#i’m delirious heed me no mind

[luisjuanmilton]

I have sent seven different emails today this is absolutely disgusting I hate college.

[logicalbookthief]

If you're still taking writing prompts, how about 62 or 72 with Darius and Hunter? 👀 Your choice. I think that anything of yours about those two would be a great read. But no pressure if you already have your plate full!

72. “There’s always another way.”

@thyandrawrites thank you for dadrius prompt and for giving me an excuse to write a one-shot for an AU I will probably not have the chance to write in its totality <3333

Anyway, this basically an AU where the whole Day of Unity/Collector fiasco ends tragically for everyone, but Darius wakes up back in time during the events of Eclipse Lake and thinks he may be able to prevent it, despite the massive amounts of PTSD.

Enjoy!

Darius? 

He recognizes that voice. That annoying little voice, pestering him with questions, asking for advice, or his orders. It prods his mind like sunlight peeking through the curtains, urging him awake.

Darius? Darius, wake up! 

Waking would be agony. His body remembers, even if his brain has yet to catch up. Veins of gold fracturing up his arm, his shoulder, his neck. His throat tightens, it burns, he can’t breathe, or cry out, they’re too late, it’s too late, to—

Wake up!

Darius shoots up in bed. Eyes flying open, searching for... For the boy, that’s who the voice belongs to, where is...?

Where am I?

His vision swims for another second or so before it clears. He’s alone. Alone in his room.

A room that isn’t in shambles. A castle still in-tact.

Darius yanks down his sleeve. Stares at the skin of his sigil, no longer inflamed, or fractured by scars. He inhales sharply, scrambling to his feet.

The date on the calendar isn’t correct. The date says they have weeks until the Day of Unity, the eclipse, the Collector—

His lungs seize impatiently. Choking on the breath he forgot to let out.

Flummoxed, Darius staggers back, missing the bed and landing hard on the floor. The pain is real, grounding. There’s a layer of dust beneath his fingertips, and that’s real, too; he hasn’t had the time to clean, too focused on averting the end of the world. An end that’s already come to pass.

 Am I really...?

Time travel does not exist, he reminds himself, rather deliriously, given the circumstances. How else does he explain this anomaly? Even the Collector’s nigh-infinite power can’t warp the past.

Could it be a trick, an illusion cast over his mind? For what purpose? No, the Collector was just a child too callous when handling his toys. Malicious, yes, not calculating enough for this — whatever cruelty this is.

Darius never paid much heed to the Titan’s will, even prior to the revelation it was all a ruse. If he were a Titan-fearing man, this certainly seems like some divine form of punishment. To force him to witness it all over again, fully aware of the hollow victory their initial failure spawns—all the friends he loses, sacrificed to the greater good, which turned out to be a mediocre good at best—

As far as panic attacks go, it isn’t the worst he’s experienced. Not when he’s intimate enough with death to distinguish the difference now, the what separates this fire-laced fear in his chest from the dread of knowing you and all your loved ones will die as you’re dying.

Tension settles beneath his ribcage, tugging helplessly at his heart. Ignorance is bliss, he thinks, if it means with walking into this rebellion with eyes blinded by hope. Instead of being dragged back while knowing there’s no way to stop—

There’s always another way.

He recognizes that voice, too, even if it’s distorted, as though traveling over a distance. The whisper of it eases his pulse, eases his mind out of its panic, anchoring him in a moment much further in the past.

“Well, I’m no oracle, but…” The Golden Guard surveys the room, deftly dodging a splatter of abomination as it drips from the ceiling. “I suspect you have a shift full of cleaning duty in your future.”

“I can’t get this spell right,” Darius groans, picking flecks of goop out of his hair. “I’ve followed all the instructions, done everything right, and yet—”

He gestures to the cauldron, still bubbling with sinister intent. Mocking him.

“Oof,” the Golden Guard grunts eloquently. He bends down to examine the mixture. “Any idea where you’re going wrong?”

Darius scowls. “Did you miss the part where I mentioned I’ve done everything right?”

“What I mean is,” he interjects, wryly. “Have you tried approaching it from a different angle?” 

Frowning, Darius crosses his arms. “This is the way the book says to do it,” he mutters, defensively. Even a hack like Alador can follow the instructions.

The Golden Guard chuckles. “Trust me,” he says, and, though it’s perhaps to his detriment in the long run, Darius does. “There’s always another way.”

Reminded of his mentor’s advice, Darius exhales. Dusts off his clothes. Reassess. 

The Day of Unity is weeks away. Belos is still alive, still plotting to destroy every witch in the Boiling Isles. The Day of Unity is weeks away, and Darius knows, he knows precisely what they failed to do before, and precisely what they need to do to ensure it won’t happen again.

Maybe this isn’t a cruel, cosmic joke. Maybe this is a second chance.

He checks the calendar once more. He can’t remember anything remarkable about this day in particular, though it hardly matters, when he intends to change the outcome of it all.

Coven meeting in thirty minutes.

Rushing through his routine, Darius manages to look fairly presentable, all things considered. Operating on muscle memory, he walks through the castle halls without any stumbles, as if he’s never left. It feels a bit like he’s sleepwalking.

“If this is a dream,” he grumbles to himself. “It is a very long, elaborate one.”

Surreal or no, the familiarity will work in his favor. He resolves to appear as normal as possible, since that was the folly of their last plan. Terra suspected Raine from the start and saw the betrayal coming.

Fortunately, Darius’s superior acting will be able to pass the test of scrutiny. 

He hears the pitter-patter of claws against the tile, a swoop in the air, and then there’s a weight on his shoulder, the bristle of unruly fur against his cape. Darius stiffens.

Scalpel against his throat, eyes blown wide in fear, a fear he’s rarely witnessed in his friend. Darius can’t move, can’t do anything as he’s restrained, can’t do anything as the draining spell begins, his friend collapsing in pain despite all his efforts to save—

Jumping down off his shoulder, Eberwolf tilts his head. Something wrong? 

Darius forces out a scoff. “Nothing of note,” he replies, shortly. Any lingering traces of turmoil could be blamed on irritation. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Eberwolf falls into step aside of him. It’s your bed.

“You have no room to talk. You sleep in a pile of filthy fur pelts on the floor.”

And of the two of us, who looks more rejuvenated? Eberwolf preens.

He scowls half-heartedly, too busy swelling with joy. Titan, he missed this bickering.

Meeting with the coven-heads should be a cinch, now that he’s already had this episode with Eber. He’ll be prepared to handle these emotional outbursts should they try to inconvenience him again.

Nothing prepares Darius for the sight of Raine, standing awkwardly next to Terra, waiting for everyone to arrive.

 A bard should never be as silent as this. The draining spell left all of them groggy, weak. Raine has yet to stir. Not even as Eda pleads, and sobs, and cradles their body, which is still except for the gentle rise of their chest. 

Whatever strength they needed to wake was used up to save the woman they loved. Even as the world screams, a symphony of terror and noise, Raine remains silent. Catatonic, alive in name only...

“Something the matter, Darius?” asks Terra, an ice-cold echo of Eber’s concern. Her voice snaps him back to the present, realizing he’s now the subject of her undivided curiosity, bordering on suspicion. Fuck.

“Yes,” he deadpans, pointing to Raine’s vest. Today it’s a rotted burgundy color. “That eyesore of an outfit caused a momentary lapse in composure.” 

Raine pulls a face, shooting Darius a look. Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t you? 

You’ll thank me later, songbird. “Remind me to bleach that image from my eyeballs when we’re done here.”

Terra chuckles, not bothering to hide her amusement. That was the trick with the old crone, he’s learned. Keep her entertained and she’s no trouble.

The meeting goes by without another incident. Darius stalks off on his own in search of “eye bleach” afterwards. It gives him a chance to sift through his swirling thoughts, which keep circling back to how this occurred. He removes time-portals from the equation, since it’s solely his consciousness that’s done the traveling.

Out-of-body experiences reek of oracle magic. Loathe as he is to admit, he could use Odalia’s consult on this, though the cost would be enduring her smugness. However, she was a bit too chummy with Kikimora, as he recalls... 

Darius wrinkles his nose. Decides he’d rather eat his own boot than ask her for help. 

He’s pondering so intently that he fails to look as he’s turning the corner, colliding right into someone else.

“Watch where you’re going!” 

That voice. Full of anger, and no small amount of irritation, as its owner tries to brush past the coven head.

Without a second’s hesitation, Darius catches the kid by the wrist, both of them freezing in the middle of corridor. Suddenly, he’s struggling to breathe past the smell of smoke—

—smoke paints the sky black. Flecks of gold mingled in the ash that springs from the from the pyre. 

Belos howls against his bindings, very nearly free. The youngest of the Golden Guards stands vigil.

“This curse of our family ends with you,” he vows, a flame glyph clenched in his fist. His words are grim, final.  “And with me.”

Darius realizes too late what he means. He isn’t fast enough.

The wire trips, the trap set—

Hunter glares at his lack of response. "What do you want?" he asks wearily. "And why are you staring at me like—mmph!"

His yelp is muffled against Darius's chest as he’s crushed in an embrace. The boy squirms, radiating his uncertainty. Darius holds tighter, reassured by his fluttery pulse. His hand clasps against hair that’s still blonde, not blackened by soot. Skin not blistered, or burnt, his remains distorted beyond recognition. No, Hunter is alive, and whole, and nothing could ever compel Darius to let go—

Something smears onto glove.

"Ack!" Darius gasps, shoving the boy to arm’s length. He glowers at the state of his clothes. "Gross! You're covered in sludge!"

"Well, it wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn't tried to smother me!" Hunter sputters.

"I wasn't smothering you,” he snaps. “That was a hug. Do you not understand what a hug is?"

“A what?” Hunter exclaims, answering that succinctly. “Did you hit your head recently!? Should I call the healing coven?” 

Darius pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. His hand’s trembling, but he doubts Hettie Cutburn has anything that will treat this unique brand of head trauma.

"I was...” He fumbles to explain to Hunter, this Hunter, who has no reason trust his word, steadfastly devoted to the emperor. He hasn’t the faintest clue what sort of danger he’s in. Hasn’t an inkling of the fate that awaits him, a graveyard of golden masks and bones…

Titan, does he even have Flapjack yet? Has he met Eda’s human? Too many liabilities. So many ways this single, persistent child could compromise the mission.

If he was smart, Darius would leave him alone. Claim temporary insanity and push the kid aside, just as he’s done a hundred times before. Hunter would barely notice, accustomed to this kind of neglect. 

Besides, the sooner he defeats Belos, the sooner he saves Hunter, and everyone else. When this is over, he can apologize properly, and make up for it, and—

“Let me help,” Hunter beseeches. “I know my uncle better than anyone. And I learned plenty about my family in the human realm,” he adds, grimacing. “I know what I have to do.”

Darius’s exhaustion is bone-deep by this point. Somehow he summons the energy for a smile, threadbare as it is. “Forget it, kid.”

Hunter frowns. “After the draining spell, you’re short on able-bodied witches. I’m no witch, but after all this, you can’t seriously be underestimating me.”

“What about your friends?” Darius retorts. “Would you allow them to join such a mission?”

“They’re kids.” Hunter’s resolve hardens. “Real kids, with families, and homes. I belong here. Fighting, following orders. It’s what I know what to do, what I was made for.”

Stiltedly, Darius opens his mouth, unsure of how to broach the subject. This conversation confirms what he assumed already, that Hunter has no relatives, and nowhere to go.

You could have a home with me, he wants to say, but a shout from Eda draws his attention. It sounds urgent, more important, so Darius shelves the discussion for later. They’ll have time, he thinks, once this is over. It can wait...

“I was checking on you,” he rushes out, stunning the boy into silence. “You look a bit, um. Banged up.”

"Yeah, you would look that way too if you were traipsing around in the mines all day, searching for Titan’s blood.”

“At the Knee?” Darius knits his brow. Belos needs Titan’s blood for the portal. Why send his scouts on a such a fruitless endeavor? “Those mines have been dry for decades.”

“Wish you would’ve told me earlier,” Hunter mumbles. “Nothing left to find there except fool’s blood.”

“Fool’s blood is highly unstable,” Darius says with growing horror. He examines the boy’s face more closely, noting that he’s littered with cuts and bruises, most of it superficial.

“That’s what I said!” Hunter exclaims, throwing his arms in the air. “Try telling the idiot Owl Lady and her rat that.”

So he’s definitely met Edalyn, judging by his utter frustration. Darius huffs out a laugh, short-lived as he glimpses the nasty-looking cut on his forehead, hopefully not caused by any explosions.

He moves to tuck that errant strand of hair out of the way so he can get a better view. Hunter flinches from the touch. “Get away from me,” he says, waspily. 

Obligingly, Darius backpedals. “You look like you’re ready to collapse,” he observes, perhaps a bit hypocritically, when he’s teetering over the edge of exhaustion himself.

“Because I’m tired,” Hunter murmurs, the bags under his eyes darker than usual. Despite his admission, he says, “If you’re finished with your weird little interrogation, I have work to do.”

Good, he’s leaving of his own volition. Just let him pass—

Panic blooms in his chest. Burning, frantic and baseless. For Titan’s sake, it isn’t the kid will meet some terrible fate the moment he leaves his sight!

His feet act on their own accord, stepping in front of him and blocking his path. Hunter groans.

“Wait!” Darius halts. Tries to think of something, anything that could detain the boy without drawing suspicion. “Are- Are you hungry?”

Of the excuses he could’ve conjured, that’s a contender for the stupidest.

Hunter opens his mouth, all ready with a snide reply, but he’s interrupted by a long, rumbling growl from his stomach. He flushes, teeth clicking shut. 

That’s a yes. Darius smirks victoriously, motioning for Hunter to follow. Reluctantly, the boy complies.

                                           __________________

“Stop staring at me,” Darius snaps, though there’s no heat behind it, unless he counts the steam wafting from his cup. “Didn’t anybody ever teach you manners?”

“I’m confused,” Hunter shrugs by way of response. Darius shoves a tin bowl of cookies in his direction as a distraction.

He didn’t mention that any food in his room was whatever snacks Eberwolf hadn’t eaten from his cheat-day stash.

“You have literally never invited me to tea,” Hunter points out. “Or tolerated me for longer than ten-minute increments.”

“That is... Oddly specific.” And incredibly sad. He acted so arrogant as the Golden Guard, trying to boss around adults that he technically outranked, but who was supposed to take a child seriously? It was such an effective front that it never occurred to Darius that Hunter may be aware of how disliked he was among the coven heads.

There was a lot you didn’t consider.

Oblivious to his guilt, Hunter nods. “Your record is higher than most coven heads. Graye can only stand me for four minutes at best.”

“Maybe I should keep you around,” Darius snorts. “Save me the headache of dealing with him.”

Hunter cracks a smile. He munches on a cookie from the tin, seemingly without a care for how stale they are, quickly grabbing another. While he’s scattering crumbs all over his table, Darius sets his cup down, surreptitiously gathering the medical kit he snuck over with the kettle.

When he realizes his intent, Hunter grunts and bats his hand away. “I told you—”

“Hold still,” Darius barks. Regrets it when Hunter goes rigid, instantly obeying. Softly, he dabs at the cut with disinfectant. “Don’t be , it won’t hurt you. This looks like it smarts, though.”

“This? No,” Hunter scoffs. “I’ve had worse.”

He brandishes this fact proudly, a badge of honor. It comes across rather differently to Darius, a child who doesn’t know any better. His gaze flicks over to the scar on the boy's face and decides they both need a distraction. 

Luckily, the boy loves to talk, so Darius asks, “Was your mission a success?”

“It...” He deflates at the question, visibly wavering. “The emperor didn’t seem pleased with me.”

Rage overwhelms his senses, because he knows, he knows now what a displeased Belos means for the boy. He manages to reign in his anger. Barely.  

“Oh?” he says, faux-casually.

“I sort of. Disobeyed his orders.” Hunter winces in a way that has nothing to do with the disinfectant. “But! I got what he needed! Which is more than Kikimora can say.”

He smirks at this, although it’s bittersweet at best.

“Any other complications?” Darius fishes, applying a bandage over the cut. “You mentioned the Owl Lady.”

“She was there,” Hunter confirms. “And the youngest Blight.”

Interesting. He files away that information for later.

“We fought over the Titan’s blood, and I...” Hunter dithers for a while, sipping at his tea. His fingers twitch restlessly against the ceramic. “I did what I had to do to win. And I fulfilled my mission, so I should be happy, shouldn’t I?”

He doesn’t wait for a response.

 “Only she said some things and I... I didn’t want to fight her, really. Or resort to what I did to win. But it was the Titan’s will that Belos have that key, I did what I was supposed to do.” Hunter dares to glance at Darius, who’s listened patiently up to this point. “So why do I feel like I... Like I did something awful? That’s stupid, right? They were the ones opposing the emperor, after all.”

Being a spy is striking a delicate balance between what’s true and what’s necessary. He could tell Hunter the entire, sordid truth right here, right now ... and he would certainly be executed for treason by the next morning. He should be allowed to come to these conclusions naturally, like he is already, and on his own terms...

...though that’s not to say he couldn’t do with some prodding.

“In the coven, there’s no room for second-guessing. You use any method you have to in order to succeed. The ends justify the means and all that.”

“Exactly! You understand.” Hunter sounds relieved, his shoulders sagging with the weight of it removed.

“I’m afraid it isn’t that easy, little prince.” Darius smiles thinly, closing his eyes against the twinge of a headache. “Whatever you’re willing to do, you have to ask yourself — what is this going to cost me? What am I willing to pay?” 

Scalpels. Silence. 

Fire, everywhere.

He opens his eyes.

“Never mind the emperor for a moment,” he says, fiercely. Hunter balks, taken aback by this blasphemy. “Will you be able to live with the consequences?”

Hunter fidgets with the hem of his cloak, which has yet to be repaired. “I had to,” he whispers, though to whom, Darius isn’t sure. “It was the only way.”

“There is always another way,” Darius imparts. “That was something your predecessor taught me.”

“You knew the Golden Guard who was before me?” asks Hunter, the words skipping over each other in his excitement. Crumbs spew from the corners of his mouth. “What else did he teach you?

“Not to chew with my mouth open, for one,” Darius grumbles. He bops the crown of his head with the side of his palm, despising how it makes Hunter flinch. He’ll ensure that in his timeline, Belos dies a much slower, painful death. “Sit down. I’ll tell you anything you want about my mentor on one condition.”

Hunter nods eagerly.

“If you get hurt like this again, or at all, you’ll come to me for help.” Darius raises his eyebrows at the kid, awaiting his agreement. “Deal?”

Though he seems rather stunned by the terms, his curiosity outweighs everything else. “Deal.” 

[edenmemes]

skyward sword sentence starters

more to be added !

❝ you promised to meet me before it starts, remember? ❞ ❝ you seem pretty...relaxed about the whole thing. ❞ ❝ is something wrong? what’s the hurry? ❞ ❝ sometimes i just don’t know what’s going on in your head. ❞ ❝ i'm not like you. i fail at everything i try. ❞ ❝ a shrimpy boy like you hardly looks the part of a hero. ❞ ❝ swatting a few monsters will be no trouble for you. ❞ ❝ run and play this time. get in my way again, though, and you’re dead. ❞ ❝ don’t even pretend that was an accident! ❞ ❝ do you doubt these eyes? i look upon your shirt and i see a single thread loose on your sleeve stitching. ❞ ❝ this is no place for one such as you. and yet here you stand. ❞ ❝ i need to vent all this unhealthy anger,     and your agony is such a great stress reliever. ❞ ❝ remember what we discussed. restrain yourself. focus on the task at hand. ❞ ❝ do my words anger you? do my words sting? let them. ❞ ❝ you don’t come by here just to see me, do you? ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? you just made a face like you wanted to say something. ❞ ❝ oh, i get it. you’re trying to weasel out of having to practice. ❞ ❝ i guess it’s not all bad. at least i’m getting paid. ❞ ❝ there’s something i’ve been meaning to talk to you about.... ❞ ❝ would you wake up, straighten up, and grow a backbone already? ❞ ❝ nice try, but you’re not fooling me. ❞ ❝ i...i have to go. i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ folks were always cheering me on like it was a parade. but as you know, time passes. ❞ ❝ you keep some very strange company, friend. ❞ ❝ i don’t know if it’s safe yet...i’m going to stay here awhile longer. ❞ ❝ oh no. you’ve done it now! there’s no escaping this one! ❞ ❝ so, what now? are you going to cry? ❞ ❝ i can’t begin to tell you how sorry i am for pulling you into all of this. ❞ ❝ what is wrong with you? just look at what you’ve done! ❞ ❝ what we’ve seen here today defies explanation. ❞ ❝ you put up more of a fight than i would have thought possible out of such a soft person. ❞ ❝ did you really just draw your sword? foolish. ❞ ❝ should you heed the call of destiny,     i don’t know what dangers you may have to face. ❞ ❝ i can’t help being such a coward...i’m really sorry. ❞ ❝ i fear i spent far too long teasing and toying with you. ❞ ❝ you do your people proud. ❞ ❝ how long do we have to live in constant fear? ❞ ❝ i'll just beat you within an inch of your life! ❞ ❝ dawn is drawing near. it has been a long night for the both of us, hasn’t it? ❞ ❝ you were limp and unconscious. i feared the worst. ❞ ❝ what do you think you’re doing sneaking out with that? ❞ ❝ such a beautiful day, but we’re too busy to enjoy it. some things never change. ❞ ❝ i guess you’ll never learn unless you run into trouble one day. ❞ ❝ look at my face. if that’s your idea of a joke, i’m not laughing. ❞ ❝ you appeared to be relishing that snooze, so i declined to wake you. ❞ ❝ huh? oh, uh, nothing. really, i was, uh...talking to myself. ❞ ❝ you’re looking a little pale... ❞ ❝ i imagine you and i will cross paths again. until then, do not lower your guard. ❞ ❝ you certainly are persistent... ❞ ❝ all that may be well intentioned and true, but it doesn’t mean it’s right. ❞ ❝ i’m prepared to pay the price for what i’ve done. ❞ ❝ i had no idea we were fated to carry such a heavy destiny. ❞ ❝ i need your strength to tip the scales in our favor. ❞ ❝ all this training, and no results! ❞ ❝ all i’ve hears so far is a bunch of babbling about destiny,     but that’s a load of garbage. ❞ ❝ when night draws her tenebrous curtain across the sky, i come here. ❞ ❝ what in the world just happened? did you use some kind of magic? ❞ ❝ please, see it through and prove the legends true. ❞ ❝ i was happy just spending my days hanging around with you. i wanted that feeling to last forever. ❞ ❝ you are vital to a mission of great importance. ❞ ❝ the chances of that happening are just about less than zero. ❞ ❝ i hate to break it to you, but today’s the day i bust up this adorable little fantasyland you’re living in. ❞ ❝ this is a war, and the fate of the land hangs in the balance. ❞ ❝ i know you, and you’re no hero. ❞ ❝ you’re messing with me. say it again, i dare you. ❞ ❝ you float through life with your head in the clouds. ❞ ❝ i don’t do charity for wimps. ❞ ❝ what’s this...? what is it that my eyes behold? ❞ ❝ don’t even think about it! are we clear? ❞ ❝ the point is your work here is done. i got it covered from here. ❞ ❝ my eyes foresee a hazardous, thorny road ahead for you... ❞ ❝ you...this is your fault, you know. ❞ ❝ my heart is bursting with thoughts of you. ❞ ❝ i have a serious dilemma on my mind right now, and you’re distracting me. ❞ ❝ i’ll make you proud. you’ll see! ❞ ❝ feels dangerous. something could jump out at us at any moment. ❞ ❝ we’re talking about a tale that’s been passed down over a lot of years, so i wouldn’t put much stock in it. ❞ ❝ i have the right to experience an unfettered and passionate love, don’t i? ❞ ❝ i’ll tell you, it gives even a big guy like me the creeps. ❞ ❝ oh...how can i get you to notice me? ❞ ❝ i get the feeling nothing i can say will talk you out of it. ❞ ❝ my love for you is wider than the horizon and deeper than the clouds. ❞ ❝ trust my piercing eyes...listen to my pure and innocent voice. ❞ ❝ i feel so excited, so cheerful, so full of life. ❞ ❝ i sense a silent power dwelling somewhere in your frame. ❞ ❝ this turn of events has left me with a strong appetite for bloodshed. ❞ ❝ there’s no doubting it. the gears of fate have begun to turn. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry. i was lost in thought there for a moment. ❞ ❝ don’t men open doors for a lady anymore? how long am i supposed to stand here waiting for a little chivalry? ❞ ❝ i hate even saying this, but i guess you got it all figured out. ❞ ❝ you must not push yourself. you’re still recovering. ❞ ❝ you think you’re pretty suave, don’t you? ❞ ❝ i know you’re in a hurry, so i really appreciate you taking the time to help. ❞ ❝ i saw it, but i was able to escape by the seat of my pants. ❞ ❝ do you have any idea how that made me feel inside? furious! outraged! sick with anger! ❞ ❝ you’re really something else. i could never imagine myself doing what you’re about to do. ❞ ❝ i must aid you in fulfilling the great destiny that is your burden to carry. ❞ ❝ i should have believed you...i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ lately, when i think about you, my head gets all fuzzy, my heart races, i get short of breath, and i feel all dizzy... ❞ ❝ you should know better than that to fret about me. ❞ ❝ thanks for jumping in there to rescue me. ❞ ❝ hey, hold on there! what are you trying to pull all of a sudden? ❞ ❝ your face cries out in earnest wonder, and that cry is: ‘what’s this?!’ ❞ ❝ i promise up front not to murder you. ❞ ❝ you...didn’t hear any of that, did you? there’s no way you heard, right? ❞ ❝ i tell you, all sorts of weird things are going on lately. ❞ ❝ calamitous visions appear before me... ❞ ❝ you...make me so happy...i think i’m going to keel over... ❞ ❝ i wanted you to be the first to see me like this. ❞ ❝ i can’t imagine a more fitting color for you. it’s as though you were born to wear it. ❞ ❝ i bet you can’t even decide what to have for lunch on your own, huh? ❞ ❝ amazing, right? wrong! it is beyond amazing! ❞ ❝ it can’t be easy for you, can it? ❞ ❝ you’ll see in time that you have your own role to play in all this. ❞ ❝ trust in fate to guide your feet. ❞ ❝ i bet you’re here just to check me out, right? ❞ ❝ i just hope nothing has happened. i’m worried sick thinking about it. ❞ ❝ whoa...you’re kind of imploding my mind right now. ❞ ❝ if you wanna live again one day, you should head for home. ❞ ❝ you have a great journey before you, and those clothes...they don’t look up to the task. ❞ ❝ did you manage to get even a wink of sleep last night? ❞ ❝ ever heard of banging your knuckles against the door? it’s called knocking. ❞ ❝ so, uh...yeah. just how long have you been standing there? ❞ ❝ honestly, it’s almost as though you become a completely different person when you worry about me. ❞ ❝ you showing up here must mean we’re connected somehow. like fate. ❞ ❝ sorry to put you through that. i guess i owe you one now. ❞ ❝ to tell you the truth, i’m feeling a little frustrated, and right now i just need someone to vent to. ❞ ❝ what’s with you? leave me alone if you don’t want anything. ❞ ❝ hearing that is such a...huge weight off my mind. ❞ ❝ though your journey will put you in harms way, you must endure. ❞ ❝ i'm just deadweight. what kinda use is that to anyone... ❞ ❝ seriously, what is that thing over there?! ❞ ❝ before i say another word, i feel like i owe you an apology. ❞ ❝ during your long journey, you’ve grown so much. ❞ ❝ from the moment i laid my eyes on you, i could tell you had a gentle and generous heart. ❞ ❝ oh dear...i don’t know what’s come over me all of a sudden... ❞ ❝ you don’t appear to have any serious injuries. for that much we can be grateful. ❞ ❝ i can see into those dopey eyes of yours. ❞ ❝ i can finally smile and laugh again! thank you ever so much. ❞ ❝ i think i might of broke something. ❞ ❝ is that it? i thought it was going to put up more of a fight. ❞ ❝ i thought we were goners this time. sort of glad i was wrong about that. ❞ ❝ what? i don’t seem like my usual self? ❞ ❝ this place needs a name. a name fitting for this rugged, adventurous wilderness. ❞ ❝ what were you thinking? you scared a year off my life! ❞ ❝ care to explain just what you meant by ‘our special moment alone’? ❞ ❝ my advice? work hard and wish with all your heart. ❞ ❝ say, you look all flustered. ❞ ❝ i fear we can’t dwell on our success. ❞ ❝ the world is bursting with undiscovered surprises, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ you're not exactly mr/mrs.perfect either, are you? ❞ ❝ this is easily as scary as i thought it would be. ❞ ❝ i swear this neighborhood’s getting crummier every day. ❞ ❝ you ain’t as dumb as you look. ❞ ❝ i was going to ask if you wanted me to take care of you forever... ❞ ❝ i need to learn how to keep these delirious dreams in check. ❞ ❝ maybe you should forget about everything that happened here tonight. ❞ ❝ can you imagine a more gruesome fate? ❞ ❝ there are more monsters about than before, so be careful. ❞ ❝ human desire is an insatiable, fearsome thing. ❞ ❝ i sense an evil presence on the other side of this door. ❞ ❝ you understand, don’t you? i’m not wrong about this, am i? ❞ ❝ i never wanted to lay eyes on you again. ❞ ❝ i would have gotten discouraged if you hadn’t come by to cheer me on. you gave me motivation. ❞ ❝ who do you think you are, getting involved in my business like that? ❞ ❝ i just wish there was more i could do for you... ❞ ❝ i don’t even understand how you could make such a wild accusation! ❞ ❝ it was at that moment i finally realized. i realized that...i love you. ❞ ❝ make sure you come home every now and then. nothing like a good sleep in your own bed. ❞ ❝ you’d better not keep me waiting. ❞ ❝ make sure you put your heart into it! i won’t stand for anything but your best. ❞ ❝ how could you be swayed by the temptation of material gain?     do you have no honor? ❞ ❝ you really want to hear about all my troubles? that’s kind of you. ❞ ❝ you...weren’t supposed to see that whole spectacle. how embarrassing... ❞ ❝ you have only succeeded in buying us a little more time. ❞ ❝ watch it! that’s no way to talk to someone who just saved your life! ❞ ❝ you look like you need to get something off your chest. ❞ ❝ know that all the questions you have now will be answered in time. ❞ ❝ there is nothing natural about these tremors. ❞ ❝ you might just be the person i need! you seem pretty good with the ladies. ❞ ❝ it’s great to hear you’re so confident in me. ❞ ❝ ideal love is unfettered and passionate. anything less than that can’t really be called love at all. ❞ ❝ you're incessant buzzing around my head like some irksome gadfly when i’m this busy is...making me very disagreeable. ❞ ❝ you may not have noticed, but i’m trying to hide here.     could you please scoot along? ❞ ❝ you'd better keep your eyes to yourself, if you know what i mean. ❞ ❝ have you come to laugh at me in my miserable state? ❞ ❝ you...you came to see me! i’m so happy. ❞ ❝ your job is simple! you make sure none of these monsters lays a claw on me. not...one...claw. ❞ ❝ now is not the time to be picky about who will help you. ❞ ❝ watch carefully while i demonstrate what a real hero looks like. ❞ ❝ you are something else! there is nothing you cannot do. ❞ ❝ if you think about how often we meet, you have to admit that our relationship has gone beyond friendship, you know? ❞ ❝ i’ll make the affair so excruciating, you’ll deafen yourself with the shrill sound of your own screams. ❞ ❝ i was right, then. there is something special about you. ❞ ❝ i should have reprimanded you the last time we met, but instead i was...soft. ❞ ❝ ha-ha! you didn’t see that coming, did you? ❞ ❝ you really are a snake in the grass. ❞ ❝ you are indeed worthy of being called a hero. ❞ ❝ i’m not used to getting stared at like this. it’s making me blush. ❞ ❝ i can’t hide anything from you, can i? ❞ ❝ the longer i train, the more i realize i’ll never measure up to you. ❞ ❝ whoa...you took out every last one of them. ❞ ❝ i know how bad this must look to you right now, but i assure you i mean no harm. ❞ ❝ it’s all very strange, but i doubt there’s much of a connection between these things. ❞ ❝ you're a weird one, climbing all the way up here. ❞ ❝ don’t cry --- it’s perfectly, mostly safe! ❞ ❝ you and i, we’re bound by that thread of fate. destined to fight. ❞ ❝ meet me in battle, and the thread of fate that binds us will be soaked crimson with your blood. ❞ ❝ i do not wish to dwell on what may have happened if you hadn’t been here. ❞ ❝ you have awakened a wrath that will burn for eons! ❞ ❝ you really like those fantasy stories, eh? ❞ ❝ there is one teensy, tiny thing i lack...namely, mercy. ❞ ❝ i must warn you, i won’t go easy on you this time. ❞ ❝ i might be willing to forgive and forget if you’ll strike a deal. ❞ ❝ since i know i can be honest with you, i’ll admit i got a little sulky. it was frowns all around. ❞ ❝ i see you’re still among the living. ❞ ❝ i saw them dragging you off unconscious, so i tailed them. ❞ ❝ i want you to visit me at my house tonight. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to say a word. i can see how you feel by the spark in your eye. ❞ ❝ you’ll see. i’ll be as tough as you in no time. ❞ ❝ it’s not like ‘oh, hey, that person’s back! i’m so happy!’ or anything like that... ❞ ❝ whoa...that’s some really terrible handwriting. ❞ ❝ i would very much like it if you would go out with me. ❞ ❝ truly? you choose me? ❞ ❝ i swear to you, whatever it takes, i will drag you into an eternity of torment. ❞ ❝ you and i, we’re bound by a thread of fate. ❞ ❝ i’ll watch over you, protecting you from afar. ❞ ❝ until then, we’ll keep our love secret. ❞ ❝ this news has just filled my heart with rainbows! ❞ ❝ this place seems strangely familiar... ❞ ❝ don’t you gotta take care of your own business first? ❞ ❝ they’re not going to do anything nice if they catch you. ❞ ❝ it’s not humane to tease someone this bored. ❞ ❝ i’m not some sideshow for you to gawk at. ❞ ❝ it’s weird to say out loud, but that’s just how i feel right now. ❞ ❝ you can’t break me with interrogation. you’ll never make me talk. ❞ ❝ word is there’s a huge treasure hidden in these here ruins... ❞ ❝ what? that’s not weird to say! ❞ ❝ ...i understand your true feelings. better than you know. ❞ ❝ all the fairytales that we heard growing up...they appear all too real. ❞ ❝ do i look sad? no, i’m doing what i want to do! ❞ ❝ i don’t know what came over me! i had no clue i had the talent to make something like this. ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t be out here in the open with no way to defend yourself. ❞ ❝ you do have the tendency to cause trouble for those you ‘help’. ❞ ❝ as far as i’m concerned, i got nothing but time. ❞ ❝ don’t you play coy with me. i know that you know, so why not let me in on the fun? ❞ ❝ so you really think a sob story like that is going to work on me? what a joke. ❞ ❝ i’d take pleasure in punishing you, but i have no time for recreation. ❞ ❝ sorry to leave you on your own, but you look like you can handle it. ❞ ❝ remember --- it’s a secret to everybody. ❞ ❝ it isn’t as action packed as what you’re doing, but maybe this is my destiny. ❞ ❝ don’t you just love the way it smells down here? ❞ ❝ defending the land...it’s my purpose, i think. it’s why i’m here. ❞ ❝ what do i know...you might just surprise me. ❞ ❝ fibber! you’re a fibbity fibber! ❞ ❝ you needn’t even say it. i can tell from the look of sheer astonishment on your face. ❞ ❝ you have had this destiny thrust upon you without warning...    or choice, for that matter. ❞ ❝ don’t do anything heroic and get yourself caught. ❞ ❝ ...you want to tell me but you can’t? ❞ ❝ you know, i really worry about you. it’s a weakness of mine. ❞ ❝ try not to get in the way of my shots, ok? ❞ ❝ i haven’t slept a wink in...ahhh...i don’t even know how long. ❞ ❝ i had my suspicions, but until now i wasn’t sure. ❞ ❝ you seem a good deal stronger than the last time we met. ❞ ❝ i would be remiss if i didn’t let you know of the weight on my heart. ❞ ❝ i have a reputation to protect, you know. ❞ ❝ listen closely. do you hear that? ❞

[tt0bu]

Periwinkles

Originally posted at AO3

Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: GiyuuTan

*

The first time Kamado Tanjirou met Tomioka Giyuu, he was eight years old.

His Ma and Pa came out of the back door, away from their old oven where the last batch of the shokupan was left to sit, maybe to burn, since little Tanjirou thought something must be wrong. There was haste in his father’s steps, hurried and careful. His mother’s strides were stiff, nervous, unsure. Nezuko, his little sister, was pulling on the grass where she sat, streaks of bright sunlight bouncing off her giggling face.

Tanjirou watched his parents trek up to the end of the street on that little hill in the middle of a city they call home.

He saw every adult from the neighborhood walk the same path, disappearing behind the gates of Nishida-san’s house.

Except for one unfamiliar uncle.

The said uncle, who looked too western, who looked like those uncles from foreigner spy movies his father loved watching, stood unmoving under the waiting shed just across the Kamados’ home. He was looking towards the end of the street too, where all the adults had disappeared, but made no move to follow. He was holding a black book close to his chest, and little Tanjirou couldn’t see anything aside from three blue lines on the cover of it.

New neighbor? “Uncle!” he called out to the man, jumping on his feet and waving his little palm enthusiastically. His young mind wouldn’t have noticed, but whenever Tanjirou would look back to this moment, he finds it weird how everything just disappeared – no adult to reprimand him because he was talking to a stranger, no chirping of the sparrows perched on the wisteria tree behind their fence, no sound from the nearby train station.

Maybe he dislikes being called uncle? The unfamiliar man with raven black hair and pale skin didn’t heed his call, not sparing a glance at the curious boy trying to catch his attention. Tanjirou took the man’s cold demeanor as a sign of discomfort, probably because he may be new to the neighbourhood. But it did not stop him from crossing the street, diligently looking to his left and right, twice to be absolutely sure, just like how his Pa taught him.

“Uncle,” his tiny hands pulled at the hem of the coat the pale man wore.

Tanjirou saw how the most beautiful pair of eyes, blue like the noon skies and the periwinkles he picks behind the hill where the Hashibiras live, looked down on his little self with disbelief. The man continued to gawk on him, gaping and frozen in his place. He clutched the thick book closer to his chest, tightening his grasp on its spine. The blue lines seemed to shimmer, a quick flash of shine running through the three lines, but Tanjirou thought nothing of it. After all, it’s almost naptime, his eyes may be playing tricks on him at the moment.

“You-“ the pale man with the clothes of a spy and the eyes of the sky swallowed, eyeing little Tanjirou with hesitation. “-you can see me?”

“Uhhh,” Tanjirou looked around, but neither his parents nor the neighbor uncles and aunts were in sight. “Am I not supposed to? Are you hiding from anyone?”

“How, how is this possible?” the boy heard the pale man whispered, his own burgundy eyes examining the leather shoes he wore. Those are pretty shoes, but he never saw his father wear one. Maybe, when he gets a little bigger, he will get the same pair for his Pa. “You never saw me before. Not even once, not even when you d-“ the man with blue eyes bit his bottom lips and stopped muttering to himself. “What’s the difference this time?”

“Uh-oh, no,” Tanjirou shook his head, the hanafuda card earrings swaying along his movement. “Are you new here, Uncle? Are you lost? My Ma and Pa went to Nishida-san’s house but if you’re hungry I can get you these anpans my Pa made! They sell out really, really fast and I’m lucky Ma keeps some for me and my little sister before taking them to the store-“

By the time Tanjirou realised the lost uncle was never really listening to him in the first place, he could already hear the faint wailing and sobbing from the house at the end of the street. However, before he could ask, he heard the lost uncle take a shaky breath, pinching the base of his nose in annoyance, Tanjirou wasn’t sure, before carefully opening his book to a certain page. The pale uncle traced what the little burgundy-haired boy could only imagine were words, before softly uttering the name he knew very well.

“Nishida Sora. 58. Lung disease.”

“Oh!” Tanjirou bounced on his feet at the idea. “You know Nishida-san? Are you here for him? If you don’t know where he lives, just walk to the end of the street. You’ll see a really huge wooden gate with crow carvings. That’s where he lives!”

The pale, blue-eyed uncle didn’t even acknowledge his words.

“If you want, I can walk with you. I just need to take Nezuko with-“

The lost uncle gently tugged on his collar to stop him from running back to their home. “I know where it is, tiny human.”

“Owwkay, big human!” The man visibly grimaced at his words, yet Tanjirou beamed. “Are you his doctor?”

The big human seemed to be ignoring him again.

“Sensei?”

“Uncle?”

“Sir?”

“Grandpa?”

“Grandpa? Do I look that old?” Blue eyes met tiny burgundy ones again, offended, making Tanjirou giggle on the back of his hand. The little boy just shrugged, rocking back and forth on the heel of his feet. He saw the uncle sighed once more before shaking his head. “Cheeky tiny human.”

Tanjirou pretended to know what cheeky meant, tilting his head to the side to get a proper look at the man who was ignoring him a minute ago. “Are you Nishidan-san’s relative? I can introduce you if you want?”

“No. I am here to collect.”

“Collect? Collect what? Stones? Bugs? Ohhh! I know a great spot to catch emperor beetles! Inosuke-chan always catches the biggest ones though and Zenitsu-chan’s just a scaredy cat so we don’t have to worry-“

“No, not that. Not beetles. Look-” This time, the man crouched to the little boy’s eye level, and with the close up view of his blue eyes, Tanjirou thought he was staring at the sky itself. “You shouldn’t be seeing me. You shouldn’t be talking to me.”

“I can see you though. I have eyes, Uncle. Ma said they’re very pretty.”

“That’s true – uhum.” The big human coughed to his fist, hiding his face. Tanjirou wanted to ask if he was alright and should he fetch this uncle a glass of water? But the man faced him again, gone was his coughing fit. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?”

“They did.”

“And?”

Little Tanjirou tapped his finger against his chin, pursing his lips, deep in his childish thoughts. “You seem lonely, and Ma said if one of my classmates smelled lonely, I should do something to cheer them up!” He tugged on the hand of the pale uncle, jumping slightly at how cold his palm felt. “What’s your name? I’m Tanjirou!”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Boo! Don’t be silly!” Tanjirou giggled like a child on a swing flying into the air. “Everybody has a name!”

“Not me.”

“But I told you mine!” Tanjirou stomped his little feet on the concrete pavement of the empty street, throwing a tantrum. His father would give him a good scolding, maybe a little spanking, should he see the burgundy-haired boy giving others troubles. Remembering his father’s words, Tanjirou decided to attack from a different angle.

“Hey, hey – hey, oh, come on.” The blue-eyed man crouched again, meeting teary, burgundy orbs and blushing cheeks. “What now? Why are you crying?”

“Because you wouldn’t tell me your name!” Tanjirou wailed louder, acting like a spoiled little kid which is nothing like him, all because he wanted to befriend this uncle who has the bluest eyes, who looked like a spy.

The big human exhaled, evidently troubled, while Tanjirou beamed. “Fine. You can call me Yuu.”

“Yuu-chan!”

“Not Yuu-chan. Yuu. Yuu.”

“Yuu-chan!”

“Why am I even trying,” Yuu-chan whispered mostly to himself, and Tanjirou’s grin grew wider. “I need to go. Nishida Sora will be here any moment. Is that your house?”

Tanjirou followed where his Yuu-chan was pointing. Red, wooden gates, unlit house lanterns, an old service truck with Kamado Bakery hand painted on its back. Yep. That’s their house. “Yes, Yuu-chan! I live there!”

“Come.” The little burgundy-haired boy tilted his head slightly to the side, confused. Uncle Yuu-chan seemed to understand his unspoken question. “I’ll walk you back to your home.”

Years later, when Tanjirou would look back to that moment, he would laugh at the memory of what he would always fondly call as his first brush with death. But his little self wouldn’t realize that, enjoying the coldness of Yuzu-chan’s palm against his own, celebrating his newfound friendship. He wouldn’t catch how Nezuko, as young as she was, got confused about him laughing on his own, hand raised in the air like he was holding something invisible.

Later that night, delirious from a high fever, Tanjirou dreamt of blue skies and periwinkles and spies invading Japan in crisp suits.

-

“I heard you spoke to humans today, Giyuu.”

“Human. A tiny human, Shinobu. So what of it?”

“You know what I’m trying to say.”

“He has the gift of Sight!”

“Just be careful, Giyuu. They may let this slip up pass, but we both know consequences are harsh. There’s a reason we never interact with living, breathing humans.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure you do.”

-

Tanjirou would always look out of his room’s window, ceremoniously, watching each and every adult passing on their street. He was lucky enough to have his room on the upper floor, albeit slightly hating the room during summertime when the sun would burn through the roof. But it was the perfect place, for he can spot Yuu-chan from the crossing.

He mentioned Yuu-chan one evening at dinner, and even when his Ma and Pa was glad he made the new neighbor feel welcomed, they expressed their interest in getting to know the blue-eyed man. He even overheard them talking about it when he went for a pee and his parents were in the living room watching old spy movies again.

“Tanjirou said he’s a new neighbor. But we didn’t hear anyone moving here.”

His father’s kind voice cut through his mother’s worried one. “I’m sure he’s just a passerby.”

“But what if...”

“Don’t worry, if anything, he may be talking about an imaginary friend. Yuu-chan seemed harmless.”

Imaginary? He’s pretty sure Yuu-chan is real! But even if he wanted to defend his ‘not-imaginary’ friend, he would hear his Ma’s voice reminding him to never eavesdrop at adult conversations, Tanjirou. So he let them be, did his business, and went back to sleep. He decided between dreams that he would invite Yuu-chan to his home one day.

But Yuu-chan never showed up at his street again for a long time.

It was snowing when Tanjirou saw him once more. Not the harsh, unpleasant winter, but enough to color the world white. He was clothed from head to toe, layers over layers of protective shirts, mittens and socks. His Ma had always been careful, reminding him that it would be awful to catch a cold during Christmastime.

He was permitted to accompany his Ma on her trip to the local hospital to drop their freshly baked breads and pastries, a Kamado tradition during the holidays. His parents would wake up really early to prepare for it, kneading doughs and cooking fillings because it would mean the world for the health workers if they can get savoury curry pans or their bestselling anpans in between shifts.

Tanjirou watched as his mother dropped the box on the counter, the hospital guard behind her bringing the second one. From the corner of his eyes, on the far-end of the long, white, empty corridor, stood a man who seemed too familiar to him. Before he could even think, Tanjirou let go of his mother’s dress, walking hastily to catch up, sprinting into a full run when the figure headed for the door.

Yuu-chan?

Tanjirou really did his best to catch up, but his tiny legs could only do so much, the stranger who bore resemblance to Yuu-chan got further away even when he pushed against the floor with all his strength. He did not hear his mother’s faint cry, calling his name, wondering where on earth would his first born go and who he was chasing after. But Tanjirou only had one thing in his mind.

“Yuu-chan!” He pushed the heavy glass door open with his little hands, no guard to hold it for him since the man helped his Ma haul the box of pastries inside. But the stranger, with the same black hair cascading below his shoulders in a loose bun, the same crisp gray suit, the same lonely, closed off scent, didn’t acknowledge the pet name. So he tried, hoping to get a reaction, his young heart clenching in sadness because why wouldn’t Yuu-chan want to talk to him? How did his collection go? Would he know if Nishida-san was really gone? “Yuu!”

The man continued walking, past the gates, leaving no chance for the boy to catch up. Tanjirou watched as Yuu-chan turned right to the sidewalk, disappearing behind the brick wall. He wanted to run and give chase even when his lungs felt like it was shrinking in exhaustion, his legs numb from the sprint, his head aching from the lack of oxygen. But  before he could move, a gentle yet firm hand grabbed him by his left shoulder, spun him around and before he even realized, his Ma’s comforting and worried scent enveloped him.

“Don’t you dare do that again, my boy.” His Ma whispered in his hair, running her palm up and down Tanjirou’s back to let him know he wasn’t in trouble. “You scared me Tanjirou. What was that about?”

“Sorry Ma,” he was suddenly sobbing, partly because Yuu-chan ignored him like he was a stranger, but mainly because his Ma’s scent was so distressed, anguished, and he never wanted to make his Ma feel that way again. “I-“ a hiccup. “I saw Yuu-chan and I wanted to say hi but-“ another hiccup, and he reached up to wipe the snot dribbling from his nose with the back of his hand. “-but maybe he didn’t like to be my friend anymore.”

“Oh Tanjirou,” his Ma cooed, embracing him tightly against her chest, occasionally wiping his son’s face with her handkerchief. If she noticed that there were no fresh footprints on the snow, no signs of another human being around, she never said a word. Even when she saw his son calling out Yuu-chan to an empty corridor, running after a formless person, she never mentioned a thing. His son doesn’t need anymore heartbreaks on Christmastime, and doesn’t need to hear about how this Yuu-chan is only a fragment of his imagination.

-

Year: 1945

Month: April

Day: 26

Battle of Okinawa

Giyuu stood in the middle of the dense foliage, on the isolated island of Okinawa, as he watched soldier after soldier fall to their death at the hand of the enemy. Bombs would go off in the distance, their detonation shaking the earth. But he stood unmoving, completely in displeased awe, because this was a scene he had witnessed numerous times before.

“I will never understand humans and their obsession with war.” Makomo stepped quietly to the ground beside Giyuu, and he knew his fellow collector shared his facial expression. They were tired of humans killing each other, hurting each other, to satisfy their greed and hunger. “It hurts Them, these pointless endeavour of humans to best each other.”

“How many have you got?” He chose to ask instead, because even if they wanted to do something, they’re merely collectors. Humans and their dumb ways of dying were out of their duty; they were just sent to collect their due.

“Considering the numbers of soldiers on this island and the guarantee that not even a fourth will come out alive?” Makomo opened her book, flipping several pages. “A lot. You?”

“Thinking about the cups of tea I have to prepare for Choosing already wore me out.”

“Don’t worry, Giyuu. Kyojurou, Mitsuri, and Tengen are here too. Who knows, maybe the numbers are off and we won’t have to collect these much considering the collectors present?”

“When was the book ever wrong, Makomo?”

“Don’t ruin my optimism!”

Their little banter to pass time came to an end when a young, bleeding soldier ran towards their way, a group of foreign forces hot on his trail. He hid behind the trunk of a fallen tree, crying and clutching his jammed rifle to his chest. Giyuu only saw a part of his hair, black like his own, peeking under the helmet he wore on his head. Soot and mud dirtied his young face, but what caught the blue-eyed collector’s interest was his fierce, burgundy eye.

Eye, because his right was shut close, blood covering the half of his face.

“This is what I hate the most.” Makomo opened her book again, tracing the names under her watch. Once she located what she needed, she clicked her tongue in frustration. “Beautiful, innocent souls like him who get dragged to a war he did not wish for. Do you think he cries because he knows he’ll never see his family again? Or perhaps, because he killed another human even when he didn’t even want to fight this war?”

“I think he’s praying.”

“Should we listen to his words?”

“What? No, that’s private.” Giyuu looked at his companion with slight horror in his expression. “He prays to Them, and we can’t disrespect this young soldier’s last minute on this land.”

“I’m just kidding!” Makomo poked him on his cheek, but immediately turned when footstep grew nearer. When they saw the group of soldiers who gave chase surround the praying man, Makomo tucked her book in her arms and whispered. “It’s almost time, little soldier. I’m sorry your family will never see your beautiful eyes again.”

Giyuu decided to leave and do his part of the job too. He gave one last glance at the praying soldier, only to see one of the enemy hammer the heel of his rifle down to the wounded soldier’s forehead. Said soldier slumped against the trunk, but Giyuu thought he saw enough and turned around in haste.

A blunt force like that would likely scar, and he hoped it won’t seep through the soul. But it had been a traumatic experience for the young soldier with burgundy eyes, spending his last minutes alive surrounded by unfriendly faces. That wound would be a birthmark in most cases, but Giyuu hoped this soldier wouldn’t carry the wound to his next life should he choose to be reborn.

-

Tanjirou reached for the towel as he straightened his back, wiping away the droplets of water on his face. He absentmindedly traced the birth mark on his forehead as he brushed his teeth, his mind going over his plans for the day. He will meet Inosuke and Zenitsu at the latter’s grandpa’s house for a group study in preparation for their high school entrance exam. On his way back, he has to buy cough drops for his Pa who refused to see a doctor and will always counter their arguments with all I need is a good night sleep and plenty of water.

There’s nothing much to do for the day but to study, he figured, so he stuffed all his textbooks and notes into his bag and rode his bike to the Hashibiras to collect his friend. Inosuke thrashed like a bug lying on its back, complaining about why he always gets to sit and not pedal. He said he bets he’s a much better rider than Gonpachiro.

“It’s my bike, Inosuke. That’s why.”

“You’re just afraid I’m better at bikes than you, Monjirou.”

Zenitsu once told him, back when they were young, that Inosuke would actually get their name right after seven tries. I counted, his blond friend would say, because he kept yelling at me and shoving worms and beetles and acorn nuts in my face. Tanjirou tried to keep track the first few months after knowing the dumb fact, but eventually grew tired counting the wrong names before he could hear the right one.

The burgundy-haired teenager squeezed on the breaks, the rubber tires squeaking against the asphalt. He then got off, and gestured for Inosuke to take the handlebar grip. “Pedal away, Inosuke-sama.”

“Ha!” His loud friend thumped his back, with the aggressiveness that would match his excessive energy. Tanjirou had to step a foot forward to stop himself from toppling over. “I knew choosing you as my favorite friend was the right decision!”

Tanjirou shook his head with a little laugh. “Oh, what an honor!”

“Stop daydreaming and get on already! I can’t wait to run Monitsu over!”

“Don’t do that Inosuke.” Tanjirou transferred his backpack to his front, facing the opposite direction, watching the hills roll as his friend pedalled vigorously downhill. He only realised his mistake when they zoomed past the gate of Zenitsu’s home. “Inosuke, stop! Don’t go too fast –“ Tanjirou looked back to see his blond friend getting smaller and smaller until he was just a tiny dot of yellow. “ – we’ve passed by Zenitsu’s house! Turned around!” He shouted over his shoulder, closer to his friend’s ear. “Inosuke! TURN AROUND!”

Without a warning, Inosuke swiveled a hundred and eighty degrees, not knowing he had almost threw Tanjirou off. The burgundy-haired miserable back rider yelped in surprise and fear for his life. But before he could complain, Inosuke started pedalling again with the same intensity, Tanjirou thought he would die on the ride back to where Zenitsu’s home is. Good thing his friend waved and jumped, catching Inosuke’s attention, and the boy squeezed on the break so hard they almost did a cartwheel with the bike.

Never again, Tanjirou thought, as he combed back his hair. I refuse to ride a bike with Inosuke ever again.

“Wow,” Zenitsu stared at the two of them from head to toe. “I’m surprised you didn’t get into an accident.”

“He’s a walking accident.” Tanjirou pointed at his friend who wore his favorite boar shirt. “I am not getting on a bike with you again.”

“Just admit I’m better than you!”

Zenitsu pushed the two of them inside before their pointless discussion lengthened, the three greeting grandpa Jigoro along the way. Soon they fell into a series of question and answer, index cards and flashcards flying across the room. Inosuke would constantly complain about math and why did he have to learn such useless things. Zenitsu would also complain about Inosuke’s complaints, but would snatch away the problem, solve it for the boy, and explain how he got 12 as the value of X.

“Uhhhh,” Tanjirou stretched his arms, arching his back to pop the joints as he stood from their table. “I’m going for a quick konbini run. Anything you guys want?”

“Didn’t you bring any snacks from the bakery?”

“We didn’t open today. Pa’s sick.”

“Onigiri and Nissin for me, Tontaro!”

“Same, but I want tamago sando instead of onigiri.”

“Then it’s not the same, stupid butter head!”

“Bold of you to call me stupid when you’re the walking definition of the word!”

Tanjirou didn’t want to witness the inevitable wrestling match to which Inosuke would mercilessly hug Zenitsu from the back to squeeze out his oxygen, so he excused himself without saying a word. He checked for his wallet before mounting his bike. He didn’t spot any konbini on the way, so he decided to try the opposite street so see if there’s a nearby store. To his luck, he saw the green and red signboard a couple of streets away.

He parked his bike on the sidewalk as he repeated his friends’ choice of snack over and over again to make sure he wouldn’t forget. He opted for a katsu sando and a bag of potato chips, carrying all the food he picked to the counter. Just as the girl behind the register dropped the change to his open hands, he caught a hauntingly familiar figure, through the glass walls of the konbini, with the identical black book held against his chest.

No way.

Yuu-chan?

He quickly grabbed the brown paper bag after throwing a hurried sankyu to the cashier , pushing the doors with his shoulder. He then left the bag on the basket of his bike, before taking off to run after his Yuu-chan. Why didn’t he take the bike instead, Tanjirou could no longer think rationally because he couldn’t believe he’s about to see Yuu’s after all these years.

Was his eyes playing tricks on him again?

Because there’s just no way the person he was made to believe wasn’t real and was just a part of his childhood imagination was actually there. He looked exactly the same; charcoal gray three piece suit, light blue dress shirt, and a navy blue necktie. Just like the spies from his Pa’s old movies he often dreamt about.

“Yuu-chan!” He could no longer contain his excitement, jumping on the back of the man when he was an arm length away. But Yuu quickly turned around, reached for his wrist, effortlessly twisting it in a quick, practiced movement. Tanjirou didn’t manage to introduce himself because his wrist hurt and was twisted in a very awkward way, he thought he might snap it any second. “Ow, ow, ow, ow! It’s me, Yuu-chan! It’s me! Ow!”

As quick as Yuu grabbed him, the man immediately let him go once recognition dawned on his face. “Tiny human?”

“Wow, you remembered me!” Tanjirou beamed, the same wide smile he wore the first time he met Yuu. He almost forgot about those periwinkle eyes and snow white skin as he tried to bury the memory of the day when Nishida-san succumbed to lung cancer. “I almost thought you weren’t real, like a story of make believe I came up with in a desperate attempt to make friends.” Yuu-chan looked away, and Tanjirou wished he could read whatever was on the man’s mind. “It’s been seven years, Yuu-chan.”

“I owe you no explanation, tiny human.” Yuu-chan continued to look away, his blue eyes never meeting Tanjirou’s burgundy ones. “I never agreed to being friends.”

“But you remembered me, big human.”

Yuu-chan flinched. “My work involves a lot of names, and a mistake would result in grave consequences.” The man tucked his book in his arm again, turning around to walk away. “Go home and stop following me.”

“You sound like you’re just making excuses!” Tanjirou continued to annoy the man, hoping to make him talk more because his voice was somehow calming. He didn’t know where the boldness came from, but before he could think, he reached for Yuu’s hands, cold as ever, and pulled him towards the empty bus stop across the street. It should have been strange, with the absence of people on the street and the silence in the air, but Tanjirou didn’t notice. “Come with me! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“What are you doing?” Yuu-chan gently freed his arm from Tanjirou, keeping it inside the pockets of his pants this time. “This is dangerous. Please keep your distance.”

“Why do you talk so formally, Yuu-chan? Come sit beside me!”

Tanjirou watched as the man glared at the innocent bench, burning holes in it as he considered his options. All the while Tanjirou’s wide grin never wavered, choosing to observe quietly as Yuu-chan argues with himself. The man looked like he never aged at all, like the past seven years were merely a week for him.

“You won’t stop until I indulge you, would you?”

“Nope!” Tanjirou bounced in his seat, grinning triumphantly.

“Fine.” Yuu-chan finally took a seat, a meter away from him. “But you shall not cross this distance.”

“What? Why? I’m not sick!” Tanjirou whined but immediately shut his mouth when Yuu glared at him. There was no hostility, but Yuu-chan has the ability to disappear from his sight, like how he did the past years, so Tanjirou chose not to push his luck further and truly anger the man. “Alright, no need to kill me with you eyes. Very pretty eyes I must say.”

Tanjirou’s throat tightened, and if he was standing, his knees would have buckled from the intensity of Yuu’s eyes. At first he thought the man didn’t like praises, didn’t like talking to him, but he continued staring. Tanjirou, unsure on what to do, chose not to meet Yuu’s eyes as he tried his best not to crumble because the weight of his stare makes the burgundy-haired boy melt.

To his surprise, Yuu, who was so adamant to observe distance, pushed against the metal bench and stood in front of him. Tanjirou raised his head to look at him, but Yuu-chan’s cold fingers brushed against his forehead. Chilly wind blew past them, causing strands of burgundy hairs to fall, but the cold fingers were there to brush them back up. Tanjirou couldn’t help but shiver, due to the wind or the cold skin, he couldn’t tell.

“Is there something wrong?” He managed to ask even when the chill he felt crept up from his lungs to his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

“This,” Yuu ran the pad of his thumb over the mark, twice, before tracing the outlines. “Was this always here? I didn’t – “ He stammered, as if he couldn’t make a sentence out of his train of thought. “ – seven years ago – “

“Oh, this?” Tanjirou instinctively reached up, not expecting a cold hand meeting his own where his sturdy forehead should be. “It had been there as far as I can remember. It just got bigger as I grew older. Seven years ago, it was just this tiiiiiiny thing, you could have mistaken it for a scar.”

He heard the blue-eyed man, who was acting so strange that day, mumbled something under his breath. It was so soft, Tanjirou could have heard three different languages, because even when there were no cars, no people around, he still didn’t understand the incoherence mumbling. Tough luck, for he has lost his gift of keen nose after turning ten, so he has absolutely no idea what this strangeness was all about.

“Does it hurt?” he heard Yuu-chan ask as he pulled his cold fingers away. But he didn’t step back to create a meter of distance again, much to Tanjirou’s delight. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really, no,” he bit his lip, recalling a stupid myth Zenitsu recounted once when they were nine. “They said birthmarks were signs of how a person died in his past life, but that just sounds silly to me.”

Tanjirou looked up, hoping to see Yuu share his opinion about the absurdity of the myth. But he only saw anxious eyes which couldn’t meet his, lips flattened into a straight line, brows furrowed. “Sometimes, old stories passed down with words of mouth would hide a truth or two.”

“Are you telling me - ” Tanjirou’s voice climbed a pitch higher, trying to suppress his laughter after considering that he had a life before this. “ – that I died from a blunt force trauma to the head in my past life? Was I murdered?”

“Don’t be silly,” Tanjirou wanted to scoff because Yuu-chan dared call him silly when he was just spouting nonsense about old stories and hidden truths a minute ago. “Besides, is that your only birthmark?”

Immediately Tanjirou crossed arms over his chest, balling the shirt he wore with his hidden palms. He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t spooked at Yuu-chan’s question, because he sounded like an honestly curious man, but his instinct pushed him to cross his arms over his chest where a different set of marks hide. “How did you know about that?”

“Know about what?” Yuu asked back, and Tanjirou couldn’t determine if he was feigning ignorance. “I was just asking.”

Tanjirou gulped the knot on his throat, suddenly feeling stupid about his fascination with his own birthmarks. Science has explanations for these, there must be, so he shouldn’t be bothered by Yuu-chan’s vagueness or Zenitsu’s old stories. He was about to ask the man where he went and why he didn’t see him again, but Yuu was suddenly flipping a page of the book he was carrying over and over again. “What are you doing, Yuu-chan? Looking for something?” Tanjirou tried to peek at the pages, but Yuu-chan pivoted his body around to keep the book out of his sight. “I can help?”

“This is strange.” Yuu flipped the page again like he was trying to see if flipping back and forth would make a change to what was already written in the book. Tanjirou wanted to laugh at Yuu-chan’s endless turning of the page, but the man seemed troubled. “How did this happen?”

“How did what happen?” He was never proud of his nosiness, but it was harmless, he thought. He just wanted to help and stop Yuu-chan from tearing the poor page out of the book. The same book, with three blue lines spreading out horizontally, he was carrying back then.

“I was here to collect, ” Yuu shut the book close, tucking it under his arm once again. “But it seemed I was mistaken. I need to go.”

Collect? Like Nishida-san? Tanjirou wanted to ask, but such things weren’t easy to explain, and he wasn’t even sure he was ready to accept Yuu-chan’s secret, if there is one. He chose not to define who Yuu is, all that matters is that he was there again, talking to him, no longer ignoring him.

Tanjirou knew Yuu was going to disappear again. To where, he had no idea, but at least now, he was sure Yuu wasn’t just a part of his imagination. He felt him, his cold touch, his intense stare. Yet he couldn’t help but feel lonely for no reason at all. “Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps,” was Yuu-chan’s answer which offered no comfort to the boy. Perhaps could mean another seven years, or never again. Perhaps isn’t a guaranteed yes, sounding more like a gentle no. “These meetings wouldn’t benefit the both of us, and could put you in danger. Think of it as breaking the law, tiny human.”

Because more spies will be watching. This he knew, after seeing crisps suits blending in the crowds, peach hair and platinum, purple and aqua eyes. Yet he pulled Yuu to an embrace, burying his face on the folds of his three piece suit. “I stopped dreaming about you. For reasons unknown to me, I kept seeing you in my dreams when I’m running a fever. But when you disappeared, the dreams went away too.”

Yuu removed his arms around his waist, Tanjirou already missing the coldness that seemed to come from every part of Yuu’s skin. He couldn’t read his expression again, but he didn’t expect anything more from the strange man. He speaks vaguely, dresses the same, never aged, so his expressionless face was the least of Tanjirou’s concerns.

“Stay healthy, tiny human.”

Tanjirou snorted at Yuu’s choice of response, turning back to where he left his bike at the konbini. He didn’t want to say goodbye, even when he knew that perhaps he wouldn’t see Yuu-chan again. So he continued walking even when he didn’t hear the man move from his place, because he has his hungry friends waiting for him.

He looked back, hoping to see Yuu watching him leave and walk away.

But like how he disappeared seven years ago, the man was suddenly gone, like he wasn’t even there a minute ago.

He rode his bike back to Zenitsu’s home in a bleary state. Thanks to the numerous trips he made to his blond friend’s house, he found his way even when he didn’t even remember pedalling. He couldn’t feel his legs, his head buzzed, his fingers numb. He recalled grandpa Jigoro asking him what’s wrong and why he looked so pale, before seeing Inosuke’s worried face rushing to him as he slumped against the nearest wall.

He black out a moment after that.

-

I kept seeing you in my dreams when I’m running a fever.

“That’s not it,” Giyuu sighed, finding it hard to breathe as he watched Tanjirou stumble out of his bike, pushing the gate of his friend’s house with all his strength. That was his fault, for he couldn’t help himself, even when he promised not to bring harm to the beautiful soul again. “It was the other way around. You get fevers because of your dreams.”

“Who are you talking to?” came a voice behind him, but Giyuu didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Instead, he walked towards the gate of Kuwajima Jigoro’s humble home. He pushed it open, stepping into the other side where his office was. Sabito came in after him, shutting the metal door. “You were supposed to collect a soul today, Giyuu.”

“Who are you, my assistant? So what’s my next schedule?” Giyuu dragged a chair to the table in the middle of the wide room, the only furniture present. His office, much like the others in his line of work, was a high-ceiling room, with a tiled countertop where he prepares teas, coffees, sometimes even sodas, for the souls he brings to the Choosing.

Sabito hauled a tea bag at him, hitting Giyuu on his head, flakes of the dried leaves scattering in his suit. “I wish your brain was sharper than your tongue!”

Giyuu clicked said tongue, wanting to agree because he admits his earlier actions were not well thought out. How could he let a human touch him? How could he not say no, only because those burgundy eyes kept haunting him?

“Kuwajima Jigoro should have died today.” Giyuu pressed his fingers between his eyes, already feeling the early signs of migraine, still wondering what and how it happened because he wasn’t mistaken; he never made mistakes in his job. “I saw his name. It was cardiac arrest.”

“Were you on time?”

He shouldn’t be answering such silly questions. “You know I was never late, Sabito.”

“Were you,” His peach-haired friend sipped on the tea he brewed, holding Giyuu’s periwinkle eyes in an intense stare. “on time, Giyuu?”

Okay, so there was no use lying, and he sincerely believed the slight delay couldn’t hinder death that was already written in the book. He would be guilty if Kuwajima Jigoro’s name was there and that death had simply taken a detour due to his tardiness, but the name was completely gone. Erased, with no sign that it was there before Giyuu left his office, which it definitely was. “I may have been late by a couple of minutes. But it shouldn’t matter because the time of death is absolute even when no collector is present to – “

Sudden realization dawned on Sabito’s face that he was momentarily stuck with his jaw dropping to the floor, and a look of complete disbelief in his eyes. “You talked to a human again, did you? What were you thinking? Were you even using your head like you’re supposed to?”

“He jumped on me from behind! He recognized me-“

“Oh no,” Sabito took the chair opposite him, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He catches his head in his hand, murmuring curses at Giyuu’s stupidity. “It was the same human back then. The human with the gift of Sight. Oh no.”

Giyuu nodded, feeling incredibly frustrated with his inability to follow the rules. “Seven years ago.”

“That was already seven years ago? Yet he still remembered you?”

Giyuu nodded once again, not finding the words to defend himself from Sabito’s unabashed judgment. He couldn’t blame his friend and fellow collector for reacting the way he did, because they weren’t Divines with blessed holiness, nor humans with free will. They were just reapers, tasked to guide souls to the afterlife where they could exercise their freedom to choose one last time and help them decide what they want their fate to be.

He wasn’t human, therefore he doesn’t have the same freedom.

Even if he wanted to see Burgundy Eyes again, not only on the times he was dying, he simply couldn’t choose to do what he wanted.

The clanking of the Sabito’s teacup on the saucer shook Giyuu out of his silent dilemma. His peach-haired friend frowned, the scar on his face more prominent as he pursed his lips in frustration. He once asked the man about his facial scar, which they both agreed seemed to be a birthmark, but Sabito couldn’t recall how and when he acquired it.

“You can’t keep doing this, Giyuu.” Sabito sighed, tracing the patterned yellow and green lines of his own book sitting on the table. “We didn’t know, we may never know, how our presence affects living souls. I’m sure you’ve heard of the myths.”

“I have, but they’re just myths.” Like those about birthmarks, and Giyuu suddenly found himself with the realization that if the myths of men were real, then there’s a chance the myths of the reapers of the old were real too. “No,” he hunched over the table, burying his face in his folded arms. “I messed up. What if – “ Giyuu raised his head, the frantic look in those periwinkle eyes making Sabito flinched. “What if Kuwajima Jigoro’s death took a turn and – “

Sabito reached for his head, shaking it vigorously in an attempt to rattle his brain. Giyuu groaned at the harshness, but was thankful for the distraction. “Don’t think too much of it, Giyuu. If something was indeed wrong, you should have heard from Yorichii-san by now.”

“I swear the name was there!” Giyuu flipped his book open again, trying so hard to prove he was simply mistaken so he could step out of his door to collect the soul. But he couldn’t find the name, couldn’t find the reason why it would just disappear when death was something no one could hinder. Not even the Divines could defy death if They deemed it to be the right time to take back the gift of life They bestowed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Tan – “

“Don’t speak of his name!” Sabito abruptly stood, his chair tripping over. His booming shriek effectively stopped Giyuu’s string of apologies. “Don’t make another mistake, Giyuu. Remember who we are, and what we bring. Don’t.”

Giyuu understood, for there is a reason souls should only see them after passing.

There is a reason he should never let Tanjirou see him again.

For he brings nothing but death.

-

Tanjirou should have known.

He tried to whisper, sometimes in his pillow before he sleeps, a wish to see Yuu in his dreams again. But he never had bad fevers again, never got the chance to see the man turn his nightmares into sweet stupor.

He tried to whisper, against the glass pane of the train as it whirred and swayed, words of intercession and petition, begging for a chance to see Yuu once again.

He tried to whisper his name, trying to call for him to come and explain, to let him know that he doesn’t care what he is, to finally understand why he can’t get Yuu out of his system, even after trying to make himself believe the man with the sky in his eyes isn’t real. He wanted to ask him why it felt like Yuu knew him longer than he should have, the same way he felt strangely familiar even when he only met him twice.

Tanjirou should have known that perhaps meant an empty promise, a parting word disguised as an assurance that he will see Yuu again.

For after he touched him with his cold fingers and reached for the scars he was born with, he never saw Yuu again.

[moviegroovies]

urgh. well? it’s been a while since i’ve posted anything fully coherent on this blog (not that you can tell, ha, ha) despite my employment at a movie store and the fact that i’ve watched at least 87 movies in the past few months that i could easily have debriefed into the void. in the spirit of updating more regularly, here’s what i think i’ll try: mini-reviews of all the movies i’ve seen in the last week! in order: 

the tao of steve: donal logue felt a little bit like discount jack black in this one, but i know him from gotham, so who am i to judge?

breakfast on pluto: wait, wasn’t the LAST thing i posted on here about cillian murphy being my boy girlfriend? well, kitten was my girl girlfriend. could have done without the glam rock group of white irishmen who dressed up as indigenous americans (this character in the book was apparently a lawyer, too, so that was just invented wholecloth for the film? for some reason), but everything besides that made me cry. i loved kitten. liam neeson was almost tolerable for once. ruth negga was there!! 

this is elvis: okay my brother saw elvis (2022) a couple weeks ago and is on a kick, i was only half-present for this one. this sure was. elvis. (i will say this version of the story paid far less heed to the influence he took from Black musicians than baz luhrmann’s take--which is an unnecessarily nice way of saying they had literally ONE scene of young elvis watching a Black man playing a guitar and conveniently ignored the rest; conversely, they did at least state out loud that priscilla was 14 (!!) when they met, which was something elvis ‘22 glossed over. all-in-all, i’m essentially elvis’d out.... at least until we convince my brother to sit down for bubba ho-tep.)

thor: love and thunder: disappointing. no loki. valkyrie was shafted. other people have disected it better than i’m currently equipped to so let’s say 3/10 and skip right ahead

meet joe black: this one i watched last night so it’s freshest in my mind; i have some thoughts. basically... it was okay. conceptually i was intruiged by the death-as-a-character thing; that was far and away the standout element. (idk if you’ve noticed--perhaps if you’re very, very new around here, but i love a good bit of the supernatural interacting with the mundane.) hopkins was good, but his role struck me as a bit... inconsistent? honestly, i just wasn’t sure what they were trying to SAY with him; he’s introduced as a wealthy, workaholic businessman (honestly my first thought--which continued well into the film, especially when it was revealed he made his fortune in the news, was succession), but death--THE death!--chooses him as a guide for his exemplary life. now, pre-character journey, death struck me as kind of childlike, insofar as he was ignorant to how things work, and carelessly selfish, so maybe something could have been explored with the idea that a rich man really leads such an upstanding life that he could possibly deserve his delirious wealth being a similarly naive fantasy, but that way of thinking really went unchallenged right to the end of the movie; bill was a complicated, but ultimately good man. he earned his wealth, unlike his conniving weasel of a former assistant, drew. (who was, incidentally, my favorite character after brad pitt’s death. he served, he gave cunt, he died was exposed for tax fraud. etc.) there was never a scrooge moment. 

i’m too communist for this movie, but i digress.

so, whatever, i guess that was what it was--one of the foregone conclusions on which the film’s premise is built. the bigger problem, then, was that exact aforementioned premise: it never comes through! the whole story is supposed to be bill, chosen to guide death/joe black in human affairs, but if you watch the movie, very little actual guiding gets done! joe follows bill around into a couple of humerous situations, but bill never deliberately TEACHES him anything worthwhile; in fact, the only thing that the “choice” of bill as the guide really serves is the romantic plot between joe and susan, and that. well, i don’t use the words “romantic plot tumor” very often, but... romantic plot tumor. their scenes put the whole movie on hold for me--or, really, they felt like a very DIFFERENT movie than the subplot with drew and bill’s business. there was some other weirdness; allison knowing she was her father’s unfavorite and never getting any resolution there (i don’t think they went in with the message “parents should have a favorite child/it’s okay for a parent to love one kid more,” but...?), brad pitt’s jamacian accent and the euthanasia subplot...

all said, though, it was kind of worth it to see brad pitt be a weird little freak. 

death and taxes. peace on earth.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Congrats on the followers! Would you be willing to write for Pyamid Head? If so, please ma'm....may I have a crumb of PH....anything....anything to spare will do... (All your work is amazing so whatever I'd come up with wouldn't even be half as good as yours lol)

Thank you so much!!! Hell yeah I’ll write for Pyramid Head. Him big 🤤 And don’t sell yourself short, anon! Write up that Pyramid Head fic and tag me in it so I can read it! ❤️

I’m gonna go with DBD Pyramid Head so he can go hog wild and doesn’t have to worry about reader dying for real lmao

AFAB Reader (NSFW), TW dubcon, blood, fingering, anal play, Pyramid Head’s massive tentacle dick, stomach bulge, uhhhh it’s implied that reader gets fucked to death so heed the warnings please 🤪

The way your arms are stretched over your head makes your shoulders burn. Again, you struggle but the Great Knife laying across your forearms is impossibly heavy. You’re pinned, utterly and completely at the Executioner’s mercy.

He towers over you, steel head partly obscured by the thick mist and tilted to the side. He must be watching you, somehow, silently observing the way you thrash and writhe. The blood of the other survivors stains his arms and apron and drips, fat droplets of gore pattering onto the ground around his feet.

You fall still, panting, muscles aching, sweat beading along your brow. The Executioner tilts his helmet down and you shudder. Memories of your last trial together buzz through your mind and you release a tremulous exhale. Liquid warmth swirls in your gut until you must grate your thighs together to ease the want.

You’re nervous too, of course. Last time, he’d literally fucked you to death in front of the other survivors. He must not have liked the audience because he’d been sure to sacrifice them all this time before turning his attention to you.

Still, under all the trepidation, desire burns. You’ve never been so thoroughly satisfied, so ruined, so completely powerless. Maybe spending this long in the Entity’s realm has made you crave anything other than the endless cycle of hope and despair, even if the “anything” is having your insides pummeled to a pulp by the Executioner’s monstrous cock.

Pyramid Head kneels, massive hands tearing away your clothes as though they are made of paper. You shiver, chilly air raising goosebumps across your exposed skin. Rough, bloody hands smooth up your waist, cupping your breasts, stroking your neck, exploring every inch of flesh until you’re whining and slick between the thighs.

Finally, his hands trail lower, groping your ass, pressing between your legs to pry them apart, spreading them so wide your hips ache. Thick fingers brush your slippery folds, surprisingly gentle for a creature so ruthless. A breathy moan spills from your lips, a sound that becomes a gasp when calloused digits prod your asshole.

That’s new.

Torturously slow, the Executioner pushes one, girthy finger into your cunt while another forces itself into your ass. You grit your teeth at the burning stretch, but then he curls them and you utter a choked shout, pain and pleasure blossoming beautifully through your core.

“Oh, fuck, please,” you groan when he begins to thrust, bloody digits pumping in and out of your holes until endless moans tumble from your parted lips. Climax sneaks up on you, a surprised cry ripping from your throat when your walls clamp down on his fingers.

You tremble and pant, whimpering when he withdrawals his digits and pushes the gore soaked apron to the side. Fabric tears and the Executioner frees his dripping, writhing cock. Christ, you’d almost forgotten the sheer size of it.

Meaty hands grasp your hips, lifting your lower half off the ground. The prehensile length finds your cunt, wasting no time in burrowing through slick muscles. You grunt when it just keeps going, deeper and deeper, stretching you impossibly wide until you’re seeing stars.

The Executioner shows no mercy, bucking his hips and impaling you completely. You scream, high and loud when he rams into you, the drag of his thick cock along your overstuffed walls driving you to new, agonizingly blissful heights of sensation. A groaning, metallic rattle emanates from his helmet, a sound you assume is a moan.

You glance down and watch as your abdomen distends with every thrust. You clamp your eyes shut, pain beginning to edge into the lead over pleasure as each jarring rock of his hips pushes him deeper, further than he should be able to go. Still, you encourage him, babbled praise spilling from your numb tongue.

Again, you’re caught off guard by an orgasm. Blinding pleasure makes you shriek, your strained muscles barely able to contract around the cock stretching you open. Another eerie groan sounds front the steel helmet and the Executioner gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips.

Internally, you feel something pop. Nausea churns in your stomach and you hiss. Pain, rancid and aching, slowly spreads through your guts, only dulled by the last, twitching jolts of pleasure from your climax. A deep exhale reaches your ears, heralding the new, hot warmth that spills into your belly.

The Executioner lowers you to the ground and watches as seed and blood gush from your cunt. Or at least, you think that’s what he’s looking at. When your vision blurs, you chuckle deliriously.

“A-Always a pleasure, big guy.”

[synchlora]

I Promise

major warnings here, please heed them. there is lots of blood, major injury, and self-harm. also mentions of suicide, alcohol, and past abuse, both physical and emotional.

time period is in the days just after tubbo discovers where he believes tommy killed himself. so just as exile was ending basically

-----

It could’ve been a bird.

The cry that echoed throughout the SMP wasn’t entirely distinct. Could’ve been anything honestly. It was loud, it was unidentifiable, and it came from the general direction of the graveyard.

That was all Quackity knew when he set out from his home. He had been working on paperwork for L’manburg, staying up long after his fiances, with the whispered promise he’d join them in their cozy bed once he was finished.

But something was up. Something that he wasn’t willing-- or was far too curious-- to ignore. He's not one to be superstitious, but a shriek coming from a graveyard isn't exactly something you can sleep on after hearing. So he left the warmth of his home and headed out to the graveyard, armed only with a lantern and a healthy fear of what he may encounter.

The night is chilly and the crisp autumn wind bites at face as he makes his way towards the source of the call. He holds his lantern close, trying to convince himself the tiny flame can provide some semblance of warmth. Looking to the screensaver of his fiances on his communicator, he suddenly wishes he were back at home snuggled under the covers with them.

But as he walks down the path to the graveyard, he can instantly tell something’s wrong. The ground ahead of him is dark and stained in some places. Feeling his heart beginning to pound with dread, he approaches the parts of the path that have been discolored. Lowering his lantern to the ground, his heart sinks as red fills his vision.

The pathway is covered in a trail of blood.

Holding his hand to his mouth to stifle a gasp-- and maybe also to choke back the bile that rises in his throat-- he follows the trail back to one gravestone in particular. The normally grey stone is stained with red, a spattered pattern of fresh blood now accenting the bold name etched into the granite.

Tommy.

And in an instant he knows exactly whose blood it is.

Feeling sick with concern, he nearly trips over his own feet hurrying back down the path to follow the blood leading out the gates. He knows it has to be Tubbo’s, no one else visits Tommy’s grave nearly as much. No one else visits Tommy’s grave at all. But he can’t bring himself to imagine what happened. Doesn’t want to imagine the young president with such an injury that would cause this much bloodshed.

Even as the trail ends at Tommy’s old house, he’s still in denial of the situation.

Bursting through the doors of Tommy’s old home, he sees Tubbo standing in the corner, shakily holding an axe to the base of an already-bleeding horn. It's skewed at an awkward angle and it takes Quackity a moment to see the cause of that unnatural turn. Covered in fresh, red blood, there’s a deep gash at its base. He meets the eyes of Tubbo and frantically begins to speak.

"What the hell happened?" his eyes are flickering over the scene before him as he tries to process what’s going on.

Tubbo looks at him, unblinking, shaking as he moves the axe away from his own skull. He glances to the blood-soaked hand holding the hatchet and looks up to the man standing in the doorway. With a sudden fervor that was not in his form moments prior, he shoves the axe forward, holding it out to Quackity.

"Can you fix me?"

"What?" Quackity stands back for only a moment of confusion before snapping back to the present moment. He has one goal right now: protect Tubbo.

He lunges forwards and quickly takes the axe from the young boy's hand, discarding it on the floor behind him. Tubbo frowns as the axe clatters to the ground and he looks up to Quackity, desperation now painting his features.

"Please make me stop being Schlatt."

Quackity’s breath is gone in an instant.

"What??" Quackity once again voices his obvious confusion, stepping closer to Tubbo and feeling his stomach lurch at the sight of his mangled horn. "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to be like him," a sob escapes the boy's mouth as he babbles on, "I’m becoming him and I don't want that to happen."

There’s fear in the horned boy’s eyes, genuine concern laced with the sharp pain that he is no doubt feeling.

And Quackity is livid.

Not angry at the small figure before him, no. He is instead enraged at the memories of sharp teeth and whiskey-tinged breath. Enraged at the thought of his old mentor, the man who he watched kill the boy in front of him without hesitation or remorse. The echoes of a shouting voice fill his ears as he takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself.

How could Tubbo ever think he was anything like Schlatt? Schlatt was a monster, a cruel man who wanted nothing but to hurt others. Tubbo is just a kid. A young president who was caught in the crossfire, forced to make decisions no man, much less a child, should ever have to make.

And he can’t let Tubbo convince himself that he’s even a fraction of that evil.

Kneeling down to his height, he holds out a hand to the younger and gets his attention back from staring at the bloody axe behind him. Tubbo looks to him, eyes glassy and not seeming to fully take in the situation he’s in.

"You are nothing like him, Tubbo, okay?" there’s a stern assuredness to his voice that he’s never had before, "No matter what, I know you could never be who Schlatt was."

He offers out an arm for the younger to accept. He quickly does, falling weakly into a hug before whimpering in pain at the movement of his severed horn. Quackity cringes upon hearing Tubbo cry out, tears welling in his eyes just at the sight of the kid he sees as a younger brother in pain. He has to get his horn fixed and fast, there’s no time for--

“I exiled him,” Tubbo quietly speaks through broken sobs, voice building into a shout, “I exiled him and now he’s dead and-- and-- and it’s all because of me!”

Tubbo cries and pushes himself away from the hug. Quackity’s heart aches as Tubbo shrinks away from him, curling himself into the corner of the room. He’s hyperventilating now, whole body shaking as he cries, though Quackity can’t tell if it’s from pain or grief.

“Tubbo…” Quackity cautiously approaches him and sits down a few feet away, “There’s-- you couldn’t have known what Dream would do to him--”

“I should have!” his voice is hoarse with tears as he screams at the older. Wincing at the pain the sudden exertion of anger causes, he crumples in on himself and hugs his knees to his chest continuing to sob.

“He’s my best friend,” Tubbo’s voice is hardly audible as sobs catch him in his mistake, “was…”

Tubbo nearly falls over, Quackity catching him before he fully faints.

“You never should’ve had to make that decision,” Quackity shifts to help Tubbo sit up better before continuing, “That’s the difference between you and Schlatt.”

At this Tubbo looks up, puzzled.

“Schlatt would take any chance to hurt others but you... you can’t bear that pain even when forced to make those choices.” Quackity gently rubs reassuring circles on Tubbo’s back, “you are not a cruel person.”

Tubbo tries to speak, though he instead simply shudders as his voice trails off. He feels physically weaker, now hardly sitting up on his own, much less able to continue speaking. The only words that leave his mouth now are incomprehensible ramblings about a pillar and an island that Quackity has never heard of before.

He’s bleeding badly, the wound to his horn gushing blood readily and staining his face and clothes as it continues to bleed profusely. He has to get that blood to stop before he loses too much.

Quackity shifts slightly to get a better look at it, feeling himself get dizzy at the sight of so much red. He can see that Tubbo took one solid swing at it but it didn't cut cleanly through. There's still a portion of horn holding on in vain to the rest of it. A tiny, cracking bridge between the base and curling end.

The base of his horn is where it’s bleeding. He’ll have to get some bandaging and hold pressure there to get it to finally stop. But god, it’s an awkward angle with that piece of horn and there’s no way he can manage to keep steady pressure with it in the way.

Quackity’s heart sinks as he realizes what he needs to do.

He'll have to break it off.

There's no way he'll be able to get the rest of it to stop bleeding with that portion of his horn in the way. It’d be impossible to hold pressure on the wound with it there. And if he doesn’t, well. He’d rather not think about that outcome.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, though the sight of blood doesn't leave his mind. Regaining his composure, he shrinks away from Tubbo slightly. Tubbo mumbles something through his delirious state, though Q can't tell what it is. He sits up and places a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder to get his more direct attention. Tubbo looks up.

“I--" he's not sure how to even begin to phrase this, "I need to clean up your wound and stop the bleeding."

Tubbo nods along, wincing at even the slight movement.

“But in order to do that I've got to…” Quackity clenches his teeth hard. This isn't going to be easy, "I have to break off the rest of your horn."

Tubbo flinches at this proposition despite himself. He was the one begging Q to cut it off only minutes before. Why is he feeling so resistant now? He’s why they’re in this situation to begin with, why his view is filled with red and his mind is buzzing with pain. He wanted this.

But now he’s afraid. The pain has caught up with him and his mind is reeling with thoughts of survival before anything else. And oh god, is he going to die? Is Quackity going to be the last person to see him as the light drains from his eyes? Better Quackity than Tommy, he supposes, though it’s not like it’d even be possible for Tommy to see him now. He blinks a few tears from his eyes as he pictures the cold stone of his friend’s grave.

Tommy wouldn’t want you to die.

With what little energy he has left, he lets out a quiet, raspy yes.

Quackity nods and pulls him into yet another hug. Tubbo weariy obliges, weakly wrapping his arms around the older’s back and letting his tears soak into his shirt.

“You want me to count down?” Quackity’s voice is practically a whisper, feeling as though if he speaks too loudly it’ll somehow shatter the fragile thing that is Tubbo in this moment.

Tubbo nods lightly into his chest before sitting back and wiping tears from his own face. It doesn’t do much more than smudge more blood across his eyes. Looking defeatedly up to Quackity he says one more thing.

"Please just--. Just make sure no one hears me?"

Quackity feels his heart break at the request. Tubbo, despite it all, still doesn't want to be a bother to anyone. Despite being on death’s door, despite all of the pain he’s in, he still worries his problems will only burden others.

And despite how much it pains Quackity to do so, he agrees to muffle his cries.

"I promise."

Nodding to the younger, he gently kneels in front of him. Placing one hand to keep his horn steady, he gently grips the mangled end of it. The sight alone is just about enough to make him puke, but he bites back the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. Taking a deep breath, he starts to count down.

"Three," he feels Tubbo tense his shoulders but quickly regain his faked composure. He’s trying to breathe in calm patterns to little avail.

"Two," Quackity can feel his own hands slick with blood and questions whether or not he can stomach hurting Tubbo, even if it helps him in the long run. Gods, this is horrible.

He takes a deep breath.

"One," he sharply pulls his hand back, gripping the end of the horn. A sickening crack fills the air and Quackity feels the horn break from the base. As soon as he sees that the horn is fully detached, he tosses it across the room and in one swift motion, hands still covered in blood, he wraps his arms around Tubbo and pulls him in close.

He has to keep his promise.

While the citizens of L'manburg and the Dream SMP alike may not have heard Tubbo, Quackity will never be able to get his shriek out of his head. Never forget how tightly Tubbo clung to the back of his shirt, never lose the scarring of etched fingernail imprints the younger left on his arms, never clean off all of the blood that cakes the indents in his communicator’s keys as he shakily called for someone-- anyone-- to come help him. But he keeps it to himself.

He can’t break his promise.

[muchadoaboutbucky]

Fall Apart in Me || oneshot

PAIRING: Steve Rogers x Native American!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,775

WARNINGS: spoilers for the end of Infinity War, grief, self-blame, smut

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy​ - please heed the warnings and enjoy! This is my first ever Captain America fanfic… here’s to new firsts!

⭒ become a patron for just $3 ⭒

It’s been a week since everything happened. 

You’re back at the compound, barely able to leave your room. Nat’s keeping the TV on as the news broadcasts the names of people who vanished, and you can’t find the strength to ask her to turn it off. 

Everyone’s coping in their own way.

It’s day three of you staying huddled in your room, and you’re long overdue for a shower. Quietly, so that you don’t disturb anyone’s sleep, you gather a change of clothes and slip down the hallway and into the communal bathroom.

Steve’s standing at the counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He only moves when the door swings shut behind you, turning slowly to watch you set your clothes down on one of the stainless steel benches. He looks genuinely surprised to see you. 

“Hey.” He folds his arms across his chest. “How you holdin’ up, kid?”

Shrugging, you fidget with the hem of your shirt. “I… not good, but is anybody here really holding up?”

He looks at the tile floor. “No… I don’t think anybody is.” He goes quiet for several seconds before raising his head to look at you. “I’ve been trying to contact Tony, but… there’s nothing. Pepper’s alive, at least.”

“Oh.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I… it’s Tony, he’ll find a way.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, I bet he will.” He looks like he doesn’t want to leave you alone, and when he reaches up to scratch at the beard on his jaw you make an effort to continue the conversation. 

“Were you gonna get rid of that?” you ask, gesturing to his face.

“Eh, maybe.” He sighs heavily. “I was thinkin’ about it.”

“Keep it,” you suggest, “just a bit longer.”

He offers a tight, sad smile. “Yeah… well, I’ll let you have the room.”

He leaves before you can say anything, and as soon as the door’s shut you strip and step into your favorite cubicle. The warm water rinses away the grease and grime from the last three days. You stay there for at least an hour, until your fingers turn pruny and the water starts to run cold. Quickly toweling off, you redress in flannel pajama pants and a tank top and toss your laundry into the hamper before walking back down the hallway. 

Steve’s on the patio, leaning against the railing and blankly gazing at the empty space in front of him. He’s changed into black flannel pants and a white tank top, and you can’t help the way your mouth waters at the sight. It’s been too long since you’ve shared your bed with anyone or anything other than your vibrator.

“Can’t sleep?” You step through the sliding door and close it behind you.

“No, not really.” He clears his throat and wraps his fingers around the top rung. “Good shower?”

“Yeah.” You lean on the railing, closing your eyes as the cool breeze blows through your hair. It’s eerily quiet, and you can’t help but shiver. “It’s so quiet,” you murmur. “Do you think we’re ever gonna fix this?”

Steve exhales sharply and hangs his head. “Kid, I… I don’t know, I’m still trying to realize that this even happened. We screwed up.” He runs his fingers over his beard. “We screwed up and we lost, bigtime.”

You chew on your lower lip. “I keep wishing I’d done more.”

“We all do, Y/N—”

“No,” you interject, “I mean… I should have done more. I was supposed to be protecting Vision and the stone and I failed…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve explains softly, “we all tried as hard as we could—”

“But I didn’t.” You fight to keep your lower lip from trembling. “Shuri was so close to getting it out and Wanda went to help everyone else and it was just me… I was supposed to be strong enough, but I got knocked out and when I woke up—”

“No.” Steve covers your shoulders with his hands, spreading his fingers wide to keep you steady. “No, don’t put that on yourself. You did everything you could and none of this is your fault. The guy who attacked you was three times your size.”

“I’ve handled bigger, it should have been easy—”

“Y/N, just stop.” Steve brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. His thumbs wipe away the tears that fall from your eyes. “I don’t want to hear you blaming yourself anymore, do you understand?”

“I just feel horrible,” you whisper, “I want a distraction… does that make me a bad person? I just don’t want to think about this for just one night.”

Steve shakes his head. “It doesn’t make you a bad person at all.” Stepping closer, he lowers his head until his forehead is resting against yours. His breath is slightly shaky, and you reach up to grip his wrists. You can’t remember being this close to someone who’s not an immediate threat.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re stretching up on your toes and kissing him. His lips are warm and soft, beard delightfully scratchy on your skin, and when he lets out a soft breath and kisses you back, you can’t help but wind your arms around his neck. 

“Distract me,” you whisper. “Please…”

He leads you through the door and down the hallway to the bedrooms. He lifts you up outside the door to his and carries you inside, nudging the door shut before crossing to the bed and laying you out on the soft surface.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, kneeling up between your thighs and hooking his fingers in the waistband of your pants. You lift your hips so he can ease them down, and when he tosses them off the edge of the bed you tug your shirt over your head. He blinks slowly, absorbing the sight of your naked body like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“You’re wearing too much,” you cover, tugging the hem of his tank top. He strips it over his head—Jesus fuck—and tosses it to the floor. Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight, but you don’t get to look for very long before he’s holding himself over you and kissing down your neck, the valley between your breasts, your stomach, the dip of your hips…

The sound you make when his tongue scoops through your bare folds is somewhere between a whine and a groan. His beard scrapes sensitive flesh, adding a pleasant, scratchy tingle to the rhythm of his lips and tongue. 

“Ohh…” you bite your lower lip and thread your fingers in his hair, “oh, fuck… yes…”

Steve hums at the expletive and presses his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open for him to feast. You arch up, rolling your hips against his face, and you shiver when his tongue circles your clit. It’s more than you can take, and you pull away with a soft whimper. 

“Wasn’t done yet,” he murmurs, trying to pull you back down.

“Need you inside me,” you whisper, “please… wanna feel you inside.”

His pants are gone before you can blink. His cock is thick and heavy, flushed dark with arousal. You reach out for him, grip his shaft firmly, and give a steady stroke. He grunts softly, tipping his head back as you reach out with your other hand and pull his hips down. 

“Easy,” he chuckles, “easy, kiddo.”

He presses his lips to yours, and you hum at the taste of yourself on his tongue. Rubbing the tip of him through your folds, you let him find the small divot between your thighs and guide him in, only releasing him when he surges in deep, your bodies coming together in one primal, gratifying moment.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full, and you’d be lying if there’s not a slight twinge of pain when he thrusts the first time. You take it in stride and wrap your legs around his waist, heels pressing against his ass as he picks up a steady rhythm.

“Christ.” He sighs against your mouth, swallowing your own gasp of pleasure in a wet kiss. He grips the covers on either side of your head, his forearms sliding underneath you to form a cradle that keeps you tucked safely underneath him. You slide your hands up his back, scraping your nails just a little to feel the roll of firm muscle under his warm skin. 

“Go deeper,” you murmur, “you can go… oh my God—ahh…”

He digs his knees into the mattress for leverage and changes the angle of his hips, causing his cock to rock against your sweet spot on every inward movement. Rolling your hips, you manage to meet him thrust for thrust, and he pulls back to gaze into your eyes. 

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “I’m… ngh, not gonna last…”

“Don’t.” You squeeze his waist with your legs. “Cum inside me.”

His head drops onto your shoulder as he exhales a solid groan. You wiggle a hand down between your legs and rub your clit, holding onto Steve with one arm wrapped around his shoulders. He quickly works you up to your peak, silencing your high-pitched moan as you cum around him. The rhythmic squeezing of your cunt around him only drives his own urges, and he only manages a half-dozen spasmic thrusts before he pushes in deep and shudders, spurting deep into your warmth.

He draws you into a tender kiss, continuing to rock his hips until you’re both sensitive and quivering. When he pulls out and rolls to lie beside you, he brings you with him, holding you close as if terrified of letting you go.

“Where did you learn to do that?” you ask, unable to help a giggle. 

He closes his eyes, a soft, delirious smile playing on his lips. “I did have two years away, y’know. Some nights got lonely.”

You tuck yourself against his body, nuzzling the crook of his neck where he’s warm and smells like musk and amber. “Are we gonna keep doing this?”

Turning his head to gaze at you, he raises a hand and brushes his fingers across your cheek. “I wouldn’t mind.”

You kiss him gently, only pulling back when your breath catches in your throat and the overwhelming reality seeps back into your intimate moment. “We’ll get them back,” you whisper desperately, “we’ll find a way, somehow.”

Sighing deeply, he caresses your shoulder and closes his eyes. “Yeah, kiddo. We’ll figure it all out.”

Please reblog & comment if you enjoyed reading this :)

Wanna get tagged? Click here!

MARVEL TAGS: @beefcakebarnes​ @breezy1415​ @cosicas-cuquis @daughterofthenight117 @emoryhemsworth​ @mariekoukie6661​ @musesforart​ @starsandasteroids​ @nacho-bucky​  @bucky-the-thigh-slayer​

[redstainedsocks]

What’s in a name

Warnings: Torture, sensory deprivation, solitary confinement, electrocution/electroshock therapy, punishments, sadistic whumper, institutionalozed whump, memory loss, identity erasure, noncon drugging, drugs that cause memory loss, hallucinations, brutal treatment, brief beating and manhandling, box boy universe, dehumanization, denial of food

Set during Kit’s training period. I originally wrote this for escape!week and the prompt “relapse” but it didn’t seem right for the tone of that week, so I wrote something else for that and decided to post this on it’s own! Thanks especially to @castielamigos-whump-side-blog for being so enthusiastic about seeing more of Kit’s early time, gives me confidence that this is, hopefully, wanted :D. 

This one is particularly brutal, so heed the warnings, and if you don’t feel up to reading it I’m happy to give a quick rundown of the content to anyone who DMs me. But as it’s set in the past, nothing particularly plot relevant happens, so it can be skipped altogether.

This is the knock-off version of what WRU would do during training, if anyone is curious. The made up drugs for this universe that alter memory (among other things) still exist, and I’ve made use of them. Thanks and credit to the other writers in the box boy universe--especially @ashintheairlikesnow and @moose-teeth--for giving me lots of context for their procedures so I could learn the process and turn it into this non-WRU method. 

Tag List: @haro-whumps, @theycomeinthrees, @whumpthisway, @samanddeaninpanties, @teachunks, @draganies, @pepperonyscience, @whump-it, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @untilthepainstarts, @galaxywhump, @kiretto-laorentze, @lonesome--hunter @slaintetowhump @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi​

Word Count: 1.9k

He woke up one day and he just knew.

Maybe they’d let him sleep for too long. Maybe he hadn’t been on the right dose of the drugs. Maybe it had been too many days since his last round of the shocks and beatings that forced his mind to retreat into numb obedience.

Whatever the reason he knew, he remembered.

He used to have a name.

He didn't used to spend his days cowering in corners and obeying orders, looking up at the world from his knees, or on his back, or with eyes ringed with bruises. He didn’t used to be scared and exhausted all the time, just hoping to make it through the day without crying in front of a stranger.

He used to be a person.

And if he knew that, he could fight back. He knew the routines, the layouts, which guards were a softer touch. He just needed an opening, and he’d take it.

When the guard came down the row of cells and knocked their baton on the concrete wall dividing his cell from the next, called him pet and told him to get up—he refused. He curled tighter into the corner and balled his fists and ducked his head.

“I said up, trainee.”

“Not my name,” he growled out.

“What was that?”

“I said: that’s not my name, I have a name.”

“Do you now? Want to share with the class?”

He grit his teeth and glared. Just because he wanted to hold on to it and not tell this violently dangerous man, didn’t make it any less true.

The guard grinned.”That’s what I thought.” A radio crackled and the guard spoke into it. “Yeah, we’ve got a back-slider in row 4, yeah, being defiant again.”

A muffled voice spoke back.

“Will do, I’ll wait right here.”

He frowned, leant forward a little. No, this wasn’t right, when he disrespected them they’d come in and give him a beating, right there and then. And he’d decided he wasn’t going to cower, he was going to use it as an opportunity to get the upper hand. Shit, no, shit, he’d played his card too early.

Three more black-glad guards arrived, one man, and a woman. A trainer too, the mean one who had steel toed boots and a grey streak in his hair. They surveyed him and checked the chart hanging by his cell. He watched them all through the chain link as they talked about training methods, the pros and cons of every course of treatment while he got more nervous by the second.

“What is that you want, trainee?” The trainer asked eventually. “What were you hoping to achieve with this outburst? A little one on one time? Hoping to get more food, jonesing for the drugs we put in there? Come on, talk to me pet, what did that pea-sized brain think was going to happen here?”

“Nothing,” he snarled. “I don’t want anything from you, you can’t do this to me, to anyone! I want to… I want to go home, you have to let me leave.” He breathed hard through his nose and tried to quell the quiet voice that told him he didn’t remember where home was, that he had nowhere else to go. That was them talking; there had to be somewhere better than here.

“That doesn’t sound like something a good pet would say. And you’ve been such a good pet lately, you’re ruining your well behaved streak.”

“I’m not your pet, I’m not anybody's pet!”

The trainer smiled and it radiated such calculated hatred that it froze the blood in his veins. “Now we’re getting to the root of it.” The man gestured at him and turned to his colleagues. “He’s starting to think he gets to be a person.”

They all laughed, and he flinched. They sounded like hyenas, jackals, crows… all out for a piece of him, waiting to pick him apart and peck out his innards piece by piece by piece until there was nothing left but empty space.

“Right, okay. This has gone on long enough, throw him in the hole. We’ll see if that destroys these little illusions.”

His defiance wavered and he pitched forward onto his hands and knees as panic surged through him. The gate unlocked and they surrounded him, hands on his shoulders and in his hair, and batons swinging down on his back and legs. He fought, he fought with everything he had.

Like always, like every time before, it wasn’t enough.

“No! No, wait, please, please. Anything else, just, please, anything else.”

Maybe he was a person, but he wasn’t above begging. Not if it got him out of this.The hole was every trainee pet’s worst nightmare. He wouldn’t go there, he wouldn’t. He clawed at the walls, the metal doorframe, wrapped his fingers around the chain link at the front of his cell and clung until the wire fencing cut into his fingers. His blood made it slippery but he wouldn’t let go. One of them brought a baton down on his hands and he wailed. When they threatened to do it again, and break both his forearms, he finally let go.

****

The hole was nothing but a pitch black metal room. A storage container of some sort, or maybe just a large dumpster repurposed for the use. They would throw you in, slam the door shut, and then it was nothing but you and a black so deep you couldn’t see your own hands.

He slammed his body against the walls until his ears rang from the metallic clangs that reverberated around the room. He couldn’t do this again, the last time… he’d gone half mad.

He wouldn’t cry, the fear was too big to cry. It was larger than his tear ducts and it couldn’t get out that way. He couldn’t risk the loss of the moisture in any case. He had two bottles of water to last him for… however long they planned to leave him.

He paced for a while, one hand on the wall to keep himself steady in the dark. Four steps, five steps, four steps, two steps—cross the door—two more steps. Around and around.

The worst thing about the Hole was the conductive metal. It heated up so much during the day that by the afternoon it hurt to touch the walls and floor. It became so overheated that it felt like the air was sizzling, too thick to enter his lungs properly, pressing on his head until he felt like he’d burst. He laid on his back, tried to keep his bare legs and arms off the floor, so the barrier of his shirt and shorts was between him and the metal. The black swam around him in dizzying eddies as he sweltered and sweated.

Sebastian. Seb. Bas. Sebastian Rogers. That’s me, that’s me, that’s who I am. They’re punishing me just for remembering.

The dark and the heat made his angry behaviour seem even more pitiful. He could have just kept his name to himself, and done what they asked, and he wouldn’t be in this mess.

Relapse, they’d called it as they talked to each other. So he just had to get better again and then they’d let him out.

Getting better probably meant forgetting, letting it go. He wouldn’t let it go, he’d just tuck it safely away where no-one else could touch it. He’d just pretend, and they’d let him go back to his cell.

The day passed and he waited in trepidation for the night. For the temperature to drop until the walls felt like ice, instead of fire. In the few hours in between too hot and too cold he drank some water, and chose a corner to piss in, and then curled up and tried to conserve body heat.

There wouldn’t be much chance to sleep except in the dusk and early morning, when it was neither too hot, nor too cold. He tried, but it wouldn’t come, there was a buzzing below his skin that wouldn’t quit.

Probably something in the water.

He did cry then, a few dry-heaving sobs that turned to yelling, and more pounding on the door. The silence and stillness were deafening. He tap-tap-tapped on the floor just to hear something. Tapped the syllables of his name until it started to sound annoying and repetitive and he stopped.

He drummed out random beats and whimpered and groaned as he started to see white and colourful spots appear in the dark. They’d coalesce into other things before long, and he didn’t want to see; he pressed his hands over his eyes so that he wouldn’t.

Two cycles of day and night—blistering heat followed by icy cold— passed before they came for him, and he was delirious and grateful. Ready to lie and say he didn’t want a name at all, they could take it, he wouldn’t fight. He was willing to do whatever it took. But they didn't give him chance. They strapped him down in the treatment room and attached little nodes to his head and his body and forced round after round of shocks through his system. Pumped electricity into his brain and his nerves in concentrated shocks that made him disoriented and forgetful, stole his memory of where he was and why, for long minutes at a time.

After that he realised that they weren’t giving him a choice, they would take his unruly behaviour from him, not offer him the chance to give it up—they would make him good.

They dumped him back in the Hole, with fresh water, two packets of insubstantial food-paste, and the urine cleaned out. Still trembling from the aftershocks he crawled into a corner and clung to his meager rations. The water tasted funny, and he sipped it knowing it would mix with the shocks and do more strange things to his memories.

Mind warped and body aching, he curled up and tried to remember what had got him in so much trouble in the first place. Something about a name…a person with a name that he wasn't supposed to know.

It barely mattered whose it was, he wished he'd never thought of it all.

Sebastian wasn't worth this. Nothing was worth this.

Twice more he went through the same routine—two days—shocks—two days. Memories obliterated until he was empty headed and dizzy and so very, very sorry.

When they finally dragged him limp and mostly unresponsive from the darkness, he waved weakly to the hallucinations that he left behind.

He was better, he would be better. They asked and he grovelled for the chance to prove it. He’d messed up so badly, but he’d do better. His mouth wouldn’t form real words, just mumbles and groans from a parched throat and numb, swollen lips that he’d bitten to keep from screaming in the void of the Hole.

It didn’t seem to bother them that he was incoherent, that he tried was enough. He cried onto their boots, clinging with fingertips to the concrete so he wouldn’t slip away.

He left more than hallucinations in the dark. He left his defiance, his angry stubborn will. He left his identity, buried under hot stale air, where it would never be seen again. Left it to rot in the dark, where it never served him any good. Abandoned his old self, and knew he was better off for it.

He was a pet, would always be, had always been; he was nothing else, remembered nothing else. The darkness up ate his name so thoroughly, so completely, that he never even knew he’d offered it up to be devoured.

[thecleverdame]

The Oath - 4

Parings: Dark!Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Masterlist

Due to content, this story will have a separate tags list. Please sign up here

Summary: After an unsuccessful escape attempt, the reader finds herself taken as a spoil of war. She ends up in the bed of a ruthless Alpha, the son of John Winchester, leader of the kingdom of Gilead. She struggles to conceal her true identity and navigate a society where being an Omega means nothing more than serving at the pleasure of powerful men.

Warnings: non-con, sexual assault, rape, attempted suicide, sexual slavery, branding, torture, ownership, voyeurism, anal play, smut, violence, and murder.

Sam is dark in this story. If any of the warnings are triggers for you, I would suggest skipping this one. Please read and heed all the warnings.

Beta: ilikaicalie

Chapters 1-11 are currently available on Patreon.  To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

FOUR

The Next Morning

A hand shakes you awake and you forget for a moment where you are. Sam’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and pulling on his boots. 

“Get up,” he stands, looking down at you. “You should eat.”

Wrapped in nothing but Sam’s cloak, you sit at the table, attempting to peel an egg one-handed as both the men wolf down plates of eggs, meat and bread. They eat in silence, paying you no attention until Dean finishes and sits back in his chair. Sam has sent a servant to find you a dress, but until then you’re careful not to let the cloak fall open. 

There are men swirling around them, packing up each item with care. They must be getting ready to move the camp. 

“How far do you think we can make it before the storm comes?”

“If we’re lucky we may get to the base of the mountains. But I doubt we’ll make it that far.” Sam forks a hunk of meat, popping it into his mouth. “You hear the wind? By nightfall the snow will start.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing. We’re closer to home every day. How far out do you think we are.”

“A month before we join up with dad’s regiment. Three until we’re in our own beds again.” 

“I can barely remember what it feels like to get a good night’s sleep. To not smell like blood and dirt. I’m ready to be done.” Dean sounds energized at the idea of heading home but Sam’s indifferent. 

“I don’t mind being out here in the trenches.”

“That’s because you enjoy it...I like to strategize but you love to get your hands dirty.” 

Sam’s half listening, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you fumble with a boiled egg. You’re useless with one hand, you wouldn’t have lasted long thrown in with the soldiers. 

“You set her arm?” Dean’s talking to his brother, but staring at you with unnerving intensity. 

“Of course,” Sam confirms, ripping off a bite of bread with his teeth. “She took it better than expected.” 

Sam sighs at your half-peeled egg. He takes it from you and peels the rest before handing it back.

“Are you left-handed?” Dean grins, looking from you to his brother. 

“Yes,” you respond quietly. “I’m no use with my right.”

“Well, let's hope you heal quickly. We can’t follow you around all day,” Dean chuckles, taking a drink. 

“I’m going to address her condition with the men first thing this morning. They brought us an Omega with a broken arm. Can you imagine what else they’re up to that we don’t know about? I’m going to make an example out of them. We can’t have this kind of insubordination going on right under our noses.” 

“It’s best coming from you. They’re already scared of you.” Dean nods, both arms on the table.

The younger Winchester’s reputation is known throughout the lands. He’s a ruthless killer with little to no regard for anyone or anything. All the Winchesters are brutal but he’s gone darker. 

Sam shakes his head, ripping off an appropriately sized chunk of bread and setting it in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking a bite. 

“They nearly ruined her.” Dean taps his fingers on the table. “And they’ve been hoarding gold and silver. When I find out who’s responsible there’s going to be hell to pay.” 

All attention shifts to you. You stop chewing and look from Alpha to Alpha. 

“You said they touched you. Where? How?” Sam asks, resting his forearms on the table. 

Both men stare at you expectantly as your fingers curl around the bread, cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.  

“My breasts,” you whisper, wishing you were somewhere far, far away from this camp and these awful men. “One of them put his fingers...inside me.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sam grimaces, utterly disgusted at the idea. “They’re dogs.” 

“Yes, they are.” His brother agrees as they both turn their attention back to the food in front of them. 

-

Dean stands at the head of the tent, looking at the line of men standing at attention. Sam’s pacing up and down the row with you frozen in place next to Dean. If they didn’t know why they were summoned, they figured it out as soon as the Winchesters brought this new Omega back to the scene of the crime. 

“Do you remember who touched you?” Sam asks. 

You look up in horror as every man looks at you with murder in their eyes. 

“No, I’m sorry.” You lean forward in hopes of only Sam hearing the confession. “I was delirious, in pain and riddled with exhaustion. I can’t remember the faces.”

Sam and Dean have been displeased with the men for months now. The soldiers are compensated well and allowed free reign save for a few exceptions. There are so few rules and they can’t seem to manage to follow them. They’re expected to hand over precious metals and stone, and of course, keeping an Omega is strictly off-limits. 

Last month someone slipped a note to Dean. It was a tip about men stealing away gemstones. It turned out to be an entire operation, almost a dozen men involved in the scheme. Ever since, tensions have been rising. 

“Which one of you found her in the woods and brought her to the camp?” Sams walks up and down the line. 

“I did.” A man steps forward. 

“And you saw fit to throw her from your horse?”

“I didn’t realize she was so delicate,” he chuckles and behind him other men laugh. 

“Who touched her? One of you had your hand between her legs, tell me now.” Sam’s question is met with wide eyes. All of them are silent. They all know what happened was a serious transgression. 

“Either the man who stuck his fingers in her cunt identifies himself or every man here will suffer his punishment.” Sam looks down the line of soldiers as Dean crosses his arms over his chest. 

After a moment a man steps forward, looking nervous as he raises his hand. 

“It was me, my lord.”

“Your honesty will not go unnoticed.” Sam nods, his mouth pressed in a grimace. “And her breasts. Which of you touched her breasts?”

You want to crawl away. This sort of public shaming is nearly too much to bear. 

Two more soldiers came forward, remaining silent as Sam stares at each of them in turn. 

“You, who threw her from the horse. For breaking her arm, you’ll have yours broken as well.”

“Please,” the man breathes, as two larger soldiers take him by the arms. 

Sam ignores him, moving forward to the next two.

“For touching her breasts, each of you will forfeit a finger. Thumbs, I think.” Sam walks down the line, coming to stand in front of the man who touched your sex. “And you, a beta who dared to put his hands inside an Omega, we have a fitting punishment. Your right hand seems like a fair trade.”

“Please don’t do this!” The man pleads. “We didn’t know what she was. Would have brought her straight to you if we even thought she was-”

“Enough.” Sam hisses. “There are rules in place for a reason. You find an Alpha officer and you have him scent her. No exceptions. Let’s hope this is an example for all of you.” 

-

You’re loaded into the back of a horse-drawn cart, nested in fur and wrapped in a cloak. Several servants bring more blankets to lay over you until you’re sufficiently protected from the elements. The snow has started to fall and they’re moving the entire garrison. Headed home after months in the field. 

“Thank you.” You offer a smile to the shivering man, as he lays yet another blanket at your feet. 

The moment you speak he looks at you in horror and scurries away as another woman is helped into the cart. She’s older but unmistakably Omega, her scent is slightly soured, a sure sign of abuse. She settles in on the opposite side, a servant tucking her in. The cook who washed you the night before approaches, handing each of you a cup of hot pine tea.

“Thank you,” you try again, only to have the woman grunt and turn her back. 

“They’re not allowed to speak to you.” The other Omega shifts, cupping her tea in one hand and pulling her hood down to shield her face from the snow. “In Gilead servants aren’t allowed to speak directly to Omegas.” 

“Why not?” you ask. The cart begins to move and you grab your arm, wincing as the pain surges. 

“They’re Betas, and slaves at that. According to the law of the Gilead, they’re not good enough to lick the bottoms of your feet.” The woman stares at you, then your arm. “Who did that to you?”

It’s such a strange mix of sexual slavery and social status. You’ve been reduced to nothing more than your pussy and yet you’re considered elevated. 

“I fell from a horse.” You don't want to get into the details, it makes you sick to think about what happened. And now the men who will be disfigured because they didn’t follow protocol. Being an Omega has saved your life and will now seal your fate. 

-

“Do you have your flask?” Sam asks, guiding his horse beside Dean’s. His brother reaches into his cloak and fishes out the metal canteen. 

“You’re not one to drink in the morning.” 

“It’s not for me.” Sam takes the flask from him. 

“For the Omega?”

“She's in pain. And she’s only going to get colder. The snow is just starting, the storm will be bad.”

They ride in silence a moment longer before Dean pipes up. 

“You fucked her?” Dean poses it as a question but he’s not looking for confirmation. He already knows. 

“What of it?” Sam shrugs. 

“You’re not normally interested in much more than getting your dick sucked.” Dean looks ahead at the line of soldiers stretching as far as the eye can see. “Are you developing a soft spot?”

“Have you smelled her?” Sam asks deadpan, his grip tightening on the reigns. He can scarcely think about you without his dick getting hard.

“I did.” Dean’s not sure what his brother is getting at. You smelled appealing but nothing to elicit this kind of reaction. “Her scent wasn’t out of the ordinary but she’s quite the beauty when she’s not covered in mud and snot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Omega like that, that pleasing to the eye as dad would say.”

“She doesn’t know how pretty she is.” Sam’s horse whinnies, hot air puffing out in the frigid air. He’s quiet for a moment and turns toward his brother. “She doesn't smell different to you?”

“You’re stuck on that?” Dean’s eyes narrow, trying to suss out exactly what Sam is getting at. “Well, you know what they say. Some Omegas are better matches.”

“Perhaps.” 

“Or it’s entirely possible that the notorious Sam Winchester has found a pretty face he can’t ignore.”

“I’ve little interest in women.” Sam shifts in his saddle, ready to end this conversation. 

“She’s not a woman. She’s an Omega and a rare one at that. But if you’re so indifferent, why don’t you let me have her tonight. I did see her first after all. Fair is fair.”

Dean gets the reaction he’s looking for, a locked jaw from his brother. 

“No, you’ll ruin her. You can have her when I’m done with her.”

“Right,” Dean chuckles and Sam reaches over, slugging him in the arm. “I won’t hold my breath.”

[jenny-kirk]

Story Time with Jenny: Joining the Gang

The Rocky Mountain trail had seemingly gone on for days, shards and needles of the cold spiked at Jenny’s back, her only company; her father’s old work horse Bobbin.

A sigh filled the air to join the calling animals and whistling wind. A woollen shawl wrapped snuggly across her hunched shoulders.

The Western Grizzlies wasn’t a place Miss Kirk ever thought to visit, Ambrino seemed far too cold and dangerous, not like those far away countries of Europe she so dreamed to someday visit. But there wasn’t much choice in the matter.

After leaving home disgraced, kicked from her own doorstep by a heartbroken mother, Jenny was resolved to live her life on her own terms, stealing the family horse in spite. 

‘How had things turned so hopeless so quickly.’ She would find herself wondering only to shake the remark with remembrance of her new ability to live wild and free!

Survival wasn’t difficult, robbing folks blind, swindling drunkards in nearby towns was fun and funded Miss Kirk’s travels just about as she moved from the east, westwards in search of adventure.

Having never been good nor fond of hunting, food was purchased and stolen as often as possible. Repressing doubt and fear, (she couldn’t waste time on such thoughts if she wanted to survive). Fending for herself, it wasn't long before the law came to view Miss Kirk as an outlaw.

The brunette had been riding alone now for a few weeks. It was impressive how easily she managed to remove herself from danger. Sure she’d had to shoot a few fellers who informed the law of her misdoings, now having a small bounty on her head, but it was in Jenny’s mind all part of this new exciting game. This new life she found herself making the best of.

This new life wasn’t planned but it was one hell of a ride, one she was going to enjoy while it lasted, an outlaw, living free on her own terms! No one to stop her or tell her what to do with her life!

In tricking folks in passing saloons, Jenny was able to educate herself more on the local underground. Gangs, all across the states she planned to visit. It didn't deter her one bit, no quite the contrary, it was a challenge to become a better shot while living fast. For the world to remember her.

Jenny’s willing and hotheadedness left her heart in the right place for the job, she almost certainly looked the part. A revolver shoved into a thick brown belt (on account of not owning a gunbelt), a long pale blue skirt muddied and torn while her once white shirt had stained with dirt and age.

But Jenny couldn’t waste her hard earned money on such trifles, no, she needed it to travel! To live!

The heavy hooves stabbed into the frosted ground, a satisfying crisp sound with each step. God the horse was too tall. Beautiful but not good if one was aware of heights.

Slowing to a stop as the sun began to fall, a rock along the roadside providing a perfect, rather uncomfortable seat for a break. Jenny hadn’t quite mastered how to build a fire in such a climate and so, sat, her last tin of peaches quickly finished, a small pathetic cracker offered to the horse.

That persistent smile the small woman had managed to keep fixated dropped momentarily. Sure she was free, but at what cost? Hunted, and while she could fight, she had not the strength. The dark circles and a new sickly complexion was symbolic of this fact.

“I’m sorry boy.” Reaching into her saddlebag Jenny fished out a map of the land, a fragile finger running over it to locate themselves. “We’ll get you some real food in the next town...whereever that issss....”

Huh, a small resort town name of Strawberry was along the way down south, Valentine was the closest but already having a run in with the local law there didn’t make it a safe bet. Besides, going back on herself would only slow their venture down.

Having rested as darkness continued to fall, the cold became increasingly noticeable. It seemed the best course of action would be to continue moving.

Mounting up, using the rock as a step the girl continued. Humming to herself, complaining and reassuring under her hushed breath as to not feel so alone. Not frightened, yet unexcited by being stranded in such desolate land.

Glancing back to the map as Bobbin slowed they had almost reached the state line, good! The bad news? The trail seemed to shorten, covered by spiny overhanging branches, like something out of a fearsome story.

“Woah boy, woah easy! Shshh, c’mon boy,” the dusty horse getting the jitters. That feeling in the pit of ones stomach sensing a bad idea. Something dark and forbidding about the path ahead. But what choice was there? Go back to the mountains where wolves jumped at every corner?

Speeding up to get through the darkened area as quickly as possible, Jenny felt her heart rate quicken on the sound of twigs and branches snapping. The crunch of fallen dried leaves. Just from her horse right? Reaching for her revolver to feel more secure, her cold hand, near shaking, had hardly grasped it when she found her path blocked. Stopping in an instant with a tug of the reigns.

Bobbin was big, they could easily run the man down and was about to do so right as a gun was drawn to meet her own lightly freckled face. The sound of other guns cocking around her as men stepped out from the shadows. All part of a gang out to make a bit of cash, their green neckerchiefs a dead give away.

Jenny felt sick to her stomach. Hazel eyes widening. Running from lawmen, drankards and bounty hunters was one thing, but being held up on a roadside. Somehow this seemed much more difficult to escape.

“Look what we got here! Whoo a lost girly? Off the horse! Empty out those pockets.” 

One of the men began up to her, searching through the saddlebags. Dangerous, reckless anger festering inside the brunette. Everything she had was being taken before her very eyes.

“I ain’t looking’ for trouble-I just need food if you-” 

They weren’t having any of it. No reasoning, no bargaining. She found herself still reaching for her gun, that was the mistake. 

“Get your damn hands up woman! Off. The. Horse.” The voice startling Jenny more than the guns surrounding her with a small jump. 

Seeing little way out, Jenny followed through with the O’Driscoll’s wishes, slowly sliding off the large mount, her legs feeling uneasy under her weight, a gun to her temple as one of the men began searching through her pockets.

“She ain’t got nothing!” Throwing the map, remaining crackers to the ground. Jenny bit back the wish to turn smugly with a ‘told ya’.

“Whatever, she ain’t worth it” They mounted up around her, the cold barrel of a gun leaving its position. 

Had she just survived a robbery?! They’d taken everything but the clothes on her back but she was alive at least. Relief waved through Jenny as she began to ponder how she might avoid such prediciments in the future.

But that look on their faces, the same agreed glare between them. She was a hazard.

A loud shot soon answered her curiosities as the men rode off, shouts of laughter echoing. Bobbin falling to the ground, a ghastly sound ringing through her ears hardly gave her enough time to move before the creature came crashing down stop of her. Her right leg trapped, passing out on impact, the heavy beast laying dead.

A quiet hour or two passed until the conversing of two men hushed, as their alert mounts protested the path.

“Well, that is not ideal. H-Oh look, little scamp’s alive.”

“Dutch, we don’t need more mouths to feed- we’re already low on supplies, after that fire we can’t-.”

“And what kind of a chance does she have if we don't offer our sincere support Hosea? Look at her, come now, help me with this-”

Waking up disoriented, the soft crackling of a fire audible, its glowing light visible through her half lidded eyes. 

The first thing Jenny noticed was the pain in her leg and side, the thumping of her head, before realising she was no longer cold. In fact she had a blanket wrapped around her, a warm fire to one side.

“Oh! She lives!” A hot tin of coffee passed to her Jenny looked in confusion still gathering her bearings. Her dirtied and grubby gun laying by her side.

It was evident the girl was considering threatening her ‘rescuers’ and taking off, that twinge in her leg however convincing Jenny otherwise.

“Looks like you took quite the tumble.” The man crouching eye level to her as she lay propped up on her elbow, smudging dirt into her drained face before accepting the beverage.

“Dutch Van der Linde, and that,” the moustached man pointed to another, older appearing man tending to their horses, “well that is Hosea, pay him no heed.”

“I heard that”

“Jenny, Kirk, Jenny Kirk” She stammered still unsure of her surroundings, recollecting the evening’s events.

Warming by the fire the night was spent in calm conversation, not quite trusting her two rescuers but reluctantly appreciating their help.

Somewhere within the delirious conversation the decision came.

“Well Miss Kirk, we’ve a group of individuals much like yourself. Seeking freedom, purpose. Now, you’re more than welcome to stay with us until you’re back on your feet-”

It took a few days to reach the camp, it was unfortunately back in the wilderness of the Grizzlies however Jenny was quick to learn that the plan was to move on down to a place called Blackwater.

Her arrival was received with mixed feelings, some clearly irked by having another ‘helpless woman to wash the clothes’ as Mac Callander, the brawler snakily remarked, his brother appearing to be a little more tolerable.

Others welcomed her like family, Miss Mary-Beth and Mr Summers eagerly offering to help settler her in. Lame and bed bound her first few days.

As time drew on and Jenny began joining in jobs, embracing her new life as an outlaw, even acquiring a new horse, Lola. Her anticipation and excitement radiating each time, becoming comfortable enough to joke and flirt with most everyone in camp.

Months passed before the gang had packed up to move towards Blackwater, picking up yet another straggler. A curious and mean one. Micah Bell.

[zephyra-in-the-house]

OhmToonz “A Night in the Dark”

Hello Tumblr! I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. With college and whatnot, there’s a lot going on in my life at the moment. All fanfictions and drawings have been put on hold for a while. However, I have decided to start writing little side fics for my main story (which you can find here  on ao3 or here on Wattpad) in order to jump start my creative juices once again. Here, I have a little OhmToonz drabble that I wrote today. It’s not edited. I just figured I should post something. 

Enjoy!

Cartoonz POV: 19.514 A.E.A.W.

My head popped off the pillow with a small jolt. For a moment, I contemplated why I was awake. A quick glance at the clock on my bedside table said that it was 4:30am. Frowning, I tried rolling over and going back to sleep. I waited for several moments for sleep to take hold but it never did. Instead, I was left scowling at the wall in front of my face in the dark.

Groaning, I sat up and drew my hands over my face. With a deep sigh, I got up and trudged out of my room and down the hall to the bathroom. Delirious and I had been up until 1 in the morning watching movies. I hadn’t expected to be up so soon afterwards. 

However, on my way back from the bathroom, something tingled in the back of my mind. At first, I ignored it. On my way back to my room though, I passed the staircase leading upstairs. Instinctively, my attention was drawn to the top. I paused at the bottom steps, still feeling a strange buzz in my mind. Part of me wanted to go back to bed but another part knew I was awake now. There would be no sleep until I could figure out what was wrong.

So, I slowly made my way up the stairs. Delirious’ room sat at the top. However, knowing he was even more irritable than me when being woken up, I tried to be quiet to avoid waking him. As I passed his room, my eyes were drawn to the next door down. Suddenly, it made sense why I was awake. Even from here, I could hear the small sniffles coming from the room next door.

As quietly as possible, I made my way to the door and reached for the handle. Surprisingly, the door was already cracked open. From beyond, I could make out the quiet heart-wrenching sob that I hated so much.

Before I could even think about what I was doing, I pushed open the door. A quiet creak in the hinges caused the sniffles to stop immediately. Across the room, a figure sprouted from the bed frame. I froze unintentionally when a pair of iridescent green eyes burst into existence. It had been a while since I’d seen Ohm’s eyes without the bandana Delirious gave him. No matter how many times I saw them, they still stopped me dead in my tracks. There was a challenge in those green eyes- a warning. Heeding that warning, I straightened and leaned casually against the doorframe without approaching any further. Surprise flashed in the eyes burning through me as I spoke.

“Still awake huh?”

“Cartoonz.” Ohm whispered as though he’d just realized it was me. He paused for a moment. “How did you…?”

I shrugged and folded my arms. “My Ohm senses were tingling.”

Ohm narrowed his eyes caustically. I resisted the urge to shrink. After 7 years, it wasn’t often that I found Ohm intimidating but this was one of those exceptions. The irony lay in the fact that I could hear him stifling a sniffle in the silence that followed. My feet moved of their own accord at the sound. Within seconds, I found myself at the edge of his bed, looking down at the small burrito sitting beneath me. Ohm stared up at me, his eyes still heated. I could just make out his face under the faint glow of moonlight from a nearby window.

Without a word, I reached forward and gently brushed the back of a finger across his cheek. He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering shut briefly. As much as I enjoyed the contact, the fact that my finger came away warm and wet made me do a full body cringe. Ohm stayed eerily still as I straightened.

“I knew it.” I whispered without a thought. Through the darkness, I could barely see Ohm’s teeth flash as he grimaced and turned away. I wanted to slap myself as I watched him curl self-consciously into his blankets.

Careful not to sound like I was sighing, I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The smell of rotten strawberries filtered into my nose as I did so, making me frown. Not only that, I noticed as I glanced down that Ohm’s blankets looked different. Even in the darkness, I could tell the top blanket was paler than the rest. Reaching down, I touched the outstretched cloth and found that it was fuzzier than I expected. I repressed a groan.

Of course he didn’t take that well. I grumbled, admonishing myself for speaking without thinking once again in this situation.

Sighing lightly, I sat down on the edge of the bed at a respectful distance. I could feel Ohm shift a little behind me. However, I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder and confirm that as I folded my hands in my lap.

“Given you have the blanket, I’m guessing you don’t wanna talk about it.”

Silence. Which was answer enough.

I nodded a little. “You know you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Your secrets are safe with me.”

For several moments, neither of us spoke. I could hear the sound of rain hitting the roof outside and the quiet hiss of the wind through the trees. Ohm’s sniffles were quieter and farther in between as time went on. I simply waited, my eyes flickering around the room. Things were becoming a little clearer in the darkness. I could just make out Ohm’s desk on the other side of the room. One of the pictures was laying flat on top of the dresser. From past experience, I knew it was one of the few pictures Ohm had of his favorite brother.

“How did you know?” The question drew me back abruptly from my thoughts.

“I told you-” I started with a smile only to be cut off by Ohm’s voice.

“Seriously Toonz.” I paused, unsure of what to say. This kind of thing had happened before once or twice but I still wasn’t entirely sure I had woken up because of Ohm.

“I don’t know. Something just felt off.” For a moment, he was silent. I resisted the urge to turn back as I heard him clear his throat.

“It was my family.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. His next words delivered a painful blow to my gut. “The day they tried selling me off.”

“Ohm...” Tension crackled through the air. He didn’t say anything, but I knew a warning when I felt it.

That explains the blanket. I thought to myself as I turned to look at him. 

Ohm was still curled up in the blankets. Green shimmered through the cracks of his eyelids. Anything from his eyes down was covered by the white fuzzy blanket which he had pulled up tightly around his shoulders. Part of me wondered if it still smelled like his brother, the one who helped him escape. Another part wished I could’ve met that brother and thanked him for helping bring Ohm into my life.

“You didn’t have to say anything if you were uncomfortable.” I chided him lightly. Ohm curled deeper into his blankets, his eyes closing fully. When he spoke, his voice was muffled.

“I rarely hide anything from you these days Toonzy. What’s one more thing to add to the list.”

“Thank you.” I half-whispered. That earned a confused arc of an eyebrow from Ohm as he glanced up at me. “For trusting me I mean.”

Ohm considered me for several moments. In any other circumstance, prolonged eye contact didn’t bother me. In fact, it was always the other person that looked away first whenever I made eye contact with them. 

There was something different about Ohm though. A certain intelligence and power I could see wreathing just below the surface. Looking into his eyes was like looking up into space and wondering if you’re actually upside down, looking down into the depths of the universe. His eyes made me question everything I knew about myself. I couldn’t bring myself to look away though. There was something alluring about that kind of existential questioning. Ohm made me question myself and my actions but, in doing so, made me want to be a better person. Whether I wanted to be better because of him and for him was a question I was finding myself wrestling more and more often these days.

My thoughts were broken as Ohm shifted and a hand was produced from under the blankets. Ohm dropped his gaze as he reached for me. Just before his fingers could touch my shirt, he hesitated. For a moment, I figured he’d draw back like usual. This time was different though. This time, he reached out and hooked his fingers in the hem of my shirt and fisted the material in desperation. As I watched, his eyes grew a little duller and more watery as he silently clung to me. My heart threatened to burst with warmth.

Ever so slowly, I reached back and pried his fingers from my shirt. He let go easy enough but now I could feel him shaking. Careful not to move too fast but without staying apart any longer than necessary, I stood and turned to face Ohm, his wrist still in my hand, and laid down on my side across from him. I propped my head up on one hand and allowed the other to rest with Ohm’s in between us. 

A soft sob racked his body as he squeezed his eyes shut. I frowned, my thumb rubbing little circles over the soft spot on Ohm’s wrist. That only seemed to draw a soft whine from somewhere deep within his chest. The sound drew me closer until I was looking up into what little of Ohm’s face I could see from mere inches away. I didn’t want to overstep my bounds. I knew Ohm was a stickler for personal boundaries but this felt like one of those times that I had to press them.

So, I shifted even closer until I could throw an arm around the burrito that was Ohm and draw him close to me. Soon, his face was against my chest. I could feel his warm breath even through my shirt as he let out a shallow gasp. For that singular moment, I was afraid I had gone too far.

My anxiety was thrown aside as Ohm clutched at my shirt. He buried his face into my chest and sobbed. This cry was nothing like before. He didn’t hold back. Suddenly, the flood gates were thrown open and my shirt was drenched in snot and tears. I didn’t mind though because, as time wore on and Ohm’s body grew tired of exuding so much energy, I could feel him relaxing bit by bit until his breathing evened out and his hands were loosely curled in my shirt. It was almost enough to make me cry as well. 

Ohm never trusted anyone. He had no reason to trust anyone. Anyone he’d ever met betrayed him in some way. To know that someone who never trusted anyone farther than he could throw them trusted battle-scarred prick and local asshole me was by far the greatest achievement I’d ever received in my life. That was enough for me to stay. Enough for me to fight through his hardened exterior, to soothe his traumas and open up my arms to him. Enough for me to say “I’m here for you and I will always be here for you”. Enough for me to stay up at 4 in the morning, watching over him as he slept peacefully probably for the first time in a while. And almost enough for me to finally get up the courage to tell him I loved him with my entire heart and soul. But not quite enough.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you guys thought and whether or not I should post more of these.

[kondo-hijikata]

Pairing: Pre-Relationship to Relationship Kondo/Hijikata Rating: T Summary: Hijikata had no particular interest in meeting the new Tennen Rishin Ryu heir…until he saw the size of his shoes. [AO3]

<< Chapter 2

.*Before the Storm*. Chapter 3

The universe was a finicky thing. It was unfair, played favorites. To some, it gave with reckless abandon. From others, it took and took in the same stride.

For once, it favored Hijikata Toshizo.

Ducking beneath the flowering bough of the Sato residence main gate revealed beyond advantageous conditions: Nobu was preoccupied somewhere in the house with her two young children, Hikogoro hadn’t yet returned from meeting Tamejiro, there were no nosy neighbors or merchants haunting the front garden… In short, a golden opportunity had fallen right into Hijikata’s lap, and he snatched the reins with an ecstasy that left him light-headed and almost delirious.

Everyone was out of his way. And for a change, he would have his.

It was a beeline straight to the back of the property with Kondo in tow, and when Hijikata just about punted the shoes from his feet and bounded up the dark stairs, his soon-to-be opponent spoke up in inquiry.

“Um, do you think we should wait for—?”

“No,” Hijikata stressed without so much a glance over his shoulder, and on that, he disappeared into the dojo.

Several moments passed before a breathy laugh rolled off Kondo’s tongue, his head canting and shoulders nudging up into a shrug. “All right, then,” he said aloud to no one, making quick work to free himself of hat and shoes, smooth out any displaced locks of hair, and follow Hijikata’s lead before he might be scolded for taking too long.

As shoji were thrown open for airflow and they set to readying themselves, the training hall was devoid of conversation—not because there weren’t matters of common interest to mull over or twenty questions to be asked. Simply, at present, there was but one thing on Hijikata’s mind. And that thing, that prospect, was all-consuming.

Anticipation electrified him, had every last nerve in his body lit up by the feverish exhilaration of being taken seriously, of at last having the opportunity to substantiate his merit. This would be the test of all tests and the ultimate proving ground, facing off with someone not only of Kondo’s talent but status. Hijikata’s fingers nearly trembled while readjusting the red ties woven about his personal training attire, and he began fastening the breastplate to his torso.

Kondo was perched across the way in formal seiza, making his own refinements prior to quickly outfitting himself. Seizing a pair of loose straps that hung about his waist, he pulled hard and started binding, then spoke up without diverting attention from his task. “You never did say what school you’re with, by the way.”

Hijikata sprung to his feet. “All of them.”

Chin snapping up, Kondo’s eyes were instantly on him and following as he approached the shinai rack. “Ah, I mean…” He rose to stand as well, and gave himself a final shake to let the armor settle comfortably about his frame. “What style do you practice?”

Two training swords were pulled free and Hijikata pivoted on his heels, tossing one over to Kondo while returning to the place he’d left his facemask. And just before his features became obscured by a ribbed cage, he offered a smug twitch of the lips and huffed out his nose. “It’s called Hijikata Toshizo style.”

Kondo’s lashes parted a little wider and though he said nothing in response to that statement, his mouth pulled outward into an enticed broad smile.

The playfulness was gone in an instant from Hijikata as he strapped himself in. “Don’t you dare go easy on me.”

~

It all started off so well. Confidence was soaring, the ship of peasant-turned-samurai dreams sailed, life was on the upswing and anything was possible.

Then the shinai was sent flying from Hijikata’s grip.

Kondo was saying something, but the words fell on ears deafened by distraction.

What…was that just now? Hijikata blinked, maintaining position and studying his empty hands before his eyes shifted to the fallen practice sword. After a second more of thought, he retrieved it, reassumed position, and squared his jaw with determination. “Again.”

He stepped into Kondo’s lunge with a different technique, a new approach at blocking…only to be disarmed in the same manner.

There was no pensive consideration this time. Hijikata swooped over his shinai and took it up without breaking momentum. His feet slid back into stance like second nature. “Again.”

Again and again and again, until he figured out a countermeasure for this move.

Again.

~

Pulling off headgear on a day like today felt like breaking back through the surface of water after staying submerged for too long. Hijikata stood panting hard with his eyes shut tight and nose angled toward the ceiling, his heart pounding and lungs working double time. The mask which dangled from his fingertips dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and his hands began blindly ridding the other articles that bogged him down.

“It is hot!” Kondo rasped with desperation, seeking his own freedom from the same burdens, and then used the sleeve of his hakamashita to wipe the sweat from his face.

Indeed it was hotter than hell, among other things just as uncomfortable. While his pulse slowly calmed and his muscles relaxed, the disappointment that welled in the pit of Hijikata’s stomach started creeping up his throat to sting his tongue with the bitter taste of chagrin. All he offered to Kondo’s statement about the heat was an affirmative breathy hum, and when his lashes finally parted, he found himself being regarded with another grin. It was almost unsettling, given the circumstances. “…What?”

Shaking his head, Kondo let the fabric fall back in place at his side. “I’m just impressed.”

“What?” Hijikata’s brows drew inward and his cheeks flushed with anger. “Don’t goddamn patronize me!”

“I’m not.” Hands flew up before Kondo’s chest in surrender and he swallowed hard, his shoulders still rising and falling from catching his breath. “Don’t get me wrong. You lack discipline and consistency, and your form needs work. But—” A few moments of panting. “—you make up for all that in creativity. It certainly kept me on my toes.”

While his expression hadn’t lessened in severity, Hijikata studied the young master and took heed to his words; it was an appraisal that was admittedly fair and one he couldn’t argue, even if constructive criticism hadn’t been something he’d particularly sought. After all, it was plain as day now that he was no match for Kondo as he was. That Kondo could find anything remotely positive to comment on about his performance was already much too kind in his opinion.

Pulling his mouth taut, Hijikata remained silent. It was mortifying to admit even to himself that he’d envisioned victory. Then again, he could mop the floor with the local dojos frequented during his peddling rounds, so perhaps this loss was a necessary and humbling kick in the ass. It wasn’t even that Hijikata hadn’t held his own well enough during the match, because he had. However, in a world where someone with ambitions as wild as his needed to be better than the best, staying on the defense simply wouldn’t cut it.

And by the gods, having a weapon knocked free over and over—something that should never happen even once—was humiliating beyond belief.

No, he needed to be more than just decent, more than passable or creative. He needed to be a legitimate contender to people with advanced skill like Kondo if he wanted to get anywhere in the life he envisioned, and that was the cold hard truth. Thus, the contest was Kondo’s triumph and Hijikata’s failure no matter how minced the words, but at least he could learn something from it. He licked his lips, eager to move on from being the recipient of half-hearted compliments. “So, what was that move?”

“What move?”

“The one you kept disarming me with.”

Another smile inched out into Kondo’s cheeks. “Ah, that…” He gave a firm nod. “The Tennen Rishin Ryu is structured purely for warfare. It’s an aggressive style that seeks to neutralize threats as fast as possible, so disarmament is a big factor.”

Hijikata narrowed his eyes. “Right…yeah, I get that. But I wanna know how you did it.” Several seconds passed without any verbal response as the young master seemed to study him—and just as he’d been about to reassert his demand, Kondo huffed.

“Um, Hijikata-san,” he began slowly, letting his focus wander to nowhere important. “From what I gather, you have knowledge of all different kinds of styles from your travels.” Kondo returned his attention then, his gaze direct and piercing. “But the Tennen Rishin Ryu isn’t one of them, despite this dojo being literally in your backyard. Why is that?”

It was a splendidly predictable inquiry but somehow still managed to catch Hijikata off guard. He scoffed and rubbed at his neck with irritation, averted his sight to the garden and replied with a breathy, “Answering a question with a question, huh…”

“Forgive me, but you are asking for the semantics of my technique, are you not?”

Hijikata’s fingers paused and his eyes shifted to his companion. …Kondo had a point. Or it was more like he was damn correct and this situation was becoming more than a little embarrassing with every passing second. It was time to leave before more damage could be done, time to salvage whatever was left of his pride—if any of it was. “You’re right,” Hijikata relented with a nearly disdainful drop of his chin. “Sorry, it was overstepping.”

“Mm?” Kondo tilted his head and started pulling at his hakamashita to help himself cool off. “I don’t believe I said that…”

“Aa, I know.” A forced smile twitched at Hijikata’s lips as he collected his armor and stepped up to take Kondo’s as well. “Well, thanks for the match but as you found out, I really am just a medicine peddler with rough hands.” Before that could be interpreted as a cry for sympathy, he was quick to shrug and press on with the kind of talk that would pacify anyone of a higher class. “Which is fine. We all have our place. Mine happens to be healing the ailments of this country.”

As he was learning, however, Kondo wasn’t just anyone.

“Anyway, I’ll take that.” Hijikata leaned forward to reach for the breastplate at the young master’s side…only to have his shoulders caught in the grip of hands much larger than his own. Hijikata froze, his eyes snapping up to golden ones boring into him, and relented when he was gently coaxed back into standing upright.

“Look…” Kondo’s palms slipped from where they’d steadied him, but Hijikata could feel the gentle yet insistent weight of his touch remaining even after it vanished. What even was this magnetism? Part of him wanted to leave so he could process and swallow the crushing loss that shattered his confidence, but another side remained inundated with curiosity—so much that it won out and had his feet staying cemented in place. He warily listened.

“I assess all kinds of men day in and day out through training and sparring. That being said…” Kondo swiped up the training gear Hijikata had been after, his attention falling to it before returning with a pointed earnestness. “Hijikata-san, I promise you. Your opinion of yourself is much too low. Actually, I’d go so far to say it’s completely wrong.”

Several moments of tense silence persisted, each studying the other like they were back at that proverbial game of Go from when they’d met on the street earlier, before Hijikata’s features relaxed and he choked out a strained breathy laugh. “Uh, thanks,” he said dismissively and reached for the armor again.

Strange as it was, Kondo hadn’t taken the bait to lighten the mood and seemed to have no interest in giving up the raiment that Hijikata had been after, his demeanor holding as fervid as it was genuine. “I’ll show you the move if you come to practice sometime.”

Hijikata’s brows creased and he felt a rush of…something hit his head—annoyance or offense or another emotion he couldn’t rightly identify. Whatever the case, it wasn’t favorable and so he replied with a cool retort. “I’m not interested in becoming your student.”

“What do you want to be then?”

And damned as he might have been for it, the unintended suggestiveness in that question took Hijikata by surprise. His lips parted, but no sound came forth.

Kondo’s hands docked on his hips. “Rivals, friends? Enemies, a few fake samurai trying to forever be good enough?”

“Excuse me, fake?”

“Of course. You said it yourself, didn’t you? We all have our place.” Turning his head to the side, Kondo’s gaze was back on the garden. “Society won’t see us as anything more than farmers.”

“What are you even saying?! You’re literally a samurai!” Hijikata snapped. “You have the actual status. I don’t. I have nothing at all.”

“You think that means something…” Kondo trailed off, his voice going quiet. He huffed, closed his eyes, and cocked his head…shrugged and smiled. “This status you refer to amounts to nothing at all.” But when his lashes parted again, Hijikata could make out a fire burning in the man in front of him. “If the Shogun worked the land before he became the Shogun, the world would still see him as what he was first, no matter his accomplishments.”

Ah, there it was. A bitter scoff followed. “So you lied to those kids, after all. Can’t say it surprises me.”

“Actually, no, I didn’t. I’m a farmer, Hijikata-san. That’s how I was born. That’s how I’ll die. I have to work three times as hard to get even a sliver of what some people are lucky enough to be given at birth.” Squaring his jaw, the light dulled in Kondo’s eyes. “But I’m not discouraged by that, because you see, I’m lucky too. My fate is in my own hands. I can carve my own path.” And with that, his grasp on the plate tightened. “To society, I’ll always be someone trying to be something that I’m not and nothing more. So I’ll be a farmer with the greatest samurai spirit, more samurai than any samurai who thinks he’s entitled to that honor because of where he happened to be born.”

Hijikata’s attention was locked on Kondo and he didn’t dare even blink, his heart pounding so hard that he heard it echoing in his ears. What he was saying, it was infuriating and ridiculous and it spoke directly to his soul with the words he’d always wanted to hear. “More samurai than…any samurai,” he echoed as his companion pivoted on his feet and made for the armor stand. “You’re—”

“It’s the same for you,” Kondo said, reaching for a nearby rag and beginning to wipe down each article to prepare it for stowing. “Whether you see it or not.”

“You barely know me!” Hijikata shot back. “How the hell can you make such a bold ass statement like it’s some kind of fact?!”

Kondo’s hands came to a stop and he lifted his chin. “It’s simple.” Slowly, he turned his face to look him dead in the eye. “I see myself in you.”

There weren’t many times in his life when Hijikata had been rendered utterly speechless, but it seemed that the young master had a particular talent at striking his sharp tongue frozen. His mouth opened suddenly. Then, it closed.

And just when it parted again, in his true horrible timing fashion, Hikogoro’s voice pierced the air. “Katsuta-san?!”

The moment was lost, the seriousness slipping from Kondo’s expression as he smiled warmly at the harried man running up the dojo stairs. And while Hikogoro made his greetings and unleashed a chastising tirade for letting Kondo put his own training attire away, Hijikata’s silence persisted.

More samurai than any samurai.

A farmer with the greatest samurai spirit.

What do you want to be then?

“Oi, Toshizo! Are you even listening to me?!”

I see myself in you.

At last, he released the breath he hadn’t even realized he held.

[itsmalachitenow]

Fire and Ice; a Stan x Rosalyn Fic

Dark skies. Pouring rain. A cold, howling wind that bent the trees and scattered debris.

This was the setting of the Great Hero Rosalyn’s latest battle: A violent, valiant attempt against corruption, ultimately cumulating in the triumph of justice itself. The ghosts terrorizing Tenel had been slain, the route to Madril was out of harm’s way, and the day was saved.

This was a terrible idea.

Rosalyn staggered along the side of the road. A string of battles like this would’ve been hard enough on her body under normal circumstances. But with the storm going on around her, not even her umbrella was protection enough against the elements. Her breathing was labored, her tread was slow, and her eyes were squinted against the rain.

The others had warned her about going out in weather like this. She, on the other hand, boasted that justice did not stop just because the weather was bad. “A Great Hero must fight evil, rain or shine! Besides, it’s not even that bad out there. Just a drizzle, really!”

Now, with a fever burning in her skull and her clothes plastered to her body with rain and sweat, the Great Hero was beginning to regret her bravado. But it would be fine; just a little farther back to Tenel, and she could rest. Everything was going to be-

“Augh!”

She tripped over her own feet and stumbled, hitting the ground hard. Her parasol landed beside her in the mud. She tried to stand, and found she didn’t have the strength to. I might be in real trouble here, thought Rosalyn, but the thought was distant and echoing, like the last splash a skipped rock makes against the water as it sinks. And she was sinking now; as the hero stared dully at the gray skies above, she felt the mud pulling her further down.

Or, maybe it was just the fever making her see things. She didn’t know. It didn’t seem that important. All that Rosalyn wanted to do now was close her eyes for a little while. Surely that would help—yes, she could rest here and make the rest of the trip as soon as she was feeling better. With any luck, the rain will have stopped by then.

Just for a little while. Let me rest.

She closed her eyes…

“…syn…”

Off in the distance, someone was calling.

“….salyn…!”

The Great Hero made a face. She didn’t like this voice, though at the moment, she couldn’t quite remember why.

“Rosalyn!”

“Ugh…” She grumbled, letting her eyes squint open. A pair of black pants and dark boots was standing in front of her. Before she could get a better look, she was being scooped up into a pair of strong arms. Her eyes shot open and she began to struggle. “Hey--!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Hold still, you cow! It’s hard enough trying to get you out of that mud as is!” The Great Evil King Stanley Hihat Trinidad XIV was scowling at her. Now she remembered why she disliked this voice so much.

“Put me down,” she mumbled, attempting to shove at him. But he just tightened his grip and began walking towards Tenel.

“Be quiet. It looks like you have a fat head as well as thighs, deciding to go out and fight in this storm. What the hell were you thinking?”

“…was doing my job,” was all Rosalyn could manage. She glared weakly up at the Evil King carrying her. “At least I can think things through…cheap parlor trick…”

“For once in your life, will you shut up?” growled Stan. “Here I am, risking my evil reputation to save your puny life, and all you do is try to fight me!”

“…pffff…” Even in her fevered state, Rosalyn let out a faint, breathy laugh. “…what reputation?”

“Well, at least we know you’re not dying. You can still kill a joke just by telling it.” Stan kicked a rock in the road and continued his stride. “Just…close your eyes. Try to rest. I know it’s hard for you to process anything that isn’t your next meal, but try.”

“Fuck you, too.” Rosalyn did close her eyes, but not because Stan was telling her to. The Evil King’s arms were warmer than the mud, and the exhaustion of a day of fighting was getting its second wind in the battle against her consciousness.

She drifted off to sleep.

--

SNORT.

Rosalyn jolted awake in a cold sweat, looking around wildly for the noise. She was in a bed, with the covers pulled over her and the damp cloth on her forehead hitting the ground with a thwap.

…and there beside her was Stan, slumped in a chair and snoring away.

She stared at the sleeping Great Evil King; even in her fevered state, she could see a trail of drool sliding down his cheek.

“Charming,” she muttered.

“Bwah!” Now it was Stan’s turn to jerk awake, nearly falling out of the chair. His eyes were wide as he spoke. “What happened? Is she dead? I…”

But as they fell on Rosalyn, they narrowed. “…oh. You’re awake.”

“What’s going on?” demanded the hero. “Where am I? And where are…” Rosalyn blinked, a thought occurring to her. She slid back the covers and her fears were confirmed. “Where are my clothes?!”

It wasn’t like she was naked; she had a large black shirt on, and a pair of boxer shorts. But she hadn’t undressed herself—someone had stripped her down and washed the mud away. Rosalyn pulled the blanket up to her chest, wide-eyed and furious. “You—you fiend! How dare you undress a lady when she’s uncon-”

“Oh, please.” Stan straightened himself up. If she wasn’t mistaken, he looked almost offended. “As if I’d stoop so low! We’re in Ari’s house—his mother and sister scrubbed you down and got you into some clean clothes.”

The hero was taken aback. A second glance around the room confirmed that yes, this was Ari’s house. His bedroom, in fact. “…oh…but…these are way too big for Ari. Even his dad wouldn’t fit in a shirt this big. Whose clothes are these?”

Stan’s ears flattened, and he looked off to the side. “…they’re mine.”

“Oh.” Rosalyn was flustered. What were you supposed to say when you were lying in bed sick, dressed in the clothes of your most hated rival?

It seemed she wasn’t the only one feeling awkward; Stan cleared his throat and stood from his chair. “I should go.”

“Hold on.” The outburst of energy she had was draining rapidly—she could feel the fever settling back over her. But there was something she had to know before Stan left. “…why did you save me?”

“What?” Stan looked at her like she had sprouted wings. “You’re delirious, woman. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes I do.” Even propped against her pillows, Rosalyn managed to glower at him. “That’s what you did. You said so yourself earlier—you were risking your reputation to get me home alive. Why?”

Stan opened his mouth to answer her. Then he closed it again. It went on like that for a few seconds—open, close, open, close, gesture wildly, like he couldn’t find the right words to say. To Rosalyn, he almost looked like one of the puppets the travelling entertainers used in their shows whenever they came to Madril.

Finally, the Great Evil King’s expression settled into a scowl. “…are you serious?” He turned his head away from her, crossing his arms. “You could have died out there. Not even in a proper fight, but to some stupid storm.”

Stan looked at her from the corner of his eye, and his voice dropped to a murmur. “…and then where would I be?”

“What?” Now it was Rosalyn’s turn to look shocked.

Her response only seemed to infuriate him. He rounded on her, eyes blazing. “You’re mine! You’re my rival! Nobody else is allowed to kill you but me, Rosalyn! Not a storm, not ghosts, not Beiloune, not ANYBODY!”

Stan was panting. “…and I’m not about to let them. Not now. Not ever. …that’s ‘what.’” His expression was a mixture of anger and…something she couldn’t place. Pain? Jealousy? Worry?

Was the Great Evil King worried about her?

Was she hallucinating? Was the fever still making her see things? Rosalyn couldn’t seem to form a response. The heat of the sickness was making it hard to move or think. “…I…”

Stan rubbed his forehead, letting out a frustrated growl. “Ugh. I need to leave—Ari’s mother will be thrilled that you aren’t dead, and she can bring you something to eat.” He strode towards the door.

“…wait.”

The Great Evil King, who had never before heeded the loudest of yells and pleas for mercy, was stopped in his tracks by the weakest of whispers.

“…don’t go…”

He turned back to the bed. Rosalyn stared through half-lidded eyes, her trembling hand outstretched for him. “…don’t go. I don’t…want to be alone.”

For a moment, Stan did nothing. Then, the floorboards creaking under his boots, he walked back over to the bedside and sat down. Her hand shot out and grabbed clumsily for his. He let her take it, eyes widening in surprise as she gripped it.

“I hate this,” she muttered. “The one person nearby, and it’s the one I swore to kill someday.”

“Frigid as usual.” Stan got a smirk, his large hand closing around hers and stroking it with his thumb. “How can someone so cold have hands this warm?”

“Heh. Maybe it’s the fever, genius.” Rosalyn got a dry grin, before sneezing heavily and covering her mouth with her other hand.

“Ugh.” Stan wrinkled his nose. “That’s just disgusting. You’d better be grateful I pulled you out of that mud.”

She laughed again, softer this time. Her eyes slid closed and she breathed out a sigh. “…my hero.”

The pair of them stayed that way for a while; Rosalyn slowly falling back into slumber, and Stan at her side, holding her hand as she drifted.

When she was finally resting easy, Stan let go of her hand. He could leave now; she would be asleep for a few hours, at the very least. Yet, he found himself sitting there and continuing to watch her. The way her chest rose and fell with her breathing, the way her eyes moved beneath their eyelids…

Not really knowing why, he reached over and brushed a strand of wet hair out of Rosalyn’s face with his thumb. This was all new territory for him. Really, if it were anyone else, he would have been irritated.

…but, it was strange. With her, he didn’t mind at all.

[theclaravoyant]

Oh! Oh a prompt! Fitzskimmons fic featuring FitzSimmons patching up an upset daisy after pulling her out of the gladiator arena and telling her that even though they want to get married it doesn’t take her out of the equation!

AN ~ Thanks for the prompt! If you haven’t read my other 5x06 FitzSkimmons UA coda I suggest you read that too, but I also decided to run with this prompt a little bit; it turned into FitzSkimmons + a discussion about marriage (the first bit is set at an undisclosed time, but there’s some 5x06 thrown in too). Fluffy :D though some super mild references to injury. Hope you like it!

Read on AO3 (~1300wd)

-

“Okay, you guys, no offense but if either one of you gets any ideas to propose without at least a full minute of choreography, the answer’s no.” Beaming, Daisy held her phone up above all their heads and they watched the end of another Big Ask video. “Although – writing your own lyrics is optional.”

“Good, because I don’t – I don’t think I’d be very good at that,” Fitz remarked. Daisy and Jemma snorted in unison and Daisy dropped her phone back to her chest to turn her head, facing him as best she could as the three of them lay together.

“Pfft,” she scoffed. “Please, you can’t help it. You could write a whole song from scratch with your eyes closed. If you actually knew anything about music. Unless, I mean – do you?”

“No?? I was a bit busy getting my PhD by the age of fifteen thank you very much,” Fitz retorted defensively. “But I also don’t think I’d like one of those big, flashy, public proposals. It’s too much pressure. I’d go for something classic; a nice dinner, a walk somewhere private, that sort of thing.”

“Ring in the champagne?”

“Oh, Lord no.” Jemma screwed up her nose. “Rings are nasty with germs and dead skin cells and things. I certainly wouldn’t be drinking that glass.”

“No, well, but hopefully you wouldn’t be drinking it because you’re so totally flawed by my amazing idea,” Fitz objected. “Stop making me think of dead skin while I’m trying to propose.”

“I quite like the flashy proposal, myself,” Jemma continued without heed to his squeamishness. “I mean, I don’t believe it should be the first conversation about marriage a relationship should have, but if you’re on the same page with things then you should essentially have the yes before you do the dance anyway. Then the dance itself, you make it special, individual, you put a lot of effort in. And you announce to the world that this is your person, your people. And after all, isn’t that what marriage is all about?”

“Mmm.” Daisy hummed, and it sounded hesitant. Fitz and Jemma frowned.

“You don’t like marriage?” Fitz guessed.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Daisy replied. “I mean… I like the idea of it. I like what Jem just said about commitment and all that. I just – I don’t know, marriage. It’s a lot, you know? A wedding sounds like fun. Marriage sounds like…”

“A bargain struck between men to move their women around like chattel?” Jemma put in.

“Sort of, I guess, yeah.” Daisy squirmed. “I mean that’s where it comes from but that’s not really it. I guess I’d feel trapped? Not trapped. Uh. I don’t know how to big-words-ify it.”

“Intellectualise,” Jemma corrected.

“Yeah. That.”

“I’ll take a stab,” Fitz offered. “You grew up surrounded by dysfunctional families in a messed up system based on formalized definitions and their failures. Basing ideas like love and connection on the same kind of system feels disconnected, if not downright scary. Plus, marriage is a heteropatriarchal amatonormative monogamous institution and you’re a bi poly anarchist down to your bones.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Daisy snorted. “Plus, I mean, isn’t that what lots of people say? ‘I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me I’m in love with you’?”

“I’d quite like one,” Jemma disagreed. “I’d hang it in my office so that everyone would know.”

“Although, Jemma Fitz-Simmons-Johnson is going to need a pretty big nameplate,” Fitz pointed out.

“Who says that’d be my name?”

“Well you’re hardly going to take mine, are you? But you wouldn’t make me or Daisy take yours without it being equal, so…”

“Hang on a sec guys,” Daisy interrupted, “I just wanna be clear, just... just in case. I don’t want to get married. You can, if you want, I’m not sure how that works, but – for serious, I don’t want it for myself, okay?”

“Okay,” Fitz and Jemma both agreed, and shuffled closer to Daisy in case she was feeling uncomfortable. She was, to be honest, but she quickly shook it off.

"Now, back to planning FitzSimmons’ Big Day.” She held up her phone again and started googling. “Now, would the happy couple prefer a horse and carriage, or a hot air balloon ride?”

-

Despite their brush with sincerity, the conversation about proposals and marriage was, in all honesty, one born of abstraction and jokes. It wasn’t for some time afterward that any of them put any wheels into motion, and as it turned out, none of those wheels ended up worth a damn anyway. In the end, every carefully parsed decision flew out the window of a diner 74 years in the past. In the end, the words just slipped out.

“Marry me, Fitz.”

Jemma's heart was beating hard, her head spinning. Fitz’s arms held her up, flush against him on the tiny little box, and even though they were in the middle of running for their lives, Jemma couldn’t help but feel safe. She lavished the feeling of him warm and solid and heroic and here. And him. It felt like months since she’d seen his face, his real face, and since he’d held her in his arms. He’d been so shaken, last she’d seen him, it was nice to see the colour in his cheeks again, and his chin held high. Yet, she knew how quickly it could all be ripped away and maybe that’s why they slipped out.

Marry me.

And all he said was, Absolutely. With such conviction it was as if his life’s singular purpose had led him to this moment. As if he was completely prepared to stare into his lover’s eyes in an alien gladiator ring in the ruins of Earth, decades beyond their deaths and the end of the world, and promise her his everything. Of course, he shortly began insisting that he had been preparing for exactly that and had in fact beaten her to the proposal in the first place. Even as they carried Daisy out of the arena as best they could, they were already bickering – like, one might say, an old married couple.

Jemma led them to a vacant room and began rummaging about for medical supplies, and Fitz help a slightly delirious Daisy down onto the bed. He sat beside her and stroked her hair out of her face, and out of a bloody cut on her forehead.

“Don’t mind me,” Daisy grumbled, albeit with a fond smile. “Casually dying over here, but it’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Fitz apologised earnestly. “You know Jemma. Emotional, that one. Well known for grand gestures and getting caught up in the moment.”

Daisy snorted. Fitz’s eyes glistened with tears of joy as he snuck another glance over to where Jemma was working, sterilizing something. He’d never imagined she’d be the one to pull him in by the lapels for a kiss, in the middle of a gunfight. It made his cheeks feel hot just thinking about it.

“You’re really gonna do it, huh?” Daisy wondered, prodding him with a poorly aimed finger. His eyes dropped back down to her. “Marry Jemma.”

“Absolutely,” he said again. “And you know, I would you as well, if it’s something you wanted. I mean – unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Yes, of course we wouldn’t want to leave you out, Daisy,” Jemma assured her, bringing the tray of supplies over. “Sit up? Fitz, fix her pillows, thank you. But if we were operating on old assumptions, then, I apologise. I haven’t a song and dance prepared.”

Daisy chuckled. “’S’ okay. Talking like an old-timey princess is enough for me. You’re cute when you’re being funny.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Jemma agreed with a smile, and shone a light into Daisy’s eyes. She pressed her lips together. “And you’re a surprisingly good patient when you’re concussed.”

Daisy made an expression that suggested – in her head at least – she was giving a nonchalant shrug. “Consider it a wedding present.”

“So you won’t be joining us, then?” Jemma checked, running her hands over Daisy’s limbs with practiced ease.

“Oh, yes I will.”

Jemma frowned, and looked at Fitz. He frowned back. Perhaps they should wait for Daisy to sober up before they made sense of this conversation. Then again, Daisy laughed, apparently entertained by their confusion.

“Come on!” she cried. “Dope dresses and cake tastings?! I’m an anarchist, ‘n my head hurts, but I’m not a rock. Do I not bleed?”

Jemma grimaced. “Yes, you certainly do. And you break bones, so you’re lucky you didn’t shatter both your tibias just now.”“You don’t have to tell me.” Daisy grimaced, and sighed heavily, leaning back into the pillows. Fitz squeezed her hand and she lamented - “But damn, it looked wicked for a second there, didn’t it?”

[quietpagan]

TH What Falls and What Grows 16

What would the world be, once bereft of wet and wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet, long live the weeds and the wildness yet.

- Gerard Manley Hopkins

Pain was what woke her, and what kept her from waking.

The blue-black place she was floating in seemed familiar, but her mind was too blurred to recognize it. Some thing pained her greatly, and she began to panic. Irrationally, she thought of the witch-hunts in Germany and in England, where they took the unusual and the passionate and they killed them for their differences.

“I didn’t mean to,” she murmured, falling back on the preferred language of her childhood. “I’ll do better…”

“You have done nothing to incur such hatred,” an echoing voice answered, but she was too muddled to accept it.

“You must stay still,” said a voice, so quietly that she could not heed it.

“Do not let them take me away,” she pleaded. The witch-hunts scared her so badly. What if her village decided that she was too unruly? What if she was hanged for her fights with the boys? What if she slipped up, said something too strange, did something that upset the wrong person, and someone found a mole or a birthmark on her body and took her away, away, away…

“Nobody is going to take you away.”

“She’s insensible...”

“Useless…” “Stranger…”

She struggled to rise, but found that she couldn’t get up. Her limbs were bound by invisible bonds, and fear flooded her mind in freezing waves. Had they caught her? Had she been stolen? She tried to move again and the bonds only tightened, and just when she was about ready to faint in fear agony pressed into her side, as if the Devil himself was trying to cut out her kidney.

She cried out and flinched as violently as she could, but her entire body was held in a tight grip. Helpless; vulnerable; utterly incapable of defending herself. They’d stab her with knives and claws and teeth, fill her lungs with water and twist her bones with magic and peel her skin away with fire until she couldn’t recognize herself, until she gave in, until she forgot…

…but she never forgot.

The pain was softly fading, and with it ebbed the choking fog in her mind. They may have fought because they wanted to live, to prove their worth, but she fought because she wanted to go home.

The edges of the Void slowly became recognizable, and she dimly considered the fact that it would, eventually, become her final home.

She breathed for several long moments, until she was certain that her voice wouldn’t shake. It did anyway.

“Can’t believe I’m gonna have to spend eternity with you assholes,” she murmured.

The ghostly presence of Kanjigar smirked down at her. She glared at him, and then violently started, jerking against her bonds so suddenly that she felt her limbs bruising.

“Am I fucking dead!” “You are alive,” said Kanjigar. “Currently.” “Thank God,” Alexandra sighed, her heart drumming angrily. “’M not ready.” “You certainly are not,” Kanjigar agreed. “You still have to kill Gunmar, after all, and re-integrate the Changelings into troll society.”

“Lemme end poverty and turn off the sun while I’m at it,” Alex said.

“Arrogance doesn’t suit you, Trollhunter. And you will be needing that sun,” Kanjigar said. With mist still clouding her mind, he sounded even more confusing than normal.

“What would happen to the armor if the sun went out,” she absently wondered. Kanjigar ignored her.

“Your foolishness nearly got you killed,” he said. Alex tried to wave him off, but was forced to roll her eyes instead.

“This is serious, Alexandra,” Kanjigar said tightly, startling her with the use of her name. “There is much to be done, and you will not be able to perform your duty until you are completely healed. Your decision to bleed to death instead of asking for help will cost you.” “I couldn’t let Vendel see,” Alex said. “I heal too fast with troll medicine.” Kanjigar only shook his head. “Trust begins with you, Trollhunter. You will never succeed at your duty if you do not learn to trust your mentors.”

“’Thought you’d like seeing me push people away,” Alex muttered cuttingly. “You were certainly good at it.” Kanjigar’s nostrils flared, and Alex felt a tiny wave of triumph. She was too tired to take proper amusement at his annoyance.

“Heard your son used to date a Changeling.”

Kanjigar just sighed. She saw him getting ready to change the subject.

“’Wonder if he has a type,” she mused. “He sure attached himself to me pretty quickly.”

“Trollhunter – “

Something poked at her injured side again and she winced.

“He’s not half bad, once you get through the arrogance and the daddy issues. We’re pretty comfortable already – it wouldn’t be that big of a push to up the physical side of our acquaintance – “

In hindsight, deliberately angering a powerful ghost while immobilized wasn’t the best plan, but Alexandra was exhausted and slightly delirious with pain, so she could later excuse herself for not thinking straight. Something semi-solid passed through her chest with a cold, throbbing ache, and another slammed through her head with sharp, ice-like shards that instantly gave her a headache. Kanjigar’s glowing fist hovered a half-inch in front of her face before he once again composed himself.

“Rule number two,” Alex hisses, her eyes blurring. You did have a problem with that one.

“You have liberty to care for your son, now that you’re dead,” she whispered instead, clenching her teeth against her emerging migraine. “The problem is, you’re dead. You’ve missed your chance to be a decent father, and you don’t get to be an ass about it when I’m fixing your damage. You could thank me for saving his life, you know.”

Kanjigar turned away from her and floated off, his shoulders tense and his hands clenched into fists.

“Your deliberate misdirections cost you opportunity,” hissed one of the voices of the council.

“Arrogance.”

“Foolish Changeling!”

“If you are to succeed, you must wield the power of the sun.”

“What? Where the hell did that come from? I already do,” Alex said, vaguely flexing her fingers as if to summon her sword. The blobs of blue light that swirled around the ceiling pulsed and twisted among each other.

“A troll cannot use sunlight…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kanjigar spoke from just behind her head, startling her with his sudden presence.

“The amulet – “

“Jesus Christ, fuck you!”

“ – Was originally created for a Changeling. How it reacts to you and how you may wield its powers will be different.” “What do you mean? What different powers? You couldn’t have written this down in one of your extensive diaries?” “You must discover for yourself how to use the amulet to your best advantage,” said Kanjigar, as calmly as if they had never tiffed. The agony in her side lessened a little bit more as she strained her invisible bonds again.

“You’re being vague on purpose, you dick.”

For a split second his eyes slid down to meet hers, and the tiniest, shittiest little smile etched across his mouth.

“Being Trollhunter is a learning process,” he said. “We cannot simply give you the answers.”

Alexandra felt a stone drop into her stomach as she realized that pissing off the person who could best relate to and help her had actually been a horrible idea.

Getting under his skin for his treatment of her new friend was, however, very possibly worth it.

“Fine by me,” she said. “You assholes give shitty advice anyway.” Kanjigar, the smug bastard, said nothing, apparently content in the knowledge that he had won this meeting. Alexandra decided that she was too exhausted to care.

“Fuck you for nothing, then. I’m going back.”

She stopped struggling against her invisible bonds and finally let her body relax, accepting the pain in her side as a part of her reality and ceasing her fight against the fear and uncertainty swirling in the back of her mind.

The blue glow of the existential-nightmare-room began to fade, and the weight and warmth of the living world slowly enveloped her body.

Kanjigar watched her settle down, and she in turn watched him fade away.  He briefly turned his eyes to hers, and she saw the very ghost of a smile before he and it disappeared.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and then the Void was gone.

 Being stuck in bed was awful on a regular sick day, but adding a very unhappy Vendel to the situation, plus a painful injury, plus the fact that she wasn’t on a bed so much as a cold stone slab, just made everything so very wonderful.

Vendel wasn’t half bad company, honestly, when he wasn’t being a dick, but Alexandra had annoyed him and so got the brunt of his temper. He patched her up, tended to her wound daily, but for the most part she was forced to either sleep or listen to him ramble about the finer points of troll society and how exactly, with notes on the precise angles, to cut a gemstone. She learned a lot about patience in those first few days.

Vendel’s trapping stones kept her totally still and she had nothing better to do than wait until she was well enough to move. Personally she considered his precautions to be a bit excessive – surely being able to at least bounce her foot wouldn’t re-open her wound – but the old troll was extremely unsubtle about how much he enjoyed inconveniencing her, especially since it was her fault in the first place. 

Blinky and AAARRRGGHH visited regularly, once Vendel had given them the clear-all to sit and drawl on for hours about history, lore, battle tactics, and plans for the Bridge situation. Alex actually enjoyed listening to Blinky’s lectures, but she wasn’t allowed to take notes, since Vendel insisted on keeping her completely paralyzed. Any time that she was allowed up was supervised, which Alexandra could admit was a bit of paranoid precaution that she had brought upon herself.

Draal even took it upon himself to risk the travel through the market, although he had AAARRRGGHH to escort him.

“You really need a bath,” Alexandra noted, looking him over. He was still covered in goblin remains, which had more or less bonded to his skin and stuck unpleasantly between his spikes.

“This is as far as I have dared go,” he responded quietly. She knew that if the members of Trollmarket attacked him, he would not fight back or defend himself. AAARRRGGHH and Blinky couldn’t risk themselves by doing much more than walking him back and forth from the Heartstone to her, now his, room, and she wouldn’t ask them to. Until she either restored his honor or changed troll society, he was hers to protect, and without her by his side he was to be considered an open target for ridicule and violence.

He visited her on the third day, which was when Vendel finally allowed her to move her right hands when supervised. They lay outside of the trapping circle, and although the stones made them slow she still smacked Draal in the arm.

“You said you spoke to my father,” he murmured, apparently unable to feel the tiny blow. His eyes turned to hers and the straining hope in them was almost painful.

“…Did he…speak of, of me? At all?” “We had a bit of a fight,” Alex said honestly. “We usually do. He hasn’t really talked about you yet. I think that he believes that if he doesn’t say anything about you, I won’t remember you exist. He certainly doesn’t like us being friends.” “But you are his successor,” Draal replied, pointed eyebrows furrowing. “Surely he cannot disapprove of you, even if you are argumentative and obnoxious.” “Thanks,” Alexandra grumbled. “He’s not happy about you being close with another Changeling.” It was the first time that she had admitted such out loud, to an actual living person, and she was very quietly proud at doing it. Draal looked at his hands then, clenched between his knees, covered in gore and smears of dirt.

“But he was happy to see you back in Trollmarket.” Draal remained silent, but she saw his back relax a bit. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry he had such a terrible father, but the idiot worshiped Kanjigar like a hero, and truly insulting the guy wouldn’t make Draal any happier nor would it make him acknowledge the dead troll’s faults.

“Ah, Master Alexandra! I am glad to see you awake.”

Alex and Draal turned their eyes to the entrance to the Heartstone, where Blinky and AAARRRGGHH were coming around the corner.

AAARRRGGHH dropped a small pile of books next to her one mobile hand and she picked up the first, holding it above her so that she could see it.

“I thought that we might go over properties of the Heartstones, once we discuss what is to be done about the Changeling problem.” Blinky eyed her in a weird way then, as if expecting her to already have a solution.

“Well, I’m stuck here until Vendel decides to release me from captivity, so if you want to go up and find out yourself what they’re up to, you’re free to do so.”

She twitched the book away from AAARRRGGHH, who was sniffing it with interest. Blinky didn’t bat an eye.

“It could be done, of course,” he said, and from his pocket he pulled an odd-looking wooden mask.

“The means is not quite the issue, but the timing. You are incapacitated for the time being, and we either should wait or send someone else. Likely, me.” “You look so enthusiastic.” Blinky chuffed, turning the mask around in his hands. “Quite the contrary, I assure you. But I will endeavor to answer the call if and when I should receive it! Never let it be known that a Galadrigal turned away from a fight!” “It does not have to be you, Blinky,” said Draal. He reached across Alex and Blinky handed him the mask. “I am currently of little use. Our Trollhunter cannot spar or practice, and I could not teach her anyway with my effective banishment painting a target across my back. I should be the one to go.”

Alex looked between the two, weakly waving her hand to try to get someone’s attention.

“I thought we were discussing this; not deciding already. Either way you would have to go at night, without protection, and you would have to get in and out by yourself and undetected. I think that we should wait.”

Blinky promptly ignored her, still speaking over her chest to Draal.

“But with night fallen, Bular will be active, which will be a terrible danger for whoever goes on top of the risks of Changelings and goblins.” “Why don’t I just go?” asked Alex. “I’ve got the Leoht Stone, sunlight’s not going to do anything to me.” Blinky stared at her with wide eyes, as if stunned by such a simple solution. He exchanged a brief look with AAARRRGGHH, and then cleared his throat. “If that is what you suggest, Master Alexandra, then I see no fault in your reasoning.”

“Great. Now we just need to hope that Bular and his minions don’t cause any trouble for as long as it takes for Vendel to let me use my limbs.” “Do not hold your breath, Trollhunter,” grumbled the troll in question, the thunk of his Heartstone staff announcing his arrival. “Your situation will continue to be as it currently is, until I am satisfied of your ability to keep yourself out of trouble.”

He slowly trudged past the four of them, shaking his head in a way that Alex supposed was supposed to make her feel guilty.

“For a Trollhunter, at least.”

“Glad to see your confidence in me,” Alex called after him. She clenched her fist, and the one hand she could move was then covered in its metal gauntlet. Vendel had tried to keep the amulet from her for the first few minutes after she’d awoken, until he realized that she was adept at summoning it, even when he put it in an anti-magic box. Unfortunately, she couldn’t summon her armor on the bits of her that were still immobilized by Vendel’s trapping stones, so when she’d summoned the amulet it just kind of sadly bounced off of the lines of light encasing her, settling down as close to her shoulder as it could get. She had the distinct feeling that it could get through the lines if it really tried, but occasionally it decided to actually follow the rules. As much as she wanted to and did occasionally throw it across the room, she had become rather fond of the stupid glowing thing, and not just because it was a literal part of her.

Her mind was still a tiny bit scattered from her painful ordeal and her trip to the Void and all the weird dreams that Kanjigar had been sending her. She wondered if she could make the amulet a literal part of her.

That would be handy.

“What if I ate it,” she mused out loud.

“Ate what?” Alex opened her eyes, not having realized that she’d closed them. Lying around and doing nothing was exhausting.

“The amulet,” she murmured, deciding to just give it up and settle back down, closing her eyes to the three confused trolls staring at her.

“It would be so much more useful if the amulet wasn’t so much a material thing as a part of me. I could summon it and dismiss it just like the armor.” “Mm. Interesting, but unlikely. The amulet channels your wishes and emotions through it to give you the power to summon your armor. Taking the amulet out of the equation and skipping the middle-man, as the humans say, would indeed be useful to you, but not to your successor, or theirs. The amulet belongs to you and you alone – for now. But it also holds onto the Trollhunters who came before you.”

Alex grimaced.

“No, thank you. I do not want a part of Kanjigar resting inside of me. Forget the whole idea.” “You are tiring yourself out, Trolhunter,” said Vendel off to the side. She heard Draal shift to make way for him. Something warm pressed against the patch he’d placed on her side, and a tension she hadn’t noticed eased off.

“You strain your bonds when you speak. Desist, or I will add another stone and make you desist.” Alexandra didn’t dignify that with an answer, knowing that he would make good of his threat. Talking really wasn’t something that was supposed to happen when one was stuck inside of trapping stones, and he’d only lifted enough off so that she could speak to Draal. But her jaw and her neck muscles were aching from the effort.

She hadn’t felt this useless and weak since her detox year in the ‘70’s, where all she could do for a month was tremor, throw up, and wallow in panic attacks and heart palpitations. At least she could move then.

“Perhaps I should check the tunnels,” Draal was saying, his voice a distant whisper. “It is almost day on the surface.” “You cannot forget the goblins,” Blinky replied softly.

Their voices turned into blurred murmurs, and Alex didn’t feel it when she fell asleep.

  The noise woke her this time, since the Heartstone was most often very quiet. Something outside in the main market was making a humongous racket, with a lot of clanging and shouting.

From the feel of the bonds around her she knew that she was under the full force of every trapping stone Vendel possessed, which meant that her visitors/chaperones had left.

There was an odd smell, a burning smell, and she opened her eyes.

The acid-green glare of Stricklander’s triumphant face gazed back.

And Alexandra could. Not. Move.

“And look what we have here,” he sneered, leering over her like a particularly ugly bat. Another Changeling peered around him, looking exceedingly amused.

“A prisoner?”

“Not one of ours,” Stricklander said, looking over Alexandra’s prone form. “I…oh, but what’s this?” He reached a knife through the glowing bars and pried the amulet out of her pocket, where it had been pulsing in time with her frantic heartbeat. The glow of it alighted upon his face and he grinned, clenching it in his fist as he laughed in Alexandra’s face.

“Apparently she is. I’ve been looking forward to meeting our Changeling Trollhunter.” Someone get the fuck in here, Alex thought desperately, trying to make a noise, a movement, anything. The trapping stones prevented her from even summoning her armor.

“Wunderbar,” hissed the other Changeling. “Do you recognize her?” Stricklander’s eyes roamed disinterestedly over her face and body.

“No,” he said, to her eternal relief. “But there is some familiarity. Unfortunately, a few have fallen by the wayside in the past few centuries. I would not be surprised if she were one of those who have not checked in in quite a while.” About forty years or so, give or take three hundred. Alexandra had been very careful to cover her human family’s tracks, doubling back to burn records when they first moved, and over the centuries had taken care to either leave no paper trail or destroy any that had been created. Technology and better censuses made things more difficult, but she knew how to establish and destroy an identity. The Janus Order hadn’t known of her location or seen her face since the mid-seventeen-hundreds, when she had last been dragged to a meeting.

“Should we take her back to Bular?” “No,” Stricklander replied as he fingered his capelet of knives. “She is immobile and stranded here, in the most perfect of opportunities. Bular doesn’t care who kills the Trollhunters, as long as they are dead. We have the amulet in any case.” Alexandra had never felt such fear and helplessness in her life. Vendel’s trapping stones, once merely aggravating and annoying, now would be the absolute death of her. She silently screamed and screamed for somebody to come, for somehow this to be a dream, for her bonds to magically break, but nothing came. Black started to blur the edges of her vision and white-hot pains pierced her chest, even though she couldn’t even hyperventilate. Her hands and toes were filled with needles and she was praying, pleading to a God that she still believed in that something happen, something happen, something happen –

A reddish-gold blur shot suddenly through the air, hitting Stricklander squarely in the back; he went down with an outraged cry as Vendel launched himself into the room, picking up his staff and grabbing the arm of the other Changeling in one long, fluid movement. The Changeling was swiftly thrown through the air, where he struck the edge of Alexandra’s table and tumbled to the floor, his flailing arms knocking several of the trapping stones awry.

Alexandra hastened to stand under the moggy influence of the remaining stones, her limbs straining as if she were swimming through mud. Slowly, laboriously, she pushed the rest of the glowing stones out of alignment and unceremoniously fell off the slab and onto the floor. Her still-healing nose broke motherfucking AGAIN as she landed face-down, but she summoned her amulet straight out of the green asshole’s pocket and donned her armor.

Above her, Stricklander snarled and attacked Vendel, only to have his bony hand caught in a fist larger than his entire head. When he tried to pull back, Vendel squeezed. He was forced to release the broken hand when Stricklander sent a badly-aimed volley of knives into his shoulder, but he gained ground again when the Changeling yelped and stumbled, a bloody streak from Alexandra’s sword running across his exposed calf.

He muttered and oath and booked it, leaving his fallen companion to yell at him in indignation. Vendel dodged around the slab, reaching down to help Alexandra to sit.

“The Changelings have attacked the main market,” he said in a rush, grabbing her by her chest-plate and hauling her up until her back was against the table. “Half of Heartstone is overrun. You must – “ “You need to get back out there,” Alex interrupted, clumsily smacking his hands away. “Stop worrying about me, I’m damn useless! Get back out there and help them!”

Vendel promptly dropped her and hurried back out, moving surprisingly fast for such an old troll. Alexandra struggled to get up, and fell over again. She couldn’t catch her breath, and her vision swam with tears and dizziness. Her panic attack wasn’t helped by her infirmary. After five days of constantly straining against the trapping stones her muscles were coiled and sore, and without the pressure of her bonds her entire body felt weightless and off-balanced. Her hips especially were paining her, and the healing wound in her side throbbed and pulled angrily.

She reached up and gripped the edge of the table behind her, pulling until she was strewn backward over the surface. Her armor loudly scraped against the stone and she finally heaved herself upright, only to fall over again when the other Changeling knocked her back into the table, fleeing for the exit. There was a clang, and a yelp, and a Changeling in human form appeared around the corner, dodging both his troll attacker and his scarpering comrade.

He spotted her and snarled, twirling a pair of stone sabers through towards her. Boldened by her weakened state, he attacked, and the only reason Alexandra was able to keep her head was because she wasn’t able to keep her balance. Her hands fumbled on the table and down she went, a saber slicing the air above her head. She managed to twist her landing so that she slammed into his legs, making him cry out as her armor banged into his bony shins. His eyes glowed with yellow fire as he threw her off, and something in their light threw a sudden memory into her head.

“A troll cannot use sunlight.”

Kanjigar and the ghostly council had been haunting her dreams every time she slept, telling her the same damn things over and over until she wanted to destroy the sun just to shut them up.

“A troll cannot use sunlight.”

What the fuck had they meant!?

“A troll cannot use sunlight.”

(but a Changeling

could)

A TROLL CANNOT USE SUNLIGHT.

Without a single thought Alexandra shifted and threw out her arms; instead of the Daylight sword materializing, bright light spewed from her gloves, coating her arms in the glow up to the elbows. The beams were both solid and fluid, and she raised all four arms and slammed them down on the Changeling’s shoulders. He did not turn to stone, but his skin sizzled and burned at an alarming rate, and within a few seconds he was still on the ground, dead and blackened with horrific burns.

Alexandra yelped in pain and frantically scraped at her arms, which were steaming. Urgent, she banished the gloves and bracers and found her stone skin mottled and alarmingly reddened, tiny cracks glowing as if there was magma under her skin, which it certainly felt like. She threw back her head and screamed in agony.

“ShhhiiiiiIIIIT! AAHH!”

If she could move she could get some fucking water! The pain in her arms was all-consuming and she felt it crawling, destroying her hands and forearms, her heart pounding nauseatingly in her chest and throat as she strained against her sluggish body.

“Can someone get me some fucking water!”

With all the commotion outside her call was unanswered, as she’d expected it to be. The fire slowly, slowly began to cool on its own, but it took its fucking time.

Trolls didn’t sweat, but Alex dearly wished she could, just to get some of the horrible heat out of her body.

She looked over to her side, where the figure of a bright red troll wavered through her dizzy eyes; the Changeling’s attacker, who had driven him into the Heartstone in the first place.

“And what do you want?!”

The troll shrugged and turned away. “Whatever.”

Damn him, he’d seen the whole thing.

“Shit,” Alex growled. “Alright, get back here and help me up.”

The red troll put down his bloodied mace and pushed her up from behind, until she could cling to the wall of the Heartstone for balance. Her hands left bloody smears on the crystal, which soaked them up with a golden glow.

“How many are out there? Is it only Changelings?”

He shook his head and then answered in Trollish, “Goblins too, and an anstramonstrum.” Fuck.

She had no idea what to do against an anstramonstrum, having never encountered one before. Goblins were easy enough to dispatch but what the hell does one do about a growing carnivorous mist?

“Get me outside,” she growled.

They limped and stumbled outside of the Heartstone, where chaos reigned across the chasm. The market was in an uproar of rampaging goblins, attacking Changelings in troll and human forms, and, on the far side of the market, the raging, thundering mass that was the anstramostrum.

Alexandra slid her arm off her escort’s shoulder.

“Go get those trapping stones,” she said to him. “They’re around Vendel’s table back in the Heartstone. Some will be on the floor. Bring them back here.” “Fine,” he grumbled. Alexandra ignored him and summoned her sword, which she fumbled and dropped. A pile of goblins came charging at her that moment and she wondered if she should just let them eat her, and then she summoned her sword again and cut the pile to pieces. Her hand and arm felt like they were being flayed; blood turned the handle of her blade slick and she needed to hold it with two hands.

As long as nothing came and made her move her legs, she was fine.

A scream drew her attention and a whelp and his parent scrambled out from behind a pile of old televisions, a Changeling with a heavy club stalking after them.

Alexandra stumbled forward and fell into him, unable to bring her arms up enough to stab. The Changeling was caught off guard and Alex bit deep into his shoulder, making him scream out. He tried to club her, but the weapon was not meant for close combat, and Alexandra was able to wrench it away from him. He swiped his claws over her face, forcing her to rear back to avoid losing another eye. The pain actually distracted her from the burns on her arms and she retaliated, kneeing him in the groin and making sure that every elbow landed in his gut as they fell to the ground.

It was graceless, and inelegant, but when the fight was over she shooed the child and parent away, her sword and a shaft of wood from a broken stall holding her on her feet.

Trollmarket actually seemed to be doing a fairly good job of defending itself, considering that its denizens were not primarily warriors, but when a blue blur passed Alex and barreled through a hoard of charging goblins, she understood.

Draal was covered in gore and debris but he looked like he was having the time of his life. With a thundering roar he threw himself into battle with two Changelings at once, defeating one and smacking away the other with her limp body.

He dropped his impromptu weapon and his eyes landed on Alex.

“Trollhunter! You are injured – “ “ – I’m good,” she interrupted. “How many are left?” “Not many at all,” he replied with a grin. He rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists. “I’ve taken out the majority, but there is an anstramonstrum, and – “ He paused for a second to slam his fist into a Changeling’s face. Alexandra sliced her ex-fellow’s torso and smacked him away with her staff. They tossed the body aside and jumped aside themselves as a pair of trolls ran past them.

“ – And we still do not know how they even got in.” “I’ll handle that,” Alex said. “And I’m going to try trapping the anstramonstrum. Where are Blinky and AAARRRGGHH?” Draal pointed. Near the bridge entrance Blinky was in the middle of the fray, throwing large stones and smacking with a spear every Changeling and goblin that was surrounding AAARRRGGHH, who was deliberately making a target of himself.

They’re fine for now.

“I’ve got the crystals.”

Alexandra jumped, not having noticed her Whatever-Troll’s return. He looked exceedingly put-upon, but held out a bag that glowed from within.

“The trapping stones?” Taking the bag and nodding, Alexandra slung her arm over Draal’s pointy shoulder and pointed him to the gyre side of Trollmarket, where the anstramonstrum was wheedling through the stalls, a dozen trolls running for their lives away from its mass.

“It’s an alive thing,” Alex said, as Draal stood and just outright carried her across the floor. “It’s not dissipating into the air, so it’s semi-solid. But I can’t slice it, burn it, or…well…I guess I could try to burn it.” Her raw arms were chaffing against Draal’s skin and she wanted to faint.

I really don’t want to try.

“Either way, I don’t know how to kill it, so we’re going to have to trap it until we can find out how to.”

“And you are sure that this will work?” Draal put her down and she started laying the stones out.

“No, I don’t,” Alexandra admitted. “It’s the best I got right now.” Draal took the bag from her and put down the remaining stones, spreading them into an enormous circle that touched the walls of the market.

They waited.

And the stupid cloud went down the wrong hallway.

Draal cursed in Trollish and sped away, ignoring Alexandra when she called out for him.

“Draal! We’ll just set up the stones somewhere else! Draal! What the hell are you going to do?!” “Make it angry,” he called back.

Their antics were drawing the attention of a distant crowd, and through it pushed AAARRRGGHH, Blinky clinging to his side as they ran across the emptied passage.

“Master Alexandra! What can we do?” “I can’t fucking MOVE! Take these stones and get them down that other hallway! DRAAL!”

Blinky shooed AAARRRGGHH in front of him and the larger troll sped up, skidding to a halt just outside of the trapping circle. His hand hovered over a crystal just as they heard a voice cry out.

“Wait!”

Silence reigned for a half moment that lasted an eternity, and then Draal appeared, turning down a far corner.

“Get away!” Directly behind him, the anstramonstrum consumed everything in its path, shattering crystals and swallowing stalls. It ignored other trolls still scattered in the market, focused on the blue troll and him alone. Draal curled into a roll and careened down the corridor, stopping directly in front of the crystal circle.

“Wait for it,” he murmured. The anstramonstrum continued on its destructive path, intent on devouring he who had royally pissed it off.

Draal walked calmly around the circle, until it stood between him and the deadly cloud.

It got closer and closer, aiming directly for him, and then just before it entered the circle it cut a sharp right and fucking went around it.

AAARRRGGHH picked up Alexandra and dodged to the side, nearly slamming her into a stumbling Draal. The deadly cloud’s momentum shot it down the path, but it quickly turned itself around, cracking with purple lightning as it missed its target.

They sprinted around to the opposite side of the circle, and then Draal, the eternal, noble fool, stepped into it.

He spread his arms and was immediately paralyzed. The stones emitted their glowing bars, trapping him.

Alexanda wriggled out of AAARRRGGHH’s grip and stumbled forward with a cry.

The anstramonstrum flowed into the enormous circle of stones, swallowing Draal whole before it was stopped as well.

Alex’s stagger turned into a desperate sprint, and she flung herself through the bars of light. Half of her body was immersed in the black cloud, stinging her skin with a hundred thousand glowing knives, before she connected with something solid and sent it tumbling to the ground. A huge hand grabbed her by the back of her belt and dragged her and Draal out of the trapping circle, lifting them carefully over the yellow stones.

Draal was alive but unconscious. His tattoos glowed with pinpricks of purple light, cracks of which spread over his skin. His breathing was short and shallow, but he was alive.

“Thank God, you idiot,” Alex murmured, sitting back with relief.

Blinky finally caught up to them and pulled Alexandra away so that Vendel could reach Draal. There was still the distant sound of fighting, but she couldn’t continue. Pain and exhaustion finally overwhelmed her, and she fell backwards into AAARRRGGHH’s waiting hand. 

  Understandably, Blinky was having a completely, utterly horrible day.

He had not been put out at first at their Trollhunter falling asleep before he could start their lessons, given that sleeping was one of the many things that he wanted her to do that she just didn’t do. Her sleeping meant that she wasn’t going to be thinking about how terribly awkward Blinky was sure he had been during their talk. It had been the first time that Changelings had been brought up and he just knew that he’d almost given himself away.

He and AAARRRGGHH had been getting something to eat when several members of the crowd, in every part of Trollmarket, had suddenly starting attacking people. Goblins emerged from every corner and began destroying everything in sight, and several innocent trolls fell before anybody realized what exactly was going on.

There had to be dozens of Changelings, all armed to the teeth and accompanied by half a dozen goblins each. AAARRRGGHH had to keep Blinky from getting killed before it dawned on them that they were primary targets.

Blinky himself had actually been dragged away from the fray by two Changelings, separating him from his protector, before Draal had joined the fray with roars and thundering fists.

It was he that drove away the majority of combatants, tossing goblins through the air and downing the attacking Changelings with a fervor and competence that reminded who exactly Draal had been the son of. Many trolls were able to get to safety as he drew the majority of the fight to himself.

Blinky had wondered where Alexandra was before remembering that she was in the Heartstone, trapped and utterly at the mercy of any Changelings who decided to attack there. Frantically he had called to Vendel, who was fighting nearby, to remind him of their incapacitated Trollhunter.

He himself fought with fist, stone, and a fallen spear, but it was quickly becoming evident that he was more of a liability than an asset. AAARRRGGHH had noticed it, too, and he deliberately made a larger target of himself, leaving open chances for kill-strikes with every move he made and pretending to be slow and uncoordinated. The Changelings and goblins surrounded him, only to be picked off by Blinky, who darted between stalls and rocky outcrops to strike and then hide away again.

Fighting was not his forte under any sort of circumstances, but coupled with AAARRRGGHH’s presence and the need to keep him unharmed he was more than willing to fight tooth and nail to the best of his ability, however small his ability actually was.

It was a pity when, just as they were feeling victorious, an anstramonstrum made itself known on the opposite end of Trollmarket.

On the other side of the chasm surround the Heartstone, Alexandra herself was limping around with Draal’s help. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH, done with their fights, dodged around debris and fallen bodies to try and reach them. A crowd was forming at a safe distance from the deadly black cloud and they urgently pushed through.

Alexandra, it seemed was trying to trap the monster. Blinky urged AAARRRGGHH ahead of him to help her, unable to keep up on his damned short legs.

He stumbled and fell when Draal deliberately stepped into the trapping circle, and the anstramonstrum swallowed him whole.

Alexandra herself saved Draal from being killed, and Blinky finally made it to them as AAARRRGGHH pulled them out of the trap.

Both were alive but grievously harmed, and Blinky was – quite understandably – having a very. Bad. Day.

  Alexandra was finally allowed to move about when it was made clear that nobody could actually stop her, given that the trapping stones were currently in use. There was much to do in the aftermath of the fight, and she threw herself into it with an agitated fervor. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH kept close by her in the event that she finally realized that she was wounded and worn out, but it was clear that she was done with sitting around.

The wounds on her arms worried Blinky greatly but he was only allowed to wrap them up, and the same for the wound on her side. She healed remarkably fast, but it was very clear that she was in constant pain, and Blinky had the feeling that if she finally allowed herself to stop that she would not be able to get back up.

Many lives had been lost during the attack, but the majority of them belonged to their attackers. Alexandra and Vendel presided over the funeral rites of all the Heartstone trolls who had fallen, but in a curious display of mercy the Trollhunter also insisted on interment of the Changelings who had been killed.

Blinky and AAARRRGGHH, of course, knew the real reason why, but when Alexandra was questioned on her choice she merely said that it was her duty as Trollhunter to take care of the troll and human worlds, and that included those that fell in between.

It wasn’t easy – Changelings didn’t die like trolls did. Those that didn’t explode fell as humans did, as flesh-and-bone bodies instead of as stone. The Trollhunter bid them to be collected and set aside for her to take upstairs and deal with later, easing the minds of those concerned that their attackers would be entombed beside their dead friends.

Everyone uninjured helped clean up the mess, which included repairing stalls, clearing away rock and broken crystals, setting up further defenses on Trollmarket’s entrances, and replenishing supplies and goods that had been destroyed.

Alexandra actually did more for her reputation as Trollhunter in the first days after the attack than she had for every fight with Bular, when she tirelessly worked to repair what had been broken, whether that included property or the hearts of those who survived the attack. Blinky had never observed softness and warmth from their Trollhunter before, but as his fellows mourned and lamented she turned into an unexpected pillar of strength and comfort the like of which Blinky had not witnessed since Deya herself. Kanjigar had been strong, yes, and his community drew from that strength, but although he had been exceedingly kind he had never allowed himself to be emotionally available.

Alexandra, with her heart wrapped in lies and sharp knives, listened to every grieving troll’s sorrows, every complaint, every worry. As opposed to Kanjigar, who lent his strength to others, Alexandra seemed to draw from those around her. With every troll she talked to she stood a little taller, walked a little steadier, moved a little faster. Blinky knew that she was close to collapse no matter how useful she was making herself, but until she actually did buckle under the pressure that she put herself under, she was actually doing very well.

Draal, on the other hand.

Was an idiot, as both Vendel and Alexandra took pleasure in reminding him daily. Following the end of the battle he had been moved to the examination dwell, where he remained until he could stand without falling over.

Nobody was exactly sure what exactly happened to those killed by anstramonstrum. The working theory was that the mist actually dissolved and ate them, since there were never any bodies. Draal had only been encased in the mass for a few seconds, but those few seconds had eaten away at him. The entirety of his exposed skin was pitted and marked like acid rain on limestone, the lines and pockets glowing with a sickly purple. Alexandra, who had partially passed through the mist, also sported the effects of the smoke on her face and upper body. Draal, however, had breathed it in, and so was unable to do much of anything until Vendel healed his lungs.

His spirits were up however great his injuries, and he once again had a crowd of admirers and fans who had to be pushed out of the examination dwell almost hourly. There were rumors of changing his title, too. Draal had willingly put his life in danger to capture the anstramonstrum, on top of his efforts in the battles around Trollmarket, and he was hailed as a hero. His place in Heartstone was once again assured, and every troll who saw him welcomed him.

Once everything was mostly organized and the rebuilding was well on the way, there really were only two problems: how the Changelings had gotten in, and what to do about the anstramonstrum.

The anstramonstrum inside of its glowing trap was given a wide berth by the trolls of Heartstone. Unlike most things caught inside trapping stones, it was not motionless. The bars kept it from attacking anyone but it filled its prison from floor to ceiling, a great, evil mass swirling inside of golden light, a menacing column of black smoke and purple lightning. From Blinky’s extensive research on the subject they knew that it could only be returned to the crystal from whence it had come, which was utterly useless to them since they had no idea where it was.

The second problem was in the captured Changelings.

Alexandra had ordered them imprisoned, to be questioned by her later, but it was several days before she got the chance. Both Blinky and AAARRRGGHH accompanied her, despite her protests. She threatened and snarled at them, but both of them were in perfect health in comparison to her, and until she could lift her sword without bleeding there really wasn’t much she could do if they decided to ignore her orders. So, with great consternation on the part of their Trollhunter, the three of them made their way down to the dungeons.

Eleven Changelings had been captured in varying states of health. Every one of them instantly focused on Alexandra as they entered the dungeon.

She dismissed the guards.

“Ah, our illustrious sister,” drawled a skinny, lime-green Changeling. “Risen to the highest of offices. How very honored we are to be in your presence.”

“They don’t know about the Leoht Stone,” Alexandra whispered, just loudly enough for Blinky and AAARRRGGHH to hear. “We could use this to our advantage.”

Blinky was exceedingly uncomfortable with watching her interact with those whom he assumed she had once been fellows. Unaware of his discomfort, she approached the green Changeling.

“How did you get into Trollmarket?” “If this is your attempt at interrogation, I might laugh,” he replied, sneering down at her from his cage. Alexandra merely stared at him.

“I’m going to give you the chance to break from Gunmar. All of you.”

Blinky started forward but AAARRRGGHH grabbed his arm.

“Listen first,” his companion murmured, as the prisoners above them screamed in outrage. “Don’t insult us!”

“You are nothing more than pawns and tools to him,” the Hunter continued, “to be thrown out when no longer of use. If you switch sides, you’ll be – “ “Get fucked, traitor,” yelled another Changeling.

“Gunmar is trollkind’s salvation!” “That is what he tells you. But you all are not trolls. You are worthless to him.”

There were various jeers and yells, but Blinky noticed that the green Changeling was silently watching her. She in turn focused on him.

“And why would you pretend to care,” he demanded, playing with the edge of his cloak. “What is in this for you?” “Someone has to,” Alexandra said, quietly and contemplatively. “What I get is not having to kill all of you.” “You wouldn’t dare, Trollhunter. Their kind believes in honor and dignity. There is none in killing a helpless prisoner, is there?” Alexandra walked away from him and over to the wall where the chains holding the cages in the air were secured. She lowered several of them to the ground, including the green one’s.

AAARRRGGHH and Blinky watched with trepidation as she approached a stocky blue Changeling.

“I’d like to offer you a chance to live in peace,” she said to him. He snarled through the bars.

“Gunmar rewards his faithful,” he said. “Traitors are – “ Blinky jumped back in shock when Alexandra summoned her sword and ran him through. The air shimmered around her as if heated suddenly. The Changeling’s fatal wound crackled and glowed, and he imploded with a rush of air and a shock of blood. The jeerings and growls that had echoed in the chamber abruptly silenced.

“There’s really no honor in stupidity,” Alexandra said, banishing her sword. “Those faithful to Gunmar are going to die. Those who change sides, permanently, will live. It’s really not that difficult.”

“There are more of us, you know,” said the green one, eyeing her with more fear than he had before.

“You are a practical lot,” said the Trollhunter. She walked to another cage, slowly and steadily. Blinky hadn’t seen her like this before, but he noticed how the Changelings were tensing. She wasn’t raising her voice, or moving quickly at all, which somehow made it all worse.

“Surely one of you knows the value of self-preservation over twisted loyalty.” The purple Changeling that she spoke to tried to lash at her through the cage. Alexandra grabbed her arms and the Changeling screamed; Blinky watched in horror as her skin blistered under the Trollhunter’s glowing gauntlets.

Alexandra released the screaming woman and crouched by her stricken form.

“Defect,” she said calmly. The Changeling looked at her with stricken eyes, but as the others called out curses and proclamations of loyalty she snarled and shook her head.

It did not remain attached to her body.

Blinky was immensely regretting his insistence on accompanying Alexandra, or at least his bringing of AAARRRGGHH. The huge troll had turned away minutes ago, hiding his eyes from the gruesome, quiet slaughter. Blinky rubbed his arms as comfortingly as he could and huddled against his friend’s side, readying himself to close his eyes. He’d seen Alexandra scream and rage, charge at Draal and Bular alike with passion and determination, but never had he seen her quietly walk over and kill someone, no more bothered than if she were browsing at a lunch stall. It promptly reminded him of exactly how little he knew of her past, and of her true nature.

“I really only need one of you to talk,” Alexandra continued, this time not banishing her sword.

“Please stop,” hissed the green one, to Blinky’s surprise. “Just stop, we can talk.”

Alexandra walked back to his cage, and put her hands behind her back, where the odd glow of them slowly dimmed. Blinky saw her fists shiver in pain.

“That’s all I wanted,” she said.

They conversed quietly for quite a time, while the Changelings around them watched in silence, the drip dripping of blood pattering in puddles on the floor.

AAARRRGGHH was still shivering under Bliky’s hands. While violence and bloodshed were almost every day features in troll society, it was usually something celebrated, whether in spars, challenges, or battle. But this…the Changelings would probably have been put to death anyway, but it wouldn’t have been like this, quietly and calmly and stinking of manipulation and indifference.

They eventually seemed to come to some sort of agreement, and the green Changeling dug into his capelet of knives and handed her something yellow and glowing: a horngazel.

Blinky stiffened as Alexandra walked toward him, but she passed him and knocked on the door, drawing the guards.

“Release the Changelings,” she told them, “and escort them out of Trollmarket.”

AAARRRGGHH jerked violently and Blinky stumbled, both of them staring at Alexandra in shock.

“What? Master Alexandra, you can’t just – “ “They’re not to be harmed or assaulted on their way out,” she continued, ignoring Blinky’s spluttering. The guards did as she said, and began unlocking the Changeling’s prisons. The green one emerged from his cage with something like triumph.

“You’re letting them leave?!” “Not for free,” muttered the green Changeling. Alexandra shoved him roughly.

“Cooperation is a small price to pay for your life, jackass,” she replied. “Alright, you idiots. Get out of my Heartstone.”

The guards surrounded the motley group and began marching them out of the chamber. Blinky heard gasps and yelps of surprise from the trolls outside as they emerged. He and AAARRRGGHH ran to Alexandra’s side as she brought up the rear.

“Master Alexandra, this needs to be a community decision! You at least need to consult with Vendel – “ “I already talked to Vendel,” the Trollhunter said. Blinky noticed that she was rubbing her bandaged arms. “He left the decision up to me.” “But letting them go? This is madness!” “This is politics,” Alexandra murmured.

“I hardly believe that I have to explain such folly to you! Surely they will betray whatever agreement you have come to and just attack once more. What did you even say to him? What did you bargain?”

“It really wasn’t that difficult. They gave up the anstramonstrum’s home crystal and the horngazel their goblin had stolen, in exchange for their lives.” “You are letting them leave, whatever they have given you! Sparing their lives will only ensure that they are at liberty to attack us again!” “The fucking carnivorous mist and their key to Trollmarket were the main concerns here, Blinky!”

Alexandra stopped and turned to him, her eyes wide with desperation and righteous anger.

“Their numbers were severely decimated today and they’ve seen that Trollmarket is not an easy target. Their goals were not achieved and their attack failed. Should they attack again, then we’ll deal with that when it comes. And we will set up defenses and further security later, but right now, I’d like to stop them from getting in again and get rid of that murderous column of smoke before it breaks out and kills someone else!”

Blinky shook two fingers in her snarling face.

“You asked for his cooperation!” “And I got it, for as long it takes for them to get out of Trollmarket quietly. And I’ve given them all something to really think about. Neither Bular nor Gunmar would ever have been this merciful.”

“Master Alexandra, you cannot possibly expect that they will honor their agreement and become your spies, your allies!” “Of course I don’t,” she hissed back at him. “I’m not stupid enough to believe that they’d change sides just because they promised to! I asked them for their stolen horngazel and the anstramonstrum’s home crystal, solid things, not promises!”

Blinky and Alexandra stared at each other in consternation for several heated moments, before one of AAARRRGGHH’s immense hands swam in front of their faces.

“Fight later,” he said quietly. “Changelings leaving.” With a sigh, Alexandra turned away and starting following after the guards.

“I have to escort them,” she murmured. Blinky watched her for a few seconds, and then he and AAARRRGGHH followed.

The trolls of the market were not happy to see their attackers leaving alive, but the guards’ and Alexandra’s presence kept them from throwing anything more damaging than a shoe or two. They were taken up the crystal staircase and Alexandra had the guards search them before they were allowed to leave. Nothing came up, except one Changeling who had pocketed several trinkets of Trollhunter fan memorabilia.

The portal to the canal closed just as the green Changeling looked back at them. His eye caught the Hunter’s. Neither of them nodded, but neither snarled as well.

The blue glow faded from the walls and Alexandra dismissed the guards. Alone, with nothing to do and nobody to help, she looked discouragingly worn, with bandages over her abdomen, hands, arms, and her hair and body covered in bits of gore and wood and stone dust. The Trollhunter wavered for a moment, and then began down the crystal stairs.

“I need to go check on Draal,” she said quietly. Her feet stumbled on a crystal, and AAARRRGGHH caught her. Her arms were shaking too badly for her to lower herself down the higher jumps.

Although he didn’t feel satisfied with their discussion, Blinky welcomed the lighter turn of conversation.

“Did you hear that about his name?” he asked. “They are considering changing it from Draal the Deadly.” “I thought it was ‘Destroyer’?” AAARRRGGHH waved a hand dismissively.

“Either.” “Indeed, but both I suppose shall become obsolete. Although, I’m not quite sure how he will feel about the lack of menace this new title will bestow.”

Alexandra allowed AAARRRGGHH to help her down a steeper stair, and smiled to herself.

“I don’t know; I kind of like the sound of ‘Draal the Dedicated’.”

  A/N: The whole ‘Daylight is mine to command’ bit is about the Daylight Sword, but I wanted to play with the idea of it referring to actual daylight, because how fucking cool would that be? Also, dangerous. You can’t have a cool uber-power move and do it perfectly the first time without some consequences.

I’m trying not to make her too Mary-Sue-ish, but I really do want to explore the possibilities of her armor and how she can use it. There’s so much potential that was both explored and not explored in the show. Most of the reason that she’s able to do cool shit, like summoning only her sword or parts of the armor, is because she came in with no expectations or knowledge. She’s able to do stuff because she never knew that those things were things that weren’t previously done, or were things that shouldn’t be possible. In comparison to other Trollhunters Alexandra is actually very open-minded and willing to learn past the boundaries of her expectations. Kanjigar, for example, was significantly more closed-minded and single-tracked than Jim, which is why I think that Jim was able to explore the possibilities of his armor and Kanjigar was not (or else Kanjigar probably would have been using the daylight-immunity stone). Jim and Alexandra both come into Trollhunting as open books.

Whatever Troll strikes again! I couldn’t just leave him to have one solitary scene. And here’s Strickler too. Don’t worry, he’ll show up again, although I don’t think that he’ll like it much.

I’ve actually only seen one thing that said that Deya was the first Trollhunter, and it was in supplementary material, not the show. Her not being the first actually makes more sense to the show’s timelines, but since it fits with this story the best, I’m going to go along with my initial (but most likely incorrect) assumption that Deya was the first Trollhunter.

And Draal is a hero again, but with all limbs attached. I needed something to get him redeemed in Trollmarket again, so why not bring in Strickler and his pet carnivorous mist. That thing is going to give me headaches until I figure out how to get rid of it.

I was going to include Blinky causing havoc with some dwárkstones but it didn’t fit the story yet. Worry not, he’ll get to them later.

The “This is madness!”, “This is politics.” Exchange is from Pirates of the Caribbean 3.

Also found on ffn and AO3