window again, but there’s no one at her desk.

“She just dropped her things off on her chair and rushed to the restroom,” Celestine explains in a dismissive tone that does nothing to quell Artem’s concerns.

She’s seen the flowers. She’s going to think that he’s been flirting with someone else, or that he sent flowers to himself. Either way, it doesn’t look good.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Celestine remarks, scrutinising his expression. He supposes he does. How else should he look? Festive, now that he might have lost his chance at wooing the woman he’s had a crush on for so long?

“Get a grip, Artem. First things first, who are the flowers from?”

Right, right. He should confirm that first. There’s a small card sticking out from the side of the bouquet, and he fishes it out, reading it while keeping it out of view from the curious eyes of Celestine. She immediately fires off protests in response, but he’s taller than her and is able to keep it out of her reach by extending his arm all the way up.

I wasn’t sure what flowers you’d like, so I went with roses, because… well. You should be able to guess why. I’ll see you soon.

It’s a message straight out of a horror movie. Artem doesn’t want to see this person. He doesn’t want anyone to see him with this person, for that matter. He would be ruined beyond repair.

Unfortunately, the card isn’t signed. Not on the front or back, and there’s no other card to be found in the bouquet. So now, he has to deal with a mystery admirer who seems to know where he works or lives. Maybe both.

He briefly contemplates getting a personal protection order but immediately dismisses the thought; there’s no way. It seems his only option left is to wait for this secret admirer (or prankster; he still has his doubts) to track him down.

“Hey! I wanted to read that!” Celestine grumbles when the note is crushed in Artem’s fist and stuffed into his pocket.

“Read something else. You just told me yesterday that you’re drowning in work.”

Not sure where else he can put the bouquet, he decides to put it on the floor, in a corner of his room so it’s less conspicuous to anyone who passes by.

“From how you’re still panicking, I’m guessing the flowers weren’t from her after all?” Celestine asks, clicking her tongue.

“You thought they were from her?”

“Yeah. She saw the flowers in your office this morning and walked away looking quite happy.”

“Oh.” That’s strange, he thought she would be mad. But if she’s happy, that can mean only one of two things: either the flowers were from her, or she’s happy thinking that he has a partner now.

It looks like he’ll be playing a tedious guessing game for the rest of the day and the next couple of sleepless nights.

“I could ask her if you want?” Celestine offers, being helpful for the first time since entering his office.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll handle it,” he replies, clearing his throat and sitting down. He’s wasted enough time on this—he’ll worry about it after work.

Celestine takes that as her cue to leave, and this time, she graciously doesn’t leave a mocking remark behind when she closes the door.

continue reading on AO3 (see replies to this post) 

[hela-avenger]

To the Stars Who Listen- 9a

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 2177

Summary: When Loki desires to never fall in love, he casts a spell to prevent such a thing from happening. Except, well, in the matters of love and magic, you never know the result it may have in the end. Loki x Reader

A/N: Ok so I started to write this and then had to go back to edit it and then I added more and then it was all just angst and it was just getting so long and I couldn’t fix it. ANYWHO, the Halloween special will now be two parts. I’m really hoping it won’t be three but we shall have to wait and see. 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE! Please be safe out there! 

Tags are open! (Send me an ask/message/response.)

TTSWL Masterlist

Loki refrained from groaning as he stepped into the jet that would take them back to the Tower. Sam and Bucky were fighting over the pilot seat while Wanda was chattering loudly about the costume she had managed to find for herself and Vision. Loki catches your eye and he can tell you wish to speak to him. He doesn’t allow you the chance as he storms out of the seating area in preference of the solitude found in the back. 

The quinjet finally sets out of the compound and Loki manages to survive the short ride without being pulled into whatever conversation you wish to have with him. You most likely wanted to know the truth behind what you had revealed previously. An answer he would refuse to give you. 

Loki is almost cornered by you in the arrival at the tower but by sheer luck, you are called away by the AI allowing Loki to peacefully make his way down to his residential floor. The peace he had in mind at the return of his familiar abode is disrupted at the sight of Thor waiting for him there. 

Loki’s annoyance grows at the sight of his brother regaled in his Asgardian armor swinging Mjolnir with ease. 

“Welcome back, brother.” 

Loki just grunts in response as he tries to maneuver around the big oaf. 

“I went ahead and prepared your armor for the party tonight,” Thor continues with a smile. “It should be a merry night full of drinking and dancing. We should thoroughly enjoy it.” 

“I’m not going to that party.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I refuse to partake in Midgardian celebrations.” 

“I would think you would enjoy this one, Loki. It’s all about mischief and magic.” 

Loki rubs his eyes tiredly. 

“I am quite tired, brother. I am in no mood for festivities.”

“You never are,” Thor states, forcing Loki to stop right outside his bedroom door. “You always hide out here and avoid having any fun. You’ve been here for months, Loki, and you have failed to participate in any way or form to enjoy humanity.”

“I hate this place,” Loki responds. “Why would I try to find some silver lining?” 

“If that is the case then perhaps I should report to father that you have made no progress and have you sent back home.”

That definitely deepens the foul mood Loki was already in.  

“If I go to this party will you refrain from reporting to father?” 

Thor thinks for a few seconds before relenting.

“Yes, I would.” 

“Great, good,” Loki mutters as he slips into the darkness of his room. “I’m not wearing my armor though.” 

“Then what will you wear?” 

Loki doesn’t respond promptly slamming the door closed to Thor’s face. 

The lab was as pristine and proper as the day before you had come in and destroyed it. The wall had been repaired and the equipment that had been easily thrown before was now bolted to the ground. You let out a sigh as you try to forget that dark moment of your life when you had turned against your friends for no reason. 

You still couldn’t remember what happened but it still shook you to the very core. The truth was something everyone valued and yet you had overlooked the darkness it could truly hold. Lying didn’t seem so bad now and you miss having the simple ability. 

Shaking yourself from that thought, you scanned the rest of the room looking for the man of the hour. 

The moment the jet landed at the tower you were promptly told by FRIDAY that Tony requested your presence in the lab. 

You tried to make a quick stop towards the Asgardian floor but the AI had overlooked your floor request in preference of following its creator’s demand. 

The lab remained silent after you came in. FRIDAY had announced your presence but Tony was nowhere to be seen. You felt yourself being watched but could find no one. You were starting to grow paranoid which didn’t help when a loud bang resonated nearby.

Your head snaps towards the source of the crash and you relax when you realize it’s just Dum-E hitting against the nearby desk.

“Oh Dum-E, I thought I was…”

“BOO!” 

You jump at the sudden shout behind you. Out of pure instinct, you throw your hands in front of you causing your gauntlets to shoot out two straight lines of energy. The beams scorch two black spots on the recently repaired wall.

“Well that’s new.” 

You turn around and glare at Tony. 

“What the hell, Tony!” you shout at him. “I could have killed you.” 

Tony chuckles in response and is quick to apologize. 

“Sorry, kid,” he answers. “Didn’t realize you were Iron Man 2.0.” 

You roll your eyes at him and laugh sarcastically at him. 

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny,” you joke. “These things are the only reason I have some semblance of control.” 

“Let me see them.” 

You raise your hands and show him the golden gauntlets. 

“Interesting design,” he mutters as he grabs a hold of them, turning them around back and forth. “I’m assuming the stones are important by their placement. I wonder what they’re made of. Carbon-based, maybe? Rare space jewel? I would have to run some tests…”

“Yeah, not possible,” you comment. “I can’t take these off. Things could go very wrong.” 

Tony scowls as he lets your hands go. 

“Can’t risk it for a few minutes?” Tony asks. “I’m sure I could improve them for a nicer aesthetic and easier mobility.” 

“Tony…”

“Come on,” he nudges. “You don’t see me wearing my blasters because they’re comfortable. It’ll only be a few minutes. Five tops.” 

You hesitate and Tony pesters on.  

“Let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do if you have to wear those atrocities for the rest of your life.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek before relenting. 

“Just be careful with the stones and be quick, please,” you plead at him. “I don’t wish to have a repeat of my last mishaps.” 

Tony snorts as he helps you slide the gauntlets off your hands. 

“Heard about that,” he snickers. “A little birdie told me and by birdie, I obviously mean Sam.” 

You laugh and shake your head at him watching as he steps towards his desk and pulls out an array of files into the screen. He flips through them quickly before stopping at one. 

Pepper Gift Ideas. 

“Um, Tony?” 

He ignores you as he opens the file up and scatters out the multiple designs he’s sketched out. You’re shocked at the multiple documents in the file but don’t have the chance to inspect them closely as Tony finds the one he was looking for. 

“Here it is,” he states as he picks the design and throws it onto the screen next to his equipment. “What do you think, kid?” 

“Oh, wow,” you whisper as you look at the design on display. “That’s beautiful.” 

“Was tinkering for a while about making Pepper her own jewelry,” Tony responds beside you. “But she never wears what I get her.” 

“I’m sure she would wear this,” you tell him. “Are you sure you want to use this design on me?” 

Tony is quick to nod. 

“You’ve been dealt a shitty hand with this power,” Tony answers honestly. “I just want to make things better for you in any way I can.” 

“Thanks, Tony,” you tell him, heartfelt at his generosity. “Really, thank you.” 

Tony clears his throat from the rising emotion and looks away. He picks up your gauntlet and begins to disassemble them. 

“Now go away,” he mutters. “Let me work in peace.” 

“You told me it would only be five minutes.” 

“Well I lied. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.” 

You roll your eyes at him and Tony simply smirks. 

“I’ll have them done soon, I promise, so why don’t you go ahead and find your partner in crime, Natasha. She’s got your costume in her room.” 

You hesitate but you’ve already done your daily exercises to tire your powers out. Nothing could go wrong. Or at least that’s what you hoped for. 

You wince at the sharp tug of your hair. You glare at Natasha through the mirror but she simply smirks in response. You had no choice when it came to getting ready for this impromptu Halloween party. Natasha dragged you into her room the moment you showed up at her door. 

You didn’t mind her help for the party. In fact, you were glad to have it as the redhead went above and beyond to have everything ready for you. From the costume to the hair and makeup, Natasha had arranged it all. All you had to do was sit there and allow her to make her vision into a reality. 

Though you would use this time to catch up with your close friend, your mind was far away at the moment. 

Ever since your last lesson, Loki had avoided you like the plague. Any attempt of trying to apologize to him was somehow thwarted by Loki himself or some outside force. It didn’t help that Tony’s impromptu invitation and the jet that followed severed any chance of forcing him to see you. 

You felt guilty.

You had crossed a line by revealing something he wasn’t ready to when all he had done was help you. You needed to apologize and you needed to do it soon. 

“Ok, spill it.” 

You look up at Natasha’s pointed stare and sigh. 

“I can’t hide anything, can I?” you mutter tiredly. Nat tugs on your hair again and you hiss at the action. “I’m fine, Nat. Just trying to settle my mind.”

“Of what?” 

You take a deep breath debating whether it was a good idea to tell her of your past week with Loki. 

Nat despised him with every fiber of her being, but you… you didn’t. 

“Loki’s been a great teacher considering I’m a ticking time bomb...”  

“But?” Nat interrupts. 

“But,” you repeat with a huff. “I keep ruining everything with this stupid power.”

“You?” Nat asks, confused. “You ruined everything? Not him?”

“Nat…” 

“I’m sorry,” she sarcastically laughs. “That doesn’t make sense. You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“You don’t understand,” you sigh. “If you just let me explain…”

“Then explain.” 

You take a deep breath and turn away from the mirror to look at Natasha directly. 

“I have invaded everyone’s privacy. I’ve learned things I have no right knowing and revealed things without permission. You already know how guilty I felt because of it,” you explain. “Yet, Loki wasn’t one of them. He’s immune to my power as I am to his but I recently crossed a line and uncovered something I wasn’t supposed to.”

“What was it?” 

“You know I can’t tell you.” 

 Natasha huffs in response but shrugs her curiosity off. 

“So?” she asks. “What’s wrong then?” 

“I feel really bad about it, Nat, and he’s avoiding me and I just want to apologize to him because I invaded his privacy but he won’t even let me get close to him to do it.”

“He doesn’t need an apology,” Nat scoffs. “He’s a grown man. He can lick up his wounds and move on.” 

You’re starting to regret confiding in her about your situation but Loki has yet to teach you how to evade telling the truth without necessarily resorting to lying.

“I apologized to you and everyone after my first outburst,” you remind her. “You didn’t need me to but I’m sure it helped.”

Natasha lets out a breath but she knew you had a point. 

“Loki doesn’t deserve your kindness.” 

She’s being honest with her opinion but you don’t feel the same way. 

“I think differently,” you answer. “I think it’s been a long time since Loki’s been treated with some kindness.” 

Natasha's eyes narrow down at you. 

“Do you…” she hesitates. “What exactly is your relationship with him?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Are you acquaintances? Friends? Or is it more?” 

You’re surprised at the question. 

“I guess we’re friends?” you answer unsurely. “Mentor and student seems weird so yeah… friends.” 

Natasha seems unconvinced but she doesn’t speak up on it. Instead, she motions you to face forward again so she could finish up with your hair.

“So do you think I’ll have time to slip out to apologize or am I going to have to wait until the party?” 

Nat can’t avoid the snort from escaping her promptly earning her a confused look from you. 

“Loki doesn’t go to the parties,” she tells you. “Not since I could remember.” 

“Then why did he come with us in the jet?” 

“Maybe because he has to monitor you and we have to monitor him?” 

Nat’s right but you can only hope that Loki might prove her wrong. 

“If he’s there… apologize to him,” Nat tells you hoping to ease the scowl that was settling on your face. “Just don’t expect him to forgive you. He’s not apologetic, far less forgiving.”

TTSWL Tag: @catsladen @is-it-madness @manyfandoms-marvel @mejusttryintogetby @illogicalfangirl @ariel-snow-tmnt @islinglivesinshire @musicconversedance @missmadwoman @smaranshakthi @adaydreamingdragon @poetic-fiasco @like-a-wildfire @jasminecalia @ha-tep @charbokbok @setsuna-meiou31 @ms-blvck @country-cowgirl-101 @bepo-is-sorry @hufflautia @waitforthehurricanrose @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @sanniegirl1214 @telenari @anonymouscastiel12 @ddaeing​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-nightshade @aoirohi @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @just-a-donut-who-reads @day-dreaming-fox @heykathchuu​

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @ariel-snow-tmnt @badhollandfluff @what-a-flammable-heart

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter Eight (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, murder, HEAVY GORE, mentions of FORCED PROSTITUTION.

wc; 12k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

If it weren’t for the irritating sun rays landing right on your face and into your eyes, you’d bask in this warm feeling forever. It’s like receiving an embrace from spring, herself. Bright sunlight, tolerable temperatures, bees, flowers, sundresses, picnics and comfortable afternoons in the park with your family. You can’t count how many good memories you have from grass fields and playgrounds in District Four.

Watching Alyssum run around the park, making friends and being a kid while she can is the most satisfying part. You can watch her for hours, lose yourself in her carelessness. Your sister hasn’t got a worry in the world to think about, it makes you envy her. A nice house, warm meals, a loving family. None of you are perfect, but you try to be for her.

There’s a lot she’s going to be missing out on already when it comes to parents. She has you, Reed and Mox to fill those roles for her. You’d like to say she can’t miss something she’s never experienced, you’d be lying, though. You miss a regular teenage life that you never got to live, thanks to the Hunger Games. The Capitol is always ruining something, even if they’re not actively trying.

Which brings you back to reality. As much as you’d like to lay here in the soft blankets and keep to your warm spot on the bed, you’ve got to get moving. If the sun is in your eyes already, it only means that your time is up when it comes to sleeping. Like a natural alarm clock, only somehow more annoying, even if it’s not loud and in your face.

You turn onto your back, slowly opening your eyes. You’re met with a white ceiling, smooth and crack-free. Back home in your room, your ceiling has plenty of cracks. When you don’t feel like getting up immediately, you’ll play a game with yourself. See which ones will start on one side of the room and make it to the other. You’ve gotten good at it, and confidently say that there’s a few that go beyond that, they go to the windowsill. 

With a gentle sigh, you sit up on the bed, turned toward the window, stretching your arms above your head. It feels good to get the blood pumping through your arms and shoulders again. You can’t really help it when the stretch extends down to your legs. A low moan leaves your lips, and stops dead in your throat when your thighs begin to hurt.

You hum, standing on your feet. It hurts at first, but the more you move around the room, the better you begin to feel. You stare out of the window for a couple of seconds to see that the Capitol is already alive. It’s definitely past noon at this point. So much for a rotating schedule with Finnick, you’ve already ruined it.

You look over the room you’re in, which definitely isn’t your own. It’s Finnick’s, with the bamboo bed frame, white sheets and the hammock across his room. You used to hear him say how much he enjoyed your room over his, something about the ceiling to floor windows that you have. Takes up an entire wall, gives you a great view of the city. Better than the tiny windows he has lining the wall.

The clock says that it’s a little after two. You two really have got to start moving before you miss out on anything inside of the arena. Not to mention, poor Gloss is sitting down there alone. He hasn’t had a friend to sit with since six this morning. A whole eight hours can be boring as hell, and quite frankly, lonely. He might have resorted talking to the sponsors, at this point.

Finnick is still sleeping on the bed, of course. His back is turned to the sun, explaining why he hasn’t woken up just yet. It’s not going to stay that way for very long. You’d leave him sleeping up here if it weren’t for the fact that it’s entertaining to see him hungover. It’s not often you get to see him like that, and you’re not really willing to pass up an opportunity. Plus, you might as well keep him around as company so it doesn’t get awkward later.

Before you wake him up, you find and put on your bra. He got to see all of you last night, there’s no reason to continue to walk around shirtless. You pick up your pants, and tank top, as your shoes are kicked off by the door. You begin to pull on your jeans, having to bounce slightly to pull them up all the way, when Finnick rolls over.

He groans, throwing his arm over his face to keep the sun from getting in his face. You’re satisfied to see that he’s about to get the same unpleasant wakening that you got, until you realize that his arm completely blocks out the light. What a shame, you were looking forward to watching him come to life like a zombie.

“Hey,” your voice is soft, not really wanting to disturb the peace. He doesn’t seem to hear you, or maybe you’re too quiet. You speak a little louder, “We should probably get down to the betting room, check on our tributes.”

Finnick freezes, and then jolts upright. His wide eyes land on you easily, face twisting as he slowly thinks over the scene in front of him. You pull on your tank top, raising your eyebrows as you wait for him to come to the conclusion himself. After a couple more seconds, he hums out a small tune and falls back onto his pillows, closing his eyes.

“I thought I was still at a client’s house for a second.” he breathes.

“Good morning,” you muse, “How are you feeling?”

“Besides the pounding headache, my back’s pretty messed up.” his eyes open, giving you a sly smirk. You grab one of his shoes, which aren’t as close to the door as yours are, and chuck it at him. Finnick laughs loudly, catching the shoe before it makes a hole in the wall, “I’m fine, considering that I finished half of your drink last night on top of mine.”

“One of us had to be responsible, and I figured that you wouldn’t want to be the one.”

“The next time we go out, I’m going to make you loosen up.” Finnick says.

“If you’re calling me uptight, I’ll shove a stick up your ass so you can see how it feels.” you lean against the wall.

He rolls his eyes, getting out of bed. He’s got a pair of boxers on, so he’s not completely naked either, “How are you feeling?”

“Well rested, actually. Your bed is pretty comfortable.”

“You’re welcome to sleep here any time.” Finnick says, kicking yesterday’s jeans into the corner, as well as the shirt.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” you snort, collecting your shoes, “I’m going to take a shower and get ready. I’ll see you in the dining room.”

“Sure.”

You leave his room, shutting the door behind you. In your own, you quickly change and throw the dirty clothes off to the side for easy collecting when the avoxes come around later. It’s not as hot inside of the Tribute Center as it was yesterday, but the heat is still apparent enough to be one of the first things on your mind. You settle for a pair of shorts, sandals and a white tank top.

You throw the pile of clothes onto the bathroom countertop. The door whooshes shut behind you, sending a cold breeze of air straight to your back. Much like yesterday, you turn the shower water to cold, just on the verge of being warm. You decide to skip getting your hair wet, since you don’t really have time to mess around. It’s a quick wash with sweet smelling soaps before you’re out again.

As you’re drying yourself with the cyan blue towel, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. And with what you see the first time briefly, you have to go back to check that you saw correctly. A scowl appears on your face when you get closer, fingers gently brushing against your collarbone. Little dark marks litter your skin. 

You press your lips together, staring for a couple of seconds longer. You have no choice, you have to cover these up. So, you pull on your clothes and get to work with the makeup, trying to find colors that’ll cancel out the hickey colors. You spend a good ten minutes blending, color correcting, and starting over when it’s too obvious. When you’re finally done, you can still tell that they’re there, but it won’t be the first thing anyone sees when they look at you.

You’d just wear a regular shirt if it weren’t for the fact that you’re already sweating with the tanktop on. You put on the sandals on your way out, making sure your ring is secured on your hand. Finnick is already sitting at the dining room table when you get out there, hair wet and he’s dressed in pink and white.

“Took you long enough.” he says, stabbing his fork into a pancake piece and placing it in his mouth.

You glare as you sit down on the chair, “I had a problem. Actually, you gave me a couple of problems and I solved them.”

His face twists, eyeing you now, trying to find the difference. When a plate of pancakes is served in front of you, plate hot to the touch, you cut up the pancakes, slightly amused by his determination to try and prove you wrong. Does he really think that he’ll be able to? You’ve gone through this plenty of times before with Anchor.

Finnick shrugs, “Whatever you say.”

At least now you have insurance that you did a good job. Finnick might be some type of moronic but that doesn’t mean he misses details. It’s the small things that you have to look out for. Another skill that you need when you’re mentoring, another thing to add to the list that you’ve gotten good at after these years. From what you remember, Finnick’s not too bad at it, himself.

The avox turns on the tv without either of you asking, but you thank him anyway. As you go for fruits instead of syrup this morning, you catch up on the arena with Finnick. Sanguin is in the cornucopia, a fire going in front of her. She’s got some sort of animal skewered using her sword, roasting it over the fire. She looks pissed, staring into the fire, letting the flames flicker in her eyes. 

You’d like to say that she finally lost her mind, but she lost it a long time ago. Way before Bauhinia. Maybe while she was being strategically trained to think that the other tributes in the arena were animals? Or maybe when she volunteered for the Hunger Games like it would be a walk in the park? It’s hard to say exactly, there’s a lot of moments in these past few weeks where she could’ve gone wrong.

At any rate, she’s got enough water to last her a while. You can confidently say that she won’t be leaving the cornucopia unless it’s to get more food. There’s no way that the sponsors are going to cough up any money just for her to eat. Especially when she’s supposed to be trained for the arena. She should know how to hunt and gather. Besides, you’re sure that Gloss would want them to wait until it’s something important, like that healing cream. Even then, it took a couple of people to pitch in. The prices are getting amped up, it’s harder to pay for things now.

You have a feeling that she’s sitting down there for a reason, instead of going off and trying to hunt down any other tributes. She’s healed by now, you watched her put more healing cream on her body last night before she decided to call it a night. Which means that this morning, the entire wound has got to be gone. She’s still going to be sore when moving around, but that’s an obvious nuisance. She technically should be able to work through it.

So, if she’s not interested in hunting Tekla, that means she’s waiting for Annie to come out of the village. And you’d say that’s a pretty big problem, except for the fact that it’s not. Annie’s got plenty of food and water from her raid on the career backpacks and whatever Marsh was holding before he died. If she doesn’t want to, she won’t have to leave the house unless it’s for some sort of Capitol-generated emergency.

After yesterday, you can’t see them doing something like that. You don’t even think that both tributes dying were intentional. They like to watch the last couple of teens fight it out, since they’re the ones that are either: one, completely trained for the arena and know how to take another tribute out with a simple tree branch and a rock. Or, they’re completely lucky and know how to blend into their surroundings and stay there until the Capitol is forced to step in. They only do it when there’s been several days without any interaction between tributes and the Capitol citizens are starting to riot.

Those tributes are the ones that can go days without food. Water, not so much, but they’ll find a source nearby and stick with it as long as they can without getting suspicious. It’s not an impressive feat to go days without eating, it just goes to show the horrible living conditions inside of the other districts. Fortunately, your family hit rock bottom, but you never had to keep digging.

As for Annie, she’s still looking pretty dead inside of her house. She’s moved to a different corner that gives her a better look to see. It looks like she’ll doze off for a second before jerking upright, hand tightening around her sword. You saw her sleep last night, it was the whole reason why you and Finnick decided it was acceptable to leave the betting room in the first place. With the peace of mind of knowing that Annie was finally getting the rest she needed.

When you were at the bar, you didn’t really keep track of what was going on inside of the arena. Which, looking back on it, probably wasn’t a brilliant idea in the first place. If there was an emergency with Annie, knowing as soon as possible would’ve hypothetically saved her life. But you also just wanted one moment for yourself, with Finnick and a drink. It wasn’t much to ask for, and you’re sure that it was well-deserved. If it wasn’t, Annie would be dead in a ditch right now.

To some extent, she might as well be. While Sanguin is fueled with hate-fire right now--literally. Annie looks like her soul has been ripped out of her body. She’s pale, the previous kind girl light in her eyes is gone. She looks like a corpse, freshly pulled out of the coffin. You wish you’ve seen this before, because maybe that would make it easier to understand why she isn’t grieving like normal. Normally, tributes cry for hours, sometimes days until they have to pull it together to win. Annie is just… she’s completely lifeless. Actually, she looks like she’s given up with trying to survive inside of the arena. Which is a dangerous mindset to adapt, especially now.

Just two more tributes to burn through, all she has to do is hold on. Let Sanguin and Tekla fight it out, hope that one kills the other, and the one gets severely injured enough to bleed out and die. It would make the whole thing a lot easier on her, you know that. The last thing she’d probably need on her plate right now, is another death. She’s already got two genuinely impressive ones--taking out the male careers? You’re the only other person who has done that in the past five years. And she’s witnessed the death that would affect her, and it’s taking its toll already. It’s been two days.

Well, as long as Annie stays where she is, eats, drinks and sleeps when she needs to, she won’t have to worry about anything. However, this idea also goes for Sanguin, on the assumption that Tekla isn’t bold enough to go ahead and attack her uninvited. Sanguin’s also set for days--if she has extra food stored somewhere in the case of emergencies.

The only person that might get bored and start causing havoc is Tekla. She’s in the woods by herself, in a patch of grass unguarded by trees. She lays in the sun with her eyes closed, hands laced behind her head. Looking exactly like she did on the first couple of days inside of the arena. This time, she has a good reason to be carefree. Before, she had more than ten other tributes to worry about, all fighting to go home. Now it’s down to two others. It should be a walk in the park, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s being put up against two careers.

You wonder what her odds look like right now. They hadn’t changed last night, not even after she killed Seven boy. But now that it officially looks like she’s going to make it to one of the final fights and be crowned victor, she’s gotta have moved up. District Nine hasn’t had a victor in a long, long time. Their last one was a guy, and he’s the first male to be put into the mentor spot. If you remember correctly, there’s only five victors in Nine, which means that four of them are female. 

Figures that their new potential victor would be a girl, right?

It looks like you don’t really have anything to worry about arena-wise. Really, if you wanted to, you could just stay inside of the apartment. With half-alive Annie, vengeful Sanguin and cheerful Tekla, it’s safe to say that today’s a free day. Things could change, but that’s just your prediction. The only reason you’d have to go down to the betting room is to show up for Gloss, but he doesn’t really matter, does he? You can just go and see him tomorrow.

“You’ve got a look on your face.” Finnick says, your eyes find him to see that he’s staring.

“So?” you stab a strawberry and place it in your mouth, resisting the momentary sour expression before the sweetness takes over.

“It’s your indecisive look.”

Now, your face twists, “I do not have an indecisive look--”

He laughs, “It’s unmistakable! You get the look when you’re thinking over something important.”

“Like a decision?” you ask, trying to be serious, but you end up laughing.

He seems to let it go for a moment, until he’s looking at you again, “What was it?”

You shrug, “I was just thinking that we wouldn’t have to go down to the betting room if we didn’t want to. The silence in the arena gives us a couple of liberties that we wouldn’t have on a normal day.”

“Oh, so you do have a relaxed side.” Finnick thoroughly enjoys the face you make, raising your fist as a threat to punch him in the arm again. You wonder how far he can push you before you finally give him a nasty bruise, “And you also woke me up for nothing.”

“Technically you woke yourself, I just spoke.” you shrug, “Can I get some more coffee?”

“Might as well go back to bed while I can, then.” Finnick says, but he doesn’t move from where he’s sitting.

You wait, receive your coffee, and let him stare at you for a little while, “What are you waiting for?”

“It wouldn’t be responsible--” he mocks the word in your voice, “--to go back to bed, wouldn’t it?”

You glare, “Finnick, you have the night shift, anyway. Stay awake, go back to bed, get drunk at The Victory Speech, have dinner with Gloss, I don’t give a shit.”

“You seem like you want me to go away.” he says, “I think I’ll stick with you, then.”

“Fine by me.” you scoop up your coffee mug, taking it with you when you go downstairs to sit on the couch. You pull out a coaster to not ruin the pristine glass table.

There’s not much to watch the tributes do at all. Sanguin roasts her food, and you think she ends up daydreaming some, because she burns the bottom side of the meat. Doesn’t even wrinkle her nose or look fazed when she bites straight into that part, even when it disintegrates in her mouth the more she chews. After she’s done eating, she moves to the back of the cornucopia, hiding behind a stack of boxes to take a nap.

Annie turns her knife over in her hand, spinning it between her fingers before she knicks herself one too many times. After that, she settles for pulling out a line of rope from her backpack, tying and untying knots. It’s a common hobby that people use to soothe anxiety and pass time when there’s nothing else to do. Doesn’t surprise you that she’s resorted to this. Although, you do begin to worry slightly when you watch her jump at the slightest of sounds and nearly get up every single time to check.

You’d say it’s a reasonable response, thinking that Sanguin is after her. But the house creaks the same way every time, lets out the same groan each time the wind blows too hard. It’s not like they’re new sounds. She should’ve picked up on this by now, realized that there’s no need to get ready to hurry into battle. Watching her grab her knife, lean forward, and listen for any other sounds over and over begins to make you feel antsy.

“There’s something wrong with Annie.” Finnick says.

You hum, “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you think it is?”

You shake your head, “Still working on that idea.”

“Anything you’ve seen before?”

“If I have, I don’t remember.” You lean back into the couch, “Let’s just wait and see how bad it gets.”

And the truth is, it gets worse, because it can always get worse. The good news is that you’ve figured out how to help her, on top of figuring out the problem in the first place. The bad news is that it requires a sponsor. And like you said earlier, all the prices have gone up. Getting one now would be a nightmare, but you have to try anyway.

As you go down to the betting room with Finnick, you think it over.

Annie is suffering from paranoia. She’s obviously shell-shocked from watching Marsh die, otherwise she would be acting normally. You guess that allowing two tributes that have known each other for a handful of years, go inside of the arena together wasn’t the brightest idea. But it’s not like you could control it. You don’t think that they even planned for it to happen, it was just a coincidence.

This is just one part of the problem, watching Marsh die. She also might be feeling guilty because she didn’t try harder to keep him from going. It makes the most sense. She tried to convince him to stay, but the second he showed resistance, she caved and followed. Guilt like this will haunt someone forever. If she wins, she’ll be stuck with thinking that Marsh could’ve gone a better way.

You know this, because you carry around a considerable amount of guilt, too.

The last part, concerning Annie, is the fact that she hasn’t slept in a while. Paranoia feeds off insomnia. Getting an hour or two of sleep after watching your friend die right in front of you, in arguably one of the worst ways possible, is an unfortunate series of events. She can’t prevent not being able to sleep, so you’ll just help her as best as you can.

When you presented all of this to Finnick, he agreed. Said that he was thinking something along the lines of what you are. The only hiccup that he’s worried about is finding sponsors wealthy enough to sponsor this late into the games. They also have to be betting on her too, so that if she does win, they’ll get the return in full. 

The betting room seems slightly busier than usual. Like you predicted earlier, Gloss decided to go ahead and take company in the Capitol people. Tekla’s mentor seems busy off in the corner, with people that don’t look like they nearly have enough money to sponsor this late in the game. It wouldn’t be any use trying to steal them, just a waste of time.

Gloss knows people, but that would mean to interrupt what he’s doing right now, which seems fairly important. The group of people that Finnick had approved of is thin, pooling their money together wouldn't even buy a loaf of bread. Much less what you’re thinking about right now.

It only leaves a couple of people, ones you haven’t talked to in days. You stop a couple of steps inside of the room, allowing Finnick to come in and shut the door behind him. He waits there for a moment, before coming around the side.

“What are you waiting for?” His voice is slightly hushed. No one has really taken notice of your appearance just yet. If needed, you could probably slip out the door and no one would know the difference. 

You look at him.

You made an agreement, take his advice on who to be around and who to stay away from, and he’ll help you. You thought that it would be easy then, because you didn’t need the sponsors. Annie and Marsh had a strategy down, they didn’t look like they’d be needed help anytime soon. They had everything they needed at the moment. But now that Annie needs something more, you’re stuck.

Having Finnick around to be a second body, a second pair of hands and eyes and ears, has made a difference. You’ve slept well, you’ve been allowed to hang out with friends when given the opportunity, and you can finally pace yourself. No more running around like it’s life or death, or being afraid to sleep because an arena is particularly dangerous. 

However, you can do it alone. Annie’s needs right now is going to come before whatever requirements Finnick has. Bringing a tribute home is crucial, buddying with Finnick is a perk. If he gets mad at you for this, there's always next year.

“I need you to come with me and not intervene, or go back upstairs.” You say, squeezing the finger your ring is on.

His face twists, “It depends—“

“No. You go upstairs, or you don’t intervene.” You start towards the sponsors, “I mean it, Finnick.” 

You’re not even halfway across the room before they spot you. You smile at them, letting them welcome you. When you don’t feel Finnick’s presence behind you like normal, you turn to look. The door is sweeping shut, you briefly catch a glimpse of him leaving. 

The sponsors are happy to see you again, you talk with them for a while, and watch what goes on inside of the arena. It’s all small talk, or questions about what you feel like is going to happen. Until they finally bring up Annie, how she’s doing. And just because you can’t hold it in, you spill it all out, being completely honest with them. 

Annie is hurting right now, and she can’t help it. She can’t simply fall asleep because she’s afraid of the nightmares and the vulnerability that comes with it. There’s always the possibility that her body simply isn’t letting her sleep, too. She’s not physically tired, so why would she lay down and try? So, you think that if you find something that’ll make her drowsy, she’ll feel more inclined to.

You can’t guarantee that it’ll work, but it’s worth a try if it means that she wins the games, right? The sponsors seem to think so, and with a budget, you bring them over to the sponsoring table. Everything under the sun is allowed to be sent to them. Name it, and thye’re probably have it. It’s just the price that makes it impossible to work around.

You know for sure that pills are out of the question. The second you see the price, you’re switching gears. Medicine? Maybe. You look at all the options they have for tributes for when they’re sick. You’ve seen a handful of these brands in District Four, all of them expensive. With the money that the Capitol gives you, you can finally afford them. Which means that Alyssum doesn’t have to suffer through colds like before. The medicine works wonders, but the Capitol version will be too much for her to handle. It might as well be a tranquilizer.

Something more natural, then. Those are always cheaper. You go through it, seeing the little vials of brightly colored liquids and the contents. Ones to make you throw up, give adrenaline if the tribute is dying, allergy medicine to save them from anaphylactic shock. And finally, one for sleeping. Without a moment of hesitance, you tap on it.

They all pitch in a certain amount, allowing the vial to be covered in full. You thank them, with assurance that it won’t go to waste. Annie is a tough tribute, she’ll be able to win. All she needs is a little sleep to reset her body, hopefully start her over. It’s like shutting something completely off before trying again.

You take a breath before writing on the paper, ‘Drink it all’.

You get to stand back and watch as the gamemakers find the best way to send it to her. You don’t doubt that she’ll hear the noise that the gifts make. Especially if she’s hearing noises that aren’t being picked up on the microphones. It’s where they have to drop it off to make sure it doesn’t get caught on anything on the way down, like a corner of a roof.

The chiming is a sound that you still hear in your nightmares. You watch as the silver parachute glides through the air, slowly moving between the houses. At first, it doesn’t seem to alarm Annie, but then she jolts, pauses to make sure she’s hearing it right, and then gets up. She shoves her knife into her belt, carefully goes down the stairs so that it doesn’t break beneath her.

She looks more alive like this, the color has returned to her face slightly, she’s got a smile hinting at the corner of her lips. When she finally comes out of the house, swinging the door open and letting in the natural light, she cries out in shock and covers her eyes. She mutters out a few curse words, squinting through the sun until her eyes adjust.

She spots the gift in the middle of the walkway. The smile grows more, scooping the tin into her hand. She gives the area around her a little look-around before disappearing back into the house, shutting the door and locking it. Even though it looks like the lock won’t do much for her anymore. The doorknob is practically falling off.

She makes it all the way to the third floor, back into the corner of her room. She slips down the wall and pops open the lid of the container. The first thing that Annie sees inside is the note, which she reads over carefully before moving it out of the way for the vial. It’s small, not at all as big as they normally sell them earlier on, but those ones also have the tendency to knock a person out for a whole day. This will just keep her asleep for a few hours, maybe the entire night if she drinks it now. You hope that she’ll be up at a reasonable time tomorrow.

Annie uncaps it carefully, and takes a small sniff. You can’t imagine that she recognizes the smell, even though it is sort-of distinct. If the medicine is fresh, it’ll usually smell sweet. If it’s not, then it’s stale, maybe a little sour. Obviously, one is more desirable than the other, but it works the same either way. Whether or not it’s fresh doesn’t affect the way it works.

When Annie is satisfied with the smell, she goes ahead and caps it again. There’s no directions, so she’s going to have to decide how she wants to do this. The sun will be setting in an hour, maybe two. Annie eats some dry foods, drinks some water. It’s smart, her wanting to get food into her body beforehand. If it were you, you probably would’ve just settled for drinking it straight, it might have worked faster that way.

She drinks it, slipping to the floor. She pulls the sleeping bag over herself, closing her eyes. It’s going to take a second to kick in, but it’s enough time for you to go upstairs and out of the betting room. You’ll be back down here bright and early tomorrow, there’s no point spending more time than you have to.

You thank the sponsors, shake hands and exchange hugs. Before you leave the room, you see that the Afternoon Line Odds are all the same. Sanguin’s is 2-1, Annie is 3-1, Tekla is 7-1. All very good odds, but not as good as Sanguin. Hopefully, that’ll change within the next couple of days. You leave the room before Gloss can see that you’re down there.

You spent a good hour or so just talking to the sponsors. The fastest part was getting them to agree on sending Annie a gift. It wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be. Finnick makes all of them out to be like criminals, constantly looking for their next fix. But they understand that you’re not like that. They can have their eyes on you all they want, it’s not going to happen. 

Just before you go inside of the apartment, you’re sure that Finnick isn’t going to be out in the living room, or he’s not going to be inside of the apartment all together. However, when you step inside, you’re surprised to see that he’s on the couch, his arms crossed. He doesn’t bother to look over, not even after you shut the door. You almost feel guilty for doing what you did.

Almost.

You sit on the couch next to him, pull your legs up beneath you, and sit in silence. There’s no point to try and talk to him right now. You know that he’d probably like a moment to cool off. It might even be better if you didn’t sit in here at all, so he won’t be fuming next to you. But it’s not like you have much of a choice. You can’t just go back downstairs and sit in the betting room, that would be stupid. If Finnick’s right about the sponsors, there’s no reason to stay around them more than you have to.

So, silence it is. It’s a while before either of you have anything to talk about. Annie should be asleep by now, an entire hour later. There’s no way that the vial would take more than five minutes, even with a full stomach. Still, you watch as her eyes open, a frown appearing on her face, eyebrows turning in.

Your mouth falls open, you stand from the couch, “That’s not good.”

“What did you give her in the first place?” Finnick asks.

“It’s one of those natural sleeping medicines, the expensive ones?” you briefly look at him, before you go back to the tv, “Costed a fortune, so it should’ve worked. The gamemakers wouldn’t send a dud, right?”

“Probably not.” 

You sit back down onto the couch, hands falling into your lap. You made sure that it was the sleeping medicine, and not the sick stuff either. The only other option that was left for Annie besides this, was the herbal tea. And that shit hardly ever works for you, or your siblings when you use it back home. The most the tea would do anyway, is make her drowsy, not even a guarantee.

It’s a good thing that you didn’t even consider the tea, because if the vial did nothing, Annie would be able to drink the entire box of tea and still not feel a single thing. The medicine was a waste of money, and who knows what it’s going to do to her. Make her even more delirious than she already is? Like she, or you guys, need that at all. You were already worried over her paranoia, now you’ve got to be worried about her accidentally killing herself?

There’s nothing you can do about it now. You’ve just got to sit back and wait to see if it kicks in, after all. There’s no point in going downstairs to tell the sponsors it was some sort of mistake, because you really didn’t know that this was going to happen. If you did, you probably wouldn’t have bothered in the first place. Everything is worth a try until it’s wasting resources. You might have been able to use the sponsor money later on.

Still, you have to sit and painfully watch as Annie progressively gets worse. Turns out, that if you don’t fall asleep with the medicine, it starts to work as a hallucinogenic. On top of Annie’s paranoia, she’s not hallucinating she’s hearing noises, and maybe even seeing things. You close your eyes and rest them against your palms when you lean forward, not really liking to hear Annie go through it.

It’s stupid. You’re not even sure how Annie’s resisting the drug, anyway. She’s not doing it on purpose, she clearly recognized the smell if she laid down immediately after. And it’s not like they had any sort of drugs available for hallucinations. No mentor would willingly give their tributes something like that, so why would it be offered?

No matter what happens, though, you’re glad to see that Annie doesn’t leave the house. She stays where she is, clutching onto her knife, staring into space. She’s just like how she was before you sent her the sponsor gift. Only this time around, she’ll randomly jump as if there’s been a loud sound, and then her eyes will follow things in front of her, even when there’s nothing there.

Elysia comes into the apartment around the same time you guys normally eat dinner, a little out of breath, “Oh, there you guys are!”

You look over your shoulder to see that she’s dressed in lime green and black. The black helps accentuate the green part, which you’re not really sure is a good thing. You’re sure that everyone can see her coming from a mile away, literally. 

“You were looking for us?” you ask, she nods, heading over to you and Finnick.

“In the betting room, I thought you’d be down there since you normally are.”

Figures that the one time you wouldn’t be down there, she’d go, “Looked like there wasn’t much going on today so I thought we could stay up here. I only went down there to send the gift.”

“I saw that.” she says, “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

You three do it over dinner. With Elysia hardly eating and doing most of the talking, Finnick watching the tv and only chiming in when he’s needed, and you trying to do all three at the same time. It’s easy for the most part. Remember when you said that you got good at multitasking? This is an example of that.

She mostly tells you what you already figured out, which is that it turns out to be a hallucinogenic after a while. It should wear off, but it’ll take hours to do. Like, for the amount of time she should have been asleep for. She’s already got a couple of hours under her belt, you’d say that by tomorrow morning, she’ll be back to normal. So, there’s no reason to sit around and wait. 

You and Finnick can get a full night of sleep for once. You just have to get up early tomorrow morning to assess the damage. You’re sure that it’ll be fairly easy to do, you’ll have to get yourself into the habit of waking up early again, anyway. You’ve got the boarding school to worry about. Anchor won’t want to do it alone forever.

Before you give it up tonight, you check the tv one last time. Annie is in her room, so she’s fine. Sanguin looks like she’s officially laying down to sleep, her weapons are displayed around her, all ready to be picked up and used at any time. As for Tekla, she’s made a bed in her little clearing in the trees. However, she’s bold, with a fire going that is distinguishable in the dark. She’s lucky that the back of the cornucopia is turned towards her, otherwise Sanguin would be more than tempted to take Tekla out.

You head back to your room after dinner, mainly to brush your teeth. You pace in your room for a moment, caught in the decision of whether or not to talk to Finnick or to leave him to be angry on his own. You’re sure that he’d appreciate being by himself, but there’s also this morning and last night to talk about. You can’t really just leave those alone, who knows what kinds of problems they’ll cause in the future.

“Okay.” you sigh, heading out of your room and to his. You knock on his door, waiting a second, “Finnick?”

It’s a couple more beats of silence, “Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

You open the door to see that Finnick is sitting on the corner of the bed. He looks up when you step inside, you shut it behind you, and lean against the door, “I’m sorry about earlier. I know we had an agreement, but the sponsors were at my disposal. I decided that I might as well, because I was sure that it would work.”

“And it should’ve.” Finnick mutters, “I would just like it if you wouldn’t go and do it again.”

“Yeah, I won’t. I don’t even have the options for it.” you laugh slightly, he cracks a smile, “You should probably know that I prioritize my mentoring job over everything else. If it’s the needs of the tributes versus you, I’m going to pick the tributes every time.”

“I know, you don’t have to be sorry for it.”

“Good, cause I wasn’t.” you grin.

Finnick rolls his eyes, “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“You can probably guess what it is.” 

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the horribly covered up hickeys, would it?” He’s cheeky now.

“Maybe.” you give him a soft smile, “I’d just like to know what we’re doing, and if we’re going to continue on with it.”

Finnick makes a face, “This is going to sound like shit, but I’ll go with what you want.”

“You’re right, it does sound like shit.” he laughs first, and then you join in, “The thing is, Finnick, is that I don’t have a problem with it. But the last time I checked, you were the one that told me that we weren’t good together. So are you sure that you’ll go with what I want, or are you going to break up with me in a couple of months after you realize it again?”

Finnick opens his mouth, and then closes it. “I deserve that.”

“It wasn’t an explanation, Finnick. In fact, it made things worse when we were just fine on the train, and then you come back from seeing Snow and--!” you’re shaking your head, giving yourself a moment before you start speaking again, “and suddenly I was supposed to know that we weren’t together anymore.”

“But you know why now, right?” Finnick asks.

“Parts of it.” you rub on the ring, “I know that it was because of Snow and the sex work. He made you break up with me to make you more available to the Capitol, right?”

“No, I actually made that decision myself.” he says.

You raise your eyebrows.

Finnick stares, tilts his head for a moment like he’s unsure, “There’s more to it.”

You wait, thinking that he’s just going to give up the information, but he doesn’t, “Okay…?”

“I don’t want to make you feel guilty.”

“Then why’d you say anything at all?” 

He laughs, “To not make me look like an asshole.”

You snort.

“Alright well,” Finnick pauses, “President Snow had me taken to his mansion after the train, you know this. He told me that it’s not uncommon for victors to be well received by the Capitol, but I was different because I was handsome or whatever,” his face twists, “And since I was sixteen, I was finally eligible since it’s more morally correct to sell a teen into sex slavery when they’re sixteen and not fourteen.

“Snow said that I didn’t have a choice. I had to get into it or…” Finnick shakes his head, “There wasn’t even an or at the time. He just said that it was something I had to do, and I told him no, because I was finally feeling better and I had you. Then he urged me to say yes, didn’t even tell me that there would be consequences, so I told him no again….”

He’s angry, “And he fucking killed my entire family, gave the order right in front of me. I thought he was kidding, like it was some sort of sick joke until I had to fucking listen to it.” Finnick looks at you, “He didn’t even flinch when the screaming started, or when my brother started crying. I didn’t even know what to do. And after it was over he told me that the next person he’d kill next would likely be you, or your family if he could get to them. Or worse, sell your body too.”

You can feel the blood drain from your face.

“And I didn’t want that to happen, so I said yes. And then I broke up with you because I hoped that it would make the decision a whole lot easier but I think…” he grits his teeth, “I know it would’ve been easier with you to support me.”

No words form in your mouth, you stand in silence as you try to absorb the information.

“I’m…” your eyebrows draw in, “...selfish.”

“No.” Finnick says, “You’re not. You didn’t know, how were you supposed to? I told you nothing, I wanted a clean cut but it turned out to be messy, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, Finnick?” you look at him, “I’ve been giving you a hard time--why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you come around later?”

“Because you moved on, like you should’ve.”

“I didn’t!” you laugh, moving forward, “Finnick, I hardly spoke to anyone after the year we broke up. My brothers fucking hated you for that entire year because of it. It took forever to convince them otherwise. The entire time, I was hoping that you were going to come around and tell me that it was some stupid prank. I would’ve forgiven you!”

He gives you a smile, “It’s better that I didn’t.”

You give him a look, and then sit on the hammock, “I guess that explains a lot.”

“You guess?” He laughs, “That’s it?”

“There’s not much to say, Finnick.” you shrug, “You said you didn’t want to make me feel guilty and I do anyway.”

“I didn’t have a choice. If you want, you could thank me for saying yes.”

You stare at him, he develops a cheeky smile, “Come on, that was mildly funny.”

“Mildly is the key word.”

The two of you sit in silence for a second, and then you dip your head, “I would be willing to give it another try, if you are.”

“Yeah.”

He’s got a grin on his face, like you just told him he’s getting a car for christmas.

“My brother’s will have to warm up to you again.” you warn him.

“Okay! They liked me before, right? What’s one more time?”

“They hardly give out second chances so you’ll have to consider yourself lucky.”

Finnick softly smiles, “I already am.”

--

A sharp pain in your chest wakes you in the morning. Your eyes shoot open, sitting upright in bed. It spreads immediately, like your heart is pumping it out; the source of the problem. You try and take a deep breath, hoping that you’ll get your mind off of it, but it makes the pain worse. Mid-breath, you stop, and exhale too deeply, causing another shock to go through you.

A groan leaves your lips, tears appearing in your eyes. You carefully get out of bed, wanting to be on your feet, hoping that laying down was the problem. You make no sudden moves, allowing the blood to make its way to your feet as you pace the room. With your palm, you rub small circles around your chest, which seems to relieve some of the pressure.

The clock on the stand reads eight in the morning, four hours before you actually have to get up and get ready for the day. You have a feeling that if you go and lie back down now, right when the pain is beginning to subside, you’re only going to make it worse. Plus, you don’t think that you’ll be able to fall back asleep, not with the adrenaline running through your body.

You take deep breaths when it doesn’t hurt, starting to feel dizzy from the self-hyperventilation. In no time, the pain is almost completely gone, only lingering in aches every now and then. You stand around for a few minutes longer, watching the sun rise high enough to finally come through the window before deciding that you might as well get ready.

The Tribute Center seems to have found its happy medium between too hot and too cold, as last night it was like existing in a frozen tundra. You’re lucky that the blanket they provide retains heat, otherwise you would’ve been bundled up a lot more than you were. Because of this, you think that you can settle for a lukewarm shower.

You lock your bedroom door before disappearing into the bathroom. The shower runs in the background as you undress, throwing all the dirty clothes by the door. You look over the tattoo on your collarbone, which is practically done healing by now. With the cream that the tattoo artist gave you, it doesn’t take weeks to heal like it does in the districts. As for the one on the back of your neck, it looks like it was done yesterday, when really it was years ago.

When you step inside the shower, you allow the water to run through your hair. You might as well wash it today. The shampoo you use smells like straight sugar, same goes for the conditioner. The bottle says it’s good for your hair, but the list of chemicals on the back is seriously concerning. The bathroom provides a matching body wash that smells exactly like the shampoo. You know for a fact that you saw a body lotion in one of the drawers, a part of you wonders if that’ll be overkill.

You turn the shower off and let the machines dry your body and hair. You decide to use the body lotion anyway, and by the time you realize that it’s glittery, it’s too late. You stare at your hands for a couple of minutes in shame, watching the white shimmer in the light. However, when it’s completely spread over your body and dried, it doesn’t transfer onto your surroundings, so that’s a good sign.

You brush your teeth while manually putting your hair together. You go for half-up, half-down since it’ll keep most of the hair out of your face. In the end, you still pull out a few strands to make sure that your face isn’t bland. Before you can do anything else, you have to get dressed.

The dresser holds plenty of skirts to work with, which you’re not opposed to. You sift through them, figuring that white will be fine. When you hold it up to your hip, you see that the skirt ends above the knee, so Finnick won’t have a reason to freak out. As for the shirt, you settle for a light pink, scoop neck bodysuit, with white underwear. When you finally get the entire outfit put together, you look at yourself in the mirror.

You’re very pretty today. The skirt doesn’t ride up too bad, even when you move quickly. The bodysuit prevents anything serious from showing, just in case the skirt does find a way to get stuck, or you spin too fast. You apply mascara, pull on white slip-on tennis shoes and the ring. Needless to say, you’re looking extremely girly today.

The clock says it’s reaching nine, you’d say that breakfast will take thirty, and then you can meet Finnick in the betting room at ten. So, you go out to the dining room to see that Elysia is nowhere to be seen. You refuse to believe that she left before you got up, she has to be sleeping in. Normal Capitol people stay up late and rise at noon. But then again, Elysia is an escort and she’s far from normal sometimes.

An avox turns on the tv, so you sit down at the table and wait as they serve brunch in front of you. It’s hashbrowns, steak, and a bowl of assorted fruit. You pick through your food, not super hungry and in the mood for all of it. Nevertheless, you’re sure to thank the avox that serves it to you, and continues to come back around to give you orange juice and coffee.

The arena screen is split into three, which isn’t new. It was like this last night, since there aren't many tributes to focus on at the moment. If there’s only three, you might as well show all of them and what they’re doing. At least one of them has to be doing something mildly interesting.

Tekla is still in her small clearing in the trees, which is fairly close to the dam, now that the gamemakers have marked it on the map. It’s a beautiful place to rest, you’d even picnic there if you had the opportunity. It’s not a good spot, though. It’s too close to the dam, too easy to kill her if and when it breaks. Still, she lays on her back, eyes closed. You can’t tell if she’s awake or not, but you’re going to guess that she is, judging by how her hands are intertwined over her stomach.

If she were sleeping, she’d probably be more annoyed by the sun. Instead, she’s directly under it, which might actually end up giving her a sunburn if she isn’t careful. That’ll be miserable to work with inside of the arena. You can’t even do anything to remedy the burn this far in, except for natural leaves and plants. You can’t think of any off the top of your head that you’ve seen so far.

Sanguin is in the cornucopia, she’s awake and stretching. She doesn’t look tired, despite the fact that it’s obvious that she just got up. Judging by her ratty blonde hair and the way her face twists each time she leans over. She stands up straight, and then grins slightly, turning around and going back inside. She combs through her hair with her fingers and sits on the edge of a box, sword right next to her. Maybe she’s planning on going out hunting today? You hope she doesn’t actually think she’ll get anything out of the village.

Especially with how awful Annie is looking. She’s got her arms wrapped around her body, knees pulled to her chest. The good news is that she looks to be asleep, mouth slightly open, leaned up against the connecting wall in the corner. But she’s got deep purple bags beneath her eyes, she’s only recently fallen asleep. You wonder how long it’ll last before she’s jolting awake.

It’s good that she’s sleeping, with no thanks to the medicine that you sent her. It probably drove her insane into early this morning, like you said would happen last night. You’d say that it’s a good thing, but with the way that Sanguin keeps looking to the village, it’s not. Annie needs to get up and be ready for a fight. Unfortunately, there’s no way you can warn her of this. You’re all out of options.

You finish your food, thank the avoxes, and leave for the betting room. There’s not a lot going on right now, it’s early morning. Everything big that happens in the arena is normally dedicated towards the afternoon to the evening, for the gamemakers at least. As for the tributes, they’re welcome to make and wreak havoc as they please, when they see fit. 

The betting room is quiet and empty when you get down there. Finnick and Gloss are sitting by each other on the couch. You hold the doorknob on the door, carefully setting it against the doorframe so that they won’t hear you. If they thought that you scaring them was bad when they were semi-expecting you, it’s going to be worse when you’re supposed to be sleeping.

You stand behind them for a moment, squinting down at them, wondering if they have the same sixth sense that you do when people are standing over you. Your question is answered when Finnick barely glances over his shoulder, and then jumps three feet in the air when he realizes that they’re not alone. Gloss has the same moment, inhaling sharply.

A laugh erupts from you as you go around the couch to sit on the arm next to Finnick, “You two are too easy.”

“You’re like a fucking ghost, I didn’t even hear you come in.” Gloss says.

“That was on purpose.” you cross a leg beneath your thigh, “Woke up early by accident, thought that it wouldn’t hurt to come down and keep you two company for a little while.”

“Well, the afternoon schedule was nice while it lasted.” Finnick mutters.

Your face twists, you look down at him, “You’re a bad liar. There’s no way you like waking up at midnight and going to bed at noon.”

Finnick tilts his head for a moment, making a face, “I mean…”

You slap the side of his head before he can say anything else, “You don’t have to prove you’re a teenage boy.”

The Morning Line Odds say that everyone is still at where they were yesterday, so there’s no need to take in new information. You’re really just left to sit and wait for anything important to happen inside of the arena. In the meantime, you talk to Finnick and Gloss about the unusual silence. With your guys’ luck, it’s not going to last very long. There’s no way that the gamemakers will allow two normal days in a row.

However, today’s the ninth day of the games. You’re sure they’re going to want to keep it going on for a little while longer, so maybe they will allow fate to be in the tribute’s hands. In that case, you all might as well buckle up for a long day, because it’s going to take hours for Sanguin to make it to Annie, with the pace she’s going right now.

It’s almost ten in the morning when people begin showing up inside of the betting room. All brightly dressed, and particularly chatty this morning. This is when you decide to officially sit between Finnick and Gloss, not wanting the sponsors to see that you’re in a skirt today. Finnick seems happy, which is all that matters.

Unfortunately, Annie wakes up. She jolts, eyes flying open as she reaches for her knife. She gets to her feet without a word, carefully making her way across the bedroom to the window, where she rubs it down to look outside of it. Her eyebrows are drawn together, staring straight at the dam. 

She seems satisfied for a second, gently nodding to herself. She goes to move away, until Sanguin comes into clear view. For half a second, you think to yourself that it’s a good thing that Annie is paranoid, because she just spotted the threat she’s been waiting for. After that, Annie scoops up all of her belongings, not leaving a single trace that she was there, besides the now-clean window.

She carefully goes down the steps, making it to the base floor without falling through the floorboards. Outside, she takes a deep breath, shuts the door and tries to jam some rocks beneath the door to make it harder to open. She tiptoes in grass to make sure that there’s no footprints, makes it a few houses over before she even considers walking through the dirt again.

None of it matters in the end.

A thunderous crack echoes throughout the arena so loudly that it breaks the microphones and makes several people scream out in surprise. You all watch in deafening silence as the dam continues to crack, and water begins to spurt out in large streams.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Today is the day.

You stand from the couch, moving a few feet forward to see better. Finnick and Gloss join you, not a single word passes between you three as you watch in awe. If such small cracks are already sprouting in streams big enough to create rivers, then how will the rest of the water fare? You have no choice but to wait and watch.

The screen is now in four, with one long screen on top completely dedicated to the dam, and three bottom squares for the tributes.

Tekla is on her feet, already rushing down the hill. She’s got no weapons on her hand, no backpack to weigh her down. She’s left it all behind in her peaceful circle in the woods. She whips through bushes, swings around trees, barely makes it over root and rocks on her way down. She’s freaked, struggling to keep her hair out of her face, constantly tucking it behind her ears.

Her feet look like they have a mind of their own, though. With the way that she goes down, it’s almost like she’s dancing, how flowery it is. However, her panic isn’t easily masked. She’s obviously shaking, and sometimes she’ll fuck up and have to catch herself before it’s too late.

Sanguin is standing on top of the hill, everything still on her as she stares at the water making its way towards her. Her eyebrows are pushed together, trying to assess the situation and if it’s worth worrying over. The answer is yes, because it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the concrete blows, and she’s left with a real problem. She slowly turns her back to it, picking up her pace, jogging through the grass. She’s still carrying all of herself.

And finally, Annie is also running through the buildings, just as panicked as Tekla is. The only thing that Annie has is her knife, clutched with white knuckles. She’s as white as a sheet too, breathing heavily through her mouth. You can empathize with her, even if she’s a while away, she knows that she can still be reached.

Another large crack sounds, Tekla slaps her hands over her ears and risks a glance behind her. There’s a jagged horizontal crack that runs from the right side to the left. It’s a matter of time before it goes. The concrete is spider-webbing, developing into a worse problem. Tekla tries to quicken her pace, but there’s only so fast you can go downhill before you risk hurting yourself.

Sanguin has dropped her things, running as fast as she did to catch up with Bauhinia. Her feet slam into the ground, and launch her forward another couple of feet before she’s connecting with the dirt again. She makes it across the second lower clearing, going uphill again. Those hills are going to be an absolute killer when it comes to the water.

The gamemakers are evil. It’s been exactly nine days, ten minutes and forty seconds since the tributes got inside of the arena. You said a week and a half? It hasn’t even been that. They’re in a hurry to get the big event over before one tribute can kill another. Why? Because it’s more fun cheering on the running tributes than watching them kill each other. It’s like betting on a running horse, who’s going to make it to the finish line first?

Annie stops, taking in deep breaths as she watches the dam through a row of trees. She’s able to watch as the final crack breaks the dam open like an egg. Concrete and debris go flying into the trees as the water creates a nasty flattening path through the woods. Almost every tree that the front water initially hits, is uprooted and brought with.

Tekla’s scream is piercing, lasting a couple of seconds before she’s completely cut off. She doesn’t die immediately, you’re able to watch as the water brings her along. She’s suspended in the middle, legs kicking, hands wrapped around her throat. She has half the mind to hold her breath, so that’s good news. The bad is that she’s a quarter mile underwater. There’s no way she’ll make it to the surface in time, if she did know how to swim.

You think you’ll have to watch her drown when she runs out of air, but an entire tree branch goes straight through her back and out the middle of her chest. Bubbles erupt around her face, hands grabbing the wood just before the cannon sounds. One down, three to go.

Sanguin has one more hill to make it up before she’s in the village. Her arms are pumping, face a bright red, her glances over her shoulder are quick and spared. She doesn’t do it often because it slows her down, it’s a brief check to see how far ahead she is in front of the water. And the truth is that it’s catching up on her. Just like you said, the hills are a nightmare.

Not only because she has to run up them, which tires her out more. But because the water gains momentum and unpredictability with every hill it surges over. The water doesn't seem to endlessly pour out of the dam, though. It seems like the gamemakers had a prepared forcefield. They just wanted to let out a controlled amount of water. Big enough to kill a couple of tributes before it thinned out and became a minimal threat.

Sanguin starts uphill the same moment the water hits the hill just behind her. Down it goes for a couple of seconds, before it’s surging above her in a giant wave. Sanguin makes it into the village, running beneath the roofs as if it’ll protect her from the water. She runs straight for a while, before starting to zig zag towards the corner. 

She must realize that it’s not worth it, and that the diagonal running only slows her down, because she goes back to running straight, heading closer and closer to where Annie had been staying. 

Speaking of which, Annie’s on the run again. You can tell that she’s keeping track of the height of the water. Even though the houses are decades old, they seem to be slowing down the water, since they’re all individually filling up inside. Sanguin doesn’t seem too focused on the fact, mostly wanting distance. She’s almost on the brink of losing it, though. Her steps are getting sloppier the more she goes.

Annie goes around a corner and into an alleyway, effectively blocking the water from her sight. It’s stupid, she’s not going to be able to keep track of it the same way she has. Sanguin has a point when it comes to running straight away from the water.

And then she starts climbing the walls. With how narrow the walkway is, she can scoot her way up little by little. It burns a lot of her time, and cranks up your anxiety, watching her do this. You know that she’s trying to get herself above the tide now. The houses where she’s at, are at least two stories tall each, not counting the roof.

Annie grabs the gutters, using her arms to pull her onto the red-orange shingles. You get a glimpse from where she’s at now to see that the water is lower, but she’ll still have to swim, even if she gets onto the high point of the roof. She takes one last look at her knife before she frisbee’s it to her right, making sure that it’s far away from her when the water does come.

Sanguin is losing ground. Soon, she’ll be stuck swimming too. It seems like that their times are lining up. Annie bends her knees, cracks her fingers, prepares her arms. Sanguin’s glances get more and more frequent, anticipating the moment the water hits her.

Annie dives straight in, letting the water welcome her. She doesn’t waste time, swimming straight to the top. Her face is serious, she has her eyes locked on the surface, kicking her legs hard, arm over head. While Sanguin holds her breath, fingers squeezing her nose shut, eyes following the structures in front of her. She narrowly misses the wall of the first house, before slamming right into the neck.

Just like with Tekla, there’s a large burst of bubbles. Sanguin struggles now, trying to swim to the top. She makes a few inches at a time, but it’s hardly noticeable, or comparable with how well Annie is doing. In fact, she’s reached the surface already, inhaling loudly.

The water directs Sanguin into a wall again, this time her head cracks against the wall. The water turns a light shade around her head, and it’s minutes before the cannon finally sounds. Which signals the water to drain, lowering Annie onto a roof nearby.

Her dark hair is stuck to her face and neck, clothes completely drenched. Her mouth is slightly parted, breathing loudly.

You grab onto Finnick’s arm, “Oh my god.”

“Congratulations, guys.” Gloss has got a grin on his face, he slaps you on the back.

“She did it.” you say, “Annie’s done it!”

Claudius Templesmith’s, the announcer, voice comes over the arena, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games, from District Four, Annie Cresta!”

Annie’s face drains of color again, before it’s bursting in red, “I win.” she murmurs at first, barely audible, before tears of relief are filling her eyes. Much louder, this time she screams; “I win!”

--

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@f1nal-g1rl / @starlight-selene / @neenieweenie / @amixedwitch / @accxio / @suranne-doesstuff

[wendimydarling]

Trapped (Part Six)

Title: Trapped (Part Six)

Pairing: August Walker x OFC Reader

Word Count: 

Warnings: Okay guys. I need to be clear here: THERE. ARE. WARNINGS. Please read these carefully, and if something on the list triggers you proceed with caution. If I have missed any kind of warning at all, PLEASE let me know kindly what I missed by sending me a DM; it is never my intention to hurt someone by leaving things out. That being said, the warnings are as follows: Dub-con, Non-con, Sexual Assault, Sodomy, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping, Knife Play, and Mention of Rape and Oral Rape. Again, if I have missed anything, please let me know so that I can edit this list.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t know how long I waited for him. I screamed for him, begged for him to return, but he was gone. I hadn’t been able to resist the orgasms, and once they started coming, they didn’t stop. Once he was back I knew I would be made to regret it, but at that moment I didn’t care. I needed more than the toy was offering. I needed to be filled.

Tears fell freely as I watched the door open. I didn’t want him to see me cry, but I couldn’t control them, couldn’t stop them. He crouched in front of me again, his fingers going straight for my hair. It almost felt kind. Almost.

“Have you made up your mind, pet?”

I nodded as best I could, submissive words tumbling from my mouth before I could stop them.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“I already am fucking you, pet. You’ll have to be more specific.”

I closed my eyes, mentally trying to engage myself in this conversation. He was going to make me say things I didn’t want to, and my Stubbornness was fighting it, hard. I ignored her.

“With your cock.”

He scratched my head softly through my hair, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Can you ask nicely?”

I closed my eyes. Stubbornness pursed her lips in defiance. I shut her up.

“Please?”

“Please what?”

“Please”--I swallowed thickly--“Daddy.”

His face curled up with a wicked grin. 

“Good, pet. Again.”

Stubbornness slapped me, yelling at me to fight him. I kicked her in the stomach and locked her away in the back corner of my mind. She had no place here anymore. I took a shaky breath as a tear rolled over the bridge of my nose, and did as I was told.

“Please, Daddy, I want you to—to fuck me with your cock.”

The guttural sound he made at my compliance shook me to my core. I had just given this man--the beautiful man with the horrifying scar, the man who’s name I didn’t even know--permission to continue doing unspeakable things to me, and what was worse, I didn’t care. I wanted it. Needed it. I didn’t know if fucking was worse, but at this point, it had to be better than resisting.

I was broken. I was dead.

He stood up and walked behind me, rubbing my ass with his large hands, sinking his fingers into the depths of my folds. He pulled the silicone toy roughly from my body and tossed it next to the remote. I could see how coated it was, covered in the juice of my need. My walls flexed in anger at the lack of release; they’d been abandoned, and I felt empty. 

I heard the click of metal against metal and the growl of a zipper being opened, and soon felt the warm tip of his erection press against my hole.

“Say it one more time.”

“Daddy, please… I need it.”

The speed at which he entered me was inhuman. I gasped as I was suddenly filled beyond capacity by this man who, thanks to the hours of torture I’d been subjected to, bottomed out in one thrust. He was so large that I immediately came, an orgasm brought on solely by his size alone. I heard him groan as my abdomen clenched desperately around him, I felt his fingers wrap around my hips, digging deep. More bruises. More marks. I closed my eyes again, steeling myself for what was coming.

He pounded into me with fury, burying himself inside of me with relentless force. Every disc in my spine rippled upward as his thrusts grew stronger and more violent. The loud slap of skin on skin filled the room, as if cheering us on for this horrific act. My tears fell again and I cried out, whether from sorrow or pain or pleasure, I didn’t know. 

Wave after wave of that incredible pleasure flowed through my body. It left me gasping for air, my mind destroyed beyond repair at just how good it felt. I had never known pleasure like this in my life, had never felt so unbelievably satisfied. It tore through my core, it’s tendrils snaking rapidly around my nervous system and into the very depths of my soul. And I knew. I knew at once that this man had ruined me for all other men. 

I would never feel pleasure like this from anyone else. 

I moaned. I wailed. I sobbed. Stubbornness pounded on her door, screamed at me to resist giving him any satisfaction, but I couldn’t do it. It felt too good. My voice caught in my throat as my ability to speak left me. I saw white behind my eyes, blindness consuming me in the heat of rapture. Still, he was relentless. I could hear him grunting, panting, chasing his orgasm without a care in the world to mine. Not that it mattered, I was in a state of perpetual bliss that would only be brought down by his climax. 

His growls grew louder as his thrusts got slower, harder. I felt everything, the heaviness of his balls as they slapped my clit, the swell of his dick as it filled with seed, and the warmth of his fluidic essence as it spilled into my center. 

He unsheathed himself from my body as fast as he’d entered it, and held my hips still. My chest heaved, my sobs unrelenting as anguish washed over me. Stubbornness was silent. I’d hurt her feelings. I could see his dark eyes out of the corner of my tired ones, his gaze transfixed on his milk leaking from my body and onto my hands. 

He leaned over my body, resting his sweaty forehead on my back, momentarily catching his breath. His hands slid up my sore muscles to the shackles around my neck and released me from my confinement. I shuddered as his fingers brushed damp curls from my face, his lips pressing into my shoulder. 

I felt the restraints on my hands and ankles fall away, and I unlocked Stubborness’s door. This is my chance, let’s go! She wouldn’t come out. I attempted to prop myself up on all fours but I was weak; my hands, still slick with his seed, slipped on the cold metal table. He caught me in his arms, wrapping me close into his chest. 

“Let’s go clean you up, pet,” he whispered in my ear. The soft touch of his hands and the gentleness in his voice felt foreign, alien. The room spun and my vision blurred as I tried to stand, but he just swept me into his arms. I was weightless. The door grew closer, and the realization of what that meant hit me.

I was about to leave my cell for the first time in six months.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trapped | Part One | Part Two | Part 2.1 | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | eviF traP | Part Six | Part Seven | Finale | Epilogue |

TAG Squad: @littlefreya​ @sciapod​ @thiccgeralt​ @fucking-hell-cavill​ @brexrif​ @peakygroupie​ @viking-raider​ @constip8merm8​ @daniig95​ @elinalfrida​ @hell1129-blog​ @oddsnendsfanfics​ @agniavateira​ @dearlybelovedluke​ @sofiebstar​ @wanderinglunarnights​ @mary-ann84​ @onceiwasanun​ @luclittlepond​ @thekingstachemademedoit​

[aurorawest]

Hi! I’d love for a directors commentary on the real Asgardians of the galaxy, any section you choose, it’s my favourite story! Also I was wondering if you could do a commentary on chapter 7 of you come to me wild and wired please? Thank you!

Of course, thank you for asking! I’m so glad you like The Real Asgardians! 😄 I went with this section from chapter 25. Loki, Thor, and Mira have stopped on the Market Planet (aka Promachos), a place entirely of my own invention. Promachos is a planet that’s one giant, sprawling market. The section that the three of them visit looks very much like a souk in my head—I was definitely imagining the Arab Souk in Jerusalem as I was writing it. But you know, think the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, that sort of thing. Old, ancient feeling, labyrinthine covered market where it feels like you can get everything that’s ever existed.

In this conversation, Loki and Thor are having a nice conversation that turns sour, as they so often do.

“You know,” Thor said, the heavy-handed nonchalance in his voice sending up red flags, “that’s something New Asgard doesn’t have.”

“Children?” Loki said, playing dumb and immediately regretting it. 

Not really a reference, but this line has always reminded me of the exchange in Jurassic Park between Grant and Satler: “What are those?” “Small versions of adults, honey.”

Thanos hadn’t discriminated. He’d slaughtered Asgard’s children as easily as he had the adults. 

Womp womp. Seriously though, one of my favorite things to write with Loki is how he absolutely careens from one emotional end of the spectrum to the other. He makes this joke and he immediately jumps to the worst possible interpretation of it.

At least they’d managed to evacuate most of them, though Loki would never forgive himself for allowing a single Asgardian to die that day.

I recently had to put an exact number to how many children survived The Statesman. At this point I definitely was like, ‘eh, no idea!’

“No,” Thor said. “A school.”

“Mm.” Loki was getting increasingly worried that Mira was going to turn around and ask for the necklace. “What do they do, make repairs in the fishing nets because their fingers are smaller?”

This is one of my favorite jokes, actually. Loki is such an ass. There’s so much contempt packed into this sentence.

But more beyond that, his disdain for New Asgard is really important to his arc. We really see him lash out about it in this scene.

Thor glared at him. “No. They go to school. There just isn’t one in New Asgard.”

It couldn’t be overstated how uninterested Loki was in the education policies of New Asgard. Yes, his people lived there, but he had no personal stake or interest in the place. “Where do they go, then?”

Incidentally, I chose this scene because it seems kind of like a throwaway scene, like it’s more to express Loki’s distaste for New Asgard. And it is that...but it’s also got payoff down the line.

Uncertainty flickered over Thor’s face. “They go…I…er. I’m not exactly sure.” Loki didn’t push this issue. It was easy to imagine what had happened, anyway. The children would have been running wild in the months after the Snap. Brunnhilde, ruling New Asgard in all but name, would have gone to Thor, drunk, useless, drowning in depression and grief, and said something needed to be done, and he was the king, so what should they do? And Thor most likely would have slurred at her to figure it out. [...]

“I think they go to school in Tønsberg somewhere,” Thor finally said.

Thor kills me here. He’s pushing down every single bit of his regret and guilt. And Loki doesn’t get it at all. All he can do is snipe at Thor for screwing this up, for not taking charge, for not being the king that Loki thinks he should be. I’m actually enormously proud of “I think they go to school in Tønsberg somewhere,” because it says nothing...and also everything. Or at least, I hope it does.

Arching an eyebrow again, Loki said, “Oh. I see. So you’re raising humans.”

Loki gets none of this. All he can see is how much he doesn’t want to live on Earth, how much he doesn’t like New Asgard. He can’t fathom why the Asgardians would want to be there. It never occurs to him to stop and think about the fact that the Asgardians have been part of this community for six years. That they aren’t totally isolated from Norway or Earth. In Loki’s mind, New Asgard is like...kind of temporary? He can’t accept that it might be permanent.

“No,” Thor said, making a face as though this was the most stupid thing he’d heard in his whole life. “We’re not raising humans, I mean—not that I have a problem with humans, I love humans—”

Sometimes a little too much...but not in a creepy way, in a respectful way...

“As you’ve demonstrated,” Loki muttered, rolling his eyes. Not that he should talk.

Loki is consciously thinking of alt!Strange here, but of course...gosh he spent nine months living at the Sanctum and maybe he got close to one of its occupants...

“The point is,” Thor said, dropping all pretense of subtlety, “you’ve got some experience with it, and you should come back and—”

Thor takes a massive risk here and straight up asks Loki to come back to New Asgard. Not only that, but he’s asking Loki to come back to New Asgard and...open a school? This is the sort of thing that should thrill Loki. Thor is asking him to stick around! Thor is telling Loki that he wants him in New Asgard. And Loki...

Loki’s glare was poisonous enough that Thor took a step back. “No,” he hissed. “I will not.”

Loki doesn’t take kindly to it. Instead of seeing this moment for what it is, which is Thor reaching out to him, all Loki can see is this like, blaring red warning that he’s going to end up as something he Doesn’t Want To Be. And he doesn’t even really know what it is, right? He just hates what New Asgard symbolizes. He hates that he initiated Ragnarok, which necessitated New Asgard’s existence. He hates that New Asgard is so small, because of his own inability to protect his people from Thanos. He hates what Thor became in New Asgard. It’s really not even about New Asgard, it’s all of this other stuff.

Aaaaand chapter 7 of You Come to Me Wild and Wired!

So this was written for a @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt a couple weeks ago. The prompt was ‘broken windows.’ Their prompts are very very open ended, so I generally check them first thing on Friday morning and then let the day’s prompt rattle around in my brain until an idea occurs to me. With this one, I thought I could do something with the Oculus at the Sanctum being broken. I had also, a couple days before writing this, I had seen a reference to some sort of prompt for another ship about Stephen being angry, and I thought, you know what? It’s fun to write Stephen being angry. I should try that sometime! Broken Oculus means attack on the Sanctum, and I thought, what if Loki gets hurt in the course of that?

And to think, Loki was beginning to wonder if Strange ever got angry.

The idea of these fics is for them to be I think between 100-1000 words. This one was 1360, I believe, when I finished it? So I had to trim it down quite a bit (I eventually got it under 1100 but not quite down to 1000). The ‘And’ at the beginning of this sentence would have been an easy one to cut, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just loved it too much.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” 

I love writing sweary Stephen. I love it so much.

Strange’s hands shake as he pulls Loki’s torn sweater from the wound. One of the wounds. The sweater is ruined. Shame. Loki’s always liked it. Even without the damage, the blood stains will never come out.

I also love writing Loki being more concerned with his wardrobe than his own physical wellbeing.

Loki feels woozy. Strange’s question strikes him as funny. “I was thinking I wouldn’t get hurt.”

This is clearly not the answer Strange is looking for.

Loki finds that funny, too. “I’ll tell you what I wasn’t thinking—I wasn’t thinking I’d ruin my favorite sweater. Do you see this color? Really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?”

See when you’re bleeding out, you can say things like this.

Strange’s jaw clenches. His eyebrows draw together and his eyes narrow. He picks up a bottle and doesn’t bother blotting whatever’s inside onto a cloth—he just sloshes it over the gash on Loki’s stomach.

When Loki yelps, Strange says, “Oh, shut up. That’s not going to kill you. Which is more than I can say for the horde of demons you faced—on your own.”

Gritting his teeth against the sting of alcohol, Loki says, “Yes, but they didn’t kill me.” The wooziness is probably due to blood loss. His sweater isn’t just stained—it’s soaked with crimson. That’s all his blood. The demons’ blood was black.

I’m not actually a big fan of hurt/comfort when Loki is the one who’s hurt. When I’m going to hurt Loki—and I do—I prefer to do it with psychological and emotional torment. Physical pain? Honestly, it’s not that fun for me to write. Here’s the thing with Loki: he doesn’t care. Physical pain doesn’t frighten or even really bother him. He’s completely blasé about it. And in order for it to be dangerous to him, it has to be so bad that he’s passed out. Where’s the fun in a passed out Loki?

In general, I far prefer to put Loki in the comfort role, because it seems like it’s such an unnatural fit for him, and that’s way more fun to write about. I like to make my characters uncomfortable, haha. The two people that Loki is closest to in my verse, Thor and Stephen, are also really not the kind of people that want to show physical weakness. And Loki isn’t nurturing (well, he can be, but it’s buried deep down inside him), so like, it’s way more fun to have Thor be hurt and have Loki needing to feed him or whatever.

And I’m straying from this fic but this is the director’s cut, haha.

Strange doesn’t respond. At all. His hands can barely hold the—what is that? Oh, a bandage. He’s trying to bandage the wound, but he drops it because of his hands’ violent tremor.

Stephen’s hands shake more when he’s emotional.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Strange says as he picks up the alcohol again. He sounds like he might kill Loki himself.

“I’d rather not.”

At these words, which Loki delivers in a perfectly affable tone, 

This line just makes me laugh. Something about the word ‘affable.’ Loki’s so cheerful about his impending death.

Strange drops the bottle. It spills all over their shoes; splashes their pants. Loki’s legs sting as the alcohol soaks through his pants, so he knows he has open wounds there, too.

Trying to show, not tell.

Strange swears, a long string of profanity that penetrates Loki’s fog. He’s never heard Strange talk like this.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Odinson? Like seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Strange rakes a hand through his hair. Blood, Loki’s blood, smears his forehead. “You’re bleeding out. You’re gonna fucking die and you can’t swallow your goddamn motherfucking pride to let someone who can hold a fucking needle and thread stitch you up—”

The beauty of these little ficlets is I don’t have to come up with the whole long slowburn backstory or figure out too much about the characters’ arcs up until this point, but, I will say, I love to write a Stephen who has entirely come to terms with his disability and for him to actually be mad at Loki for not seeking treatment from someone who can actually help.

“This won’t kill me.” Loki considers. “Probably not, anyway. Though I don’t feel well.”

Strange looks like he’s going to scream.

Loki glances around. “Can you use superglue to close a wound? I’m sure I’ve heard Lang say that.”

It cracks me up to imagine Scott describing how like, one time at Baskin Robbins he cut himself on the soft serve machine or something, and he had to close it up with superglue. And that Loki feels this is an appropriate thing to say at this moment.

Strange stares, his eyes blue, then green, then this curious, almost colorless color. Colorless color. That doesn’t even make sense.

In my other fics I usually refer to this as ‘seaglass’ but I try not to be too repetitive.

Perhaps Strange is right. Perhaps Loki is in danger.

“Why would you do something so stupid?” Strange asks quietly. Loki expected more rage. Rage he can deal with. People are always angry at him. 

Lol come on I wrote this fic, you didn’t think there wouldn’t be angst in it, did you?

It’s funny, actually. Loki has always taken pleasure in getting a rise out of people. It’s easy. People are predictable.

Strange has never been predictable.

So Loki tells the truth. No snark. No sarcasm. “The Oculus was broken,” he says. “Broken windows aren’t a good sign. I thought you might be in danger.”

Sometimes, Loki fears he has become predictable. Didn’t Thor tell him so, once? But he can tell this is the last thing Strange expected to hear.

“I wanted to help you,” Loki adds for good measure. He feels light-headed. He probably wouldn’t say these things otherwise. Maybe it’s good, maybe it’s bad. Maybe it’s time he said this to Strange, to Stephen, whom he cares very much for, even if he pretends otherwise. He likes making Stephen angry by being difficult, by being intractable, by being an arse. He likes trying to get a reaction. He feels like he’s standing outside Strange’s window, throwing stones, trying to break the glass of his impenetrable, unruffle-able coolness.

As I write these ficlets, I find that I tend to start with a literal interpretation, and along the way, I find my way to these metaphors. They usually help me tie the fic together, too, so that it’s not just a collection of sentences but actually has a itty bitty plot and arc. I’m particularly proud of this one, I’ll be honest.

But Strange is immune to Loki.

It’s a bit of an act. Alright, it’s entirely an act. Loki isn’t good at seeking attention unless it’s negative.

My cat is also like this tbh.

“Did think maybe I had it under control?” Stephen runs his shaking fingers through his hair again. There’s red in the gray at his temples.

“I thought maybe you didn’t,” Loki replies.

Stephen covers his eyes with a hand. Bloody fingerprints mark where his fingertips rested when he moves it. 

I have a thing for my boys being covered in blood.

“Let me take you to the hospital.”

There’s something in Strange’s eyes. It looks like fear.

Strange’s hands shake more when he’s emotional.

Suddenly, Loki realizes Stephen has been putting on an act, too. He’s not cool and unruffled. He’s not immune to Loki.

Suddenly, Loki thinks Stephen might care more about him than he lets on.

Loki looks at his blood-soaked sweater. Considers how dizzy he feels. Ponders the fact that the shape of Stephen Strange’s lips is very attractive; the way his eyes change color with the light hypnotic.

Maybe it’s the blood loss. But he wouldn’t like to die without knowing how Stephen’s lips feel.

Aaaand there it is. So I’m a serious slow burn person, and that makes it hard for me to write these short little things. You’ll notice actually if you read them that there’s always all this unspoken backstory, like ‘they’d been working together for years...’ etc etc. But I always try to get that build even in these short little things, and if I can make myself go, AWWWWW then I’m happy.

“Alright,” Loki says. “I’ll go to the hospital.” He stands. There’s a rush in his ears. His legs feel like sodden paper. 

Stole this line from myself. I have a nearly identical simile in one of my original novels.

They buckle.

But Stephen is there, holding him, an arm tight around Loki’s waist. His hands may tremble, but he radiates safety and steadiness.

Safety is hugely important to Loki. He couldn’t ever fall in love with someone who didn’t make him feel safe, even though he probably wouldn’t admit that out loud.

A portal blooms, Metro-General Hospital on the other side. Stephen tucks a piece of hair behind Loki’s ear. “The sweater does bring out your eyes, by the way.”

Obligatory callback to the beginning of the fic. When I had Loki note that the sweater brings out his eyes, I knew that I would have Stephen agree at the end of the fic.

“Aha, you think about my eyes,” Loki says. It’s getting hard to hold his head up. Stephen guides him through the portal. “That means you think they’re pretty.”

“I think they’re gorgeous,” Stephen says. He hesitates. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

‘Gorgeous’ is my preferred word for Stephen to use to describe Loki. Loki tends more towards ‘beautiful’ to describe Stephen.

He lowers Loki to a chair. “Now sit here while I get help.”

Loki grabs Stephen’s wrist and lets his head fall against the wall. He peers at Stephen through slitted eyes, knowing he’ll survive this, because he’s survived worse. He still says, “I would kiss you, but I want something to look forward to if I don’t die.”

Emotions pass over Stephen’s face like the play of shadows on the ground as clouds scud across the sun. 

I love the word ‘scud’ but it’s definitely one of those ‘you only get to use this once in a fic’ type of words.

He swallows hard. “Yeah, well.” He squeezes Loki’s hand. “We’ll see how you feel after you’re patched up.”

Loki smiles and lets him go. He knows how he’ll feel. After all, he’s been throwing stones at the windows of Stephen’s heart.

He just never realized Stephen was throwing them back.

METAPHOR! The wonderful thing about finding the metaphor is that it’s a really easy way to end the fic. It’s the central theme, right, so you use the last line to tie into it, and done.

Thank you so so much for asking!

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

[the-evil-authoress]

GX Month Day 25: “For The Glory of Academia!”

We got to see Asuka/Alexis and Edo/Aster over in Fusion Dimension, but what about the rest of the cast? Show us some Fusion counterparts today! What are these dorks up to and what part do they play in the war?

I forgot to post this yesterday! Got sidetracked by an unrelated project.

Zane would tots remember his other life before the OP dipshits went and broke reality.

“I can’t believe I’m hunting my own sister.”

He says it quietly. Atticus doesn’t use his usual volume or dramatic flare; he says it quietly, furiously, for only Zane’s ear to hear. So Zane doesn’t respond or look at him or give any other indication to the rest of their party that Atticus is speaking to him. Because he could have said aloud, he could have said it angrily too, and no one but Zane would have been the wiser.

“What gives them the right to call her a traitor?” Atticus hisses, still furious. “Why is it so wrong to not want to participate in a war?”

War. Genocide. Because that’s what this is no matter how many pretty words Academia spouts about creating a utopia. The sickening thing? There are people who’ve been on the front lines that still believe that farce.

‘If you’re not with us, you’re against us’ as far as Academia is concerned, but Zane doesn’t need to tell Atticus that. The two of them only stuck around because they still have younger siblings to think about. Or had. Zane chances at glance at his friend and already sees the decision on his face.

“Go,” he says just as quietly, and Atticus tenses but doesn’t react further. “Go after her. Just you. Don’t come back.” From the corner of his eye, Zane sees his friend start to protest and cuts him off. “We’ll stage it. Give them a reason to think you aren’t coming back.”

He waits for it to click. Then a tiny, breathless little laugh. “Yeah. Okay.” Atticus eyes roam their surroundings with renewed focus, not looking for dissenters but anything that will help them put on a show.

They get lucky when they corner a resistance member away from prying eyes. The building comes down and only Zane walks out.

Academia buys it. Officially, Atticus dies in the line of duty.

Weeks later, a new resistance leader calling himself ‘Nightshroud’ makes a persistent nuisance of himself and Zane nearly chokes at the sight of Atticus in that damn mask.

They might need to have a conversation.

Where did he even get that thing?

They do have a conversation, several in fact, because Zane starts feeding the resistance information. Between ‘Nightshroud’ on the front lines and Zane playing double agent behind the scenes, the resistance gains ground and rises from being a nuisance to an actual threat.

But good things don’t last. Good things have never lasted in either of Zane’s lives. Aster is a hard ass on a good day, and Zane’s never liked him on principle. He gives Zane the stink eye but never goes beyond that. Bastion is tolerable, but Bastion is also smart, so it was probably inevitable that he would eventually look at the communications logs and realize two plus two does not equal five.

“Zane, I don’t want to believe this,” - and Zane believes that much, Bastion has a horrible poker face - “but the evidence would suggest...perhaps someone is trying to frame you.”

A copout. Zane almost snorts. “You’re reading too much into this,” he says and walks away. Maybe he could have taken the copout and found someone else to take the fall. Maybe pride kept him from doing so. Maybe he was sick of this place and looking for a reason to make an explosive exit.

Bastion goes to Aster with his findings.

Zane makes a very explosive exit.

He only regrets not being able to take Syrus with him.

*

“WHAT?” Chazz sputters, nearly jerking straight off his chair. “Zane fucking Marufuji spilt on Academia?!”

Atticus grimaces. Word travels fast around here, and he’s not surprised Zane’s defection is talk of the town considering how flashy it was. Honestly, he’s more concerned how this will affect the resistance; they’ve been operating on Zane’s intel for months. Catching Alexis’ gaze, he sends her a grin, unsure how reassuring it actually comes across.

“Huh.” Chazz leans back in his seat, already recomposing from his outburst. “Guess we’ll be seeing him around here before long. Weird.”

“I doubt it.” Atticus rubs his thumb against the mask in his hands. If he knows Zane half as well as he thinks he does, Zane will steer clear of the resistance altogether and draw Academia’s attention away as well. He’ll be a ‘high priority target’ after all and, unlike Atticus, everyone knows he’s still alive.

Just don’t die.

*

Syrus skirts down the hall, head down. He’s long used to the scornful looks and whispers that follow him as if they expect ‘Marufuji’s little brother’ to turn tail just like Zane did. The worst part is that Syrus doesn’t even understand why Zane did it. One day Zane was spearholding the entire movement, and the next... The next Cyber End Dragon tore a hole through the south wing that took months to repair. Syrus was yanked off field duty training and reduced to a mere errand boy.

It’s not fair. He wanted the chance to prove himself. He wanted to help build the Professor’s utopia with his own hands. But Zane had to go and ruin that too. No one will ever see Syrus as anything more than ‘Marufuji’s little brother’ and now he’s ‘the traitor’s brother’ to top it off.

It’d be different if he were here.

‘He’ who?

Syrus stops dead in his tracks, staring at the floor through wavering vision.

Someone...someone important. Someone who saw Syrus not ‘Marufuji’s little brother’. Someone who believed in him and wouldn’t let him wallow in self pity.

He isn’t here.

It hits him all at once, that realization, and Syrus breaks down crying over a person whose name he can’t even remember.

[armageddon-generation]

Batwoman Could’ve Been the PERFECT Batfamily Show

After Gotham ended so recently, Batwoman should've positioned itself as the Ying to that show's Yang by focusing on Batman's allies instead of his enemies.

The 'Bruce disappears hook is a brilliant way to do this

Kate is our audience entry point into this world

ORACLE + GORDON

Barbra Gordon has already been paralysed via The Killing Joke, and hasn't yet become Oracle - she's still recovering

Comissioner Gordon took an early retirement after his daughter was paralysed, which is why Kate's Dad's private security force the Crows runs the streets

Batwoman and the series' events inspire him to return and reclaim Gotham for the Law by the end of season 1

TIM DRAKE + WE ARE ROBIN

Robin disappeared with Batman, so we can introduce the We Are Robin gang. At the beginning of the season they're just criminals, but after Kate defeats their ringleader she shows them a better outlet for their rage, and inspires them. Duke Thomas (future Signal) is among them

Once the we Are Robins are established Tim Drake returns to Gotham. Kate is surprised - few people outside of Gotham know there have been multiple Robins. This way we can explain the different versions to people not in the know

Just like after Bruce was sent back in time in the comics, Tim has gone travelling the world as Red Robin, searching for him. Tim heard about the Robins causing civil unrest and is concerned about them marring Robin's good name.

Tim and Kate clash over the Robins' chaotic, violent modus oprendi - Tim enforces a philosophy of Robin as the light to Batman's dark - promoting positivity, not violence. A loose adaptation of the Robin War storyline follows where Duke Thomas emerges as the Robins' leader and rallies them to be more controlled and less violent

Tim leaves after this mini-arc, satisfied Gotham is in good hands. He also teaches Kate more about the detective side of Batman - he isn't just a blunt instrument. Tim will be our primary link to the 'Bruce's location' mystery throughout the series

NIGHTWING

Dick arrives in Gotham on a case from Bludhaven. Kate thinks he's abandoned Gotham - he should've taken up the mantle while Bruce was gone.

Explore Dick's troubled history with Bruce (not to F**k Batman levels), how Babs being Batgirl caused him to quit, and the one-two punch of Jason Todd's death and Barbra's paralysis only validated his getting out while he could

Tender scenes between Dick and Babs alluding to thier teenage crushes on each other.

As a cop, Dick hates the Crows being on Gotham's streets and more actively conflicts with Kate's father, driving up the tension between them and Batwoman

RED HOOD

This arc would be like a finale-style thing

Jason Todd returns and starts assassinating criminals with the ambition of 'controlling' crime. Kate is a soldier, more brutal than Bruce, so she has greater sympathy for Jay's methods

Jay is after the Joker. Like in The Dark Knight Returns, the Joker has 'retired' to Arkham since Batman left - he got bored pretty quickly. This arc introduces him properly after a few teases earlier in the series.

Jay learns of Barbra's paralysis (which happened after he died) - even then Bruce wouldn't kill him. A scene where Jason visits Babs (little brother/big sister dynamic).

Both Dick and Tim return for this arc, losing their shit over the Joker. Kate's reaction to the Joker is much like Terry McGuiness's in Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker. She doesn't get why everyone is so scared of this stupid clown.

Tim is the one who figures out how Jason was resurrected; just like in the Red robin comic he's been travelling through the world of assassins and knows about the Lazarus Pit.

I think doing the Red Hood arc without Bruce - the main target of Jason's anger - is super interesting. Most people share his anger at Bruce for disappearing.

It also lets us dig deep into the inter-Robin dynamics - Jason hates Dick because he always had to live up to him (do that thing in the comics where Jay had to dye his red hair black to 'look like Robin')

Jay hates Tim for replacing him, for being proof Bruce didn't learn his lesson, for Bruce treating Tim better, the way he should've treated Jason

Kate is instrumental to this arc because, being outside all the drama, she has objectivity. She forces Dick and Tim to get their heads out of their asses and talk to Jason, forces them to confront the problem.

Instead of taking the Joker to Bruce as he does in the Under the Red Hood movie, Jason takes Joker to Babs, who has suffered the most because of him. Confronted with the man who 'ruined' her life, Babs proves bigger and stronger than him. She refuses to kill him. Unlike Jason, she's moving on and growing past her trauma, not looking for revenge.

Joker (being the Joker) turns the tables on Jay and has him at his mercy. Kate swoops in and, like Terry in Return of the Joker, messes with the Joker's head by refusing to take him seriously. The Joker is distracted, screaming about Kate not being Batman, and Babs gets to knock him the fuck out.

Jason escapes, but not before dropping a clue connecting Bruce's disappearance to the League of Assassins

I know the showrunners admitted they have no clue where Bruce is yet, so in my version he's off on some quest with Ras Al Guhl. In the time since he's been gone he's married Talia and had a kid. no-one in Gotham knows this yet.

VILLAINS

We can explore how Batman’s absence has had a strange effect on Gotham's villains - many have gone into states of hibernation similar to the Joker.

Two Face gets his dark Knight Returns plotline where the attempt to repair his face, 

Mr Freeze has a similar ‘cure’ story a la Batman Beyond

Clayface (as in the Rebirth run of Detective Comics) is trying to go straight - using his shape-shifting gift to make a name for himself in the movie business. He thinks he's finally been accepted, but people are just sucking up to him because of his talent - the reality of their disgust threatens to push him back over the edge

Without Batman there to fight her, Poison Ivy has pretty much taken over Gotham's main park space, but a kind of stalemate has been reached - she won't attack the city as long as the city doesn't move against her plants.

Kate's central dilemma is navigating these unusual waters - she toys with the idea of putting Ivy behind bars and we get an episode of her exploring the micro-climate of the transformed Park. Kate's disturbance makes Ivy threaten the city, and she has to stretch her underused negotiation muscles to talk her down.

I like the idea of Ivy as an ambivalent character, not good or evil. She'll do whatever she wants. Also she and Kate would have killer sexual chemistry.

Harley. Exploring Harley in such a strongly feminist show would be fascinating. Joker has closed off, given himself up. Harley is forced to fend without him, and finds an antihero niche with the Gotham City Sirens (hi, Ivy!)

With Bruce's disappearance, Wayne enterprises is designing revolutionary new weapons for the Crows. It's revealed that they’re using the Riddler to design these. After Batman disappeared it was presumed Nygma went through therapy and was moved away from Gotham - in fact he's here.

This plot point is inspired by the New 52's Zero Year arc. Kate discovers the foul play when the Crow's systems go haywire because of a virus Nygma planted, sending Gotham into a blackout and giving the Riddler control of its municipal systems

Kate finds Nygma and exposes Wayne Enterprises' corruption, but in the process Riddler escapes.

Similar to Ivy, Kate's appearance excites the Riddler and he reactivates his Saw-like trap rooms across the city. Kate has a different, much blunter way of solving puzzles that frustrates him, used to Bruce's genius-level intellect.

This raises the question - is Batwoman a liability to the city?

BATGIRL(S)/BIRDS OF PREY

With Riddler's re-emergence triggers the appearance of Spoiler. In the comics Stephanie Brown is Cluemaster's daughter, but no-one really gives a shit about him. The benefit of a decade-plus old Batman means his rogues gallery can easily have kids - Stephanie had her name changed in witness protection.

Steph helps Kate beat the Riddler in collaboration with Bab's hacking skills. Kate sees potential in Spoiler and sends her to Babs to be trained.

As Batwoman's appearance reawakens super-crime in Gotham, the Crows get desperate. They hire world- renowned assassin David Cain to start taking out targets

Intro Cassandra Cain.

Cass + Steph + Babs are this series' version of the Birds of Prey

Babs teaches Cass sign-language to communicate. Steal her friendship with Clayface from the Rebirth Detective Comics - Clayface leaves the movie business again because it was unhealthy, and is trying to do good

Everyone is very protective of Cass and determined she won't fight

[way-to-the-future]

Purpose

It is morning, and the wind is blowing. That might be a redundant observation; it is always blowing, here, always casting the tops of the great trees into disarray. The quaking leaves provide a comfortable sort of droning over which Castor can work. Like the sea rushing in, and drawing back out. Like rain on city stones. Like quenching steel. He worries over his blade with careful scrutiny, sending the whetstone down its edge in unhurried strokes. The black graphite sheen is no mirror, not truly, but Castor fancies that he can still see something in the metal, in the striations that cut across the surface where it bit into an ancient horror’s magiteknical hide.

“Purpose,” quoth the sphinx, and it resounded like a struck bell in Castor’s head, sending levin sparks skittering up his arms and into his belly, his heart. 

“Well, that’s what it’s all swiving about, innit.”

Castor prides himself on being a purposeful man. A man of commitment; of intention. There is a telos for every step, every harsh word, every time sword or pistol is drawn. If others squirm to see him do so, it’s because they lack the sap, the high-handed potence, the anointed will to look at what life sets before them and say ‘no fucking thank you.’ Let them bow their heads in meek deference if they will - Castor owes it to none.

He sighs and lifts the blade to his examination. Still marked. Still, under the surface, just visible - words graven when the sword was fresh-forged, presented to him with fanfare and honors befitting someone else’s son. He hadn’t meant to erase them - not truly - so it’s fortunate that they remain. Somehow, fortunate.

Father owed it. A blood price. A price set by his blood. It beat in his heart and it gave Castor his name. A man owes all to his people, to his nation, said father, never realizing that by turns, his nation owed him nothing. Still, one ought to strive - one ought to give himself to something. To stand only for oneself leads to dissolution. The whetstone courses along the cutting edge - hones it to --

The trees shift and the sun shines across, continuing its climb from dawn to day. It’s not warm, yet. In the courtyard, it would not yet be seen - not til noon, when it could turn the zellij patterns in the pavement such a distracting array of colors that one might almost miss the crimson red. 

Scowling thought much the same - hadn’t she lived another life? One close to that Castor seemed to live not so long ago? You have to want it, she said. Through the blisters on your hands and the blood on your teeth. You are called to a service greater than yourself; you have to want it. You have to wake up with it on your lips, search for it as a dying man searches for water, feel it in the cadence of the lash. The words will only mean something if you make them mean something.

“My arm is not my arm; I give it to your service, my deeds to your name.” It doesn’t matter if the words still mark the blade; he knows them. They had their run, didn’t they? Almost. Almost. Almost, Castor thought of something greater than himself - but what’s a head wearing a crown? Can it love you the way that you love it? Will it ever hear the praise you shower on it, or are you simply a beast of steel for its beck and call?

The poets might have something to say about that. They might be able to put the right phrase to this bitter feeling, but Castor never enjoyed reading the dirges. He pushes a lock of hair behind his ear. It’s fortunate, too, that the weapon still holds an edge at all - was it ever meant to be put to these ends? Could he have ever dreamt that chamber in a floating ruin when he was just a boy wanting to belong to something? 

Castor can’t deny it. Much as he wants to be steady - much as he wants to wear this expedition like just another cloak, another job, it has brought him sights beyond recounting. There is a gravity about this place, about these people - a greatness, even if it will not make him great too.

You’re a good soldier, Castor. Is that what he is? Is that what he’s doing here, soldiering? Acting with the same terrible poise as those white jackets? The notion is almost laughable. There was something the old samurai said - soldiers don’t question. Whether we like it or not, we’re soldiers. Castor’s jaw sets, and he fancies he feels the wind turning eastward.

It doesn’t work. He’s not a bloody soldier - he’s not fighting for a brotherhood, and he’s certainly not restraining his questions. People are dying around him - colleagues, men of merit, and there will certainly be more. He’s fighting, but these things don’t make him a soldier. He doesn’t flatter himself that the Voyage needs a doubter, either. After all, doesn’t he want the same ends? What purpose does his vitriol serve?

What’s left, then? Look at him; son of no nation, knight with no liege, and not a chance of making himself out like a loyal soldier. Above it all, pulled over him like a patchwork shroud, a scavenger, a rag and bone man, a jackal for once in its blessed, short life wanting for something more than meat. He looks at the sword - its edge repaired - and fancies he sees himself in the blackened steel.

A better man. A fortunate man. Potent, willful, thought not so much as he imagines - and given the chance to do something with it. He’s still breathing; it’s the next morning, and his aim has not changed, only become clearer. Bulwark, fortress, bramble. They lost two, and it makes Castor angry more than it makes him grieve. Castor made oaths, swore his forbearance - he signed a swiving contract. He’s physical fucking security, and the people on this ship are his to protect. They were not the Rovers’ to take. He’ll make them eat their damnable, bloodstained hands before this is through, buggered lot of thieves that they are.

He owes something - he remembers the words, and they mean all the more that he would speak them freely. He feels the weight of the blade in his hand, and he takes a breath. Steady - straight along the blade, the whetstone hones it to its purpose. He looks to the ship - silent. Alive, but morose and disheartened. Castor looks to the Voyage - and maybe he sees something in it, too.

[bespectacledbun]

The Adventure of the Two Sisters — Arthur

Words: 3.5k Rating: General Notes: This work can also be found on Ao3. This was written for ttrevina in the 2019 Ikevamp Holiday Exchange!! Tags: @ikevamp-holiday-exchange​

December 18th, a week before Christmas. Paris was alive with the holiday spirit; wreaths of pine and holly, tied with glittering red and gold bows, adorned the doors and windows of every building. Displays of candy canes and sugared violets enticed customers through shop doors. Children eagerly gathered outside the toy store, breath fogging glass as they eyed the gleaming model train set on polished tracks.

Restaurants opened doors to usher in guests, the delicious aroma of roasted turkey, accompanied by fragrant rosemary and melted butter wafting through the air. Snowdrifts were piled up on the streets, pure sheets of white lining roofs and crystal flakes settling in hair. Inside, hidden away from the cold, people curled up in front of the fireplace, steaming mugs of cocoa clutched in hands and shiny presents tucked under the ornament-laden boughs of trees.

And in one particular orphanage in the 15th arrondissement, the children rushed down the stairs to greet their special visitor—

“Père Noël!” The girl clapped her hands together, eyes sparkling as she stared up at the man in front of her.

The boy standing behind her elbowed her. “Imbécile,” he hissed. “That’s not Père Noël, he’s supposed to be an old man!” Another girl who looked to be the same age as him chided him. “Thomas, don’t be rude.”

Arthur gave the children assembled in front of him a charming smile. “Père Noël wasn’t feeling too well, so he asked me to fill in for him today! He even asked my charming assistant to help me.” He gestured to Iris, who waved at the children surrounding them. She smoothed down her skirt, richly dyed wool with red and green holly embroidered around the hem.

“But don’t worry; we’ll be extra careful and make sure that Père Noël receives all of your wishes for Christmas.”

It was at that moment that Sister Èlise chose to finally make an appearance. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, M. Arthur. Children, why don’t you go make the parlour ready for our guests? Whoever does it the fastest gets a treat~”

She gently ushered the rowdy bunch out of the room. The kids scampered off, eager to be the first to win a treat from the nun. Èlise sighed.

“Ever since we had that incident with Si… with Amélie, we haven’t had many sponsors for the orphanage.” Her gaze lingered on the open door of the parlor; the children had divided themselves into teams, with the older ones instructing the younger kids what to do. Her veil covered her face.

“I’m afraid the little chance we had at giving these children a good life is ruined beyond repair now.”

Iris clasped Èlise’s hands and gave the other woman a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of the children for today.” Arthur nodded. “Of course. We couldn’t very well turn down such a heartfelt request for assistance, could we?”

The sister gave a weary smile back, and squeezed Iris’s hands. “Thank you so much, both of you. May God bless both of you.” Arthur waved it off.

“Please, you’re giving us too much credit. Now, shall we go check on the children? You mustn't let them get bored for too long, you know.”

} ¡ {  } ¡ {  } ¡ {

They spent the day being run ragged, entertaining the children with stories and games to keep them from causing mischief. While Iris was playing hide and seek with the older ones in the garden, some of the younger kids had cornered Arthur and—

“Can you really send all our wishes to Père Noël?” The group stared up at him, amazed; Thomas scoffed. Arthur grinned at the circle of bright-eyed children sitting around him. “Of course! Now, name anything you want and I’m sure that Père Noël will be happy to grant it.”

Thomas turned at this, staring hard at Arthur incredulously. “Seriously? He’ll give us anything?” At Arthur’s nod, he sat back, crossing his arms. “Okay. What if I want a family for Christmas?”

Arthur leveled him with a mischievous smirk. “Then you’ll get a family for Christmas. Is that all you want?” A chorus of ‘oooh’s went up around the circle as the others glanced between Thomas and Arthur. The boy stared him down for a few more minutes, before he ‘hmph’ed and turned his head away.

Arthur clapped his hands. “Alright! Since Thomas so graciously volunteered himself to go first, we’ll go around the circle and say what we want for Christmas! How does that sound?”

Cheers went up. As each child’s turn came, they eagerly described what they wanted from Père Noël for the upcoming holiday, from a small puppy to a grand piano. He mentally noted each request; he’d have to do a lot of shopping when he got back to the mansion.

Then came the turn of a little girl, dressed from head to toe in black, brown hair pulled into two thin braids. An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, hushed whispers breaking out between some of the others.

Arthur studied her curiously. She couldn’t have been any older than six or seven, but her face was pinched with an unbearable sadness, shoulders drooping with the weight of it. “What’s your name, little one?” The girl mumbled something into her collar that he couldn't catch. “Come again?”

She raised her head; there were dark circles under her eyes. “My name is Christine.” Her voice was so small that he could barely hear it. The girl sitting right next to Arthur leaned over and whispered, “Don’t mind her, Monsieur. She’s been that dull for a long while, ever since her sister fell ill three years ago. She stays up every night to take care of her.” Her voice was growing fainter, drowned out by the ringing in Arthur’s ears.

He’s been sick for so long, Doctor. Is he ever going to get better?

“…sieur. Monsieur?” Arthur shook his head. “Is everything okay?” He smiled at the children reassuringly. Not now, Arthur, keep it together.

“Of course! I was just surprised, is all.” He looked at Christine again. Gently, he spoke to her again. “Is there anything you want to ask for?”

Christine stared at the floor, as if wishing she could disappear into the thick carpet. “She doesn’t want anything except for her sister to get better, Monsieur. We just leave her alone.” The girl next to Arthur whispered.

Arthur swallowed hard. He took a deep breath to compose himself, and tried to brush over the awkward silence. “Well, is that everyone?”

The handful of kids who hadn’t shared their wishes clambered to be the first to tell what they wanted. Arthur listened to them intently, trying to push the girl in the black dress to the back of his mind.

} ¡ {  } ¡ {  } ¡ {

It wasn’t until they were walking back to the mansion that Iris saw Arthur again, and subsequently, noticed something was off about him. He didn’t tease her or make any jokes as they walked, no quips about her being a cute helper of Père Noël like earlier that day. In the golden light of the sun, he seemed almost… melancholy.

“Arthur?” He hummed in response, eyes still pointed straight ahead. He didn’t even look at her. “Is everything alright with you?” Iris took one of his hands in hers, squeezing it.

“Everything’s fine, love.” She stopped. Arthur paused, and gave her one of his trademark cheeky grins. It didn't reach his eyes.

Iris lifted her free hand, cradling his cheek. “Everything is most definitely not fine. Something is bothering you. I can tell.” Arthur leaned into her touch. Memories swam under the surface of his mind, clouding his thoughts.

“When I was entertaining the children… there was this girl. Her name was Christine.” Iris nodded for him to continue.

“I asked her what she wanted for Christmas. I was trying to get the kids into a holiday mood, trying to cheer them up. And when her turn came ‘round, she… she said she wanted her sister to smile for Christmas. Her sister… her sister’s been sick for the last three years, and—” Arthur’s voice cracked.

Iris tugged him closer, resting his head on her shoulders. “It’s okay, Arthur. You’re not in the hospital anymore. This isn’t Jack. It’s okay.” Her voice flowed over him; she rubbed his back soothingly.

“But it’s the same damn thing!” He raised his head to look at her; his eyes were filled with anguish. “It’s the same damn thing, and I won’t be able to do a bloody thing about it like the utterly useless—”

“Arthur.” She cut him off. “You are not useless, Arthur. Listen to me. Whatever she asked for, we’re going to be able to grant it, and you'll make her smile. I know you will. Do you believe in me?” Arthur hesitated, and gave a slow nod; Iris smiled. “Good, because I believe in you. You can do this.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

Arthur laughed; the tension in his shoulders drained. “How on earth did I ever find a woman like you?” Slipping his arms around her waist, he rested his forehead against hers, the last rays of the setting sun falling over them. Iris giggled.

“Well, you tried to scare me off at first, then you made a bet with me—” He cut her off with another kiss. “You're a silly woman,” he whispered. Her smile widened.

“Then that makes me a silly woman in love with a silly man. Now let’s go home. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

} ¡ {  } ¡ {  } ¡ {

December 25th. Christmas day.

Arthur stared holes into the wood of the orphanage door. He had gotten all of the gifts that the children had requested, including a baby grand piano that could easily fit in the parlor of the orphanage. Next to him, Iris was holding Vic and King’s leashes. (It hadn't been easy trying to convince Theo to let Arthur borrow his dog for the day, but somehow with Iris and Vincent’s combined efforts he had managed it).

He’d left the mansion feeling prepared for anything that could possibly go wrong, but now that he was actually at the orphanage, his head seemed to spin. He felt his hand being squeezed, and looked down. Iris had covered his hand with hers; her eyes were so gentle as she smiled at him. It’s going to be okay. He nodded, trying to smile, but his face seemed to be stuck.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and rapped three times on the door. It swung open, revealing two girls dressed in identical holly-patterned frocks with bows in their hair. “Monsieur!” They grabbed one of his hands each, pulling him forward into the orphanage. Iris followed, both dogs straining at their leashes.

“Doggies!” The twins shrieked, immediately letting go of Arthur’s hands to run to pet the two dogs. Vic barked eagerly, delighted at the attention; the other kids must have heard it, as a crowd had formed in a few minutes around Vic and King. Arthur parted the sea of kids, allowing Iris to lead the dogs into the parlor.

“Make sure not to crowd them, children!” Sister Èlise called out to the children. Turning to Iris and Arthur, the weariness in her face seemed to finally lift. “You two have done such a wonderful thing for the orphanage. I don’t know how we can ever repay you—” Arthur held a finger up to her lips.

“Don’t worry about paying us back. Just let them enjoy this gift for today.” His eyes sparkled. Sister Èlise nodded. Arthur scanned the room carefully, looking for twin brown braids. “Where’s Christine?”

The nun’s eyes creased with concern at the mention of the girl’s name. “She’s with her sister. We offered to take care of Marie for the day so she could enjoy herself, but…” Her sentence trailed off, needing no more explanation.

Arthur flaunted a comforting smile. “Well, that’s too bad.” He winked at Sister Elise. “You don’t have to look so worried. I can take care of children.” The sister flushed, and hurriedly left the room.

Chuckling to himself, Arthur gathered a group of kids hovering on the outsides of the dog-petting club. “Who wants to play a game of hide and seek?” Their faces lit up and they dashed off, eager to be the winners of the game.

Arthur searched out all the children one by one, explaining to them what clues they had left behind that gave them away—a stray thread caught here, the scuff mark of a show against a wall there. Every time he did, the growing number of kids trailing behind him clapped in delight.

Eventually they all returned to the parlor, exhausted from playing for so long. Some of the children immediately ran off to the kitchen, eager to find the sources of the delicious smells coming from that direction. Arthur seated himself on a lounge chair, observing the room idly; Iris was entertaining two little girls with a pair of dolls in her hands. No doubt she was retelling one of his stories, judging by the shocked gasps and cheers every so often from the trio.

“Thomas!”

One of the older girls poked her head through the parlor doorway. “Thomas, Sister Elise is calling for you!” The boy in question tilted his head in confusion, hand frozen above King’s head. She shrugged. “She says there’s a couple here that wants to see you? She thinks they might be here to take you home.” Thomas froze. He slowly turned his head.

Arthur was smirking from ear to ear.

Thomas sputtered. “You! You… how did you—”

“Go on now, mate. Time waits for no one, you know.”

Thomas’s eyes widened. He nodded, and bolted out of the room, slamming the door shut in his haste. Arthur grinned. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Iris bending to whisper to one of the girls, and then leaving the room.

She returned a few minutes later with a girl no more than five years old in tow. She was tiny and pale, almost sickly. Her faded pink smock hung off her thin frame.

The children noticed her standing in the doorway and one by one, they went silent. The crowd parted like the sea for her. Slowly, she shuffled into the room, still holding on to Iris for support. Vic noticed her first; he padded over to her, wet nose sniffing curiously at her. She lifted a hand, scratching the dog under his chin. Content, Vic barked and turned around to settle on the floor right at her feet, brown eyes staring up at her expectantly.

She settled to the floor; the dog rested his head in her lap. Stroking his ears carefully, the girl smiled. The room seemed to let out a collective sigh at that. King got up and joined her as well, settling down on her other side with his tail wagging eagerly.

The door banged open at that exact moment.

Christine was standing outside, breathing hard like she’d run a marathon. “What did you do to my sister, you—” Here eyes fell on the girl in the pink smock and her voice choked. Marie looked up; slowly, her face brightened. “Tine!”

Iris joined Arthur at his side, both of them watching the sisters to see what they would do next. Christine stumbled into the room, kneeling in front of her sister. Marie took her hand. "You're… okay?"

"I feel well today. Well enough to come out." Marie smiled. "I'm getting better, so you don't have to worry about me too much." Her voice was too soft for anyone but her sister to hear.

Christine nodded. She let her forehead rest against Marie's, hands still linked.

One by one, the other kids approached them, no longer scared of accidentally facing Christine’s wrath. One girl, who looked to be the same age as Marie, tentatively offered her the china doll she clutched in one hand.

Arthur murmured, “Now, how exactly did you manage to sneak a sick girl out of bed and down the stairs without her sister noticing?”

Iris whispered back, “I just told here there was a very handsome Père Noël waiting for her downstairs with two puppies as her Christmas gift. Although,” her eyes glanced briefly at the two sisters surrounded by the other orphanage children. “I think that she had that strength in her already. Her sister’s been taking good care of her. Reminds me a little of someone I know.”

Arthur looked a bit taken aback, before a flush creeped up his neck and ears. “Cheeky little bird, aren’t you?”

“I have to be, if I want to keep up with you.” There was a twinkle in her eye at the last statement.

“Mademoiselle!” Iris whipped around to see who had called her. A group of girls were sitting around Marie and Christine, dolls in hand. “Mademoiselle, tell us the story you were telling earlier! With the box of pearls and the missing inheritance!”

Iris glanced at Arthur from the corner of her eye. “I told you that you would make her smile, didn’t I?” She hurried off to the eager group and took her place.

Arthur watched her, eyes softening; a rueful smile touched his lips. “Yeah. I guess I did, in a way.”

} ¡ {  } ¡ {  } ¡ {

Iris was cleaning up the last of the dishes from the large dining table when they found her. It hadn’t been easy to feed 40 children, especially when she had to make sure that all of them stayed in their seats and didn’t make too much of a mess, but somehow she managed to wrangle her way through it. She had just finished arranging the vase of primroses in the center of the pristine white tablecloth when a voice called her name.

"Mademoiselle?" Iris looked up. Marie and Christine were standing before her. They gave her near-identical beaming smiles. "Monsieur is looking for you. He says he has a gift for you."

She raised an eyebrow. They each grabbed one of her hands and led her out of the room, round corners and down the stairs out to the foyer. Arthur was waiting there, hands in his pockets as he whistled something to himself. The sisters let go of her at the same time.

“Enjoy your gift Mademoiselle!” Christine waved over her shoulder with a look far too sly for a seven year old girl. Iris could only blink for a few minutes at their retreating backs, before she turned and hurried towards Arthur.

"Arthur, the girls told me you had something you wanted to give me?"

Arthur lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so? A little bird told me that you were the one with a gift.”

Iris could hear children giggling behind the corner. She peeked at them from the corner of her eye; they were looking at something on the ceiling and snickering behind their hands. Arthur must have had the same idea that she had, because they both looked up at the same time.

A sprig of waxy leaves and glistening white berries hung from the ceiling… right above Arthur’s head. Iris felt her cheeks burn. Looking back down, she saw Arthur looking at her deviously, a smirk on his face. “Well?” He stepped closer; Iris resisted the urge to step back. “It's tradition.”

Blood roared in her ears. “T-there are children watching…” Even she knew that was a feeble attempt at protest. Arthur leaned in closer; she felt his next words more than heard them. “The children are the rascals who set this up in the first place.” Vaguely, she registered the giggling grow louder as her face flushed even more.

“Iris.” Her eyes darted up to meet Arthur’s. At the question that swirled in the depths of his blue eyes. May I? She nodded, eyes fluttering shut right as their lips met. He hummed, one arm snaking around her waist and pulling her closer to his body. Iris tangled her hands in his hair, drawing back for breath, and then diving back in for a deeper kiss.

The children were cheering from around the corner. Iris buried her face in her hands to hide her burning cheeks. "You rascals come on out now!" Footsteps thudded on the carpet as the children scattered, shrieking in delight while Arthur played at chasing after them.

He returned to Iris, holding her gently. "Iris?"

"Hmm?" She still had her face buried in her hands.

"I love you."

Her surprised face popped up from behind her hands. Just enough for Arthur to land a kiss on her nose. "Arthur!" She squealed. His laugh rang out. "I… I love you too." An adorable blush graced her cheeks as she uttered the words, he thought.

She laid her head on his chest, feeling the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart beating. A hand came up to stroke her hair, and she felt Arthur press another soft kiss to the top of her head.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur."

"Merry Christmas to you too, my love."

[megamanxfanfics]

S.V - Ep. 14: Taking The World Back

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

INT.  MHHQ BUNKER - Underground Shelter - DAY

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

X teleports into the Bunker in his heavy Gaea Armor and lands on one knee, exhausted.

Instantly the New Recruits gasp, upon his entry.  

He resets his armor back into his gem with a beam of light and runs over to Alia with intrigue.  As he gets closer, the gaping sores and gashes across his base armor can be seen, making everyone in his presence cringe.

DOUGLAS: Oh my God! You need to see Lifesaver, Stat!

He puts out a weary hand.

X: Not yet.. What was that about a new Virus…?

Alia shakes her head slightly amused by him, but is more worried about their situation.

ALIA: Out of the frying pan, into the fire…  For the moment, we’ve named it the Zero Virus…

X: Hm?

ALIA: The strong energy signals at Point 11F5646 weren’t just coming from Zero.  They were emitting from the Colony, itself.

X: Huh??

ALIA: The Colony was filled to the brim with its own Virus.  And when it collided with Earth, it paired with the Sigma Virus, creating this frightening new cocktail that is off the charts! It’s as if there’s some sort of.. Dimension within the Colony now…  

SIGNAS: A Zero Space…

They all widen their eyes.

X: What does it mean???

SIGNAS: (worried) I don’t know…

ALIA: We may be able to solve the mystery of the Zero Virus, but it’s very risky…  Especially in your condition.  What should we do?

X: Well, I have to investigate!  

SIGNAS: Oh no... First thing is first.  You need to rest.

X: (sighing) I know….  But we gotta do something!

SIGNAS: We’ll analyze the toxin levels of the Zero Space with our long-range scanners while you sleep this off.

X: (reluctant) Okay...

Lifesaver looks over to X from a far corner and waves him over.

X nods and walks over to Lifesaver with Douglas’ assistance.

SIGNAS: It’d be good to get a full level of the World while we’re at it.

ALIA: Well, it’s a good thing we have all these Recruits. I know we can’t escape this…  So we’ll just have to fight it!  Together…

[Insert Title Card - Taking the World Back]

X is seen lying down in a pod with his eyes closed as Lifesaver and a clone tend to his wounds.

LIFESAVER PRIME: There...  That should do it.

He pulls a sedative out of X’s neck, which will allow him to sleep, undisturbed.

LIFESAVER PRIME: He’s out like a light, Alia.  Now we can clean these wounds and patch in energen tubes.

She looks over to X with concern, then gives Lifesaver a focused nod.

ALIA: Good.  (v.o, thinking) That’s not all he needs...

She turns around and looks over at the 11 Rescued Reploids who fell into this new recruitment operation.  Like it or not, they were Hunters now and they had a mission to do.  She walks over to them and clears her throat, before projecting her voice.

ALIA: Alright Gang! You all have a very important mission, but it’s going to take awhile.  

RESEARCHER: Hm?

The two Researchers she has worked with slightly perk up, but the rest simply look away in an attempt to ignore her or pretend that she is not there.

ALIA: C-come on. Gather around. You’re Hunters now!

SCIENTIST: Says who??

TECHNICIAN: I didn’t sign up for this…

ALIA: Shame on you! We don’t have time for this.

SCIENTIST: Hey.. We almost died, Lady!  Now you want to send us out there in that Nightmare??  I don’t think so…

The rest of the Reploids all nod and fold their arms. Tack looks apologetic.

Alia lets out a sigh and starts over.

ALIA: Look…  The Sigma Virus is gone, but the Zero Virus has replaced it.We have no idea what’s out there anymore and frankly, I need your help…  More importantly, so does everyone else.

Some of the group become more receptive and unfold their arms.

ALIA: There’s other Survivors out there that are counting on us…  I know you’re scared. Hell, I am Freaking Out right now!  But the only thing keeping me together is the fact that the World needs us. We’re not dead yet, and neither is this Planet! Do you Hear me???

Her 2 Researchers and Tack’s technicians all nod and look at each other.

TACK: Sure.  We hear you, but…  What can we do??

She nods with a poignant grin.  She has over half of them.

ALIA: I’m glad you asked. We need to do a full read-out of the World’s toxin levels.  Like I said, this will take time… This is a Science Mission first and a Rescue Mission second. Right now, we need to see how habitable the World even is, before we can attempt to save it. Douglas and I will equip you all with scanners and teleporters. And once we have X back, he will offer up basic training to those willing and able.  

SCIENTIST: I’m a Scientist! Not a fighter… Come on, what is this??

ALIA:

(flippant, snapping) This is Survival, man.  So either get your head in the game or get out. I’m sorry, but that’s all I have to offer…

Alia folds her arms, disappointed.

Douglas makes an awkward face and covers it with his hand.  Discomfort spreads across the room while the taken aback Scientists huddle around each other to discuss amongst themselves.  When they are done, a different scientist peers out from the huddle and raises his hand.

SCIENTIST: We’ve agreed to do it, but under one condition.

Alia raises her hands with a miffed shrug.

ALIA: What is it?

SCIENTIST:

We’re not going to Antarctica.

ALIA: Let’s get one thing straight.  No One is going to Antarctica!  That’s X’s job.

SCIENTIST: Ohhhh, thank God.

NEW RECRUITS: Hahahahahahahaha!

-cut to-

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

INT.  TRAILER LAB – Salvaged Work Space - DAY

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

Gate stirs awake from a pile of rubble.  The broken shells of his reploids cover him as he looks around frantically.

GATE: Ah! I’m alive...!  But, how..?

ISOC: You can thank me for that...

Gate takes a good look at his surroundings.  As he gets up, pieces of Metal Shark, and Shield Sheldon fall off of him.

ISOC: I put a forcefield around the trailer.  ..Old X-Hunter tech that I... pilfered from a while back...

Without looking at him, Isoc continues to tidy up the work space, placing the damaged torsos of each reploid up on a table.

GATE: (awestruck) You... magnificent being.  I owe you my life! Thank you...

ISOC: (grinning) Hmhmhmhm.  Don’t mention it...

GATE: No, really.  I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.  I’m sure of it. H-how can I repay you?

ISOC: (smirking) You can start by finishing these Reploids.  It’s a mess out there.  This is the perfect time for us to resurface as the new heads of the Research Community!!

Gate’s eyes widen.

GATE: Yes!!  I can see it now. Gate Enterprises!  Soon, my Elite Reploids will wake up.  And Reshape this World!

Isoc smiles.

ISOC: (v.o, thinking) …and while you do that, Zero will create an Empire of his own…! (aloud) Hahahahah!  

GATE: HAHAHAHAH!!

Gate joins in his laughter as they pick up where they left off.

-cut to-

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

EXT.  ABEL CITY RUINS – Damaged Downtown - DAY

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

DYNAMO: AAAAHHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Amidst a destroyed city, Dynamo runs freely among the broken streets.  Storefronts are being looted and the few people that are alive are either rioting or panicking.  But best of all, is that there are no humans in sight.

DYNAMO: (gleeful) This is it!  We won.  (v.o, thinking) So this is what it looks like when the Bad Guys rule the World.

He passes by a reploid who punches through the glass window of a store front and blows up it’s inhabitants.

DYNAMO: (v.o, thinking) The Repliforce has been eliminated.  The Maverick Hunters are fractured beyond repair!  And now I can do whatever I want in a World without Consequences!! AAAHHAHAHAHAHA!  

He takes out his blades and throws them at the predators and prey that are in his way.

DYNAMO: It’s downright Anarchy.  This place is Lawless!  

His bloodied blades return to his hands, while someone runs after him.

DYNAMO: Interesting as that may be for now.. /ourgh..  there’s one small problem...  

At the dash he /kicks the challenger down to the ground.

DYNAMO: This is gonna get real boring real fast...

He scowls down at the reploid and blasts him away with his buster.

DYNAMO: (smirking) Ah well... There’s just no pleasing some people, I guess...

-cut to-

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

INT.  COLONY – Sigma's Lair - DAY

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

In a dim room, a full-bodied Sigma looks at his monitor, admiring Zero’s movements.

SIGMA: I am beyond pleased... The plan was a complete success. Zero is fully aware of who he is and now he’s heading to his post as we speak.  

He grins at the display.

SIGMA: I will make my re-introductions soon... Strongest Hunter...

-zoom into the activity on the monitor-

-pan to-

-------------------------------------------------------------------- INT.  COLONY – Zero Space - DAY --------------------------------------------------------------------

Zero weaves in and out of the maze-like structure he has created. A mysterious aura surrounds the area with an indigo glow, as the walls resemble that of Cyber Space.

ZERO: (v.o, thinking) What is this place…? I feel a great power, here. It’s calling me…

As he dashes around the walls and narrow halls of the broken Colony, he notices a series of laser cannons that are offline.

ZERO: (v.o, thinking) Hmph.  Those must be for intruders…

He jumps down into an open space and passes by more sets of laser cannons, before landing on a ground floor.

ZERO: (v.o, thinking) Heh. Guess that means, I’m home…

He comfortably walks through a corridor, admiring the hexagonal décor of the Virus-coated walls.  He can feel himself grow stronger with every step as the ceiling and floor cannons allow him to pass freely towards a Gateway.

-pan to-

-------------------------------------------------------------------- INT. COLONY – Mysterious Lair – DAY --------------------------------------------------------------------

As Zero steps into the room a glob of black goo passes him by and nearly hits him in the head.

ZERO: Hm?

His hair is shuffled from the speed of the glob, which has landed on the ground.  Then another passes him by, almost catching him at the legs.

ZERO: Hyuh!

Zero jumps up and evades the glob.  Then he notices a third and fourth pass by, nearly attacking him in the process.

ZERO: What the…?

More globs swiftly continue to appear and form around him, while he must evade their narrow attacks.  He dashes, ducks, rolls and jumps in an effort to dodge each glob, before a massive heap of residue accumulates behind him into a large gurgling cube of dark matter.

ZERO: Wait a minute…

He watches the dark matter melt itself down into a puddle. Then, it reforms itself into a sphere which grows massive arms and legs of it’s own.

ZERO: (smirking)

I know what you are…

-flash-

-A nostalgic image of a yellow creature with a white eye appears- -A nostalgic image of the yellow creature with upgraded shoulder pads and a red core appears- -A nostalgic image a black creature with golden Egyptian bands around it’s head, hands, waist and legs appears- -A nostalgic image of a green slime creature, covering a metal eye appears-

-flash-

The black creature looms before Zero as it glares at him with it’s red eye.

ZERO: You’re the Shadow Devil!

SHADOW DEVIL: GRROOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The walls around Zero phase into purple where a distorted logo can barely be seen.

Zero closes his eyes and takes a calm breath.

ZERO: So it’s true.  We are his Children after all…

He allows his armor to shift into black as he stands before the Shadow Devil.

SIGMA: (o.s, v.o) Muahahahaha. This is… Magnificent!

-fade out-

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

INT. MHHQ BUNKER – Underground Shelter – DAY

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

Caption: 11:00 AM

X opens his pod and sits up, stirring the recruits and staff around him.

DOUGLAS: X, you’re up!  

LIFESAVER: (surprised) But it’s only been… 2 hours.

X: (mighty, rested) That’s long enough for me…  I need to go after Zero.

He pulls the empty energen tubes out from his ribs and looks at him with gratitude.

X: Thanks for the Energy. I won’t waste it this time.

Lifesaver sighs and gives him an understanding nod.

Alia walks up to X and interjects.

ALIA: Speaking of which…

X: Hm?

He turns around.

ALIA: We’ve been doing some global scanning and noticed some particular items that you’ll be very interested in.

X shakes his head.

X: It’ll have to wait. I need to stop Zero.

ALIA: That’s just it. In order to do that.. you might need to complete this!

She pulls out an unfinished heart-tank from her back pocket.  So far it has only locked in 2 pieces, out of 8.

X gasps at the sight of it.

X: My Heart Tank…  That could’ve completed my Armor.  Or overall vitals…

Alia hesitates to nod.

ALIA: As strong as you are, you’re not at full power yet…  I’m sorry to say…

X: But… there’s no time!  I can’t go scavenging around the World.  At any moment, Zero could-

SIGNAS: He’s asleep…

X: (shocked) What!?

He immediately dashes over to Signas’ post.

SIGNAS: We’ve been keeping an eye on him through his com-channel.  You have more time than you think…  Go and grab your items.  Then, knock some sense into that bastard.

X’s eyes widen with hope.  His eyes /sharpen.

X: He must’ve run out of steam, like me…  /Then there’s still a chance!

DOUGLAS: (smiling) Here, X.  This will increase your odds of success.

He walks over and throws a part at him.

X catches the enhancement disk with a smile.

X: What’s this?

DOUGLAS: It’s the Speedster.  I meant to give it to you before.  It’ll make you even faster without using Armor Upgrades!

X: (surprised) Really!

DOUGLAS: Oh yeah! There’s more where that came from, but.. it can wait.  For now, go ahead and grab those heart-fragments!

X: (excited) Alright!  Where to??

Signas changes the image on their monitor to display a World Map.

SIGNAS: You’ll need to retrace your steps.  The closest fragment is located right here at Duff’s Sunken Ship.

X: Okay!

-cut to-

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

INT.  PACIFIC OCEAN - Duff’s Sunken Ship – DAY

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

Caption: 11:05 AM – Hexagon Time

Equipped in his Gaea Armor, X walks over to the same wall of spikes, which was unsafe for traverse. With his Mech-like Armor, however, X is able to fearlessly kick-jump up the wall of spikes and over to the top floor of the Sunken Ship.

X: (smiling) Hm.

He jogs ahead with his heavy armor and hops onto another set of deadly spikes.  Some stray dejira mechaniloids come near him, but he blasts them apart with a default level-2 blast.

X: (amused) Heh.

He continues to run ahead as fast as the Gaea Armor will allow him, passing by more harmless spike traps and dejiras in the process.

At the end of the ceiling platform, X spots a heart-piece waiting for him, placed underneath a low ceiling spike trap.

X: (smirking) Hah!

X punches the spikes, cracking their sharp teeth as he runs through them and grabs his 3rdheart-tank.

X: Alright.  5 more…

SIGNAS: (v.o, narrating) Next, you’ll have to go to Izzy’s Fortress in Russia.

- cut to-

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

EXT. NOVIKOVO – Izzy’s Fortress - NIGHT

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

Caption: 9:07 PM – Russian Time

X teleports onto the cobblestone roof of Izzy Glow’s Fortress, just like before.  With the drawbridge already down, X kick-jumps up the small wall leading towards the bridge and looks down.

With his Gaea Armor handy, he drops down onto the bed of spikes and looks ahead.  His target is sitting in a corner, wedged between two spikes.

X: (laughing) Haha!  What.. did he just throw this??

He snatches the item and teleports away.

SIGNAS: (v.o, narrating) From there, you’ll head due South, into Kamisu Japan.

X: (v.o, narrating) Adler’s Lab…

-cut to-

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

INT. ADLER’S LAB – Locked Room 4 – NIGHT

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

Caption: 3:08 – AM – Kamisu Time

SIGNAS: (v.o, narrating) You’ll be able to bypass all the locks this time, except for this one.

X teleports directly to the corridor with the lock that gave him trouble last time.

X: I got it, this time.

He fires a charged Gaea shot at the orange lock, which knocks the circuit into place and opens the shutter, immediately.

X looks up and kick-jumps above.

X: (continuing) Because this time… I have what I need.

He lands before the stack of unbreakable black crates and clenches a fist.

He takes a swift punch, which puts an incredible dent in the crate, but does not destroy it.

X: (surprised) Hmm..

He charges up and blasts it with a Gaea shot. Surely, it disintegrates upon impact.

X: (content) That’s it.

The two stacks from above, suddenly topple down in front of him.

X: Hmph.

He quickly charges up and destroys the 2ndcrate.

The 3rdcrate drops, just as X dashes.  His armor is so strong that it bashes the crate away, causing it to wildly bounce further ahead of him, damaged below another lock.

X: Wow!  That’s right, Dad said I could move these things!!

He walks up to the crate, sets it in place and jumps on top of it.  At a 45 degree angle, he shoots level 2 shots, which disappear just before the lock can be struck.

X: Agh..

He charges up and blasts it open. With the shutter open, his prize awaits just on the other side. He quickly jumps down and dashes into the small room, grabbing the heart-tank at last.

X: Nice…  3 more.

SIGNAS: (v.o, narrating) Once you’ve handled that, hang a left due North-West for another Pit Stop in Russia.

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

EXT. KHETA XETA – Slash’s Truck – NIGHT

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

Caption: 9:12 PM – Russian Time

SIGNAS: (v.o, narrating) You’ll be on Grizzly Slash’s Truck, which has been stopped by Zero…

X lands on the strange abandoned trailer with a slight frown. He narrows his eyes as he studies the cargo.  It was a frame of a gigantic room-sized spike trap.

X: Slasher was probably going to fortify his warehouse with this…  Oh well, what’s done is done…

He wipes his eyes, thinking about how last night, it was Zero who stopped this threat.

Then he looks up a narrow gap between trailers.  He dash-jumps up and over to the wall-frame above him, where his Gaea Armor sticks to the wall, almost like a magnet.

X: (surprised) Whoa!  No wall-sliding?  I could really use this to my advantage!!

He kick-jumps up, impressed at his own abilities only to find a huge roof of spikes at the top of the trailer.  He climbs up and sees the heart-fragment sitting resting on top of a spike at the other end of the trailer.

He dashes multiple times and finally grabs it.

X: I’ll take that.

SIGNAS: (v.o, narrating) Then it’s back to Rose’s Jungle for you in Ukraine.

He teleports away.

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

EXT.  ROSE’S JUNGLE – Hidden Crate Area - NIGHT

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

Caption: 9:15 PM – Ukraine Time

X stands before the once impenetrable crates, and charges up another Gaea Shot.  He destroys one crate, charges up again and blows up the other with a slight grin on his face.  His goal was coming into fruition, and with this Armor, he was already more powerful than before.

He runs ahead and spots another blocked passage from two more crates.  He destroys them with 2 charge shots as well, and kick-jumps up a small raised set of rocky land.

He spots three more crates in his way.  After destroying the first one, a bio-maverick rose is revealed.  It attacks X with a vine, but he dodges it and blasts it away with a charge shot. The shot, destroys the next two crates in succession, allowing him further passage along the cavern.

X: I guess this was a secret storage space for Repliforce…  Either, they never got to use it, or Rosered looted the place.

He jumps along and dashes as the cavern opens up, only to see more crates in his path.

X: No matter…

He destroys another crate, where another rose is waiting for him. He fires at it, but it is able to withstand even the Gaea shot.  Once it’s pedals open up, X fires again and destroys it with quick level-2 shots.

He looks ahead at a stack blocking his path and charges up.

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) Don’t destroy those crates, X. You’re gonna need to move ‘em.

X: Wait, what?

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) I did some analysis. You won’t be able to make that jump and you can’t use the Falcon Armor anymore…

X: Don’t remind me… Alright, I’ll get crafty.

He kick-jumps up the stack and sees a crate ahead of him. He trusts Alia and bashes into it with a dash, which forces the crate off of his platform.  The crate falls down below into a small pit, which evens out the land, below.  Then, he can spot the prize ahead, lying on a far, jagged cliff.

X: Alright..  I think I know what to do.

He walks back over to the stack of crates and looks at it carefully.

X: Do I need both of them?

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) I think you can get away with 1, but I wouldn’t-

X destroys the crate at the top.

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) …risk it…

X: Oops.

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) You’re too much, ya know that…?

X smiles while he dashes and bashes against the crate, slowly moving it along the terrain towards the edge.

X: Heh.  Right back at ya, Pal.

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) Pal!?  Who said we’re Pals?

The tone of her voice makes him smile anyway, whether she meant that or not.  When the crate reaches the edge, he continues to beam at the prize ahead, which is now in reach.

X: Alright, I think I got this.

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) Good luck...

X gets on top of the crate, which is teetering on the edge of a long gap.  As it is about to fall, he dash-jumps and reaches out to the small ledge where the heart-tank sits.

His hands cling to the rocks and he is able to pull himself up.

X: Got it!

He grabs the heart-fragment with zest and teleports away.

SIGNAS: (v.o, narrating) And lastly, you’ll have to visit Sunhouse Mountain in Kenya, where you both defeated Burn Dino-Rex.

-cut to-

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

INT. SUNHOUSE MOUNTAIN – Pit - NIGHT

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

Caption: 9:23 PM – Kenyan Time

X is taken to a metal plated underground cavern where he can see two small openings that lead into a floor below.

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) Alright, I warned Zero about this before…  There’s a lot of lava flowing below you.  It comes at fixed intervals, so you’re gonna have to be mindful of the timing and proceed carefully!

X takes a breath and nods.

X: Understood.

Just then, a tremor comes and shakes the area.  Below him a huge wave of lava passes by and makes the area beneath his feet a lot hotter.

X: OH MY GOD!!!

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) I know!

X: (scared) Where is this Heart-tank!?

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) Hard to tell. I can’t get a clear read-out.

X: (worried) Hmph.

He relinquishes his Gaea Armor and forms his Force Armor in it’s place. In a moment, his head gem beeps.

[RADAR]: Heart-tank located 13 clicks, below.

The Radar from his Aiming Laser guides him into the lava and zooms in on the desired target.  The feed is distorted, but he can see that the Heart-tank is unharmed by the lava.

When it stops, he sheds his Force Armor, and relies solely on his Base Armor.

ALIA: (v.o, narrating) X! Are you crazy??

X: It’s time to see what this Speedster can do.

Without anything to hinder his movement, his Speedster legs, swiftly move through the small gap, allowing him to quickly drop into the dangerous pit.

From there, he unnaturally runs at twice the speed and takes a giant leap with a dash-jump over to a further pit on his left.

ALIA: (o.s, filtered, worried) Oooh..  You’re almost there.

X is gasping and panting with adrenaline as he lands down below into the depths of the pit.  If that Lava strikes again, he is dead.

He turns around and spots the heart-piece lying just before a dragon head.

X: There!

Just as he goes to reach it, the dragon head spews out a wave of deadly flames at him.

X: Ah!!

He pulls his arm away, just in time, before he can get scorched. But then, he can hear the tremors behind him.

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) Uhhh..  Get out of there, X!

X: Not yet..  So close!

He reaches out, but the heat is too unbearable.

Then his eyes widen, as he suddenly switches to Goo Shaver and blasts the flames with the water-based attack.

The flames taper off, and disappear altogether, making the heart-tank visable again.  Then, the lava Appears.

ALIA: That’s it!

X: Waaai-

-cut to-

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

INT. MHHQ  BUNKER – Underground Shelter – DAY

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

X: t

X teleports into the bunker with the heart-piece in hand. Once he realizes where he is and that he’s succeeded, he smiles from ear to ear and looks at Alia.

Caption:  11:27 AM – Hexagon Time.

X: YEEHAAAAA!  WE DID IT!!!

ALIA: WOOOOOOOH!! OH MY GOD!!

The two of them embrace in an excited hug.

ALIA: I’m so glad you’re okay!!

X: Me too…

The moment passes over them, and they immediately disembark with embarrassment.

X: I’m so sorry. That was unprofessional.

ALIA: Oh no.. That was all me.  I shouldn’t have-

SIGNAS: Ahem.

They both immediately turn to their commander and salute.

X & ALIA: (blushing) Sir!

SIGNAS: I’m proud of both of you.  We acquired those heart-tanks in record time.  How are ya feeling, X?

He wipes his brow with a smile on his face.

X: Hardly broke a sweat.

SIGNAS: Good, ‘cause we’ll need you back out there, soon.

He nods. Alia takes the heart-pieces from X and begins to set up a work area.

DOUGLAS: Here, X.  Why don’t you equip these parts, while Alia and I put this heart-tank together?

X: Alright.  What are these?

DOUGLAS: This one is the Buster-Plus, which will make your attacks even stronger and the other one is the Ultimate Buster.  You’ll be able to fire Level 3 Charges without even charging up!!

X widens his eyes, while Douglas walks over to join Alia.

X: Good, God!  I think I’ll use that one sparingly.

DOUGLAS: Whatever it takes…

ALIA: Yeah, really. And don’t forget that you have all of the Repliforce Era weapons in your arsenal.  Use your Ultimate Buster with that.  Don’t be afraid to let him have it...

X makes a saddened smile at the thought. Then, it fades as he stares at the ground looking hopeless and lost.

SIGNAS: Hey, X..  Have you met our new crew?

He raises his head, as if coming out of a trance.

X: Huh? Not formally…

SIGNAS: Come. Let me introduce you.

Signas leads him over to a corner, which is quickly becoming a lounge as the New Recruits have been working on it.

SIGNAS: Hey everyone. Fall in. It’s about time that you all met, X.

The Recruits muddle about and stop what they are doing, respectfully forming a line.

X: Uh… Hi everybody.

SIGNAS: I know it’s been crazy around here…  A Lot has changed in the past 24 hours…  For all of us!  …But with that change, comes a new chance at hope.

Some of the recruits roll their eyes, while others are frozen with fear.  This makes X smile, actually.  

Signas puts an arm around X.

SIGNAS: X…  You are our Hope.  And Hunters…  You will be the World’s Hope.  …Together, we will rebuild this planet. One Continent at a time!

X and the other recruits nod, with brighter eyes, feeling on the same page.

SIGNAS: Alia has already prepped them, but once things calm down, we were hoping you could train these New Hunters, X.  Then, we may all stand a chance at better serving the world in this ever-changing landscape.

X nods in agreement, feeling a sense of purpose once again.

X: (enlightened) Of course!

SIGNAS:

(smiling) Hm.  With that said, lets get acquainted…  

He walks over to the first 5 Reploids in the line.

SIGNAS: X, these are the reploids you rescued from Adler’s Lab.  They are /Iso, /Data, /Araki, /Batsu and /Cody.

At each dash we get a /close up of them.

He continues to two more Reploids.

SIGNAS: These are the 2 Researchers you rescued from Dr. Glow’s Fortress.  /Hanse and /Hal.

X nods at them.

SIGNAS: And finally, we have the Technicians that Zero rescued from Spiral Pegasus’ base.  This is /Tack, /Tekk, /Regina and /Kassy.

X: Wow…  In the end, he saved some of the Repliforce after all…

SIGNAS: He saved as many as he could…

TACK: We owe him our life…

The words catch X off guard, leaving an empty place in his heart.

X: …I owed him my life too… But I think… That life is over…

He starts to tear up and wipes them away.

X: (whispering) Please, excuse me. It was nice to meet you all…

Signas looks at the New Team blankly and makes a half grimace.

SIGNAS: As you were…

He walks back over to X.

SIGNAS: Hey…  Are you okay?

X cannot hide his sobs from his Commander, who puts a caring arm around him and walks with him.

X: (muttering, crying) I’m Scared, Signas.. I don’t…wanna lose him, but I think I already did!!!

SIGNAS: I know, X.  This is the hardest thing you’ve ever gone through, but it might not be as bad as you think..

X: ..Huh? What do you mean??

SIGNAS: You have to face him, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you have to finish him. 

X: Doesn’t it?  He was the root cause, of Everything!  And I still can’t believe it.

SIGNAS: If Zero goes unchecked, there’s no telling what he and Sigma might do… But I meant what I said earlier.  I don’t think you have to stop him. You just have to save him.

X gasps and sniffles at the thought.

Just then, Alia draws near, with X’s new heart-tank in her hands.

ALIA: Uh-hm..  I hope I’m interrupting, but…  We’re all finished.

X lightens up and cracks a half-smile as he turns around. He wipes a tear and sniffles again.

X: Thanks, Alia.

ALIA: Are you alright?

X: No…

ALIA: It doesn’t take an analyst to figure that out…

X: Heheh..

ALIA: Come here. Let’s set you up.

She opens his chest plate and places his Heart-tank in it’s compartment.

Instantly, he feels warmer, calmer and more in control. Energy swells within his body, as his spirit becomes renewed.

He takes a breath of life and lets out a sigh of relief.

X: (sober, prepared) Ahhhhh… Whoa. That did the trick… Thank you!

ALIA: No problem!

His eyes sharpen with determination, once again.

X: Alright, then. That’s everything. I’m all set!  Send me over there.

Her eyes sharpen, too. mission-ready.

ALIA: Go for it!  We must bring this to an end once and for all!

She walks over to the main console and dials in the coordinates.  In the next moment, he is gone.

-Freeze frame. Grainy effect-

SIGNAS: (v.o, narrating) In two short hours, X has recovered and gathered the strength to pursue Zero once again. But was it enough…?  Only time will tell.  Good Luck, X.

-Fade to black-

[tigerlover16-uk]

What do you think is the biggest difference between Frost and Frieza?

Frost is smarter than Frieza.

Frieza is a great villain, but he’s not much of a chessmaster. He got by because he was a born prodigy who never needed to train to be the most powerful being in the universe. He just overwhelmed his opponents and civilizations he wanted to conquer with his sheer power and sending swarms of minions at them.

And while he’s not unintelligent, far from it he can be smart when he needs to be, he does end up undermining himself with bad decisions. Wiping out the saiyans because they might pose a threat to him someday wasn’t a bad idea, for example, but keeping a few of them alive to help do his dirty work is what ended up bringing Goku to Namek, and thus led to Frieza’s downfall. Him playing around with Goku for as long as he did and not killing him first instead of Krillin when he had everyone cornered were also prime example of said cockiness.

And while those events were also just bad luck and he couldn’t have known what would happen, his overconfidence in his own abilities and never bothering to train and gain better control over his full power was entirely his own fault, since it caused him to lose to Goku both times they fought. Not perfecting his Golden Frieza form being the worse offense, it made sense for his character to rush to earth right after gaining all that power given everything we know about him so it wasn’t poor writing, but it WAS incredibly boneheaded of him, even with his back up plan.

It’s Frieza own poor decisions and overconfidence in his own power that constantly gets him screwed over, so while he’s an entertaining and well written villain, easily my favourite, I wouldn’t call him an especially smart one since it took him until the Universe Survival Saga to finally start learning from his mistakes and be more pragmatic.

Frost was in a different situation.  While he was definitely still powerful, he lived in a universe where the general population doesn’t seem to be as weak as the inhabitants of universe 7 outside of the Z fighters and a few gifted warriors here and there. The saiyans are an intergalactic defence force, and if Cabba, Caulifla and Kale are any indication they’re generally much stronger than the universe 7 saiyans usually were before they went near-extinct, their two strongest warriors before the genocide only reached a power level of about 10000 after all. We don’t know anything about the Metal Men, but if Magetta is any indication I bet you they’re a bunch of tough cookies. Namek in this universe apparently has fighters strong enough to compete in the tournament of power.

And of course, there’s Hit the legendary assassin, who Frost already seemed very much aware of when they first shared a scene together. Take all of these people into account, notice that Magetta at least gave Vegeta a much harder time than Frost did in his final form, and notice that we don’t hear or see anything of any family Frost has, so it’s possible there’s presently no King Cold in this universe and thus likely he wasn’t born into evil royalty so would have likely had to work his way up to power from scratch, and it’s pretty obvious that there was no way Frost could have just bulldozed his way through the universe with an army of pirates to conquer whatever he wanted the way Frieza handled things. He’d have faced opposition that could have probably stopped him, or someone would have just hired Hit to take him out quickly.

So, Frost had to compensate for his different circumstances by becoming clever, pragmatic and more skilled in his fighting style and how he handled his planet selling business strategy. hence, he manipulated everything to make himself look like a hero while he was really doing things that were just as horrible as most of Frieza’s antics. Albeit we don’t know if he caused any full on genocides because of how he operated, but Frost definitely left a lot of orphans with his actions.

Frost isn’t beyond getting his hands dirty. He fought pretty fairly with Goku in his assault form and then against Piccolo before both of them started to really overpower them, but Frost usually prefers to go for more pragmatic and tactical maneuvers in his fights. Like how he manipulated things in his fight with Roshi and Vegeta to trap the latter with the mafuba.

And really, it’s hard to argue that his manipulative tactics don’t garner great results. He was around doing his crimes many years after Frieza was beaten and then killed the first time, and he was only found out because Jaco happened to catch him in the act of poisoning his opponents and then Vados straight out told everyone what kinds of evil things he gets up to. And if he’d actually managed to beat Vegeta, keep in mind, CHAMPA WOULD HAVE HELPED HIM GET AWAY WITH IT ALL ANYWAY.

Frost only loses because he rushed in to attack Vegeta (Albeit he didn’t know anything about Vegeta or how fast and powerful he was. If he had Frost would have probably been more careful), and then later in the Tournament of Power because he got too comfortable around Frieza, who decided to give Frost a taste of his own medicine and stabbed him in the back before Frost could react. Both are genuine mistakes on his part, but they’re not overly stupid, they’re just bad luck in one case and momentarily poor judgement in the other.

Frost losing his temper and trying to shoot at Frieza from the stands was probably the only genuinely stupid thing he ever did, and he paid the price for it like he deserved for everything he’d done. But then again, he’d lost everything already before the tournament, and he’d just had his last chance to repair his business and life suddenly ripped away from him by a guy he’d foolishly trusted.

If his team didn’t actually lose the tournament, he could very well have been erased by Champa anyway afterwards for losing if he was in a bad mood, and even if not Cabba and probably the rest of the team wouldn’t have just let him get away scot free. He looked like he was having trouble processing the full weight of what his elimination meant for a moment after being ringed out, and then Frieza made fun of him and his abilities, rubbing salt in the wound. A moment of poor judgement and passion in the midst of realizing his life was truly ruined is excusable, honestly.

Other than that though, Frost always gives off an air of being in control of any situation, and unlike Frieza he’s not normally prone to angry outbursts when he doesn’t get his way. Which is why the one time it happened was significant. Even after Vados revealed he was really a planet brokering pirate, he just took a moment to laugh and gloat about his business strategy and then casually prepared to walk off stage. Because hey, the cat was out of the bag anyway, might as well have fun rubbing his atrocities in everyone’s faces while he could.

Frost may not be the strongest fighter around, but he’s capable of being a genuine threat to much more powerful opponents, including the likes of Goku and Vegeta, through sheer ingenuity, cunning and improvisation. And that’s not something we tend to see a lot of in Dragon Ball villains really, at least the major ones. It’s refreshing to see a villain who’s less powerful than most of our heroes who could still beat them just because he’s smart.

Frost was an interesting villain honestly. I was disappointed that we didn’t get the good version of Frieza we all thought we were getting at first, but in retrospect I’m pretty happy with how his character turned out anyway. It was still pretty fun to watch him, and he was a less conventional take on a alternate universe counterpart than what we thought we were getting, which really is Toriyama’s style when you think about it.

Too bad he died. Ah well, minor Dragon Ball villains rarely last long, at least he left an impact in the time he had. Hopefully he gets revived at the end of the tournament so we can see just a bit more of him in the future, but I can’t complain too much if that doesn’t happen. The way Frost died at least felt appropriate, in the end his downfall came from being manipulated and stabbed in the back by an even BIGGER scumbag than he was whom he thought he could trust. Fitting after the stuff he pulled, huh?

[to-the-captain]

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like severich, and mormor.

You: Ever since Sebastian Moran had wrapped his jacket around the infamous James Moriarty, his life had changed drastically. Naturally, it doesn’t seem like an action with enough impact to cause such an extreme change. But considering that the sniper had desperately tried to keep a corpse on a rooftop from cooling out too much - Jim hated being cold, he hated it, despised it, don’t let him freeze - the scenario does get a slightly different touch. Shortly after the fatal shot had rang through London, highly trained men from the MI5 had dragged Sebastian away from his boss’ body, not being met by much resistance from the sobbing blonde. It was the start for his life in hell. Without any kind of trial, Moran had been thrown into a cell which only consisted of white, white walls, white ceiling and white floor, and a steel toiled. That was it. It always was bright around him, blinding him, depriving him of sleep. Every two days, someone dragged his weakened body - food seemed to be luxury - out of his prison for ‘interrogation’. Despite the deep wounds that it left, the infections growing on his back and the broken bones, Sebastian never once uttered a word about the empire, didn’t even say Jim’s name out loud, always the loyal soldier. Still, it was slowly getting harder to stay strong, he was starting to hallucinate and wanted nothing more than to just utter that name that meant the world to him, just one more time.

Stranger: [Reading :) ]

Stranger: [Oh this is a good one, kudos!]

You: [Thank you :) ]

Stranger: The white walls were quiet, the room quiet, everything deafeningly silent. It had gone on for some time, for longer than Sebastian really had a grasp on. Far longer. They didn't trust him with a blade, so he was only ever held down, buzzed along his jaw by an electric razor. He was given some amenities every so often; toilet paper, if he behaved. Baby powder to freshen up with. Once a week, he was dragged to be hosed down with cold water. It was cruelty in the most base sense... but how long had it actually been going on? There was no clock, no window. The days had passed far quicker than the sniper realized. A doctor walked in, nodding away one of the guards. He was in a striking white coat that matched the walls, and kept his head down as he stood. "They're clearing you for release," the man said, "A psychological evaluation was required." The man pushed glasses up on his pale nose, his hair a mess and pushed about. He clicked his tongue, his accent German, and he spoke very sharply. "You will answer my questions, in order. What is your name? Where were you born? What is your profession?" The doctor tapped his clipboard with his pen, brown eyes watching through the glasses at the man crumbled on the floor.

You: Since there was no bed or any other kind of furniture in his cell, Sebastian was curled up on the floor of it, trying to keep warm. The day before had been interrogation day, so he was simply trying to think of anything else but the pain running through his body. Without anything to focus on but white, it was difficult though. Maybe he would get some food at least, that would be quite nice. The sniper had become rather catatonic over the time, not caring about anything, answering whatever was thrown at him with one word or not at all, not even turning around or getting up as he heard light, controlled footsteps approaching his cell. Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. Even dying was impossible, since the guards seemed to have the order not to let him - whatever he had tried, they hadn’t shot him, and as he had refused to eat they had force-fed him. Maybe they were waiting for him to start spilling information, but Sebastian was determined to let them wait forever, if necessary. Or until the infected wounds all over his body would lead to blood poisoning. Whatever would come first.

You: [That was not supposed to send]

Stranger: [You're fine! :) ]

You: Since there was no bed or any other kind of furniture in his cell, Sebastian was curled up on the floor of it, trying to keep warm. The day before had been interrogation day, so he was simply trying to think of anything else but the pain running through his body. Without anything to focus on but white, it was difficult though. Maybe he would get some food at least, that would be quite nice. The sniper had become rather catatonic over the time, not caring about anything, answering whatever was thrown at him with one word or not at all, not even turning around or getting up as he heard light, controlled footsteps approaching his cell. Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. Even dying was impossible, since the guards seemed to have the order not to let him - whatever he had tried, they hadn’t shot him, and as he had refused to eat they had force-fed him. Maybe they were waiting for him to start spilling information, but Sebastian was determined to let them wait forever, if necessary. Or until the infected wounds all over his body would lead to blood poisoning. Whatever would come first. When someone entered his cell, Sebastian didn't even bother moving or opening his eyes. Why would he? It didn't matter anymore. Nothing did. However, he did perk up a little when he heard the word 'release' - before he realised that it probably was just another way to get him to talk. Another kind of torture, one that didn't leave visible scars. Still, the fear of further punishments let him play along for that moment. "Sebastian." A pause. "Augustus Moran." Another pause. Speaking was exhausting. "Germany." Coming up with the city was too much of an effort, in that moment. "Soldier." Once a soldier, always a soldier.

Stranger: The doctor walked slowly into the room, and around the man on the floor. His gloved hand held a pen that he clicked. Click. Click. Click. Click. There was a rustle of fabric, of him moving to look down at Sebastian's back. Bony, open wounds oozing. There was a snap of plastic as the joint of the pen broke in the doctor's hand. He stood straight, and pushed his glasses up once more on his nose, licking his back teeth. He didn't even mark down anything to Sebastian's answers - it was irrelevant. But he heard them, loud and clear. They hadn't broken Sebastian. They hadn't, and the doctor spoke with his accent just as thick as before. "You have numerous injuries. You were interrogated rather violently... dragged, beaten." The man was nearly grinding his teeth, and he spoke a bit more quietly, "But you haven't forgotten who you are, have you?" A pause. "Tiger." The man in the doctor's coat moved to kneel by the man on the floor, and reached inside of his coat. He drew out a tube, some kind of ointment. There was silence, then, as he opened it, as he began lathering the cream onto the sores. They weren't clean, but infection needed to be fought immediately. There was a pause. "Can you stand at all?" and the voice, oh, the voice. It wasn't German, it wasn't at all. It had a roll to it, a lilt, and he spoke in a rushed, hurried tone, "We have six minutes, nineteen seconds from now."

You: It had been ages, lifetimes, since he had heard that nickname rolling over those lips the last time. Sometimes, the hallucinations would talk to him, they would call him Tiger, but they would spit the word at him, yell at him for being so stupid, so weak, so useless. For destroying it all, ruining whatever Jim had bothered to set up over all those years. They were right, they all were. It was all true, everything they said. But this time, the word was spoken so softly, a whisper, barely there. It was the most beautiful thing he could have imagined hearing. "Kitten," Sebastian replied quietly, opening his eyes slowly, one clouded over, the other one fixed on the blurry mess that seemed to kneel in front of him. There were tears blurring his vision, making it hard to figure out what exactly was going on. Still, he understood - Jim was there, finally, to take him away. It was over. They'd won. He was going to join his Jim in hell before losing a single word about him or his work. The sniper didn't know what had tipped his body over the edge of finally giving up, maybe the hot water they had poured him over him the day prior, maybe the infections had finally caught up to his entire system. Not that it mattered. At the question though, the small smile that had pulled at Sebastian's lips faded a little. He knew that he couldn't stand let alone walk, but he was afraid of voicing his thought, afraid that Jim would just leave him there if he disappointed him again. So, he wordlessly began to move, stubborn, whimpering quietly as his skin was pulled over his gaunt form. He made it to his hands and knees before he had to admit defeat. It wouldn't work. "No..." Panic was rising within him. "I'm sorry, please.." A fucking disappointment, that was all he was.

Stranger: It wasn't the sniper's body that Jim had worried about. Moran was injured, of course he was, nearly beyond repair. Nearly. The coat was pulled off quickly, and the criminal, himself, was thin. He looked nearly ghostly, and it seemed that the separation of the two had only earned suffering for them both. James heard the pleading tone, the crack in Moran's voice that sounded like lightning, and he shook his head. "I know. I know, with their drugs and their tubes and their..." he trailed off, and shook his head. Sebastian was so close, so close to giving up. Another day, and Jim may have lost him... and still may. The coat was put over Sebastian's shoulders, against his sore-ridden back, to cover it from any more damage, and the smaller man moved quickly to Sebastian's side. He slipped beneath Sebastian's arm, and with a rush of adrenaline - of whatever filled him - he forced the other up to his feet. "Lean," he ordered, "Just lean. We have nineteen steps to the lift, and my men are causing a scene upstairs. We'll rush the edge of the room, and towards the emergency exit." A grinding of his teeth wasn't from Sebastian's heaviness, but his lightness. He was skin and bones, and Moriarty looked up at him from beneath his arm, "Walk. Now, or so help me, we're both going to die in here."

You: All Sebastian could do was scream when he suddenly found his position to be changed. His left foot hung awkwardly from his leg, obviously not made for stepping on it anymore, so all his weight rested on his right side, his shoulder strangely twisted now that he had Jim positioned underneath it. Was this just another guard, was he just imagining Jim over the other, real person? Were they just going to drag him away again, try to force information out of him? Interrogation wasn’t too long ago, this had to be a mistake, this couldn't be correct. His skin had only just began to peal properly from the hot water. It took a few moments until he understood what he was supposed to do, that he wouldn't be dragged around but would have to use the other person as a crutch and probably hobble along. It seemed ridiculous, impossible, and yet - there was something within Sebastian, something that needed to make up for being so stupid, for ruining everything, something that still yearned for forgiveness. So, the blond began to move, only letting out the most quiet whimpers as he tried to keep up with the consultant. It didn't matter that he didn't understand, it was over. All of it, it was over. It had to be.

You: [Gotta get the laundry out of the tumble dryer, should take less than ten minutes]

Stranger: [Awesome! In case we get disconnected, I am superdunngirl@gmail.com - my heart is in this already, I'm sorry to say, and if something happens I would like to continue.]

Stranger: Oh, he knew Sebastian's boundaries. He knew when the man had reached his brink, and it took everything in Jim not to let his wild and uncontrolled emotions run through him. His eyes felt hot, but not wet, because they had to get to safety. He had to get the man from the room. It... it was the least he could do. Jim couldn't think of this all as being his fault, not then, not with Sebastian against him, limping along, bones grinding and body weak. Jim's eyes were set ahead, and he spoke clearly, but softly, "If you can't make it, you tell me, and I'll drag you out of here. The coat is long enough to support you like a gurney, and I'll -drag- you, Sebastian, if I have to." Jim took a sharp breath and looked up at the other as they left the cell. In the observation room outside of the cell, where the cameras showed the interior, the two men at the desk were sitting, slumped over the keys and dials with sharp, single slits in their necks, that had severed their spine in a quick jab. Jim had gotten his hands dirty - things had indeed changed. And Jim was prepared to put Moran out of his misery, if the man hadn't answered the questions correctly. If he had lost his mind. Jim pulled Moran softly towards the metal lift, where he absorbed most of the shock of the walking with well-placed presses of his hip against Sebastian's, keeping the man from having to put too much weight on his weak legs. Jim jutted his elbow out, and the lift had a small delay, before pinging. He was nearly trembling from anger. It was his fault, -your fault, you bastard, look at what you've done to him, this is your hand, this is your hand-. Jim shook his head quickly to push the thought out, and helped Moran into the lift, leaning him to the wall to give him something else to grasp onto. Jim licked his lips, and hit one of the cryptic buttons on the panel, as they started to go up. "I will drag you," he said again, trying to keep himself steady, "if I have to. I'm not leaving you here."

You: With every step the pair took, Sebastian left a little mark consisting of blood and puss on the floor, probably showing the next guard that happened to trot along exactly what had happened. They'd all know, soon, about the consultant's brilliance, about how someone had removed one of the most important prisoners from the highest security facility the British government used. Oh, how angry Holmes would be about that, how brilliantly angry it would make him. Naturally, making Holmes angry was not the content of any of the thoughts going through Sebastian's head. Most of them consisted of him trying to muster up enough energy for the next step, with some being preoccupied with making sure he wouldn't pass out on the spot. Had to be good, had to make Jim happy, had to make up for being a disappointment. Only then, Jim would take him to hell with him. Once he found himself leaning against the cold metal wall of the elevator, trying his best not to slip down at it, he couldn't help but spend his time staring at the man in front of him. It did look like the pictures of Jim his memory supplied, maybe a bit slimmer and a bit more tired, but the man did resemble his Jim a lot. "I'm sorry," he repeated, quietly, not sure if he had got a reaction the first time. "I tried..." It was all he could say, all he could offer to make it okay. He'd tried, he'd lasted a long time before giving up.

You: [If we do get disconnected, I will definitely email you c: ]

Stranger: [*YAY*]

Stranger: The man who held Sebastian steady looked up into his eyes. His eye... one was so clouded. Jim's mind rattled through the damage Sebastian had taken, bringing it into his mind as inventory. He would file it in order of most important to least. Blood flow, respiration, the basics were the most vital. The blood loss was worrisome, but Jim had a plan. He always had a plan, didn't he? Just outside of the loading dock, away from the emergency exit on the filing floor for papers and things of the like, there was a sprinter van. Inside, a mobile critical care setup. Damn it, he just had to get Sebastian there, and he knew the man's energy was fast-depleting. Jim shook his head. "You didn't try, Sebastian. You succeeded. They took you before I could..." he trailed off, and bit his lips together, "They took you, and it's taken so long, and you know, Moran, you know -" Ding. The doors opened, and it was a bar brawl. Planted workers from Jim's dwindled empire were causing a ruckus with the other workers on the floor, so much so that they didn't even notice the elevator opening. It was such a short journey, so simple, but it had been too difficult to get into. Jim knew he couldn't walk that fast with Sebastian, so he gently pulled the coat from Moran's back, and stepped out. "Lie down," he said, looking at the tile floor. The fabric would slide easily, and he pushed his dress shirt sleeves up quickly, "It's okay, it will keep you from any stray bullets, and sight. Go on," he nodded, kneeling, and cupping the coat's neck in his hands for a good grip.

You: Suddenly, an assortment of loud noises assaulted Sebastian's ears, making him flinch immediately as the doors opened. What the fuck was going on? It had been so quiet, always so quiet, and now it sounded like he had just fallen onto a battlefield back in Afghanistan, back in the desert. It made his entire body tense up, freeze in place, his pain forgotten for that short moment of shock. It took valuable seconds before he realised that he was being addressed, that Jim was giving orders and was trying to reassure him. Lie down? Funny. So many ridiculous requests today. What was next, a fucking handstand? Of course, Sebastian began moving without as much of a word of complaining, still out to please the Irishman, should it cost him his life or not. The process of lying down definitely wasn't easy, and the movements certainly weren't graceful in any kind of sense, but eventually, Sebastian managed to lie on the coat, again lying on his side to spare his back as much as possible. The loud noises were still happening around him, they seemed to get louder as the world moved around him, scaring him, making him close his eyes in an attempt to block out as much as possible. "Kitten..." Was Jim still there? He didn't know, he couldn't be sure, couldn't be sure this was the way to hell. Why was death so fucking loud? Why was it so straining to get there?

Stranger: The sound of gunfire went off, a pistol - its owner quickly meeting a fist to the face to put him down from one of Jim's own employees. One of the very special employees, who Jim had found after all that time. One of Moran's own men, who had worked with him as a sniper for the web. It was a suicide mission going in, Jim knew, but he had to try. He had to try. Jim only flinched, when he realized where the bullet had landed, jerking a bit and looking to his arm as red blossomed on the white dress shirt, blooming like some lovely red rose. He snarled, not even caring, not even feeling it, in the heat of all that was happening. He'd heard the noise from Sebastian, and Jim stayed low. He squatted in place, and took steps backward, tugging Sebastian along the tile. The Irishman may have been slimmer, but he held more strength than before; the adrenaline helping the course. He moved along the edge of the room, quickly pulling and tugging the man on the durable coat, and Jim was glad he'd gotten an ankle-length size. Sebastian was curled so innocently, and Jim's heart slammed in his chest like never before. He had to get him out, he had to get him out. The loading dock had been the facility's weak spot - guards easily bought and cameras easily shut off. The sliding had gone quicker than if they had walked, and safer, for the tiger. Jim fumbled to his pocket, taking out a card and swiping it on the black box by the door that lead towards the loading dock, and was grateful when the green light flashed and door clicked. He could have kissed the keycard, and he pushed the door open with his back, tugging Moran along less-friendly flooring, but still smooth. "Just a bit more, Tiger," Jim was wheezing his breaths, already dripping sweat from it all, and there it was. The gorgeous sprinter van, doors opening by a woman and male, who joined Jim quickly. "The explosion," Jim wheezed, as they hoisted Moran up with the coat like an old-fashioned gurney, and carried him towards the sprinter van. The explosion. They had to get out, and get out then.

You: [Ankle length lab coats really suck haha] The noises faded out eventually, replaced by a cool nothingness, soft wind blowing over his abused skin. he man hadn’t been outside in all that time, it was the first time smelling fresh air and hearing all those.. normal noises, which simply occurred if you stepped outside. Birds, cars, the wind… It was overwhelming for the traumatised blonde. If he could have, he'd have looked around, had touched the grass and felt the sun on his skin - Sebastian had always been a type for warmer climates - but he couldn't, he could barely grasp that he was outside before he was being shoved into a small space, the back of a car, and put onto a stretcher. There were more people, voices shouting and whispering around him, demanding needles and IV bags and water, water for fuck's sake!, but none of that let him lose the sight he had set on his kitten. There was blood on his sleeve, he realised after a while, using whatever energy he had left to reach out an arm towards the area where the shirt had gained its new, scarlet colour. "No..." That wasn't right, Jim wasn't supposed to be hurt, he was the one who pulled the strings in the background, he had men for the dirty work, he had Sebastian who'd give his life for him. This was not right.

Stranger: [Oh thank goodness I only had to wear them for clinical hours!] Poor Sebastian's hand had been grasped by one of the two medics, testing for veins. He was so dehydrated that they found difficulty getting an IV in him, but the fluids ran at their max once the needle found a bed. The two were going back and forth so mechanically, and only paused for a moment as the car was driving casually from the building, and a very hollow sound of thunder was heard. Thunder, on a clear day, and Jim didn't even move, seated with his back to the metal and his head tipped back, eyes shut. That goddamn facility then had a large, gaping hole in its side. What few men Jim had who he trusted were gone, but they had done so willingly. It was a valiant sacrifice, and Jim heard Sebastian whisper his word, tipping his head back and looking at the tiger, moving only softly every few moments from the sprinter van turning corners. Jim reached out to take the IV hand Sebastian had reached with, and held it with cold fingers, nodding to him. "It's alright," Jim said so softly, so much that his voice was barely heard. The medic immediately hoisted up a larger bag of TPN, and the milky fluid began running into Sebastian's veins. Jim watched it, breathing softly as they began driving down the wonderful M4, lost among the sea of cars. He licked his lips, eyes staying on those hollow ones of Moran, and he just stayed quiet as the medics worked. He was quiet, for then, because he would talk later, when they were alone. When Jim could apologize.

You: [Thank god mine's only knee length] The solider didn't even care for what the two medics were doing around him, barely felt their touches, more than used to people prodding and poking at him after what he had been through. No, all he cared for was the blood slowly drying into expensive white cotton, his worry only interrupted by the loud sound of the explosion he couldn't identify properly. His anxiety didn't last long; if Jim didn't seem panicked it had to be all right. It was warm in the car, warmer than anything Sebastian had felt in ages, and yet he was shivering lightly. The adrenaline, the exhaustion and the shock were all slowly building up, wearing his body and mind down. He tried to hold onto Jim's hand as tightly as possible, his fingers crooked lightly but he didn't care. Holding onto the Irishman was all that mattered, holding onto him until this hallucination, this dream, this way to hell, until it ended and Jim would disappear again. Who knew when he'd see him again? "Need to take better care, Kitten." Even then, he refused to use Jim's real name, having trained himself to not even consider it, even when he was drugged up or after a 48 hours torture session. No, those three letters were too important to bring them over his lips in case anyone was listening. The warmth and the soft movements of the van eventually managed to lull Sebastian in, his eyelids fighting his wish to keep being awake and alert. It was a hopeless battle, a fight he couldn't win, so he eventually slipped into unconsciousness, still holding onto Jim's hand.

Stranger: Cambridge was safe. It was safe, because Jim had made it safe. The CCTV cameras had been controlled, stilled in their movements for only blinks of the eye while the van made its way from London. And Jim, electronic resources depleted, relied on the driver to take them where they had to go. All the while, the criminal kept his hand holding Sebastian's, the medics not even giving it a second glance. Their focus was on 'More TPN,' 'Back fluids fluids down, can't bring him up too quick,' and, 'Get the oxygen ready, set it to 4, use the non-rebreather.' Jim didn't hear them, after a while, simply watching Sebastian's face. He'd missed it. God, he'd missed it. Even in the shape it was in, as gaunt as the other was, he was still the criminal's tiger. He was worn and his stripes grey, but he was still that tiger. And he was still that tiger, resting in a large bed. With IV poles at the bedside, and a monitor watching every move of his heart, he was still Sebastian. And Jim had stayed by the other's side, even as the hours passed, even as they had gotten the soldier to the safehouse in Cambridge. Even as they had gently taken him inside, gotten him safe, Jim was there, helping the others. He'd swatted away their requests to tend to his arm, until he was sure Sebastian was stable. The night had come, and the cool spring air blew in through the window Jim had opened. Moran's wounds dressed, the criminal felt as though he could rest, finally. Real, peaceful rest. He sat upright in a chair by the open window, arms crossed - one bandaged - and his head ducked down in sleep in the glow of the moon from outside.

You: [I am so sorry to interrupt, but it's literally 5:50 am, and I should have been in bed an hour ago (was waiting for my laundry). That's kinda also the reason for why my replies are getting worse, being dead tired and not being a native speaker don't mix well. Do you want to continue this over email?]

Stranger: [OH GOSH!]

Stranger: [YES PLEASE BUT GO SLEEP I am SO Sorry!]

You: [Noo don't apologise, you're really awesome and I couldn't get myself to stop oops]

Stranger: [Oh gosh no you're really amazing and this is so great, your Seb just - I couldn't just let him go I'm sorry, I know it could have gone REALLY dark but - ]

Stranger: [Go sleep and I'm here if you want to continue - I really hope you would like to, this is fantastic]

You: [I shall email you as soon as I'm up again... the fucking sun is rising, I have a thesis to write and I suppose sleeping really is a good idea. Have a nice day/night, dear stranger c: ]

Stranger: [Goodnight dear!!]

You have disconnected.

[hermanwatts]

Fantasy and Adventure New Releases: 12 October 2019

This week’s fantasy and adventure new releases feature wars between secret societies, unraveling deep-state conspiracies, dragons returning to fantastic worlds, and the Old West turns weird once more.

Blood & Iron: Part Three – Eli Steele

Magic doesn’t exist, until a mage falls in the streets of Ashmor. In his last moments, he gives Rowan Vos, a thief for hire, a sword that will alter his future, and threaten not only his own life, but the lives of everyone around him. Now, fleeing Ashmor for the mysterious city of Thim Dorul on the Cormorant, the Sea of Shields threatens to end everything he and Kassina have fought for.

The men of the Brae have repelled the Meronian invaders in the Battle of Hell’s Gate, but must now race to repair the keep, while contending with Rayland Mace, the arrogant commander of the Beyornian Army.

And introducing Byron Dhane, shamed commander of the Meronian forces that lost a legion of souls to fifty men and the blaze in the Braewood, as well as a hand to Griffon Alexander in single combat, who now wrestles with the grim realities of war, and struggles to reconcile himself to the dark allies that he must rely upon.

The Brand of the Warlock (The Counterfeit Sorcerer #1) – Robert Kroese

A hooded man, his face marred by a mysterious black brand, walks the Plain of Savlos. Some say he has the power to summon demons. Others say he is the only one who can vanquish them. His name is Konrad, and he has a secret….

Once an ordinary soldier, his life was forever changed by a fateful meeting with a dying sorcerer. Now he is all that stands between civilization and the creeping evil of the shadow world. The Brand of the Warlock is the first book in the fast-paced sword & sorcery series THE COUNTERFEIT SORCERER.

The Counterfeit Sorcerer is a five-book epic sword-and-sorcery series. Think Conan, Elric, or Prince Corwin of Amber. After finishing up my Iron Dragon saga, I wanted to write something for pure fun (and that didn’t require so much research!). The Counterfeit Sorcerer series tells the story of young soldier named Konrad who is unwittingly drawn into an age-old conflict between warring sorcerers–and will need all of his cunning just to survive!

Ogres, demons, warlocks, wraiths… you’ll meet them all in The Counterfeit Sorcerer.

Dragontiarna: Thieves (Dragontiarna #2) – Jonathan Moeller

Ridmark Arban has defeated both the mighty Frostborn and the evil of the Seven Swords, and now he only wishes to live quietly with his family.

But Ridmark’s oldest enemy, the Warden of Urd Morlemoch, has not forgotten him.

And the Warden knows a dangerous secret…

Ridmark Arban defended the town of Castarium from dark forces.

But the Warden of Urd Morlemoch has other servants.

Now a sinister cult is stirring in the great city of Cintarra, corrupting the lords of the realm as it searches for lost relics in ancient ruins.

And if the cult finds what it seeks, worlds beyond count will burn…

Invisible Wars: The Collected Dead Six – Larry Correia and Mike Kupari

OMNIBUS EDITION OF ALL THE HARD-HITTING MILITARY THRILLER DEAD SIX NOVELS from the creator of the multiple New York Times best-selling Monster Hunter series Larry Correia and the best-selling science fiction author Mike Kupari. Includes:

Dead Six: Michael Valentine has been recruited by the government to conduct a secret counter-terror operation in the Persian Gulf nation of Zubara. The unit is called Dead Six. Their mission is to take the fight to the enemy and not get caught. Lorenzo, assassin and thief extraordinaire, is being blackmailed by the world’s most vicious crime lord. His team has to infiltrate the Zubaran terrorist network and pull off an impossible heist or his family will die. When Dead Six compromises his objective, Lorenzo has a new job: Find and kill Valentine.

Swords of Exodus: On the far side of the world, deep in former Soviet Central Asia, lies a stronghold called the Crossroads. It is run with an iron fist by a brutally effective warlord. Enter Lorenzo, thief extraordinaire, and Michael Valentine, implacable mercenary warrior. Their task: team with a shadowy organization of modern day Templars and take down a brutal slave lord.

Alliance of Shadows: Europe has spiraled into chaos. In the midst of the disorder, mercenary Michael Valentine and his team are trying to track down an evil woman bent on total power. They’re on their own, with few friends, few resources, and racing against the clock.

Plus, two short stories set in the Dead Six universe: “Sweothi City” by Larry Correia, and the two-part short story “Rock, Meet Hard Place” by Mike Kupari and Peter Nealen.

Plague of Shadows (The Aldoran Chronicles #2) – Michael Wisehart

In his quest for vengeance against the witch Mangora, Ty stumbles across a curious book he believes might help. But its pages hold a dark secret that threatens to unravel everything his family and friends have been fighting for. The more he reads, the more addicted he becomes to the knowledge it offers…

With no memory of who he is or where he came from, Ayrion finds himself traveling with a pair Rhivanni tinkers as they head east toward Sidara. Then a plea for help from a young rover boy leads them into the middle of a horrific bloodbath against an enemy no one has seen in over a thousand years. If they aren’t stopped, these creatures will spread across Aldor, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake…

As the first prisoner to escape the clutches of the White Tower, Ferrin’s only concern is reaching his sister, Myriah, before the Black Watch catches him. Joined by Rae, her daughter, Suri, and a former captain in the Black Watch, the small band makes their way north, hoping to keep ahead of the white riders. Little do they know who has been sent to track them down…

Meanwhile, Kira and the Warren underground continue their search for Reevie as they attempt to discover the reason behind the strange disappearances in Aramoor. However, the answers they seek are more disturbing than anything they could have imagined…

The Raid (Ryan Decker #2) – Steven Konkoly

After exposing and dismantling a deep-state conspiracy that nearly destroyed his life, Ryan Decker finds his covert skills have put him on the radar of influential Senator Steele. Now Steele needs his help. Two patrol agents were killed in a bizarre explosion near the US-Mexico border—and the evidence doesn’t line up with the official story.

Enlisted by Steele to run an undercover, off-the-books investigation, Decker and his partner, Harlow, head to the border town of Tecate. But when they’re caught in an ambush, Decker realizes they’ve stumbled onto something far more dangerous than any of them understood.

The cover-up is rooted deep in the Department of Defense itself. Fearful for their own lives and unable to trust anyone outside their small circle of skilled associates, Decker and Harlow set in motion a risky plan to stop a criminal conspiracy.

Straight Outta Deadwood – edited by David Boop

Baen’s Bestselling Western Fantasy and Horror Anthology Returns for Another Showdown!

Once again, we return to the Old West with a new posse of top authors spin tales of horror, fantasy, and science fiction. We take no prisoners as they explore what really was, and mix in what might have been.

Charlaine Harris [The Sookie Stackhouse Series, Midnight, Texas] shows us a glimpse inside her new series as a tormented gunfighter faces a true demon of her past. Mike Resnick [The Buntline Special] reveals what Doc Holiday thought was so funny on his last day. Jeffrey Mariotte [Desperados, Graveslingers] introduces us to a man who specializes in pictures of the dead who won’t stay dead. Jane Lindskold [The Firekeeper Saga, The Star Kingdom Series (with David Weber)] teaches us not to underestimate a schoolmarm when her students are in jeopardy. And Shane Hensley [Deadlands] cooks up a stew that threatens to send every famous lawman in history to their graves!

Plus, a dozen more stories of how the west was wilder than any history book could contain, such as a new Native American legend by Stephen Graham Jones and a Mormon troubleshooter straddling the line between his faith and the supernatural by D.J. Butler.

The west that was rides again with west that could have been in this follow-up to Straight Outta Tombstone!

Where Nightmares Ride – R. A. Baxter

When Jack Park received an invitation to Camp Farley, a summer camp promising self-improvement using cutting-edge dream technology, he hoped he’d found a remedy for the repetitive nightmares that had been plaguing his dreams night after night. The camp, however, provided something far different than he’d expected: mysterious visitors, excessive security measures, abusive staff, unexplained technology, and camp courses seemingly bent on leading the campers on a path toward chaos.

Katie Frost had endured too much after losing her adored older sister, Abby, to a freak accident. Not long after that, her mother had taken her baby sister and disappeared, leaving her alone with a neglectful father obsessed with, if not controlled by, Montathena Research, his secretive dream-tech business. When her father’s partners demanded that Katie be compelled to serve the company, following a security breach, she stopped caring altogether.

The questions increased when Jack and Katie finally crossed paths, the course of events eventually propelling them into a surreal adventure where the boundaries of life, death, and nightmares meet.

Fantasy and Adventure New Releases: 12 October 2019 published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[beyondforks]

Book Review! A Scot in the Dark by Sarah MacLean

A Scot in the Dark (Scandal & Scoundrel #2) by Sarah MacLean  Genre: Adult (Historical Romance) Date Published: August 30, 2016 Publisher:  Avon

Lonesome Lily Turned Scandalous Siren

Miss Lillian Hargrove has lived much of her life alone in a gilded cage, longing for love and companionship. When an artist offers her pretty promises and begs her to pose for a scandalous portrait, Lily doesn't hesitate...until the lying libertine leaves her in disgrace. With the painting now public, Lily has no choice but to turn to the one man who might save her from ruin.

Highland Devil turned Halfhearted Duke

The Duke of Warnick loathes all things English, none more so than the aristocracy. It does not matter that the imposing Scotsman has inherited one of the most venerable dukedoms in Britain—he wants nothing to do with it, especially when he discovers that the unwanted title comes with a troublesome ward, one who is far too old and far too beautiful to be his problem.

Tartan Comes to Town

Warnick arrives in London with a single goal: get the chit married and see her become someone else's problem, then return to a normal, quiet life in Scotland. It's the perfect plan, until Lily declares she'll only marry for love...and the Scot finds that there is one thing in England he likes far too much... 

A Scot in the Dark by Sarah MacLean is the second book in the Scandal & Scoundrel series. Lily and Alec were at odds from the start. He didn't want to be there, and she definitely didn't want him there. These two have loads of chemistry though, so all that anger makes for some steamy scenes once they start to get over themselves. Lily's thoughts on women and society are ahead of her time. Of course, she's had a little help developing these beliefs with her own scandal brewing. Like the other books in this series, there's never a dull moment. You don't have to read the books in this series in order, but I definitely recommend that you do read them.

A ward. Worse, an English ward. One would think Settlesworth would have told him about that bit. One would think that among the dozens of homes and scores of vehicles and hundreds of staff and thousands of tenants and tens of thousands of livestock, Settlesworth would have thought it valuable to mention the existence of a single young female. A young female who, despite her utter lack of propriety on paper, would no doubt swoon when she came face-to-face with her Scottish guardian. Englishwomen were consummate swooners. In four and thirty years, he’d never met one who didn’t widely, loudly and ridiculously threaten the behavior. But Settlesworth hadn’t mentioned the girl, not even in passing, with a “By the way, there’s a ward, and a significantly troublesome one at that.” At least, he hadn’t mentioned it until she’d been so troublesome as to require Alec’s presence in London. And then, it was Your Grace this, and scandal that, and you must come as quickly as possible to repair her reputation in conclusion. So much for Settlesworth being the best solicitor in history. If Alec had any interest in aiding the peerage, he’d take out an advertisement in the News of London to alert them to the man’s complete ineptitude. A ward seemed the kind of thing a man should know about from the start of his guardianship, rather than the moment the damn woman did something supremely stupid and ended up in desperate need of rescue. If he had any sense, he’d have ignored the summons. But apparently he lacked sense, all told, and Alec Stuart, proud Scotsman and unwilling twenty-first Duke of Warnick, was here—on the steps of number 45 Berkeley Square, waiting for someone to answer the damn door. He considered his watch for the third time in as many minutes before he set to knocking once more, letting all his irritation fall against the great slab of mahogany. When he completed the action, he turned his back to the door and surveyed the square, perfectly manicured, gated and just blooming green, designed for the residents of this impeccable part of London and no one else. The place was so damn British, it made his skin crawl. Curse his sister. “A ward!” Catherine had crowed when she’d heard. “How exciting! Do you think she is very glamorous and beautiful?” When he’d told Catherine that, in his experience, beauty was the reason for most scandals, and he wasn’t interested in dealing with this particular one, his sister had insisted he immediately pack his bags, playing him like a fine fiddle, the baggage. “But what if she’s been greatly maligned? What if she’s all alone? What if she requires a friend? Or a champion?” She’d paused, blinking her enormous blue eyes up at him, and added, “What if I were in her place?” Younger sisters were clearly a punishment for ill deeds in former lives. And current ones. He crossed his arms over his chest, the wool of his jacket pulling tight across his shoulders, constricting him just as the architecture did, all ironwork and stone façade. He hated it here. England will be your ruin. Next door, a gaggle of women exited number 44 Berkeley Square, making their way down the steps to a waiting carriage. A young lady saw him, her eyes going wide before she recoiled in shock and snapped her gaze away to hiss a whisper at the rest of the group, which instantly turned in unison to gawk at him. He felt their stares like a blazing heat, made hotter when the oldest of the group—mother or aunt, if he had to guess—said loudly, “Of course she would have such a man waiting for an audience.” “He looks veritably animalistic.” Alec went instantly cold as the group tittered its amusement. Ignoring the wash of fury that came over him at the assessment, he returned his attention to the door. Where in hell were the servants? “She’s probably renting rooms in there,” one of the girls said. “And other things as well,” came a snide reply. “She’s outrageous enough for it.” What on earth kind of scandal had the girl gotten herself into? Settlesworth’s letter had been perfunctory in the extreme, apologizing for not apprising him of the existence of the ward and laying the girl at Alec’s feet. She is at the heart of a scandal. A quite unsurvivable one, if you do not arrive. Posthaste. He might hate all things English, but Alec wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t about to leave the girl to the damn wolves. And, if the she-wolves next door were any indication, it was a good thing he was here, as the poor girl was already their meal. He knew what it was to be at the hands of Englishwomen. Resisting the urge to tell the women they could pile into their carriage and drive straight to hell, he raised his fist to pound once more. The door opened in an instant and, after impressively recovering from his shock, Alec glowered down at the woman standing before him, wearing the drabbest grey dress he’d ever seen. He imagined she was no more than five and twenty, with high cheekbones and porcelain skin and full lips and red hair that somehow gleamed like gold despite the fact that she was inside a dimly lit foyer. It was as though the woman traveled with her own sun. Drab frock or no, it was not beyond hyperbole to say she was easily the most beautiful woman in Britain. Of course she was. Nothing made a bad day worse like a beautiful Englishwoman. “It’s about bloody time,” he growled. It took the maid several seconds to recover from her own shock and lift her eyes from where they had focused at his chest up to his face, her eyebrows rising with every inch of her gaze. Alec was transfixed. Her eyes were grey—not slate and not steel, but the color of the darkest rainclouds, shot through with silver. He stiffened, the too-small coat pulling tight across his shoulders, reminding him that he was in England, and whoever this woman was, she was irrelevant to his interests. With the exception of the fact that she was standing between him and his immediate return to Scotland. “I suggest ye let me in, lass.” One red brow rose. “I shall do no such thing.” She closed the door. Alec blinked, surprise and disbelief warring for a fleeting moment before they were both overcome by a supreme loss of patience. He stepped back, sized up the door, and, with a heave, broke the thing down. It crashed to the foyer floor with a mighty thud. He could not resist turning to the women next door, now frozen in collective, wide-eyed shock. “Animal enough for you, ladies?” The question spurred them into action, sending them fairly climbing over each other to enter their carriage. Satisfied, Alec returned his attention to his own house and, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, crossed the threshold. The maid stood just inside, staring down at the great oak slab. “You could have killed me.” “Doubtful,” he said. “The door is’nae heavy enough to kill a person.” Her gaze narrowed on him. “Number Eighteen, I presume.” The words could not have held more disdain. Ignoring them, Alec lifted the door from its resting place and turned to lean it against the open doorway. He deliberately thickened his accent. “Then ye ken who I am.” “I’m not certain there’s a person in London who wouldn’t easily ken you. Though you might learn the word know if you wish them to understand you.” He raised a brow at her smart mouth. “I don’t care for being left waiting at the door of my own home.” Her gaze moved pointedly to the door, removed from its hinges. “You make a habit of destroying things when they displease you?” Alec resisted the urge to deny the words. He had spent the majority of his adult life proving that he was not coarse. Not rough. Not a brute. But he would not defend himself to this woman. “I pay handsomely for the privilege.” She rolled her eyes. “Charming.” He refused to reveal his shock. While he had little to no experience with aristocratic servants, he was fairly certain that they did not make a habit of sniping at their masters. Nevertheless, he did not rise to the bait, instead taking in the impeccable home with its broad, sweeping center staircase, stunning and massive oil landscapes on the walls, a touch of gilt here and there, indicating modernity rather than garishness. He turned in a slow circle, considering the high ceilings, the massive mirrors that captured and reflected light from the windows high above, casting the whole space in natural light, and offering a glimpse of a wide, colorful carpet and a roaring fireplace through a nearby open door. It was the kind of house that should belong to a duke with impressive pedigree, no doubt decorated by some previous duchess. He stilled. Was there a previous duchess? With seventeen dead dukes, Alec would bet there was more than one previous duchess. He growled at the thought. All he needed was a widow to deal with on top of the scandalous ward and the petulant staff. The staff in question heard the sound of displeasure. “I knew they called you the diluted duke, but I did not think you would be so …” The impertinence trailed off, but Alec heard the unspoken worlds. Beastly. Coarse. Unrefined. He lost his patience. “I suggest you fetch Lady Lillian. Immediately.” “It’s Miss Hargrove. She’s not highborn.” He raised a brow. “This is England, is it not? Have they changed the rules, then? You gleefully correct dukes now?” “I do when the duke in question is wrong,” she said, “Though you should be fine, as few will understand enough of your monstrous accent to know if you are right or wrong.” “You seem to understand me well enough.” She smiled too sweetly. “My vast good fortune, I suppose.” He resisted the urge to laugh at the quick retort. The woman was not amusing. She was moments from being sacked. “And what of the respect that comes with the title?” “It comes from people who are impressed by said title, I imagine.” “And you are not?” She crossed her arms. “Not particularly.” “May I ask why?” “There have been eighteen of you in five years. Or, to be more precise, seventeen in two weeks, followed by you for five years. And despite this being the first time you’ve set foot in this house, it—and all its contents—belong to you. Are cared for. For you. In absentia. If that’s not evidence that titles are ridiculous, I’m not sure what is.” She wasn’t saying anything he didn’t believe. But that did not mean she was not maddening—likely just as mad as the other woman in the house. “While your insubordination is impressive and I do not entirely disagree with your logic, I’ve had enough,” he said. “I intend to speak with Miss Lillian, and your task, whether you like it or not, is to fetch her.” “Why are you here?” He let stony silence stretch between them for a long minute, attempting to intimidate her into doing as he asked. “Fetch your mistress.” She was not intimidated in the slightest. “I think it amusing that you refer to her as mistress of the house. As though she isn’t a prisoner of it.” That’s when he knew. His ward was not the swooning type, after all. Before he could speak, however, she continued. “As though she were not a belonging just like the door you summarily destroyed like a great Scottish brute.” He didn’t mean to hear the word. But somehow, standing here, with this impeccable Englishwoman in this impeccable English town house in this impeccable English square, wearing an ill-fitting suit, barely fitting in the open doorway, feeling big and out of place, he couldn’t help but hear it. Couldn’t help but feel it, close and unsettling, like the tight cravat around his neck. How often had he heard it from beautiful women? Whispered in awe, as though they were too busy imagining the fine, deep notch he would make in their bedposts to keep their innermost thoughts to themselves. When one came in the size he did, women tended to desire it, like a prize. A bull at the county fair. Massive and beastly. The word honored their desire even as it demeaned his own. Just as it had demeaned him on his mother’s lips, marking her regret as she’d spat it at him— always too large to be fine enough for her. Too big to be worthy of her. Too coarse. Too Scottish. Too much a reminder of her disappointing life. She’d loathed his size. His strength. His inheritance from his father. Loathed it so much that she’d left, that single word her parting gift to her only son. Brute. And so, when he heard it here, in this place, on the lips of another beautiful Englishwoman, with such thorough disdain, he was unable to avoid it. Just as he was unable to resist retaliating. “I had hoped you wouldn’t be beautiful.” She narrowed her gaze. “The descriptor does not seem a compliment on your lips.” A vision flashed, this stunning woman laid across a bed, hair spread like fire and gold across white linen, long limbs beckoning, pink lips parted. Desire shot through him like pain, and he forced himself to remember his place. He was her guardian. She was his ward. And English at that. She was not for him. “It’s not,” he said. “It makes it far more likely you did it.” Her eyes were glorious, more expressive than he would ever have imagined, and filled instantly with challenge. “Did what?” “Ruined yourself.” The anger changed to something else, gone so quickly that he might not have recognized it if it were not so unbearably familiar to him. Shame. And in her shame, in the way it bore the shadow of his own, he instantly regretted his words. And he wished them gone. “I should not have—” “Why not? It is true.” He watched her for a long moment—taking in her straight spine, her square shoulders, her high head. The strength she should not have, but carried like honor, nonetheless. “We should begin again,” he said. “I would prefer we not begin at all,” she said, and turned away from him, leaving him in the hallway, with nothing but the sounds from the square beyond floating through the permanently open doorway to keep his company.

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Sarah MacLean grew up in Rhode Island, obsessed with historical romance and bemoaning the fact that she was born far too late for her own season. Her love of all things historical helped to earn her degrees from Smith College and Harvard University before she finally set pen to paper and wrote her first book. Sarah now lives in New York City with her husband, baby daughter, their dog, and a ridiculously large collection of romance novels. She loves to hear from readers. Please visit her at www.macleanspace.com To learn more about Sarah MacLean and her books, visit her website. You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter.